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// Chapter 2 
// Story: Rendezvous at a Book Store 
// by Bachiavellian 
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By his third or fourth visit, Blueblood had the brilliant idea of bringing along something to placate the flea-bitten devil that haunted his every trip to Buy the Book. His plan’s only flaw, he discovered, was that he could barely stand the smell of the little paper bag of smoked salmon he carried in his hornglow. Not to mention that the trip to the griffon butchershop from which he purchased the fragrant little package had been its own spectacle of horrors.

“Hello,” he said, sending a perfunctory greeting to the pony behind the register.

“Bonjour, Prince Blueblood.” Encré Vert gestured to a book on the countertop. “The Heart Wisp collection again this week? I’ve saved it for you.”

“How thoughtful,” said Blueblood, absentmindedly. It was taking nearly all of his concentration to keep the bag of stinking fish as far away from his nose as his horn allowed.

Just as expected, when he made any movement to take the book, the damned tomcat, hissing and spitting, arose from behind the counter.

“Gigi!” Encré fruitlessly scolded the cat once more.

Blueblood simply peeled away the oil-stained brown paper from the salmon and pulled off a chunk of the stringy pink flesh with his magic. The stench tripled in strength.

“Here,” said Blueblood, shoving the piece at Gigi as he breathed exclusively through his mouth. “Take it and begone.”

The cat eyed the offered treat for several seconds, frozen as still as a statue. When Blueblood was about to give up and throw the whole stinking mess out the window, the cat snatched the piece of salmon, lightning-fast, from Blueblood’s cloud of magic and scampered off to some dark corner.

“Very kind of you!” Encré smiled. “He loves salmon.”

“Good,” said Blueblood, sighing. “Perhaps I’ve earned myself a little peace today.”

Blueblood re-wrapped what was left of the fish and tucked it into a compartment in his saddlebags that he had lined with wax paper. Finally unmolested by any foul-tempered felines, he took the Heart Wisp book and began walking to Fleur’s spot.

“Don’t worry,” he said calling over his shoulder and rolling his eyes to himself. He waved the book in the air a couple of times. “I don’t believe I’ll be finishing it today, either.”

When he arrived at the table, Fleur was, as always, lost to the world. A ratty novel with a curled spine floated in a cloud of pink magic in front of her. Taking his seat next to her, Blueblood opened his book to one of the entries he hadn't read yet.

“And what would you be reading today?” he asked the mare at his side.

“Oh, just something from the penny shelf.” Fleur shot Blueblood a moment of eye contact and nodded to greet him. “Whatever will help me forget that I am dreadfully unprepared for the weekend’s show at Baltimare.”

“You should not worry,” said Blueblood. “I doubt the Baltimare scene would amount to anything much more than foal’s play.”

Fleur cocked an eyebrow at this.

“What do you know about modeling?” she asked.

“Absolutely nothing,” Blueblood admitted. “But I’d like to think that I know quite a bit about you and what you’re capable of.”

Flattery rarely failed, especially when it had some honesty in it.

Fleur smiled a big, genuine smile and said “Thank you. That’s a very nice thing of you to say.”

Blueblood mimed a little bow and turned to his book. Fleur did come here to read, so Blueblood would happily oblige her, at least for a little while.

This week’s entry was about a pony who found that whatever falsehood she told would actually come to be true. It was a rather hefty entry—two or three dozens of pages long—and by the end of it, Blueblood was struck by the oddest sense of déjà vu. A ghost of familiarity.

I wonder why Auntie Celestia would write this,  Blueblood thought to himself.

Then he realized how much time had passed while he was reading, and he put the book away and turned to address Fleur. He wasn’t quite sure what he wanted to say but he was confident that he could silver-tongue his way through a conversation.

“Fleur,” he said, and then he waited for her attention.

After a moment, the mare looked up from the penny novel.

“Yes?” she said.

“How… how are you doing?” Blueblood internally berated himself both for fumbling his words and for choosing such an unoriginal opening line.

As expected, a little bit of confusion settled over Fleur’s features, before she responded.

“Well, I’m frazzled over the upcoming event,” she said. “I’m anxious that my girls—the models—might have trouble with three full days of back to back shows. And truthfully, though I imagine that what I'm feeling is just my own nerves, I'm dreadfully afraid that something can—and will!—go terribly wrong on Friday, or on Saturday, or on Sunday.”

Fleur leaned back on her seat, sighing. A stray lock of pink hair fell over one of her eyes; she lit her horn and tucked it back into its place in her bun. Regarding Blueblood with something like a smile, she spoke again.

“Well,” she said suddenly, “what of you? How are you doing?”

Caught off-guard, Blueblood felt his mouth moving before thoughts formed in his head.

“Ah—My… if...” Horrified, Blueblood shut his mouth before it could make a bigger fool out of him. A flush of embarrassment welled up in his cheeks, and it reminded him just how long it had been since he last felt so vulnerable.

Fleur giggled at his obvious distress, and somehow it made everything seem both terribly worse and relievingly better at the same time.

“I am well,” said Blueblood. Oddly, it felt like he was telling a lie. But he was very good at lying, he knew. “I am doing well enough, I suppose.”

“Hm…” Fleur rubbed her chin, in thought. “What was it that you used to say? ‘Doing well is not the same as being well.’”

Another wave of embarrassment.

“Well I… I was hardly more than a colt when I said silly things like that.”

“No! It was never silly!” A big grin etched itself on Fleur’s face, from one side to the other. “Remember, you used to say it to me when I came home from those long nights on the runway. When all I wanted to do was fall and die atop the bed, you’d bring me ice for my swollen hooves and ask me if I was being well. You were so thoughtful!”

“I was naïve, and you know it.”

He said it bluntly, barely realizing that he was speaking out loud in the first place. The words were neither shouted nor whispered, but it pierced the space between them like a needle through flesh.

Instantly, Fleur’s smile crumpled. She tried to hide it, of course, as any mare with her social experience might. But she didn’t do a good job. Her lips were held too neutrally, and her eyes were pinched at the edges.

Blueblood vividly imagined the act of punching himself. He was making so many thoughtless mistakes—he was slipping, really—and he had no idea why.

That’s a lie. He knew why he was slipping, and to be honest, it frightened—

No, it doesn’t!

Blueblood gritted his teeth at himself and willed himself to be more relaxed. It was difficult (and paradoxical) but he made it work.

Surely enough, his emotions fell into recognizable order, and the world with them.

“I’m sorry,” he finally said. It broke a silence that lasted for far too long. “That was uncalled for.” He put on an apologetic smile. “I.. tend to say things I don’t mean. I suppose that makes me a horrible friend.”

Blueblood gave Fleur an out, and right on cue she took it.

“No,” she said waving her hoof in an exaggeratedly dismissive way. Her own little smile was much less-practiced that Blueblood’s. “You’re much to difficult on yourself. You are a wonderful companion.”

It was an ugly little dance the two of them did to sweep what had just happened under the rug, but surely this was better than the alternative. Even still, the rest of tonight’s conversation was likely ruined.

An irritated meow screeched out from somewhere beneath the table, and it took Blueblood a moment to remember that there was still a big chunk of that damned salmon in his bags. Mechanically, he took it out, tore off the waxpaper, and threw it in the vague direction of the growling.

There was the sound of scrambling paws for a few moments, before Gigi emerged from under the opposite end of the table, fish in his maw. The cat shot Blueblood the briefest of looks before hurrying away.

It was only when he heard her magic ring out that Blueblood realized that Fleur had gotten out of her seat. Swiveling his ears and eyes, he saw her slot her penny novel back into a bookshelf. It was still a couple of hours before the store closed.

“Are you leaving already?” he said.

“I’m afraid so,” she replied. “I'll have to be on the early-bird train to Baltimare tomorrow morning, and I still haven't finished packing my things.”

By Auntie’s big floating tail, nothing was going right today.

“Will you be here next week?” He asked the question that he asked every week, trying to impart a little bit of normality into what remained of the evening.

Fleur paused and blinked, confused.

“I’ll still be gone, Blueblood,” she said.

It was Blueblood’s turn to blink in confusion.

“I thought the Baltimare show was for the weekend? Will it last until Wednesday?” he asked.

Comprehension dawned on Fleur, and then genuine regret touched her face for the second time that day.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you didn’t know,” she said. “After Baltimare, I’ve got a weekend show at the Empire, and then Neigh Orleans and Manehattan. It’s the Fashion Month tour for the year.”

“Oh,” said the Prince. A thought occurred to him, and he began to put it into words: “Well, if you might need company for a leg or two of the trip, I’d—”

“No, Bluey.”

The words stopped Blueblood dead in his tracks.

“I’m always frightfully busy on these trips,” said Fleur, “and I don't believe I'll have a moment to tear myself from my work. You’ll grow terribly bored.”

It was as mundane an excuse as they came. The message couldn’t have been clearer.

“Of course then,” said Blueblood, automatically.

Fleur’s hoof fidgeted. Only for a moment, but enough to betray her anxiety.

“And I think…” she said, swallowing in the middle of her sentence, “I think I could use a little bit of time to… clear my head. I’m afraid I’m always… well you know how it is when you are obligated to deal with high society on a daily basis.”

“Yes, I suppose I do,” said Blueblood.

Fleur leaned close and quickly kissed both his cheeks in farewell.

“These four weeks will pass quickly, I’m sure of it!” she said.

“Nevertheless, I look forward to the end of them. Best of luck to you on your trip!”

Blueblood shot her a smile of her own as she stepped away and out of sight. At the edge of his hearing, Fleur exchanged a few words with Encré in Prench before the doorbell signaled her departure.

When she was gone, Blueblood sat down again and was still for several minutes. Finally, he picked up the Heart Wisp book (which had been laying still-open on the table), and brought it back into its place on the Classics shelf.

For some reason, it took quite a bit of effort to squeeze the book back into its usual spot, as if it didn’t fit there anymore.