Paper Prince

by JLB

Day Seven: Stranger

DAY SEVEN

Prince Blueblood sat on a curled up coat, a much thicker one draped over his shoulders, above another, even thicker coat. He blinked tiredly, staring at the plain bonfire that illuminated the old, ruined wall. Occasionally, urged by reflex, he would brush a hoof against the cuts and burns on his face, and sigh sorrowfully. Perhaps the one good thing in this dreadful state of affairs was that his face-touching ceased leaving patches of colorful antiseptic on his hooves and clothes. Then again, they were stained as could be by then, no matter how often Raven told him not to touch the wounds.

They had relocated to a gracefully convenient ruined tower close to where the attack had happened. The technicians, after having taken a short while to confirm that his injuries were not lethal, and then making sure he would not hurt himself further anyway, spent the rest of the shrinking day to compile a damage round-up and get to fixing their transport.

Although the report was completed, Blueblood knew not a word of it, no matter how many times Raven offered to tell him. He instantly forbade her from notifying him of repair progress, and was more than glad to set up camp somewhere separate from where the repairs were taking place. So he sat in his and Raven’s place of refuge, on the second to last level of the watch tower, where the old walls protected from the wind and cold still. The Prince made a point of not going anywhere near windows, and barely moved from his corner throughout the entirety of their being there. Even when the secretary urged him to at least take part in setting up the Equestrian flag, torn but intact, atop the watchtower, so that other souls may be drawn to assist, he refused.

It was all too obvious that they were all going to die, and he wanted not a peek of their hopeless endeavors. That would be too much for his strained psyche and battered organism. The royal stallion intended to perish in relative peace of mind, and not in despair over the hopelessness of the situation. Therefore, he sat by the fire for hours, staring hopelessly into the dancing sparks, and only occasionally moaning or whimpering - be it from the continuing alcohol withdrawal, the mouth burns his drinking last time gave him, the tingling cuts on his face, the burns on his chest, or plain despondency.

Raven, glancing back at the nearly immobile stallion, sighed and pulled a small gold-encrusted tube out of her own coat. Furrowing her brow and examining the unsteady stairs up, she took her chance with knocking on the solid wall instead. Whether the sound roused Blueblood up or not, she could barely tell, glasses covered by snowflakes every time she wiped them manually.

“Prince Blueblood? Sir?” she called out, waving her foreleg to make sure there was some chance to be noticed. “I will be going up for a short while. Call out to me if anything happens, please.”

A particularly sobby and drawn out sigh was the reply.

“And would you want to be told if anything of note is on the horizon?”

Whether the silence was solemn or simply a sign of him not paying attention, she could not tell. This being more of a professional courtesy, Raven saw little loss in leaving the conversation as it was, and ascended carefully to where centuries ago, overwatch would take up post.

After a few minutes of adjusting to the furious winds and the sudden blinding glimmer of the snow, the secretary found her footing, and approached a stone railing. The most optimal time for any sort of observation was when the sun was just about to reach its peak - and luckily, she caught just the moment. The white barrens opened up for at least a mile or so from there, only errant snowflakes meddling with the vision. From a former outer torch slot, the Equestrian flag hung, turned upside down, to signal an emergency. Raven still felt rather… tingly about it, her experience with the North and in general speaking out against marking their position with a large colorful banner. So far, she assumed that it was of little consequence, what with the black and blue smoke constantly emitting from their transport, which was also quite a landmark in and of itself. A temporary one, she hoped.

Having taken in a breath for stability, and casting a very small impact prevention spell on both the miniature telescope and her glasses, so as to be able to see, Raven set up to look around.

The view would easily have been breathtaking in the figurative sense, had it not been just that in the literal. Harsh winds, dreary landscapes - such pictures caused troubling thoughts for most ponies. Thankfully, Raven, after having served as Celestia’s personal secretary, overseer, and more, was not necessarily most ponies.

And so she saw many a point of interest. The white wastes were not all waste, and not all white. Far to the east from their location, there were copious poignant, curved shapes, with hints of vast hills, and shadowy objects, similar in shape to the ruin they occupied. Down south, there was a steep fall, and what little was visible from what the snowflakes did not obscure in their fall would indicate that it was a forest - staunch evergreens, growing thickly, evidently looking to test how well their carrier fared against such cumbersome objects. Ever so faintly, Raven saw the shape of the tall mountain that marked the end of Equestria and the beginning of the Frozen North, a border city they avoided on the way in. By her calculations, it would be their current goal.

Then, from where they came - to the northwest - the valley became much more of a signature sight, looking as if some large beast’s ribcage had been placed on the ground, pointing upwards. The terrain was the plainest there, with only a few rocks here and there - discounting the massive, walled-off capital city, glaring at the Equestrian border with the massive banner even she could see. Straight west was an area that perturbed her somewhat, as the telescope would reliably lose the spell and immediately be cluttered with snow the moment she attempted to look at it. Several tries in, Raven gave up, and decided not to question it. Much like she did with the many, many shambling shapes seen close and far.

There may very well have been a very good reason why the Frozen North was not a popular subject in Equestria. In truth, it could easily rival the Everfree Forest when it came to untamed magic, dangerous creatures, and vast expanses of death. Everfree was much more well-known and popularized, thankfully so - that wild magic zone was nearly right below Canterlot. This place, though… As curious and adventures as ponies could get, Raven, a specific individual, did not feel overly inclined to be that acquainted with whatever inhabited it. Blueblood would certainly back that mindset up.

Although, as the unicorn aimed her telescope down, it began to look as if the North had little intention to ask.

“Dammit,” she cursed to herself, glancing at the carrier being repaired not far from their location - but far enough for whatever she saw to look at them first.

It was a figure, bigger than a pony, and built differently, limping through the snow, the snowfall evidently filling up the prints. Unfortunately, her observation tool was made less for detail and more for distanced outline, so all she could tell was that it did not look right and that it was looking their way. They stared at one another for some time - then, Raven realized that it was not her, a tiny pony head atop a five-story tower, the one below was looking at, but at the upturned flag.

“Dammit.”

“Hello?” came a voice from below. Raven’s ears perked up. She stumbled between not replying and staying, not replying and running away, not replying and running away with Blueblood, and replying.

“Identify yourself!” she screamed down, trying to squint so as to see who the dark patch below their tower was.

The figure stopped for a moment. Instantly, the pony thought that it could have been a mimic creature - amorphous beings that existed in the most dangerous corners of the world, they took shapes with which they could confuse predators and prey both, turning them into their meal instead. However, as the stranger below moved, standing on two legs and stretching out large wings, the theory was thrown away. Mimics could not copy griffon anatomy well enough to stand up.

That was a griffon, Raven put the pieces together. The voice sounded screechy and had an accent to it, and the quadrupedal stance looking strange was owed to how the avian was hurt - standing up, he immediately had to grasp his stomach with a hand. And then he answered:

“I… can’t! Can we talk inside? It’s not very nice out here!” Raven listened closer - a High Griffon accent, too melodic, trouble pronouncing the “r” sound, some wrong accents. Quite young, only just out of his teenage years. Male, obviously.

“I will go down and see you first,” she put down an ultimatum, considering for a moment to holler at the workers first, so as to have safety in numbers. Eventually, her less suspicious side won over, doubting the possibility that a griffon, probably a noble, and pretty much a teen at that, would be leading an ambush.

In her descend, she was unnoticed by the Prince. Blueblood had by then curled up and was touching his belly apathetically, evidently suffering from being left without his only solace yet again. Passing a few other more flights, Raven left the building, immediately seeing a technician by the door.

“There a problem?” the purple moustached stallion asked, pointing toward the stranger.

“No, not currently. Thanks for the concern,” Raven assured him, glancing at the avian, who did not move since they last exchanged shouts. He even kept the one hand he could keep up, up.

“Well, if anything happens…”

“I remember. Thank you.”

Trotting up quickly, she examined the griffon closer. He was… a curious sight.

“Are we done? I don’t like it out here,” the stranger spoke as calmly as he could, clearly in discomfort. There was heaviness in his breath, and he had to open his beak far more often than seemed reasonable.

He was a bald eagle, and indeed barely out of his teen years. Hints of a small moustache above his beak, messy, formerly groomed wings, tail wrapped around one of his legs.

What was curious, however, was what he wore. The griffon adorned ceremonial armor, something rarely seen outside their own royal halls, or political meetings. Once picture-perfect, the chestpiece, pauldrons, vambraces and greaves, they looked bleak, worn, torn. The brown and red of the cloth and metal were closer in shades now. Not from battle, but from simple wear and tear. Few, if any, knockoffs were ever made, and real ones could take millennia to even begin to look unpolished. Raven knew as much from own experience.

She could not dwell on it for too much longer, as their sudden guest clearly would prefer to be lead inside. Something did give her thoughts about his face and the “G” insignias on the armor, but the memory of that was rather faint. The Frozen North, still, was a place of enough mystery for this to likely be the norm.

“Yes… Yes, we are. Come in, quickly, it’s dangerous out here,” the secretary ushered him in, opening the door for the limping griffon.

“Yeah, thanks, I know,” he answered. She furrowed her brow for a bit, but then let that slide harmlessly, as Equestrian evidently was not his first language.

“We’ve set up camp on the fourth floor. Can you go up stairs?” Raven doubted letting him stay where Blueblood was, at the same time wishing to do just that. The latter drive won over, as the Prince was becoming more and more of a burden by the hour. Not that a positive effect was guaranteed, but it would be a change.

“I think, yeah,” the griffon winced, still grasping his stomach, at the bottom of where the huge chestpiece was. Walking behind him, Raven saw that his kit was complete with a ceremonial cape - only instead of dragging behind him, it was wrapped around his stomach, forming a knot at the side. Much like his tail, still wrapped tight around one of his legs. Helpful for her to not be swatted, but yet, he kept cradling what must have been a rather grievous wound. In addition, she could almost tell she used to know the signs on the armor.

One thing that definitely seemed surprising was that even limping, the stranger produced little to no sound in stepping as he ascended. Not to be racist, Raven could not help but feel a bit jealous for how griffons were born predators. He heaved, having clear trouble breathing, and yet his step was virtually inaudible. This was likely to be the norm for them, she assumed, her experience with their kind being limited - her area of expertise was mostly Equestrian backwaters and borderline tribal creatures of the East and South. Not the northwestern Griffon Empire.

“Prince Blueblood? We have a guest,” she announced loudly, hoping for the Prince to tune into more of… a Prince, now that they had a public relations situation on them.

Regardless of her hopes, the first one to examine the surroundings and call out was the griffon.

“This looks good. I can stay, yes, right?” He turned to Raven rather than the stallion who just eyed him, less of a stare and more of a lazy glance.

“I… suppose so. You don’t look very good.” She walked up to Blueblood, him looking at her now, reacting not at all otherwise. “Prince Blueblood, sir, would you know if we have any analgetic left?”

“Prince, huh,” the griffon spoke under his breath, his heaving masking that well enough.

The Prince took a long inhale and shut his eyes. Then, he limply tapped on the pockets of his coats. Eventually, much to Raven’s surprise, a small vial was extracted from one of them.

“Not that it matters any, not at all,” he spoke with a crack in his voice, these being his first words in at least four hours.

“We’ll see about that. Let me see—”

The griffon, who was until then eyeing Blueblood constantly, shuddered at the sight of the vial, and stepped back rapidly. At that angle, with the bonfire lighting him up from below, something panged once the mare tossed a look his way.

“No! No, no need! Can’t. Will heal by itself. No problem.” He nearly erupted into panic breathing as he spoke, but still nearly managed to keep his calm.

“Are you sure about that? You look very hurt,” Raven tried to reason with what looked to be another royalty member showcasing his quirks. At least this one spoke.

“Sure. I… Thanks for the offering, but I am fine like that. I just need rest. Can I sit by the fire?”

“Prince Blueblood? Can he sit by the fire? It’s your choice.” Raven nudged him slightly, still hoping that his post-traumatic apathy would come to an end.

“So be it,” the stallion spoke with a sigh.

And so, the wounded stranger joined them. They conversed for some time, Raven becoming more and more shaken up as they spoke.

It appeared that this griffon himself had no idea how he came to be lost in the frozen wilderness, wearing ceremonial armor, and wounded. He could not even name himself - traumatic amnesia, Raven assumed, though he did not seem to have visible cranial injuries. According to him, he was roaming for long - but then, he had no way of knowing how long that truly was, as days and nights were all confused. He tried his best to be courteous to the Equestrian Prince and his aide, unwillingly doing all he could to further his part in her attempt to revive Blueblood somewhat. At the same time, she decided not to ask him about the strange feeling she had about some of his appearance.

“Can I ask why you are here? No need to detail, just curious. Don’t want to seek out political secrets, but would be nice to know. In general.” The griffon only came to that question after some basic pleasantries - in particular, making sure that they would not offer him much to eat (nothing they had would sate him, anyway), and that he would not linger long.

“Why we’re here?” Blueblood sighed. “Because I’m a failure of a Prince, that is why.”

“Pardon?” the avian lifted his brow. The stallion shuddered and perked his ears up upon hearing that, and then, some deep breaths later, calmed slightly. “Um… Problem?”

“No, no, no, nothing. Bad memory,” the multi-coated unicorn assured him.

“We’ve ran into some trouble before. That’s why we’re stranded here, in fact. Oh! Prince Blueblood, why don’t you tell our guest of how you saved us?” Raven did all she could to pull the strings.

“Saved us?! You— what? Raven, in case you had not considered, that was the single grimmest moment of my life! Perhaps you never noticed, but I could clearly, clearly see the last of my dignity burn away with the fire that consumed my flesh, LIKE THE RAVENOUS—” the stallion took a bit to cough, not used to talking, let alone yelling, so much, “—BEAST THAT I HAD BECOME!”

“Ouah…” their guest scratched his forehead, not finding many words in reply.

“This… this… This, this is what you call saving us?! No, Raven, this is CONDEMNING us. I have lost all my dignity, I am no longer a Prince. I am now nothing. I am not even half a nothing, which is all I was before. Nothing! Nothing at all!” Blueblood turned to tears by the end of his tirade, while the griffon looked at Raven with plain confusion.

“He’s not been the same since we got stranded,” she explained quickly. Then, her attention turned to someone who clearly required it. “Come now, sir… How was you saving us from a pack of savage wolves anything but a noble act? I honestly can’t say I follow your logic.”

“Wolves?” the griffon asked surprisedly, looking to Raven, and then Blueblood. “Him?..” he added more quietly.

“You can’t? Of course you can’t, you don’t understand, you wouldn’t. Raven, Raven… I fought. I lunged, I hit, I tried to stab, I set them on fire - with my breath!” The griffon was slowly opening his mouth more and more. “I suffered cuts! Beats! I WAS SET ON FIRE, AND THERE ARE MARKS TO SHOW IT!” Blueblood, in the meantime, turned his head so that the relatively small burn on his neck would be visible. “What SORT of PRINCE am I?”

“A good one?” the griffon suggested plainly.

“NO! No, the sun and moon be damned, no! Can’t you see? Don’t you know?” Blueblood stared at them. “I’ve lost my grace. I am not untouched anymore. I am roughed, I am tarnished, I’ve been HIT. I am no longer of ANY. USE. You may as well throw me away. What use is a Prince whose face is scarred? What use is a Prince who lifted a hoof against an enemy? What use? What do I do now?!”

“Um… Prince Blueblood…” Raven had no idea where to begin.

“Auh, is that not what Princes do? They lead armies, they fight for their country? No?” The griffon, an amnesiac to begin with, was evidently starting to have his mind collapse.

“No! I am far, far, far above that! We are not a militaristic nation, and I am not a militaristic Prince - I have not hit a thing in my life! Me fighting a wolf? I am a disgrace to be talking of it to you.”

“So… a good prince… is a prince that is dead,” the griffon concluded while Raven smothered her face with her hoof.

“...YES! In my situation, at any rate. Now? Now, I am no Prince, and if I am no Prince, I have no worth - and if I have no worth, what point is there to my life? What do I do? Be an exile, wander the lands?” Blueblood waved his hooves in the air for further effect, clearly more fueled up than the mare ever wanted him to be. With good intentions…

“You can… find a job. Do something! If you fought off a wolf, maybe you are a fighter? You could try the mili…” before the fuming stallion launched another tirade, the griffon raised a talon into the air. “Wait! Wait, I remember! I… I think I’m from the military!”

“Well, that’s good,” Raven tacked on a smile, not that the news was not good. “See, sir? You just helped him regain some of his memory!”

The Prince wailed in response and covered his face with his hooves, weeping furiously.

“Do you know anyone from our army who was lost in here? I don’t know if you would know, but…” the griffon asked her, restrained, but clearly excited.

Raven looked at him, examining his face. She blinked a few times, and for a spare second, her irises grew large. The mare opened her mouth, and then closed it, quickly looking sideways, causing the avian a bit of discomfort. Almost catching a thought, the mare clearly brought up what the sign on his armor meant.

“I wouldn’t know… but I think I know where exactly you used to serve. Look at the sign on your armor, does it look familiar to you, can you remember it yourself?” the pony tried to move his memory by itself, knowing it was beneficial for amnesiacs. He stared at the curvy “G”, but nothing came of it.

“No, I don’t know.”

“It’s okay. This is the sign of the Imperial Guard Elite. You are the royal guard, whoever you are,” she said, almost speaking with a bit of pride for the griffon. “And from what I can tell from the armor… You are an Elite.”

That this was not an ordinary griffon, and not an ordinary griffon soldier, was becoming apparent to begin with, but now it came together. She lit up a little - even with Blueblood misbehaving, the sheer public relations boost repairing an Imperial Guard Elite’s memory would give…

“Oh. Oh! Hah.” The soldier chuckled, cut short by a wince, going back to cradling his stomach again.

“Did you remember your name?” Raven asked hopefully.

“Ah, no. I just realized - me and this guy, we are similar. I know now, in social standing, an Elite is a lot like your nobles. A Prince is not quite a Princess, but we should have something in common. Maybe if he had better opportunities, we would.”

“Alas…” Raven replied with a sigh, glad that something was going right. Yet, her heart twinged when the griffon’s head jerked in the Prince’s direction. That one had, by then, become apathetic again, slowly wiping tears and snot from his face. Only then did she realize that it was from how the stallion was babbling - the griffon’s hearing caught it first.

“Can you repeat?” he asked the Prince, doing Raven a favor.

“Wha?..”

“You just said something. Tell me what,” a sudden sternness emerged in the avian’s voice.

“I… uuhhmmm… I said… I said that if you… if you thought we could have been so similar… and that it’s good that I’m what I am now… then perhaps we could switch places, and all would be for the better.” Blueblood replied miserably.

“You would be me, and I would be you? Change bodies?” the Elite asked excitedly.

“Not that it would be much good. I am hideous now. Look at me,” the Prince said, pointing at the scratches and faint burns on his face. He was extremely lucky not to get a single deep cut. These would disappear in a week or so, and Raven told him as such, but he would not listen.

“I have been hit, too,” the griffon lightly tapped his chestpiece. “And you would take that?”

“It’s not the face, it’s not as bad.”

“So you’d change places?..”

Raven stepped back a little, raising a brow. A lot of communicational weirdnesses came from different cultures, sure, so this strange turn of events was not all that strange, perhaps. Only it felt strange to her, not just the conversation, but the... strangeness around the Elite. Something about his face still seemed off-putting. That, or, perhaps, it was xenophobia she was warned about many times while traveling abroad. Never a good time to contract that.

She stepped back a little, and produced a small crystal-looking object from her coat, looking warily at the two by the fire.

“Yes, I would! And what of it?” Blueblood pointed at the griffon indignantly.

“But you said you would rather be dead?” the soldier tilted his head, sitting up on his legs, crouching now.

“Dead, different body, anything! Not this.”

Raven’s irises largened again, and this time stayed that way.

“I can arrange that,” the griffon whispered, stretching a taloned hand to the miserable pony.

“What? How?” Blueblood whimpered in surprise.

“PRINCE BLUEBLOOD, SIR, DON’T!” the secretary screamed out, keeping her distance.

“Give me. The word,” the Elite said, heaving, hyperventilating even, rising up on his two back paws. “Say it.”

Blueblood crawled into the deep corner out of initial fear, feeling wind suddenly intensify, hard enough for the griffon’s cape to unfurl, now gliding behind his back, along with the tail. The eagle looked right at him with unblinking eyes, and pointed an index talon.

“S-say what, exactly?”

“My body is yours. Your body is mine,” he said, and his desperate breaths had turned into faint, unearthly echoes. Faint green emanated from his claw tips, wings, and eyes.

“But how are you… How are you doing this?!”

“I am Elite. We. Know. Magic. Say it.”

Raven, in the meantime, circled around the two, too afraid to reach the griffon. and trying to put together a solution. It came together.

This was a wraith. And she remembered why the face sprung into her memory.

“Prince Blueblood! Don’t listen to him,” she waved her hooves furiously, seeing the Prince’s eyes get locked with the wraith’s, and becoming greener. “Don’t! This… This is Jean’Luc de Sade, Junior! He was reported missing three months ago! He’s dead, sir, he’s dead!”

“B-but…”

“She. Is. LYING. She is superstitious. Death was never confirmed. Don’t fear. Say it,” the wraith spoke in singled out words, barely able to breathe. It made sense now why his armor was so dim, and why he would not eat, drink, or, indeed, touch any of them. Why his steps were quiet - he never stepped, his image merely advanced a trajectory. The curled up cape and tail - so as not to have them phase through solid objects. The armor, to hide the persisting injuries. Whatever killed him, it hit him in the chest.

“Never officially confirmed! We have documents and records, he was found dead at the site of the Incident at Pierce Heaven!” Raven did all she could to get Blueblood’s attention, watching the Prince’s jaw drop open slowly. “They were never released, because otherwise we’d have a war!”

“LY… ING… YOU SAID… YOU WANTED… TO BE DEAD… WHAT DOES IT… MATTER?”

They stood in silence, a green glow growing stronger and stronger. It was a green aura now, and around what used to be Jean’Luc de Sade Jr., the watchtower came to life - faint shapes of ancient artillery poked out of holes that were now sealed, strangely tall equine creatures trotted quickly back and forth, and ghastly sounds emitted all around. It grew by the seconds, bringing the tower back to life with its residue.

Raven took in air, and rushed to the stallion’s side, risking contact with the wraith circle. She had no idea if that was at all harmful, and did not want to find out.

“Don’t listen to him! We need you alive!” she began to shake the Prince.

The griffon, floating in air, heaved and coughed, outwordly echo audible in his voice.

“You. Don’t. Take me. I am better. A better Prince. You won’t remember. All will be better,” he spoke to Raven now.

She stared first at the ghostly wraith of the son of the High General of the Imperial Guard, and then at the pathetic alcoholic that had a medically recognized allergic reaction to commoner food. A brilliant soldier and politician even in his young age, and… Blueblood.

“No! No, no, no, no, no!” she screamed, mostly at herself. “Don’t! Don’t do this, Blueblood, end this, before it’s too late!”

“Do. You know. What it’s like. To be dead?” what used to be Jean’Luc de Sade Jr. stretched its arms to them, nearly pleading, switching strategies, it seemed.

“Very bad! You don’t want to find out!” Raven screeched at Blueblood.

The wraith blinked visibly, adjusting what he was going to say.

“Not bad. At all. SAY. IT.”

A tense silence was in place as the Prince lifted his head, eyes locked with the wraith’s.

Meekly, quietly, with a whimper, but audibly enough, he said:

“I don’t want to die.”

The tormented, sorrowful, truly miserable scream was heard from the tower, lasting for nearly a minute. By when the head engineer had arrived, panicked beyond belief in regards to the two ViPs’ safety, he only saw the Prince being cradled by his secretary, barely fitting into her grasp. Weird images of green energy were vaporing away through the cracks. He nearly swore as a green shade of something quadrupedal, yet with two arms atop a simian-looking upper body, galloped through him, and disappeared, bringing an end to the greens.

“What in the world happened here? Are you alright?” the gruff purple pony inquired worriedly.

Blueblood looked at him, and said, with a gulp:

“I didn’t die.”

Raven hung her head, shaking it slowly.

The repairs were done by the evening, and they set out again after an uneasy night’s sleep inside the vehicle, which looked as if no damage at all was done. Although the bourbon appeared to be missing from the ViP cabin.

Comments

[ScarletCommenter]

This is super juicy. Loving it.

[JLB]

6228500 Right, good question, one I intended to answer in the story but figured it wasn't important enough and would take up space. You can gather the answer as it is, but to be direct, the vehicle they came riding in is a one-of-a-kind prototype, and they are supposed to return with it. Not an option to leave it behind. As for the everpresent "why don't they just teleport" - someone's going to bring that up... The North's already said, multiple times, to be a wild magic zone, and a rather more volatile one than Everfree. It's... not a good idea. If you like flesh. Or bones. Or flesh on bones.

[Shadow rift]

In the description you forgot to mention everyday Mary Sue.

(I have nothing against the story, I just hate blueblood. ASSHAT)

[JLB]

6234495 Well, it is pretty much a long-winded euphemism for it, isn't it. And you may have something to like about this one then. Especially with where I think it's going.

[The Great Derpsby]

You know... Blueblood is so much like Rarity, it's almost painful how well they could've worked if he'd just been a wee bit nicer.