//------------------------------// // Tailor // Story: All The Queen's Mares // by Imperator Chiashi Zane //------------------------------// “Welcome to Queensmare Tailors. How can I help you today?” The dirt-brown Unicorn stallion pushed a sheet of numbers back into one of the many folders beneath the desk as he looked up at the pony entering the small shop. It was a green Earth pony stallion, one who had never bought a proper suit in his life, judging by the expressions he was giving the two displays and the bolts of fabric spread around the shop. “Um…I…I’m getting married in a few weeks, and my buddies told me this was the best place to get a jacket for it.” The stallion behind the counter sighed, “Of course,” his eyes rolled as he made his way out from behind the counter, “But if you’re getting married, then don’t you want a full suit, so you can look your best?” The customer stopped flipping through the catalog of designs on one of the tables scattered throughout the building, “No, not really. I don’t really want to marry this mare. It’s really just to keep her parents happy, so they don’t stop me from boning her.” He stopped, hoof barely touching the pages of the catalog, to point out a specific design that would be flattering on the stallion, and gripped his shoulders, guiding the stallion to the door, “Sir, I think your friends misunderstood what sort of clientele this store services. You are no longer welcome here. Best of luck to you.” He gave the Earth pony a slight push that held immense, very un-unicorn-like strength behind it. “I do hate when that happens,” he straightened his glasses on the bridge of his muzzle and blinked at the red light glowing in the corner of his vision. With a sigh, he pressed the button on the top of the frame, switching on the display, “Yes…” The name that appeared in the corner had a familiar ring to it, and he immediately started looking at the camera view from the other end. The inside of a cell, then the view shifted around until it revealed the face of a mare. A deep orange with mustard colored freckles on the cheeks and deep brown eyes, all wreathed in purple bruises and oozing cuts. Red-brown mane fragments fell in front of her face, “They got me. I can’t get out.” The camera view moved to show the scarf he knew the mare wore everywhere, wrapped loosely around her neck, past which he could see more bruising in the orange fur. More bruising came into view as the camera passed her barrel. Hoofprints. She’d clearly been stepped on several times, but it was the blood-soaked towel wrapped around her left cannon and hoof that clarified her words. With her hoof in bad enough condition to soak through the towels, she wasn’t going to be walking anywhere. There was no way she could fly either, judging by how he couldn’t see her wings. “Show me your wings.” The camera rose, and he saw the torn and missing feathers. More bruises peeked out of the fur on the edges of the wings, but nothing appeared to be broken. Good. “We’re coming Gawain. Stay put.” She blinked, “Mordred, do not come alone.” The camera went black, and his vision cleared, revealing the tailor shop again. Immediately, he flipped the sign on the door to Closed and trotted into the back room, already pressing in a code on the buttons along the side of the glasses frame, “Uther, Gawain has been captured. Who is in the area?” His mouth rattled off the coordinates he had gotten from Gawain’s communicator as he stepped into a closet and pulled on the third hook from the left. The floor of the room began descending into a shaft as his commander’s voice responded. “Confirmed Mordred. Percival and Lancelot are en route. They can handle this.” “No,” Mordred stepped off the closet floor as it reached the bottom, and stepped into the garage buried beneath the building, “With due respect, Sir, Gawain is my sister. I cannot just leave her there, knowing…” “Mordred, you are to stay in position. Lancelot and Percival have proven themselves more than capable.” “…Knowing,” he continued, “that she is hurt and I am doing nothing about it. I have to go.” “Mordred, if you leave that building, I will personally fly over there and strip you of your rank and title. You will become nothing more than you once were. A street punk. A thief, if you will.” The Unicorn sighed, and removed his glasses, setting them down on a dresser so his commander could see him clearly as his hooves rose over the camera to a rack of firearms, “So be it. I will see you upon my return then? Tea and a court martial?” As the speakers were in the ear-pieces of the glasses, he did not hear the response, but he caught the tail end of the sputtered swears as he slid the glasses back onto his face, “I will make certain to stop by the shop and purchase some of that lovely tea you always make, and bring it home for the big event. Would you like me to shine my badge as well, before you confiscate it? Or my umbrella?” “I was right about you, my son. Morgan warned me you would be trouble from the start. She was right, but I let you in anyway.” Mordred nodded as he slid into his motor-balloon and started the engine up, “Yes sir. That is what the T in my name stands for, Trouble.” “Do NOT backtalk me, boy!” Mordred smiled and revved the engine, drowning out his commander as the craft sped out the end of a tunnel and soared into the sky, screaming for the coordinates he had burned into his brain, “I’m coming for you Gawain. Don’t you dare die before I get there.” Clouds whooshed by, and he gritted his teeth against the blast of wind on his face.