//------------------------------//
// Entry Twelve 
// Story: Diary of an Aspiring Tyrant 
// by SugarPesticide 
//------------------------------//

July 2, 1000 ANM

Reports received from the Night Guard this morning revealed that crime overnight has been reduced from 0.5 percent to 0.3 percent. I must confess that I have no idea what these numbers are supposed to mean exactly, but I suppose that it marks a beneficial change. I praised Midnight Ravenwing for his swift changes to the guard protocol, and he had the audacity to act smug upon accepting my recognition. What does this foal think he is trying to accomplish? Is he trying to prove himself "the best Night Guard captain ever?" I do hope he is refraining from attempting to incur favoritism from me; such an attitude would be far from professional on both his part and mine.

More importantly, I discovered firsthoof the reasoning for using matrices in spellcasting. While use of this technique is neither as swift nor as visually impressive as simple visualization, I realized that diverting my focus for even an instant could cause certain disaster without a stable structure of a spell matrix to stabilize the entire event. Thus my attempt to summon a bottle of soap for my morning cleansing ended instead in the appearance of a Rubbercute. Fortunately the small rubber waterfowl proved an adequate companion in my bathing, so much so that the matter of actually washing my noble body was forgotten entirely.

"Why, Luna!" Sister Dearest exclaimed later as I arrived for our afternoon meal. "This is certainly a surprise. I've already grown used to the strong scent of strawberries preceding your appearance."

"I found myself easily distracted, sister." And indeed, at that moment the platters of baked alfalfa seemed to swell within my vision. I somehow managed not to have my mouth water atrociously as I spoke. "The strawberry is an illustrious fruit, and we are both esteemed to be in each other's presence. Rest assured, tomorrow I will resume wearing a heavenly air of thick wet strawberries."

She giggled lightly for reasons I cannot fathom. Why can she not understand the importance of strawberry fragrance? It is sweet and alluringly delicious, juicy in all the right ways, and causes bystanders to be stricken with an overwhelming desire to devour such fruits with abandon. Strawberries, like that glorious beverage of hot chocolate, shall be heavily associated with my name upon my rise to power, so that all ponies may fully realize the loveliness that accompanies my presence at all times. I do not, of course, need assistance in looking my best, but often perceptions of others can mislead them to unfortunate conclusions, so I must convince them thoroughly with the use of fruit-scented products.

Perhaps I can utilize strawberry soap in another of my inventions? Its astounding properties would serve as an excellent catalyst to a mechanism meant to draw attention elsewhere, or else as a key component in a hypnosis device. Such would certainly make up for the Rubbercute fiasco.

After lunch I stumbled upon Mi Amore Cadenza, who was in the process of participating in an unfamiliar sport. She gave me a look that would have vaporized lesser beings. "Taking the day off again?" she asked, sending a bright green ball hurtling over the net with a slender racket. "At least this gives me a chance to work on my serve."

"What manner of occupation is this?" I asked carefully, watching as the pony on the other side of the court hit the ball back towards that pink princess. I very much doubted that I could put myself in her good graces after having seen me attempt to take over Canterlot with my wondrous schemes; yet I felt that I had to at least try to do so. At any rate, perhaps an innocuous question such as this would distract me from her wrath.

"Tennis," she replied, whacking the ball again. "It's a pretty new sport, only about four hundred years old or so, but it's already a popular one. I'm not that great at it, but it's good exercise."

"Exercise is good," I agreed. "Might I join you? It will be interesting to partake in these modern pastimes." And perhaps we could form an understanding, I didn't add.

Suspicion glinted in her eyes, but she nodded cautiously. Her magic caught the ball half a second before it could slam into her face. "I guess so. It'll probably keep you out of trouble, and I was at love-thirty anyway." She waved the other pony away and levitated another racket out for me. "Stand over there where she was, and remember to put the ball over the net, not under it. You usually let the ball bounce once on your side before sending it back, but sometimes you can try to hit it right when it comes over if you're close enough to the net ..."

I tuned out her trivial fact-listing and trotted over to the designated area, where I proceeded to test the racket's weight. It seemed to be well-balanced, but what would I know? I am no savant in the art of tennis. And, as it turned out, this fact would come back to haunt me.

I fear love that I failed to hit the ball every single time. Not once could I lift my racket just in time, not that it mattered; my swings were too atrocious to be taken seriously, being either too tentative or too overzealous. Mi Amore Cadenza seemed to take vindictive satisfaction in my awful suffering.

"Just keep your eye on the ball, Auntie Luna," she called. I could not hear any jeering in her tone, but I knew it had to be there somewhere. "You'll get the hang of it. It takes a little practice."

I did not "get the hang of it." After my two hundred eightieth attempt I tossed the racket over to her, and she caught it in surprise. "Thank you for your patience, Mi Amore Cadenza," I said, downtrodden. "But it appears I simply have no talent in this recreation. I will take my leave, if you please."

"Well ... okay then. But if it helps, I was even worse than you are when I first started playing."

I must make obliteration of the sport of tennis primary in my list of things to do once I am empress. To have such a monstrosity mocking my competence is heresy, and I will not tolerate it. With any luck it will fall out of popularity by the time I have done so, preventing the common pony from making a fracas about the issue. One can only hope.