Well, Trigger bought me ice cream that night, too. I was letting my guard down.
Which, perhaps, was why Carne Asada chose Trigger to usher me into her organization. I knew that friends always leave you in the end, and that other ponies will use you if you let them.
He had long ago accommodated to my requirements of being his roommate, including buying a day bed and a folding dressing screen he could open and unfold every night. The "princess," who was never so-called, always got the bed—of course.
He dragged me to the funky Ham Den neighborhood of Baltimare to buy a new wardrobe. This included an actual standing pine closet-type wardrobe from a beatnik carpenter who carved it and couture from new age seamsters whose atelier smelled like white sage and who really really wanted to sew in magic channeling crystals in the seven chakra colors and add frills at the cuffs. (I demurred, though my cultured upbringing did appreciate the effort.)
Trigger insisted that my pink athletic tights and sweats had to go. I had to look like a different pony, not a former prize-fighter or market clerk. I purchased a hooded cape, some severe schoolmarm blouses that wouldn't interfere with galloping or rearing to box, and a maxi-dress with crinoline that I could use in a pinch. It added 10 years to my age. Nice. I went with black, purple, and mud-brown. My goth younger-self cheered.
I also bought a new makeup set from a grey old mare who mixed powder pots to match and contrast with my fur, including art brushes that could position the tiny dabs with precision. I decided going bare-flanked made sense sometimes, and a new cutie mark was in order. Something a little more... elaborate.
Trigger caught me having painted on two dozen cutie marks from my flank to my shoulder.
Mugs.
Flowers.
Boxes.
Sand timers.
Stacks of books.
He stated, "You'll also have to pick a work name."
"A work name?"
"Gelding is pretty famous these days, despite having Princess Grim as a fight name."
"What's yours?"
"Trigger."
"What's your real name?"
"What do you think?"
I frowned, suspecting my revelation of his name and cutie mark was actually based on a fabrication on his part. It didn't really matter, did it? I wouldn't trust what he said.
I realized that while a common cutie mark and a forgettable name was what I needed, maybe the opposite made more sense. A disguise could be something to attract attention away from the pony in the disguise. Best that the disguise be remembered instead of the pony. Call it camouflage, instead.
I settled on a book with white-teeth and a steely-grey latch lock. I saw book cutie marks all the time, but none that looked willing to eat you if you opened them. Silver glitter powder provided a perfect metal patina; that necessitated a few coats of lacquer, but it truly shined.
Yes, I'd been dubbed Princess Grim. "Grim," however, described the whole business I dealt with now—grim and scary, especially now that the sun had set and I stood alone on a street corner where everypony went home early because nopony needed warehouses to be open at night, right?
I fussed with my purple hair clips, looking around nervously as I waited for the meetup to commence. I'd watched Trigger put up his mane in the gang de rigueur bouffant, but... earth pony, right? Piling up the hair in the back, teasing it, and getting it to fluff up proved difficult for me. I admit it. Servants had always done my hairdos. I'd only ever magically learned how to braid pigtails and a bun. I was such a disgrace to filly culture!
At least I knew how to dye my green locks purple.
I heard a whisper of approaching wings before I heard hooves clatter down each of the four approaches at my intersection. It felt like an ambush, but I had had Levitationalready spun up and I queued up a Push variant. I shoved the last clip into my hair.
"Ouch," escaped my control as I swiftly lifted my hood. The rustic black fabric crinkled. It had body. It stood up and rested on the tip of my horn, shadowing my face.
Clink, clink. Somepony played with a chain.
A dark red pegasus mare wearing a red tartan plaid skirt and black blouse landed catty-corner from me, on a post box with a quadruple clank. To review: I'd learned in my fight training that unschooled non-unicorns thought most unicorns had a limited range of affect with their magic.
This was true!
Also, they thought most unicorns could only light up their horn and levitate two or three items, other than possibly doing a trick related to their cutie mark.
This was also true.
Just not for me.
I looked at her, pausing for a perplexed few seconds on her gold nose ring, then realized with a gasp that I couldn't fully see down the streets to either side of her.
The hood affected my peripheral vision. Best laid plains of mice and mares...
I grabbed away two hair pins and felt the bouffant slightly slip in the back. I pulled back the edges of the hood in a fold, lifting it off my horn and getting it to snag the upraised hair in back. I jabbed in the pins and hoped.
It gave me another 45º combined view. Now, I could see others in gang colors. Stallions. Wearing black pants and white tee-shirts.
I guess stealth wasn't on the menu tonight.
No choice but to let myself be surrounded! The half-minute that took allowed me to fully prep my spells with likely vectors and holds.
"Hey, Breakaleg! What we got here? A goth colt?"
Score one for the disguise. The lift horseshoes had done the trick. I'd painted them matte purple to match my fur color, with a grey strip at the base—a faux finish horseshoe. Oh, yeah! After the hair on my rear fetlock had started growing in, I'd popped for Trigger's potion on the remaining legs for a gold bit. Combed and trimmed right, it was enough to make me look coltish.
On the other hoof, despite the group looking like C.A. members, none of what the hoodlum had said was the pass-phrase.
"Nope, Spiker. Just a wet-behind-the-ears, wannabe."
When I turned to face the palomino earth pony who'd said that, Breakaleg clobbered me upside the head. Behind the ears as it were. I saw purple and blue phosphenes, but as I staggered right I triggered my spells.
I grabbed Breakaleg, levitating the piebald stallion with a silver mane three pony lengths up and over me, flipping him on his back. At the same time, I spiked Spiker out of the way. As he stumbled away, I dropped Breakaleg where Spiker had stood. Unlike a cat, the palomino did not land hooves down. I understood my wonky magic well now. The spell didn't let go until he could fall without being badly injured.
He nonetheless landed like a bag of beans with a loud "woof!"
He lay stunned as I finished turning my stumble into a spin and landed rump-down on his stomach. You try breathing with an almost full-grown mare on you.
He reacted by kicking, but I knew this wrestling move well. I'd studied diligently since White Towel had embarrassed me the previous winter.
The obviously hormonally-poisoned Spiker jumped back at me to save his homie (that's the word, right?). I'd hoped he would and smiled. While I kept Breakaleg from bucking me off or clobbering me again, I didn't restrain the outward waving of Breakaleg's hooves.
I heard that wet snap of when a metal-shoed hoof strikes nasal cartilage. Just goes to show you that the side-effects of magic made of "giggles and rainbows" that can't hurt ponies directly can set up devastating results. I failed to dodge the spritz of blood and felt it swiftly cool on my cheek.
"Stop right now, you stupid excuses for horse apples!"
Everybody froze, even the pony I sat upon. Oh, was I crushing his stallion-parts? Oops. Too bad (even if my face did get slightly warm).
My right ear was ringing and my head throbbed in time with my heartbeat. I'd taken worse. A glance showed me the middle-aged red pegasus mare, who'd settled on the post box, now hovered above us all. If looks could kill.
I said, chuckling, "Aww, haw-haw. I was having fun."
"Shut it."
She didn't tell me to get up, but my glancing around showed me nopony would immediately attack me. Best I could tell in this light, her eyes were blue. She looked at my flank where my acrobatics had exposed my cutie mark.
I flicked the cloak back over my nakedness. Catching her eyes and holding them without blinking, I tilted my head as if waiting for something.
And I was.
She said, "What are you having for dinner?"
I replied, "Fish." I added, glancing at the others, "Cod's my favorite, and I like it battered and deep fried with tarter sauce."
The last bit wasn't part of my pass-phrase, but it was true. I might as well have told the earth ponies I ate horse. Three stepped back. Considering what I'd just done to Spiker and Breakaleg, them waiting until then to step back made me wonder about their intelligence.
"What's your name, son?" asked the pegasus.
"Grimoire."
"Fitting. Considering." She glanced at my rear.
"Yours?" I asked.
"Ma'am."
"I see... Ma'am." I found that bullish gold nose ring really distracting.
"Your sofa might be warm and soft, but we’ve got business to do."
I stood, keeping my eyes locked with Breakaleg's brown ones as he slid back rapidly on his back like a turtle until he stood again with a clatter.