A collection of fluffy tales around Graves and the best sisters in Ponyville. We start with Sweetie Belle doing business. Serious business.
The nineteenth story in The Journey of Graves.
A small collection of fluffy tales around Graves and his shenanigans with the best sisters in Ponyville. In our first adventure, join Sweetie Belle as she does business. Serious business.
IMPORTANT: If you haven't read the series, please head back to the beginning and check it out. While each story stands on its own, the character and relationship developments will build on each other as the series progresses.
And so, the saga continues...
Marshmallows and Cotton Candy
By: GentlemanJ
Sweetie Belle Does Business
Silently, dutifully, the marshal sat at his kitchen table and scribbled away at his reports. Quill dipped into inkwell. Quill scratched on paper. Quill dipped into inkwell again. Incessant. Administrative. Bureaucracy.
… It was awful.
Reports definitely had to be the least attractive part of the job, and that included the extensive variety of shootings, stabbings, bitings, smashings, and other physical traumas that came part and parcel with being one of Equestria’s finest. Not for the first time, Graves found himself wishing he had officer rank like Shining Armor just so he could get a junior to fill the forms out for him. Sadly, that was neither here nor there, so the grey-eyed soldier wearily continued scratching away.
He continued even as the front door opened to announce the arrival of a diminutive guest. He steadily worked as soft grunts and quiet scrapes sounded from a spare chair being dragged across the room and up to the table. He kept his eyes down even when the fluffy-headed intruder scrambled up into the seat and peered up at him with big, expectant green eyes.
Quill dipped into inkwell. Quill scratched on paper.
“Ahem.”
One more scrawling note, and Graves finally looked up. Sweetie Belle, bedecked in a very Rarity-esque miniature pants suit set, looked back at him through stylish, thick-framed glasses.
“Can I help you?” he asked, his gravelly baritone voice rumbling forth with absolute neutrality of tone. The little girl smiled.
“Actually, I believe today’s visit should be about how I can help you.”
“Oh?” Eyebrow arched. “How so?”
Grunting as she reached over and pulled up an over-sized briefcase, the girl with cotton candy curls only took a moment’s pause to straighten the lovely designer glasses she was clearly not accustomed to wearing before popping the case open and pulling out some very official looking forms.
“It’s come to my attention,” she began, adopting the cool tones her elder sister often used, “that you’ve been neglecting your contractual obligations. I’m sure I needn’t remind you how serious an issue this is.”
“No, of course not,” Graves nodded, his face a smooth mask of perfect composure. “But, ah… you may have to remind me which obligations I’m missing.”
“Several, really,” Sweetie Belle sighed as she flipped through various papers and folders. “You’re behind on your TSF contributions, neglected to schedule your CMCSP hosting obligations, and completely missed out on several SWCSR opportunities, to name a few. But the biggest problem by far is your failure to perform your very crucial LSAT duties. The others, we could work around, but that one’s a definite deal breaker.”
“Mm, I see.”
The marshal leaned back in his chair and stroked his chin in thought.
“You’ll have to pardon me,” he softly grunted as he settled back into his seat, “for I’m a simple man of simple ways. Can you remind me just what is this LSAT you speak of?”
“Not a problem,” the squeaky girl beamed before pulling out an honest-to-Luna flip chart, which she propped up on a collapsible easel with great relish. “Your LSAT, or "Little Sister Adventure Time" obligation, as it were, is a requirement that you take your little sister on regularly scheduled outings for exposure to the hilarities, absurdities, and sheninugi-… shenunaga-… shenimug-…”
“Shenanigans?” Graves offered.
“Right, shenanigans,” Sweetie Belle nodded, “that are necessary for a child’s growth and developmental well-being.”
“Make sense,” the marshal nodded. “But ah... when exactly did I get a new little sister?”
“The moment you departed from bachelorhood, of course,” the little lady primly answered. “See, when you and Rarity became an official item, you assumed all duties and obligations regarding her little sister therein, henceforth, and forthwith. It’s part of the contract.”
“I don’t remember signing a contract,” Graves mused.
“It’s a tacit understanding,” Sweetie Belle shrugged. “We don’t do paperwork.”
“Ah. I see.”
“So if you’ll turn your attention here,” the little lawyer continued as she gestured towards the flip chart, “this graph here represents the average time spent on LSAT activities by an average older brother figure such as yourself, while this graph here charts your performance over the last few quarters.”
“... It's blank.”
“Exactly,” Sweetie Belle nodded as she folded up the chart. “And that’s why I’m here. We need to work out a schedule for you to make up those payments post haste. If not, well… let’s just say the punishments will be very severe.”
“How severe?” the soldier inquired.
“Life imprisonment, for starters,” Sweetie Belle replied. “And then they execute you. Twice.”
“Oh my,” Graves intoned gravely. “How long do I have to make the payments?”
“Twelve hours. That means you have to do them by today.”
“Hm, that’s not a lot of time,” the marshal frowned. “I don’t think I can come up with something that quickly.”
“Don’t worry, you leave that to me!” Sweetie Belle beamed with chest puffed up proudly. “I’ve taken the liberty of drafting some preliminary proposals, just for such a circumstance.”
“Well, wasn’t that thoughtful of you,” Graves smiled. “So let’s hear them. What’ve you got?”
“Option one,” Sweetie Belle began as she pulled out a big manila folder marked ‘one.’ “We go on a safari to the Serengeti of the Southern Continent to hunt King Buffalo.”
“Tempting…” the marshal nodded. “What else?”
“Option two,” she continued whilst producing another folder, “is that we plan a heist of the Canterlot History museum and clean out their ancient artifacts and treasures exhibit.”
“Ooh, that’s a good one,” he nodded sagely. “Any more?”
“Well… there is one last one,” the fluffy-haired girl said with a good deal of trepidation. “But I warn you, it’s the toughest one by far. I don’t know if you can handle it.”
“That bad, huh?" Graves somberly inquired. "Well, what is it?”
“Option three,” Sweetie Belle said with the severest of severe looks, “is that you take Rarity and me to the annual Spring is Here Fair in the next town over and spend the whole day with us, fireworks and closing parade included.” Graves let out a low whistle of awe.
“Wow, that is tough.”
“I know, right?” the little girl sighed morosely. “But you needed options fast, so I had to throw something together.” Clearing the tabletop, Sweetie Belle leaned forward and rested her chin on folded hands, scrutinizing the marshal through her non-prescription glasses.
“So, Mister Graves,” she continued. “It seems you’ve hit an impasse, a proverbial rock and tough place, so to speak. You’ve got a choice to make, so what’s it gonna be?”
The marshal leaned back in his chair once more, trigger finger tapping his chin in quiet contemplation.
“I may be crazy,” he finally said, “and I may be biting off a whole lot more than I can chew, but I’ll go with… option three.”
“Really?!” Sweetie Belle squeaked.
“I feel like taking risks,” Graves chuckled as he stood up and tucked the little girl under one arm. “Come on, the next train leaves in twenty minutes.”
And with only a moment spared to grab his coat and hat, the two were out the door, fast on their way to shanghai a very unsuspecting dressmaker to head off for the hilarities, absurdities, and shenanigans the little one required. Of course, that meant that the reports wouldn’t get done till the next day, but sometimes you just have to prioritize and deal with the big issues first.
The soft shine of a sun just peaking over the horizon. The quiet patter of clad feet over a well-worn path. The faint touch of coolness that lingered in the early spring air. Though the day had barely begun, Rarity already gleaned with a faint sheen of perspiration on her toned legs and taut tummy as she made her way around the town’s perimeter.
Most people thought that beauty was just a thing you were born with, a blessing bestowed like the gains from some cosmic lottery. What they failed to realize, however, was that beauty came with a price, and that price was constant diligence and hard work. A balanced diet, plenty of rest, regular cosmetic treatments, and of course, good old fashioned exercise. Of course, even if Rarity were dressed as stylishly as ever, what with her matching white lycra sports top and running shorts with violet tresses done up in a sporting ponytail, the young beauty was still not quite so comfortable with letting people see her sweat. Hence, the early morning runs.
Besides, it’s not as if she minded the early hours. In fact, Rarity loved this time of day, those cool mornings just after daybreak when the whole world seemed fresh and new. It was like an untouched bolt of fabric: spotless, clean, and positively bursting with creativity and potential. The unbroken solitude was invigorating, and like any quality material, the Ponyville seamstress was not about to let it go to waste.
Rounding the latest bend, the Rarity idly noted the familiar fork she’d crossed so many times before. To one side lay the traditional path she’d always run that took her past the lake and up toward Sweet Apple Acres. The other path, if it could even be called that, was little more than a compact of earth that led further into some nearby woods. Normally, she would have paid the fork little mind. Normally. But for some strange reason, Rarity was suddenly struck by a spontaneously childish desire for adventure. Instead of following the trail back towards town, she instead decided to turn off onto the road less traveled and ran towards the nearby copse of trees.
The shade under the trees was deliciously cool, and the sunlight streaming through the viridian leaves gave the whole area a wondrously calming atmosphere. It was so calming, in fact, that instead of maintaining her run, Rarity decided to slow down her pace and enjoy a leisurely stroll for a change. Chest heaving as she took deep breaths of crisp, refreshing air, Rarity wiped the sweat from her brow and took a moment to relish in the solitude of the forest.
That’s when she heard a noise.
Somewhere deeper in the grove of trees, the faint rustling of movement could be heard. Oddly enough though, it wasn’t the normal sound a sweeping breeze of some woodland creature scurrying about. It was erratic, suddenly beginning, increasing in tempo, and then just as suddenly falling silent. Curious, the young lady followed the sound and soon found herself near an open clearing in the trees, a small glade illuminated by the first golden rays of sun. Peering out from behind the brush, Rarity’s eyes widened in surprise.
Graves, dressed in naught but his trousers and heavy combat boots, occupied the space. From the top of his drenched black locks to every chiseled facet of his lean, muscled body, the marshal glistened from exertion as he moved about the clearing in what seemed to be… dancing? No, that’d be silly. Graves didn’t dance. However, Rarity’s mistake could be forgiven because with motions so fluid, like water rolling over smooth river stones with nary a ripple in sight, what else could it be?
Well, whatever it was, it was something else entirely because despite the liquid grace, there was a definite edge as well. His movements were sharp, clean and powerful as each gesture cracked through the air with the snap of a bullwhip and the implacable force of a blacksmith’s hammer. Dance though it may have looked, the marshal was a hurricane balancing on the razor’s edge, absolute power under perfect, unyielding control.
The young lady watched in fascination as the raven-haired soldier continued his movements that quickly became more and more fantastical with each passing moment. In one instant, he was a gliding heron, grace and poise as it danced upon a mirror pond. In the next, he was a monkey who leaped through the air with gravity defying ease and almost playful abandon. Then he became the tiger, a whirlwind of savage fury and destructive ferocity that would have put even the king of the jungle to shame.
Faster and faster he went till the eyes could see nothing but a whirlwind blur. Hands and feet lashed out, slicing through the air like flashing blades and crushing mauls. Graves pushed his body to the utmost limit and beyond, exceeding the realm of human possibility with the speed and strength of his movements. Onward he went, longer and harder til just when it seemed like his body would tear itself apart from strain, the marshal leaped, sailing through the air as heaven and earth inverted, to sweep up his spell gun and fire.
A flashing bolt lanced out and struck a tin can sitting on a stump at the other side of the clearing. Spinning into the air, Rarity gasped in amazement as a second bolt flew forward and struck the can even as it careened in its tumbling path. A third bolt followed, then a fourth, a constant stream of flashing light that suspended the can like a marionette upon strings of thundering wrath. What he did was well beyond the realms of probability, but even so, it was only long after Rarity had lost count of the number of shots fired did Graves switch to the other hand, repeating the same probability-defying odds for yet a second time.
Finally, when the can had been reduced to little more than a crumpled lump of crackling, glowing slag, did Graves finally lower his rifle and heave a long, exhausted sigh.
That’s when he heard the applause.
*****
“Marvelous!” the young lady beamed as she appeared from her concealed box seat nearby. “If you ever get tired of being a soldier, you certainly could try your hand at show biz.”
“Rarity?” the young man started, spinning to face the pretty seamstress with wide, silver eyes. “What the– what are you doing here?”
“Oh, I just happened to be on my morning run and thought I’d drop in,” she smiled as a mischievous light twinkled in her sapphire eyes. “Why, am I not allowed to be here?”
“No– I mean, yes– I mean…” Graves stammered, his brain derailed from the unexpected encounter as he did his best to conceal himself without making it obvious he was doing so. “It’s just… I thought this was out of the ways. If I’d known you were here, I’d have…. dressed properly.”
“Well there’s no need to concern yourself on my account,” Rarity replied, a very satisfied look on her face as she continued to eye him over. “Besides, what’s the point of having a handsome amore if you can’t enjoy a little eye candy now and then?”
“I… uh… what?”
Beyond an elegantly arched eyebrow and a serene smile, Rarity gave the man no reply. This left Graves at quite at a loss for what to do, so it was with cautious steps that the marshal went over and bent down to pick up his discarded shirt. All the while, the violet-haired beauty’s gaze followed him as she watched on with prim delight in an act which, if he was honest, wasn’t totally unpleasant; the idea that a beautiful girl like Rarity found him appealing to the eye certainly had its charms. But it was also very, very strange, and to save his already flushed cheeks from overwork, Graves decided it best to finish dressing post haste.
“So, what exactly were you doing there?” the pretty dressmaker asked, finally deigning to mercifully end the teasing with a genuine question.
“Combat forms,” the marshal replied, his voice now level as the clothing providing a good deal of protection to his somewhat sensitive modesty. “Learned them back in training. Don’t want to get rusty.”
“I see,” Rarity nodded just before bending over to heft up his spell gun with a delicate grunt. “And the bit with your spell gun. Also keeping off the rust?”
“Pretty much,” Graves shrugged. “If I can do that in practice, won’t have to worry about making the shots that count.”
“Interesting,” the young lady murmured as she began to examine the rifle more closely with obvious curiosity in her sapphire eyes. Despite having seen the marshal’s weapon more than most, it was the first time she’d actually held it and gotten such an up close look. It was during that inspection that, in a rare moment of clarity, Graves came up with a rather insightful idea.
“You… wanna give it a shot?”
“Who, me?” Rarity gaped in surprise before bursting out laughing. “Oh no, not I. There’s simply no way I could do something like that.”
“Sure you could,” Graves replied, even going so far as to offer an encouraging smile. “I’ll teach you everything you need to know.”
“You will?” she asked, eyebrow arched curiously once more.
Graves gave her a lopsided grin in return.
With an affectionate sigh, Rarity gave the marshal an expectant look as she hefted up the large weapon. The raven-haired soldier walked over and gently adjusted her posture and position.
“Keep your back straight,” he said, his voice a soft, gravelly rumble as he gave the side of her hip a very light nudge. “Brace the gun against your shoulder. Stay nice and relaxed; we don’t want any tension.”
“How do I hold this contraption?” Rarity asked, eyeing the rifle in hand askance.
“Hands at the grip and in front at the support. It’s a bit big for you, but you should be able to reach.”
“Hmm, I’m not so sure I understand,” the young lady frowned just before her eyes lit up with delicious inspiration. “Perhaps it’d be easier if you showed me?”
Though Graves may have been as sharp as a potato on some things, even he couldn't miss the inviting look in her eyes. So gently, and very, very carefully, the marshal stepped up behind and wrapped his arms around the young lady so he could guide her hands to their proper place.
Despite having just told Rarity to keep tension away, the marshal was having a hard time following his own advice. Even after her run, Rarity still smelled wonderful, a mix of lavender and clean effort and something else that was inexplicably, yet undeniably her. And the sensation of her pressed so close? Just a little slice of heaven on the wayside.
“That does feel more comfortable,” Rarity giggled, the playful melody in her voice an unmistakable mark of her approval. “So, what am I aiming for?”
“Knot on the tree trunk ahead. See it?”
“Of course. And the spell?”
“I'll handle that. You just focus on the shot.”
A gentle hum arose as Graves poured mana into the spell gun. As the metal glowed and sang with its familiar, mystic hum, the silver-eyed marshal's baritone rumble continued to provide steady guidance to the young lady who held the rifle in hand.
“Deep, slow breaths now. Line up the sight with the target. Don’t rush. Take your time.”
With skin so close, Graves could feel every minute movement as Rarity followed his instructions.
“Good. When you feel ready, put your hand on the trigger and squeeze slowly. Not all the way, just a bit to get it ready.”
She reached a slender finger into the guard and slowly tightened her grip.
“Focus on your breathing. Only pull as you breath out. Keep it steady.”
A soft flow of air came from her rosy lips as finger drew tauter.
“When you’re ready, breath out fully. Give the trigger just a little more pull. Little more. Little more, and…”
“… fire.”
A burst of light, and a small bolt of lightning lanced forth and struck the knot square on with a crackle of light and a flash of char.
“I… I did it,” Rarity gasped in delighted disbelief. “I can’t believe I actually did it!”
“Told you,” Graves grinned as his silver eyes twinkled like polished moonstone. “We just may make a marshal out of you ye–oof!”
Though he’d expected the squeals of delight, he hadn’t quite expected Rarity to spin around and seize him up in a rib-creaking hug quite like she did. Not that he was complaining, of course.
“Oh my goodness Graves, thank you!” she giggled as she pressed into him even close. “Goodness me, I don’t even know why I’m so excited, but… the feeling of getting everything just right, then seeing that bolt fly right where I aimed… my word, I don’t even know quite how to describe it.”
“How ‘bout satisfying?” he chuckled as he let the spell gun drop to wrap his arms around her, this time without any pretense. “Guessing that's how you feel after finishing an outfit?”
“Why, I suppose it is,” the young lady gaped as the revelation dawned. Once more, a warm smile came to her face as she looked up at the marshal with her big, blue eyes shining like sapphire stars. “Guess our worlds are coming together quite nicely, aren’t they, soldier boy?” Graves couldn’t help but smile in return.
“Huh. Guess they are.”
Leaning down, the marshal planted a tender, heated kiss on the beautiful woman’s rosy lips. Just a moment or two, but that was all the time they needed.
“So… Graves,” Rarity began, just a touch flushed and out of breath. “About your spell gun…”
“Yeah? What is it?”
Giving her lower lip a pensive bite, the pretty seamstress looked up at him with the biggest, sweetest smile she had, the one he could never say no to, and asked with an almost childish amount of delighted excitement:
Graves was a big fan of newspapers. Go to any town of decent size and you got all the highlights of note for said town distilled into a simple, portable document. Maybe it was because he’d been a marshal for so long, but with employment that often meant fast travel and minimal acclimation time, the raven-haired soldier had quickly learned the strategic value of the newspaper. Knowledge was power, so it took less than two shakes of a lamb’s tail before he’d made their readings a regular practice.
Plus, it was a good excuse to have a cup of coffee, and you never pass up a chance at good coffee.
This morning, however, the marshal’s daily ritual took a slight detour. Just as he was settled in and about to take a sip of his piping-hot java, the front window exploded as Spike somersaulted into the room with a shower of broken glass.
“Nice entry,” Graves nodded as he gave the front page a skim. “Landing’s a bit rough.”
“Yeah, I’m working on it,” Spike replied as he quickly brushed the glittering shards from his purple windbreaker. “But that’ll have to wait. We’ve got trouble.”
“I see,” the marshal intoned. Barnyard Bargains was having a two for one sale on paper towels. He should probably make a stop today. “What kind of trouble?”
“Well…”
Spike took a deep breath and…
“So Rarity was having trouble finishing up the bridesmaids’ dresses for Fleur’s wedding – she and Fancy Pants are finally getting hitched, which is about time, if you ask me – but apparently there was a mixup with the communications so the dresses came out periwinkle instead of robin’s egg like Fleur wanted, which actually inspired Fleur to ask Rarity for a completely different sort of dress for them and since there are like, a dozen bridesmaids and each dress has to be thematically link, but individual and unique in a subtle fashion to create a pattern around the bride, or some such nonsense, Rarity didn’t have time to finish them all before the rehearsal dinner, so she went and got an ancient tome of super powerful magic that allows her to alter reality so she could finish the dresses on time, but the power pretty much went to her head like it always does and now she’s trying to redesign the world into a more fashionable existence, which is why Twilight and the others are keeping her trapped in Carousel Boutique while I came and got you because you might be able to talk some sense into her and hopefully keep us all from having to spend the rest of our foreseeable lives in pantaloons.”
Graves blinked.
“… Fancy Pants and Fleur still aren’t married?”
“Graves, focus,” Spike called as he patted the marshal’s cheek. “Ancient mind-bending magic and the fate of the world, remember?”
“Alright, alright,” Graves rumbled, his gravelly baritones slow and steady as he finally set his coffee down and went to grab his coat. “I’ll go and see what I can do.”
*****
As Graves stepped into the pristine confines of Carousel Boutique, he very nearly felt the door smack his backside as it quickly slammed shut. Rainbow Dash was all for letting him take a swing at Rarity – figuratively, of course – but ever since the runaway magic had given her cinnamon bun braids on the sides of her head that wouldn’t come off no matter how hard she tugged, it was sort of understandable how she wasn’t keen on taking any more chances.
“Rarity?” Graves called. “You in here?”
The marshal took a cautious step forward, his gunmetal grey eyes flickered around to scan the strange surroundings. Usually spacious and spotless, the inside of Rarity’s shop now stood cluttered with literal mountains of clothes as every place he looked held heaps and heaps of increasingly fantastical garments: an orange jumpsuit and metal headband lay crumpled in one pile, a stuffed eagle headdress crowned another, and… merciful heaven on high, was the canary yellow garment he spotted actually aquatically-viable lederhosen? Clearly, Rarity’s use of her reality-bending powers was robbing her of her fashion sense as well as her reason.
A flash of bright green light caught the marshal’s attention. Peering around a tower of platform shoes that were more platform than shoe, Graves caught sight of the young beauty as with glowing green hands, she pulled a pair of cast-iron clogs from thin air.
“Rarity?”
She spun around at the sound of his voice, her violet tresses swirling about in a chaotic mess as she fixed the marshal with an emerald gaze.
“Graves, darling!” she beamed, a slight twitch appearing at the corner of her rather maniacal smile. “Just the man I wanted to see!”
“Really…”
“Oh my, yes!” Rarity continued, taking a step forward as her smile grew even wider. “The girls won’t let me share my artistic genius with the world just yet, so I’ve been busy here, coming up with new designs for the next seventeen seasons.”
“That’s a lot of seasons,” he whistled.
“Yes, yes it is,” Rarity nodded as she pursed her lips in concern and took another step forward. “But by about hour three, I felt myself hitting a proverbial brick wall with my work. After all, one can only do so much without inspiration.”
“And I’m guessing that’s where I come in?” he asked with eyebrow arched. Rarity giggled like a tickled scientist of the mad variety as she raised her hands.
“You know, I’ve always wondered how you’d look in lace…”
An arc of brilliant, viridian light shot forth, but Graves was already long gone. Good thing, too, because the spot he’d been standing instantly bloomed with enough lacy frills to make a Victorian countess cry foul. Rarity fired again, but once more, the marshal remained a step ahead of her, ducking behind a Cthulhu’s worth of belts to avoid yet another blast.
“Hold still!” Rarity cried as blast after blast of foppish finery chased after the marshal. “I’m going to make you pretty and you’re going to like it!”
“Not a chance,” Graves called back as after dodging yet another shot, he finally made his move. Grabbing onto a knitted scarf of garish colors adorned with an oddly vegetal looking broach, the marshal did Tarzan proud as he swung around a pile of silvery-chrome onesies to land right behind lady’s six. Rarity twirled again, emerald eyes flashing as she raised her hands to unleash the full force of her dandifying might–
And blinked as Graves booped her nose with the morning news.
“Now that’s enough,” Graves sternly called as he brandished the rolled up paper towards the young lady’s face. “I know you were in a bind, but we don’t use dark magic to solve our problems.”
“But–”
Rarity yelped again as the roll bopped her once more and left a faint, gray smudge on the tip of her dainty, little nose.
“No buts,” Graves warned, his voice taking on tones suitable for a puppy who’d chewed through his umpteenth slipper. “Dark magic bad. Now you’re gonna let go of that sorcery right now or so help me, I’ll turn you over my knee and give you the paddling you deserve. Are we clear?”
Emerald green eyes stared back at gunmetal greys, defiance flashing brighter than even the unnatural light. Then, the glow receded, sapphire hues returned, and with a grace that would have had any antebellum lady seeing green, Rarity swooned right into the marshal’s expectant arms.
“Mmm… Graves?” the young lady called out as she groggily opened her eyes. “What happened?”
“Enchanted book, lost mind, power-fueled rampage,” the marshal shrugged. “You know, dark magic stuff.”
“Ugh, again?” she lamented through pursed lips. “Honestly, mess up one order and it’s the end of the world every time. I didn’t do anything I’d regret, I hope?”
“You tried to put me in lace.”
Rarity’s shudder went right down to the tips of her painted toes.
“Honestly, what was I thinking?” she grimaced. “Lace would go as well on you as brown belts with black shoes.”
“Yeah, still never understood that,” the marshal freely admitted, “but in the meantime, how’re you feeling? Can you stand?”
“I… think so.”
Graves nodded.
“Good. Because you’ve got some cursed hairdos that need unraveling. Let’s go.”
“Now?” Rarity gaped in dismay. “But I’m tired! Between the late nights and mind-wiping hexes, I need a few minutes to get some rest. Can’t it wait for just a little bit?”
“No, no it can’t,” Graves admonished as the stern tones returned. “When you make a mess, you’ve got to clean it up right away.”
“Then can I at least have some ice cream first?” the beautiful girl asked as she turned to the marshal with big, pleading pony eyes that shimmered with liquid adorableness. “Please?”
Graves blinked.
Then Rarity blinked as with a quick swat, he bopped her nose for a third time and spun the little lady around.
“After you finish. Now march.”
With a last swat of the newspaper roll to Rarity’s backside, Graves hustled Rarity towards the door where her fashion-enchanted friends were already beginning to peek in their curious heads. When it came to obligations, the raven-haired soldier was even more relentless than the passing of time, and he made sure Rarity knew there’d be no delightful, frozen dairy treats before she’d fully done hers.
Inwardly, however, he heaved a sigh of relief. Ever since he’d met her, he’d never quite been able to refuse those pleading eyes and he was afraid they’d be enough to break his resolve. But as luck would have it, all it took was a roll of daily journalism to let him – for the first time in forever – actually say no.
Thunder cracked, lightning flashed, and rain drove down in torrential sheets to douse the world in a soaking deluge. Terribly unpleasant weather for the outdoors, but for books? Twilight could imagine none better. Apparently, she wasn’t the only one because just as she was about to settle in with a new copy of the latest installment in The Circle of Ages, the library door popped open to announce a sodden visitor.
“Bite me, it’s rough out there,” a gravelly baritone called out as rain dripped from the broad brim of his weather-beaten hat. “Weather hasn't been this bad since Yinglong got a cold."
“Hey there, marshal!” Twilight beamed as she leaped from her armchair to rustle up some towels. “Haven’t seen you in a while. Another mission?”
“Series actually. Just fixed up the Breezie Gate before I got in.”
“In this weather?” the young scholar gaped. “Well hurry up and get yourself dried off. In the meantime, I was just about to put on a pot of tea. You like chai?”
“Sounds great. Thanks.”
With a smile, Twilight quickly rustled up a plush pile of terrycloth towels and handed them off before heading to the kitchen. That just left Graves to doff his dripping hat and coat before making good use of the towels’ fluffy goodness.
It’d been almost two weeks since he’d last been in town, what with an extended series of missions regarding a vengeful demigod, ancient constructs of immeasurable power, and some sort of large, green monster with a penchant for crushing and grammatically incorrect statements. In between those, he’d been busy with smaller concerns that, while not as life-threatening, just never seemed to end. All this to say was that after alternately being beaten to death with feathers and things of considerably greater size and mass for fourteen days straight, it was high time for road-weary marshal to do some unwinding. For him, that meant a relaxing day with a hot drink and a good book.
After he’d dried off, of course.
“So, anything happen while I was gone?” he called as he ran the towel through the dripping mass of his raven-black hair.
“Mm… nothing much I can think of,” Twilight called back over the clanking of kettles. “Rainbow Dash made up a new move called the Atomic Vomitizer, Filthy Rich announced plans to take Barnyard Bargains overseas, and um… oh yeah! Fluttershy and Big Mac are officially off.”
Gunmetal grey eyes widened into stunned silver disks.
“You’re kidding,” the marshal gaped, towel forgotten in hand. “How come?”
“Apparently, things were too quiet, even for them. Between Fluttershy’s passiveness and Big Mac being about as chatty as a tree stump, there just wasn’t much for them to talk about.”
“Thought that’s why they liked each other.”
“It was,” Twilight hollered over the rising whistle of steam. “They’re still friends and everything, but I guess they were just too much alike for them to really work as a couple.”
“Is that so?” Graves murmured.
The marshal worked the towel over his sturdy linen shirt as he mused over the dynamics of love and life. Too similar, eh? Never really thought that could be an issue, but then again, it sort of made sense. After all, the best fire teams didn’t have just snipers or just charge armors, but a nice balance of both. It was the groups whose skills covered for each other that survived.
Huh. Love was a lot like war. Who’d have thought?
Once satisfied that he’d gone from soaked through to only moderately damp, Graves finally set out to on his original quest. With slow and measured steps, Graves strolled the grand hollow of the tree and perused the shelves, pulling off texts in search of the perfect stormy weather read. Affair of Kingdoms sounded promising: political intrigue, warring nations, and characters dying more quickly than mayflies in June always made for a good romp. William Walker and the Chalice of Flames didn’t look too bad either: coming of age stories of a disenfranchised boy destined for greatness could be a fun little romp. Some, however, were less than optimal to say the least.
“Dusk? Seriously?” the soldier scoffed in disgust. Honestly, if there was ever a vampire who behaved like that in real life, it’d have its fangs revoked, and don’t even get him started on the werewolves. How on earth–
Before the full fury of his ire could rise, the library burst open with a howl of wind and water as three thoroughly soaked miniature masses of mischief and mayhem careened into the marshal’s back.
“MARSHAL GRAAAAAVES! WE’RE BOOOOOOOOOORED!”
“… Um… ‘kay?”
Looking down, the soldier in question saw the diminutive figures of Sweetie Belle, Scootaloo, and Apple Bloom – Ponyville’s resident scamps and mischief makers – clamped to his once more soaked trousers and staring up at him with the forlorn eyes of twice-drowned cats.
“So… you’re bored,” he repeated dumbly, still not quite sure of what to make of the situation.
“And then some!” Scootaloo clucked with obvious irritation through her dripping mat of purple hair. “Do you know how long it’s been raining? Three days. THREE WHOLE DAYS! Honestly, if I don’t see some action soon, I’m gonna go bonkers!”
“Do forgive her,” Apple Bloom drawled with remarkable genteel decorum for one standing under such a wilted, pink bow. “She’s been goin’ a little stir crazy ever since our tobogganing cutie mark plan fell through the cracks.”
“Tobogganing?” Graves blinked. “In this weather?”
“That was the plan. We thought we could pioneer warm-weather tobogganing, but it turns out you really can’t well toboggan when there’s nothing to toboggan on.”
“I didn’t know toboggan was a verb,” the marshal mused.
“Verbing is time honored if often disapproved of etymological device,” Sweetie Belle piped up, her usually poofy pompadour now distinctly less so when dripping with so much rain water. “But that’s beside the point, which is that if we don’t find something to do soon, we’re going to explode!” That last statement came complete with squeaky voice crack, sound effects, and excessive hand gestures.
“Really. Explode,” Grave repeated dubiously. Sweetie Belle made more explodey noises, only much bigger. And explodier.
“So as you can see, Marshal,” Apple Bloom continued, attempting to be the voice of reason for her little troop, “we’re all a bit buggered out on account of the weather, and we were wonderin’ if you might be able to–”
“–bring us to Canterlot on a super surprise field trip?” Sweetie Belle interjected eagerly.
“–give us lessons on sharpshooting?” Scootaloo interjected even more eagerly.
“Take us on another troll hunt?”
“Show us how to do a five finger death-punch?”
“Teach us how to blow things up with our minds?”
“ –tell us a story or somethin' tah pass the time!” the country girl finished with a cry lest she be steamrolled by more immature insanity.
“Oh yeah,” the girls with varying shades of purple in their dos grinned. “That works too.”
Apple Bloom could only sigh.
“So, you came all the way down here so I could… tell you a story,” Graves repeated. He seemed to be doing a lot of that today. Understandable really, considering just about everything he’d heard made as much sense as snowshoes in July.
“Yeah!” the girl in the bodacious bow replied. “Why, I’m bettin’ that as a marshal, you’ve got a whole heap ah’ fun stories you could share, ones that’d keep us right entertained till the weather clears up.”
“Dude, that’s so true!” Scootaloo beamed. “You should totally tell us about a time when you went action hero mode, what with the crazy one man army and lots of fighting and explosions and blood and guts and stuff! The more gooey bits, the better!”
“What? No way!” the girl in cotton candy curls retorted. “If anything, he should tell us a story that involves a princess! One with heroic rescues and love and romance and happy endings! That’s a real story.” At this, the little athlete gave her friend the most deadpan of deadpan expressions.
“Sweetie, you do realize that he’s going out with your sister, right?”
“Well, he is now,” she replied with a very prim, and very familiar-looking sniff. “But this was all before then, so I’m sure there’s no harm in telling us now.”
“Oh come on!” Scootaloo groaned. “Didn’t we just watch your stupid pony princess movie for like, the eleventy billionth time yesterday?”
“Pony Power Princess is not stupid!” Sweetie Belle indignantly piped up. “And besides, that was only because I had to unwind after playing Zombies versus Cannibals with you all day. I mean, I mean, do you know how long it takes to get oatmeal and cherry jello out of your hair? Do you?!”
“Zombies versus Cannibals is a great game and you know it!” Scootaloo shot back. “You’re just mad because I managed to eat your brains twice!”
“No, I’m mad because you cheated! Zombies can’t run that fast and you know it!”
“Twenty zombie apocalypse movies say you’re wrong!”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah!”
“Girls, enough!” Apple Bloom cried, having to literally pull the two apart before they decided to engage in pugilistic combat. “I’m sure Mister Graves can find us a nice, non-argument causing story that we can all enjoy.”
“Psh, yeah right,” Scootaloo scoffed. “There’s no way that he knows a story involving both prissy princess rescues and copious amounts of parental-guidance-required violence.”
“Actually, I do.”
Three pauses.
Three blinks.
Then slowly, three little heads turned their wide-eyed attention to the raven-haired soldier.
“Yah do?” Apple Bloom queried in understandable disbelief.
“Saddle Arabia, two years ago,” Graves nodded. “Got called in to retrieve a–”
A whirlwind of motion interrupted the young soldier’s monologue as the three pint-sized terrors manhandled him into a nearby armchair and took beaming seats before him.
“Now Mister Graves,” the miniature farm girl began with a practically glowing smile, “You were sayin’?”
“I was saying,” the marshal continued as his spinning head settled and he regained his bearings, “that Princess Celestia sent me to Saddle Arabia a while back on a search and rescue. Princess Zul’hara had gone missing and the sheikh was hotter than the sun in August trying to get her back.”
“Now hold on just a second,” Scootaloo interrupted. “Why’d they call us for help? Don’t those desert guys have like, super-powered genies and stuff to take care of their deals?”
“They do,” Graves nodded with a slight smile at the insightful comment. “Except, they couldn’t use them on their own people.”
“Huh?” the confused trio sounded in three-way stereo.
“The sheikh came to Equestria for help because he thought his own people did it. If it were other countries, then those djinn would’ve been stomping around like Big Mac in cider season. But when it’s your own? Last thing you want to do is start off a full blown civil war.”
“But wouldn’t getting other people mixed up make it worse?” Sweetie Belle frowned. “I mean, that’d be like me calling in Twilight to beat up Rarity if we got in a fight.”
“Hey, don’t bring me into this,” Twilight chuckled as she walked in and set a loaded tray upon the center table, one replete with hot tea and new towels for the still soggy girls. “Here you go, Graves, fresh chai with just a touch of milk and sugar.”
“Thanks,” the grey-eyed marshal nodded as he took a sip of the piping hot brew. “So, you've got a point, Sweetie Belle, but it still works out for the best. After all, better that Rarity take it out on Twilight than whoop up on you, right?”
“And how," the cotton candy lassie nodded with hearty concurrence. Graves just chuckled as Twilight rolled her eyes.
“Right. So anyway, I get to Saddle Arabia and the sheikh tells me they suspect the kidnapping was done by the Cult of Sutekh.”
“The Cult of whut now?” Apple Bloom blinked.
“Sutekh. Demon god of blood and sand. Royal family beat it way back, but some folks got the fool notion that bringing it back, wiping out the country, and rebuilding on the ruins would bring in a golden age of prosperity.”
“That makes about as much sense as trying to fly with brick wings,” Scootaloo frowned.
“And how,” Sweetie Belle nodded with hearty concurrence once more.
“Crazy, right?” Graves continued. “But that’s what they thought, and one part of their plan involved kidnapping the princess for a ritual to restore his power.”
“What kind of ritual?” the purple-haired athlete asked as she inched a little bit closer in anticipation of delightful, gooey bits.
“Demon god of blood?” the marshal repeated, eyebrow arched. “What do you think?”
Three pairs of eyes went very wide as undeveloped, but enthusiastic imaginations went to work.
“Yeah, that kind of business,” Graves nodded. “Needless to say, the sheikh would have none of that, so he called Celestia. Course, this all had to stay hush hush – didn’t want them to know we were moving, you see – so I touch down, get my orders, and get to work. Or, I would have, except for one problem.
“What’s that?” Apple Bloom chirped.
“We knew who to find, but no idea where to look.”
“How about a phone book?” Sweetie Belle suggested.
“Er… cults don’t really list themselves,” the marshal replied with a crooked grin. “Demon worshipers don’t exactly have great reputations, so they pretty much stayed underground.”
“Then why don’t you dig them up?” Scootaloo suggested with the cheekiest of cheeky grins. Graves just rolled his eyes.
“So right then, we have no idea where they are. But what we do know is that the best person to catch a criminal is always another criminal. That’s how I ended up in the Rat’s Nest.”
“That doesn’t sound like a very wholesome place,” Sweetie Belle grimaced.
“Not at all,” Graves readily agreed. “Dirty tavern way off on the city limits where the law’s the lightest? You get the worst kinds of thieves and villains you can imagine. Hay, even the best would sell off his own grandmothers for a shiny copper, then stab you and steal her back to sell again.”
“So what’d you do?” Scootaloo asked with wide-eyed interest. “You go in and beat the crap out of everyone till they talked?”
“Don’t be a chucklehead, Scoot,” Apple Bloom scoffed. “There’s no way one person could’ve cleaned out a whole house fulla varmints.”
“She’s right,” the marshal shrugged, “especially since even criminals have rules. Out there, the Nest is a peaceable zone where local thugs can grab a drink in… relative safety. You start trouble in there, and the whole lot will turn to cut you down to chowder bits before you can even blink.”
“Then what’d you do?” Sweetie Belle piped up. “Pay them?” Graves shook his head.
“They’d lie through their teeth and disappear with the money faster than a will o’ the wisp at dawn. No, the only way that’d work is starting a fight.”
“But… but you jess said you couldn't start any trouble,” Apple Bloom frowned.
“There's starting trouble,” the marshal grinned, "and then there's starting trouble.”
“Huh?” came the tri-unison call.
“The Nest may be peaceable, but that don’t mean the patrons are. Fact is, nobody there trusts anyone else farther than they can throw them and a whole lot less for some of the smaller ones. The whole place is always about ready to go up like a powder keg and that was a very good thing. After I take a seat, all I had to do was wait for a guy with full mugs to walk by another guy who's lounging about, stick my foot out just so, and... boom.”
“No way,” Scootaloo gaped in abject delight. “What happened?”
“Exactly what you’d expect,” Graves chuckled. “Bottles go flying, chairs get broken, and I think at least three people went through the windows before the first knife came out, and it came out fast. All the while, I start making my way around the place and ask my questions. Took a few tries, but eventually I found it.”
“You found the princess?” Sweetie Belle squeaked in amazement.
“I found where to start,” the marshal corrected. “The Cult of Sutekh’s a pretty secret group: you’ve got to do a lot to be a member. Still, there was one man, a rat-faced fellow named Sehmayed, told me where to find the group's recruiter. It's just following the bread crumbs from there.”
“But how’d you get ‘im tah talk?” Apple Bloom frowned. “Applejack always told me that the one ah the only things fibbers and scoundrels hate more than the honest truth is a squealer.”
“Simple,” Graves shrugged. “I asked.”
“That’s it?” Scootaloo frowned. “That’s all you had to do.”
“It’s amazing what asking nicely’ll get you,” the marshal remarked over a swallow of tea. “Especially when you ask nicely while dangling them off the roof of the local bazaar.”
Immature giggles. The best kind.
“Well, ended up that the recruiter didn’t know where the princess was,” Graves continued as a faint glow of excitement began to heat up his silver eyes, “but he knew a higher up in the Cult. Later that night, I break into his place, take out his guards, and have a little chat with him. Politely, of course. It takes a while, but he finally points me to a priest – the inside man for the kidnapping job – and the priest finally tells me where the princess is.”
“Where? Where?!” Sweetie Belle squeaked, looking as if she might explode if she didn’t find out soon.
“The Howling Sands.”
Already wide eyes grew just a little wider.
“The… Howlin’ Sands?” Apple Bloom gulped. Graves nodded.
“ ‘Bout a day’s journey out, there’s a place in the desert where the land just… sinks. A hundred paces across, the desert just keeps on pouring down into this deep, black hole, a hole that howls like a wolf beneath the full moon’s light.”
“B-but that’s just the wind, right?” Scootaloo grinned, a shaky little thing more bluster than bravado. “Nothing to be scared of, right?”
“That’s right,” Graves nodded. “After all, it’s not like it howls even when the air’s still, day or night, never ending, right? Or that anyone who falls in never comes out? You're right. Nothing to be scared of at all.”
Slowly, the marshal raised china to his lips, masking a smile as he watched a chilled shudder ripple through his little audience.
“W-well, w-w-what’d you do?” Sweetie Belle asked through chattering teeth.
“Only thing I could,” Graves continued. “The priest told me they were sacrificing the princess at sunrise. We only had a few hours till then, so I rushed back to the palace, notified the sheikh, and got the fastest magic carpet they had to take me to the Sands.”
“Did you make it?” Apple Bloom gasped. The girls probably didn’t even realize they were edging in closer with every word. Not even Twilight realized as her mug grew cold and forgotten in hand.
“With only minutes to spare,” Graves nodded. “I landed on a stony hill, probably half a click away. From there, I could see them, the Cult of Sutekh, a hundred men in blood-red robes and snake-like spears of twisted bronze. They were at the edge of the sinkhole, the princess tied down amidst them on a stone tablet while they started pounding away on giant, rawhide drums. As they pounded, the rest joined in, slamming their spear butts into the sand and screaming some ancient language up to the high heavens, louder than sin and fit enough to raise a storm. Well, they raise something up alright, but let me tell you, it wasn’t something as nice as a little old storm.”
Nobody asked what the something was. Nobody could speak. But the marshal saw the question shining in each eye and continued.
“It rose up slow, right up from that howling hole in the desert. A claw came first, big as a wagon with giant claws that could cut an ox up eight ways till Sunday. Three more came up to join it and together, they pulled out something monstrous. Gleaming black eyes. Fangs dripping with venom. Scales the color of fresh blood and big around as a man’s shield. Out of that pit, Sutekh arose, a demon once beaten now risen to walk the world once more.
“As he rose, the worshippers fell back, leaving the princess alone before the demon like dinner on a plate. Sutekh looked down at her, tasted the air with his long, forked tongue, and he smiled. From two scabbards at his side, he pulled out his weapons, giant curved blades of thick, rusted iron. These, he raised to the sky as he cried out, his rasping voice echoing across the desert. Soon, he'd have the princess. Soon, he’d be back to full strength and the sands would run red once more. There wasn't any more time. If anyone was going to stop him, it’d have to be right there, right then.”
“What did you do?” Sweetie Belle cried. Graves grinned.
“You wanna know?”
“Yeah!” all four cried. The marshal’s grin grew wider.
“Well, I was up far away. They hadn’t seen me yet. So quietly, I took out my rifle…”
His audience inched a little closer.
“… took a deep breath…”
Eyes grew to the size of tea saucers.
“... got myself ready, and…”
Expectant smiles on every face, Graves gave his biggest, cockiest, son-of-a gunnest smirk, and said,
“… I shot him.”
Silence.
Pause.
Silence some more.
“And?” Apple Bloom prompted.
“And he went down,” the marshal grinned, smug as Rainbow Dash after beating Applejack at, well, anything.
“Just… one shot,” she intoned. “That’s all it took.”
“That’s all,” Graves nodded. “Picture perfect placement between the cervical and thorasic vertebrate. Didn’t even have time to twitch.”
“But… but what about the action?” Scootaloo cried.
“And the romance?” Sweetie Belle squealed.
“Oh yeah. Well, the royal guards came in and cleaned up the cult. Didn’t see much of it – had to get the princess to safety – but she made it back just fine and married the Sultan of Istampbull a month later.”
“But you didn’t see it,” Apple Bloom said.
“New mission,” Graves shrugged. “But it happened, and that’s what counts, right?”
Pause.
Silence as Apple Bloom looked to Sweetie Belle, who turned to Scootaloo, who returned to Apple Bloom. There were no words, but as one, the three nodded, stood, and walked towards the door.
“Hey, where you going?” Graves called out, now slightly confused. “It's still raining.”
“Yeah, we know,” Scootaloo shrugged. “But after that story, the rain might not be so bad after all.”
“What, you didn't like it?” the marshal blinked.
“Like is such a... strong word?” Apple Bloom wondered. “It was more like your story, oh, I don’t know…”
“Failed harder than your sister trying to make dresses?” Scootaloo suggested.
“Exactly," the farm girl agreed with a bob of her pink-bowed head. "Long story short, Mister Graves? Your story was just plain awful.”
His mouth worked silently as the marshal gaped like a landed trout.
“Sweetie Belle,” Graves called as he turned thunderstruck eyes to the little girl. “You didn’t think my story was awful, did you?”
The girl with cotton candy curls made a few dainty adjustments to her dress before she turned to the marshal and gave him a neat little curtsy.
“Thank you for the story, Mister Graves,” she said in the sweetest, politest, cotillion class tones. “It was certainly an interesting experience.”
Wide silver eyes could only stare at the retreating figures as the library door quickly closed behind them.
Awful? Awful?! Aw come on, how the hay was his story awful? It had everything they wanted: action, romance, and a happy ending. Hay, he'd even given them the happiest ending of all: a clean, successful mission. How on earth could they hate on such a great story?
“My story wasn't awful,” Graves muttered, still not believing what he’d heard. “They just didn't get it. I mean, you heard everything, right, Twilight? You don't think that... ah, Twilight? ... Twilight?”
He tried to get the young librarians attention. Several times in fact, though she never did answer. After all, it’s hard to hear questions when you’re rolling on the floor with laughter.
A quiet morning. A piping hot cup of steaming, black coffee. A copy of Charming Quill’s latest novel, Remembrance of Forgotten Times.
Cracking open the paperback, Graves settled into his armchair and began to read, a faint smile coming to his face that wasn’t completely from the quality of the words. Even after nearly a year in Ponyville, the marshal still wasn’t quite accustomed to having so much leisure. But it was a good kind of unaccustomed, like when you replace an old mattress with a much nicer one. Sure, it’s not what you’re completely familiar with, but it’s so soft and deliciously plush that after the first night, you start wondering how you’d ever managed to fall asleep on such a lumpy bag of small potatoes before.
A sip of good joe. A quiet crinkling of a freshly turned page. His smile grew.
“GRAAAAAAVES!”
And just like that, the silence exploded in a cacophony of slamming doors and stomping feet. Sweetie Belle, the cotton candy headed youngster stormed into his living room, livid eyes flashing, sundress abillowing, and her squishy cheeks puffing out in barely suppressed outrage.
“Graves!” she hollered at the top of her chirpy lungs. “Rarity’s being a big old poopy headed meany!”
“I most certainly am not!” the incensed, but still beautiful lady in question exclaimed as she arrived hot on her diminutive sister’s heels. Amazing how even this early in the morning, her makeup was already flawless and her clothes elegant perfection, an effect only slightly marred by the lightning positively shooting from her sapphire eyes. “I am simply trying to keep my clearly misguided fool of a little sister from engaging in an unquestionable piece of pure buffoonery.”
“I am not a baboon!” Sweetie Belle screeched as she stamped her little feet. “All I want is to try and get my cutie mark just like all the other girls in school!”
“By summoning demons?!” the pretty dressmaker gaped, each word fully laden with twenty odd pounds of grade A exasperation. “You have got to be joking!”
“It’s only a little one, gosh!” the little girl returned with equal, if not greater... furor? It was honestly hard to tell – she was clearly upset, but the squeakiness of her voice wasn’t doing her outrage any favors. “Mel Borgia’s only a demon from the eighth circle of torment. Eighth! That’s like, seven away from the first, and we all know that the most important things go first, so what’s the big deal?”
“Sweetie Belle, there are so many things wrong with that statement, I don’t even know where to begin.”
“You never do!” the younger sibling cried as her face began to turn a most remarkable shade of purple. “You always treat me like a little kid and never let me try anything new!”
“I treat you like a child because you are a child!” Rarity shot back, hand flung high in the air with a fantastic roll of the eyes. “For goodness sakes, Sweetie Belle, you’re not even eleven yet!”
“Yeah, and still without a cutie mark!”
“But summoning hell spawn isn’t going to help!”
“Well it might!”
“Ooh… Graves, tell her how absolutely preposterous all of this sounds.”
“Yeah Graves! Tell my sister how she’s being a complete dumb butt.”
The marshal paused, looking for a moment into Rarity’s flashing sapphire blues and then for a bit into Sweetie Belle’s blazing emerald greens. It was fascinating really, how similar those two sets of eyes were. You could really tell they were sisters just from the way they glared icy death at the marshal, just daring him to make a move.
“Well, Graves?” Rarity continued, a dangerous edge coming into her voice. “What do you say?”
The marshal closed his book as he considered the situation, brow furrowing with deep thought. He scratched his chin for a moment before looking back to the ladies, fixing his gunmetal grey eyes on each in turn. Finally, Graves set the book aside, gave a slight nod, and simply said,
“Nope.”
With a loud bang, the soldier’s living room instantly filled with dense, gray smoke. Coughing and eyes watering, Rarity pulled out her wand and summoned a small gust of wind to vent the room. By the time the haze had cleared, Graves was nowhere to be found. In fact, all the two sisters could see was a gently creaking window pane and curtains fluttering in the breeze as the figure of a man in a long, brown coat disappeared into the horizon.
Was it a cowardly move that Graves had made? Maybe. Was it a very smart move that had saved him from a certain, grisly demise?
High noon in Ponyville’s town square. A harsh wind howled as two titans approached, ready to do battle for honor and glory.
“You ready for this, Scootaloo?!” Sweetie Belle squeaked as she pulled her red ball cap around to let a cotton candy curl pop out like a fluffy, little quail feather. Across the square, her arch rival rolled up her long, purple sleeves and thumbed her nose like a 80’s kung fu star.
“You know it! World Pokémon Super Ultra Championship Battle is officially a go!”
Eyes glinting in the hard sun, hands darted to belts and retrieved the red and white orbs that would mark the start of their epic duel.
“Go, Persian! I choose you!” Sweetie Belle yelped.
“Let ‘em have it, Crocnaw! Go!” Scootaloo cried.
The two Pokéballs sailed through the air and landed, splitting the papier-mâché hulls apart to release an exploding sprays of red confetti. Sparing a moment to admire a morning’s worth of work well spent, the two hurriedly turned around to get their “Pokémon” in place.
“Ow, quit it, Opal!” Sweetie Belle winced as her sister’s hissing cat caught her a good swipe on the hand. “You’re supposed to be fighting Scootaloo, not me!”
“What’s the matter, Sweetie Belle?” her cocky friend gloated, “is it hurting you in confusion?”
“Just you – ow! – watch, Scootaloo! At least my Pokémon has attacks!”
“Yeah? Well… uh…”
Well, Leer was technically a move, which sort of counted, right? And Gummy, with his wide, empty gaze, was certainly doing a good job of that.
“Alright,” the girl in curls called as she finally got her cat reasonably situated. “Persian! Use your Fury Swipes!”
Being as disagreeable as ever, Opal deigned to cease her hissing clawing and chose to wash her paws instead.
“Hah! My turn!” Scootaloo crowed. “Crocnaw! Use Bite!”
He did. Opal didn’t seem to notice.
“Looks like it’s not very effective,” Sweetie Belle smirked. “Persian! Use… uh… Tail Whip!”
With a look of supreme condescension, the white cat continued to lick its paws. However, she did sort of move her tail around, enough to tickle Gummy’s nose at least. With a squeaky pop, the toothless alligator sneezed itself right off.
“Oh no, critical hit!” Scootaloo groaned. “Alright Crocnaw, come back and take a rest.”
A slow blink and Gummy ambled off on his merry little way.
“Alright, Sweetie Belle. You may have the advantage, but I’ll bring it back with this. Go… Blastoise!”
It took a little huffing and puffing, but Tank finally made his dramatic appearance into the battle.
“Go, Blastoise! Use your Headbutt!” the tomboy cried.
Turning its head about very, very slowly, Tank gave Scootaloo a very, very confused look.
“Come on, use Headbutt,” the purple haired girl pleaded. “Just do that little… you know… head thing you always do.”
After a blink that lasted a good fifteen seconds, Tank finally seemed to get the idea as he turned and nudged Opal with his noggin. Slowly, of course.
“The attack missed!” Sweetie Belle cheered.
“No it didn’t! It totally hit!” Scootaloo shot back.
“Well, it didn’t do anything, did it?” she retorted.
“If it didn’t, then just say it wasn’t very effective,” her friend replied.
“I already said that! I was trying to add some variety to the situation!”
“Yeah, well– wait, what?”
As the two were arguing, it seemed that the Pokémon had gotten some ideas of their own. Not pleased at having been touched by a lesser creature, Opal had taken a swipe at the tanky tortoise, who had jumped back into his shell with surprising alacrity. The swipe, therefore, had come into contact not with the turtle, but its shell, resulting in a very upset cat as it broke a well-manicured claw.
A screeching yowl later, and the cat darted off like a furry, white cannonball.
“So... Persian fainted?” Scootaloo suggested.
“I guess,” Sweetie Belle shrugged.
Here, the red capped girl turned to grab her next Pokémon, only to find that it was nowhere to be found. It seems like Owlicious wasn’t as keen to play a Hoothoot as she’d originally thought.
“Well, what now?” Scootaloo frowned. “It’s not exactly an epic battle if you’ve only got one on your entire team.”
“Um, gimme a second,” Sweetie Belle called out. “I’m sure I’ll figure out something.
Rummaging through her pockets, the cotton candy haired girl took quick inventory of what she might possibly use as her next battler. Pocket lint? Possibly a Ghastly, but not very convincing. A goldfish cracker? About as useful as a Magikarp, but not quite worthy of a place in their World Pokémon Super Ultra Championship Battle. A butter knife? It could do for a Honedge, but they’d agreed on only up to Gen… wait, why did she even have a butter knife?
Just as Scootaloo was about to claim dibs on Sweetie Belle’s snack fund, salvation came walking over on hard-soled boots.
“Graves! Thank goodness you showed up!” Sweetie Belle beamed as she ran over to grab the marshal’s sleeve. “Here, you need to step in. There’s no way Scootaloo can beat me now that I have a Genesect!”
“Sweetie Belle–”
“Wait, what?” Scootaloo gaped. “How the hay is he a Genesect?”
“Um, hello? He carries around a big old metal cannon as part of his job? I think that qualifies him for the job,” Sweetie Belle replied with a roll of her eyes.
“Yo, ‘sup squirt?” the aforementioned flyer grinned as she alighted next to the giddy little girl.
“So, me and Sweetie Belle are having a Pokémon battle, only she’s cheating by calling in Graves on her side–”
“It’s not cheating!” Sweetie Belle huffed as her squishy cheeks puffed up in anger. “It’s a legitimate choice for a competitive sweeper! Everyone knows that!”
“Sweetie Belle–”
“Aw yeah, I used to love this stuff!” Rainbow Dash chuckled as she began stretching out her arms. “So what am I? Rapidash cause of my name? Pigeotto cause of my speed?”
“Rayquaza.”
“WHAT?!” Sweetie Belle screeched. “And you say I’m cheating?”
“What the hay’s a Rayquaza?” Rainbow Dash blinked. As a staunch gen oner, her knowledge of the Pokémon in question was sorely lacking.
“Legendary dragon,” Scootaloo beamed. “Controls the weather and flies so high, almost nobody’s ever seen it. I thought it’d suit you cause you’re both so cool and all.”
“Heck, you betcha!” Rainbow Dash grinned. “Course, it probably needs to be about twenty percent cooler, but your head’s in the right place.”
“Okay, that’s it!” Sweetie Belle cried. “If you’re gonna cheat by using legendaries, then I’m taking priority and attacking first. Go Genesect! Hyper Beam!”
…
…
…
“I said… Go Genesect! Hyper Beam!”
Even with the repeated command and dramatic finger point, there was no movement from the marshal. In fact, from the way he stood with arms cross and feet firmly planted, launching into sudden and violent confrontation seemed to be the last thing on his mind.
“Sweetie Belle,” he called once more, the low rumbles of his baritone sounding like thunder on the horizon. “I just had a chat with your sister. Didn't you promise to clean up the living room this morning?”
“Um… yes?” the little girl nodded as she suddenly recalled the mess of construction paper and confetti she'd left all over the galleria's floor.
“Morning’s over, isn’t it?” Graves continued, as calmly and coolly as ever as he glanced up at the noonday sun.
“Um… yes?” Sweetie Belle answered, a drop of sweat rolling down her forehead.
“Well then,” the marshal frowned as he fixed gunmetal grey eyes on her with a pointed look. “Are you finished?”
“Just gimme five more minutes, Graves!” Sweetie Belle squeaked as she latched onto his sleeve in fervent plea. “I just need to finish this one battle and I promise I’ll do it as soon as it’s over! Pretty please with chocolate sprinkles and a cherry on top?”
Graves looked down at the fluffy little girl as she looked up at him with big, sorrowful, pony eyes. He stroked his chin in thought.
“Woah, I didn’t know Genesects knew Seismic Toss,” Scootaloo gaped.
“You make a promise, you keep it,” Graves said, as calmly and coolly as ever as he walked back to Carousel Boutique with the Sweetie Belle safely tucked under arm. “When Rarity says you’re done, you can come back out and finish your little game, but not a minute before.”
“Stop! Lemme go!” Sweetie Belle cried out as she flailed with all the effectiveness of a Splash attack. “Genesect, return! Use Rest! U-turn! Uh… Self Destruct!”
“Yeah yeah,” Graves sighed with a weary roll of his eyes. “Not enough badges to train me.”
And with a final, dismayed wail, Graves rounded the corner and carried his forlorn quarry out of sight.
“… Huh,” Rainbow Dash blinked. “I thought trainers caught Pokémon, not the other way around.
“Maybe it got its hands on a Master Ball?” Scootaloo offered.
“Maybe…”
The two stood there, a little confused as to what had just happened and a little confused as to what came next. Rainbow looked down to Scootaloo. Scootaloo looked up to Rainbow.
“So,” the older girl shrugged. “Wanna go throw stuff off a cliff?”
