It's Part & Parcel, Plus You Get The Bulk Rate
There were ways in which the cottage came with its own music: a soundtrack which typically got lost in the background until the pony ear recognized a few crucial bars. Fleur and Caramel were moving across the final part of the approach to the stream's bridge -- but Fluttershy had gone ahead, exactly as planned. It meant they got to hear a joyous chorus of birdsong and assorted happy animal noises: the composition which represented the occupants' reaction upon seeing their mistress return.
But there were other reactions, and one of those forced the outer edges of the orchestra to switch pages. A small group of passenger pigeons launched into a call which, given a few thousand more of them, would have approached deafening levels: a fast-repeating series of clucks designed to echo across the grounds while setting up a near-permanent encampment in the pony ear. It was far too loud, it resembled music mostly by proximity, and Fleur had learned it was the first reaction of the cottage to sighting somepony familiar.
And then the music changed again, to the rising, high-speed lack of subtlety which represented the most basic warning which the residents could offer to their mistress.
There's a stranger on the road.
The singers took a closer look.
The newest song redoubled. Tried to become exponential, found that wasn't quite enough and attempted to go geometric, reached for an increasing algorithm and finally collapsed into a cacophony of utter confusion.
There was a place in the animal mind for the concept of plurals: 'strangers' could be understood. But the realm of higher numbers belonged to the full sapients. The best which the most intelligent animals could hope for with the mere act of counting was something like 'One, two, three, four, many, many-many, lots and lots, hrair, run.'
They could recognize when there was a stranger on the road, and a subtle change to the signal indicated a plural. There was no extant arrangement suitable for 'There's at least a hundred ponies coming towards the bridge, might be double that after the stragglers catch up, and would somepony please explain what's going on?'
Of course, somepony was explaining it: that was part of why Fluttershy had gone ahead. Explaining, and arranging.
Fleur crossed, and very carefully failed to smirk.
The sniff promptly occupied the place where the smirk wasn't. It came from eight body lengths behind her tail and as sniffs of both disgust and disdain went, it was fully expert. Blueblood had a lot of practice with that sniff. There were restaurants in Canterlot which saw it as an ejectable offense, and he didn't remember having ever eaten at any of them.
"What's that smell?"
Took you long enough. "I don't smell anything," Fleur expertly lied.
"It's..." It was almost fascinating, listening to the pause which represented Blueblood searching for suitable vocabulary. Fleur kept waiting for his brain's plumb line weight to hit bottom and echo. "...it's not a city smell. Nothing smells like that in the capital."
"This is Ponyville," Fleur politely countered. "And this --" because she knew where he was on the path, and had also heard all four of his knees elegantly lock at the crest of the bridge "-- is Fluttershy's cottage. Isn't it something?"
The ongoing plummet through intellectual vacuum failed to find the lower border.
"Something," Blueblood repeated, and she turned back just in time to see his snout crinkle. "What's that on the roof?"
"Sod."
"Ah." Which, for the stallion, was a syllable with many uses: in this case, it represented Blueblood having no idea what 'sod' was and possessing just about as much desire to say so. "I would hope it burns easily. What happened to that door?"
Fleur automatically reassessed the most recent gouges, completing the process just as the door opened. "Life."
"...yes," Blueblood eventually brought out, with the hesitation representing the closest he would ever come to his current desire. "Who's that stallion following her out? Why is there another stallion here?"
"That's just Snowflake," Caramel valiantly explained. "He fills in sometimes when Fluttershy goes into town."
"So she has her own servant," Blueblood self-translated.
"No," the earth pony tried. "He's just --"
"Good," the supposed noble decided with open satisfaction. "As for some reason, I only seem to have one with me at the moment." He favored the shoddy coat of that one with the briefest of backwards glances: under normal circumstances, it was the most favor he could ever give. "But hers will be fired at the moment I take full control, of course. We can't have him representing me in any way." The sniff got louder, which meant his next words had to blast their way past it. "Why is he so ugly?"
Several dozen of the trailing ponies froze. Fleur took a moment to review everything she knew about Blueblood's field strength. This was compared to Snowflake's mass. After a moment, she kicked in the fact that a sufficiently powerful pony could push their way out of a corona bubble, then put all of the numbers into a battle arena and allowed the surviving minuscule fraction to represent the unicorn stallion's potential remaining lifespan.
Snowflake's left hind leg hitched for a moment, and then the larger stallion resumed his stride. Calmly following Fluttershy, and nothing more.
Right. You've heard it before, and far too often to let him really get to you, not in a way which truly shows to anypony who isn't looking for it. Besides, you're dating now. You know somepony wants you, and... that means you don't care as much any more. What's his opinion compared to Applejack's? So you won't do anything unless he physically comes after you, or threatens Fluttershy. Possibly not that first one.
...it's a pity. Put him on the receiving end of a charge, and we could be looking at a new Games event. Something to do with launch distance. But it would be unfair to allow the contestant only one attempt...
"He has a certain appeal," Fleur decided. "According to --"
"-- and what happened to his wings?" She could hear the shudder. "Between his wings and that face, he shouldn't be allowed!"
'Allowed to what?', applied to Blueblood's version of the word, was a pointless question. When expressed as the target of a negative, 'allowed' meant everything.
Fleur rotated to face the Canterlot resident, making sure to give the audience a full view of the result from her measured movements: the collective sigh when her tail went out of sight told her just who was in charge. "So at any rate, this is the cottage! It's where Fluttershy spends most of her time: in the building and on the grounds. Because that's what her mark asks her to do, Prince Blueblood." And with a smile, "You can hardly ask somepony to deny their own mark!"
The stallion had given the audience a number of clues as to the true nature of his character, along with several hints and at least four open fact drops. But there were still a few in the group stuck in the mire of 'I could change him!' and for two of those, freedom only came when they watched him openly struggle to consider that.
"I suppose," and the sniff dislodged two more. "Your point?"
The shoddy-furred servant took a breath.
"I believe," a rasping voice decided, "she's trying to indicate that even after becoming your --" and for some reason, he glanced at the book "-- paramour, my Prince -- Fluttershy would feel a desire to continue the life she had before meeting you."
"Hmmm," Blueblood failed to fully recognize. "But that would detract from her time with me. Still, I suppose servants could be set towards filling in --"
"-- and it's rather unhealthy for her not to do so, especially for an extended period of time," the servant finished. "So personal actions, my Prince." He looked at Fluttershy and to Fleur, he seemed to do so for just a little too long.
It wasn't the look of a stallion who was evaluating beauty, or the impact of that appearance on his Prince's life. There was something curious in that regard. In many ways, it was the look of a stallion who was truly thinking things over --
"-- do you mind?" Because a stallion who was truly thinking things over often paused to reflect, had done so in the middle of the bridge, and now had ponies trying to go around him. "Really! The rudeness! To just think you can push by like that! Can't somepony just take a moment to --"
He stopped. Looked at Fluttershy again, and the horrible posture somehow got worse.
"-- yes," the servant finished. "She would need to continue caretaking, at least to some degree. The alternative is... something nopony would wish to see. That is a consideration in your romance, my Prince."
There were emotions which Blueblood didn't understand: for starters, Fleur was fully certain that he didn't comprehend anything involved in romance. There was certainly no education present for the subject of empathy. But when it came to looking put-upon (in a handsome way), the stallion had the full doctorate.
"We have air carriages," he sniffed. "I suppose she can --" and in the same tone as 'horse apples' "-- commute? Once per moon or so. Now, I have taken this trip -- on hoof, no less! -- because you had planned some things for me. I have yet to see any of them. Is there a meal waiting?" Hopefully, "Because I do appreciate it when a mare cooks for me. Although if that is what happens to be producing the smell..."
Fleur smoothly added one additional activity to the day.
"The cooking comes later," she smiled. "But your experiences are about to begin."
"Ah." (As potential all-purpose syllables went, it was actually a rather strong one. Fleur distantly wondered if Snowflake was considering swapping out the 'yeah'.) "And how are we beginning, exactly?"
The escort's smile became wider and, somehow, rather more thin.
"To court somepony," Fleur announced, "means coming to understand them. As the saying goes, trotting a gallop while nailed to their shoes." And if I had a forge... "Not that Fluttershy uses shoes, but it still applies. And a couple which truly loves each other will partake in the same activities. Even if you don't strictly enjoy all of them, simply being willing to participate shows how much you care."
"Ah." (Actually, there was a chance that 'Yeah' was superior. It certainly had more intonations available.) "So when I take her to Canterlot, she and I can fire servants together. Really, having so many of them ask for water during a mere day trip --"
...it's a great lesson in rejection, and it gets me back onto his estate --
-- no. Can't let it get that far.
"-- but today," Fleur expertly cut in (and a small head motion allowed the tip of her horn to catch the light), "you are at Fauna Cottage. On her land, Prince Blueblood. And so the activities are hers to decide." Without a single note of actual concession, "Of course, should she reach the estate, the schedule is certainly yours to dictate!"
"A mare," Blueblood considered, "is going to dictate what I should do."
One more dreamer was kicked loose from the swamp.
"The capital's most desired mare," Fleur reminded him. "The one everypony longs for. And unlike the supply of Marble Whispers sculptures, there's exactly one of her."
And at the moment she saw him truly trying to think about that, Fleur knew she'd won.
Because that's how you see her, isn't it? Another acquisition, a symbol which reflects on your status. But this is one nopony else can ever have.
And you can't either.
I decide.
The stallion glanced around at the grounds. Checked the path in front of him for excess dirt (or not-dirt), then took the crucial step forward. His hooves remained clean. The trailing edges of the traveling cloak did not. Fleur decided not to point that out.
"So what are we doing?"
Snowflake deposited the final sack in front of Blueblood's forehooves, then politely stepped back.
The unicorn stared at the canvas. This was followed by examining the printing and when he visibly failed to figure out what it was for, he went directly for the usual solution.
"And what are these supposed to be?"
The shoddy servant cleared his throat. It was possible to hear several dislodged pebbles bouncing their way down.
"Feedbags, my Prince. The animals need to eat."
Fleur nodded. "Not that this is for all of them," she helpfully added. "Some have... other dietary requirements. Honestly, this is just a representative portion."
Blueblood carefully regarded the feedbag which rested near his hooves. This was followed by a slow, inevitable raising of the light blue gaze across the makeshift half-wall.
It was possible to watch him trying to count. After about a minute, Fleur decided the surrounding animals were probably better at it.
"Why are these things looking at me?" Blueblood finally asked.
"They're waiting," Fleur explained.
Because if you came to the cottage, there would be animals. With Blueblood, Fluttershy had been asked to set them at a distance: a little over a body length away from the unicorn stallion, traveling with him as a mobile halo. They moved when he did, they paused on his cue, and small, dark, beady eyes never quite stopped looking at him. It was the sort of look which had nothing to do with attraction, and Blueblood didn't seem to know how to deal with it.
She'd reasonably expected the most intense effect to come from the hovering, circling birds. The lack of subtle muscles around avian eyes meant that most birds had two settings for their focus of attention: Not Interested or Their Pupils Are Carving Divots Out Of My Fur. It had been a reasonable expectation, and it was being completely dashed by what was happening at ground level.
Blueblood looked at the rabbit. A hind paw thumped against the soil, and twin pools of black attempted to drill holes into his (presumed) soul.
"So I'm supposed to feed them."
"Bonding with Fluttershy," Fleur explained, "means caring about those she cares for. And giving them a little care as well."
He looked at the servant.
"That would be true, my Prince," the shoddy stallion conceded. There seemed to be some reluctance in it.
"Then --"
He yelped, lowered his head, and whirring green-and-gold wings cleared the horn with plenty of distance to spare.
The cockatiel didn't even bother to blink at him. Instead, the bird flew up to Fleur and proudly landed in the small of the escort's back. It was something which was done with exceptional care, where the talons did no more than indent fur, and it was followed by three musical notes of nearly pure pride. There was also something of a question mark attached.
Fleur decided a rueful smile was appropriate.
"Sorry," she announced. "I don't have anything, and he hasn't started on the bags yet --" right. "Actually... Fluttershy, would you please...?"
The pegasus nodded, then carefully approached from where she'd been watching on the right. "...nothing yet," she softly told the cockatiel. "And I'll have to check with your pony, to see if you're allowed to eat right now. It's Kori, isn't it?"
Initially, it just looked like the bird's head had found a way to stretch itself: this impression was dashed by the ongoing reveal of what had been an extremely compressed neck. Wings proudly extended to their full span, then flapped twice.
"...it's nice to finally meet you," Fluttershy told the pet. "I've wanted to for a long time..."
The cockatiel was meeting a lot of ponies. Fleur knew they could be extremely gregarious birds, and Kori had been making the rounds for some time. Mares and stallions were being fondly greeted in rapid succession. (Just adults, though: the extensive audience didn't include a single child, which at least told Fleur that school was in session.) After all, the purpose of pony existence was clearly in carrying food for cockatiels. A treat had to turn up eventually. All that was needed was a few displays of avian affection, and then...
Cockatiels could be extremely gregarious. They were also natural flirts.
I still haven't seen Joyous.
Good.
...wonder how she'd try to punish a bird...
Blueblood looked at the pet. It was the sort of expression which had to travel across Fleur as it moved, and it made her briefly long for a grooming brush to dislodge the debris.
"It nearly touched me," he muttered. Then, with somewhat more volume, "So this is about feeding the animals? Very well." The supposed noble had very few natural instincts: most of the ones he had retained used the same channel. "You. Start on the bags."
The shoddy stallion stepped forward --
"-- my apologies," Fleur addressed the servant. "But you're not courting Fluttershy today. He is." She nodded to Blueblood. "In your own time."
Blueblood stared at her.
"Servants do things on my behalf," he stated. (The cockatiel took off from Fleur's back with that same gentleness, touched down on Fluttershy's head and launched into happy chatter.) "It is something I bring as part of a --" and the escort briefly marveled at his unexpected tooth grip on the word "-- dowry. That for the things which a lady should not need to bother with, a lesser can provide."
The word 'lesser' had several effects. It set up a murmur in the crowd, it reminded the waiting animals that there hadn't been any food yet, and it made the servant's fur go tense in multiple directions.
"Her mark," Fleur reminded the soon-to-be-failed suitor. "Her need to fulfill its desires. Also, this is about courtship, Prince Blueblood. About sharing experiences. Would a servant date her on your behalf? When you're too busy to say the words, does a servant tell her that she's loved?" She allowed her eyes to narrow. "As for the bedroom..."
The trailoff was deliberate, and he used the silence as a chance to regard Fluttershy. Fleur watched his gaze travel across her charge's mane. The slightly-oversized wings. Then the tail, and it didn't stay there long enough.
Her talent was still shut down. And even if she hadn't previously solved his puzzle, she wouldn't have needed it. The nature of that regard had been enough.
Attracted to what she represents. Status.
Not to her.
But for now, status was still everything. And there was an audience.
The servant was staring at Fleur, and there was something in the red glare which almost felt unsettling. Then he turned his head back along his flank, she saw his lips move...
Is he trying to get something out of the saddlebag? He isn't trying to shift the book.
It almost looks like he's talking to it.
The servant's spine seemed to collapse (or, with that stallion, collapsed a little more). He faced forward again.
"As she says, my Prince."
There had been a dark note laced throughout the statement, and Blueblood completely missed it. Something... angry.
The noble thought about it. Tossed off a shrug, which did marvelous things for the reveal of his sternum and also sent more of the cloak into where it really didn't need to be. His horn ignited --
"-- by mouth," Fleur smiled. "She's a pegasus, Prince Blueblood. Share the experience."
He glared at her.
He looked at the canvas.
Eventually, his head went down.
The spitting, choking noise mostly went up. Some of the surrounding animals skittered back to avoid the farthest-flung spray.
"...this taste!" he eventually spat out, along with quite a bit else. "How is anypony supposed to... and the weight of this! Nopony could ever --"
"-- excuse me."
A brown body almost shoved its way past the unicorn, who wound up having to dart aside. A mane which was still all too close to becoming a Type went down. Teeth carefully gripped the fabric, the neck lifted, and the bag moved. A few careful steps brought it to a clear space, followed by a casual tearing of the top line and smooth scattering of the contents into browning autumn grass.
The animals closed in. Caramel casually looked up.
"In case he needed a demonstration," the earth pony announced. "Your turn, Prince."
The unicorn stallion seemed to spend a surprisingly long time in looking at the little ramp. Anypony who'd just arrived on the scene might have assumed he was counting the sheer number of talon scratches: those who'd been in the audience from the start recognized he couldn't quite raise his head just yet.
After about a minute, he managed to get as far as the miniature wooden building behind the ramp. Considerably more time was required before he reached the windows, and Sun had plenty of opportunities for highlighting the slanted roof.
The building was only small when considered as a building: it was about half the size of a fairly narrow hallway, and had just enough height for somepony of average size to stand in the center -- if they kept their knees bent at all times. It could never serve as a full pony residence for any but the most desperate, and the main door would have been doing well to let somepony's head peek out. However, a faint outline, groove, and extra hinges on the forward-facing wall suggested the whole thing could be swung out at need.
"It smells," Blueblood stated.
Fleur rather passively nodded. The audience backed up a little more.
"This whole place smells," the quasi-noble reiterated. "But this smells worse. What is it?"
"It's a chicken coop," Fleur told him.
"A what?"
"Chickens live in it. Fluttershy harvests the unfertilized eggs, and those get sold to a bakery in town. Bakeries always need eggs." She wasn't sure whether the skin under his fur was going pale due to dietary shock or from the introduction to baseline economics. "So there's a chicken coop. Several. There's just some separation between them."
Which was when she heard it. There were ways in which it had been meant to be overheard.
"You have to feel for her, don't you?"
Sweetbark.
"That's the wrong style for a chicken coop, completely wrong." It was also possible to hear the dismissive little head shake. "And the separation? She doesn't even have them arranged properly! But she tries, she truly does..."
"So what is the proper style and arrangement?" a mare's trusting voice asked. "How is it different from that one?"
There was a hesitation. Fleur took an exacting measure of that hesitation, then filed it away under Future Vengeance, Causes For and put all of her efforts into not grinding her teeth.
"I couldn't possibly put it into laypony's terms," Sweetbark declared. "But -- oh, hello, Kori! I'm sorry, dear, but I don't have anything on me at the moment... yes, good bird, go on now. But at any rate, I'm sure you could find the right journal if you tried."
You don't know. You have no idea what 'proper' is. You just don't want anypony to believe she does.
I have a list and you are moving up it.
"A house for chickens," Blueblood forced out, just before his sore neck went down again. It let him glare at the surrounding animals from a closer distance, and most of the brief, hidden-to-the-audience anger flare lanced towards the rabbit.
"Stop that," he muttered. "Stop staring. Stop following..."
They all ignored it. Fluttershy, who was watching from six body lengths away, softly clucked at a milling group of fully confused hens or rather, hens in their most natural, near-constant state.
"But she cleared them all out for you," Fleur reassured him. "That's why she went ahead. We're not asking you to deal with the chickens."
"Oh," he breathed (and then regretted it). "Good."
Fleur's horn ignited. Her projected field moved towards the raised underside of the coop. Pulled here, tugged there.
"You'll need this."
She presented the objects, doing so at a considerately low angle. He stared.
"That's a grooming brush."
"Well, no..."
"Why does a grooming brush have bristles made of wire? And what's that other one?"
"Paint scraper," Fleur explained. "Only it doesn't scrape paint -- anyway, one of the many, many, many things which Fluttershy has to do on the grounds is mucking out the coops. So I thought you should share that experience with her. By going through it yourself."
He managed to lift his head just enough to try staring at her. It mostly left him trying to intimidate her chin.
"Mucking," Blueblood said. It was a word for which he possessed roughly 85% familiarity. The first letter was giving him some trouble.
"Cleaning," Fleur explained. "Chickens don't clean up after themselves. So I'll open the full panel for you, as you've never operated that kind of lock. And then it's simple! Especially since Fluttershy already did the hardest part for you. Clearing out the chickens."
The elegant throat momentarily distorted. Fleur was vaguely impressed. Most ponies weren't capable of gulping down a saliva ball that big.
"I do not clean. My servants clean --"
"-- if there's a servant whom you feel should share her bed," Fleur calmly stated, "you can name them at any time. And I'll judge whether they're suitable. Which would also make them suitable for most of Canterlot society."
It made her glance back at the shoddy stallion again, just in case Blueblood somehow found wit and vengeance in sufficient quantities to nominate him --
-- what is he doing?
You can't read a book that way. He can't get it open without taking it out of the bag, and I don't even see a ribbon marking his place. It's like he's...
...they're crazy. They're all crazy.
She wanted to squint more, try to focus -- but there were ponies watching her and at any rate, she'd never fully gotten the hang of lip-reading. Fleur had attempted to pick up the skill late in life and while it had allowed her to occasionally glean a nugget of gossip from across the room, she missed at least as much as she ever understood.
But if she watched...
"...too close... caught... she'd know... details, always..."
Maybe it's his diary. He's trying to figure out what he's going to write in it later. Verbal notes.
...did he say 'details'?
The shoddy stallion abruptly raised his head, glared at Fleur with the open anger of somepony who'd just had a private conference interrupted. She quickly looked away.
Darkly, I suppose we'll know we're in trouble if the book starts talking back.
"...so how is this done?" Blueblood finally ventured, because status was just that important. "I imagine those things are some part of it."
Fluttershy told me about the Gala. All of it. You couldn't deal with Applejack's cooking. You refused to get your fur wet. And then you decided that the mare who'd tried to put up with it would make a perfect shield. Against cake.
You may break right here.
But the status of winning Fluttershy was important enough for you to get through the feedbags. If you've got any amount of willpower, you've been tapping it. So maybe you'll get past this.
I almost hope you do.
The next part is for me.
"It's easy!" Fleur told him, and then smoothly kicked in an extra lie. "It's so much fun, we actually have to charge the local children admission! Because they love mucking out chicken coops. If we didn't assign a fee, we'd have a line of colts and fillies stretching halfway to town!"
She glanced back at the servant again.
"Quarter-bit," she told the older unicorn. "Just to keep the cottage accounts balanced. I assume you carry money for him?"
The red eyes narrowed. After a moment, the other saddlebag opened, and the coin floated forward.
It was a rougher transfer than the usual. His energies didn't recede from the forward edge: they practically winked out just before she could make contact or take custody, and her projection wound up having to lunge for the plummeting disc. Petty rudeness.
Not that it mattered. Start the clock.
"So again," Blueblood irritably repeated, "how is this done?"
"I'll open the door," Fleur explained. "The true one. It'll give you enough room to go in."
He nodded.
"Then you evacuate all of the feeders, the nest boxes, and the water supply. Separate out the old straw. We compost that." A little more quickly, because portions of the audience were already starting to snicker, "We'll get to the compost. Then you sweep out the whole thing. Watch out for spiderwebs! And spiders. Sometimes there's spiders. After that, it's dealing with the dried droppings, and that is what the tools are for, some ponies favor one or the other, so you've got a choice-- oh, did you swallow some feed earlier? That happens. It's harmless. There's really no need to try bringing it up again. So once you've scraped away the droppings with whatever you've been holding in your mouth the whole time, we can hose out the coop. Then you scrape again, because there's always some droppings left over. And rinse again. It's amazing how long that stuff can cling, really. To wood. And straw. And fur. The coops have to be mucked out once a week, and some ponies say that's shorter than the fur cling time. Anyway, then you coat every surface in vinegar. We don't use bleach because if you didn't get every dropping, then there's natural ammonia in droppings and -- well, we don't use bleach. Wait twenty minutes, then hose it again. We can let it air-dry from there, even in the fall. Besides, you'll be too busy washing the feeders to dry the coop. Seriously: how much did you swallow? Because we're working with food next and I'm hoping you aren't full. Now, when it comes to arranging fresh bedding..."
She allowed him to use the bathroom afterwards, because to not do so would have been seen as too suspicious. However, the cottage's laundry facilities were currently, regrettably, completely, and falsely tied up for the day.
There were ways in which she had almost been impressed. Oh, not by the job he'd done: that had frankly been horrible, and Caramel had wound up having to guide him through most of it. It was that he'd survived it, especially after two hours of making noises which would lead the unsuspecting to believe he might potentially die on the spot.
She didn't think it was just about looking bad in public, at least in the physical sense. There was probably at least a little rupophobia in him: the fear of not just dirt, but contamination. But there had been an audience, more ponies looking directly at him than had been direct witnesses to his reflexive action at the Gala, and... he'd pushed on, because there were ponies watching. Because he was the superior to anypony which could be found in the settled zone, and he had to prove that. But more than anything else...
...Fleur had been told about the Gala. Rarity had been a disposable tool: one mare at his side for what had turned out to be a fraction of one night. Use once, kick away. There was no value to courting her favor, for value was determined by what everypony else wanted. Look past the Bearers, and who else at the Gala had any regard for the bitch? Let her eat cake or rather, let her be covered in it. There would be another mare tomorrow.
A lot of ponies wanted Fluttershy. And Blueblood was pushing on.
Which meant it was time for the next stage.
This one had been a late addition. Fleur hadn't had it as part of the original hasty plan, but... this was a fireworks show. Under normal circumstances -- something she'd already seen -- the mere presentation of this challenge could make ponies run. But the audience had decided they weren't going to get hurt, and so she felt there was a good chance for the vast majority to stick around.
Even so, she'd sent Fluttershy and Snowflake ahead this time. Her charge was just putting things outside: something she'd had plenty of time for. The huge stallion had tried to protest at first, finally (and very softly) confessing that he just wasn't all that good with the magic of his species -- but he'd calmed quickly when she'd told him what she needed.
"You said it was food next," declared a freshly-clean Blueblood, who was still trying to figure out how to wear his cloak without actually touching it. "We already did feedings. She isn't even doing these things with me --"
"-- because she does them every day!" Fleur merrily declared from her position two body lengths away, on his left: she had to give the halo of animals some space. "Or week. Or several times per day. This is about you, always about you. Because you want to win her, Prince Blueblood."
In the escort's opinion, the dubious note within the stallion's voice was long overdue. "Well, yes --"
"-- but you just don't win a mare. It's never just a mare, is it?"
"I don't --"
"-- you get their family, if they have one," Fleur happily continued. "We can talk about her brother some other time." (And measured the shockwave which came from the audience.) "You get their pets and in Fluttershy's case, you get a lot more than that. There's ways in which you take possession of their whole life: everything they went through before they met you, everypony who helped make them into the mare they are today, everything they are, Blueblood: everything. You want to win Fluttershy, and maybe you can!"
"If anypony can --" his chest was puffing out again, if more slowly "-- then I will!"
"But whoever does," and her tones dropped, losing all of the joy as shadows saturated every syllable, staring directly at him so she could watch his ears flatten under the weight, "gets everything which goes with her."
He blinked. His ears tried to go back up, and failed twice. The brain tried to understand what it had just heard and, once it recognized the total lack of chance, began the unusually-difficult labor of dismissing it.
"But right now," Fleur abruptly chirped, "this is about food again. Cooking. The pots are already outside, in one of the more isolated meadows, with the fires started. In fact, they should be at simmer."
This sniff had a secondary purpose. "I don't smell anything."
I know. We're upwind now, and that'll hold for a little while longer. That's what Snowflake was for.
"You will in a minute," Fleur smiled. "But this is simple, it really is. All you need to do in order to be within this part of Fluttershy's life is -- stir. And you can even do it at her side! In fact, to speed up the process, I might even pitch in this time!"
The unicorn stallion made a mistake.
"Well, that sounds simple enough!" the handsome face beamed -- just before it clouded. "By mouth or field?"
"You can use your field for this one," Fleur assured him.
"Excellent! Even though stallions really shouldn't cook. So what does one stir with?"
"A celery stalk."
The audience hadn't broken, although quite a few of them were staring at Fluttershy with fresh respect.
"Well, yes, you could do it that way, but how would you trust the base material? To properly supply your carnivores, it's really better to visit a pet store. If you can afford it, of course..."
...not all...
The audience hadn't broken. Blueblood was staggering and if he had said anything regarding that state, Fleur already had a line ready to go about not really understanding why. It was generally agreed that one of the best feelings in the world was to go through the moment immediately after the vomiting stopped: that singular instant when your body was finally back under your control and you knew there was no more pain to come. Given the sheer number of times he'd repeatedly experienced that moment, the unicorn should effectively be trotting around within the halo of a private afterglow.
Instead, he staggered. And the halo was fur, feathers, claws, talons, and Kori going by overhead because you never knew whether a treat had recently materialized.
He'd gotten through cooking the meat. Subsequentially sorting out the world's bitterest medicinal herbs (by mouth) had added something to the aftermath. But there was a limit to what could be assigned. Grooming had been a possibility, but that was something which Blueblood did to himself every day, in exacting detail: there had been a very real chance of the skill transferring directly. And communication with animals... request something within the realm of a mark and even his stupidity might falter.
There was only so much she could ask him to do.
So she'd saved the best for last.
"You're doing well," Fleur lied. "So well! Better than I'd ever expected," because a hint of truth sometimes helped. "That's why I think we should just skip to the final stage now."
She accelerated her trot a little, leading him -- leading all of them -- across the grounds, heading towards the cottage's front door. The supposed noble managed to orient all four legs in the same direction, and his closely-trailing servant had no trouble keeping the pace. It was all the better for glaring at Fleur's tail, which was most of what she was letting him glare at in the first place.
"The last stage," responded the inherent idiocy of hope.
"Yes," Fleur promised. "Because there's a reward at the end of a long day, isn't there? Or there should be, even if the experiences you now share with Fluttershy are just the merest fraction what she does. Every single day of her adult life. Without flinching. Without turning away. Because they're the things which have to be done." A little more softly. "You didn't even see the surgery."
"The what?"
More than a hundred ponies watched her ignore that.
"Hardly a proper surgery..."
It wouldn't have happened. She didn't have anything scheduled which Snowflake couldn't take care of and even if there was an emergency, there's no animal in the world which deserves that.
Not even the rabbit.
...usually.
"But at the end of a long day," Fleur continued at a normal pitch, "there should always be a reward. A reminder of why you do it all in the first place. And what I've found, in my time at the cottage, is that the best way to wrap up what's always a very long day..."
Her tone changed again, and did so in a way designed to transfer all control away from spectator brains. It was a verbal shift which came with a physical match to the fresh sway of hips and shoulders, her tail came close to triggering a number of swoons, and she relished the fact that Joyous would have found all of it fully offensive.
"...is with a slow, sensual massage."
Several ponies veered into each other. Six decided they were better off not getting up for a while.
"A massage," Blueblood's brain cell repeated.
"Yes," Fleur's rising, falling, penetrating voice confided to the world. "There's nothing better. To just go slowly, so slowly because you need to find all the sore places. Every last one, everything which might cause pain. That's part of what the cottage is about, you know. Taking pain away. And when you find them, you just... help. You make things better."
The brain cell found itself rather preoccupied and in that, it had plenty of company.
"She's waiting for you," Fleur softly told him. "Inside the cottage, in the sitting room. Right now."
"...right... now..." emerged as something half-liquid.
"You'll do it together."
He focused on the door, which was so very close and, in the measurement of hormones, also about fifty gallops away.
Then he remembered something.
"All of those ponies," Blueblood said. "Right behind me."
Performance anxiety. Who knew? Nopony, because none of the escorts ever reached the point where he'd get to perform.
Not that you probably know anything about massage, other than how to be on the receiving end. It would mean paying attention to somepony else. Feeling the rhythms of their body, and where those notes need to be smoothed.
It requires caring.
And that's not you.
I decide. And you could never be good enough.
Fleur glanced back just in time to see the servant frown: an expression which existed within a recognizable subset. She couldn't read lips all that well, and there was very little point in trying to interpret body language with a posture that horrific -- but she knew exactly what his expression meant.
'You're up to something. I know it. But I can't warn him because I haven't worked out what it is, he might not listen anyway, and what do you mean, massage?'
Wait for it.
"All of those ponies," Fleur half-purred, "are going to see a very pretty mare with an extremely handsome stallion. Doing something... together. Nothing which couldn't be done in public... by somepony who has the nerve."
At a guess, most of what he'd actually heard had centered around 'handsome'.
His chest puffed out for the last time.
"A massage," he decided. "Ah! Anypony could do that..."
No. It's a skill. Hooves are good for pressure, but creating subtle degrees of it is a lot harder. Physical massage practically takes a mark and because spa ponies aren't all that common, there are minotaurs who try to set up their own shops. The ponies who risk going in keep coming back, at least for the ones who don't freak out when they deal with fingers and knuckles for the first time.
I got lucky. A trick with two facets. One of them substituted. But you're not worth that.
...you're not worth either one.
"Every day," Fleur smiled as she crossed the last bit of distance to the door. Stepped up to it, and then stepped aside. Turning so that she could look at him, at all of the ponies (still triple-digits) who'd been watching and, but for Sweetbark, could at least pretend to know a little more than they once had. To potentially understand. "Because there's always pain, and the need to take it away. That is what the mark demands. Are you ready?"
He squared his shoulders against fabric, and did so in a way which directly stated that he'd just forgotten what the swirling cloak had been through.
"Always."
She made sure she wasn't blocking any part of the view, checked to see exactly where Caramel was standing, and then Fleur's horn ignited. The door opened.
Her charge, who'd had the chance to work on her own grooming after going ahead, looked up, and every tenth-bit of Fleur's teachings shone from her perfectly-brushed mane. Those slightly-oversized wings fluttered a little, and the wingtips almost seemed to curl inwards: a gesture of summoning. Something which was echoed as that incredible tail shifted its weight across the floor, calling for the daring and bold and those few who felt they could find a way to honor it. To honor her.
The visible eyelid was half-shut. A shy partial smile danced on her lips, for she had been waiting for that door to open. Waiting for her prospective mate.
The huge mound of mostly-formless shaggy brown fur directly behind her, which had also been waiting, reacted to the opening door by stretching out into ten bale-weights of muscle, predatory gaze, flesh-rending teeth and, as the stretch hitched about halfway through, nearly snapped back into a grumbling, growling mass of cramps.
Nopony moved. It was a situation where any number of ponies would have normally moved, and the majority might not have stopped until they ran into something. But for this, the audience believed themselves to be just that: detached to the point where nothing bad could happen to them. Caramel had been warned. And for Blueblood... his body had its own reaction, because there was nopony he could put in between him and it.
Fleur already knew that some ponies went through a sort of instinctive reaction: something Blueblood actually shared. A need to dump weight. But he had nothing left to vomit. And for what his body was currently doing in order to substitute (and Caramel, in full public view, was not), it really wasn't something he could manage on the run.
Fleur smiled.
"You'll be helping her start with the forepaws," she addressed the growing wet spot. "Harry gets the worst knots at the base of his claws."
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This is completely out of character. That was polite.
I had to pause to enjoy this joke for a solid minute. Just excellent. 😂
10784895
The shock, you know.
The first of many, as Blueblood experiences a level of suffering that Rarity could not dream half as delightful. Perhaps we'll see more of his inner fortitude later. Or bladder contents. Possibly both!
Well I guess Prince Blueblood was lucky there was no rampaging hydra to scold right then. But having him experience even a slice of Bearer life would be near-impossible on the best of days.
Woah. Caramel being great~!
Harem likely is totally going for him as the winner, if she hasn't keyed onto Fleur...
OOOH! Harem abandoning Discord, because, she knows enough about him that he won't kill her, because she's a person now and stuff... And she's magical guidebook-ing Caramel as her horse in the race!
Does Harem actually have a gender?
Fleur's thoughts, and how Discord's are likely directly opposing hers!
If Discord steals her revenge on Sweetbark!
Well, well... Discord likely didn't like how Blueblood interacted with Snowflake... Who, in reference to the family thing, is more a brother to Fluttershy than her actual brother!!!
i really enjoyed this chapter, those tiny moments of redemption for caramel, sweetbark determinedly moving up the list, blueblood stubbornly asking for and getting exactly what he deserves. wonderful chapter!
If only she knew...
Even as I read the first half of that sentence, I wondered if that term would show up. Pleasantly surprised to see another Watership Down fan.
I choked.
Well, if ever there was a negative percent chance of something happening, it would be Blueblood getting the massage. Or him being allowed to put his hooves on Fluttershy. So one of the animals, then. But who…? Who haven’t we seen yet? Harry? We haven’t seen Harry yet, have we?
Knew it.
oh, is that Discord in disguise? talking to "harem fantasy"?
I liked the Blueblood torture as much as I liked this chapter wettting my appetite for the future vengeance against Sweet Bark.
Caramel got some good moments too. Look like he isn't totally hopeless. Good for him.
Starting to agree. The shaggy stallion may well be Discord
This may well represent a key internal shift. Though it's not clear if Fleur ever really felt she resided in Canterlot.
Well. That's unexpectedly ominous.
I do look forward to Sweetbark's comeuppance.
In that case, oh dear...
Very Tom Sawyer, aside from being almost exactly the opposite of whitewashing a fence.
It is wonderful to see Caramel recover so adeptly from his earlier shame. Any stallion will look good in comparison to this Blueblood, but he's really making it work.
All in all, an exquisite display of schadenfreude. Blueblood may end up missing an entire day by the time this is through.
Watching how Harem Fantasy confirmed everything Fleur said for Discord, I’d like to see them team up.
Start a business...
Fleur Dis-Lis & Harem Fantasy.
Professional Matchmakers and Relationship Counsellors
“Why is your name first on the sign?”
“Alphabetical order, dear.”
“Which alphabet?”
I really want Fleur and Discord to team up and put Sweetbark in her place a few times over. It will probably be the only time they truly work together, but it will be so cathartic for them (and us)
10785335
I know right? The set up keeps climbing, it's starting to feel like the payoff will be at the bottom of a cliff!
"and while it had allowed to occasionally glean"
"and while it had allowed her to occasionally glean"?
"He's trying to figure out he's going to"
"He's trying to figure out what he's going to"?
"the unicorn should be effectively be trotting around within"
"the unicorn should effectively be trotting around within"?
"just go slowly,soslowly"
"just go slowly, so slowly"?
"A shy partial smile danced on her lips, for she had been waiting for that door to open. Waiting for her prospective mate."
Annnd re the door earlier:
"Fleur's horn ignited. The door opened."
Shipping goggles? What shipping goggles? :D
Yes, a grand day for the Ponyville street theatre scene indeed! :D
(Also, Sweetbark? You should maybe be starting to notice by now that you have poor taste in enemies...)
The worst thing about Sweet Bark is how incompetent she is in contrast to her condescending attitude towards Fluttershy who actually is competent and that the psuedo vet takes all the credit. Damn she really is the worst.
Enjoyed this exercise in willpower and endurance. Putting Blueblood through the wringer makes sense, as does him only doing it because of the large number of witnesses not letting him give up his pride.
I liked Fleur going through all the criteria for why BB was not the right choice and couldn't help but think about how Fleur represents the opposite in this context... she obviously does care and has put a lot of time into learning how everything works at the cottage. And then you start talking about shared experiences and how you get everything that comes with Fluttershy, the baggage of her past and present, etc. Very compelling to me.
That makes me wonder, just how long into the timeline have we gone since this all started? It's got to be like at least 4 or 5 moons into the sentence right? Curious about what the timescale is for these developments.
Thank you so much for the updates on this story this month. It's my favorite story of yours. It's truly a wonderful experience reading it.
I’d almost feel sorry for Blueblood, but I just can’t. Good for Snowflake for ignoring the lesser stallion who would never have a chance with a good mare, let alone an Applejack.
I’m enjoying disguised Discord, but he’s,really got to up his game if he’s really going to compete with Fleur in finding a decent match for ‘Shy. But if he just wants to cause some chaos, well, he’s doing fine.
Love that ending. The build-up to that moment is like a San Francisco street car slowly losing its brakes, soon barreling down California Street, barely (bearly?) making it through every intersection on its way to a gravity-assisted terminal velocity meeting with the Bay. Eventually you're going to have to jump off, and at this point in the ride, Vlad is flying through the air and contemplating what the salt water is going to do to his coat.
Also, I'm greatly anticipating (or at least hoping) that in the end Discord will realize two things: his true, utter ignorance of how ponies really work, and 2) how this entire affair exactly, precisely matches his Mark, which takes the form of his physical presence: sweet, delicious chaos. How could he not love Fleur after this?
Ok maybe I’m dense, or missing a lot of social ques but... that weird servant pony discord right?
10786385 Yep. Among other things, the frequent mention of the eyes, weird body curvature, and his frequent talking to a book all give it away.
This chapter makes me realise that there was an error in Does Discord Fart?
Obviously, Estee, you forgot to include the line, “Except for Harem Fantasy who was fine forever.”
Because Harem Fantasy is going to be fine.
...right?
Blueblood has done better than I thought he would.
Almost feel sorry for him.
Caramel is doing well, Blueblood's situation is hilarious and Rarity is going to be more upset that she missed it, Sweetbark earned more of my ire..... And I'm finally caught up! Looking forward to the future!
10786674
Harem Fantasy is an animate book, not truly *alive* in the way that, say, a pony is.
Next spa day with Rarity is going to involve some insane cackling.
And with that I'm caught up! Lovely.
Small credit to Blue Blood, managing those stock pots wasn't something that just any pony could do, with all that pride comes some minuscule quantity of nerve.
I am deceased. My grandparents gave me a weird look multiple times as I read
> Tried to become exponential, found that wasn't quite enough and attempted to go geometric
those are the same thing