//------------------------------// // 10 — It Happened on a Warm Autumn Night Part II // Story: Ms. Glimmer and the Do-Nothing Prince // by scifipony //------------------------------// He led me with his magic toward the castle as I gathered my wits. A big earth pony stallion bouncer, with the pink crew-cut mane, spotted me a block away. He wore black baggies and a sweatshirt with "Tag Yo'it" emblazoned in yellow. He managed the entrance line of twenty-something party ponies dressed in couture chiffon and lace, waiting behind a rope. We weren't dressed fashionably. In a black cloak, I looked goth, if you ignored my school-filly pigtails. A big "no" formed on his lips. Since being rejected could be Blueblood's plan, I shoved the prince behind me. Singe took the opportunity I presented, lowering his hat with the raven feather over his face. "How long's the wait?" I asked. Deep-set amber eyes in a dark brown face met mine. He shook his head. I stuck my hoof into my messenger bag and found the coin I wanted by the ridged edge because only those bits had ridges. Pinched in my frog, I offered my hoof. He shook his head. Any maître d' in Las Pegasus would have reached out. He said, "Too young." I slid him in my magic as I stepped out of earshot of the waiting line, not far enough to diminish the thrum of violins and the blare of saxophones amongst the drums coming from inside. Flashing prismatic lights escaped under the curtains. I undid the pigtails. His eyes narrowed as my tresses tumbled down. I said, "I won't be cidering." "Doesn't matter." He snorted air through his nostrils like a bull. I wrapped a foreleg around the prince's neck, knocking off his hat. "I say!" Limp blond hair slid across his face. Singe hissed. "Don't do that." I confided, "Let's not announce I'm Prince Blueblood's bodyguard. I won't be cidering; he will. We'll wait for a discreet corner of the room, and will blend. I tip well." I flicked my hoof up between his eyes, again flashing the shiny bit. His eyes glanced beyond me. Not many ponies ever saw the prince. This time his hoof met mine. He bit the coin; gold would be soft. We waited two minutes. Firefall landed and pranced in, motioning with a wing to wait. The bouncer's eyes followed her; her light armor proved my words. The line chattered as we entered. So much for discreet. I again put a foreleg around the prince's withers. "More art of the meal? Am I passing?" I asked into his ear, over the music. The DJ cried, "Say hay, Canterlot!" Discussing grades proved his point about me being a school filly; I cringed back as his muzzle reached to my ear. He blew in it. Warm. Humid. I jumped back as he pranced, tail high, to a big booth toward the back, shaded from the disco ball. Nice view! I beamed and shivered. A cute colt waiter maybe a year older than me, wearing only a black satin tie against his tan fur, greeted us. I said, "A Pink Squirrel for the blond. A Surely Contemplative for me, and... Is sparkling water fine for the rest of you?" Singe let him finish the first drink, then glared at us both when I hoofed the second into his magic. Even so, he managed to get me to talk about myself again. This time I related adventures navigating between gang territories transporting who-knew-what across Baltimare. I included talking about Citron and my team because I'd gotten blanket royal pardons for the lot of them. "I wanna dance," I spoke into his ear, pretending to be whiny. He pointed at his compass, his cutie mark, and waved a hoof. "You said you wanted to make me happy." "Do you think it's a good idea to ensure everypony recognizes me?" "No, of course not!" I strode toward the entrance, Firefall fluttering after me thanks to the high ceiling designed for the pegasi dancing in the air. The bouncer wisely stepped aside when he saw me push the curtain aside. "How much for the baggies?" I asked. "Not for sale." I pointed at my flank, hidden by the cloak. "His Royal Highness wants to blend and his cutie mark is recognizable. His flank is more your size than mine." "Show me yours," the fellow said. His eyes flicked to Firefall who stood in the doorway, a flat expression on her face. "And we'll discuss." "Is this a show me yours and I'll show you mine?" "You are asking for my pants." I sighed, lifting the cloth to reveal my freshly-minted stars and auroras. "Princess—" I aimed a kick, but he dodged. "—Grim. Princess Grim!" I pulled him closer by the shirt, flattening it to read, Tag Yo'it! Approving the tag team fight logo tee-shirts and hoodies was one of the thousand things I'd done during my two weeks as the Doña. The syndicate owned the concessions as well as running the sports book. "They weren't kidding you're sensitive about the title!" "You're a fights fan?" "You are her, as if the royal guard isn't a punch to the nose. The sports page had five pages on you, Princess Grim, conquering Canterlot." I had a silver bit in my hoof. "Lend me the pants and I'll autograph anything you want on your shirt." "Anything?" He lifted an eyebrow. I grinned widely. "You find me some bling, too, and I'll even autograph something rude." "Deal!" As he rushed inside, I caught him. "Send a few tee-shirts to the palace with your best inappropriate ask. I want to disabuse the princess that I'm a nice pony." He laughed. He must have seen one of my fights. His shirt opened, dressed in the baggies and monogrammed scarves with sequins from a singer named Shores, I coaxed the prince onto the dance floor. He quickly did... Rather well! Eyes on the other dancers, he quickly flowed and swayed like them with the music. Me? Not so well. What I saw was ponies executing random movements that lacked formality or structure, sometimes completely changing axis for no reason. Mimicking it countered my muscle memory of waltzes. Spasmodic described my dance form. Since ponies chose any twitch or jog they wanted, I overlaid the beat with minimum-movement fight exercises: katas taught me by a mob teammate named Crystal Skies, the defensive ones. You avoid being touched by your imaginary partner, though not in time to a beat. It kinda flows. I didn't stumble over myself, except once which merited me more space on the floor, but while my efforts kept me moving, I felt like a toddler imitating an adult. I struggled staying in-sync. Really bad idea, Starlight! Blueblood's blue eyes followed me. I demonstrated I was a brute where he was clearly refined. I expected him to soundly put the little filly in her place. Instead, he moved closer, circling me, isolating one movement—a bob and sway—not challenging me. But... Showing me what to do!? Alright. I'll follow you this one time. You'd better not trick me! I bobbed and swayed, circling him. He emphasized his shoulder... He corrected me! I copied him. My dance became more fluid, despite my bruises. My muscles warmed; my aches dissipated. He added a flourish with a hoof. I copied it. He moved in closer; added a dodge. From my Windblown Leaf kata! Be the oak leaf caught in an eddy. I drew my nose in the opposite direction, a parry to his thrust. I weaved in more, and got caught in the rhythm of sway-and-bob, dodge-and-change. We flowed faster around the dance floor, powered by a blustery virtual wind. It felt less like ponies dancing and more like leaves swirling in a breeze. Or... We had mass. We snubbed our noses at gravity and inertia. It felt good. We became interconnected... Like...? Like... Exactly! Like otters playing as they swam through a stream. He started touching me: his barrel pushing out as we momentarily leaned into one another. Then his neck crossed mine as we met and alighted off. The music the DJ spun morphed from song to song, the beats speeding or slowing. The rhythm and lights controlled my hooves. The sense of pony against pony transformed my world into an experience more magical than I could have imagined. Except... I overheated, and it wasn't my emotions. Not entirely. Maybe a little. Whilst the cape I wore was light and airy, it held in heat. I sweat—okay an understatement. It clung to my moist fur, outlining and defining every curve. Worse, it pulled. As we separated, I pointed my muzzle in the air. The levitated cloak spattered a pair who whinnied, stumbled, and disappeared out of the lights. Still dancing, I balled it up and threw it toward the booth. The cooling sensation across my back and flank felt really good. The prince laughed. He slid across my exposed left side, came up mashing my damp chest fur down, causing me to rear and come down, my legs brushing off his flank. The click of my horseshoes matched the drumbeat as he brushed across my right as I spun to follow his tail, which, with a snap and a flourish, tickled my nose. Cinnamon. My perspiration glistened across fur in the flashing prismatic lights. His stuck-up act this afternoon telegraphed fastidious. He obviously had degrees of fussy, or it had been a complete act. That he didn't flinch from my sweat inordinately pleased me. He'd combined other ponies' moves with mine and found something spectacular I could mimic. Had he learned to predict how I moved? Those baggies ought have made dancing difficult. He had thrown his shirt aside when I'd tossed my cloak, exposing the tuft of fur on his chest. Perfectly packaged. Despite the sequin scarves and the blue bow tie he left on. Alluring. He moved as if his coat was anything he wanted it to be. Total muscle control. What a decade more experience made! Admiration was very close to envy. I had much to learn. I vowed I'd learn it from him. All of it. I was having fun. I understood deeply that the prince made that happen. Grinning, I dove and wove in at him, and restarted our otters-swimming-through-air dance. We'd cleared our spot on the dance floor and the spotlights followed us around. I concentrated on him. I wanted to dance, and wanted him to rub his fur against mine as he did so. Frisson. Every follicle thrilled, crackling with static electricity as we brushed. The perfect sensation? I wanted to repeat it, over and over, and did. Addicting. I'd remember this night forever. When he wanted, he knew how to treat a mare. He sensed my physical condition, and water bottles periodically danced around us. He sensed correctly I didn't want to stop, and made sure we never missed a beat. While I had to slow at times to prevent becoming lathered, it seemed like he had an internal fan. The only thing peculiar was his scent. I'd become horsey. His scent strengthened and shifted, and... Were there variations of cinnamon, like bell tones in music and sparkles in light? Did I smell yet other substances? Fascinating. Hypnotic. The royals had their own royal perfumer, no doubt. Blueblood was unique. And so very special. Despite the dancing, the lights, the music, and the scents, I recognized my growing confusion: I saw the prince in a totally unacceptable way. He was somepony, a personage, a royal, a stallion—who suddenly understood and learned how I thought. He wanted to do so, and enjoyed it! (So obvious.) It made him happy to make me happy! And I was. Happy. Deliriously happy. The root of delirious is delirium. That was a threat. That friendship-rearing-its-ugly-head thing. Except I wasn't simply receiving— I'd soon be begging! "I'm hungry," I declared and dragged us back onto the Strand. # I led, carrying the confused prince beside me in a blue-green nebula. I couldn't meet his eyes. He didn't complain; nor did his bodyguards. When I set him down, I continued leading. Our fur rubbed at times. Neither of us were stable. Neither of us drew away. I didn't want to. It felt like I held him in thrall, like I'd enchanted him. Vice-versa, definitely. Without actual magic. My emotions muddled up; it was us in front of the park all over again. My heart expanded. It felt akin to heat. But not heat, maybe electricity? No... like magnets attracting one another. A palpable force... Something flowed between us. Was it hormonal? No, no, no, no! My hide cooled and dried as we clattered awkwardly onward. I understood the colloquialism hot and bothered. And sparks flying. I gasped. What was flapping wrong with me!? I liked him? I looked at his face in profile, his bodiless blond mane cascading into his blue eyes. He frowned, his nostrils wide, brows going up and down. He was bewildered, also. His eyes flicked my way. I jerked my gaze aside. Then looked again. My feelings intensified each time I looked at him! Our eyes met. We whinnied and looked away, off-kilter. He pushed my buttons—the right-wrong or wrong-right ones. He learned what I liked. He liked to do that. I'd never met a pony that could do that and, trust me, I'd met plenty who desperately wanted to manipulate me. We weren't alike. He hadn't been orphaned. He hadn't had to learn to fight—needing to succeed or die. He hadn't been honed into a tool with a compulsion to protect ponies. We weren't alike. Had somepony thought us a match? Celestia hadn't directly pointed me at her nephew. She'd said, "I'd love to make you his teacher, to see what you could make of the do-nothing." The duchess, through her grand niece, had unmistakably pushed, but implied he was an enemy. I shook my head and my mane slid into my face. I tied it into a bun as I caught a whiff of sugar pastries. The real deal, not his scent. I turned, reflexively magicking everypony like dolls. Firefall whooshed into Pâtisserie la Reine, reading my mind. "Sit, sit," I told the others, "I'll find something," scanning the cases for inspiration, desperately hiding my jitters and failing utterly. I pressed my nose and the frogs of my hooves against the cold curved glass. I saw gateaux: chocolate, coconut, and cherry, the type that two bites would fill you and make you sleepy. I passed custard, tarts, and apple pies. I pointed a hoof at some stacked baguettes imagining them with warm butter, then saw vegetable loaves. I sidled over. I tapped the glass. Click click. Firefall's magenta eyes regarded me, reflected and distorted, as I stood and the server hoofed the plate of slices into my magic. I blinked, pointing my nose at the déclassé bread, and said, "See. I'm no princess. Just a pony." She snorted. I inhaled. "They didn't have pumpkin. The carrot's fragrant, though." Her nose pulsed as I added, "The cinnamon and butter scent: From one to ten, how strong?" "Mild, delicate maybe?" "It's prominent to me." "Maybe your nose is better trained?" I chuckled. "Did you notice the prince smells of cinnamon?" "Can't say I did." "Go give him a sniff." "Ummm..." Her face, already reddish because of her fur, reddened. I gave her puppy eyes. She rolled hers. Under her breath, she said, "She wants to eat something that smells like him? Is Canterlot going to survive this?" I set the plate and crock of butter on the table; the prince pulled out a chair, at which point Firefall stuck her nose in his mane as he moved across her. Her eyes widened, but she shook her head. "Five," I asked? "Maybe three, licorice and..." She snagged a slice in a wing, sitting at the next table. "I like licorice." The prince asked, "I'm not a ten?" I rubbed my cheek against his without thinking. Thinking better of it, I grabbed a slice, smeared it with soft butter, and shoved it in his mouth. He looked startled as I was. His scent grew evident, as did his amused smile. I smiled in return. I had a discriminating nose— —that was making me crazy! Looking down, I murmured, "To me you're a ten." Oh, horse apples. I said that. I swiftly added, "Is this something you do to the fillies; figure them out, then make them like you? I'm too dangerous to toy with." He swallowed, then said nonchalantly, "The fillies and mares seen pursuing the prince want him to make them more, to fill them up. You're overflowing. And you share. That makes you amazing and makes me want to understand you better." Stupid pony. He likes me. My heart raced as I gobbled an unbuttered slice. I leaned against him, struggling not to cough with the dry contents of my mouth. I failed, sputtering crumbs as he patted my back. Our bodyguards watched our comedy routine. Firefall fought not to roll her eyes. The prince levitated me a glass of water. He got me sheepishly talking about myself. Maybe he thought it calmed me. I explained I'd run away from home to learn magic, but that led to how instead I'd learned to fight, and that it had freed me. The temperature at the back of the restaurant plummeted. Firefall looked stunned, possibly because my observation of ponies was that you didn't admit such things, and if you did, not in such a blasé manner. You were supposed to cry, to shriek, to look like you might hurt yourself. The prince didn't flinch though his warm fur rested ever-steady under my cheek. I can't fathom how he managed it. I couldn't have. He asked, "This is why you needed your teammates Broomhill Dare and Citron to teach you to use Force? You didn't trust yourself?" He'd listened to everything I'd said and connected the dots. He'd chosen calm and normal to keep me from exploding. Did he actually understand me? Was he like me? No, he hadn't lost his parents at a young age, run away from all he'd known, or been honed into somepony's sharp tool. I said, "I like the feeling of being in control... too much. I'll never again be chattel. I trust myself not to become The Monster if I fight with my head to master my emotions. I want to protect ponies. And. I will." He chuckled. "Seems like you'll fit well into the family." I scooted away, pushing him with my hooves. "Don't compare me to Celestia!" "It wouldn't be fair. To my aunt." Whose family? "Wait, what!? I'm not marrying you!" "Wouldn't think of it." "Me either. " "Good." "Fine." I buttered some slices and offered him one. He chomped it from my magic like an earth pony, leaving me holding the remainder. Which I did. He took a second bite, then another. Chewing from behind a hoof, he added, "Besides, you're a much more direct, see-what-you-get type pony, compared to Auntie." A last bite. After swallowing, he finished, "So I've been heard to say. No comparison, really." "Am I that 'direct?'" He answered things I'd said and done, and a few things that he'd likely gleaned from the papers after our fight this afternoon. That led me to tell him how I worked to prevent the gang war in the northeast, and then when it was inevitable, how I'd tried to prevent as many ponies getting hurt as possible. Once crowned the new Doña, I had changed everything to emphasize commerce over violence. It was Celestia's point that I had not gone far enough reforming the syndicate; she asserted I'd lost my nerve. She was wrong. I explained that Celestia didn't understand that I polarized ponies. Factions in the syndicate had formed: those who would fiercely protect me and those who preferred the former status quo, and viciously fought change. I foresaw war, and I didn't want to be responsible for further deaths. (I had a running tally in my head.) I'd runaway to learn magic and had gotten off track. I ghosted the organization. Whether Blueblood made his living as an information broker gathering and disseminating information across Canterlot, or it was only his hobby, he was very good at ferreting out information if I were any measure. I'd given him a lot of freebies, but I'd unburdened myself and had reserved names and details that might incriminate others. Not stupid. Eventually, I'd exact payment. I asked, "So, you don't find me—" "Repulsive? No." I blinked at him for a few seconds. "I was going to say 'weird.'" He huffed. "I'm no judge. You come well recommended." "By Celestia?" I snorted. "That's suspect in itself. I can't tell you the reason she'd recommend me—" curse-breaking "—so don't ask." "The prince is related to her," he said in his odd way. "He reputedly trusts her with these few things." He coughed into a hoof. "I would love to take you to my place in town to show you... a few things... about me, were you interested." Singe immediately waved a hoof no. Tan and Brown agreed, looking rather like they'd overeaten though I was pretty sure they had not eaten any of the carrot loaf. Their dour expressions confirmed they likely thought, We had a long day and now this? I leaned forward and glared at the three. "Celestia agreed to let me to train all the bodyguards on staff. My specialty. One of the first things I'll teach you is how to tell your employer why he can't do what he wants to do, and how to drag his flank away when he's being stupid." I pointed my hoof from Blueblood to Singe and back until they took Blueblood to the next table to talk. Firefall sat beside me. "If you were my daughter, I would tell you it's time to pack up your toys and go home." "How old is your daughter?" "Seven. That's not the point. Everypony in the palace knows that stallion is trouble." "Are you worried he might try to ride me? Be worried for him!" I chuckled, but when I looked into her magenta eyes, they speared me. She continued, "You're getting emotionally involved." I snorted, then giggled. The royal guardsmare shook her head in disgust. I was going to have to show her how to drag my flank away when I was being stupid—or greedy.