//------------------------------// // The Pear-Shaped Nature of Apples // Story: Coups d'etat // by Desavlos //------------------------------// Fancy Pants did not take kindly to failure. Nevertheless, he always made sure to have a selection of both metaphorical and literal back doors to choose from should his plan turn metaphorically (or, once, literally) pear shaped. Concerned by the sudden materialisation of Glass's, "Run For It" note, Fancy Pants had rapidly gathered up necessities, such as his butler, and made to quit the building. Finding every trap-door barred, portal broken, and super-secret hoofglider mysteriously and inexplicably "out for cleaning", whatever that meant, had only worried him more. It was as if Shining Armor was competent. That just wasn't fair. Shining Armor was much younger than Fancy Pants, but in his youth he'd had time to learn from the Princesses themselves, who were hundreds of times older than either of the unicorns and certainly knew a trick or two about life. They'd taught him that the rules apply to everypony equally regardless of race, age, or social status. But they'd also taught him that most ponies, however common or noble, forget to read the fine print. As such, when Fancy Pants finally set aside his misgivings and stepped out of his front door, Shining Armor took great satisfaction in striking him on the head with a stick of rhubarb. In deference to the fact that he wasn't stupid, Shining had put the rhubarb, some hours before, in a very deep, very cold freezer. The icy rhubarb shattered into jagged shards, and Fancy Pants collapsed like a very expensively dressed puppet, sans strings. The arcanum mages in the castle had confirmed his suspicion that the "warding spells" were fake. Shining had waited a long time for Fancy Pants to make a mistake; he intended to savour it. Whistling to himself quietly, Shining Armor walked calmly into Fancy's manor. He had a lot of investigating to do. ----<<<<>>>>---- Willow's timorous voice echoed down the corridor. "Hello? Is anypony there?" Despite the weight of her (borrowed) armour, Willow had been keeping up a reasonable pace through the palace's winding passages. She had, in fact, arrived at the throne room's entrance just as a pair of guards, with three unconscious unicorns between them (one carried on a back, two being dragged by their hooves), had passed her in the opposite direction. Willow had ducked into an alcove to avoid them; it wasn't until after they'd passed that she'd remembered her disguise. She hadn't felt too bright, but at least there'd been nopony around to notice. There was no response to her inquiry either. Cautiously, expecting at any minuite that guards would leap out of the woodwork and devour her, Willow made her way up to the throne room doors. Then she paused. She considered just going inside, but she doubted that any of Celestia's guards would be so brazen and she did have a cover to maintain. Besides, it would be rude not to knock. Treason was one thing, impoliteness simply would not be, well, polite. Like Grey, Willow had an unshakable set of values that she would not revoke for love nor money. Thankfully, that was more or less where the similarities stopped. She knocked, then listened. She tried again, a little more forcefully. Finally, Willow decided that a revolutionary deserved some greater degree of respect. The doors were pushed, very carefully, open. Willow froze, halfway through the door, as she caught Celestia's eye. The alicorn smiled and motioned for Willow to join her. "I was beginning to wonder," Celestia purred. "if you'd ever come in at all." The sun-goddess nodded to a bench. "Do sit down, My Little Pony. Shining Armor tells me that you have something to say." Willow just stared, mouth agape. Celestia smiled back. Suddenly, Willow slammed the door closed and pressed her back against it; she was breathing heavily and her eyes darted up and down the corridor, searching for danger. A moment later, a faint golden aura pushed at the door and it slid, despite Willow's best efforts, open. With a yelp, Willow was lifted into the air by the aura and floated, gently, into the throne room. She scrabbled at the doorframe with her hooves as she drifted past; it didn't seem to do any good. The doors closed, not with a bang, but with a click. It was just as final, nevertheless. ----<<<<>>>>---- For Celestia, nervous subjects were an everyday issue; it'd become something of a trend, these past centuries. Gone, regrettably, were the days when handsome knights in shining armour would presume to kiss her hoof or to grin roguishly in her presence; now, the most she could expect from anypony but her sister or niece was Twilight's gleeful chatter whenever the little unicorn became excited enough to forget her mentor's status. That said, she knew why Willow Leaves was here; it was understandable that she would be more apprehensive than most. It didn't help that she'd been forcefully granted an audience either. Both ponies had been sat in silence for some minuites, and the growing awkwardness had finally moved Celestia to speak. "Would you care for some tea, Willow Leaves?" Willow appeared at first not to have heard - she just kept wringing her hooves nervously - but after a moment she looked up in a panic. "U- um..." She stuttered. "Yes- yes please." Celestia levitated a kettle onto a small hearth on the other side of the throne room; it'd taken her years to convince her staff to let her make her own tea: in the end she'd had to pass several decrees on the subject. With the noise of the kettle drowning out the silence of the hall, Willow appeared to steel herself. "I- er..." Willow wasn't feeling overconfident. "I... I demand to be released... Please." She chided herself for asking permission, but she'd never been well suited to Grey's cadre. Having screwed her eyes shut as she made her demand, she cracked one open at the sound of laughter. It was Celestia: to her credit she had made some effort to suppress it. Between her fading giggles, she replied. "I thought you wanted to find me, Miss Leaves." "I guess I hadn't really planned to, well, get this far." Willow was finding it hard to be intimidated by the laughing, motherly figure on the other chair. Her self-styled, "Lord Chancellor's" vehement, rage-driven speeches about the Royal Sister's evil and heartless manipulation of innocent ponies had been hard enough to believe at the best of times; they were rapidly fading into the realm of utter nonsense in the presence of Celestia, who was doing nothing more evil than adding milk to her earl grey tea. She even seemed a little guilty about that. "I have lemon, if you'd rather." Celestia offered.