Chapter the Fourth
Princess Celestia opened the book to the final page. She examined Starswirl’s the Bearded’s unfinished spell closely, scrutinizing every line, every word, and every syllable for some clue as to what it was for and how it could be finished. Her keen eyes deciphered nothing that she had not already deduced, and the sum total of her knowledge stood proud at jack squat.
“Starswirl, you’re fired,” she mumbled. She did not mean it, of course; Starswirl’s contributions to modern magic were innumerable and indispensible. But were he still alive at that moment, she would have seriously considered severing his tenure. Violently, if necessary.
She closed the book with a huff, deciding that her personal student, the nigh-legendary Twilight Sparkle, would have to be the one to uncover its secrets. That was the point of the exercise, after all; Twilight would complete Starswirl’s unfinished spell, and thus ascend to alicornhood.
It would have to happen soon, or Celestia was liable to have a conniption.
She carefully lowered the tome into a brown package lined with bubble wrap. There was absolutely no reason to take chances with the grand piece of equestrian history. A roll of duct tape was procured with a summoning spell, and strips of adhesive were set in place along the edges of the box.
A shot.
A scream.
A clambering rampage.
Princess Celestia stuck her head out the window to get an eyeful of the street below. Ponies ran in several stampedes through Canterlot. Gardens were trampled, monuments were toppled, ponies tripped and fell face-first into giant inexplicable cakes…
Celestia felt saliva dribble down her chin; the cake looked divine. “Oh, no you don’t. Crisis first, cake second.”
A regal spread of her wings launched the princess into the air, and she swooped down on the troubled populace. Her horn glowed as she released the Royal Canterlot Voice. “Citizens of Equestria! What is the cause of this awful din!?”
It is quite nearly an official rule that the Royal Canterlot Voice be accompanied by slightly archaic modes of speech. Luna insists and Celestia compromises.
A skewbald stallion with mane askew knelt before her. “Your Majesty, our market stalls are being attacked!”
“An attack?” Celestia parroted. “In my own city? Who would dare to do such a thing?”
Yes, the changelings are cool. No, they are not constantly on everypony’s mind.
“They say, your majesty,” the prone pony continued, “that the attackers are robots who swear allegiance to Prince Blueblood.”
Celestia’s eyes grew wide. “Oh no. He didn’t.”
The stallion nodded. “Oh yes he did.”
Celestia stomped her hoof into the ground. “Oh, no he did not!”
The pony before her sighed. “Oh yes he did.”
“He shouldn’t have!”
“He would.”
“He couldn’t have!”
“He did.”
“Blueblood!” she shouted, the veins on her neck veins pulsing (it was rather gross-looking to onlookers). “Darn you and your stupid robots!”
Celestia reached down and set the kneeling pony upright. “Can you take me to the robots?”
The pony gulped. “I-if you say so, your majesty.”
He led her on a chase through the bright streets of Canterlot. Stampedes were dodged, crazy ponies were knocked aside, and one or two autograph seekers were left weeping in the dust.
They came upon A Midnight Clear, a high-end perfume seller. Two of Blueblood’s golems sat before the hostess, who held up a gleaming blue vial of expensive scents.
“THE COST IS PRO-HIB-I-TIVE, LOW-ER THE PRICE!”
“Are they…” Celestia tilted her head to the side. “Are they haggling!?”
“It’s how they work,” the skewbald pony explained. “They enter a store announcing that they are shopping for Blueblood’s coronation, then they claim that the good are too expensive.”
He gestured to the robots. “And then…”
One mechanoid slammed a metal hoof down on the table, rattling the perfume bottles collected thereon. “YOU WILL BE AN OB-STA-CLE TO SUC-CESS?” Its eyes glowed green, illuminating the frightened face of the cashier.
“I think this has gone on long enough!” Celestia’s shout commanded the attention of everypony in the room, as well as some ponies on the other side of town. “Stand down, mechs, your princess commands you!”
The drones turned as one to face their princess. “PRIN-CESS CEL-ES-TI-A RE-COG-NIZED AS HIGH-EST AU-THOR-I-TY!”
Celestia relaxed visibly. “Excellent. Now, please cease your-”
“YOU ARE THE HIGH-EST AU-THOR-I-TY,” the robot interrupted. “YOU HAVE THE AU-THOR-I-TY TO LOW-ER THE PRICE!”
Celestia could not resist a distinctly unladylike snort. “Of course I do not, that would make me into some sort of tyrant.”
“BUT YOU ARE THE HIGH-EST AU-THOR-I-TY,” the golem countered. “YOU SHOULD HAVE TO-TAL AU-THOR-I-TY! EX-PLAIN! EX-PLAIN!”
“Blueblood, you idiot savant,” she mumbled.
“I refuse to get into politics with you, drone!” she bellowed. “Stand down this instant!”
“IF YOU CAN-NOT JUST-I-FY YOUR AU-THOR-I-TY,” the drone’s head turned slowly towards its counterpart, “THEN WE WILL HAVE TO TAKE DRAS-TIC MEAS-URES!”
Both robots twisted towards Celestia with emerald eyes blazing. Twin lasers erupted out of each perissodroid’s head, sprinting on their way to vaporize both the princess and her companion.
“ANN-I-HIL-ATE! ANN-I-HIL-ATE! ANN-I-HIL-ATE!”
Blueblood stood stock still as Rarity studied his proportions. She stretched out her measuring tape along his leg and marked down the dimension with a red marker. She was very careful not to get any of the semi-permanent ink on her pristine coat.
“So, how did these… absolutely glorious wings come into being?” Rarity asked as she gently stretched one out. “I don’t recall seeing them when I was at the Grand Galloping Gala last year.” Her voice was pleasant, but her teeth were clenched together like iron bars holding back a violent prisoner.
“It happened when I created a new spell,” he reported. “I took what was once a dismal pile of junk and gave it autonomy, the ability to walk and talk and make decisions.”
He tilted his head to the side. “Within reason.”
“Oh, my!” she exclaimed as she took careful stock of his wingspan. “What sort of things can it do?” The red permanent marker hung dangerously over his pinion feathers. Rarity took a deep breath in. Not this way, dear, she thought. That’s not how a lady does things.
“Oh, this and that,” Blueblood chuckled. “It can fetch items of interest, shop according to a very thorough price algorithm… I’ve even experimented with a defense program.” He bit his bottom lip with palpable hesitation. “That last one needs a little work.”
“Oh, dear,” she giggled as her measuring tape stretched from his head to his hindquarters. “That sounds like a story in itself.”
“I was vaporized in an instant.” His comment caused Rarity to lose her grip on the tape. It retracted back into a roll with a loud snap against Blueblood’s behind. “Yee-ouch!”
“Apologies, Your Highness,” she said with a smile. “I would have paid money to see— I mean, it sounds like a terrifying ordeal.”
“It was not a picnic, I’ll say that much.” He sighed as he gently rubbed his backside. “I think I’ve managed to work out the bugs, for everypony’s sake.”
Rarity looped the measuring tape around his shoulders and stood before him, eyes soft. “You’ve really put quite a bit of work into it, haven’t you?”
“Absolutely,” he said with a smile. “Nothing less would be worthy of the Twice-Crowned Prince of Canterlot!”
She smiled sweetly. “Now, take a deep breath in.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Why must I do— HYURCK!”
She drew the tape tight as a noose around his neck, cutting off his air. His eyes bulged out as she jotted down the circumference of his neck on her size chart. She held it there a moment, grinning like a madmare. “I think that will be everything, Your Highness.”
She magically retracted the tape, allowing it to snap noisily against Blueblood’s cheek. He fell to his knees gasping for air, but still found the strength to nod his thanks. “I l-(cough)-look forward to s-(keck)-seeing your final p-(ah-HEM)-final product.”
He strutted out the door with his head held high and his neck bruises visible to all. Rarity leaned against her work table, jutting down her ideas as they came.
Pinkie bounced up beside her, a grin plastered to her face. “Sooo, whatcha gonna dooo?”
“It is not enough, my dear Pinkamena, to make an ugly outfit.” A drawing quickly took shape on Rarity’s paper. “My reputation is also at stake, here.”
She held the drawing up to the sunlight. “No, my outfit must be of good quality. It must be spectacular. It must astound the very upper crust of Canterlot!”
A few more notes took their place on the diagram. “So I will create the most astounding, the most amazing, the most utterly gaudy of all coronation outfits!” An evil glint appeared in her eye. “But I mustn’t stop there.”
She giggled as she pulled various cloths out of their drawers. “I have worked for years to create clothes that were as comfortable as they were stylish,” she chortled. “But today, I throw away everything I’ve ever learned. Today I create the biggest, hottest, prickliest, tightest, high-riding, sparkly, shining, slippery, scandalous mess I’ve ever dared create!
“They will stop and take notice,” Rarity continued. “They will marvel at the mind that could think up such a wonder. They will adore it.” She giggled with an echoing sound that reverberated across the shop. “And Blueblood won’t have even a moment to truly enjoy it.”
“You know, Rarity,” Pinkie said. “There’s this saying, ‘pride comes before the fall.’ If you’re not careful, you’re gonna be disappointed.”
“If you don’t believe in yourself,” Rarity huffed, “then who’s going to?”
“I believe in you!” Pinkie shouted as she hugged the white unicorn tight.
“Thank you, Pinkie,” the seamstress sighed.
Thunder rumbled, and lightning struck the two golems. The awesome power of electricity blasted the two robots into incendiary splinters. Celestia relaxed her magical hold on the rain clouds, sending them back into the stratosphere. She then lowered the shield protecting her and her skewbald companion. “Are you alright?”
He coughed lightly and collapsed to his side.
“I’ll take that as a ‘yes.’”
Celestia turned to the shopkeeper. “And how are you holding up, my little pony?”
The blue-coated clerk pointed a nervous hoof behind her, indicating an approaching crowd of robotic servants.
“Indeed,” Celestia sighed. “I think Blueblood and I will need to have a little conversation about the purpose of prototypes.”
Blueblood walked down Ponyville’s Mane Street with a dance to his step. A fantastic new outfit was certain to be on its way, and no doubt his golems were near the end of their shopping spree. One such robot sauntered into his line of vision, and the prince called out to it. “Hullo, there! How goes the mission?”
The mechanoid stopped and looked at him. “No items have been acquired.”
“No items!?” Blueblood gasped. “This cannot be!”
He hung a foreleg around the mech’s shoulders. “Number forty-two, I want you and the others to drop whatever you are doing and commence Operation Shopaholic immediately. We must have all the items by this afternoon!”
The droid’s eyes flashed, and a ticking sound emanated from its head. “We shall comply.”
“That’s what I like to hear!” Blueblood laughed to his guards. “When I say ‘jump,’ they ask ‘How high?’ on their way up!”
The small army approaching Celestia halted in its tracks. Turning on their rear legs, they about-faced and trotted away from the scene. One robot smashed in a store window and removed the jewelry sitting inside. Another lifted an entire hotdog stand onto its back and absconded with it. A third could be seen running from the blacksmith, carrying more than its weight in ceremonial armor.
The pony who had brought Celestia to the store was recovering after being exposed to a series of perfumes that worked surprisingly well as smelling salts. He gazed around dazedly, his brain in a fog. “Are you my mummy?”
Celestia shook her head as she watched the mayhem around her. She was formulating a plan, or at least the beginnings of one. The first item on the list was to get her beloved subjects to safety.
The second item…
“Blueblood,” Celestia whispered. “When I find you, you are fired.”
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Oh dear, looks like Blueblood needs to work out some kinks in the programming.
Fired? From what? Tia, if you're gonna de-alicorn him, I get the distinct impression it'll primarily be because he beat your favorite student to the punch.
2532384 Pinkie can help de-alicorn Blueblood.
...Not the one from this fic, mind you. You'll want to borrow the one from Cupcakes for that.
...Also, she'll need some tools. Saws, pliers, hammers, things like that...
The author may have to consider writing a separate story just to give Blueblood a mild happy ending, because the expected insults, beat downs, humiliations, and the wrath of the sun princess will require multiple chapters to recover from.
Loving every bit of this story.
2532169
Yes. Alas, the robots are most kinky.
2532190
2532384
From life, most likely. He should tread lightly around dear old auntie.
To the Mooooooon!!!
Now, now. This is Princess Celestia we are talking about, she's not gonna be so petty as to...
Huh.
Spoilers, I suppose.
2532610
Oh, dear. We seem to be completely out of Darktags for this story. Sorry, ladies and gents.
2532929
I guarantee you that this story has a happy ending.
Who is it happy for? That's a different question!
Thank you! I'm loving every bit of the comments.
2537955
1. Letters to numbers
2. Numbers to glyphs
3. Lack of foreknowledge as to the existence of a message in the first place!
If I may be so frank;
I dunno...Speaking as a seamstress...I'd say it's almost perfect. Though because i'm an evil and sadistic beast I would make it the most beautiful thing Blueblood had ever seen, that would cause him to weep upon viewing it and wish to wear it always, but have it be so tortorously unpleasant he would be forever tormented by the desire to wear it and the horror of wearing it.
I'll admit, I screamed in terror.
Oh this is going to be fun!
Doctor who really bleedin in