//------------------------------// // 07 — Outmatched Outmaneuvered Outclassed // Story: Ms. Glimmer and the Do-Nothing Prince // by scifipony //------------------------------// I slid across the sidewalk into a café, across polished terracotta tiles. On my right side. My hat spun off into the air and I heard it plink off a window. My hip struck a wicker chair, toppling it over on me. That redirected my path enough that I avoided a table leg with my horn, but (ouch!) not with my muzzle. I heard the breakaway seams in my dress rip as I slammed to a halt against a whitewashed stone wall with an indelicate thump across my back and neck. Despite being spun, I quickly caught sight of the prince. He had reared; blue magic that matched his eyes scintillated around his horn. The apparition between us resembled a net with hoof-sized bulb-like nodes. Bits to biscotti, that was a third or four level Shield spell. I was too far away to tell—or stunned. Our eyes met. His lips lifted into a half-smile. Not a deprecating smile. Amusement? He let the spell fade. I wasn't a threat? I was stunned, not in a physical sense. I'd visualized success and had merited defeat. I'd been outmaneuvered! A twinge of fear spiked my heart, despite the valerian. Fear. It made my limbs tense to run, or reflexively mindlessly batter an enemy. Nothing as intense as when I'd been dived-bombed by a griffin, whose glove of knives had cut into my haunch even as I teleported her from Carne Asada. Unexpected prowess, definitely. My hooves jerked and my hide ticked. Adrenaline. My mind cleared. I spat out the chaw and it clunked wetly against a table leg. Had I been outclassed, too? Was I going to learn something about myself!? Excited, smiling, then starting to grin, I reached to my stinging nose; my hoof came back sticky red. A crinkle confirmed the table leg had broken my septum. No wonder it ached. I replayed it in my head. I'd made skin contact. His flank muscles had unaccountably braced before I triggered my spell. As I shifted my vectors to compensate, he braced differently. I was in motion, but I'd ceded initiative. Hooves I'd planned to sweep lifted from the strike zone. His body already added chaotic motion to mine. My horn seized up as I lost track of my own vectors through space. Maybe his hip struck mine. He'd maneuvered himself like a wedge, lifting and rolling me over his back as he reared. Magic enveloped me like a bunch of carrots in a bag. The sense of acceleration up, over, and beyond was as if I'd been heaved by a greased wrestler. I hadn't realized I was flying through the air... Had he overreacted? No. No way. I knew a show of overwhelming power when I saw one. He'd put the annoying little filly in her place. Stupid little filly. You underestimated him! Twice today! The gentlecolt even warned you. My grin widened, certainly becoming feral. I suddenly felt happy happy. He might be better than me! Working theory: He was better than his bodyguards. It explained why Singe, Brown, and Tan acted like extra eyes and backup—like Bronze Shield, Pistachio, and Steady Pace were to me—rather than shields. Speaking of backup... As the rotund chef of the cafe bistro came screaming out of the restaurant, Streak thundered out of the sky. The earth trembled when her horseshoes hit. Unlucky brick or tile got crushed. Keeping my order in mind, she landed behind a row of shrubbery out the prince's sight when he glancedthat way. Her angry eyes could have set foliage on fire. She seethed and hyperventilated. She'd been the only one to use lethal force against the cursed alicorn. I raised a warding hoof, shaking my head once. Wearing that armor, I suspected somepony would get hurt badly—and it wouldn't be Streak. The prince trotted toward the ruddy-colored mare, who waved a soup ladle, her toque blanc barely staying on her blond mane. The colt had everypony fooled! Maybe. Maybe not. Celestia had put me on his handsome tail; she suspected I could learn something she could not. I understood this now. Clues snapped together. I gasped, standing in shock. He had read my magic! The targeting vectors, at least. I could do that trick, though most low-level unicorns poo-pooed it when I suggested anypony could. Celestia definitely could. Her nephew? No flapping way he's a blood relation, Starlight! The prince wrinkled his nose. "My friend is a bit clumsy." He motioned to Singe, who trotted up, throwing me a worried look. Bits changed hooves, and the chef did a double-take, recognizing the prince. She bowed, leg bent. He nodded. "Clumsy?" I roared, swiping the wetness from my nose, thrashing my tail, lowering my ears forward. I hoofed at the breakaway under-seam on the blouse, freeing my lateral movement, smearing it red. The rip in the poofy lace shoulders was real. As he blinked at me, I magicked my hat on and levitated five wicker chairs. I threw them from all sides. Being light, they'd cause little damage, so my magic didn't interfere with my aim—only their momentum. Singe by reflex, not a disregard of my orders I'm sure, shoved the prince aside and down. The closest chair skimmed the flat of her hindquarters at the dock. The next bounced off her withers, staggering her. I repurposed the expended Levitate, redirecting the furthest chair. The prince, sliding on his side, scrambled and lowered his head to avoid the fourth furthest chair he was in the path of. The third chair hit a table, exploding a porcelain vase of daisies, shooting water toward the street and flipping the table. The fifth chair, however... Exploded into flinders of wicker, which pelted the prince. He shielded his eyes with a foreleg. The debris-fall sounded like a blip of hail from a thunderstorm. Blueblood had hit it with something akin to Force, but with neither heat nor static electricity. The pop sounded like an in-teleport, which made me think of vacuum and implosion. Too far away, alas, to read the numbers of a non-alicorn with fidelity. Greed rose in me, like thirst in a desert. I coveted that spell. He stood, horn glowing blue, slipping as wicker rolled under his shoes. The chef dodged into the restaurant, slamming the glass doors with a bang and a rattle, as Singe levered herself up. On the street, my guard and his arrayed themselves so they could act on command, but kept their distance. Tan and Pistachio, eyes on us, trotted opposite directions into the street and stopped traffic. Beyond, pedestrians fled, spooked by the commotion, though a few watched intently. Four moved closer, to witness the spectacle. Evidently, evenstaid Canterlot had fight fans. I approached the prince, preparing a short range Teleport, adjusting the vectors. Even inaccurate numbers would get me behind him so I could buck him down. I queued Levitate as a deception. A soft blue-green nebula glowed above my brow. He would detect Levitate, if he could read numbers. A feint or my intent? He'd have to decide. Streak's horseshoes clattered. The prince's baby-blues flicked to my shadow. Had he recognized her? Or Hurricane's armor? He asked, "You have wealthy parents, don't you?" Nope. Didn't recognize me, or her. "My parents are dead." Well, maybe not dead, according to Celestia—who I didn't entirely trust since she'd gotten them into the position where for the last decade of my life, I'd lived with the memory of their funeral, one that lacked bodies to bury. He coughed, looking pained. I continued. "I want to conduct 'business' with you. Why are you so obstinate?" He touched his face. Wicker had scratched him. A drop of blood welled up. "Your methods—" He glanced at his guards, who stood off. Arguably, they could claim they countered my guards. "I would rather choose my own clients." I stopped a half pony length from him, well within punching distance. With his longer legs, he had an advantage when fighting like an earth pony. An aura roiled around his horn, as did my magic around mine. I admired his physique as his muscles moved under his coat. Was he trained? Beautifully so! I changed the vectors in my Levitate to favor his right side. He compensated. My eyebrow arched, despite my trying to stay cool. He prepped something resembling Shield in his horn; what he used before. I could taste his numbers, though not his equations. They had none of the searing blue alicorn simplification I applied to my spells. "For example," I said, "I would love to learn that Shield Net variant. That Implode transform of Force would make my magic more reliable protecting ponies—not worrying about setting bystanders or surroundings accidentally on fire. Let's trade!" He blinked at me. "What would you trade?" "I could share who interested me in you." "Who?" "You want me to give you another freebie?" I leaned forward, sniffing. The breeze was from my flank. No bakery smell. Phooey. I reached into my messenger bag and he stiffened, his aura intensifying. Yes, I did have a hooves-length bone jackknife in there, a souvenir from my previous gangster life. I brought out a pink and silver tin of Spicy Jam's Gingermint. As I opened it, I waved a hoof. "What? I chew valerian root." I popped a tablet in my mouth, and as I crunched the spicy hot confection, I zipped another between his parted lips. He whinnied in surprise. "Garlic." I said. "On the skewers." As he blinked, I swooped forward with an attack he wouldn't expect, one that I'd used the previous summer with great effect in Northeastern Equestria. I tilted my head, thrust out my neck, and kissed him. A dangerous gambit! I didn't wish to lose my tongue. Naturally. Yet, it proved instinctual for ponies not to bite. I'd kissed dozens and dozens of stallions and mares to assert my authority, and by extension, Carne Asada's. Eventually, ponies expected the tactic. A majority became tactically respectful. So disappointing! I'd learned so much! His hooves went click-clack, click-click-clop, as he backed into a table. I pressed forward. Garlic, ginger, and pony is a fascinating taste! He didn't bite, so I gently cast Push on the back of his neck, pulling him closer. His Celestia-length horn pushed up my hat. "Oh!" I said as he got with the program. "Oooh!" Eventually, I stepped back, having to catch my breath, and snatching back my hat. Breathing hard, I grinned at him with a partially dissolved white tablet clamped in my front teeth. I'd tongued it out from where he'd parked it between his teeth and cheek. When his eyes crossed in recognition, I crunched it. "Want another?" I asked. "Uh, um... Sweet Celestia, no." "I'll give that an 80%. I've had better." He touched a hoof to his lips. "Grading me? Not yet a mare after all?" I huffed. "Universities grade students, you know." "I know you attend Celestia's, little filly. Don't prevaricate." "Miss Verdigris and I are best buds." She was the tremendously helpful Canterlot University librarian. "Her," muttered Blueblood, having dealt with the very talented mare, but obviously gotten on her bad side. Well, well! Another data point. "For your information, that kiss was not the Kiss of Death." "Who are you? A mobster? Shaded under that hat, I can't see your eyes or face." I smiled at his dismay. "Intentional." I always had to be looking around without being seen as looking around. "You've covered your cutie mark." "He wants to know my name. That's progress. Until yesterday, I didn't know you existed. Oh, don't look crestfallen. We haven't been formally introduced," I said demurely. He huffed, looked away, then speared me with a glare. "I'll spare you the titles, stylings, domain, and given names. I am Prince Blueblood. Who may you be?" I took off my hat and unwrapped my black scarf-wrapped mane, then sketched a curtsy, though Proper Step would admonish me that neither were necessary nor protocol, and ought not be done. However, Carne Asada had schooled me that in war, maximum disruption and confusion worked to your advantage. I wanted to confuse him. His eyes went from my muzzle (dripping blood, having smeared his muzzle), to my eyes, ears, lingering on the green stripes in my mane gathered into a colt bun, and finally to my horn roiling with my aura. I kept a spell in my horn for obvious reasons, as did he. I huffed. Still didn't recognize me? Was he willfully ignorant of current events, living in a bubble, or plain arrogant? Another data point. I shifted my eyes right, tilting my head until I came up with another clue for him with a gasp. "I'm the Runaway Bodyguard. Celestia—" I pointedly, rudely, did not say Princess Celestia "—made a point of that, when she first mentioned you." "'Runaway?'" "I've run away from a lot of things in my life. A tragic motif. Which brought me to Canterlot, from which I think I'll be unable to run." I shrugged. "Bodyguard?" "It's fun work. Don't knock it. The side jobs I did to protect my employer until she became too stupid to live, in retrospect, were very instructive." "So, not good as a bodyguard?" "I work as a team." I glanced back at Streak, who stood ten pony lengths behind me, wings slightly lifted, her body at an angle to us. Hurricane's armor was as obvious as her expression of distrust. Her readiness to make like a locomotive, after she'd clearly heard him declare he was the Prince of Equestria, made me like her even more. His eyes had narrowed. Did he finally recognize the armor? "Your employer died?" "Rather spectacularly. I had to choose between saving her, from her stupidity, or 271 ponies I didn't know. Seems I have this bias against stupidity. Or for saving ponies." "Runaway's a name? Do I call you that?" "Remember, I have a bias against stupidity." "You want to do business with me?" "Yeah. Those spells. Want to know who made me interested in you?" "Sure." "No freebies." He shook his head and growled, looking toward the street where we had an audience of onlookers, four more intent than others standing next to my guard, who stood next to his. Why they stood off would confuse Blueblood for only seconds more, unless he was a total idiot. I said, "Moon Dancer told me you would be surprising and it would behoof me to know why. Now you get to pay." "As if." I had told him no freebies. The prince had let his attention wander. I had not. I swapped Levitate for Teleport, and triggered it unnoticed. As time slowed and the darkness of in-between grew around me, I saw recognition bloom in his eyes as his head swung around to see me teleport away. If he knew the spell, or knew of the spell his Aunt used, he had to know I could have used it to kidnap him by touching him. I did not touch him. In the time of in-between—holding my breath against the dark frigid weightless vacuum of what had felt like the oblivion of death the first time I'd cast—I did prepare for the next step, shifting my weight into my forequarters, lifting up my rear. I reappeared half a pony length off his right flank, backed as he was against a café table. Magic had its limits for harming others. Fighting like an earth pony did not, though I did pull the punch. I bucked, causing ribbons of frost steam to rip around me. He dodged. He shoved a chair away; that would bruise. My horseshoes connected with the table, flipping it, the centerpiece and silverware flying toward the street. Things clattered and crashed. Out came Shield Net, but he'd used that tactic on me once before. I dropped and rolled. I hit the lower margin of the shield with a hoof as I rolled under it, which wrenched my ankle slightly and spun me. I caught a table, and swung myself head-on under his hooves, risking he might trample me— but I got under him and sprang upward. He dodged! I said, huffing and puffing, "You are a trained fighter." I chuckled, then shouted, "So am I!" He shoved tables at me, to distract me while he aimed a hoof at my face. I triggered Force with a Barthemule transform. It triggered before I thought about triggering it because it had a time codicil and was based on magic that by working pretty much verified communication into the past was possible, even if time travel seemed totally improbable. It completely caught him off guard. The tables he threw at me were wood; he threw one at a time. His lift weight limit? Another data point. Table after table hit the force bubble ballooning around me, tumbling off. Slaps against my barrel and shoulder hit me in the magic feedback as the spell lifted me in his direction. He punched, then bucked, but his momentum caused him to collide with the bubble, and it pushed him upward. I queued Push and let the bubble disintegrate. Gravity caught him. Seeing him disoriented, I triggered Push to push him onto his back. I added, "I earned the name Princess Grim. I only plan to pin you and ask a few questions. How about cooperating?" My magic caught his descent. He didn't succeed in dodging this time, but moved like a fighter, shimmying away from the strong parts of the apparitional surface. I couldn't keep him suspended, and it wasn't because a fall from that minuscule height might hurt him. His magic mirrored mine, I realized. I am not saying that he cast the same spell. No. He had cast the mirror opposite. His spell nullified my vectors. I stopped my spell. He fell. He turned it into a roll, completely dissipating any momentum that might injure, then cast Illuminate directly at my eyes. I sensed the spell and turned my face—such spells would have blinded us both. I leapt into his blindness, right shoulder forward. He rolled away at the last instant. I'd fought a prizefighter who specialized in taking the movements of his opponents, absorbing them, and turning them to his advantage. They called him Punch Drunk, because his movements looked drunken. This wasn't that, but of a similar caliber. He avoided being hit, which in the arena helped you win. I asked, "Are you trying to cancel my spells?" "Very astute," he said, leaping at me without hesitation, a smile on his lips. His smile mirrored mine. I was having fun, and learning something, too. I liked it. Eventually, I repaid him with a bloody nose. I collected bruises on my chest, legs, and flank. His extra reach and mass with our unicorn magic being somewhat equal, gave him that advantage. One rib ached. One ear felt ripped and I compressed the bleeding ends with my magic. Had we had more stamina, or were he vicious enough to use lethal moves, he would have gotten me. We sat by unvoiced mutual consent, two pony lengths apart. I liked fighting him because he was better than me. Competing against someone better is a gift. It's how you learn. I sensed I'd passed a test. I had learned something about myself, too. Fear came and went, but channeled it provided focus. I liked that. The tables were pushed aside. Singe had moved the place settings, daisy-filled vases, and chairs out of the way. Our audience had grown beyond the original four curious ponies and guards, and the mortified restaurant owner. I spotted a pony with a camera; a reporter. My hat had gotten trampled. I'd torn off the dress when he'd attempted to tangle it around my legs. My messenger bag had taken a hoof thrust. I took out my notebook, letting him see the small Marlin's tome and the metal thermal bottle he'd dented and hurt his hoof on. I licked the end of my quill, and jotted notes about how I thought I could use counter-spells. He pressed a cloth napkin against his nose. "You're Ms. Glimmer, aren't you?" "Very astute," I mimicked him, not looking up as I swiped to the reverse page. "Had you not ignored me yesterday during my 'debut,' you might have figured that out sooner." "You are the 'Unnamed Filly, The Hero of Hooflyn?'" I sighed. "Carne Asada's life or theirs. I chose to save the 271 ponies, and I knew one of the EBI agents. Green and Green had treated me nicely once, when in retrospect I doubt she thought I was the middle schooler I was dressed as and likely knew I was C.A.'s infamous bodyguard. You knew about the hero bit?" "I was in Manehatten when the gang war and riots broke out. I read that edition of The Manehatten Times and saw your gory picture. So you ran the Carne Asada Syndicate for a while?" "Smart colt. 'Ran' is a nuanced word, and Celestia and I disagree on that point." I finished a couple of notes in short-hoof, including one reciprocity equation and shut the notebook loudly. I waggled a hoof at him. "You're not off the hook. Celestia thinks you are a 'do-nothing' prince—another freebie—but I think she's wrong. I'll find out, and I want you to teach me how you fight. I gave you information—" "What Moon Dancer said? I'm skeptical." "It came from Lady Horseshoe Bay. I gather she isn't well, nor does she trust you." He tilted his head. "Interesting." "Not a freebie, Your Royal Highness." He smiled at me. My using titles for him was completely unnecessary. The expression reached his eyes. "Be at my suite in the castle residence at 7 AM. We can finish by the time you need to trot off to Celestia's for your homeroom." He got up and I stood, too. He added, "Don't follow me. I have business to conduct, and won't take kindly to you interfering. You won't learn anything." "Maybe," I said. He looked at the bloody napkin he held to his nose, then tossed it. "Fillies should be seen and not heard." I pouted theatrically. As he trotted away, a worried Singe hoofed over further gold bits to the restaurateur and rushed off. What could he teach me at his suite at 7 AM tomorrow? In 45 minutes. My mind filled with possibilities. I hoped for something deliciously inappropriate. I sat splayed out on the terracotta and jotted more notes about a sinusoidal wave function I suspected he'd woven into his Shield transform to manifest the knots in the apparitional surface. The restaurant got rebuilt around me. Nopony had the courage to ask me to leave.