The Game of Shadows

by Zytharros

Of Alicorns and Belles

Of Alicorns and Belles

Razortongue took to the streets of Fillydelphia. I took to the sky. I kept a line of telepathy open between us so we could tell each other when we had spotted her friends, the shattered pieces of Dashcore. We brought four guards along with us and sent them out to gather Dashcore. Only Razortongue knew where they would likely be.

“Emerald Thunder’s probably fucked off to a field somewhere,” she said. “Canuck Chuck’ll be by a race track or some shit like that. Keytap… well, we probably should just fuckin’ forget about her. The label’s probably got her ass fucking off on some tour.”

“Do you know what label she signed with?” I asked.

The telepathy line fell silent as Razortongue thought for a second. “Fuck if I know. It was one of those cheesy-ass pop labels. Shit like Pinkie Pie’s Smile song gets put on those… Celestia, that damn song annoys the ever-fuckin’ shit outta my ass… I think it was Cherry Music or some shit.”

I nodded to myself. “I’ll search for Canuck Chuck. You find Keytap.”

“Fuckin’ right,” she said. “He usually hangs out at the fuckin’ Fillydelphia Derby track where the Wonderbolts practice their stunts.”

“Where’s that?” I asked.

“Third fuckin’ Circle District,” Razortongue directed. “Down on the corner of Leon and fuckin’ Corbould.”

I flew near the third wall, landing near a newsstand.

“Excuse me, sir,” I said to the news dealer, approaching timidly.

“Whatcha want?” he demanded. “I’m readin’ Playcolt here.”

“I just want a map of Fillydelphia,” I said.

He pointed a hoof to the right. “There, beside those shit magazines that never sell.”

I paid him and took off into the sky with my map. To orient myself, I flew to the nearest corner. Opening up the map and scanning it, I found I was in the Second Circle District, on the corner of Burrard Boulevard and Chippendale Avenue. I took off into the sky, landed on a roof, and oriented myself along with my map until I created a direct line between me and my destination – the Fillydelphia Derby track, at which point I took off, flying for the stadium.

I was confirmed in my direction by seeing a fireworks display in the sky. Soon, a uniformed team of athletes danced their airborne acrobatics for a while before descending, leaving the air space undisturbed for a little while, then repeating the process over again. A strange blue streak, abnormal to their routine, whirled around them like a twisted tornado. This was done five times before I arrived.

These were, of course, the famous Wonderbolts… but I held no personal attraction to the team. Sure, Spitfire had a cool colour combination, but aerial acrobatics were something I had seen several times before at the Abbotsford Air Show, and as such didn’t wow me. However, among them, I saw a young alicorn. As I got closer, I could see that he was white, with a mane and tail that looked like it was made of ice. He flashed around the Wonderbolts, leaving long trails of crystalline light behind. He was clearly smaller than they – in fact, I would have been surprised if he had exceeded Apple Bloom’s bow in height.

Eventually, I heard an agitated scream that sounded like its origin was from Spitfire.

“Okay, Canuck Chuck, get off our court!” she bellowed, clearly agitated. “We don’t care if you can fly for most of the year! Geez! Get off our case!”

I arrived just as Canuck Chuck rambled something so fast it made Blur of the original-series Transformers seem like a slow speaker. I surmised this kid had been harassing the Wonderbolts for a while now. I landed just behind the daring flight squadron.

“Look, kid,” Spitfire said. I could now identify her by face and voice. “You’re really nice and all, but we can’t understand a thing you’re saying. Just slow down and tell us.”

I couldn’t tell if Canuck Chuck slowed down or sped up… The colt’s speech speed was indecipherable now, and accompanied by a whackload of animated movements, darting eyes, and something that resembled that “suck it” motion my peers did when I was in high school – simultaneously lightly karate-chopping one’s hands on either side of one’s groin… but I’m sure that’s not what he meant. However, Spitfire took it exactly as it had looked and screamed. The other Wonderbolts stepped in to protect their teammate.

Canuck Chuck dropped his wings, curled his ears back, and began to walk away slowly. He muttered something else, then took off into the sky. I leapt into the air after him, attempting to chase him down. I took off after him, surprising the Wonderbolts by how close I came to Soarin’s black mane. I felt some of his mane brush my left hind hoof.

For several minutes, I followed him. I followed him around the majority of Fillydelphia, but eventually had to land out of exhaustion on top of a nearby building. He kept flying. It was then I realized he was simply on a continual, left-turn bank, circling above the Fillydelphia Derby track in a “lazy”, half-mach arc. I caught sight of his cutie mark – the logo of the Vancouver Canucks hockey club – in the same blue as his hair.

I was thoroughly confused as to how a colt would have earned that kind of cutie mark here.

Soon, Canuck Chuck spotted me watching him and circled down to my level. His greeting sounded like a muffled, mumbled “haiaozigonimcanuchuare”.

I just stared at him blankly. He took a breath and brought himself back to a semi-understandable speed.

“Hi’m Canuchuck,” he said, still speaking in a mashup of words. “Hahzigoin’?”

I made out the meaning of his statement at that point, introducing myself before continuing. “I’m doing well. I saw you had a nasty spat with Spitfire there.”

The hockey-flanked pony sat on the rooftop. He frowned. “Iwanaginthunderbuttheynunderstanme…” He then mumbled something even less cohesive at his natural speed.

I communicated with Razortongue via telepathy.

“How do you talk with someone who talks so fast?”

She came back online with a chuckle. “You found Chuck, didn’t you?”

I replied, “Yup. Exactly where you said. He was bothering the Wonderbolts.”

She thought for a second, then said, “Get him to fuckin’ speak with you telepathically or something. You both got crazy magical shit going on, don’t’cha?”

I decided to go with it. “Chuck?”

He looked at me, muttering the fastest “what?” I’d ever heard.

“Do you mind if we talk telepathically? Maybe that would help,” I suggested.

He nodded. Both our horns flared up. Soon we shared a telepathic link.

“Can you understand me now?” he asked. The speaking itself was still blindingly fast, but I could finally translate.

I nodded. “Yes.”

“Okay,” he said. “I’m not very good with words. I’ve lived my entire life at Mach 1. I guess eventually you speak as you live.”

I stalled a little, wondering what to ask next. I knew Dashcore had broken up, so the wounds from the fight would be fresh. I had to handle this delicately. I decided to go for some general questions before hitting him with the ‘Big One’.

“So, where do you come from?” I asked.

“Soaronto, north of Equestria,” he said. “My family moved to Equestria to let me follow the Wonderbolts more closely. You?”

I replied with the same reply as any other time I had met an unfamiliar pony. “I was born and raised in Appleford. Never really left the town until recently.”

“Appleford? Isn’t that near here?” he asked.

I was caught off-guard. I quickly disconnected with Canuck Chuck and contacted Razortongue again.

I asked anxiously, “Where’s Appleford again?”

“It’s about three hours away from Manehattan, damn well due north,” Razortongue informed with a chuckle. “What, he fuckin’ ask you if it was near Fillydelphia?”

I ha-ha-ha’d as she laughed, disconnecting from her and reconnecting with Canuck Chuck again.

“It’s-” I began.

“Three hours from Manehattan…” he deadpanned, eyeing me warily. “Okay, you liar. Where do you really come from? And don’t lie again. I know where every little town in Equestria is.”

I nervously gulped and dropped on my butt as Canuck Chuck stepped towards me. I sighed and looked at him sorrowfully.

“Okay, okay…” I said reluctantly. “But you can’t tell this to anyone.”

“Why not?” he asked.

I felt a sense of déjà vu as I tried to convince Canuck Chuck exactly why he shouldn’t tell anyone. It was a literal pantomime – identical motions, emotions, everything – of my first meeting with Rainbow Dash: the brief discussion of my origin, the lying-down to show my non-hostility in the face of his, the whisper confirming if I was telling the truth. Eventually, though the icy colt agreed. I repeated the same sequence I had with Razortongue, showing him my life on Earth and describing why I lied. I even went into my conversation with the red and white Earth pony about trying to get back into Ponyville to fight off Crystal Fist.

Canuck Chuck frowned. “If I never see that red horse apple again it’ll be too soon…” he muttered. “If she’s going to get me on board, she’ll have to apologize herself.”

“She’s ready to do that,” I said.

He glared at me. “Is she, now?” he hissed rhetorically. “Look, if you can prove to me she’s ready to apologize, I’ll concede. Until then,” he said, taking off, “I’m going to be flying around town. Meet me back here in three hours with Razortongue – and she better be begging for forgiveness and drowning in a sea of tears.”

My jaw dropped as he took off. It was hard enough to get her to cry on a normal day. For her to beg forgiveness like that… it was almost impossible to envision. I desperately tried another angle.

“What if I told you that you could save Rainbow Dash?” I shouted.

Canuck Chuck stopped and turned. His horn glowed again. “What’s this about Rainbow Dash?”

“Come back down here and I’ll tell you,” I said.

So he returned to my rooftop. I could tell with how he wrapped his voice around her name that he respected her… nay, even had a crush on her. The look on his face was fierce and curious.

“How can I save Rainbow?” he asked.

I replied, “She’s held captive in Ponyville by Crystal Fist. We need a way to get in so we can save them. If Dashcore gets back together and announces a show or two in Ponyville and Canterlot, you will probably be able to get past the barrier blocking the town. We can then find her and save her somehow from Crystal Fist’s shadow magic. She’s also got some motivation to apologize – her best friend in the universe is also trapped behind that portal. Fluttershy is in the same predicament as Rainbow, and last I talked to her, Razor was determined not to let our enemy get the best of her.”

Canuck Chuck thought for a second. “There may be a chance, then… Razor’s always been the type to work best when motivated by her friendships.”

“And what about Boomdrop?” I asked. “Any problems with her?”

Canuck Chuck thought about her for a second. “Y’know, I’ve never given her much of a thought. She doesn’t normally say a lot… she just plays a wicked set of drums and occasionally pranks people. Nopony really knows a lot about her.”

So Boomdrop doesn’t sound like a problem pony, I thought. She seems stable.

“So, will you help?” I asked.

Canuck Chuck nodded. “I’ll head over to Boomdrop’s apartment and talk with them.”

Just before he took off, I stopped him by magically grabbing his tail. “Whoa, nelly. Don’t bother going to her apartment. We’re staying in Canterdam Castle now.”

“What happened?” Canuck Chuck asked.

I lowered my head in sadness. “Boomdrop lost her house last night.”

The winter-toned alicorn’s countenance dropped. “She was really worried about that when we last talked... She finally lost it. Razortongue… I really wish you would pay your debts…” he said to himself, groaning. “She’s done this every month since she moved in with Boomdrop to help with rent. She may be reliable with work, but she refuses to pay ‘the Man’, as she calls anyone who collects on debts, believing them all to be working for the ‘evil real’ government that controls the minds of the Princesses.”

“A conspiracy theorist,” I summarized as we took off for Canterdam Castle.

Canuck Chuck nodded. “That’s part of what put so much strain on the band. We would book dates, but never be able to deliver on our debts because we – er, she, would wind up trashing every place we played. That bar you saw us at was one of the last available venues for us to play at in the whole city. We’ll have to move elsewhere to play anywhere now.”

“Damn,” I said, expressing my sympathetic disapproval. “What else is wrong with Dashcore?”

Canuck Chuck thought again for a minute. “Keytap’s a great singer, but she’s a terrible writer. Razortongue’s a great screamer, but she can’t sing.”

I chuckled, remembering Razortongue kind of… vocal-tone rapping… their verses at the show while Keytap sang. I had already forgotten the poppy, canned, forgettable lyrics – something that normally didn’t happen when I listened to music. I noted our course was a little off, so I adjusted my trajectory a little to the left. Chuck followed suit.

“It was something that could’ve sounded crazy with auto-tune,” I suggested.

My ice-haired flight partner scoffed loudly at the thought. “You couldn’t pay me the money to be a part of a band that used such a ridiculous idea. No-talent hacks use that to fake having talent.”

“Makes voices sound cool…” I said.

I knew I was on the losing end of the argument. I had never argued the devil’s advocate side of my own beliefs well, and in reality I had – and still have – no desire to begin to start. To do so was tantamount to betrayal in my mind.

But he surprised me. “I’ll admit, in small doses, yes. Those that use it as it’s supposed to be used for… as an effect… that’s damn sexy. But those that use it for whole songs!? Talentless hacks. End-of-story.”

Our conversation was interrupted by a telepathic message from Razortongue. I had entirely forgotten I had kept that spell on. Only then did I notice that it was beginning to wear on my energy level.

“Okay. I got Emerald Thunder to fuckin’ join us, but Keytap’s fucked off to parts unknown. She’s on tour somewhere, trying to make a damn shitload of a name for herself in the fuckin’ pop industry.”

“Good. I’ll meet you back at the castle, then. I’ve got Chuck with me, and this spell’s starting to wear badly on my energy.”

“Ten fuckin’ four,” Razortongue acknowledged. “Razortongue is now shit outta your ass. See ya at the damn castle!” The last sentence was broken in three pieces by a loud laugh.

Canuck Chuck and I nearly collapsed from the sky in laughter as I let the spell fade to nothing, taken both in shock and surprise, yet discordantly unsurprised in the least, at Razortongue’s militaristic take on the second line. I shook my head with a semi-shocked smile on my muzzle.

“Did she just say that?!” I asked Canuck Chuck.

Still laughing, he nodded. After a few seconds of silence, we both cracked up again.

“So, what’s got you wanting to rescue Rainbow?” I asked.

Canuck Chuck looked at his flank. “She gave me my cutie mark.”

I tipped my head to one side in confusion. “How? That logo’s from my world – my favourite hockey team, as a matter of fact.”

“When I was moving to Fillydelphia as a kid with my parents, we were suddenly struck by a massive array of colours, which I found out later was the legendary Rainbow Dash’s first sonic rainboom. Unfortunately, we were close enough when it went off that we were caught in the blast. My horn started glowing wildly and began receiving radio broadcasts from Earth,” he explained. “I found the Vancouver Canucks through radio waves, becoming a fast fan. I’ve been listening to them ever since. I probably know more about them than I do my guitar, Zytharros. You’re into the 2013-2014 season, if I’m not mistaken?”

I nodded, looking at him funny. This completely threw out any theory I had previously made on dimensional travel. Magic itself apparently acted erratically as it crossed the dimensional barrier, acting independent of time, space and location to achieve the intended goal. Twilight and I would have to discuss his magic and add our findings to our theories at a later date… provided we were able to save them.

Suddenly, we passed over a wall. I looked down and saw Canterdam Castle directly below us. I quickly directed him downward before pulling an over-the-back loop-the-loop and diving straight for the earth. Canuck Chuck cloned my movements and we tandem-dived right for the castle. I aimed myself for one of the dining room windows, while Canuck Chuck opted to pull a tight, hard 360-degree bank, make it through the window, and barrel-roll straight into Boomdrop, who was setting the table for lunch. The Cutie Mark Crusaders, Derpy Hooves, Razortongue and Emerald Thunder, his cheesy perma-grin still present, watched the icy alicorn and black and purple pega-zebra tumble head-over-heels into a set of pegasus armor on the other side of the room. Slowly, they righted themselves and brushed off any debris from their fall.

“Sorry, Boomer,” Canuck Chuck apologized.

Boomdrop frowned. “That’s the six-hundred-ninety-fourth time you’ve done that since I’ve known you. I’m surprised I haven’t broken a bone yet!”

Canuck Chuck looked sheepish as the larger mare scowled and tried to work the resulting pain out of her body. She chuckled.

“Wasn’t a bad set of stunts, though,” she said, smiling.

The icy colt blushed. “It’s… no Rainbow Dash…” he audibly admitted in a surprisingly normal speed of speech.

“Whatever,” she said, waving him off. “I’m going to go get the cook to get us our lunch.”

She exited stage kitchen. Canuck Chuck and I took our seats at the table. Scootaloo was eyeing our new guest with the sort of admiration she usually left for Rainbow Dash or the Wonderbolts.

“How did you get your mane and tail to stay like that?!” the filly exclaimed.

Canuck Chuck smiled, telepathically speaking to the young ochre pegasus but allowing us all in on the conversation. “Live your life at Mach 1.”

Scootaloo looked at him funny. “What does that mean?”

He continued smiling. “Have you ever heard of the pony who logged two full years of straight flight without ever setting foot on the ground?”

“Two years!!” the filly pegasus declared. “That’s impossible!”

Canuck Chuck chuckled. “Next time you have Equestria’ record book in front of you, look under ‘longest time spent in the air’. That’s me. Rainbow’s got me bested at speed. That I won’t argue. However, I am the world’s best endurance pony, period.”

“What about the Wonderbolts?” Scootaloo asked. “Some of them log thousands of hours a year in the air.”

“No, kid…” the ice alicorn corrected. “I log six hundred in a single month. I log so many hours in the air, I often sleep while flying. I’ve done fifty complete laps of the entire country of Equestria in a row without breaking a sweat. I know this country’s layout of cities, towns, barnyards and famous landmarks as if I was looking at my own flank.”

Boomdrop confirmed this with a nod of her head. “He knows Equestria better than anypony I know, even Princess Celestia.”
Razortongue hummed her confirmation. “This fucker’s got more hours in the damn air than any two of the Wonderbolts combined. I should know – I’ve been a fuckin’ lifelong Wonderbolts fan myself. Even the fuckin’ record-holder for the Wonderbolts, Robin Longflight, could barely do two laps of Equestria in a row.”

Derpy covered her ears. “Razortongue!” she shouted, clearly still offended at the language.

“Oh, sorry…” the Earth pony said, slapping a hoof over her own mouth.

At this, Canuck Chuck burst out laughing hysterically. “You got… Raz-zort-tongue t-to…”

I nodded. “Derpy didn’t like her language.”

Canuck Chuck looked at the wall-eyed pegasus. Derpy shrank back, expecting a barrage of taunts. All she saw was confusion.

“Why’s your eye like that?” he asked her.

Derpy’s demeanor dropped. “I was born with it, okay?” She again braced for the inevitable insults, but was surprised when none came.

“Oh,” was all he said.

His stomach growled just as Boomdrop came out with several dishes. Canuck Chuck put himself beside Derpy very purposefully as we gathered around the table. Her mood became confused, then a little…

Wait… was Derpy… crushing on Canuck Chuck?

Her cheeks flushed a slightly darker shade of gray as he began talking with her. I chuckled as I sat between Sweetie Belle and Razortongue. Emerald Thunder sat by Scootaloo, who flanked Canuck Chuck. Apple Bloom tailed Boomdrop to the seat beside Sweetie Belle.

As we settled into dinner, miscellaneous conversations popped up… Apple Bloom asking Boomdrop about her “weird hi-hat cutie mark”, Razortongue and Emerald Thunder reconciling, Canuck Chuck and Scootaloo discussing different Wonderbolt routines… The one that struck me the most was the one Sweetie Belle was going to engage me in, though.

She finished the smallish amount of food on her plate and sat back, thinking long and hard. It was unlike her to focus so much on whatever was crawling around in that little horn of hers, ignoring her Crusader friends.

“Zytharros,” she suddenly called.

I sucked back a forkful of spaghetti. “What’s up, Sweetie Belle?”

“How do you know what your talent is?” she asked. “It’s been bothering me for a while now. I mean, Rainbow Dash said that you should try everything you can, and eventually it will come. Twilight said we should look at things we’re already good at. How do you know where to look?”

I smiled. Putting my food down, I said, “Come with me.”

We left the table, walking down a hallway to the small section of castle gardens that was kept in the middle of the castle.

“When I was little, I had no idea what I was supposed to do with my life,” I said. “I wanted to be a hockey player, a martial arts master, a game designer, a comic book artist, a writer, a musician, a Pokémon trainer, and a ‘thinker’. My dedication to each of these was eventually tested, and only the writer part lasted.” I paused to smell a flower, letting a playful smile escape my lips. “In fact, as a teen, I embraced not only my writing talent, but was also led to believe I could sing – and sing well – by an adult I respected at the time. I was terribly nervous and scared to show off my talent, but over time and with enough encouragement I embraced it.”

“Your voice was amazing, Zytharros,” Sweetie Belle complimented. “I wish I could sing like that…”

Unfortunately, my magic was worn out for the evening. Otherwise, I would’ve portrayed her singing “Hush Now” and a rough draft of the “Cutie Mark Crusaders” theme. I decided I would goad out her singing.

“Would you sing the Cutie Mark Crusaders theme for me?” I asked.

She looked around nervously, making sure it was just me and her, then quietly started into her rendition. I could tell her level of nervousness as she began the song, but as she grew more comfortable, the little filly’s voice rose from her as if she was holding her own private concert. I smiled. I always liked seeing kids put their best foot forward in singing. However, her pitch, tone, and timbre quality was unmatched by any kid I had heard until that point. I lost myself in the song, closing my eyes and letting her voice run through me, generating images of a stunned crowd at the Ponyville talent show as the Cutie Mark Crusaders claimed top honours for their performance. A smile crept across my face.

Eventually, the song finished. The first word I heard was…

“Sorry…”

I opened my eyes to see a nervous white, purple and pink filly looking at me sadly. I leaned down and looked at her right in the eyes.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” I said. “That was some of the best singing I’ve heard from someone your age.”

“Really!?” Sweetie Belle said, ecstatic with joy.

I nodded, smiling as the filly nuzzled my leg. “You have a gift there,” I said. “Nurture it.”

“But…” she suddenly got so serious and nervous I couldn’t help but chuckle inwardly. “What if people don’t like my singing?”

I shrugged. “You can’t control how everyone’s going to respond. Some will like you, some will hate you, and some won’t care. Such is the curse of public opinion.”

“But what if I get nervous and-” I gently put a hoof to her lips.

“Sweetie Belle, every performer gets nervous,” I said. “The trick isn’t getting over the nervousness, but learning how your mind best deals with nervousness until you get comfortable on-stage. That’s something that comes over time.” I let my hoof down. “For myself, it was simply fading into the song that did the trick. You’ll have a different way of dealing than I will, though.”

Noticing a small flash on her rear, I flicked her flank with my tail. “Until then, enjoy what you’ve got and practice, practice, practice. With enough effort, you’ll go far, kid.”

She looked at her flank. A cordless microphone exuding two eighth-notes had appeared on it. She screamed in total ecstasy and blasted past me to her friends in the other room. I trotted down and sat at the table, but was soon swarmed by the three fillies giving me thanks and asking me to help them with their marks. I laughed and simply told them it would come in time. I already had inklings as to what they were, but I would let them try and figure it out for themselves.

“That’s the joy of childhood,” I mumbled to myself as the girls trotted off to listen to Sweetie Belle’s immaculate voice.