//------------------------------// // Chapter 29: To Ring a Unicorn // Story: The Enforcer and Her Blackmailers // by scifipony //------------------------------// "Welcome to my world," I said, placing the stencil, brushing on the black, and spraying the fast-dry lacquer. As Sunset Shimmer watched, and for some reason I needed her to watch, I layered on Grimoire both physically and mentally. I continued by releasing my pigtails, combing my mane back, and pushing in the beret, creating Grimoire's signature Baltimare tough's bouffant. In a society where stallions wore their hair short, many of the eastern gang members never cut their manes or tails. A few spritzes made the hair style solid. I finished by putting my tail in a bun, hiding the chartreuse stripe. A second-hoof black hip-length short cape completed the costume, though I left the cowl down. I stood. Sunset Shimmer followed wordlessly. The twin roan ponies still awaited their carriage, lit by a flickering gas streetlight. Both were brownish-tanish in color with black manes, and black points that made them look like they had stepped knee-deep in charcoal. I stopped at the curb and waited with Sunset Shimmer to my right. I sensed them looking and turned to my left to meet their magenta eyes. I lowered my muzzle as I looked, exposing the whites beneath my irises, showing them predator eyes. I didn't blink. "Come on, Candy," one said, and they trotted down the block. I waited another minute, hoping everypony who needed to see me would see me and prepare. I suddenly really really didn't want to do this. I could well believe I was facing my death. I could see where I might throughly ruin Sunset Shimmer's life, or get her hurt or killed. I could be a coward, as I had always been, and run away from my life. Or I could go forward and give restitution for my crimes against society, as well as find some for those against myself. The crisp autumnal chill in the air felt appropriate somehow. I stepped into the street as the traffic cleared and began a slow stroll toward Lower Canterlot. I didn't make the conscious decision. I just let my body lead. I followed. As did Sunset Shimmer. Lamplighters had lit the last gas lights and night had fallen completely before an escort appeared out of the general hoof traffic heading home or out for a meal. It was a lanky mauve stallion, sporting a unkempt black mane and a reversed red billed cap, and a blue pegasus with a spiked mane who joined us as we walked. "Grimoire." "Sunset Shimmer, meet Tailor and Streak. Not their real names, of course. Tailor, Streak, meet my friend Sunset Shimmer." Both shot me an annoyed look. Too many pony ears listening around us. Sunset Shimmer said, "Hey, you're the pegasus who bothered Star— St-St—Grimoire last week." "Indeed, she is," I said. "She delivered a note with your name on it. Somepony knew you needed help." If Sunset Shimmer saw any incongruity in my words, I saw no indication. Perhaps the addict inside prevented it. She kept close enough for me to feel the heat of her body, though, but did not balk as we turned at the intersection. I soon knew where Tailor and Streak led us: The Edge, that park-adjacent eatery district near that Hooflyn-style deli that Running Mead apparently liked. I had worried he might choose to meet in a warehouse or any place unfamiliar that might close me in and force me to take desperate measures, but this was good. No, it was very good. I kept my face a mask and followed. I played idly with some quick draw calculations, but felt certain I needn't fear an ambush at least, not with the moderate hoof traffic we traveled with as cover. Mid-dinner hour looked to be a perfect time to visit the semi-seedy trendoid three city blocks known for its dive bars and up-and-coming chef-run restaurants. Running Mead liked it, I suspected, because few of the establishments had glass storefronts, and those that did had smoked glass you couldn't see through. With everypony inside eating, or in a rush to get inside, the area outside felt relatively empty. Maybe Running Mead kept it that way by influencing the proprietors with some protection scheme. I stopped as we entered a block that edged on the small urban park. Lanterns, some gaslit, some lit by potions, warmly lit a predominance of brownstone buildings. A few were white-washed in Canterlot colors, but most were painted forest green or brown, with stenciled signs that read The Draft Horse or Mama's Kitchen or Hayride's. Little planters of daisies and carnations graced the sidewalk. Trees had firefly feeders to attract the cheerful night insects, and in this season, they literally buzzed with wane light. I smelled garlic and the scent of cooking oil caramelizing hay. The cobblestones here, worn from centuries of use, looked recently scrubbed, leaving random puddles that reflected the lights, and, to the east, the newly risen moon. "What are you waiting for?" asked Streak, prodding me with the stiff pinion feathers of her wing. I blinked, realizing I'd been woolgathering. I wasn't going to tell her I was finding any excuse to delay, but I took it as a reason to work up some quick draw stun spells, not so much though that my horn lit. Didn't want to scare the locals. Down the street, where a warehouse from a block over made a slightly more private alcove, lay The Hooflyn Delicatessen. Blinking marquee lights around the sign ensured you saw it. Once again, cafe tables stood beside the establishment with a smoked black window. A brown pony with a tan mane, white socks, and a white horn stood swirling the dark contents of a wine goblet in his amber magic beside a green bottle. He wore a gold corduroy jacket. A couple ponies loitered. After a minute, I saw light glint off amber eyes as Running Mead regarded me. Well, too late for regrets and plenty of time for Fellows to scope out the situation. I called up Grimoire, finding his deep-toned voice and hoping for his imagined strength. I touched Sunset Shimmer's flank with a hoof and pointed. "We're going there." She gave me a strange look as if I had changed into another pony. "You walk out ahead of me." And so we did. As she stepped up to his table, I stood off five pony-lengths and said, "You asked to meet the princess' protégé." "So I did!" He held out a hoof and she reciprocated with a gentle tap. I watched with keen interest, waiting for any magic beyond his levitation spell. I watched the other ponies who watched me, too. I decided to add Mirror to my quick draw queue. "My little filly, Sunset Shimmer—" "I'm not a filly," she interrupted, surprising me, her ears forward. I expected her to be groveling, but certain types of condescension grated on all mares. He laughed, gently, and turned to his wine, lifting it in his amber-colored aura. A red. It smelled like a claret. I could identify it because Sunset Shimmer drank it when she didn't drink hard cider or beer. "They all want to be seen as older until they realize they'd rather be seen as younger. My apologies." He sipped and put the crystal goblet down with a clack. "I know what ails you." Sunset Shimmer stiffened. Still, no unusual magic. Impatience made me half turn as if to walk away, never leaving my eyes off him, of course. "My dear, dear Grimoire, don't leave me." I stopped. "We made a deal." "It takes two to agree to a deal." I wheeled my body around, keeping my eye on Running Mead while I addressed Streak hotly. "Did you tell him what I told you to tell him?" "I did. Every word." Running Mead said, "She did. She said you told her that I had won. You don't run from a winner, Grimoire." He motioned with his nose and his two flunkies split up and walked toward me, but kept their distance as I retreated more steps from Running Mead. Apparently Streak had indeed told him everything I'd said. Keeping track of the two, not to mention keeping track of Tailor about whom I knew little, put me on the spot and made me nervous, reminding me of the last days I spent in Hooflyn. It was the type of reminder that had made me shoot my TA during what should have been a fun defensive spell practicum. I worked to control my breathing. With a sudden awareness of three hostiles, I nevertheless didn't overreact when Running Mead threw something at me. I caught a heavy purse that, like the first time he'd turned me into a sleepwalker, would have struck me in the head. The creep obviously used it as a tactic to keep idiots like me on the edge and malleable. Had he understood my fighting technique, he'd have known better. I brought the purple velvet purse to eye level and pulled the drawstrings to see dozens of glittering gold bits. I cinched the purse, licking my lips, but didn't throw it in my saddle bags. Instead, I kept levitating it. It gave me a reason to leave my horn lit so I could fully spin up my quick draw queue. He added, "I am a generous employer. I insist you stay. I think I'll be able to convince you—" I cringed despite my usual self-control, but he didn't notice and continued, "—to stay on the team. As for you, Miss Sunset Shimmer, I was saying—" She cried, "I have bits. Lots of bits! A simple transaction and I'll leave you to your business with G-Gr— Grimoire." "No, no. You don't understand, my little filly. This isn't a business transaction. This is an employment interview." "I just want some net—" "—We don't talk aloud about such things," he interrupted, waving a hoof. "You want this." He levitated an envelope and passed it under Sunset Shimmer's nose. She gasped, ears perked. "Yes, but—" "As my newest employee, you'll find an unlimited supply. Unemployed, you'll find the plant may as well be extinct. So, here is your first job: I want you to talk to Lieutenant Bright Moon of the royal guard and tell her—" "I-I can't do that." "I beg to differ. Do you want to earn your keep tonight by saying yes, or do I send you home to contemplate your sorry life? Either way, you'll eventually do what I ask." "What? I have bits. Can't we just—" "Your bits mean nothing to me Sunset Shimmer. I thought you were one of Equestria's best and brightest…" As I watched him work to break her, I saw it wasn't working because she prepared to fight. She wasn't experienced in combat magic. Perhaps she didn't realize her horn lit as she worked up her teleport spell while holding on to the numbers for Levitation. She had apparently figured out my quick draw technique, somewhat, but her numbers were sluggish, clouded, and not at all hot. Her transform wavered like a heat mirage, numbers floating lazily away and dissipating. Her snatch and dodge wouldn't get her far, if her teleport spell worked at all. "Don't do it," I warned, snapping her concentration, but not mine. What I waited for was Running Mead to spin up his mind control spell. I had to see how he did it if I were to have any hope of countering it. I put Mirror at the top of my queue. Sunset Shimmer glared at me. I waved my jingling coins at her. Her anger caused the muscles in her jaw to bunch and her ears to go down again. She faced Running Mead and firmly said, "No," with what certainly was the last of her willpower. "So determined to be contrary. Tsk, tsk. However, I do think I can convince you." He reached out with a simple levitation spell and squeezed her right shoulder gently. Having done that, he began to speak, telling her how important it was for her to find the lieutenant to remind her of her manners in agreeing to favors without doing them. He went on about how the royal guardsmare would be so appreciative of Sunset's visit. He continued by remarking about how Sunset Shimmer herself was being so nice as to agree to doing him a favor that she would be welcome to take the envelope with her. "Uh, huh," Sunset Shimmer said, her eyes somewhat unfocused. "Putting it that way, I can certainly see how it helps everypony. Yeah, right, I'll do it…" She nattered on as my jaw dropped. Running Mead had touched her with his levitation spell, and though he kept Levitation spinning, he now lifted his wine and sipped it as he listened, not touching her at all. I had expected a spell. A spell. Was it his words? No, that wasn't it. I felt no compulsion to agree with the monster, nor to talk to a royal guard, and by the looks of the rest of the audience, none of them did either. That led to a singular conclusion: His odd ability to persuade ponies had to be his special talent. He had a talent that allowed him to turn ponies into hypnotized sleepwalkers. Were he a pegasus or an earth pony, he'd be just as good at it. It was all because of a cutie mark. A filthy cutie mark. A Force spell had wormed itself to the top of my quick draw queue. I wasn't surprised, nor was I appalled. A familiar voice in the street said loudly, "I do think that is enough." I wheeled around again, gasping, keeping an eye on Running Mead, confirming that it was indeed Detective Fellows approaching at an unhurried stroll. I pushed down Force and opted for Mirror again at the top. I dropped the bits, too frantic to keep up the charade at the expense of readiness. Running Mead glanced around, his ears swiveling rapidly. In that instant, I would have prepared a teleport spell were I him, but I had yet to see him do any magic beyond Levitation. Might he actually only be a low level unicorn? One thing I was sure about, he was as aware of everypony's position as I was. Fellows continued, "So, Running Mead, has Lady Grimoire told you that this is actually a sting operation she arranged to catch you in action?" "Thank you," I said sarcastically, my heart now beating double-time. Were the shooting to start, I stood in the middle of the crossfire. "Is that so? I knew she wanted to quit, but to put me out of business! I didn't see that coming." I looked from Fellows to Running Mead and back. Why did I get the feeling that these two knew each other? Had I been set up? But. But, I had been sent to kill Fellows, and had nearly done so in the factory. He stuck to the detective story. Why would he do that? And the police hue and cry following my escape from the factory? That had been real, but it didn't have to have been directed by a detective at the scene of the crime. The factory worker had seen me. Had vandalism been enough for the search? But, what if Fellows were a competitor or a colleague, fallen out of favor, based somewhere in downtown Canterlot? Sunset Shimmer had mentioned a dealer. Perhaps the fight had resulted in Fellows and Running Mead coming to terms. Some sort of "crime boss" truce? It neatly explained why Running Mead seemed oblivious that Detective Fellows had gotten away. I was so dead. Fellows walked closer, the clatter of his hooves echoing in the alcove. It had become awkwardly silent, except for the fireflies that buzzed haphazardly about. My bad luck, all possible witnesses had gone inside the restaurants and only the smells of garlic pastas and hay burgers were drifting out. If I stood a chance of escaping this alive, and taking Sunset Shimmer with me, I had to act soon. If I hit Running Mead square on with Force, I might just have a chance. Around me, the two lackeys' horns lit, one green and one yellow, but nopony fired. Fellows said, "I wouldn't do anything rash." "Do you leave me a choice?" I asked, my eyes and ears flicking to targets, knowing that if they all shot, I'd not be able to defend against them all. I thought about casting Teleport, but I'd lose Mirror. I felt so overwhelmed, I feared I might teleport into the ground. I queued it anyway. Fellows laughed. "Everything isn't about you, Lady Grimoire. Did you think I was so stupid as to come here alone?" He dodged left. I reflexively teleported five feet right and drove myself into the ground. Funny how the spell bent my legs to my stomach so I did materialize above the surface of the cobblestone street, but I still barked my knees and hit my jaw hard enough to see stars. Running Mead's lackeys fired. Whichever one had fired at Fellows, missed. The other had fired Force at me. The underpowered bolt missed because I'd teleported. It continued and burnt across Streak's rear end; I saw her tail burst into flames. As I rolled evasively, I saw other shots, this time from behind, stunning one of the lackeys. Looking up, I saw an armored mint-green pegasus who threw a javelin that clattered at Running Mead's hooves, preventing him from bolting the opposite direction. He'd warded off the javelin with Levitation. As he ducked beside his table, he shot what appeared to be some sort of wimpy slow moving amber energy bolt towards a darkened corner of the wall where there had to be an alley. He shouted, "I'm innocent! Protect me from those flying thugs." Moments later, a bolt of pink shot into the sky. The spasming pegasus cried out, scattering her quiver of javelins as electricity crackled around her. The wooden weapons came clanking down and bouncing as she spiraled way too quickly to the pavement. I transformed my new force spell using quick draw into Levitation, flicking it out just in time to intercept the armored mare, but with no good control. It stopped her, but it translated her downward momentum to sideways momentum, spinning her on her stomach toward Fellows who had to jump over the poor pony. Sparks flew in her wake. The motion blew out the rest of Streak's flames as she rolled and screamed like a child, wafting a mixed scent of burnt hair and ozone my way. "I'm innocent! Protect the innocent from these murderers!" Another? I rolled just in time to avoid a stun spell—almost; it hit my back right hoof. The leg twitched as it went completely pins-and-needles. Tailor had fired it. Holding on to enough discipline, I spun up Mirror, and not a moment too soon. A uniformed constable standing near Running Mead shot me. The purple bolt ricochetted off harmlessly, but that wasn't all. A glowing amber tendril reached my way. It looked like an extension of a unicorn's aura, like the aura that glowed around levitated objects, and by its numbers, it was indeed Levitation. I used Mirror as a shield, but the tendril just avoided the manifested optical illusion as I jiggered it around. It extended back to Running Mead's horn. Was he levitating air to extend it? Yes he was—to grab at me. A force spell, insufficiently prepared, was all I had. If I could apply— A Barthemule transform actuated, compelling me to finish the calculation as the sphere bloomed and surrounded me, lifting me off my legs and warding off Running Mead's touch. Touch? I gasped. He had to touch a pony to make his talent work! And touch he did. But not me. Suddenly the full constabulary task force was shooting at one another. Soon one would shoot at me and not miss. Sunset Shimmer hid behind a cafe table she'd knocked over, cringing and shaking, shielding her head. I noticed this because I'd floated closer to Running Mead as my spell ran its course and collapsed under the weight of its temporal paradox. I worked up another spell as I rolled flat and kept down, unable to run because my leg, which, though better, was largely numb. From my position, between one moment and the next, I saw that Running Mead, cowering behind a protective constable, had his rear legs and flank up like a racer, ready to bolt again as soon as he could turn the copper blocking his escape. His tamed constable faced the one not yet turned. This gave me a good view of Running Mead's cutie mark: a spilt glass mug of mead. He made ponies drunk and compliant. His was a filthy, horrible cutie mark, and I could not, would not, let him get away. In an adrenalized snap, I transformed Force into Levitation into my healing spell, using my memories of working on Rye Bald under the influence of nettle-ewe; I refined it with all I had learned by experimenting on Sunset Shimmer's cutie mark, moving it, impeding its action, and confusing its feedback mechanisms. To that I added my burning, unbridled outrage and bile. I reached out with no compunction that I might cause harm, dashing my magic into Running Mead's flank without a thought that I might fail. And I did not fail. The cutie mark's hum of conceit and bacchanal contentment flooded across my senses, with images of vineyards and the scents of intoxicating oaky wine. I could see horrific magical numbers spinning up in the ecstasy of fulfilling a destiny, a mathematics blissful in the face of atrocity. I shook my head to rid myself of the equations as I reached for the cutie mark's metaphysical connection, that bulb of virtual magic centered in his hip that formed the non-corporeal organ tissue that projected the image of his cutie mark to both sides of his body for all to see. I grasped it—and ripped with all my strength. It resisted. It was like pulling elastic, but I renewed my determination even as I heard Running Mead scream in terror. The constable looked around in confusion for an enemy, but didn't see me immediately as she had to dodge the "innocent" stallion she was protecting as Running Mead fell on his side and thrashed against the pavement, bucking and neighing loudly. I tore at the cutie mark as the constable turned and focused on me. Running Mead, with a sick bang, struck himself senseless against the glass wall. I jerked harder, flooding all my magical energy through the connection. I felt a click. Like pulling a melted marshmallow from a roasting stick, the faint aura of the glass-mug-spilling-alcohol cutie mark pulled reluctantly away, leaving a gooey tendril of light. Looking like the ghost of a symbol, I dragged the transparent thing until it floated disembodied away from Running Mead's flank. At the instant of separation, the instant when the constable would have shot me, she instead stumbled. I fought the cutie mark still magnetically attracted to its host. As the constable fell to her knees, I struggled frantically to keep hold of the apparition as my magic faded in exhaustion. I levered myself to a sitting position and saw the almost empty green-glass bottle of Claret. The label read Stags Leap Claret, Applewood, 989 vintage. I wrestled the cutie mark into the bottle just as my spell broke into thousands of burnt-out digits. The cutie mark inched up the neck. I got Levitation spun up as fast as I could, barely thrusting the cork into the bottle in time. It squeaked as I pushed down. I held my breath. The apparition stopped moving, hovering and drifting about the inside of the green smoked-glass bottle. Giggling, tears streaming down my cheeks, I cried, "Now that's the way to get a cutie mark!" Something was very wrong with me. I blinked, dizzy, but it felt the opposite of being sick. Suddenly, my heart felt overwhelmed by emotion. It was... it was... it was an elation and a pride magnitudes beyond anything I could have imagined, or previously identified. I had done it. I had defeated a demon! And learned something profound about cutie marks—how to manipulate them. This, this—joy vanquished all other thought or worry. I felt myself lifted up, literally high. Oddly, the world took on a golden glow, though surely all of this was all in my head. The shooting around me had ceased the instant I'd wrenched Running Mead's cutie mark free. The compromised coppers shook themselves as my levitated body rotated, giving me a view of a dozen confused combatants and constables who worked to secure the area. I felt so satisfied that I'd accomplished my goal that the idea that anypony might arrest me, that anypony might do anything to hurt me, became a complete non-sequitur. My burning moment of self-knowledge and destiny passed, though. I found myself touching the ground and my hooves holding weight. I almost stumbled as my still partially numbed leg found itself unable to do its necessary task. I tingled all over, though, and could hardly care. As reality started filtering back into my brain, I smelled the perfume scent of the makeup powder I used to brush on my fake cutie mark. It was gardenia, though it smelled slightly burnt. Fellows galloped up, causing me reflexively to renew my quick draw queue. From his back pack, he withdrew a rusted wrought iron ring the size of a donut, covered with tiny red iron-hot numbers that to my learned eyes vibrated and danced in place. Running Mead lay there dumbfounded and stunned, muttering to himself, "Where did it go? It's gone!" Fellows slipped the ring over Running Mead's horn and from the other saddle bag, he pulled two glass tubs. He ladled the pink contents of one over the ring, then poured the sickly green glowing contents of the other over it. With a loud crack, the gel crystalized, afixing the ring in place. Well, that made sense. Wouldn't want a criminal tossing his head and launching the ring into the air. He turned to me and said, "Thank you, Lady Grimoire, you came through after all." He huffed and tilted his head, squinting past me. A smile drifted across his face. "And congratulations on getting a real cutie mark." I blinked. I looked. The brushed-on Grimoire had flaked off. Under the bits of powder lay something indeed new. I saw a doubled four-point star, purple overlaying white, with two turquoise auroras dancing above it. It was the same star burnt by my magic into the fur of my forehead. From my perspective, the auroras looked like they were trying to pull the high magic symbol from the matrix of the cutie mark itself. Since Aurora was my given name, the one I refused to use, it felt appropriate. But wait. What? My special talent was cutie mark magic? My special talent was cutie mark magic? Cutie Mark Magic!? Okay. Maybe that made sense, considering what I'd learned. "Cutie mark magic," I muttered, and felt my lips pull up in a half-grin. "Huh..." In my peripheral vision, I saw Fellows turning to look at Running Mead. He said, "I don't know what you did to him, but you knocked the sense out of him." I watched in horror as his head continued turning to scan toward Running Mead's flank and the doubled dark scar that the unmarking had left. Instinct that had queued another spell allowed me to transform it into Levitation. It didn't matter that it was inaccurate. I winged the Claret bottle, bashing it hard enough against the glass window that the window cracked. The bottle didn't, but it bounced, spun cork over bottom to smash open on the cobblestone pavement, spraying me with droplets of red wine and bits of glass that bounced like dumped marbles. Released, like a tiny comet, Running Mead's cutie mark shot back into place on his haunch, causing the stallion to cry out, "Oh!" "Sorry," I said as Fellows looked from the smashed bottle to me. "Nerves," I added. "Um, I know how Running Mead's magic works." "Right," he said, standing and drawing out his pad of paper and a pencil. "Go ahead." As the constable that had moments ago been protecting Running Mead reached out a leg to shake the stallion to his senses, I cried, "Stop!" To her credit, the mare jerked back her leg. "Touch," I said, "He does it by touch. It's a cutie mark talent, so all he has to do is touch you physically or via magic. Whatever he tells you that he can make sound reasonable, you'll do. It's like sleepwalking. You have no control over your nightmares." "I see." As he looked back at Running Mead, I began to get an uncomfortable feeling. Had he seen any of what I had done? No. No more than Sunset Shimmer had, attended by a plainclothes mare who tried to coax Sunset to stop hiding her head under her front legs. Somepony, somepony's protégé, manifestly didn't have the right stuff. Glancing back at Fellows, intuition told me that cutie mark unmarking wasn't what he thought about. As I analyzed the feeling, I began to queue teleport spells. He wasn't looking at me and I had time to glance behind, to see Streak pawing at her singed tail. Blood coated her blackened flank. A constable watched her. Fellows said, "I know all the help you provided will prove a mitigating factor—" Blam! The teleport landed me half a pony-length from Streak, right at the constable's front legs as he reared in fright. I stood, throwing him over. I leapt atop Streak— Bang! At the end of the street, I caught my breath and spun up my numbers as a cloud of disturbed fireflies swirled away. The constables turned and pointed as I found what I wanted to see. The royal guardsmare lay flat, jittering spasmodically as she preened a wing. The constabulary airforce was grounded. Pop! I teleported Streak above the warehouse, barely making the very edge of the building. We fell half a yard to the roof with a whump that knocked the breath out of us both. I'd gotten the angle right; nopony on the ground would know where my exit pop sounded. "Can you walk?" I asked. Her burnt flank looked red, raw, and painful. "I think so," she replied with an unconvincing smile. I limped with her, occasionally shaking my leg to hasten it waking up. At the opposite side of the block-sized flat roof, looking down on the evening hoof traffic and a lone taxi, she asked, "Why'd ya do it?" "I see us as victims, but the constabulary has other ideas. You have a record?" "Not in Canterlot. I threw a brick through a moving company's window in Vanhoover." I laughed. "Not what I meant. For the record, the stuff in Rye Bald's kitchen was minestrone soup. I helped him escape. So, let's make ourselves disappear. We aren't the big fish in this pond." "Yeah, thanks. Oh, and this is yours." She pushed her face into her messenger bag and pulled out the purse I'd dropped. Her spiked mane blew like wind chimes in the cool evening breeze. "Really, thanks." I leaned against the blue pegasus and teleported us to the next warehouse roof. "Don't mention it." Later, I healed her flank. And split the gold bits. I also did a lot of thinking about what having a cutie mark really meant.