Cadance was not at the cafe.
Sunset could tell from the atmosphere alone. Ponies sipped their coffee and ate their bagels and found, in these small comforts, a distraction from what was only a general nervousness. It was not the reverent tension of interrupted diners awaiting either the grace or departure of Royalty so they could be permitted to go back to their cooling meals.
Grumbles poured out of Sunset’s mouth just as profanely as her stomach.
She tried to order lunch at the counter, hoping Cadance was just in the mares’ room or something, but the unicorn barista cut her off. “Sorry, dearie, but your friend is waiting for you.”
Sunset leaned back, dropping her hoof off the counter. ‘Dearie’? Really? This girl looked awfully young to be talking like a granny. She was about Sunset’s age – probably a college dropout or (perhaps sadder yet) a graduate with a useless degree.
There wasn’t a nametag on her apron, so if Sunset ended up having to complain to a manager, the mare was filed away as “the blue barista with the bob”.
“Why don’t I show you to her,” the barista insisted. She pointed with her unlit horn to a booth tucked away in the back corner, by the restrooms, then slipped through the swinging counter gate. “I’ll take your order there.”
The wall of the booth obscured whoever was sitting there, but there was no way an entire alicorn could hide behind it, so the identity of this ‘friend’ was a mystery.
Something odd was ahoof, but Sunset was going to play it cool. Celestia had been no stranger to discretion, disguises, and changes of plans, after all (and frankly, it was a little jarring that Cadance decided to go out that morning completely undisguised). In any case, the most likely explanation was that Cadance had genuinely been recalled to the palace and had to leave a message with somepony explaining why she couldn’t be there.
Only one part of that assumption turned out to be wrong, and it was the word ‘somepony’.
Sat in that booth was the smallest and most bored little orange dragon Sunset had ever seen. A magenta crest ran along the centerline of her head and two bull-like horns with some weird knobbly growths at the bottom sprouted out the sides. She didn’t even have wings yet. Who left their hatchling here?
The dragon sluggishly regarded Sunset as the unicorn took her seat. When she was finally comfortable, the dragon began to open her mouth–
But no, sorry, that would have to wait; Sunset was hungry. Before the barista could cut in with her spiel either, Sunset placed her order: “Toast me one of your jalapeno-cheese bagels, melt some pepperjack on it, and go heavy on the hot sauce.”
Forcing a smile, the barista asked, “…And for your friend?”
Oh. The hatchling was her contact? Not some caretaker of hers?
Whatever; just roll with it. “What do you want, squirt?”
“One, don’t call me ‘squirt’. It’s Smolder. Two, I don’t have a hoard.” Smolder flinched at her own words. “–With me, I mean.”
“Yeah, whatever. It’s on the Crown.” – as so many of Sunset’s expenses were.
“Huh. Al’ight.” Smolder turned to the barista. “You got a menu?”
The now-waitress levitated a menu over and impatiently waited for Smolder to browse, regularly glancing behind herself to watch the line at the unattended counter as it steadily grew. After a minute, the little dragon declared, “I’ll have the…” – and then she dropped her voice real low – “The #23.” The menu was back in the waitress’s lev-grip before Sunset could take a peek at what the #23 actually was or why Smolder didn’t want anypony to hear her ordering it. Was it code? Was the #23 a passphrase for something?
Sunset spent so long weighing the likelihoods that she was dealing with a child spy that she didn’t notice when her bagel – and the #23 – came to the table.
The #23 was a breakfast cake.
Correction: the #23 was a miniature wedding cake pretending to be a breakfast cake. Dainty ribbons and piles of whipped cream traced themselves along pastel-pink icing, studded with strawberries and blueberries that glittered like jewels under a coat of sprinkled powdered sugar. The smell alone pushed Sunset halfway to a sugar crash.
It was extravagantly girly. And probably pricey, too.
Sunset had just opened her mouth to tease Smolder when the dragon shot her a glare that practically hissed, ‘If you utter a single word, I’m going to burn your mane off.’ It was a look Sunset knew well, though mostly from the perspective of the one slinging it. Where she would spark up her horn to back up the threat, smoke wisped up from Smolder’s nostrils, which, honestly, Sunset kinda wished she could do.
And so they ate in silence. Sunset’s bagel was okay. Could have been spicier, but most ponies didn’t have her capsaicin tolerance.
Business resumed after Sunset pushed her plate to the side and Smolder licked the icing off of her cheeks.
“So,” Sunset began, “what’s with… you? I was expecting somepony else.”
“Yeah, about that…” Smolder leaned back in her booth, crossing her arms behind her head. “Basically, we want the Bloodstone Scepter back.”
Sunset blinked. “…The what?”
“Yeah, your dopey princess said the same thing. Ugh. You know, the magical artifact you ponies stole from the Dragonlord’s hoard like, I dunno, four or five days ago? That thing. We want it back.”
Sunset blinked again, then kicked her head back and heaved a withering sigh. “Fantastic. As if we didn’t have enough bullscat on our plate.” Sunset had debated, for a moment, substituting ‘bullfeathers’, but there wasn’t anypony there to tell her off for cursing around a kid, was there?
She leaned forward to face Smolder again. “Okay, help me fill in some gaps here. What makes you so sure Equestria stole it?”
Smolder shrugged. “‘Cause Torch said so.”
“Who’s Torch and why does he say so?”
“…He’s the Dragonlord. You know, Lord of the Dragons?”
Sunset was unaware the dragons had a leader. “Oh, that Torch. Right,” she bluffed. Dragons took their names from such a limited stock of words that there had to be several dozen Torches between them.
“Right… Anyway, Torch says he caught a pony in his hoard on camera.”
Sunset was also unaware dragons had video cameras. That kinda technology was rare enough in Equestria. “They have those out there?”
Smolder shrugged. “I’m just telling you what my brother told me.”
Ah. Smolder didn’t actually know anything. “So you two are, what, the Dragonlord’s envoys?”
“I guess? Honestly, Garble’s just the first dragon lucky enough to bump into Torch after he got done venting his anger on the eighty-something dragons before him. Instead of stomping him flat, Torch made Garble fly all the way over here to get it back, and I’m just along for the ride.”
Sunset felt some of the tension ease up. “So you’re not even really an envoy.”
“Yeah, no, Garble left me here while he and your Princess hash it out at the castle.”
“Great.” Oh, that sounded bad. Not even fully coronated and Cadance already had to placate a draconic diplomat.
On the other hoof, Shining was there – and more importantly, Sunset was not. She supposed if she saw smoke billowing from the Celestial Palace, she should probably intervene, but until then, it was Not Her Problem.
But she did have to update Cadance on her success.
“Hey, Smolder, you know how to take dragonmail?”
“Is that what you ponies call senderbreath?”
“Probably?”
Smolder rolled her eyes. “Then yeah, duh, of course I can. How else do you think Torch collects his tributes?”
“At this point, I wouldn’t be surprised if you all had a national postal service I just didn’t know about.” A blink of realization. “Wait, does he make hatchlings pay tribute?”
That got a baffled stare. “…Duh? Why wouldn’t they? Also, I’m not a hatchling; I’m–” Smolder shook her head. “Anyways, yeah, senderbreath. That’s kinda why they left me here. You got a message for your Princess?”
Sunset nodded, shuffling a napkin out of the nearby dispenser and burning a brief message into it with a concentrated beam of cyan light. The smell of smoke turned some wary heads in the cafe, but when they saw it was a unicorn’s doing and not the dragon’s, the half of them that didn’t know who Sunset Shimmer was relaxed and went back to their own business.
It was just a short message: |Got Cinch’s approval. Going to recruit the candidates while you’re busy. —Your diligent student, Sunset|
Once it was fully penned, the words still faintly glowing with embers of aural aquamarine, Sunset slid the napkin over and let Smolder do her thing, which was to crumple the napkin up, toss it in the air, and unleash a gout of cold, fuchsia flame that instantly consumed the napkin in a flash of white.
Sunset had to take Smolder on her word that she hadn’t just incinerated the message instead.
At least, until about three minutes later, whereupon Smolder scrunched up her face and expelled a fancy little twine-bound scroll onto the table. She grunted in discomfort, wiping spit from her cheeks, as Sunset untied the thread.
The scroll read, short and sweet, |Dear Sunset Shimmer: That’s great news! Sorry I couldn’t finish our errands together! You’ll have to tell me how you changed her mind later! —With gratitude, Cadance <3|
While the formality of the letter was all over the place, it still put a proud grin on Sunset’s face. She rolled the scroll back up and stuffed it into her saddlebag.
“So what now?”, Sunset asked. “Are you just gonna stay here until they get done?”
“Pretty much.” She looked bored as Tartarus.
“That’s probably gonna be a while, since we don’t even actually have your scepter.”
“Yeah…” Smolder slumped forward, resting her cheek on her hand.“ At this point, I kinda figured you ponies aren’t just playing dumb, but I’m not the one you need to convince.”
Sunset took a deep breath and forced herself to ignore the insult to her intelligence. It’s not that she wasn’t prepared to start a fireball duel with a (flame-proof) child; it’s that she had important paper documents on her that she kinda needed to stay unburnt. Also, on further consideration, the other ponies in the cafe probably wouldn’t approve of being caught in (and on) the literal crossfire.
“Well, I’m sure Princess Cadance will be able to sort it out with Garble on her own,” Sunset lied, “but since she’s busy, I’ve got some other business to deal with.” She waved a hoof for the barista to bring them their total. “I wouldn’t mind company, though.”
Well, what she wouldn’t mind was being able to mine the little dragon for any further info Garble might have given her. And – perhaps – Cadance might send another message back through Garble. But hey, company she was keeping just because they were immediately useful to her was still a type of company.
Smolder crossed her arms. “Ugh, pass. If I wanted to, I dunno, go to tea parties with fancy-pants unicorns all day, or whatever it is you do around here, I’d have ditched this boring, smelly coffee-shop and followed Garble to the castle.” It was simply adorable how she thought piling on the insulting adjectives made her sound more serious and above-it-all.
Sunset would play along. “Whatever. Suit yourself.” Sunset left a wad of bits on the receipt and got up. “See you around, Smolder. Try not to die of boredom.”
Smolder squirmed in the booth. “Yeah, yeah…”
Sunset left the cafe, then paused where the walk-up met the street to slip the dossier out of her bags and mime leafing through its pages.
Three.
Two.
One.
Zero…
This was taking a smidge longer than expected–
The bell over the cafe door chimed, and claws scrabbled on paving cobbles behind her to catch up.
Sunset turned around and raised her eyebrow at the little, scowling dragon.
“I can’t stand sitting around with nothing to do for another second,” she declared. Then she pointed a claw at Sunset. “But I’m ditching you the moment you take me to a single dress store, or tea party, or whatever.”
“Wasn’t planning on it. I’m more of a leather jacket and spiked coffee mare, myself.”
Technically, she had omitted the ‘faux’ from ‘faux-leather’ to score coolness points, and her experience with mixing alcohol and coffee began with the bifty shots she snuck behind Celestia’s back during the Hearthswarming Eve party at the palace last year, and ended with the worst hangover of her life the following morning, but Smolder didn’t need to know any of that.
The little dragon seemed willing to take her word for it, giving a nod.
Her business at the cafe now wrapped up, Sunset started looking at the dossier for real this time, making just enough space for Smolder to peek around her shoulder.
Each candidate’s file consisted of a brief cover letter explaining Abacus Cinch’s recommendation, followed by: a black-and-white photocopy of a polaroid from a two-year-obsolete yearbook; then, a page collating all the info Sunset actually needed (current address, place of employment, acceptable hours and methods to contact them, etc.); a resumé that largely rehashed the first two pages; and, lastly, a few pages of semi-redacted school records meant to prove that they were all just such great and qualified students.
The five candidates were arranged in formal alphabetical order: -Coat, Sugar; Flare, Sunny; Sweet, Sour; Zap, Indigo; and Zest, Lemon.
It was as Sunset was rearranging them in order of closest to farthest that Smolder made an observation of her own. “Hey, that picture” – she was pointing at the picture of Sunny Flare – “looks a lot like the pony in there.” Smolder thrust her thumb back at what the hanging sign called the |Common Grounds Cafe|.
“The mane looks pretty similar, sure,” – save some kind of pinwheel hair ornament that wasn’t on the barista – “but I’m pretty sure bobs and bangs are just kinda in right now.”
Smolder tossed her head back and groaned, “Ugh, you ponies look all the same on purpose. It’s like they cast you out of molds.” Sunset added metallurgy to her mental list of things dragons had knowledge of. Probably a prerequisite of the cameras, unless those were imported.
But Smolder wasn’t out of ideas. “Uh, what about the painting on her butt? Don’t all you ponies come with a unique one of those?”
The standard pose in secondary-school yearbook photos across Canterlot (and probably Equestria as a whole) was a head-turned profile shot that showed off your cutie mark as much as your face. If the photographer was on the lenient side, you could tell which ponies didn’t like their marks (or somehow didn’t have one yet) because they’d be facing the camera completely dead-on.
Thankfully, every single one of these candidates had their marks already, which was probably going to be the most helpful identifier in these photos. Sunny’s mark looked… a bit like a bigger version of her hair ornament? It was kinda fuzzy in grayscale.
Not that knowing Sunny’s mark helped. “I didn’t get a good look at Coffee Girl’s, on account of the uniform. Since it’s not really normal to go around ripping ponies’ pants off, that’s a dead end.”
Smolder shrugged. “Just rip ‘em off anyways. It’ll save us a walk.”
Sunset snorted. “As funny as that would be, I kinda need her on my side, instead of filing a lawsuit against me.”
“What’s a lawsuit?” And there was something for the list of things dragons don’t know.
“Imagine if an argument was boring.”
Smolder looked devastated. “You ponies live sad lives.”
“Most ponies, maybe, but not me. When I get back to the palace tonight, I’m gonna eat an entire ice-cream cake and blow up a bunch of bottles with my mind.” She had to keep her aim sharp, after all.
Smolder mumbled something under her breath about how that actually sounded kinda fun. Then she stomped her foot and waved a claw in the air, sharply glinting in the sun. “If you won’t check, maybe I will! I bet you ponies let your drakes get away with all kinds of trouble.”
It was Sunset’s turn to ask. Just because everybody on Equus spoke the same language didn’t mean they all knew each other’s slang and species-specific terminology. “What’s a drake?”
Smolder’s brows dropped like weights. Sunset could almost hear any respect the dragon had for her flop onto the ground. “You’re looking at one, genius. Don’t tell me you’ve never heard the word before. What do you call pegasus ponies who haven’t grown their wings yet?”
“…Nothing, because pegasi have wings from birth?”
“What?!” Smolder kicked a rock. “Not fair!”
“Them’s the breaks, kid. Anyways, look, I got a better idea. Let’s see what this says Miss Flare’s got for a job.” Sunset flipped to the contact info. “Here we go: |Primary Occupation: owner and operator of the Heliotrope Home and Garden Decorating Company|.” Sunset had never heard of them, but she’d never needed a decorator, either. “I don’t see anything about slinging coffee for minimum wage, so I don’t think that’s our mare.”
Again, Smolder crossed her arms. “I still think she is.”
“Fine then. Wanna bet?”
Smolder narrowed her eyes at Sunset. “Maybe I do. What do I get when I’m right and we just wasted all that time looking for her?”
Sunset baited the bet with the most tempting reward she could imagine a dragon craving. “I’ll take you to a gem shop on the Crown’s money, for an all-you-can-eat buffet.” It probably wasn’t Smolder’s innermost heart’s desire, but everypony knew that the baser desires dominated what passed for dragon society.
Smolder’s eyes dilated like a kitten’s. “Al’ight, I’m listening…”
“But when it turns out that that’s not her…” It wasn’t remotely difficult to come up with something that played on the childish insecurities Smolder wore on what should have been a poofy juliet sleeve. “Then I’ll take you to the fanciest dressmaker in Canterlot.” Who exactly that title belonged to was information she’d have to get from Cadance.
She flinched, but recovered quickly. “That… could be worse… Fine, I’ll–”
“Ahp, ahp, ahp! I wasn’t finished. After you’re fitted in your brand new ballroom gown, we’re gonna show you off to your brother and see what he thinks.”
Another dragon fact was learned just then: they can blanche beneath those scales. “You wouldn’t…”
Sunset smiled a serpent’s smile. “I would – but only if you lose the bet. So, what do you say?”
Smolder looked back and forth between Sunset Shimmer and the Common Grounds Cafe for several seconds, before crossing her arms and staring at the ground. She refused to look the pony in the eye as she said, “Fine. I’m still in. This gem shop better have chrysoprase.“
“Sure thing.” With that, Sunset began her walk. “Let’s go.”