• Published 26th Oct 2015
  • 1,141 Views, 123 Comments

My Big Batty Not-Wedding - Wise Cracker



Rumble decides to be wedlocked to his bat-winged girlfriend. The rest of Ponyville doesn't know what to make of it. Scootaloo just tries to keep her dark secret hidden.

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Enter the Truck

“Gotcha.”

Another cloud whizzed past Rumble, and he left his opponent behind. This race was in the bag.

Rumble had come to enjoy the races with his new flying buddy. Soaring through the air under the watchful eye of Rainbow Dash, rushing past one cloud after another, it sent a thrill through his little heart.

It certainly helped that his partner was an even match for him. Rumble had held back for the first leg of the race, but now that they reached a long straight end he could burst forward at full speed, leaving the other colt in his vapours.

That is, until he spotted another flag sticking in a cloud. That’s when he knew he was in trouble.

“Gettin’ slow, bud,” the orange colt taunted as they went into another turn.

Rumble gritted his teeth as he forced himself to slow down for the turn. Truck was more manoeuvrable, and they both knew it. Rumble muttered under his breath. “Stupid, stupid, stupid.” He should have noticed that one final turn. He’d worn out his wings bursting forward, and now found himself having to suffer the sight of Truck’s hind quarters.

Truck was a pegasus colt with a dark orange fur and a purple mane and tail, not that different from Scootaloo. Unlike Scootaloo, though, Truck was a boy, and very much so. He had a very boyish snout, the thick, fuzzy hooves of a future stallion, and the most robust and masculine chest a ten-year-old boy of above average fitness could wish for.

He was a worthy rival for Rumble, both an excellent measure for his own skill and a good motivator to do better.

Rumble bobbed to the left behind the colt, Truck followed suit. Rumble weaved to the right, Truck blocked him. They were on the final straight end, going down towards Rainbow Dash and the finish line, where their spectators waited.

“Come on, Truck! You can do it!” Apple Bloom cried out.

“Go, Rumble!” Sweetie Belle chimed in.

Rainbow Dash just smiled up at the pair as they came in.

Rumble took a deep breath, biting away the burn in his wings. If he wanted to win, he only had one option left. There was one thing Rumble was an expert in that Truck barely even knew about: pegasus magic.

With a force of will, Rumble calmed down his body. His wings stopped beating, everything around him slowed down, but he could feel the power holding him afloat. He didn’t need his wings to fly, no pegasus pony really did. He could fly on magic alone if he wanted to, just like Rainbow Dash.

A quick shift to the side gave him the opening he wanted, then he let out a burst of magic through his hooves. The thunderclap propelled him forward, almost knocking Truck off course. Rumble didn’t have time to worry; he had to steady himself against the forces knocking him back from his sudden acceleration. He kept his front and hind legs stretched out, kept his abs taut to stabilise, and most importantly he remembered to breathe; Rainbow Dash had warned him about that.

He swooped in for a landing, and judging by the sound of hooves scraping dirt behind him, Truck wasn’t far behind. Rumble plopped his rump down to catch his breath. “Whew. That was a close one.”

Truck walked up and extended his hoof. “Yup. But just wait ‘till I can dash like that, dude, then we’ll see.”

Rumble chuckled and shook hooves like a good sport. “Right. I’ll show you sometime.”

“That was amazing!” Sweetie Belle jumped up and ran towards the pair. “You know, you two should really try competing out of town sometime.”

Rumble turned towards the girl. “You really think so? We’re that good already?”

Sweetie Belle nodded, and so did Apple Bloom. “Yup. Well, I think so.”

Rainbow Dash nodded in kind. “Me too.”

“Me three. Are you training them, Rainbow Dash?”

Rainbow’s ears perked towards the sky. Apparently a certain mailmare had found her nap interrupted by the sound of a bang, if the cloud she was on was any indication. Rainbow chuckled nervously. “Heya, Derpy. Sorry about the noise, I forgot to warn him about that.”

Derpy waved the notion away. “Oh, that’s okay, silly. It’s nice to see a little pony race around here.” She hopped down from the cloud. “But um, I haven’t seen you around here, little boy. Who are you?” She looked the orange colt over, then squinted. “Are you related to Scootaloo, by any chance?”

Truck shrugged. “Me? Nah, we just know each other from, like, stuff and things. My name’s Truck.”

“Ah, gotcha, stuff and things are my favorite, too. I’m Derpy. Well, my name is Ditzy Do, but my friends call me Derpy.”

Apple Bloom, meanwhile, was busy inspecting Rumble’s wings. “Hey, Rumble? You might wanna get yourself some salve for your muscles. You’ve got a little twitch goin’ on right above your wings.”

Rumble frowned and tried to crane his neck to see. “Really? Where?”

The girl carefully reached out for the twitching spot. “Right the-”

“Rumble, what do you think you’re doing?”

“Gah!” The children all jumped.

Rumble took a moment to steady his pounding heart. “Thunderlane! What do you think you’re doing?”

Rainbow Dash put up a coy smile. “Yeah, Thunder, what are you doing here? I thought you were supposed to check the winds over Tuber Lane.”

“I did, and then I came to check up on my little brother. You know the rules, Rumble; no playing around before you’ve done your homework.”

“I already did my homework,” Rumble protested.

Thunderlane raised an eyebrow. “What about studying? Are you ready for the test tomorrow?”

Sweetie Belle frowned. “Umm, there isn’t any test tomorrow.”

“There could be a pop quiz,” Thunderlane argued.

“Aww, come on, Thunderlane, let him have his fun. You raced when you were his age.” Derpy smiled at the cute, if slightly awkward, scene unfolding.

Thunderlane rolled his eyes. “Yeah, but that was different; I raced after I was ready for school. Now come on, Rumble, let’s go.”

Rumble groaned. “Fine.”

Thunderlane took off, and Rumble followed.

“See you around, Rumble,” Apple Bloom called after him. “Take care of those wings.”

Rumble didn’t reply. He kept his lips sealed shut, though it looked like he had to try hard to do so.

Derpy furrowed her brow. “What was that about?”

Rainbow Dash smiled nervously. “It’s nothing. Thunderlane just thinks Apple Bloom and her friends are trouble, that’s all. Or any girls, really. He’s just trying to protect his little brother.”

Derpy looked at the three kids. “Now that you mention it, where’s Scootaloo?”

“Up in the clouds, with her parents,” Sweetie Belle quickly answered. “You know, now that she can fly and all.”

Rainbow nodded. “And speaking of which, I should get you home, Truck.” She lifted off gently, and the colt followed.

“Well, it was nice to meet you, Truck. Hope to see you race some more. Oh, hey, you know what’d be fun? You could try running one of the official courses sometime, do a race like the Wonderbolts do.” Derpy smiled, jumping up and down on her cloud like she always did right before one of her accidents. She didn’t get any lightning this time, though.

Rainbow winced at the suggestion. “Err, that’d be nice, but I don’t think I can set that up for them. I can barely get the tracks all to myself around here, it’s not worth the hassle if you can just fly out in the open. Besides, Truck and Rumble are done training with me now, they’re better off going at their own pace.”

“Really?” Truck arched an eyebrow. “For really real?”

Derpy pondered it for a moment. “Well, you could always ask Diamond Tiara, then. Her dad sponsors a lot of the clubs in town, and a lot of the events, she’d know where and when you can race.”

Truck chuckled. “Dude, that’d be totally awesome, but I kinda gotta jet right now. Catch you later, Derpy Ma’am.”

“Catch you later, Truck!” Derpy waved him goodbye as he flew off with Rainbow Dash.

Once they were out of earshot, Rainbow Dash whispered to the boy. “Well, you fooled Thunderlane, and now you’ve fooled Derpy. Guess that magic of yours does count for something.”

Truck chuckled. “Yup. Totally tubular, huh?”

Rainbow Dash rolled her eyes. “Just try to lay off the surfer talk, okay, Scootaloo? Just because you’re a changeling, doesn’t mean you can go acting like just any pony. It’s gotta be believable.”

The changeling groaned. “Ugh, I know. But it’s fun!”

“So it’s not awkward for you, being a, you know…”

“A boy?”

“Yeah.” Rainbow winced.

“Not really, but there is one thing that’s kinda bugging me.”

“What’s that?”

“I have to go pee really bad.”


Rumble lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling. Somepony knocked on his door.

Thunderlane came in, ears perked and lips tightly together, trying to gauge his little brother’s mood.

“Most ponies wait ‘till you say ‘Come in’, you know.”

The stallion sighed and sat on the bed. “Look, I’m sorry for barging in like that and startling Truck.”

Rumble shook his head. “No, you’re not. You’re just sorry I don’t put up with it any more. If it was up to you, I’d be locked up in the house all day.”

“That’s not true.”

Rumble sat up and huffed. “No, that’d be too subtle. You’d want me to go out with a shock collar or something, like a dog, just to stop me from talking to girls.”

“Oh come on, now you’re overreacting.”

I’m overreacting? I’m not the one who jumped out of nowhere just because some girl in my class wanted to talk to me.”

“She was going to touch you, Rumble,” Thunderlane’s voice went deep and serious. “You know that’s not okay.”

“She was trying to show me where my muscles were twitching. Her brother’s a workhorse, she was trying to help because she knows about that sort of thing. But she can’t, because she’s a girl and you don’t think that’s right.”

“It’s not my call, Rumble, it’s tradition.”

“If it’s tradition for us to avoid ponies, why is it that the Night Guard protects ponies at all?” Rumble retorted. “Why do rousettes even live in Equestria if they hate ponies so much?”

“Rousettes don’t hate ponies, Rumble, you know that. We just-” Thunderlane caught his breath. “ We just don’t mix that much most of the time. They’ve got their way of doing things, and we have ours. It’s better that way.”

“Easy for you to say.” Rumble huffed.

Thunderlane groaned. “Fine. If you’re that hung up about it, just find a girl for wedlock and then you won’t have to worry about me keeping tabs on you.”

“Sure. I can prove I’m responsible enough just as long as I have a girl I’m tied to. If I’d just played along for Blue Moon Bloom you’d leave me alone. Wouldn’t be having this problem if I wasn’t so choosy, is that it?” Rumble huffed again and turned his back to his brother.

Silence fell.

“You know that’s not what I mean,” Thunderlane tried.

Rumble shrugged. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For being me.”

Another groan followed. “Look, I gotta go get ready for my next shift, or Rainbow Dash will have my head on a platter. Chitter will be here in a little while, you can pick a game to play or something. I’ll be downstairs. Nectarine’s on duty tonight, so she’ll be checking up on you, but other than that you won’t have anyone in your hair. Does that sound okay?”

The colt closed his eyes and nodded. At least Chitter would try to cheer him up.


Scootaloo gave her mom another big hug. The yellow mare with the blue mane and tail rubbed along her daughter’s forehead, checking that black, dagger-like horn. “You’re sure this thing doesn’t hurt?”

“I’m sure, mom,” Scootaloo replied. Her voice came through in an odd double echo, one voice that sounded like her normal one and another that sounded like her aunt Vinyl’s.

Rain Dancer had needed some time to adjust to that, along with the other changes Scootaloo had gone through once her blood and magic shifted, but, if anything, the ordeal had only made it more abundantly clear to Scootaloo that her parents loved her unconditionally. She certainly got a lot of love energy from them.

“Dinnertime!”

Right on cue, Sun Dancer came out with their meal: caramelised pears with goat’s cheese and honey. Scootaloo found herself pondering if she should ever tell Apple Bloom that the Dancer family’s favorite meal involved pears, not apples.

Then there was the fact that Applejack had repeatedly tried to get in touch with Cloudsdale’s Head of Sunlight Department, and that the mare had thus far only managed to get descriptions of a mysterious, possibly fictitious, chestnut brown stallion with a reddish brown mane and tail who apparently had enough stamina to fly halfway across Equestria and back in one day. And that wasn’t even mentioning the same experience Rarity had suffered in inquiring after the Western Region Precipitation Manager.

Truly, it was a good thing nopony knew who Scootaloo’s parents were, because if anyone did, she’d never hear the end of it.

Not that these musings distracted her from her appetite, of course. She dug in with full abandon, sinking her teeth into the succulent, sweet, flesh of a warm pear.

“So, Scoots, how was your day? Have fun being a boy?” Rain Dancer asked, nervous smile on her face.

Scootaloo just nodded, her mouth still full. She always minded her manners, after all, ravenous hunger or no.

“And no side effects?” Sun Dancer inquired. His eyes and smile showed about as much stress as his wife’s did.

Scootaloo swallowed the bite and stared. “No. Why?”

Rain Dancer chuckled nervously. “W-well, sweetie, it’s just that… you know, if you’d rather live your life as a boy, we respect that.”

Scootaloo groaned and slapped herself.

Sun Dancer nodded. “We love you just the way you are, even if that means you want to be a boy instead of a girl.”

Reluctantly, the changeling removed the hoof -- or whatever the appendage was called in changelings, she hadn’t checked the anatomy books on that one yet -- from her forehead. “Mom, dad, I appreciate it, but I’m fine. Everypony in class knows I’m a girl, and I’m still a girl while I’m in class. I only change ‘coz it lets me avoid some dumb questions.”

“So, err, no lifestyle changes you need our support for?” Rain Dancer asked. “We’d still love you if you did, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“No, mom, nothing like that. Being a boy is fun and all, and I’m gonna keep doing it, but I like being a girl better. And I know you love me, really. I feed off of that now. I’m fine, I’m just really, really hungry.”

“Do you want me to cook up something heartier?” Sun Dancer asked.

“Not hungry like that. I think I’m going to need more love, or more energy, but don’t worry, I know how to get it without draining anypony. I’ve got a thing planned, if that’s okay with you.”

Rain Dancer gulped. “And what kind of thing did you have planned, sweetie?”

“Um, kind of, sort of, a race thing.”


Rousettes had always been a very social bunch. At least, with other rousettes, that is. Creatures with bat wings and horse hooves were a rare sight in Equestria, despite their impressive numbers, and that’s just how they liked it. Indeed, from how they’d suffered because of the vanity and greed of ponies, not to mention those questionable morals they taught their young, who could blame them? Certainly no one with a sense of history. No, rousettes were content to live away from the prying eyes of ponies, only interacting for the bare necessities, and with a great deal of mutual trepidation at that.

But socialising and remaining inconspicuous are two mutually exclusive priorities, unfortunately, and in smaller communities it was hard to keep finding new sources of gossip, trade, or wedlock. The latter, in particular, was crucial in maintaining rousette society, for children had to be wedlocked for their own good. What that good was supposed to be, only the noblest and wisest of their kind could really say. The rest of them just strove to uphold the good name of their race. So there they were, the rousettes of Ponyville, Trottingham, and Canterlot, in the latter city’s convention hall. All of it was arranged via proxy, of course, rousette to pony contact was kept minimal as always.

Glasses of wine were left on the tables, no music was needed except that of the chatter of rousettes mingling, it was to be a grand night out. Old friends could meet and exchange stories, rousette of lower ranks could speak to the honourable nobles of their race, and all could feel equal and speak freely for one night. Such was the way of the so-called bat party, an ancient rousette tradition. Such it was written by the old rousette scholars.

And of course, in the days of the old rousettes, all that was true. Nowadays, it was more of an excuse to get together and brag about the kids. After all, children were sacred in rousette society, and nothing could give any bat a greater honour or distinction than to have successful offspring.

How said offspring felt about being used as little more than bragging trophies, no one really knew. Nor did anyone particularly care.

“Honestly, darling, you simply must come see Night String’s performance sometime. I’m sure your family would appreciate a bit of culture.” Rareté struck another blow to the heart of her partner in conversation.

Rareté was a fashionista, through and through. At least, that’s what she called herself. Everyone else called her a snob, and rightly so. She’d stolen her mane and tail style from a Ponyville fashion designer, and some even claimed she’d changed her name in the hopes of somehow acquiring some talent or glory through association, but this was lies and slander. Nevertheless, the whitish grey rousette was a formidable adversary in the arts of bragging, and the child at her disposal for just that purpose was a fine weapon indeed. Musicians were common but highly valued among their kind, for rousettes were a very sound-sensitive bunch, and a high-level harpist could count for something in bragging terms.

But Rareté was a young thing compared to Strife Gale, Chief Inquisitor in the illustrious Night Guard and wife to the also illustrious Captain Nighted Blade. Blade was busy scaring some younger rousettes out of joining the Night Guard by recounting the tales of his expeditions to the dreaded regions outside of Equestria’s borders, and the scars that had resulted from them, though with healing magic being what it was they had to take his word for it. He had a knack for compensating for a lack of physical evidence with the graveness of his voice. It didn’t matter. Missus Strife did not need her husband’s aid for this; she had her riposte at the ready.

“Oh, I would love to bring my boys along, darling, but you know how my dear Thunderlane’s schedule gets. If it’s not clearing the skies over Ponyville, then it’s some silly trial run for the Wonderbolts,” came the counterattack.

Rareté did not miss a beat. “Oh, of course. I’m sure I’ll have to keep that in mind once little Strings is grown up. How is Nectarine doing, by the way? I haven’t seen her around. No problems, I hope? I mean, being wedlocked to a pegasus pony and all.”

Strife felt a pang in her chest at that, but no one would ever notice. As far as anyone could tell, the greenish grey rousette with the short -- but stylish -- hairdo was just chatting away to an old friend, rather than desperately hoping a certain hot topic wouldn’t come up. “Oh, this time of night Nectarine is patrolling Ponyville, same as any other Night Guard on duty. And no problems, no, my little angel takes good care of his girl. I suspect they’ll be getting engaged to marry soon, actually.” Strife took another sip from her wine, if only to hide her nervousness.

The rousette in front of her knew, though. She knew the chink in Strife’s armour. “And what about little Rumble? Is he still, ah, out on the market, as it were?”

Strife’s heart sank. Little Rumble, indeed. One boy born a pegasus? That was an accident, a statistical outlier, nothing that couldn’t be fixed with proper education and care. The second one? A curse on the family, and a sure sign not to try for a third. “Oh, he’s fine. He’s becoming very proficient in cloud manipulation, and he’s been training with Rainbow Dash, a prospective Wonderbolt.”

“But no wedlock yet?”

There came that blow again. A rousette who was not wedlocked was incomplete, immature, and irresponsible. That’s what tradition and common sense among rousettes dictated, at least. If Rumble had just been born normal, he’d have been wedlocked to a fine girl at the age of seven. Thunderlane had, and Nectarine had never complained about it. In fact, even before the wedlock Thunderlane had been the perfect son, never so much as talked to a girl he wasn’t introduced to. His teachers had been baffled by it, though only slightly less by that than by the parent-teacher conferences having to be done through an official mediator, or via letters.

Rumble, though, was different. Rumble was a problem child, and had to be watched constantly, lest he trip up and make contact with a girl. It wouldn’t be right, not before he had a wedlock, not before he had just one girl he was tied to and who was his responsibility, and who looked out for him, that’s just how bats did things. Of course, with the variable schedule of the Night Guards and Rumble’s obvious inability to go to a bat school, he was left unsupervised, and unlike Thunderlane, Rumble couldn’t be left alone around any girls, not without knowing how to handle them. He kept trying to socialise and talk with them, the silly thing. Why, just today Strife had heard a pony girl had almost managed to touch him -- the scandal! -- and he’d have let it happen if Thunderlane hadn’t been around. It wasn’t proper for the genders to mix when they were that young. Boys just couldn’t be trusted to grow into the necessary skills on their own. Neither could girls, of course, that’s why the whole system was there. Well, that and several other, more practical reasons that only the nobles really knew of, but those were trivialities compared to the moral side of things. The ways of wedlock had served rousettes well for centuries, and would continue to do so for centuries more.

How any pony child grew up without the tradition of wedlock was a mystery that still baffled rousette scholars all over Equestria.

Strife didn’t answer. Rareté felt a smile form at the corner of her lips.

Why did it have to be like this? Why couldn’t my little angel just find the right girl? Oh, noble Sovereign of the Moon, my eldest son grew into such a fine stallion, why can’t my youngest? Is there no one right for him? Surely he cannot be condemned to a life of shame and loneliness?

“Honey, look who I ran into,” Nighted Blade came cantering along with a companion.

Rareté and Missus Strife had to catch their breath. Where Nighted Blade, living up to his name, had the standard uniform grey coat of any Night Guard beyond a certain level of power -- bequeathed during his nighting ceremony, which tinted his normally blue fur into nighttime camouflage and elevated him to a bodyguard of the Princesses -- his companion had a darker, more ocean blue coat with a more silvery shine. And while Nighted Blade was certainly a fine-looking rousette with thick legs and a hard chest, this other specimen stood a whole head taller than him.

This fellow’s features were noble, his eyes deep and gentle, and his voice rumbled with an innate power that only those of royal descent possess. The mark on his flank was a simple star-shaped flower, with five petals and a red, slightly orange colour.

This was a noble from the House of Malpertuus, the bloodline of Princess Luna’s adopted family, practically a blood relative -- or at least an heir, whatever that might mean to an immortal -- to the Sovereign of the Moon. This was a living legend. He needed no introduction.

But of course, it wouldn’t have been very noble not to.

“Hello, ladies. I am Lord Nox, of the House Malpertuus.”

Rareté shivered. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Lord Nox. What brings you to Canterlot? I thought you would be in the Eastern Provinces, negotiating peace between the buffalo and the dragons?”

“I was, my dear, but the peace has been established. And now, it seems, I find myself having to negotiate a far more difficult matter.”

“And what might that be, my Lord?” Strife asked, before taking another much-needed sip of her wine.

Blade chuckled. “Our Lord has a bit of a hard case.”

Lord Nox chuckled. “Indeed. I find myself at a loss concerning my ward, a young girl named Stella. Her parents, peace on their souls, died of the plague.”

Silence fell.

“She’s quite an active girl, my Stella, and quite picky when it comes to boys,” Lord Nox continued. “She is, as yet, not wedlocked. And believe me, she’s had her fair share of candidates. Most of the rousette boys around these parts are either three years younger than her or taken. Except yours, I’m told.”

Strife winced. “I see. And I take it then you would want my son to be saddled with a hard case, my Lord?”

Blade and Nox chuckled. Nox weighed his words carefully before continuing. “Well, now, I wouldn’t say that. It’s just that I’ve been talking to your husband here, and, I have to ask, how good is your son, honestly?”

Strife put up her best smile. “Oh, he’s fine boy, really. He’s very dedicated, I never have to tell him to do his chores, he does those on his own-”

Nox waved his hoof dismissively. “D’oh, nonono, how good of an athlete is he?”

Rareté and Strife exchanged glances at that. “I beg your pardon?”

“Mister Blade here tells me your son is something of a stunt flyer, capable of working the weather already. Surely that’s an exaggeration?” Lord Nox had an odd way of huffing out the air when he tried to emphasise his words, something rousettes had associated with authority for over a thousand years. Few mastered the craft of authoritative speaking like Nox, though.

Somewhere in Missus Strife’s mind, the possible comeback began to form. She might save face in front of Rareté yet. “Oh, that. Why, yes, he does have a wing power of six point five, six point eight if he pushes it, but that’s a little bit dangerous.”

Nox whistled, impressed. “That high? And he’s only, what, twelve?”

“Ten,” Nighted Blade corrected. “And he did take part in raising the water when Ponyville’s turn came, filled in for his brother just fine.”

Lord Nox quirked an eyebrow. “Your youngest son filled in for a prospective Wonderbolt? Surely you jest?”

“You know Thunderlane, my Lord?” Rareté asked.

“I make it my business to know of all important members of any rousette family, Missus Rareté. And, if your Rumble is such a dedicated athlete at his young age, what does he do for entertainment? Comic books? Games? He’s not a fan of the Wonderbolts, per chance?”

“Actually, he is quite a fan, especially of Rapidfire,” Blade admitted. “He’s got the dedication, but he’s not Night Guard material, if that’s you mean. I’m not sure if you’d want a girl of nobility to go with that, Milord.”

Nox let out a hearty huff. “Ohohoh, truth be told, at this point I’d rather just see her wedlocked with a boy she likes, and, well, to be perfectly blunt, despite all the tutors and dancing classes and whatnot, my little Stella’s a bit of a jock, really. She likes racing, what can I say? The problem is, every boy I’ve introduced her to wanted to be a Night Guard or a musician or something along those lines. Our kind has a bit of a scarcity regarding proper athletes, I’ve found.”

“So… you honestly want to pair her with our Rumble? You do know he’s a pegasus, right? A pegasus pony?” Strife tried.

“D’oh, come now, anyone born from a rousette mother is clearly a rousette, regardless of what their wings look like. It wouldn’t hurt to try, at least. I know my Stella, and from what I hear, she and your Rumble would get along famously. If his wing power is as high as you say it is, then I’m sure he’s a good match for her. Pray tell, which one of you is the boy’s mediator? I’d like to arrange a meeting at your earliest convenience.”

The world fell away under Strife and Blade. Blade was the first to recover. “Ah, that’d be Chitter, actually, my brother’s daughter. He’s right over there.” He pointed towards the mass of rousettes in various hues of grey.

“Excellent. Missus Strife, Missus Rareté, as you were.”

With that, they were off.

Strife Gale couldn’t believe it. After three long years of searching, worrying, and arguing, finally there was a fit candidate for Rumble.

He’s going to be so happy.

Author's Note:

Okay, so here's the part 3 I promised. Not much to say, except: keep your eyes open for any references, try not to rage too much as the moral ambiguity starts popping up, and enjoy!