How To Train Your Batpony

by peter

Chapter 2b [edited]

Pumpernickel stepped out of Fluttershy’s cottage and heaved a sigh as he shut the door behind him. Hopefully, he’d pissed Gilda off enough that she’d endure the effort to get better just to spite him. His thoughts were interrupted as he became aware of a commotion going on over by the chariot.

“No! No! Let me go!” Professor Steady was yelling. “Nopony told me they expected me to deal with a live Gryphon! I won’t go near that monster, I won't.” Spike and Rainbow Dash were attempting to keep him from clambering into the chariot, while Pinkie Pie cheered on their efforts. It actually wasn’t taking much effort on their part. The professor’s own panicked efforts were hooficapping him as much as anything they were doing. From the looks on their faces, Pumpernickel had the sneaking suspicion that their efforts were as much for the entertainment value as out of any concern for keeping him here.

“Please, Professor. I really need your help,” Fluttershy said as she fluttered on the periphery of the action.

Ignoring the conflict, Twilight had lifted the documents out of the Professor’s saddlebags and up into the air so they surrounded her in a dome of paper. Even the chaos that had broken out a few steps away did not keep her from leafing through her new hoard of information as she rotated it around herself, with the occasional 'interesting' or even 'helpful.'

“Anything useful, Miss Sparkle?” Pumpernickel asked as he stood carefully out of range of her magic, or at least out of range of a serious papercut.

“Hmmm,” Twilight said in a distracted tone. She looked over at him, and her eyes lost their distant look and came into focus. “Oh. Sorry. Yes, a few things. Not as much as Fluttershy was hoping for I’m afraid, but it’s a useful compilation. A summary of a great deal of data from a lot of sources, but nothing original. I’ve already seen most of this information in other forms. It is a very useful tool, though. No need to search through several dozen books for each pertinent bit of data.”

The scholarly unicorn’s eyes lit up as she floated a particular page in front of her eyes. “Say, did you know that a Nocturne with your name was involved in a diplomatic mission to Gilda’s aerie about two hundred years ago? You once told me it was one of the original names. Curious that you got involved with the same aerie.” She grimaced slightly, “It went badly for him, so maybe I shouldn’t have mentioned it.”

“I had heard something about that. Don’t worry about mentioning it. He brought honor to the name. I can only hope to bring as much to it myself someday.”

Pumpernickel raised his voice and called out, “Rainbow Dash, Spike, let the professor back on the chariot. Twilight has all she needs, we don’t need him anymore. Has anypony noticed where the drivers went?”

“Aww, come on. You can tell me. I only want a few training tips,” Curry pleaded as cutely as she could. She really didn’t do cute well, she knew. Not compared to Sweetie Belle, or even Apple Bloom and Scootaloo if they were motivated. But, having noticed that stallions were suckers for it, she’d been practicing. Unfortunately, the Royal Guard Pegasus she was pleading with seemed to be immune, though she had managed to back him halfway across the yard as he attempted to avoid her wide eyes and nimble fingers.

She’d heard that guys were suckers for a girl running their fingers through his hair. At least according to television. But even twiddling her fingers in his mane wouldn’t get him talking.

If she were back home, she’d have stuck a harness on him, but she had a feeling that might not go down very well here.

Giving up on the skittish guard, she turned around and looked for his partner, the older nocturne. It took a bit of time, and when she did spot him she was surprised she’d missed him. He was standing in a pool of shadow cast by the hen-coop, and unless she really looked hard, he just seemed to fade into the shade. Which was a bit weird because while it was late afternoon, the sun was still high in the sky. The dim shadow cast by the shed should not have been able to cloak him like that.

“Cool. Magic,” Curry said to herself. A wide grin filled up her face as she rose up on tip-toes and carefully snuck up behind the dragon-winged pony. When she was close enough that she could have reached out and tugged his ear, she drawled,” Whatcha doing?” It was enormously gratifying to see the pony who had been staring intently at the activity around the chariot, give a huge start and jump that took him higher than Curry’s head into the air. His wings snapped out like ribbed sails and once again Curry was reminded of how much the nocturne’s wings reminded her of Toothless’ wings.

“Sergeant! I’m leaving. I’m counting on you to keep everypony here safe,” the Frankenpony yelled out from where he was buckling himself into the chariots harness. Inside the chariot, the pony that had come with him was huddled in a whimpering heap, his forelegs over his head.

Gilda wanted to scream. She wanted to smash things. She wanted to fly away from this place filled with candy-colored ponies and never come back. Anything, but be forced to accept help from the pony who held so much of Rainbow Dash’s affection that when it had come down to Gilda or the marshmallow, Dashy had chosen the marshmallow. The very pony who had somehow, against all possibilities, crippled Gilda.

She didn’t bother to lift her head when she heard the door open, letting in the soft murmur of voices outside. The door closed and a single set of hoofsteps crossed the floor toward her, coming to a stop just a step away. The pony didn’t say anything, just stood there, fidgeting.

“Don’t waste your breath,” Gilda growled out, her voice like gravel due to her injured neck. “Let me say it for you.” Gilda adopted a high pitched sugary sweet voice, “If I hurt poor Flutter---” she broke off coughing when the sarcastic tone of voice proved too much of a strain on her injured throat. The choking coughs hurt even worse. Once she got her breath back, she continued in a much quieter tone of voice. “If I hurt Fluttershy, you’ll personally break my other three legs. That about it?”

‘No!” Rainbow Dash blurted out, and then a second later she said, “Maybe.”

“Just what I thought,” Gilda said, shifting a bit to ease her leg and wincing from the discomfort.

“Why?”

“Huh?”

“Why’d you do it. I know you’re hard-core. I liked that about you. But jumping Fluttershy… that wasn’t cool.”

“Look, it wasn’t… Ah, buckit. Forget it. I’m a jerk. I behaved like a jerk. In a week or two, the Wingmaster will see my niece safe to the Crystal pony playground and I’ll be out of your mane, one way, or another.”

“Yeah. About that. A pony Wingmaster?”

“The bastard earned it. No fancy pony trick. He was meaner and smarter than my father. Killed him fair and square in a challenge for leadership. Bastard!"

“This the same father who said he’d bite your head off if you kept hanging out with me? The one you ignored.”

“Don’t give me any credit, dweeb. I kept my eyes and voice down anytime I was near him. I’d have broken your wing if he’d been standing there and ordered me to do it.”

“If you say so. Only… he’s gone now. Right? Pumpernickel scares the horse apples out of me, but I don’t think he’d care if you hang around with ponies.”

“I’d care. Look. Leave me alone. We got nothing to say to each other. We had fun when we were chicks, but we were barely out of our eggs. What did we know? Don’t go thinking it was ever more than it was.”

“Yeah, but---”

“I’m going to sleep. Can’t do much else. Tell the pink menace to keep it down,” Gilda said, making a show of settling her head down on the rolled lip of the pet bed.

“Yeah. Sure. Whatever you say,” Rainbow Dash turned her back and plodded away from her former friend. The dull thud of her hooves on the floor stopped as she paused by the doorway as if to look back, then continued as she left, closing the door behind her and leaving Gilda alone as she wanted.

Shadow Dash watched the chariot depart, Pumpernickel taking his place in harness. Despite a certain personal reluctance in regards to being anywhere near Ponyville, he had to admit it felt good to have meaningful work to do again. The night was coming soon. The tree that made up part of Fluttershy’s house had some good sturdy branches. He could stretch out on one of those and be very comfortable as he watched over the house. Tomorrow, he would collect his baby sister and start her formal training as an undercover guard. Maybe, if he was really good at his job, he would even get to see her fly free again someday. Seeing Goose soaring high in the air, higher than any other pony in Equestria. Now that would be a reward beyond price for a job done well.

With his regular companion, Fleur De Lis, off on a photo shoot, Fancy Pants, the most interesting ‘male’ unicorn in Equestria, found himself at loose ends. There were numerous mares who would have been eager to take Fleur’s place by his side, but he found he had little interest these days in acquiring some temporary hoof-candy. Fleur was far more intelligent than many ponies gave her credit for and had a subtle mischievous nature that he found amusing. There simply was not another mare of her quality in Canterlot, save two very powerful alicorns. But then, the princesses really fell into a category all of their own and it was hardly fair to hold any other mare up against them for comparison.

It was too bad Twilight Sparkle and her friend Rarity had returned to Ponyville. Life was never boring with them around. One just had to look at their most recent escapade, in which they had produced an Alicorn colt out of thin air, along with his rather appealing young companion, the Snipe, Curry Comb, or as she was known officially, Princess Moonlight Dancing on Water. She had been a rather disconcerting companion when he met her at the reception, but a refreshing change of pace for all of her habit of casually straightening his mane or tail without warning.

Fancy Pants’ current disinclination to seek out female companionship had brought him to a place he rarely visited. The Stallion Club positively forbid mares from an entrance, and there was a very discreet, but emphatic brass plate stating that fact besides the gleaming oak doors.

It was Fancy Pants’ personal belief that the board of directors lived constantly in hope that some mare would challenge their exclusionary policy so that they could fight her request for membership tooth and hoof. Sadly for their ambitions, no mare had ever shown the slightest inclination to do so.

Membership in the Stallion Club was by invitation, or legacy, only. Fancy Pants’ membership had been passed down through six generations from one of the charter members, Burlap Pants, a fierce old warrior according to the club, a lover of toys to go by the family history, and the personal collection of legendary warrior action figures that were gathering dust in the family’s curio cabinets.

Gingerly using his magic, while giving thanks that he was not an earth pony, Fancy Pants used the oversized, and artistically questionable, brass door knocker to signal his presence and desire for admittance. Really, did they have to be so emphatic in regards to the stallion motif?

The wait for somepony to answer the door was short. Almost before the last boom from the knocker finished echoing, the door swung open silently and smoothly, despite the iron-bound oak construction that could have shrugged off a battering ram.

Only the slightest twitch of his ears revealed Fancy Pants’ surprise at the sight of the impeccably dressed and groomed unicorn pony standing in the doorway. Despite his perfect appearance, he projected an air of being part of the decor rather than a pony of distinction.

“Friday Haystings, as I live and breathe. What a pleasant surprise. If the question is not too intrusive, why are you on door duty, and not taking care of your master?”

The gentlepony’s private gentlepony, brushed an invisible bit of lint from his waistcoat while nodding his head respectfully toward Fancy Pants. “Alas sir, my master is indulging in his hobby and I find myself at loose ends. I offered my service in lieu of my master’s membership dues.”

“I am fairly certain that Greeny would take issue with your description of his occupation as a hobby, Friday,” Fancy Pants chided the nondescript brown unicorn. “I am also fairly certain he would take umbrage at you maintaining his membership.”

“If not I, then the master’s pater would in all likelihood maintain the family legacy. This seemed to be the lesser of two evils, sir.”

Fancy Pants considered the argument. “It could be that you are correct in your assessment. The Baron would likely hold it over Greeny as yet another example of him neglecting his family duties.

“I would not care to speculate on the affairs of my betters, sir,” Friday said in a chiding tone.

“Of course you wouldn’t. I dare say that you have never indulged in idle speculation on the lifestyles of Princess Celestia or her sister, not even below stairs after a few glasses of hard cider,” Fancy Pants said in a teasing tone.

“Ha. Ha. Most amusing. Sir will have his little jokes,’ Friday said, neither his voice or expression indicating the slightest trace of humor. “Would Sir care to enter, or did you merely wish to admire the building’s facade?”

“Well, the former is likely the more intellectually stimulating option, but having bearded the dragon in his lobby, I might as well enter his den. Lead on, good Friday, lead on.”

As always, Fancy Pants was impressed by the entrance lobby and main hallway of the club. Gleaming dark wood, so perfectly fitted that the seams were invisible, paneled the walls and floor, while dark, soot-stained beams of massive dimensions crisscrossed the ceiling and concealed the fine parquet panels between them in dark shadows. If one looked closely you could make out scenes of heroic battles and conflicts against dragons, gryphons, hydras, and sundry other unlikely beasts.

Rumors had it that the expressive faces of the various monsters were modeled after those of the wives and mates of the original founders.

The hallway was lined with doors, one every two pony-lengths. Friday led Fancy Pants to a door that bore his family crest on it. “Do you require assistance, sir?” Friday asked as both he and Fancy Pants produced keys from their waistcoat pockets.

“I should be fine, Friday,” The gentlepony replied as he inserted his key into one of two keyholes, while Friday did the same with his key. They turned them simultaneously. A heavy clunk sounded inside the thick door as a bolt shifted.

“Very well, sir. I shall await you out here.”

Inside the door was a small room that seemed to be one large tribute to the cabinet makers art. Impeccably crafted drawers and small doors occupied every available space. Fancy Pants began to disrobe, removing each and every one of his garments one at a time and placing them into, and onto, individual drawers and hangers that were custom designed to receive them. Once he was bare as the day he’d been born, he opened up one of the larger doors in the wall and examined the contents carefully before making a selection.

Friday did not seem to have moved an inch when Fancy Pants emerged from his undressing room, a bottle of hundred-year-old applejack clutched in his magic field, along with several very large, very black, cigars. The door swung shut behind him with a solid thunk as the nude stallion extracted his personal key from the door and concealed it in his mane.

The two stallions proceeded down the long wooden hallway, passing dozens of doors on the way, each one bearing the crest of some prominent Equestrian family. “Anything of interest tonight?” Fancy Pants asked Friday.

“I could not say, sir.”

“Ahhh, of course. I have to admit to a certain amount of curiosity. Just the other day I received a letter telling me that it might be in my interest to visit the club in the near future. As it has been a good two years since my last visit, I wondered that anypony would think me interested.”

“Curious indeed, sir,” Friday said in a bland tone of voice.

“It's not as if I run in the same social circles as most of the membership. In fact, I’m not sure I’m personally acquainted with any of them at the moment. With the exception of you, of course, Friday.”

“Ahhh, but I am not a member, sir. Only staff, and temporary at that.”

“That is true, and everypony knows that staff would never presume to contact members outside of their duties in the club. It would be a tragic breach of decorum.”

“This is quite true, sir. We are here, sir,” Friday said. He reached out with his magic and gripped a large handle in order to swing wide the door that filled the end of the hall. “I wish you a pleasant evening, sir, and remind you that the inner door will not open till I have shut this one.”

Waiting till the door behind him closed firmly, Fancy Pants took hold of the door in front of him and pulled it open.

Loud, raucous, and out of tune music blasted through the door, causing the gentlepony to lay his ears flat.

Fancy Pants stepped out into the main hall of the Stallion Club, which took up every bit of the space on the ground floor not devoted to the entrance lobby. The way it spread out to the sides made it clear that it also extended into the buildings on either side of the official club.

Several dozen stallions were spread out through the club as they laughed, drank, smoked, farted, and in general engaged in activities frowned on by the fair sex. The din was deafening, and the smell was rank. Like Fancy Pants, none of the various stallions were wearing a stitch of clothing, although some of them could have really used a garment or two, and in some cases a tent to conceal their various flaws.

He stepped out on the rough-hewn floor, his hooves stirring up a thick layer of the traditional rushes that had covered the floors of the ancient establishment ever since the first members had discovered that they were not only more absorbent than hay, they were cheaper. Pool tables with beer and cider stained felt were numerous, and there were at least a dozen dart boards within view.

Pride of place went to the large square ring in the middle of the hall where two ponies were currently reared up on their hind legs, flailing at each other with padded front hooves. Fancy Pants curled his lips in disdain. The would-be martial ponies would not last a minute in the ring with the rawest guard recruit. He himself had collected a fine collection of bruises taking private lessons from a few guard trainers, and would never presume that he was in any way formidable, but he would wager that he could take on both of the colts currently in the ring at the same time and barely work up a sweat in the progress.

“What ho, a new member, dash me if it isn’t. Come to escape a few aunts perchance? Dreadful creatures, aunts. Always say, aunts ain’t gentleponies. Haw Haw.” The raw-boned pegasus colt who had trotted up to Fancy Pants had clearly very recently suffered a growth spurt and had not yet fleshed out his now much larger body, he was all joints and bones with more than a few thick primary feathers that just would not stick down with their fellows. His face bore an expression of amenable imbecility. “Call me Wooshter. It’s my name after all. Some pony might as well get some use out of it. Doesn’t seem to do me much good most of the time.”

Fancy Pants blinked in the face of this barrage of conversation, wishing he had his hoofkerchief as the callow young stallion’s laughter was a bit explosive. He also didn’t miss the sour expression many of the older ponies directed toward his noisy new acquaintance. Given who they were, that actually endeared Fancy Pants a bit toward the young stallion. He had always held to the opinion you could judge a pony by his friends, and enemies.

“Actually, I’m a member of longstanding. I just haven’t been by in a while. I’m Fancy Pants. Pleased to meet you,” he said, sticking out a hoof. The younger colt enthusiastically bumped hooves with him, swaying slightly as he did so. The not so faint scent of some Sweet Apple Select cider showed he had likely been celebrating his recent ascent into physical, if not mental maturity.

“Say, I’ve heard of you,” Wooshter exclaimed. “You’re the fellow my aunt is always saying I should be more like. Have to confess, there were times I wished a piano would fall on you, or at the very least you’d be caught out doing something uncouth. Dreadfully troubling always being compared to such a paragon. No offense meant of course. Sure you’re a fine pony. Just wish you weren’t; so fine that is. Don’t suppose you’d consider sneaking into Princess Luna’s bedchamber and making a spectacle of yourself? No, suppose not. Pity would have made my life a lot easier. At least till my aunt found a new paragon to hold me up against and find lacking.”

Fancy Pants was finding the half-grown stallion a very easy pony to converse with. He didn’t have to do anything at all. Wooshter did all the work for both of them as well as anypony who happened to be passing by. Still, he felt he really should contribute something, so he waited for his new ‘friend’ to draw a breath -- it took a while -- and interjected. “So, anything interesting going on tonight?”

Wooshter blinked, and Fancy Pants swore he could see the young stallion’s mind shifting gears through his wide gormless eyes. “Interesting? Hmmm. Well, there are those two would be Lotharios in the ring. They’re fighting over the mare that clerks at the candy store down the street. More fool them. She’s dating the delivery pony who brings sugar to the shop. Big strapping lad. She’s cute as can be and sweet on top of that, but I’d not take the risk. Not unless he was going to be out of town for a few weeks,” he added with another loud guffaw.

The gangly colt considered some more while muttering to himself, “Interesting. Interesting. You’re likely not interested in Cash Register drinking a whole jug of Sweet Apple Select in one go, and then walking into the wrong house. Had to bail him out of jail. Met a very cute policemare while I was at it, so wasn’t a total waste, wouldn’t give me her address, though. Pity that.” Wooshter directed an inquiring look toward Fancy Pants.

Receiving a shaken head in reply, he dropped into another bout of consideration. “Well, there is Old Blustery. You know, Storm Warning. He’s been in here every night for the last week. A bit of a laugh once he gets a few bottles in him and starts going on about how the mares keep us all under their hooves. I can sort of understand, got aunt problems myself. Did I mention that? But there are some right nice little pippins I wouldn’t mind stepping on me if they were of a mind to. He does go on about that new alicorn stallion. He was at the reception they held for the new prince awhile ago. That’s interesting I suppose. If you’re into talking about other stallions. I prefer discussing ponies that smell a bit better myself.”

“Is Storm Warning in tonight?” Fancy Pants asked. He hadn’t seen the Councilpony at the reception himself, but they didn’t exactly run in the same social circles. For one thing, he usually preferred to be surrounded by mares whenever possible while Old Blustery seemed to prefer his cronies, who were not nearly as cute as Fleur and her friends.

Wooshter reared up on his hind legs, wobbling unsteadily until Fancy Pants set a hoof against his chest. The pegasus flared his wings slightly and floated up a few feet off the floor as he looked around. “Ahh, there’s the blighter. He’s over in the corner with the mechanical griffon punching machine. Got his cronies with him. Looks like he’s working up a good head of steam. Want to go watch him explode?”

“I’ve always been fond of fireworks. Lead the way.”

“A disgrace! That is what it is! Princess Luna took a virile, Alicorn stallion, one who radiated quiet command and demanded respect by his very presence, and she turned him into an easy to manipulate blank flank colt.

“He should be sitting on the throne this very day, ushering in a new age of respect for Equestrian stallions. You wouldn’t see the griffons getting above themselves if we had a stallion on the throne. But where is he? I’ll tell you. Attending kindergarten in some back of beyond border town.

“Are we going to accept this? No! Never! I say we do something about this. I say we approach Princess Celestia and demand she examine her sister’s motivation, and once she had overturned the rocks of deception her sister has concealed herself under, and exposed Nightmare Moon to the cleansing rays of the sun, that she restore the new Prince to his rightful stature, and allow him to take the place of the evil mare who tried to usurp his potential.”

“Oh, I say. He is in fine form today,” Wooshter enthused. “Cracked as a box of dropped cookies, of course, but you have to give him credit for putting on a good show.”

“What about the rumor that he’s her son?” A member of Old Blustery’s audience called out.

The well-padded stallion puffed up, and declaimed, as if reading from a script, “Clearly disinformation spread by her lackeys in the press. A ploy to allow her input into his rearing, even while she attempts to infantilize this noble stallion.”

“I saw him at the reception. He seemed a perfectly nice colt if a bit large for his age. He didn’t strike me as a stallion trapped in a colt’s body.”

“And there you put your hoof on the insidious nature of her actions. I have talked to experts in magic. The very best minds in Equestria. And they assure me it is impossible to turn back time for a pony’s body without doing the same to his mind. Before the Nightmare worked her magic on him, he was a stallion of heroic proportions, and I am sure his mind was as noble as his form.

“Now I know that some ponies might be tempted to hold our dear Princess Celestia at fault for this. I tell you that you can not do this. She is only a mare, and her heart is soft. She has allowed her emotions to overrule her common sense and she can not see what her sister is doing. As true citizens of Equestria, it is OUR DUTY to step in and do all in our power to rectify this situation.”

“But what can we do?” the same stallion who asked the other questions chimed in.

Fancy Pants narrowed his eyes and took a good look at this curious stallion. He seemed familiar, but try as he might, he could not place him.

“We must see that the prince is not allowed to succumb to the bucolic nature of the farm ponies Princess Luna has foisted him off on. They are simple Ponies. Ponies of the soil. They know nothing of the higher levels of society. We must approach them, make them see reason. Our good Baron Chrysanthemum has graciously put himself forward. He is prepared to take in this poor abused Colt, and do all in his power to see that he is raised as befitting a stallion of his stature.”

Fancy Pants hissed between his teeth. He remembered now where he had seen that curious stallion before. He was the scion of a noble family who had fallen on hard times and had been in danger of needing to go into the trades to maintain a roof over his head. The Baron Chrysanthemum had taken him on as a personal secretary, saving him from that indignity.

While Fancy Pants had been musing on the situation, Storm Warning had finished his speech and was now moving among his audience, bumping shoulders and conversing in low tones. The pony about town was starting to understand the reasoning behind that letter he had received. Though what he was supposed to do about it he had no idea.

“Looks like the show is over,” Wooshter said, his expression becoming a bit woebegone.

Arching a noble eyebrow, Fancy Pants asked, “Surely you did not find Old Blustery’s speech that exciting that you are now in the doldrums because it is over?”

“Hmmm, what, what? Oh. Nothing of the sort, old chap. it is just that the night is coming to a close, and I fear that I am in a rather sticky wicket. Tomorrow I must a courting go, what ho,” Wooshter said in a melancholy voice.

“You don’t sound very enthusiastic about the prospect.”

“Dash right I’m not. It’s totally intolerable. My aunt has threatened to cut me off if I don’t woo some dashed pill of a mare. At least I hope she’s a mare. My aunt was not too clear on that, and I wouldn’t put it past her to match me with a Griffon. She certainly shares the same temperament.

“It’s all pure rubbish. She hasn’t even met the dashed female in question. What is she doing telling me I must woo, or be in woe?

“If only my personal pony were here. He picked a fine time to go off to visit his sister, leaving me in the lurch like this.”

“He could have gotten you out of this situation?” Fancy Pants asked with a raised eyebrow, wondering if there might be more behind the missing valet than simply a visit to his sister. He quickly squashed the idea. He was falling under the spell of the situation and seeing conspiracy everywhere. Soon he would start thinking that Fleur De Lis’s absence was due to the same forces at work. In her case leaving him fancy-free to go haring off investigating.

Wooshter answered Fancy Pants question with a laugh while saying, “Oh, indubitably. The pony is a genius. Head positively stuffed with the old grey matter, what, what. He’d have had things right as rain in two shakes of a cat’s tail.”

The woebegone pony gave a sigh while saying, “No hope for it I guess. Can only pray that the filly, or whatever, gives me the cut direct, and my bally aunt lets me off the hook. I mean, It’s not like I can ‘make’ the chit fall for me.”

“Maybe she’ll like you.”

Wooshter gave a shudder. “I bally well hope not. Even if she’s she’s not a griffon, she must be a right mess. Likely crosseyed and swaybacked. Can’t see any other reason my aunt would think I have a hope of landing the chit. To let you in on a little secret, my aunt does not have the highest opinion of me. Tell the truth. She thinks I’m a blithering idiot.”

“Surely not,” Fancy Pants said, while inwardly thinking that Wooshter’s aunt seemed a very perceptive old lady.

“Oh, indubitably. No question at all. Can’t have a cup of tea with her without her bursting out sooner or later and saying. “Wooshter, you are a blithering idiot.” Makes it all the harder to understand why she’d be setting me off after a princess. And what was with her saying that at least she wouldn’t have to worry about me breeding now? Insulting that is. I can assure you I’ve never had any complaints, and I’m sure my swimmers are just as potent as any other ponies. Tell you the truth. That was sort of what got my mind wandering in the direction of a Griffon.”

“A princess?” Fancy Pants asked while wishing for a bit of mind bleach to remove the image Wooshter had just planted there. He had a reputation for retaining a perfectly even temperament no matter what the situation, but this was pushing it a bit. Had the colt’s batty old aunt lost it?

Unlikely as the idea of a griffon was, it was much more likely than the alternative. There were dozens of griffon princesses, every aerie had at least one. On the other hoof there were only two eligible princesses in Equestria, and picturing this green sprout of an ancient, and no doubt inbred family, pursuing them boggled the mind. Him actually doing the deed with either one of the sisters, was beyond comprehension. A corner of his lip twitched slightly. Though, come to think of it, he’d pay dearly to be there when Wooshter proposed to Princess Luna.

While Fancy Pants had been busy trying to scrub certain images out of his mind, Wooshter had continued to rattle on. “Yes, the bally female has apparently just arrived in Equestria from foreign parts. What was her name?”

If Fancy Pants had been boggled before, he was now having to exercise a level of self-control that exceeded any previous effort by a considerable margin. A princess freshly arrived in Equestria? No possibility of breeding? There was only one thing that could make the situation more surreal, and he fought to keep an incredulous note out of his voice as he asked, “It wasn’t by chance, Princess Moonlight Dancing On The Waters?”

“That’s the one. Very griffon sort of name. Bit worrisome. I say. Do you know her?”

Wooshter’s eyes went wide as Fancy Pants felt his knees giving out. “I say. Steady on old chap. Are you well? Do you need a drink? A bench to lay on?”

Gentlefillies do not raise their voices, no matter how provoked. So, even though the incessant knocking on her door had totally disrupted her muse and might cause her to miss her deadline, Rarity restricted the impulse to speak in an unladylike voice, and merely spoke in a very emphatic tone when she wrenched open the door. “What! Do! You! Want?”

The fact that ponies as far away as Sugarcube Corner startled in surprise was merely a coincidence, possibly an outbreak of biting flies.

Rarity blinked her eyes as the Royal Courier on her doorstep almost fell on his rump as she popped out of her door like Jack-in-the-box, complete with a scowling face. “Oh dear. Do ever forgive me,” Rarity said as she took in the stallion’s official uniform and the way he filled it out in a ‘very’ impressive manner, from his broad shoulders to his trim flanks, topped with the strongest set of wings she had seen short of Rainbow Dash. Blinking away her sudden daze and trying not to wipe her mouth in case she had drooled, Rarity continued, “I was working on a new ensemble for Sapphire Shores, and I’m afraid I was quite lost in my muse.”

As Rarity spoke her magic straightened out her mane, much mussed by having her hooves run through it so many times, the tape measure around her neck rolled up and floated back into her workroom, and her scowl was replaced by a broad smile. “I’m Rarity. Won’t you come in Mister...?”

“Sentry, Flash Sentry, ma’am. Thank you for the offer ma’am. Afraid I’m behind schedule. I have a parcel for Twilight Sparkle that must be hoof delivered and signed for. I haven’t been able to locate her, and you are listed as an acceptable substitute to take receipt of it.”

Rarity’s expression fell as the possibility of a little harmless distraction fled. Still, no point in burning such an attractive bridge. “Very well. I’ll be happy to sign for Twilight’s package.”

The courier held out a clipboard, and after Rarity signed her name, presented her with a small wrapped rectangle. He gave her a salute, and trotted away, while Rarity stood in the door and admired his ‘stride’ as he moved down the street.

Rarity gave the package she was holding a curious look. It was obviously a book, if Twilight was receiving it, most likely very old and filled with hours worth of distraction for her friend. The more intriguing part was that it had been sent by Princess Celestia. She’d have to ask Twilight if she could have the seal for Cheerilee’s collection. Giving it no further thought, as it was hardly unusual for the Princess to send Twilight a book, Rarity placed the package on her hall table and went back to work, her mind already filled with fresh ideas.