An ordinary interaction with an extraordinary customer.
Rarity Belle is a successful Businessmare In Ponyville. From wedding dresses to costumes, sundresses to business attire, she has made masterpieces for each and every one of her customers that fills them with awe and wonder at her talents while still maintaining affordable rates.
Rarity had serviced many customers in the past, but there is one in particular that is unlike any other...
Also, I will be posting the misc. Other openings and endings within the next few days. These sections are not "alternates" as in they are different canon or changing of events, but instead different places to start the story.
It was a strangely warm November day, one that would be more fitting somewhere in September, but was not too out of place this time of the year. Quite obviously, the source of this out of the ordinary phenomena was not all through Mother Nature. Partially to blame was the Ponyville weather team. Due to a fluke in the schedule, a rain shower earlier in the week was missed, and thus the humidity in the air was high. To compensate for the mishap and not redo the schedule, they would have to resort to a heavy rainfall that night.
A very heavy rainfall.
As in it was raining sideways.
And through this storming weather, two ponies scurried in the mud and around the buildings, juggling the benefits and consequences of stirring up too much mud vs. the onslaught of rain. But as they dipped and dodged through the water that was all around, their destination was within view.
The Carousel Boutique stood tall and proud in the rain like a wedding cake topper. The cute, layered shop had the rainfall cascade off of it like a manmade waterfall. The fancily painted details and facades directed the water to fall off of the different roofs in powerful streams like a fountain while the gutters drained as much water as they could but were nonetheless overwhelmed by the monsoon.
The two travelers in the night rushed to the entrance way and hid beneath the arch. The larger of the two, holding an umbrella, closed the shield and folded it down. A key was produced from beneath one of the yellow raincoats and pushed into the door.
The smaller of the two pushed the unlocked door open and rushed in onto the entrance mat, soon followed by its chaperon.
The first one to enter threw the yellow transparent hood back, revealing her curled, dual colored mane. The filly turned and then whined, “Rarity, did we REALLY~~~~ need to send Scootaloo and Applebloom home? It’s not that bad outside.”
Lightning struck outside, blinding the world in white light and making the filly disappear temporarily.
When everything returned to normal, the little white filly reappeared cowering beneath the other cloaked mare.
Rarity, after fixing her mane from the close fitting yellow hood, used magic to pull off hers and Sweetie Belle’s raincoat and placed them on the nearby coat rack. “I’m sorry, Sweetie Belle. But we’ll just have to have your Cutie Mark Crusaders Slumber Party some other time.”
“But-”
“It’s only luck that we took them home before the storm.”
“Ohmmmmm,” Sweetie Belle grumbled. “Okay.”
“Oh, don’t be so glum, Sweetie Belle,” Rarity said, using a hoof to shift her sister’s damp snout up. “You can’t let the rain spoil all of your fun! Why don’t you go and pick out a board game and I will make us some hot chocolate.”
The filly turned to her big sister and gazed up in disbelief, “You will?”
Her only response was a nod, to which the little sister bolted from the shop’s entrance and around the corner, up the stairs and into the living space.
Rarity Belle, the owner of the Carousel Boutique, smiled at the simple solution to her sister’s despair. She made a mental note to make her promised order of hot chocolate, but before she could do that she had to first check her store for the few minutes that she had left it vacant.
First, she turned the “Closed” sign back to “Open” out of instinct and then looked at the sandwich board that she had placed by the door earlier in the season. On the board, the promotion said, “Due to the changing of season, we will be open until eight O’clock during weeknights for scheduling, measuring, and fitting due to the upcoming celebrations. Please remember to schedule for time now instead of the last minute! *Smileface*
-Rarity Belle- Carousel Boutique.”
The seamstress of Ponyville looked at the clock beside her diploma from design school.
6:48
The young entrepreneur grimaced at the time. Holiday hours were not fun, but she did not want to go back on her promise of staying open late. Such an action could jeopardize the relation between her and her clients… but she did want to close up early. Her promise to her sister practically demanded it!
She was the firm’s one employee, owner, and operator. It ultimately was her decision. She flipped the sign from open to closed again and locked the door. She worked all day, and while this action could lose business for her, judging by the hour and condition outside, she doubted that anypony in their right mind would want to be fitted for evening wear.
After making the executive decision to go back on her promised hours, she made her way through the shop, walking past the dressing room, measurement station, and other facilities until she rounded the corner. This particular corner was the boundary line that separated the building’s purpose as a shop and changed into her home. She entered the kitchen, turned the stove on, and put a small pot atop the glowing red pad.
She looked up, used her magic to open up her cabinet and pulled down two large bars of chocolate.
The first bar was authentic 100% dark chocolate in a fine dark wrapper, left in the same condition that it had arrived in. It had been ordered from a magazine and imported from a bakery in Stwizlerland. The other…. Was a large cheap bar of milk chocolate from the local candy store. The wrapper was open and showing signs of nibs being taken off every now and then.
From her fridge, two bottles of white liquid floated out with the help of glowing blue magic, whole milk and crème respectively.
From the next cabinet over, a bag of locally grown sugar, store bought espresso mix (for a little extra kick!) and a small vial of vanilla extract.
Now, with all her ingredients out, the unicorn opened a drawer and pulled out a kitchen knife and a whisk.
First, she filled the pot warming on the stove about half way with both the cream and the milk. Using her instinct and attention to detail, she eyeballed the correct amount of sugar and added that to the brew as well as a teeny bit of the expresso mix and vanilla extract.
While the concoction warmed, she unwrapped both her fancy foreign chocolate and domestic brand and chopped them both up on a cutting board. She needed to let the warming milk and sugar get to the correct temperature before adding the chocolate, so she took the time to put away her used utensils and leftover ingredients before checking again.
It still wasn’t warm enough.
Rarity gave a huff. She didn’t set the temperature to burn or boil the milk, but she needed to get close to that before she added the chocolate!
She pondered what to do; but then her eyes wandered over to the glass kitchen table. Her mind began to wander in her waiting time. She had a long day; it would feel nice to relax for a little while the hot chocolate cooked. She began to think of a recent habit she had developed to do just that.
She made her way over to the kitchen table and sat down at her seat, the one that had its back to the window and an open view to all of the kitchen appliances, and brought the nearby record player that usually sat perched by said window and set it beside her at the table.
Before she wound the music maker and allowed its melodies to fill the kitchen, she raised the needle and removed the vinyl disc.
Around the center label of the dark flat plastic was the label, “Sapphire Shores: Around the World Tour: ‘Prancing in Prance’”
It may as well just have read “Rarity’s Guilty Pleasure.”
She gently set her prized possession back into its place and wound it up, the needle slowly lowered itself down and began to gently scratch the record.
There were a few seconds of mute static and clicks until the gentle sound of Harps, Violins, Cellos, and other stringed instruments began to flow from the music box.
Rarity began to sit back and relax, this felt good.
And almost as if it were an instrument itself, the vocal cords of Sapphire Shores began to sing in perfect harmony with the other sounds. But not in her indigenous voice. No, the reason why the little up and coming dressmaker cherished this particular album over the others was because it was not in Equestrian, but Prench.
But more than that, this song in particular was a classic. It was not just a Prench translation of one of her other hits, but instead a classic gospel that had survived the ages, almost as if it had known that it’s destiny lead to this particular album.
The pitch, the harmony, the flow, the tempo of the Prench language was destined to be magnified through Sapphire’s vocal cords… none of which Rarity would understand though.
Sadly, for as much as she tried to act like she knew Prench, she did not. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t pretend to.
Now that her ears were beginning to rise to cloud nine, it was time to do the same for her other senses. Lying where she had put it earlier in the day was the morning paper. She opened it and let the cascade of words bring her mind into a gentle haze.
With her eyes occupied, ears in ecstasy, and nostrils nurturing the soft smell of warm milk, Rarity felt herself finally relax.
She began to daydream, the perfection of Prench being done by Sapphire Shores directing her imagination as she envisioned angels coming down from the sky.
Covering her in a pristine white dress that glowed like a diamond.
Attaching elegant white wings to her back and ascending her into the heavens.
Where handsome and muscle bound stallions were awaiting her.
Who would gently hoof feed her grapes.
And their cologne! It smelled of immolated corpses-
What?
Rarity shook herself out of her daydream. The record player skipped on its track to supplement her rude awakening. What made her think of such a strange thought?
Then she looked at the page of the newspaper she was subliminally reading, the international news. The headline read “Party ends with a Bang!”
There were two pictures under the title, the one on the left showed party guests and ponies dressed to the ninth degree entering on a red carpet. The one on the right was a disturbingly different picture. A mansion up in flames. Party guests falling back on basic survival instincts to get away from the fire. Ladies in ripped dresses crying on the ground at the carnage.
The picture was enough to rip the young mare from her fantasies, it deserved to be read.
“Medellin, Kolaumbian billionaire, philanthropist, and suspected trafficker of the narcotic known as ‘Pixie Stixs’ had thrown a celebration for his wife’s birthday yesterday. The party was going smoothly until a fire started and caused the guests to panic. Initial investigations suspect that the fire was started when a rogue firework detonated and either started a chain reaction or igniting the dry plant life from of the drought in the area. But as the night proceeded and fires were extinguished, rumors of a secret area of the compound surfaced, raising the question that the claims of Mr. Medellin being a drug trafficker may be true.
The Kolaumbian army officials made no comment of the incident, even though they scrambled to defuse the situation as fast as they could. They were not able to save the majority of the mansion.
Mr. Medellin as well as many party guests have not been found yet. Fire and rescue crews are searching the area for any signs of life or their remains. Story continues on page 5D.”
Rarity folded the newspaper in half and slid it away from her as if it smelled of rotten eggs. Such an article was unfit to be in the news. She would not see another word of it.
But, as she pushed the stack of papers away from her, she realized that she was neglecting her hot chocolate. She stood up, feeling a bit better, and walked back to the stove. Sure enough, the milk was ready, so she lifted the cutting board and let the chopped chocolate carefully cascade into the white mixture.
Now all she had to do was wait for it to melt, mix it up with her whisk, and then it would be all ready for distribution and consumption. Instead of going back to her musically made heaven, she decided to wait for the chocolate to melt and quickly whisk it to greatness and then join her little sister upstairs.
But as her best laid plans were made, they were soon crushed again.
As Rarity stood guard over her pot of milk and chocolate, she heard the bell above the door signal a new arrival into the Carousel Boutique.
Rarity looked back at the kitchen door with bewilderment. She swore that she locked the door before she went to her house. “Oh, I’m sorry, Dear.” She called out, sticking to her guns about spending the rest of the night with her sister. “But I had to close shop early. ” She walked out of the kitchen and into the hall, “I am sure I can reschedule you for a more convenient time later, and I will be willing to provide a discount for the inconvenience. ”
She was at the corner of where her house turned into her shop. She was just about to step around the corner, but then she heard a familiar voice, but not one that was welcome.
It was a cold, clear, and low voice. Even though it was quiet and not in alarm, it seemed to echo around the building.
“Ms. Belle,”
No…
Rarity changed from a trot to a sprint as she put forth all her effort to make sure that the thing she thought was around the bend in her shop was just her imagination.
She jumped around the corner and inspected the entrance way of her shop. But as if she had just sprung a trap, lightning struck outside of the shop, probably on one of the lightning poles atop many of the buildings in Ponyville. But nonetheless, a blinding white light filled Rarity’s vision.
Right in the center of the bright white frame, standing before her was a dark splotch. Like the representation of her fears. A dark void was there, sucking in the light of the world, ready to consume her as well.
But luckily the hallucination lasted only a second, and after a blink to recover the details and colors of the world returned. Even though her brief second was just nerves, and that there was no ‘dark void’ in her universe, the danger was still genuine.
Standing reared at the door, putting a wet weather resistant coat with the label ‘OMNISHIELD’ on the sleeve onto the rack next to her own was a navy blue stallion. One that she recognized much too well.
It was a bright and warm summer day, the type that one wanted to go out and play all day in. But Rarity, being a shop owner, had to forfeit some of that fun in order to stay in business.
The young artisan was currently at the counter of her shop, leaning on it with her hooves supporting her head as she switched between watching the clock and the front windows. It had been a long, boring day, but not because she was self-employed and worked. She would never say that! She loved her trade, there was nothing like the thrill of taking fabric and measurements and crafting something truly beautiful out of it, be it a gown for a special occasion, a wedding dress, or just a clubbin’ outfit, she loved to make them all.
But that was not the problem, she would not be bored if she actually had something to do! Instead of wrapping a pony in measuring tape and then choosing design ideas and suggesting colors, she had spent the last two and a half hours doing nothing!
Luckily, her boredom was almost over. Finally, as she was not able to take it anymore, the last 15 minutes of working hours arrived. It was time to close the shop.
Rarity first went to all of the stations and put her respective devices away, filing them neatly in their cabinets and compartments. Instruments hung limply by their hooks, and all the drawers were closed tightly. It was not going to be long now, just a few more seconds and she would be free. Rarity was not one to "hang out", but after a long day of nothing she was more than willing to go visiting her friends. To hear of something interesting that had transpired throughout her work day. The Idea of doing something fun to do felt enticing.
Maybe Applejack would need some help preparing supper. Or better yet she may be able to join them if she brought a dessert!
Maybe Pinkie had a new juice recipe that she found in one of those magazines that she is subscribed to.
Maybe Twilight had a "thrilling" tale to recount about chasing down an overdue book.
Or maybe Fluttershy could try to help her learn to groom Opalescence so she wouldn’t have to depend on her so much.
So many choices and not much longer until it was time to choose.
The clock ticked, two minutes to the hour. Not much longer now.
Rarity gave the shop one more look over, checking for anything else to clean. It was somewhat strange, she would have closed two and a half hours ago if she knew that she would be sitting around, but the sad part was that the chance that anypony, even just one customer, would have made staying for all the extra time worthwhile.
Amid scan, she noticed that her broom was leaning against a wall. She got up and picked it up and walked it back to the closet. It wouldn’t be much longer now.
While her back was turned, the bell above the doorway rang. Rarity turned, having a reluctant smile on her face, but a smile nonetheless. As the bell tolled, there was a pony standing under her doorway. She glanced to the clock, and sure enough, the Carousel Boutique was still open for one more minute.
She looked at the newly arrived customer who cleared his throat and asked, "Ms. Belle?"
Rarity confirmed his question, even if it sounded like a statement. She did not recognize this individual, but then again he could have come into possession of one of her business cards or heard of her through word of mouth.
"I need a new suit."
Rarity's mind began to wonder on her options on what to do. "Greetings sir, would you mind clarifying what you mean?" For all she knew, the need of a new suit may not be necessary. Perhaps he had an old suit in good condition but needed to be repaired, or perhaps he hadn't a suit and wanted one.
"I need a new suit, regardless the cost."
"Well," she boasted, "you have come to the right place! I am confident that I will be more than able to fulfill your clothing needs. But if you would like, we could schedule for tomorrow or a more convenient time."
The stallion answered evenly, "That will not be necessary." As he unzipped his overcoat and hung it up.
The dressmaker became frozen in a sudden jolt of shock as the stallion turned. From what she could deduce, her new guest was wearing what looked like a rental suit. A plain white shirt and an ordinary black suit jacket. But what set it so far out of the ordinary was its condition.
The suit was ripped to ribbons, some sections cut away from the major parts while other held on by mere threads.
"Oh, my! What in the world-“
“I need a new suit.” He repeated, keeping an even gaze upon her as she covered her mouth over the travesty that was hanging from this stranger’s frame.
“Oh, Yes Indeed, you do need a new suit! Come along!” She said, leading her way back into the stalls and other workstations that she had been cleaning mere moments earlier. As she walked, she heard a small clicking against the glass door entrance. She turned and gave it a look, and surprisingly, the sign said that she was closed.
Odd… But oh well.
She walked to the front desk, where her wastepaper basket, appointment sheet, quills, pens, and register waited and took her position behind it. Like a proper businessmare, she gave another smile and opened up her registration book, found the most recent page, and then turned it around for her guest.
“Would you care to sign in, Dear?”
The new customer to the boutique looked ahead with his cold blue eyes, almost like a recruit for the Canterlot guard and stared at the mare, almost as if he did not understand what she wanted.
She smiled and used her magic to uncork a bottle of ink.
No response.
“Oh, and here’s a quill….” She pulled a pen out of the hoof made clay cup that they were lying in.
No response.
“Just sign your name right there….” She said in a chipper tone, pointing at the empty blank in the book.
Rarity kept smiling and tried to whittle away at the frigid character before her until her self-consciousness felt that her smile was as awkward as her new client’s unwillingness to comply. Watching her with a stone cold look as if she was asking a non-magically inclined being to perform a spell.
Almost as if he was too afraid to use his own signature…
“Ooh!” she quipped, acting like she had just remembered something, “would you like me to sign for you?”
The navy blue unicorn who was watching her from across the counter nodded slowly and answered, “yes.”
Rarity returned to her happy act and slipped the book around and readied the quill with some ink, “I will be more than happy to do that for you. And your name is, sir?”
“Esproc, Mr. Esproc.”
Rarity happily signed the name and set the writing utensil aside. Ready to move on, she pointed to one of two stalls in the shop with a curtain hanging over it acting as a blind and said, “Feel free to make use of one of my dressing rooms while I prepare for your fitting. And before I forget,” she added, “There is a washroom in case you need to clean up. No use in dirtying a brand new ensemble!”
Immediately, the new visitor walked his battered self towards the changing area and used his own magic to open and close the curtain, just as Rarity had hoped.
She indeed needed to get her measuring tapes and other tools ready, but there was one thing that made her uneasy… made her think twice about her incredibly antisocial customer, his name.
She looked back at the drying ink and read it to herself, “Esproc…” why was that so peculiar?
Without making a sound, she pulled the quill back out and set it on the paper, thinking of what was making her mind so upset over a simple name.
Esproc….
She wrote it down at the bottom of the page and wrote it again, this time in finely printed characters instead of fancy and elegant cursive swoops.
Still, there was something wrong about that name that she could not shake… what was it?
Even though it sounded silly, Rarity took a stab in the dark, and rewrote the name again, but differently. This time, backwards.
C O R P S E
The dressmaker’s eyes shot wide awake at her result.
“Corpse?”
Present...
It was not a joke, like a foal who could talk announcing the fact that they made an accident instead of using a potty. Nor was it a humbled request or genuine beg of assistance of necessity. It was an order, one that she could not refuse. Like a coward approaching an old rickety rotten rope bridge, Rarity took tentative steps forward, pondering the few options she had to choose from.
Should she tell him why she was closed, that she had closed the shop for the night?
“Mister… I…”
Or should she comply to his…Requests..
“ *Ahem* I mean.. Sir…” Her voice trembled.
She was standing much closer to her uninvited guest, and from her perspective she could see the front leg of the jacket had its shoulder ripped, separating the sleeve from the coat. Several tears penetrated through the suit coat and all the way until blue fur was present. The tie was cut in half. The buttons were missing from the vest, and through the opened articles, she could see, what she could only hope, was red wine stained on the dress shirt. A strange dark colored dust seemed to cover and cling to the ensemble as well as its owner.
Rarity Belle walked her client up to her counter and opened up the registration book to the most recent page. Using her magic, she readied a quill and scribbled a garbled mess on the newest blank in a way that would look like messy hoofwriting. With no forced cheer, charisma, charm, or effort in her voice, she asked, “Are my proportions correct or is there a need to measure once again?”
The last minute arrival shook his head slowly to reply.
“Very well.” She answered, “Leave the fabric to be recycled and I will start immediately.”
She set off to gather the supplies to fulfill the order, but the customer spoke again, “I should wash.”
She looked him over again, wet from the rain and also covered in a smoky type of dirt that ruined the fine pieces of his old garments. Even though he had stripped the suit away, the ruinous substances could be smelled from his fur. Even if it wasn’t THIS particular client, she would have suggested for him to clean off before being fitted.
“Indeed.”
The two professionals broke away, one heading to the back while the other went to the closet, gathering stuffing, thread, needles, scissors, magnifying glasses and whatever else called for the making of this one particular piece before heading to her filing cabinet in the back, searching her records of clients and finding the proper one with her customer’s dimensions.
Now, with instructions, tools and supplies ready, she began to create. Not a simple article of clothing, but a piece of artwork.
She sat, but before she began to make the first cut, she heard something. A low rumble, that of pacing hooves stomping around somewhere.
Confused, she looked at the ceiling and listened for a while, deducing where the phantom steps were going and simulating their movements based on a memory of the floor plan.
It wasn’t until the familiar creaking of the top step of the stairs that lead to the second floor did the young store owner remembered a terrible fact.
She was not alone tonight.
Abandoning her prepared job, she shot out of the sewing room and ran to the staircase, sliding to a stop and looking up at who was standing there.
Her younger sister, a frown and annoyed look on her face, stared bullets down at her sister. She demanded, “How much Longer, Rarity! I’ve been waiting forever!”
Her being around her client was one thing… but her sister? Never! As a proper sibling, a protective adult and overall good pony, she would never allow danger to befall Sweetie Belle for the potential risk that even becoming aware of the customer washing his coat off in the guest bathroom imposed.
“Sweetie Belle!” she shushed , “Please, be quiet we have a…” she thought for a moment, “A fashion emergency on our hooves!”
Sweetie Belle stood at the top floors with her mouth open in disgust, the effect of that hated term settling in her brain and instigating anger within her. “But you said-”
“I know,” Rarity interrupted again, “But please, I need to do this right now…” She look her sister over, thinking of an excuse to occupy her time, “And you’re filthy!” she claimed, “Sweetie belle, you should have washed when we returned home, shame on you!”
Yes, redirecting the blame on her sister was not a nice thing to do, but now was not the time to be the sister of the year.
“But… I, you’re dirty too! We were out in the rain, remember?!”
The older of the two sibling pointed her nose up, playing the role of snob perfectly, and said, “Sweetie Belle, instead of arguing, you should be getting yourself cleaned up. ”
The other pale unicorn in the shop/ house readied to rebuke again. How was SHE the bad pony all of a sudden? But instead of fighting, she kept her mouth closed and chewed back her insults and arguments by grumbling, “Fine.”
But, instead of heading back into the safety of the second floor, she head down the stairs.
The filly’s guardian sidestepped to be in the way of her family member once more and questioned, “I thought I said to clean yourself off?”
“You did,” she snarked, “but there’s no shampoo upstairs, I gotta go get some from the guest bathroom.” It was true what they said, no plan survives contact with the enemy, and counter to what the store owner had thought, her contingency had, instead of saving her from it, pointed her young lamb towards the lion’s den of the washroom.
“Y-You can’t! My customer is using it!”
Sweetie Belle groan again, “Alright, I’ll wait for them to leave.”
That still did not help the mare’s plight. She stepped aside once again and further hindered her sister’s advance. She thought as fast as she could, where else was there shampoo in the house? Her mind raced, and could only find one spot. But was it worth it?
She looked at the spoiled mood of her sister, and made her decision.
With a long sigh, Rarity answered, “You can use my lavatory for the night. But please, stay upstairs. I have business that must be done.”
Sweetie Belle heard her sister, and the devil on her shoulder began to rub its hooves together in anticipation. “Okay,” she answered with an evil sneer. “If you say so…” before slowly walking back up the stairs and turning to her sister’s bedroom, towards the unguarded nest of imported mane cleansers that were practically begging to be abused.
Past… The dressing screen was pulled back, and as expected, the newly arrived guest exited, carrying a tied bag and a ball of rags that he had once been wearing before.
Rarity beckoned her guest over to a center pedestal in the shop next to a small podium and mirror. Decorating her neck like a fine and expensive scarf were several measuring tapes.
Ready to try and crack through her customer’s surface. She smiled again and said, “Oh, thank you darling, but please leave those rags on the counter, I shall take care of them later.”
He did as asked and turned to look at the counter. Using his green magic, he placed the ruined garments where his host requested.
It was a shame what happened to them, really. Their purpose may have been to be affordable formal wear, but they did not deserve that fate. Rarity even doubted she could recycle any of the cloth. She would either have to bury it in the back yard or burn it in a bonfire to properly lay it to rest.
But as he discarded his old clothes, the white unicorn in the room noticed something that she had not yet seen about this new pony.
Wings.
The customer continued to the measuring area as the dressmaker thought on what to do. She looked at her podium and the pre-rendered sheet that had the anatomy of a unicorn on it with spaces for her to place the lengths. “Oh, my!” she said, quickly scribbling in wings and arrows to record those measurements as well, “I had no idea you had wings.”
“Yes, my apologies,” he said, moving to position and standing as still as a statue.
“Oh, it’s nothing, dear,” she said, marking that down as some progress with her shy customer. “You are a winged unicorn, correct?”
“Yes.”
“I have never had the opportunity to meet one before, let alone make clothing for one. This is a very special occasion! My, I can see how you can be mistaken for an alicorn!”
“Yes.”
In the time it took to make that statement, as well as carry on a largely one sided conversation about mistaking one thing for another, Rarity had measured almost all of his dimensions; Barrel, haunch, length, leg, hoof, height , neck, shoulders, wingspan, lateral wingspan, horn, and several other places on his body that would usually be neglected by another clothes maker, but not her. She was not simply making an article of clothing for her customers, but a piece of them. An extension of their body. It was as unique and special as they were. For her efforts to mean anything, it had to fit perfectly.
Even after millenniums of existence, Alicorns were still shrouded in mystery. The Princesses have never bred other alicorns before, and for all the experimentation made into their origin, scientists still have not determined if they had been chosen to be who they are or were lucky foals in a .00001 percentile range.
Winged unicorns, on the other hoof, were quite different. Unlike the Princesses, scientists could study a winged unicorn’s pedigree, these subjects have been made through years of breeding and trading traits from one species to another for generations. The pony before Rarity was an imperfect hybrid, nothing more than a mutation or a genetic mistake.It just so happened that, based on that the horn seemed to be more powerful than the wings, that his traits mainly favored the later part of its name.
Rarity had never had the opportunity to work with one; this was a brand new adventure for her. A lazy seamstress would simply use what they assumed his wingspan would be if specifically a pegasus, but she was not a lazy seamstress. The rumors she had heard were true, as she measured her client's wingspan, she noticed that he was significantly shorter in that respect than what he should have been. Also, from her years at design school, she noticed a significant lack of feathers making up his wings. The ones he did have were spread out longer to try and compensate.
Rarity assumed that defect must have made attaining flight much harder for him, but she also assumed he was used to it, he may have known his limitations and stayed in a comfortable range of effort. The absence of feathers must have put a strain on his wings, but the tailor assumed he must have grown them back quickly. Her friend Rainbow Dash lost feathers constantly, but she never seemed to be hindered by it.
Although it was cliché, Rarity never took an interest in biology at school. But she would not deny there was something fascinating about the way genetics made ponies. How a member of one species could be born from parents of completely different races was indeed fascinating. Rarity was a firm believer that there were three pony tribes in the beginning. But to just think what the likes of the tribe leaders would do if they could see into the future and view how evolution had put their differences aside to create a being that shared bits and bots of two species. It was simply mind-boggling.
Even though she did her job with full attentiveness, a tiny theory began to develop in her mind. A silly little fantasy that a schoolfilly would dream up about a random handsome stranger, but as her mouth talked, magic measured, and eyes saw, her mind was as active as ever. Not thinking about what would be the best color to accent navy blue, but instead her own fantasy about her new client. Why he was coming to her little store, being so shy, why he had both wings and a horn, why he was being so unresponsive.
Maybe he was a Prince!
Of course her first thoughts went on to old desires and the lust to have her dreams of marrying a handsome Prince come true, an instinctive reflex made by habit, one that she was trying to break away from. But even though marrying and living happily ever after would have been a dream come true, there were other things that she could take advantage of than to fuel a fantasy. He could be anything from a Prince to a lesser noble’s offspring or an ambassador. The fact of the matter was that, if he was born into some higher position in which he was trying to hide from her, she could take advantage of this opportunity to show her talent and thus receive better business.
He probably wanted a small tailor shop instead of a chain or better known firm, and by word of mouth or luck, he had heard of Lady Rarity and The Carousel Boutique. Clothing was one of the best advertisements, she had to pay almost nothing for it, and when a customer wore one of her garments, they may as well have been a walking billboard. His old suit, rest it’s soul, must have been old, forgotten, or experienced an accident to be brought into the shop in ribbons. But it’s loss would not be in vain. Like the phoenixes of the east, in its ashes a magnificent representation of success and chivalry would emerge. Its purpose, to make the first impression before its owner even spoke, to be the conversation piece, to attract all of the wandering eyes, to make its owner the center of attention.
This was no longer a fight to uphold her ego or reputation, but business.
It had been months since her most recent visit from this particular client, and like she had made a habit of, she already had many parts of the usual order already hanging in her “Work in Progress” closet. If she could have her way, to stoop lower than her “make to order” policy, she would have made a dozen of the suits exactly like the first one so that this particular stallion could be in and out in nothing more than a few short minutes. But, she had standards and a reputation to uphold, every one of her clients needed to be treated with the upmost respect to their own individual needs and requests.
She sat at her sewing machine, incomplete masterpiece templates lain about before her to be brought together, but only after ensuring that there was no need for any trimmings or additions. Just like there had been no need for those in earlier visits.
Rarity’s bottom hoof kept the pedal down so that power kept flowing to the sewing machine sewed the sleeves to the shoulder of the black jacket. Her customers were allowed in her sewing room. It did not distract her from her work, nor did it encourage her to work faster or sloppier. And as he always had done, her guest stationed himself in front of the table, standing guard at the closed curtain of the window, peeking through the crack while still having easy access to the hall that lead to the sewing room. But unlike the other times this enigmatic pony had accompanied her to the sewing room, she noticed something out of the ordinary, one thing that she would not give a care to if it were anypony else.
Her personal washroom was directly upstairs.
If she was alone, that would be nothing… but she wasn’t.
Having her temporary solution to a problem came back to haunt her, Sweetie Belle was showering just as she ordered her to. She could hear the constant dull moan of running water through the pipes above, somehow overpowering the loud repeating tap that her machine made when it cycled between impaling its needle through the fabric and sharply pulling it back out.
Hopefully it was just her paranoia, but there was a chance that it wasn’t.
Her only way to hopefully mask the sound of her sister upstairs was to keep sewing.
So, with the assistance of magic, she sewed one garment up to a completed state, set it aside, and began on the next one that she had already lined up and had ready to be operated to ensure that the time in which the loud machine was not buzzing was as short as possible.
It was somewhere between finishing the dress pants and the cuffs of the dress shirt when, like a rusted valve, the storeowner heard a loud squeak from the room above being turned three times. Each nail-on-the-chalkboard like sound made her ears flinch and body clench… but then, thankfully, the sound of water stopped.
After what felt like she had been for an eternity, the tailor at the sewing machine took a long sigh of relief and could now finish her project at a more natural and leisurely pace without worrying about masking a sound from a story higher.
In the span of the next hour, Rarity finished all facets and details of the outfit. When complete, she took all of the garments and dressed them onto a stallion pegasus mannequin.
The last thing she had to do was a final check to make sure that everything was complete and that nothing was missed or forgotten when trying to block the sound of her shower.
*THUD*
Her blood ran cold.
Rarity turned her head to the other pony in the room. His ears perked up.
He turned around, “Is there someone else here?”
Rarity shook her head so fast that her sculpted mane began to unravel.
*THUD THUD THUD*
As cool as ice, the guest turned his head back to the door and began to briskly walk to the burlap bag that he had with him.
Rarity’s mind jumped into panic mode and shot after him, accelerating her walk to intercept him while still trying to maintain the crumbling façade that she was calm.
“Sir, Please-”
He opened the bag with magic.
“There is something I must ask about your request-”
A glowing handle began to rise from the bag like a magician pulling a rabbit from a hat.
“Wait!” She threw her front hoofs around his front right leg, stopping in his pursuit of the sounds immediately.
What had she done…
With the object in the bag still only half way out, the navy blue stallion turned his head slowly and focused on the mare that had almost thrown herself in his way.
The rain kept pouring outside the shop as the two shared a silent moment staring into each other, one with fright, and the other with the mysteriously determined and focused look that he always had.
Rarity slowly got back up to a full standing position and cleared her throat, fighting the interrogative stare of the stallion she had grabbed.
“Please, the hour is late I would prefer to get your order done as soon as I can. So, please, can we return to the current matter?”
Another thud. Both ponies looked up, and then down at each other.
Rarity gave a nervous smile “My… Kitty. She loves to knock over my possessions.”
Another second of awkward eye contact. The last minute client looked into her eyes, more or less peering into her soul, tearing apart her lie and finding the sister she was hiding away upstairs. Luckily, the guest nodded and changed his direction to the mannequin.
The object that he had been pulling out of his satchel was dropped back in and then the string was pulled tight.
Past…
For every reason that Rarity could think that this new customer could be a pony of wealth power and influence, there was just as many excuses as to why he could just be a normal pony. There was no concrete proof as to who exactly this pony was, none that she could find from his habits or his short and bare answers at least.
But, of course, there was one thing…
From when he had undressed, he walked back out with a bag full of something. What it was, she did not necessarily know. Of course, being that he had come in for a fitting and emergency suit, he probablyv had planned on having a way to store all of his valuables safely.
For some reason or another, Rarity’s guest was outside of the current room that she was in, and plopped on a counter by an open window was that bag. It was an aged and worn white color. It had many signs of use and its string was pulled tight, leaving the cloth oyster’s mouth closed and hiding its pearl away.
Rarity turned away from the bag and instead went to her fabric collection. First picking out white for the jacket, Dark blue for the vest, and cream for the shirt, and grey for the pants.
Grey for the jacket and pants, black for the shirt, and red for the vest.
Dark blue for the jacket, charcoal for the vest and pants, and light blue for the shirt.
She looked down her wall of sample colors, thinking of more combinations to use for a standout custom three piece suit, but as she looked down the length of the wall she saw the bag again.
She was a lady, she had no business in “snooping” in her clients business… but the fruit of knowledge was too appetizing for her.
The owner of the Carousel Boutique, walking on silent hooves, gingerly snuck her way across the room to the unguarded bag.
She looked around, making sure that nopony would find her doing such an unethical act, and then lifted the mouth of the bag in a way that it was facing her.
The bag was a bit heavier than she expected it to be. Using magic, she pulled the sides in outward directions and let her expectations take her away.
It was an ID that boasted his relation to a noble house!
It was full of diamonds!
It held a wreath of golden olive leaves!
It was full of gold!
It was a menagerie of knives!
Rarity shook herself, making sure she was not daydreaming.
She wasn’t.
What she found was not what she expected or wanted. Bladed objects and pointed instruments of varying sizes were cascaded through the bag. Judging by how shiny they looked, it seems that they may have been recently cleaned.
Rarity began to shake; she used her magic to slowly lift one of the objects out of said bag to make sure she wasn’t seeing things.
Rising by the tip of it’s hilt, a handle wrapped in brown tape slowly rose out of the bag, beyond the hilt, a large, pointed and serrated purple blade. She didn’t need to test this, she knew how sharp this was. She had seen this composite of elements before, but not in this manner. A friend of hers was the foster parent of a dragon, that very dragon would frequently assist her in projects or chores. This was not metal; this was a carved dragon’s scale!
A green glow swatted the weapon out of her hooves and back into the bag. Immediately, the string was pulled. Standing right before her, almost as if he appeared out of nowhere, was her guest, staring straight into her.
Terrified for being seized in the act, she quivered slowly.
She had only felt this type of fear one time before in her life. A certain day long ago when her father returned home from the hospital and had to explain to her why mother was not with him… and that she may not be able to meet her new sister after all…
“They’re mine.” The bag was jerked out of her magic. The new customer stood and stared unblinkingly into her eyes, not like a lover, but more like a disappointed parent who caught their child reaching into a cookie jar for one too many times. He didn’t try to explain, nor joke, nor make up a story about his possessions; he just put the fear of Celestia into the young dressmaker.
“I…I...I’m sorry…” She lied, “I…I ha- have a bag just like this… I did not mean to intrude on yo- your … things...” She nodded her head and backed up submissively from her customer and back to the fabric combinations that she had been selecting earlier.
As she moved across the room, she quickly began to regain her posture, but could not settle her mind.
You were not one to go snooping around in a guest’s things. I am sure there is a logical explanation for why he would carry such things on him. Maybe he is a salespony. Yes… A salespony who specializes in a variety of knives! Ranging from personal grooming equipment to cooking, utility work to gutting young tailors who are too curious for their own good.
She shook the thoughts out of her head. She had a job to do first and then assumptions later! She had a duty to serve her customers!
She turned around again as her client stopped at the suggested colors and gently cleared her throat. “Now, judging from your coat, I believe that the best course of action would be to make a white jacket, a dark blue vest, a cream shirt, and grey dress slacks. Would you agree?”
Kind of like whenever she had other customers in this part of the process, her customer looked at the suggested colors and then at the wall of samples before them, trying to find a better combination or a way to substitute one of her picks for their own favorite color. Other than the occasional suggestion to save a stallion’s ego about being dressed by a filly or request to have a different combination, she was always right. She had a way of making things beautiful; after all, it was her tal-
“I would like a black jacket, grey vest, cream shirt and black dress slacks.”
Rarity did not expect an entire reworking of her wardrobe.
“Are you sure? Because I believe what I have would be better for you.”
“Do the colors clash?”
Rarity thought, and he was indeed right about the colors not clashing… but it did not stop her prodding.
“No… But it seems to me that combination would not be right!”
“Why?”
“Well…” she thought of the correct words to answer that question, “That color pallet seems to be rather… ordinary. A pony of any coat color could wear that safely.” She had an inspiration of charm grow inside of her brain, “And let’s be honest. A handsome stallion of your build needs to look extraordinary!”
“Thank you.”
Rarity’s mouth turned to a smile, “So are you going to go with my suggestion?”
As nonchalantly as equinely possible, the answer came at an all-time mild. “No.”
Rarity grumbled, “Well… The customer is always right.”
She took the requested new fabrics and scissors to her workstation and prepared to get to work. She slipped a pair of glasses onto her nose and said, “This may take a while, dear. If you would like, you may leave and come back later or find a magazine to pass the time.”
The guest, who was standing by the window and looking out turned around and cleared his throat, “I would like to make a… special request.”
Rarity used her hoof to push the glasses up. “Oh, what would that be?”
“Compartments and pockets within the vest and jacket, if you would, please.”
A pamphlet of folded papers was dropped before the artisan, she opened it up and inspected them. Enclosed inside were, surprisingly detailed, needlework instructions with exact measurements as to where stitches were to be made. “Sewing for Eggheads” tutorials were less detailed than this.
The request was… odd, but then again she had just learned that her new customer carried an arsenal of knives in a bag… So anything goes now.
“I will be able to do this… but I must warn you, with the extra supplies and work required; it will cost you.”
Her guest had already taken his spot at the window again and was looking out at the darkening day, “I can afford it.”
Present… Rarity and her guest stood and looked at the dressed mannequin like two tourists at a museum. The time it took her to pull the parts of the suit and stitch them together had broken her own personal record.
Rarity, as she always did, began to describe what made this suit stand out from another of this style besides her pride and passion. Like she would do to impress her buyers, she would briefly skim over the fine fabrics, where they had been imported from, the style of needlework, the thread, and all the little things that made this so spectacular. “And,” she added. “As per your instructions, I have refrained from adding any tags or labels.”
“Magnificent as always,” he said as he began to drag the wheeled dummy out of the room and towards the changing cells. Strangely, that little compliment was the closest he would ever get to show any emotion when in the store. Usually, a customer would only sink to that grumpy of an attitude when it was time to pay.
Rarity vacated her sewing room and made her way to the front of the Carousel Boutique, taking her place by the register. Rain was still falling outside and tapping at the window with every salvo. It wasn’t going to be long now. In a few minutes, he would be gone. She looked at the staircase that lead upstairs to the bedrooms on the second floor. “…Just hold on…”
Past… Even though it was not exactly what she personally would have chosen for the colors and fabric, what she had made in the overtime hours in the back room of the Carousel Boutique was a masterpiece.
Her client stood beside her and equally took in the effect of the new attire that would later be his, but for the time that Rarity could still regard this creation as her own, she felt it only right to let some of her pride be expressed.
Like an artist standing before a wealthy buyer, she began to describe the love and care taken into crafting what the mannequin was allowed the pleasure to wear. From the seamless stitching to reinforced joints, she went into specific detail of where all of her supplies originated from and became her masterpiece. The talk, to most clients, was useless. Only a sparse few ponies would actually have cared if they had their purchase described to them; but still, it increased the implied value of the whole by its parts and sold the image that she knew everything that she was doing; which she did.
“Magnificent.” The new customer responded. He took a step forward and peeled a side of the jacket open and eyed the interior and the vest, namely the cavities that he has specifically requested.
“Is everything satisfactory, may I ask?”
“Indeed.”
Progress, the one thing that Rarity had been working on for the majority of the time she had been working with her customer, and in those few words, she believed she had made some. There was still some fright in the corners of her mind regarding this individual’s possessions, but who was she to judge? She had learned to be less judgmental of others during the time she became acquainted with Ponyville’s residential zebra. There was probably a logical reason as to why he had those, and if he did not want to share, then it was none of her business.
But, partially it was. Unlike a chain clothing store, Rarity was not in the business to make affordable evening wear and other clothing, but to instead create relationships with her customers.
To sell value,
To breathe prestige.
To satisfy her customers .
To be recommendable by friends.
To be dependable for those who came in need.
And to make those who wore her products be talked about in green-eyed and awe-filled whispers.
She had provided this “Mr. Esproc” with the physical value, now it was time to perform the emotional part.
“Pardon my asking, sir. But, if I may, what is your profession? That is, if it is alright.”
The newly made networking opportunity let the coat hang and answered coolly, “I am a professional.”
Not the answer she wanted, but Rarity rolled with the conversation, “Ah! As am I. I specialize in making beauty. What is yours?”
Instead of answering immediately, or in his censored and screened way, the stallion stopped. Not because of the common intrusion of his professional life, but instead because his glowing horn flipped the collar of the jacket up and was staring at a piece of white that stood out from the black.
“You have inserted tags…”
Rarity, who questioned what he was talking about at first, focused her attention to where he was looking and then cocked her head sideways as she glanced at him, “Yes… I have. It lists the washing instructions and other notes for professional cleaners to use.”
The white unicorn did not see the confusion of the situation. Clothing tags were so commonplace that it should not have even been noticed. All it was used for was to trace that the article was made by her, what detergents to use when cleaning it, what it was made of, and how to clean it correctly.
“That will not be necessary.” he stated.
Like a time long ago when Rarity watched as a cup of water fell onto a water-based painting she made for school, she was frozen and powerless to stop as her masterpiece was violently searched and, one by one, small white slips of cloth were ripped straight from their seams.
When it was all said and done, eight white leaves from the tree that was her suit had fallen. Left behind for not being what their buyer wanted.
Like the times he had done it before, the recurring customer of the Carousel Boutique pulled the changing screen aside and stepped out onto the shop floor. From his strong confident posture to the way the suit wore on him, he should have been a model. He wasn’t too incredibly handsome, but the way that this suit improved his image could put a hoof in the doorway for more male clients. But that was an opportunity that would, unfortunately, not be obtainable.
The bag that he had carried his possessions in was now light and empty. Its contents, which should never have been a concern for Rarity, seemingly disappeared. The bag itself was crushed up and stuffed into a pocket as he walked up to the counter.
The home stretch; it was almost over.
Like always, he flexed and rolled his shoulders and legs within his new garment, not in a way to try and impress anypony, but to check and test his freedom of movement.
There was some more *THUD THUD THUD*ing from upstairs. But this time it was becoming louder, as if it were heading towards the staircase.
The guest, standing calmly before the register in his brand new custom tailored suit, used a hoof to open up a piece of the jacket and reveal a sliver of his vest. He dipped his head down and towards the inner wall of his black jacket. When he returned, a tidy, black covered, bound booklet was inside of his mouth. He dropped it onto the counter and held it open with one of his hooves to reveal that it was a checkbook.
With a pen in magic, he asked, “The usual amount?”
Rarity cleared her throat to answer, but at the same time kept her eyes down. She always kept her eyes on the checkbook, more specifically the illustration of a crown in the top right corner.
Past… It was that time again, the point in which Rarity dreaded for each and every time she began to work on her customers and wooed and impressed them into a state of ecstasy over her product. The sale.
She was the element of Generosity, but even before that, her customers awe and admiration of her work would be enough payment for her services and product. But sadly, awe and satisfaction did not buy thread or needles, nor did it pay for taxes or bills.
Of course, as well as graduating from design school, she had taken business classes as well as entrepreneurial courses, she knew how to maintain a respectable firm as well as provide affordable wears. She was no dummy, nor did she expect her customers to be ones either. The higher quality of product she made, the more expensive it would be. Common sense.
Custom fitting clothes were obviously going to cost more than a pre-sized tuxedo taken off the shelves from Stallion’s Warehouse. Her objective was to cover the cost of all parts twice and have a little bit left over for profit. Her objective was not to blindside and ruin the day for her customer with the price tag of their purchase; especially on the day that one recieves a new suit!
For one of her outfits, one would have to save for a month and sacrifice a few dinners at restaurants. For one of a rival chain business of equal value, a small loan may have to be taken out to afford it.
But Rarity had feared the final moments of this purchase much more than the others. She simply was not comfortable with this Mr. “Corpse spelled backwards”. Sure he was uncannily calm and calculative, that would put anypony on edge. But with her wrongful intrusion into his personal objects, she may have made her final piece.
With this pony, having him throw the suit off and stomp on it in a tantrum was the least of her worries.
Rarity then realized she had been daydreaming and blankly staring into his eyes in a similar fashion that he would do. “Final price, please?”
Rarity thought on that, what should she do? Lowball it? Deflate the price so much that he would leave? No! That breathed unprofessionalism. Call it pride, but she would stand by her self-image of being a successful businessmare. She had numerous payment options for those who could not pay her fee upfront. Perhaps the stallion in front of her was wearing her epitaph, but by some miracle, she hoped he was reasonable.
Rarity cleared her throat. “With the fine fabrics and textures that were chosen for all three pieces of your new ensemble, as well as the custom additions you have requested, your total comes to…” she began to calculate her price, almost regretting even starting the conversation. “ 900 bits, even.” Then she quickly snapped, “But-We-Have-many-Different- Payment-Options- If- That- is- Not- doable!”
The stallion kept his gaze down. Rarity’s heart stopped beating. It was her worst fear, she had upset him. Her breathing slowed as she unwittingly waited for what happened next.
There was a rip, and a little piece of paper was set before the young dressmaker.
She looked down, and a small paper rectangle looked face up at her. It took her a moment to realize it, but it was a check, written out to the Carousel Boutique in the amount of 900 bits.
A little dumbstruck, Rarity reflexively pulled the lever on her register and a bell chimed, the word “SALE” popped up and the drawer opened.
She let the check fall into the drawer, and her guest backed away.
“A pleasure,” he stated calmly, and just like a warm summer’s day, he was gone out the door. The sign on the glass door was still turned to “closed”.
Rarity turned and slumped down against the backside of the counter until she was sitting firmly on the ground. It was over. She didn’t know what to think. Emotions of anxiety were chased with relief, but supplemented by confusion. Who was this pony? Why was she so afraid of him? What was he doing here? Was there something that he wanted besides the new suit?
There was so much confusion. so many questions that she had taken for granted with other ponies but almost left her incomplete. Many questions, too many theories, and not enough answers.
She had an idea and she looked up. Using magic, she felt around the open drawer of the cash register and found its newest addition.
Maybe there would be some sort of answer on the check, a name, an account number, a signature, a title, or a business, anything to put her mind at ease.
It did not.
In the top right corner of the paper was a symbol, a crown inside of a small square. She had seen it before, it was a government issued check. Once upon a time The Princess herself called upon her to solve an emergency, and even though she tried to refuse payment, the Princess ensured that she be compensated for her time and patience. She had been paid with a check like this one before, leaving her to believe that this was not just a government check, but instead some sort of special promise used personally by the Royal Family or by higher ranking government officials. Rarity let it fall out of her hooves and onto the ground. As she expected, the correct amount was left on its line for the purchase, the date was correct, and as she expected, it had been pre-signed with a broad government name that could mean a number of things.
From all the dark occupations that Rarity Belle had been imagining this client to be, she may have finally found an answer. He was a con artist. Somehow, he had extorted a government official, swindled a noble, or stolen from a representative get his thieving hooves on that checkbook. The owner had probably reported it as stolen, and the notes were useless. Rarity had been robbed and intimidated by an actor.
Well… at least his suit was nice. Maybe he will use it to impress his next victim.
She grabbed the check and set it on the counter. She was done for the day. She had a bad feeling in her stomach and was not in the mood to talk about it. In the morning she would take it to the bank and show it to a teller and act like she did not already assume it was stolen, as to not be questioned as to why she had not gone in earlier. There would be an investigation, everypony would know about what had transpired. She would have the pity of the whole town… but worst of all, she would lose her confidence.
Being ripped off was like losing one’s virginity, nothing was ever the same again.
Just imagine her face in the morning when the check cleared…
Not another minute, not another second, not another heartbeat, not the amount of time it took to scribble a name and number onto a check longer, Rarity wanted to be relieved of this ordeal right now! She had distracted and diverted attention for enough in this one night to last a lifetime. All she wanted to do was keep her little sister safe from harm, was that too much to ask for? Was it?
Apparently it was.
As her guest recorded the transaction in his records, she could hear Sweetie Belle upstairs through the ceiling as if she was stomping around. Almost as if she was punishing her sister for trying to do the right thing.
But still, every step, every creak, every breath was slammed around the Carousel Boutique and into her head like the story of the telltale heart.
THUD
THUD
THUD
THUD
THUD
The Element of Generosity squeezed her eyes closed and begged to some higher power, “Please, just be quiet for a moment! Please?”
And to this higher power’s gratitude, her fleeting prayer was answered, the sound stopped.
She opened her eyes again. The pony before her flipped from his records to his checks and began put the pen to paper.
But, he did not immediately start writing. Instead, he looked up at her, and then shifted his attention up some more and to the left.
Rarity had found herself dumbstruck, why wasn’t he finishing his business? In all of his visits, he had never had to stop and think about anything… what was distracting him?
“Rarity.”
The called upon mare shot her head around at breakneck speeds and found herself staring at the same thing as her guest.
Sweetie Belle stood at the top of the staircase, pajamas on her body and a sleeping cap atop her horned head. She had a hoof to her mouth as she yawned with partially opened eyes.
“I’m going to go to bed now.” She stated.
All she could do was nod through her horrified expression.
“See you in the morning.” She finished as she slapped her tongue on the roof of her mouth and head off to her awaiting bed.
The owner of the store frantically turned around and threw on a pathetically fake smile before she slowly took a step back. The final customer of the night was still looking up at the access to the upper landing of the store, watching the shopkeeper’s sibling walk off to dreamland.
Rarity, with hooves shaking, her tail between her legs, and trembling lip, offered, “Y- You know.. . You’ve been such a… Loyal customer... H- How about We put this one on the house? Hmm? Just L- Let me absorb the charge. W- Would that be sat- satisfactory?”
Noticing that he was being spoken too, the finely dressed customer calmly looked down and put his host in the center of his attention. He did not answer, he did not try to intimidate her, he just took a moment to look her in the eye as she sweated away her makeup.
He slipped his checkbook back into his inner suit pocket, “I see.” He turned and walked across the shop towards the door. Slipped his weather resistant coat over his newly made suit, and stepped outside into the rain.
Another flash of lightning later, and he practically disappeared off the face of the planet.
Rarity collapsed onto the front counter. She caught her head in her hooves and let them rub into her eyes. She pressed and rubbed and smeared her eyeliner across her face and bridge of her snout. Anything, be it pain or pleasure, to remind her that she was alive.
The first time she had made his acquaintance, she had hoped that it would be the last time, to write it off in her mind that he was dead to her. But then he came back… and again and again and again.
At one point, she considered calling for the authorities or have a trap be set for him… but as she thought on it, what would they do? Arrest him for being for being shy, introverted, and what some may declare rude? He didn’t do anything wrong… especially to her. Even though the contents of his bags and the checkbook in his possession would set off a few alarms, it did not conclude enough to warrant any sort of action. He probably had- no, definitely had- some sort of license, excuse, story, or alibi to wave off anypony who questioned him.
All it really came down to was her word and crazy imagination against his.
She had not stopped there. As much as she wanted to forget about the crossing of their paths, she had to investigate. Call it a mare’s intuition or instinct, but she had to look into what she had found herself in. She could not follow him or could not ask other ponies about him because simply nopony else knew of a winged unicorn that lived or visited Ponyville regularly. After their first few engagements, she had found herself filing her free time with books and researching traits about the darker side of society.
Spy novels, horror films, psychological journals, news reports on the cognitive breakdowns of murderers and thieves, Equine Development pamphlets to presentations about the criminally insane; she had even enrolled herself into a community college course on the topic of personality disorders. All to try and find out what exactly made this customer tick and to hopefully give her some peace of mind over his visits to her store.
Rarity turned the lights off in the store and locked the door once more. She headed up the stairs and through the upper floor towards her bed. But instead of heading into the correct room, she stopped directly across the hall and at the door that was only partially opened.
As she expected, through the crack of the door, Sweetie Belle’s little head was poking out of the top of the sheets with a cute little stocking cap on top of it.
He was hiding something, it would take a fool to doubt that, but that was not the focus of her hunt. What was he hiding? That was also important, but still not point. Why was he doing such a poor job at hiding the fact that he had secrets? That was the key question.
Con stallions, crooks, thieves, frauds, those who have split personalities, all of those types of ponies were often great liars, some of them were so great at that aspect of their trade that they themselves believed their own lies. But this one didn’t. From the first time he came in, he could have put on a show, acted goofy and clumsy to explain why his outfit was in such a bad condition. He could have acted poor so that she would have helped him free of charge, and he could have bounced the very first check that he used to purchase something from her store and never return; selling it for 5 times the price on the street, but he didn’t.
He wanted to show who he really was, how quiet, reserved, cold, and grumpy the real him was. At the same time he could have just been a misogynist. But she doubted that.
Instead, he always came in when the store was nearing its close, to make sure that nopony else would likely be in there as well, to let the full effect on of his impression settle on her. He aimed to intimidate and scare her, but at the same time he obeyed the rules. He never did not pay her, he never threatened her, and he did not try to extort her like a bully. It was silly thing to say… but it was almost like he was trying to “Gross her out”.
She had seen it once on the playground at the elementary when she would walk Sweetie Belle to school. There was a little colt that would jump around in mud and get all dirty. He would shake his coat ‘clean’ while trying to get everypony else dirty. He would find worms in the dirt and eat them in front of everypony else with his mouth open and long, drawn out, grindings of his teeth.
This little pony wanted to be the center of attention by being as obnoxious and sickening as possible, he craved the attention and would do anything to do it. As similar as it was to this one customer at the Carousel Boutique, it was strangely different.
The schoolyard colt eating worms was actively trying to get attention by being outlandish. This other pony was doing it by, strangely enough, not trying to get attention. By being so bland and uninteresting that Rarity was attracted to it. Strangely, it worked like a fish to live bait.
Satisfied that Sweetie Belle was safe, Rarity walked across the hall and into her own room. She did not bother with the light, or prepare herself for beauty sleep, she climbed into her bed and grabbed her pillow like a stuffed animal. Her makeup was staining the pillowcase, but she did not care, she could clean it later.
She did not know what he did for a living, what he was a “Professional” of, but her gut told her it was not to be shared. As strong and as independent as she tried to be, she was like property to him. Like a farmer weeding crops or a wolf fighting off another to protect the sheep that it frequented, she was being protected from herself. She had a use, and she would be safe as long as she kept doing that. Her discretion and confidentiality was what kept her from knowing too much, and he wanted her to learn that by showing just the tip of the iceberg of who he was.
He had nothing invested with her, if she tried to turn on him he would leave and never look back. There was no doubt he could find another tailor, but she was worried as to how their business relation would be broken up.
She was just one pony, one liability, one tailor. There was one suit and he was just one customer to her. If she kept everything as simple as that, she should be fine.
She curled her bottom legs up and snuggled the pillow tighter in her embrace. She closed her eyes and rubbed her cheek on its soft form.
But she could not fall asleep yet. As she closed her eyes, she could see the outline of his image, looking at her the moment he knew that Sweetie Belle was upstairs. She had been too frightened to notice it at first, but there was something different to the way he normally conducted himself.
His lip was a little curled, almost as if he was smiling… albeit evilly. His brow was a tad bit straighter and more confident, and his irises were smaller and more determined.
The image and body language, no matter how subliminal and small, spoke volumes to her.
“You’re right to be afraid. You should hide your sister. I am not something to trifle with. I’m a rattlesnake hiding in the grass. You can’t see me, but I’m rattling my tail to make sure you know how dangerous I am. Don’t ever forget that, or you might get bitten.” Hisssss
Rarity woke the next day to light of the Princess’ majestic sun creeping across her room and finally onto her bed, where it informed her that it was morning, and time to wake.
The owner of the business opened her eyes and let go of the pillow that she was holding like a longtime lover before stretching out her hooves in different directions atop her bed. She felt so tense, so sore, but then again she always felt a little on edge whenever she had a visit from him. Yesterday was just a raising of the stakes. It wasn’t just her life on the line anymore… She would have to be more careful next time.
Her bed was ruffled, mane unsightly, pillow stained, but worst of all she was hungry. She slipped off the queen sized bed and onto the floor with four consecutive clicks of her hooves and then rubbed her eyes. She bypassed her lavatory and vanity mirror to instead make her way to the hall outside and then down to the first story. It was early, she had time to clean up and become presentable before she opened shop for the day.
She walked into the kitchen, and sitting at her usual spot with a bowl before her and a large box of cereal nearby, thankfully, was Sweetie Belle.
The filly turned to the new arrival and yawned, “You left the stove on from last night. I threw out the hot cocoa, it smelled burnt.”
Rarity cut to a gallop as she charged across the room and threw her hooves around Sweetie Belle from behind the chair, tying her down like a hostage. The smaller of the two looked around, trying to see the attacker in her blind spot, but could not break free. Rarity closed her eyes and rubbed her cheek against the side of Sweetie Belle’s head, thankful for her safety.
“What’s gotten into you?” asked the blank flanked pony sitting and trying to eat breakfast.
“Oh, nothing.” Replied her older sister, letting go and walking to her own seat and avoiding an incredibly awkward conversation. Sweetie Belle looked at her sister, and cocked her head sideways at the strange, listless smile that she wore, but gave up and focused on her breakfast.
Sweetie Belle, still eating a generic store brand cereal that Rarity stocked her pantry with, lifted up her hoof and grabbed out onto the table and caught the newspaper on its surface. She dug through the stack and pulled out her favorite section; the comics.
Rarity, using magic, pulled the leftover newspapers back and likewise began to read… but everything felt strangely similar, like she had seen it before. She kept flipping through the sections, having a faint recollection of the topics and paragraphs until she looked up and asked, “Sweetie Belle, did you go out and get the newspaper?”
Her sister, with a mouth full of milk and crunchy whole grain circles, said, “No’m. I’s juss’ readin’ yesturduhs.” Before swallowing.
That explained it. Rarity was about to close the opened newspaper when her eye caught a certain section.
It was the mansion fire from yesterday, a foreign rich pony was having a birthday party for his wife and something started fire. He was claimed to be the creator of some terrible drug that luckily hasn’t reached Ponyville yet. A number of guests and the party’s host were still missing at the time of the paper’s printing.
Rarity looked at the pictures of the article again; one was so happy, the other so tragic. She may have been a sworn defender of Equestria as an Element of Harmony, but she was upset with this image. Nopony should suffer that fate, it seemed so terrible. But then there was this Mr. Medellin, as wrong as she felt over his demise, if he was a bad pony making this drug and other nasty things then the world may as well be a better place without him.
As one of the Elements, she was a defense mechanism against a certain type of threat, she was acting on behalf of all of the world, not by politics or personal agendas. The adventures and actions she would have to perform were for the good of everypony. She never had to be the judge, the jury, or the executioner of anypony, and she liked that. But best of all, she always had her five other friends to be there to support her as well as for her to support them.
The idea of having to deal with this pony upset her already empty stomach, but luckily she did not need to deal with it. Call it either fate or some higher power, the judgment of this Mr. Medellin was performed by something with much more importance than a simple dressmaker in little old Ponyville.
She diverted her attention back to the first photo of the paper; of happy and worriless partiers entering the mansion gate oblivious of the dangerous fire that may indeed claim their lives later in the night.
She had always wanted to attend a big private ball like that ever since she was a little filly. One day her dream came true when she was invited to the Grand Galloping Gala. Even though it did not end in the way she intended, she still could cross that off her bucket list.
As she marveled at the handsome stallions in finely pressed tuxedos and mares in long dresses, she, as strange as it sounded, recognized something.
She squinted at the picture of guests at the party and had to blink to make sure she was not seeing something. It wasn’t a joke, she did recognize something.
Near the background of the photo, walking in the opposite direction of a waiter carrying tall glasses of champagne, there was one certain pony that had caught her eye somehow. He was a green unicorn frozen in mid step. Where had she seen him before?
She thought on it, and she did not recall any green unicorn stallions living in ponyville… so what stuck out about him?
Then she realized it, she did not recognize the pony, but what he was wearing. A fine three piece suit, one tailored to fit him perfectly, made with love and all sorts of tiny features that would strengthen the overall product, a one of a kind article. It was her suit. She had made it for him.
Rarity first thought was, “Why was he at the party?” but then quickly was changed to “Why was HE at the party?”
Rarity could not jump to conclusions, but seeing her mysterious customer at a party, a bad pony’s party at that, and the events of the mansion burning down also happen unfold that very night? Her gut cut to the obvious; whoever he was, he had dealings with this Pixie Stixs maker, something went wrong and a fire may have been used as a distraction to escape, or rather as an excuse cover his dirty deeds…
But once again she had no proof of that. For all she knew, he was a playcolt and was invited to the party. As strange as it sounded, she felt some strange reassurance that her client could have been a drug trafficker. It had as much of a possibility as a pony who was sent to stop Mr. Medellin by either diplomacy or force. Just like how the fire could have been an accident or intentional.
Rarity was getting ahead of herself, she looked at the picture once more and noted that, like before, this pony was not the correct color, he was far away, but as far as she could tell he did not have wings underneath the jacket. He could have just been a unicorn in a fancy three piece suit. There was no reason saying that somepony could have tried to replicate her masterpiece and sold it to this individual.
But then the gears in her head began to fill her mind with doubt. There were indeed creatures that were named for their trickery and shapeshifting, she had nearly lost her life at the mercy of one, Changelings. Throughout her life, Rarity had never heard of a spell that could be used to change one’s form or coat color… but that didn’t mean one didn’t exist. It could have been voodoo, a forbidden spell protected by penalty of law… or her customer was a Changeling!
Now she was just being paranoid. What would a Changeling want with a mind altering narcotic maker? Like she thought before, what were the chances somepony saw her artwork and attempted to mimic it and did a fine job at it?
She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. It wasn’t like she had the previous suit on hand to check to see what it had experienced in its lifetime…
She did.
Rarity got up from the table and marched off to the store side of her house. Sweetie Belle pulled her head away from her comics and asked, “Hey! Aren’t you gonna have breakfast?”
Her sister ignored her. Instead, Rarity made a bee line straight through her shop and to the counter from the night before, where the rags that were once one of her custom tailored suits lay dead and dismembered, ready to be ripped apart and brought back into service.
She spread the ball of cloth open and inspected it, and apart from the usual cuts, gashes and red stains that could be either wine or blood, there was a heavy dust that seemed to stain the overall package.
She dipped her nose down and sniffed.
Blackpowder, she recognized it from when she would go act as a volunteer accountant and go shopping for fireworks for the annual Ponyville celebration on behalf of the town, but other than that there was another smell. A smell that went deep into her brain on the primal and instinctive level and frightened her fight or flight mechanics; It was the same smell that, even if washed hundreds of times, could never be purged from clothing.
Smoke.
This was a new development; he could have indeed been at the party. This changed everything.
Rarity felt excited, but in a bad way. She had a new lead… but such a strangely lucky chance to spot him in the background of the picture… what would she do now? She couldn’t know what newspapers would be host to his unwanted appearance. Plus, Rarity could not just simply order the next dozen newspapers at once…
But she did know where a large stock of newspapers was.
She went to her shop window and looked straight out, aiming to the townsquare, specifically a hollowed out tree that doubled as the Ponyville Library.
She used her hoof and twisted the bolt on the door, switching it to allow the door to open; Rarity pulled it and began outside when she heard a voice,
“Rarity, what are you doing?”
She turned, Sweetie Belle was standing around the corner of the shop, watching her.
“I… Uhh… ” she didn’t have time for elaborate excuses, “I just remembered something, I’ll be right back.” And she was off.
*Knock Knock knock*
Rarity bounced her weight between her hooves as she tip toed in place before the door. The anticipation was killing her, she hadn’t been this nervous since her highschool prom. She knocked again and then reared up to look through the window at the top of the door.
The lock clicked, and sure enough her friend opened the door. Twilight opened the door as far as the safety chain allowed it to go before speaking. “I’m sorry, but the library is closed until- Oh hey Rarity!” She closed the door, disengaged the safety measures and opened it all the way, “What brings you- My goodness what happened to you?”
It was at that moment Rarity remembered that she had done nothing to make herself presentable to anypony beside her sister. It was sickening, but she hoped her indecent exposure had not tarnished her image to everypony.
“Is everything alright?” Twilight asked.
The white mare thought quickly and then had an idea, “I.. Jog in the morning! Yes, before everypony is up for the day I get my exercise in and then get cleaned up for the day!”
“Oh. Okay, what brings you here?” Twilight stepped aside and Rarity walked in.
“I just wanted to look at something, where do you keep the old newspapers?”
Twilight pointed to a side door between two bookshelf that were carved into the tree, “Right down there. Is there something I can help you with?”
“Oh no. I am the one intruding,” she claimed, hoping her friend could take the hint, “Please, I should be able to help myself. Just return to your morning routine!” she went to the door and closed it tight behind her.
Sure she was now going to be left alone, Rarity swiped her hoof around the wall by the door until she felt something besides petrified wood. She flipped a switch, and about a dozen magical candles lit the way down the spiraling tree into its root basement.
She descended the stairs until she had reached the bottom, and as Twilight promised, a large stockpile of newspapers, wrapped with string in groups of 10 by date, were collected in a large and neat cube.
There were just too many newspapers to get through in one sitting, too many to get through without raising some sort of suspicion. So, she had to do the only logical thing and grabbed about a dozen random packages of the newspaper and broke the first bow.
She couldn’t read every story fully or inspect every single picture in an issue, so instead she glanced at headlines that sounded like they would possibly fit her culprit and stuck mainly to them.
Her first five searches were busts, nothing too interesting, and the ones she did check did not have a picture that showed her any ponies that looked to be wearing her clothing.
But then she found something that interested her. In the “Cain Detrot Business Report”, she saw a title that begged to be inspected:
The Hearts and Hooves Day Massacre
She glanced through the article and made a brief summary. The story was about one of the five Detrot crime families. Key members had rented the private back room at a fancy Istallian restaurant for the night as they dined with their wives and discussed business. There was strange sounds coming from the room, and when the waiters investigated, every mare and stallion present was dead.
She investigated the picture. Somepony snapped the shot while looking into the restaurant. Several paramedics were carrying out covered boards, hiding deceased ponies beneath them. The restaurant was cleared, and all of the diners were gathered around the outside, watching the procession of medics.
At first she scanned every face and every stallion, but did not find her suit. But then, she opened up her search to both genders and she immediately found it.
There was a teal pegasus mare wearing a fancy vest and shirt, staring blankly outside the building as police ponies taped off the area and medics carried covered bodies out to the ambulance with the rest of the crowd.
She started flipping through more newspapers, trying to find more stories that fit her target’s MO, and as she wished, she found it. Nine newspapers later, she was looking through the Neigh York Times, specifically in the international section.
Emergency Equestrian Royal Guards Thwart Assassination Attempt on Key Witness in the Dravaki Genocide Trials
She skimmed the article. A detachment of Solar Guards were sent to protect a refugee after an assassination attempt almost claimed his life. The Picture below it was of the outside the hospital and looking into the main lobby. Police officers were everywhere, news reporters as well as gatherers were spectating what they were doing inside. She looked closer at all of them, and through a side window next to the main enterance, she could see a blue earth pony stallion in a jacket –there were no bumps where wings would be- was sitting in a waiting room, reading a newspaper… or so it seemed.
Eleven newspapers later, she was in the Canterlot Times:
Japonies Spy Killed Resisting Capture after Attempting to Steal from Celestia’s Intelligence Agency
The story was as it seemed from the title. The Japonies National Party publically denied any knowledge of the act and declared the rogue agent a terrorist acting on his own accord.
This picture was not very good, It looked to be junior photography shot by a passerby before a professional could arrive. It was shaky and out of focus, but still, she found it. A white winged unicorn with rolled up sleeves was walking away from the scene as law enforcement attempted to create a crime scene. Even if it was a still image, he seemed awfully calm. But what made Rarity’s stomach twist in a knot was the fact that he was carrying a briefcase in his mouth.
After two more stinkers, she was back to international newspapers. She stopped at a headliner that read:
Griffin Slave Ship Explodes off Stag Coasts
She did not even waste the time reading the article, she was already scanning the pictures. She had heard of the place before. The Stag Coasts was a tourist attraction, several resorts resided beside the water of the ocean. Even though she could see smoke from a ship billowing in the distance, the real focus of the picture was of both vacationers and staff of multiple species in the water of the beach, pulling starved and kidnapped creatures to the sand.
There was a black unicorn mare in in a suitcoat, drenched in saltwater, performing CPR to a zebra on the beach.
She didn’t even know how many papers she rifled through this time, nor what the name of the paper was, all she cared about was the title:
Equestrian Federal Police and Royal guards break up Las Pegasus Police Protection Racket
Like sometime before, the picture had been taken by an amateur photographer. From this perspective it was safe to say that this pony was looking through a window when they snapped their pic. She looked intently at the scene. It was a wharehouse, several police officers were on the ground, tied at their hooves, and those with wings and horns had been braced.
Standing above them were several ponies, some were wearing military grade metal armor, the letters E.F.P. clear for everypony to see. There were gold clad royal guards, but also, there were other mares and stallions, too.
She had seen the elite guard before during one of her many trips to Canterlot. The Lunar guards were easily distinguishable by their batty features or mangy looking coats. The Solar guards, wearing their own unique armor, were almost causing glares to distort the picture because of their armor’s properties.
But, sticking out to them all, standing next to a large suitcase full of money –Possibly the bait in the operation- was a navy blue winged unicorn wearing a three piece suit. He was in the act of raising his hoof at the camera, almost as if he was trying to shield his face from its view upon seeing the flash. This was her client, no doubt about it. She could easily recognize his partially covered face wearing her suit.
“Rarity, are you okay down there?” called Twilight from the enteranceway, “You’ve been down there for three and an half hours!”
Rarity had no idea how much time she had wasted searching through the… surprisingly large stack of newspapers that she found surrounding her. “Oh… Uh… My how time flies when you’re having fun!” she lied, “I’m coming up now!”
She had chased down a lead, and that resulted in more leads. She was the only one who would find the similarities in these events. No pony in their right mind would be able to see the correlation between her suits and these actions as concrete and solid evidence of her client… But that didn’t stop her.
Every answer she had found only lead to more questions, and with that even more theories. For as much as she understood about this enigmatic customer of hers, the more she found that she knew nothing about him.
She stood up and left the mess she made. Knowing Twilight and Spike, they would probably enjoy cleaning it all up. She made her way to the spiral staircase that lead to the exit and looked back at where she had been sitting for the last three and a half hours.
She smiled to herself. Nobody would understand it, but she deserved a pat on the back for the strides forward she made….
Progress…
She looked back down at the bottom of the basement, namely the mountain of newspapers that sat calmly, waiting for her to break their bow and search through them.
As good as she felt about her discoveries, one question crushed all that hope in one swift motion.
(Adult language and themes past this point, viewer discretion advised; You have been warned. This is the section that changes the rating from E to T.)
March 15th
Just another day in paradise.
Zulu lay on his striped back atop his old, moldy, and stained mattress. One of his "bitches", for that was all she was to him, was at his side on the bed and rubbing his chest. They had just finished a session, and by the way she felt down his black and white stripes meant that she enjoyed it as much as he did.
Zulu was not tired, nor was he trying to relax, on the contrary he was just trying to make his good mood even better. He was the king at this moment, and it was good to be king. There was a knock on the metal wall beside the entrance way to his room that was covered by hanging beads,
"Hey boss, they're here."
Zulu smiled, showing his nasty broken teeth as he sat up. His bitch playfully failed to pull him back as she whined over his departure, "Stay in bed, bitch." He ordered, "Daddy's commin back soon."
He walked out of his throne room and made his way through the rusted out and beached ship that he and his gang called home. He made his way through the maze of rusted metal until he found one particularly musty and dank room. At one point, this part of the ship was the cargo hold. So, in a fitting manner, this is where he kept his "precious cargo".
He made his way to some of his crew of muscle bound dumbasses, also zebras, and made sure they were paying attention to their package. As fitting as their reputation as dumbasses went, they were too busy stuffing their faces with nachos to care if their one fucking job got up and walked away.
Zulu walked over to what his table of dumbasses was supposed to be watch and picked up a bucket of piss in his teeth by the handle. Right in front of him were two ponies, blindfolded, gagged, and tied with their legs on the ground and front hooves above their heads. They needed to look nice, so it was only nice to give them a bath. He threw the bucket and immediately on the impact of the liquid on their coats, both captives shot awake.
"Wakey wakey, bitches."He taunted.
The two fought against their ropes, but after a few seconds,they both relaxed and quit their bitchy whining. According to their I.D.'s, the Blondie pegasus was named Missy Frankfurt, and her tope unicorn friend was Autumn Leaves. But, for all he cared, they should have been named bitch#1 and bitch#2.
Zulu walked up and whispered into Missy's ear, "Let’s hope daddy's gonna pay this time, bitch." The response he got back, if any, was a muffled sob and shake of her body against her bonds.
He turned and looked at the other bitch. She wasn't the cash cow like her rich friend was, so she got a lot more... "Use" than the other one. Other than the general signs of wear and tear, Zulu could see she was getting fat, and it wasn't like they were feeding her more. "Oh fuck," he snarled as he walked away. He told his crew they could have fun with the second bitch, but this was too far. He was going to have to have one of those dumbasses make her into a punching bag later.
He walked away from his two investments and to a certain door leading out of the hold. There, a tall, handsome and muscular zebra was waiting for him with an equally evil smile.
"You ready?"
"Don't ask me a stupid fucking question, Zapros." He smacked his subordinate, but like always, the two laughed and threw hooves around each other's shoulders. They opened the door and walked into a room with a big meeting table and the rest of their crew, about four more zebras standing around it.
As always Zapros stood beside Zulu as they waited. A hanging light swayed just a tiny bit from when the waves rushed up and slightly shook the beached ship.
Zulu loved bitches, especially the dumb kind. They all came to the resort a long ways down the beach looking for fun, and the two dumb bitches in the back were no exception. They all thought they owned the place, that they were as safe back home, so two rich bitches on spring break would naturally throw caution to the wind when they were approached by Zapros soon after settling in. He'd done this some many times it was nothing. "Wanna go smoke some Black Island Bush? Do a few pixie sticks? Wanna party? Go down the beach with me?" Just hook, line, sinker, and one dumb bitch.
And like all the rich daddy's bitches, daddy was gonna get her out of this one.
One of the zebras opened the door across the room, the other three moved to the sides of the table; to showcase some of Zulu’s extra muscle that he had on standby. As expected, a pony walked in.
The new arrival made its way to the table and set a briefcase down and opened it with hooves.
Zulu caught himself staring, of all things, a BITCH was standing on the other side of the table with a briefcase.
He looked harder, and sure enough, his eyes were not joking. A bitch was there with the ransom for the other two bitches. She had an athletic build to her, like a HE-bitch, and she was also wearing a big stuffy looking suit, like agent 00 Doughnut from those movies they had bootlegged.
She undid her suit jacket and set it down on the table and stared back at Zulu. He held his laugh when he thought of the irony of this situation. He guessed she was one of those bitches that grew up being told that she was as good as a stallion, this task was just a pat to her ego. She clung to that claim like it was a fact, but she was wrong. She was a bitch, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.
The zebra who opened the door walked across the room and past the pony he let in. He walked around the table and stood next to his leader, but looked in the opposite way.
“Who’s the bitch?” Zulu asked.
“She said she was here fer the two’s in the back.”
Zulu looked at his gang member, and then at the negotiator, who stared back at him. “She packin’ anything?”
The zebra who acted as the doorstallion smiled, showing his yellow teeth and receding gum line, “Yeah, look at these pretty little pieces!” He opened up the tattered old work apron full of pockets and pulled out his two new trophies, a black switchblade with a shiny metal blade and a fixed combat knife with a handle that looked like it was made of pearls. “And I got this, too!” he reached further into his makeshift inventory and pulled out a chain that lead to a ticking pocket watch.
He looked back at his new possession as if it were the key to the meaning of life, he had probably never seen anything this valuable before.
“Mine!” Zulu snapped, as he ripped it out of the other zebra’s mouth. “Get to your spot!” he demanded as he pushed the, now angry, gang member away. The one wearing the apron was about to protest, to attack him and get his precious golden watch back. But he knew better than to attack Zulu. Instead, he turned, and like with the other ransoms, he walked over and stood beside the negotiator, making sure she was surrounded on both sides by crossbow wielding guards.
Zulu turned his attention to the bitch who had entered a few moments earlier and spat, “Who the fuck are you?”
"Here's your payment," she stated sternly, sliding the case around before pushing it at her host, "we doubled your amount to convince you to go away."
Zulu and Zapros looked at the bug case full of finely printed white gold Equestrian bits, each one stamped to represent that they were worth 100 normal bits. Zapros pupils practically turned into dollar signs, but his leader was not as enthused. Nopony, especially some bitch, told him what to do.
"No." He said, " amount’s gone up."
The negotiator narrowed her eyes and stared at the pony across the table with a falcon's focus. "I don't think you know who you're fucking with."
"No!" He shouted back, "I'm the one calling the shots here, bitch! Nobody tells me what to do, especially you. The amounts gone up and if daddy doesn’t like it, I’ll send his daughter back one piece at a time after I’m done with her."
Zulu waited for the bitch to get angry, frown, throw a fit, or just come to the realization that she wasn’t going to get her way; any of those actions would make him happy.
But, counter to what the zebra wanted, the mare smiled, rolled her eyes, and hid a chuckle behind the cream sleeve of her dress shirt. "You think you're in control here? Sorry to break it to you, but no. This isn't about Missy Frankfurt or Autumn Leaves. The Princess of Equestria has sent me to deal with you. Personally, if it were up to me, I'd have blown you away with a single strike from one of the Navy's destroyer. Sadly, my boss says you're not worth the money it takes to adjust a cannon, much less its payload. So they sent me instead."
Zulu's good mood from earlier was completely gone, now just filled with the rage that he was known for. He was not some common thug! This bitch was lying! "Which bitch, the big white one or the small blue bitch?" He shot.
The distasteful use of names of Equestria's rulers bounced off the pegasus. "Princess Celestia, if you must know."
Zulu began a forced hearty laugh, his five other cronies joined in. "Now I know your bullshitting, bitch! That bitch? Oh come on, she's pathetic!" He threw the top of the briefcase down and slid it back to its owner.
The six zebras all watched the target of their humiliation. She blinked and looked at the case, she looked back up and let the corner of her lip curl, "You'd be surprised." She began to fiddle with the briefcases locks again and opened it again. In the meantime, Zulu couldn’t keep his eyes off of her. No bitch makes fun of him and gets away with it! He began to think of how to deal with this wannabe comedian. As soon as she tried to leave, his crew was going to jump her, and after they were done with her, she was going to be tied up in the other room with the other two hostages.
The mare looked back up and slid the briefcase back to her host, "this is your last chance, take the money or else."
As soon as it stopped, Zulu shouted "Nopony tells me what to do, bitch!"
The negotiator widened her stance, spread her wing out and growled, "Don’t you dare close my fucking briefcase again!"
Zulu reached to slam it down, but Zapros pulled it over to him, he smirked at the other party in the deal and used one hoof to slowly and deliberately closes the briefcase.
The mare hit the deck mere milliseconds before the top of the briefcase met with the bottom section. As the two halves met, a spark ignited. Without any warning, the container shot wide open and a blinding white light rocked the area, to any of the unprepared who did not see the flash, they were brought to the ground by the equally paralyzing *bang* that followed. The poor fool who had closed the case was sent away with golden coins cutting into his head.
The vest wearing mare rose to a reared position while dust and aether still hung in the air, but unlike before, a large purple serrated blade was held in her teeth.
She sent a quick elbow into the neck of the stunned guard on the left, stunning him. Using her other two hooves, she manhandled her dazed and confused opponent to the right and forced him down onto the table.
She jerked her head three times, and three times, the sharp blade dug deeper and deeper into his chest. Fatal damage.
When she was done, the guard on the left had enough time to finally bring his hooves to his throat and begin to choke on his own saliva.
She spat her knife out of her mouth and reached into her suit pocket. Counter to gravity, the knife floated beside her on its own accord… but it wasn’t like anypony was able to notice it.
Using her hooves, she pulled out an inconspicuous plastic bag, it had a zip tie already set by one notch around the opening waiting to tie it closed.
She slipped it over the kneeling-in-pain zebra’s head, bit the tie, and pulled it as tight as she could. One swift roundhouse kick to the head later and it was on to the next threat.
By this time, one of the two guards occupying the far center area of the room had enough of a disoriented thought to grab for the revolving styled crossbow rifle that hung from his neck and fired at the blur coming his way. He did not shoulder the weapon. Instead, he simply fired from the hip like he had seen in movies. His aim was clumsy and too soon, the attacking mare did not even need to dodge, she kept running and disabled his weapon hoof, restraining it from interacting with the weapon’s action again and slid it behind his back.
The floating ghost like blade found its way against his throat, and a kick to his back legs sent him to his bottom. Restraining his hoof, knife to his throat, and balance completely lost, he was in no way able to fight her as she sat him up in a sitting/reared position, using his body to cover hers.
From across the room, his mirror guard had been wearing a pair of stolen sunglasses. One of the lenses was gone, but the mere fact that one of his eyes was covered let him recover a fraction faster than everypony else. He wasn’t going to let this mare live. Money or not, she was dead.
He reared, brought his crossbow to his shoulder, aimed, and shouted, “Die Bitch!”
He pulled his hoof, and as planned, the mare let her reluctant partner take the bolt to the chest. The shield screamed in pain, shouting so many obscenities that it could not be determined when one began and another ended. The shooter kept repeating his own curses as he pulled the slide and set the string back in place and revolved the action to another loaded chamber.
The action, while thoughtful, was in vain. The mare extended her right wing as far as she could before flapping it straight out. Three diamond shaped blades danced across the air and found their way into the crossbow wielding zebra’s gut, chest, and throat.
An earthshattering scream emanated from the pony who had gain an arrow in his chest from friendly fire. The mare shifted her attention down and decided to end her victim’s suffering.
The knife was relieved from his throat and went into the air by its own accord. Blade first, it swiped through his neck, and as intended, stopped the screams.
She let go of her shield. His head fell forward, and shortly after, the body followed.
She scanned left to right, there were no immediate threats to address, only four zebras on the floor for varying reasons.
She walked across the room, bypassing the table, and stopped at the thug who shot his friend in an attempt to kill her. She stood over him, struggling. His eyes were gigantic and full of fear. Blood was pooling from his mouth, his hooves were trying to cover the wound that the bladed metal currently occupied.
Her purple knife floated to her side. It was time to end his suffering. She placed the large purple blade point first over his eye in which his sunglasses had a missing lense.
In
Out
It was over.
Now that he was dead, she shifted her attention a little lower, specifically at the old revolver styled crossbow that was now lying on the ground.
It wasn’t like he was going to use it anymore…
The floating knife found its bloody way into its hidden sheathe and resumed it resting nature, waiting for its master to call on it again.
Now, the crossbow began a life of its own and floated up to the mare, The camber was loaded, and there were three more arrows in reserve.
Zulu had no idea what was going on. It was just a flash of light that was burned into his vision. One second Zapros was closing the bitch’s briefcase, and the next thing he saw was an engraving of Zabros being blown away by a blinding white light.
He didn’t know why, but he was on his back, spralled out flat on the floor.
He couldn’t hear anything. The light that hung in the center of the room was swaying back and forth. He turned his head. To his horror, Zabros had his mouth wide open screaming complete silence as blood fell from the coins that now were a part of his head.
He looked around, and he didn’t like what he saw. He needed to get help, he had his extra muscleheaded dumbasses in the back, their job was to help them if they had any trouble.
Where the fuck were they!
Zulu flipped over and put one hoof in front of the other, crawling with his front hooves across the floor to the door that he had come from.
He just kept focusing on putting one hoof in front of the other, reaching for as much of the damp and rusted floor as he could with each hoof to get to the door to the cargo hold.
He kept crawling, making progress to his salvation. But his hearing returned to him as he tried to escape. He did not like what he heard.
Thrashing
Slicing
Shooting
Screaming
Dying
None of which sounded like it was coming from the bitch.
He made it to the door, but it was closed. He punched his hoof out with as much force as he could, trying to attract the attention of the zebras on the other side.
“Open up, you dumbasses!” he screamed, “Open up!”
He turned his head around, and shrieked.
Almost everypony was dead. The only survivors were Zapros, but he was too concerned about his own survival to notice the crazy bitch with a crossbow floating beside her that was approaching him.
He turned and banged against the door as hard as he could. “Open, Motherfucker!”
*Thunk*
He turned back around; the bitch was stepping around Zapros, re-racking the crossbow. The muscular zebra was no longer struggling. An arrow, as well as a couple hundred Equestrian Bits, were sticking out of his head.
He threw both hooves out, and finally, the door opened… but not to what he wanted.
His extra muscle was indeed in the room… but each one of them was on the ground, clutching their stomachs, blood and vomit staining around their mouths and everywhere else that they had vomited… almost like they had been poisoned…
Still steaming from before were the nachos that they were eating earlier…
Zulu turned onto his back again and propped himself up. As he feared, the bitch was standing right before him, still slowly walking towards him.
He looked through her legs, and he saw the only zebra that was still among the living through them.
From the other side of the table, he could see the last of his gang members. A foggy bag was covering his head like a mask. The bag was hardly moving anymore, he had given up on trying to free himself, it was over.
He looked back up and at the mare before him. The crossbow found its way to her hooves. He looked at her features, blood stained her vest and shirt, wear and tear had ripped the left sleeve of her shir-
For no reason, a green glow encased the rearing mare with a crossbow, making her a little bit taller, the coat color to navy blue, a horn now atop the head, and increasing of the amount of muscles by a little bit, filling out the vest and shirt more, and most importantly changing the gender from female to male.
The butt of the crossbow met flushly with the stallion’s shoulder, he closed an eye and firmed it’s grip around the action.
Zulu blinked his staring eyes and closed his open mouth, “What the fuck are you!?”
There was no speech, no answer, no long winded showing of ego, or gloating about playing preceptions and expectations against a force with more numbers, nothing from the navy blue winged unicorn.
Only firming of aim, a tightening of a grip, a pressing of a hoof, and a releasing of an arrow.
It was night on the streets of Canterlot, many of the stores throughout the proud capital city were closed. Only a few food service and convenience stores still had their lights on at this hour, even if their employees were all half asleep. Besides the occasional law enforcement officer walking down the streetlight lit sidewalk and the sleepy night shift employee heading home, the city was all but dead.
But, there was one particular mare who trotted down the street at a relaxed pace and had a quaint smile on her lips as she made her way home. There was nothing unusual about a pony being happy about coming home after working their late night shift at work, especially if they were accustomed to being held back for hours on the drop of a hat, but something was wrong.
Now, it was not anything wrong about her ,specifically, walking home at night after work, but instead what wasn’t there, a chaperone.
Canterlot may have the rights to brag that it was one of the safest cities in Equestria, but good mothers still taught their daughters to never go out alone at night. There was just too much risk; danger that nopony would even want to leave up to chance of what could happen to a mare walking alone in the dark when the rest of the population slept.
But, that is what made this mare so peculiar, she was not from Equestria. She had left her home many years ago to live in a place that was supposed to be better than the failing infrastructure that her old country had become. Even if she moved, there were still a few things that she could not change from what her government had taught her while growing up.
In their society, there was no need to fear the night. They said that leaving your door unlocked was just as safe as if one had locked it. That a stranger was simply a person one had not met before. That everypony was to be a proactive member of society and the ones that were not acting as such were… relocated.
The mare kept walking, a slight smile across her face as she did so. In the old country, ignorance was bliss, bad things happen to bad ponies for a reason. She was the mother of three and the grandmother to two more, a supportive wife and a good citizen. Why would something bad happen to her? She had nothing to fear.
She walked her way across the fine white concrete sidewalks of Canterlot. She passed by the local park near her home as a cool breeze slipped through the playground and rocked the seats back and forth on the nearby swing set. It felt as if a cool mist of water hit her when the same breeze passed by, bouncing off her white uniform, but helpfully keeping her awake on her stroll home.
She walked to the correct intersection, turning down the right street, and walking down the row of houses until she finally found her own. The wrought iron safety gate opened and closed behind her, and she slipped up to the front door.
She reached for the knob and turned, but the door didn’t open. Puzzled, she looked at the door curiously. She was the last one to leave the house, it should have been unlocked. But then she saw it, a small piece of parchment hanging from the front window by a strip of tape.
Mom,
I came as soon as I got your message. I took Justice home with me when you didn’t show up.
I’ll walk him to school in the morning. Send a letter if you are still going to be needed at the hospital.
Love, Declaration.
The mother inside of her smiled with relief that her daughter had got the message that she sent earlier in the day. Thankful that she decided to pack her house key, she reached into her vest pocket. Her nose pushed past a few golden bits, but eventually found her house key. The door opened on finely oiled hinges as the white earth pony entered and closed the door behind her. She did not even think to lock the door.
The aging white mare with a pink mane walked through her home. In one way she felt lonely. She had been working almost all of the day tirelessly and she wanted to have some sort of interaction. Not between her coworkers, but something more… intimate, personal. It had not even been a minute, but she missed her son, she wanted to see her twin daughters, be greeted with joy by her granddaughters, or at least to see her husband again. But, the house was empty.
Yet, for as strange as it sounded, there was another side of her that somewhat rejoiced at the fact that there was nopony else in the house. For most of her days, she felt that she never had any privacy. At work she was always surrounded by the other mares, even though they were not necessarily friends, her husband and she would usually spend most of their free days together, but not necessarily doing anything too exciting. As shameful as she felt thinking about it, she felt as if she had been playing the role of mother for as long as she has lived in Equestria. But, then again, that is what happens when one has children almost two decades apart from each other.
The clock in the living room rang to remind her of the late hour that she had wandered home at. It wasn’t like she could go across the city to bring her son home; chances are he was already sleeping. That only left her to stop sulking and try to enjoy her short term freedom.
The homeowner walked into her kitchen and put some pre-sliced white bread- another thing that Equestria had over the old country. Back home, there was only one type of bread- into the toaster and slid the knob into place.
When the coils began to glow red, she turned around and made her way through her house, past the closed windows with drawn curtains and lamps that sat dormant. She bypassed the hall that lead to the rest of the house and instead to her own bedroom. By the door, a tall coatrack stood up in the corner and gladly held her white nurses uniform.
She walked around the bed, and into the master bathroom, swiping her hoof in the location of the magic candle that lit the tile floor of the room up in bright light. She closed the door behind her, and turned the shower on.
Waiting in the corner, she took a moment to marvel at another thing that always amazed her. She looked at the shower, but did not find this amazing anomaly over the fact that there was running water, but instead that it was so warm that steam was rising from it. It was wasteful! How many other would go hungry and starve to death in the street for one gluttonous slob to have a warm shower? When she first used the shower of her new home, she thought that the police were going to come and arrest her for being so selfish. Her teachers in school said that luxuries should be shared, not abused such as this. Citizens did not have a place to live, let alone warm running water! But, in Equestria, she had numerous things that a younger self would only think were reserved for royalty. Warm water, sliced bread, a whole house to one family, being “the enemy” was not as bad as she was lead to believe.
She shook her head. Equestria was no longer the enemy. That war ended years ago. Sure, she would remember the good times, think of the lessons that she learned and the things she could now take for granted while her children would not understand; but, she could not deny that her life was better “on the other side.”
A chill shook her spine with the next thought… the thoughts of what may have happened if she had not defected. She would no longer be Freedom Redheart, Residential Nurse at Canterlot Children’s hospital, mother of three and faithful wife. If she had stayed she would have probably been dead, a nameless body in the back of a wagon being carried off to the place where nobody returns, just another victim of the plague…..with two little ponies in her belly.
She awoke from her pondering as the steam began to cloud the mirror beside her. She stepped into the shower, threw her hair tie aside, and extended the shower curtain from wall to wall.
The warm water hit her bosom, causing her to moan with delight. She stepped forward and let the streams of water hit her higher on her neck until it met her scalp, flowing through her pink mane and bangs. There was no way to express how good that felt to her. Warm water had a magical way of relieving the stress of an emergency double shift.
She just stood for a moment, allowing the water to fill her open mouth and then overflow down her chest once more. She closed her eyes and allowed the constant rumble of the water distract her and take her away to a state of nirvana.
But, for as good as it felt, she should not have done that.
She should not have left her back to the door.
She should not have left the toaster running.
She should not have let herself be so easily distracted.
Just like she should not have left the front door to her house unlocked for the world to enter…
The bathroom door opened, slowly, silently, not a chance in the million that the pony using the shower could hear it open.
Through the mostly opaque sheet that was now even more clouded with steam, a shadow began to be casted against the shower curtain, the magic candle doing its best to try to warn the mare that she was no longer alone.
The mare spit out her water and began to move, trying to focus on other portions of her body.
From the shadow, a large knife began to rise slowly into the air…
Nurse Redheart turned her head, reaching into the shower caddy for her soap when she saw the-
“AAAHHHHHHH!” She pulled the curtain aside, reaching for the plunger to use as a club.
But then she got a better look at the shadow that was holding a knife right outside of her shower.
Heart racing at a mile a minute, she noticed that the intruder of her bathroom was not nearing the shower, but the closet beside it instead. Standing with a long clothesline of hangers and several garments being put away was a certain navy blue winged unicorn. His head was turned, studying the mare that was shielding her naked body with the curtain and had just screamed at him. He remained calm, turning his head back to the task before him, and put his large purple knife into its holster and then placed them on their correct hanger.
“You left the front door unlocked,” Was all he said.
Nurse Redheart, feeling as if she would be ending the night in the hospital, shouted out in her native tongue, “Peace! Вы сын сука! You almost gave me a heart attack!”
“sorry.” he replied, not pausing at all as he undressed.
Freedom lost her footing and sat down in the shower, her tingling skin ignoring the pleasantly warm rain around her. She gave a few breaths and finally began to calm down again. The door to the bathroom opened and closed again. And she could see that she was alone once again.
Most husbands would knock, enter with a bouquet of flowers, or greet their wives with a kiss… but not her husband. Yet, for as loyal, faithful, and a good stallion the father of her children was, those things meant almost nothing to him when he had prior business.
And that was what was so peculiar about her relationship to her husband. She did not necessarily know why, but she knew that, without a doubt, he loved her… but, to him, there was nothing wrong with sneaking into the bathroom and undressing with his newly made suit before he got it dirtied. He did absolutely everything she asked him to, but at the same time it was as if he was not a real pony.
It is what made her family somewhat different from the other of Canterlot. She could never truly gossip about how her husband’s antics got on her nerves, their children could not brag or bash about how great or poorly their father was when he gave them gifts or dealt punishments. It was awkward, strange, incomplete, difficult, and all sorts of other words that other Equestrian mares would not understand if she tried to use them. But… at the same time, they were still family.
“Well, Freedom.” She said to herself as she stood back up in the shower, “ If it’s so bad, then you shouldn’t have married him in the first place.”
November 11th Dear Diary, I don’t really know why, but Rarity has been acting rilly Really weird lately. It kinda started yesterday. Scootaloo Applebloom and Me were going to have a Cutiemark Crusader Slumber party at Rarity’s Bootigue boutieq- Boutiqeqe house and everything was going alright until that big bad lightningstorm rolled in. She helped me take them home in the storm, (Note to self: can a pony have a lightning rod as a Cutiemark? That might be cool.) then when we got backshe promised to play a boardgame and make hotcocoa for me.
I went upstairs and waited for her, but she was taking forever! I went to go check, and this is when she got weird. She was all pushy and mean to me and I don’t know why. She said she had a customer and didn’t want me to git in the way “disturb them”.
Whats kinda wierd is that Rarity never ever is alone with a guy when she is doing something for them. She usually has mom, or aunt Gemini, or somepony else in the shop with her.
I tried to wait for them to get done, but I went to bed. Too tired. And when I saw Rarity this morning, she was really weird. She was kind of stressed out and huggy and edgy and I don’t know. She just ran off to the library for some reason. Maybe I’ll ask her if theres anything wrong when she gets back.
I wounder if it has anything to do with her customer from last night?
This hall, like the other nameless halls of Canterlot Castle, was always in perfect presentation and form for whoever found themselves walking down it. The lamps and chandeliers were clean and well lit, allowing the candlelight to illuminate the area in a warm yellow light. The tiled floor and the walls were cleaned, washed, and completely spotless.
Even at this hour, when the majority of the world rested and unwound for the night, the castle was in perfect condition.
But, for as composed and mellow as the castle was, six of its inhabitants were not the same.
In this seemingly boring hall, six members of the elite guard, wearing the specialized and enchanted armor for the recently returned Princess, were standing at their posts outside of her chambers. As was normal for a routine day, the arrangement was made of members of each species, two pegasi, two earth ponies, and two unicorns. The pegasi, being the more recognizable of the force, stood before the doorway to their charge’s chambers and looked ahead while pairs of one unicorn and one earth pony stood at opposite ends of the hall.
It looked to be that it was going to be a boring end to a boring day. As soon as the night shift came to take their positions, they would be off to bed, much like their Mistress had done a few minutes earlier.
But, out of the blue, for no reason or warning at all, the unicorns’ horns became lit up with magic. Without any explanation, the horned equines sprung to life and ran towards the door, throwing their accomplices off guard and waking them up.
Seeing the rush towards the door, the bat looking pegasi coiled their legs up and kicked the door they were standing in front of in.
The six ponies, with varying types of sharp melee and ranged weapons at the ready, stormed into the room, and visually checked the area.
Everything was fine. The personal chambers of Princess Luna looked absolutely untouched. The windows were closed, the door to the balcony was locked, the ledgers, books, and papers on her desk were all untouched, and her bed was empty.
The Princess, though, was missing.
The six looked around, and saw steam lazily wafting out of the top crack of the door to the Princess’ bathroom.
The six guards took position by the door and tried the handle.
Locked.
While the other five took positions on both sides of the door that they silently agreed to breach, one of the unicorns got in position in front of the door and readied his weapon.
In his possession was a state of the art defense weapon system. The contraption was like a type of crossbow, except it had no bow to it or string. Instead, in the centeral housing was two magnets that ran the length of the weapon.
He shouldered the device, and readied his hoof on the trigger. With his other hoof, he worked an action that moved a steel bolt payload from the tubular magazine inside of the lower half of the weapon and into firing position.
The shot, being held together by a plastic casing, exited the magazine and floated between two tracks of magnets.
With a call of “Breaching!” the unicorn pulled on the trigger action, and the magnets that were installed down the length of the weapon’s barrel closed in on each other, no longer suspending their payload between the two, but aiming propelling it down its length and out of the weapon.
The steel bolt exited the unicorn’s weapon and pulverized the lock on the bathroom door, allowing it to be kicked in.
The six breached the room, and like before, found nothing out of the ordinary and no Princess, either.
Through heavy steam they saw no signs of conflict. No toppled over toiletries, no scratches or rips in the red painted walls, on the tiles, or on the shower curtain, nothing.
One of the six guards reached for the wall and hit a switch that opened a vent to rid them of the fog-like steam, and could not find the reason why the alert had been raised.
One of the earth ponies walked forward and pulled back the curtain to the running shower.
It was at that moment that one of the guards remembered something.
The walls in Luna’s bathroom were wallpapered, not painted.
The ancient marble architecture had survived the ages and stood in a stoic and distinguished manner above the city of Penance. The setting sun made the white buildings look as if they had been water painted a light orange color while the watery streets and canals of the costal paradise reflected the last of the light back up towards the sky.
While the city’s beauty was captured in perfect form in this particular moment, the nation’s equally majestic leader was also in rare form. From the stair access of the building, Princess Cadence walked through the open door and onto the vacant rooftop patio of the building. Her mane was curled and tied tightly around her head in a fashion that her hair looked to be a tightly wrapped maroon, violet, and yellow candy cane. Her dress, if it was appropriate to call it that, hung on around her form like a transparent silk toga, the only evidence that it was there was the distorting effect that it gave off when focused on. The garment showed off her flank, body and curves magically as she leisurely strolled past the empty lunch tables, under the piano that hung by the rope and supports left by the moving crew, and stopped at the stone rail and gazed out at the crystal clear blue harbor and the sun reflecting off the water.
As she stood and looked out at the water, another figure exited out of the same stairway access. This individual, wearing a white cape, suit, and had a hood pulled tight over his head, stopped in the middle of the roof.
He pulled his hood down, showing his horn and the scowl on his face. He opened up one of the many slips on his shirt, revealing a shocking amount of knives, swords, and other weapons that would make one wonder how he ever got past the army of security and general police officers in the city.
He pulled out a sword and levitated it in a fashion to point the tip at the pink winged unicorn. Clearing his throat, the stallion said, “Hello! My Name, is Ringo Del Dingo, Mal mino, Ro Lingo, Ka Raziona Das Fettuccini; Mounter of Mares, Slayer of Stallions, Virtuoso of Swords and the unbeatable blade.” He stopped and closed his eyes, focusing his anger and refining his hate of the Istallian Princess. “You… you killed my mother, by brother, my sister, my hamster, my ROOMMATE!PREPARE. TO. DIE!”
He opened his eyes, and prepared to attack the Princess, but stopped when his target was not doing as he thought she would do. Normally, when he would begin his epic and grandiose monologue, the prey of his hunt would scream, run away, or call for more undertrained and uninterested guards which he would cut down while they tried to hide in a corner. But instead, the pink winged unicorn had just turned around and was staring at him with a sly smile on her face. It was a pitty, Princess Cadenza was quite the mare, one that he would have tried to bed if not for the fact of the blood feud that he embraced. During his travels, he had learned that he was quite the lady’s stallion. But then again, not many stallions could use “Hello, I am Assassino.” As a pick-up line.
Slowly, Princes Cadence began to chuckle, and then her chuckle escalated into a laugh, which made the armed stallion’s face begin to turn as red as the sun as he pointed at her with his hooves and shout, “You! Why you a’ laughin with tha’ words, and the mouth? You shudda you face, huh! You shudda your face when Imma threaten you!”
Princess Cadence’s silk wrapping glowed green and reformed as a dark grey weather-resistant coat. Shortly after, her body had a green wave, which made her pink body change into a navy blue stallion.
“Who the fuck a’ you?” the Istallian swordspony demanded.
Calmly, the stallion in a light jacket stepped away from the railing and towards a winch on the side of the rooftop which held a tight coil of rope. “Oh, you know,” He said as he put his hoof on the handle. “A real fucking assassin.” In one swift motion, he pulled down the lever, releasing the tension on whatever the rope was holding up.
While Ringo Das Fettuccini may as well be the warrior his ego claimed him to be as the great lover of mares, the defeater of a thousand stallions, and the unstoppable assassino of an ancient order. But unfortunately none of that particularly mattered when the Stineneigh piano positioned above his head was released from its suspension rigging.
