//------------------------------// // Part 1: The Wreckoning // Story: Batsy Fluftentuft the Magnificent gets out...again // by Sollace //------------------------------// We return to our hero, Batsy Fluftentuft the Magnificent—as if you didn’t already know who she was—in another of her moments of greatness, a to-the-death battle of wits against her latest and most nefarious foe. “Agh, come on!” Basty grunted as she pulled with all of her might. Spreading out her wings and shifting around in the tiny enclosed space. She dangled with one hoof set against the wall, another on the toilet seat, and a third attached firmly to the faucet. Three solid knocks rang out through the room and Batsy Fluftentuft froze on the spot. “Uh...” she mumbled, her razor sharp mind whirling into action. “Uhm... Yes?” “Batsy,” a stallion’s voice shouted from the other side, “what are you doing in there? It’s been hours!” “Oh, uh...” Her eyes darted around the room, before landing on the pull cord of the toilet and a light bulb went on in her head. Balancing on one side and, with the lightning-fast reflexes of a stunted sloth, she grabbed the end of the cord in her mouth and gave it a tug, promptly toppling over and landing with a resounding crash on the bathroom floor. The thunderous rush of running water filled the room – all according to plan! Outside a trio of night guards stood waiting in line to use the bathroom. The first one nearest the door, a blue and brown stallion by the name Winter Frost, paused when he heard the toilet begin, and was taken aback when a loud thud rattled the doorframe. He gave a concerned look to his comrades, two other guards standing behind him. Black and blue stallions named Night Gale and Iron Hoof were dancing around, their faces scrunched up after a full afternoon of waiting. The first of the two gave a pained nod. Winter Frost knocked at the door again. “Batsy, hurry up!” He cast a glance to Night Gale, who very much looked like he was sucking lemons. “I don’t think these guys can take much longer!” “Hold on,” Batsy’s voice came back, slightly muffled from the other side of the door, “Just let me wash my h—Oh,” she screamed, both stallion’s ears bristling, “Oh Celestia help!” Another scream, this time more panicked. The guards were immediately to attention. Winter Frost bounded forwards, splintering the door and knocking it inwards whilst his two comrades backed him up. “Batsy,” he shouted, gritting his teeth and spreading his wings, ready to fight for the fight of his life, “We’re—” He stopped frozen in the door, his words lost as he set eyes on the scene. Winter cocked an eyebrow, “What are you doing?” The jig was up, or so they thought. Batsy Fluftentuft stood with both back hooves pressed firmly against the countertop, with her forehooves wrapped around the faucet. Her wings were spread behind her and with the look of a lost foal that had just been caught with her hoof in the cookie jar. Behind Winter Frost, she spied two more guards, each giving a similarly perplexed look, “Uh...” Think, Batsy, think! “... I’m being... Sucked down the drain?” an innocent grin spread across Batsy’s face, her ears drooping slightly. The guards seemed unconvinced, “... looks to me like you’re wrestling with the faucet.” “Well—“ “You do realise you’re going to break it like that, right?” “Uuhhh...” ~ ~ ~ “So then I jumped out the window.” Batsy finished the first half of her story, flashing a wide grin to bartender—a brown stallion clothed in a white apron and hat—standing before her with a raised eyebrow. She was currently sitting at the bar, her hooves rested against the counter whilst other patrons went about their business not paying her any mind. At least, no more mind than any stallion would a pretty mare. A brown stallion, she didn’t really catch his name, stopped by to give her a tip of his hat on the way out. Batsy responded with a wave, and a sultry flick of her tail. The stallion promptly broke into a gallop and was out the door within seconds. Likely to tell all his friends about the lovely mare at the bar he just met, Batsy concluded. Some things never change. The bartender, however, was less than amused, “Ma’am, I simply asked if ya wanted something to drin—” “So there I was!” Batsy launched into the next part, completely ignoring the groans of several ponies around—one of them being the bartender, another being a stallion in a bowler hat who’d only just made it to the door. Batsy almost threw herself off the tiny swivelling stool, sending herself spinning with her enthusiasm, again, “Flying free! It all went perfectly according to plan. I totally wasn’t covered in glass if that’s what you were thinking because I obviously remembered to open the window. It was in the plan after all.” ~ ~ ~ “Ow...” “Ow...” “Oww...” Batsy Fluftentuft the Magnificent barrelled forwards into the open sky, ignoring the searing pain and loud crunching of broken glass, and the blaring sirens of the guardponies’ barracks behind her. No, none of that mattered now, because she was free, and nopony was going to stop her from getting l—“Sweet Merciful Luna that’s bright!” A beam of sunlight shot across her face, blinding her. Batsy immediately rolled over, hissing with all her might at the offending entity whilst she shielded her eyes with her hooves, How dare you burn my magnificent eyes! She was shocked, flabbergasted even. They still hadn’t fixed that, and after she went through all the trouble of filing a complaint with Luna too. She squeaked out one last hiss at the sun, before diving forward down into Canterlot in the direction of what she hoped would be Doughnut Joe’s. The rushing of the wind filled her ears and, as she drew lower to the ground, Batsy let out a shrill chirp to get her bearing, because who needs eyes when you’re part bat anyway. First thing, she chirped out a perfect A Major Plus-Plus-Plus to get her bearings and turned her ears up to listen for the echo. However, instead of the perfect A Major Plus-Minus-Plus she was expecting, she was answered by the loud cacophony of breaking glass and panicked screams, and then a solid wall. ~ ~ ~ When she came to, Batsy found herself slumped against the back wall of an abandoned storefront. Her tail hung over her muzzle tickling her nose, and piles of broken shards of glass lay all around. A sign hanging close by read muiropmE ssalG s’norffaS ytevleV and, when she flipped over, it read Velvety Saffron’s Glass Emporium Batsy shook the excess glass from her mane and scratched behind her ear, “I wonder how I got in here.” Clearly somepony must have dragged her in, she concluded. And that same somepony must be the same pony responsible for all of this destruction. Batsy nodded, yes. She would have patted herself on the back for her keen deductive reasoning, except last she tried that she got stuck like that for a week, and the doctors said she was not allowed to break any more bones this month... so. Instead, she settled for trotting out into the sunlight. The sun was still not fixed, but at least it was slightly better. Whoever was in control of it must have heard her curses because it was now a lot dimmer out here. Or it was behind the clouds. She looked up at the sky. Yeah, probably that last one. Batsy smirked, “I should be a detective.” Detective Batsy Fluftentuft the Magnificent, PI. It sounded pretty good, but any detective needs a mystery to solve and—Batsy gasped, spinning around on herself to look back at the destroyed emporium. She had one right here! So it was settled. Batsy put on her most serious face—or was it her thinking face? – consisting of a scrunched up nose and two crossed eyes. She tapped her chin with her hoof as she thought, pacing in front of the now burning building, “Alright, we have a mysterious assailant,” she made a mental checklist, noting that somepony knocked her out, and dragged her into this building. “We also have a crime,” of course referring to the destroyed emporium. “All we need is a clue.” Batsy was about to set to work when bell’s chiming and ponies’ murmuring were heard approaching from up the street. Casting her keen eyesight, and holding up a hoof to shield them from the sun, which just so happened to feel like getting bright just that moment, she spied a contingent of Royal Guards and fireponies riding their way. Oh no! Batsy panicked, looked around frantically for a hiding spot. Her eyes settled on a small bundle of bushes to the side. She leapt for that, rolling to her side and clenching her teeth, and vanished into the green undergrowth moments before the contingent of ponies arrived. “Okay, fillies,” shouted the leader of the guard, a white stallion with barely, slightly more green eyes than the rest, separate from the group. Batsy struggled to remember his name—she couldn’t really understand how they could tell each other apart; they looked so similar. She settled for calling him Big White. Big White separated from the group, addressing his recruits. “Okay, fillies,” he shouted again, “Keep your eyes peeled. Private Batsy is regarded as unarmed and extremely dangerous. You are not to engage her under any circumstances.” A gasp escaped Batsy’s lips and she clapped her hoof over her muzzle. Big White paused, looking back and over the bushes. After a brief pause, he shrugged, and continued, “Do not look directly at her. Do not speak to her, and do not think about anything she says to you.” Whilst White did his thing, the fireponies went about hooking up hoses and dousing the burning building in water, but Batsy was more interested in what the guards were saying. “That scoundrel!” she hissed under her breath, putting her back to the guards to clench a hoof. “He’s framed me!” That’s not supposed to happen until at least the sequel. Clearly, Batsy knew for sure that she was dealing with a true criminal mastermind, and one with utter contempt for the mystery genre. Now she had no choice but to skip right on past getting the witty sidekick and jump straight to the gritty detective work. Bleh. ~ ~ ~ “So I’m guessing you came here looking for a suspect, whoever he or she might be?” The tavern was now empty. Only Batsy and the bartender remained, and the latter’s patience was wearing thin. He ground his teeth as he polished his beer glass for the eighteenth time. “Hey!” Batsy stopped in the middle of recounting her magnificent adventure to shoot the bartender an icy glare. Her muzzle scrunched. She leapt up onto the bar, leaning with her hooves against the table top, to bring her face over and into the bartender’s own, “Don’t you go jumping to conclusions, Mister! Or I’ll have you deported!” “...?” The bartender blinked. “Or, well,” she backed away slightly, dropping to her seat against the tiny stool. Batsy flicked a hoof in the air. “That’s what my captain always used to say, before she got deported.” “Okay... so why are you here?” “Oh!” Batsy perked up, “I was looking for a drink!” She leaned back in her seat, looking past the bartender and spying a large red bottle in the back. She pointed to it with a hoof, “One bloody orange on the rocks, please. And add two diet bat pony treats on the side, I’m trying to watch my figure.” She flashed a toothy grin and batted her eyelids—the Batsy Fluftentuft patented, or, well, not really patented considering she just came up with it, Heart Melter —absolutely guaranteed to get the cute little bat pony anything she so desires. The effects were... less than desired. The bartender stayed where he was, wearing a stoic expression. His polishing of the glass slowed to a halt as he stared down at her, his eyebrow rising. Batsy wriggled in her seat, edging closer to the counter and pointing again with her hoof to the red bottle. Her eyes darted up to the stoic stallion and back down to the bottle as she put on a slight pout. At length, when nothing seemed to be happening, Batsy sighed, “Okay, well”—she fidgeted in her seat—“I’m not that fat,” and turned aside, hiding her blush, and rolled her eyes, “But you won’t believe what becoming an immortal alicorn for an afternoon can do to a girl’s figure. At the end of the day I weighed eight no—ten whole pounds! I’m also pretty sure I was about an inch taller than I used to be.” Deafening silence fell between them, and it carried on for a full minute. “Um—” The stallion sighed, and relented. He turned around and grabbed the red bottle, and began preparing Batsy her drink. Yes! Batsy cheered inwardly and a little bit outwardly but she tried to hide it. She was leaning forwards, with her hooves against the counter and waggling her legs in the air as she waited eagerly. Yes, she repeated to herself, her mouth watering as the stallion began to pour the red drink. She could taste it already, the smooth and refreshing tang of the blood orange, coupled with the crunchy, salty, meaty flavour of the—“Here you go.” The bartender slid the glass, atop a white saucer with two pale biscuits in front of Batsy. “Um...” She eyed the biscuits, giving them a sniff and pushing one off the plate, “These aren’t bat treats?” Or well, they weren’t normal bat treats. She had to admit, she’d never seen diet bat treats before. Mostly because her barracks refused to stock them no matter how many times she asked. Batsy made a mental note to file the proper paperwork for that, too. The bartender returned to cleaning his glass, turning his back to Batsy so he might work in piece. “Eenope.” He shrugged, “We don’t stock those. Them’s shortbread.” “Shortbread!?” She turned her gaze back down to the shortbread, frowning at it hopeful that she could will them into being something better. Deciding the cookies not worth her time, she hoofed them away and turned her attention to her drink. At least this can’t go wrong. Batsy was just in the middle of taking the first sip of her blood orange, when a loud commotion sounded outside. There was a beating of hooves, a stray whiney, and the front entrance burst inwards revealing two Royal Guards in the doorway. “There she is!” The first one screamed, pointing a hoof and holding up a wanted poster with a—not too flattering—picture of Batsy Fluftentuft. The picture featured her, in her juvenile-recruits uniform, enjoying a chocolate milkshake. She had it cupped between her hooves with almost her entire mouth jammed around the rim whilst her tongue fought to capture a cherry at the bottom. Before him, not even three feet away, Batsy Fluftentuft spun around in her seat recreating her wanted picture with laser precision, “Mmf!?” “Get her!” The other guard screamed and launched himself forwards, just missing Batsy as she leapt, chirping with fright, and flew up towards the ceiling. Unfortunately for the guard, and the bartender, unicorns don’t have wings. Thus he continued forwards, sliding over the bar and tackling the poor bartender to the ground in a pile of glass and broken bottles. Batsy flew up to the ceiling, grabbing hold of the lantern, and swung around it, wildly waving her hooves, “Hmm mmff!” She pulled the empty glass from her muzzle, “You’ll never catch me al—Oops.” The glass promptly slipped free from her hoof, flying across the room and smashing against the head of a second guard as he came up from behind He dropped like a stone; that is, a stone fired from a canon, and continued forwards at full speed, his head coming down and crashing through a nearby table, and then sliding with it until he stopped against the wall. Batsy was immediately at his side, “Oh no!” and panicking. She paced around, “Oh no, oh no, oh no...” This was bad. She was already on the run from the law after escaping her barracks and getting framed by the unscrupulous, mystery criminal mastermind. She can’t be on the books for murder now too! Just think what Luna would say! She’d have to go without bat treats for an entire month! That was not something Batsy wanted to go through again. No, she had to do something. Batsy stopped mid canter, looked down at the body. She cast a glance around the bar. It was empty, the other guard and bartender, presumably, sleeping behind the counter. No witnesses. This was good. “What if I just—” Grabbing a hoof, Batsy began to pull. She grunted, putting all her strength into getting the stallion to move and even using her wings to lift them both. The grand sum of all her effort had herself and his hindquarters about an inch off the ground before she finally had to give up for a breather. She dropped the guard and alighted on his chest, to survey her progress. They were now... three inches from where they started, “This is going to take forever...” A snort met Batsy’s ears and she looked down, “Ugh...” The guard groaned and began to move, “... where am I?” “Oh my Luna!” Batsy gasped and leapt off his chest, leaning down beside him and watching as the guard began to recover. She wanted to kiss him, she was so happy. She almost did kiss him, but then she remembered she was on the run from him, so she pinned him down with a table and bolted for the door. ~ ~ ~ The doors burst open and Batsy flew out into the light. This time wary enough to keep her head low as to avoid burning her eyes again. She didn’t notice when a burly stallion in golden armour jumped out from behind and wrapped his forelegs around Batsy, literally whisking her of her hooves, “Aha!” “Hey!” Batsy yelped and let loose a series of tiny chirps as she was whisked from her hooves and carried out into the open street where yet more guards waited for her with the cart from earlier. She squirmed fruitlessly against the stallion’s legs, kicking and chirping every profanity she knew—destroying several windows in the process and likely scarring a great many dogs-- as she was sat down forcefully at the back of the cart and forced to stay put until somepony else came around to read her rights. Another guard, this time with a faint bluish tinge to his eyes and a clipboard floating in his aura trotted around from the front of the cart. One looked at him, and Batsy instantly knew what his name should be: Boris. Or, she considered it for a moment, maybe Clippy, but she really liked Boris. Boris paused behind the cart, levitating the clipboard in front of his muzzle and turning the page to read its contents. “Batsy Fluftentuft,” he began, glancing down to the mare with a slight sneer. “The Magnificent,” Batsy was quick to correct. She squirmed again, and would have pointed a hoof if she hadn’t found them restrained at her side. The guard ignored her and started again. “Batsy Fluftentuft. Wanted for destruction of public and private property”— “I was framed!” “Violating parole.” His voice rose an octave, but then he paused and waited to see if there be another comment from Batsy. A quick glance down to the mare showed her sitting quietly, her head caressed beneath the stallion’s chin, her hooves crossed, and her cheeks puffed out in an exaggerated pout. “And resisting arr—“ “Let me go!” “No!” Boris snapped, punctuation his statement with a slap of the clipboard against the edge of the cart, “Now,” he leaned down in front of Batsy to bring their faces closer together, “How do you plead?” Again silence. “That’s what I thought.” Boris’ sneer returned and he stood to his full height, turning his head to the side to call over the guards driving the cart. “Okay guys,” have waved them over, “Let’s get thi—“ CRUNCH Boris was cut short by the sound of fangs digging deep into stallion flesh, followed shortly after by the pained yells of his comrade. YAHHHH! The stallion pitched back, pulling his arms forwards on reflex with Batsy still attached. He fell back, collapsed to the ground weeping and clutching at his bleeding arm whilst Batsy soared across the short distance and glomped Boris from behind. “Ahahaha!” Batsy wiped her muzzle with her fetlock and let loose her most fearsome war cry—the very same she used to strike fear into her enemies in the lunchroom cafeteria. She grabbed a hold of the closest things she could reach—his ears—and began the perilous climb to the top of mount Boris whilst several other guards rushed around to his aid. Boris, his vision suddenly obscured by a grey mass of wings and fur, screamed out in protest, “Get off!” They both wobbled to and fro, Boris bringing up his hooves to pull Batsy off, and Batsy kicking and grappling with her hooves to get to the top of his head. There was no way in Tartarus Batsy was going to let this stallion capture her again. She reached the top. Finally bringing her one hind hoof up and resting it against the base of his horn, Batsy spread her wings and kicked out. She took off, knocking Boris into the dirt behind her, and instantly started to gain altitude. Next stop, freedom! Batsy beamed, spreading her wings wide and preparing to soar as high as possible, as far as possible, and as fast as possible. All she had to do wa—Uh oh. Something caught on Batsy’s leg, halting her progress, and quickly reversing it as she was pulled back towards the ground. No, no, no. She panicked, and flapped even harder, straining with all her might against the unknown force, but was unable to stop herself from being dragged down to the ground. She was dragged down into a circle formed of the remaining guards, all staring at her with stoic expressions. One of them dimmed their horn as Batsy’s flank touched the ground, and they instantly started advancing on her. “Batsy Fluftentuft,” one began. “You’re coming with us.” The other completed. “No...” Batsy cowered. She stepped back with one hoof and dropped to her haunches, spreading her wings and holding up her hooves in self defence, “No—” She squeaked out, wincing and squeezing her eyes closed, “Please...” a pout, and slight tear at the corners of her eyes, and she awaited the inevitable. And waited. “Um...” Batsy cracked open an eye and risked a looked around, “Oh.” She stood back up and folded her wings. The guards each lay around her collapsed in a heap, one frothing at the mouth and the other clutching at his chest, a look of extreme d’aww painted all over his face. “...okay,” she nodded and beat her chest. Well done, Batsy. A brief survey of the scene revealed all of the guard either unconscious, or, well. Yeah, they were mostly all unconscious. The only one awake was—Batsy didn’t have a name for him but he was lying not far away cradling his arm and muttering something about crazing blood. She shrugged. Hey, never mess with Detective Batsy Fluftentuft, the Magnificent, which reminded her, she still had a criminal genius mastermind, crime drama hating, criminal on the loose! ~ ~ ~ Captain – Big – White Chocolate of the Royal guard arrived on the scene arrive to find all of his guards in the process of recovering. They all lay, groaning, and rubbing their respective bruises, when White Chocolate came around the corner with two others of his fellow captains. “What is this!?” He did a double take, gawking at the state of his subordinates. He trotted forwards, making a beeline for the most senior of the troop, Gleaming Spear—Boris. He pulled the private up by the scruff of his neck so he might regard him, “What did I say?” He looked him in the eyes, “Extremely dangerous. You are not to engage Private Fluftentuft without my express permissions.” “I’m sorry, Captain,” Spear recoiled under White’s glare, “I thought—“ “You thought” White spat, “That is the problem. I did not train my recruits to think.” Spear winced under this comment, “I trained them to follow orders.” “I’m sorry, Captain. But next time we’ll—“ “Next time I’ll be taking charge, thank you very much.” With his tirade over, White waved his private away, “Go clean up,” and was trotting back to join his peers when one of the guards on the ground raised his hoof. White paused, keeping his eyes level, “Yes?” The guard’s hoof dropped, “Um.” He coughed, stroking his injured arm. “I think she, uh. She bit me an—” “She is not a Vampony, Private.” “Oh.” The guard blushed slightly, his shoulders slumping as he relaxed, and slightly conflicted on how to feel about that. One the one hoof, he was glad he wouldn’t have to be explain it to his wife. On the other, he was really disappointed there weren’t wings to look forward to in his future. “... Okay, then.” ~ ~ ~ Somewhere over Canterlot, in the not-so-abandoned bell tower of the Church of Celestia, a tiny bat pony head peeked out among the parapets to be sure she hadn’t been followed. “Whew,” Batsy wiped her brow and pulled her head inside. She slumped with her back against the stone wall, with the brass of the old bell reflecting her image above. She was safe. No guards were going to find her here, and they wouldn’t dare to look inside the chapel tower without permission. Now she had her chance to think. She stood and spread her wings, and jumped up to the top of the bell to find a cosier spot. The tiny space above was perfect for a bat pony of her stature. It was dark and small, with plenty of warmth through the roof-tiles. She curled herself up against the bell, rocking it slightly below her and making it ding slightly. There was a faint crack, and pieces of debris dropped into her mane from above, but Batsy ignored it as she turned to her thinking face—with added closing of her eyes and rubbing her temples—the super serious thinking face. At the back of her mind, it nagged at her that she still hadn’t done what she set out to do in the first place, but priorities. There was still a criminal mastermind on the loose, and Batsy had to do something to clear her name before she could have any real fun. She couldn’t trust anypony—except herself, of course, because since when was the brilliant detective the culprit? Never, that’s when. It was always either the butler or some brilliant evil mastermind with a PhD. None of those things Batsy had in common, except the brilliant part, but she definitely wasn’t evil. No, she couldn’t trust anypony and they couldn’t trust her. It was up to her and her alone to find the culprit and bring this miscreant to justice, if her name isn’t Detective Batsy Fluftentuft the Magnificent. So it was settled. Batsy nodded, resolute, and opened her eyes. She wiggled free of the tight space and kicked away from the bell, ringing it loudly in her wake and flew out of the tower and to the top. As Batsy settled at the tip of the roof, there was a loud clang, and the crack of breaking wood as something large dropped from its hinges. Batsy paused; her eyebrow raised and glanced around. Nothing seemed to have changed, so she shrugged and went back to her detective work. She squinted and held up a hoof to shield her eyes from the sun as she surveyed the landscape for any suspicious activity. Ponies mulled around in the market square to the east, guard changed their posts outside Canterlot Castle, and many more went about their business in the streets below. She even spotted several guards arguing loudly, and animatedly, outside the bar from before, but there was nothing that indicated suspicious behaviour. “Aw...” Batsy sighed, slumping low in defeat. This was going to harder than she thought. She was about to climb down, and return to her cosy spot inside the tower, when a low rumble started from below and the roof shook beneath her. She stood, looking down beneath her hooves, as the roof shook again. Several tiles broke loose, sliding away and off the edge to fall crashing to the ground below. Then the entire tower lurched to one side and Batsy leapt off, taking to air just as the entire building dropped away from her in one swooping whoosh. The roof vanished below her into a rising cloud of dust and the crashing thunder of breaking stone, then the dust cleared to reveal the tower, or what remained of it, lying as a pile of rubble beside the—almost—untouched church. Several ponies in black clothing and square hats stood around, gaping in shocked awe. One of them looked up, screamed in terror upon spotting Batsy, and then they all scattered in different directions. “Oh no!” Batsy gasped, focused on the destroyed tower, “He strikes again!” But this time she was ready. There wasn’t any knocking her out and leaving Batsy to take all the blame. She squinted, and cast her keen eyesight to the immediate area, immediately spotting a flash of brown and the flutter of a cape as somepony darted away into a nearby ally. “Halt!” Batsy screamed, jumping into her role as the greatest detective slash night guard she’d ever known—Detective Shorn Lock Holmes—“Stop in the name of Luna!” Batsy darted down in the direction of the alleyway. Stopping in the entrance, she blocked the exit with her wings and searched around for where he’d gone. The clang of trash cans was heard from the back, and a shadow moved around the corner down the alley. “Halt!” Batsy screamed, “That means stop!” and ran after. She clambered through the crowded ally, knocking down trash cans and came out on the other side into a market full of ponies. A brief moment of silence; ponies stopped. Their eyes wide as they be held this strange dark brown creature standing ready, her leathery bat wings spread behind her, with pointed, tipped ears folded back against her head, the ends of fangs bearing from the corners of her mouth, and a loose banana peel clinging to the top of her head. Somepony in the back, a voice in the crowd, shouted out, “Vampony!” and suddenly the square exploded into a blind panic as ponies scattered in every direction. Screaming and the stomping of hooves filled the scene as a large empty area began to clear in front of Batsy. She ignored them, still looking for the familiar brown of the flank she saw running away from her. In the commotion of the running crowd, a brief flash of it caught her eye, a brown flank with an hourglass cutie mark, and the trailing end of a dark cape flicked out of sight behind a running pony. “Aha!” Batsy laughed and bounded forwards through the group. She ran headlong after the pony, spreading her wings to take flight. Her keen—and absolutely magnificent—instincts kicked in as she twisted and swerved through the commotion of running and clapping hooves, following his trail further into the crowded market. It was only a matter of time. Batsy squinted—her muzzle scrunching up and her tongue sticking out—as she focused in on him. He was still running, but there was no way he could get away from her now. She was, after all, Batsy Fluftentuft the Magnificent, Hunter Extraordinaire. She banked left, cutting past around a cabbage and knocking it over in her wake, then beat her wings to pick up her lost speed. Yes, nopony in her barracks had ever been able to lose Batsy Fluftentuft, no matter how hard they tried. Once she had the trail, she could sniff out a pony from fifty yards, and a stale bat treat from a hundred. The stallion turned right, his back vanishing momentarily behind a grey mare, and Batsy was about to fly off after him when her path was suddenly cut off as another stallion, bright pink coat, and looking the other way as he stepped in front of her. “Yah!” Batsy screamed, flaring her wings out and bringing up her hooves to protect her face. The stallion’s mane bristled and his head whipped around, then his eyes grew wide and he began to backpedal, his mouth opening wide into a yell as they collided. There was a loud crack as their heads truck together, and both Batsy and the stallion tumbled to the ground in a pile. They rolled head over hooves, and then came to a sliding stop with Batsy laying on top and the stallion pinned down on his back, and their eyes met. “Uh...” The stallion blushed, and averted his eyes. “... Batsy, nice to, um—He brought up a hoof to scratch behind his head and turned sideways to put a little space between him and the mare. “run into you?” he laughed, nervously. Batsy blink once, then again, and a third time, and tilted her head. She frowned, raising an eyebrow. “Taffy Winkle!?”