//------------------------------// // Chapter 56 — The Afterparty // Story: The Runaway Bodyguard // by scifipony //------------------------------// I saw ponies racing at me. Some wore black jackets. The mares wore red plaid skirts and white blouses. "Grimoire?" the lead pony asked, stopping well out of my reach. A couple of mares went to check on Beaujangles. He would need facial reconstructive surgery this time. Even so, he tried to raise himself up. The closest mare kicked him in his stallion parts, causing the sad excuse for a prizefighter to curl up in further pain. Mustang groaned, causing the stallion who'd approached her to sit on her chest. "Broomhill Dare called for backup." Of course she had gone for backup back in Prancetown. Not just to look for pegasi. She couldn't tell me? Didn't want to get my hopes up? Didn't want to explain how she knew gang members that could help? My mouth hurt. I felt around my mouth with my tongue, but no teeth moved. I tasted salt and spat blood. "A bit late, don't you think?" I asked. A rescuer said to his companion, "I think it is true, what I heard. Grimoire was Princess Grim." "I'd heard that, too." "Say," his companion asked, "Can I get your autograph?" I looked at the gang members around me. I saw a few others dragging the downed "boss" and his lieutenants on to a lawn. Broomhill Dare, her right ear torn and her neck glistening red from a cut, righted what was left of the cart. It bounced on its wheels before she floated over straps from the tack to tie up the "bad guys." I knew where the locals had heard about my prizefighting past. I saw Safe helped over to a curb. He looked at the aftermath of my fight. Our eyes met. He pointed a hoof at me and nodded. Everypony looked sincere. Any moment now, I expected they'd be fangirling and fanboying. I had to stop that. I sighed and sat down, really feeling pummeled. I smiled, spat more blood, and said, "Yeah, sure. Bring quills and paper. Just don't mob me. And definitely, never call me Princess." Ponies higher up the food chain arrived moments later, one in a long dark carriage. He didn't give his name. He wore a dark tailored suit with pinstripes and a black hat that shadowed his face as he looked on from inside. In less than ten minutes, ponies had washed all evidence of the incident clean, except maybe for some blood splashed here and there. Some granny got lots of bits to buy toys for her grandfoal. Ponies vanished. Helping hooves lifted me into the mahogany stretch brougham with a black landau top and darkened windows. As the coach and four rolled off, I saw constables trotting up in the opposite direction. They passed us by without a never-you-mind. The "business" must have been paying well in and around Prancetown. The boss in the hat asked Safe, "Well?" My "instructor" looked pale, but not ready to die for at least a few hours. He drank from a bottle of water. His leg was wrapped with bandages like a mummy. The boss asked directly. "She passed?" "Yeah, she's good. Really good." I sniffed. The pony you're talking about is right here, gentlecolts. Instead, I said, "But I lost points for letting you get hurt." "Who's counting?" A thought occurred to me and I smiled, bearing my teeth. "Mustang said they were aiming for me anyway." He didn't look surprised even though he said dejectedly, "Great, I'm nothing but collateral damage." The boss said, "I think Carne Asada will be pleased with her new bodyguard." He gave me gold bits as a bonus, beyond the five I'd spent on the pony cart. It took me three hours to get "home" after I left Prancetown, the local Boss Never-You-Mind and his enforcers having handled the fallout from my fight with Mustang and Cyclone Beaujangles. He took Safe to an earth pony healer with a grey beard and rheumy eyes that wore a bird nest of the herbs and animal residue he worked with. The pollen and dander made me sneeze, so beyond gluing my cuts closed, and conjured ice for my eye and the bump behind my ear, I demurred from being treated by anything more than alcohol and a wash cloth. I wanted out of the vicinity, not just because of the doctor, and fast. I felt marginally better, at least: I had a growing suspicion that much of the incident had been a setup, of me, of Mustang and her patrons. Major retribution had occurred and would be occurring at higher levels in the syndicate. Likely, I had been used as a blunt instrument to force a situation. Cutie marks and strange talents lurked behind that—of that much I was certain—and I want to know nothing more beyond that. Praise was praise, however. I liked that, especially when I earned it. I decided I wasn't going to leave Baltimare and start over, not just yet. Regardless, I felt angry. Angry and annoyed. Hurt, too. And. And. Stuff. My Grimoire cloak usually made me look anonymous and nondescript. (Yeah, the Prancetown affiliate found my team in Cranberry Junction and we met up while Safe was being sewn up. Everypony was fine but for minor wounds.) As I sat on the train, ponies actively kept their distance. One fellow looked down in the crowded rush-hour train at the empty seat on my bench. Despite the ice, my eye was trying to swell shut, but the hood hid that. Sitting, my limp was unapparent. I shrugged. He whinnied and dashed down the aisle to the next car. Ah. I smelled blood. Safe's. From the morning. Despite my janky physical state, I felt a weird buzzing impatience that made me think I had to talk to Steeple Chase. I kept thinking about him obsessively. That made me fidget, almost like I'd had drank a dozen cups of strong black tea. At least my headache had gone away. I couldn't get off the train fast enough at my stop. I jumped from my seat. Ponies dodged and pushed out of my way like dried leaves in a sudden autumn gust. I couldn't stand to wait for a taxi after even a minute pacing at the taxi stand outside the depot; I fast trotted the distance to the boarding house with no regard for complaining injuries. Encountering ponies on the way, I crossed the street or growled at those that got in my way. As my anger ebbed and flowed, I thought more of Steeple Chase, but couldn't logic through my simmering emotions, distant pain, impatience, and agitation. My state could be summed up by my turning around and kicking open the front iron gates at the boarding house just to hear the satisfying clank-bang as it hit the brick wall and rebounded, a cloud of dirt shaken loose. Very earth pony. Maybe I really did want to beat something up. Minty came to attention at the front door. She'd been talking to the big grey Clydesdale, Rosebud. The mare blinked at the clamor, rushed across the lawn to the corner of the building, and disappeared from sight. I stalked to the front door, my limp even more pronounced after having kicked pony-weights of wrought iron. The wounds on my ribs and rear haunch tightened, but I had been a prizefighter, had experienced worse, and continued unfazed. My eyesight in my partially occluded eye was a shade of red, like a bloody snow globe. I smiled. The light green pastel pony opened the front door and stepped aside. "Smart cookie," I commented as I stomped on through. The mares inside scattered from the living room the instant they saw me in the vestibule. Most thundered up the stairs, though Glory and a new golden mare disappeared into the forbidden kitchen with a staff pony right behind. I turned the corner to find the elderly door guard in the hall, guarding Steeple Chase's door. "He's in there, right?" I tossed my mane, causing the hood to slip back. "I— Yes, I mean he's in a meeting." He saw my face. "Yikes!" A glance in the mirror confirmed I'd been beaten badly, but I wasn't exactly ghoulish. Yep, I'd washed all the blood off my fur. I grinned. Part of my lip was black and blue. I had all my teeth, thank Celestia. A bit of makeup would have helped, had I ever been taught to do it myself. Not sure where that thought came from. I magicked my hair back in place into its natural flip so I would look as nice as possible considering I rocked that heroine-just-returned-from-the-war look. To the mirror as much as the guard, I said, "You should have seen the other pony," and chuckled. I trotted toward the door. The guard flattened himself to the wood panel wall. I was convinced that if he could have climbed it to cling to the ceiling, he would have. He whispered, "He really is in a meeting." "With a mare, I suppose?" "I—" I pushed on the door knob. Locked. My skin flushed and my anger flared. Like an earth pony, I turned flank and splintered it with a precise buck to the brass lock set. That flung the door open, banging it against the wall; it rebounded. I caught it with a hoof. Inside, I saw a mare. No surprise. She was older than the rest of the stable and the stable-master, and wore a gang-style plaid dress and a black denim jacket, accessorized with gold and silver chains. Less likely to be a student of his academy than an alumni. I found myself breathing hard, my heart beating very fast. I thought about her, about the big red stallion behind the desk with his mouth gaping, and momentarily about how strangely I was reacting. Why did her presence make me furious, as if she had trespassed? I blinked. I had no referents. The math didn't add up. To her, I said, "You can leave now." In a Hooflyn accent, she began, "As if..." I didn't hear the rest of her diatribe. I was breathing hard enough that steam condensed around my nostrils. I wasn't using magic. I had no spells queued. I didn't think my magic would work at the moment. I took a step forward. Her head jerked back as if I'd slapped her. She said, "Okay. Right. I'll be leaving now." Smartly, she went to the sliding glass door (new) and trotted across the lawn. Steeple Chase had taken the moment to gather his scattered wits. He shook his head and stood, quickly dominating the room with his masculine bulk... and his good looks. My heart raced. I felt faint—and definitely flushed. My legs shook; not fatigue but nervous energy. My stomach knotted as my anxiety moved in, then started unpacking the boxes, looking for something important. Linen, perhaps? My eyes met his. Molten amber. Like butterscotch, only better. He wore a white shirt and a blue cravat that had been loosened at the knot. Though there was nothing peculiar about it, every fiber of my being noticed that all the red-furred stallion wore was his shirt. He stepped around the desk. I stepped forward to meet him, pulling off the soiled cloak with my teeth. He asked, "What's this about?" Breathless, I answered, "I was promoted. I'm a bodyguard now." "And, for that, you interrupted a business meeting and destroyed my door?" "Stupid door. It should have known it was in the way. That, that, that mare should have known, too." As I stepped closer, he said, "We ought to get that busted eye looked at—" "Later," I said impatiently. "I know a good doctor." "Get Dr. Feel and I said, Later!" I yelled the last. He stopped short, head pulling back. He tilted his head as his eyes narrowed and brow furrowed. "Okay... I don't know what you want." I didn't, either. Not intellectually, anyway. I didn't stop when I reached him. Instead, I turned my neck and shoulder so I pushed up against his side. I felt electricity crackle from his fur when it rubbed against mine, but there was no static discharge—except in my mind. I could rest my head on his withers, but I didn't. I inhaled. ...He still smelled good. Really good. Of oats and specialness. I shivered. I lowered my head against his shoulder and pushed. He stumbled a step, then pressed back. I pushed harder, then pressed my entire body against his until he side-stepped instead of resisting. I pushed him to the open doorway to the bedroom, at which point he resisted less. Blood rushing through my body—my anger and turmoil turned into a new strength—I pushed hard, moved him into the room lit only by light from the windows in the office. At the right point, I shoved. He landed on the bed and bounced. Nicely. His mane going akimbo. His cravat coming loose. The rest of him looking— Well... I smiled. He rolled back up—and his amber eyes focused on me. He touched a gold shirt button. I nodded and said, "Teach me." He did. He taught me everything I asked about. Even what I was feeling. # Thus, I kept my promises. To be clear: he had been an opportunity, not an obligation. I learned quite a lot, some of it surprising, like... this wasn't friendship. It was more like eating. Something a pony did, then moved on until it became necessary again. Dr. Feel took three days to heal all the contusions, fractures, and the red snow-globe eye; the bruises took weeks because the blood had seeped into nearby tissues. And, no, I hadn't become Carne Asada's bodyguard. I became a bodyguard, though—would be for various syndicate muckety-mucks, one after another. Each was a training opportunity, each a piece of work in his or her own way. Safe and Mustang had given me a new paradigm to apply. The syndicate wasn't run like typical business, nor a peerage landhold for that matter, something that I'd been taught I could run like a minor princedom. The syndicate traded in vices and forbidden fruit; rules weren't important, only force of hoof and sufficient bits was. Normal ponies didn't act that way. I wasn't normal, so it was all good. Each employer tried to take advantage of me, in every venial sense of the word. Mares and stallions. I protected my team, though—and I made that perfectly clear up front in unambiguous words. None forced me to convince them with my magic or my hooves. I kept to Carne Asada's one rule. I did not become pregnant. The emotional toll of ensuring I remained so...? That would wait until I'd meet Sunset Shimmer in Canterlot, but that's a different story. On the first hot day of summer, I got reassigned for the sixth time. I arrived alone at an address I'd been told to memorize: a five-story brick townhouse, bigger than the others, with the upper two stories white-painted wood instead of red brick. I saw a widow's walk around the chimneys, and a purple pegasus looking down with his hooves over the black metal railing. Blue eyes followed my movement. I saluted. The pegasus narrowed his eyes. I looked to my right. I saw a pink unicorn in black denim blending into a doorway two doors down. White drapes to an open casement window on the first floor, and powder blue ones in a closed dormer on the fifth slightly shifted. Hooves clattered on the cobblestones. A forest green unicorn pony in a black jacket walked away, but peered over his shoulder at me. Security. A half-smile formed on my face. The lieutenants I'd served had had security details of two or at most three ponies. My team of four had been overkill. This team, however... An orange red-headed pegasus glided over the roof to my right, across the street to my left, then disappeared. I deduced I was about to meet the Queenpin. Not sure how I felt about that. I went up the three steps to the door and pulled on the dewdrop knocker. Maybe not a dewdrop. It was painted blood-red. The thing sounded a gong when I hit it against the brass plate. It should have been a warning sound. Did I listen? No.