Princess Celestia tasks Prince Blueblood with organizing this years Grand Galloping Gala. Things are going fine, until a grey mare with odd eyes tries to present a muffin for his sampling pleasure.
Sequel to Prince Blueblood vs. the World.
It started with an innocent enough request. Princess Celestia asks Prince Blueblood to host the Grand Galloping Gala this year. His life goes downhill from there.
When I was young, the Grand Galloping Gala was better than Hearth’s Warming Day. It was a date circled on my calendar each year, one that I prepared for with baited breath. Now, how I dread it. It is nothing more than a chance for peasants to throw themselves at my hooves, hoping to marry out of the cesspool from where they spawn. I have long learned to dread the night specifically, and make sure to stockpile plenty of alcohol to get through it. Heck, with all the buzz about Princess Sparkle, this was the year I really thought I could simply skip it entirely. No one would notice if I didn’t make a presence, no one would care. Of course, then Aunt Tia, in all her infinite intelligence, asked if I would plan this year’s Gala.
“Can’t Aunt Luna do it?” I ask.
Celestia smiles in that warm, sunny way she always does. “My sister planned it last year. I want you to do it, Blue.”
“What about Princess Sparkle? It is her first Gala since joining the royal family, after all. I…I couldn’t just rob her of the privilege.”
“It is a wonder a silver tongue did not spawn on your flank when you were a colt.”
Instinctively, I look back at the compass rose on my creamy fur. Long ago, Aunt Tia inflicted burns upon me (long story,) but the fur has grown in fully, and now even carries a certain glisten and glaze that I am pleased with.
“Blue,” Aunt Tia says, and I turn back to her. “I want you to host it this year. Please?”
“Why though? I’m not exactly Stallion of the Year.”
“Which is exactly my reasoning. I want the ponies of Equestria to start seeing you as I do.”
I huff.
To commemorate the occasion, she offers a small gift, wrapped with white paper and topped with a light blue bow that matches my eyes. Upon opening it, I find an old flask with the initials P.H. engraved over the front. I recognize it as my father’s flask almost immediately. The shock of it causes my magic to flicker, but Aunt Tia catches the flask with her golden glow and waits for me to take it back. I look to her, eyes wide, mouth agape. There is a story behind this gift she gives me. There is something more she wants to say, something she wants to tell me, but she simply leans forward and kisses my forehead. As she turns to trot down the hallway, I notice crystals are forming in her eyes.
I thought the Gala was a dreadful affair, but nothing could prepare me for the planning of it. Days of my life are wasted selecting which cloths should be used for the banners, going over the guest list again and again, auctioning the contract for the fireworks. To Miss Rarity, off in Ponyville, I commission the decoration contract. Personally, I am not her biggest fan, but it seems like a task she is up to. Princess Sparkle is kind enough to help me with the guest list. I speak to Aunt Luna about a special set of constellations for the night sky above, instead of artificial fireworks. Those are for common peasants after all. Everything is actually going well, at least until it comes time to select the night’s cuisine.
Oh, what a dreadful task! A steady line of bakers and chefs line up in the banquet hall, and buffet me with fritters and donuts and other disgusting confections. The whole while, I must smile and swallow down every single one of them.
My foalhood is a mass of black blobs, but perhaps once I had the dream that all foals share, to eat sugary treats for an entire day. To get young colts and fillies to stop such fantasies, parents should allow them to indulge. After the fifteenth éclair, all of it tastes like sickly sweet mud. Perhaps worse, with every eye on me, I cannot sneak a gulp from my flask to calm my nerves, and I am feeling absolutely dreadful by the time a rather bubbly pegasus comes before me.
The pegasus carries a plate in her mouth. Resting on the plate is a muffin, as well as a tall mug. Whatever drink is inside the mug is steaming and distorting the air above it. How warm the drink is, and how long the mare has been waiting, the mug must be enchanted to keep the drink boiling hot.
The mare’s fur is grey, and her mane a rather unflattering yellow that reminds me of hay, both in color and texture. Her eyes are the same shade of yellow, and goofily splay in opposite directions. She’s on the large side, and it is only when I notice a pair of stout wings at her sides that I realize she’s a pegasus, not an earth pony. A year ago, she would never have even been allowed inside Canterlot, considering her ugly hair, her derpy eyes, and uncouth demeanor, but times change, sometimes with the swagger of a snail, and others with speed of lightning.
Practically bursting with excitement, she drops the plate to the table I am sitting at. I should be watching the mug of hot chocolate, swaying left and right, but all I can think about is the flask resting in the breast pocket of my vest, the flask with my father’s initials. With a squeal of glee, the grey pegasus says something, and uses a clumsy hoof to push the plate over the table. The tall mug of hot chocolate tilts back, but when the plate stops, it tilts forward. In front of me, I hear gasps, and then feel tingling heat in my lap.
The tingling lasts a few moments, and is quickly replaced by scorching agony. Not just my crotch, but the hot chocolate washes over my lap and bathes my flanks. If you can believe it, the agony where my cutie mark is far exceeds the pain in my groin, as it reminds me of what Aunt Tia did to me.
The grey mare flutters up and begins reciting a stream of apologies, all at once. They sound rehearsed and practiced, like she had said them a thousand times before. Her words only fuel the utter rage that is boiling in my heart. I flip the table, so that nothing is between the mare and I, and catch one of her hooves with my magic. I yank her down to my level.
“You stupid, wall-eyed whore!” I scream. “You clumsy, daft lout. What is the matter with you?”
I see crystals forming in her ugly eyes. I see her lip quiver. It only makes me angrier.
“You present some peasant fare before me, and for what?” I demand. “A chance to cater the Gala? How can you manage the stress of baking for a hundred when you can’t even set a plate down on a table right?! Return to whatever carnival sideshow you reside and pray to Celestia that I don’t I have you fed to griffons, you derpy-eyed peasant!”
The mare’s wings lock up, as occasionally happens to pegasi under extreme duress. Rolling to her hooves, she gallops out of the room, whimpers and sobs escaping her throat in a steady stream.
The hatred in my heart, as hatred tends to do, falters as quickly as it swelled. The pain remains in my crotch, but it is not as if I have never been burned before. I look about at the guests who remain in the room. They stare at me with shock, disgust, and fear.
I do not gallop away, but without a word, I turn and leave the banquet hall. Only when I am safely in my personal quarters, and have set all sixteen of the door’s locks into place, do I take out my flask and attempt to gulp down a mouthful. To my great disappointment, it’s already empty.
A day later, and my coat is washed, and my wounds have been treated with salves and bandages. The scalding was unpleasant, to be sure, but was purely mundane. After some salves and a healing spell, you could never tell I had been burned at all.
I keep expecting Aunt Tia or Princess Sparkle to come busting into my room and reprimand me like I’m a young colt. I was mean to a pegasus who is best friends with Princess Sparkle, for all I know, and Aunt Tia always hates when I yell at the peasants. It is two days before I realize they won’t be coming in at all. I hear through whispers that Princess Sparkle is now in charge of preparations for the Gala. Should I be happy or sad about that?
Once or twice I do try to offer my services to her. I suggest a bakery I know of, or offer to handle the guest list (granted, I have little idea who to invite.) She looks at me with fear, as if she couldn’t obliterate me with a stray thought, and sheepishly tells me it’s alright. The servants all cower in my presence, which isn’t actually all that strange. But when I turn my back, I do not hear a single snarky comment, whispered under their breath. Aunt Tia will not see me. I am not sure why, but how I wish she would just yell at me.
I don’t mind having the entire castle mad at me. I am accustomed to it by now. And I have yelled and screamed at more servants than I care to remember. So why is this time any different? Why, when I close my eyes, do I see the little dumb faced mare, staring at me with a quivering lip and tears in her eyes? Why do I dislike the fact that the servants avoid me? I try to talk to them. I try to say good morning, but they only bow their heads, and again and again I find myself caring that what they think of me…
Honestly, what gives?
I feel I must do something. I must offer my apologies, but first, I must learn the name of the mare. If I could, I would ask Princess Sparkle or Aunt Tia just who that little grey mare was, but they have enough on their plate, handling the Gala. Besides, I don’t want to talk to them, actually. I will just find another method.
I have met the cyan pegasus, Rainbow Dash, once or twice before. None of those times were particularly pleasant, but she’s a pegasus, and the grey mare is a pegasus. Lacking any alternative, I ride the train to Ponyville, where I eventually spot a cyan hoof stretching over a cloud’s edge, and hear a raucous snore.
“Ms. Dash?” I call out. The only indication that it is Rainbow Dash is the sky colored hoof that stretches slightly over the side of white fluffy cloud. If it were a clear day, the hoof would be invisible. Thankfully, Rainbow Dash is far too lazy to move the swollen grey clouds out of the sky. Uck. How I despise being in such a backwater settlement like this.
Well, to be fair, there was the banquet at Sweet Apple Acres that was quite satisfactory. It was a small celebration in my honor. Ms. Dash was there, and although she spent the majority of the time mocking and ridiculing me, I would be lying if I said it was a completely unpleasant night. Considering she seems to mock and ridicule everypony, I almost felt like one of her friends. I would just hate to get caught in the rain because she isn’t doing her job, a job she has only kept because she is snuggly with Princess Sparkle.
“Ms. Dash,” I say, just a little louder. With my magic, I fetch a rock from the ground, and carefully throw it at the cloud above me. Although I cannot see through the layer of fluffy white, I hear a snort and groan, and soon Rainbow Dash’s head is peeking over the cloud’s side. It takes a moment for her magenta eyes to focus on me, but she smiles quite wide when she knows who I am.
“Prince Blueballs! What up?” she asks. With a flap of her wings, she lifts off the cloud and glides down to stand before me. It’s subtle, but I do see a cringe in her eyes. “Geez Blue, you look like something scraped out from between Spike’s toes.”
“Ever the charmer, Ms. Dash. Why did the Wonderbolts ever let you go?”
“I’ve only been suspended for a week or two…” she says, eyes narrow, but she can’t stop a smile stretching over her lips. “I knew you had some snark in you, Blue.” Walking beside me, she gives me a (rather hard) punch to the ribs I assume is some backwater sign of affection. Even though I can feel a bruise coming on, I can’t help but smile. Oh, to talk to someone! To hear another voice! I enjoy solitude, but loneliness is truly a curse. Suddenly, I feel sympathy for old King Sombra swell in my heart, and wonder what torture Aunt Luna must have gone through, locked away in the moon all those years. Just to hear a voice, even a voice as raucous as Rainbow Dash’s, is pleasant on my ears.
I should jump right to the point. Let her return to her nap, but it feels like it has been ages since I’ve actually had somepony to talk to. “What were you suspended for this time?” I ask. “Did they have the audacity to make you wing-pony for a day?”
“I invited Fluttershy up to hang out. She was a bit nervous, and somepony said something pretty bad about her, alright? And then that somepony fell… into my hoof… repeatedly.”
I chuckle. “I imagine the suspension is more a technicality, than meant to be an actual punishment. You defended your friend, after all. You should be proud. And certainly, your superiors were merciful. If you were a unicorn, and under my father’s command, well… the law is the law, he would say. Regardless of motivation, there must be consequences for such a brutish act. Would you like to see something?” I ask. I admit, I am rather excited as I take out the flask, my father’s flask, from my coat and levitate it just before Rainbow Dash’s face. “Aunt Tia gave it to me. It’s strange. I know this belonged to my father, but I don’t actually ever remember him drinking from it, and I remember almost everything about my father.” Pondering to myself, I unscrew the top of the flask and take a quick drink.
“Yeah,” Rainbow Dash says, nervousness suddenly taking her. When I offer her the flask, she takes a drink of her own. “You know,” she says. “Princess Celestia told us some stuff about you, after you left your little party a few months ago. She uhm… see, she told us about your dad. And, I just wanted to say, if you ever want to come by and talk… I know, I always thought talking about that sort of stuff was for egg heads, but it can help. I’m here to talk, if you ever want to, about your father I mean. Or about anything, actually.”
I don’t. As I recall, I am here on business, and decide to change the subject. “I am wondering if you can help me, Ms. Dash. I am afraid, a day or two ago, I acted in an inappropriate manner to a young mare. Would you be able to help me track her down?”
“Inappropriate for a prince?” Rainbow Dash grins wide. “Look at you, Prince B. Letting your eyes linger on a fine mare’s assets a bit too long? I guess the rumors about you being gay ain’t true.”
Considering the heat I feel on my cheeks, I imagine my entire face looks as red as an apple.
“Awe, damn, don’t tell me it was Fluttershy? If it was her, probably better to just let it go. You trying to apologize will just make her get all squeaky.”
“That… that’s not what happened,” I say quickly. “I am afraid I yelled at her, and she ran off in tears. I do not have her name, so I was hoping a description would suffice.”
“Pink hair? Yellow fur? Fine, firm rump that attracts your eyes from across the room?” Rainbow Dash giggles at that last comment, though I turn an even deeper shade of red. By now, she’s rolling on the floor, taken by laughter.
“The mare I am referring to had grey fur and a mane the color of hay. Her eyes had an odd deformity, causing them to look in two different directions.”
“You hit on Derpy?!” Rainbow Dash practically spits the name out. In fact, I feel drops of water on my face, and take an annoyed moment to wipe them off.
“I hit on no pony, Ms. Dash. She spilled a hot beverage on me, and I am afraid that was the straw that broke a very annoyed and tired camel’s back. I said certain things to her that I am not proud of, and I would like to apologize. Do you know where I might find this… Derpy?”
What an odd name for a pony, though no one ever said the pegasi were a creative bunch.
Rainbow Dash rubs her chin with a hoof, pondering. I hope she doesn’t hurt herself. “Derpy usually has lunch at Sugarcube Corner around this time. She’s probably there, snarfing down a muffin, the lazy little bubble brain. Some ponies can’t even do the simplest of jobs.”
“Yes Ms. Dash, some ponies really can’t.” I bow my head gently, before heading off in the direction Rainbow Dash gestured. She returns to her fluffy cloud to nap.
Sugarcube Corner is a large complex, perhaps two or three stories tall, though it seems so much larger. The bakeries in Canterlot conform to a standard size, but I suppose in a rural town like this, you can build as big as you want to. Rather foolishly, I actually knock on the door, before realizing how stupid I am and simply push my way inside.
The scent of confections hits me like a trampling buffalo. I have savored the very finest pastries in all of Canterlot, but nothing has ever smelled as good as this. Rather dumbly, I stand in the doorway, savoring the smells, before again realizing how utterly stupid a stallion I am and take my first steps inside. While the smells inside the bakery are heavenly, the décor is purely peasant. Apparently, no one ever told them that yellow should be used sparingly, because my eyes actually hurt after taking a quick look around.
“Howdy dearie,” an earth pony behind the counter says. “Haven’t seen you around here. You just moved into town?”
I walk towards her. Her fur is a deep blue that is pleasant on my eyes, especially compared to the ugly décor of the room. She’s also quite plump and jiggly, and I have to suppress a laugh at her excessive size. She is exactly the kind of pony one might expect to work around sweets. “Actually, I’m just visiting the village, looking for someone. I live in Canterlot.”
“I’m Cup. Cup Cake,” the mare says.
After some deliberation, I settle on giving my name as, “Blue.”
“What can I get you, Mr. Blue?”
Bowing my head, I gaze beneath the glass display. It is carnival fare, mostly. The sort of high sugar, high fat chaff that gives peasants their pudge and dull senses. I just wish they didn’t smell so heavenly.
“I’m not very familiar with your confections. Would you please bring me whatever you think is best.” I look around the bakery for the grey mare, though it seems to be empty. I take a table against a far wall and sit down.
“This here’s our hottest seller,” Cup says, placing a plate with cupcake atop it down before me. “Bacon-Maple-Crunch Cupcake. Not real bacon, don’t you worry. It’s all hay, but I’ve had griffons in here that can’t tell the difference.”
I sniff the cupcake cautiously. “I am curious, Ms. Cake, have you ever seen a mare with grey fur and blonde hair?”
“You mean like her?” Cup asks, cocking her head towards the door to the bakery. The mare that had spilled hot chocolate into my laps comes trotting in. Without even looking around, she takes a stool at the counter and places a satchel bag beside her. Her body slumps forward, draping over the counter, while she uses her arms to cover her head. Her wings aren’t even folded neatly at her side. Instead, they hang limp behind her.
Cup walks to the grey mare and gently strokes a hoof over her back. “The usual, dearie?”
Derpy lifts her head. Apparently, the look on her face is enough for Cup, who pulls a plate with a muffin and mug of hot chocolate from under the counter. Without a word of thanks, Derpy begins nibbling and slurping her lunch in the way a peasant would, which is to say, noisily. I realize I still haven’t even tried the cupcake, which I must admit, smells quite good.
There can be no doubt it is the mare from the other day, even without the confirmation her eyes would give me. Now I just need to apologize and go back to my room in the castle, and relax until the night of the Gala where I’ll have to make a token appearance. The only problem is… well, I’m not that good with talking to mares. Quite the contrary to my media portrayal as some sort of philandering playcolt, I don’t really enjoy the company of the opposite sex. Having to deal with gold diggers for almost two decades will do that to even the most earnest of princes. It takes two gulps of liquid courage from the flask I hide in one of my coat’s pockets before I find the strength to walk over to mare, and take the seat beside her.
“Hello,” I say, because, what else is there to say in such a situation?
Derpy turns to me. For a moment, there is recognition in her strange gaze. One or two crystals form in her eyes. She turns back to her muffin. “What do you want, prince?”
“Prince?” Cup asks. “Prince Blue… blood? Prince Blueblood! And in my shop! Oh, what an honor. Princess Sparkle doesn’t come around too much anymore, and Princess Celestia hasn’t stopped by in ages. Did you enjoy the cupcake, prince? Is there anything I can get you?”
“I didn’t really try it, I’m afraid.”
“Was it not to your liking? We have other things. We have a jewel encrusted cupcake in fact. We usually make them up for Spike, but I can whip you up one ASAP. I promise.”
“Ms. Cup,” I say softly. “Ms Cup…” I reach a hoof out, and gently touch hers, and it seems to calm her down. It’s strange. I’ve yelled at ponies for far less, but as I look at Cup, with her jiggly chins and pleasing blue fur, I don’t want to scream and shout at her. I don’t… I don’t want to hurt her, like I have so many before, like I have Derpy. Instead, for whatever reason, I smile.
Alright Blue, what would Aunt Tia do? How would she word this? Let’s try, “Ms. Cake, I’m afraid I am simply not very hungry. Would you kindly fetch me a cup of coffee though? Please, no cream or sugar. Ms. Derpy, would you like something to drink?”
Derpy glares at me, but shakes her head to Ms. Cake. The blue, pudgy mare jiggles and waddles into the back of the shop to make my coffee, leaving me alone with the grey mare.
“So… Ms. Derpy, are you enjoying your muffin?”
Mouth full of bread and nuts, Derpy says something, but only succeeds in lewdly spitting onto the counter.
“I am sorry Ms. Derpy, I didn’t catch that.”
She swallows her mouthful, and glares at me. “That’s not my name, alright? My name is Ditzy. Not Derpy.”
One is better than the other? I want to say. “I’m sorry Ms. Ditzy. I did not intend any disrespect. I spoke to Ms. Rainbow Dash, and she informed me your name is Derpy. I was simply basing it on that.”
Derpy… I mean, Ditzy’s ears bend. “Yeah, Rainbow Dash thinks it’s funny. She thinks just cause I’m a little clumsy sometimes, she needs to remind me every time she sees me, and then she laughs like a dragon on a sugar rush.”
“It’s a bit more like a manticore’s chuckle, wouldn’t you say?”
It’s brief, but for just a moment, there’s a flash of warmth and humor in her yellow eyes. Only for a moment, but it’s pleasant.
“I’m sorry,” Ditzy says softly. “I… I really… I get excited sometimes. If I’m going slow, I can usually compensate for my eyes and all, but I was just really excited and-”
“Apology accepted,” I say quickly. “To be honest, the burns didn’t actually bother all that much. I’ve been burned much worse, just recently in fact.”
Ditzy giggles. It’s a cute sound. Unlike the manticore chuckle of Rainbow Dash, Ditzy’s is bubbly and full of life. I find myself chuckling myself, just a little. “Yeah, I read about that,” she says. “You went on a bender cause Princess Celestia was missing or something? Woke up in the gutter. Very unprincely, huh?”
“That is the story, isn’t it?” I ask.
Why should anyone question the official story, after all? Aunt Tia says I saved not only her, but all of Equestria. She says my deed would have… would have done my father proud… Instead of getting a stained glass mural in the throne room, or anything more than a pat on the back, I get a cover story that perpetuates my image as a drunkard and whore. I know why that must be done. Aunt Tia has an image to maintain. It is still a bitter pill to swallow. My father would say, which is better: to be regarded as a hero, but secretly a coward; or to be regarded as a coward, but secretly a hero? He would call me weak for being annoyed with the present situation, and he would be right. Dad was always right. I was the problem. I was always the-
“You OK?” Ditzy asks. I look to her, and smile. I’m good at that. A smile can cover up a lot after all.
“I came here to apologize myself, Ms. Ditzy. I hope you will accept it, from the bottom of my heart.”
“I’m the one who burned you. I’m the dumb, derpy klutz.”
Yes, you are, I want to say. No I don’t want to say that… I ask, “Did you mean to hurt me?”
Ditzy lets out a string of apologies until I lift a hoof to her lips to silence her.
“Well, that’s the difference between us. You didn’t mean to hurt me. I meant to hurt you. It was the heat of the moment, and I had been having a bad day… Well, I have been having a bad life, I suppose, but the simple fact is, I wanted to hurt you. In that moment, I made a choice. Not like I was drinking tainted water or anything that could excuse my behavior. Ms. Ditzy, I am truly and deeply sorry for hurting you, and I ask your forgiveness.”
Ditzy smiles. It’s a cute smile. I’m not sure how old she is, but I suspect she’s older than she looks. Her round, slightly chubby face gives her a youthful complexion, though. She can’t be much more than twenty though, which makes a thirty-six year old stallion yelling at her all the more despicable. “I forgive you, Prince Blueblood.”
I hear the words, and yet there is no catharsis. There is no deep sigh of relief, and the ache remains in my heart. I suspected this, which is why I brought an invitation carried in my coat. With my magic, I pull the ornamentally decorated slip of paper from a pocket and hold it between us.
“I’m just wondering, Ms. Ditzy, if you would like to attend the Grand Galloping Gala in a few days? I must warn you: it will be nothing short of a royal bore. It is little more than an entire night of dealing with gold diggers and obnoxious foals insisting they belong there. I need to go. Aunt Tia insists. I would understand if you didn’t want to come, but… I feel I must compensate you for what I did, and this is all I can think of. I know it is the dream of many pe… uhm… lower class ponies to attend the regal ball. If nothing else, it will be an experience perhaps you can carry for the coming years, and brag to your friends about. Attending is the envy of all who do not attend, after all. So please, take the invitation. Come to the Gala and enjoy yourself, or provide it to one of your friends. The choice is yours, but if you come, I would be happy to see you again.”
Ditzy giggles in that bubbly way, and takes the invitation out of the air. She slips it into a mail bag on the stool beside her.
“Coffee’s done!” Ms. Cake shouts from the back of the bakery. The door swings open, and her rotund form comes jiggling forth. I look to my coat, wondering what the contents of my flask will taste like mixed with the coffee, so I don’t notice as Ms. Cake trips over a lose floorboard. I hear her scream, and I hear Ditzy gasp. I turn my head just in time to see the steaming, brown liquid flying through the air, towards me…
Pinkie Pie once asked me who delivers my mail? Cause, I’m the mailmare, after all. ”Is there a mailmare who delivers your mail?” she asked. ”But then, who delivers her mail? Is there an infinite chain of mailmares delivering mail to other mailmares? I guess a P.O. box would solve that problem.”
She scurried off before I could give her the answer, which is actually pretty simple: I just pick up my own mail at the office. Not that I usually have any. I don’t get much mail. I don’t have many friends. I have friends though! I have really great friends, actually, but I see them almost every day, either when I deliver their mail, or when we hang out on the weekend. Every day, Turner gets tons of letters, so I get to see him a lot. I like seeing Turner. Even if he doesn’t have mail, I just go by the clock store and say hi every day if I can. Or he comes to see me. I like when he comes to see me, because he’s always really nice to me, and doesn’t rush me when he needs something…
Oh, but the letter! Yeah, I got a letter. I get so few letters, when I read the recipient, I actually tried to remember where Ms. Doo lives. I felt a little silly after that, but no one ever calls me Ms. Doo. They either call me Ditzy, or Derpy. The whole thing is kinda exciting, though. I feel like a little foal on Hearth’s Warming Day again, receiving my present. I’m super careful opening the letter, doing it the way I had seen Turner do it. First, I bite the right side of the letter, and hold it tight between my hooves, and with a sharp twist of my head, I tear open the envelope. Then I blow into the envelope and nip the edge of the neatly folded paper inside, and take it out and give it a read over.
Dear Ms. Doo,
I was pleased when Ms. Sparkle informed me you had RSVPed your attendance at the Grand Galloping Gala. Forgive the presumption, but I hope you have proper attire. If you do not, I have enclosed a small certificate for a tailored dress at the Carousal Boutique. Although I cannot say Ms. Rarity is my favorite mare in all of Equestria, her merits as a dressmaker are second to none.
Sincerely yours, Prince Blueblood
And, I read the letter over again. And I read it over again. And I start to think…
You ever hear of a Cow’s Ball? See, it’s when stallions go out and try to find the ugliest mare they can, and bring them to a party. And, whoever gets the ugliest mare wins the party. I went to one, once. There was this stallion, a pegasus, who was… really, really handsome. Not just regular handsome, I mean… he was just gorgeous. We went to the same school and he invited me out once, and my heart skipped a beat. He told me all this stuff about how he liked how, even if I couldn’t do the routines the fastest, I always finished. I worked hard. He said he liked that. I bought a new dress, and I got my hair all nicely done. But, like I said, it was a Cow’s Ball.
I sent in the RSVP as a formality. I wasn’t going to even bother, but Ms. Cake said I should, so I did. It would be rude if I didn’t, she said. She said I would have a really good time. “Oh, if I were younger and thinner… If I were half as beautiful as you are… You should go, dearie. You should go and have a wonderful time. And I’ll tell you what, after it, you can come over. I’ll make you a muffin and some hot choco, and you can tell me all about it.”
I’m in a bit of a ditz as I make my mail rounds. The holiday season is over, so my mail bag is pretty light, and there’s nothing that needs to get to someone urgent. Still, I try to focus on the rounds. I like to think I’m good at being a mailmare, you know? It’s not my Cutie Mark or anything. I’m not totally sure what my Cutie Mark represents, but I’m good at being a mailmare. At least I like to think so.
A lot of ponies think I’m dumb. Its cause of my eyes, and that I’m kinda clumsy and can’t see really good, but I’m not dumb. I mean, I’d just love to see Rainbow Dash sort two tons of mail, plan out a route, lug a huge bag, AND get all the letters to everyone before the sunset. I do that five times a week, but no one really cares. It’s not fancy, or flashy, but it’s something I’m proud of doing, and something that needs to be done.
Fluttershy gets a small box, probably medicine for one of her pets. I guess that by how the box rattles when I give it a soft shake. I try knocking on her door to give it to her, in case she really needs it. She doesn’t answer. She never does. So I just leave the box against the door and trot off, and when I’m far enough away I hear her door open and slam. Looking back to it, the package is gone, and I giggle to myself.
Button Mash gets an invitation to some kinda game tournament in the city. I’m putting the envelope through the mail slot, when the door tears open. He snatches the envelope from my hoof, tears it open, and reads it over. And then he squeals like a little filly and tackles me, giving me a hug. I’m a little scared by it, but before I can say anything, he rushes back into his house, shouting, “Mom, Mom!”
Diamond Tiara gets… well, I’m not totally sure what it is. I never open mail. I know that’s against the rules. I can usually just tell what is in the envelope because of the return address and the receiver, and sometimes they tell me they are expecting something. But Diamond Tiara always kinda baffles me. Diamond Tiara is… well, she’s not a nice filly. I see what she does to that little Apple filly a lot, and I want to step in, but… you know.
Anyway, every few weeks, Tiara gets these letters. They don’t look like something she would get. They’re always bland brown paper envelopes. I always figure she would get envelopes that are jewel encrusted or something. There’s never a return address, and there’s never a receiving address. It only just says DIAMOND TIARA, in all caps, and in black ink that stands out against the light brown of the paper. The packages never rattle or bends.
Mr. Rich is always out on business, and Diamond Tiara seems to be left alone a lot at her house. She always answers the door. And, you know, it’s weird, but whenever she does, she’s not the Diamond Tiara I see in the village, picking on that little Apple filly. I don’t come with the letters every day, but every time I have one, she meets me at the door. I don’t even have to knock, so I guess she just waits there, staring out a window for me to come. Whenever I’m about five steps from the door, she opens it. I give her the letter, and she just tears it apart. I’m always afraid something delicate will be inside and it’ll be shredded by her hooves and teeth, but the content is always intact.
This time, like always, she opens the door. I reach into my bag and take out the brown envelope, just like all the others that I’ve delivered to her over the past couple months. She takes it, and this time she carefully opens it with her teeth. Blowing into the envelope, she takes out the letter, and reads it over.
I figure the letter is delivered and all. I turn to leave, but I hear Tiara sniffle, and turn around to look back at her. There are tears in her eyes, even as she tries to sniffle and keep herself from crying. I don’t really like Diamond Tiara. I’ve dealt with enough bullies in my life. But… you know; a little filly, mascara mushed and ugly on her face. I try to act like I don’t notice the tears, but I don’t really want to turn my back to her, in case she needs something. I stand there, sorting through my mail bag, like that’s the only reason I’ve stopped.
“Thank you,” she says. She’s never said thank you before. Something must be up with her. Letting the letter fall to the ground, she turns and closes the door behind her. Her movements are never sloppy or rushed. She moves kinda like a robot. The locks of the door tumble into place. I wait there, listening, and I hear her slump against the door and start to cry.
I know I probably shouldn’t pick up the letter, but… I’m curious. And, technically she’s opened the letter and discarded it. I’m not breaking any rules. It’s technically garbage. So I scoop up the letter and straighten out the wrinkles. Turning my head to the side so I can focus with my good eye, I give it a quick read.
Dear submitter,
I regret to inform you I cannot recommend your jewelry designs for a place in our catalogue. They are not up to the standards that we set for our name.
Sincerely, Equestrian Jewelry Catalogue
It’s weird, huh? Such a small amount of words can leave you just crushed. And Diamond Tiara is a bully, and a jerk. I cringe each time I see her pick on the little Apple filly. She deserves to get hurt like this. But still… Well, I fold up the letter and slip it under my cap for safe keeping. Sometimes I see Mr. Rich on my route. I don’t think he knows about this stuff, what Diamond Tiara has been doing. I think… I think she’s his little princess, you know? I know it’s been a bit hard on him ever since his wife died. I see him in the bar sometimes, not that I drink! But I go with some of my friends, and I see him. I know this is just another thing for him to worry about, his little princess is sad, but I feel like he should know this, cause, I think she needs someone.
The Sugar Cube Corner is my next stop. Not for a delivery, even though I have got some stuff for Pinkie Pie. It’s noon though, so it’s time to eat, and I am really thinking about a muffin. Banana nut maybe. No, blueberry! Yeah, I really want a blueberry. I don’t know why, but I do. And I want to talk to Ms. Cake too, about some stuff. She’s always there for me. She always talks to me, and she calls me dearie, and she makes me muffins, and she’s good to give advice about some stuff that’s on my mind.
But, when I arrive, Ms. Cake isn’t behind the counter. Neither is Mr. Cake, who I like, but not as much as Ms. Cake. Instead, it’s Pinkie. And… Rainbow Dash… Pinkie Pie is behind the counter, and Rainbow Dash is sitting at the counter, and they’re talking, so they don’t seem to notice me. I think about just leaving, finishing my route, and then going home to make something, but Rainbow Dash speaks up.
“Hey, Derpy! Come on, have a seat.”
I bite my lip as I trot over and sit down at the stool two away from Rainbow Dash. She scoots next to me and, rather forcefully, pats my back. “Whatcha having Derpster?”
“I got just what you want!” Pinkie Pie shouts. In the time it takes me to blink, a cupcake is down in front of me. It smells of cinnamon, or maybe gingerbread, and the frosting is super white, like freshly washed sheets. It smells good, and I’m starving by now, but I have a really bad feeling. It’s not too hard to see they are setting me up for a prank. What Pinkie Pie says next pretty much seals it. “It’s my newest confectionary concoction! Vanilla Bean EXPLOSION! Go ahead, Derps. Give it a taste.”
I look to Pinkie, and her bright, blue eyed smile, and to Rainbow Dash, and her more reserved, magenta eyed grin. It’s a prank of course. And I can guess what sorta prank, too. I try to smile and bring the cupcake to my mouth. My teeth sink into the coating of frosting. With a low sigh, I close my eyes.
I’m not surprised by the splash of coolness on my face, or the raucous laughter of the two other mares. With a sigh, I wipe the frosting from the exploding cupcake out of my eyes and look around. Rainbow Dash is grinning like a toothy monster. Pinkie Pie has her face down and is pounding the counter with a hoof.
“Oh, we got you good!” the pink one shouts.
I try to laugh it off, and I try to smile. “Yeah, you did. Nice one.” Again, I try to wipe the frosting off my face, but only succeed in getting my hoof covered in it. I want to wipe it on the counter, but then it would just be a mess for Pinkie to clean up.
Rainbow Dash offers me a towel. I stretch my hoof out to take it, but pull it back. “Hey, Derpy,” she says. “Really. No tricks.”
“It’s alright,” I try to say, though I can feel my voice crack. Scooting off the stool, I trot to the bathroom in the back of the dining area.
The hot water feels good on my fur. The icing comes out without much problem, and even leaves a rather nice, vanilla-y scent. Pinkie Pie didn’t mean to be mean, after all. Not like she would mix crazy glue into the frosting or anything. Rainbow Dash didn’t wanna be mean, either. They think it’s all in good fun. They even think they are doing something good for me, letting me in on the prank. After all, best thing in the world is to laugh at yourself, right?
But it’s different for them, cause they have real friends. And they have friends who laugh with them, not just at them. That’s the difference. Everyone just always laughs at me.
I go back out and fetch my mailbag. Pinkie Pie and Rainbow Dash are back to chatting, so I leave. Pinkie Pie shouts something, but I can’t make it out. Probably just a joke. I just want to leave, finish my route up, and go home. After rummaging through my bag, I see my next delivery is to Time Turner, which brightens my day. I like Turner. I like him a lot. He’s really nice, and he’s really handsome, and he calls me “Dee-Dee.” He’s the only one who ever calls me Dee-Dee.
I trot to his house/workshop. It’s right in the center of town, not far from the bakery actually. It’s a really nice building, two stories, with a pair of double doors that are circular, and in the appearance of a clock. The door-clock isn’t actually a clock. That’d be just too cool, but it’s still something unique that lets me pick out the building with ease. Setting my bag down, I rap my hoof against the door. No answer. I knock a little harder, a little faster, but still no answer.
I roll my eyes, and giggle to myself as I take off my cap. The letter from Diamond Tiara is still there. Moving it aside, I retrieve a small key and fit it into the door’s lock. The door is heavy. Probably because it’s so showy and has so many decorations, but I’ve opened it before. I use my weight to push against it and step inside as quietly as I can.
“Doc?” I call out. I call him Doc cause, a long time ago, there was a joke I made. I don’t remember the joke. Neither does he. But I call him Doc still, cause I like it, and he says he doesn’t mind. Like I said, he calls me “Dee-Dee.” He says he really likes my name, my real name. He calls it aitertive or something.
“Doc?” I call out again. He gave me a key so I could come inside and leave his mail on the desk. Sometimes he’s out, or busy, or just can’t come to the door, and he’s afraid of his precious letters getting lost if I just left them in the mailbox. The ornate door doesn’t lend itself well to a mail hatch, unfortunately.
I put his big bundle of letters on the checkout desk, and lean forward to peek into the back. “Turner?” I call out.
Biting my lip, I walk around the counter and head into the back. There’s a long, long hallway that leads to a stairwell that goes up to Turner’s bedroom (don’t ask how I know that), but to the left of the hallway is Turner’s workshop, and that’s where I find him. He’s sitting there, with his back to me, and staring at a grandfather clock that’s probably twice his size. I peak my head into the room and rap my hoof on the ground. The noise startles him enough for him to jump into the air, and he ends up falling on his cute rump. I hide my mouth with my hoof and giggle softly.
Turner has the nicest blue eyes. They’re not like Pinky’s, no. They’re darker, and… smaller, but not small in a bad way. They’re rich, and deep, and handsome, like the rest of him.
“Hey Dee-Dee,” he says, stifling a yawn with his hoof. “Need me to sign for the box of clock hands?”
“Uhm… Doc, I gave you that package yesterday.”
Turner closes his eyes and shakes his head. “You did? What… day is it?”
I take a step closer. “Doc, you OK?”
“Huh? Oh, yeah. I’m fine, thanks. I just…” He cocks his head over his shoulder, gesturing to the clock that is standing behind him. “Mr. McIntosh dropped this off yesterday, just after you left… I think. His little sister was playing with some of her friends, and she accidentally broke it. He came over, asked if I could fix it and have it done tomorrow… or today…” Turner’s eyes open wide. A look of… utter fear sweeps over his face. I bite my lip, worried I had done something wrong. “By the sun, I’m going to be late,” he nearly screams. “I’m going to be late!”
He sits down, head held in his hooves. I walk over, giving him a little push. “Doc, it’s alright. You and I can just bring it over to the farm right now. I’ll help you. Or I can find someone to help you.”
“No, no, you don’t understand… There’s one piece I just couldn’t make fit.” Turner’s blue eyes are quivering. I think he’s on the brink of tears. He puts a stool before the clock and takes a step onto it. I use my wings and flutter at about his shoulder. Opening the face of the clock, he reveals the dozens of turning and twitching gears, all seeming to kinda spaz. “There… I just… put the whole thing together. I was up all day and all night trying to finish it, but the last piece is just this tiny little gear that’ll make the whole thing work. Last night… or this morning, I wanted to fix it, but I was tired. My hooves were shaking. I just wanted to take a break, just a minute… I must have fallen asleep…”
“Doc,” I say. “It’s alright. Look, just put it in now, and we can deliver it.”
Turner leaps off the stool and races to his table. In a mad scramble, he throws papers and springs onto the floor until he picks up a small magnet, which is mounted at the end of a shaft. Magnetized to the tip is a gear I have to squint to even see. Holding the magnet shaft with the tip of his hoof, Turner carefully climbs onto the stool and leans forward. Slowing my wings, I stand on the ground and keep quiet as he pushes the shaft towards the gears.
I don’t move. I don’t breath. I try to keep my heart from beating too loud. I know Turner needs to concentrate. I would leave, but I am afraid of how much noise my hooves would make pounding over the ground, and chances are I would end up tripping on something and making an awful racket. So I just stand there, watching, until Turner leans back and leaps off the stool.
“My hoof won’t stop shaking,” he says. “I promised Mr. McIntosh I would finish the clock by today but I can’t finish it. I am going to be late… I AM GOING TO BE LATE!”
I put my arm around Turner’s shoulders. Unsure, I move my other arm forward, and try to hug him, but thinking better of it, I nonchalantly place my hoof on the ground. If Turner notices, he doesn’t act like he does. “I can… try putting it in,” I say.
He looks to me. He tries to smile. “Ditzy, you remember what happened last time, don’t you? If the cog gets dropped, it’ll be in the clock’s innards, and I’m going to have to take the whole thing apart to find it again.”
“You’re right,” I say, and try to smile too. Why are we both smiling like this? Do we think we are fooling the other? I shrug. “I just thought I would offer.”
I hate the patronizing almost as much as the pranking. At least Rainbow Dash is up front about it. She’s just always a jerk. But Turner… just say it, alright Turner! I’m a klutz. I’m a derpy eyed fool, and there’s no way I could do something as delicate as putting a cog in-
“Can you?” he asks. “Do you think you can put it in? I just… my nerves are shot, Dee-Dee. Right now, I’m seeing three of you, actually.”
He retrieves a flashlight from the table and climbs back onto the stool. I take to the air, flapping just over his shoulder. Shining the light inside the clock, he shows all the clock’s gears and innards. “Right there. Look close at the very middle. Where three of them should meet, there’s a little hole. Do you see it?”
One of my eyes is closed. The other is focused. I think I see what he’s talking about. Well, I hope I see what he’s talking about and not some second hole with three gears.
He leaps off the stool and hands me the magnet. “Be careful, Ditzy.”
I nod. Holding the tool in my hoof, I bring it into the clock’s gears. Turner holds the light for me. He’s on his hind legs and leaning against the clock, peering up into it and providing me with light. I focus on the little spot, the one I think is what he was talking about. Come on Ditzy, focus. Move slow, move careful. You’re not in any rush. Just this once, don’t be a klutz. For an agonizing moment, I’m not going to be able to see where I’m sticking the gear. My grey hoof is gonna fill the entire face of the clock as I push it forward. I try to focus, and act like I know what I’m doing, and when I feel resistance, I quickly stop. Turner dips lower and peers into the open clock.
“That’s good Ditzy, you got it. This is important though. Give the magnet a sharp twist, tip it down, and pull it back. If you pull it wrong, the gear will get yanked out of place and might get lost. Just be careful, and do it quick.”
I hold my breath as I look to Turner, hoping for some signal that I’ve done good. Stepping off the stool, I trot back, while Turner places the clock’s face forward. I hear a tick, and see the second hand of the great grandfather clock start to move around the face in a little circle.
Turner turns to me, tears in his eyes. I cringe as he comes closer. I… I almost expect him to slug me for screwing up, but he wraps his arms around my middle and lifts me off the ground, holding me in a snuggly hug. He’s strong, but then, he’s an earth pony and all, so it’s not that surprising. His grip is firm, and his body is warm, and all I can think is, this is Turner hugging me! These are his arms wrapped around my back, it’s his warmth soaking through, it’s his heart pounding against my chest, meeting the pace of mine… I’m kinda embarrassed when my belly gurgles. Or, maybe it’s his, which just makes me giggle.
He takes a step back. A blush is on his face, perhaps as he realizes he was acting quite out of character. I’m breathing heavy, but my breath completely stops as he takes hold of my hooves. “Thank you so much, Ditzy.”
I feel my cheeks flush red. “I-it was nothing… It’s something you do all the time…right?”
“Ditzy.” I look to him, and he’s looking quite stern, quite serious. “Ditzy, thank you so much. I couldn’t do this, so it is everything.”
I nod. My heart is racing. My breath is short. “I gotta… I gotta go to the orchard. I still have to deliver their mail. Why don’t we get this over there? And I can just deliver the rest of the mail on the way.”
“Yes, yes. Yes of course!”
I let Turner take the lead with what we do. I’m not exactly gonna let what I did go to my head and think I know more about moving clocks than he does. I listen to him, duck when he tells me to, lift when he tells me to, and we move super slow. I don’t mind. I would rather go slow.
I’m with Turner. I helped Turner. And he hugged me! Time Turner hugged me!
I never been to the Carousal Boutique. I mean, I have been there. I deliver mail there of course. Sometimes, if there is a big package, I even go in. But I never been there not for work, you know? But the prince says there is a gift certificate waiting for me. And I should have something nice for the Gala. Not like I can wear my mailmare hat and call it a day. So, when the weekend comes, and it’s my day off, I trot through the village and to the boutique. Ms. Cake offered to come with me when I told her what I was doing, but the babies were screaming and Mr. Cake was working hard on an order, and I didn’t wanna be a bother. Besides, what’s the worst that can happen, right?
So I trot to the boutique, and like always, the area around it smells… fake. That’s the only way I can really describe it, even though I know it doesn’t make sense. It’s just… Ponyville smells a certain way. Everything is very earthy and natural, and I like it, cause it all smells real. But the boutique just smells off. Everything is too clean, and too powdered. It’s like Miss Rarity just sprays her whole building with perfume each morning (which… I wouldn’t put past her actually.) It kinda makes my fur stand on end, and I am actually thinkin of just leaving and not even bothering with the Gala, but I’ve come this far and… I kinda wanna go and all… Hey, what’s the harm in just getting my measurements done? I mean, I don’t really like ponies touching me, but I am sure I can just bite my lip. Cause… the prince was really nice to have invited me, and I would feel bad if I didn’t go at all and get to see him again. I wanna see him again, you know?
So I go inside, and that fake smell hits me even harder. All the fake perfume and the fake incense and the fake flowers and stuff, and all that powdery clog in my nose makes me cough. I actually feel a little sick as I move up to that little counter in the front where I usually just leave the mail. Off in the back, I can hear singing, so I guess Miss Rarity is in. “Just a minute,” she calls out in that sweet tone of voice. Unsure what to really do with myself, I just sit down at the counter and wait.
And I wait. And I wait.
My belly grumbles. It’s lunch time after all. Reaching into my bag, I pull out the muffin Ms. Cake gave me when I stopped by. Putting my snout to it, I breathe deep and savor the sweetness, and not the fake sweetness either. Oh, Ms. Cake is really a great baker. If you’re ever in Ponyville, you totally gotta go there, and get a muffin. Today’s is cinnamon, and it just smells heavenly.
“There’s no eating in here, Ditzy.”
Miss Rarity is at the counter now, leaning over it, and staring at me. And… she looks kinda angry. Or, annoyed. And I feel kinda bad to be here. She’s wearing these really nice red glasses, and wearing this cute little vest that I guess is so she can hold needles and thread and measuring tape when working. “Do you need me to sign for a special delivery or something?” she asks.
I frown as I put the muffin away. I’m really hungry, but those are the rules, and I am a guest here. “Uhm… no, Miss Rarity.”
Rarity rolls her eyes. “Then what is it that you need?”
She always talks with this very strong dictation. She annunciates every word and she talks kinda loud. I really don’t like it. Nervously, I grind a hoof into the ground. “Well… uhm… I’m just wondering if you could… uhm… See, I need a dress made…”
“Oh? What is the occasion?”
“The Grand Galloping Gala,” I manage to say.
Rarity gives me a look of utter confusion.
“I think there might be a gift certificate in my name?”
Rarity reaches under the counter and takes out a large notebook. Using her magic, she flips through the pages. “Ah, yes! Flash Sentry stopped by the boutique a day or two ago and made the arrangements. You will forgive me. It is under Ms. Doo, and I simply did not make the connection.” Rarity taps her hoof to her lip. “I hope you will forgive the inquiry, but how exactly did you procure an invitation to the Gala? And, if I may further ask, why did a Royal Guard place this order? It was nice to see Flash on his vacation, but it struck me as odd he should come by on official business.”
By the warmth on my cheeks, I imagine my face looks like a tomato. But, she asked. So I tell her about my entrance into the baking contest, and how I was excited, and how I spilled the coffee on Prince Blueblood, and then how he came to the village to speak to me, and how the invitation was some sort of preservation of his honor, and how he was flipping the bill for the dress.
“Prince… Blueblood invited you?” Rarity asked.
I curtly nod my head. Her face contorts into this really angry, almost monstrous look.
“Why that stuck up, spoiled, cream coated, scruffy looking drunkard!” She slams a hoof onto the ground. The sharp thud makes me jump a few steps back. “If he had an extra invitation, why wouldn’t he invite me? If he were seeking reconciliation with someone, why not me?! He has only ever offered a token apology for how brutish he acted. Where is the grand gesture on my behalf?! When does he seek to regain his status in my eyes?!”
“Uhm…” I manage to whimper.
She trots around the counter and walks right past me. Some part of me hopes she is going to leave (why she would, I haven’t a clue), but she turns on her hooves and trots past me again as she starts to pace. “Just the nerve of him! He acts so brutish at the Gala: throws my hoof stitched scarf in the mud, uses me as a shield against flying confections, and just acts like a royal pain! Then the next time I see him, the most he can do is shrug and say he’s sorry! You know, I thought he had changed. Sure, he was still a royal bore when I saw him again, but it wasn’t as if he was acting antagonistic. But no!
“I know, I know, he did all that for Equestria. By the sun, he saved Princess Celestia! I understand, but…” She lets out a snarl, kinda like a dragon roaring. If she is trying to say something, or it’s just a release of her anger, I am honestly not sure. I’m kinda too afraid to ask. In a huff, she goes on. “This would have been so romantic! Him, inviting me back to the Gala and showing me a magnificent night, the sort I deserve. But instead… he invites you?”
“I… uhm… I don’t really wanna go,” I say. “And the prince said I could give the invitation to someone. Please, take it.”
“Oh, I already have one.”
I’m not totally sure how to respond to that. Thank the sun Miss Rarity can’t keep her trap shut. “I made a dress for Fleur de Lis,” she says proudly, “and a matching tuxedo for Fancy Pants. Fancy Pants requested I come with him so when ponies ask about the seamstress, he can introduce me. I swear, Fancy Pants is more of a prince than Blueblood could ever hope to be!”
Turning to me, her head cocks to the side. “Darling, where are you going?”
I realize my rump is pressing against the door of the boutique, the door I came in through. I look behind me, at the doorknob, and then back to the creamy mare.
“I uhm… I…”
“Come along, Miss Doo. I will require your measurements if I am going to design a proper dress for you. Really darling, come along. No need to worry. I finished the decorations for the Gala, and after Fleur de Lis’ dress, yours will be a pleasant trot through the park. Come along now.”
I wanna just leave. I wanna run to the Sugar Cube Corner, or my bedroom, or Turner’s house. I wanna run and hide, but I don’t. Cause I’m excited, I guess. Cause, the more I think about it, the more I know I wanna go to the Gala. To be totally honest, how much Rarity goes on and on about it, it just kinda makes me wanna go more. And, if I go, I wanna be really pretty.
So I trot with Miss Rarity into the back of the boutique, where she seems to have several mannequins, one of whom has really long limbs and is wearing, what I guess, is Miss Fleur de Lis’ dress.
And… it’s beautiful…
The dress is long, and flowing, and smooth against the mannequin’s body, so I can’t imagine how utterly stunning Miss Fleur de Lis will be when she’s wearing it. The rear of the dress parts at the lower back, so her tail will be able to stretch out and not be obstructed, but there will still be a covering on her butt cheeks. The whole dress is mostly pink, though there are one or two white streaks over the sides, and on the center breast is the fleur-de-lis symbol, sewn in gold. That symbol is inside a large crown, like it’s the crown’s jewel. And it’s just beautiful, and now I really, really wanna go to the Gala just to see her wearing it, and I wanna wear a dress of my own too. I won’t be nearly as gorgeous as Miss Fleur de Lis, but I can come close, right?
“You like it?” Rarity asks.
I realize I’ve been staring, and I’ve probably been staring for a while. “By the sun, it’s incredible. It’s… you made this?!”
“Oh yes,” Miss Rarity giggles. “The material is a special silk that Fluttershy gave me. She procured it by feeding several web spinners a special cherry paste. The cherry paste was given to her by Pinkie Pie, who prepared it special just for the occasion. Pinkie Pie procured the cherries from a tree Applejack has been tending to, a gift from some old friend.” She smiles, and reaches a delicate hoof out to softly stroke the silk. “Just feel the smoothness tickle your skin. Oh, Fleur was in modeling the other day... Go on darling, touch it.”
I look down at my hoof, ugly and grey and covered in blemishes since I don’t really fly if I can walk. Knowing me, I’d probably catch a snag and end up tearing the whole dress in half, so I just put the hoof down. She does frown when it’s clear I’m not going to touch it, but shrugs just the same.
Miss Rarity has me stand in the very center of her workshop, on some sort of elevated platform. I don’t like being touched, but she says there’s no other way to get my measurements. Honestly, you’d think by now all those super smart unicorns would have figured out a better way? I mean, don’t get me wrong. Miss Rarity is super gentle, but I just can’t help cringing each time her hooves squish into me. And she makes all these weird little noises. It’s like… she measures my rear leg, and she goes, “Mmmhmm,” and… what does that mean? And she measures my barrel and goes, “Uh hu, uh hu, ah!” And she tugs my tail to get the measurements, and goes, “I see, I see.” I don’t like it, and I’m really thinkin about just leaving when she says in her sing-song kinda way, “All done, darling. Thank you for tolerating it. I am aware that measurements are far from enjoyable, but I should have everything I need.”
“I… uhm… I hope I’m not a problem.”
She laughs in this kinda regal way. I don’t think she’s laughing at me though. “Not at all, not at all. Your dimensions are actually quite close to Rainbow Dash’s. I am making a dress for her as well. Yours will be no problem, I assure you. Fleur de Lis on the other hoof… oh, she is the picture of elegance and beauty, but so unique in shape, it is difficult to determine where the breast will hang, where the garters will settle on her slender legs, how wide to part the rear for her dock. You’re measurements are… forgive the term, but average.”
“Oh… OK…”
She turns around and scribbles a few more notes on the clipboard she has been holding with her magic. We’re done, I guess. I think of leaving, but there is something I wanna ask. “Miss Rarity?”
Her ears perk. “Yes, darling?”
“What was that you were saying about the prince? If you don’t mind, I mean.”
“Oh, forgive my outburst. I suppose I am perhaps just a little bitter about what happened. It was quite a bruise to my ego, you see.”
“What happened though?”
“Well, he just acted in a very unprincely manner. Sometime later I returned to Canterlot as a guest of Fancy Pants, and met Blueblood again, and he at least tried to make amends. To invite you and not me though… well, oh, you really must forgive me. The prince has just been on my mind as of late.”
She sighs, and attempts to resume scribbling on the notepad. I’m turnin to leave when she starts talkin again. I knew I shouldn’t have come here alone. I could really use a buffer right about now. “He hurt me,” she says. “That night of the gala, my hopes were as high as Celestia’s sun, and then they just came crashing down. None of the others were that bothered. Twilight got to see Celestia later that night, Fluttershy got to meet the animals on better terms, Pinkie Pie threw a party the very next day… But I dreamed of the day my Prince Charming, my High Class Hero, would sweep me off my hooves and… Well, have you ever had a dream come crashing down?”
Yeah… I have…
“Uck, by the sun. I sound like Sweetie Belle whining she didn’t get the last cookie.”
“What about that other thing, though? Did you say he saved Princess Celestia?”
Rarity looks at me with wide eyes. “Oh, that’s right. It was kept out of the papers, wasn’t it? Oh, it was a dreadful affair. Princess Celestia was trapped in some secluded cave in the middle of Everfree Forest, but the prince swept in and saved her. Twilight has been talking about him quite a bit as of late. It’s why he has been on my mind.”
“Why… why was it kept out of the papers?”
“Oh, for any number of reasons, I would guess. It is quite a mar on Princess Celestia’s reputation, and I imagine she wouldn’t want the changelings or the griffons to know about the tainted water.” Rarity ponders something. At least, I think she does, since she puts her hoof on her chin and tilts her head back. I’ve seen Turner do it a lot when he works on his clocks. Mmm, Turner. I’m going to go see him once this is all done. And, maybe we can get some lunch at Sugarcube Corner. That’d be really nice. “I would imagine she was looking out for Blueblood as well. I somehow doubt he would like all the attention that a hero of Equestria would receive.”
Miss Rarity scribbles something on her clipboard. “Now darling, I have all your measurements. I should be able to come up with some sketches for you to approve by tomorrow, so you can stop in when you deliver my mail. I would just like to ask, do you have any preferences? Would you like something bubbly or conservative? Do you often get chills? I can design something a little heavier for the night, or something nice and airy. Would you like your wings showing, or tucked in? Oh! And what sort of color would you like?”
I put a hoof under my chin like Miss Rarity had done when she pondered something. I’m curious if it might help me think, and, it kinda does. I get a little bubbly as a thought comes to me. “Well… how bout somethin blue?”
I am proud to say I have read two hundred and seventy-two books about warfare, military tactics, and historical conflicts. Of those, one hundred and three had sections detailing close quarters and hoof to hoof combat. Of those, seventy-two documented various forms of fencing.
Unfortunately, as I have been forced to learn many times: reading a book about a subject is different than living it. The fastest speed a rapier has been documented moving is 7.4535 hooves per second, but the speed of the rapier now assaulting me is moving twice that, I swear! Feebly I try to ward off the stinging tip, sharpened to a diamond’s point (why we need to practice with sharp points is beyond me!) but it’s like trying to follow the flight of a swarm of fireflies. I try backing away, but my rump hits a wall, or I trip, or I just freeze up. In the mere moments it takes for me to look behind me and look back, the rapier is jammed forward, and I feel the coolness of the steel sifting the fur on my neck. For several agonizing moments, my breath, my heart, my mind, they all just shut down. The magenta magic that embraces my own sword shatters like strained glass and I am defenseless as the steel remains at my throat, chilling me like the kiss of a wendigo. I want to cry. I want to scream or shout or use my magic to teleport a thousand miles from this place but I can’t even think straight let alone perform a spell and I’m scared and I’m about to cry and-
“Princess Sparkle,” Blueblood says, lowering his sword, “are you alright?”
I can’t speak. My heart is pounding so hard in my chest, I’m afraid my ribs are going to shatter. My lungs burn, but I can’t remember how to breathe. I think I am shaking, or I’m not shaking at all. I don’t know.
“Princess Sparkle,” Blueblood says, touching my shoulder with one of his hooves. “Take a deep breath,” he says, and takes one himself. Following his example, I breathe through my nose. “Now count to 5. Count with me. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5. Release the breath.”
I exhale slowly. My heart begins to slow in its pound. I take another breath, hold it to the count of five, and exhale. OK… I’m breathing right now.
“H-how… bad was I?” I ask, trying to ignore the tears behind my eyes. By the sun, I probably look like such a foal. What was I thinking? This was a horrible idea! I should just leave and never bother the prince any further with my dumb requests.
Blueblood looks down at me and shrugs his broad shoulders. “I have seen worse, I have seen better. Considering you have never held a rapier before in your life, I think you performed quite well.”
“I thought you were going to kill me!” I blurt out, and immediately bite my lip. It… would be bad to purge his memory, right? Purge just that little stupid thing I said? Heck, at the moment, I wouldn’t mind wiping this whole damn training session from my thoughts. And the idea of it.
Why am I here, getting a lesson on how to use a rapier from Prince Blueblood? It was Shiny’s idea. OK, so I can’t really say it was a bad idea either. I mean, he basically pointed out that I’m a princess now, which probably means there are some ponies who don’t like me too much. What would happen if somepony slips me some Poison Joke? Or, casts a spell that dampens my magic? Or, Celestia forbid, cuts off my horn? Well, it’s just nice to know how to use something a bit more physical, you know? I dread the point where I actually have to mount a sword onto my hoof and fight like that. For now, at least, Blue is letting me use my telekinesis, but he says eventually I’ll have to wear some sort of ring around my horn that’ll cut off my magic.
On the other hoof, he promised to teach me the Magnetism Spell he innovated. Words cannot express my excitement about that prospect! He penned an essay back when he was in the Point about magnetism and… oh, it was breathtaking to memorize every word! To finally see it in action though, and from the master no less!
I have to admit, I was shocked when Shiny said I should ask Blueblood about lessons. I heard that, before I was born, Blue was a pretty well respected cadet at the Point, and it’s certainly in his blood when one considers his father. I mean, he did manage to go find Princess Celestia too, but I just can’t shake what I thought of him after the Gala all those years ago. Rarity gave me an earful about all he had done when we went to the spa later that week. It’s actually quite jarring that the same prince who used her as a shield against attacking confections is the one who saved Princess Celestia, and who just now nearly ran me through with a blade.
Blueblood uses his magic to retrieve my discarded sword from the ground. He slips it into a sheath, and places the sheath over his shoulder to wear it at his side. I have to admit, he’s actually rather handsome like that: looking all noble and proud, with his head turned up and a sword worn at his side.
“Why do we have to use sharpened blades?” I ask. “Is the weight really that different?”
“We use sharp blades because if we are ever attacked, our enemies will not be using toys.” Blueblood tilts his head up and turns it slightly to the right. He uses his magic to part a few tufts of creamy fuzz on his center neck. All of a sudden, an old, faded, but still quite ghastly scar is exposed to my eyes, and I stumble back. Blueblood stares at me, a look of amusement on his face.
“I… I uhm… I was not aware you ever saw actual combat,” I stutter.
“Oh, this was given to me by my father,” he says with a sort of nonchalance that makes me shudder. I am so happy when he lowers his head and allows his fur to cover the scar again. “It was my own fault,” he continues. “I failed to parry in time.” Just like that, my fur is back on end.
My affinity for Prince Blue has grown exponentially in these past few months. Sometimes he’s insufferable, and sometimes he’s arrogant, and sometimes he’s very, very quiet and withdrawn, but beneath all that, he’s a good stallion at heart. He still scares me, though. I can’t put my hoof on it, but, sometimes there’s just something off about him. I tried telling Rainbow Dash about it, that Blue scares me sometimes. She laughed in my face. I get that a lot. Ponies figure alicorns are special. They figure we are goddesses. The fact is, we can bleed, and we can break, just as easy as anypony else. And I may have the power, but I don’t have the stomach to really use it. That’s what a lot of ponies just don’t get. The truth is, when you get right down to it, I’m not really that brave, and what little power I do have scares the living daylights out of me. Blueblood isn’t like that though. At least, I don’t think he is, and I think he would be alright hurting some pony else if he had to.
I worry about him though. Princess Celestia told me a bit about his foalhood. Not all of it, which I am infinitely thankful for. Just that, well… for how highly Blueblood speaks of his father, he really wasn’t all that great at being a dad. The prince sets the rapiers on the “weapons wall” of the training room. From out of his duffle bag, he takes a flask with an ornate P.H. chiseled over the side. I imagine he is going to take a gulp, but before he even unscrews the top, his eyes fixate on the delicate curve of the script letters. Coming beside him, I place a hoof on his shoulder. He offers me a drink from the flask, but I wave him off. Just the smell of strong spirit, radiating out, makes me want to puke. I remember when I got tipsy off champagne and… well, I don’t desire reliving that escapade that ended with me stealing Princess Celestia’s crown.
“What do you remember about your father?” I ask. “I have read a great many books about Commander Purple Heart’s battlefield tactics and strategies, but there is very little about his personal life. Most of the books don’t even mention he has a son.”
Blueblood’s eyes open wide, like a colt on Hearth’s Warming Day. “My father?” he asks, quite excited. “Oh, my father was a stallion like none before, and none after.”
“Tell me about him,” I say with a soft smile. Well, I try to. The truth is, I’m feeling dreadfully nervous.
“My father,” he starts, though his voice trails off. “My father was a stallion like no other. That’s all I can really say about him.”
“Any specifics?”
Again, he looks perplexed. “He was a stallion of strict morals, and strict honor. The chivalry that is lost on the peasant who call themselves noble was a fact of his life, something that governed his every action and thought. He never moved without restraint, he never… he never did a single thing that could be thought of as crude or dishonorable…”
“What about this?” I ask. With my magic, I sift the fur on Blueblood’s neck, parting it, and once more exposing the old scar. I know this will anger him, but I just need to ask. I guess, maybe, it’s the mystery of Purple Heart, but it’s also… I just think this will help Blue. “Was this the act of a noble stallion?”
Blueblood responds like I would expect him to. One of his hooves swats at me and he takes several steps back. His guard is back up. His eyes are focused. How happy I am he doesn’t have a rapier, since in this moment, I think he would run me through. “I should have kept my guard up,” he says.
He’s mad, and I know I should stop, but… He has these delusions about his father that are nearly impossible to crack. “I had not parried,” I said. “You had every right to cut me. Would it have been honorable if you did?”
Fear flickers in his eyes. Fear, or doubt, or… “My father’s actions were under different circumstances. You have never even held a rapier.”
“Did your father not die when you were still a colt? How old were you when he cut you? How well trained were you? Were you just a foal?”
His thoughts are racing. I can see it in his eyes: he’s trying to make sense of a path he has never trotted down before. No one ever questioned what his father did, probably not even Princess Celestia. Not that she approved of Purple Heart’s actions! But just… because it hurts Blue, to think about this, she probably let him lie to himself.
“I was old enough to know better,” he snaps.
As I take a step forward, I calculate the range of a rapier swing. He could cut my throat with the sharp blade if he wanted to. Not that he would… I think… But I need to be close. I just need to be.
“He hurt you a lot, didn’t he, Blue? He said it was because you didn’t guard, or you didn’t defend yourself. He said it was your fault, didn’t he?”
“It was my fault!” he screams. His hoof stomps into the ground, sending ugly spider webbing in all directions.
“And if I had failed to parry, would it have been my fault?”
“No! You don’t understand. It was different when… you just don’t get it!” He leans down, very close to my face. I can feel the anger flushing towards me, feel the bile and rage rising. “Let me assure you, princess, I have never failed to keep my guard up since that day. Perhaps if I nicked you, you would understand the value of a proper defense.”
There are tears in his eyes. There is fear in them too, in the baby blue. To be honest, I want to hug him. I settle for saying, “I’m sorry.” He sighs and looks away from me, closing his eyes so hard the tears can’t drip away.
“As I said, for a first time, you performed quite well. I have seen worse, and I have seen better. I am free this time next week for your next lesson, and I will teach you the various stances of a fencer. Would you mind leaving me alone, though? I would like to brush up on my own skills before I start teaching you.”
“Of course,” I say quickly. I bow my head, but he doesn’t notice. He seems purely focused on the rapier he is now holding. As I trot backwards out of the room, I keep my gaze locked on him. His eyes are closed. Perhaps he is fencing with imagined phantoms or simply going through the familiar movements of memory. Slipping out of the room, I close the door behind me and give a long sigh of relief. Then I hear a crash. Quickly I peak my head in, just in time to see him throw all the weapons off the wall and onto the ground. I close the door.
I take a train to the Crystal Empire. I want to see Cadance. I want to talk to her. I want to hang out with her. And, maybe, I want to ask her one or two questions.
I’m not inside the regal throne room for more than a second before Cadance leaps and lands before me. “Sunshine sunshine, lady bugs awake,” she sings. I’m pretty sure I sing too, but to be honest, the greeting we share is as natural to me as magic or breathing. I don’t even think about it, my hooves simply clop and my voice sings and I feel the happiness from my foalhood sweep through me. We laugh, long and loud. We hug, and she smells like lilacs and fancy shampoos, and I’m that little foal she took care of again. I press my face into her pink, bubblegum fur and breath deep.
“How you been, Cadance?” I ask.
“You remember those story books I used to read you? About how, once a princess finds her Prince Charming, everything just works out?” She giggles. “Well, I’m starting to realize running an empire isn’t all champagne and social gatherings. It’s a lot of work, a lot of details, a lot of budgets and numbers, and a lot of… blech. And now, Princess Celestia wants our borders open to the griffons in the north. The crystal ponies don’t like that though. I guess the war with the griffons is still quite fresh in their mind. You know, I am actually starting to miss Sombra. I would really enjoy obliterating him right about now.”
I giggle. “We should swap places,” I offer. “I can handle all the budgets and numbers, and you can obliterate whatever threat has decided to waltz into Ponyville.” She giggles too, which is such a wonderful noise, I can’t help but smile.
We trot out to the balcony, the same one that I stood before after all that Sombra stuff. The view is beautiful. The Crystal Empire is… I guess the word might be “modernizing.” It’s probably for the coming Equestria Games. Some of the older buildings are being torn down, and replaced with new architecture. The older buildings that remain are being renovated, as much so they look pretty as because architecture has advanced in a thousand years. Some of the newer buildings, they resemble the works of Ray Hoof and his Art Deco style. I’m not a huge fan of it myself, but I know Cadance absolutely adores his works. I guess the crystal ponies enjoy the fusion of old and new.
“That tower,” I say, gesturing to the one that’s being built in the very center of the great city. “The one with the spire…”
Cadance smiles. “It is our newest project. The crystal ponies lost so much time, and though I don’t want them to forget where they came from, it’s my hope that by introducing something new, it might make them more enthusiastic about the future. I want them to have a symbol of this new age, and all the wonders and magic that comes with it.”
“That’s beautiful, Cadance.”
She giggles softly and looks to me. “Now, enough about my silly projects. What are you really here about?”
“W-what do you mean?”
“Twilight, I know that inquisitive look of yours. Something is on your mind. Talk to me.”
I can tell I’m blushing by the warmth I feel on my cheeks. “Well… I was sparring with Blueblood, and things took a weird turn. I was wondering if we could talk about him?”
Usually, Cadance is the picture of elegance and beauty. Oh, she’s so beautiful. I wish I was even half as gorgeous as she. She’s not smiling now though. She looks a bit solemn, and it’s a little unnerving. “What about him?”
“Has he always been… uhm… has he ever not… Well, you grew up with Blue, didn’t you?”
Cadance rests her upper body on the railing of the balcony and stares off at the tower that stretches to the sky. “Yeah. After Celestia adopted me, he kinda became my brother.”
“What was he like back then?”
“About the same he is now… He has always been pretty withdrawn. His mom died giving him life, and his dad died a little before Celestia adopted me. He never really liked hanging out with other ponies. He could spend hours and hours locked in the library, reading maps, reading books about maps, reading books about books about maps. If I could ever get him out of the library though, and I mean I physically had to drag him out… we went on adventures all through the castle, the yard… and he acted like a real colt… That’s how I always won our games of Hide and Seek. I already knew all the good hiding places.”
“Cheater…” I say, but I can’t stop the giggle.
“He was quiet, sure, but you were quiet, and there was never anything wrong with you. You just went at your own pace. The biggest change came when he was at the Point.”
“The military school, righ?”
“Yeah. We tried to keep in touch through letters, but I was working under Celestia and his schedule was pretty intense. We just lost touch.”
I want to hug her, since I can see she’s getting upset at the memories. I decide to, and softly wrap my forearms and my wings around her, holding her snuggly and close. She puts a hoof on my back. “It happens though. No matter how close you are to somepony, sometimes you just drift away. By the sun, I had not spoken to him in years by the time Celestia disappeared. Even then, when I was at the castle, all I could really think about was Celestia. I don’t think I said two words to him. Then he comes back, with Celestia no less, but my responsibilities here dragged me away. It’s been years since we really sat down and talked.”
“Did he do good at the Point?” I ask. I already know the answer, but a change in subject may help her out.
“Very good. He was well on his way to shattering all prior records, but then one day, he just dropped out. He wouldn’t say why, he refused to go back. He spent his days drinking.”
I think to myself. I’ve always liked mystery novels, and… I hate to admit it, but I guess I think of this as some big mystery that needs to be solved. If I solve it, maybe I can really help Blue. And something occurs to me. “Did his father go to the Point?”
Cadance shrugs. “I guess.”
“His father probably set a few records of his own, didn’t he? And, Blueblood was on his way to beating those records, to beating his father, when he dropped out.”
Cadance’s eyes widen a moment, before that solemn gaze creeps into her eyes. “Yeah, I guess he was…”
The shadows of past sins have a way of creeping back into our life, no matter how hard we may try to keep them buried. Whether it is Sombra bursting out of his crystal tomb, Discord breaking his stone prison, or a dark memory knocked loose from the depths of our soul, we can never escape our past.
I am woken to a low wail that vibrates through my bedroom. Rushing to the door, I open it to find my nephew, Blueblood, reeking of alcohol and sobbing pitifully. He must have been resting his upper body against door, because as it opens, he plops into my quarters. I take a step back, but he makes no effort to stand. He is content to just lay there, sobbing and crying and occasionally screaming at the invisible phantoms that haunt his soul. I am only thankful he is too drunk to use his magic.
“Fuck you, dad,” he screams. His billowing breath, drenched in Tokay, makes me gag. His eyes are opened wide and frighteningly bloodshot. His forehooves are bleeding, and it look as if he has left a trail of blood through the castle. A pair of royal guards quickly enter my room, having been following Blueblood no doubt. They are frightened. I can see it in their eyes.
“You would have hurt him, or he would have hurt you,” I say. “You did the right thing guiding him to me.” The two guards bow their head curtly and head off, hopefully to ask the nightshift janitor to wash the blood off the floors and walls.
Despite how unpleasant Blue smells and sounds, I am happy he is here, where it is safe, rather than rampaging around. Blueblood is a large stallion, after all, and with intoxication comes a callous nature towards others. With his physical strength alone he could harm somepony, to say nothing of his magical prowess.
“I was thirsty,” he cries. “I just wanted a drink. Was that so bad?”
I use my magic to pick him up. Like a colt, like he used to do, he cuddles in the golden embrace. Before I even have to cast a sleep spell, he has slipped into drunken unconsciousness. I set him on my bed carefully and trot to his side. By the sun, he reeks. At least it was wine he binged on, and not that revolting laudanum concoction he mixes to help him sleep. Despite the repulsive smell, I inch closer to him. Yes, he is safe in my room with me, but I fear he will drown in the alcohol before the sun rises. There is only one method to purge him of the taint, though. Holding my breath, I almost touch my lips to his. A spark of golden light passes between us. Burning the alcohol out of his veins is not an easy spell, but I am an experienced mage.
The smell of burning fades, as do the unpleasant smells. I can breathe again, and Blueblood stops sweating and whining in his sleep, slipping into deeper comfort. I hold my breath for several moments still, afraid that he might start convulsing, but it seems he is alright. I lean forward to softly kiss him on the cheek, like I did when he was a little colt, when he was my little prince.
There is a knock on my door, though since it is already open, Luna is simply being polite and waiting in the threshold before stepping in. Oh Luna… by the sun Luna, I just want to…
No, no time for that Celestia. You have to be strong. That’s the thing: a lot of ponies think I’m perfect. Why shouldn’t they? I work hard to maintain the façade of benevolent ruler of Equestria, whose heart is unburdened by doubt, or fear, or pain. I let them think my hooves are polished white, even though they are more blood drenched than Sombra’s. The idea that I am guiding light in the darkness gives the ponies hope, and what right do I have to correct such a notion? So I smile at my dear sister and I act like nothing is wrong despite the sickening worry in my heart, and the fact that Blueblood is passed out right beside me. “How are you?” I ask. What else can I say?
“A guard told me of a disturbance. Is my nephew alright?”
I look to Blueblood. With the alcohol no longer poisoning him, he looks normal. The reek of booze has burned up, though Luna’s sensitive olfactory sense may still pick up some traces. How much does Luna know about Blue, I wonder? How often has he dreamed about his father, and how many of those dreams has Luna seen? Best to play it safe.
“Blue has been going through some things lately,” I say. “He drank the tainted water in the Cave of Fears just as I did. It has unearthed memories that would have been better left buried.”
“Our past has a way of creeping into our present.”
I shake my head. “Tomorrow I will sit him down and talk to him. I should have spoken to him about this matter already, but I cannot find the proper words. Aristrotle wrote, Happiness is best achieved with truth, but in our darkest hour, can we find happiness in a lie? Do I have the right to shatter the delusions Blue clings to? Should I destroy the last vessel of hope in the name of truthfulness?” Again, I shake my head. “Forgive me, dear sister, I must sound like Star Swirl during his later years.”
“Tia, I have the utmost faith in what you chose to do, but…” Luna’s nerve seems to falter. “Forget it,” she says with a shrug.
She walks to the balcony of my room to fly off, but lingers at the railing. I walk over to her and settle down at her side. Together, we stare at the moon and the twinkling stars. They are organized in one of her favorite patterns, one she has dubbed Sonata after a song by Miss Octavia that inspired it. In many ways, I am envious of my sister. I wish I had her creativity and her talent. Being older, I suppose I have always been a slave to routines and order, while she was freer in spirit. “What is wrong, little sister?” I ask.
“I have seen your dreams,” she says. “Every single night, you relive your every failure: Chrysalis, Discord, Spike, King Gilford, … me. Every night, there is another burden as you take the blame for every miniscule problem this empire faces. I know for a thousand years you have carried such burdens, but you are no longer alone. I just wish you could understand that.”
I smile. “You sound like Blue, you know. Your words make just as much sense as his, and yet I am too weak to adhere to them. For a thousand years I have walked my lonely path. Inertia has sunk its claws into my soul and refuses to me go.”
“No time like the present, Tia.” Luna looks back, into my bedroom and at the bed where our nephew is laying. “I have seen his dreams too. Even before he drank from the tainted pool, they racked his heart and threaten to break his very soul in half. I have tried, time and again, to help him, but time and again I fail. Perhaps together we will finally succeeding in putting his heart at ease. Will you help me, Tia?”
I nod my head slowly. Before I know what is happening, Luna and I are no longer in my bedroom. The sun is on my face. There is gravel beneath my hooves. About three steps before us is Blue, standing there, back arched and teeth clenched like an angry feline. He is watching his younger self and his father. In this memory, Blue can’t be much more than five years old. Despite how large he is now, he was always rather small as a child. It wasn’t until well into his teenage years that he gained several feet in height and put on a few hundred pounds of muscle. When he was young, he was thin and sickly, with a large head and cute, big, blue eyes. He wore his mane short as well, almost shaven. Most likely it was at the insistence of his father, though I do not know for sure. Until I adopted him, I didn’t spend much time with him, but when I took him in, he let his mane grow out.
Blue’s father, Commander Purple Heart, was a well built and tall stallion. This is Blueblood’s memory though, and Blueblood remembers him as a hunk of muscle, supported by a quartet of thick, strong legs and regal, polished hooves. His size actually dwarfs me, which means he is an absolute giant compared to the youth. His fetlocks are tightly trimmed, yet his mane is worn long and elegant. Perpetually, it billows in a non-existent breeze. Despite Blue’s mother being an earth pony, he took after his father to such a degree, it is almost frightening. They both have creamy white fur and long, golden locks of hair for a mane and tail. If they ever somehow stood side by side, Blueblood as an adult and Purple Heart how he was last time I saw him, they would be identical in build. Aside from their differing cutie mark, it is only their eyes that mark a true difference. Not just the color, mind you. Blue’s eyes are soulful and full of glistening life. Purple Heart’s were tired and dead from the decades of battles he has seen.
I have never met a stallion like Purple Heart. When he was a commander in my army, I trusted him with my life, with the lives of my little ponies, and with the fate of all of Equestria. I entrusted him with secrets that could never see the light of my day, and he remained steadfast and loyal. In the years without my sister, he was a pony I loved and confided in every night. I adored seeing little Blueblood, but there was always something odd about the young colt.
It was when Blue ended up in the hospital with a puncture in his throat that I began to worry. Purple Heart said that Blue had been playing around with a rapier and accidently stabbed himself. I believed him, because he was Purple Heart, a stallion I could trust, but I had my suspicions. I began to watch Purple Heart and Blue a little closer. He was strict with his son, and pushed him very hard, but there was nothing that might imply something sinister. I told myself it was nothing, just needless suspicions. I convinced myself nothing was wrong, just as I did with Luna a thousand years before.
Luna drapes a wing over my back. This is the dream world, where size is a thing of the mind. I am not sure if I have forced myself to shrink, or she has decided to grow, but we now stand shoulder to shoulder. I rather like it. Together, my sister and I trot to the “real” Blueblood and settle beside him, myself on his right, Luna on his left.
“He made me run,” Blue says through clenched teeth. “He made me run until my hooves were worn to the bone and I left prints of blood in the sand. If I ever stopped, he swatted me until I rose again. He said that’s how he trained recruits. He study without a break for days on end or my muscles in the gym until they broke. Every day, he did that to me.”
Exhausted, the Young Blueblood collapses forward. By the sun, I want to rush to him and hug him, but that won’t do anything. He is simply a phantom of the mind, without shape or form. My heart still aches at the sight.
Commander Purple Heart uses his magic to retrieve a bucket of water and places it in front of the youth’s parched lips. Eager for a taste, Young Blueblood plunges his muzzle into bucket to gulp the water down. Furious at the perceived defiance, Purple Heart places his hoof on Young Blueblood’s nape and stuffs his snout down, into the bucket. Exhausted not a moment before, Young Blueblood sparks to life and begins to struggle.
“I just wanted a drink,” Blue screams. “I ran your miles, just like you wanted, and I just wanted a drink!”
Young Blueblood is fighting and struggling. His hooves dig at the ground, trying to find purchase so he might free himself. Even when he plants his hooves firmly, however, he has no hope of fighting the weight of his father. Purple Heart holds his hoof there, forcing Young Blueblood to slowly drown in the snout high water. Again and again, he digs and grinds at the soil, until his resistance starts to slow…
With an explosion of golden light, my younger self appears. Oh yes, I remember this day all too well. Blue probably fancies me a merciful goddess, sweeping in to save him. In fact, in this dream world, I am taller than I should be. It’s what Blue remembers, not what actually happened. The fur of my younger self glows white, and her wingspan is grander than a dragon’s. Her crown is large upon her head, and her rainbow mane stretches and floats in much the same way Purple Heart’s does. With a blast of gold, she sends Purple Heart stumbling and tumbling away. My younger self uses her magic to pick up Young Blueblood and they both disappear in an explosion of sunny gold.
“I tried,” Blue says. “I really did, but it was never good enough. I was never good enough. If I ran a mile, I should have run two. If I could lift twenty pounds, I should have lifted thirty. Every time I reached the goal, you pushed it farther and farther away. Nothing I did was ever good enough for you.”
I stretch a wing over Blue’s back and use it to squeeze him a little closer to my side. Blue shakes his body and charges at his father. Lunging like a timber wolf, he passes through the illusion and ends up face first in the ground. Undeterred, he lifts himself and faces the mirage. “You changed it,” he screams. “I did everything for you, but it wasn’t enough, was it? I wasn’t enough!”
“Yes you were, Blue.” I trot to him slowly and softly nuzzle against his nape. “I know this is difficult, but your father loved you, truly and deeply.”
“Bah!” he shouts. “He jumped at the chance to return to the war. He couldn’t wait to leave me behind. And why not? I’m a royal fuck up, after all. Just a pathetic half-breed mud pony groveling at the hooves of a bunch of goddesses!”
“Blue…” I start.
“Nothing I ever did was good enough for him. Even if he was alive today, and he knew about the cave, about the burns, about you, he would have wondered why it took me so long to find you; or why I didn’t take charge of Equestria in your absence. Nothing is good enough for him or you or Equestria. No matter what I do, I’m always just the royal fuck-up.”
“Tia,” Luna says, coming beside me. “May I show him?”
I know what Luna refers to. It is a memory I relive every night. With a slow bow of my head, I give my consent, and she uses her magic to take Blueblood and I through the realm of dreams and memories. Like melting paint, the world around us shifts and blobs through a rainbow of colors. Somehow in the muddled haze, Blue returns to our side and I place a tentative wing around him. This time, he leans into me a little closer.
As the world returns around us, we are in a room of the Royal Canterlot Hospital. The walls are polished white, as are the bed sheets, the furniture, and the floor. Young Blueblood is laying on the hospital bed, eyes closed, and the short strands of his gold mane one of the few marks of color in this new world. His hooves have been wrapped, but ugly red stains the white bandages. My younger self is sitting beside him, staring at him. This time, Luna goes forward and tries to comfort my younger self, only for her hoof to pass through the shimmering mirage. I can tell Luna is embarrassed about it, but truthfully, it is a touching gesture.
“What is this?” Blueblood growls.
“I swept you to the hospital and waited while you recovered,” I say.
The door behind us opens and Commander Purple Heart trots in. This is my memory, and so he is closer to his normal dimensions. Or, at least how I remember him to have been on this faithful day. He looks old and haggard. Beneath his bloodshot eyes are heavy bags, a stark contrast against his otherwise creamy white fur. He is dressed in his usual attire: a purple dress jacket with a black button shirt beneath and a purple bow tie around his neck. He sits down on the other side of Young Blueblood’s bed, opposite my younger self.
“How is he?” Purple Heart asks.
“Severe dehydration and a sprained ankle, and some ribs that have never properly healed.” My younger self closes her eyes. Opening them, she looks back to Purple Heart. “Tell me you have been poisoned and you are not accountable for your actions. Tell me a dark force has taken hold of your soul and tainted your perceptions of right and wrong. Tell me anything to explain what I saw.”
Purple Heart uses his magic to take a flask from his breast pocket. It is silver in color, with an ornate P.H. engraved over the front visage. Unscrewing the top, he puts it to his lips and takes a long gulp before answering my question. “I want him to be strong. I want him to live up to his potential and stand as a guardian of Equestria and all her allies. When the griffons finally regain their numbers and march against us, or the bug swarms sweep through our towns, I want him to stand as a vanguard of our kind.”
“He is only a foal,” my younger self says.
“The burdens that he will carry do not care for age. This is how my father strengthened me into the stallion I am today, the stallion that has served you faithfully for all these years. When I was Blueblood’s age-“
“He is not you.”
“I am making him strong!” he screams, slamming his hooves on the ground. “You of all ponies should know of the sacrifices the few must make for the many. You made a choice with your sister, and I have made choices with my son. What is the difference?”
“What I did to Nightmare Moon was necessary,” my younger self says. “What I did to Luna was unforgivable. It was a last resort, and I made a choice to save all of Equestria instead of my sister. Even should Luna one day return, I am irredeemable for that decision. How dare you compare drowning your son for the crime of thirst to what I did. Do you value your son? Do you feel any sense of love for him?”
Purple Heart closes his eyes and looks away. “How can you ask such a question?”
“This is only the most recent crime I know of. I shudder to think what a detailed investigation will uncover.”
“I was disciplining him,” Purple Heart snaps. “I was counting the seconds. I was just about to pull his head up when you intervened. You act as if I intended to murder him. All I have ever wanted what was best for him.”
“So you beat him?” my younger self asks. “You crush his bones beneath your hooves and you think that will make him strong? You seek to break him into pieces so you may rebuild him in your own image? I could have used a cloning spell if all you wanted was a hollowed out replica of yourself, and I would have raised Blue as a son.”
Purple Heart glares at my younger self. He takes another drink from his flask.
“Under normal circumstances,” she continues, “a trial would be held to decide your fate. Your many actions, both good and bad, heroic and monstrous, would be brought to light, and a jury would settle on a fair punishment.”
“Thrown at the hooves of a bunch of plebs and philistines who have no idea what it takes to keep this empire together. My actions will be twisted, and my name will be plunged into refuse and filth.”
“I agree, and so I offer you the chance of a second life.” Using her magic, my younger self picks up a small folder resting on the table beside Young Blueblood’s bed. She passes it to Purple Heart, who takes it and starts to read it over. “I beg you to accept exile, commander. I do not wish to serve as the overseer of an execution.”
“Since when?” Purple Heart snaps. He takes another gulp from his flask. “I may have carried out the orders, but you are the one who gave them. Handle the griffons raiders, keep the dragons at bay, cull those insects to the east so their population will not grow too large. Your hooves are more blood soaked than mine, and yet you stand so high and mighty before me.”
I’m good at hiding my anger, but in that moment, a spark of gold lances up my younger self’s horn. It fades before she can do anything.
“The folder has all proper documents for passage into the Griffon Kingdom,” my younger self says. “I have made a deal with King Gilford to grant you amnesty if you would like to remain there. If instead you would like to travel to a distant land, Gilford will aid you.”
“Bah, griffons,” Purple Heart spits. He takes another long gulp from his flask. “Foul, brutish creatures. Your sister should have drowned them all when she had the chance.”
I look to my side. The reference is lost on Blueblood, as his only knowledge of the Pony-Griffon War is what is in the history books. Luna is devastated at the reminder, though. I can see it in her eyes as the memories flood back. I want to hug her. I want to put my wings around her like I did when she was a little foal and tell her everything is alright. We are here for Blue, though. She knows that. Before Blue notices her distress, she puts on a brave face. She is far stronger than I give her credit for. Not that I think her weak, but she will always be my little Lulu.
“King Gilford is doing a great service for me,” my younger self says. “While you are in his kingdom, you will treat him with the utmost respect. The story to explain your absence from this empire will be that you were sent north and fell in battle against a dragon uprising. You will forever be regarded as a hero. Your many feats will be sung in praise.”
“A trial where my name will be dragged through the mud and may end in my execution, or exile from the land I have helped build? What of Blue? What of my son?”
“I will raise him as my own. I will kiss his bruises, I will tuck him in at night, I will see to it that he receives a proper education. I will be a mother to him.”
“And he will grow up without a father.”
“He has never had a father. This may be the only good thing you ever do for him.”
“I have done everything for him!” the commander screams, suddenly on his hooves and staring at my younger self with fire in his eyes. “Every battle, every scar, every cruelty and horror that I committed has been so he would not have to do the same, but if he must, he must be strong.”
The commander lowers his head and closes his eyes. Opening them, he takes a final gulp from his flask, downing whatever is left, before passing it to my younger self. I remember my disgust in taking it, but I did and set it on the table.
“When my father retired,” Purple Heart says, “he gave that to me. It belonged to his father, and his father before that. When Blue reaches an appropriate age, and he has become the hero of Equestria that I know he will be, give it to him. Tell him how proud I am of him.”
“It will be done,” my younger self says.
Reaching forward, the commander strokes the creamy fur on Young Blueblood’s cheek. “I just want him to be strong,” he says. “I don’t want him to fail those who put their faith in him. When the challenges he must face present themselves, I want him to be ready."
"He will be ready."
Purple Heart smiles. "Someday he will be great, and all of Equestria will sing his praises.”
I look to my side, to Blueblood. He glares at me. “Stop this,” he snaps. He turns to Luna and pushes against her with his girth. “Stop these petty illusions. Let me wake up.”
The world around us swells and melts into the ugly black, though that is quickly replaced by a blinding, smothering white. I feel the physical sensations of the waking world. At some point, my body had decided to lay down on the ground. I put my hooves beneath me and rise to my full height. Blue is shuddering and hoofing at the ground as he wrestles with the flood of consciousness. I want to help him, but I know better, and soon enough he is righted and his eyes are wide. He turns to me with a look of fire. “Why did you show this to me?” he asks.
“Your father wasn’t a monster, nor was he a god. He was just a stallion like any other. I wanted to show you the truth about him.”
“The truth?!” he screams. “The truth is my father was a hypocritical monster and yet the history books paint him as a light in the darkest times of Equestria. He beat me, he abused me, but you allow his name to be sung with praise!”
“I couldn’t destroy his name, Blue. He gave everything to Equestria and he broke himself in the process. If the truth of him came out, all his military victories, all the treaties he brokered, all the tactics he introduced, would be turned to ash.”
“Maybe his name should be destroyed. You have no trouble doing such with mine when it is in your favor. I saved you, I burned for you, and who knows of my deeds? You throw me to the wolves so that your name can remain intact, and all of Equestria can still think I am some sort of drunken fool.”
“It is not that simple,” I say slowly. “Would you enjoy your life under constant watch? Would you enjoy spending every day hounded by photographers? Your life scrutinized to the bone? You despise spending one night in public at the Gala, do you really believe you would enjoy the title Hero of Equestria, mares throwing themselves at you, stallions wanting to fight you to prove their name? I know of your deeds, as does Luna, as does Twilight and...” I bite my lip, but finally admit, “Your father knows as well.”
There are other reasons I kept the truth out of public record. If the changelings or the griffons knew of the poison water in that cave, I shudder to think what they could do with it. I had a rancid choice to make and I made it. In that moment, I did what I had to.
“Never speak to me,” he snarls. “Never speak to me again.” With a burst of his magic, he breaks the door to my quarters off the hinges and gallops into the hallway. I take a step after him, but Luna places a hoof on my shoulder.
“I will watch over him, dear sister. Right now, he just needs time.”
My vision is blurred with my tears, so I cannot see Luna as she moves towards me. I can feel her though. Oh, she feels delightful against my chest, as do her arms as they wrap around my long neck. “Was it the right thing to do?” I ask. “No, I know my decision was wrong, but was it the best of any?”
Luna hugs me tighter. "Celestia, the burden placed upon your shoulders would break a lesser mare. You did what you had to. Neither good nor bad, but neccassary."
I take a train to Ponyville. I’m not entirely sure why. Not like there aren’t plenty of bars and taverns in Canterlot where I can get drunk beyond all measure. Not even like I don’t have a few bottles of fine spirits in my room. I just don’t want to be in Canterlot tonight, though. I know Aunt Tia isn’t going to be looking for me, but I have some silly thought if I stay in the city, we will stumble upon each other, and then we’ll have to talk, and I just don’t want that.
No one on the train recognizes me. Even if they think I look like Prince Blueblood, they ask themselves, “What would Prince Blueblood be doing riding on a train like us peasants? Surely he’s at the palace eating cake, drinking wine, and laughing about his aristocracy.” I don’t mind not being recognized. I just want some time to think, some time to ponder. I don’t want to talk to the mares who drool over me or the stallions who want to fight me to prove how tough they are.
Aunt Tia was probably right. I’m not “Hero of Equestria” material. But it would have been nice, just once, to have a parade in my honor, and ponies talking about me. In a good way, I mean. To live up to the legacy my father left behind. To be viewed by the populace as a legitimate heir to his name, rather than a drunken playcolt who leeches off their taxes.
As the train slows to a halt at the Ponyville stop, my weight shifts. The flask that is held in my coat pocket bops against my chest. For the first time, I realize it is there at all. I forgot I had it, or I picked it up when I was walking out of the castle without thinking, or it was already in the coat that I just decided to wear since the night might be cold. I use my magic to take it out and hold it in front of me. The polished metal reflects my visage like a genuine mirror. I look horrible. Before I drink all the alcohol my liver can take, I think I will go to the spa and relax. Maybe Lotus can work out some of the tension I feel in my shoulders.
“Prince Blueblood,” Lotus says as I step inside the spa. She had been balancing a cardboard box on her back, but seeing me, drops it onto her hoof and sets it down beside her. Completely unbothered by the late hour, she smiles in that warm way of hers and asks, “What can I do for you?”
Lotus is beautiful, like always. It is her mane I like the most. That bubblegum pink color reminds me of Aunt Tia in the books I used to read when I was younger. Her fur is also quite pretty, of course. I guess it reminds me a bit of Aunt Luna. It’s not the same dark blue as Luna, but it makes me think of her, and that makes me happy.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “Were you getting ready to close up?”
“Yes, but it is no problem,” she responds. “What were you looking for, prince?”
I could answer with some needlessly philosophical answer about seeking true companionship, the truth about my linage, or a meaning for this hollow shell I call a life. I settle for, “Something to help me relax.”
Lotus smiles. I follow her into the massage room towards the back, and she gestures to a well-padded table/chair. I remove my coat slowly and toss it aside before climbing on. Walking to a table, Lotus covers her fore hooves in sweet smelling creams. If she walks on all fours, she will stain those hooves with the filth from the floor, so she hobbles to me and braces herself against the table. I look at her, and she smiles, before turning back to her work.
The touch of her cool, wet hooves against my back always makes me jump. I am not particularly fond of being touched, but she has always been professional and gentle. After that first shudder, I settle down and lay there mostly still. She moves to my shoulders she found some time ago, a spot that always makes me melt.
“How have you been, prince?”
“You can call me ‘Blue,’ you know.”
She giggles. “Prince Blue then, how have you been?”
I sigh. “Reliving painful memories, scolding and cursing those who love me the most, drinking far more than I should. Typical princely duties, I suppose.”
“Yes, I guessed you were going through some things. By the moon, you carry so much tension in your shoulders.”
I sigh softly as she leans a little more over me and gently presses her dainty hooves against my shoulder blades. It’s a pleasant feeling, how she makes little circles and rubs into the joint and bone. It does wonders to ease the tightness I have been feeling since I yelled at Aunt Tia. Finished with my shoulders, she eases down and begins to softly rub the middle of my back, kneading the muscles with practiced expertise. Oh, she is a genius, and the salves she has doused her hooves in leave cooling kisses against my short fur. It is heavenly, at least until I feel her hooves move to the small of my back. Nothing too odd about that. Without my ribs to block her, I can feel her dainty hooves pressing into my core. It’s just that she keeps going lower…
“Shoulders, Lotus,” I say. “Shoulders.”
She stops abruptly. “Oh, yes, yes. Forgive me. I am so sorry. I… was… uhm…”
“It is no problem, my dear. I am quite accustomed to mares hoofing at me. I really do feel some tension in my shoulders though, if you would not mind working out a few of the knots?”
Laying back, I set my head down. Lotus places her hooves carefully upon my shoulders and kneads soft circles into my supple fur. “You… you look… uhm… Quite good, prince.”
“Princess Sparkle has requested I tutor her in the ways of fencing. I have been trying to get back into shape.”
“Have you also taken up jogging?”
“In a manner of speaking. Ms. Rainbow Dash comes by the castle with some frequency, though I haven’t a clue why. She is such an energetic pony, I must race about just to keep up with her.”
“It shows in your… uhm…” A gentle hoof taps against my flank. “The first time I saw you, you were broken and burned. Now, you truly look like a prince, with your beautifully groomed fur, regal mane and tail, heroic build, and other assets.”
I just have to chuckle at that. Looking over my shoulder, I see Lotus is wearing a blush on her cheeks. Her fur is practically purple.
“Have the coffee burns healed?” she asks. Perhaps not the best question if she is trying to lose her blush, but I nod my head.
“I am happy to hear that, and I am happy that your magical burns have healed in full, and most of all, I am happy that you have returned to this spa on occasion. I was afraid I would never see you again after your first visit.”
“I dislike socializing in Canterlot. It is filled with gossipers and paparazzi. I must thank you, Lotus, for never speaking of me to the highest bidder.”
“I would never treat a friend like that,” she says in her soft voice.
“We are friends?”
“I would like to think so, yes.”
I smile. I would like to think so, too.
Feeling quite a bit refreshed, and quite a bit better, I help Lotus with the nightly cleanup. It is mostly just whipping off the beds or taking inventory of what supplies are running low. I talk to her. She talks to me. Once or twice, to get a box off an especially high shelf, she rises to her rear hooves and stretches as far as she can go. I am sure for no other reason than to keep balance, she stretches her tail out and up. I’m a little ashamed, but I do sneak a peek of her … uhm… assets.
It is in the cool, crisp night air that I recall why I came to Ponyville at all. Although the village is certainly not at a shortage for taverns, I recall hearing about a new place, the Core I believe it is called. I am not sure who told me, but it is supposed to be rather good, serving specialty drinks and concoctions. Ponvyille is… rather large for a village, but I do not mind wandering around for a bit in my pursuit of this new place. The air is clean here. Not that Canterlot’s air is “dirty,” but it is somehow cleaner here, and I rather enjoy breathing through my nose. Best of all, no one recognizes me. To all the earth ponies, with their long faces and yokel eyes, I am just a rather large unicorn. It helps that my coat stretches down to my flanks, so my cutie mark and most of my build is concealed. Blonde unicorns might not be common in Ponyville, but none suspect I am a prince.
It is after about half an hour of wandering that I finally spot the Core. It’s a rather quaint looking tavern, composed of red brick with white trims over some of the front. The doors are large and wide, painted brown and possibly made of wood. Superficially, it actually resembles a barn. The sign has a cute little outline of an apple with bites at either side of it, revealing the core. Oh! I get the joke!
Oh, yes, about the tavern. It is roughly thirty-two hundred square feet, I would say. A horseshoe shaped bar is in the center with two service wells at either side, a pair a speedwell at the left end, and several beers prominently displayed on the wall. I step inside and take a seat at the bar with empty stools flanking me. The bartender has his back to me, and he is rummaging through a box on the ground, meaning his rather large rump is my greeting. I chuckle at the sight: the scarlet buttocks, the golden tail wagging casually in the air, sometimes snapping to the side to take care of an itch on his flanks. Tilting my head slightly, I notice his cutie mark: a green apple cut in half, with the inner meat and seeds of the fruit facing the viewer. I have seen that cutie mark before, but where?
…
It suddenly occurs to me that Rainbow Dash told me about this bar. Her friend, Applejack, opened it with her family. With that in mind, I deduce just who is standing before me. Biting my lip, I am getting off my stool to leave when Big Macintosh turns around and notices me. “Howdy prince. What can ah do for ya?” he asks with a great deal of yokel drawl.
Turning back to him respectfully, I wave a hoof. “It is quite alright, Mr. Macintosh. You need not serve somepony like me.”
He gives me a befuddled look (though, to be fair, that might be his normal face.) “Whatcha mean?”
“I am aware I am not your favorite stallion in all of Equestria. To avoid any tension, I would rather just leave now.”
He sighs and shakes his large head. “Look, ahm sorry bout what ah said. Ye just hurt AJ’s feelin’s when ye bad mouthed ‘er cookin. I over’eacted though. I tho’ght we buried dah hatchet back at the acres though. Y’know, at ye party.”
With a groan, I rub my head. “Uhm… perhaps we did. I am afraid most of that night is a bit of a blur.”
He chuckles. It is as deep and earthy as one might assume a stallion of his stature would possess. I feel it in my very core. “Granny’s Mug-o-Moonshine ‘ll do that to ya. Ah told ya not to chug it.” He rests his foreleg on the bar and leans close. “Now, whatcha havin?”
“One Mug-o-Moonshine,” I say. “All the horrible things that have happened, I just want to forget. I want to drink until I can’t stand up. Let every memory of the past months, of my entire life, be drown beneath a flood of homemade liquor. I want you to serve me until my words slur, my eyes glaze over, and not a rational thought can be formed in my head. I want to drink, and drink, until I can no longer feel the slightest twitch in my soul.”
Big Macintosh stares at me for a moment or two, before nodding. “Water on the rocks it is.”
He places a glass filled with clear water in front of me. I glare at him. “Ah, forgive me prince,” he says, before dropping a blue bendy straw into it. I chuckle at that. The water does taste good. Better than the bottled water in Canterlot, certainly.
“So… you wanna talk bout anythin?”
I shrug, staring at my drink. “You brew the moonshine on your farm, do you not?”
“Uh… yeah, we do. Just like our cider.” He seems rather proud about that.
“The cider is not considered an alcoholic beverage under the Eighteenth Amendment to the Declaration of the United Tribes. Under said amendment, it is illegal for private citizens produce any beverage with an alcohol content exceeding five percent by volume.”
He gives me a puzzled stare. I probably should have used smaller words. Finally figuring out what I said, he leans over the bar and gives me a rather frightening glare. “You gonna have me arrested?”
“No, no,” I say quickly. “I would just like to offer my services. I am knowledgeable about Equestria bureaucracy. I can help you navigate all the paperwork to apply for a license.” I toy with my straw with the very tip of my hoof. “If you would ever like to come down to Canterlot, it shouldn’t take more than an afternoon. Perhaps we can also hang out a bit afterwards. See a show, have dinner. I mean, if you wanted to.”
Big Macintosh smiles at me. “It’d be ah pleasure, Blue.”
I smile to myself. I might even be blushing. Big Macintosh doesn’t seem that bothered by it though.
“HELLO PONYVILLE!”
I turn to see a cream colored mare trotting into the tavern. Her mane is blue, spikey, and worn over the right side of her face. Concealing her eyes are large sunglasses, dark purple in color but not at all reflective. Her cutie mark is a music note.
I do not know Miss Vinyl Scratch personally, but I have seen her in the news and at enough Discordian protests to recognize her. Typical plebian, bored with her life, so she spends her days protesting whatever is popular. When Aunt Tia ran away, Vinyl was no doubt at the head of the herd of twits and peasants, rallying them into blood frenzy. Of all the bars in all of Equestria, she had to walk into this one.
Considering how my life has been going, I am not too surprised when Vinyl Scratch takes the stool beside me.
“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Prince BLUEBALLS!? What ya doin all the way down here?”
Her breath stinks of cheap rum and she is practically screaming at me. I roll my eyes, but before I can say anything, Big Macintosh speaks up. “Leave ‘im alone, Scratch. He’s been through ah lot lately.” He places a cold glass of water on the counter in front of the cream colored mare. In true plebian fashion, Vinyl knocks it away.
“RUM!” she shouts.
“Vi, ye’ve had enough.” Big Macintosh shakes his head sadly. “Ye gotta stop putting ye’self through this. Turnin’ ye liver to muck ain’t gonna do no good for no pony.”
“RUM!” she shouts again, accentuating the order with a slam of her hoof.
Big Macintosh rolls his eyes, and pours her another glass of water. “There ya go, Scratch.”
“Dat’s better!” she spits, and drinks down the water happily. “Now prince,” she says, turning to me, head lolling side to side.
“Go away,” I say, trying to wave a hoof at Vinyl. “Leave me alone.”
She takes her water with her magic and pours most of the contents down her throat. Slamming the mug onto the table, she vulgarly wipes her mouth and stares at me. “Why so huffy, prince? Canterlot run outta of crumpets or something?”
“Go away,” I growl.
“Seriously Vinyl, ye ‘ave had too much ta drink. Mah sister ‘ll get you home.”
“HOME?!” she laughs. “Where would that be? And what’s ‘a lot’ for a prince anyway? I mean, when was the last time you actually had to work for something you wanted? When was the last time your meals weren’t handed to you and your drinks weren’t free? When was the last time you had to sleep in a cardboard box instead of on a featherbed?”
“Go away, you plebian brat,” I growl once more. I think my horn may be flickering with magic. A few knives and forks in the tavern are shivering. Oh, curse Twilight Sparkle. I’ve been practicing my magnetism spell so I don’t make a fool out of myself when I show her during her next lesson. The problem is I am inexperienced with magic, and I have some trouble controlling it. At the Point they taught me how, but the Point was a long time ago.
“Vinyl,” Big Macintosh says as he trots around the bar. “I’ll take ye home. Ye can crash at mah house for a few nights.”
“Hey! I’m just talking to the prince. Just want to see why he’s so blue. Heh, get it?”
Of everything offensive about Vinyl Scratch (and there is a lot), it is her sunglasses I find myself despising the most. I don’t even know why, but they make my blood boil. Using my magic, I yank them away. She is so drunk it takes a moment or two to realize they have been removed, but when she does, she tries to recoil from my sight.
“By the sun,” I say. “What are you, some sort of monster? No wonder you are ornery all the time. When I look in the mirror, I see the gorgeous visage of a prince. You must only ever see those ghastly crimson eyes of yours. Go away, Bloodshot. Go frighten some foals and make fillies cry.”
She reaches for the sunglasses I hold with my magic, but I lift them out of her reach. “You son of a-“
I wave a hoof. “Or perhaps go cry to that mud pony you live with, assuming she can still stand the sight of you.”
“Don’t you ever talk about Octavia like that!”
“Why shouldn’t I?” I ask, leaning close. “I’m just the horrible despot, right? Just the little monster in groomed white fur. Why shouldn’t I talk like this, Bloodshot?”
Her hoof swings forward. It is a horribly sloppy haymaker. Effortlessly, I block her sailing hoof and swipe my elbow across her snout. Either I hit her harder than I intended, or she is too drunk to stay on the stool, but she tumbles to the ground. As she glares at me, I see crimson is dribble out of her nose and stain the pale fur just above her lip.
“Prince, leave,” Macintosh orders, putting his arms under Vinyl and hoisting her to her hooves.
“She tried to hit me,” I say. “I was just-“
“LEAVE!” he roars.
Just like that, I am once again just a prick prince. What was I even thinking? Help him legalize his alcohol business and he would invite me to poker night at the farm? That we would end up being friends? Without a word, without an apology, I trot out of the tavern and onto the street. For a few blocks, I walk as fast as my hooves will take me. When I am sure I have put enough distance between myself and the tavern, I sit down on the curb. It’s late. Probably close to midnight. The town is asleep. It’s quiet. With my magic, I reach into my breast pocket to retrieve my flask. Well, it’s my father’s flask, really. That P.H. so gorgeously engraved over the polished visage marks it as his.
“H-hey prince.”
I turn to my side to see Vinyl Scratch standing before me. A rolled up napkin is stuffed crudely in her left nostril to stop the bleeding I caused.
“Miss Scratch,” I say, bowing my head. “Are you alright?”
“Pfft, you… you hit like a filly,” she laughs.
“Next time, I will be sure to break your skull.”
“Hey, anytime you wanna go, prince! Just name it.”
This is what it would be like if I were the Hero of Equestria, isn’t it? Drunken fools constantly challenging me to dick measuring contests and fights? With fame comes a price. With recognition of your skills comes the demand for you to use them.
“I’m sorry,” Vinyl Scratch says. “I… I said some mean things, I guess. True things, but mean. Mac said how much of a jerk I was being. So, I-I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry too,” I say. “You’re the plebian twat. Everyone expects you to act that way. I should act better.” I stand up and use my magic to straighten some ruffles in my coat. “Allow me to escort you home. It’s late, and it would be improper if I let a young, drunk mare to traverse these streets by her lonesome.”
“I-I’m thirty three,” she giggles.
“Well, regardless, I will take you home.”
“You don’t have to do that. I… uhm… I live in Canterlot. It’s a whole train ride, you know?”
I roll my eyes. “I do know how to read a train schedule, Ms. Scratch. I am knowledgeable about a great number of things beyond crumpets and wine, in fact. But I am certainly not going to beg you to accompany me.” I bow my head. “Have a good night.”
I trot along in the direction I think the train station is. After a pace or two, Vinyl comes alongside me. “I… uhm… I don’t suppose you could buy me a ticket, huh?”
“Blew your last few bits on beers?” I ask. “Of course I will buy you a ticket. It’s the least I can do after acting so brutish to you.”
We trot along in silence. I’m not exactly interested in small talk. I don’t know if Vinyl is intimidated by me, or simply using me for my wallet and doesn’t think me worthy of her words, or she is too drunk and she thinks she is talking when her mouth doesn’t move. I don’t care. It’s a nice night, with a full moon that makes me think of my dear aunt. A breeze sifts through my fur.
“Where do you live?” I ask, looking over the train schedule. Canterlot has four train stops: the four corners of the grand city. I have my suspicions Vinyl lives in St. Pegasberg with all the other Discordian twats, but better to hear it from her mouth than go with an assumption.
“Really prince, you buying me the ticket back to Canterlot is generous enough. You don’t have to walk me to my door.”
I shrug. “You have had far too much to drink. The press would have an absolute field day if you went missing and I was the last pony seen with you.” And that is the only reason, I can say for sure. “Where do you live?”
Vinyl Scratch whimpers. Seemingly from nowhere, she pulls out a flask with a music note engraving. Not her music note. It’s different, with a slender figure and more of a curve. The gulp of liquid courage calms her down enough she admits, “See, I’m sorta… sorta ‘between apartments’ at the moment.”
“You’re homeless?”
“Well if you wanna get technical. It’s no big deal though. I spent more of my foalhood on the street than at home. My dad and I did that whole-“ and her voice deepens in an obvious mockery of her progenitor “ -when you live under my roof, you’ll obey my rules dance at least three times a month. Besides, I just gotta snag a sweet gig and I can use that money to rent out a place. It’s no big deal. I was just hoping to just catch some z’s on the train, maybe find some dumb, drunk stallion to shack up with for the night.”
I am so going to regret this… “Allow me to put you up in a hotel.”
Her face contorts to a comical degree. “No, no, NO!” She trots in front of me and rises as high as she can. I am still taller than her, but it’s rather clear she is trying to get in my face. Uck, she smells repulsive. Not just the alcohol that stains her breath, but horrid body odor. “Look, you been super nice and all, but I’m not some little prissy filly that you gotta take care of. I’m not one of those twaty princesses who can’t-“
“Never speak ill of the princesses,” I say coldly.
She blinks a few times. Her movements are so exaggerated, I can tell she is blinking even beneath those obnoxious sunglasses. “My family owns The Three Crown Royale” I say. “It is no trouble to put you in one of the spare rooms.”
That’s a lie. The hotel is owned by Fancy Pants, but I am sure Vinyl is not smart enough to know that. Besides, Fancy Pants is a friend… I think. I mean, he was a friend of my father. He has known me since I was a colt. He took care of me when my father was on business. He will go along with the charade, and I will hoof the bill for Ms. Scratch’s stay, if he even wants to charge me.
The train pulls into the station. Ms. Scratch takes another gulp from her flask before returning it to the folds of her mane. Quite dizzy from the kiss of intoxication, she wanders back towards the village until I physically turn her around and give a pat to her rump. She giggles. “Guess… guess your balls ain’t too blue, huh?”
I roll my eyes. She kisses me on the lips.
It’s the abruptness that takes me by surprise. While I am standing there dumbly, her mind has raced to other things, namely the train that is insistently whistling at us.
Vinyl insists on taking the window seat. I don’t mind. I would rather her sit there so I can block her path to the aisle. As it turns out, my worries were unfounded. Before the train has even begun its chug, she puts her head on my chest and slips into sleep.
I still don’t like her sunglasses. Placing my hooves at her cheeks, I carefully lift her head and use my magic to tug them away. I fold them neatly and place them in my breast pocket, opposite my father’s flask. Her nose has stopped bleeding, so I tug the napkin out and use a dry spot to wipe some of the caked on blood. Vinyl is rather beautiful. Truth be told, I don’t have a problem with crimson eyes. My mother had red eyes. I think she did, at least. I never actually knew her, but the pictures my father kept showed her eyes as a shade of carnelian. My mother was a beautiful mare, so I have been told. Creamy white fur, with scarlet hair, and those carnelian eyes…
I wonder if she really is dead. Celestia lied to me about my father. Is it a stretch that my mother, upon giving birth to me, was so disgusted that she fled the empire and never looked back? Or perhaps she took a new name, and a new life, met a stallion and lived happily ever after.
I reach a hoof out and softly stroke over Vinyl’s face. She mumbles something in her sleep. It’s cute, at least until she lets out a revolting belch. Bleh, peasants.
She is pretty, though. She hides her beauty behind her sunglasses, and her mane that distorts half her face, but she is… she is rather…
The train grinds to a stop. We’ve arrived in Canterlot, and I give Vinyl a jostle and shake. With a yawn that blows her putrid breath into my snout, she stumbles to a standing position. I help her walk out the train and onto the platform, then physically guide to the street. I wish I had a leash or something I could tug to keep her near me. If I take my eyes off her for more than a moment, I am afraid she will go wandering off. Quite the contrary to Ponyville’s quiet twilight hours, Canterlot is still bustling. The Gala is tomorrow. The dress shops and the bakeries and the spas are all still catering to whoever is willing to pay.
Vinyl pulls a flask out and tries to take another gulp, but it is empty. In a huff, she tosses the flask away. “Can I have a drink?” she asks, looking at me.
I’m confused about that until I realize I have taken my father’s flask out of my breast pocket. With a drunken hoof, Vinyl reaches to pluck the flask from the air, but I lift it higher. “Can I have a drink, please?” she asks, batting her red eyes in seductive fashion.
“No,” I say passively. My horn sparks with deep blue magic. The flask is suddenly engulfed. The metal crunches into a miniscule ball and then expands so large and so suddenly, shards of silver dance through the moonlit air. The contents of the flask spill to the ground. I look to my side, at Vinyl, and have to laugh at the rather terrified face on her dull features.
“WHAT THE BUCK WAS THAT?!” she screams.
“Keep your voice down. This isn’t some flashy party where the quality of music is judged by its volume. I am standing right beside you.”
“B-b-but… what spell was that?”
“Magnetism,” I say.
“Huh?”
“I increased the atomic forces that constitute the flask’s structure, then generated a magnetic force around the sphere to pull it apart.”
“Wha?”
“I exerted magnetic force on the molecular structure, then I exerted the force in the opposite direction and overpowered the flask's molecular bindings.”
Her only answer is a blank stare.
“I made it explode, you plebian twit. I know a fair bit about magnetism and polarity, as you should be able to deduce from my cutie mark. Maps as well have always fascinated me.”
Vinyl uses her magic to pull my coat away off my flank. She spends a moment or two staring before looking back to me. “The fancy star? I figured that just meant you were good at being a royal jerk.”
“No, no, it’s clearly a compass rose. What are they teaching fillies at schools nowadays?”
Vinyl Scratch shrugs. “I’m the wrong mare to ask. Before I dropped out, I probably only went two days a week.”
“And now you’re homeless.”
Vinyl chuckles. She doesn’t seem bothered by the snark. “It … it’s not my fault. Octy usually took care of payin the bills.”
“Octavia Melody? The cellist.”
“Awe, she played way more than the cello. She could play, like, everything. Just sucked her shows were always full of snobby douchebags. And I had to be so damn quiet. I liked when she practiced though. Sometimes I would sit outside her door and listen. I… I really…”
She leans against me suddenly. I am confused about that, but realize she has simply lost her balance. Her breathing is starting to come in rapid pants. There are crystals forming in her crimson eyes. “I… I do really need a drink…”
No amount of nudges or jostles rouse Vinyl from her trance. If I take a step away from her, she will fall. Using my magic, I lift her into the air and carefully place her on my broad back. Rather than struggle against me, she buries her head in my mane. Uck. No doubt her face is plastered with snot and drool. In fact I hear faint crying and sniffles rumble out of her throat. I try to act like I do not notice and continue on my way to the hotel.
By the time we reach the Three Crown Royale, Vinyl has passed out, and I have been carrying her for about ten minutes. I’m not bothered by her weight. Sure, she’s a little on the heavy side, but I am strong. Besides, all the times I have passed out after a bender and Aunt Tia carried me back to my room, bathed me, tucked me in. Well, this is the least I can do for a fellow drunk.
The dimensions and design of the Three Crown Royale are reminiscent of the castle. It is a twelve story, vaguely box shaped structure, made of meticulously polished white bricks. Gargoyles and arches dominate the top most level, gazing down upon the populace. Quite different than the rustic feel of Ponvyille, Fancy Pant’s buildings always have the soul of a unicorn: grand, powerful, sharp edges and a polished visage.
I set Vinyl down in one of the lobby’s armchairs. The receptionist, a rather cute, sunny gold earth pony is happy to listen as I explain the situation to her. She’s young. This is probably her first job, and she’s afraid I will say something to Fancy Pants about her if she displeases me. I trot to the armchair to retrieve Vinyl, but she has disappeared from the seat. Turning to my side, I catch sight of her wide rump as she saunters towards the hotel’s bar.
“RUM,” she shouts at the bartender. He must not move fast enough, because Vinyl uses her magic to snatch a bottle of rum off the display. Snapping the bottle neck off with a hoof chop, she tilts her head back and gulps the brown drink as fast as she can. The bartender is baffled about what to do and is happy when I place a hoof on Vinyl’s shoulder. “Come along, Miss Scratch. I have your room in order. Put that down.”
Before I can stop her, she has put the bottle to her lips and gulps another mouthful. When I reach a hoof out, Vinyl spins and smacks me across muzzle. The metallic taste of blood dribbles onto my tongue. I am moments away from cracking her skull, but I catch myself.
She is gulping rum down from the bottle. When halfway through, she slams it onto the bar so hard, the glass shatters under the force. A dozen sobs rack her throat. Falling into me, she buries her face into my chest. Oh, the paparazzi are going to have a field day with this, I’m sure. Everyone in the hotel will have a different story about what I did to her.
After a few sobs, Vinyl passes out, and I am forced to carry her up to the room. The room is nothing enormous or impressive, but it has a bed, a lamp, a table, chair, window, and private bathroom. Certainly nicer than the street.
I draw Vinyl a bath and carefully set her in the warm water. Dousing my hooves in soap, I do my best to clean the accumulated muck and grime from her creamy fur. Every few scrubs, she opens her eyes and looks to me, but her head always plops down before she can say anything. Everything about this night has been unpleasant, but at least once I am done, Vinyl doesn’t smell as repulsive as before. And… like I said, she’s actually rather pretty. Even prettier with her mane down and wet and her eyes half lidded.
Drying her off is quite a challenge. The rum she gulped is hitting her hard. Considering how much she giggles and laughs, she must fancy this some sort of game. Once or twice she hip checks me and knocks me into the sink. If she tries running out of the room, dripping wet, I yank her tail with my magic and drag her back to the towel’s rub. Taking hold of her cheeks, I pull her lips wide and use my magic to grip a tooth brush. She must enjoy the tingle of the bubbles on her gums, since she giggles and mumbles happily as I scrub her mouth. She’s back to unconsciousness as I bring her to the bed and carefully tuck her in. Eager to put this whole night behind me, I am just leaving when she sits straight up. “WHERE YOU GOING?!” she shouts.
Oh, my head. I haven’t had a drink all day and yet there is a pounding behind my eyeballs like I have never felt before.
“Ms. Scratch, would you please keep your voice down.”
She giggles and attempts to get out of bed, but the sheets I had tucked down entangle her. Rolling my eyes, I aid her in getting up. She is not free for more than a moment before she wraps her arms around my neck and pulls me into a kiss. Thank the sun I brushed her teeth, or the taste of her rancid lips would have made me puke. “You been real nice ta me, prince.”
I shrug.
A hoof on my cheek forces me to look down into her crimson eyes. “I wanna… I wanna be nice to you.”
Aristrotle was right. Being good does suck.
“I… I wanna…” She leans her head down and dumbly nuzzles at my chest fur. “I wanna show you my appreciation…”
“Ms. Scratch, it is quite alright. I-“
“HEY! C-come on Prince Blueballs. What? I’m not prissy enough for you!” She gives me a hard shove. “I’m not good enough for you?”
“Ms. Scratch, you’ve had far too much-“
“Do it with Cadence if you could, wouldn’t ya? Bang her like Armor does. Come on. Show me what a prince can do.”
I glare at her, but do my best to calm my heart. “Ms. Scratch, you have had too much to drink. Best to just sleep it off.”
“Bet you’d do it to Cadence if you could,” she shouts again. I trot to the door, turn the knob, and open it. “Bet you’d do it with your whore aunt if you could!”
I stop opening the door and turn to look at her.
“Come on, Prince Blueballs. Show me what you got. Show me you’re a real stallion and not some snip-snipped colt. Or are you really so pathetic you can’t even get it up? Should I go out and find a real stallion? Not some snip-snipped blue balled prince?”
With my magic, I turn the bolt lock on the door, sealing it shut. “Alright Ms. Scratch,” I say slowly. “If you insist…”
With a shrug of my broad shoulders, I finish the story. “I told her we could do something, but first I wanted to freshen up. In the bathroom, I waited until I could hear her raucous snoring vibrate through the walls. I could have left right then, but Vinyl had drank a lot, and I was afraid she might start convulsing or go wandering off. I ended up waiting. When Celestia lifted the sun, I bought Vinyl a cup of coffee, helped her drink it, bought her a bagel, helped her eat it. I suppose I should have been angry, but the hangover she was suffering was punishment enough.” I chuckle. “Go ahead, Ms. Dash. Make with the Prince Blueballs jokes. I’m sure you have a whole list you have been dying to use.”
Rainbow gives me a baffled stare. “Blue, you didn’t take advantage of an intoxicated mare. I wish there were more stallions like you.”
I examine the glass of wine held with my magic. I prefer hard liquors, but they are not served at the Gala. I regret destroying my father’s flask, only because I could really use the calming kiss of brandy right about now. “Was some pony unkind to you, Ms. Dash?” I ask. “I will go to his house and beat him up, if you like.”
She laughs in that hoarse, manticore way, though it is not as bad as it usually is. “Nah, nothing too bad. Just when I was younger, some colt got a little kissy on Heart and Hooves Day. He’s already paid for it though. My friend Gilda chucked him off a cliff.”
Rainbow Dash must notice my look of utter horror, because she quickly adds, “He had wings! That little stunt still got her booted from the camp, but she was a griffon. The teachers were looking for any excuse to kick her out of there.”
“They did the right thing. Disgusting griffons,” I mutter. “I wish they would all just drown.”
Rainbow Dash gives a nervous shrug. “Well, anyway, how you been, Prince B? I am happy you managed to come out for the Gala. Ditzy would have been heartbroken if you missed it.”
“So you do know her real name?” I ask. I try another sip of wine, but it just doesn’t do anything for me.
“Ah, she knows it’s all in good fun,” Rainbow Dash says, wagging her blue hoof in my face in a dismissive manner.
“Have you seen Ms. Doo, per chance? I would like to speak to her before I retire for the night.”
“Yeah. You haven’t? She’s wearing a dress Rarity made for her. I heard you hoofed the bill. Pretty princely of you.”
I shrug. “How did the dress come out?”
“Eh, you know… better you see it for yourself.”
So help me, if Miss Rarity ruined the dress in some insane revenge by proxy…
No, no, I must not think that way. Miss Rarity is a professional after all, and a mighty fine dress maker. She made Rainbow Dash’s dress in fact and, I must say, Ms. Dash fixes up nicely. That is the quaint way earth ponies put it. When she isn’t belching and snorting and spitting like a revolting griffon, and when her hair is nicely combed and worn long, she’s rather… attractive actually. Her dress is long and somewhat tight against her body to show her muscles, though there are holes in the back that allow her wings to twitch or stretch as she so desires. The fabric used is pure white, save a streak of rainbow over her chest and breasts. Now that I think about it, Princess Sparkle was wearing a similar dress. I wonder if the Bearers of Harmony all settled on a theme this year.
Ms. Dash goes to speak to that flycolt from the Wonderbolts, the one with the powder blue fur and dark blue mane. She had been eyeing him this entire time, and I must say, she is a saint to have spent so much time with me. I am sad to see her leave, but I will see her again, I am sure. Perhaps I will take a trip down to Ponyville next week. I would like to speak to Mr. Macintosh about something.
I really should mingle. Oh, but the drag of smiling and nodding and listening to all the stories of the plebeians who think they are princes is enough to drive me to the brink. How does Aunt Tia do it, day in, day out?
Speaking of Aunt Tia, I spy her across the ballroom. Granted, she isn’t exactly difficult to pick out in a crowd. She is statuesque, towering over almost every other pony in attendance. I approach her and bow before gazing into her magenta eyes. She smiles.
“It is a pleasure to see you, Prince Blueblood. I am happy that you have chosen to attend the Gala this year.”
That’s Princess Celestia for you: the perfect actress. No matter what has happened between us, no matter what I have said, she can look at me with a loving smile if it means keeping up appearances. To her side is a pegasus I do not recognize. His coat and mane are obsidian black and his eyes are a deep, rich purple. His left wing, tucked to his side, is truly magnificent in span. I can tell it would rival my aunt’s if it were stretched out. His right wing must have been amputated, however, for he wears a metal skeleton in its place, for… symmetry perhaps? “Prince Blueblood,” my aunt says, “this is Sky Marshall Black Cloud, an emissary of the Griffon Kingdom and commander in the H.G.L..”
Oh darn it, what does H.G.L. stand for again? Uhm… Oh yes! Honorary Griffon Legion. They are some sort of mercenary group who work under the Griffon King, I believe.
I stretch my hoof out in a show of respect, but the obsidian pony spends several moments staring at me. Just staring. How odd: he has no doubt been introduced to the other princesses, and at this very moment he stands beside a goddess, and yet his focus is on me. Shaking his head, he lifts his hoof and taps his sole against mine. “It is a true honor to stand before you, Prince Blueblood. You are quite the hero in the Griffon Kingdom. Your essays on magnetism are taught in all universities.”
Huh. I didn’t think the griffons could read.
“Gilford is eager to meet you and see the magnetism spell performed by its founder,” Aunt Tia continues. “I would like to ask you to travel to the Griffon Kingdom so you may meet him. I believe it will do wonders for our diplomatic relations.”
I force a smile and nod my head. “Of course, Princess Celestia. I live to serve.”
Sky Marshall Black Cloud is staring at me again. I wish he would stop. His eyes stab daggers into my very soul. Perhaps realizing how rude he is acting, he shakes his head. “Please forgive me. It is just a dream fulfilled to stand before you.”
“Oh… it’s nothing.”
I am happy when Aunt Tia walks off, and Black Cloud goes with her, though he continues to glance over his shoulder to keep his eyes on me as long as he can. What a strange stallion, but living among those revolting griffons, I can’t really blame him for being a little off. With any luck, I can wiggle my way out of this latest obligation. After all, there are dozens of ponies better suited for a diplomatic mission. I am sure Princess Sparkle can replicate the magnetism spell if I show it to her. I look to my side, at my flank, and the delicate compass rose emblazed over the creamy fur. Not like the spell is anything special.
The day one gains his cutie mark is one of celebration and mirth, but when the thrill has died down, you are presented with even more question. What does the mark really mean, beyond the obvious? What is your purpose in life? The cutie mark only provides you with a vague direction, not a map.
Sometimes it is easy. I doubt Mr. Macintosh was surprised when an apple spawned on his flank, and Twilight was immediately taken under my aunt’s wing. What does a compass rose say, though? I swear, it would be so much easier if these things came with manuals.
I do adore maps, and when I was young I hoped to become a mapmaker, charting and categorizing all the dark lands of this world. My aunt was supportive of such a silly dream. My father’s legacy took me to the Point instead, and there, I advanced my skills with magnetism. Now I am just some poor drunkard, leeching off the kindness of my dear aunt.
Perhaps a change of scenery will be pleasant. The griffons are buffoons after all. To my knowledge, their kingdom has barely been mapped. I certainly wouldn’t be short for work. And they are interested in magnetism? The mages at the Point fancied it a mere novelty. It would… not be unpleasant if a spell I created was properly appreciated.
But I have plans of my own. I haven’t told anyone about them, save Vinyl when she was asleep. It is a silly idea, but it is something I have been thinking about since last night, a chance to stop leeching off my aunt’s kindness and my father’s legacy, and perhaps make a name for myself.
With my aunt and Black Cloud gone, no one seems interested in me. I’m alright with that. I excuse myself from the Gala and head for the garden where I hope I can be alone for the rest of the night. Or at least until Aunt Tia wants to introduce me to somepony else. Or some gold digging tramp tracks me down in this garden.
A cool breeze sweeps through the garden. The night sky is absolutely beautiful. Aunt Luna really outdid herself with the arrangement of the stars. It isn’t as much in-your-face beauty as last year’s Gala, but it is pleasant to my eyes. The night would be absolutely perfect if not for some rather revolting noises erupting from the nearby bushes. By the shudder of the leaves, it is clear there is a pony behind them, and from the many “blargs” that ripple out of the leaves, I can venture a guess that said pony is quite sick. I’m not sure if I should leave or stay. Does the pony need help? Will they be embarrassed if they come out of their sickly haze to find me standing here?
I’m still debating when the bushes rustle and a very sick looking Ditzy Doo steps out. Her face is green, her eyes are half lidded, and there is a dribble of muck on her lips. As she notices me, her eyes open, only to shut just as quickly as she tries to hold back the tears.
Ms. Doo is wearing a blue, loose fitting dress. Gently embracing her frame, it flows rather nicely in the subtle breeze of the evening. Ms. Doo… isn’t a thin mare. Actually, she is rather large, especially for a pegasi. The dress works for her though, since if it were tight like Rainbow Dash’s, her girth might look grotesque. Ms. Doo’s hair has been washed, softened, and styled into an elaborate series of braids that are worn over her right shoulder. Small blue slippers dot her cute, delicate hooves. It is the color of the dress that catches my attention most though. Is it narcissistic to think she might have chosen blue in my honor?
“Good evening,” I say as if nothing is out of the ordinary.
“I… uhm…” she stutters. “I… I…”
Taking the handkerchief from my breast pocket, I wipe away the muck and drool that still stains her lips. “The champagne gets to me like that too,” I say. With Ms. Doo cleaned up, I casually take a seat on a nearby bench. “The first time I had it was when I was at the Point. I had just finished my first year, and some of the older stallions took me to Las Pegasus for a party. Prior to that, I had indulged in cognac, so I assumed I could handle the champagne they kept pouring me.” I chuckle. “By the end of the night, I was leaning over a fountain, ass in the air, and spilling everything I had eaten the prior day. It’s the bubbles that will do that to you.”
The story puts Ms. Doo at ease, however slightly. She even giggles when I mention my princely rear. Reaching into my coat pocket, I take out a tin of breath mints. Smiling embarrassedly, she pops two into her mouth before sitting down beside me.
“How have you been enjoying the Gala?” I ask.
“It… uhm…” she looks down. “It’s really… really…”
“Boring?”
“Uhm… I just don’t really know anyone here. I mean, I do know Rainbow and Pinkie, but I don’t really wanna talk to them, you know? And everyone is so beautiful and graceful and I just feel a little out of place. And… I… well, the waiters kept bringing me drinks, and I didn’t wanna seem rude, and the champagne knda eased how nervous I was, but then I started to feel sick, so I came out here to get some fresh air, but then I started feeling really sick and I…”
I nod my head. Ms. Doo rubs her belly tenderly.
“I hope you do not regret coming.”
“Oh no,” she quickly says. Just like that, her face has lit up with eager joy. Her eyes are glowing and she’s smiling ear to ear. “This has been… I mean, even not knowing anyone, it’s just… I can say I’ve been to the Grand Galloping Gala, you know? And it has been really awesome. I got to eat all this really delicious food and I got to meet Fleur de Lis who I’ve always thought was super beautiful and Princess Celestia actually smiled at me, and she said I look beautiful, and she knew my name… did you tell her about me?”
“No. That is just her way.”
The nervousness returns. “I just… thank you prince. Thank you for inviting me to this. I really can’t say how… how awesome it is to be here.”
“How I wish I could share your enthusiasm.”
“Something up?”
By the sun, I could use a drink right about now. “How do you do it, Ditzy? How do you not let the weight of your life get you down? Just now I saw your face glow with the joy usually reserved for foals on Hearth Warming Day. ”
She giggles. It’s that sweet sound that I enjoy hearing. I feel rather embarrassed, as if I have insulted her in some way, but she doesn’t seem bothered. “It’s like Ms. Cake always tells me, In every life there’s rainfall, but you also get some sun. I mean, sure, my life isn’t perfect, but there are good times too. There’s the time I get to be with Turner, and the time I get to be with you. Just cause something bad happens doesn’t mean great things don’t happen too.”
She scoots closer. I feel the warmth of her fur on mine. “Sorry. I’m just kinda… spinny, you know?”
“Yes dear, I know. You don’t drink much, do you?”
She shakes her head sadly. I use a hoof to rub little circles in her back, something Aunt Tia still does for me when I am sick.
“By the sun, the first time we meet, I burn you. Now I’m sick and filthy and… uck.”
“Hush, hush,” I say softly, still rubbing tender circles in her back. “You’re not nearly as bad as that Vinyl Screech. She was something else.”
“Vinyl Scratch? I read in the paper how you were seen gallivanting with her. I thought it was just the tabloids making stuff up.” She sits up and looks into my eyes. Well, one of her eyes does, the other is lazily staring in the opposite direction. “You really did meet DJ Pon-3?”
As evidence of our encounter, I take out the sunglasses that are still in my vest pocket.
Ditzy attempts to snatch the sunglasses out of the air. Unfortunately, this upsets her precarious balance. She would fall to the grass, but I use my magic to hold her up. I set her back on the bench and put the sunglasses away. Apparently they are too much stimulation for her plebeian brain. “If you would like, I might be able to introduce you to Ms. Scratch,” I say. “I need to speak to her about a business proposition.”
“Kinky,” Ditzy giggles.
“No, no. It’s nothing like that. It’s… oh, it’s stupid. Just a silly thought that has stuck with me. It feels like I have spent the past decade in nightclubs and bars. I am thinking of opening one of my own.”
Like I said, it’s a stupid idea, but it is something to do, something I think I could do well in fact. I know all the proper paperwork. I’m sure Fancy Pants would be willing to give me a loan for the start-up capital, assuming I do not have enough in my savings. I at least hope Mr. Macintosh may be willing to give me some pointers. Perhaps Vinyl Scratch would be willing to DJ on the opening night. Oh, it’s a stupid thought but…
“That’d be awesome!” Ditzy practically shouts. “What would you wanna call it? What about Azure?”
That’s not a bad idea.
Inside, the Gala is still trudging along at its agonizingly slow pace. What time is it, I wonder? How long before Aunt Tia gives her closing sermon and the party finally comes to an end? Do I have time to bring Ditzy back home? I’m sure I do, and even if I don’t, who would notice I am gone? Save perhaps Black Cloud, who seems to have an odd crush on me.
Helping Ms. Doo to walk, I hail a taxicab and promise to pay him double since it is such a long trip to Ponyville. Loading Ditzy into the cab, I climb in myself and start to relax.
“Where do you live?” I ask.
“Sugar Cube Corner. The bakery,” is Ditzy’s response.
“You live at the bakery?”
“No. Pinkie Pie does.”
By the sun. “Where do you live, my dear?”
“I wanna go to the bakery. Ms. Cake is there. She promised to wait up for me, and she promised me a muffin. I want a muffin.”
I am rather hungry, myself. When was the last time I ate? I think I had a scone with Ms. Scratch. A Bacon-Maple-Crunch Cupcake would certainly hit the spot.
During the ride, Ditzy talks, and talks a lot. She really must have enjoyed the Gala, since now she can’t stop blabbing about it. The decorations, the guest list, the food, the music, all of it swept her off her hooves and filled her with awe like she had never felt before. I sit there and listen, occasionally nodding my head to assure her I haven’t fallen asleep, even though she is a bit boring. She’s cute. Not as cute as Vinyl Scratch, but cute.
The taxi rolls to a stop. Ditzy stumbles out, groaning and rubbing her belly as she trots along. I take the time to pay the taxi driver before following her inside. The weight of the door must be too much for her frame, so I wrap an arm around her middle and use my magic to push the doors open.
A quick scan of the bakery reveals three ponies, but the only one I recognize is Mrs. Cake. The sound of the door opening breaks her out of her standing sleep, and she snaps to attention. “Oh dear,” she says as she looks at Ditzy and I. Quickly, she trots around the counter, but before she can reach us, a stallion who had been sitting at the bar comes up to me. He is not an especially large stallion, nor is he particularly well built, despite being an earth pony. I doubt he has the strength to support Ditzy, but he still tries to take her from me. I am hesitant to let her go though. She barely has the strength to stand and I do not want to see her get hurt. The earth pony casts an angry glare at me with his deep, blue eyes, a deeper shade than mine. “Give her to me,” he growls.
The shade of his eyes matches the color of Ditzy’s dress. It suddenly occurs to me why she chose to wear blue. I allow Ditzy to be taken, and she and the brown pony with the blue eyes walk to the back of the bakery.
I take a seat at the counter.
“Oh, prince, what a pleasure it is to see you again!” Mrs. Cake practically shouts. “Can I get you anything? Coffee perhaps?”
“Uhm, dear,” says the tall orange stallion, also beside the counter. “Why don’t you go see how Ditzy and Turner are doing?”
“Oh Carrot, it was just excited last time. I’ll…” Mrs. Cake sighs. “Fine. She’ll probably want a muffin. And Turner should really drink some water.”
Mrs. Cake waddles off, her ample pudge shifting and shuddering with each step. The large, tall earth pony leans against the table and gives me a smile. “So you’re the famous Prince Blueblood, huh? Been hearing a lot about you, lately. The name is Carrot Cake.”
I am about to introduce myself, when I realize that would be redundant.
“What can I get you, prince?”
“Last time I was here, I was served a Bacon-Maple-Crunch Cupcake, but I was incapacitated before I could sample its crust. Do you have any in stock?”
“Course we do. They are one of our best sellers.” He trots off and returns a minute or so later with the delectable morsel on an ornate plate.
Using my magic, I pick up a knife and fork and carefully cut a small piece of the muffin off the main body. Bringing the sample to my lips, I take it off the fork with my teeth and allow it to touch my tongue. Oh, the savory flavor melts over every one of my taste buds and sends my heart in somersaults. Each of my teeth could rot and fall from my mouth this instance, and it would be soooo worth it.
Carrot chuckles at me. “Yeah, I remember when Pinkie got the recipe just right.” He brings me a steaming hot cup of coffee and places it beside the plate. I don’t even notice it, too engrossed in the sweet heaven of the muffin in my mouth. Only when I have swallowed do I snap out of the sugar induced nirvana.
“So prince,” Carrot asks, “how has your night been going?”
A question I have so often been asked, by Rainbow Dash, by my dear Aunt Tia, by Ditzy, by Mac. A question you ask the people you care about, because you are curious about their well being. I smile to myself. “You know something,” I say. “All things considered, I’m pretty good.”
