//------------------------------//
// Chapter 17: The Bitter Tale Of Sure Shot 
// Story: Strings 
// by naturalbornderpy 
//------------------------------//


CHAPTER SEVENTEEN:


THE BITTER TALE OF SURE SHOT


 


1


 

Sure Shot had always known he was destined for greatness. It would only take a few seconds for any normal pony to glance upon his face to understand that just underneath those debonair eyes, that a cool, calculating mind only sat in wait of the next tremendous action he would take.
                
He would change the world, he knew. The only question that remained was how?
                
Sure Shot was an Earth pony born in-between a brother and a sister. Unsurprisingly, the love that trickled down from both of his tired and overworked parents somehow missed their mark on Shot. But he had been unperturbed by such trivial of occurrences. His siblings would need that love and support—to live and grow and be normal in their everyday normal lives. Shot would not. He would build himself up and the world would know his name. Given time, he would scream it from the rooftops and ponies everywhere would rush from their homes in the petty happenstance of getting a mere glimpse of him.
                
Pushing open the door to that musty, old antique shop, he told himself, “And this is how it all begins,” before hastily peering around in case he had spoken too loud. Already it could barely be helped. He was excited… and nervous to boot.
                
In his younger days, spent toiling away with the rest of his childhood peers in the quest for some cutie-mark that would fit just right, Shot had hastily learned that regular means of stable living were much too below him. Baker? Teacher? Doctor? Librarian? These were jobs better suited for the idiotic and the type that shied away from such bright lights. Shot wanted a job—no, a destiny—that few would ever have and a great many more would never dare to attempt.
                
It was thoughts like these that turned his life down a darker path.
                
When he had grown older and his cutie-mark had yet to reveal itself (he had since worn a garment of some sort to help cover its baldness), Shot had taken to stealing from the pouches of market ponies as they sold their common and simple wears. After a few months—when he had been getting exceedingly good at such a practice—he had been caught in the act and a chase had ensued. Being of the Earth pony variety, he had outrun his pursuers with barely a hair jostled from his brow.
                
From this close call Shot had learned two valuable things. The first was that his cutie-mark would never be in the art of petty theft. And secondly, the thrill of being caught had never made him feel so alive.

But still, minor mischief such as that would never be big enough. Not nearly enough.
So trudging further into that creaky and dry shop, Shot made a bet with destiny. Everything or nothing.
 

2


 

It was odd how it came to be. Truly, it was; how Shot had just so happened to be walking down an alley, scouring the tipped over trashcans in the search for his latest meal, when a wanted sign tacked to a wall had inexplicably stole his attention.
                
“Oh. And what’s this?” he had said aloud. Since living in the streets for several weeks, the art of self-conversation had become his latest acquired skill.
                
The wanted poster appeared nearly yellow in its weathered state—each edge had been crumpled grotesquely and the rain from some time ago had done a horrible job on the words. But still he had enough to make out clearly. It was asking for assistance—assistance of the dangerous variety. A location and a date came after. But what was it about that date that—
                
“That’s today!” Shot had exclaimed, unmindful of the passerby that had then eyed him wearily.
                
All at once his heart was beating hard in his chest, his mouth almost salivating from all the notions running through his mind. Was this it? he wondered nervously. Was this what I had been waiting for all this time?
                
But then more thoughts came tumbling down.
                
The poster had looked old and worn, so why had the job not been taken before now? Was the job far too risky for the taking? Or had it been filled and the poster remained up due to simple negligence?
                
Remaining still for a few moments only, Shot shook his head to clear out his dour thoughts before ripping the poster down with his teeth. Times like this only came once in a lifetime, he informed himself briskly. If you missed it, you only had yourself to blame.
                
And so directly from there he went to the requested destination, all the while contemplating just how far he’d shove his fame and fortune down the throats of both his mother and father.
 

3


 

The antique shop had perhaps three windows to its credit, each one heavily coated over with hardened dust and more. Needless to say, Shot banged his dirty knees on more than a table or two while trekking in the gloom of the shop.
                
“The back, the back. They said they’d be in the back.”
                
Since the shop had appeared nearly deserted once he’d entered—besides the ancient and sleepy looking attendant perched atop a rickety old stool in the corner—Shot had not feared to whisper to himself aloud. He had discovered long ago it helped him to think, should situations get a little out of hoof.
                
Just as he was about to circle back and try the entire shop again in search of his somebody, a dim hallway appeared between two immense stacks of old fineries, and Shot instinctively knew this was where he was meant to go.
                
“The back, the back. This is as back as it goes, so…”
                
He entered a small backroom hardly more than a few meters wide. Dividing the room right through its center was a tall wooden shelf which must have held some of the shops more interesting and expensive bits and bobbles. A single dingy light swung from a cord near the ceiling. Due to the high and thick shelf, it left out large batches of black shadows in the four corners of the room.
                
Slowly Shot viewed one way and then the other, his gruff and unkempt ears lowering nearer to his head. “I’m too late,” he mumbled, before all those notions of just what this would have all led to evaporated much, much too soon.
                
Then the sound of thin metal on wood.
                
“I must say you were very close, but you managed to make it just it time.”
                
A voice from nowhere, and yet somewhere in the room.
                
Shot took a step back. “Who—”
                
A figure slunk out from one of the room’s darkened corners. In a hoof he held a golden chalice, which he first turned one way and then the other, letting the small overhead light catch everyone of its fine details.
                
“This might be a little much for a pony in your state,” the stranger said, setting the cup back down on its dust-covered bench. “But perhaps we can change that.”
                
Shot regained a bit of his composure since viewing his client for the first time. (Is that what I call them? A ‘client’? Oh, wow, this is really happening!) He said in a voice a little lower than usual, “You’re the one from the poster? The one that said they needed help of a serious nature?”
                
The stranger stepped a little further into the light, and now Shot could make out the wool hood he kept draped over himself. For the smallest moment Shot wanted to smash a hoof into his own head for not protecting his own identity in such a perilous way. But hadn’t the whole point of this excursion into the unknown been for the single goal of fame and fortune?
                
“That I am,” the stranger said, “and I am just so glad you’ve come. We’re almost out of time as it is, as you might have noticed from the date on the poster.”
                
“So has no one come to see you yet?”
                
“I’m afraid not, brave pony. Not everyone is up for such a task. Not everyone wants to be in the thick of danger.”
                
Shot wanted to grin at such pretty words but kept his mouth ridged and tight. This was a very serious meeting in a very serious place, he told himself. This could be the beginning of it all.
                
Shot asked, “What do I get if I do this for you?”
                
The stranger barked out a laugh. “Not even interested in what the task may be, my friend? Already I like the way you think. Let me put it this way…” He turned back to the chalice he had recently set down and gave it a light tap, letting it ring hollowly in the quiet shop. “This cup alone is worth eight-hundred bits. The rest of the shop—along with its thousands of other bits and pieces—are worth close to the same. And I just so happen to own this shop, along with my sleepy compatriot near the door.” He stilled the ringing cup with his hoof. “If you succeed, I’ll give you everything. More coin then you could possibly spend in a lifetime. And all it will take is one afternoon of work. Are you up to the task, my friend? Or is fame and fortune not what you seek?”
                
Before the stranger’s question had barely been stated, Shot had already told him his answer.
 

4


 

The line had been long and Shot was already loosing what luster he had started the day with. Leaving the antique shop some hours ago, he had travelled to Canterlot Castle with a mix of giddiness and apprehension. At the start, any doubts he had been feeling had been washed away in a sea of jubilation at just what this mission would bring to him if he succeeded. But as his time in the line seemed to only trail onward and forever, the fears of what might go wrong began to steadily creep in.
                
“Name?”
                
“Sugar Sweets.”
                
“Go in.”
                
“Name?”
                
“Prim Rose.”
                
“Go in.”
                
Shot knew he was getting close; each name read out becoming clearer and clearer. Soon they would ask for his. Soon he would know for certain whether this had all just been some joke or the real deal. But surely no one in their right mind would make mockery of such a job? Right?
                
“Name?”
                
Deep in thought, Shot had missed the only question he had been patiently waiting for for close to four hours. A pony behind him poked his hindquarters in response.
                
“Name?”
                
Shot came back and stared into the eyes of a guard holding a clipboard and floating quill. For such a simple job, Shot thought he looked a tad high-strung.
                
“Uhh…” Shot began, his mind drawing perhaps the fattest blank of his short, uninteresting life. He smiled weakly at the guard before quickly peeking at his foreleg, where he had written it down just in case. “Simple Fool,” he finally replied.
                
The guard didn’t even glance at his clipboard. “Really?”
                
“Yes,” Shot answered in a shaky tone. “Simple Fool.”
                
The guard rolled his eyes and scanned his list. A few seconds later he perked up and crossed a box off with his quill. He turned back to him. “You do kid’s parties or something?”
                
Shot swallowed dryly. “…sure.”
                
A second later the guard grew tired of him. “Go in. Next!”
                
On numb legs Shot took a few steps forward into the grand oval room. Several dozen ponies had already been allowed admission; each followed the other in a wide circle that enveloped the entire area. Near the very center of it all sat a large marble throne—the line of waiting and patient ponies seeming to circle it in a haphazard spiral effect.
                
“Why would the line be a giant circle?” Shot had asked his mystery task master hours before.
                
“Because he’s weird and he likes it that way. And that’s the only thing you need to know.”
                
Shot had believed himself to be as nervous as he might get while waiting in the seemingly never-ending line, but now that he was glimpsing him up close—and just how big and real he truly was—made each step forward a little harder to take.
                
Discord—Lord Discord, his shadowy friend from the shop had reminded him—sat with one leg crossed over the other as each new petitioner approached him timidly. A guard to the side of him whispered in his ear of their name and claim and he asked each what they needed or what their worry could be.
                
Even several meters away from the creature, Shot could tell he was bored out of his mind. After each spoken-for pony left his never-ending circle of questioners, Discord ran a heavy hand along his face, leaving one to wonder if he’d rather rip off his features to get out of such a job.
                
“Open your bag, please.”
                
Another voice startled Shot from his gazing. Another guard had seemingly come from nowhere, and was already pointing at the saddlebag he had draped over him. With slightly shaky hooves, Shot awkwardly removed the bag and handed it over. The guard opened it and nearly stuck his whole head in. A second ticked by… then another… and another…
                
And now Shot knew his short-lived assignment had already come to a close. The guard would find what the stranger had put in there. From there he would call for the other guards and together they would throw him in the dungeon, before sweating out whatever answers might lie inside his head. But would Shot actually hoof over the name of his first client just like that? He had hoped not. In fact, names had not even been shared between the pair. The only thing he knew at all about his new friend were his eyes and how weird—
                
“Oh please, oh please…” Shot mumbled minutely.
                
The guard had removed his tired face from the bag and handed it back without a response. With a quick move of the head he told him to get moving.
                
“Thanks,” Shot garbled out, with the straps still held tight in his teeth.
                
A few steps beyond the guard and Shot couldn’t help but peek inside the bag once more, hoping that an accident hadn’t just saved him from the dungeons and yet cursed him from accomplishing his goal. Yet still it was there, gleaming brilliantly from the bright light shining through every open window.
                
“You will take this… and this with you,” the stranger from the shop had told him, sliding the bag and a short, silver-handled knife across the dusty shelf that divided them. “Once the knife is in the bag, it will be only visible by you and you alone. Anyone else that looks inside with see nothing at all.”
                
“How can I be sure that it’ll work?” Shot had asked delicately.
                
“You can’t.” And although Shot hadn’t seen a single trace of his benefactor, he could almost sense a small smile just below his hood.
                
Only now Shot had made it this far. Now had not only the name he was given worked, but the trick with the bag as well. And still, every step he took forward only brought him closer to that towering creature of Chaos. Could what the stranger have said honestly been true? Could it all have been so simple?
                
In the dim back room Shot had held the ordinary knife in front of him. “Just a knife? How many times do you expect me to stab him?”
                
“Just the once—just in the side,” the stranger answered. “And then right after you need to head for the door to the right behind the throne. Unlike the other exits, it will not be blocked by a guard at this point. Once outside, you’ll find a set of stairs that’ll led to a dirt path that’ll take you into the underbrush. I can only hope you’re good and running and fleeing.”
                
Shot couldn’t help but smile.
                
“Discord’s made too many enemies during his time in Equestria,” the stranger continued, “so I believe he needs to be taken out of the picture. Not many know of his weaknesses, but I do. It’s a secret concoction that takes weeks to prepare. And its what’s wrapped around that knife right now.”
                
In the bright throne room another light bump from behind got Shot moving again. He re-holstered his bag and began the slow loop around the throne. He knew the time to strike would be soon. When the line came to a halt behind the grand creature and his chair, he was then to lunge out with a swift blow and a hurried retreat. What remained to be seen in the stranger’s simplistic plan was Shot’s fleet exit from the scene.
                
“Come on, come on…” he whispered to himself.
                
He rounded the remainder of the corner and felt that same giddiness he’d felt while leaving the antique shop. The exit was there—the one to the right of the throne—and no guard was in sight or even close to it. The stars were aligning and Shot had somehow found himself in the very thick of it all. This would be the tale he would tell his grandfillies years from now. This would be the tale he would trumpet above all else in the stillness of each tavern of Equestria, as every ear would strain to hear how the mighty Sure Shot took out the single greatest power in all the land in one single stroke. He could almost hear their shouts of approval in his head. He could almost taste the bitter flavor of every coin he would collect once his errand was done.
                
“I’m about to change the world,” he whispered, and this time he didn’t even look to see if anyone took notice.
                
The line crawled forward and Shot was now three ponies from his mark.

Now two.

Now one.

Each time he moved forward he checked the exit and the bag once more—shifting himself into that perfect striking position that he somehow knew it would be (having never fought another pony in his entire life).

Now was the time.

The back of the great throne casted a tall shadow on the floor where Shot stopped in line. Each of his limbs thrummed on the marble. It was now or never. It had to be now or—

“Move please,” a mare behind him said.

“But… I…” Shot stammered back.

“But you’re not moving, so…” She pointed a hoof forward, and not in one of the nicest ways possible.

“Umm….” Shot lowered his head; almost moved along as he had been bidden. Only he knew it wasn’t supposed to end like this. He had come too far and already things had worked out too well for it to come to an end on such a note. If only his parents had truly known what type of pony they had brought into this world…

Shot turned back to the mare behind him, an odd steadiness spreading throughout him. “You’re about to witness history,” he said, as he opened his bag.

When she saw the knife, the mare’s eyes became wide and she took a couple steps back. Thankfully she did not scream, or things might have turned out a little differently.

Latching on to his thin knife with both hooves, Shot flung himself around the large throne while bringing his weapon in a wide arch. Blade then connected with flesh and the towering creature cried out in pain. It’s working! Shot thought distantly, It’s all working! Then he brought the knife back only to find it stuck firmly in place.

“Wha…”

He faced the area of the wound and tried to release his hold of the knife, only now it looked as though a bit of the handle had melted and had now secured itself to his hooves. With the rest of his strength he gave it one last wrench only to find it wholly embedded in the creature.

And oh how suddenly that perfect exit of his felt so far away…

Slowly Shot craned his neck to face the draconequus he had just gored, his brightly lit, red and yellow eyes already burning with carefully subdued rage. 
 

5


 

Discord was having the toughest time keeping his head level with what he was staring at. Each pony that came before him first snuck to the top of his vision before becoming cut off at the top. After nodding off the first two times he kept his chin propped up with a hand. But held aloft by a lion’s paw, it had nearly matched that of a pillow.
                
She won’t let me sleep! he thought sullenly. I didn’t even know she could do that!
                
Two days had passed since Discord had sent the Princesses away in search of Shining Armor. Since then, Discord had not slept a wink. And although it was usually for no longer than thirty-minutes—an hour tops—a night, he had always found that break in the night necessary, to at least briefly halt the cacophony of thoughts and ideas he had consistently swirling around his head.
                
“Raaaaaugh!” He yawned loudly, stretching out on his hard, marble throne.
                
“… and that’s why I moved my fence two feet over onto her property, as it had been mine to begin with. And what does she do in retaliation? She kicked up every-single-one of my daisies! I want compensation, Lord Discord.”
                
The latest in the never ending cycle of ponies that had problems that needed fixing stood before him—an orange mare that had a problem with another mare, standing and simmering by her side. I wonder how she coxed her into coming here… he mused.
                
The pony with the complaint was about to say more but Discord held up a hand.
                
“Do you know the blueprints to your own property, Ms. Shine? Do you have any idea how far you’re actually allowed to build upon your land?”
                
Ms. Shine became a little flustered. “Well… it’s what I was told before I…”
                
“Hmm,” Discord cut in. “That’s too bad.” He summoned a blue and white scroll into his hands, then spread it out. “Because you’re actually now four feet beyond your property limit. You owe your neighbor an apology.”
                
She looked like she wanted to vomit. “Really?”
                
Discord leaned forward. “Yes, Ms. Shine. Really. And right now, too.”
                
Now she looked like she wanted to run away while vomiting. She turned to her smirking neighbor. “I’m… sorry.”
                
“I’m glad,” the neighbor shot back.
                
“Now you tell her your sorry,” Discord said. “And that you’ll replace her flowers immediately.”
                
Now the neighbor turned to him. “Really?”
                
The draconequus narrowed his eyes. “Is there an echo in here?”
                
The neighbor took in a breath and gave the flattest of apologies to Ms. Shine, but at least for him they were ushered away swiftly thereafter.
                
While they set up the next pony to come forward, Discord leaned back and turned to the guard by his side. He asked annoyingly, “How many more of these?”
                
The guard couldn’t quite meet his eyes. “A… a lot, my Lord.”
                
Discord grumbled and peered over the heads of the dozens of ponies that filled his throne room. Each looked more irritable and boring than the one before them. Each looked like they wanted to chew his ear off with whatever nonsense they could—
                
Oh, wait a second. Was that him?
                
Could he be so close already?
                
Despite the tiredness that seemed to seep into his very bones, Discord eagerly glimpsed the Earth pony he had spoken to that morning. Sherbert… or Short Boat… or Snout Head… He tried to remember, but honestly his name had never mattered. But now he was here—now he could get things started and completely do away with all these little meetings of the public… at least for a time.
                
“This is Mr. Golden…” his guard had already started the next round of ponies to come forth.
                
Discord listened but didn’t take much to heart. The next handful he barely concerned himself with, and tried to pass along as quickly as he could.
                
He stole another hurried glance over the crowd and almost giggled as he saw just how close he was getting. Any moment now. Any moment.
                
“That sounds great now! Just try not to touch it or use it or anything!” Discord exclaimed absent mindedly.
                
A pony with a severe rash covering nearly his entire body stared at him in alarm. “Shouldn’t I go and see someone?”
                
Discord waved him away and a guard promptly prodded him along. Soon enough his puppet would be nearing his spot. He had to get in the mood for his act. Today he had quite the audience to entertain.
                
“Move please…”
                
A mare in the area just behind the throne.
                
“But… I…”
                
The Earth pony’s voice, a bit more timid than he had wanted him to sound. But he had to do it. He just had to…
                
A moment passed. And then another. And for the first time that day, Discord grew worried. Until that sharp pain in his side.
                
Discord cleared his throat before screaming. “Arrrghhh!”
                
The room became deathly silent, and a mild tugging caused him to look down at his side. Second Scoop was busy pulling at his knife—the simple, ordinary one that Discord had given him. True, a real knife hurt the creature just as much as it would anyone else, but not many could heal as easily. Soy Sauce glanced up at him and what he saw must have scared him considerably, for both eyes grew as wide as to almost be connecting.
                
Still helplessly stuck to him, Discord fell over, pinning him to the ground. With a quick snap of his fingers he undid the Earth pony’s grip on the handle and held both of his front forelegs to the ground. Now they were face to face, the draconequus hovering closer and closer to him. Before Stop Sign could say anything about anything, Discord wrapped the tip of his tail around his mouth, causing the pony’s eyes to bug out the tiniest of bits.
                
That was when the helpless, pinned pony began thrashing underneath him, attempting some form of escape. But Discord had always been a creature of substance—when he wanted to be as light as a cloud, he could be, and when he wanted to be as heavy as a boulder, he could be that too.
                
“Lord Discord, stand back! Let us take care of this!”
                
Discord briefly left his captive to view the room’s four guards standing ready by his side, each weapon held skyward. He wanted to roll his eyes at their timely rescue—seriously, any normal pony would be dead by now—but kept such actions in check.
                
“I have the situation under control, guards! If I let him go now, he might hurt someone else! And now I intent to find out just why he did this!”
                
Atop the struggling pony he lowered his head so that his lips were nearly millimeters from his ears. “You’re doing great, Sound Scan. Keep it up.”
                
When he brought his head back up Discord could tell a few pieces in the poor pony’s working brain had conclusively fallen into place. There was a good reason he had given the Earth pony the smallest of glimpses at his eyes while in his unicorn form—now he could tell plainly that it was all paying off. Discord opened his eyes a tad more to help seal the deal, because, what exactly were the odds of encountering two bizarre beings with eyes of red and yellow on the same day?
                
The colt stopped moving for the smallest of moments before beginning to grapple with him all over again. Discord gave him a few inches on each leg, just so he’d continue the fight.

It must have looked rather intense from the sidelines.
                
“Wait!” Discord yelled out into the packed room. “I know who this must be from! This must be one of those murderous ponies! The ones that take coin in order to kill others!” He paused a moment, to clearly make sure every eye was upon him. “Oh wait! Could this be one of those silent assassins I’ve heard so much about? The ones that cut out their tongues in order to never betray their brethren?”
                
Discord gently snapped a pair of fingers and both pupils of his trapped little pony shrunk to the size of pinpricks. Below his tail, Discord felt Sub Sandwich’s jaw quiver, as he finally realized that his tongue had miraculously vanished from his mouth. For the tiniest of moments he peered up at the towering creature, seemingly pleading with his eyes. What he saw there must have given him less than hope, so he began thrashing anew, this time trying to open his mouth in an effort to nibble on that burdensome tail.
                
“I heard these assassins’ don’t have teeth, either!” Discord yelled, before snapping away another part of his pony actor.
                
And now with what little strength he had left, the Earth pony began to buck at him in the craziest of motions. A few times he had even gotten close enough to cause Discord some worry, so by then he knew he had to bring this game to a close.
                
For the second time Discord leaned in close, his breath warm on the pony’s ear. He whispered, “I may have also heard these assassins’ were genderless, too.”
                
The Earth pony’s movements ceased completely. With eyes that begged for someone to come and stop it all, they watched the draconequus fearfully, unsure of what exactly he’d do next.
                
“I’m only joking,” Discord cooed quietly. “You’ve done well, oh brave Saffron Spice. Now you deserve your rest.”
                
Discord forcefully brought his head down onto his, knocking him unconscious. Slowly, he regained his composure and stood to face the rest of the room. He eyed his sore and painful side and removed the thin knife still embedded deep within. In the hush of the room it clanked loudly against the floor—a small puddle of crimson already staining the marble.
                
A guard called out, “Lord Discord! What should we do?”
                
Discord ignored him and took three heavy steps unto his throne, where he sat down with a thud. He said sternly, “Bring me his bag.”
                
A different guard hovered the bag over to him and Discord carefully undid its flaps. Once he materialized an envelope inside, he pulled it out. On parchment paper was a handwritten note—a red candle-wax seal plainly broken on its front.
                
Discord pretended to read the document, his eyes bulging and his lips moving soundlessly. Then he pretended to read it a second time.
                
Just as he brought the paper down to rest on his knee did a voice in the crowd ask, “What does it say, Lord Discord!” before a few more joined in. “Yeah, tell us!” “What’s going on here?”
                
With some well-acted effort, Discord stood on the steps of his lush chair. He surveyed the room and found close to a hundred eyes upon him. This will do, he thought, for a start.
                
“This is a contract for my murder!” he told the throng, holding the letter up for all to see. “My attempted murder.” He glared down at the unconscious Sure Shot. Then he said with loathing fury, “I had always known her love of correctly signing every document would be her undoing… for this letter is signed by none other than Princess Twilight Sparkle!”