What Missing Character Tag?
She wasn't even supposed to be there, and she certainly wasn't supposed to win.
Twilight, on her final hoof approach to the charity auction's entrance, did exactly as she'd practiced during long, lonely hours in the tree's basement. She'd already made sure the elaborate shimmering grey of the dress was resting properly: something which had required multiple adjustments while on the train, as Rarity's designs were meant more for mass display than mass transit. Now she looked at the last few body lengths of distance which separated her from the final door, while not bothering to openly notice the stallion who was standing guard on the right. Then she drew in the kind of breath which pushed a slender rib cage to its absolute limits, held her head high, regally paced forward under slow-dipping spring Sun and at the exact moment she came into view of party security, flared her wings.
The stallion's mouth opened, very slightly. It was the only thing about him which moved at all, and so Twilight wound up having to open the door herself. A pinkish corona, fully steady around the edges and showing the smooth curves of self-confidence, carefully closed it behind her as limbs refolded.
In.
And just like that, she was a little closer to final victory. Something she'd earned.
It had taken weeks of research, and perhaps only a librarian could have put it all together. The usual parade of periodicals came through the tree, which very much included every newspaper from the capital and society pages which were proudly guaranteed to be no more than 5% Fact. A lot of ponies read those -- but Twilight was the one who had access to literary journals. There had been times when she'd found copies of in-publisher-house memos in her New Release boxes, always by accident. And of course, when you were in and out of the palace, you were going to overhear (and not on purpose!) bits and pieces of the occasional story.
She'd started to notice... commonalities. Rumor coalesced into the somewhat more reliable possibility of suggestion. Articles, documents, sentences clipped out of longer pieces because when it was the society pages, there was only so much Twilight could stand to read... one tenth-bit at a time, she'd assembled what was almost the whole of it.
The librarian knew she didn't have everything. Nothing had explained how her target had reached this point. The most prevalent whisper was a previously-secret clause in a publishing contract --
"-- um," said a rather faint-voiced mare on her left: a unicorn standing behind a wood-and-brass table in the marble hallway. "...Princess?"
"Hello!" Twilight brightly said, because she'd found that a sunny greeting was often a good way to get through first-time social encounters. Especially when she wanted to keep them at a minute or less. "Is there something I can help you with? Because I seem to be galloping just a little behind the herd today. And while I'll be happy to speak with you on the way out, I should really get inside --"
"-- your... number," the mare weakly said, and nodded towards the foreleg straps which rested upon the wood.
It was simple enough. Each strap had a rigid circular fabric pocket, and a touch of rectangle sticking out of the top to serve as a tooth grip. Extract the contexts that way, and the paddle had Twilight's number: something no other pony at the auction would posses. A little mouth work revealed her to be #58.
"It's order of arrival," was trying very hard to be an apology, and wasn't quite sure if it was succeeding. "Or you'd get Number One. Unless one of the other Princesses was here. Um. I... guess Princess Celestia would be Number One then?" The silvery fur was beginning to darken from absorbed sweat. "Or... um... if... Princess Celestia and Princess Luna both came in... they're not here... um... one of them would --"
"Lean against the wall," Twilight helpfully said, and her corona adjusted the other mare's position. "Let it take your weight..."
"-- because it's an auction and if ponies shared numbers, nothing would make sense. But even if they arrived together, at the exact same moment... one of them would have to be Number Two. " All four knees began to bend in on themselves. "I'd... have to tell a Princess that she's --"
"They are both," the librarian reassuringly offered, "very good about that sort of thing. Which, with Princess Luna, surprises a lot of ponies. It really shouldn't."
"-- Number Two..."
There was a certain routine you had to follow when this sort of thing happened, and Twilight went through most of it. She was rather good at reviving the freshly-fainted: spending any amount of time around Luna offered plenty of opportunities. But you were strictly supposed to walk the awakened in a cooldown circle for at least five minutes, and Twilight stopped when she was sure the mare could manage on her own. She had to get inside, because there had been about an hour left when she'd arrived and now there was that much less...
...it didn't matter.
The excited whispers started at the moment she entered the vaulting hall: something which was probably to be expected when an alicorn turned up. Twilight ignored all of them. The only response was to put on the vaguely irritated look which had once been her default response to being at any kind of party, along with placing her wings into a very partial spread: not preventing anypony from passing her, just taking up more space than usual. Something Fluttershy had told her was a sign that a pegasus wanted to be left alone, and presumably had a little more force when a horn got added in. And if anypony still became too insistent... well, she could always hide in the bathroom for a while. Twilight was very good at hiding in bathrooms, and had a personal ratings system. Properly-aligned reading shelves were appreciated. Numerically.
All she had to do was be in the right place at the exact final second.
She was going to win.
And the only thing required for that was to be... last.
It was all about the timing...
Treasure wasn't supposed to be kept in plain cardboard boxes.
Teak. Mahogany chests. You could push it to jewel-encrusted gold if you both wanted to be gaudy and had a neck workout program which centered around flipping lids. But not cardboard, and perhaps that was why so many of the elaborately-dressed high society ponies at the charity auction weren't even bothering to pause by that station along the many long interior tables. There were first editions to look at. Autographed copies. Incredibly rare error proofs. Because the publishing houses of Canterlot came together every so often to raise money for what was actually a rather good charity and this year...
Twilight reached the two tape-bound containers. Stopped in front of them, and felt her head briefly bow from respect and reverence.
This was the part she'd had to piece together. There was always a surprise lot during the auction, something which was never revealed to the attendees until they trotted in -- but multiple article writers hadn't been able to resist dropping what they'd felt to be unsolvable cryptic clues. And Twilight, over the course of those weeks, with everything spread across the library's front desk as she drew connection after connection... had worked it out. Possibly the only one in the world who had. In a way, the boxes were just -- confirmation.
They were also (slightly premature) victory.
Two boxes of A.K. Yearling's personal notes.
And really, did it matter how they'd gotten here? All she had to do was strike at the right moment, and they were hers --
-- an earth pony mare, light rose and dressed to the 12s (for when even the exaggeration of the 11s wasn't enough), approached. She seemed to be -- looking at the boxes...
Twilight turned slightly. Looked directly at her, and a small mare tried to muster all of the intimidation which might be available from having switched species. But the mare simply moved along, and the pace of her trot never changed.
Back to the boxes. Or rather, the sheet of paper in front of them.
It was a silent auction. Each bidder was known only by their paddle number. You wrote that down, and then you added what you were willing to pay. Of course, somepony could always come along and outbid you -- until the moment the auction ended. And in that instant, the highest recorded amount would win.
Twilight had been saving for weeks...
She carefully inspected the bid sheet.
She'd needed to be careful about her timing. Arriving late enough so that she didn't have to have to spend wasted hours in pointlessly dealing with nobles, especially since Fancypants wasn't in attendance -- but with enough remaining on the clock to let her see what had been happening. Which, in this case...
...just like I thought. This is a High Literature crowd, or at least they'll pretend towards it while muttering a few author names and getting the pronunciation wrong. A few of them are here for their real favorites, but most of them are just looking for -- centerpieces. Something to place on the reading shelf of a drinking trough which never actually gets used. She had to force herself not to grind her teeth: she'd seen some of the prices on the more... traditional authors -- but all of the money was going to charity. Just about nopony's bidding on this because it's beneath them...
The process had started with #19 -- whoever that was, and Twilight doubted anypony would be able to tell her: the polite thing to do at a silent auction was turn your tail towards anypony who seemed to be on the verge of writing. (She'd already suspected that rule got kicked out the window when an alicorn was in the hunt, and the tingle of the prey sense at the back of her neck confirmed that she was being watched.) That initial bidder had written down their ID number, followed by the base opening bid and... a little check mark for some reason. Possibly just noting that the item had a bid. After that, #37 had come in to top it. #19 hadn't returned.
4 and #28 had tried to exchange a couple of kicks. Some rather hasty mouthwriting suggested that #37 had effectively interrupted the battle. And that was the party currently in the lead.
More to the point: the lead was a number Twilight could still top.
Her corona took up the quill which had been left next to the boxes. Dipped it in the ink bottle, and then she outbid #37 by -- three bits. Doing it by a mere bit would have freed up more of her budget, but she didn't truly expect this bid to be the winning one. And in the event that it somehow was... everything went to charity anyway. Besides, she was probably going to wind up having at least one quick snack from the serving table while she waited. So in a way, she was just buying herself an early dinner.
Twilight smiled.
Good. They did watch.
All part of the plan.
Now the entire hall knew that an alicorn was interested.
Rarity had told them about crashing parties, and there had been some rather unfortunate personal experience along the way. But the base tactic was frequently sound. You moved like you belonged there. As if, in fact, you owned the place and anypony who questioned it was likely to be kicked out of what was now your house.
And when you added a display of wings and horn...
There was likely somepony in the room who knew she hadn't been invited: the party who'd made out the master guest list -- and if that one approached her, Twilight was prepared to offer some fairly elaborate explanations while stalling just long enough for the auction to run out. Everypony else either assumed she belonged there or didn't know how to do anything about it.
The same parties who might now be questioning if it was a good idea to get between an alicorn and what she very obviously wanted.
So the wings are good for something. And immediately imagined how Rainbow would have reacted on hearing that. ...something else. They got me in. They just might keep all of the other bidders away.
I'm going to win.
Another smile. She began to back away from the table, and the dock of her tail bumped somepony.
Both turn and apology were automatic. "I'm sorry! I didn't see you --"
Which was where she stopped, because she was looking directly at the -- mare? It was a dress -- and she still couldn't see the other pony.
The dark dress wasn't just floor-length: it extended past the hooves in all directions, leaving the occupant moving within a personal puddle of silk. It was just about impossible to see where the legs actually were, and Twilight had to presume the mare had a back because something was holding the rest of the dress up. The sides were oddly bulky, suggesting either some degree of layering, wings, an internal support structure, or that the mare had brought a date and whatever might be happening under there probably wasn't something Twilight wanted to picture for long. There wasn't a square hoofwidth of fur visible, and part of that was because the mare was wearing a hat. Indoors. One which had thick black veils hanging down from the full circle of the far-too-large brim...
Privacy cloth. Rarity had taught her about that: a combination of special sewing and minor magic. Whoever was wearing that could see out normally -- but nopony else could see in. And the mare was a little further behind Twilight than the librarian would have expected from the bump. A startled leap backwards was the most likely reason.
"I am sorry," Twilight said, and wondered whom she'd said it to. A celebrity? Somepony who doesn't want to be recognized? But it's probably all well-known ponies in here... She'd accidentally bumped into a quadrupedal assembly of anonymity.
The hat brim raised slightly, presumably because the head had tried something. A brief, faint touch of doming against the sides suggested ears existed.
"Shont heevent slurri refrout git," said the most back-of-the-throat burbling voice to not even come close to mastering Equestrian.
Twilight hesitated. The auditory center of her brain examined all received information, flipped it over a few times, inspected the results from multiple angles, and then a question which had been on hold for several years finally saw its chance.
"I'm sorry," the librarian politely tried as postponed, relocated syllables completely failed to land on the Boutique's floor, "but... where is that accent from?"
"Shmphz!" the other mare said. The hat lifted more all the more, and a mobile splash of fabric haughtily trotted away.
It's hardly a rude question. But that didn't matter either. She'd tried to apologize, it hadn't been accepted, and there was absolutely no point in becoming neurotic about it. Especially when there was less than an hour left in the auction and based on prior experience, an all-out atonement spiral was going to take at least a day. Besides, the mare could have said 'Behind you'. Or, somewhat more likely, 'Rescind shoe'.
Twilight reluctantly moved away from the boxes. There were interesting items at the auction, and she moved her way along the current table to see what more of them were. She couldn't bid on anything else, but she could certainly inspect some of the error copies and come up with suggestions for better proofreading systems. And while very few of the actual publishers had turned up for the event, she still had faint hope of running into an actual author...
...was that Ms. Yearling in the veil?
Most ponies say she's very reclusive. Maybe the only way she could be comfortable turning up here was if nopony could spot her. So she's keeping an eye on her own auction lot. Seeing how it does...
A rather close eye, because Twilight's turn at the end of the aisle had left her facing back towards her target. The mystery mare was going directly up to the boxes...
The veil distorted as the mare leaned forward. Fabric-coated teeth tried to pick up a quill, and succeeded on the third attempt.
No.
Oh, no.
That is not Ms. Yearling. She has no reason to buy her own notes back.
...unless there's only the one copy of something really crucial in there and she doesn't want anypony to see...
Twilight was very much hoping that wasn't the case. Under the one hoof, she would have loved to finally meet the author. Under one of the other hooves, while whatever the creator would have been trying to get back was obviously hyper-critical -- there was no way she would have been capable of outbidding A.K. Yearling. Twilight was a Princess on (revised) biology. The salary was still that of a librarian. Without the palace backing her...
...the mystery mare moved away from the boxes. Twilight watched her go, noted what felt like an oddly slow pace, and then closed in.
It only took a single glance at the sheet to confirm what, in somewhat less than an hour, would have been the worst.
Outbid.
By a single, somewhat insulting-seeming bit.
Twilight checked the other number.
We'll just call that... a name. For now.
Hello, #37.
The sudden smile was thin. Determined. Somewhat vicious and, thanks to a little too much time spent around Applejack, slightly mercenary.
I look forward to beating you.
There were a few ways to play this, and the first was the one Twilight had intended all along: be right next to the boxes as the clock was running out, with quill held in corona and ready to write down any number up to her maximum. But she also wanted to show that the mare who'd faced down Nightmare wasn't going to be scared off by a mere counterbid, and there was still quite a bit of budget left.
Her horn ignited. Glow took up the quill and, after a moment, also retook the lead. Twilight proudly trotted away.
...all right, so #37 wanted to play, did she?
Really, it was a good thing that Twilight had decided to make her path into what was now effectively a full patrol of the area. If she hadn't gone by the boxes again, she wouldn't have spotted the fresh scrawl on the bid sheet. The non-quality of the mouthwriting was almost as offensive as the fact that the new line was once again directly above hers.
(Purple wings, which were being carried in the most low-level Leave Me Alone position available, subconsciously flared out just a little more.)
Fine. This was partially about -- psychology, wasn't it? Somewhat like the seasonal Bearer poker games, except that Twilight didn't have the luxury of bluffing: any bid number which was written down had to be paid. But there was still money left which could be spent. A decent amount of it. And while swooping in at the absolute last second came with the sort of dramatics which were almost guaranteed to raise the High Literature snouts that much higher from recoil at the cliche... Twilight was no longer the small, skittish, reluctant-to-interact mare who had once lived in a tower. Now she was just a little on the nervous side and spent a lot of time with friends, most of whom were still making short jokes.
She could come in at the last second, and still planned to do exactly that: this was the sort of fight where the only kick which truly mattered was the final one. But there was absolutely nothing wrong with showing the other mare that Twilight Sparkle didn't get scared off --
-- oh, come on!
The resulting aggravated snort failed to rustle the bid sheet, and Twilight equally failed to notice that. Nor did she pick up on how there were rather more ponies watching her now. Prey sense did have an overwhelm limit, especially when the attention was pretty much constant.
Fine, the irritated librarian decided as her corona seized the quill again. Let's see what you do with this...
"Princess?" asked an artificially-authoritative stallion voice. It was the tonal signature of a pony who knew that he was technically facing down somepony in the royal line of succession, but this was his hall. And if it really was...
Twilight reluctantly turned towards him: the slow pace allowed her to spot the official sternum-mounted badge of the venue's rental company. A further slowdown allowed her to make sure the smile was in place before she met his gaze. Ponies tended to be oddly disturbed when they witnessed a smile effectively teleporting in all at once.
As long as he didn't make out the invitations...
"Is there something I can help you with?" Twilight politely inquired. "And if so, I don't suppose there's any chance it can wait a little while? Because with the auction in progress --"
"-- it is," the paper-white middle-aged unicorn said, "about the auction."
He's not going to kick me out.
He's not going to kick me out.
...he might try asking me to leave.
If I trot out at the slowest pace possible and try teleporting back to the boxes to bid just before I reach the hallway...
"You have some truly lovely pieces!" Twilight tried to beam. "I would be in a position to know. Incidentally, do you ever bring in research-oriented publications? Because I just happen to be missing a first-edition Earnest Young from a few years back. I can give you the title --"
"-- I see you're interested in the Yearling lot," he interrupted, and she was briefly impressed. It wasn't just anypony who could do that to an alicorn.
"Somewhat, yes," was as far as she was verbally willing to go.
"Other parties," the stallion added, "are also interested." And kicked in a subtle head tilt towards the bid sheet, presumably for free.
"So I see," Twilight admitted. "But it's hardly a fun auction if only one pony tries for a given lot, is it? And this is for charity. So -- about that Young release --"
"-- and as you are not the lone bidder," the unicorn cut her off, "and other parties may want to investigate the lot, or even consider bidding upon it... would it be possible for you to not stand directly in front of the bid sheet at all times?"
He nodded: a gesture which didn't seem to be aimed at her, and so easily went over Twilight's head: She found herself automatically turning to track where it was going: past her tail, shot down the hall, and landed on a quadrupedal puddle of fabric near a wall. One which, if Twilight could count on the hat to identify which end had the eyes, seemed to be watching in frustrated silence.
"Oh, I am sorry!" the one-mare blockade falsely announced. "I suppose I have been inspecting it for a rather long time. But --" maybe she could make it work to her advantage for once? "-- I do happen to be..." ...phrasing... "...possibly slightly on the petite side."
The stallion placidly regarded a six-limbed intersection of species which was still picking up half of her weather-related clothing from the Secondary School Fillies racks.
"So I'm sure anypony could get past me if they really wanted to," Twilight continued. "Or just arc their neck a little to reach the sheet! Plus pegasi could always come in from overhead --"
"-- if you would move?" the stallion broke in.
She wasn't quite as impressed this time.
"Of course!" Twilight smiled, and moved. Two body lengths towards the far end of the hall, which placed her in a position of blocking nothing. And, with the stallion no longer an immediate factor and the prospect of being removed apparently nowhere to be found in the current stable, went right back to focusing all of her attention on the two boxes.
Visibly focusing.
Very visibly.
Her horn was dark. Not a single lumen of pinkish glow colored the air. There was just an alicorn in an aisle.
Standing rather still.
Menacingly.
...or at least, she hoped that was how it was coming across. Certainly nopony had tried to get past her physically while she'd been directly blocking the bid sheet, but #37 had decided to just go over Twilight's head...
The stallion looked at where she'd stopped. Shrugged, mostly to himself, and trotted away.
I can hear the other bidders. They're whispering again. Some of them are getting louder...
Because she'd just given them something to talk about. It didn't matter. All she had to do was make it through roughly another half-hour --
-- the half-elevated puddle of fabric was slowly, carefully coming down the aisle. Towards Twilight. Worse: on a course which would bring her directly to the bid sheet --
-- Twilight pulled herself up to her full height, because that was clearly going to do something eventually and even when it didn't, some ponies still swore by stretching exercises. Narrowed her gaze while keeping her horn dark, because the stallion would probably have some things to say about open bidder intimidation and none would have been congratulations on her brilliant strategy. Even so, it still felt as if the edges of her eyes were considering whether to start blazing white, and Twilight wasn't sure she would have minded. She usually hated it when her flares of magic-backed temper scared the wrong ponies, but this was for the boxes...
37 approached an openly ticked-off alicorn, and did so at an irritatingly-slow pace.
And, keeping up the same rate of progress the whole way through, passed said alicorn without a single hint of notice or granting the effort required for open dismissal. She simply went directly up to the boxes, and wrote the newest high number down.
As formal addresses went, the "...Princess..." which had just emerged from the stallion was just about qualified to be a Bearer. All which was required was a seventh Element Of Harmony, added to a rather urgent need for somepony to recognize incredulity as a virtue.
"Oh, hello again!" Twilight beamed. "Was there something else? Because I'm sure this is a perfectly good place to stand. You work here, yes? You must have hosted so many charity auctions. You've probably seen ponies standing here all the time."
"Your horn," the venue's presumed supervisor said. "As much to the point, your corona. I saw the flow of energy starting to project forward --"
"-- it's just a little spell," the librarian smiled. "I had to learn it for my -- line of work. If you'll just let me finish --"
"-- and," the stallion almost placidly said, "based on positioning and direction, I have to ask. Exactly what were you about to cast on the bid sheet?"
"A minor effect, really!" Twilight admitted. "All it really does is clean up recently-spilled ink. And as you can see, I made a little bit of a mess during my last bid. So I was just about to clean up after myself. It's the polite thing to do."
She nodded towards the paper, and they both inspected the damage.
"I see the spill," the stallion admitted.
"Everypony can," Twilight happily agreed.
"Although classifying a ink drop spot of roughly nine fur strands in diameter as 'a spill'," the unicorn continued, "may require you to visit with Mr. Oxford. That's the burgundy pegasus over by the wine trays. His company publishes dictionaries."
"I like to be neat," the librarian stated.
The next "Princess," if it had been coming from a pony who was feeling even a little bit of pressure, might have come across as a call for reinforcements. It didn't. It felt like a question mark had been smeared across an entire word.
"Yes?" Twilight politely asked.
"While the venue arguably appreciates your desire to... pick up after yourself," the stallion slowly tried, "'I regret to inform you that, as the bid sheets have been ensorcelled to prevent alteration, the 'spill' will have to remain in place."
He'd regretted to inform her. She was somewhat more irritated about having been informed.
I should have checked the paper for enchantments before I tried anything.
"Ensorcelled?" she brightly asked. "To do what?"
"Remain as they are," the stallion firmly said. "Which means that ink cannot be removed from the paper, because the spell is not capable of determining whether somepony was attempting to, by way of purely random example, clean up a 'spill' -- or if they wished to delete the bid of another."
"Very sensible," decided what was currently the continent's premiere source of simmering frustration.
"It also cannot be removed from its current place upon the table until the auction ends," the venue supervisor unfairly added. "So it cannot be hidden. Or snatched away from a bidder at the last possible second. Tearing is also out of the question and, thanks to a number of our pegasus employees working together, it would decidedly difficult to soak it down with water. Or set anything on fire. Or, for that matter, 'spill' more than a ink dot of nine fur strands in diameter. In fact, Princess, I believe your 'spill' is just a hair under the maximum."
And she could break the protective spells: she was sure of that. It would just take -- time. Along with a lot of extremely visible light.
"You're very informative," Twilight's false smile said. "It's good to know that my bid is so... safe."
"Yes," the stallion offered. "It is. As would be every other bid on the sheet. Including the one currently written above what I presume is your most recent, as you placed no additional ink upon the paper before attempting to... remove a portion."
"Oh, you know royalty!" the librarian brightly said.
"Not particularly," the stallion considered. "Although this auction has been providing a surprising amount of detail --"
"-- always trying to clean up the last little bit of mess before starting on a new project!"
"So does 'new project' mean you intend to bid again?"
Twilight automatically calculated the amount remaining in her budget. Looked at #37's latest number, and didn't bother to follow that up with visibly searching for a clock. There was too little time left and yet, there was simultaneously far too much.
"Yes," she said, and her corona took up the quill.
She wrote down the new number.
It took less than a minute for #37 to record a higher integer.
One. Bit. Higher.
"Your pardon, Princess. And may I say it's good to see you exploring a little more of the hall?"
I am going to be tracking every move you make until this auction ends.
I may invent a tracking spell just to make it work.
Usually I'd wait before I cast it on a living thing. You always have to check for unexpected results. Side effects. That's what slow-advancement trials are for.
Under one of the other hooves, if you start glowing bright green, you'll be a lot easier to spot.
"You know," Twilight brightly said as she turned to face the stallion again, "I have this friend who says any stallion approaching a mare this often in a short period is probably flirting. And I hope you don't take this personally, Mister -- what is your name, exactly? -- but I'm really not looking to d --"
"-- as I understand it from a scant few accurate newspaper articles and a few of the more knowledgeable among our guests --"
Twilight watched the nod go over her again, and waited for it to land on #37. She was not disappointed.
"-- you represent Magic within the Elements. This is correct?"
The slender rib cage puffed out with pride.
"It is."
"In that case," the stallion smoothly continued, "I find myself in the position of needing to request Magic's expertise."
Sundammit.
"With what?"
"It would seem," he went on, "that there is a very small shield dome over the Yearling bid sheet."
Twilight looked.
"I don't see a shield dome," she truthfully stated. "They're rather visible, you know. My brother specializes in casting them. It's let me learn a lot about how they work."
"Captain Armor, yes," the stallion agreed. "Of course I remember being within his protection during the invasion, and he has my thanks."
"I'll pass that on," was another truth. "He doesn't hear that much. Can I give him your name --"
"-- your casting hue is actually rather close to that of your sibling," the stallion carried on. "Such things run in some families, I suppose. But yes, I can imagine that he would have taught you all about shields."
"He did," Twilight pleasantly admitted. "Everything he knew."
"However," had the impact of a double-foreleg kick.
"...yes?"
"I am told by one of our guests --" and the nod landed on #37 again "-- that the concept of an invisible shield is -- very recent. Something which has only turned up in a very few, extremely specialized research journals. There's only a small number of casters trying to create them. Small-scale trials. Not that they can do anything large-scale, because the full transparency only holds up to a certain size. Nothing larger than, say, what is required to cover a single sheet of paper. Which is exactly what seems to have happened here. For... some reason."
Reasons of practicality.
Of strategy.
Of budget, because mine is getting close to the limit.
Who even knows about the shields? Is that a researcher? It's not as if I've read out articles in here!
I thought it was close enough to the end. That nopony would work out what was going on before time ran out. And the only caster here who could probably even try to dispel my work is --
"With, of course, the identity of the saboteur currently unconfirmed," the unicorn finished. "So could I perhaps trouble Magic to remove the effect?"
-- me.
"Of course!"
Expressing the words as an enthusiastic exclamation had seemed to offer some level of non-legal defense. Plus it kept Twilight from grinding her teeth.
She tried to stretch out the removal. But #37's front end was pointed towards her the whole time. #37, who somehow knew about the experiments with invisible shields and would therefore recognize how long it took to get rid of one...
The bid sheet was successfully exposed.
37 stepped forward.
Less than five minutes remained, and Twilight had the high bid. A number which was just barely within her budget, something she could only top one more time if another monster managed to escape from Tartarus on the strength of its interest in adventure fiction -- but it was currently the winning bid. And she was in the proper aisle, nopony was going to tell her to leave the aisle, and she was pacing back and forth in a way which didn't quite block boxes or bid sheet. It just happened to intercept anypony who seemed to be getting a little too close. Over and over again.
Four minutes left.
Three --
-- the fringes of the fabric puddle slid across the floor. Coming towards her. The boxes...
...which was when Twilight's mind offered up a small, oddly quiet, and utterly definitive No.
She stepped forward. Blocked the other mare.
"Shmove," the unrecognized accent said.
"You know," Twilight softly countered, "I've been thinking about -- characterization. In stories, I mean. The way you can get to know somepony before they're ever formally identified in the text. I don't know you as a pony or a mare --"
Something about the presumed spine briefly sagged, and then rather more quickly went rigid. "Shmove."
"...but I think I've learned a little about you as a person. For starters --" and would public embarrassment do anything? "-- you've got this really weird interest in overhyped schoolfilly stories --"
The other mare visibly stiffened: the first true reaction Twilight had been able to make out through the fabric. It had probably disrupted something in the dress supports, because she'd also just heard a faint buzzing crackle. The small portions of ozone scent which weren't absorbed by the fabric were simply ignored.
The pony who's in my way.
I'm going to win.
I have to win.
This is the only chance there might ever be...
"SHMOVE --"
"-- and all of that," Twilight interrupted, doing so at Maximum Rudeness, "without ever getting your name."
She didn't notice the effects. The social ripple moving outwards, because Maximum Rudeness tended to draw attention. And when an alicorn did it...
The bidders were whispering, more than ever. But they weren't moving. Twilight could only hear four hooves on an oddly steady approach, and she was presuming that was the stallion.
He's not making me move.
One chance.
One.
The fabric mound hadn't moved. Wasn't backing down.
"We're all a little anonymous today, aren't we?" Twilight noted. "If somepony hadn't seen me writing, then I'd just be a number on the bid sheet. But everypony can see who I am. That they're bidding against me. You certainly know who your opponent is on this lot, don't you?"
It was the wrong thing to do.
Something deep within her knew it was a mistake.
A flaring temper didn't care, and her glowing eyes didn't seem to have an opinion.
Her eyes were glowing and the other mare was just standing there.
"I feel," the alicorn half-hissed, "like you should return the favor."
Her horn ignited.
Flowing energy seized the hat, and only the hat.
Which meant she technically hadn't been trying to fling the attached veils across the room at the same time, but hey, bonus points --
"-- GET OUT OF MY WAY, TWILIGHT!" roared a brash, fully familiar, and decidedly unhappy Cloudsdale accent. "MOVE OR I'LL MOVE YOU!"
Twilight, who lost two precious seconds to shock, could only look at the reflection of white light as it blazed across magenta eyes. Then the radiance of fury winked out, and the impromptu mirrors allowed her to watch her own startled blink.
"Rainbow?"
"It's a fair fight!" the pegasus raged, with wings now doing their best to flare out to full span and struggling against the confines of the dress. "I've been trying to keep it fair! You're the one who --"
"-- what are you even doing here? How did you know to --"
"-- keeps trying to cheat!" Hooves tried to furiously scrape at the floor, and found themselves mostly trying not to slip on dress. The newly-crackling lines of static electricity were effectively trying to scorch their way out. "Maybe that's how you really got fifth during that one Running! Twilight, I've got another bid to place, and you are going to move --"
"-- I got you into the series," declared Nerd #1. "I've been a fan for years. I predate you by --"
"-- and I know trivia you don't!" shouted Protégée Of Nerd. "Don't gatekeep, Twilight: not when you're the one who opened it in the first place! I have every right to bid on this and if the stupid dress wasn't keeping me from going right over your dumb short head -- !"
"I worked out that the boxes were going to be here!" yelled the youngest, smallest, and obviously most self-controlled Princess. "You just -- showed up! This is my win, Rainbow, and if you think I'm going to let you --"
Everypony was watching them. Only four hooves were moving, and Twilight had to deal with what was now known competition before they arrived.
"Leave," Twilight stated.
"MOVE," Rainbow ordered.
Twilight thought about friendship. About scrolls and lessons and love.
Then she thought about two cardboard boxes.
Her friends would be there tomorrow. They would forgive her, even Rainbow. That was part of what friendship was for.
The boxes, however, would simply vanish forever.
...well, portions of them. She certainly didn't trust Rainbow to curate contents.
The internal scales weighed all factors off against each other, and tipped.
Less than a minute.
HOLD THE LINE.
Twilight's wings flared into the challenge position. Rainbow wasn't impressed.
Her horn ignited. The pegasus didn't go anywhere.
So the librarian lowered her head and charged.
The fight started.
There were some weak attempts at kicking, most of which didn't do much of anything: Twilight didn't have much physical strength and Rainbow's limbs were entangled in fabric. Just making contact did a lot, though -- for Rainbow, because multiple concealed feathers were crackling with miniature lightning and the act of touching sent just about of it into Twilight. Which was clearly a reason to start thinking about maybe a minor, harmless, and utterly delaying spell or two, just as soon as Twilight felt it was time to abandon the 'teeth-snapping-at-her-dumb-prismatic-mane' tactic. So maybe in a little while --
-- in a lot of ways, it wasn't much of a fight. The stories which would reach the gossip columns by the next day wound up retaining their 5% accuracy rating, and that was because the witnesses wound up doing some editing for drama. Spells and full-scale lightning were a lot more exciting than two mares who kept getting caught in each other's clothing. But there was no commentary from the gallery, much less advice. They had the full, silent, and rapt attention of those who were taking custody of a lifetime of rumor mill supplies, and those ponies were just waiting for the moment when they could start grinding.
All but one.
I hear hooves.
...a few more seconds...
...if I can just keep Rainbow away from the table until that stupid stallion catches up --
-- four sturdy, overly-dressed legs calmly stepped in front of Twilight's visual field, and then the earth pony's light rose body kept right on going.
"NO!"
The cry of protest was twinned. A perfect chorus, with the exact tones of frantic distress and failure erupting from two throats and the battling mares did their best to disengage from each other, but everything was tangled up and --
-- the earth pony mare stepped up to the bid sheet.
Picked up a quill in her teeth. Dipped the point in ink.
Casually glanced at the nearest clock.
Wrote down an amount on the first available blank line, along with her bidder identification number.
And then, as the final bell began to toll across the desperate cries, #19 added a second check mark.
She hadn't been invited, and she'd lost.
Both had been kicked out of the venue. (With Twilight, it had been slightly more polite.) And now they were moving through the capital's not-empty-enough streets under Moon's watchful gaze. Twilight suspected Moon was trying really hard not to laugh, and sort of wished the universe would just get the mirth over with.
They were both trotting towards the Grand Gymkhana, because even the short homebound ride of humiliation needed to use the capital's central train station. Or rather, Twilight was just about trotting. Rainbow's current movement was a sort of low-level drifting hover, taking place at Twilight's left and a little up.
Neither could quite manage to look at the other. It helped with ignoring the dangling bag tied to Rainbow's tail, which held the very last ruined pieces of the dark dress.
Both had been kicked out of the venue. (With Twilight, it had been slightly more polite.) And neither could ever return.
"That's not from Rarity," Twilight finally said.
"...huh?" represented Rainbow's first tentative attempt to escape from the doubled swamps of Sulk and Sheer Embarrassment.
"The dress."
"She might have told you," Rainbow pointed out. "I couldn't risk it. So I went to a different place."
"Don't tell her."
"Already had the one fight today, thanks."
Both mares sighed, long and deep.
"Rainbow? How did you --"
"-- you leave your notes on your desk."
"...oh."
"Totally in the open," the pegasus unfairly continued. "Anypony could read them."
"They'd still have to figure it all out."
"Tell me about it," Rainbow muttered. "I only finished piecing it together seven weeks ago."
Twilight blinked.
"Seven?"
"Yeah."
The blush began to rise. "...six."
"You had to look up the Eternal Flower reference, didn't you?"
"...yes."
Without making eye contact with a single random street spectator, much less her friend, "I didn't."
It had been... sedate.
Weary.
The voice of a -- loser.
"I... got caught up in it," Rainbow slowly said. "The dream of it. That I'd have them. When you didn't say anything... I thought I was the only one who'd worked it out, especially when the notes vanished off your desk. I thought you'd given up."
And I tried to make Rainbow Dash forfeit a competition.
How did I think that was going to end?
"And you just flew right in," Twilight sighed.
"No," a small surge of irritation corrected. "You just trotted right in. You can do that. I can't. That's why I was so covered up. I'm a Wonderbolt. If somepony saw me, recognized me -- then they'd know I hadn't been invited. I took a cue from Rarity. Covered everything which could identify me, then just trotted in like I owned the place." With a hint of mutter, "And it had to be trotting. The whole time. No wing exposure, sure no wing use. I was even trying to move slowly. That almost hurts if you keep it up for too long. And anything over a minute is way too long."
Another soft pegasus sigh.
"I couldn't even eat," Rainbow morosely added. "I got some water in the restroom, but... free food all over the place, and I couldn't shake off the veils..."
"How were you going to pay for it? If you won." A little more quickly, "Because it's payment on the spot. In full. No installments --"
"-- I've been saving up," Rainbow told a patch of empty air.
Twilight blinked.
"...you what?" the librarian asked the world's worst impulse shopper.
"It was important."
Silence. One mare was reluctantly making her way down the street on hoof, while the other drifted along.
"I'm sorry --"
It had been a perfect chorus.
Each looked at the other. (For Twilight, this involved a near neck cramp.) Rainbow snickered.
"Jinx," the pegasus said.
"Obviously retroactive," Twilight said. "Given our luck."
"Obviously."
The train station was starting to loom large in their vision.
"We were both selfish, weren't we?" the alicorn quietly observed. "I didn't tell you, and you didn't tell me. Cutting down on the competition. I was going to show you everything once I had it, Rainbow, I swear -- but I wanted the boxes to be mine."
"Same," the pegasus reluctantly admitted. "Both ways."
With a soft groan, "If we'd just worked together. Pooled our money --"
"-- we don't know how much that other mare had," Rainbow pointed out. "It still might not have been enough. We can't exactly walk in with the national budget behind us."
"You're being really... calm about this."
"It's not calm," Rainbow calmly said.
"Oh?"
"It's shock."
"...oh."
"And I get weird when I lose," the pegasus added. "My body slows down and my brain speeds up. Trying to figure out why I lost. It's... mostly annoying."
Twilight thought about that. Then she thought of something else. "Do you think we could find out who the rose mare was? Go to her house and just -- ask if we could look?"
"Probably," Rainbow considered. "The ponies who ran the auction would know. We'd have to ask them."
"Personally."
"Yeah."
"So -- never."
"Yeah."
They kept moving.
"So what were you going to do with them?" Twilight finally asked. "All of the contents."
"Read them. Share them. Show them off. Be proud just to have them."
"...same." And the heat of embarrassment had become a fire. "Rainbow, I'm sorry. I don't know what got into me --"
"-- and since I still think Daring and Rosy Thorn were supposed to go battle couple, I'm gonna see if there's any first drafts in there."
Twilight stopped moving. It took Rainbow a few seconds to notice.
"We'll miss the train," the pegasus started --
"-- you did all this," Nerd #1 slowly began, "to get support for your shipping theories?"
"They work great together!" announced Protégée Of Nerd. "Everypony saw it! But maybe if the publisher asked for a few revisions, and some of the suggestive stuff got taken out of the text..."
With the near-incandescent anger which could only come from somepony who was being confronted with the world's most wrongheaded shipping, "Rosy betrayed her!"
"And you betrayed me by not saying you'd figured out what the special auction lot was!" yelled Rainbow. "But I forgave you, right? They could have worked it out!"
"I betrayed you? I got you into the books! You knew I was a fan! If you'd just said something --"
"-- if you hadn't decided that this was gonna be the one and only time when that lecturing jaw was gonna stay closed...!"
Each mare slowly looked at the other. Multiple random street spectators, unwilling to believe their luck, got ready to take notes.
At one point during the fight, well before the police arrived, the dangling tail bag wound up smacking Twilight in the face.
The pony who passed that detail on to the papers labeled it as romance.
After all, ponies clearly only put that much work into not quite killing each other when they were in love.
