//------------------------------// // 06 — A Dance of Tongues // Story: Ms. Glimmer and the Do-Nothing Prince // by scifipony //------------------------------// I hooked Tan's foreleg with my right and "clumsily" fell forward. He tried to avoid my nose hitting his, but I thrust myself up ungracefully as if compensating, hitting his neck and shoulder, striking him with my barrel. This shoved him into Brown. His stomach. He coughed. I scrambled purposefully, getting my hooves under me, while uttering, "Oh my!" rearranging their collision with a shoulder and a flank butt. I knocked them over. Brown yelped as a stone foundation flew toward his face. He shoved with a foreleg, but slammed his head into a green metal newspaper rack. It rattled loudly. "Sorry! Sorry!" I cried, landing legs out, but bouncing up. The prince had trotted across the intersection. I dashed after. Incidentally, I back-hoofed Brown in the nose. Hard not to break anything, but a properly paranoid bodyguard ought have recognized an ambush. "Sorry!" I said over my shoulder. An on-rushing taxi drover blared his horn, carriage brakes screeching. I leapt aside, but shoved the earth pony and his hitch magically, reflexively. "You flapping have a death wish?" he shouted, waving a hoof as the mare in a red business suit he carried bounced on her seat, her emeraline glare piercing. "Maybe," I replied, then louder, so the prince might hear. "A bit clumsy. Sorry!" "Idiot aristos!" I made a show of "stumbling" as I crossed the curb, then trotted faster. "Nice blond tail!" Blueblood swished his tail in irritation. Nice flank on that stallion, too, I decided as I caught up with Pink. She ensured she ambled between us. I sniffed. I pouted because I didn't smell his bakery inspired cologne! His blue eyes alighted on mine, and the hat which I'd kept atop my head. I looked down, "Um." He huffed. "I am a bit clumsy," I offered with a self-deprecating tone. We passed a recessed entrance to an office. Bronze Shield, an earth pony guard with coloration to match, nodded, then stepped out. A glance rearward confirmed the clatter behind was Brown and Tan catching up. The three would have a surprising chat. "And persistent," the prince added. "And sorry. I found my messenger bag when I fell. I was wearing it!" "Finding you wore your purse is, I suppose, good, but it proves you are a sorry mare." Sorry as in type, not as in contrition. Pink lifted an eyebrow, acknowledging her client's uncomfortable remark, or guessing the stallion's next remark. I beat him to the punch. "I am not looking for a husband, so you need not worry your handsome big head about that!" He sniffed. Snooty, but amused, too? "I am not shopping for any female companionship; you need not apply." "You think our meeting was accidental?" This was attempt number two. "I don't believe in fate. Nothing more supernatural than my aunt living a thousand years." He glanced pointedly at his cutie mark. "Destiny is a lie." I looked up from the fascinating compass flexing and relaxing on his flank and smiled happily, meeting his eyes. "I also think that the idea that a cutie mark defines your destiny is ridiculous. It serves only to control the masses. Do we have something in common?" "I doubt it." "Which leaves?" "Leaves what?" "Our meeting? Accidental?" He trotted faster, but not like when he'd escaped toward the park earlier. "Ha. Obviously not. Ha!" "Correct. I have business with you." He blew air though his lips, ending with a throaty, snooty, "Ha!" "Pink here knows I ambushed you—" Pink moved closer to me and tried to slow. We connected our well-muscled furry shoulders. She failed to divert or block me, her gait stumbling. I wasn't in fighting trim, but nearly there. "What's your name?" "Singe," she replied reflexively. "Singe, I know Mirror Shield." Not well enough to stake my life casting it; the spell countered Force—should she think to try it as her name implied she might. Brown, Tan, and Bronze Shield walked together. Singe noticed. A perplexed expression passed across her face. The prince glanced behind. His eyes narrowed. Maybe he reevaluated "business" and "ambush?" I tried a list. "Breakaway party...? "Peerage...? "Lady Horseshoe Bay...? "Her grandniece, Moon Dancer—?" "Stop!" he said, and he did, physically. I trotted a pony length ahead— Splash. Squelch. I jerked my hoof back, having stepped over the curb. Cold water dripped. I flicked away mud, but some stuck to my frog. "Ew. Yuck." Both Blueblood and Singe had stopped. Credit them better situational awareness. A water main had broken uphill, sounding like a waterfall. It fountained, excavating soil, sidewalk, and cobbles. Wagons double-splashed through water that spread toward the drain on Firefly Parkway. Heavy mud had deposited out in an alluvial fan crossing Cedar. "—says the little filly." I'd used vocabulary too close to my age. He wrinkled his nose. He looked at my hat, then the mud. I blinked at him. He pointedly looked at my hat, then pointedly at the mud. He added, "One would expect..." When I blinked again, he pointed a hoof. "Sufficiently broad." "You want me to—? Put... You want to step on my hat? To avoid the mud?" He nodded. "Seriously?" My anger rose to a warm simmer as I bristled down my spine. He nodded. "I am a prince." Under my breath, I muttered, "Not in the best sense of the word," but I mustn't lose my audience. I grinned, transformed the Shove I had reserved for Singe into Levitate. I smoothly glided him above the mess, strategically placing him on the dry cobbles after a bus rolled by, its wake mussing his stringy limp mane. He didn't flinch. Neither did the pink unicorn, but while his eyes widened, hers narrowed. Singe's green magic scooted me across brusquely, forcing me to make sure I came down trotting on the uneven cobbles. Tit for tat, I had to dash across to avoid a green Clydesdale draymare pulling a barrel tanker. That left Singe on the other side of the double long, giving me plenty of time to catch the Prince without interference. Had she hoped I'd trip? He trotted, nose in the air, not deigning to notice. I said, "I'm interested in your business. I might be able to help you, were I to fully understand what you might find useful." "You don't live in Canterlot." "My accent is a clue." I'd let out my patrician accent, from Sire's Hallow, though that had been chopped at by living in Baltimare, dealing with unsavory ponies whose patois didn't sound like Equish. Singe clattered up, but I snugged in close requiring her to nose between us to separate us, and I mean using her nose. I spun up Shove again, to sweep her if her magic touched me. I'd be forced to squirm out of her magic, something as a prizefighter I'd trained to do, but I might bump the Prince... Not a bad result, actually— He said, "Eastern. How's that useful to my interests at court?" "I ran a business—" for a couple of weeks "—that spanned all the cities on the eastern seaboard." Arguably half a year, as I managed all the primary underlings under the boss. His mouth narrowed and he blinked a few times. "Credentials." "Bona fides?" "As in I need some." I turned it back on him, asking, "I know you are Celestia's nephew, but beyond that?" I could be cagey, too. "Give me a taste of what you might share." "Are you a seller or a buyer?" I smiled. "Remains to be seen." "No," he said, stopping before a restaurant, a simple open window on the street. A powder blue, yellow-maned pegasus in an apron and paper hat tended the steam tables. I smelled before I saw them, grilled zucchini, peppers, and purple aubergine beside a pyramid of wooden skewers. A pile of onions and tomatoes sat beside a fryer. This explained Feather Pierced's feather-as-a-shish-kabob logo. I flit around the prince, which allowed me to block Blueblood from continuing down Firefly. Broiled shrimp. Many pegasi were pescatarian because the rigors of flight on their muscles required more protein than a pony hay-heavy diet provided. I inhaled the garlic butter they'd been browned in. I smelled the shrimp. My mouth watered. I caught the Prince's blue eyes. "Usually the higher ranked individual pays, or the stallion." He raised a skeptical eyebrow. I sighed. "Whatever His Royal Highness wants," I gestured flamboyantly as I dropped a gold bit. It wobbled loudly until I hoofed it flat. A week's rent in all but the best Canterlot neighborhoods. The proprietor and the prince noticed. I ordered the shrimp, rice-breaded, and flash fried to a crinkly confetti coating. Blueblood chose zucchini, but asked for "seeded tomatoes so they won't drip, lightly dipped in peanut sauce. Not messy." He knew his street food. I held my shrimp as the prince stepped away into the shade of a tree. Didn't seem a pony to insist on only fine foods. Surprising. As Singe managed to hover between him and I, to my left, I added, "Shrimp for the pink lady. Singe? Breaded?" She nodded. Ah, she understood, as I had come to as an athlete, that a bit of protein helped maintain muscle—and tasted good. As Brown, Tan, and Bronze Shield came up on my right, I ordered, "Combos for the team; shrimp for the pegasus." I pointed at Streak who waved at the surprised proprietor from the roof. In a low whisper, Singe stated, "You're Ms. Glimmer, aren't you?" I whispered back, "Heard the name Princess Grim?" The mare blinked, then her eyes narrowed "Uh..." "The prizefighter," I filled in for her. If she recognized the name, she'd at least know I'd won a championship, thought not the theoretically-cheating part. She nodded. "Uh, huh." "Don't call me Princess. I promise not to kill him, but if you think I might, feel free to intervene." I spirited a piping hot skewer over to her. She looked confused, but huffed on it to cool it as the "team" took my place while I walked to the prince. When Bronze Shield lowered his sunglasses under his bowler, she recognized him. He explained in low tones. The prince finished nibbling his skewer, then dabbed his lips with a napkin. He had extras, and I none, but he threw them and his skewer into a rubbish bin. I had no doubt that had been calculated to piss me off. He said, "Singe seems to trust you." "I bribed her." He snorted, somehow making that sound dignified. As he walked, the pink unicorn scooted ahead of us, eating and checking out the next intersection. Buildings were much less fancy here, or well-kept. Peeling paint. Fewer gilt hearts and dancing mares. The Lower, as in Lower Canterlot, was where ponies who labored for a living lived or worked in shops that didn't cater to aristo tastes. He said, "I have a business meeting. If you want to give me a reason to be interested in you, now's the time." I pulled off the last shrimp with my teeth, smacked my lips, and discarded the stick. I decided on another list. "Pharmaceuticals." I pulled out a yellow root from my messenger bag. I chewed it when I needed calm. I could buy it despite my age because I had emancipation papers. I tilted my head. Considering my new job, I suspected little restricted me now. "Valerian root," he identified. "Disgusting to kiss a mare who chews that." "Tastes like dirt." I bit off a piece and chewed. Citron hadn't minded I chewed valerian, and he'd kissed me the second time, too. Then ridden Sunset. The calm couldn't descend quickly enough. "Insurance," I added. The Syndicate had many protection rackets going, a few functioned as legit security depending on the neighborhood. He nodded. "Neighborhood banking." High interest loans. I'd heard ponies call it loan sharing, and—not wanting to know incriminating details—I'd never asked why. I'd been blackmailed in Canterlot to be an enforcer to see such loans repaid. He nodded. "Hotel investment." That had to do with laundering bits. Somehow. I didn't want to make a foal of myself by asking why anypony would wash bits. Wanting to be a bodyguard, but being tasked to do pony resource management because I had the knack, I avoided knowing the details of the criminal side of the business. I had been explained the term plausible deniability by the best in the business. That's a story in itself. "Sports promotion." Running sports books, which financed the renting of venues and more betting. As a prizefighter, I'd been paid from the proceeds. A big clue? Celestia had announced I was Princess Grim at my debut, but he hadn't been listening. He said, "Nothing political?" "Interaction with the constabulary." Bribery. Tipping them about rival activity; one of my bright ideas. "Influence with judges and city councils." Targeted donations for difficult elections. "Not the peerage?" Technically. Well, Yes. Intimately. My participation thanks to Celestia's insistence, by coercion as far as I was concerned. "I have—" I coughed "—acquaintances." "You met Lady Horseshoe Bay? Not Calm Seas, but... Moon Dancer?" "Yes. This morning, as a matter of fact." "How... is she?" "Happy. Healthy appetite. As in love with magic as I am and very smart. Arguably pretty if she made the effort. With purple eyes and a yellow coat, if she didn't tie her red mane in a colt bun but styled it, she'd have colt friends. I like her. I'm going to meet her at school—" I caught myself too late. He nodded his head as my face heated up. I asked, "Gave you a freebie, didn't I?" "Yes, you did." "Did I pass the test?" "You obviously attend Celestia's School for Gifted Unicorns. A filly claiming your achievements is likely lying, at best exaggerating, and, if not, claiming credit due others. Newbie." Newbie? There's age and there's what you do in your few years. If he only knew—! Instead of huffing—acting like a filly—I said, demurely, "I shared. How about you?" "I didn't say I was obligated." "You—what? I bought—" "—me a snack." He gave me an arguably gouache horse grin. "Thank you. Obligation fulfilled." "You—" "If I see you around town, I might ask about Moon Dancer. We can negotiate then, newbie." "Underestimate me at your peril." "You do the same." He shrugged. "For now, you are nothing to me. At least graduate before you try again. You may leave." He waved a hoof at Singe, gesturing for her to dismiss me. He glanced back at Brown and Tan, pointing with his nose at me. He didn't register the hesitancy in his own ponies. If he noticed Bronze Shield, he didn't react. Talk about underestimation! What if I gently laid him out on the sidewalk and pinned him? Followed by an accidental tickling? He might feel obligated to answer a few questions. Could I make that look accidental? Yeah, if he continued to be unobservant... I fashioned my mouth into a faux gape, taking the time to prep a Pull I aimed at his flank, queuing a general Levitate in case I got the opportunity to do more. I gauged his gait, adjusted mine to have my left hoof in the air at the right moment. I pretended to stumble on a sidewalk crack, falling left. I swept back at his two front legs, pulling his hindquarters behind mine. When I would make contact, I expected to lean into him and roll him over and spin him 90º so I could sit on him as he slid to a stop behind me, hopefully getting a hoof on his stallion parts. I juggled a Levitate because I was a nice mare: I'd cushion his fall and his head to prevent a concussion or contusions, and to minimize sidewalk burn rubbing off any of his precious faintly pink pearly fur. What actually happened came as a total surprise...