Tuesday, September 8th, 909 AB (seconds later)

Says the Princess of Leaving Messes behind, Cure screams inside his own mind. Discord, Tirek, Luna, Sombra, the Staff of Sacanas, and probably a hundred other fuck ups you couldn’t be bothered to deal with conclusively, all waiting for somepony else to clean up when they eventually rear their heads again.

How fuckin dare you accuse me of making a mess when you didn’t have to do shit other than sit in a twenty minute meeting, then stuff your maw with two thirds of a wedding cake and take a nap. Couldn’t even be bothered to speak up more than a couple times, could you? I’m surprised you didn’t send somepony else to the meeting as a “learning experience” instead of bringing your own ass down there.

The colt silently seethes atop his mother, joining in conversation just enough to maintain the facade of a happy, entertained foal. Only the wanton abuse of his talent and unique body control prevent him from showing his displeasure, and he consciously swallows his anger to keep from having his mane involuntarily ignite.

He’s willing to grant that he may have gone too far with the ambassador, but feels like it’s a relatively tame response considering agents from the stallion’s nation attempting to foalnap him do maker-knows what else to everypony in the car. A little breaking and entering, some menacing, and a small side of inducing terror are, by any standard Cure can fathom, nowhere near as heinous as foalnapping and, potentially, multiple counts of murder.

He knows he’s overreacting to Celestia’s scolding. Though rude, factually incorrect, and, most importantly, insanely hypocritical, her admonishment isn’t that big of a deal. He didn’t have any plans to engage with BRG3 anyhow. After all, if he’s going to maintain his cover he can’t very well pretend to be buddy-buddy with a group from a small suburb. The only publicly established link Prince Serpentus has with them aside from them providing escort for this trip is the training he attends with Sgt. Song and Ebony Foil.

The stray thought leads him to briefly consider looking for the filly, but the thought is dismissed almost right away. Prince Serpentus paying attention to another pony, even as nothing more than a classmate and acquaintance, will almost certainly spell trouble for the older girl. As much as he’d like to have a friend to go check out the vendor stalls with, unless he does so in disguise he’ll simply draw too much attention. Using a second body is right out since that would require that he disclose an ability he’d prefer not share.

As tempting as it may be, the colt reluctantly comes to the conclusion that he’s all but stuck sitting and watching the fights instead of getting up and actually doing something. That’s not a huge problem; the world, for the most part, has few events that Cure finds genuinely entertaining to simply watch. Gladiatorial fights, even simulated ones, offer an experience that he didn’t anticipate encountering for quite some time, if ever.

Through the haze of his simmering anger, Cure’s attention is drawn to the two combatants trotting over to get suited up for the next match; a pair of unicorns both from up north. While the mare from Whinnyapolis has a lovely dark purple coat, it’s the stallion from Chicoltgo going up against her that gets the crowd’s attention. His enhanced hearing lets him pick up more than a few murmurs of appreciation from the mares, in particular.

On one hoof, Cure almost feels bad for the dude; summer must be absolute hell with his solid black coat and mane. On another hoof, there’s no denying that in a sea of colorful creatures, the few ponies like this fellow and Cure’s own sire do tend to stand out a little. That his colors contrast so sharply with his golden armor helps draw the eye as well. Cure is comfortable enough with his masculinity, prepubescent as it may be, to admit that he can recognize when a stallion is attractive. While it is merely an objective observation for the foal, the mares with their heat bearing down on them are quite a bit more vocal in their opinions.

What’s more is that the stallion clearly knows the overwhelmingly female audience is all but lifting their tails for him. More than a few ladies, especially those down closer to the field, unsubtly shift their hips so as to lay more on their sides to show off more of their flanks. Not only that, but the amount of chest fluff being puffed out in his direction could drown a stallion if he’s not careful.

As tempted as he is to make a quip about how much trouble the stallion will be in if the mares manage to find what hotel he’s staying in, the colt simply doesn’t feel like expending the energy required to try to be funny. The princess probably wouldn’t find much humor in it, and even if his mother did, he likely wouldn’t earn himself any more than a polite chuckle.

The other unicorn seems a little annoyed at all of the attention aimed his direction. Cure can’t blame her; it sucks to have such an overwhelming portion of the audience cheering for your opponent, even if they’re only doing so because they want to jump his bones. The mare’s resolve hardens even further when the stallion regards her with a waggle of his brows and a lecherous up-down look. The helpers gearing them up must have picked up on the tension; they quickly suit the two up and interpose themselves between them while ushering them to their respective squares.

“I reckon that feller’s set himself up for a whoopin,” Amethyst quietly observes.

“Or he simply wishes to rile up his opponent,” Celestia suggests. In a subdued tone she adds, “I know firsthoof how anger can cloud one’s judgment, after all.”

The signal to start is only just given when the mare, without moving, leans heavily on her forelegs, rearing forward as if to buck the air behind her. The stallion does what anypony would do in the situation; he gives her a somewhat confused look and fires a beam in her direction.

The silver lance nearly reaches the mare when she disappears in a flash of light, popping into existence right behind the stallion’s rump. Her back hooves shoot out in an almighty buck, landing squarely on his buttcheeks and sending him flying forwards a couple meters to slam face first into the ground.

“Ouch,” Cure flatly comments with a wince, earning agreeing nods from the others. He is by far not the only one commiserating with the poor stallion. The reactions from the audience run the gamut from outright laughter to muzzle-covered gasps of horror.

The sensors on his armor must not have registered him as completely out of the fight, as they continue glowing in a soft blue light. It doesn’t do him any favors, though; the mare doesn’t see fit to give him a chance to recover, firing what Cure recognizes as a Stun bolt into his prone form. The system doesn’t actually stun the downed stallion, but it still registers that he is fully incapacitated and awards her the win.

In a disappointing show of poor sportsmareship, the mare turns to leave her arena, kicking her left hind hoof at the ground to shower the spot previously occupied by his Illusion with a spray of dirt. It’s pointless since he wasn’t actually present, but Cure feels like that almost makes it worse, in a way.

He’s not really sure why it ticks him off so much. Perhaps some of it is due to his already shitty mood, or maybe he simply doesn’t feel like that’s an appropriate behavior for a guard, but the colt isn’t willing to let such blatant disrespect go so easily. A flash of his horn teleports him down to the field, startling not only the nearby spectators but also the engineering team, the four ponies waiting for their turn, and the two still being stripped of the extra gear just to his left.

He faces the pony he assumes to be in charge of ensuring the equipment is properly maintained and equipped on each participant and, in a conversational tone, calls out, “Lieutenant.”

The unicorn snaps to attention, turns his whole body to face his superior, and salutes. “Sir! Yes, sir?”

“While you are getting ponies suited up, please remind them that they are members of the Equestrian Royal Guard. It is expected that their behavior should reflect such. I’m not against having a bit of fun or celebrating a victory, but I can’t say I approve of blatant flirting with your opponent just before a match, nor do I approve of disrespecting somepony, especially after their defeat. Can you do that for me?”

The colt doesn’t need to turn his head to his left to feel the flush on both combatants. Whether it’s from the embarrassment of being called out by a foal or the dismay at the ass-chewing he is certain their commanding officers will give them later, without even looking in their direction his heat sensing ability has the pair lighting up like a couple bonfires.

“Sir! Absolutely, sir!”

“Very good. Thank you, lieutenant. Carry on.” Request given, Cure spreads his wings and disappears in another flash of light, appearing less than a hoofspan above his mom and landing gently on her back.

Amethyst turns her head to the left, quietly murmuring, “Seemed a little harsh, colt.”

“Tough,” he dismisses with a shrug. “They’re on the clock, and they’re supposed to represent some of the finest the nation has to offer.” He glances to his left and cocks a brow, inquiring, “Do you disagree?”

Celestia sighs but shakes her head no. Quiet enough that she cannot be overheard, she answers, “I do not, though I would suggest that you not chastise ponies so publicly in the future. As an alicorn and their prince, they tend to take such things to heart much more than you would expect. They are, after all, only privates. To have somepony in your station point out a mistake can greatly affect them.” She turns her head and inclines her muzzle, motioning to where the two have returned to their squads.

In Cure’s opinion, the pair look absolutely pathetic. Their tails are tucked, ears are pinned back, cheeks are flushed, shoulders are slumping, and heads are still hung almost below their chest. “Friggin really?” he all but whines. “You’d think I beat them with a rolled up newspaper!” he quietly hisses. “They are soldiers.”

“They are teenagers,” she points out. “Soldiers they may be, but even if they are adults that does not mean they will not act immature at times. Let their commanding officers correct such behavior. Not only have you superseded their authority, you also stepped in before anypony else had an opportunity to say anything to them. How do you think Colonel Mayday feels, having you issuing an order to a lieutenant under his command in front of everypony?”

She doesn’t give him the chance to respond before continuing. Tilting her head to subtly motion towards the throng of reporters snapping pictures, she adds, “Bear in mind that every action either of us takes in public is seen by everypony. Dozens of papers nationwide will likely have headlines about Prince Serpentus seeing the need to discipline guards for flirtatious behavior and poor sportsmareship during the very first event of the competition.”

“But… I didn’t discipline anypony!” he halfheartedly disagrees despite already knowing that the argument is incredibly weak. Celestia doesn’t even have to respond verbally and instead just gives him a knowing look. “Fine!” he huffs, throwing his hooves into the air in surrender. “I’ll just sit here and keep my stupid muzzle shut.” The colt hops down off his mother’s back and lays heavily against her right side to rest his head against her shoulder.

“Unfortunately, when in public, that is generally the best thing you can do. I am sure you have heard the saying: Praise publicly, criticize privately.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know. I’ve got it,” he grumbles, nodding against his mother’s side in acceptance.

As the fights progress, Cure feels a growing need to be doing something, and he isn’t sure why. Youthful energy is one thing, but the nagging, persistent need to move or play or walk around just continues to build. Finally growing tired of ignoring the unrelenting desire to act, Cure focuses back on his connection to the rings to see what is going on at his clinic.

Unsurprisingly, the answer is basically nothing; one of the castle patrols has stopped in for a quick snack, but aside from some idle chit chat, nothing interesting is going on. Watching them drop in for a break does give him an idea, though. It may not be immensely profitable, but at the very least it will provide a distraction.

Weeks of insanity leading up to the Squads Competition had left Folded Page exhausted at the end of each work day. Being in charge of vendor approval for the event meant that, for the last few days in particular, the cream colored unicorn has had to put up with pony after pony breaking down her door at the last minute to get a vendor permit approved for the event.

Even with the first day already underway, she knows today isn’t going to be any better until at least tomorrow. Heaving an enormous sigh, she barely even settles her rump into the seat behind her desk when one of the newer pegasi from the reception area begins rapping gently at the frame of her open door.

“Sweet Celestia, Swift… already?!” she nearly cries in dismay. “I haven’t even gotten my chair warm yet!”

The poor colt cringes and ducks his head in apology, meekly explaining, “There’s a… a zebra mare, Mrs. Page. I… I think she’s a shaman. Says she has alchemical treatments you can’t find anywhere else.”

“A shaman?!”

The young stallion looks back over his withers at the odd zebra, then turns back with a shrug. “I… think? She’s dressed up like one, at least. Also, she’s rhyming like I’ve heard they do.”

“Alright,” she sighs, “send her in, please.”

“Yes, ma’am!” he chirps, waving a wing as he turns to rush back to the lobby.

It’s only seconds later when the zebra strolls through the door like she owns the place, her head held high and full chest proudly thrust out. Page never understood the need for so much jewelry; five thick gold bands clink lightly with every step the mare takes, and it’s a wonder her ears can move at all with the assortment of loops lining each one. A peculiar, though pleasant scent follows her as she takes a seat on the opposite side of her desk.

Her posture, even when relaxed, seems to almost scream “regal” with the way she inclines her head, subtly looking down her muzzle at the shorter mare. It strikes Page as odd that, unlike most zebra mares, the shaman must be every bit as tall as an earth pony stallion. What’s even more unusual is the cutie mark she briefly caught sight of under the mare’s back dressing. Page had always thought zebras couldn’t get those, but somehow this mare has a set, or at least something that looks like one.

“Greetings,” the zebra begins in a deep, sultry voice as she offers a shallow dip of her muzzle, “a vendor permit I wish to obtain. I was informed by the staff that this is your domain.”

“Domain? Oh! My job! Yes, I’m in charge of vendor permits for the festivities. Unfortunately you’re a little late for the good spots, but there are still quite a few available more towards the periphery. Mostly to the far east or north of the event grounds.”

Despite the mediocre news, the shaman gives Page a beaming smile. “An isolated spot will be just fine. That will give me more room for when I have a line. There is something of which I would inquire. Is there a specific time at which I must retire?”

“Retire? Do you mean close up for the day?”

“Precisely.”

“No?” Page answers, slowly shaking her head. “Not really, unless you’re only interested in a daily permit, in which case your lot must be vacated by midnight. Otherwise you can stay open around the clock until we pack it all up Saturday morning. Now, most vendors do close around dinner time, but we also have some bat families staying open for the after-hours crowd.”

“Fantastic!” the mare cheers, her jewelry clinking as she shifts in place. “While I am certain that many will visit during daytime, the evening is when my services will truly shine.”

“Oh? Exactly what kind of services, if I may ask?”

“Alchemical rituals related to fertility and intimacy. If you desire a foal, it is me you should see.”

Page’s brows nearly disappear into her mane. She is past that part of her life, thank the maker, but there’s no shortage of friends she can think of that are spoiling for a foal or grandfoal. “Oh?”

“Indeed! If you wish for a colt or maybe even twins then it is at my shop that your journey begins. For only a modest fee to replace my exotic supplies, I can make them a guarantee instead of a joyous surprise.” Page’s eyes widen at the implication as the disguised colt continues, “This is by no means the breadth of what all can easily be cured. Illness, injury, deformity, or even small size; I can help all, rest be assured.”

Eyes wide with excitement, Page pulls the top drawer of her desk open in a rush, levitates out the necessary application form, turns it around, and all but slams it on her desk. “A hundred bits per day or three hundred and fifty for the week.”

The shaman’s staff falls forward out of the back drape it was holstered in, the butt of it bouncing off the floor before it is deftly caught and spun in a small twirl around the mare’s right pastern. She stops it in the crook of her fetlock and reaches towards the desk. Instinctively, Page leans away, offering an apologetic smile when the zebra freezes for a second and meets her eyes when a quirked brow. Seeing that the unicorn has schooled her reaction, the shaman sets the end of her staff lightly on the paper.

Page is shocked to see how the application is completed. Lines of black ink seem to crawl off the end of the mare’s staff like the legs of a spider, neatly filling in each field with crisp, printed script almost like the typewriter that some of the ponies in the Tax Department use. She can’t deny that the small, subtle, simple use of magic is somehow even more intimidating than the mare’s stature or solid build. Once the form is completed, the inky tendrils recede back into the staff, vanishing as if they never existed at all.

“I would pay good money for that spell alone,” she wistfully remarks.

The shaman chuckles warmly and shakes her head. “If only it were something that could be given. Unfortunately, sharing even the basics would land me in prison. Selling my services is the limit of what is permitted. If I tried to teach instead then I would certainly be committed.”

“A shame,” Page sighs. She worries her bottom lip for a moment and leans closer over her desk to ask, “Hey… I was wondering… Why do you shaman all do that,” she waves a forehoof vaguely at the mare, “rhyming thing?”

The zebra looks over her withers at the open door, then turns back and leans across the desk closer to Page. “Honestly?” she whispers quietly enough that nopony can overhear. “We just like screwing with you ponies for the fun of it. It’s all a big joke, but don’t tell anypony.” She sits back up and gives the gobsmacked mare a playful wink.

Her staff glows a deep green and, in a small flash, a stack of coins pops into existence on Page’s desk, startling her out of her shocked daze. “Three hundred and fifty bits and the transaction is complete. Now if you don’t mind, could I bother you for a receipt?”

“Oh!” the unicorn exclaims, floating the bits into a strongbox. She pulls a receipt pad out of her drawer and quickly fills it out, tearing the top off before duplicating it with the Copy spell and passing it over. “Thank you very much, Miss…” she glances at the application and slowly sounds out, “Kahaba Matobo! I would wish you good luck, but if your treatments really work I don’t think you’ll need any at all!”

With the receipt and approval in hoof, Cure has his shaman exit Town Hall, then fire off a series of teleports to disappear to the west, eventually stopping just inside the Everfree at his next closest node. Mass begins pouring through the both portals as tendrils emerge from her chest, wrapping around her neck like a harness before stretching back and merging with the large, boxy wagon that the other portal is assembling.

There is no need for steel thanks to the aura-lightened wood, though the lack of springs would make for a rather bumpy ride if anypony were sitting in it. That’s fine as far as he’s concerned; the thing won’t do anything but serve as a room to give patients a modicum of privacy and as a place to perform his “rituals” away from prying eyes.

The trot back into town, through the streets, and into the event grounds takes over an hour, but the disguised colt doesn’t mind one bit. The long walk through the busy streets just gives everypony plenty of opportunity to see the signage listing the services that “Madame Adiah’s Fertility Clinic” will be offering for the next few days.

The lot certainly is far out away from the event grounds to the south, but it suits Cure, or “Madame Adiah” just fine. All of the vendors are arranged along a winding path that loops a couple hundred meters further north of the spot. Hers is on the inside of the loop facing towards the city, which won’t be too bad in the evening thanks to the shadow of the Canterhorn.

When Adiah arrives at her lot she turns the wagon so it’s facing south before detaching from the harness, which she tosses inside and out of sight. She trots around to the back and lifts open a large panel by the back door to reveal a folded up lever and a wheel crank. She pulls the lever down and pushes it back up, cranking like a jack to pretend working some internal mechanism. Several neighboring vendors and more than a few passers-by stop to watch the bizarre contraption the zebra mare pumps, lowering four thick posts with each action of the lever.

Once the legs extend enough to lift off the wheels, she whips out her staff and removes the pins holding them in place, then the wheels themselves, stacking them on the opposite side of the wagon. She folds the lever back up and slams her hoof on a button, then steps away from the wagon as it begins to slowly descend with an odd hiss.

It stops just a few centimeters above the ground, just tall enough for the undercarriage and four posts to hold it up. Next she spins the wheel crank, causing the sides to extend, widening the wagon by a meter on each side.

Workspace established, she moves to the next task, aware of the growing audience she is amassing. With a flourish of her staff, two posts float out of the wagon and stab into the ground a few meters closer to the path. Wrapped in her magic, an awning stretches itself from the top of the wagon, attaches itself to the two poles, then tie-downs impale themselves in the grass.

Awning in place, she begins floating out shelving units that seem to adhere themselves to the side facing the path. Not wanting to sell anything that ties too directly to either Prince Serpentus or Cure Wave, she floats out several adult themed, but inoffensive items. Soaps, candles, and bath bombs in dozens of scents along with a wide selection of “lubricants,” also with various flavors and effects.

The lube is the most closely related product to anything he had shown, but that, by itself, is not a new product. The warming and flavored effects are unlike anything he had presented to Director Storm, mainly because he felt that, as a foal, suggesting items like that may be going a little too far.

With the shelves and products in place, she floats a sandwich board sign out of the wagon and props it up to face the path. It lists not only the items for sale, but also the the “ritual” services the mare is offering, some with notes indicating they are effective only on males or females. Gender selection rituals, for example, must be performed on a sire, whereas the procedure to give the couple twins must be performed on the mare.

The prices for most being far lower than anypony would expect, and a small fraction of what many families would gladly pay. She is only charging at all because not doing so would be very suspicious, so most items on the menu are under fifty bits simply to maintain appearances. That and because it’s likely most ponies wouldn’t risk much in a transaction that won’t bear fruit until well after the vendor has disappeared. Only cosmetic changes are expensive, but if there’s one lesson the internet taught the colt, it’s that dudes will pay almost anything for even a little extra down below.

There’s almost a full-on traffic jam in front of her spot when she hops up into the front door of her wagon. A loud cranking noise sounds out as a tall billboard sign slowly raises off the top of the wagon, proudly declaring that Madame Adiah’s Fertility Clinic is open for business.

A loud “clunk” seems to lock the sign in place, and the mare reemerges from within only a moment later, wiping a bead of sweat from her brow. She smiles beautifully for the gathered crowd and loudly declares, “Madame Adiah’s clinic is open and ready to share! Who would like to be the first to receive my care? Doubts and concerns may plague your mind, but my services are genuine, this you will soon find. Whether a colt or a filly or both you wish for, I can guarantee that will happen, this I assure!”

Satisfied he’ll be able to make a few bits and, more importantly, do a small part to help ponies desiring a foal, Cure watches on as Rushing Charge steps into the arena for her third match of the day. She won her previous flight quickly when an earth pony stallion mistakenly believed he could simply overpower the mare. The fight ended with a him-shaped imprint being filled in by the ground maintenance crew after Rush managed to wrap her forelegs around his barrel and hoist him off the ground.

He feels like there’s an “earth” pony joke somewhere in there, but the moment passes before his brain can piece it together.

By either pure chance or the equally unpredictable whims of fate, her third opponent of the day is a pegasus mare; a rather petite, bright white girl that Cure suspects can’t be much over sixteen. Her youth hasn’t helped anypony she’s faced so far, though; she has made quick work of every one of them, likely due in no small part to her special talent.

The Dart of Dodge moniker is aptly earned, and the surging dagger on each flank should be warning enough for anypony with half a brain. Just like Lt. Spear, Sgt. Song, and Cure’s own grandmother, the mare has proven exactly how dangerous facing a pony with a talent-related weapon can be.

She had previously eliminated one of the favorites to win the entire event. In a stunning display of agility, she had neatly spun around the long, powerful forelegs of one of the massive stallions from Vanhoover, scoring a slice across his belly that, in a real fight, would have been a horrible, gruesome way to go.

As much as he would like to root for the home team, the colt isn’t all that certain about the orange mare’s odds. He suspects this to be a match where Rush could win a real fight, but not one with the ruleset the event is sticking to. The problem with using a knife against an earth pony is that by the time an attacker moves in close enough, they are likely encroaching into the sphere of influence that the earth pony can affect with their TK.

If Rush manages to get a grasp of the weapon then she should be able to wrench it away. Similarly, if she can grab onto the pony or her armor, the odds shift considerably in her favor.

None of that matters if the first attack scores a good hit, and from the looks of things Rush has come to the same conclusion. Instead of the full spear she used in earlier matches, she chooses a short spear and a larger shield for added defense.

The two bump hooves before heading to their respective squares, the difference in hoof size and stature making the pairing seem unfair. Each one squares up with the illusory doppelganger, Rush with most of her weight on her hind legs and some on the bottom edge of her shield, and her opponent fully reared up, a dagger in each hoof.

The latter launches herself in the air the instant the match begins, flying slightly over head height in a tight loop around her larger opponent in an attempt to find an opening. Rush pivots behind her shield, keeping it between her body and the smaller mare. This continues for a couple rounds until Rush experimentally jabs out with her spear. Dart swats at it with her left wingblade, using it as a fulcrum to pitch inwards harder and score a hit on Rush’s back.

The orange mare hits the ground, ducking under the attack, and the two reset to resume the spiraling standoff. More probing attacks keep the pegasus at bay until she finally realizes she isn’t going to find an easy opening. Seeing that the earth pony isn’t even beginning to tire, Dart lands and squats down on her hind legs, determined to use her quicker build to her advantage on the ground instead. With her wings adding thrust, she skips from side to side on her approach, never letting Rush line up an ideal frontal attack.

Cure feels a twinge of both amusement and guilt when his mind involuntarily compares the white mare’s movements to those of a chicken. The wings-up, reared back hopping gait is probably the best way to approach her opponent, but it still looks absolutely ridiculous compared to true bipedal locomotion.

It was the better part of a year ago that the colt had given some relevant advice; he vividly recalls warning Wind Shear to never fight an earth pony on the ground, and that was when she had, in theory, a significant mass advantage over him. Rush is probably triple her opponent’s weight, so Cure can only assume that Dart is going with a last-ditch approach. If she can get in and land a good hit then the system should end the match in an instant, granting her the win.

It goes exactly as poorly as Cure anticipated; as soon as she gets close enough that she can’t easily dodge, the heavy shield lashes out like a moving brick wall. The mare deftly hops back, avoiding the strike, but with her wings on the backswing and her momentum backwards she has no way to dodge the incoming spear. Her daggers come up, skillfully deflecting it over her head in an X, but the force of the blow further fouls her stance.

Rush is all too happy to take advantage, bringing her shield in front of her and blasting forward in a talent-fueled charge. The smaller mare’s eyes widen comically at the steel freight train barreling down, and the dueling system’s safety mechanisms kick on the instant her face and chest are met with the oncoming assault. The visual effect strikes the colt as pretty badass; in her own box, it looked like Rush hit the mare so hard she literally exploded into light.

The three in the private box clap politely as the combatants make their way out of the squares to be stripped. Cure, meanwhile, makes a mental note to find the mare’s real name. After all, a list of ponies with weapon-based talents would be very useful for a pony that is so eager to learn.

Cure, in his Adiah guise, had been keeping a close eye on the group of teenage colts checking out her wares. Unsurprisingly, the four of them had immediately honed in on the lubricants being offered for sale. “Excuse me, miss?” the oldest amongst them calls with a smirk

“Greetings and salutations to you I say. How can Madame Adiah help you this day?”

His horn ignites, levitating a bottle of the warming lubricant between himself and the mare. His three buddies nearly break down in laughter, barely holding back with blatant snickers between them as they watch on.

“I was actually wondering about this, uh… warming potion.”

She raises a brow in question. “Yes? If you have a question you only need ask. I can certainly explain how to use that flask.”

“Oh! Perfect!” he exclaims, allowing his eyes to drift to the entrance of her wagon. “I was actually hoping you could show me how it works. You know…” he deepens his voice to try to sound seductive, “maybe show me yourself.” His friends burst out laughing, making no attempt to hide their amusement. “Perhaps you would be interested in demonstrating inside?” he asks, his sides shaking and tail swinging with amusement.

“I see,” she says, nodding in understanding. “While I always do my best to keep the customer satisfied, for what you seek you will need to find a different guide. This particular product works better than you may surmise, but proposition me again and it will go into your eyes.” She takes a step closer, towering over the no longer laughing colt. “Do you have any other questions, lee-tle one? Or have I said enough that your amusement is done?”

“We’re good!” he insists, setting the tube back on the shelf. “Have a nice day!” he calls, turning to flee along with his friends.

The mare theatrically sighs, more for show than anything. Even though the stall has only been open for about an hour, more than a few stallions - mostly younger ones, oddly enough - have already suggested they make use of her wagon for services that are very clearly not on her board. The frustrating part for the colt is that he specifically chose a female zebra form, especially an unusually large and muscular one, because he figured it would be too “different” for many stallions, or mares for that matter, to make a pass at.

Maybe the Sphinx idea he floated with the girls wasn’t such a bad one after all. It’s unlikely, though not impossible, that anypony would have the balls to proposition such an unknown and potentially dangerous creature, but that would also likely scare away a good number of ponies that would otherwise be willing to approach her. Zebra seemed to be the happy middle ground, and putting “Matobo Whore” as her name on the official paperwork struck him as exceedingly amusing.

She is pulled from her reverie by a soft voice from her side quietly mumbling, “That was amazing!”

Turning to her left, she smiles down at the young batpony threesome by her side and dips her head in a bow. “It was, perhaps, a little more harsh than intended, but I cannot deny that the effect was indeed splendid. Is there anything you need with which I can help? I hope I did not offend you by dealing with that whelp.”

“No! No, not at all!” the lone stallion insists. “Actually, we were… oh, I don’t want to sound like I doubt you,” he hesitates, scuffing the ground with his forehoof.

The mare on his right steps in to explain, “What our husband was going to say is, does it really work? Can you ensure that we have twins? And colts, too?”

“Absolutely! Of this you are correct! So long as you are in season, twin colts you could expect. However, if you both desire to be so blessed, there is but one thing that I feel I must suggest. My rituals can indeed ensure colt seeds are sewed, but,” she pauses, leaning down to whisper more quietly and focuses on the stallion, “I cannot guarantee it will work on more than one load.” Standing upright to resume as the poor guy blushes crimson, she adds, “I would suggest limiting yourself to one per day, which should be easy, for all week I will stay.”

The two mares, both every bit as flushed as their husband, share a look. A silent conversation passes between them, then they both nod in unison. The one on the stallion’s right takes a step forward and says, “I’ll go first. What do we do?”

Adiah waves a hoof to her wagon’s front door, explaining, “My wagon’s inside will provide some seclusion, granting us privacy for the alchemical infusion.” A wave of her staff has a sign unfurl reading “Be back in a moment!” and all of the products firmly stick themselves in place on her shelves.

She leads the three into the relatively spacious room, waving the other mare and the husband to a built-in couch on the right side of the room. The three pause a moment to take the interior of the room in. Row after row of vials line the left side of the room above a countertop with an exhaustive array of herbs, plants, and scientific equipment the likes of which they’ve never seen. The decor is a combination of a rip-off of the zebra ambassador’s bedroom, along with a few African tribal masks affixed to the walls for decoration.

Of course, everything in the room is simply for show. The vials are nothing more than colored sugar water, and all the “scientific equipment” does nothing more than look interesting.

A large, ceramic plate is set in the center of the room. Any actual mage would likely be completely perplexed by it, as the symbols decorating it all are nonsensical gibberish. Cure figures that the sheer quantity of them along with unrelated mathematical formulae should confuse anypony long enough for him to cast his spell and get them out the door.

“We shall begin with the dam to ensure you are prepared. Please have a seat in the circle, and do not be scared.” She plucks a green vial from the shelf and pulls off the cork, holding it up as she says, “This vial of life, with you I will infuse. If you are unsure then now is the time to refuse.”

“No! I’m ready!” the bat pony insists.

“Fantastic!” Adiah exclaims, offering the vial for the mare to drink.

She knocks it back in one go, humming in surprise at the flavor. “Oh good! I was worried it would taste awful!”

Adiah ignores the comment and raises her staff, filling it with a bright green glow as she explains, “You will feel on your coat a brushing like wind, and in only a moment your waiting egg will be twinned.” The staff flashes brightly for a moment, then begins glowing again as Adiah reaches out, brushing it along the mare’s shoulder. She nods in approval, smiling broadly at the mare. “The deed, it is done! There are two where there was previously only one.” She turns to face the partners and waves to the plate on the floor. “Next is the sire, if you don’t mind. Right here on the ritual circle, plant your behind.”

“Oh…kay?” he hesitantly agrees, climbing down to trade places with his wife.

Adiah holds up a hoof to get everypony’s attention. “I must convey to you a small warning fact; this magic will very likely cause you to… react.” She moves her hoof in a clockwise circle to point at his wives, “As flattered by the attention as I may be, I would ask that you turn to face away from me.”

“Oh… maker help me,” he quietly laments.

“Worry not, my batpony friend. This is not something with which you can offend. It is merely the result of my magic at work. I know it is strange, but it is an inevitable quirk.”

The poor stallion’s ears still fold back as both mares quietly snicker at his plight. He begrudgingly turns around to face away from the zebra, looping his tail around his rump to keep it entirely in the circle. Adiah floats another vial, uncorked, around the stallion in offering. He smiles sheepishly over his withers, then drinks it down before offering the empty back to her.

“Oh… oh my!” the poor bat exclaims as Cure’s magic gets to work. The effect is every bit as pronounced as Adiah had warned, and both mares are giggling quietly as their husband gets a chub under the tender hoof of the unusually large zebra.

It only takes a moment for her to complete her work. “There we go!” Adiah proudly exclaims, “You are both prepared for the big event, so now is the time for me to collect my payment. A low price I will offer to you three; fifty bits total is all it will be.”

One of the mares begins digging into her bag for some coins, quietly mumbling, “I can’t believe you’re only asking for fifty bits. You could charge thousands in Canterlot for this!”

Adiah smiles warmly at the mare as she accepts the coins, noting that she actually gave her a little extra. “I know that many would pay anything for this service, but the spreading of life is my very purpose. Others may do this solely for pay, but what I do brings great joy at the end of my day. Send anypony to me that will lend you an ear, so that together we might be able to spread this cheer.”

Once again standing across the arena from a unicorn, Rush mentally prepares herself for the match to begin. Having already tipped her hoof and shown her special talent, she opts to go with the more conservative choice of a shield and spear for the remainder of her matches. Her confidence rises when she sees the stallion opposite her has a sword held aloft in his aura. Even with the flexibility that unicorns have with melee weapons, it strikes her as downright foolish for one to even consider getting close enough to an earth pony to actually use the thing.

Hoping for an easy win, she propels herself forward, shield and spear held out, ready to run the stallion through, or at least knock him back out of the barrier. She can’t hold back the smile that plays across her lips when roots shoot up out of the ground in an attempt to ensnare her. Nothing so trivial as a few conjured vines can slow down a Rushing Charge, and the last-second shield the poor guy tries to erect folds like paper when she blasts through it, and him, to end the match.

Not wanting to be the subject of Cure’s … Prince Serpentus’ ire, she holds back celebrating too much at earning her a spot in the final match, choosing simply to hold her spear up in victory before demurely trotting out of the square. With only one other match left in the Private Rank Matches, the engineers don’t even bother removing her enchanted additions. Instead, they check them over to ensure they’re still charged up and have her sit down to rest while somepony fetches a water for her.

Meanwhile she considers what she’ll do against her last opponent; the same batpony stallion from Tampa Neigh that she saw go right after her first thing this morning. As best she can tell, whatever his talent does seems to be related to his wing strikes. It seems like every time he has landed a hit with his wing his target has been cleanly knocked out of the fight. Sgt. Song has hammered into her head that bat and pegasi wing strikes can hurt, but typically not so much as to penetrate an earth pony’s heavier armor with a single strike.

That didn’t stop the stallion from sending his last opponent skidding across the ground when he landed a solid roundhouse on her, though. She considers that it may finally be time to use her ace in the hole; the special move she came up with when the colt asked exactly what all she can do with her talent.

Yeah, she nods to herself, I think it’s time. Besides, what better way is there to win first place and really wow the crowd?

The surge of confidence doesn’t go unnoticed by her opponent. The stallion quirks a brow at her when she suddenly hops to her hooves and tells the ponies running the show that she’s ready to go. The two share a hoofbump before splitting up, with her heading to the closer square and him, as the supposedly more mobile competitor, flying off to the further away one. Against common sense, she drops off her shield and grabs a longer lance along the way, drawing even more confusion from the southern bat.

Rush makes her way into the arena and trots all the way to the far wall. The heavier lance doesn’t seem to weigh anything in her grip as she settles into a three-legged stance and gives the nod to signal that she is ready. The whistle blows to begin the match and both combatants spring into action. Rush locks her eyes onto his chest; the perfect target for the end of her lance.

With a spray of dirt blasting backwards, she launches herself across the arena. Just as she expected, the stallion launches himself in the air, attempting to pass over her to strike at her rear. Hind hooves skidding across the worn grass, Rush rears back on her back legs and focuses the magic inside her, eyes still affixed to her target of choice as he tries to pass out of her reach overhead. Feeling the pressure come to a head, the mare lets the power explode out her hind hooves, sending her charging straight up into the air.

The poor bat has absolutely no time to react. One moment he is ten meters above her, the next she’s blasting through his dissolving Illusion, smiling in joy at her winning the event. A split second decision has her throwing the lance away as gravity reminds her of its inevitable pull.

She distantly hears shouts of surprise and alarm as she begins falling back to the ground, but there’s no need to worry. Earth ponies are tough, even if this might hurt a little. Knees slightly bent, she courses magic through her body as she orients with the ground, aiming to come down on all fours. The impact buckles her legs and knocks the wind right out of her lungs, leaving four indents from her hooves and her lying prone on the ground.

Silence reigns across the field as everypony gasps and holds their breath. Carefully, she pushes herself off the ground and pulls her hooves out of the holes, patting herself down to make sure all the parts are where they belong. Smile nearly splitting her face, she rears up on her hind hooves and thrusts her forelegs into the sky, ignoring the minor aches and pains that she’s certain will suck during tomorrow’s events.

The crowd goes wild.

Author's Note

So I can now officially say that typing in rhyme, even if I think I did an *okay* job of it, absolutely sucks ass. Especially if you're trying not to repeat the same sound or do Yoda-speak the whole time. I think I spent about 80% of this chapter on Adiah's dialogue alone. I had hoped to get completely through day 1 of the event on this chapter, but now I need to decide how to handle the rest of the day because I really don't want to spend a whole month on 1 day in-story.

Eh, I'll figure it out.

So I'm sure several folks will wonder what the story is with the multiple names. Adiah is a stage name that he's using because he probably can't publicly use Kahaba. Kahaba, according to Google translate because I'm a lazy bastard, is Swahili for prostitute or whore. I'm not sure which, or even if the language has different words for the different contexts. I would be kind of surprised if it didn't, but I don't want to spend a lot of my free time looking up the various ways to say "you sell yourself" in a different language. So the official paperwork will, eventually, probably, get pulled by someone who will recognize the word and get curious, especially with that tribe's name attached.

Does Cure know what will happen? No. Does he care? Not really. If Celestia eventually gets word of it she'll instantly know who is responsible, but she would have anyhow. If she does find out, will she object to Cure doing this? Eh, maybe? Maybe not? Who knows?

She's probably kind of figured out that she can only get away with issuing so many more demands of the colt before he tells her to kindly stuff it, either directly or by ignoring her decrees. Especially when he's not really doing anything she can point at and say "That is really bad. Don't do that ever again." After all, using a fake name isn't a big deal, even if it is a tribe that we already suspect doesn't like him.

Besides, the Alicorn of Life is going to spread life. That's kinda his thing. Telling him to stop would be like someone else telling her to stop raising the sun because a group of unicorns can do it just fine.

We see some ponies that evidently have an idea of how to use their special talent. The one mare teleports in an instant, the pegasus mare is a pro with daggers (like Lt. Spear), and the bat stallion can apparently hit much harder than he should be able to with his wings. Of course, none of them considered that Rush could charge up as well. I mean... why wouldn't she be able to? In a horizontal charge, her hooves would probably be off the ground for several meters at a time anyhow.

So... BRG3 takes home the first win, right out of the gate. Yay, team!

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