//------------------------------// // Chapter 2 // Story: Red, White, and Blueblood // by kingtiger666 //------------------------------// We enter to Canterlot Station, hub of the Equestrian rail network. It was surprisingly plain and modern among the fairytale architecture of the city, just a small glass building opening to several covered platforms lined with benches. Sleek silver trains sat waiting for their passengers to file on, and over in a corner was a pink pony carrying what seemed to be a giant inflatable elephant. Of course, the reasons for this, while surely quite interesting, are astoundingly unimportant to the narrative. Rather, let’s zoom in on a pair of earth ponies, one red and one orange, perhaps they’re a couple having a tearful farewell, this may be the final moment between these two captivated lovers before the muscular stallion goes off to war, to fight for freedom in a far-off land, to-- Oh, wrong story. They’re actually brother and sister, that’s awkward. Anyway, the orange one is a stetson-wearing cowpony named Applejack, while the stallion goes by the name of Big Macintosh. I’m sure you’re familiar with them. “An’ yer sure ya got everything packed?” Applejack asked for the fifth time. “Eeyup.” Replied the stallion. “Passport?” He patted the little brown suitcase beside him. “Eeyup.” “Checkbook?” “Eeyup.” “You’ll be sure ta send a postcard from the Orange Festival?” “Eeyup.” “An’ not go offending any o’ them Saddle Arabian ponies?” A stallion of few words, or perhaps the same word repeatedly, he replied once more, “Eeyup.” Of course, not many ponies would pay attention to some random pony and his expositional family, nor did they. The real action was to be found in a group of royal guards performing an escort mission with that special touch of Equestrian inconspicuousness. They kept ponies out of their way with a bright blue magical dome, increasing in opacity towards the top and preventing anypony from getting a good look at who they were escorting. Naturally, a horde of reporters and curious onlookers followed them through the crowded hall as they approached the same platform as our intrepid hero. The intercom spoke up, grabbing attention from the secret agents with a pleasant chime. “The next train at Platform Two is the 4:30 Overnight to Nagdad, Saddle Arabian Territories. It passes through: Manehattan, Baltimare, Andalanta...” The announcement continued to name the various stops, but Mac wasn’t listening. With a puff of smoke, the train had rolled into the station. Mac rarely hung around town, and even so, Ponyville was never a major stop. He rarely saw a train aside from the Friendship Express on its weekly circuit. That’s not to say he was unfamiliar with them, he’d seen his share of trains. One time, a dayliner was diverted from the main track and had to pass through Friendship Station. He’d thought it was uninteresting, the snout-like nose of the diesel-magic locomotive ridiculous, and the silver carriages entirely too reflective. But this wasn’t just any train. While other ponies might not have been too impressed, Mac almost fell to his haunches, stunned by the sight before him. Billowing smoke, the engine was massive, a good hundred feet long. Red as a Macintosh, he might’ve thought to himself if he weren’t so blown away. The nose was round, coming to a point where the headlight sat in the middle. Splitting it down the centre was a bar of white steel, reaching down to the smoothly angled cowcatcher and up to the equipment atop the boiler, giving off the effect of a fierce pegasus warrior’s helmet. At the top, smoke billowed from a hidden stack The great wheels, each drilled with four holes that periodically exposed parts of the undercarriage and lit with a soft glow, were almost as tall as he was. He stared at the long boiler as it rolled past, perfectly streamlined to reduce drag, smoke trailing behind it . The passenger cars were next, gold stripes running along the sides. The high tinted windows afforded no view of the ponies inside, but he could guess at their social standing. Emblazoned along the sides in dark black letters were the words Great Equestrian Railway. All in all, the train exuded supremacy and strength. He finally understood why some ponies were so enamored by them, their power, their speed. In his stupor, Mac didn’t hear Applejack’s question the first time. “What?” He asked dumbly, tearing his eyes away from the rail-bound creature before him. “Ah said, are you alright?” “E-Eeyup.” He stuttered. His legs felt a bit wobbly for a moment, but he quickly got himself under control and grabbed his suitcase in the crook of a leg. Still staring, he walked across the platform to the rail-bound beast before him. Behind, Applejack tailed him closely to avoid becoming separated in the rush of boarding and disembarking passengers. In all the confusion, it was easy to forget about the blue dome and its special cargo. One moment, it was at the door of a passenger car, the next the guards lowered the shield and had to shove their way through the crowd to exit the station. On the other side of the car, Mac had turned back towards his sister. They entered an embrace of sibling love which, despite what some may like you to believe about farm ponies, was entirely platonic and involved no hay lofts or pigsties, and certainly no hot incestual sex. “Ah’ll miss ya, AJ.” He said, holding her close. She gave him the usual reply. “Ah’ll miss ya too, ya big lug. Don’t go gettin’ hurt or nothin’, or Ah’ll have ta kill you.” She slid out of his arms and disappeared into the crowd without so much as another word. He sighed and lifted up his suitcase. Here’s hopin’ Ah can even find mah seat. ←-----------------------------------------------------------------------------→ A few minutes later, Mac was walking over to the nearest pony in an employee’s uniform. As luck would have it, it was the conductor, a plump brown earth pony with a mustache that probably got more tail than he did. “Hello sir, how can I help you this fine evening?” “Th’ compartment Ah’m supposed to be in is locked fer some reason, and th’ curtains are closed.” “Did you check to see if there’s somepony in there?” “Ah knocked, but there weren’t an answer. Ah know Ah heard somethin’ in there though.” “Well let’s go have a look, shall we?” The walk over to Mac’s compartment was uneventful, largely because it was about half a minute of walking down an empty corridor. They stopped at the door, and Mac standing aside for the conductor to do his thing. Knock knock. “Hello? Is anypony in there?” The same shuffling sound from before rang out, and after a minute the bemustached pony sighed, reached into his blue jacket for a key, and unlocked the door. The lights were out, and through the inky blackness of the darkened car they could see something moving. With an air of trepidation, the two of them held their breath as the conductor’s hoof edged towards the doorframe, then the lightswitch. Click. The lights shot on, temporarily blinding the two newcomers. After it passed, the car’s occupant, a white unicorn, sat glaring at them angrily. “Yes, what?” He asked quickly, his cheeks a dark shade of red. The conductor reeled back for a second but quickly collected himself in a bow. “Your majesty, this fine stallion,” he gestured towards Mac, who meekly waved a hoof, “Is in need of accommodation.” “I’m sorry, but clearly this compartment is taken. Have a fine trip.” The unicorn began to close the door. The conductor shot his hoof out to hold it. “Eh, well you see, there’s a bit of a problem. See, this is a bit awkward. Apparently there was a miscommunication involving a VIP or something, and now there’s not enough room on the train for all the passengers. Funny how these things happen, really.” He rubbed the back of his neck and turned his eyes down. “I’m sorry, did the meaning of the word ‘reservation’ change while I was napping?” “No, sir, the conductor chuckled, “But company policy states that when a train reaches capacity, reserved compartments are to be filled starting from the front of-” “Yes, yes, I understand, but I can’t spend my trip with some commoner!” “Unfortunately, this is the only compartment with any vacancy. I’m afraid you’ll need to share.” “Unacceptable!” “Well, you could always spend the trip in the baggage car.” “Yes, fine, be off now.” “I meant you.” The unicorn blanched a little. “Urg, fine,” he grumbled, “But you leave me alone, understand?” “Eeyup.” Mac stepped inside and slid the door shut behind him. It was a fairly large compartment, a good five feet between the two velvet cushioned benches. Above Blueblood’s head was what was surely an astoundingly expensive painting of some unidentifiable shapes. With a jerk, the train began to move, sending Mac sprawling across Blueblood’s lap. He was promptly shoved off, thudding to the floor. He quickly got up and sat on the bench across from the unicorn. For while, they avoided each other’s eyes, choosing instead to look out the window, at their hooves, really anything but each other. If this continued indefinitely, it wouldn’t be much of a love story. “Pass me that trunk, would you?” he asked, pointing to a bright pink steamer trunk beneath Mac’s bench. Mac reached down, scrabbling for the handle, and finally got ahold of it. Pulling it out, he could see the words ‘To my one true love’ scratched crudely across the top. “Never figured him the romantic type.” “What was that?” “Jus’ noticin’ yer trunk, is all. None o’ my business.” “I’m curious.” “Ah said, Ah never figured you the romantic type.” With a click, the latch opened and the top lifted, revealing a messy collection of clothing and knick-knacks. Blueblood, undaunted, plunged his hoof into the untidy abyss and began shifting it around looking for something. “Whyever would you think that?” He asked with his hoof deep inside the messy trunk. “Well, my sister’s friend Rarity met you at the Grand Galloping Gala. She called you a boor.” Blueblood paused and looked up, flabbergasted. “A boor?! Me, a boor?! But why?” “Somethin’ ‘bout cake and a flower.” He rummaged around some more. “Oh. That mare.” “If’n ya don’t mind my askin’, what was that all about, anyway?” "I deal with dozens of gold diggers like her every year. She didn't want Blueblood, she wanted a prince. Just any would do, really. I'm rather sick of it all, and no," he cut Mac off before he could speak, "Her status as a national hero does not warrant her any special treatment." “So ya jus’ took it out on some mare you didn’t know?” “Again, gold digging bitch.” “She ain't that bad once ya get t' know her.” “I'll have to take your word for it. Now what's the- Yowch!” Following a very masculine yelp, Blueblood's hoof shot out of the trunk's unexplored depths. In its grasp sat an unknown object, possibly an item from a popular video game of your choice. Of course, there's really no way for a pony to know what it was, and so Blueblood tossed it unceremoniously in a corner. "I'll have to apologize, then." He said, and returned to work. A few minutes of digging later, and Mac was bored again. “So what’s the reason a fancy Canterlot-type like yerself is goin’ to a back o’ beyond town like Nagdad?” “I’m afraid it’s top secret. Technically I’m not even on this train.” “You certainly ain’t bein’ too secret ‘bout yer trip itself.” “Well, I, uh, that is...” “Yer goin’ to the orange festival, ain’t you?” “Orange festival? I am a prince! My words move mountains and shape history! Whatever makes you think I’d ever go to such a pedestrian event?” Mac gestured to Blueblood’s open suitcase. On the top sat a white T-shirt emblazoned with the words Orangefest ‘13, the o replaced with a cartoon orange. Blueblood visibly deflated. “... I knew I shouldn’t put that on top.” The earth pony stepped over and playfully nudged him. “Hey, liking oranges ain’t nothin to be ashamed of. Mah cousin happens to be an Orange.” “You’re related to a fruit?” Blueblood deadpanned. “He may not be th’ brightest bulb in th’ box, but that’s goin a bit too far.” The unicorn shrunk back a little. “I’m terribly sorry, you see, what I meant was-” Mac held up a hoof to silence him. “Nah, Ah know what ya meant.” After several more seconds of searching, Blueblood finally found what he was looking for. Out of his bag floated a large blue book. It was just the wrong size, too small to sit flat and too big to hold comfortably with hooves. Luckily for the unicorn, he was a unicorn. He easily opened it to the middle and began reading. Mac just sat quietly, contemplating the poor choice of not bringing any reading material. Instead, he studied Blueblood. His face was hidden behind the book, but two important things stood out. One, the book was less blue and more a light purple. Two, the book had no title on the spine or covers. Three, he wasn’t reading the book. Mac could see the edge of another book peaking over the bottom of the one Blueblood was pretending to read. Why a royal stallion such as him would feel the need to conceal his reading material he didn’t know, but most guesses involved either wild Garofalos or that tabloid that claimed the Great and Powerful Trixie was dying and Princess Twilight was pregnant. It was in the pursuit of this knowledge he asked his next question. “Whatcha readin’?” “Validus Opus.” “Which one?” Blueblood’s face flushed a bit and hesitated before replying. “Ferrum Fuga?” The red stallion shrugged. “Ah read that one once. It was alright.” “You? You read this?” “Eeyup,” he replied, “That Validus, always gettin’ into trouble.” “Oh, er, yes, always getting into trouble.” “Y’know, Ah’m pretty sure they print that one in Equestrian, too.” “I’m quite sure they do not!” “It’s called Daring Do.” “Pffwhat?!” Blueblood sputtered, “This isn’t some foal’s picture book! This is a work of classic Roaman literature!” “Yer majesty, that’s a latin version of the new Daring Do book.” “I think I would know if I was reading Daring Do!” In his shock, the unicorn’s horn sputtered out, sending the book to the floor. As it fell, a small magazine slipped out from between its pages, the cover featuring a pith helmet-wearing pegasus riding a motorcycle in front of the unmistakable symbol of the Germane Neighzi Party. A comic book. Mac’s eyebrows raised at this development. “Uh, this, eh, it’s--” Mac held up a hoof. “Ah won’t tell a soul.” “Ah, well, perhaps I misjudged you slightly. Prince Blueblood.” He offered a hoof, which the earth pony gripped firmly and shook. “Big Macintosh.” “So, Big Macintosh, how familiar are you with Daring Do?” They talked about a lot of things, most of which are unimportant. The unicorn explained every nuance of the Daring Do, the history of the franchise and his own presence at the conception of the character. Mac only had a passing interest in Daring Do, but this one time, he felt he could listen. Occasionally interjecting with questions and remarks, he was content to remain silent and just listen to the velvety tones of the unicorn. Suddenly, their rather one-sided conversation was interrupted by a chime. “The time is now 8:30 PM. The dining car closes in thirty minutes. Thank you for riding the Great Equestrian Railway.” “Oh my, is it that late already?” Blueblood said, “Why, we’ve been talking for a good hour, at least! Come, let’s go get some dinner before they shut it down.”