Love, Friendship, and Gangsters

by scifipony

Chapters 1-3: Blood on My Feathers

[Grimoire is Starlight Glimmer years before the Our Town incident.]

- 1 -

I sat gazing across the harbor in Baltimare, Mareland, watching a three-masted ship furling its sails as earth ponies pulled hawsers warping it into dock. The weather crew vanquished the dawn clouds as I retreated into the shadow of a warehouse to keep from overheating, preferring the cool autumn breeze to the morning sun beating down on my blue fur. I had thought I was a good pony. I'd gotten to the point of managing crews in the family business. I had done what Dad and especially what Maman asked. I ought to have been married a month ago.

I had a feather and katana cutie mark. I liked to fight. Now I had blood on my feathers. I wasn't a bad pony, but I had been grounded, having to lay low on the opposite side of Equestria from Vanhoover until the air marshals lost interest in the case with the family's help.

I wasn't a bad pony.

"I'm not," I cried to the sea, jumping into the air. I sliced with my wings, punching the hulking shadows of my mistakes. For minutes, I cut the air not pony flesh, spinning, kicking, slashing, yelling my frustration. My wings sparked red with the crystal that grew from the vanes, stiffening them, making them brittle. When I flexed just right, they knitted into a razor edge.

I had blood on my feathers.

I settled back to the cobblestones, breathing hard. I sweat. Moisture beaded at my hairline, and dripped. It hid the tears I blinked away. That was good since stallions didn't cry.

Yeah, if so, what did that make me?

I reared and trampled down my protective yellow slicker and stuffed it and my rubber boots into my saddlebags, then trotted out to the street, having no energy to launch into the sky. I can't say I'd been happy with my life in Vanhoover, but it had provided purpose; I had thought I understood my responsibilities and myself. It had been hollow, though. It made my life now even more so.

As I reached the street, I noted with a startled whinny that a dark brown earth pony loitered at the corner of the warehouse. He had blended into the the red brick, dirty with decades of grime, until seemingly he had wanted me to see him. He wore dark steel chains around his neck and a grey-brown tee-shirt that blended in so well he might as well have been naked. His chocolate-brown eyes glittered though, and I noticed a smile.

I turned to take the street in the opposite direction, but he trotted to follow, then suddenly said, "Ewww. You smell like sardines."

His voice sounded melodious, not at all gruff or gravelly or deep as his squared-off muscular looks and clothing had made me expect. I stopped and looked back in surprise, then said, "I've got a part-time job cutting bait for the fisher-pegasi on pier 7."

He stopped. His nose pulsed, but he grinned. "With your wings?"

I wasn't used to explaining the one thing that made me especially weird to a total stranger I'd met on the street. At times like this it felt like an embarrassing quirk rather than a special talent. I opened my mouth but nothing came out.

He said, "That makes total sense. I watched you shadowboxing, flinging yourself around, staying airborne while slicing the air with your wings. It was amazing!"

"Amazing?" I repeated, feeling my face warm. Nopony had ever used that word to describe my cutting talent. Usually "creepy" or "scary" came to mind. I laughed then, realizing, "You meant my shadowboxing. I've trained in—"

"No, I meant your wings."

"Really?" I guess I didn't know what to think about his words. I did face my original direction. When he looked startled and started to follow, I added, "I work at The Petite Pescatarian Pegasus. I got turned around."

"Part-time for lunch?"

"Cook's assistant. I'm, uh, very skilled, uh—"

"Cutting, slicing, and dicing—?"

"—Food," I interjected.

"—Fish," he corrected. "My supervisor is a pegasus, and she's completely unashamed about bringing a hot fish breakfast to completely gross us out. I'm used to the smell of fried kippers, so... I think it's cool. More cool than my talent, anyway."

He seemed the chatty sort, but he didn't seem like one of those ponies being friendly to sell you something. "I'll take the bait."

His gait lost a beat, as if he hadn't expected me to ask. "Um. I throw ropes and chains, and make them return to me?"

Yeah, that sounded as strange as they came. It might be a good epiphany story. As we turned to walk uphill toward the restaurant, I asked, "Like a lasso? You catch things?"

"Not quite. I can grab things by making the end wrap around what I aimed for, but it's mostly knocking something down."

I stopped at the front door to the restaurant. It looked like a Prance Market, with a green-painted wood façade, but with lots of glass and daisies in hanging pots. Inside, it was an ivy-walled solarium with cloud tables at the second level. We looked at each other.

Feeling an urge to break an awkward silence, I blurted, "Have you tried bowling? I mean, with a rope?"

The husky fellow blinked, then smirked and chuckled, "No, but I'm definitely going to try that. It'll get me banned from the bowling alley, but it'll be worth it."

The glass door behind me rattled open. "Crys," yelled the kitchen manager, Seasoned Way, her pink wings flared. "About time you got here! We're short-hoofed and a huge fly-away order landed. Move your flank!"

I waved at the dark earth pony, saying, "See you next time," and trotted in. I bristled. SW had used a nickname again, despite my asking her not to be so familiar. Whatever my type was, she wasn't it. My katas kept me looking trim and something made mares flirt no matter how disinterested I was. I thought about it and frowned. I bristled mostly because she had interrupted my conversation with—

"Shoot. What was his name?"

- 2 -

The next two days, I returned to the place I had shadowboxed, wondering if I would meet the earth pony. He didn't show. It saddened me, but maybe there were friendly ponies in Baltimare after all. I felt a little less lonely.

On the third day, an hour before dawn with the sky a tiniest bit dark blue, I walked toward the fishing pier when I saw another pony. Brick warehouses loomed on either side, but working shifts didn't start for two hours; the streets were empty. Despite the occasional gaslight, shadows swirled around the stallion as he walked with his head down. The blackened steel chain wrapped over his withers jangled and announced itself. Any thought of bemoaning waking before the roosters vanished. With a smile, I trotted rapidly to meet him.

"Hey, you okay?" I asked as his exhausted eyes lifted to see who approached.

"Crys, was it?" He chuckled, and took the opportunity to plop his flank down. "A hard night."

He remembered my name! I sat down, looking at him. A pony like him, you couldn't see a bruise for trying, but I saw crusted blood on his neck below the jaw. "What do you do?" I asked.

"Er— Security work. I freelance."

"All night standing?"

He quirked a smile. "All night trotting, across the whole miserable city."

I scooted closer and lifted a hoof. "Let me look at that."

His narrowed eyes caught mine. He looked instantly dangerous and I halted my reach, then he nodded.

I brushed his short fur and specks fell off. "Movers bash themselves up all the time and act too stallion to notice. I know first aid." I saw the small cut, but it had closed. "You fought somepony? It's not bleeding, now."

"It happens. I scared the idiots away."

"You escort armored wagons?"

"Something like that. It pays very well—"

I'd taken my insulated bottle from my saddlebags and unscrewed the top.

He waved it off with a hoof. "I'll clean it when I get home."

"I'm sure you will. This is tea; you look like you're going to collapse and not make it home. Have something to drink." He looked suspiciously at the red cup I put on his hoof with my wing. "I washed it last night and haven't drank from it since."

He looked a bit embarrassed, but lifted it to his lips. "Not too hot! Thanks." He drank it and I poured more. "Name's Pig Pen, by the way. You'd think that the foal that got his name by finding every muddy puddle would scoff at germs, but..." He shrugged and drank a second cup.

I said, "I'm not sick and I wash with soap." I unwrapped the waxed paper from a toasted Prance roll stuffed with soft cheese.

"Hey. That's your breakfast!"

"The name is Crystal Skies. I intended to share half, don't worry."

He exchanged the cup for the sandwich. "Crys for short?"

I blinked, then bit into my sandwich. Cris not Cries, but nopony but one ever got it right. "If you don't mind me calling you Piglet."

He snorted, but made it sound like an oink.

I didn't see Pig Pen for a week, but he showed up outside the restaurant at the end of my shift. He walked up and we hoof bumped. Without thinking, I said, "If you're not busy, we could—"

He shrugged and said, "'fraid I can't hang right now, but I wanted to... Well." He coughed into a hoof. "You like fighting, I can tell, but do you like the Fights?"

"Fights?"

"Tag team. Gymnastics competition. Pony fights. It's Shadow Strike up against Princess Grim for the championship and I scored good seats. I've got an in with the promoter." He waved a couple of blue tickets with Fight Night! inscribed in lightning bolt font. "It's in three days—"

I snatched a ticket between my primary feathers before he could blink. I had no idea, other than gymnastics, what the event was about. Stallions fighting for a sport had to be an earth pony thing. Managing movers got me all over the city and I hadn't heard of anything like that anywhere on the Vanhoover cloud deck. "Where's it at? Where do we meet?"

He grinned.

- 3 -

I was flabbergasted when a white pegasus mare with a glacial blue mane glided into the arena for the interview portion. Though Baltimare had a hoofball stadium, the venue was a converted dry dock that had once been used for building airships. Afternoon sun streamed in from rows of windows at roof level, but magical lights hung from the remnant of the construction crane that had been parked such that the main girder spanned the ceiling.

A indigo blue unicorn, also a mare(!) with a midnight blue mane and tail, pushed open the corral gate with a hoof and joined the pegasus. She wore a costume that had an embossed silver peytral with a moon emblazoned upon it. The form-fitting tights left nothing to the imagination. Her mane, put up in a colt bun, was tied with a crown-like silver bandanna with a pale moon. The costume sported a ridiculously large cutie mark with the same motif, surrounded by black storm clouds. Nopony could mistake the giddy-up for anything but a satire of Princess Celestia. Very cheeky, but I'd come to realize that Baltimareans were rude and crude, so I wasn't entirely surprised when the audience cheered more for the svelte unicorn than the coldly elegant she-bull of a pegasus.

"That must be Princess Grim," I said over the roar.

Pig Pen leaned in and I felt his breath in my ear. "She creamed Punch Drunk in her first bout. It was regulation although it was a practice. I heard it from one of my buds who uses the gym she does. He saw it come down. She insulted the stallion's pride and he went for the jugular. She cleaned his clock with a rear hoof punch."

"Was he any good?"

"He lost last year's championship on points despite being favored."

I whistled.

"He's got this eastern kirin mojo going on that makes him untouchable. Oh-colts, did she touch him! One strike and they carted him off to the hospital."

"Kirin?" I moved his head with a hoof so I could speak into his ear. "Did you hear what kirin school of martial art he practiced? That shadowboxing you saw, that was me practicing Nirikan Fire Stroke katas." I was being generous about that specific display of frustration. "A kirin trained Master Fire Flick when he lived across the Western Sea. He owns the dojo we attend—attended."

Pig Pen moved such that our cheeks briefly touched, before he pulled aside and said, "I've read lots of interviews, but I don't remember anything like that."

We faced forward as the audience quieted and Shadow Strike, the pegasus, heaved a very unladylike insult at her opponent at the start of the interview. Something in obvious gutter slang about being a coward combined with the stink of horse apples. I couldn't remember it exactly, though. I raised my hoof and rubbed the frog across my cheek, wondering why it tingled.

Princess Grim looked at the mare as if she'd encountered a squirrel run over by a wagon. She delivered a few words in return, most multisyllabic, with the clear diction of a noble or maybe the princess. Her voice never raised more than what could be clearly heard, nor was it colored with anger. She clearly infantilized Shadow Strike, who lunged forward, fluttering her wings as the referee tackled her and was dragged trying to restrain her.

A soft blue-green glow manifested around her horn for an instant, then went out in clear disdain, as if the pegasus wasn't worth a single splendor of her magic. The pony radiated an aura of danger.

"She's going to win," I said.

"They're both mares," Pig Pen pointed out, snorting.

I swatted him with a wing and said, "No. The princess."

"Ah, so you're a monarchist."

"What?"

"Her fans call themselves monarchists. I'd wait until the interview is over before betting anything, newbie."

I nodded.

When it came to the arena of the spoken word, the unicorn mare was as sharp and cutting as one of my feathers, effortlessly so. Clearly well educated, I suspected her retorts went beyond Shadow Strike's comprehension and that of a fraction of the audience. Well, the stallion fraction. She got cheers from the mares, who were easily 60% of the audience, which also surprised me. Princess Grim had the steady unflappable demeanor of Master Feather Flick. He taught Daylily and me that attitude was as important as muscle memory. Losing control of your emotions could make you lose as quickly as lack of skill.

By the end of the interview, I judged Princess Grim didn't care. She got an opportunity to shadowbox and she did so without a hint of noticing those that cheered around her. She lived fully rooted in the present. I knew how hard it was to stop thinking or worrying about what came next, from kata practice, from getting distracted and knocked to the mat by Master Feather Flick.

"Princess Grim is going to win," I said as Princess Grim trotted toward the corral gate and Shadow Strike took an egotistical pre-victory lap around the edge of the arena at ten pony heights. I knew whose hoof I wouldn't want to have to dodge.

"Shadow Strike is the 7-4 favorite."

"That's surprising."

"They both beat earth ponies to cinch this match, but Grim has trouble beating pegasi."

I thought about that, but said, "Nevertheless."

"You wanna lay a bet?"

I blew air though my lips. "Rent's due tomorrow. I've nothing to spare if I want to eat. I do appreciate the seats." We were behind the VIPs, in the fifth row. "They're fantastic."

"How about a gentlecolt's bet?"

The staff were dragging mats, pommel horses, rings, and horizontal bars into the arena for the gymnastics portion. I looked him in the eye. "In what manner?"

"You win, I do something you ask me to do."

"If you win?"

He grinned. "You kiss me."

I coughed into a hoof. Was that a stallion-y stallion challenge? I examined his face, the few stray whiskers around his muzzle, the way he had slicked back his mane. He had bought us both championship tee-shirts with Fight Night! written across them in rainbow colors. Nothing sloppy or unkempt about the earth pony with a sloppy unkempt name; his chocolate cologne wasn't overpowering to cover up scents all ponies had and ought not be ashamed of. Had a mare issued the same challenge, I judged I would have instantly prevaricated, not wanting to navigate all that it implied. I had almost been married, then two days before the wedding, wasn't going to be. I understood pitfalls from stepping in them.

Him? My smile grew and I chuckled, raising a hoof. "You're on."

He bumped my hoof, then said, "Wait. You didn't say what you'd bet!"

"I?" Ciders? Dinner? Suddenly inspired, I indicated the arena with my wings and tapped his shirt with my primaries. "Perhaps we could spar, since you like fights. Dunno. I'll decide."

He smiled too, nodding his head curtly. "Works for me."

While the gymnastic competition went on, he bought us corn-battered fried carrot dogs and sparkling ciders. As we ate at the bar in the feed-bag area, I talked about all the stupid things that happened in a restaurant kitchen. Too soon, the gong sounded for the "Mane Event." I found it amazing that something with so much hype could start and complete in exactly five minutes. The announcer dragged out the introductions. Each contestant got to prance around to the cheers of their partisans. The rules got explained, like the part that Princess Grim could not strike Shadow Strike's wings nor could the pegasus hit the unicorn's horn.

Pig Pen added, speaking behind a hoof, "If there were an earth pony, neither the unicorn nor pegasus could strike the earth pony's gentle parts."

"But the unicorn's or pegasus' ones are okay?"

Pig Pen shrugged.

The not-earth-pony mares hoof bumped in the center of the area, then trotted to the opposite side of the expanse. "That adds another dimension to this."

"Oh-colts, it certainly does."

The bell rang and Princess Grim launched herself so explosively that were she a pegasus, she'd being hurling towards the rafters. She hit a gallop in two strides and was halfway across the arena before Shadow Strike nonchalantly fluttered into the air. I saw muscles moving fluidly on the unicorn that most earth pony stallions flexing rarely displayed. I thought, locomotive.

For all that unexpected physicality, Shadow Strike defeated the charge by simply hovering. Suddenly, the glacial-maned pegasus, jerked right, whinnied, and flapped high into the air. I saw a blue-green aura roil like a forming thunderhead around her horn. By the rules, Shadow Strike had to land at least every 15 seconds, and there were big clocks with a pony-length red second hand that made her obligation easy to see. As she touched-down near the arena fence of jumbo nailed-together shipping pallets, she seemingly mistook her glide path. She suddenly spun and stopped such that she rattled the wood. I heard the thump because it happened ten pony-lengths from me and I saw down feathers fly.

Her face went red with rage as she shot into the air, wings humming with her effort. She reached her apex below the rafters, then stooped like a hawk, furling her wings and diving hooves out. Despite the bulbous boxing gloves the opponents wore on all hooves, at that speed she'd shatter any bone she struck on a unicorn, including her horn. She flared her wings at the last moment, unexpectedly bringing her rear legs to bear.

She missed by hoof lengths, but no hit was no hit. Princess Grim simply stepped aside, without a flinch or extra effort, as the backdraft blew her tail. Her horn flared. I judged that her spell worked by the way Shadow Strike yawed, slipping right and left through the air, like a sparrow caught on a gusty day.

The audience cheered as Pig Pen spoke into my ear. "See how she evades the magic?"

That fascinated me. I knew unicorns could lift and pull things with their magic, but Shadow Strike moved with grace against a force more powerful than the wind. Maybe Princess Grim wouldn't have it so easy after all. "I'm going to have to learn that technique."

"Maybe, one day I can help with that."

"Uh-huh," I said, as Shadow Strike flew a set of figure-eights around Princess Grim, her punches missing.

The unicorn had been backing toward the arena fence, and when Shadow Strike repeated the pattern one too many times, the unicorn leapt at her. Shadow Strike skimmed her side against the fence. This prevented her from flapping her wings lest she hit them on the fence rim, forcing a glide where she lost altitude with every pony length. Just in time, she squirmed out of the magic and slid down and away, taking the moment to touch down. She stumbled as the unicorn charged her, devilishly fast considering that nopony ever considered a unicorn as strong or fast.

I found myself jumping, cheering, waving my wings as Princess Grim chased her down. She flapped madly like an albatross, ponderously lifting into the air with a couple of pony lengths to spare, despite her tail being pulled by magic hard enough that it was clearly straight back.

Shadow Strike executed a barrel roll. She riposted so suddenly, Princess Grim threw herself aside. Shadow Strike snagged the bandanna around the unicorn's colt-bun, dragging her aside. The pegasus banked just in time as her opponent slid through the straw and dirt, raising a cloud of dust before she thumped into the fence.

Like a sparrow protecting her nest from a marauding crow, Shadow Strike looped back again and again, forcing the princess to duck and scrabble away, getting her to strike the fence again as she did so. Only the fifteen second rule saved the unicorn from inevitably getting hit. Shadow Strike didn't want to be anywhere close to those gloved hooves.

At two and a half minutes on the clock, Pig Pen said, "Wanna reconsider? If no pony lands a strike, Shadow Strike is ahead on points, now."

Princess Grim shook herself out, following the retreating pegasus with her eyes. She tied her mane back into the bun with the lost bandanna, determination showing on her face. She reminded me of a lily white pegasus I knew.

"Nope."

"Good. I'm getting excited."

Princess Grim did a lot of galloping around. I became convinced Pig Pen was right about the points, until the pegasus dropped in another hawk stoop, but performed a tight barrel roll as her opponent dodged. On the return, her right boxing glove connected with the indigo pony's nose with a loud smack. Her head jerked left and I clearly saw a gout of blood spray out. Yet, like I'd been taught by Master Feather Flick, she accepted her change of momentum and used it to fling herself around. Shadow Strike tried to make it a one-two in order to knock her out, but found herself dodging a full-on buck that would have likely broken her neck had she flown into it.

The pegasus landed near but too far away, executing a touch-and-go as the unicorn galloped with less vigor, too exhausted to cross a distance she would have nearing on five minutes prior. When she missed a lunge and Shadow Strike soared upwards, I could feel every drop of frustration the unicorn felt. Until that moment, nothing had affected the pony; now, she reared and crashed down on her front hooves, screaming incoherently as her opponent flapped higher and higher. I saw the clock directly before her, exactly as she did, as she thrashed her tail in front of me. Her eyes shut. She screamed as if she forced all her emotion out through her lungs.

Fourteen seconds. Shadow Strike could stay aloft until the bell rang.

Thirteen seconds—

A searing blue-green beam of magic crackled from her horn. Eyes closed, she hadn't aimed it at her nemesis! My first thought was she would've vaporized the mare. My second thought was complete disappointment.

I didn't have a third because the arena lights exploded with a clanking bang. Glass, red-hot metal, and burning wood shot out in sprays of debris and swirling rainbow sparkles. The whole sundered construction, likely no more than the size of a big pony, dropped seven stories. Glass and metal splashed out across the arena like ice hit by a sledgehammer.

Princess Grim jumped aside.

I sighted Shadow Strike as the spooked pegasus struck her hip into a rafter ten stories up, as she flapped desperately away from a shot that was actually nowhere near. The shock stunned her. She forgot she had wings. She plummeted like a rock before she realized, flapping manically, fighting against gravity and rushing air to find lift and convert it into a swoop. My heart needn't have jumped into my throat because her wings snapped full; she flattened her trajectory hoof lengths above the dirt, pitching upward dangerously close to the arena fence.

The arena lights had all shorted, not only the center one. In the late afternoon light, shadow filled the arena. I couldn't miss a dim magic aura.

A blue-green nebulosity spread across Shadow Strike's shoulders as she zoomed toward one of the posts providing support for the fence. Princess Grim used a shove. Instead of banking right and using the magic impetus to avoid the pole, Shadow Strike banked left against the magic.

Her barrel impacted the pole, wings and legs to either side. Her boxing gloves continued without her into the audience and she cracked her jaw against the post that had started life as a lodgepole pine. Because nopony could unsee what was about to happen, everypony had gasped at the same time. The thunk was audible.

"Ooo," I said, frowning, starting to turn away. "That hurt..." I trailed off. A blue-green aura enveloped the mare and she settled six pony lengths to the ground.

The ref and Princess Grim rushed over, the latter sitting on the pegasus to pin her while the former counted her out. I knew what I'd seen. Despite the sheer force of emotion the unicorn had shoved into her scream, I understood she'd had completely controlled her emotions, channeling them to her bidding.

"That's something," Pig Pen said, like me, sober while the crowds around us cheered and chanted, "Princess Grim! Princess Grim!" He added, "Maybe she is a princess. What pony breaks her enemy, then saves them? Shadow Strike would have kicked her before pinning her were the roles reversed."

"Master Feather Flick would say Princess Grim acted honorably." As the ref got the mare to rear and named her the new champion, parading her around for all to see, I asked, "You know what else?"

He snapped out of his thoughts and turned his chocolate brown eyes on me.

I jumped up and fluttered over my friend. "Princess Grim won and so did I!"

"Oh...? Oh!" His lip went up in the barest pout.

I smirked, without a clue as to why he had made the bet he had. Wanting to see his reaction, I kissed him anyway.

His eyes grew wide. Shock. Maybe I ought sometime explain why I had blood on my wings. I ought add that I often did what my gut or my heart directed, ignoring my head. Regardless of his reaction, I knew I could defend myself, so why not? I felt the bristles on his chin poke my lips. Not at all like kissing Daylily.

He didn't instantly step away, and I refused to back off, but, when he did, a crooked smile crinkled his muzzle. "Say. I know a great joint for sweet fortified cider and grilled hayburgers. Let's go bowling, too."

"Sure."

I didn't know what had clicked in his brain, and wouldn't figure out for awhile what was up with his bet. He didn't need to use his rope to win at bowling. Darn. Later he agreed to spar with me at his gym. I did understand I now had a friend in Baltimare.

Author's Note:

The alternate cover at the top of the page is mine. I also did the titling on all the covers.

Comments

[Starlight Nova]

This is a standalone novella

Then why will reading The Runaway Bodyguard will provide minor spoilers?

[Bicyclette]

thank you for your entry into the contest! looking forward to reading and judging it once it is done!

[scifipony]

11039119
Thank you for running the contest, The story really wanted to be written, or rather the characters insisted. It gave me further excuse to write it.

[scifipony]

11038309
The stories intersect, and where they do, it is from a different POV. If you read both, you will understand why people say two witnesses to the same event never report the same thing.

[Bicyclette]

"Her fans call themselves monarchists. I'd wait until the interview is over before betting anything, newbie."

hah, that is fun! as well as the idea of the Princesses's image being something to be parodied in low-culture expressions like this

He grinned. "You kiss me."

well, that is certainly forward

I did understand I now had a friend in Baltimare.

it's a nicely drawn depiction of a grittier city so far. and certainly an OC type i have not read before, a martial arts devotee with blade-wings. let's see where this goes