Saturday, August 29th, 909 AB (3 days later)
3:00 In the morning

With his overnight body maintenance complete, Cure takes a moment to look over the pile of bodies on his bed. Beds. Having witnessed him remotely piloting numerous animals, vegetables, and creatures over the past few days, it’s no big surprise that the fillies made a rather unusual request on the night of his pre-departure sleepover.

Being the magnanimous colt that he is, Cure obliged them even if he felt it was somewhat extreme given he’ll only be gone a couple weeks. Claiming dibs by right of familial attachment, Cherry and Lotus demanded and received the cherished places of honor under the real Cure’s wings as he slept, meanwhile each of the fillies insisted upon their very own Cure snuggle clone to sprawl out on top of or to spoon throughout the night.

Frankly, the whole thing was a pain in the butt to arrange.

First, his bed, while adequate for quite a few foals at once, was not up to the task of comfortably accommodating Heavy, Sapphire, Coast, Cherry, Lotus, Rising, Ferric, Dawn, Glacial, Drift, and himself, plus an additional six clones.

Granted, the last one was unnecessary, but he just couldn’t help himself when Heavy teased him about not having a Cure to snuggle with, also. Protests aside, the gray colt, his fillyfriend, and Sapphire seem content piled on top of each other while wrapped in the last puppet’s silky wings.

Getting them all in position was a nuisance, even if it wasn’t overly difficult. Tedious more than anything. Despite practicing almost nonstop for the last two days, Cure still is not capable of dividing his attention sufficiently to do anything complex with a puppet while he, himself, is otherwise engaged. Due to his lacking proficiency, Cure could only create and move the clones one at a time. Next came custom colors, scents, and optional appendages per each filly’s preferences.

Every once in a while, Cure gets the niggling feeling in the back of his mind that, perhaps, he’s overindulging them a tiny bit.

It only takes him a few minutes to silently slip through the house and take to the sky, invisibly cutting through the air on oversized wings, rolling, flipping, and turning at speeds that would make even a pegasus dizzy. As he closes on the city proper, he levels his flight and aims himself for Base Carol, dispelling his invisibility but not slowing in the least.

Soaring at the base like a missile, the colt angles his wings up, jolting himself into a steep climb. His wings extend slightly, each curved in a semicircle, and the trailing edge of his feathers and tail alight in a golden bioluminescent glow, spiraling high into the sky. At the apex of his ascent he briefly cuts off the lights, flips to face down, and ignites his horn, falling towards the ground wrapped in a golden corona.

Paying no mind to the speed, Cure angles himself to hit not even a score of meters from the gate, taking no action to arrest his quickening descent. He ignores the few shouted calls from below, straightening his barrel out as he plummets horn-first towards the ground. His wings partially flare out only a split second before impact, pulling his head and chest even with his hindquarters.

The colt slams into the ground at speeds that would pancake a normal foal, annihilating the stone street pavers and blasting dust in all directions. A squad of guards hesitantly approach the cloud, terrified of what they’ll find when it settles. From within the cloud, a golden flash fires off, pulling all of the sediment back to the ground to reveal the completely unharmed and dust-free colt.

Cure trots forward a few steps, pauses, glances back at the destroyed road, ignites his horn again, and repairs the patch of street. He nods in satisfaction before resuming his course, bobbing his head in greeting to the stunned guardsponies looking between the unharmed foal and the former crater he’d just patched up.

“G’mornin, everypony. Is my carriage ready?” He could easily spot it during his dive. The base, as well as nearly all of the streets in downtown Baltimare, are plenty well lit even during the night.

Several heads nod simultaneously and a few forelegs and wings point off to the side.

“Awesome! Thanks!” he calls, trotting through the squad of bewildered ponies and beelining towards the Carriage House. A six pony team of gold-armored guards is standing at attention waiting for him along with four pegasi in standard guard armor to their side. They all snap textbook-perfect salutes as he approaches. He’d briefly met the paladins the previous weekend when he’d upgraded their scouts’ sense of smell to follow the marker he’d placed on the vampony, so their faces are familiar even if he doesn’t know all of their names.

“Good morning Sgt. Brightstar,” he calls, casually wing-saluting the unicorn mare a half-body length away from the carriage door. Her already-rigid frame straightens even more and the crimson plume of her galea tilts back as she inclines her head at the greeting. “We all set to head out?”

“Your highness! Ready when you are, sir!” she responds, dropping her salute before igniting her horn to lower the step and open the door.

“Excellent. Let’s be off, then.” The young alicorn climbs into the cab and hops up on the forward-facing seat, making himself comfortable. The four local pegasi hook into the harnesses, the pegasi paladins alight themselves to the roof, and an earth pony and unicorn combination hop onto the front and rear benches, strapping themselves into safety harnesses for takeoff. The two unicorns do one last check and call out, verifying their own and their earth pony compatriots’ Cloud Walking spells are active.

The carriage is taxied away from the carriage house and onto a stretch of flat road through the center of the base. He can barely overhear the pegasi sounding off, responding to their leader’s question to indicate they are ready to go. A fuzzy, static itches at his horn as the pegasi begin moving. The carriage accelerates from a stop to a full gallop in less than five seconds, the motion nearly imperceptible due to the inertial dampening enchantments within the compartment.

Cure idly thinks back to the first time in his life he’d been in such a vehicle. Only about ten months prior he’d been terrified, wanting no more than to huddle on the floor of the cab while on his way to visit the pegasi and deliver their presents. Having flown under his own power, experienced the excitement that is the air passing through his feathers, he doesn’t even feel the need to look outside. Flying through the air in a pegasus-pulled chariot is, now, every bit as exciting as sitting on a train. Mundane. Boring.

The need to go through the rigmarole of flying to Carol just to fly to the clouds is chafing. Infuriating, even. Celestia’s request be damned, he’s half tempted to unleash a biblical swarm upon any would-be predators just for the offense of making him waste thirty minutes of his time each week. He could be at home, snuggling with his friends for a part of that, which means those few lost minutes are infinitely more valuable than the wretched, disgusting existences of some undead abomination.

A soft golden glow arrests his attention, causing him to pause and look around. The glow dissipates almost instantly, but not quick enough that he didn’t find the source. He runs a hoof through his mane, using his TK field to push it back into position. Another annoyance.

Not nearly as grating as knowing there could be literal undead monsters lurking in the woods, but still more inconvenient than he would like. At least his mane colors altered themselves with the Prismatic Metamagic Cantrip’s effects, otherwise his cover may not survive his first public ignition.

Cure doesn’t have to wait long before he feels the carriage descending, the trip too short to have more than a moment of level flying. He patiently (mostly) waits as the carriage rolls to a stop. The sound of hooves on wood indicate the unicorns and earth ponies have dismounted, and a few seconds later the door opens, the sound of the step descending muted thanks to the cloud surface.

The sergeant and two paladins stand at attention as he disembarks, the others gone ahead to ensure the building is secure. Cure struggles, but succeeds, at suppressing a sigh when he takes in the combined stares of everypony gathered near the facility’s entrance.

He makes his way closer, infusing his voice to be heard, and calls out, “Good morning everypony. There’s nothing to worry about. I’ll explain all this,” his tilts his head back towards the carriage, “to everypony once we’re inside so I don’t have to repeat myself.”

That seems to appease most of the crowd. Looks of concern or worry diminish as he waits for the sergeant to give the all-clear. Only a moment passes before she quietly whispers, “Ready, sir,” prompting him to start making his way inside.

The other three paladins are in the main gym waiting for them, thankfully off to the side out of the way. Even with the relatively low lighting of the gymnasium they stand out like bonfires on a dark night. Parents and foals that were already in the room eye the three warily, quietly murmuring amongst themselves when Prince Serpentus and three additional guards make their way in.

Cure approaches the instructors as the guards position themselves near the door, staring intently, if briefly, at everypony that enters.

Once the bodies stop trickling in, Cure clears his throat to get everypony’s attention. He steps forward to stand in front of the instructors and calls out, “Apologies for any inconvenience the extra bodies present, everypony.

“While I’m certain that the level of protection I’ve been afforded at these sessions is more than adequate, somepony astutely pointed out that, as a member of royalty, me not having an ‘official’ escort in public could be seen as a failure of duty on the part of the Royal Guard.

“Paladin Brightstar was kind enough to volunteer her squad for the job despite, for them, the early hour. I would ask that you please show them the same courtesy you have shown me. The good sergeant has assured me that this will, in no way, cause any interference in our training.

“I want to assure everypony that their presence is not in response to any kind of threat made against myself or anypony else present. There is no reason to be concerned about your own or your foals’ safety.” He smirks and pans his gaze across the gathering of bat ponies and sardonically asks, “After all, what kind of idiot would choose this, of all places, with all of you here, to try something stupid?” A few laughs and voiced agreements can be heard from the parents. “Frankly, I can’t think of a safer place in all of Equestria than right here with you all. So, with no further ado,” he turns to look at Lt. Silver and Sgt. Song, “what are we working on tonight, senseis?”

The stallion smirks and steps forward, raising his voice for everypony to hear. “I’m glad you asked, your highness. I think this is something you may find particularly interesting. Sgt. Song mentioned that she suggested you practice something a couple months ago when you first started attending, and it’s something that every bat, guard or not, should be proficient at.”

Cure has a nagging feeling that he is about to have a rough morning.

Lt. Silver reaches under his wing and pulls out a long strap of thick, black fabric. “Tonight we’ll be practicing fighting in the dark. So, your highness,” he says, smirking at the now frowning colt, “exactly how good is your echolocation?”

“Ahh... fudge.”

The wide, very fang-filled smiles of excitement are somehow less than encouraging.

Despite having some reservations about voluntarily blinding himself in a room full of fillies, Cure has to admit that the practice fighting in, though simulated, darkness was a novel experience. A few examples where Ed had seen echolocation depicted in media came to mind, and, despite being amongst the most god-awful movies he’d forced himself to sit through, the DareDevil movie from the early 2000s wasn’t that terribly far off.

Of course, as with anything, Cure cheated like a dirty rotten cheater. Not only was he able to add additional directional auditory sensors as needed, he could sense everypony around him just fine via their heat signature, scent, and, perhaps most crucially, with the aura from his horn.

As with any good cheater, he didn’t just abuse his abilities for offensive purposes. With a little experimentation, he was able to alter his coat and flight suit to minimize his sonic cross section. It didn’t make a huge difference since his horn, eyes, hooves, and anywhere with shorter, finer hairs like his muzzle still stood out easily, but it was still an interesting learning experience he’ll keep in mind on the off chance he ever needs to evade a sound-detecting enemy.

As has become tradition, Cure stopped at the Dough bakery on the way home, though this time with a new addition. Having the two versions of himself walk in at the same time threw the mares for a loop, especially when the unicorn opened the door and mockingly bowed, intoning, “After you, your high-flying-ness,” for the pegasus to enter.

Upon arriving at home, pegasus Riddle - and Cure notes he needs a new name for the identity - pushes the front door open and steps out of the way, allowing the unicorn to slip through, a half dozen boxes of confections floating in his chocolatey aura behind him.

While the unicorn carries the breakfast to the table to get the coffee maker started, the pegsus shifts his colors back to normal and trots into the nursery, glomping on Vines’ right side to plant a big, wet kiss right on her cheek. “‘Mornin, dam. Love you more ‘n all the doughnuts in the world.”

She wraps a foreleg around his withers, squishing his side against her chest and nuzzling down into his mane. “Love you too, sweetheart. How did it go?”

The colt doesn’t ignore the others, making his way from mom to mom and greeting the foals as he answers, “About as well as I expected. I talked to the sergeant afterwards and suggested they see about having a few bats in the squad instead of all day pegasi, but she says she doesn’t have any under her command.”

Title gives him a quick hug before following in the unicorn’s hoofsteps, Savvy hot on her tail.

“Seems like a massive oversight not having at least one in every squad, but hay, maybe they just don’t get a lot of applicants from the bat population.” He pauses to look around in confusion, mostly for show, and asks, “Is Amy still asleep? She’s normally up… by… oh,” he trails off as realization dawns.

The combined reactions from the two tell him exactly where Amethyst is at the moment and his imagination, without asking permission, provides him with a decent guess as to what she’s doing. Both mares blush, his dam more than Lemon who, despite the red hue of her ears and cheeks, is quietly giggling while avoiding looking him in the eyes.

“Well, whatever. There’s certainly worse ways for a dude to wake up, and I suppose she needs something to tide her over for a couple weeks. I’ll… uhh… teleport some food and drinks up to the bathroom counter for them. I’d make a comment about ‘wetting yer whistle,’ but…”

“Don’t be crass,” Vines softly chides, despite Lemon’s quiet snickering.

“Sorry, dam. Hay, I’m just glad they remembered to turn on the privacy screen. Dawn is just down the hall, after all.” A grimace crosses the mare’s features at the reminder.

The lull in the conversation stretches for a moment while the three watch Blazer and Golden playing. Cure can’t help but smile at how adorable the pair are. His little brother in blue is working on an upgraded busy board Cure had originally made for Savvy.

Fashioned mostly out of wood, the control panel-like contraption has dozens of switches, buttons, sliders, and spinning parts in a variety of bright colors. Different combinations being moved one way or another will activate softly glowing lights around the outside of the unit in various colors or patterns. Much like his Life Support Collars, he created a docking station for it and other energy-consuming toys, both as a means of recharging them and to teach the foals to put things away when they’re done with them.

The little unit has captivated Golden, too. Laying opposite her twin, she is content to mostly observe and, occasionally, reach over to move a control one way or another. Cure is pretty sure she’s messing with her brother more than anything; the young colt is apparently trying to accomplish something and every time his focus is on one section his sister quickly messes with something in an area he isn’t paying attention to. The sabotaged control is eventually noticed and, with an adorable little annoyed grunt, Blazer will correct the miscalibration before resuming his work.

“Looks like we have a future villainess on our hooves,” he comments.

“She’s something,” Lemon agrees. “The best part is when she starts giggling and he looks up at her in confusion. The poor colt doesn’t even realize what’s going on.”

“That’s every stallion’s lot in life, little brother. Ya think yer doing your own thing, not even realizing somemare’s controlling you while yer none the wiser. Might as well get used to it now, dude,” he commiserates, earning a nip on his ear.

“Somemare has to keep you all in line. By the way,” she tilts her head towards the kitchen, “I thought you weren’t going to let the foals see two of you at once.”

Cure responds with a half shrug, pointing out, “His scent’s different enough I doubt they’ll make the connection. He’ll disappear up the stairs in a moment anyhow. Speaking of the upstairs,” he angles his ears in that direction, “sounds like the squad’s awake. I should probably go check on them.”

“Go on, then,” Vines says, nudging his side with her snout. “I’ll get the table set,” she raises her voice and faces towards the kitchen before finishing, “since I’m willing to bet somepony is stuffing their face instead of helping!”

A muffled retort comes back from his mom, completely unintelligible thanks to her mouth being jammed full of food.

“I think she said she’s busy,” Cure chuckles. “I got most of the stuff out already, dam. Go grab yerself something if you want, but you don’t need to do anything.” He starts heading for the stairs, calling over his withers, “I’ll be back with the gang in a minute.”

Both Cures ascend the stairs, but stop in the hallway instead of going into his room, pausing for a moment at the top. A stalk descends from the ceiling and jams into the pegasus, quickly slurping the puppet up into the greater mass while the unicorn unfurls, stretches, and grows out his wings while changing his scent, facial features, and colors.

He makes his way into the room, halting mid-step when he catches sight of Dawn on the far side of the bed, laying atop the puppet with her forelegs wrapped in an unyielding embrace around its neck and staring at him in wide-eyed horror. The filly has singlehoofedly filled the room with the scent of fear and worry. “Uhh… you okay?” he lamely asks.

“She just froze all of a sudden,” Rising answers, nudging at her friend in concern.

“Bad dream or something?” he asks, slowly approaching the bed. He notes how she seems to be keeping the puppet’s head interposed between the two of them as he moves. Rising is beside her, half laying on another puppet, with Ferric and the pegasi to her left. Two more Cures are snuggled together to Glacial’s side, seemingly placed there with more care than is necessary.

Sapphire is at the center of the half-circle at the head of the combined beds, laying atop another clone. He’s not sure where she got a brush, but she seems to be enjoying herself running it through his mane, even if it is a little on the short side for that. Another Cure is to her right in the corner of the second bed, laying on its side facing away from the group and his sisters cuddled between its legs. Coast and Heavy are behind the clone with their sides pressed together, looking back over their withers at the colt.

Shaking her head no, Glacial answers, “We’ve been awake for a minute.”

Drift turns towards Cure and explains, “She was talking about some Bland filly -”

“Blend,” Coast corrects. “She goes to the east-central schoolhouse. White unicorn with a dark green mane and a paintbrush cutie mark.”

“Oh. I’ve seen her around,” he says with a nod. “Never spoken to her, though.”

“- right, whatever,” Drift continues, “anyhow, she was talking about how they’re -”

“What the hay was that?!” Dawn blurts out overtop of the pegasus. Drift scowls silently for a second before muttering “I was talking” under her breath.

Cure looks at the others for clarification, finding nothing but confusion on their faces. “What was what?”

She waves at the door behind him and stutters out, “You just… your plant… which you is you?!”

“Oh! I’m me,” he answers, patting his chest with his right hoof. “The pegasus was the puppet.”

“But… I saw you come in through my horn!”

He hops up on the bed and half lays across Heavy’s withers. “Yeah? So? It’s a little easier using my horn myself. Why? What’s the problem?”

The filly blows out a weary sigh, the tension draining from her body as she realizes she’s misidentified the real Cure from the start. “Nothing. When I sensed your puppet talking to your dam I just figured that was really you.”

“Ah. Freaked you out a bit when I switched at the top of the steps?”

“Just a bit,” she sarcastically quips.

“Sorry. I’m trying not to have multiple ‘mes’ running around the foals at once, so I had to get that one out of sight before disappearing him. The twins are at the age where they’ll start being able to identify individuals, so I don’t want to throw off their development or confuse them. They didn’t need to think they have seven older brothers,” he points out, looking over the collection of dormant Cure puppets. “It’ll be confusing enough with just my disguises, so no need to add to that.”

She narrows her eyes, sternly insisting, “You could have made it less gruesome. You know how it looks.”

“What’d you do?” Heavy inquiries, looking up to him in curiosity.

“Nothing, really. I just had my plant reach down and yoink up my puppet. It wasn’t gorey or anything.”

Dawn scoffs, shaking her head. “It looked like a big mosquito mouth thing -”

“Proboscis,” Cure helpfully supplies.

She makes a disgusted face at the name and continues, “- shot down out of the ceiling and sucked him up like a milkshake.”

“I want to see,” Drift chimes in, a hint of excitement creeping into her voice.

Sapphire tilts her head in thought, rubbing at her chin as she analyzes the clone between herself and Coast. “I’m not sure if alicorn flavor would sell very well. OOH! The princess’s apples! You can be blueberry and her majesty can be vanilla! Not the most exciting flavor, granted, but still yummier than ‘alicorn’ if ya ask me.”

“I dunno, Saph,” Cure disagrees, “I’m betting there’s some griffon or dragon connoisseurs that would pay a king’s ransom for genuine alicorn meat… hmm,” he hums, trailing off in thought.

“No.” The single word from Ferric brings him out of his pondering to find a mix of amused, disappointed, and mildly disgusted expressions aimed in his direction. “You’re not selling alicorn meat to anypony.” He pouts heartily to very little effect.

“Yeah, dude. You said you wouldn’t want anypony finding out they like what ponies taste like.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he agrees, fanning a hoof in placation. “I was only teasing anyhow.” He climbs off Heavy’s withers and motions towards the door with his head. “I stopped at the bakery, so let’s go eat before my mom devours everything. Are you okay now?” he asks, cocking a brow at the orange filly.

She rolls her eyes and releases the clone, getting up to follow Coast, Heavy, and Sapphire out of the room. “I’m fine. It just surprised me how fast you did it. Normally you pretty it up some, but…”

“Yeah. Go ahead,” he insists, waving at the door, “I gotta take care of the rest of these.” He eyes his sisters’ clone speculatively, “minus one, at least.”

The filly passes by, brushing her right side against his as she climbs down off the bed. The others do the same except for Drift who lingers behind. He raises a brow in question to the purple pegasus who gives a challenging look in return. “I’m not some wuss. I want to see what the big deal is.”

Cure scoffs and shakes his head. “No way. You looked like you were gonna be sick at the stupid little ‘eye scream’ trick I did.”

“I was eating!”

“Which we’re about to go do.”

She folds her forelegs across her chest defiantly. “I’m not going until you show me.”

A number of options cross the colt’s mind. With the clones being completely separate entities, there’s no reason why he has to be careful at all. Any spattered gore is still biological matter that he could absorb into his plant easily. That feels like a genuinely horrible idea, though. Still, the temptation to do something truly outrageous still exists, especially since he’s never been able to really cut loose before.

Alternatively, he could scare the everloving shit out of the filly by having the clones get snatched up and dissolved silently every time she looks away from one. Maybe even have a tentacle wrap around a hind hoof “by mistake” and hoist her up into the attic. That idea is quashed as soon as it surfaces for any number of reasons, first and foremost being that it goes well over a line clearly demarcating actions that are acceptable and not. To do to friends, at least.

The third option is to fuck with her another, far more acceptable way. Handle the clones in the same way he normally does by having their exteriors meld into a leafy shield to block her view of the more unsettling parts. He’s pretty sure she won’t be satisfied with that, though, given her refusal to simply leave.

Similarly, he could just leave them until they’re downstairs eating and take care of the whole situation through his plant remotely. It would strip her of the bragging rights he suspects she’s after, but would probably leave her similarly annoyed and, likely, bothering him on future occasions.

“I’ll let you watch one,” he finally decides, “and I’ll do the exact same thing that Dawn saw. I’ll remove the rest when we go down to eat. Okay?”

She only ponders a moment before nodding.

“Which one?” he asks.

Smirking, she looks over to the one Dawn was laying on. “Do that one,” she insists, pointing with her right wing.

“So petty,” he sighs.

He double checks to ensure his sisters are sound asleep before starting. Just as he had in the hallway, a hair’s width vine pokes through the ceiling. It quickly spreads, blooming like a mushroom to cover an area slightly larger than a hoof in diameter. The plaster is sliced cleanly and yanked up into the attic, any dust being caught by the mushroom cap’s underside.

A thick tendril spears down, jamming itself into the puppet’s back. The clone changes, becoming a mass of liquidy green gel inside of a translucent bubble. Within twenty seconds the entirety is slurped back up into the plant and set aside for future use.

Drift stares on the for the entire show, her mouth hanging slightly open and eyes widening in wonder as she takes it in. From her perspective very little happened. A vine came down and jammed into the puppet, which then turned green and got vacuumed up into the ceiling. She couldn’t see the bits of enamel and other slower-digesting chunks flowing up. There is no mess, no gore, and no upsetting slurping noises present. In fact, the whole process was almost entirely silent aside from the barely-perceptible sound of motion.

“Huh. That wasn’t as bad as I expected.”

“Good. That’s completely intentional.”

“So what was the big deal?”

“Imagine if you weren’t expecting it and thought that was the real me.”

Her eyes widen comically and her muzzle falls open. A cringe crosses her features and she shudders from snout to tail. “Okay. Yeah. I can see that.”

“Empathy, Drift. Look it up sometime,” he sighs out, turning to climb off the bed. “Now c’mon, the others probably think you’re trying to make out with me or something.”

“Blech! You wish,” she retorts, following him out the door.

The filly heads to the upstairs restroom to wash up while he makes his way to the downstairs bathroom to do the same. Both of them arrive at the dining room table at about the same time to more than a few curious looks. He hops up on one end next to Ferric and to Rising’s right while she joins Glacial on the opposite end between her and Dawn.

He lights up his horn, grabbing himself a few doughnuts and a blueberry muffin, quietly listening as Dawn finishes talking about the filly she’d bumped into.

“... said her sire’s renting her a stall at the festival. She’ll have a little corner of her own to see if she can sell some of her pieces. Dam said she can chaperone if anypony wants to go.”

“You should rent a stall too, sissy!” Sapphire insists. “You could make some fancy metal statues or fountains or just sell some of your tools you make!”

“I don’t think I have time to make anything now. It’s next weekend.”

“The stalls are probably long gone, too,” Coast points out. “Those book up weeks or even months in advance.”

“He,” Dawn tilts her head towards Cure, “went up to Filly a month in advance, and that’s a weekly market.”

Sapphire sniffs in disdain and haughtily turns away from the group. “If you’re just going to use logic to defeat my suggestions then perhaps I shant offer any further.”

Coast shakes her head and sighs, turning back to Dawn to say, “I’ll go with you. My dam might want to go too if that’s okay.”

The unicorn cocks a brow at the pegasi, both of whom shake their heads no.

“I’m going with my dam too,” Rising volunteers. She looks to her right and gives Cure a pout. “It stinks you’ll be out of town.”

“Yeah, I’m real heartbroken I won’t be around for an art festival,” he deadpans. “Gonna be a shame to miss out on all that tra… err… art.”

“So uncultured,” Dawn mocks.

Cure shrugs and bobs his head in acceptance. “I’m fine with that.”

Heavy’s hoof shoots into the air as he shouts, “Same here.”

Cure leans against Ferric and offers his left hoof to the gray colt. “Uncultured swine unite! You better pound that, dude!”

Being a bro and all, Heavy doesn’t leave him hanging. “Heck yeah!” he cheers, meeting his bro in a high hoof.

Six out of the seven fillies close their eyes and blow out disappointed sighs while Sapphire giggles and claps in delight.

Coast opens her eyes and turns to face Heavy. “You can come with us. It won’t kill you.”

Heavy’s face contorts in an ugly rictus. His shoulders slump and ears fall limp as he hangs his head. “I guess.”

“Hey, chin up, bro. Maybe if you’re really good she’ll let you buy her something nice, too.”

“Shut up. At least I won’t have to work the next two weeks non-stop.”

“Yeah, I feel ya. I’m super sad I have to spend all that time at the Royal Castle, too. Bums me out something fierce.”

Ferric interrupts the pair before they’re bickering gets started. “I need to go soon or I’ll be late for work.”

Cure wraps his wing around her and squeezes her in a hug, nuzzling up at the underside of her chin. “Want a teleport? I can send you to the range easily enough. That’ll save you a few minutes.” The filly’s reluctance shows with a cringe. “Or I could fly you if you prefer.”

“No, you don’t have to -”

Heavy hooffalls descending the stairs cause her to pause as she looks in that direction. Her jaw falls open as a gorgeous blue and green adult alicorn even taller than her sire strolls into the dining room and lays on his barrel beside her. The other foals stare in stunned silence as they drink in his form, committing every millimeter of his thick, powerful build to memory. Even laid down, the large creature is easily as tall as the dark filly.

The alicorn turns his long neck and rests his larger cheek against her own, trapping her head between himself and the real Cure. In a smooth, deep voice that sends vibrations all the way down to her hooves, he says, “I would be delighted to ensure your safe and expedient arrival, my dear. Simply climb on my back and I promise you’ll be there with time to spare.”

Quiet, awe-filled exclamations of shock escape the fillies and, somehow, despite every inequinely sharp sense Cure has, Sapphire evades detection, slipping from the opposite end of the table to hop on the puppet’s back. The aqua filly’s excited cheer pulls her sister out of her daze. “C’mon sissy! Let’s ride! All aboard the CuretiePie Express! Woo wooooo!”

Cure leans away, cocking a brow in confusion. “I thought you were afraid of heights. Your dam said you didn’t want to go to the show…”

The filly scoffs, rolling her eyes. “Only when I don’t have something solid under me.” She reaches down and pokes at his puppet’s impressive pectorals. “Seems plenty solid to me.”

The other fillies absently nod in agreement.

Ferric sighs at her sister’s antics. She gingerly sidles off the bench and onto his back, wrapping her forehooves around her sister to grab onto his thick, muscular neck. Rising to his hooves with unnatural smoothness, he saunters behind the colt, slapping him with his tail as he passes by.

“Good job, moron,” Cure grumbles, “now you have doughnut glaze in yer tail.”

The fillies’ eyes all stay locked on him as he moves behind them, his right hip and wing lightly brushing against Rising and Dawn’s backs. He ignites his horn to pull open the back door and announces, “We’re going invisible. You ready, Saph?”

With an exaggerated southern draw she shouts back, “Yer durn tootin ah am! Giddyup, blue boy! Times’a wastin!”

“Alright, alright, enough,” he grumbles, pushing power into his horn. “Here we go,” he warns, disappearing in a flash. A few more hoofsteps can be heard as he passes through the door, pulling it shut behind himself with his tail.

“Duuuuude,” Heavy drawls. “You freaking suck, bro.”

“Oh please,” he rolls his eyes, “like you wouldn’t do the same thing.” The colt sighs but bobs his head in acknowledgement. “Oh quit yer pouting,” Cure chides, “it’s not like I’m ever going to leave my bro hangin anyhow.”

“Better not,” he quietly grumbles, though his ears perk back up at the reassurance.

Finally shaking herself out of her stupor, Rising points a hoof at the door. “First off, yum,” she emotionally declares to the agreement of the others. “Second, I thought you couldn’t fly with a puppet.”

“If I’m doing anything complex,” he explains. “I can’t concentrate on two things at once. Sitting here and eating, even talking, isn’t so difficult that I can’t fly the puppet at the same time. After all, flying straight for half a kilometer?” He pitches a hoof at the pegasi and asks, “How much concentration does that really take?”

Both shrug and Glacial answers, “Barely any once you’re off the ground.”

“Is it getting easier?” Dawn asks. “Between last night and today you seemed to be doing better than you were a few days ago.”

“No,” he grumps, his face pinched in annoyance. “The ‘writing something different with each hoof’ analogy is pretty accurate. If I’m concentrating on one I can’t do anything too complex with the other. Walking and talking isn’t too bad, even if I’m using magic with one, but I’m far from being able to fluidly manage two completely different complex actions at once. I’ve even spent most of the last few nights with two puppets in my room practicing, which probably would look pretty ridiculous if anypony could see it.”

“Practicing?” Coast echoes. “What exactly are you doing?”

Cure halfheartedly shrugs. “Just about everything. Dancing with one while hovering in the air with another, singing two different songs at once, or even the same song but different parts. Honestly, that was even harder. I even built a little ping pong table and was practicing playing against myself. Switching my focus back and forth so quickly was… disorienting. To say the least.”

“Ping pong?” she repeats in question.

“Yeah, you know…” he mimes swinging a paddle, “ping pong.” They all look at him with utter bewilderment. “Table tennis?” Several heads shake no and it finally dawns on him that the sport may not exist yet.

Whoops. Again.

“You all know what tennis is, right?” They nod. “It’s basically that, but played on a table with little hoofheld paddles and a little ball instead. Finding the right wood and rubbers for all that was a pain, by the way.”

A brief silence hangs in the air as everypony stares at him incredulously. Rising finally voices everypony’s thoughts, asking, “And… you have one in your office?”

“Yeah? I mean, it’s not regulation size, what with the room being so small, but…” he drifts off at everypony’s continued stare. “What?”

“Regulation size?” Glacial questions.

“Umm… bigger. For adults.” he rushes to clarify. “Anyhow, it’s sized right for foals if y’all want to play a few games. I have a couple hours before I need to meet with my double, so how ‘bout we check it out?”

Shortly After Lunch

A sharp double-rap on the front door draws the colt’s attention from his pre-departure snuggle session with his family. Even disconnected from his plant, his aura penetrates the door enough to identify the four ponies standing on the other side. Cure squirms free before his sire has a chance to rise. “I got it pa. Apparently somepony thinks they’re clever.”

He pulls open the door and waves them all in. “Afternoon, folks. Get yer posteriors in here before everypony starts wondering if I’m havin some kinda officer’s ball or something.”

Sergeants Bulwark, Haze, Song, and Lt. Quill exchange greetings with the colt as they make their way inside, then turn to greet Deed, Title, Vines, Amethyst, and the girls as they line up in the foyer by the nursery. He notes the way each of them keeps glancing in his direction, raising a brow to Quill when he catches his eye.

“Sorry, sir,” the stallion apologizes, “I’m not used to seeing you out of disguise. Especially without the flight suit.”

“Really?” Cure asks with a snort. “You’ve seen me undisguised more than any of the rest of them by a wide margin. Nice try with the illusion, but… yeah, you’re not fooling anyone, Mr. Haze.”

Lt. Quill is replaced by a second Sgt. Haze in a flash. The red stallion turns to Bulwark and gives him a look that all but screams “I told you so.” “Illusions never were my strong suit,” he despondently admits. The fake Haze disappears in a flash also, replaced by a slim, white unicorn mare with a two-toned mane. The half pink, half brown style is odd and not what Cure would expect from somepony that normally doesn’t want to stand out in a crowd.

Song laughs and holds her hoof to Bulwark in a beckoning motion. “Pay up, sarge. Told you he’d see right through it.”

“Nice try, sarge,” he remarks, meeting Song’s eyes, “but it’s not working on me.” He looks between the gray earth pony and the unicorn mare, focusing on the former, and says, “Go ahead and dispel it.” He tilts his head, motioning to the mare, saying, “I don’t know how you convinced the sarge to let him put your Illusions on him, but you didn’t get his scent quite right. He also doesn’t drink whatever the hay kinda fancy-schmancy tea you had for breakfast.”

The mare disappears in a flash, replaced by the real Sgt. Bulwark, the stallion shuddering as the magic dissipates from his coat. “That felt weird,” he quietly grumbles.

“I would imagine being coated in somepony else’s magic would. Especially layered as it was.” He gives an approving nod to the real illusionist after she dispels her Bulwark disguise. “I wasn’t even aware you could do that.”

“Special talent, your highness,” she answers with a shrug.

“Neat.” He cocks a brow at the only pony that is who she originally presented as. “You didn’t get invited to play, sarge?”

Song shakes her head no. “I declined when asked. Told ‘em it wouldn’t work anyhow.” She gets a playful smirk and strikes a prancing pony pose, her chest puffed out and wings spread up wide, adding, “Besides, it would be a crime to hide all this under an illusion.”

“True dat,” he solemnly agrees. His attention falls on the unicorn mare for a moment, the intensity of his look pinning her in place. He steps closer and tilts his head slightly in confusion. “Is… something wrong with your eyes?”

Her brows shoot up nearly into her mane. “You can see that?!” Belatedly, she adds a quick, “sir!”

He rears up, holding himself on his hind legs with his wings and stares directly into her eyes, leaning in close enough that she takes a half step back. “Your irises… they’re perfectly symmetrical and an exact mirror of each other.” He backs off and falls to all fours. “There’s always an imperfection, normally.”

In a literal blink of her eyes the Illusion is removed, revealing a mismatched set of pink and brown eyes, the colors opposite their corresponding mane color.

“Heterocromatic eyes, huh? And your mane looks to be your natural colors… that’s an unusual combination.”

“I got teased a lot growing up, sir. It’s what led me to discovering my talent.”

“Ah. Apologies for overstepping. You are aware I could change that if you’d like, right?”

“Tempting, sir, but I’ve gotten over it.”

“Very well. You’ll have the evening and tomorrow to familiarize yourself with my family. If you’ll follow me to my office, I have dossiers prepared for everypony I regularly interact with.” Without waiting for her to voice her agreement, he walks past the group and enters his room, hopping up on the small couch against the far wall.

Sgt. Bulwark leads the group down the short hallway, pausing a half step into the door as he takes the room’s interior in. Cure has to give the stallion credit; he’s the first uninitiated to walk through the door without the slightest hint of anxiety wafting off of him. He enters the room and sits near the corner to Cure’s left, looking over the mass of vines that make up the ceiling in wonder.

Sgt. Song does almost the exact same thing; she hesitates for half a second, but follows and sits to Bulwark’s left and is followed by Sgt. Haze. He, at least, doesn’t even so much as blink when he walks in the room, and positions himself to the left of the doorway, giving the final member of the herd room to step in and to her left to allow the door to close.

The mare enters the room, pausing just as the two sergeants had and stares at the ceiling for a moment. As soon as she’s clear of the door Cure pushes it shut, activating the privacy wards that are embedded in the walls and ceiling. The young alicorn’s voice pulls her out of her reverie when he calls out, “I believe introductions are in order. I am assuming they,” he motions to the sergeants, “have the proper clearance for your identity, correct?”

“We do,” Bulwark confirms. “With us being your hometown guard, as it were, we’re privy to a few things we normally wouldn’t otherwise be. Though, I suspect there’s a great number of things we’re not aware of,” he adds, meaningfully looking at the ceiling again.

“Likely so, sarge. None of that is need-to-know, though. Just a heads up on something you do need to be aware of, I will be traveling with a bodyguard tonight. Not that I doubt your abilities or anything, but the last time I took a train to Canterlot… well… you know what happened there.”

“Are you going to become a double-alicorn, sir?” Song teases.

Cure snorts a laugh, shaking his head no. “Harmony help me, I hope not. No, but if somepony attacks my train knowing full well a guard contingent is present then presumably they’re coming in force.” He looks to Bulwark and commands, “If that happens then your orders are to protect yourselves and any civilians that may be caught in the middle. Let my bodyguard deal with the threat. Understood?”

“If you’re certain, sir,” the stallion hesitantly replies.

“I am, very much so. I assure you he is more than capable.”

“Is this the same bodyguard as last time?” Haze asks.

Cure briefly wonders what, if anything, Solar shared. The stallion’s expression doesn’t betray anything, so maybe very little. “Nah, he wasn’t available, unfortunately. Don’t worry, this dude’s just as capable.”

“I find it odd that your detail isn’t accompanying us, sir,” Bulwark comments. “When your family traveled for your coronation there was almost a full platoon on duty.”

“Because I wasn’t there to ensure their safety, sergeant. Targeting my family is, unfortunately, the easiest way to hurt me, which is why the paladins and royal guards are staying here. Anyhow, introductions.” He focuses on the mare and raises a brow in question.

She raises her hoof to her brow in a salute. “Second Lieutenant Subtle Shift reporting, sir!”

“Very good, lieutenant,” he replies, sitting up to return the salute. “As you were.” When her posture relaxes he begins, “I can only assume her majesty, or perhaps Captain Shield, briefed you and, I’m guessing,” he speculates, panning his gaze over the sergeants, “somepony more local may have ‘warned’ you about me.” Their postures all shift slightly at the accusation with a laugh catching in Haze’s throat. Cure’s eyes narrow at the stallion who coughs and looks away. “Rightfully so, I’ll admit.”

“Her majesty advised that I not treat you like a foal, sir. I can certainly see why.”

Cure chuckles and lightly nods. “I’d bet my last bit that’s not all she said.”

The mare smiles and nods. “Somepony may have mentioned you can be a little… umm… intense at times, sir.”

“That sounds like the captain, if I had to guess. I can’t blame her. That’s a fair assessment. I do hope you’ll not take offense at this, but I’m not going to beat around the bush. While I am away, you are the very last line of defense for my family. I don’t anticipate any threats, obviously. If I did, I would be out there removing them right now,” a few brows raise at the casual promise of violence, “but I expect you to respond decisively should any reveal themselves. I am far more likely to forgive excessive force than I am to forgive any unnecessary harm done to my family. Do I make myself clear?”

“Sir! Yes, sir. The rules of engagement while protecting the family of royalty have been made clear to me.”

“Good. Give me a moment here to prepare the promised documents,” he requests, looking to the plain, barren wall to his left. A root snakes its way out of the ground, startling all but Haze. Mass flows up into the room, forming into a heavy, three drawer lateral file. It takes a couple minutes to grow, and another few minutes to fill itself with documentation.

Once it’s finished he nods in satisfaction and turns back towards the stunned group. “This is for your use only. It will only open if that door is shut and you’re the only one in the room. That door will not open until the documents are returned. An index is in the top drawer on the left that will assist you in finding the correct files. On it everypony is sorted in a number of ways; name, tribe, the nature of my association with them, etcetera, as well as a fold-out spider map detailing relationships.”

“Question,” Haze interrupts. “May we, perhaps, see our own files? I admit, I’m rather curious.”

“Sure.” He ignites his horn, opening one drawer after another and removing the files before floating them to each pony. “There’s the rest of your family as well, in case you were curious. At least, for those who I know enough about to create a separate file on.”

All three look over the packets for a moment in silence. “I’ve never introduced you to my wives, sir,” Bulwark notes with a hint of accusation in his voice.

“No, but it’s not like you don’t have lunch with one of them almost every day, either. As I’ve noted under the ‘Routines’ section of your file. It ain’t a big town, sarge.”

The stallion flips a few pages in, reading the section before nodding in acceptance.

“These are… very detailed,” Haze notes, holding up the pictures of himself and his family. There’s nothing inappropriate in the files, nor is there confidential medical information, but the volume and thoroughness of the documents clearly unsettle the stallion somewhat.

“They are,” Cure agrees. “And, whether her highness approves or not, I will explain to you why that is. Let me ask you this, first… How well do you all know your history; specifically, the fall of Trot?” Lt. Shift’s body language betrays her, showing she has been made aware of what Cure is referring to. The other three trade looks of confusion. “There is a species of creature that I consider a threat.”

Lt. Shift clears her throat and says, “With all due respect, sir, only officers are currently cleared to have that information.”

“Noted, lieutenant. If her majesty is unhappy with me informing those responsible for my own and my family’s safety then she can address that with me directly. I will not keep them oblivious to a potential threat simply so they can sleep soundly under the delusion that Equestria does not have enemies.”

Cure has to take a half second to ensure his mane didn’t start getting overly animated. He takes a deep, calming breath before he continues, “As I was saying, these creatures have supposedly all been banished away, much as was the Crystal Empire, and are unlikely to return in the near future. They are referred to as changelings, though they may have a different name for themselves. Regardless, they have the innate ability to mimic other creatures’ appearances, though I do not know the mechanism by which they do so.”

“Does this have anything to do with the missing ponies protocol recently implemented?” Song inquires.

“Indirectly, yes,” he answers. “Very astute of you to connect those, sergeant. Their known MO is to foalnap ponies and replace them, hence the additional follow-up on reports that may be related.

“These bug ponies are allegedly emotivores. Again, the mechanism is unknown, but apparently they are able to feed off of other creatures’ emotions. We have reason to believe that love, in particular, is something they rather enjoy. Logic dictates that they are able to sense any emotion from other creatures, so even without actively reading a pony’s mind they may be able to somewhat predict behaviors. Suspicion, anger, righteous fury… I don’t need to tell you what an advantage that would give somepony.”

Bulwark speaks up, asking, “Are we to assume some may have escaped their banishment similar to the occasional crystal pony that is found?”

“We are. Of course, that doesn’t necessarily mean they’re a threat. We simply don’t have enough information about them to predict their behavior. It’s entirely possible they could want nothing more than to be part of a community and lead a peaceful life.”

“Understood. I suppose asking about their appearance is less than helpful given their abilities, but just out of curiosity, what do they look like? You called them ‘bug ponies,’ so…”

Cure projects an illusion of approximately what he expects them to look like. The realization that he never asked Celestia crosses his mind, for which he gives himself a mental facehoof.

“This should be taken with a grain of salt, but you get the idea. No coat, black chitin, bug-like wings, crooked horn, holes in their legs. Note they do have both horns and wings, but we’re confident that every ability they have drains energy, so in a stand-up fight a single individual would probably not be a significant threat to an aware foe.”

“You consider these a potential threat to yourself?” Sgt. Haze asks. “I know you’re far from harmless, Cure… is there something we’re missing here?”

He dismisses the illusion and answers with a wave of his hoof in a “sort of” motion. “I kinda do and don’t at the same time. They allegedly have a queen who is larger, stronger, and more dangerous. Not likely alicorn levels, but definitely the match for a typical pony at the very least.

“We’re not sure if she’s completely unaging, but we have reason to believe she’s at least a millennium old. I don’t need to tell anypony how dangerous an experienced enemy can be. As for the typical brood, I am reasonably confident I could detect one and I’m very confident I could mop the floor with most, but I’m not dumb enough to think I’m invincible. There’s also one other major concern I have.

“We know little about their reproduction. We theorize that they may be able to reproduce with typical ponies, and given their bug-like nature, it’s not impossible that the queen or, potentially though unlikely, their females could produce a significant number of eggs. If they are hostile then I don’t think anypony wants to find out what the product of a male alicorn and a female queen, let alone hundreds, thousands, or more of them, would do to the balance of power in the world.”

All four show varying signs of disgust and worry at the idea, but ultimately nod in understanding.

Cure continues, his gaze shifting to the unicorn mare as he says, “With that in mind, I must insist on scanning you to ensure you are who you seem to be. You can imagine with your talent,” he trails off leadingly.

“Right, sir. Understood. You would be amazed how many extra physicals I’ve had to endure lately.”

“I probably would,” he agrees, scanning the mare. He nods in approval when everything is as it should be, though he notes the typical small problems and the minor deterioration in her physical condition due to age. She visibly appears to be in her mid-twenties, but is actually over a decade older.

“Excellent. I suppose that’s all I had for the three of you, then. If you’re done with those files, they need to go back in before the door will open, then I need to go over a few things with the lieutenant in private.”

The three accept the dismissal, passing back the files and leaving to get prepared for their journey later in the day. When the door seals shut again Cure lets out a sigh. “I kind of expected you to be a changeling, to be honest. The setup just seemed too perfect, ya know?”

The mare chuckles and nods. “Her highness said you can be a little paranoid at times, sir.”

“I bet she said more than that, and you can drop the formalities while we’re alone.”

“Very well. I can’t help but note you almost sound disappointed that I’m a unicorn.”

“Damn right I am. I’ve been dying to meet one of the freaking things. You know how compelling it is to use your special talent. Biology is mine, and what little we know about them paints a really interesting picture. Speaking of special talents,” he says, shooting her a look, “I know you ain’t in yer twenties, lady. You can drop the act and, if you want, I can make you legitimately look and feel that way if you’d like.”

Her ears perk up at the suggestion. “Really? The princess said you’d likely offer to remove the effects of aging. I didn’t really expect it, though.”

“Sure, no problem. Just say the word. Other than that, we do have a number of things to discuss. I’ll have a few other things in here other than just the files,” he says, motioning to the cabinet with a wing. “First off, presumably it would be helpful to have a ‘me’ to model your illusion after, right?”

“It would, but just seeing you is usually good enough.”

“I’ll make a model for you anyhow. It’ll be a plant, but you won’t know from looking at it. Feel free to do what you have to do to ensure accuracy; my talent peels away every layer of privacy anypony has, so I’m not going to begrudge you doing the same.”

“Understood.”

“Great.” His horn lights up and a tendril snakes out of the ground, passing him a large ceramic perfume bottle. He squeezes the ball, spraying a mist of liquid into the air.

The mare takes in the scent and nods in understanding. “That’ll be helpful. I can reproduce scents pretty well, but that cookie thing you got going on… that’s a little more difficult.”

“I’m sure. Now let’s talk about interactions with ponies. I’m guessing it would help if we went over some sample dialogues so you could get a feel for how I talk, right?”

She raises a brow at the suggestion, surprised the foal would anticipate that. “It would help me be more convincing,” she agrees after a moment of consideration.

“Great. So we’ll probably be here for a little while.” A tendril snakes away from his couch, beginning to form itself into another, larger one. “You might as well make yourself comfortable. And don’t hesitate to speak up if you’re hungry or thirsty or whatever, okay?”

Cure spent a couple hours bringing Lt. Shift up to speed and introducing her to the family. The situation is somewhat unusual for her given how many ponies are aware of the switch. Regardless, only family is allowed to know what she really looks like, and aside from a few partially scripted outings with the foals, “Cure Wave” will mostly stay at his dam’s side for the next two weeks.

After a too-short farewell, Amethyst and Cure, their colors already altered to a “boring” light and dark brown combination, make their way to the train station. No particular attention is paid to the pair when they arrive, and they begin making their way to Base Carol.

The same cannot be said for his Warrior puppet as it trudges out of the woods towing a flatbed cart with his highness’s luggage; a dozen heavy, wooden chests emblazoned with the prince’s cutie mark and packed with dense muscle tissue, bug samples, and commercial ideas. The being cheerily whistles Don’t Worry, Be Happy as he strolls down the street to the train station, garnering more than a few confused and worried looks.

Knowing that this version would be seen by, and need to interact with, the public, Cure had abandoned the first design and created a new one to be less visually terrifying and more mobile. With no need for a cavity large enough to house the colt’s body, he had instead opted for a bipedal design based off of a dark purple Argonian, though thickened up enough to give even the most foolhardy minotaur pause. He doubts he’ll need them, but gave the creature a large set of draconic wings that wrap around it like a cloak and hang down to its knees.

Cure loves the scythe-arm idea, but decreased the number to two, both of which are folded like a praying mantis’ would be, hidden underneath its wings to keep them mostly out of sight. The creature’s head is almost entirely draconic, with two fully functional horns jutting from its crown and several smaller, ornamental ones on its jaw and chin.

As much as he’s gotten used to being naked in public, having a bipedal design freely showing off the goods just doesn’t quite sit right. He also wasn’t particularly enamored with the idea of spending a lot of time theorizing on what an Argonian’s junk would look like or how it would work. Besides, the Warrior is on duty, and only a complete imbecile would go into a potential combat situation naked, so he is wearing a full set of armor.

It would be politically challenging for the Alicorn of Life to have a bodyguard wearing armor made of actual dragons, even if it was ethically sourced, so Cure was forced to transmute the surface to a thin, mostly cosmetic, layer of steel instead. At least Prestidigitation allowed him to alter the colors to a more palatable ‘black with dark red accents’ motif to better match the color of his scales.

Ponies, cows, donkeys, hippogriffs, and even the few griffons and dragons scramble to move aside for the bizarre creature, wary of the happily whistling being despite its cheery demeanor, stowed weaponry, and his helmet being clipped to his belt. A squad of exceedingly brave, yet visibly frightened guards moves to intercept him, forming a barrier between him and the station platform.

The lead mare, a pegasus corporal, steps forward and holds her hoof up with a shouted, “Halt!”

Warrior complies, stopping at once to cock a brow at the slightly trembling guardsmare. “Greetings, corporal,” he offers in a voice that is oddly high pitched for a creature his size. “How ever may I be of assistance to her majesty’s finest on this fine summer eve?”

The mare’s relief at his compliance is palpable. Resolve bolstered, she boldly declares, “His Highness, Prince Serpentus, is scheduled to arrive shortly. You will be required to hoof over any and all weapons, divest yourself of your armor, and to allow your cargo to be inspected.”

“A reasonable precaution,” he agrees, nodding enthusiastically. “One I wholeheartedly approve of. However,” he holds up a single finger on his left hand as he turns to his right and reaches back for a chest, tilting it up to show off the young alicorn’s mark. “I am serving as his highness’s personal bodyguard and this,” he tilts his head to the cart, “is his luggage. Presumably that exempts me from your standard policies?”

The mare works her jaw for a moment while trying to figure out how to react to the unexpected change in circumstances. “I… guess it would?” A unicorn private leans over and whispers in her ear. “Right! Proof! Do you have anything verifying any of that?”

“Certainly, my good mare. I have a letter from the young prince right here.” He sets the crate back down and delicately reaches into his armor, extracting a folded letter from beneath his breastplate. With slow, careful movements he unfolds it and holds it out for her inspection.

Without stepping any closer, she reads down the signed, stamped letter from his highness. Like a tub with its plug pulled, all of the tension drains from her body. “Oh! Perfect! You may need to show that to his escort, too, so maybe keep it on hoof. Claw. Whatever.”

“Of course, corporal,” he agrees, tucking the letter back into his armor. “I must say, I am quite aware of the effect my appearance has on ponies.” He pans his gaze over the entire squad as he continues, “That, despite your concerns, you all still stood before me… your bravery and commitment is truly commendable.”

Pride and humility war within the troupe as ears pink and hooves are scuffed against the ground. “Just doing our duty, sir. Carry on,” she quietly demures, waving the being on towards the station.

Warrior continues his trek, navigating through the throng of bodies. He spots a familiar group of ponies mustering closer to the rear of the train. To his initial surprise, several of the guards are accompanied by their families, most of whom are in the process of boarding at the moment. His shock passes in an instant when he recalls that Celestia mentioned they were getting a few days of extra leave in the capital.

He isn’t sure why Dawn isn’t coming along with her sire; perhaps he didn’t want to leave her alone when the competition starts, or maybe she just chose to stay back with her friends. Drift is the only other guard foal, but with Thunder Dance’s pregnancy and Tailwind Flare’s recent reprimand, neither of them are allowed to participate.

Regardless, Warrior makes his way over, calling out and waving in greeting as he nears. “Baltimare Regional Guard Unit Three, and family, I presume. That would make you Staff Sergeant Bulwark, if I’m not mistaken.” he ventures, leaning down to the gray earth pony to offer his fist for a bump.

The spike of panic pheromones spreads like a wave from the group, especially their foals and family. The few remaining civilians outside suddenly hurry their foals onto the train as if Warrior is going to gobble them up. Having been forewarned about the colt hiring a bodyguard, the three sergeants are quick to connect the dots, even if it still takes a few seconds for them to recover from having such a large, intimidating creature approach them.

“That would be me,” Bulwark confirms, bumping the offered fist. “You must be the bodyguard we were told to expect.”

“I am, indeed. You may address me as Warrior. It is my name, my profession, and most assuredly, my passion.” He glances over his back half at the heavily loaded flatbed and sighs. “Sadly, it is not my only duty. By your leave, sergeant, I would like to begin loading his highness’s luggage. For such a small foal he certainly does not travel lightly,” he grumbles good-naturedly.

The sergeant nods, waving to the royal car the princess sent, an opulent fuschia and gold eyesore emblazoned with Equestria’s flag on each side located only a few cars from the end of the train. “Go right on ahead. Bolt! Snare! Lend Warrior here your horns with his highness’s luggage.”

Warrior glances at the two named unicorns, neither looking particularly enthused to be voluntold to help out. He waves them off, insisting, “I appreciate the offer, but I have it all under control.” Unlike the car Cure rented last time, Celestia’s car does have a spot near the front large enough for her highness to easily board, even if it is probably a hard turn for her to get into the car.

Cure briefly considers that, due to her height and massive horn, every time the princess travels she likely has to cast Reduce on herself for the duration of her trip to be comfortable. With the interior being just over three and a half meters tall, there would be plenty of space for even a large earth pony to stand fully upright, but with an extra meter of horn jutting out of her brow, Celestia would be scraping the ceiling if she didn’t constantly dip her head while standing inside the car.

The mare has power enough to spare a hundred times over, but it still must be a pain in the ass to have to constantly shrink yourself just to do something everypony can just do naturally whenever.

Warrior walks up the steps and peeks inside, getting a feel for its layout. For the most part, it’s very similar to the last car he rented, though with some changes made with a single, larger pony in mind rather than a group. There is only one large bathroom, a luggage closet, a kitchenette, a dining room area only large enough for four ponies, a lounge, and a lone, massive (for a train) bedroom suite.

With the interior adequately mapped, Warrior begins teleporting one crate after another into the storage area, almost completely filling the small room. The guards had apparently not anticipated him being capable of magic; the unicorns in particular startle when his horns fire off the spells in quick succession.

A commotion draws everypony’s attention to the entrance, signaling the arrival of the young alicorn. The local squads rush to get in position, barricading off a corridor for him to pass through the crowd unmolested. Nearly every creature in attendance freezes to stare at the carriage and the royal procession. A cavalcade of flashes fire off as seemingly every reporter in the city is rushing to photograph one of his highness’s parents in public for the first time ever, even if her colors have been altered to match his gold and brown theme.

Bulwark barks out commands, calling the Golden Hills squad to come to attention. The guards all rush out and form up into two rows with Bulwark, Haze, and Song in the front right.

Warrior climbs off the train and casually leans against the car, idly watching as the colt approaches. Cure had warned his guards about his bodyguard, so aside from a quick assessment, they pay him no mind. The Golden Hills contingent salutes as one when an invisible line five meters out is crossed.

The entourage stops a couple meters from Bulwark’s squad, but Cure and Amethyst take another step closer and he returns the salute. “Good evening, Sgt. Bulwark. How are we looking?”

“Sir! Everything is in order, sir! Her majesty’s private car is prepared and your bodyguard just finished loading your luggage.”

Cure turns and looks at the Warrior, spends a moment analyzing him, then looks back to Bulwark and tilts his head in confusion. “What bodyguard? I’ve never seen that dude in my life.”

Everypony freezes. As one, all heads turn to look at the creature in question.

“And there’s that charming alicorn wit we can never get enough of,” Warrior sighs. “How very droll.”

Amethyst bumps him with a foreleg, growling, “Behave.”

The colt begins chuckling, diffusing the tension. “Sorry, sorry. I couldn’t help myself. Warrior is my bodyguard, yes.” He quickly glances around at the overall scene and says, “Well I better get onboard so everypony can get to work. As you were, sergeant.”

“Sir! Yes, sir!”

With a departing nod, Cure and Amethyst, along with the Warrior, board the train and enter their car. As the two squads briefly converse, mostly about what the Warrior is and where his highness found him, nopony pays any mind to the single crow watching the scene from atop the train, nor do they notice the unremarkable pair of earth pony mares renting a modest cab near the front of the train.

Author's Note

Just because you can only effectively move two pieces at once does not mean there's not more in play. Will something happen on this train trip? I suppose we'll just have to wait and see, but Cure seems to be ready either way.

The original Warrior design was based off of a Tyranid Warrior, the sight of which would cause anyone with the slightest modicum of self preservation to flee in an instant. If Cure wants to be able to have his Warrior accompany him to anything, then he needs to have a design that's a little easier on the eyes, but still exceedingly capable of tackling any and all situations that could arise.

Something he may not have considered - there could be repercussions to having a bodyguard at all, especially one with such evident draconic origins. Who knows what could happen there...

Of course, the real question is, "Which of the creatures pointed out is the real Cure?" The alicorn colt? One or both of the earth pony mares? Obviously it's not the crow, that's just a lookout that will fly ahead of the train to scout for anything that could be used to derail or stop it. Maybe his brain is really in the Warrior. Or, perhaps he's somewhere else no one would think to check, remotely puppeting everything from an undisclosed location.

He's certainly paranoid enough to do something like that, isn't he?

As always, thanks for reading, rating, and especially commenting.

Enjoy!