How To Train Your Batpony

by peter

Chapter 4 [edited]

“And this is the Ponyville Jail,” Sweets said while standing on the stoop facing the group of eager foals clustered in front of him and hoping very hard that it was indeed the jail and not just some random large stone building.

It was a bit embarrassing, and something he’d rather not admit, that this was the first time he had actually come to his official office since taking up his new assignment. It had simply seemed at the time that the easiest thing to do was to stay right where he had been since coming to Ponyville. It wasn’t like there was a crying need for his services after all, and everypony knew where to find him if they needed him.

Working from home meant that he could help Bon Bon with the shop and be available if anyone needed him to do any sheriffing. And, the fringe benefits of spending all his time with Lyra and Bon Bon were nothing to sneeze at. It was that time of year, and Bon Bon’s sweet, sweet, juices were some of the best he’d ever tasted, while Lyra was a total pushover when it came to giving into his heartfelt entreaties. He could wrap her around his hoof with nothing more than a hungry look. The pale green unicorn might protest, say she wasn’t that sort of pony, but in the end that didn’t stop her from using her magic to sneak him some candy from the display cabinets whenever he felt a bit peckish, and Bon Bon wasn’t looking. What more could any stallion ask for? All the frozen fruit juice he could drink, and gourmet chocolate whenever he felt the need for a snack. Life was good.

He hadn’t given a thought to his ‘physical’ office until Twist had shown up with a group of her school friends, including Prince Jake Apple, and announced that she and her little friends were on a school field trip. Their assignment from school was to visit several businesses in Ponyville and learn how they worked, including a tour of his office and the jail. It was only then that he realized he had no idea where either of those were and wound up in the embarrassing position of having to ask Lyra for directions to his own jail. The price for her silence had been two of his secondary feathers, which she had promised him, with a wink and a kiss, he would not regret sacrificing.

He’d had to spend all the time the foals were getting their tour of the candy shop under an ice-cold shower before he was ready to walk around in public.

“Do yer 'ave any diabolically devious, deadly and dastardly, right, criminals locked up?” Pipsqueak asked. As the shortest pony in the group, he was right up at the front, with Jake in the back looming over his fellow foals in much the same way he’d loomed over Sweets himself just two weeks previously.

“If you do, can we thee them?” Twist asked. She was standing beside Pipsqueak, taking her duty as group leader very seriously. She was in charge of the clipboard that had all the questions they were supposed to ask. Unfortunately, she had been a bit lax in her duties while at the candy shop and it was smeared with syrup and raspberry stains at the moment.

Sweets gave a laugh. “I only started a little while ago. I haven’t had time to lock up any villainous villains I’m afraid.”

“Not a one?” the foals chorused in disappointment.

“What a rip,” Snips said from beside his taller friend, Snails.

“Sorry about that. I’ll see if I can’t do better the next time,” Sweets said indulgently. “Why don’t we take a look inside?” Turning around he took a good look at the stout door that was mounted in a wall of field dressed stone. The fact that it was the first door in Ponyville he had seen that had a metal lock was a good sign that he was in fact in front of the correct building, as was the construction of the structure itself. It was very different from the typical post and beam construction of the majority of Ponyville houses, and was also a lot larger than he had been expecting. While not as tall as many of the buildings in Ponyville, the dressed stone walls stretched a good distance up and down the street from where he was standing.

An explanation for why a simple country jail was so large came in the form of a small brass plaque secured next to the door frame. Ponyville Jail and Emergency Storm Shelter Under the first plaque was another, smaller one, that said, and Ursa Minor Shelter, then another under that and Parasprite Shelter.

Sweets found that the door was locked when he tried it, which in retrospect, he should have expected, given the large keyhole in the heavy metal plate the doorknob was mounted in. Unfortunately, he didn’t have a key, and had no idea where he could find one.

“Excuse me,” a very faint voice said from behind Sweets in a tone that sounded like it wanted to hide under the bed, if voices could, in fact, hide under beds.

Sweets turned, along with all the foals who had been crowding up behind him.

“Hi J.B.” Pipsqueak cheerfully greeted a dusty-grey pony who was standing in the street looking at them in dismay while also giving the impression that much like his voice, he would like nothing better than to have something he could crawl under, or hide behind.

“Yer did a right cool Uncle Bob on the bloomin' teeter-totter. Scootaloo shot clear over the schoolhouse when we all jumped off the tree and onto the uvver end,” Pipsqueak continued his greeting.

“Thank you,” the pony replied in his skittery voice.

Must be the town custodian, one who really liked zebras, Sweets thought as he took in the pony’s appearance. He had the type of gray hide that looked like someone had dusted him with flour and was wearing a flat-topped round black and white striped hat on his head, which matched the black and white striped front pants with the shirt he was wearing, as well as the bar-code-like cutie mark on his flank. “Have you come to let us in?” Sweets asked.

The pony startled slightly, looking even more like he wanted to crawl under something. Looking upward and slightly to the side so he wasn’t looking Sweets straight in the eye, he eyed the pegasus left wing nervously for a moment before he said, “No…sheriff. I didn’t know anypony wanted to be let in. If I had, I would have left the key hanging on the doorknob.” While talking the pony very slowly and carefully, making no sudden moves, reached into the neck of his shirt and eased out a big old fashioned key on a string, which he held out to Sweets.

“Couldn’t you have just left the door unlocked?” Sweets asked as he used the over-sized key to unlock the door.

“Oh, I couldn’t do that. The front door has to be locked at all times when there is nopony inside,” he said as he sidled past Sweets and into the room. Once inside he scurried across the floor with a gait that was as much sideways as it was forward. Reaching the other side of the room he took off his cap and hung it on a peg on the wall.

Sweets opened his mouth to point out that hanging the key on the doorknob was pretty much the same thing as leaving it unlocked, but in the end didn’t say anything. He had run across enough similar mindsets while dealing with the Royal Quartermaster's Corps to know that arguing with written regulations was a losing argument that would only leave him frazzled and uncertain if his tail was in front of him or behind him.

Leaving the custodian to his duties, Sweets looked around. What he took to be his office filled only one corner of a much large room. His space, if it was his space, came complete with a desk, two jail cells, and a weapon rack filled with willow switches, several empty pie pans, and a large, well-polished shovel for some reason. Another frame had numerous bridles, halters, and hobbles dangling from the support bars. Behind his desk was a cupboard, with two cups hanging from hooks. Thanks to the sharp vision that was his heritage as a pegasus, he could see that one was labeled, Equestria’s Best Sheriff, the other was labeled, Equestria’s Best Prisoner.

The rest of the room that did not seem to be his office was bare of any furnishing, but the walls were lined with large deep storage cabinets, each one neatly labeled as to content: Bedding, Water, First-aid, Dried Food, etc...

“So, J.B. Come to clean up have you?” Sweets casually asked as he looked back toward the strip themed pony.

Without meeting Sweets eyes, J.B. picked up a clipboard and carefully checked off something on it. He then ran a hoof along a line of text just below where he had checked, his lips moving as he read. After what seemed like forever, he looked up and said, “No. I have to inventory and oil the tack right now. I don’t clean up until after I count the bandages in the shelter section, and just before I turn the lights out for the night.”

While J.B. had been outlining his schedule, all the foals in Sweets’ group had crowded in behind the stallion and were looking around the room with bright and mischievous eyes.

“Are those stalls?” Jake asked curiously, gesturing toward the two cells that took up one wall of the office. Sweets noted with approval that their doors were opened all the way and tied securely in place to prevent accidental closing. On the other hoof, he frowned slightly as he took in the clean, fresh straw that was scattered thickly on the floor in case of another sort of accidents. That seemed a bit old fashioned. The cells in the palace had polished cement floors that sloped to a large drain, making it easy to sluice them out.

One of the cells had the straw piled thicker in one corner with neatly folded bedding on a small shelf above it. A sampler hung on the wall embroidered with the dubious legend, Cell Sweet Cell.

It was the sort of humorous decoration often put up by ponies who in fact don’t have a sense of humor.

“Those are cells, those are,” Pipsqueak declared dramatically. “That’s where Sheriff Sweets will incorporate the bloomin' vile criminals.”

Jake trotted over and stuck his head in, looking around appreciatively. “I like them. They look comfortable and warm. I bet there are no drafts.” He shuffled his hooves in the thick straw before leaning down and nibbled a few strands. “Nice,” he said.

“Cells ain't spose ter be comfortable and warm. They are sposed ter be cold enough ter wrack yor bones wivout a tidy spot ter settle yor rear,” Pipsqueak declared. He trotted over and walked right between a set of bars, only having to squeeze slightly to get his hips through. Looking around, he gave a snort of derision at the lack of un-amenities.

“Where do you cook your mealth?” Twist asked, looking around for any sort of kitchen and seeing only a hot plate with a battered kettle on it.

“The town issues vouchers redeemable at several local restaurants and food vendors,” J.B. said in a monotone, as he sidled over and shoved a clipboard in Sweets’ general direction.

“Lickety Split’s?” Snips and Snails chorused, snapping out of the sugar coma they had been into up to that point because of all the ‘free’ samples they had tried at Bon Bon’s.

“What’s this?” Sweets asked, looking at the clipboard he had just taken from J.B.

“Inventory. The new sheriff has to sign that everything on it was here, or not when he takes possession.”

This Sweets was familiar with. Juniors in the Guard spent a lot of time counting supplies, and then re-counting them because they got it wrong, according to the sergeant, the first time.

He gave the list a quick scan and paused at “Straw. Hypoallergenic. Bales of___ Looking over at the straw-covered cells, he frowned. “You still use straw? Hypoallergenic straw?”

“Regulations, sheriff. I have allergies,” J.B. slid open a drawer that was nearly as deep as the desk it was in, and with a fair bit of effort extracted a book that had to be nearly a hoof thick. Equestrian Law and Justice, Volume I, page 437, he said, flipping the book open and leafing through the well-hoofed pages until he came to the pertinent page and pointed out the entry. Listed out in detail was how often the straw in cells needed to be changed, depending on usage, the quantity, and the quality. It had been, he noticed, last revised about two hundred and fifty years ago.

Once again, Sweets’ experience with the Quartermaster’s corps came in handy. He kept his mouth shut and continued scanning down the list on his clipboard. It was all pretty predictable, and as anal as most such lists were, Pens___, Coffee Cups___, Coffee Pot___, but his brow creased when he came to the bottom and saw, Prisoner. Instead of a blank spot where he could write in a number and details, it was already filled out, with a checkbox beside each item so he could confirm it was present.

Prisoner, One.
Name, Jailbird
Wear, Minor.
Condition. Good.
Last shod. January.

Looking over at the cell with the bedding and sampler, he asked, “Did we just release a prisoner?”

J.B. looked horrified. “No!” he said in the most emphatic tone he had used so far.

“Where is he then? Do we have an exercise yard? Is he supervised…” Sweets trailed off and he took another look at the inventory sheet. “Jailbird?” He looked over at ‘J.B.’ “You?” he asked.

Jailbird nodded, his eyes still refusing to meet Sweets’ as he said, “Yes.” He then looked over at the cells and winced at the sight of the Fillies and Colts playing prisoner and jailer, scuffing straw all over the cells and out between the bars onto the immaculately waxed wooden boards of the office. “Are you going to be here long, Sheriff? Only, I usually take a nap in the afternoon.”

Just as roaches and other vermin have natural enemies, so to do their pony counterparts, the gutter press ‘journalist. In their case, it tends to be large muscular guard ponies rather than cats.

Both share an aversion to bright lights, however.

A whole herd of some of Canterlot’s most infamous, in their own minds, journalists stood deep in the shade of an alley, peering out at the sun-speckled length of Mane Street with a loathing that not even a Vampire Batpony could have matched. Only part of that emotion was caused by the disgustingly well-lit street.

“See. I told you they were there,” White Out hissed at Quick Quote. “The whole stinking mess of them, that freak princess and all her little friends too. Just look at them laughing at us,” he said bitterly as he pointed across the street at the Lickety Split ice-cream parlor. “I say we march over there and teach them a little respect.” He started to match actions to words, and then stopped, looking over his shoulders at his fellows in annoyance over the fact they were showing not the slightest inclination to stop his forward progress, and were even, in a couple of case, making shooing motions with their hooves, urging him to get to it.

“Fine then,” White Out huffed and turned his head back toward his target, only to hastily back up into the alley, sending several of his less heavily-built compatriots sprawling with exclamations of dismay and demands that he watch where he was shoving his big fat plot.

“Be quiet, you idiots,” he hissed while continuing to cram himself backward. His eyes focused on the tall black Pegasus who was walking down the street toward the ice-cream shop, a half dozen foals cavorting around his legs. In particular White Out took notice of the brown vest the big stallion was wearing, and the bright shiny star pinned to it. A large wide-brimmed white Stetson rested on his head, completing the gag-worthy image of a small-town sheriff interacting with the smallest of his constituents.

“Celestia’s frosty boobies. It’s the prince,” Poison Pen croaked out from where he had been squashed up against the wall by White Out’s bulk. Poison Pen’s startled remark had White Out’s eyes focusing on the Stetson the big pegasus sheriff was wearing, mentally calculating if it was large enough to conceal an Alicorn sized horn while wondering what his rival had seen that he had missed.

His fellow press ponies were having similar reactions to his if one were to judge by their whispering.

“What?”

“Let me see.”

“I thought he was turned into a colt?”

“Not the local yokel law dog, you idiots. Behind him,” Poison Pen said in exasperation, his voice muffled because his face was pressed up against one of the alley walls by White Out’s bulk.

That more precise second remark tore White Out’s gaze away from the sheriff to the black-hued colt who had just moved out from behind the larger stallion. Half again as large as his fellow foals, and twice as large as the colt he was currently arguing with, he had a pair of broad wings and the distinctive horn of an Alicorn projecting from his wide forehead. There was no doubt at all that this was the much speculated about Alicorn prince.

“Lets rush him,” Conspiracy said from way back in the alley, far behind his fellows, where he was huddled inside his oversized black duster. “The Sheriff can’t stop all of us. There’s only one of him. Some of us are sure to get close enough to ask some questions.”

The ponies in front of Conspiracy, and the ones most likely to first draw the sheriff’s attention if they charged out into the street, turned their head to glare at him before looking back out across the street. They really didn’t like the look of that Pegasus, especially the way his muscles rippled in the sun as he walked along with the foals. While more slenderly built than an earth pony, he was still disturbingly muscular for a pegasus. As one they looked back at Conspiracy again, and whispered: “You first.”

Sweets listened with half his attention as Jake and Pipsqueak discussed the relative merits of a law officer's coloring. The tiny pinto colt was firm in his opinion that a sheriff should have a gleaming white hide, while Jake was equally certain that black was a perfectly fine color, as long as the sheriff wore a white hat, which Sweets was, so there.

He himself had mixed feelings on the subject. His hide had been magically bleached when he had become a guard, leaving it snowy white. He had taken great pride in his appearance, not because of the color, but for what it indicated, that he was now officially a Royal Guard. Being dyed black for his assignment as a stalking horse for Prince Jake had left him feeling unmoored, far more so than the documents suspending him from the Royal Guard for a month due to conduct unbecoming. He had known those were merely part of the deception and they didn’t really seem real. Every time he looked in a mirror, however, his dyed hide reminded of his separation from the force he had fought so hard to join.

Yet, when Princess Celestia and Princess Luna had asked if he would be willing to retain his darker coloration, he had said yes with only minor regrets. The boundaries of his world had been greatly expanded by his assignment to Ponyville and what color his hide was had seemed a rather silly concern after everything he had gone through.

The little kernel of worry that Bon Bon and Lyra might not find his previously bland white hide as interesting or attractive as his newer, roguish dark looks, had, of course, nothing to do with that decision.

Questions about what color his hide was aside, Sweets could not help wondering, for about the hundredth time, if he had what it took to be a good sheriff. While on the surface the job was basically the same as those of a Royal Guard, keep the peace, protect the populace, the reality was very different.

He had no partner, or anypony to share the load. He was technically on call twenty-four hours a day. Mind you, he had yet to actually deal with any sort of criminal activity other than the horribly overpriced cherries at the market, but if something did happen it would all be all on him. He was the only law Ponyville had.

Of course, that was a decided increase from what they’d had ever since the last sheriff had been hired away by Appleloosa, shortly after some incident with an Ursa Minor, whatever that was.

If only he didn’t feel like such a fish out of water. He hadn’t realized how much he had depended on his senior guards being around as examples and teachers until he no longer had them at his back.

Complicating matters was the fact that Ponyville was ‘weird.’ He didn’t know if it was something in the water or Pinkie Pie’s cooking, or even being so close the freakish Everfree Forest, but the ponies in this town continued to throw his expectations under the train on a regular basis. The recent experience with his official prisoner, Jailbird, highlighted that. No one knew why Jailbird was in jail, on what charges, or even what his sentence was. The records had been destroyed when the town hall had burned down, or at least one of the times it had burned down and Jailbird himself refused to discuss the matter past saying "Five more years" every time he was asked. He was on probation as a result, and Sweets found he did not have the heart to threaten to release him if he remained silent, particularly after the look of utter horror that had crossed Jailbird’s face when Sweets had broached the possibility that maybe his sentence was over and he was free to go.

As Sweets understood it, so long as Jailbird kept his nose clean and performed his community service with due diligence, the Major would not evict him from his nice, cozy jail cell. The town got a model prisoner for their jail, and Jailbird got his cell, which was apparently all he wanted in life. Looking at it in a sort of sideways, Ponyville way, it made sense.

And it was starting to make him a little nervous that he could see that.

“Sweetth, can we have some vouthherth now?” Twist asked, breaking Sweets out of his introspection.

The pegasus stallion looked down to see a half-dozen hungry faces staring up at him. Tipping his hat off his head, he held it out so each colt or filly could extract a voucher for one large ice-cream sundae, with up to four toppings.

“Damn it. I need a drink,” White Out growled as the over-muscled yokel with a badge followed his targets into the ice-cream shop. “Celestia’s dripping nips, I hope there’s a bar somewhere in this inbred backwater.”

“Well, I got to admit, this backwash of a town has at least one thing going for it,” Quick Quote said sometime later as he took a hefty draft from the large stein he was holding. “The booze isn’t watered down like that swill they serve in the Pen and Page.” His voice was slightly slurred, as well it might be given that the table he and his partners of the moment were filled to overflowing with rows of empty bottles, arranged like dead soldiers on the battlefield against sobriety.

“Sheap too,” Poison Pen said as he carefully added his empty mug to the stack of empties in front of him. “Wou, w, oud, have cost us dozen times more in Canterlot. Shtupid locals, don’t know what they got.” The drunk pony held up a large magnum bottle. “Take, take thish fer xample, premium shtuff, usually got to wear a tie where they shell it in Canterlot.” His expression turned maudlin, and tears started to run down his cheeks. “Want to go back, Canterlot got to get the shtory. Can’t go home wishout shtory. Can’t get shtory, shtupid brats. Can’t get near shutpid frince.”

“You want t' meet de priss. I mite be aggle t' help you wid dat, uh,” a garbled voice came from a table next to them. The reporters turned their heads, several of them almost turning right out of their chairs, to look at the yokel who had spoken. They blinked bleary eyes at the grey country pony with the oversized teeth and the half-eaten hat. A few moments passed, and finally Quick Quotes, in his usual insightful and cutting way said, “Huh?”

“Don’t you idiots undehstand Ekestrian. Um uh. I said I cudd help you meet de Priss.”

The drunken group looked at each other, shrugged, and turned back to their drinks. All except for Conspiracy, who fell off his stool.

“He said he could help you find the prince,” said the barmare who was clearing away their glasses while making sure to keep her backside well away from any wayward hooves. A much easier task than when the group had first shown up in the bar.

Quick Quotes looked at her warily while unconsciously rubbing the hoofmark that decorated his cheek, a gift from the same barmare a couple of hours earlier due to a completely innocent action on his part. ‘Yoush can undershtand, idiot?”

“I’ve had a lot of practice," she said, giving the yokel a glare.

“Wait. wait… wait,” Poison Pen said, waving a hoof in the air to attract attention. He blinked and asked. “What was I shaying? Oh, wait, you shay, he shay, know where frince is?”

“That’s right,” the barmaid said, taking out a cloth and wiping down the table.

The stewed reporters waited, and then waited a bit more, till White Out said, “And?”

“And, what?” The barmare asked.

“Where is the Celestia be damned Frince?” White Out shouted, his annoyance burning some of the alcoholic fumes out of his head.

“How the heck should I know?” the barmare said as she loaded the dirty mugs and glasses into the sink behind the bar, and stacked the bottles in cases to be washed and sent back to Sweet Apple Acres for refilling.

“Iyay oldtay youay entleponiesgay atthay Iyay owknay erewhay ethay incepray isyay,”

Before they could ask, the barmare gave a sigh and said. “He says, he told you he knows where the Prince is.”

“Well, pony, spit it out. Where is he?” White Out asked the yokel. The only reply the hayseed gave was to hold his hoof out, upside down.

“He wants---”

“That I understand,” White Out sneered, his world view regaining a bit of its equilibrium with this evidence that everypony, no matter who they were, only looked out for themselves. He extracted a single bit from his wallet and dropped it on the outstretched hoof. “There you go my good colt. Now, where is the prince?

The yokel lifted the bit up to his face, frowned and made a come-on motion with his hoof, indicating that White Out had better pony up if he expected to learn anything.

Before any of the reporters could say anything, the barmare spoke up, “Seeing as how it’s the last call, I’ll save you ‘gentlecolts’ a bit of my time by giving you two pieces of advice, one for free, one for not.”

“What’s the free advice?” Poison Pen asked, sobering up slightly at the horrifying words, Last Call.

“He,” the barmare said, pointing a hoof at the yokel, “doesn’t understand money. They’re just shiny bits of metal to him. He has no idea how hard they are to come by,” she said this with an accusing glance at the yokel that indicated she was speaking from experience.

“And what’s the not free advice going to cost us?

“Ten bits. And cheap at the price.” She held out her hoof, and from the expression on her face, they knew that they’d not get another word out of her until she had her ten bits.

“Outrageous,” White Out huffed, while he inwardly gloated. Ten bits? Chicken feed. He found a ten-bit coin in his wallet and handed it to the barmare. “Okay, what’s the advice.”

The barmare leaned in close and whispered in White Out’s ear while gesturing at the local yokel “He likes to play poker.”

‘So wha--Oh?

“Exactly,” the barmare said, slipping the ten bits into her apron.

Giving the bucktoothed yokel a broad grin filled with large yellow teeth, White Out slid half of his remaining bits across to the slack-jawed yokel, who took them eagerly. When he made to get up from his table, White Out hastily interjected. “No rush. No rush. Could I interest you in a little game of chance my good friend, before we set out?”

“I said he liked to play poker,” The barmare said as she ushered the reporters out the door. “I didn’t say he was bad at it.”

“We are not ponies you wish to have on your bad side,” Poison Pen blustered.

The barmare arched an eyebrow. “Why should I be on your bad side? I didn’t clean you out. Hayseed did. But, I’ll tell you what I’m going to do. You want to find the prince, I can help you with that.”

“You said you didn’t know where he was,” Quick Quote said in an accusing voice.

“Still don’t. But Hayseed does.” She turned her head to look over at where the yokel was cheerfully playing with all the bits he had won, stacking them up, and pushing them around the table making little ‘putt putt’ sounds with his lips. “Hey, Hayseed, want to earn a drink?”

The yokel looked up quickly and gave a quick nod of his head, licking his lips in anticipation.

“Hayseed, guide these gentlecolts and me over to where the Prince is, and when we get back I’ll give you a drink, on the house. You can leave your bits here. They’ll be safe. No bit thieves in Ponyville. Or at least there won’t be in a few minutes.”

She turned and gave the press ponies a broad smile. “There you are, gentlecolts. Can’t be fairer than that.”

“You’re coming with us?” Poison Pen asked suspiciously.

“Someone has to translate and keep an eye on you ponies. Just to make sure you don’t wander off from the group you understand,” the barmare said.

Poison Pen looked over at the large pile of bits laying on the bar table, which represented all his funds, not to mention all the funds of his companions, and back at the barmare who watched him with a cynical expression that was the equal of any her Canterlot counterparts had ever directed his way.

“Well, now we know why the booze was so cheap,” Conspiracy muttered as the barmare closed and latched the door behind her.

His companions resolutely ignored him, while inwardly taking what comfort they could in the fact that they had all been rooked together, and thus nopony was free to spread the story for fear that his own part in it would come to light.

Holding her breath and focusing intently, Rarity moved the needle toward her latest and greatest creation. This one last thread would finish it, adding a tiny contrasting nearly invisible strand of color to the dress that would keep it from boring perfection. Too subtle to be detected unless you knew it was there, yet it would draw the eye and make the observers focus as they tried to figure out why it intrigued them so. It had to be placed with the utmost precision, or it would become a flaw instead of a highlight.

Just as the tip of the needle touched the fabric, somepony started pounding on her door. Rarity snatched the needle back before her lack of focus destroyed a week’s worth of work.

“I. Will. Strangle. Them!” she hissed from between clenched teeth as the knock came again. Punching the needle right up to the thread in the pin-cushion, she turned and marched toward her front door, a grim look on her face as she ruthlessly shoved the debris of her recent creative binge out of the way with her magic, piling it up against the hallway walls.

Just before she wrenched open the door, she remembered her earlier visitor and paused to calm herself. Not that there was any chance at all that the current interruption was another hot stallion from out of town. One did not get that lucky twice in a year, let alone a day. But, it might be a wealthy customer. Adopting a businesslike expression she swung open the door.

“Miss Rarii---”

Rarity slammed the door shut before her brain could override the impulse. “Fancy Pants!” she gasped in shock. her eyes took in the disarray all around her and panic overcame her naturally calm demeanor. To see was to act, her magic reached out and every bit of discarded fabric, ribbon, and any other miscellaneous bits of clutter was swept up and shoved half-way across the boutique into the room Sweetie Belle used when she stayed over. With one last shove on the door of the overstuffed room, Rarity glanced into the hallway mirror in muted horror at what she saw there. With no time to spare, she had to settle for a quick brush through her tangled mane and tail, not nearly the hundred strokes with a proper set of implements that was needed nightly for a lady's proper mane care, but every second she waited was far too long to leave Fancy Pants twiddling his hooves outside her door.

Five seconds after she had slammed the door in Fancy Pants face, Rarity whisked it back open again. “I’m sorry about that. The back door was open and a gust of wind took me by surprise. It is a wonderful surprise to find you on my stoop, Fancy Pants. Imagine you coming all the way to Ponyville just to visit little old me.”

“Rarity?” Sweetie Belle called out as she trotted up, giving Fancy Pants and the teen-age pegasus stallion who was accompanying him, a curious stare.

Not taking her eyes off of Fancy Pants, Rarity spoke through teeth clenched in a bright cheerful smile. “I’m a little bit busy here Sweetie Belle. Why don’t you go play with your friends?”

“But that’s what I came to ask. Can I go on a sleepover with Apple Bloom and Scootaloo tonight? We want to work on a school assignment.”

Surprised at the request, Rarity turned her gaze away from her visitors. “Go on a sleepover? Not have one here?”

“That’s right.”

“Well, what are you waiting for? Don’t keep your dear little friends waiting. Let's get everything you need for the night and get you on your way.” Using her magic Rarity shoved her little sister into the boutique and followed after her.

“I’ll just be the quickest moment; why don’t you make yourself at home while you wait?” Rarity called over her shoulders at her unexpected, but most welcome, guest.

Five minutes later, Sweetie Belle was safely on her way, her saddlebags nearly as big as she was.

“Now, where were we?” Rarity asked Fancy Pants, fluttering her eyelashes coyly.

Rarity couldn’t help it. It was either hold a pillow over her face or spray spit all over Fancy Pants. Rarity choose the pillow. Pressing her muzzle into it, she laughed till tears ran down her cheeks. Her loss of control was not helped by the fact that Fancy Pants, who was standing behind the young pegasus stallion, had a hoof held to his own mouth and was clearly having difficulties of his own with the ridiculousness of the situation.

Once Rarity had gained a little control, she pulled the pillow away from her face and wiped the tears from her eyes. “I am soooo, sorry Mister Wooshter,” she said to the woebegone pegasus. “I know I shouldn’t laugh. but, but, Curry--” Rarity had to resort to the pillow again.

“That’s me. I’m the sorriest pony in all of Equestria. Go ahead, laugh at the clown. He’s just ruined his life,” said Wooshter with some really impressive melodrama. Rarity gave it a seven.

“Don’t be silly, dear Wooshter. Curry Comb isn’t even a pony. You are not engaged to her. The very idea is ridiculous.”

Fancy Pants winced as he directed an apologetic look toward Wooshter and then said to Rarity, “Actually, that’s not quite true. There is precedence. Ponies have married outside of their species before, almost, if not always, for political reasons. I’m as certain as I can be without talking to her that this was why Wooshter’s aunt ordered him to pursue Princess Moonlight.”

Rarity stared at Fancy Pants incredulously. She liked to think she was a pony of the world, but the idea that a pony might marry somepony who wasn’t actually a somepony had never crossed her mind. “But, she’s a child.”

Over in the library, Spike paused in his dusting of the Arcane Theology shelves as two distinct cold chills ran up his spines, but continued dusting after the moment passed. Must have been just a draft, nothing to worry about.

Fancy Pants gave a sigh. “Is she?” he asked, and then held up a hoof to forestall Rarity’s reply. “I’m not being facetious. Unfortunately, because Princess Moonlight is not a pony, there is no hard and fast figure we can apply to her that says she is, or is not, past the age of consent. Unless Princess Celestia and her sister are holding cards I’m not aware of, Princess Moonlight is the one and only snipe in Equestria. More so, there has never ‘been’ a snipe in Equestria. As a result of that fact, there is no precedent establishing what a marriageable age might be for the princess. Because any connection between Wooshter and the princess would be purely political, with no, ahem, physical component, the courts might very well rule that because the proposal was made and accepted in front of a licensed witness, that would be me, that it is valid. Without knowing the lady in question, I can’t say whether this was the desired outcome Wooshter’s aunt wished for, or if it is purely misfortune.

“Princess Celestia would never allow it,” Rarity protested.

“Princess Celestia is very reluctant to interfere in such matters. I think she expects us to arrange our lives ourselves. Understand me, I’m not saying she would not interfere in this case, just that I would prefer that we settle the matter ourselves and render such a petition unnecessary.”

“But, surely the fact that Curry has been legally adopted establishes a precedent that she is a child?”

Fancy Pants nodded, his eyes sparkling. “There we have hope. As she does have an official legal guardian the argument can be made that she requires that guardian’s assent to enter into a marriage. That is why we came to you.”

“But, I’m not her-- Ohhhhh, I see. You wish me to intercede with Fluttershy on Wooshter’s behalf,” Rarity exclaimed. “I can assure you. Fluttershy will utterly reject Wooshter as being totally unsuitable. No offense, Wooshter,” she said in an aside to the young stallion in question.

“Quite all right. I’ve heard worse,” he said cheerfully, happy again now that he could see daylight at the end of the tunnel of despair. “Many, many, times.”

Fancy Pants took one of Rarity’s hooves between his and looked deeply into her eyes. “You have my deepest thanks, my dear. I realize it is highly presumptuous of me to involve you in this but, I was hoping you would forgive my impertinence. The entire matter is my fault, you see. It was I who assured young Wooshter that Princess Moonlight would reject his proposal, and I feel obliged to correct the situation. I simply did not know who else to call upon. I am a stranger here, and you are one of the few here I could hope to call, friend.”

Using the pillow she was still holding to fan her heated cheeks, Rarity returned Fancy Pants grateful gaze with a heated one of her own. “You may presume on our relationship for anything,” she said in a husky voice, leaning forward till her muzzle almost touched the stallion’s.

In the library, Spike put up his feather duster and pulled the ladder over to the skylight. The darned thing was probably loose again and letting a breeze in. This was getting annoying.

“Oh, I say. That is the most marvelous thing. I can’t thank you enough. A real weight off my hooves this is. Makes me feel like a colt again.” Wooshter gushed as he snatched Rarity’s hoof from Fancy Pants and shook it vigorously. “So, can we rush right over there and get this sticky wicket cleaned up?”

It was on the tip of Rarity’s tongue to say that nothing would be simpler, but she hesitated, looking over at Fancy Pants as he stood in the middle of her parlor. The old saying, Fortune Favors the Bold. popped into her head, and before she had time to think things all the way through she asked, “Fancy Pants, Wooshter? Are you in that great a hurry?”

The elegant stallion looked surprised. “Well, as it happens, I am at loose ends at the moment. Is there a problem?”

Trying to keep her emotions internal, not one of her better skills, especially not when she wanted nothing so much as to do a wild victory dance, Rarity replied, “Not a problem, not exactly. It’s just that my very good friend Fluttershy is of a nervous disposition. This is a rather serious matter, and I’d like to break it to her gently. It could take a little time to convince her to see two strange stallions, even with me acting as an intermediary. If time is not of the essence, then I suggest a very cautious slow approach to such a delicate matter. Otherwise, we risk her locking herself and poor Curry inside her house for a month.

“Can’t deny I’d like to shed the hobbles as soon as possible,” Wooshter interjected before Fancy Pants could reply. “But, got to be honest here. Always the best policy. At least with fellows. Not always so much so with females. Would rather stay out from under my aunt’s eye for a bit. A little rusticating in the country might be just the ticket, what ho?”

Rubbing his chin, Fancy Pants considered. “I have no pressing personal obligations, and I’ve heard so much about Ponyville. It was one reason I decided to accompany Wooshter in the first place. I do not object. I suppose I had best look into acquiring some temporary lodging it would seem.”

“My dear, Fancy Pants, you may leave that in my most capable hooves. I have the perfect little place, right on the river,” Rarity said in a light voice while wondering how long she could keep Fluttershy and Fancy Pants apart. A day for certain. Did she dare try for a week? After all, this might be her one and only chance to let the elegant stallion see the real her, away from the crush of Canterlot where there were so many distractions, like Fleur.

Rarity’s conscience twinged a bit at the thought of the fashion mare. She stilled it by telling herself that Fancy Pants, unlike Prince Blueblood, was a true gentlepony. If he had a serious relationship with Fleur, he would certainly not lead her on. Right?

“Something the matter, my dear?” Fancy Pants asked.

“No, no, nothing at all. Just thinking over my strategy. Nothing for you to worry about.”

Applejack was throwing bales of hay on the wagon Big Mac was hitched to when Apple Bloom, Jake, and Diamond Tiara trotted up to her.

“Applejack, can--”

“And me?” Diamond Tiara cut in on Apple Bloom.

Apple Bloom glared at Diamond Tiara but could read in the other filly’s expression that if she tried to leave Diamond Tiara behind she’d spill the apples. So, Apple Bloom modified her request and said. “Can Diamond Tiara and I have a sleep-over with Sweetie Belle.”

While the two fillies looked hopefully at Applejack, Jake trotted over to Big Mac and got a welcome home nuzzle from his pa, after which he started to tell Big Mac all about how the school had sent him to jail, which his pa listened to with calm interest.

Applejack paused. The word 'No' was poised on the tip of her tongue because this was going to be Goose Down’s last supper with them and she felt it was impolite to go off to visit somepony else when they had a guest at home, not when she’d be able to do it the next day. But, Applejack was so pleased to see her little sister getting along with her school friend and temporary roommate, especially after the whole dividing the room in half thing on Diamond Tiara’s second day, that she changed her mind before the words could come out. “I reckon that would be fine. Mind your manners and try not to get underhoof at Rarity’s. Don’t go making extra work for her.”

“Thanks, Applejack. I promise. Rarity won’t even see us,” Apple Bloom told her sister, while inwardly telling herself that it wasn’t really a lie.

“That’s right good. But, I tell you what, Goose Down’s big brother came by this morning. After supper, they’re going to be leaving. Before you head on out, why don’t you trot up to the house and say your howdies and your goodbyes? Granny could likely round you up a few cookies to take along to your sleep-over.”

“Thanks, Applejack. You’re the best,” Apple Bloom said enthusiastically as she trotted up to the house.

Diamond Tiara hesitated for a moment and then gave Applejack a quick head nod, and a mumbled, “Thank you.” She then bolted after Apple Bloom, a slight flush coloring her cheeks.

Applejack watched both fillies depart, a small smile on her face. “Maybe Filthy was right. Diamond Tiara’s settling in right nicely. Never would have thought it.” she said to Big Mac as she resumed loading his cart, helped, sort of, by Jake who was trying to toss bales up from the other side.

“Eeyup.”

“Mom?” Curry called out as she opened the door to the house, only to jump aside when a plate full of cracked corn smashed into the wall next to the door.

“Do I look like a chicken to you?” the raspy voice of the injured griffon yelled at the same time as her stomach let out a loud rumble that Curry could hear all the way across the room. She fancied that they might even have heard it in Ponyville.

The other occupant of the room was not cowed in the least by this display of temper or hunger. “Hah! I knew it! When was the last time you ate? You flew all the way here from the Misty Mountains. You must have been starving when you arrived yesterday, and you haven’t eaten since then. You’ve got to eat something!” Rainbow Dash replied at a volume equal to that of Gilda.

Curry peeked inside. Rainbow Dash was nose-to-beak with the griffon. It was a striking tableau. Curry had always admired Rainbow Dash’s fine lines, and her current posture showed off her well-toned body to its best advantage. On the other hoof, Gilda’s fluffed-up feathers might have disguised her musculature, and her injuries cause her to look twisted, but none of that kept the large avian from being an awesome sight in her anger.

Curry had always been horse mad but had never had much contact with large birds. She found that Gilda inspired a lot of the same emotions and reactions she felt when encountering a new, well put together, horse. She was tempted to say the heck with her plans for the evening and stay home. Maybe Gilda would let her brush out her feathers? How did you groom someone who was half fur and half feathers? Fluttershy had given her a few lessons on how birds liked to be stroked, mostly on the top of the head, but Gilda was a very different proposition. She was bigger than Rainbow Dash and Curry bet her wings would fill the room if she were to open them all the way.

With some reluctance Curry decided that Gilda was too agitated, not to mention hungry. It was likely a good idea to give her some time to settle down and to realize that Curry was not on the menu before broaching the subject. She looked around the room, and seeing no sign of Fluttershy, called out, “Rainbow Dash? Is mom around? I need to ask her something.”

Both the griffon and pony glanced over at her, Rainbow looked a bit flushed, while Gilda’s feathers were still bristling from anger. The Griffon’s eyes widened slightly at the sight of Curry. “So, you’re real after all. I thought I might have dreamed you. Where did the dweeb find a freak like you,” she said.

Despite the griffon’s scornful tone, Curry could see the curiosity in Gilda’s eyes. The freak comment didn’t bother her. She’d embraced her inner freak a long time ago and flew the flag proudly. “You’re a fine one to talk, seeing as how you can’t decide if you’re a cat or a bird, birdbrain. Does your top half spend all its time trying to run away from your bottom half?”

“Curry, don’t tease her,” the admonishing voice of her mother came from behind her.

“Mom,” Curry cried out happily as she turned to see Fluttershy standing on the stoop with a large basket balanced on her back. Careful not to jar her mom’s load, Curry gave her a welcome home hug which Fluttershy returned.

Walking into the house, Fluttershy scolded Rainbow Dash gently. “You mustn’t quarrel with Gilda, Rainbow. She needs to stay still and give her bones a chance to set.”

“I ain’t a hatchling fresh out of the egg,” Gilda snarled, but again her body language betrayed her as her head tucked defensively between her shoulders in reaction to Fluttershy’s presence. The cervical collar around her neck kept her head still, but the feathers on top of her head and along the sides which had been standing angrily erect flattened. A wariness appeared in her eyes, and she watched Fluttershy with the intent focus of a critter who was ready to bolt at the first sign of any threatening gesture. Curry felt immense satisfaction at the evidence that the griffon now knew how awesome her mom was, and not to mess with her.

“You need the proper nutrients if you’re going to get better. Calcium, for your bones, protein for your muscles. I know you have trouble digesting plants and vegetables. Your body doesn’t need the extra stress, so I asked Mrs. Otter to get these for me,” Fluttershy told Gilda as she set the basket down in front of her.

The basket seemed to be full of damp green grass, Curry could see droplets of water decorating them that had not yet had the chance to evaporate.

Nudging the basket with a claw, Gilda shoved it back toward Fluttershy, as she asked angrily, “What is this? Grass? You have to be kidding. I just told Rainbow Jerk here that I can’t eat bunny fo--” Gilda broke off her tirade and gave a sniff, her eyes narrowed and she flipped back the top layer of damp grass, revealing that the basket was filled with plump trout. Curry started to drool as she looked at the fish. It had been a long time since she’d had herself a mess of pan-fried fish.

The smallest fish had to be close to three pounds, the biggest was a whopper that Curry bet would tip the scales at eight, maybe even ten, pounds. She could almost hear the sound of them frying in a butter-greased pan, seasoned with a pinch of salt and pepper until the tender flesh was nearly falling off the bones. Curry had to swallow to get rid of all the drool that was accumulating in her mouth.

“Not all the critters who come to me for help can eat plants,” Fluttershy explained nervously, looking down at her hooves as she drooped her head so her mane fell over her eyes. “But those that can’t, can usually eat fish.” She looked up, her expression firming slightly as she said with sincerity, “I know it might not be to your taste, but it’s the only meat I will feed you. It is good for you. I promise.”

Gilda’s beak twisted in a sneer. “Griffon’s don’t eat carrion,” she said as she poked one of the fish with a claw. The fish flipped its fins and arched its body in reaction, causing the startled Griffon to snatch her claw back for a moment. Then, as the fish continued to flop around, Gilda's eyes narrowed into fierce reddish slits. With one swift swipe of her non-splinted arm, she spitted the struggling fish on the sharp talons of one claw. It was one of the smaller fish and she shoved the head in her mouth and gulped it down whole, tilting her torso back so she could lift her head upward despite the wide medical collar around her neck. As the flipping tail disappeared inside Gilda’s beak, she gave one last convulsive swallow as a visible bulge slid down her pulsing throat and into her crop.

Fluttershy turned green and rushed out of the house, Rainbow Dash right behind her.

“What are you looking at?” Gilda snapped at Curry, her eyes predatory and still showing a red tint. The small girl licked her lips, and said,” Don’t suppose you’d let me have one of those?” she asked, pointing at the basket of fish.

The griffon gave her a startled look before dragging the basket in close and curled a protective leg around it. “Mine!” she snapped.

“Curry. You come out of there. Right now!” Fluttershy ordered from outside. A moment later she called out in a much softer voice. “Please?”

“Greedy. I didn't want your stinky old fish, anyway,” Curry said. She stuck her tongue out at the griffon who had speared another one of the fish and was lifting the struggling creature toward her beak.

Outside, Fluttershy, looking even greener than when she had run out of the house, gave Curry a stern, if queasy look. “I know you don’t want to hear this, dear, but you can’t stay here. Rainbow Dash will fly you up to Applejack’s house.”

“Where is Rainbow Dash?” Curry asked, not seeing the hard to miss pony. A sudden loud ‘hurk’ from behind some bushes answered her question. A moment later, the now mostly green pony fluttered into sight.

“Ready to-- urp-- go?” Rainbow asked, right before she slapped a hoof over her mouth and disappeared back behind her bush.

“Rainbow Dash doesn’t have to fly me anywhere, mom,” Curry said.

Fluttershy winced as the sound of bones snapping followed by swallowing noises came from inside the house. Gilda had clearly started in on the bigger fish. “I’m sorry, Curry. But I’m going to have to insist. This is no place for a young pony… or snipe, right now.”

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you. I was invited to a sleepover with Apple Bloom and some other foals. Can I go?”

“Sometimes it’s good to be me,” Luna murmured in lazy contentment as she ambled through the palace toward her sister’s room for their daily afternoon briefing. She was oblivious to the various guards and functionaries that looked askance at her. Or of what it might indicate about her current behavior. Her mind was lost in reverie and she floated along in her own little world.

This morning’s dream session with Goose had been a subtle, but successful one. As far as Goose had been aware it had simply been conversation over tea and biscuits. The small nocturne hadn’t even noticed when Luna had dismissed the room they were in, all but the floor and table, and replaced the walls and ceiling with a panoramic view from the top of the highest mountain in Equestria. Goose had continued to chatter on, oblivious to the vast stretches of space that radiated in all directions around her. Luna had been able to hold the scene for nearly ten minutes before Goose started to notice something was wrong, and in the time it took her to pull her eyes away from Luna, the Princess of Dreams had restored the dream setting back to its original state.

The session had left Luna with a feeling of progress but was not the reason for her current distracted condition and the rather silly smile on her face.

What had put that grin on her face had happened after Luna had left Goose to her own private dreams. Luna had gone wandering across the dreamscape with no particular goal in mind, simply looking for signs of that would indicate a pony in distress. As usual, at that time of the day, there were not that many ponies sleeping, and the exceptions on this day were all having innocuously pleasant dreams.

A particularly powerful dream bubble, the sign of a strong, controlled mind, that was tinted with the telltale aura of Twilight Sparkle had drawn her attention. She hadn’t been able to resist a peek inside. It had been an unlooked for, but very welcome discovery to learn that Twilight Sparkle had taken an afternoon nap, and was in the midst of a very naughty daydream, one that featuring Luna herself.

Unable to resist, Luna had slipped into the dream, replacing Twilight’s imaginary image of her with the real thing, with Twilight none the wiser. It had been a most rewarding experience. Under that shy, self-effacing surface the clever unicorn had a very vivid and well-directed imagination, as well as a surprisingly encyclopedic knowledge of certain subjects. The hobbles and bridle had only been the start of it.

Luna’s flanks twitched in memory of the many phantom caresses she had received. It had taken all of her own self-control not to give the game away and reveal herself. Such a pity that Twilight had left the dream just as things were getting really good. Luna really wanted to learn what that spell Twilight had just started to cast would have done if she hadn’t been woken before completing it.

Ah, how Luna longed for the day when Twilight would be brave enough to suggest they indulge in such games while in the flesh.

While Luna had been caught up in pleasant memories her hooves had brought her to the entrance of her sister’s office. The sound of subdued, but slightly frantic voices inside told her that something was going on even before she trotted past the two guards bracketing the entrance and into the room.

Inside the office, she spotted Celestia reclining on some cushions by the wall looking over some paperwork and drinking tea while her secretary and assistant were carefully opening drawers and checking the contents.

“What’s going on, Tia?” she asked in curiosity.

Her sister looked up from her work and gave Luna a welcoming smile. “I seem to have misplaced my seal, Luna.”

Luna gave a guilty start, and said, “Your seal?” The tone of her voice caused Tia to narrow her eyes and give her a long searching look.

“Something you have to confess, sister. Don’t tell me you were planning a prank involving my official seal, one of the most important artifacts in Equestria. At least according to Papercut,” Tia finished with a nod at her secretary, who was looking at Luna with badly suppressed indignation.

“Ah, well. It wasn't a prank, exactly. I misplaced mine and had a parcel I needed to frank a package for the Royal Courier service, so I borrowed yours. Sorry.” Turning to Papercut, she said, “Please go to my desk and retrieve the misplaced item for my sister, Mister Papercut.”

Luna watched Papercut and the assistant rush from the room and shivered as she felt a burning feeling at the back of her head. She turned to see Tia giving her a dark, speculative look.

“Misplaced? Really, Luna?”

“Haha,” Luna laughed weakly. “I think I might have accidentally packed mine in the boxes I meant to send over to my new vacation tent. I’ll have to go through them and see if that is the case.” Inside she was praying that Tia would drop it. She still hadn’t talked Twilight into allowing her to call on Twilight Velvet and ask for permission to court her daughter. Until that happened she didn’t want anypony speculating about why she had sent a special parcel to Twilight. On the other hoof, no pony would ever think anything unusual about Twilight receiving something from Tia.

Oh, how she wished she could be there when Twilight opened up that parcel and found Starswirl the Bearded’s student journal. She had meant to save it for Heartwarming Eve but was hoping such a gift would supply the push Twilight needed to get her off the fence. She gave a small inward sigh. Truly, courtship in this modern age was far too complicated.

“Accidentally misplaced? I’m surprised Laminia didn’t catch the mistake.” Before Luna could come up with a quick excuse, Tai carried on. “I suppose her current condition might account for her being a little less attentive than normal. No harm was done. Just let me know if you need to ‘borrow’ it again. Shall we go over the events of the day, now?”

Luna gave Tia a hard look. Her sister had giving in far too easily, and that meant something. At the very least, she had expected to be teased unmercifully over her scatterbrained behavior, but, calling her on it would likely only worsen any suspicion she might have. Best to let sleeping griffon’s lie. The last thing she wanted was for Tia to find out about her and Twilight. She’d either refuse to allow them to have a relationship or far, far worse, she’d be enthusiastic about the idea and actively attempt to push them together. Luna visibly shuddered at the thought.

“Catching a cold, Luna?” Tia asked solicitously. “We could put this off? There is nothing of any real importance we need to discuss this evening. Unless you know of something?”

“No, no, I’m fine, just a draft. Let us go over the events of the day and my schedule for this evening.”