When creatures discuss the topic of armour, there's a great many aspects they like to talk about. Civilians usually focus on the looks. How shiny or fancy it is. Whether or not its aesthetics puts it into the good guy or bad guy category, and how cool it is. Funny how tyrants and spikey shoulder pauldrons go together about as often as dictators and goosesteps. Of the guardsponies and hoofsoldiers that Spike had spoken with, most of them alternated between complaining that it was either too hot or too heavy or took too much work to maintain. Nopony ever talked about how long it took to put on.

Maybe this was because Equestria's barding was fairly simple. Their body armour pretty much sat on their back like a saddle, held on mostly by gravity and helped with a couple of clasps around the barrel. For Spike, his armour was significantly more complicated, made by craftponies unaccustomed to making gear for a creature his shape. He may have borrowed a book on the subject of bipedal armour from a certain, surprisingly extensive school library only accessible through a certain magical portal to give them some reference material, and he may have done so after being explicitly told by Twilight not to. However, as the object Spike had hypothetically smuggled between dimensions was a book, the talking to he had gotten was not nearly as harsh or as long as the crime might have otherwise merited, so long as he had shared it with one of the only ponies on the planet capable of punishing him.

It had taken Canterlot's best smithies a few tries to get 'humanoid' plate armour right. He'd decided to have them copy the style known as 'milanese' armour, albeit modified a touch for his inhuman shape and proportions. He'd chosen the style mostly because its plates provided almost total coverage and protection over his entire body, save for his wings and tail. For his helmet, he'd used a modified version of a hounskull bascinet, lengthened to accommodate his draconic muzzle, and with taller eye slots so that he could actually see, though he usually left the visor open.

This came at the cost of being heavier than Equestrian armour, weighing in at around seventy pounds all together, though once this was distributed over his body the weight was tolerable, and he was still able to move mostly freely. He'd trained in it, and could run, climb and most importantly, fight, without being hindered. The only things he couldn't do in it were sleep comfortably, swim, or fly too fast or for too long.

He'd also, not that he would admit it, chosen it because he thought it looked cool. The plates were the colour of weathered brass with tarnished silver trim, his indulgences in style without being overly gaudy, pretentious, or annoyingly reflective. It was designed to be effective, function over form. There was no scarlet half cape or horned helm or shoulder spikes, which was a shame because he'd wanted the half cape, but in sparring matches his opponents would always find it an easy grappling target.

The plates could protect him from mundane threats, and the magical wards etched into the inside surface of his breastplate and helmet gave him some protection from magical attacks.

All told, his suit of armour, not accounting for the price of research and development, cost about as much as armouring around three dozen guardsponies. With access to the royal treasury, this work expense was well within his budget. Money can be frightfully easy to spend when it isn't yours, but since it was made to protect his life, he had no intention of skimping. Not again.

The armour was complicated enough that putting it on by himself was a hassle. It was much easier to have an attendant or comrade assist him. One of the unicorn guards that had brought the cart bearing his gear had assisted with most of pieces he had trouble reaching. Spike was just finishing up with tightening the straps on his bracers when he heard a familiar voice outside the hospital room door. He heard her, shocked and offended, try and argue with one of the guards posted outside, to no avail. A couple moments later and he could hear the sounds of a dispellation being cast, and a mare giving some pained utterances, trying hard to sound dignified and failing. Spike started readying his apology. He was flexing his hands in his gauntlets when the door opened and a very unhappy Rarity entered.

"Spike?!" she shouted, apparently not expecting him to be here given her treatment at the door, "Why in Equestria did they have to scan me if you're here?!"

"I'm sorry," he sounded appropriately contrite, "if it makes you feel any better, I'm having them check me every time I come here, too."

"It doesn't," she complained. "Honestly, just ask me something only I would know, or something."

"I can't do that," he said, softly, but clear that there was no wiggle room in the matter. "I can't take any chances, and I can't show favouritism. Not for this."

The regal mare gave an angry Hmmph, but relented.

He took the opportunity to change the subject. "Where's Pinkie?"

That softened her tone considerably. "She's safe, but she's not taking this well. Poor dear's in shock."

A lot of them were.

Calmed down, Rarity crossed the room to Twilight's bed, placing a hoof on her forehead and plaintively asking "How is she?"

"Worse than I'd hoped," he answered, "but better than I'd feared."

He brought her up to speed on Twilight's condition, as well as sadly confirming her concerns about Luna, as she was already well aware of Celestia's passing. Rarity took it about as hard as expected. Nobody really takes the death of a long time friend and deity well, let alone two. From there, they passed the time quietly. There wasn't much to say. At least, not something that he didn't want to rush into prodding. He'd spent a good chunk of their time looking out the room's only window, alternating between staring into the clear night sky and scanning the area outside. It was after Doctor Stitches checked in after another hour or so that Spike worked up the nerve to ask the unpleasant.

"When it happened," he started, looking back over his shoulder and pausing when he saw Rarity blink awake, "when the bomb went off, I was heading outside. I didn't see it."

Turning around, he continued. "Please, tell me what happened."

She and Pinkie Pie had been sharing a dinner table with the three princesses, closest to the elevated section where the thrones and gifts had been. Considering how close they'd been, it was remarkable they hadn't been hurt at all. The worst they had to show for it was the soot in their manes.

Rarity stifled a yawn. The night had indeed gone overlong. According to the clock on the wall, it had ended some time ago, and had passed into early morning. "I'd rather not think about it, but truth be told I didn't see anything. I was looking the other way at...I don't remember, and suddenly my ears were ringing and we were surrounded by smoke and dust. Before I knew what was happening the guards were ushering us away. Pinkie saw more than I did, and from how she described it I wish she hadn't."

Spike let the comment hang, waiting for her to elaborate.

Clearly not wanting to, Rarity nonetheless continued. "She said that Celestia started opening one of the boxes, and in a flash, she was gone, except she...I'm sorry, but I can't."

"No," he shook his head and placed a hand on her shoulder, "I'm sorry."

Taking the escape, she asked, "Are you looking for changelings? I mean, with the scans you're running."

"I don't know," Spike was quick to say. "We don't know much of anything yet."

Rarity raised an eyebrow. "Well, then why are we scanning for them?"

"Because there's a strong chance this is an inside job," he explained. It was an unpleasant theory, that not only could someone perform such an assassination, but that it could be someone within the castle. It made more sense to assume an outsider that had wormed their way in. This was he more comfortable, less disturbing theory. "or at least it is in part. Some kind of infiltrator."

"Not really their style, though, is it."

She was right. Changeling tactics were remarkably formulaic. As befitting their insectoid countenance, they favoured swarm tactics. After they'd properly infiltrated a target, once the attack was sprung, they would do so en masse. Almost ironically, once the actual fighting started, they didn't really do subtlety, and their tactics did not tend to adapt much. Their combat doctrine relied heavily on causing as much initial widespread confusion as possible, and then capitalizing on that immediately. It made sense. Every infiltrator unmasking at once caused maximum confusion while avoiding friendly fire that might result from soldiers trying to blend in mid battle. It's hard enough to defend against an infantry charge when the enemy is behind and among you without complicating things for yourselves. However, other than the few conflicts back when Chrysalis was their queen, they had not had to fight them in a proper war, or see how they might operate in smaller operations. Despite having never seen them do something like this, there was no reason not to think that it would be entirely within their abilities.

Was he leaping to conclusions? Probably. Was it worth making people uncomfortable to rule out one of the most dangerous possibilities? Also probably.

Before the discussion could flounder any further, there was the sound of a dispellation being cast outside, followed by a knock at the door.

"Enter," Spike called to them.

The door cracked open, and a male guardspony pensively poked his head, as if waiting for permission to fully enter. "Sir, I have your update."

Impatient, Spike waved him in. He'd given orders to have somepony periodically update him over the course of the night, though none of them had brought news of much import. It was eerie how little had happened since the initial explosion. The more nothing kept happening, the more tense they became, waiting for the other shoe to fall. By this pony's demeanor, he could already tell that this report was different.

"They found blood in the garden," the guard relayed. "Not a lot. Enough to stumble across, I guess."

Spike was torn. His duty was to Twilight. Above all else he had to keep her safe. If their attacker made their way here, he needed to be able to protect her. However, his instincts told him to pursue this. He was accomplishing little sitting here. It would be better if he could deal with the threat somewhere other than this room.

"Go," said Rarity, reading him like a book. "You practically have an army surrounding this place at this point. She'll be okay."

He weighed things over a moment longer, then nodded. His sword in its sheath, Spike grabbed his spear and turned back to the guard. "Take me there."

The two of them were about to leave when Rarity gave them pause. "Wait."

Already at the door, Spike obliged. "Yes?"

"There not much I can do here," she began. "Where do you need me?"

Not happening. He made to leave again. "Stay here."

"Spike!" She spoke firmly, stopping him in his tracks as he was about to pull the door closed behind him. "Before you tell me how dangerous it might be out there kindly remember who you're talking to. I can take care of myself, and I can help."

He wanted to tell her that she was wrong. This was a manner of danger which they had never before encountered. That they were in uncharted waters and out of their depth. That her best place was here, as safe as possible and out of harm's way. She wasn't the first person this night to offer their help. Unlike Blueblood, however, he trusted her, knew what she was capable of, and, though he had long moved past his childhood crush on her, there remained a soft spot that made it damnably hard to say no to her.

Giving her offer consideration, he tried to think of something safe, but useful. That's when the detail of where he was about to go niggled at his mind. The gardens. He was on his way there when all this began in the first place.

"Okay," he drummed his fingers on the doorknob still in his grasp, thinking. "Okay. Go to the bunkers where we're keeping all the attendees and civilian staff. Get me a list of any creature that's not there or missing. When you have that, send it to me."

She nodded, resolute, grabbing some nearby stationary with her magic. Rarity was one of the few people whom he'd allowed to learn the spell to send him written messages. It was a useful skill, but he'd made sure the list of those that could do it was a short one, lest he be constantly pestered by any number of people, and a degree of familiarity with him made the process easier on both ends.

"Anypony in particular I should be looking for?" She asked, perceptive.

"Not a pony. A dragon named Redclaw," he answered. "He might have been in the gardens when this all started. It might be nothing, but be careful. Don't approach him if he's there. Just see who's there and who isn't."

With that, they went their separate ways. For his own piece of mind he spared a guard to escort Rarity wherever she went, a hulking, muscular unicorn stallion by the name of Granite Slab. Slab was an imposing figure for a pony, larger than most earth ponies despite being a unicorn. His coat was the standard pristine white of many Canterlot natives. His mane and tail were the same colour, with the former kept in a short flat top military cut. With just about every pony having at least two distinct colours, having a pony that was one shade from coat to tail was unusual. More important than all of that, however, was that Slab was a veteran since back when Shining Armour was their captain, and he trusted him and his skills implicitly.

It took some time getting back to the gardens. It felt like he'd somehow made a long, convoluted circle getting back there from the past evening. He and his escort arrived from the outside this time. The doors to the main audience chambers where the party had been taking place were still open, though he couldn't make himself look inside. Moving far deeper into the gardens, he was taken to a spot under some fruit bearing trees that were still in bloom, where a small party were milling about. The trees were tall enough and spaced out enough for ponies to walk under comfortably, though Spike found himself ducking under the occasional low hanging branch. This part of the gardens was pretty far from the palace entrance, and was something of a small orchard, good for pleasant walks in the shade.

Spike wasted no time in approaching them, calling out to them as he got close. "What have you found?"

There were five ponies in the area he could see. Two pegasi flew in low circles above them, a tan coated earth mare was staring at the ground intently in one spot, and High Tide and Low Blow had split off from her to meet him. The earth pony held a lantern, while the two unicorns illuminated the tips of their horns with a soft glow of magic.

"Not much," the former answered. "Bit of blood. Found it more by chance than anything. No body."

He could believe it. In the present night, the shade under the trees became starkly contrasted patches of darkness. The pair led him to a spot midway between two cherry trees. There, on the ground, was indeed a very small patch of blood, long dried. It wasn't much. Easy to pass up in the night. What he noticed more was the state of the grass around it, stamped down in several spots. Low Blow helpfully directed the glow of his magic his way.

"There was a fight here," Spike said to himself, aware he was stating the obvious.

But it was a fight, or at least a scuffle. Probably a brief one. There wasn't nearly enough blood to kill anypony, at least not by bleeding out. The flattened and torn spots of grass were of the right size to suggest figures struggling against each other, feet digging into the ground, but if a body had dropped here, it didn't leave a mark he could see.

Taking a knee, he inspected the blood more closely. There was a small pool, and then a disconnected, messy arc. Flexing his practice at investigation, Spike tried to piece something together. Someone had been stabbed or cut. Perhaps their attacker then held the blade, let it drip, then waved it off. A dramatic flourish? A lazy way to clean the blade? Either way, it suggested finality. Standing still long enough to dribble blood in one spot, and only one spot, did not suggest they were in any rush at the time. One and done. But again, a stab that would produce this much blood hardly seemed fatal.

Spike cast his eyes skyward, gesturing to the pegasi. "They see anything up there?"

"No," answered Low Blow, "too many trees, too close together. Too dark."

Plucking a blade of bloodied grass, Spike held it to his nose, resisting the unexpected, instinctual urge to taste it. Standing back up to his full height, he closed his eyes. "Douse your horns. The lantern, too."

"Sir?"

"Your auras are teal and magenta. Add the lantern to the mix and you've got a mess of competing colour filters. Nothing here looks right," He explained. He jabbed the pommel of his spear into the ground. "Do it."

Through his eyelids he could sense their lights winking out. Slowly, Spike reopened his eyes, letting them adjust. It didn't take long. He was, after all, a dragon. His kind spent as much time in caves as they did in the air.

Draconic night vision was...different, but effective. Something hard to explain to those of other species. Sight is one of those senses that is so integral to perception that, when one spends their entire life with it working one way, they forget that others may not see things the same way. How does one perceive the objective scale of differing visions or understand their place on it when they cannot experience the sight of others? How do you explain all the subtle hues in a rose to someone that is colour blind?

This was a lot of words to say that Spike could see quite well with just the starlight filtering through the trees, albeit not the same as he normally would. It was as though everything was greyscale, yet contained splashes of colour where sufficient light poked through the canopy. Where it was dark, more than colours, he could discern textures. Reflective surfaces practically glinted, like gems under ground, the grass was like a carpet, tussled here and there, and his companions coats stuck out as out of place, too smooth and too soft, like prey he could spot from far above. Not that he would ever think of them like that, nor tell them such a disquieting thing.

Letting go of his spear and leaving it to stand upright out of the dirt, he glanced at his watch. It was a bit after four in the morning.

Instructing the others to stay where they were, he gave the area another once over. The grass was intentionally allowed to grow long here, giving the orchard a more natural feel, and now that he knew what to look for he could see more signs of movement, though he had no idea whose prints were their subjects and which were from his comrades. He needed perspective. Finding the depressions near the little pool of blood, he stepped into them and tried again. It bothered him how well his feet fit. Their original maker was a biped.

"Boss?" The prompt came from Low Blow.

"Hold on," he said, placating. He was aware that most ponies were not nearly as comfortable in the dark as his kind. Old animal instincts.

He took a few steps back and surveyed the area again. Nothing. He was about to give up and try something else when he spotted something on one of trees. A patch of its trunk was wrong. Its barky texture was less...barky, and more...not.

He took long strides straight over to it, running his thumb over the thin, barely perceptible, almost horizontal stripe across the tree trunk.

"Boss?" Low Blow repeated. "You find something?"

He nodded, despite knowing they couldn't see it. "More blood."

He could also see a few much large flat patches in the grass. Somebody had fallen, or been thrown around.

"I can't see a thi-" High Tide started to complain as he moved to try and follow, but stopped. "Hold up, I think I stepped on something."

"I'll get it." Spike could see the pony try not to shrink back as his larger figure loomed out of the darkness in front of him like what must have been an intimidating silhouette. Reaching down, he plucked it from the ground.

"What is it?" Spike could see him squinting.

It was a piece of torn cloth. Probably high quality but hard to tell. By the feel of it he would have put odds on it being from outerwear like a suit jacket. He'd learned enough about fabrics from Rarity. Once again, he instructed them to stay put, but to be ready to come when he called. He didn't need them ruining his night vision by trying their best to help. Draconic night vision is effective, but sensitive. The last thing he needed was them blinding him.

Connecting the spot he was at with the spot he had just come from, he made a line, and kept going, wandering back and forth as he went. Underneath a copse of trees close enough together to block out the stars, he found another, much more obvious scene of violence. It might be harder to see with normal vision relying on colours and absent lighting, but with his eyes he could see several scattered spatterings of blood. Individually, they might have passed his notice, but together, the area might as well have glittered to him. There was something else, too.

"Mind filling us in, sir?" called High Tide, farther away than he'd realized he'd gone.

"Come this way," Spike responded. He raised his eyebrow as he looked over one of the trees. It's bark was wrong. Hairy. As he got closer he recognized there was torn fur and some fabric stuck in the bark, which was itself scuffed unusually. Somepony had struck this tree at an angle with great force. Except the markings were about five feet off the ground. Somepony had been thrown into the tree. Hard. No, the fur didn't smell like pony. Something else.

The area began to softly light up as his comrades arrived, their horns dimly glowing, just enough to see where they were going.

"What did you fin-" Low Blow began, "Oh, shit!"

"What?" Spike asked, instantly alert and snapping his head back and forth, looking for threats. He stopped when Low Blow brightened his horn and pointed it at the tree. There was someone sitting on the other side, leaning against the trunk. Spike could only see one of their legs from his angle, but it wasn't moving. Indeed, "Shit!"

Circling around the tree, they found a slack, bloodied figured. One of the cat folk. Spike recognized her from the party as the Abyssinnian diplomat's hanger on. Her fur was orange like a tabby, matted with a lot of dried red. Her frilly servant's clothing had been soaked through as she'd bled out. Half lidded eyes stared at nothing, as still as the rest of her.

"Is it-" Low Blow started, immediately attempting a politically correct verbal backspace, "Is she dead?"

"Looks like." Spike took a knee in front of the corpse under the copse and got a better look at her.

"What is that?" High Tide pointed at a strap of something tied around her torso.

"It's a belt," Spike answered. A closer inspection revealed it was made out of leather, not a material used in Equestria, on account of it being illegal. The belt was being used to hold a blood soaked cloth under her left pectoral, behind which appeared to be a deep, wide stab wound. He gave the end of the cloth a gentle tug. "And a...a tie, maybe. Someone tried to dress her wound."

"Didn't work," Low Blow observed, dryly. He mused, "Never seen a dead cat before. Figured they'd be harder to off, what with the nine lives and all."

"Shut it," growled High Tide. "Have some respect."

Spike didn't reply, instead placing a finger to her neck to check for a pulse he didn't expect to find.

The corpse apparently disagreed with their assessment. The cat shuddered, coughing out a glob of blood and drawing in a long, ragged breath. Her eyes lolled this way and that, but failed to focus on any of them. The servant cat wasn't dead yet, but she wasn't far from.

Spike shot to his feet. "Hospital! Get her there! Now!"

Both unicorns wrapped the abysinnian in a bubble of magic and gently lifted her, then moved with all haste to follow the order, the earth pony running in front of them with the lantern. This was progress. So long as the girl didn't die, they had a witness. Someone to question, though obviously she wouldn't be fit for that for a while.

Left alone in the crime scene, Spike gave the area another once over, starting with where she'd been sitting. It was about twenty feet away in another patch of darkness that he found the other previously unnoticed body, belonging to the diplomat himself. Scratch Postings. Spike checked for a pulse again, but it was obvious that the body was far beyond saving. Postings was exceptionally dead.

The diplomat was lying on his back, spread eagle. His fur was mostly charcoal, with a white muzzle, now red. His very fancy clothes had been torn apart, revealing several grievous lacerations as well as stabs similar to his servant's wound. More than that, his face been beaten more bluntly, brutally enough that it was a misshapen, sunken mess.

The pattern of one of Posting's slashing wounds caught Spike's attention. Four semi parallel cuts. He held his hand near the wounds, finding them spaced like his fingers. Finally, it clicked. These two weren't attacked with a knife, but claws. It also occurred to Spike that he was an idiot. The cats' attacker was a biped. Redclaw had been in the gardens when everything starting going off. Redclaw was a biped. Red. Claw. There was a literally a hint in his bloody name. He had sent Rarity to, among other things, look for Redclaw. Rarity in danger. This bad.

A stubby pencil and small square of paper were pulled from his breast pocket. As one capable of sending letters magically, these were things he always had on him. It wasn't much paper to write on, so he kept the message concise. He couldn't just send messages anywhere. There were a few close ponies and other creatures he was 'linked' with. He concentrated on Rarity, and blew on the little letter like he was blowing out a candle. With a whisper of flame, it was off.

Sprinting back to his spear, he plucked it from the ground. Spike flared his wings and crouched. With a leap and a powerful beat, he shot skyward, straight through the foliage above. Like his letter, he too rushed to the same destination.

It didn't take long for Rarity and Granite Slab to arrive at the bunkers. In actuality it took about five minutes to get somewhat near them, one of which was spent convincing Slab that their method of getting there wasn't going to kill them both. To explain, while most all unicorns were capable of magic, this was not to say that all were skilled at it, nor had the natural talents for anything more than the basics. The vast majority of unicorns could not teleport, either by lack of skill, intellect to grasp the complexities of it, or simple lack of the raw power needed. Most of those that could required line of sight to their target, otherwise running the risk of catastrophic transposition. Of the few that could actually teleport long distances, either by mental calculations of distance or familiarity with the target area, even fewer could master the failsafe spells to make sure their teleport was accurate enough to arrive where they wanted, yet simultaneously vague enough to allow them to be diverted into unoccupied space only.

Flexibly vague, imprecise accuracy was a difficult concept to apply to anything, let alone magic, more so when it involved teleportation of yourself. Having an alicorn princess for a close friend meant that Rarity had a very skilled teacher, and was among the exceptionally few that could teleport distances measured in kilometers, though it took a few minutes to prepare herself, the spells, and her fuzzy math.

The most difficult part was convincing her guard that she wasn't about to deposit both of them into a wall. This was more difficult once she'd admitted that she couldn't teleport other ponies or things that were not in contact with her person. When he'd relented, he'd placed a hoof around her shoulders, set his jaw and braced.

The two of them arrived in a hallway somewhere approximately near the bunkers, about a foot and a half in the air. After a technically successful teleport once left half of Rarity's tail merged into a wall and the soles of her shoes likewise melded to the floor, she was very generous with her failsafe spells. Some would call this overreacting and being paranoid. She called it a desire to live.

They dropped the short distance to the floor. Not expecting this, and with a foreleg already around Rarity, Slab stumbled heavily into her. The much larger unicorn hastily apologized, separating himself from her and surveying their destination. In better circumstances, the slight blush he wore would have been a welcome swell to the mare's ego.

Slab snapped to, pointing a hoof down the hall, somehow already divining their location in this corridor from countless other, no doubt identical corridors. "That way."

As they went, they passed by a large grandfather clock. Rarity absent mindedly noted that it was around three thirty in the morning. She yawned at the reminder, thinking about how if they kept this up she'd still be awake when the sun rose.

When the sun rose.

Rarity stopped in her tracks. She choked on her next breath. When she did breath again it was in short, rapid fits. Alert, Granite Slab immediately came to a halt and scanned behind them.

"Ma'am?" Despite having a voice like gravel, he managed to speak softly.

"Exc-" she croaked, then cleared her throat with a forcibly dainty ahem. She tried her best to calm her trembling voice as her eyes watered. "Excuse me, darling. I just...a moment please?"

He turned his back to her, staring down the hall to give her some privacy. As alone as she could be, Rarity tried her best not to collapse as she suppressed her tears. She had never been as close to the royal siblings as Twilight, but they still were friends of more than a decade.

A life as a friend of Twilight had been an adventurous one, fraught with danger and peril. The lot of them had plenty of experience with almost all manner of crisis. None like this. Still, Rarity was adept enough at getting ahold of herself and presenting strength whether she had any or not.

A long, deep breath was forced in and out of her lungs. Then another. "I'm okay."

Slab looked over his shoulder, his expression comforting yet inquisitive.

"I'm okay," she repeated more firmly. "Please, lead the way."

Slab nodded, apparently satisfied. "We're not far."

True to his word, it was only a few minutes later that they arrived at the entrance to the bunker. There were several safe rooms and little bunkers spread throughout and under the castle. After all, it wasn't like you could expect all the castle's civilian population to be able to make it to the same place from everywhere in an emergency. There was also the issue of putting all your eggs in one basket. The bunker they were checking was one built specifically for visiting dignitaries, and was furnished accordingly. There were chambers further underground, but like the vaults, the bunkers were armoured on all sides.

There were a dozen guards outside the double doors to the bunker. Slab called out a greeting, and the lot of them turned on the spot and pointed their spears their way. The tips were shaking. Even Rarity could see they weren't just alert. They were jumpy. Worse, they were skittish, though they calmed considerably once they saw it was only them. Slab they knew as a comrade, or at least as a coworker, and Rarity was recognizable as one of the ponies responsible for helping to save Equestria several times.

The two of them were allowed into the bunker without even the mention of a scan, for which Rarity was thankful. The inside of the bunker was quiet, but full of small, hushed conversations. As this bunker was designed for visiting nobility, it was given certain luxuries that almost mocked its purpose. It was somewhat like a smaller version of a banquet hall, or an overly large lounge. There was a scattering of small round tables, a bar on the far wall, a collection of bookshelves, and a few other diversions out of place in a bunker. Like the billiard tables that nobody was insensitive enough to be using.

Reading the room was easy by the tone of the nearby conversations, and the quick glances her way as they entered. There was a somber atmosphere, mixed with fear and a twinge of irritation. Four of the nearest occupants were already heading her way before she'd even started taking note of who they were. Visibly bristling, Slab moved to step between them, stopped when Rarity cleared her throat and stepped forward herself. She was already preparing answers to their obvious questions before they'd begun to ask them.

"What's going on out there?" came from Stones Throw, a little lordling colt from somewhere she couldn't remember.

"Are we under attack?" was from a duchess who was either Tulip Blossom or Sandy Shore. By the colour of her coat Rarity assumed the latter. "They won't tell us!"

"How long are you going to keep us here?" was from Lord Gaetan de Malin, the envoy from Griffonstone, impatiently, his accent thick as his eyebrows.

The fourth person said nothing, waiting behind the rest and giving an understanding nod, as if to say 'I can wait, take your time.'

She plastered on her best smile and answered each in turn, her tone soothing yet not coddling. "The situation is still developing. We're maintaining a high alert for the foreseeable future. And we ask you to remain here for your safety. Rest assured we will let you know more as we can."

The griffon grumbled, about to press forward and press the issue when the fourth figure reigned him in with a hand on his withers.

"Give it a rest, Gaetan," he said. "We're here while we're here. Stop badgering everyone."

"I am n-" Gaetan began to shout, stopped, and started again more restrained , "I am not badgering!"

"You'll grey your feathers worrying so much," the other noble quipped, then took on a more serious tone. "You shouldn't stray too far from your retainer, monsieur. She looks so nervous without you."

By the bar, the griffon lord's diminutive servant was indeed looking antsy, staring intently at her employer. Surrendering with a huff, Gaetan obliged and retreated. The others wandered off as well, seeing there were no more answers for them here.

When the fourth figure remained, Rarity gave him another once over. He was one of the cat folk from Abyssinia. His fur was mostly charcoal, save for his white muzzle.

"Thank you," Rarity held out a hoof when it was obvious he wasn't going anywhere, "Sir Scratch Postings, right?"

He reached down to softly cradle her hoof in his hand and bowed low, thankfully stopping short of kissing it. "The one and only, milady."

Author's Note

The chapter in which a dragon meets a cat who is apparently dead but isn't quite, and another who very much is, while a pony meets the latter who apparently isn't.