//------------------------------// // Chapter the Sixth // Story: Blueblood's Ascension; or, Alicorns Just Aren't What They Used to Be // by MyHobby //------------------------------// “Oh, this is simply awful!” Rarity shouted. “Everything is perfect!” Indeed, everything was utterly perfect. Each thread was perfectly in its place, each gemstone studded at perfectly spaced intervals, each sweeping curve starched to perfectly perfect perfection. “I… I can’t do it!” Rarity sobbed. “I cannot create anything less than the exemplary coronation-worthy outfit!” Pinkie Pie hung upside-down from a chandelier, fiddling with a hoofload of Rarity’s finest necklaces. “That’s kinda an odd thing to complain about.” Rarity pulled at her mane, tragedy written on her features. “But if I give Blueblood this splendid, if I do say so myself, outfit…” She drooped to the floor, her red glasses sliding down her nose. “I feel it will be a betrayal to all marekind. “This Prince Barmy has messed with the wrong mare!” She raised a hoof defiantly, only to sink to the floor once more. “I’m the wrong mare because I am incapable of reprisal!” “That’s rough, buddy,” Pinkie said with an infinite amount of compassion. She reached down (up?) as a pearl necklace fell out from under her chin. Pulling it up (down?), she secured it around her pink withers. Rarity peered up from behind her hoof. “You really think so?” she asked. “Sure,” Pinkie replied as she dropped to the ground. “It’d be even rougher if you didn’t have a couple of friends who were, shall we say”—she polished a hoof against her chest—“well-versed in the ancient art of pranking?” Rarity pursed her lips. “Are going to make a habit of talking like that?” “Heck, no!” Pinkie grinned. “But really, Rarity, I was pretty sure that you were gonna need my help sooner or later.” She reached into her poofy pink tail to retrieve an unmarked can filled with a fine powder. “That’s why I brought this!” Rarity leaned forward to get a closer look, but Pinkie pulled the can back. “Don’t get too close,” the party pony warned. “You don’t want this stuff getting up your snuffleupagus!” Rarity scratched her chin bemusedly. “May I inquire as to the purpose of this material?” “Simple.” Pinkie got a most uncharacteristic leer on her face. “Itching powder.” Oh, yes, dear reader. I am most certainly going there. Rarity sniggered, then guffawed, then belted out laughter with a vehemence that would have left Nightmare Moon blushing. Everything was going to be perfectly perfect perfection. Blueblood, for his part, was enjoying a quiet moment away from the crowds of onlookers, the guards ready to sacrifice their life at the drop of a hat, and his small army of doting personal servants. He was hopelessly lost, in other words. “Alright, think,” he said to himself. “The guards chased Twilight over in this direction…” He started, a jolt of shock running through his body. “Oh, dear. They say that the first sign of insanity is talking to yourself.” He shivered involuntarily. “Shut up! I cannot allow myself to go insane the day of my coronation.” He huffed in derision. “It’s unseemly!” He slapped his face. “No! Stop talking! No! Enough of this! Silence!” What Blueblood didn’t realize is that while talking to yourself is not the first sign of insanity, arguing with yourself is. He froze, not moving a muscle for several moments. Puffs of fluff drifted past, the remains of several dandelions that Twilight had shed. It seemed that she was mutating at an accelerated rate. Nevertheless, he was able to be calmed by the warm spring day. A sigh of relief spread through his body, and his wings flopped loosely at his sides. “That’s better,” he smiled. “Now, where was— “AUGH! Nonononono!” he squealed. “Shut up, stop talking, and above all…” He spun around with the force of a small typhoon. “Don’t go crazy!” At the end of his spiral, he found himself eye-to-eye with a trio of young fillies, maybe seven or eight seasons old. They looked upon him with a certain sense of awe, like they had never seen an alicorn before. The front-most one, who wore a large, red bow in her hair, suddenly grinned. “Ah know what cutie mark we should go fer next!” In this and the following sections, the author has eschewed the proper spelling of certain words in order to fully capture the rustic feel of Apple Bloom’s southerly accent. The tears of Grammar Nazis will be his nourishment, and Spelling Nazis can go play Scrabble. Alone. With a dictionary. “We’re gonna be Cutie Mark Crusader Princess Assistants!” she shouted. Her proclamation was joined a moment later by the joyful shouts of her friends. “I can be a Cutie Mark Crusader Princess Mane Brusher!” Sweetie Belle yowled. “I’ll be a Cutie Mark Crusader Princess Bodyguard!” Scootaloo yelped. “I’m out of here!” Blueblood shrieked. Blueblood didn’t hate children, or so he told himself. He merely preferred them quiet, well-behaved, and kept out of the way of important ponies. So he might as well have hated them, he just didn’t realize it. Regardless as to whether he disliked them or not, Blueblood found himself pursued by a trio of overzealous cutie mark seekers. These particular three were not easily escaped, much to the alicorn prince’s dismay. They seemed to know every trick in the book when it came to catching prey. At the very least they knew the town of Ponyville far better than him. A ray of hope glimmered in Blueblood’s eye as he glanced back at an empty street devoid of Crusaders. His hope turned to resigned defeat as his four hooves were caught up in a trap of most exquisite design. The rope hog-tied him and lifted him into the air, dangling him above the three fillies. “Cutie Mark Crusader Princess Catchers, YAY!” they shouted. Each looked to their rumps for any sign of a cutie mark, but alas, they remained blank. “Well, I can still be a Cutie Mark Crusader Princess Mane Brusher,” Sweetie said. She looked up at the restrained prince with a smile. “Your hair would be really pretty if we did it up in curls!” “Forget that,” Scootaloo said. “She needs protection from bad guys!” She puffed her chest out and gave her wings a flutter. “Who else but the awesome and daring Scootaloo can do the job?” “I need protection, alright,” Blueblood murmured as he dangled overhead. “Ah think she’s hungry,” Apple Bloom mused. “She’s got that grumpy look Applejack gets when she’s been in th’ field too long.” Blueblood’s expression was something of a sneer, with a good bit of the lower-lip pouting that was endemic to the upper crust of Canterlot. “Cutie Mark Crusader Princess Feeders, YAY!” the trio chorused. “Cutie Mark Crusader Princess Food Taste Tester!” Scootaloo added. “For poison.” “Poison?” Blueblood balked. “Please tell me you’re not going to poison me.” “Well, not on purpose.” Scootaloo shrugged. “S’what the taste tester is for.” “Don’t worry, Miss Princess Lady,” Sweetie Belle assured him. “I’ll be cooking all your food personally!” “I’m a prince,” Blueblood said weakly. “Whut was that, Princess?” Apple Bloom asked. “Oh, nothing,” he replied. “Nothing at all.” Sweetie’s cooking was atrocious. She had managed to burn a cucumber salad. She burned a salad. A salad! The orange juice accompanying it didn’t do much for Blueblood’s appetite either. It looked like it had something swimming in it, something hearty enough to survive orange juice. There was also the unfortunate fact that he was hanging upside-down, so it was difficult to keep any sort of food down (up?). The method that the Crusaders had devised to feed him featured a funnel and a spoon, leaving him unable to even fight the feeding. He moaned with discomfort, which the fillies misinterpreted as a sigh of contentment. “She likes it!” Sweetie squeaked. “She really, really likes it!” Scootaloo stuck her tongue out at the remains of the carbon-cucumber salad. “She can suit herself, I’m not eating that.” “Well, you’re not supposed tah be eatin’ the princess’ food,” Apple Bloom said with a roll of her eyes. “You are if you’re her taste tester!” Scootaloo shot back. “That’s kinda in the job description!” “Well, some taste tester you turned out tah be,” Apple Bloom grumbled. “You won’t even see if’n the food’s poisoned!” “I think I could tell you that,” Blueblood groaned. “I’m pretty sure it’s not poisoned,” Sweetie Belle said as she watched her stainless steel spoon dissolve in the orange juice. “Pretty sure.” Blueblood’s face turned green and purple as blood and bile rushed to his head. He held it in for a moment, doing his best to remain the proper gentlecolt. For whatever small measure of a proper gentlecolt he was. Scootaloo noticed it first. “Gangway! She’s gonna hurl!” The Cutie Mark Crusaders vacated the premise with all due haste. That is to say, they were gone before you could say, “Guess she doesn’t like it after all.” An interesting factoid about horses: they cannot vomit. Neither, it can be assumed, can ponies. My Little Ponies, on the other hoof, are quite capable of "blowing chunks." See the episode Applebuck Season for reference. Sounds of an alicorn vomiting could be heard across the entire town and beyond. Zecora the Zebra was tending to her garden of rare herbs when the sound reached her ears. “Such a sorry sight, a pony whose stomach takes flight.” She nibbled a leaf off of the plant and dropped it into a box. “Ginger is what cures a seasick soul, that or puking into a bowl.” Blueblood rocked back and forth in the air, his bonds none the worse for the wear. His mane clung to his face in wet clumps, soaked with the sweat that had poured out onto his forehead during his… expulsion. His eyes were wide as he searched for somepony to please would you kindly cut him down. His prayers were answered by the arrival of a particularly-ticked-off alicorn, carrying a nervous unicorn author on her back. She looked him up (down?) and down (up?), an eyebrow raised. “Hello, nephew.” “Hullo, Aunt Celestia,” he answered weakly. “You look to have had a full day,” she said. “Where are your guards?” “Chasing down your faithful student,” he replied. “Her plan was as sweet as honey, and it attracted the wrong kind of attention.” “Shame,” Celestia spoke carefully. “Now, what can you tell me about your robots?” “My finest creation?” he asked with a smirk. “They are only the best I have to offer, truly revolutionary in the artificial service industry—” “They’re committing grand larceny on an epic scale only previously accomplished by the most avaricious of dragons.” That gave Blueblood pause. “Indeed?” Celestia nodded. “Indeed.” Blueblood blinked. He took a deep breath in, causing his head to swim a bit. The blood running to his head had slowed to a trickle. “I may have flubbed the price algorithm just a bit.” “Just a bit,” Celestia agreed. Her horn glowed, releasing Blueblood with her magic. He hit the ground painfully, and he did not completely miss the pile of sick beneath him. “I suppose it would be prudent to fix the problem I have inadvertently set loose on Equestria.” “It would be,” Celestia echoed. He rose to his hooves shakily. “Well, best be on my way.” “Indeed.” “We wouldn’t want to keep Equestria waiting, would we?” “We wouldn’t.” He spread his wings. “I’ll just be off, now.” “Good for you.” He looked pleadingly to her. “Am I to go alone?” She sighed. “Blueblood, I have spent the entire morning fighting your robots. Tell him, Hobby Horse.” The author nodded. “She did.” Celestia turned back to Blueblood. “I think that it is high time you did something about cleaning up the mess, don’t you?” Blueblood’s ears lay down flat on his head. “You didn’t hurt the robots, did you?” “Let me tell you something, Blueblood,” Celestia said as she motioned him closer. When his ear was inches from her mouth, she let loose with a long-withheld assault. “I disintegrated them with every chance that I got because they were a danger to my kingdom and my subjects!” She took a breath as Blueblood reeled. “A danger that you caused, and a danger that you will fix, do you understand me, Blueblood!?” He nodded as he cleared his ringing ear out with a hoof. “You were clear as crystal, Aunt Celestia…”