The Runaway Bodyguard

by scifipony

Chapter 17 — Fight Cute

I should have pocketed those extra silvers. I'd need them if I had to grab my kitbag at the hostel and jump a midnight train out of Baltimare. Whistlebutt knew where I worked and, judging by the lack of tea cups or used plates on his table, he understood approximately when I would arrive, which meant he had been watching me. He knew what I'd done to the...

Gang members?

Alarm bells rang in my head. I avoided the lurid news in the newspapers—especially now that they weren't in my budget—even when I found one discarded. Business and politics interested me; I definitely read the magic technology section more often than the funny pages. Still, gangs. Gangs...

I was missing something. Something I knew.

Hooves crunched in the snow. Somepony knew better than to sneak up on a pony who helped other ponies smash themselves into a wall.

Yep. Him. The stallion caught up, but kept out of range of a hoof jab or kick. In the flickering light of the gas street light, I saw a frown made evident by the wrinkles around his eyes. Something to do with my horn being lit? You think?

He said, "I assure you. I am not directly associated with the Pommel Gang or the Carne Asada Syndicate. I do business with them. One or another of them runs the sport book at all the venues. I stay friendly and neutral with the various gang members I interact with. I train ponies to fight. The gangs need somepony to train ponies. I'm a free agent."

A name stuck in my head. I repeated it under my breath, trying to use the sound to jog my memory. "Carne Asada. Carne Asada. Carne... Where did I—?"

Whistebutt hissed from behind a hoof. "It's best not to say her name where it can be overheard."

I stopped in a pool of light from a pizza restaurant and another street lamp. I smelled oregano and cheese. "The newspaper on the Canterlot Express!"

"Huh?"

"The Manehatten Times. She's—" I tapped repeatedly on the cobblestones below the thin layer of white, then remembered the headline, GANG QUEEN PIN ACQUITTED and a strange name in the article that I thought sounded like it might be Equidorian. Some pony named... Carne Asada.

A key witness had disappeared.

I trotted rapidly down the street.

He rushed up. "Really, Gelding. I have nothing to do directly with any of the gangs of Baltimare."

"Except for the sports book? Sports book. That's what it's called? I've only read about that in a novel."

"Yes, that's right."

"And it's illegal."

"Well, it's squishy. The constabulary looks away. Stallions will be stallions. Mares adore the fights, too. There's the Constabulary Conscience League, the pony federation that donates to..."

"That's a 'yes'."

"Yes... well—"

I stepped in front of him, causing him to stop short. "You are going to cause me trouble, aren't you?"

He should have slid into me; I had been ready to push him over when he slipped on the patch of ice that I had a moment ago lost traction on—now three steps behind him. His reactions were good, very good; he stepped back.

"I want to train you. I can make you a contender."

"I don't need to be better than anypony else. I have no use for titles."

"Let me burst your bubble, then. If you continue to fight cute the way you've been fighting, you're going to met a bruiser who can fight smart and that pony will break your much-younger-than-you-look blank-flank neck."

His change in demeanor—and the fire in his eyes, which was as likely as not the gaslight behind me—made me take a step back.

He had me pegged in one.

I studied his physique. Tight, not ripped. Good reactions. None of the strength of the monster. He had pointed out exactly how I had handled the gangs a couple months ago with forensic insights. He understood how a unicorn fought. He constituted a threat.

His horn lit up.

He was challenging me!

I squelched a smirk.

Despite his words, I judged he wouldn't and couldn't go far enough to make me terrified enough—or enraged enough–to help figure out my special spell. That rendered him useless to me.

He said, "If I beat you, you let me train you. I'll show you how I did it—"

I fled, alternating between a trot and a gallop as best I could, considering the drifts of snow and darker areas that might be black ice. When I say fled, though, I mean I wanted him to think I fled.

Four blocks later, he still chased me. I weaved through crowds in front of a bistro and then a theatre, and found myself on a sidewalk lined with bare trees, passing an alley with nopony within a block.

Judging his location by sound alone, I magically swatted his flank.

He whinnied. He swerved, backpedaling for traction, and veered into the alley.

For my part, I attempted to brake. All the training Proper Step's tutors had drilled into me on self-defense failed to kick in. I should have kept running. The protocol was attack, free myself, run.

I hit snow-hidden ice. I found myself backpedaling, then spinning at the brick corner where the alley met the street.

I cast my magic to push against the wall I was about to careen into and I reared to help prevent colliding with it with my head the way Mustang had.

The desperate magic maneuver caused me to hit a hard cushion of force and bounce off at a normal to my trajectory—into the alley I'd sent Whistlebutt into.

Ice kept me spinning.

He had fetched up against the wall. His bowler fell off into the snow.

"Fine with me," he said, pushing his glasses up with a hoof in the moonlight. He slapped my rear with green nebulosity. While it only stung, it made me spin faster.

I found myself airborne. My hindquarters struck high on the alley wall. Oddly, though it hurt badly, nothing broke. I bounced off. At the height I'd hit, I'd have expected to land with crippling velocity on the cobbles. Strangely, I found my knees bent as I went down.

Still, before my knees contacted the cobble, a flash of light went off in my face. The alley was dark. The light, though not at all bright, effectively blinded me. I found myself prone on my belly, the breath knocked out of me, my knees, miraculously, not shattered.

Another spell lifted me; before I knew it, it plunked me on my back.

I heard the ta-tick-ta-tock ta-tick-ta-tock of horseshoes approaching.

Seeing only purple phosphenes when I looked, I sent a Push out targeting by sound and heard oof! He shoved me against the brick wall—facilitated by the very cold wet ice below me.

I hit my horn against a jutting brick and found I'd lost my spell as my ears rang.

Unceremoniously, the middle-aged stallion sat on my chest, pressing on my diaphragm and wrapping his tail into his lap. Heavier than he looked, probably all dense muscle, I gasped trying to breathe as I struggled under him.

His Illuminate spell lit his horn and face in a green glow as he looked down at me between my two forelegs.

I tried to clap my fore hooves and box his ears, or at least flip away his glasses.

His horn lantern-light dispelled and a green nebulosity caught my fetlocks, parrying my move. He held me like that as I grunted, then split his magic to contain my shot with my rear hooves. Nothing I could do could budge him; he really had me pinned, but I sensed no malice.

When I relaxed, he lit his horn and said, "Really, Gelding, I thought you were smarter than this."

"How are you casting so many spells? It takes seconds to prep a Levitate, let alone to use Illuminate so quickly."

He nodded. "Okay, that's the right answer. One of the things I can teach you is how I did that."

"You'll teach me magic?" Pfff. Mind blown. Stupid filly...

"Do I see a gleam in your eyes?"

Suspicion reasserted itself. If I could get my magic under him, I might be able to break contact and throw him off. Big if, though. Nopony could self-levitate. It was impossible, which was why he sat atop me so our bodies were one as far as the magic was concerned; I knew this without a doubt. I said, "You said you wanted to train me to fight."

"You are a unicorn. You can't fight like an earth pony, or a pegasus, not unless you want to be murdered. Of course I also have to teach you magic."

"In-teresting."

"Can I let you get up? By the way, in the type of fighting I'll teach you, you have to pin your opponent to win. I've done that."

"You win. Please get off me."

"Your horn's lit again."

"Yeah, what of it?"

"I'm an old stallion. It wouldn't do to have you throw me off. Give me a break."

I let my Levitate spin into oblivion and he used his magic to set me on my hooves. I'd gotten a few good bruises for my trouble, but I hadn't had that much fun playing in a while. It left me thinking what I could have done better. It bothered me more that the back of my work clothes now dripped with having been pinned in dirty slush.

As we walked toward the street, I heard, "Scirocco." His horn-light blinked off and I felt a warm, dry wind. Bam, my clothes were dry.

"Teach me that one."

"I can try. I don't know many spells, actually. But it's not what you know, but how you use it."

"So I've heard," I snarked. I used my magic to scuff away at the dirt at my withers and rump, to no avail. I'd have to wash clothes tonight. Not like I had anything else planned.

"When can you start training?" he asked.

We'd walked to the end of the block and turned west. I blinked at him.

He said, "We agreed that if I won, I'd get to train you."

I snorted. "You harbor a fundamental misconception, Mr. Whistlebutt."

He frowned. "Coach, please. In what sense?"

"It takes two ponies to agree. You said if you beat me. It's basically a quote. I didn't agree, so, no 'starting training'."

"What? You a lawyer, too? You liked our little rumble, deny that."

I gave him a genuine grin, showing teeth. He abruptly fell behind a couple steps as I said, "I do like fighting, but it's not like I seek it out."

"You fooled me."

I laughed. "I was a foal today, wasn't I?"

As he waited patiently for me to say more, he trotted slightly ahead of me and turned onto the next street.

I stopped and said, "You know where I live, don't you?"

Author's Note:

Well, we've passed the 200 mark on views. If you're reading this, thank you.
Next: In Facts of Life, Starlight "plays" with her "food."