Author's Note

Soo...this blew up unexpectedly.

I am truly grateful for all the support this fic has gotten despite it being less than a week old. I didn't expect this in my wildest dreams...which is why I had this chaotic chapter ready when I wrote the first one, just as a chaos dump, but I feel that you all deserve to have it so soon.

Again, I am very thankful for everything. I hope you enjoy this chapter.

1.5: interlude: Tibbles the Tyrant

Tempere trotted toward the Carousel Boutique, a small bag of shimmering gems clutched in her mouth, courtesy of her mother. The bag was soft but firm, the edges slightly digging into the side of her cheek, but she hardly noticed. She had other things on her mind—like the dull ache in her head from being woken up by her sister’s annoyingly persistent possum. The little creature had nipped her ear just as she had managed to drift back to sleep, and ever since, Tempere had been fighting the urge to grumble, her mind replaying a string of colourful curses. Of course, being raised in a community where the presence of foals was more often not, she kept the words inside, but that didn’t stop them from swirling around in her thoughts like a storm.

Not that her mood would stay foul for long. She knew that a visit to Rarity’s would lift her spirits. The boutique was always full of life and colour—just stepping through the door made her feel like she was walking into a painting. She wasn’t sure what it was about Rarity, but the white unicorn had this uncanny ability to make everything seem brighter even more than Pinkie Pie did. Not that she would ever admit it out loud, not when Rarity had a reputation for being slightly dramatic. In fact, “slightly” was a gross understatement. Tempere had lost count of the number of times she’d had to sit through one of Rarity’s impassioned rants about something being out of fashion. But, despite the occasional fits, Rarity was also calm in ways other ponies in town weren’t. Stable? Maybe not, but there was a steady rhythm to the way she carried herself. Tempere liked it. She liked Rarity, plain and simple. No need for an explanation—she just did.

The sound of the bell ringing as she entered snapped her out of her
thoughts. She lifted her head up to see where the white unicorn was, only to find an empty room full of decorations. She paused for a moment and contemplated looking for her somewhere else, but then she heard the muffled sound of Rarity’s ‘enchanted rambling’ voice. Opting to get some fun, and to save whatever poor pony that found themselves under the grasp of ‘Rarity the terrible’.

It didn’t take long for her to see the commotion upstairs. There was a poor lavender unicorn who did not look too happy about being subjected to whatever Rarity was doing.

”Emerald? What was I thinking about? Let me get you some Rubie- OH! Tempere darling, when did you get here?”

Tempere fully entered the room with an amused look, dropping the bag of gems from her mouth onto the nearest counter. “Just now,” she said, her voice tinged with dry humour. “But I see you’ve got your hooves full. Should I come back later, or would you like me to rescue your guest?”

The lavender unicorn shot Tempere a grateful glance, her lips twitching as though she wanted to plead for help but was too polite to say so.

“Oh, no need for heroics, darling,” Rarity replied with a wave of her hoof. “Twilight here is simply helping me brainstorm ideas for her celebration attire. Isn’t that right, Twilight?”

The unicorn, now identified as Twilight, gave a stiff nod. “Yes, although I didn’t exactly volunteer for—”

“Nonsense!” Rarity interjected, cutting Twilight off with the grace of a conductor silencing an orchestra. “You’re a mare of style, Twilight. I could see it the moment you walked through my door. I simply must ensure you’re dressed appropriately for the festivities.”

Tempere leaned casually against the doorframe, her turquoise eyes sparkling with barely-suppressed mirth. “Style, huh? Is that what we’re calling it?” she teased, gesturing vaguely at Twilight’s overdone mane.

Twilight’s cheeks flushed a light pink, and she glared at Tempere in exasperation. “I didn’t ask for this,” she muttered under her breath, clearly embarrassed.

Rarity, who was still under the influence of her design highs, turned her attention back to the bag of gems Tempere had brought. Her magic enveloped the pouch, and she opened it with a delicate flourish. The gems within caught the light, casting vibrant reflections across the room.

“Oh, these are simply divine!” Rarity exclaimed, her earlier frazzled energy transforming into something akin to reverence. “Your mother never ceases to amaze me with her selections. These will be perfect for the accents I’ve been planning.”

Tempere smiled faintly, glad her friend enjoyed the gift. “Mum has a good eye for quality,” she said. “She mentioned you’d been asking for specific cuts. Figured I’d deliver them myself since I needed an excuse to stretch my wings.”

Rarity, who looked sceptical as soon as she heard the second part, simply raised a single eyebrow before she beamed. “Well, do thank her for me, darling. And you, of course. You’ve saved me a trip to the market, and I daresay I owe you for that.”

Tempere shrugged; she didn't think that it was worth mentioning. Rarity was their top customer in this town when it came to gems after all. “No need for that. Just happy to help.”

Before Rarity could respond, Twilight cleared her throat, drawing both mares’ attention. “If it’s all the same to you,” she said, her tone measured but firm, “I think I’ll take my leave. There are still a few preparations I need to oversee before tomorrow.”

“Oh, of course, of course,” Rarity said quickly, her magic already smoothing down Twilight’s mane in an attempt to restore some semblance of normalcy. It worked splendidly, or so Tempere thought. “I wouldn’t dream of keeping you from your duties, Twilight. But do promise you’ll consider my suggestions for your ensemble?”

Twilight gave a tight-lipped smile, clearly eager to escape. “I’ll think about it,” she said, edging toward the door.

Tempere watched as Twilight descended the stairs, her movements quick and efficient, as though she were afraid Rarity might change her mind and drag her back. Once the front door closed with a soft click, the rosewood-coated mare turned back to Rarity, one eyebrow arched.

“She’s an interesting one,” Tempere remarked. “Not from around here, I take it?”

Rarity sighed wistfully, returning to her workbench where she began sorting through the gems. “No, she’s from Canterlot. Personal protégé of Princess Celestia, no less. Imagine the pressure! I can hardly blame her for being a touch... rigid.”

Tempere hummed in agreement, her gaze wandering to the window. The early noon sun bathed the boutique in warm light, and for a moment, she allowed herself to relax. Something was soothing about the quiet rhythm of Rarity’s workspace—the gentle hum of magic, the soft clink of gems against one another, the faint rustle of fabric being arranged just so. It was a stark contrast to the chaos she’d witnessed earlier.

“Now, since the guest has left,” Rarity began, her tone saccharine sweet, “might I ask what you were about to do?” She tilted her head ever so slightly, the perfect picture of polite curiosity, though the arch of her brow betrayed her suspicion.

Tempere snorted softly, her amusement thinly veiled. “About to do? You’ll need to be a bit more specific, Rarity. You’re speaking in riddles again.”

“Oh, please, darling,” Rarity replied with an exaggerated wave of her hoof. “We both know your mother would have loved to deliver those gems herself. What were you up to this time?”

Tempere straightened up, feigning a look of innocent indignation. She even placed a hoof to her chest for added effect, though the flicker of a smirk at the corner of her mouth suggested she wasn’t all that committed to the act. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said, her voice laced with mock offence.

Rarity’s expression didn’t falter. Her knowing gaze pierced through Tempere’s defences like a needle through the fabric, leaving no room for denial. Tempere sighed, letting her shoulders sag in defeat. She spends too much time with this mare. “Fine,” she muttered, her tone begrudging. “I was about to test Luna’s capacity for forgiveness if her oh-so-dear ‘Tibbles’ were to, say, mysteriously meet with a tragic accident.”

Rarity’s laughter bubbled up instantly, light and melodic, filling the boutique like a chiming bell. “Not terribly high, I would imagine,” she said between giggles. “What did he do this time?”

Tempere’s eyes darkened, and her wings gave an irritated twitch at the memory. “What didn’t he do?” she grumbled, her voice taking on an edge. “I don’t know what I did to deserve his eternal wrath, but that damned possum hates me. I was just about to fall asleep—finally—and he bit me. On the ear!”

Rarity’s perfectly coiffed mane bobbed slightly as she tilted her head, a faint smile playing on her lips. “Sleep? At this time of day? My dear Tempere, you’ve hardly earned a nap yet.”

“We live in a mountain,” Tempere shot back, her tone dry as a desert plain. “And we came here dragging a wagon. Sue me for being tired.”

Rarity’s laughter resumed, though this time it was softer, more indulgent. “Oh, darling,” she said, shaking her head. “I do admire your resilience. Though I must admit, I’m curious—did you consider why Tiberius might have taken such offence to your existence?”

Tempere rolled her eyes, her frustration evident. “Oh, sure. I’ve spent countless hours pondering the deep mysteries of a possum’s grudge,” she said sarcastically. “Maybe I offended his sense of decorum by not bowing before him like the little tyrant he is.”

Rarity giggled again, her magic flicking a stray thread off the counter as she turned to sort through her latest fabric swatches. “Perhaps he’s simply testing your patience. A trial by fire, if you will.”

“More like a trial by teeth,” Tempere muttered under her breath, her ears still faintly burning from the memory of Tiberius’s sharp nip. She sat down heavily on one of the boutique’s plush cushions, letting out a long, weary sigh. “Honestly, Rarity, I don’t know how Luna puts up with him, let alone adore him. I thought the owls were bad before but that possum is a menace!”

Rarity hummed softly as she worked, her horn glowing faintly as she guided a roll of shimmering fabric across her workbench. “Well, that he might be,” she said, her tone light but with a trace of sympathy, “but I do think telling on him would be the better option. Or perhaps enlisting the twins to take care of him? They seem resourceful.”

At that, Tempere felt a sly smile curve her lips. The very thought of involving Petal and Ember in her ongoing battle with Luna’s possum brought a flicker of satisfaction to her tired mind. “Why, Rarity,” she said, mock-affronted, her voice dripping with faux drama, “you wound me. Do you think I’ve not already considered that? I’ve notioned the idea to Petal and Ember. That little menace is about to get a taste of his own medicine.”

Rarity raised a perfectly shaped brow, her expression hovering somewhere between amusement and mild concern. She said nothing, but the slight quirk of her lips suggested she was at least entertained by the idea of the twins taking on the possum.

After a moment, Rarity turned back to her work, the gleam of her magic catching the light as she began trimming the edges of her fabric. “Whatever it might be,” she said smoothly, “I’m afraid I must return to the town hall soon. The decorations still need to be set, and time waits for no mare.”

Tempere shifted, stretching her wings slightly before settling back into her seat. “Would you like some company?” she asked, her tone casual but her eyes hinting at a desire for distraction. The thought of lingering in the boutique, even in Rarity’s pleasant company, wasn’t quite appealing enough to stave off her growing fatigue. A change of scenery might help. If it didn't, she could at least say that she tried.

Rarity glanced at her with a smile, her eyes softening at the offer. “I would, darling. Though I must warn you, it’s not terribly exciting work. Just hanging ribbons and garlands, mostly.”

Tempere shrugged as she stood, shaking out her mane. “Excitement isn’t what I’m after. Just protect me with a wall of gems if I fall asleep or something.”

Rarity chuckled, her laugh as refined as always. “Noted, darling. A wall of gems it is, should the need arise.”

Tempere simply smiled at her friend as she descended the stairs after her. More eager and energetic than she was mere moments ago. Perhaps she’ll have a good amount of fun before Pinkie pulls a party for whatever occasion she saw fit.

———————————————

Gaius Caesar Augustus Germanicus, third of his name—or as the ponies called him, Angel Bunny—lived what could only be described as a life befitting his greatness. He had the most doting, gentle caretaker, a mare who ranked leagues above any other pony in Equestria. Fluttershy, as she was known to others, was kind, tender-hearted, and—most importantly—completely besotted with him. Yes, he had to share her attention with other animals, but it was painfully clear to anyone with eyes that he was her favourite. This wasn’t conjecture. This was fact.

Still, his idyllic existence wasn’t without its trials. No, it fell to him to maintain the delicate order of their shared home. His was the paw that kept the ever-growing throng of lesser beasts in line, the sentinel who enforced discipline. The timid pegasus needed him. Without Angel, chaos would reign supreme, and the menagerie she so carefully cultivated would descend into anarchy.

Or so he liked to think.

Recently, however, his duties as the regulator of this small slice of Equestria had been overshadowed by a far more pressing concern: his nemesis, his eternal rival, the bane of his existence. No, not the Rainbow pest, but his enemy for life, Tiberius the Conqueror. The mere thought of the possum’s name sent a ripple of disdain through Angel’s very being.

That insufferable vermin had committed the ultimate trifecta of offences. First, Tiberius had trespassed into Angel’s territory, barging into his sanctuary as though it were a public thoroughfare. Second, the rodent had dared to interrupt Angel’s dinner—a meal painstakingly selected and prepared by his Fluttershy. Third, he nearly caused him to be trampled by lesser vermin. And finally, the pièce de résistance, Tiberius had stolen said dinner right out from under his nose.

Each of these crimes, egregious in their own right, was grounds for retaliation. But together? Together, they were nothing short of an act of war.

And war, naturally, had been declared.

This was how Angel found himself perched atop one of the twin vermin, Petal, as she galloped full tilt through the meadow, her hooves barely touching the ground, courtesy of the constant jumps she had to make due to the protruding roots of the trees. Angel clung to her mane with one paw, his other paw held aloft like a general rallying his troops. It wasn’t every day that the twins—those bumbling agents of chaos—proved useful, but today was an exception. Their past transgressions—knocking over his carefully curated stash of carrots, chasing him across the garden, and other such indignities—had been pardoned in exchange for their service in this noble endeavour.

“Hey! Petal, wait up!” came a breathless voice from behind. Her twin, Ember, was lagging, his words broken by the sound of desperate panting. Angel twisted to glance back at the colt and couldn't suppress a snicker. It was embarrassing, really, the way he struggled to keep up. A disappointment to all quadrupeds.

“I can’t!” Petal shouted, her voice tinged with both urgency and irritation. “Unless you want to be the one to tell Luna that we lost Tibbles, we have to catch him!”

At that, Angel couldn’t help but laugh, the sound coming out in a series of sharp, triumphant squeaks. Tibbles. What a ridiculous name for such a pest. The title of “Conqueror” had been bestowed by Angel himself, albeit sarcastically. The possum’s sheer audacity demanded recognition, even if it was begrudging. But “Tibbles”? That was just icing on the cake.

Ahead of them, Tiberius darted through the underbrush with infuriating agility, his sleek, wiry frame weaving between tree roots and bushes like a serpent. His beady eyes gleamed with mischief, and Angel swore he could see the smug twitch of the possum’s tail as it disappeared into the tall grass.

Petal leapt over a fallen log, her pace unwavering. “He’s heading for the riverbank!” she called over her shoulder.

Angel’s ears perked up. The riverbank was a dead end. With its steep embankments and rushing waters, there’d be nowhere for Tiberius to run. The rodent would be cornered like the coward he was. The thought sent a surge of satisfaction through Angel. Victory was within his grasp.

“Faster!” he barked, his squeaky voice full of authority. Petal didn’t respond verbally, but her ears flicked back in acknowledgement, or so he hoped. Unfortunately, it was fate's cruel way of making the caretaker of his rival be the only other who could understand him besides Fluttershy. Nonetheless, she pushed herself harder, her breaths coming in short, sharp bursts. Behind them, Ember let out a wheezy groan, clearly struggling to match his sister’s pace.

“You’re slowing us down!” Petal snapped, glancing back with a glare.

“I’m—trying—okay?” Ember huffed, his legs moving in what could generously be called a gallop. Angel rolled his eyes. If the colt couldn’t keep up, he had no business being part of this mission.

The riverbank came into view, the sound of rushing water growing louder with each passing second. Tiberius was mere strides ahead now, his movements growing more frantic as he realised the trap closing around him. Petal skidded to a halt at the edge of the embankment, her hooves digging into the dirt. Angel leapt from her back, landing with practised precision on a nearby rock. He puffed out his chest, his ears standing tall as he prepared to confront his nemesis.

Yet, something was off. Across the way, Tiberius stood poised at the water’s edge, his wiry tail flicking lazily as though this was a mere afternoon stroll, all previous panic gone. His beady eyes scanned the scene, assessing Angel, the twins, and the situation with a calm that bordered on infuriating. For a long, drawn-out moment, their gazes locked. The world around them dissolved into nothingness. There was no Fluttershy, no Ponyville, no meadow—just the electric tension of two sworn enemies on the precipice of war.

Angel’s nose twitched, his whiskers bristling with disdain. He narrowed his eyes into icy slits, his little paw curling into a fist. This was it. The moment of reckoning. His time for vengeance had finally arrived. Then Tiberius acted, and ruined it all.

With a flash of his bushy tail and a defiant smirk, the possum leapt into the rushing waters.

It was madness. No, it was brilliance. Angel watched, his jaw slack in a mixture of horror and begrudging admiration, as Tiberius was about to be swept downstream. But fate—ever the fickle mistress—was not done yet. From above, an owl swooped down with impeccable precision, talons outstretched. The bird snatched Tiberius mid-air, lifting him from the chaos of the current with a nonchalance that made it clear this was not its first rodeo.

Angel could only watch as his nemesis was carried effortlessly across the river, the owl depositing him on the far bank like some royal envoy being delivered to a victory feast.

The possum stood, shaking off a few stray feathers with an almost leisurely air. Then he turned, and with infuriating composure, locked eyes with Angel once more. Slowly, deliberately, Tiberius reached into his tiny stash—the very food he had stolen—and took a smug bite.

Then, to make matters infinitely worse, he spoke.

“You’ve lost your touch, Caligula,” Tiberius said, his tone dripping with faux concern. “Not only do you rely on children for aid, but you still fail miserably. How far have you fallen? It's almost a shame to be your enemy, almost. But it is still a tragedy is it not?”

Angel felt his blood boil, his vision narrowing until all he could see was that damned smug expression. Tiberius’s voice droned on, some mocking diatribe about Angel’s diminished prowess, but Angel heard none of it. There was no sound, no river, no birdsong. There was only rage—pure, unbridled rage.

With a squeak of fury that could have roused the sun itself, Angel whirled around, leaping from the capable back of Petal to the bumbling frame of Ember. The colt yelped in confusion as Angel yanked on his mane, directing him like an unskilled but determined jockey.

“What—what’s happening?!” Ember cried, his voice cracking as he scrambled to regain control.

“Just run!” Petal shouted, sounding as confused as her brother.

Angel tugged again, and to his credit, Ember finally got the message. With a shrill whinny of alarm, the colt launched into a gallop. His wings flared open as he caught the wind, and within seconds, the pair were airborne, soaring above the riverbank.

Below them, Tiberius watched their ascent with a look of mild amusement. His tail flicked once, twice, and then, like the slippery fiend he was, he bolted. His legs moved in a blur as he darted into the underbrush, disappearing into the labyrinth of trees and shadows.

Good. Let him run. The hunt was on.

Angel’s whiskers twitched with anticipation, a fierce grin splitting his face. This wasn’t over—not by a long shot. One way or another, Tiberius would pay. For the food, for the insults, for everything.

And this time, Angel vowed, there would be no escape.