//------------------------------// // Recipe Currently Calls For Two Parts Variable-Strength Denial To One Part Mild Resignation // Story: Anchor Foal II: Return Of The Cringe // by Estee //------------------------------// So much of being an immigrant felt as if it was about pretending you understood what the locals expected. When it came to tracking gossip, Fleur had some degree of skill: the art wasn't taught during escort training classes, but the simple act of attending elite parties in Canterlot meant acquiring the basics got filed on the same level as survival instinct. However, when that gossip concerned her... The susurrus of whispered words did its best to curve around the primary target, and that meant needing somepony who could tap the flow. Fleur, who had needed to learn what Ponyville thought about her after she'd moved into the cottage, had eventually risked asking both Rarity and Pinkie to intercept sentences on her behalf. It had allowed her to learn what the settled zone believed to be true about that newest of residents, and most of what the collected assembly of self-delusion did was remind her that individual ponies had the potential to be intelligent -- but the herd, which internally falsified beliefs in bulk, was rather stupid. Because Ponyville collectively believed Fleur to be a veterinary student who'd initially been trying to study at the cottage, offering her services as an assistant in exchange for tutoring. (There were a number who were aware that she'd once been an escort. This was generally excused away as a means of raising tuition. Besides, escort services were fully legal in Equestria -- if you could get through the classes and acquire the necessary license -- and those few who followed the capital's gossip circuit closely enough to become aware of Photo Finish felt it was a profession which came with more inherent employer respect than modeling. There was also a considerably better chance of actually getting paid.) An assistant. It was the story they wanted to tell themselves, the version which the herd almost longed to believe. A beautiful mare, trying to find some way of mastering the profession's necessary skills without going deep into debt, had learned about a one-pegasus practice located on Ponyville's fringe. She'd offered herself up to the cottage's socially-reticent occupant, somehow found a way of getting that initial forehoof across the threshold -- there were numerous theories as to exactly what Fleur could have said to make it all begin and naturally, every last one of them was wrong -- -- and then something had happened. The exact details might have involved the approach of seven giant monsters, although a good part of the town seemed to feel that had just been a catalyst. After all, numerous novels suggested that when death was potentially on the approach, that was the perfect time to be honest about your feelings. Too many of those books had passed that determination directly into the cinema. (Fleur occasionally thought about novels. One novel, and still didn't know what had become of it -- her. All she knew was that the one who'd brought the book to life had... let her go. And refused to discuss the matter in any more detail than that.) They felt she was a student, with Fluttershy as her teacher. And that was true -- now. But the settled zone had collectively lied themselves into feeling it had been that way from the start, because they'd decided it made for a better story. They also thought Fleur was a natural-born citizen of their nation, and that just gave the herd one more thing to be wrong about. She'd crossed the border while carrying forged documents, shortly before the crucial birthday which demanded that her new host nation legally acknowledge her as an adult -- and as it turned out, her papers had been just about perfect, to the point where even Celestia had initially believed that the only alteration had been to switch out the exact Equestrian hometown. And she'd learned how to pretend, at least when it came to encounters of moderate length. To put on a mask, offering up some semblance of the behaviors which the herd would expect from an Equestrian unicorn -- as opposed to a birthright Protoceran. Griffon perspectives and beliefs, moving through the world within the imperfect camouflage of a pony's skin. The herd didn't know she'd been caught. (Fleur had been caught for a lot of things.) They seemed to be equally unaware that she was taking citizenship classes. And there were those in Ponyville who knew of her true origins, but -- they didn't talk about it, not where others could hear. It might have been an offering made in the name of kindness -- and to make sure Kindness remained happy. She passed for a native -- for encounters of short to moderate length. But she pretended to be Equestrian. (There were still too many days when she felt the same way about being a unicorn.) And she did so while waiting for the mask to slip. To completely fall away in full public view, letting the herd see what had been lurking underneath all along... Fleur didn't react as other ponies would, because she had a griffon's heart. And when it came to recognizing what the herd might do... that was observation, deduction, and more than a few bursts of irritation because a herd frequently served as stupidity assembled in bulk. The massmind tended to get a lot of things wrong. Zephyr, unwelcome on the grounds, was still trying to get that first hoof across the threshold. To reenter his sibling's life. It brought up the question of how the herd would try to stop it. Fleur had a trio of prearranged meetings in Ponyville on the following day. It was simply a matter of adding something extra to the first. She was reasonably certain that a native-born Equestrian would speak to the police. The shadow of a resting unicorn mare, whose exact pose suggested careful thought, was resting against the base of the fountain. A three-dimensional outline raised its head, and the somewhat squarish jaw shifted. Gathered decibels: something which took a moment of careful judgment because it was a private discussion, even if it was being conducted in a fairly public place. The rest of the herd had observed the shadow's location and provided some extra space accordingly, creating a clear radius over the land and through a noticeable portion of the sky. They weren't visibly eavesdropping -- and yet the shadow kept having to adjust its volume, because the nearby construction didn't care. "And what do you want me to do about it?" The herd, an equally-resting Fleur immediately reminded herself, is made up of idiots. Fleur Dis Lee and Miranda Rights were not friends. The taller mare had spent the latter part of her youth in galloping with Protocera's gangs -- the ones which weren't just social clubs with insignias and tail swishes attached. (Those were the vast majority, because trying to find your adolescent place within a society built on a chain of dominance could lead the confused down some strange roads. Just about every adult griffon had a sealed grifflet criminal file, and nearly every charge read as Public Nuisance.) And she'd stayed with them because there had been nowhere else to go. Pretend that she had a true home which could be returned to at night, offer to close up the hideout, then settle into a dark corner and sleep. And she'd learned how to open locks, break through spell protections, served as a distraction while the rest of the gang had been at work and done so not just for a place to rest, but in the ultimate pursuit of those forged papers. Because the manifestation of her mark had granted her irrevocable possession of a tainted miracle, and the only true career prospect she'd been able to perceive for herself had been professional blackmailer. (She hadn't been very good at it.) The younger of the unicorns at the fountain had spent years of her life in the company of gangs. Distrust of those who worked in law enforcement had quickly become part of the background noise, followed by settling into her psyche for a good long stay. Miranda Rights was Ponyville's chief of police. The mare with the shadow-blend of fur (and even the mark was hard to make out), effectively invisible in the dark and utterly impossible to miss under Sun, whose birth nursery had been flooded with light just so her dam could enter under Moon without having the sight of what would have been a crib occupied with night trigger the inherent terror of foalnapping... knew about nearly everything Fleur had ever done, and might have sent off to Protocera to see if there were any files on the rest. She'd been fully aware of the former escort's Equestrian offenses starting from roughly half a day before Fleur had been unceremoniously dumped into Ponyville -- along with being informed that she couldn't arrest the former escort for any of it. New offenses could be prosecuted -- but as long as Fleur was working at the palace's assigned mission, with no evidence of anything else taking place... she was only to be watched. From a distance. Making it seem as if everything was normal. Miranda, who sometimes moved as if her mark was aching, had subsequently treated the presence of a known blackmailer in her settled zone exactly as its newest (and least-willing) resident would have expected. Two unicorns. One whose manifest had placed her into police work, with the other initially learning Equestrian laws because it helped to know exactly what she was working around. They hadn't exactly been destined to get along. But a number of things had happened since that first meeting, with one of them effectively placing Fleur into a sort of national vice squad. It meant they had to work together. And Miranda, who hadn't been able to keep the taller mare within a cell, had still found herself with a different kind of permanent custody. Guardian of the secrets which comprised Fleur's life. Miranda dropped by the cottage occasionally. (The living shadow had no pets, and the cottage residents had collectively decided she needed one -- but they also understood the irregular hours of a police chief: bonding time would be at a premium, and any animal might have to wait for a very long time before its pony came home.) Miranda checked on Fleur. Because she'd decided that somepony had to, and a police officer who wasn't constantly poking their snout into somepony else's life would presumably cease to exist. Yes, this was generally done under the pretext of having taken up an interest in Protoceran cuisine -- or rather, the version which had been modified for ponies. She'd gotten used to soaking vegetables in meat broth. Slowly. It had reached the point where she was now experimenting at home, and had purchased multiple wonders to redirect the scents accordingly -- but Fleur still saw it as something of an excuse. Just like trying to find out what the Bearers had been up to on that last mission and whether it had any potential to make trouble for Ponyville. The inquiries into what was taking place during Fleur's occasional... trips. Checking on the cottage in those times when both mares were away, making sure the substitute wasn't having any trouble and nopony was taking advantage. Excuses one and all. Miranda and Fleur were not friends, and got together at least twice per moon to discuss how they weren't getting along. What do I want you to do? Fleur searched for appropriately-withering words. Then the construction crew found something new to hoof-hammer, and she wound up having to do it all over again. This was followed by remembering that she was trying to get help, and a few shifts of her body recentered full saddlebags because she could pretend the pause had been for that alone. It was spring, and that let them meet outside: something Fleur vastly preferred to the near-act of sacrilege which was voluntarily entering a police station. But they had to find places to meet, even when they knew the herd would (reluctantly -- but they understood the consequences for listening in on Miranda) grant them some privacy. The fountain, one of the smaller specimens which dotted Ponyville's map, was pleasant. The sculpture was inoffensive, and the water was kept clean. It also happened to be across the street from the local bookseller and Bluestocking, who had recently acquired some long-delayed funds, had hired a crew to expand her shop. The herd generally granted the police chief some privacy. Fleur didn't fully trust the herd, and was using the shielding sonic disruptions accordingly. "I remember some of the interviews I had to do after Blueblood," Miranda finally said. "A few of the witnesses did say you'd mentioned that Fluttershy had a sibling. But they all thought it was part of the overall plan --" and the hesitation might have been deliberate "-- for the part where you were just showing him what came with the cottage. With her. A brother would have been part of that, and they thought you were setting it up in case some of the other -- demonstrations failed. Possibly getting Caramel to play the part. Nopony thought it was real. And in the wake of -- everything else that happened, it just stopped there." Thoughtfully, "Which is probably why nopony ever talks about that part. We all thought Fluttershy was a lone foal. Including me." "She isn't," Fleur firmly said. And there weren't any Bearers present when I said it. Twilight had already cleared Rarity out of the area, and... nopony else ever showed up. Applejack and Pinkie were at work. Rainbow was probably asleep... I don't think they know yet. Still. She wasn't sure if she should tell them. Miranda was one thing. Miranda was -- 'necessary' was probably too strong a word. But when it came to the others, it probably needed to be Fluttershy -- -- the police chief was nodding. A little too quickly, "Does she know you're talking to me?" Fleur held back the wince. "Not yet." She automatically checked the edges of the privacy bubble, remodulated her tones while making sure all passing ears were turned away. "I'm doing this privately." The mares were in love, and part of that meant that each had to allow the other some amount of private time. (Missions didn't count. Missions introduced the travelers to the potential company of many interesting sapients, most of whom wanted to kill them.) The cottage exerted pressure, and that had helped in bringing them together -- but its caretaker felt the weight, while the former escort occasionally needed to just get off the grounds for a while. Fluttershy had her spa sessions with Rarity: once a week, if their mutual schedules permitted. Fleur took some of the trips into town, following the old path -- and, after the first two turns, a new river with an oddly-fused bed. And neither ever truly questioned whether the other was doing something suspect within those windows of relative solitude, because they trusted each other. It was, to borrow a description, '...nice.' It was also useful. Unlike the police chief. "Her brother is in town," Miranda observed, "and Fluttershy doesn't want to see him. You need me to do something about that. What I need is more than what you're giving me, Fleur. A motive for stepping in. And... there can be a problem with..." She stopped. Her gaze went down, and the short-cut tail seemed to twist. "A problem with what?" Fleur naturally inquired. "...Bearer families," Miranda reluctantly finished. The taller mare frowned. "What kind of problem?" For words, there was silence. The hammering had stopped. Wings flew by, hooves trotted at some distance away, and the shadow simply looked at the ground for a long moment before raising her eyes again. "It might not matter," she decided. "But I still need a reason. So give me one. Why is this a police matter?" The taller unicorn, who'd made sure to reach the fountain first and cleaned the best patch of cobblestone before settling in, took a slow breath. The hoof-hammering shoes went off again. "This," she finally said, "goes no further than you." The shadow's lips briefly twisted into a light smirk. "That's always going to be a little funny when you say it," Miranda decided. Fleur glared at her. ...okay. I know I'm breaking my promise to Snowflake by giving out details. (There was an argument to be made that she'd broken it well before that, in the middle of driving Blueblood away -- but as it turned out, nopony had believed her and he'd never said anything, so she was willing to see that as No Harm Done.) But the brother is in town. The need exists. The former escort, as an immigrant, searched for the words which the police chief might want to hear. "He's not a good pony." Miranda snickered. "And that," the shadow decided, "is even funnier -- all right, I know you're angry: either pick something up or wink your corona out before somepony notices the field spikes. Details, Fleur." She took another breath. It didn't help. Then she forced her horn to go dark, and that didn't improve anything either. "This is partially fifthhoof," Fleur admitted. "Fluttershy and I only talked about him once." On what had started as an exceptionally quiet night, and ended in hours of tightly-pressed bodies. Simply being there for each other. "Some of what I have is from Snowflake." Miranda nodded. They both waited for a round of sawing to stop. Take it slowly. Start from the beginning... "You thought Fluttershy was a lone foal," Fleur began. "The whole town probably believes that. And she was supposed to be. She was... a hard birth." "How bad?" emerged immediately. She should have died. Quietly, "Bad enough that her parents were afraid to try again." There were many ways in which Fleur recognized the effects of the living shadow's occupation during normal encounters. Miranda listened. But she also used silence. The other party would want to fill it... "They both went on contraceptive herbs," Fleur continued. "There may have been other forms of birth control. But none of those methods are perfect. So there was another pregnancy. And then they had Zephyr -- with no problems at all. There were two miracles, Miranda: that she survived, and he just piaffed into the world. Two miracle foals. They told their children that, and -- he's the one who believed it. The world owes the miracle a living, and he's not willing to put in the work to collect. The world is supposed to pay him off. The world, and everypony in it..." She was having trouble maintaining the pace of her speech. The tone. When Snowflake had first summarized the events, the pegasus had effectively bitten a number of words in half. She now admired his restraint. But Snowflake hadn't actually met Zephyr. Heard any part of what that sibling had said to Fluttershy. The way he spoke about her. "He visited Fluttershy about a year after she came to ground," Fleur told the police chief. Sun and Moon, Fluttershy would have been -- and he was younger than that... "She left the cottage for a few hours. She trusted him with it. And when she came back..." One more breath. "Snowflake said that if she'd come home five minutes later, the cottage would have been a lot more empty." "Robbery," Miranda quietly said, and Fleur nodded. "A year after she moved here?" "Roughly." Fleur didn't have an exact date -- "Before my time," the other unicorn observed. "Which wouldn't be a problem, because there are records which go all the way back to the Founders --" The dark tail shifted, flicked twice. "-- but in this case, the problem is the records." Fleur looked down at the mare. Even with both of them resting on the warm stones of the street, she was still taller. Her blood had given her the height advantage with nearly every living pony -- three of the Princesses and a green pegasus stallion unfortunately excepted -- and she used it whenever she could. It wasn't doing anything to make the shadow speak without a cue. "I don't understand," Fleur reluctantly admitted. Mostly to get it over with. "I've had multiple occasions to go over everything associated with the Bearers," Miranda stated. "That includes the few times they've been on the requesting end. Fluttershy never brought charges against her brother, Fleur. And if it was a year after she moved here, then the statute of limitations expired some time back. Legally, there's nothing I can do there." Which just further reinforced that the law was generally useless -- "For that violation." the shadow clarified. "Do you know of any others?" Fleur reluctantly shook her head. "No. That's the only one Snowflake told me about, and it's hard to ask Fluttershy for details." The curiosity almost sounded genuine. "Why?" It meant the Protoceran had to hold back the snort. "Why do you think, Miranda? Because Fluttershy --" "-- Fleur," the annoying mare interrupted, "if there's anypony on the planet who can ask, it's you. And you'll have to check with her eventually." She doesn't like talking about him. It hurts her. I don't want to -- "What about a restraining order?" Fleur asked. She wasn't entirely sure how those worked under Equestrian law: it hadn't been a subject which she'd felt would be necessary. "Put a shield around the cottage?" Not the sort which Zephyr could break his snout on -- but getting hauled off by arresting officers felt like a decent substitute. "Fluttershy would have to request it and show some degree of cause," Miranda quickly explained. "Just Fluttershy, right now. You've barely interacted with Zephyr. Fluttershy can currently go in on claim of blood, but..." The left forehoof briefly scraped at stone. "...you..." They lived together. There was probably some argument for a common-law bond. But when it came to making everything official... the mares were waiting for something else to happen first. Blueblood got a restraining order against Rarity. ...it's Blueblood. They probably issued it just to get him out of the courthouse. Or they were just shocked because when it comes to trying to keep somepony away and Blueblood, it's usually the other way around. "And that means getting her into court," Fleur sighed. "When she never did that on her own, not for any time when somepony cantered out on their bill and she needed small claims." "Maybe she'd be willing now." Maybe. But Fleur wasn't sure. "She might not have to," the former escort suddenly realized. "If he tried to steal once, he's potentially done it before. And again. Can you contact the other settled zones? See if there's any active warrants?" And the shadow nodded. "Yes," Miranda told her. "That I can do. If there's something outstanding, I might be able to arrest. And when it comes to establishing reasons for a restraining order, even closed cases might help. But it's going to take time --" and the right forehoof came up, interrupting Fleur in what was automatically the most annoying way possible "-- and that's even if I ask Spike for help, Fleur: time. He can only send the paperwork out for me, and some of the other police chiefs may be reluctant to take something seriously when it arrives in a burst of near-heatless flame. And no matter what I do for the outbound, it could take weeks to get all of the answers back." Time... It had to be resolved as quickly as possible, and the best case was to get it done long before The Square came knocking on the cottage door. The Square had the chance to ruin everything and when it came to 'weeks away', The Square didn't represent a particularly major plural. But the closer settled zones would respond first. And if there was anything out there which could be inflicted upon a languidly-surprised target... "So you'll do that," Fleur double-checked. "Yes." A rather nasty thought waved its forelegs for her attention. She reluctantly scrutinized it. "...you were going to do that whether I asked or not." Miranda's features were now expressionless by design. "Yes. Did he have saddlebags on when he came by?" (Fleur, already annoyed, made sure the head shake was mostly good for showing off her mane.) "Good. That means he's already got a place to stay. I'll find out where --" The dark unicorn abruptly smiled. Fleur took a few seconds to make sure it was a smile, because it wasn't something which happened all that often with Miranda and she had to verify. There was also a certain instant suspicion regarding motive. "-- of course," the shadow decided, "there might be an easier option for scaring her brother off. Now if you can just get him to do it this time without breaking out a fifth of Tartarus --" "-- not. funny." Miranda blinked. Grey-green eyes quickly checked over every square hoofwidth of Fleur's form, mostly in an attempt to see if any of the tensed muscles were on the verge of committing to a lunge. "I'm sorry," she quietly said. "I didn't think." Fleur tightly nodded. Carefully, "How is he? I've seen him a few times, here and there. Getting off the air carriage. But we don't exactly talk." Things had happened. Time had passed. And in the case of one signature event for the draconequus, not enough of it. Discord had... done something. Overdone it. Drastically. "Recovering," Fleur softly answered. "Still. It's... going to take a while." Miranda managed a nod. "I'll check the continent for outstanding charges," she told Fleur. "I'll have some trouble going further than that, but widening the net isn't impossible. But... I want you to keep one thing in mind, Fleur." To be patient. To not lure him behind the cottage, because you think that's my first solution for everything. "That he might mean it," Miranda said. "That he really just wants to be part of her life again." You didn't hear him. The way he spoke to her. "He doesn't." "Ponies change." It felt as if there was more darkness in Fleur's voice than in any strand of the other mare's fur. "Do they?" Placidly, "You did." They looked at each other. And then Fleur looked away. Did I? The mares, with nothing left to discuss, mutually watched the construction activity through the bookstore's large front window. A mobile blur of green-and-gold wings occasionally blocked their view as a gregarious cockatiel toured the workers in search of acknowledgement, scritches, and treats. There was a sound rising from the front yard of the isolated little red house. It was a noise which didn't so much suggest agony as outright define the concept of torment in a way which Tartarus somehow lacked, begging for the world to step in and do something to stop the torture. As cacophonies of endless pain went, it spread rapidly, never seemed to lose any volume to travel distance, and could hold a single note longer than a marked singer who'd trained for circular breathing. And just to make matters all the more impressive, it was being rendered through a closed mouth. "Can't you make that stop?" Fleur examined the tension in her field's clamp, then raised the clippers again. "No," she said on the third attempt, because displaying the clippers naturally meant the noise had gotten that much louder. "Can you?" It got her a very thin smile, and a stray beam of sunlight bounced away from narrowed lips. "If I could," Joyous noted, "you wouldn't be here." Fleur and Joyous Release were not friends, and getting the dark blue metallic pegasus all the way to 'fully willing partner in a threesome' was probably verging on a lost cause. The unicorn was willing to give the process another two years before considering surrender. And in the event that Joyous somehow came around on an issue which Fleur had never actually raised, it was going to take at least seven moons to very slowly talk Fluttershy into participating. Threesomes only worked if everypony wanted to be involved. (Fleur's relationship with Fluttershy was monogamous -- in the sense that if she was ever going to be with another pony, then her mate would be aware of it. Also within the same bedroom and, with a little expert coaching, actively involved. The former escort ranked the probability of having that happen as being very slightly higher than having Moon spontaneously transform into an amorous yak. But you couldn't look at Joyous and not think about it.) They weren't friends. Their relationship (such as it was) had gotten off to a spectacularly bad start. There were days when Fleur felt as if they were still recovering from it, and most of the followup nights had her wondering if true reconciliation was possible at all. They weren't friends. They were simply facets of the same gem. Two mares with unique talents. One who could know what anyone wanted sexually, and the other with the ability to BE that desire. All Joyous ever had to do for someone (because species was no barrier) to be attracted to her was to be within that sapient's range of breath, and... have a thought. And because the metallic was fully aware of that, she made sure not to think that way. She needed to know that ponies wanted her for herself alone, and... ...she was horribly, painfully (and, for most ponies, incomprehensibly) single. Because she was afraid to take the chance. Even when her talent was shut down nearly all of the time, Joyous felt that ponies were mostly attracted to her looks. If somepony seemed to be trying to learn about her a little more deeply, the metallic quickly concluded that it was a ruse and they'd be focusing on her rib cage just as soon as the conversation dried up. She didn't trust, and -- she knew it was a problem. Two facets of the same gem, and there were times when Fleur suspected that they might have another similarity. Joyous was now living on her own, and nopony was entirely sure what she did. The metallic had some money, but it wasn't on a level which suggested that a paramour was paying her way. She had managed to start payments on the house, and food was never a problem -- but she wasn't exactly trotting about with jingling saddlebags. And she'd never been spotted at any place of employment, much less set up a booth in Ponyville's open-air market. It was possible that Joyous was doing something which didn't require any of it: writing was an option, as were certain forms of art. But... Fleur had been past the little house a few times, and had once spotted the metallic bringing in her mail. The portion of the golden envelope which had been visible outside the mare's mouth had looked familiar. Was Joyous another registered resource of Equestria? A potential agent of the palace, receiving a regular stipend until the day came when she was pressed into active service? And what kind of situation would have to arise for the Diarchy to call upon that talent? Fleur had never been able to ask. There were ways in which the mares arguably reflected each other. (Spiritually. You couldn't use a metallic as a mirror.) But one had a mate, while the other had been trying to relearn the means of letting others approach her, and -- Fleur had been the one to propose that she begin with a relationship where appearance and talent could never interfere. Something where the other party would truly love her for herself alone. So she'd matched Joyous to a puppy. And she'd made a minor mistake. Just a little one. It was hardly noticeable. Audible, yes... Oh, it had worked out on several levels. The now full-grown canine was utterly devoted to Joyous. It was common to see the two of them traveling through town together. Joyous didn't even need a leash most of the time: her dog followed the mare closely, moved on command, stopped when told. Face-licking was common, although a giggling pegasus had some trouble giving the order to stop that. Tail-wagging had turned out to be nearly constant. In terms of starting a relationship, Fleur considered herself to have utterly succeeded and given that it had been her first time matching a companion with their pony, she didn't feel there was much of a complaint coming. It was just that... ...really, would Fluttershy have done any better? The breed had only been in the world for a few years! Or rather, it had only been back for a short time, because there hadn't been very many of them outside the Empire when the Barrier went up. It had certainly been too small a number to safely remain purebred, and their traits had slowly sunk into the collective bloodstream of canines everywhere. But the Empire was accessible again. More than that: they'd begun to export. And Joyous had been very specific about what she wanted in a pet: intelligence, fierce loyalty, and the willingness to defend her. And she'd also wanted an animal who was communicative, because this was going to be her first pet and the metallic had been worried about missing some of the more subtle signs. Fleur, who'd recently read an interesting journal article and knew just what had freshly arrived at the cottage, had considered all of it -- -- and then Joyous had her pet. Intelligent. Fiercely loyal. Constantly ready to defend -- but also friendly enough to be among foals without a single concern. And as a special bonus, the canine (shaded black through white, with a dark patch descending from forehead to the middle of the snout in a way which made it look as if a liquid mask had started to drip) had an appeal which almost matched her pony. It had been the settled zone's first miniature husky and because it was the first, Fleur couldn't have reasonably been expected to know about the other thing. The canine's curved tail, arced over the back, twisted itself with imagined agonies. Fleur heartlessly trimmed the next claw, and the husky responded in the only way it knew how. Fleur didn't have Fluttershy's talent. Normally, there would have been no true way of finding words within the sheer amount of noise. But this was a husky, and that meant translations were readily available. The canine's endless lament, moved into some form of Equestrian, worked out to 'I'M GOING TO DIE! THIS IS MY DEATH SONG! HEAR ME, WORLD! HEAR ME FOR I SHALL SOON BE GONE!' It probably counted for communication. "This is revenge, isn't it?" Fleur asked once her ears were lofted again. "I don't know what you mean," Joyous visibly lied. "Revenge," Fleur repeated. "For something. You keep calling me out here --" "-- I call you out here," the metallic patiently said, "because the two of you are my vets. But you're my groomer. And I can bring her to the cottage for an emergency. But not for grooming. You both saw how the other animals react when she goes off." They had, although most of the latter portions had taken place on the gallop. It had taken some time to round everything up again, and even Fluttershy could have trouble with herding cats. "And it's spring," Joyous added -- then paused, and added it again at a much higher volume. "And she's from the Empire. She needs to get rid of the last bits of winter coat, her claws have to be trimmed, and we both know she's going to do this the whole time. But it still has to be done. So just finish. Fast." Fleur tried. But you couldn't rush a good grooming, no matter how much her eardrums wanted her to just vibrate the loose winter strands away. And it was being done in the front yard, because Joyous had chosen a home which was fairly isolated and besides, the noise became all the worse when it had extra surfaces to bounce off. They weren't friends. But there was a small level of trust between the mares: enough to get Fleur into the front yard. (But probably not the house, and she had serious doubts about the bed.) They understood each other somewhat better than they once had. They also had a few things in common and if the tail brushing had taken another three minutes, the newest one would have been a mutual hearing problem. It ended. Fleur put away all of the grooming implements away and released the dog's snout. The husky, being rather intelligent for a canine, recognized that this was the signal which said eternal torment had somehow ended, forgave everything, licked Fleur's snout, and happily bounded over to her pony. "I'll see you next time," Joyous told the former escort. "Next time, it'll probably have to be a bath." A wing flared out, gently skimmed across the dog's back. "That should be interesting." Deafening. You meant 'deafening'. Fleur had matched Joyous to the miniature husky, and the metallic had apparently decided that meant the unicorn had to take most of the blame. But she hadn't been the one to name it. Joyous had done that. Then the pegasus had learned about some of the finer details which came with husky companionship, a word had been tossed out a few times... A name wasn't just what you called something. It was the sound which drew a response and as far as the husky was concerned, she knew exactly what her name was. "I'll send a note to the cottage when we're ready," the metallic said as she turned away, heading towards the house's front door. "Follow me, Shaddap." "He's looking at me." Fleur risked a glance across the table at the pony on the other side of the half-fence which defined the cafe's outdoor dining area. "He is," she acknowledged. "He's been looking at me for a while," the brash voice decided. "Whenever he thinks he won't get caught. I'm just too fast for him." That didn't seem to require much in the way of a response. "Is he into me?" That did. "Rainbow --" "-- come on, Fleur!" A hiss of a whisper: utterly attention-demanding within half a body length, and effectively impossible to interpret beyond that. "Look at that stare! I want to know if he's into me or not!" Fleur and Rainbow were friends and just like everypony who held that status with the weather coordinator, the unicorn occasionally wondered why. Being Rainbow's friend came with certain implications. Consequences. It was possible to conduct a cost/benefits analysis, but only if you were really in the mood to investigate the wonderful world of extreme integers. Meal mooching was the least of it. (It had taken years for Rainbow to learn how to cook, and it was probably going to take a few more before she was willing to do it more than three times a week.) Rainbow saw a friend as being somepony she could crash with, and 'crash' had a very limited definition range. In particular, a friend was obviously somepony who wouldn't mind her practicing stunts near their house, and could probably be counted on to clean up most of the debris. You had to deal with the stunts. There was a level of willful deafness which probably made Rainbow the world's perfect candidate for grooming huskies, and it came twinned with the occasional startling insight built from facts which the weather coordinator mostly seemed to have taken in through osmosis. And just about everypony spent some part of their life under the delusion that the world existed for their benefit, but Rainbow's ego could create the sort of gravity which made fan clubs revolve in her wake. She was brash, loud, egotistical, the single most unbearable Bearer -- -- devoted, caring, constantly trying to look out for those she loved... It wasn't easy to become Rainbow's friend. Staying that way was harder. The other Bearers had a game known as Almost Killed Her: they each told a Rainbow story, and made sure it ended at the moment when homicide had become the most logical option. For anypony who'd know her for more than a moon, it would never be the same story twice. (It was generally acknowledged that there were several requirements for becoming a full citizen of Ponyville and among them were moving in, getting Partied, and fantasizing about killing Rainbow. A plan for the perfect murder was spread out among several thousand residents and nopony was quite sure how to go about assembling it.) But Fleur was her friend, even when the personal AKH count was currently at nine. And there was a price for that. A portion was financial: it had been nearly two weeks since Rainbow's last pay voucher had been cashed, and that meant Fleur would be picking up the lunch bill. But when it came to some of the rest... you just had to understand Rainbow, as much as anypony ever could. The nature of Fleur's talent wasn't generally known, and the palace preferred it that way. Keeping the secret wasn't complicated: nopony in the settled zone seemed to have learned classic griffon iconography and even if somepony had, the definition of acies was a moving target. Fleur always had her choice of lies, and just made sure to keep things consistent. But the Bearers were aware of what she could do... ...now. Nopony had told Spike and if Fleur had her way, nopony was going to for a very long time. Fluttershy had found out about it from Celestia, roughly fourteen hours before Fleur had ever stepped onto the grounds. And Rarity... she had been with Fluttershy before the monsters had approached Ponyville, listening through the speaking tubes to everything being said in the cell. It had made her the first of the other Bearers to find out, and... she felt it had a purpose. (Fleur had been in the cell because she'd tried to protect Sweetie. She wasn't sure what else Rarity could have said.) But the others had needed to learn in turn, and -- they'd reacted. Twilight was caught between a simultaneous desire to study the talent's operations and the need to never be present when it was active. Pinkie had been visibly weirded out, followed by never bringing it up again. Applejack, as a known and occasionally self-acknowledged hypocrite, had declared the magic to be an unwelcome violation of privacy -- and every time she felt an adult was paying a little too much attention to Apple Bloom, demanded that Fleur start violating until the motivation was resolved. Rainbow's reaction to Fleur's talent had been just about the same as her reaction to nearly everything: 'Okay, but how do I make this work for me?' And when she noticed somepony looking at her with what she felt was intent... "He's not into you." "He could be." "Rainbow, I just --" "Check again! That's a one-of-a-kind stare! He's gotta --" "-- you put a furrow into his lawn." "I did?" "Three weeks ago. He's probably wondering when the payment for damages is coming in." "It doesn't mean he isn't into me," Rainbow decided. "Maybe he made the soil so soft because he was hoping I'd notice and use it for an emergency slowdown site on purpose." Fleur hadn't taken much of a look at Rainbow's puzzle during their first meeting. It had been just enough to note that the Ego was also present on the sexual level, and there was some self-obsession present -- along with more than a touch of self-involvement. (If you signaled up to the cloud home and a sweat-soaked voice yelled out that she needed five more minutes, you had to be prepared to make it ten before the masturbation wrapped up, plus seven for the shower and two to come up with a new excuse for being that wet.) It had led her to conclude that any sexual encounter with the pegasus was probably going to end with 'So you're saying I was supposed to do something for you too?' Something which was a little too Zephyr-like for current comfort. But it had been more than a year. She'd had time to examine the whole thing, and... The best word to describe Rainbow's interests was 'reciprosexual'. Her first hoofstep to becoming interested in a potential partner was for that pony to be interested in her, because that was clearly a pony with taste. She had a screening process, most of which seemed to consist of talking about herself for a very long time: the winners were the ones who didn't use the tenth pause for breath as a chance to run for their lives. But if the encounter ever reached the actual act... Rainbow's goal in sex was to be memorable. She wanted to ruin her stallions (or mares, because reciprosexual) for all other partners and in both cases, she frequently succeeded. Her partners would recite every terrifying detail from the center of the hospital's emergency room, followed by not risking anypony else for a year. She improvised. She treated sex as a stunt, and made up new maneuvers on the fly. This was literal. Most of Rainbow's encounters were lucky to stay near the bed and when it came to her feelings about a pony's physical form, one of her few ongoing preferences was for a partner who was at least slightly smaller than she because when Rainbow picked up somepony for sex, she meant it. (She was sleek, streamlined, and could stay aloft with an impressive amount of carried mass -- if she was already in motion. Picking somepony up from Ground Zero still had a weight limit.) She was spontaneously experimental, liked to add pegasus techniques into her actions, and felt that explaining whatever she'd just come up with would take too long: it was time to come along for the ride! Pinkie, as the group's trysexual, talked everything over with her partners first and refused to proceed unless everypony had both agreed on what would take place and was fully happy about the prospects. Rainbow thought 'consent' worked out to 'You entered my bedroom: you knew what you were getting into.' Rainbow's sex life served to open up new and exciting frontiers across several categories of Equestrian existence: namely, pegasus magic, small claims court, and rewriting legal dictionaries. Fleur tried to change the subject. "How's work?" "Bad," Rainbow expounded. The cyan chin briefly dipped towards a bowl of allysum flowers. "How bad?" The prismatic tail twitched, moved back and forth across minimal buttocks. Rainbow wasn't as slender as Twilight, but she didn't carry any hundredth-bale of body weight which didn't have a purpose. It meant she mostly possessed an ass due to anatomical technicalities. "They're not exactly gonna fire me," she said. "I think. No matter how much anypony around here sends in complaints about being a little late on the schedule sometimes. They know that's not the most important thing, to stick with the schedule to the second. And the book. They know what happens when somepony can't get their snout out of the book. But that last letter said they want a decision. Soon. And I don't know what to say." With Rainbow, a sigh was almost always something unexpected. "I don't know what I can say. But I've got a few weeks." The weather coordinator was Loyalty. An unbreakable diamond of commitment to the things she loved, if not necessarily one which understood how a clock worked. The world served as the gem cleaver. Rainbow was Ponyville's weather coordinator: a post she'd assumed at an unusually young age. (There was supposed to be a story there -- but Rainbow, so willing to talk about herself for nearly every subject, somehow hadn't gotten around to that one.) She was also a member of the Wonderbolts. And she was a Bearer. There was a certain amount of conflict. Nopony could ask her to stop being a Bearer. The palace would have been decidedly unhappy with anypony who even tried to make the suggestion. But being a Bearer meant missions. Scrolls appearing from the aether, calling Flut -- calling all of them away from their lives. Something which could happen at any time, and Fleur knew how bad the missions could get because she'd been asked to go with them twice. (On the first occasion, the mission parameters had involved social situations. The palace had felt an on-site consultant would help. It had, right up until the moment when it had increased the total amount of royal bits which needed to be spent on bail.) (She wanted to go on the missions. To be there as an extra set of eyes watching over Fluttershy. Protecting.) (She lived in dread of every scroll.) The Weather Bureau, as a division of the government, pretty much had to put up with it. But the Wonderbolts were independent. They had a contract with the palace which said they could be pressed into service in an emergency, and there had been a few occasions which saw it happen -- but for the most part, they operated as a traveling stunt show with a secondary function of investigating pegasus magic. They weren't an actual branch of the military. They had trading cards. (Rainbow, who had been somewhat excited during her rookie shoot, had mostly provided the photographer with an extensive series of blurs.) And with the Wonderbolts... Rainbow was a reservist. She had gotten through the Academy, an impressive achievement in and of itself -- but she rarely took part in shows. Because she had weather coordinator duties. And because even if she had another member of the settled zone's team take over for a few days, went down the air paths and caught up with the troupe -- a scroll could come in at any time, followed almost immediately by a teleport relay team of the other escorts because the group had to be brought back together. The Wonderbolts couldn't plan a show around somepony who might not be there, and they certainly weren't going to base their advertising on the mare who had to get back home in four days because the thunderstorms didn't set themselves up. The Bureau had to put up with Rainbow being a Bearer. The Wonderbolts were a different matter -- one which wanted to know just how much longer Rainbow was planning on keeping the weather coordinator job. How many things could you be loyal to at once? All of them. But the clock felt differently. Emotions could be offered in all directions. Hours couldn't. And the Bureau wanted a decision. Soon. Fleur sighed. "We can talk about it," she offered. Again. And she wasn't expecting much of an improvement in the results. Fleur had made her opinion on the matter clear, at least to anypony who wasn't Rainbow. But they were friends. (Somehow.) And when you were friend with Rainbow, you had the discussion as many times as necessary, until the osmosis finally kicked in. So they talked, because they were friends and that was what they were supposed to do: get together for lunch and talk. It probably wouldn't resolve anything, but there was a chance that Rainbow might feel better. They talked. There was a short argument, which was no less annoying for being a repeat. But the topic stayed focused on the Bureau, the Wonderbolts, and the three-way pull, because this was Rainbow's time. Any other subject of discussion had to wait. At one point, Fleur thought she saw a high drift of aquamarine move across the left edge of her vision, followed by going behind Rainbow and out of immediate sight. But by the time she tried to focus on it, the hue had vanished.