//------------------------------// // 1313: 1 // Story: They're EVERYWHERE! // by Nameless Narrator //------------------------------// The beating on the door of prince Blueblood’s estate comes to a sudden end after a loud crash which announces the end of all the buzzing and screaming from all over Canterlot. Everything goes pink for a brief moment. Prince Blueblood, sitting on his bed in his dark room with windows and shutters closed and aggressively holding a pillow, lets out a sigh of relief. His ears twitch as he starts hearing something akin to a drawn out whistle which gets louder and louder until- *CRASH!* The reinforced anti-assassin, anti-magic, anti-commoner rabble scum, metallic shutters shatter with a massive impact sending their shrapnel everywhere and avoiding decapitating the already trembling prince only by sheer accident and the destiny’s malevolent desire to keep him alive. Hearing the crash followed by the prince’s high-pitched girlish screeching, the zebra mare stationed outside his door -mostly so that no one would see the prince shake like a leaf and sob into his pillow while begging for his “auntie” to stop the invasion- enjoys her “boss’” incoherent panicked yelling for brief three seconds before barging inside. “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!” Blueblood is pointing at a changeling lying amidst the wreckage of the super-shutters, glass window, and furniture. “AAAAAAH! KILL IT WITH FIRE!” “I am not a unicorn and we are not equipped with flamethrowers, your Highness. You sign our requisition bill every month, remember?” replies Zamira while approaching the black creature bent in shapes clearly inconsistent with life.  “KILL IT WITH ACID!” “That’s more their thing, from what I’ve seen so far.” “KILL IT WITH MAGIC!” “Again, not a unicorn.” “KILL IT WITH DEATH!” “It’s not moving and I’m pretty sure that legs don’t normally bend that way. Same with necks.” “MAKE IT DEADER!” She tosses a long stick towards the prince which makes him squeal and shuffle away while dragging a blanket up to his neck. “Here, you can use my baton. if you want to play with a changeling corpse, you’re a big colt and you can do it on your own.” Blueblood lets the blanket go and carefully approaches the broken changeling lying in front of his bed. The body twitches. *Crack* “Wha-?” *Crackcrackcrack!* “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!” Blueblood lets out his trademark high-pitched girlish scream as the body’s foreleg snaps into shape, and lobs the baton right at the changeling’s head. “...owwww...” “IT’SNOTDEADIT’SNOTDEADIT’SNOTDEADMAKEITDEAD!” he pleads, tears welling in his eyes. Unlike the distressed prince, she has enough presence of mind to hear the very quiet: “...owwwcrap...” She raises an eyebrow, giving the changeling an examining look. “How about we lock it up? Her Highness might want one of them for questioning once the situation settles down a little,” Zamira gives her combat horseshoes a testing kick against the floor, the equivalent of cocking a griffon shotgun. “...thankyoustripedlady...” “NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! DEAD! MAKE! NOW!” “...holes...” “There might be a royal reward in it for you. Perhaps some actual respect instead of ponies just kissing your plot because of your aunt.” His indignant huff and bulging eyes are always a treat. “You- what- how dare- I’ll-” “You’ll do nothing, your father is employing me. On the other hoof, I might give a sworn testimony that you broke this changeling with your bare hooves in a fit of rage because it attacked your staff. I will even find a maid of yours willing to confirm in front of your “auntie” that you saved her life and innocence,” she sits down and crosses her forelegs on her chest with a smug smirk. She knows her ‘boss’. Blueblood’s eye twitches and he grinds his teeth, weighing her insulting rudeness in private against the potential embellishment of his image in public. “J-Just make sure that damn thing stays put. Break its legs if you have to.” “...more pieces…?” groans 1313 quietly. “Don’t worry, prince. I’m not exactly known for being gentle,” without much care, she slings 1313’s broken shell across her back, “Isn’t that right, changeling?” *Gurgle gurgle!* Frothing and broken 1313 has passed out in agony at her first touch. *** “..owwwwww...”  “Rise and shine, bug monster!” “...existence is suffering...” “Yeeeah, you’re kinda all over the place. Not to mention all the blood. Is that green goo your blood?” “...even my pain is in agony...” “Weird, with your neck broken like that, I’d assume that your spine went through a blender and you wouldn’t feel anything.” “...my fetlock hurts… and it’s lying over there...” “I gathered all the pieces of you in a bucket, though the cleaning maids are going to have a field day with mops.” “...my leg is missing...” “Iiin the bucket.” “...where’s the bucket…?” “Turn your head.” “...can’t. Neck broken...” “How are you even breathing? Your barrel looks like a squeezed soda can.” “...really wish I wasn’t...” “No, seriously. Are you like some special immortal case or something? I went outside after dropping you off down here and the streets are littered with bug bits. Most of the corpses still look better than you, and even then I couldn’t make out which parts belonged to which body.” “...just listening to that hurts...” “You know, it’s a miracle you can still talk with a neck like… I know!” Zamira smirks, “Like one of those bendy straws from MareDonald’s.” *Crunch!* “....much more owww than before...” “Did… did your foreleg just... break off?” Zamira’s smirk freezes, “I think I’m gonna be sick.” “...please not in the limb bucket...” “Don’t act as if you’re going to use those parts again.” “...just need… some duct-” “Nooooooo...!” “...huh…?” “Don’t you dare say duct tape. You can’t tell me that you just tape those bits on and you’ll be okay. If you do, I can get extremely punchy.” “...oookay…” “Good.” “...got a stapler…?” “Celestia damn it!” she kicks the floor of the wine cellar so hard sparks fly out, “I’ll go get some bandages so that you don’t bleed out from the new stump. If I spot anything out of place, I’ll immediately go into ‘no messing with me’ mode and finish you off. Blueblood’s reputation and my reward for catching a live one of you be damned.” “...don’t worry...” croaks 1313, “...by the time you’re back… half of me will already be outside that little barred window by the ceiling… I just need one working… throwing leg...” *Crack!* “...crap… that’s… that’s a bad amount of blood...” “Serves you right,” she rolls her eyes, “Two fresh stumps it is then.” “...wait…!” “I genuinely doubt that you have any more time to be screwing with me-” “...something… someone… loves...” the light in 1313’s eyes starts fading, his already quiet speech becoming slurred, “...object… of… love… bring...” *** “I hate everything about this,” Zamira is taking careful steps to avoid the pools of goo surrounding the changeling who by no measure should be alive locked in Blueblood’s private wine cellar. Hanging from her belt is a bucket filled with clean water mixed with some medical-grade cleaning solution and, on the other side, is a dream catcher she brought with herself the first time she left Zebrica. Unlike the usual superstition that one needs to be big and hanging in the sleeping pony’s room, this one is more the size of a big necklace with two interlocked rings as its ornament. The ‘object of love’ description might have surprised most ponies but even city zebras practice some minor kind of shamanism and know from experience that items get naturally imbued with certain aspects of the surroundings they’re in for a long time.  Still, how it could affect a changeling who might or might not still be breathing is a mystery. In the absence of any other ideas, she simply puts the dream catcher on its chest, careful to avoid the glistening green smudges of what must be the changeling equivalent of blood. She grabs the sponge and cleaning solution, and applies just the tiniest of pressure to scrub the nearest spot of the changeling’s carapace. *Crack.* “Oh for hips of the great spirit!” she curses quietly to herself, “I barely pushed against it.” “...very… brittle…” whispers 1313. “Huh, you are still alive,” she steps over the changeling’s body to his head unnaturally snapped and forced to look left. “...I play dead… a lot...” She looks around the cellar at the broken off limbs, some in a bucket, and pools of congealed goo. “Convincingly.” “Got any… tape?” his voice grows a little stronger. Is the dream catcher thing working? “I thought you were kidding...” “No... no… it’s cheap… and it works...” Zamira resists the urge to facehoof and pulls out a spool of bandages. “Would this work or do you literally need glue to avoid falling into pieces?” “Oooh… bandages...” 1313 tries to whistle, which only comes out as a gurgle, “Someone’s living… the high… life.” “Wh-” Zamira freezes. The creature isn’t messing with her, is it? There were a lot of orphaned foals in her part of Zebrica who had nothing, for whom a lightbulb in their room was a miracle. Right now, she’s getting exactly the same feeling from the changeling in pieces in front of her. Zami, don’t let it play you. Observe, learn. Info about the enemy might net you a neat sum of bits, if nothing else. Taking a deep breath, she asks: “Are you trying to tell me that I just tie the stumps back to your body and you’ll be okay?” “Yes. The love… from that bendy thing… is helping a lot.” “I usually… put myself back… together… once the mob with torches and… pitchforks tosses me… in a ditch... but this time… the explosion… made something wrong.” Don’t question it, Zamira. Clean that stump, carefully, and align it with the broken off foreleg. The squelch as she presses the leg against the green wound is followed by the changeling grunting: “...ohholeswhy…?!” She pulls the leg off along with fresh strands of flesh. “...andnowyourippeditoffagain…!” it twitches. “Oh spirits, did those two pieces really start reconnecting already?” “Yes! Just join up all the bits and get something to hold them together,” 1313 says in a strained voice, “Do I need to explain the concept of a duct tape to you?!” “That’s… I’m having trouble deciding whether it’s amazing or utterly disgusting,” Zamira gives reconnecting the foreleg a second shot. “Yeah, you are the one with the difficult part here- ohpleasedon’tripitoffagain!” “No more mouthing off?” “I’ll be good.” “Perfect,” Zamira smirks to herself, “Now… it’s been a while since I last did a jigsaw puzzle but I think I swept up all the major pieces off the floor of Blueblood’s suite.” “You thi-” “Hmmm?” “Nothing. I didn’t say anything. Specifically not anything that might make you crush, twist, or do anything else with that broken off fetlock you’re trying to glue back on me.” “Hmmm, I could swear I heard-” “Ididn’tsayanythingyoub-” Zamira narrows her eyes and applies just a little too much pressure on his leg stump. “-eautiful stripey lady,” 1313’s eye twitches. “And don’t you forget it!”