Ms. Glimmer and the Do-Nothing Prince

by scifipony

09 — It Happened on a Warm Autumn Night Part I

I escaped into Canterlot, ponies making way as I galloped around a corner and onto the Strand. Only Firefall shadowed me, but she was cool. Streak and her had bonded, with Streak proudly sharing everything she knew about the Ms. Grimoire she'd worked with, including my criminal and patrician past. I was okay with that. To protect me, my guard needed to understand me.

The auburn red pegasus helped me through the portcullis in a borrowed cloak, after saying, "Capable, not stupid... Right? Still following you. Discreetly."

Best I could ask.

Saved me from a command dinner with Celestia—after I'd cast my "daily spell" on the alicorn, because the pretty pink possessive princess wasn't ready yet to let me cast on her colt friend instead. Streak ran flack, allowing me to sneak out the servants' entrance, and would suffer an incredibly delicious meal for her effort.

Still wore the armor. Celestia would give her the hard sell to join my personal guard.

I slowed to a trot. Celestia's brand new sun team had lowered the sun and raised the moon without the prior hitch. The best restaurants, cafés, and bakeries stood lit up for primetime dining. Ropes hanging magic pebble lanterns—blue, yellow, lots of them green—brightened the trees in Palisades Park to my right. Lamplighters ran up the street, lighting flickering gas lamps that made the ruddy green river-stone cobbles glow invitingly. A thrumming melody from a night club pointed out a bouncer that eyed me with great intuition that I spelled trouble. A ballad singer sang in the park, surrounded by poorer folk who picnicked and enjoyed what had become a balmy and, for me with a somewhat muddled brain, sensuous night.

The red-lined black silk cloak felt suspiciously comfortable. I stopped outside a Salernitano restaurant from which garlic and oregano scents drifted. The thing draped my hindquarters, low enough to cover all but the bottom points of my doubled star and auroras cutie mark. Not exactly the perfectly concealing style I preferred; worse, it had no hoodie. I wore a black scarf instead. I kicked at the hems and realized it didn't constrict me.

I sighed.

Somepony had replicated my tailored fight clothing and manufactured for me to "borrow" it. I might never have privacy again, not that I had had any until I ran away from home four years ago. I understood that once Carne Asada had taken interest in me, she'd had me followed. She'd known what I'd lost the night of the lightning storm, shown she knew the treasures in my saddlebags by returning pilfered items, and had likely interviewed every pony I'd ridden—recording details of my preferences, if she hadn't set up the itinerary to teach me new tricks!

Was Celestia that different from the blackmailing crime boss? At least the alicorn had the best interests of Equestria in mind. I trusted that much.

My interests? I blew air through my lips. I still needed to learn who I really was. To become myself, or at least to enjoy my life.

I pulled the knot in the gauzy scarf, spiriting it into my messenger bag under the cloak. I fluffed the locks of my mane, revealing the florescent green stripes, then tied it into pigtails. I dug out hair ties.

Ponies might recognize the Hero of Hooflyn. I had to learn to live with that. Accept the good; accept the bad I had wrought. If I could suffer having friends, I could suffer the unpleasantness yesterday saddled me with.

Nopony noticed. That caused me to laugh, to pick up my pace. It's not all about you, Starlight Glimmer!

I remembered One Fell Swoop, which had good tea and Prance dishes like quiche, pasta, ratatouille, and a pegasus delight, bouillabaisse, at the end of the Strand. Maybe I'd treat Firefall and learn how her flaming waterfall cutie mark had changed her.

I heard a fleeting cicada buzz. Green light flickered in the corner of my eye.

He strode out of a woodsy part of Palisades Park—near where Streak had parked her aerial wagon that night we had secretly gone to the Everfree, to trade with Zecora Zeb for restricted herbs like nettle ewe. I'd gotten the zebra pardoned for being a grower. I wondered if the recluse would ever know.

His bodyguards, Singe, Tan, and Brown dropped from the shadows nearby, like apples on a moonless night. Shady characters, literally. Blueblood dealt with the peerage and politicians, best I'd figured, which were shady characters, figuratively.

The prince pointed his nose down the street. I noticed anypony I'd fought. No way he didn't notice me!

Anger didn't surface, perhaps because the last day had left me rethinking my life. That I'd found myself accepting friendship spoke volumes. Instead, being ignored spurred me. I bolted after him.

Tan then Singe noticed me, then tapped their master's flank. Brown took up point, commendably. The prince looked at me. His right nostril was black and blue. A slim bandage covered the wicker cut.

"About our 7 AM appointment, Your Royal Highness?" Still a dig, considering he knew the difference in our stations.

He motioned with his head to join him.

My heart fluttered. After our sparring match—after the invitation—I had a higher opinion of the arrogant flank. He was especially easy on the eyes. I smiled, thinking inappropriate things about tomorrow.

I failed to suppress a giggle and, embarrassed, quickly added, "The little filly in me—"

The scent of cinnamon and mace struck me. Butter pumpkin bread?

I huffed, then inhaled deeply. One of the few good memories Sire's Hollow offered, surfaced. The staff baker could bake any cake or fancy tart. The little Earl of Grin Having hosted parties, and her table needed to be exquisite. What Sugar Plum really excelled at were breads—pan and flatbreads, sourdough and Prance-style, rounds or baguettes—but better yet vegetable butter loaves: peasant dessert, neither noisome sweet nor plain. Pumpkin, carrot, zucchini. Sugar with butter turned this foal into a beggar. Proper Step never let me eat my fill—had to maintain my figure—but ensured I got my reward for good behavior.

I blinked away stupid tears. I sorely needed good feelings after the disappointments of the last weeks.

I expected the arrogant do-nothing prince to say something perverse to ruin the moment, but astonishment spread across his handsome features. Without his hauteur, he looked so friendly that my traitorous heart expanded in my chest with every beat.

What was I feeling? Toward him?

He staggered seeing my face, his expression turning to shock as if something he read there resonated. His bodyguard looked affected also; they stood frozen, staring, surprised as we clattered past them, before he too halted.

I said,"You made me remember something precious. Thank you."

He seemed stunned, not hearing me, so I added, "The little filly in me likes surprises. Still... any clue what you've planning tomorrow morning?" I smirked, then shivered with anticipation as his cologne scent strengthened. My fur practically crackled as if electricity filled the air.

My awareness expanded. I heard ponies walking across the street. I heard strands of music from behind. Ponies talked in a café, and cups clinked. I felt connected to the world, then reached a hoof toward the realization, as if it existed like a thing—

The prince froze as if I'd touched him.

"Are you okay?" I asked, reaching again randomly for what I sensed or intuited.

He blinked, dazed. Innocent? Oddly, maybe so. It was as if he'd dropped his façade, only to remember his whole persona had been an act. It left him...

He looked lost.

It triggered a need to do something I'd done only a few times...

Because I needed it, too. I understood with all the change in my life, I was lost, also. I'd learn something about myself if I could do it, so maybe it was a selfish impulse.

I stepped closer.

He didn't flinch.

Closer.

He didn't flinch.

Did he suck on cinnamon mints? Breath redolent with aromatics cooled my nose. His nostrils flared. Did he remember my gingermints before I'd kissed him?

I stepped closer—muzzle to muzzle.

Everything I'd learned about him made me think he'd be appalled or shrink back. I invaded his personal space. His eyes watched me, his blues like sky-color gems flicking side to side. Certainly my stooping to using a kiss as a dominance maneuver ought have made him wary.

I swallowed hard, feeling that maybe he felt hurt or, or... or something.

Had I found some pony I liked?

Liked!?

I hugged him. Grabbed him against my chest impulsively, laying my neck alongside his. Because... I thought I now understood that—that's what ponies did when another felt bad, so I did that.

I.

Did.

That.

He was a stout stallion. Substantial. My forelegs barely reached. Muscular. Warm. Soft hair tickled my neck. He was sturdy. He felt muscular, not soft.

Masculine.

Our embrace felt so good, I hugged tighter, letting my being flow into his. The flow felt— insubstantial, but still a brook of burbling irreality; real, like splendors filling up my horn, powering a wish, transforming pure desire into reality. My desire. The mechanism in the soul of a unicorn, spinning, finding sparks in the in the deepest darkness, turning chaos into order, revealing light.

Not anything I'd felt riding a pony! Tangential to how I'd held Sunset, a friend, knowing that I pressed away her loneliness from a life of abandonment.

It was...

More.

Much more.

Was transubstantial a word?

Oh, Sweet Celestia.

Am I breaking?

No.

The opposite.

Un-breaking.

Hormonal.

The word hormonal barged into my consciousness, breaking the windows and smashing the china.

I blinked, then raged at the unfairness. To Tartarus with reasonableness! This, I wanted to go on and on!

Yet...

What I wanted and what could be were two different things. Life had taught me that lesson.

I stepped back, gulping for air, swallowing disappointment.

"Bad day?" I asked in a whisper.

"Was," he replied breathily, unvoiced. He lifted a hoof, tentatively.

He asked permission!

I nodded and he hugged me.

His hug mirrored mine, as if he'd copied me exactly. The glorious glow, the mysterious flow—I let it return, but this time I imagined it flooding into me, through me, then out from me doubling in quantity from deep within my heart. I felt his welcome compression of me, the blood pulsing in my skin, the crinkling cartilage of my ribs. He shuddered once before letting go. His warmth lingered. His wonderful cinnamon scent, also. On my fur.

I'd been capital-H Hugged.

It felt like the contentment of a full belly after a warm meal on a winter day, but with a hard to define meaning: the word glow felt like this.

I took special note of how I'd released that special flow, feeling the warmth and my speeding heart return upon command, forever learning the trick. I was going to want to do that trick again and again with other ponies—

Doing so felt good. Really good.

He said, "You fill the void."

Did he read my emotions? "Bad day?" I repeated. "My fault?"

A swift single head shake. Were we staring into each other's eyes?

We both looked suddenly away, forward down the sidewalk. My startlement shut off the flow as my face warmed. I certainly did not look at him with love! The bodyguards shook off their daze and formed around us.

Having accepted the possibility friendship existed, did I feel what normal ponies did? Had I so blinded—so numbed myself—that I missed this? Had I not understood or completely ignored ponies when they talked about what I'd experienced?

Too embarrassing.

I changed the subject. "Come with me to One Fell Swoop. The food's great."

"Not really hungry anymore."

I blew air through my lips. "Returning from a secret business meeting in the park, before dinner time." I snorted. "Why don't I believe hunger's a real excuse? A pony who meets business ponies ought to understand the concept of a few drinks while others eat. My shiny new and as of yet unused palace stipend will pay for it."

"I don't want to be noticed."

"Me either!" I laughed, drawing the prince faster with my magic. "One Fell Swoop is as much of a shadowy dive as restaurants get on the Strand!"

North on Piñon Pine, the restaurant fronted on an alley called A-Street. The Prance-style cottage had brown wood, daubed stucco, and shutters framing windows open because a fire roared in the fireplace. Gem-crusted antique wall mirrors bounced light, augmented by table candles. Arguably romantic, the confusing shadows made it hard to recognize ponies beyond your table.

Firefall swooped down. The bronze and red mare stopped the prince's bodyguard, pointed at her magenta eyes with her primary feathers, then at their eyes, then stepped inside to arrange seating before ushering us in. The royal guard sat with her two javelins at a table where she could watch the doors and windows, and us.

Blueblood said drolly, "At least she's drawing attention to herself."

I intercepted the restaurant owner, a green mare with a silver and blonde mane in a bun. Across a basket of cut baguettes, she said, "Mademoiselle Glimmer! Haven't seen you in months." She glanced at our table. "Professors from school?"

The Prench could put sensitive things quite suavely. I nodded. She didn't comment on my undesired status change. My two silver bits clattered on her tray. "They say they're not hungry, so some light plates—"

"Field greens? Garlic spinach? Ratatouille?"

I nodded, adding, "Et vin de table, s'il vous plaît."

She changed her trajectory, floating the bread and a crock of fresh churned chive butter as my group sat. A token of appreciation did expedite service. Carne Asada had taught me that trick, and I'd gotten good at the dance last year as I met with her lieutenants across northeastern Equestria.

"The Art of the Meal," the prince stated. The wood legs of my chair scraped the floorboards as he hoofed over a napkin. He coughed. "I've been overheard stating that."

His chivalry swept my absurd recollections of last year in Baltimare from my head. "So, you confirm your business is meeting ponies and selling information?"

"Exchanging," he corrected, scooting in my chair. "So I've heard."

I chuckled. "So... am I demonstrating I have the requisite skill set?"

"It would seem."

He picked up the beurre verte, examining the whipped contents with a growing frown. He so much looked like he might taste the oniony smelling butter that Singe reached out worriedly. I grabbed a bread and buttered it. He crunched it without acknowledgement, but an eyebrow lifted. Had the prince not yet been sent to Prance on a diplomatic mission, or to visit the continent? I'd have gone the year I'd run away, when less than half his age and at nowhere near his station in life.

When I dug into the salad, so did he. Same with the spinach and ratatouille, and later the nicely browned, cheesy quiche. Not hungry, huh?

Wait. Might he be letting me "taste" his food for safety?

Maybe not. He poured the plain red served, sniffed it demonstratively, swirled it to see the meager legs on the glass, and tasted it—like he had studied under a strict sommelier (I had). By some miracle, he didn't turn up his nose—but then he had eaten street food...

He held the green bottle near my glass. "May I?"

I gasped, but quickly covered with, "Technically underage, despite the emancipation papers."

"Haw, haw," he said pompously. "I grant thee leave, Ms. Glimmer, this evening."

I leaned over and whispered in his fuzzy ear, "Why, Your Royal Highness! Are you trying to get me drunk?"

"I've been seen to do that."

He poured. Thin-bodied, it felt overly chilled to my lips, which I'd learned hid defects. A faint berries and maybe mushrooms aroma. No vanilla. No Prench oak. Mostly pinot then, which accounted for the lack of tannin. Not Castle Canterlot cellar quality, but adequately Prench. I'd been taught my limit growing up because a Lady had to know—half a glass—but I wondered if he knew his when he let me pour more for him. Good for softening him up, anyway. I stifled a glower when Singe seized the bottle before I could pour him a third glass.

The cidering must have had an affect on me, for Blueblood got me talking about the months before the gang war doing "productivity facilitating." I said, "It's okay. Celestia pardoned me for everything from the moment I was born—wait, 'conception' onward—so, as long as I don't implicate anypony, I can talk." That much I was careful about. "I'll ask payment for the freebies later."

He laughed through his nose, but nodded.

He listened attentively, never asking questions I might refuse. I liked the attentively listening part. Part of me remained cynical. I'd expected him to blather about his pompous self, he was a stallion after all, but I could be underestimating his interest in salable info. I was proud of my evil past and that I'd saved as many ponies as I could; I'd share with the Canterlotter if I heard he'd used me.

Had I underestimated his maturity? Was he truly attentive, truly interested?

I could test him.

As Firefall finished her bouillabaisse, wiping her mouth with a napkin in her feathers, I stood suddenly. "I treated you to dinner. Take me dancing!"

Comments

[huntar21]

Will the next chapter show shining and cadence see blueblood and starlight at the restaurant and they share a table I would like to see that