//------------------------------// // 3. The Impossible Dream // Story: A Day in Canterlot // by RainbowDoubleDash //------------------------------// Nothing in Canterlot was ever as simple as two ponies who knew each other just happening to bump into each other. Fizzlepop eyed Prince – his name, not his title, the Blueblood family having a tradition of naming their children after titles – trying to remember everything she could about the colt. His father was Duke Blueblood, Baron of Hysanguia, and Fizzlepop was pretty certain Prince himself had at least a couple honorary lordships and possibly a baronetcy with its power held in trust by his father until he came of age. Despite the low rank of nobility, the House Blueblood was an ancient and powerful one within Equestria. There had been some scandal last year with Duke Blueblood, though, something involving a substantial amount of alcohol and the Princess herself at the last Grand Galloping Gala. Fizzlepop hadn’t been on-duty at the time, but she knew that though Duke Blueblood was still Baron of Hysanguia and still nominally held his place within the Night Court, he had been sent to the North Everfree province to serve as the Night Court representative to the town of Ponyville, and so typically had to act through proxies instead of in person. Which meant that though Prince Blueblood may merely have been a young colt, that didn’t mean that he didn’t potentially have political designs on Trixie to try and get his father returned from his de facto exile. And even if that wasn’t the case, he was also still a maturing colt and Trixie a maturing filly, and everything that potentially entailed with summer – heat season – a scant few weeks away. Fizzlepop stepped a little closer to Trixie and leaned down. “We’re running late, Trixie,” she said, just loud enough to be heard by Prince, giving Trixie an out. If Trixie herself heard, she didn’t acknowledge as she stepped forward, doffing her hat and swirling her too-long cape about her as she did the last thing Fizzlepop expected: bow respectfully, if ostentatiously, to the colt. “Sir Prince,” she said as she rose. Her accent had become a clipped and precise Canterlotian, the same one she had affected when impersonating Luna, though she didn’t change her voice. “Last week at the Eventime soiree I overheard you talking to some other ponies about this play, and it reminded me that I didn’t have a lot of time left to see it. So I would like to thank you for that.” He just happened to be talking about it in earshot, did he? Fizzlepop wondered, eyes narrowing a little. Prince seemed as unsurprised by Trixie’s words as Fizzlepop expected him to be. “Well, of course,” he said, recovering swiftly. A stray breeze carried the scent of cologne to Fizzlepop’s nose; she struggled not to react to it. “The play is highly recommended, and I recall you saying how this story is one of your favorites.” “I did not know that you intended to come, however,” Trixie continued. “I thought you had already seen it, hadn’t you?” “Well, yes, when it premiered.” Prince smiled brightly as he stepped forward, though still keeping a friendly distance between him and Trixie. “With my father and several of his peers. The Princess also attended. But I admit that I had only just arrived in Canterlot the night before and was still getting used to the different pulse of the city.” He shrugged, his smile becoming sheepish. “I fell asleep very near the beginning. Most embarrassing.” Trixie’s eyelids fluttered rapidly at Prince’s words. “You fell asleep?” She asked, her accent slipping. “But…it’s Don Rocinante! The first novel! An’ it’s a classic, an’…” she shifted, glancing at the theater and then back to Prince. “It…it wasn’t boring, was it?” Prince closed his eyes and shook his head, holding up both hooves. “Not at all, not from what I remember, in any event. It was just tiredness on my part.” Trixie let out a long, relieved sigh at that, one hoof at her chest. “Mo chagren…ahem. Ah – I mean, I am sorry, Sir Prince.” “Please, just Prince.” He looked her up and down, and Fizzlepop noticed a slight twitch in one eye as he did at Trixie’s choice of attire. But his reaction was limited to the eye-twitch only, and his voice didn’t waver or betray any emotion other than genuine friendliness…although he did come a little closer to Trixie than was entirely friendly. The scent of cologne grew. “It’s been a very long time since the sandbox. We’ve both grown since then…perhaps a fresh start is in order?” Alarm bells went off in Fizzlepop’s head at the young – but not so young – colt’s tone, the glint in his eye, his smile, the cologne he was wearing, the distance he put between himself and Trixie, and the knowledge that apparently the two had a history. She took a very deliberate step forward to stand alongside Trixie. The action prompted the two youngest ponies present to jump, while Prince’s own bodyguards advanced to flank their charge. Fizzlepop eyed both of them silently for a full five seconds before looking down to Trixie. “We are running late, Trixie,” she said. Trixie looked up at Fizzlepop confusedly, not seeming to understand the exact source of her concern. Fizzlepop wondered if Trixie was aware of her own tail flicking slightly more animatedly than normal underneath her cape; Fizzlepop could see the motions, although Prince couldn’t from this angle, which was probably just as well. “Okay,” Trixie said at length, apparently trusting Fizzlepop. “I do want to get some snacks for the show anyhow…” “There may be just enough time…” Fizzlepop said as she backed away, preparing to turn around. “Oh!” Trixie exclaimed. She looked back to Prince, tapping her front hooves together, breathing in, then out. “Just two quick things. First…I know that after I pushed you into a sandbox three years ago I wrote an apology letter to you. But you probably also know that Luna made me write it. It wasn’t a real apology.” She gathered herself up. “So this is. Sir Prince Blueblood, I’m sorry that I was a little brat when we first met.” Prince smiled, an actual shine on his teeth for just a moment as he did. “Of course, Trixie. I don’t recall comporting myself much better, so I apologize as well.” “But,” Trixie said, holding up a hoof, “My grand-père always taught me that words are cheap. So for a real-real apology…” She held up the sheet of paper that had the Princess’ permission to use her private theater box on it. “How would you like to join me? Best seats in the house!” Prince’s eyes widened at his turn of luck. “Well,” he said, not missing a beat, “that sounds quite lovely, Trixie. I accept, of course.” Fizzlepop barely suppressed a groan as the two young ponies trotted off towards the theater. She and Prince’s own bodyguards kept pace right behind them. She glanced over to the two earth ponies, who didn’t look troubled at all by this turn of events. As the group reached the ticket counter, Fizzlepop took the permission slip from Trixie and gave it a quick glance, hoping that Princess Luna’s ceaseless benevolence would provide Fizzlepop with an out. Instead Princess Luna’s bottomless cruelty had seen fit to give permission to “Trixie Lulamoon & entourage” to use her theater box, without defining the size or composition of said entourage. The intent had probably been to ensure that there would be no ambiguity as to whether or not Fizzlepop could join her. Fizzlepop considered what to do as they made their way from the ticket booth to the concession stand, Blueblood offering to pay for everything, because of course he was. On the one hoof, Trixie was not her commander and could not give her orders, and in fact Luna would certainly agree that Trixie had to obey Fizzlepop’s own orders. So she could simply outright state that Trixie was not allowed to go on this impromptu date with Prince, he’d have to go to his own seat, and if they wanted to date they should arrange things better ahead of time. On the second hoof, Fizzlepop’s standing orders did not include preventing Trixie from going on a date. While Trixie and Prince apparently had some sort of history, Fizzlepop had no reason to suspect any sort of ulterior motive from the young stallion – well, no more ulterior than Trixie would encounter from any pony her age when dating, and Trixie was surely old enough to have had a talk about the birds and the bees. Besides which, Fizzlepop would be right with the two of them in the box – it was big enough to seat six, if she recalled correctly – and with this being a first date between the two it was unlikely that anything untoward would happen anyway. On the third hoof, the fact that Prince had something to gain from attempting to date Trixie was as plain as a full moon on a cloudless night. Simple interest in one another was one thing, but Prince was the foal of a noble and a noble himself, and old enough to have started to skirt the edges of the Game. Was anything as simple as budding feelings between two young ponies in the Night Court? Of course not. Even if they were real, they’d be a secondary concern. Prince could very easily have been merely attempting to use Trixie as an avenue towards influence over Luna, or early influence over Trixie for whenever she ascended into the Night Court. Trixie herself might have been doing the same thing, of course, and somehow that seemed almost worse to Fizzlepop. She didn’t like the idea of the filly dirtying her hooves so. Annoying though Trixie could be, there was a degree of innocence to it. The politicking and backroom deals of the Night Court would ruin that. But on the final hoof…Fizzlepop kept alternating between keeping an eye on the room and keeping an eye on Trixie. And there was no doubt that Trixie looked happy as she and Prince looked over the concessions selection. Fizzlepop had already accepted that she was not going to be in the Night Guard tomorrow night, had decided to try and make her final assignment a good one. They had gotten off to a rough start…but Fizzlepop had wanted to make this night about keeping Trixie happy. The two got their concessions – Prince curiously eyeing the mustard that Trixie had gotten to go along with her peanuts – and the group of ponies proceeded to Luna’s private theater box, set into La Commedia della Luna’s second balcony and offering an unimpeded view of the stage. The box featured two tiers of three seats, the forward-center one larger than the rest, with a small table between each seat for snacks. Trixie couldn’t help but squeal softly as she settled into the seat that Luna normally watched her plays from. The chair was actually big enough for two ponies of Trixie’s size, Fizzlepop noted…but thankfully, Prince did not make a similar observation, instead taking the seat to Trixie’s right. Fizzlepop eyed the final seat to Trixie’s left. She could take that one, but that would put both of Blueblood’s guards behind her, and her institutionally-instilled paranoia didn’t care much for that. Taking the center seat behind Trixie’s would have either of Blueblood’s guards flank her, also not ideal, but nor did she care much for the idea of taking an edge seat and having the two of them immediately behind Trixie. So she turned to the two earth ponies, looking them up and down. “One of you should stand guard outside,” she said. “The door locks from this side. Three knocks if you want to get in, four knocks if there’s trouble.” She had expected an argument, perhaps that she should be the one outside – an argument that the two would most certainly have lost. Instead, the mare of the two held up her hoof. “Dibs,” she said, heading outside. “Four hours of musical theater…no thanks.” The other earth pony closed and locked the door after her, and then took the back-right seat, immediately behind Prince. Of the remainder, Fizzlepop decided the back-center was ideal, and settled down into it. No sooner had she then she found herself looking at Trixie, who was standing on her seat, looking back at her. “Ah never asked if you had read Don Rocinante,” she noted in a low voice. When Fizzlepop shook her head, Trixie grinned “You’re gonna love it!” “I’m going to be distracted,” Fizzlepop said, indicating the still-filling theater. They had about ten minutes to go before the show began; the orchestra was already beginning to warm up. “My job is to keep watch on you, not watch the play.” Trixie screwed up her face at that. “Mais…try to watch some of it.” She glanced slightly up at Fizzlepop’s horn, though her eyes quickly returned to Fizzlepop’s. “Ah think…Ah think it’ll mean somethin’ to you. Help you with Captain Armet.” It took Fizzlepop a moment to realize that the normal flush of heat through her body that she felt when a pony looked to her horn hadn’t come. She looked pointedly at Trixie. “Why?” She asked. “What’s the book about?” Trixie was silent, head downcast for a few moments as she thought, before she looked back to Fizzlepop with a large grin on her face. “The reason why Ah keep gettin’ Luna wrong.” Before Fizzlepop could ask anything else, Trixie turned around and dropped nearly out of sight back into her seat. Fizzlepop stared after her for a moment, before shaking her head and sighing. She wondered if Prince was this talkative with his guards. Probably not – he would have been raised to think it improper, something that Fizzlepop largely had to agree with. It made her job harder. Although something else that made her job hard, though in a different way, was the seat she was in. Luna’s private theater box was not the peanut gallery. The cushions to the chairs were thick and plush, the seat long enough to allow a pony to lie down on his or her barrel comfortably while still seeing the stage clearly. The noise of ponies in the theater shuffling about talking to one another and the orchestra continuing to warm up swiftly became white noise to Fizzlepop. Her eyes scanned over the theater-goers and saw a host of different coat and mane colors that swiftly began to blend together… Fizzlepop remembered closing her eyes for just a moment, wanting to get her focus back. But the next thing she knew the opening chords of the overture began, and the lights of the theater had been dimmed except for those focused on the still-drawn curtains. Her eyes widened at the realization that she had just dozed off. She immediately checked on Trixie and saw her exactly where she was supposed to be. A glance at Prince’s bodyguard found him keeping an eye on his charge; when he noticed Fizzlepop staring at him he looked confused, no sign that he’d noticed her lapse. Fizzlepop looked away, sitting upright in the seat, though ironically the very plushness of the cushion beneath her made that uncomfortable. But that was good, discomfort would keep her awake. She struggled to maintain an outwardly neutral expression even as she felt a mixture of shame and anger sweep through her. Of all the things that a bodyguard could do wrong, drifting off while on-duty was without a doubt the worst, a total and complete personal failure without excuse. Anger like she hadn’t felt in years, directly firmly at her own faithless soul, gripped her, and it was all she could do to keep that anger from manifesting outwardly from the shattered remains of her horn. Opal Armet was right, Fizzlepop realized as the overture continued. The Captain of the Royal Guard was totally right. She wasn’t fit to serve in the Night Guard. This assignment was simplicity itself and she’d fallen asleep! How could she protect Luna, protect anything, if she’d drift off just because she was sitting in some fancy chair, no matter how comfortable it was? Fizzlepop hadn’t expected to be in the state of mind to even look at the stage, as her eyes drifted over the ponies below, keeping an eye on everything around her. But when the curtains pulled back her head did snap towards it on instinct… …and she saw a prison had been set up on the stage. A prison that didn’t look familiar in the slightest, and yet Fizzlepop found her breath catching in her throat at the sight of it. Her mind was cast backwards six years…a holding cell. Chains around her fetlocks. A ring around her horn to suppress its magic, though the guards of the prison had joked with each other if it had even been necessary. Only self-preservation and not wanting to make her situation worse had kept Fizzlepop from disabusing them of that notion. A gray-coated unicorn in silver armor with yellow slit eyes and fangs. He looked ridiculous. But when he took off his helmet – which had a slight dent in it – his form had shimmered, and revealed a white coat and two-toned blue mane, and bright cerulean, kind eyes. He’d tapped a hoof on the dent in his helmet. “You missed,” was the first thing he’d ever said to her. At her, really. She’d barely paid attention at the start. It had taken a couple hours before he was talking to her…until she’d started listening. Fizzlepop shook her head, clearing it. Now was not the time to be reminiscing…she blamed Trixie for that, her cryptic words about what the play was about and how it would help Fizzlepop. Or probably her state of mind, her anger and frustration and shame messing with her head. Her circumstances tonight, her last night in the Night Guard, making her think of the day that had started her quest to join it. “Hear me now, O thou bleak and unbearable world…” the lead stallion’s voice drifted up from the stage below – the singing had begun, a deep baritone in this case. “Thou art base and debauched as can be…but a knight with his banner so bravely unfurled now hurls down a challenge to thee! I am Don Rocinante, Hero of Equestria, my destiny calls and I go…and the wild winds of fortune shall carry me onwards O withersoever they blow…” In spite of herself, Fizzlepop found herself settling back down onto the cushion beneath her, though she kept her eyes wide, splitting her focus between the stage and her duty, the music and acting keeping her awake. She had missed the beginning, but it was fairly easy to put together the play. Don Rocinante was a mad pony, an old pegasus stallion with too much access to romanticized history books who’d lost his mind and decided to become a knight-errant and venture across the south-western regions of Equestria, righting wrong and doing good. He was completely inept, too old to fight, wings barely strong enough to keep him aloft. His armor was shambles and his weapon rusty. His very opening scene had him confusing a windmill with a great four-headed hydra and attacking it…and losing, a loss he blamed on never being truly knighted and on his great enemy, the Enchanter, rather than the fact that he was old and decrepit. It should have been a comedic farce, but Don Rocinante was too earnest to be entirely funny. It should have been tragic, to see a pony with such a broken mind…and yet Fizzlepop found herself drawn in to his every word, and scowling at the ponies who doubted Rocinante, trying to disabuse him of his foolish notions. She almost wanted to jeer them…who were they to tell Rocinante what was real and what wasn’t? Whether or not he was a knight – or if he should be a knight? So what if his armor was rusty and his wings weak and his horn broken…or, wait, no, he was a pegasus, not a unicorn. He didn’t have a horn, Fizzlepop reminded herself. Despite her earlier unfaithfulness, Fizzlepop was fully awake now, at least. She looked down to Trixie, and found her sitting at almost the literal edge of her seat, a wide grin on her face. Clearly the play was meeting her expectations, at least. She was also, Fizzlepop noted with somewhat less enthusiasm, sitting as far to the right of her seat as she could – and Prince, as far to the left of his own seat as possible, so that the two could easily lean towards one another and talk. Or sometimes Prince just leaned in close anyway without having anything to say. There was still a table between the two of them, and it wasn’t like he was burying his muzzle in her mane or anything deserving of reproach…but Fizzlepop did miss a fair bit of the play as she kept her eyes on the two of them. Eventually, though, Fizzlepop did find her attention drifting back to the stage. An earth pony mare named Dulcinea had been introduced. She was an inn’s serving wench…and a prostitute on the side. Yet to Rocinante she was a fair maiden, unsullied. Dulcinea wanted little to nothing to do with Rocinante…and yet his unwavering kindness and certainty in his knighthood and her own maidenhood began to win her over to the old stallion. Eventually as he stood vigil over his armor, waiting to be knighted by the innkeeper who he believed to be the lord of a castle, Dulcinea came to Rocinante, and they spoke…and Fizzlepop found herself shaking her head slightly. As before, with the prison, everything that was said was familiar, took her back to her first meeting with Shining Armor. None of the words matched up. Not even the intent, exactly, for certainly Shining hadn’t seen a flawless, chaste maiden in Fizzlepop, and Shining had been no old and insane stallion. And yet… “The world’s a dung heap. We’re the maggots that crawl on it,” Dulcinea/Fizzlepop had said. “No. Milady knows better in her heart,” responded Rocinante/Shining Armor. “What’s in my heart will get me halfway to Tartaros. And you, Shining Armor…your head is going to end up a stranger to your neck…” “That doesn’t matter.” “You don’t know what matters. Open up your eyes. You have everything…” Fizzlepop’s eyes darted up to Shining Armor’s horn, though she quickly looked away. “E…e-everything…” Fizzlepop had kept her wits about her this time. She remembered her first meeting with Shining Armor, everything she’d said, but she didn’t stop focusing on Trixie, on Prince, on the theater. But nothing untoward was happening, there were no hidden threats or dangers, no lurking assassins, no evil Enchanters like Don Rocinante on the stage sought or feared. Barely a moment had passed since the memory had come upon her. Rocinante was still talking to Dulcinea. “The mission of each true knight is a duty – neigh, a privilege,” said Don Rocinante to Dulcinea, and the music of the orchestra began to swell…and though Fizzlepop had never heard the song before and it barely even applied to anything about her or her situation, she found herself nevertheless singing along in a low, quiet voice, not even loud enough to be heard by the ponies only a few feet from her… “To dream the impossible dream “To fight the unbeatable foe “To bear with unbearable sorrow “To run where the brave dare not go… “To right the unrightable wrong “To love pure and chaste from afar “To try when your arms are too weary “To reach the unreachable star… “This is my quest “To follow that star “No matter how hopeless “No matter how far… “To fight for the right “Without question or pause “To boldy march into Tartaros “For a heavenly cause… “And I know if I'll only be true “To this glorious quest “That my heart will lie peaceful and calm “When I'm laid to my rest… “And the world will be better for this “That one pony scorned and strewn with scars “Still strove with his last ounce of courage “To reach the unreachable star…!” It shouldn’t have been this touching. It was a mad old pegasus pony consumed by his own delusions, singing about knightly valor in a world that had lost it. The knowledge that evil brought profit and good none at all shattered his psyche. He should have been shunned, or scorned…or pitied. And yet Fizzlepop found that her desire to shun, to scorn, and to pity was instead directed at almost all the other characters in the play – the ones who saw the world as it was, rather than as it should be.... The ones who would look at a unicorn with a broken horn, trying to move past that injury, and try to shuffle her away and out of sight... The remainder of the act passed in a blur to Fizzlepop as she wrestled with how much Rocinante’s character was resonating with her, despite that it was her horn, not her mind, that was broken. Rocinante and Dulcinea were set upon by surly ranchers, customers of Dulcinea’s night job who did not like the time she was spending with Rocinante or the effect he was having on her. Yet somehow the old stallion overcame them, and the innkeeper dubbed him Sir Rocinante, Knight of the Woeful Countenance. The curtains closed then – the intermission. Fizzlepop quickly found Trixie standing on the seat again, looking back at her with wide eyes and a huge grin. “This is the best!” She exclaimed. Fizzlepop took in a deep breath and let it out, surprised at the slight shudder to it. She still couldn’t help but smile at Trixie. “The fact that you didn’t have to pay for any tickets probably helps,” she noted wryly. Trixie stuck her tongue out at that as she hopped down from her chair, stretching her legs. Prince joined her on the ground to do likewise. “Restrooms, I think,” he said. “Oui,” Trixie agreed. Fizzlepop noticed that she’d stopped putting on a Canterlotian accent for Prince’s benefit. “An’ more concessions. Ah’ll pay this time! Ah brought mah own bits.” She produced a money purse from within her seemingly empty hat. Fizzlepop was genuinely curious what else she had managed to store in there. She had been quite serious about being a magician, it seemed. They unlocked the door to the theater box and made their way outside, Fizzlepop keeping close to Trixie at all times – which admittedly did make using the restrooms somewhat awkward, as Fizzlepop had her own call of nature that needed to be tended to. Fortunately the theater had an employees-only restroom with room for three, which Fizzlepop didn’t have any issue commandeering for Trixie’s use and her own and keeping anypony else out until they were finished…which took a little longer than it should have because Trixie could not stop giggling at the mere sight of a Night Guard in the bathroom, nevermind when she had stepped into a stall and shut the door. She at least didn’t offer any commentary as the two washed their hooves and then made their way back to the lounge, café, and bar of La Commedia della Luna, meeting back up with Prince, his bodyguards…and his friends. Fizzlepop managed to keep from faltering as she saw that Prince had picked up an entourage of three colts and fillies at a table he had selected, two earth ponies and a pegasus, all old enough to have cutie marks. All of them wore at least a few pieces of fine clothing tailored to fit them, showing off their wealth given that they would likely grow out of their clothes soon. And most prominently to Fizzlepop, standing very near to all of them were adult ponies wearing armor and bearing livery marking the noble House they owed fealty to. Nobility, all three of Prince’s new friends. Young mares and stallions, yes, none of them in the Night Court quite yet, but all of them on their way into it, all of them raised to it. All of them having learned from birth to measure carefully each action and to look for ulterior motives in the moves of everypony around them. “Trixie!” Prince said as Trixie trotted up to the table. He’d kept the seat to his right empty, and as Trixie approached his horn lit up and pulled it out for her. “I met a few acquaintances of mine.” Trixie paused for just a moment, eyes darting to the pulled-out chair, then to the other ponies – then to Fizzlepop, and the Night Guard could see that even though Trixie was new to Canterlot, she was hardly naïve about how it worked, not after three years of Luna’s tutelage. Prince saving a seat next to him for her was significant. But Trixie took the seat anyway, and put on a smile as she looked to the other ponies. “I think,” she said, the Canterlot accent having come back, “I’ve met one of you already.” “Yes,” said a lime-green earth pony, her voice icy, “you have. When you cornered my father and I in the Castle last year.” Trixie didn’t miss the tone. “I only wanted to know why Baron Rolling hated Lunesiana and what Neigh Orleans had ever done to him to make him vote against – ” “Alright,” Prince said, holding up a hoof as he looked between the two young mares, “I think that nopony will benefit from this sort of discussion. The Princess knows that I had my own tête-à-tête with Trixie once…but earlier we decided to attempt a fresh start. And surely nopony wants their night ruined?” Trixie began to open her mouth, but shut it quickly when Fizzlepop cleared her throat softly. The young mare glanced back at her, then to the table. “No, of course not,” she said. “I’ve been looking forward to this play too much.” She looked to the lime-green pony. “Lady Buttercup, I am sorry. I’ll apologize to your father as well at the first opportunity.” Prince smiled a toothy, sparkling smile once more. “Right!” He said, settling into his chair as he waved a hoof. “Well, introductions are in order then…you know Lady Buttercup Fields. Next to her is Lady Silver Frames, and then this is Lord Ribbon Wishes.” “Sir Ribbon,” said the young pegasus, ruffling his wings slightly in annoyance. “My mother awarded me the baronetcy of Skyesdale for my birthday.” “Apologies, Sir Ribbon,” Prince said, “and congratulations, I hadn’t heard.” Sir Ribbon preened a little, and didn’t notice Prince nudging Trixie slightly with one hoof and winking conspiratorially. “Tell me, how is Skyesdale this time of year?” “Oh, I haven’t been there yet,” Sir Ribbon said before he could think better of it. When he realized, his eyes widened and wings fluttered. “I – I mean, that is, I haven’t been there recently, of course.” Only Silver Frames was in any way successful at stopping a chuckle at the young stallion’s faux pas, and even then she struggled. The other young ponies were much less reserved. Fizzlepop mostly reminded herself that the baronetcy that the young Sir Ribbon possessed was almost certainly an honorary appointment with him having no actual power or control over the demesne until he came of age. She didn’t like to think of the nobility of Equestria being otherwise so cavalier with their realms and the ponies that inhabited them. Once the laughter died down, Trixie shifted in her seat. “Mais,” she said, then coughed a little. “That is, I was planning on getting more food for Prince and myself for when the intermission is over. I’ll want to get in line…” “Oh, there’s no need,” Prince said, waving a hoof. “I had one of my guards go, I had a spare.” He pointed behind him, where indeed one of the two ponies he’d brought with him was missing. If the stallion that remained had any opinion of being called a ‘spare’, he didn’t show it. “More of the same will be alright, won’t it?” Trixie allowed a slight pout to show through her façade. “But you paid for the first round,” she said. “Fair’s fair, I should pay for everything now. I’m not poor.” “Oh, of course not,” Silver Frames said. The earth pony had a wry grin. “You live with the Princess! I don’t think anypony at this table thinks you’re hurting for cash.” Trixie looked to her, eyes narrowing just slightly. “My family in Neigh Orleans ain’t poor either,” she said, her Neigh Orleans accent creeping through. Silver held up her hooves defensively. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to imply that. I just meant that, well, you’re providing the excellent seating with Sir Prince. The Princess’ own private box! So it’s only fair that he provide the food and drinks for your date.” Trixie froze at that, her eyes going wide and mouth drifting open. “D…date?” She asked quietly. Fizzlepop couldn’t stop her head tilting to the side somewhat at Trixie’s reaction – had that fact really not occurred to Trixie? – even as a slight tremor went through Trixie. She shook her head, then smiled. “Ah’m – ahem – I’m sorry, I think you’re mistaken, Lady Silver. This isn’t a date.” “Well,” Prince said, shrugging a little. “It could be.” Trixie turned to look at him, her eyes growing wider somehow. Prince grinned a toothy and sparkling grin again. “I honestly thought it was you asking me out, when you offered to let me join you. The night is still young, and we are enjoying ourselves…” “Not like that,” Trixie said, a giggle devoid of mirth escaping her lips. She’d lost the Canterlot accent again. “Ah was just tryin’ t’ be friendly an’ apologize for the sandbox. An’ this can’t be a date.” “Why not?” “‘Cause if this were a date then it’d be mah first date. With anypony…oh, merde. Mah first date ever was with Prince Blueblood.” Prince scowled. “You don’t have to say it like that.” Fizzlepop winced. She had not, herself, ever gone on a date or had a special somepony. She had neither the time nor the inclination, and still didn’t. But nor was she by any means heartless, and she could only imagine the sort of turmoil Trixie was going through right now. “Perhaps,” she said out loud, advancing towards the table, throwing decorum aside as she got the attention of all the noble ponies and their guards, “we should head back to our seats early, Trixie.” “Oui,” Trixie agreed, hopping from her seat at the table, while her eyes remained wide, moving back and forth a little as though she were reading something. Prince got down himself, starting to follow, but when Trixie noticed she spun around, quickly enough that the guard that had followed him stepped forward to get ready to shield him. Trixie paid him no mind. “You’re uninvited.” “What?” “From the private box. You’re uninvited.” Prince’s scowl deepened. “You can’t do that.” “Non. Ah can an’ Ah am.” Her eyes narrowed. “When you mentioned Don Rocinante last week, it was where Ah could overhear it, oui? An’ then you just happen t’ be waitin’ for me t’ show up so’s you could act all charmin’ an’ stuff an’ get me to ask you out on…on a date.” Prince scoffed. “I really do want to put the sandbox incident behind us. And it’s hardly an act. I’m being totally sincere when I say that I really did think you had asked me out.” “Oui. Sure, ‘cause you made sure that Ah would be in a place and time when Ah likely would. But Ah bet you don’t really want t’ date me, not for me. ‘Cause then a bunch a’ nobles are with you here, Ah bet you invited them t’ come too, an’ then they see you showin’ yourself off, that you’re datin’ Trixie Lulamoon, Luna’s apprentice.” Prince rolled his eyes. “A hurdle anypony who might ask you out will have to get over, are you going to suspect them all of ulterior motives? Trixie, is it really that hard to accept that I might simply have wanted to go out on a date with you?” “Yes.” Prince bristled at both the speed and certainty of Trixie’s response. His muzzle scrunched up. “Well that hardly seems fair! What else could I possibly have done?” “Come right up an’ ask me, ‘Trixie, you wan’ go see Don Rocinante with me?’” “You’d have said no!” “Oui. But at least then you woulda’ been honest an’ not stolen mah first date!” Trixie stomped a hoof at that. Around them in the lounge, ponies looked on, or started to. Fizzlepop ran interference as only a Night Guard could, stepping closer to Trixie and locking eyes with anypony who tried to stare. Trixie held Prince’s gaze a moment more, before turning around and trotting off, Fizzlepop following. Their pace was a brisk one, swiftly carrying them back to the Princess’ private box. “Mais, you’re uninvited. Go t’ your original seat or go with Buttercup or Ribbon or Silver, maybe they wanna date you. Ah don’t care.” Prince followed Trixie anyway through the currently mostly-empty hall, as did his bodyguard. Fizzlepop and the guard took a moment to look at each other, recognizing that this was getting out of hoof and if things escalated any further they’d probably have to intervene. While training and instinct made her size up the Blueblood bodyguard, and she was reasonably certain she could take him with what her eyes told her, both guards knew that their intervention would take the form of grabbing their respective charges and keeping them separated. As they reached the door into the private box, Prince spoke up again. “Trixie, if you’d only give me a minute to explain…” “Non! Go away!” “But – ” Fizzlepop had opened the door to the box, wanting to put something solid between Trixie and Prince. She turned around and made to reach for Trixie to pull her inside – but found that the young unicorn’s horn was glowing a bright pinkish-blue as she spun around on Prince. And then Fizzlepop had no time – and no ability – to register anything else but the sudden appearance of the roaring head of a giant, translucent blue bear, and the stabbing agony that shot down a horn that was no longer there.