Ms. Glimmer and the Do-Nothing Prince

by scifipony

34 — Fractious Frigate Part III: Comedy Act

I later slipped into the hallway, leaving Streak—whose cutie mark related to hauling—the chief, Proper Step, and my guard coordinating the physical necessities needed to transform the "museum piece" into a minimally functional fighting ship, and the logistics to make what we decided upon happen in hours not days. The ensign reminded me of myself when I finally found the clue to solve a magical spell that eluded me, or when I stepped into the arena to fight a pony that outclassed me but I'd trained specifically to fight: Sheer concentration, and determination to get the job done.

I didn't know if she was the type of pony I could be friends with. Really, I didn't know what that weird string of words really actually meant when applied to me, but the concept didn't worry me so much as intrigue me.

Both.

Simultaneously.

This was what cognitive dissonance felt like. Months ago I'd bought myself a Psych-101 text book, Understanding Pony Behavior, to deal with understanding ponies I knew, specifically Sunset. Yes, I could learn non-magical, non-fight related stuff.

I closed the stateroom door with a slight click.

Fizzlepop had a personnel problem. Beyond putting my stamp of approval on the appropriations needed for the Stoop—and since I'd excelled at running teams and organizations of unsavory ponies—I volunteered to do some Pony-Relations (P-R) work. From the gleam in the ensign's eye when I agreed, I knew this would be fun.

My task regarded an ensign, busted down to midship-pony—

My heart rate spiked. Over the creak of the vessel and the faint susurrations of the wind through the open hatchways, I heard pony cartilage crinkle. Like crouching.

I wasn't alone.

"Ms. Glimmer," an armored pegasus said, returning to full height as I spun to face her.

I whipped the wall with my tail painfully, barely missing hitting my horn because the hallway was so narrow. Fizzlepop and Celestia would find these corridors strictly one way. The ship's map in the shipboard manual had hinted space was at a premium. Annoying to find it true. I looked at the green-eyed silver, pink, and brown-streaked pegasus. She kept her wings clasped to her side, but stepped back. She'd been so close, she could have tackled me. I'd almost backed into her.

"Pastel, was it?"

"Uh?" She looked confused, momentarily. "Yes. I—"

"Did you catch the cascade diver?"

"No," she said. She flicked open a sparkly silver wing; it showed bruises and missing pinions amongst the pink-tipped feathers. Evidently her assailant had struck her only in the brown areas of her silver coat, which made the colorization look more like damage than fur color.

"Did you crash?" I asked. A more plausible explanation.

"Yeah. Crashed. That's right. Sorry, Ms. Glimmer. The featherbrain got away."

I sighed. I suspected my guard was also a featherbrain, though I wouldn't say that aloud. I credited her for trying.

"Accompany me," I said, turning around, having to crane my neck a bit. "I'm going to the brig."

"It—it's this way," Pastel said.

I rolled my eyes as I rotated toward a darkened intersection. I learned maps well, but if you started in the wrong direction...

I came alongside Pastel in the tight corridor.

Our fur crackled as it rubbed.

I spotted the deck sign with a number, a letter, and a circled S for starboard.

"Wait," I said, "Starboard is the wrong way."

The static crackle sounded more like a magic sparkle-pop. And. Maybe. Maybe the cartilage crinkle had been a sparkle-pop, too.

When the draft of air that had been flowing from me toward Pastel, because of our proximity, gifted me the confusing scent of anise perfume, I was already rearing to change direction.

I froze, halfway risen, starting to pirouette.

She rose, too. Startled by my sudden move? Her shoulder struck my neck but between my training of using other pony's momentum to my advantage and her obviously clumsy maneuver, I only hit the wall when she could have compromised my jugular in a choke hold and put me on the floor, dizzy. It spun me so we were now flank to flank. And. Despite her royal guard brass armor, I managed to hit her flank. Bearing one's cutie mark rendered armor less protective—

She bucked. Reflexively.

I saw it in the corner of my eye; I ducked; her hooves skimmed my dock and spine. Going flat fighting a pegasus, indeed having gotten myself tangled limb to limb with a prize-fighting pegasus in close quarters, had guaranteed a loss on points in one of my fights. I had more losses against pegasi than any other pony kind. I sprung back up as she reached full extension, catching her haunches and stomach on my back. In a fight, I'd have bucked her rib cage, but I shrugged her off.

What was this, a Hearth’s Warming Eve comedy sketch? Yeah, both gangsters and Proper Step at the estate had presented sketches at such parties, with a similar slapstick theme.

I said in a low voice, "Just stop. Stop! Don't move—"

As she thumped hip-first against the wall—rather hard, with an accompanying clank, likely thanks to compromised muscles due to her crash earlier—I saw a flash of green reflect off the ceiling.

Green eyes.

Green magic!?

I reacted before I could stop myself. Having moments ago closed the stateroom door, I still had most of Push in my horn. I Pushed upward.

Maybe harder than I intended.

"No! No, no, no," I muttered, as I pirouetted and barreled forward.

By then—Clank, clunk. Pastel had flown across the T-intersection of poorly lit halls and crashed into the wall, back-first, hip upwards, head below. Armor protects an otherwise squishy pony. A helmet does too, if you don't have a protruding horn you could strike or crack. All things considered, she didn't hit hard enough to damage herself. But then...

She dropped, muzzle-first. I wasn't fast enough to catch her.

Yeah, a broken nose makes a pop pretty much like that sounded. I cringed, and heard nothing else. She slid to her right, knocked out long enough that her silvery wings drooped and she toppled like a tree cut by an axe. Sparkles scintillated over her body, with a green glow, but she woke with enough sense left to prevent her hindquarters from crashing down. She flared her wings. Thanks to eye confusing light sources, lanterns and rays of sun reflected down hallways, they looked gossamer.

I slid before her. As she tilted over, steadied by my magic, she seemed black in places. Shadows and contrition can play havoc on a pony's perception; I knew that well. My blue-green magic settled her on her side.

"I'm sorry! Reflexes. I've never fought a royal guard full out; it didn't occur to me that you might have warding runes in your armor!"

As I sat her up, she appeared normal, though she shook her head. Stunned and dizzy, and possibly concussed, I hoped she wouldn't puke next. Any ref would continue counting her out. "Can you speak?"

"Woof," she said, then laughed.

I sat back and held up two hooves. "How many?"

"Two. I'm okay," she said, snuffling before I could stop her. Some red drops pit-pat on the floor as she winced. An iron scent, sure to make a normal pony uneasy, mingled with her anise scent. She frowned at the accumulating puddle, raising a hoof to between her eyes. I understood: Snuffling after receiving a bloody nose always gave me an instant headache.

I gently pinched her nostrils and elevated her muzzle to the ceiling, murmuring apologies. I felt terrible, like I'd dropped my host's favorite glass Hearth’s Warming Eve ornament. More than I'd have before I understood friendship. Before my reckoning with Sunburst cleared up my stupidity. Before... before that do-nothing prince opened his heart to me and affected the operation of my own traitorous organ.

My heart opened now, but logic said only contrition flooded out.

The tension in the guard relaxed in steps. She sighed. After a minute, she pushed herself up, fluttering her wings to displace my magic. I wouldn't want my virtual touch, either! The bleeding had stopped astonishingly quickly. Thank Celestia for small miracles.

Despite her saying, "I always get the tough foalsitting assignments," her head wobbled.

I breezed by the diatribe. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah. Yeah. You're as advertised."

"Sorry."

She staggered, then trotted away, taking the nearest stair down toward the narrow rays of sunlight streaming up from the main deck.

I shook my head. Lightning quick reflexes, yeah, that was what it was, what made me hit before thinking. I'd have to make it up to her. I needed to train her, too.

She needed it.

Author's Note:

A little reminder. I like comments. Really. A lot.

Please use the spoiler tag if you might reveal something.

Comments

[Just_Me123]

Green flashes. Hmm, warding spells in the armour. like Starlight thinks, or is it? Possible Changeling? Oh well, only future chapters will tell...