//------------------------------// // Thirtyfive // Story: Under The Northern Lights // by CoastalSarv //------------------------------// Spike was that ancient, unbeatable combination, both cold and miserable. It had started snowing and wouldn’t let up and there was a strong wind blowing the snow right into his eyes and snout. The wind shrieked through the windling alleys like an angry Windigo. A dragonfire in his belly and a warm cap on his head weren’t enough to keep the cold out, since he wasn’t allowed to move from his spot. They were on a stakeout, and there were rules. It wouldn’t have been that bad if he had decent company, but the Companions didn’t have the benefit of Vigg and Saga’s modern education. They had barely gone to school at all (Vigg had said that Mustikka saw his first house when he was a teenager, and had been very suspicious of this weird tent you couldn’t move). They weren’t fond of things like imported pop music or TV shows which might help you learn a foreign language. Because of this, their Equestrian was much worse than the fawns’, and they felt uncomfortable speaking it. Having tried to make conversation and failed, Spike fumed a bit over their insensitivity before he guiltily reminded himself it wasn’t like he had even tried to learn Poatsi. There wasn’t much to see out there in the square in front of Klubb Niffelhel either. Oh, there were guests arriving and some were turned away from the door. Reindeer on their way to other amusements plodded over the square now and then. The Companions themselves would occasionally make a circuit and move from one alley to the next with long shifts between who walked where. This gave the impression of elderly revelers just drunkenly stumbling past the square, but not necessarily the same five old guys. Not much of this was worth watching. Spike settled down to watching the outfits of the reindeer going to the club, since some were rather silly. He really needed a laugh right now, or a nice, juicy piece of ruby... There were four who stopped to talk now, not far from the alleyway where Spike was standing. He could almost hear what they said... in Poatsi, unfortunately. It didn’t really help that they had the same habit of sprinkling badly pronounced Equestrian into their conversations as Vigg’s friends, mostly swearwords. To Spike, it sounded something like this : “Blahblahblah blah blahblahblah oh mai Ce-les-tja! Blah-blah-blahblah blah bukking hei! Blah blah blahahah-blah Ce-les-tja’s bukking sox!” Spike sighed and looked at the revelers, trying to make out what was going on. Two does had been leaving the club, either being denied entrance or setting some record in being kicked out very early. They were wearing matching outfits , black veils and shawls of some black silk gossamer material that was blown about by the wind. They also wore high boots made of black leather and had black moon sickles painted on their flanks like Saga usually did, so they presumably were Luna fans. Or worshippers, Spike corrected himself. Another pair of reindeer, a stag and a doe were obviously going to the club. They met the other two on the way, and struck up a conversation. Or to be more correct, the doe had. The stag mostly seemed eager to get out of the cold wind and into the club. He didn’t say much and cast glances towards it as he trampled impatiently. The second pair’s outfits could hardly be said to be matching, though. The stag was wearing actual barding and helmet made of clattering bone, though he must have left the spear and battle axe at home. His white coat had a massive amount of body paint in some zig-zag lightning pattern in red and black. Spike had to admit it looked pretty cool, except that no sane person would show themselves like that in public. The doe, on the other claw, had dyed her presumably brown coat several shades of bright pink and had painted a heart on her flanks. She seemed to be wearing even pinker little bows in her tail and antlers and a silver crown on her head. One of those silver crowns that are actually made of tinfoil like little fillies use when playing at princesses. Spike didn’t really have much taste per se, in no meaning of the word, but helping his beloved Rarity in her boutique now and then had caused some of her refinement to rub off on him. As he watched the dreadful outfit with some form of morbid fascination, he was reminded of one of those times he helped Rarity. She had been helping a couple of non-pony customers, some cows who were going to a ball. Rarity had made a comment that could be construed as cattle being harder to make beautiful than ponies. The cows had of course been hurt and offended, and Rarity had to clarify what she meant. “All the tools of the beautician’s trade are made with the common pony coat and mane in mind. Make-up, powders, dyes and whatnot are all designed to fit various bright pastels. Using them on someone - somecattle - who has the more muted colours of brown, black and beige is very difficult and usually counterproductive. Young heifers and ewes see these fashion magazines with only pink ponies in them, and try to duplicate their makeup and coiffures end up looking only grotesque, destroying their natural beauty. Ponies in the same colours have the same problems, I assure you! Why, even being simple white as moi is a disadvantage! That doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with my coat, or yours. It is just that the toolset is limited. One has to work harder, you see?” That doe out there would have needed that speech. It was almost as if she was mocking the pony shape. Or she was so stupid she really thought that would make her look like a pony. Spike still couldn’t figure out how she fit with her partner. Was there a most absurd outfit contest at the club tonight? Spike could now see that the helmet on his head must be made out of a reindeer skull. One of Saga’s old friends, she liked this stuff? That skull. He recognized it, or part of it. It had been a part of Vigg’s headgear during the seance, except it now lacked all the feathers. The reindeer was white. It was a young stag. He recognized the antlers, he had started to notice they varied from reindeer to reindeer. That stag was Vigg. That could only mean... yes. Brown coat. Older vaja, older than her sarv, that is. Ridiculous outfit that must have taken a ton of time. And again, the antlers, though he had seen them less. That doe was Saga. About then the couple said their goodbyes and trotted off towards the club. Spike’s first thought was that they couldn’t do that, that was a club for grown-ups. Very grown-up grown-ups. They’d be caught. They’d get the chewing-out of a lifetime. His second thought was of more serious dangers. Wait! Twilight is there to meet this Ahto guy. Who wants to be king instead of the king. And he has to get rid of the king to do that, and the heir apparit... apparatus... guy who will become king after the king! And that’s Vigg! And that means if Ahto or any of his guys recognizes Vigg despite that stupid costume, they’ll kill him! Maybe they wouldn’t recognize him. Yeah. Vigg didn’t really like journalists so he stayed out of the media. But Ahto had worked for king Ukko, hadn’t he? Back when the king wasn’t a mean old fart and, well, sane. When Vigg actually hung around his grampa all the time. Ahto must know what Vigg looked like, and know it well, and you never knew how many of his deer did too... I gotta stop them! They aren’t there yet! I’ll just tell Mustikka and they’ll charge out and pull them back and... Then they are both grounded for a century. And that.. that quest, Saga says if Vigg doesn’t do it the whole country is doomed. And the grownups will never listen to them about that, not even Luna listens and Twilight... Twilight would listen but not take them seriously. I gotta get them out of there, and I can’t tell the Companions or their soldiers! He started to dart out into the square when Mustikka bit into the hood of his jacket. “Fwew oh yo’ fink yo’ go’ng!?” the reindeer said. “My mistress needs me!” Spike blurted out. “Fhe nehf yo’ to fay pup!” Mustikka answered angrily. It is often claimed that being the bouncer at a popular club gives a certain petty power over others and hence attracts those who want that kind of power. The two stags at the door of Klubb Niffelhem would heartily agree. However, they would argue that they had paid for their petty power in full with blood, sweat and very stagly tears. That’s what happen when you don’t share the aesthetics of your customers and are only in it for the cash. As the night had finally begun in earnest a long queue had formed at the stairs up to the doors. The bigger of the two stags scowled and sometimes pushed so that the queue would end at the bottom of the stairs and only the first deer in line would go up to the door. If those waiting could eavesdrop on the conversation, it would make their work harder and embarrass the customers for no good reason. The righthoof reindeer scanned the crowd and sighed. The clubgoers were easily divided into certain groups based on their style of dress. He wouldn’t dress that way if he was paid to do it and here were deer who paid to dress like that, hence the sigh. The biggest group used simple yet macabre makeup, hiding their eyes in black holes of eyeshadow and darkening the shadows in their coats, giving them a skull-like appearance. They wore macabre jewelry of skulls and bones, runes of death and beasts of ill omen. They seemed divided into those affecting morose ennui and those being genuinely cheerful to a painful, pony-ish degree. He didn’t know which was more annoying. Then there was a sizable minority which based their outfits on traditional grazer gear... only a rather idealized and exaggerated version, with cotton grass shawls and mantles in outrageous colours and belts and harnesses of fake nidhogg leather. He was pretty certain none of them were grazers. A lot of them also combined this with somewhat exaggerated versions of the ethnic costumes of other peoples who were considered spiritual kin to grazers. Hence, many of them affected jewelry, body paint and accessories based on buffalo, antelope and tapir mixed with their faux-grazer outfits. Body paint was most common. He assumed it was cheaper. Then, there was a group of curious gawkers, who looked just like any normal reindeer.. His boss had told them to be very hard with these people and often find reasons to deny them entrance. That would make them even more curious, even more eager to get in and even more willing to pay the outrageous prices for watered drinks. He mostly thought it got him and his colleague into more quarrels with the customers. Finally, there was a very small group of just plain crazy reindeer. Deer who had amputated their current set of antlers and replaced it with a candelabra. Deer wearing outrageous dresses incorporating live seagulls. Deer in silver and gold body paint all over their coat perfumed with wolf musk. Here his boss had ordered them to be lenient. Knowing that these eccentrics could be seen here attracted more people who wouldn’t have come for the music and ambience. This didn’t stop him and his colleague from putting their hooves down sometimes. After all, these deer were nuts. Nodeer knew what they could do. He had a couple that were a clear example coming up the stairs next. As the stag nervously walked up to speak with his colleague, he looked sternly at him and eyed his outfit critically. Probably started as one of those faux-ethnic lunatics, he guessed. The guy was wearing barding and a helmet made out of pitted iron, bone and horn, genuine as far as he could tell. It was decorated with an impressive set of runes he hadn’t seen much before, carved and inked. The helmet, made from a reindeer cranium, was hung with small feathers and the noseguard left his eyes deep in shadow. He had one of those natural white coats that’s hell to keep clean, and had painted himself all over with an intricate pattern of black and crimson lightning bolts. They started at his face and leapt toward his tail, and hence his face and tail were all red and black instead of white. He had to admit it actually looked rather cool, although he couldn’t fathom why anydeer sane would wear it in public. Also, it had probably helped if the guy in armor had tried to look fierce and savage, instead of looking horribly nervous. The guys tried to swallow and steady himself as he started to speak to his colleague. “Me and my... my wench want to enter this place,” he said, almost succeeding in not stammering. He gave the smaller, leaner doorguard an embarrassed look. “Your ‘wench’, eh?” said the smaller guard and cracked a smile. “Would that be..?” he started to say, indicating the doe coming up close behind him. He was interrupted by said doe throwing herself at him. “Oooh, you must saaaave me from this dreadful savage!” she moaned in what was the worst fake Equestrian accent he had ever heard. “He has abducted me from my faaaather’s caaaastle!” Her hooves were for a moment almost around his neck. Then she suddenly bounced back and snuggled up against her “captor” in a way that suggested if she really had been “abducted”, she had the worst case of Trotholm Syndrome in history. She had painted herself (or perhaps rouged, he was no expert on doe’s makeup) bright pink all over, with various deeper shades or lighter sheens here and there. She must be brown somewhere under all the pink, but even her antlers and hooves had been painted with some kind of deep pink hoof polish and dusted with silver glitter. She wore little pink bows in her antlers and tail and clattering plastic jewelry in pink (again!), red and silver. Jingling anklets and several necklaces with hearts and stars and little kittens and bigger red plastic hearts in her ears. On her head she was wearing a cheap crown of plastic or tin foil or both, and within it was a... A horn? he thought. She... she is supposed to be a freezing unicorn princess! This is the funniest thing this week! She jumped down the stairs and addressed her audience of curious clubgoers. “It was hoooooorrible! He dragged me away from my bedchaaaambers...” He didn’t have time to hear the rest as her “captor” thrust his head up close to him and whispered hoarsely: “Listen! You have to... you have to deny us entrance to your club!” The brutal, savage warrior had a clear tenor voice with an academic’s tone to it. “What?” he said. “I have... friends in there! I had to talk her out of wearing shackles and being on a leash! Please, I... I’ll pay you!” said the barbarian gentlestag. His embarrassment oozed out of him and he sweated and swallowed. The doorguard wasn’t a cruel deer, but he sorely lacked amusement and his boss had ordered him to get crazy people like this couple into the club. Besides, it wasn’t like they could’ve had trouble with their ID or something if they wanted to pay not to get in! “Now now, first you abduct unicorn princesses and then you don’t want to take her to our decadent establishment,” he laughed with a low voice. “But please come in! Don’t ravish any of the staff too much, don’t drink too much blood from that helmet and keep your... wench leashed next time!” he said louder, loud enough for the gaping crowd to hear. He opened the door and ushered the crazy couple in, the stag with some difficulty. His eyes met his colleague’s and they shared a hearty laugh. “Y’know, some deer are henpecked but that’s just too much,” he snorted, as the next couple of eager guests came up the stairs. “Alright! Who’s next?” “I can’t believe we got in!” Vigg mumbled as they paid for their tokens in the wardrobe. They had no clothes to hang there, but rules are rules. “Never doubt me!” Saga boasted, then sighed theatrically and leaned against him as curious clubgoers gawked. “We got in!” Vigg beamed as he started to bound down the stairs. “Come on, fair prisoner! I’ll never doubt you again!” As they entered the central dancefloor they stopped momentarily to stare at the furnishings. Vigg shook his head in disbelief. “Isn’t it just awesome?!” Saga squealed and gestured to the plaster decorations. “Look, there are the four Diomedian sisters! Did you know they were alicorns, and they breathed fire, and they ate people?” “So... they are making that guy into sausage?” Vigg squinted. “Then the relief makes sense...” “And there is the Atterkappa, the Great Arachnid. She used to capture the young Ursas in her void-web, until My Goddess struck her down and locked her in Tartarus!” Saga continued. “So... many... legs...” Vigg mumbled. They seemed to be made of wire or cable hanging from the plaster statue. “Over there hanging from six chains is the evil theophage Hubbodamaster, Lord of the Yahus...” “Okay,” said Vigg, “now I know they are just kidding. That guy is just made up, put together from various other beings... I mean, he’s like minotaur except he has some monkey’s head and...” Saga sniffed. “Do you question my occult skills?” “Of course not!” Vigg said he snuggled her. “That’s why I abducted a unicorn princess, after all...” “Oh, I’m a great dancer as well!” said Saga and wiggled her flank. “Let’s dance!” To her surprise Vigg didn’t follow her when she started to move out on the floor, but hesitated and looked around. “What is it?” she shouted. “It’s... I... I mean, don’t you want to check this place out?” he said and forced a smile. “Okay. Sure,” Saga said, a bit nonplussed. She followed him to the ledge around the floor and they trotted around it while Vigg looked up and down as if scrutinizing the place, or the crowds, or both. Past the ledge further away from the dancing floor was a space for tables and benches and drinking reindeer. Her disappointment at the lack of boogie was tempered by the looks she got. Everydeer was watching them, many in clear awe, and when Vigg stopped in front of two long tables dragged out to give a good view of the dance floor she put on a show. “Saaave me!” she pledged as she kneeled in front of a necrotic-clad couple. “Saaave me from this dreadful fate...” Vigg was unfortunately a bit too embarrassed to act along until she had played it for all it was worth. About then he stopped to drag her back with an angry “Come now!” The anger first seemed genuine, but he quickly caught himself and shouted a purely theatrical “You are mine now! Only mine!” This actually earned them an applause, laughter and an vaja about twice their age who prodded her partner and stage-whispered “And why do you never do that to me?!” Placated, Saga moved along as Vigg did a full circuit, although she was a bit confused when he stayed right in front of the band. It wasn’t like they were that special or much to look at. When Vigg turned to the crowd right in front of the musicians and were on a stage as it were, Saga took the chance to drape herself across him and silently lament that she let herself be talked out of the shackles. That would have been fun, and she used to wear a chain as a necklace that would have been great. Too bad Vigg was a bit stiff about the whole thing. They passed the bar, where they both curiously gazed at the patrons, though Saga found it very silly that Vigg had apparently never seen one before, as long time as he spent staring at it. I mean, people in the castle do drink, don’t they? she thought. Don’t they ever have cocktail parties or something when they pick up drinks from a servant? “Should we go upstairs?” Vigg asked when they reached the stairs. “I dunno,” said Saga who felt the music in her bones, “what’s up there?” “You liked the decorations, don’t you want to see how all this looks from high up above?” he said. “Oh yeah!” she beamed and they trotted upstairs. On the second floor they found more tables overlooking the floor from a balcony. This was a more luxurious place, where you could have drinks and snacks sent up and better chairs. The crowd had more elaborate and hence expensive outfits as well. Despite this they still made an impression. One doe in a clearly buffalo-inspired outfit stopped Vigg and tried to ask over the din how he made his barding. He explained his girlfriend had made both their outfits, so she turned her questions to Saga. Her partner, another doe, turned to Vigg. “I wish I was white-coated as well!” she half-shouted. “Your warpaint looks way more awesome than mine!” “Thanks,” he said. “I mean, you look awesome, but I would never dare do that in public, it looks crazy!” she continued. “...thanks,” he said. A waiter passed them, and the second buffalo-doe took the opportunity to order more beer from him. He was a very slim stag with a slightly doeish build and no signs of he club subculture except for eyes that were black holes of eyeshadow.   “And do you want something, sir?” he said as he turned to Vigg. “Not right now, thanks,” Vigg said. He should be used to servants from home but the waiter seemed different. More subservient, strangely enough. The maids and porters of the castle seemed to have come with it, while the waiter was only loosely attached to his apron and not at all to the club. “Alright then,” said the waiter and started to leave. “Wait!” said Vigg. The waiter waited. “I was looking for somedeer...” He didn’t have time to finish before Saga popped up next to him. “What are you doing?” Saga said. “I got the vaja’s address, we’ll meet up and talk stuff.” “Nothing,” Vigg said and waved off the waiter, “we can take that later. Should we look at the third floor?” “The third floor is just private lodges, sir,” said the waiter. “What?” said Vigg. “It’s private rooms you can hire. Other than that there is only a corridor and we really don’t want customers runing around it unless they’ve hired a private table,” the waiter said. “Sorry sir.” “Can you see the dance floor from up there?” said Saga. “Only if you hire a room,” said the waiter. “Sorry ma’am.” “Bummer!” said Saga. “Ah well - let’s dance then, my savage!” She dragged a frustrated Vigg down to the dance floor. Spike fidgeted in the alley. He knew he needed to go, now, or all would be lost. “Now, why can yo’ not stand fast?” Mustikka asked with irritation. Spike fidgeted some more, then hit on the obvious. “I, uh, gotta go,” he said and started to jump from one foot to another. “Go, where?” Mustikka asked. “Just, y’know go!” Spike said. “Go and what?,” Mustikka said. “Where?” “He means he needs to piss,” said Heikko in Poatsi. “Poor sod. I needed to go something fierce just a while ago.” “Run away, little thing!” he said amiably to Spike in Equestrian. “Go take a piss out of the wall! I goed just fore now!” “Oh, thanks!” said Spike and ran off. “What?! You...” sputtered Mustikka. “Oh, calm down!” Heikko shrugged. “Do you want him to take a leak in here? Who knows what dragon piss stinks like? It might even be poisonous. And it isn’t nice not letting somedeer take a piss when they need it.” Mustikka groaned. Galderhorn coughed. “Maybe he will be unseen,” he said softly. “He is, after all, very small.” Now I just need to get into the club! Spike thought as he ran for the club entrance, in a roundabout way so as to not be obvious from the hideout. I have no idea how, but I have to! Saga thought she was good at dancing, at least the kind of dancing that mattered. Indeed, she had proof, as she felt jealous gazes of the other dancers on her. However, she was beginning to have her doubts. Vigg wasn’t looking at her. Sure, he was no trained dancer, but he wasn’t paying too much attention to his feet or the dancefloor either. Instead he seemed to constantly check out the crowd around them, his eyes periodically scanning the other dancers and the watchers from the gallery. Now and then he would focus and peer intently at somedeer in the crowd. Saga began to try following his gazes but couldn’t really get what he was looking at. Except perhaps people. Interesting people. People more interesting than her. Other does? Likely. Stags? Not likely... but possible. She was growing worried. “What’s up, why aren’t you dancing?” she shouted at him. “Oh, I am!” he shouted back. “You’re not into it!” she said as she stepped close to him so she didn’t have to shout that much. “What’s wrong?” “Nothing. Nothing,” he said, looked embarrassed into her eyes and then away. “Maybe something. Look, I’ll get us something to drink. What do you want?” “Something grownup!” she said and looked sternly at him. “Okay, Princess!” he said and galloped away. She tried to get back to enjoying her dancing but couldn’t really feel the beat any longer. Was there in fact a pattern? Who had he been looking at? Hadn’t it been does... and at least one stag... in dresses? Dark dresses, in fact, blue, purple or black. Isn’t being a unicorn enough? she snorted to herself. Do I really have to look like Mistress Sparkle as well? Vigg shouldered himself up to the bar. He found his outfit actually brought with it a strange kind of mocking respect, which helped get reindeer out of the way. “What do you want, big chief?” said the bartender. “Well...” Vigg said and looked around him. “What’s in right now?” The bartender guffawed. “I know deer try to be cool but it’s rarely they are honest, big chief,” he said. “So I’ll recommend the lingonberry sarsaparilla. I’m almost out.” “Lingonb... what?” Vigg said dumbfounded. “Lingonberry sarsaparilla,” the bartender repeated. “You won’t believe it, but the most infamous sorceress in the world is here this evening, and that’s her special order.” Vigg’s heart started to raise. “Lady Sparkle? Twilight Sparkle of Equestria is here tonight? Halvdager Gnistra av Hestaland?” he said. The bartender nodded. “Yep,” he said. “If you don’t believe me ask Honung and Blida over there.” He pointed to two does standing at the end of the bar drinking mineral water. Their coats were foamy with sweat and coated with cheap glitter. Cheap bangles were around their ankles, and around their neck hung scary, garish equine masks made of wood. “Come up here, does! This warrior chieftain here doesn’t believe you served Lady Sparkle the Wicked earlier this evening.” The two does looked to each other, laughed, said something inaudible and then strode up to Vigg. “Well hello Chief,” said the first of them and placed herself close to Vigg on his right side. “I’m Honung. I’m sweet.” “And I’m Blida,” said the other one. “I’m warm.”  She placed herself on Vigg’s left side. “Uhm... Hello,” he said. “I’m Bolt. Because I’m, I’m fast.” He tried to indicate his lightning bolt warpaint. They giggled. “Not always a virtue in a stag,” said Blida. “So, you don’t think Holger here served the black sorceress?” “Well...” Vigg tried to clear his throat. “It’s more like I can’t believe she drinks lingonberry sarsaparilla, is all. After all, how do I know that Waters-Down-Drinks here isn’t just trying to get rid of an unsellable stock?” “My, what an eloquent barbarian!” Honung purred and came a bit uncomfortably close to Vigg, who had fight his old problem to keep his focus. “I eat a lot of scholars,” said Vigg. “Now tell me about Twilight Sparkle!” “Well, I’m awfully thirsty,” Honung lamented. “As an exotic dancer, I have to work so hard in this hot environment...” “And the ventilation is useless!” Blida said. “The air is so bad...” “Well... what do you want to drink?” Vigg said with some exasperation, since Blida was awfully close now as well. They were warm... “Oh, if you are buying, Big Chief... I’d like a Double Gjöll,” the doe said and pointed to the pricelist written in chalk above the bar. To his credit Vigg didn’t wince that much at the pricetag. On the other had, he had a literally princely allowance. He fished out one pouch of silver from under his barding and tossed to the bartender. “Keep them coming,” he said grimly. “Oooh,” said Honung and held up her mask before her eyes, “maybe you’d want to dance with us later, Chief?” “A wardance, perhaps?” Blida purred and raised her mask as well. “I just want to hear your story of Skinfaxi’s Shadow,” Vigg said and avoided looking at them, as the bartender started mixing drinks (coloured water and ice, as always when the dancers got guests to buy them overpriced drinks). “Oooh... she is really really beautiful,” said Honung and looked genuinely wistful. “And she has a really wicked mind,” said Blida. “I mean, I live in sin, but the things that mare has seen... and done...” “Maybe something you cannot learn from gossip mags?” Vigg said. Honung swallowed her first sip of coloured water. “Well, she is really dedicated, you know? Reliable,” she said. “How do you mean?” Vigg asked. “Well, she was drinking sarsaparilla because she was working, you see, Chief?” Honung said. “She needed a clear mind!” Blida whispered. “Big things are afoot tonight!” “What things?” Vigg asked. “If we told you she’d kill us!” Honung said solemnly. “They say she killed a tavernkeeper and his family and staff and burned down the tavern when he didn’t answer her questions!” Blida whispered. “But at the same time as she is wicked - oh the things she had us do to each other...” It looked like Honung was either swooning, being sick or both. “She’s like a little fawn,” said Blida. “All playful and smiling. Her eyes, they are so cruel, but beyond that there is... innocence.” “I don’t think she ever got to be a fawn - a foal, I mean,” Honung said sadly. “She probably had a terrible childhood!” “Yeah, they say Queen Skinfaxi found her in a horrible orphanage... and raised her... and when she couldn’t get the evil out of her, she remade the mare so she would only hurt Equestria’s enemies...” Blida whispered, a form of communication that caused Vigg’s legs to lock up since her warm muzzle was in his ear. “Now, Chief, I bet you want to know what she made us do...” Honung whispered in his other ear. “Well, um, sh-sure...” he stammered, his blush hidden by black and crimson paint. “Well, you know how unicorns have this horn, and...” she began. “Hey! What the freezing hay are you doing?” shouted somedeer right behind them. Vigg, of course, knew who it was already before he turned around. The dancers didn’t. “Who’s the pink squirt?” said Blida and looked at Saga, who wasn’t actually steaming, but that was mostly from lack of moisture. “His doefriend,” said Saga, “and a professional witch who can curse you from here to next autumn!” The does laughed mockingly. “Look, Saga,” said Vigg desperately, “I can totally explain this!” “Yeah, please explain!” she fumed. Honung left Vigg and trotted up to Saga. “Lighten up, Little Pink Witch! Look, you have a very cute and hot stagfriend, and he has a totally awesome outfit - but he is crazy to wear it in public...” She looked at Vigg and he blushed. “We... came on to him, and he was a gentlestag and offered to buy us something to drink. We didn’t even give him a chance to explain he was taken. I should have guessed he was.” She turned to Vigg again and blew him a kiss. Blida joined her. “Yeah, we’re just fooling around. Couldn’t resist that manly flank, y’know? C’mon Honung, we’ve got to get back to work,” she said and they started to walk away. Saga looked at her intently and seemed to be mumbling under her breath. “Bye, gorgeous!” she said to Vigg. “Come back if you ditch the witch!” Then she turned to Honung, who had joined her. “What was that?! Okay, the kid was kinda cute, but not like that...?” “I haven’t seen a tip like that ever before,” Honung whispered. “That’s gotta be like two month’s salary for both of us! The poor sod didn’t even get to hear the thing you made up about unicorn horns, he doesn’t deserve to have Miss Ball-and-chain angry with him.” “Sure,” Blida laughed. Then she stopped to scratch herself. “Damn, I must be getting lice again!” “You do?” Honung stopped as well. “Well... maybe... now you say it, so do I!” Having finished the second spell, Saga went up to a cowering Vigg. She slapped him upside the head. “You dork!” she said, not unkindly. “Don’t ever do that again! Those kind of does work by getting people to pay for them. You needn’t be polite to them like that. That’s like buying everything a pedlar offers to you!” “I’m sorry,” Vigg said and looked miserable. “Come on, lets go back and dance for real this time,” she said and looked at him pleadingly. “Yeah, okay, lets,” he said and smiled faintly, and then they did just that. As usual, thanks to LadyMoondancer and Wheelwright for proofreading this story, and special thanks this time to Wheelwright for help with plotting when I was stuck!