It was a foggy summer afternoon. The clouds rolled out on the horizon, misting the air, and blocking sun as it slowly glided towards its final destination. All about, the ponies of Canterlot were preparing for bed. The guards ran their rotations, swapping out for the lunar guard, and their night patrol were taking up office.
Yes, everything was quiet and serene in Canterlot; everything, all except for one, little, filly.
Zipporwhill stood outside the castle gates, leaned back on her flanks and staring up at the looming bars like they were the vehicle of her destiny. She sat in the normal garb of the Filly Scout troop, with her sash draped across her withers, and the little beret perched atop her head—perfectly set, if it were not for the tiny tiara poking out from beneath the edges.
Behind her, she pulled a red cart of her tow, laden heavy with the wares of her sale. Piles upon piles of cookie boxes, all assorted flavours, lay, disguising the cart’s true purpose.
This is it, she thought to herself. All she had to do was get past the gates. Approach the guards and, as soon as the princesses knew she was carrying moon cakes, they wouldn’t hesitate to call her into the castle. They’d take her right up to the throne room for a personal meeting, and if her intel was anything to go by, they’d want to request a private session.
Once she had them alone, then, Zipporwhill will enact her master plan.
There was a loud, creaking groan that snapped the filly from her thoughts. She squeaked slightly, almost dropping the beret as she jumped to her hooves.
The gates slowly began to part. The metal bars rang and chimed, squealing through the cool night air as they scraped across the open gravel. Slightly inside, a pair of guards stepped forth, one wobbling and waddling, with his armour barely hanging on as it were, whilst the second one looked to the first with disdain.
“Miss,” he began, rolling his eyes. He turned to look away from his fellow guard to address the filly before him. “I’m sorry, but we can’t let you in this hour. The castle is closed.”
Zipporwhill pouted at this. Enact plan B, she thought, and put on her best puppy dog eyes, being sure to pout extra hard and emphasis her big, emerald eyes. “B-But, mister,” she began in her cutest possible voice. To add insult to injury, she threw in a slight crunch of her sash with her hooves, as if she were being nervous, and lowered her head as she looked to the stallion. “You don’t have just a few minutes for a widdle old me?”
“I—” The stallion flinched, his heart suddenly in pain. He seemed to stumble, but quickly recovered and showed no reaction otherwise. “I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to ask you to—”
“Oh, but isn’t she adorable!” the second guard gasped. Zipp was almost taken aback, thrown by surprise as what she’d assumed to be a stallion started talking in a feminine voice. What’s more, she noted, the mare seemed to also have a particular southern drawl as she proceeded to buffet the first guard with her hooves. “Now come on”— she put on her own rendition of the puppy dog eyes— “won’t y’all just let her in for a second, please?”
“I—uh—” The guard gulped. He leaned back, taking a step away from the mare to try and reclaim his personal space. Unfortunately, the ground was lost as she trotted forwards and leaned against him, bringing their faces close and muzzles almost touching.
By now, the stallion was sweating profusely. His brow furrowed, he glance from the mare beside him, staring at him with big, bright, shimmering, eyes, to the little foal still out in the street, also staring at him, with slight tears in her eyes as she began to shiver. “Please, mister,” she begged, tugging at his heartstrings.
“Uh...” He gulped, again, and seemed to almost deflate, letting out a long, heavy sigh as his resolve crumbled. “O-okay,” the stallion finally whispered under his breath. She stepped aside, waving a hoof to welcome the filly in. “But only for a few seconds, no more,” she said.
“Yay!” The mare cheered. She broke into a wide grin, and squeezed the stallion at her side, crushing his ribs as she hugged him tightly. “Thank you, thank you, thank you...”
The mare’s voice trailed off into the background as Zipp started through the gate, pulling her little cart behind her. She bore a slight smirk as she passed the stallion and his mare. All according to plan, she thought, Soon, the princesses will know who really has the best tiara.
Zipporwhill had a mischievous gleam in her eye, the kind of spark that only grew by the second. She bore a slight smirk as she trotted across the castle courtyard, the sounds of her red cart, rattling and squeaking, shifting and shuffling as its contents were buffeted along.
She trotted briskly, her tiny legs barely keeping pace as she followed the two guards from earlier. The stallion and mare trotted together in front of her, she with her head against his side, still cooing and glancing back to Zipp on every occasion, whilst he still kept his poise.
They’d long since left the gates to be closed behind. It had been almost ten minutes, and darkness was already befalling the castle grounds. All around them, lanterns were being turned on, bats fluttered, and lunar guards yawned as they approached their stations. All in the castle were winding down for the night. All, that is, except for the rare few.
As they walked, the distant murmur of activity started to reach Zipp’s ears. They pricked slightly at the sound, and she strained to hear what it was the best she could. They trotted between a pair of buildings with lights still on, the sounds growing louder, and the source becoming clear as they reached a small side entrance.
The guard stopped beside the door. He took a second to push the mare away from his side, and then turned down to address Zipp. Still keeping the formalities, he started, “Alright, ma’am--”
“Zipp, Zipporwhill, mister,” she corrected.
“Yes, of course.” The stallion nodded, and then motioned to the door with a hoof. “Now these are my barracks. Keep quiet and follow my lead, and everything should be fine. You should have ample opportunity to sell your cookies inside.”
“Ooh!” Zipp’s eyes lit up, and she almost jumped as she chirped, “Alrightly, mister!” Then, immediately gasping, she clasped her hooves over her mouth and retreated away from the guards’ glares. “I mean—” she squeaked, and then clamped her mouth shut, making a show of doing a quick zip-and-lock motion with her hooves. She then tossed away the imaginary keys and beamed.
“...” At length, the guard heaved a sign. “Okay” He then turned to the mare next to him with a pointed hoof. “And that goes double for you,” he whispered, “If the commander finds out I brought a mare into the male barracks, he’d have my head.”
“Oh, I promise I’ll be quiet,” she said, and mimicked Zipporwhill’s motions from earlier. “Cross my heart.”
“Good.” He nodded, and turned to the door.
The guard took a moment to pause, and to collect himself. He drew a deep breath and puffed out his chest. Slowly, he reached up a hoof, and rapped twice on the hard wood.
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK
Silence fell between them. Zipp and the mare stood back as they waited for an answer. At length, a tiny slit in the door pulled open, and a pair of blue eyes glared through from the darkness within.
“Private Iron Hoof,” the stallion began, reading off his title and rank as he saluted the door, “Reporting for—“
The slit slammed shut, cutting Iron Hoof short. There was a rumble, the sounds of several locks being slid into their open position, and then the door swung inwards with a loud crash..
“Where have you been, Private!?” A gravelly, deep voice screamed, and the door was immediately replaced by a literal wall of muscle. A cream stallion close to triple his size loomed in the doorway, the oceans of muscles rippling, barely contained beneath his plates of flimsy armour. They flexed to fill the entranceway, and the wooden doorframe creaked and groaned loudly with every movement he made. “You’re late! And why are you bringing civilians into the barracks outside of visiting hours!?”
“P-P-Commander Pansy Pants!” Iron Hoof stammered, stumbling away from the door out of shock. He stepped in front of Zipp, trying to block her from view with his body as he address the Commander. “I—I—It’s—I j—“
“Spit it out, Private!” the commander yelled, covering all three ponies in a thin spray of his spittle.
“I-She was at the gate, and I th—“
“And you thought you’d let her in!?”
“N-n—I mean, yes, b—“
“Give me one reason not to dismiss you right now, Private!”
“We—well-I-she—” Iron Hoof was stammering uncontrollably, his entire body shaking as he feared for his life.
He glanced to his side, looking for anything to save himself, when, all of a sudden the mare stepped up and shoved him out of the way, as she screamed, “She has cookies!”
“Cookies!?” The commander yelled, covering both guards in a fresh coating of spittle.
“Y-Y-” Iron hoof nodded, hesitantly. “Yeah, b—”
“I love cookies!” He yelled and, with some difficulty squeezed back into the barracks, leaving a gap in the door just large enough for them to fit past. “Come on in!”
The inside of the barracks was a hot and humid place. The air felt heavy with the musk of stallions at work, and was filled with the raucous laughter of the guards as they enjoyed their night off. All throughout the living courters, ponies were going about their business, either in the progress of removing their armour, or turning down their beds for the night.
Around one of the beds in particular, lit under the flickering light of a lantern, a large crowd of stallions gathered to listen to the latest tales from the cadet’s training.
“...and then,” said one of the guards—an off-white stallion with a deep blue mane sat in the middle of the circle. He was leaned against one of the chairs, with a foreleg wrapped around the backrest, whilst he waved with the other, regaling the group of his tale. “He actually did it!”
“Pfft—” Behind him, a guard seated at the dinner table, overheard, and did a spit-take. He almost spewed across the entire table as he double back in laughter, soon after joined by the whole room as everypony burst into a loud chorus of guffaws.
“Thunder, that’s amazing!” a greying stallion with a bristled moustache shouted above the rest. He leaned in to slap his friend on the back, almost knocking him clear off of his seat as they both went to wipe the tears from their eyes. “Ah couldn’t ah done it better m’self,” he said, “and how’d the princess respond?”
“Oh, you know...” Thunder rolled his eyes. “...the usual. They actually kind of liked it. I think he’s been appointed their official mane-s—”
“Alright, maggot!”
Thunder, and everypony else in the room, was suddenly cut off by a loud holler from outside. Almost all at once, the whole room went deathly silent, each stallion within earshot frozen on the spot. Their already white faces turned even paler as they slowly turned together to look to the door.
The ground shook with a rhythmic, thump, thump, thump, the windows rattling and the floorboards creaking in protest beneath their gargantuan weight.
On the far side of the room, the bathroom clicked and sprang open, revealing in a cloud of steam a slender pegasus covered head to hoof in hot towels. He trotted out with a loofah in hoof, glancing around at all the stallions looking the other way.
Before Cadet Zephyr Breeze could so much as open his mouth to say, “Hey, guys, what’s everypony looking a—” the other door burst open in a flurry of motion, slamming against the far wall so hard any lesser door would have shattered.
In the wake of the echoing crash, the empty doorway was filled with a literal wall of muscle as it flexed and stretch. With no lack of effort—and many frustrated grunts and groans, in part from the door— the Commander ‘n Chief of the Royal Guard squeezed through and into the room.
Immediately behind him emerged the female guard and Iron Hoof, with a little filly in a Filly Scout’s uniform curiously peeking in from the edges of the doorway.
“All right, maggots!” Commander Pansy Pants repeated, his gravelly voice booming through the barracks. He took a step aside, pulling his massive bulk out of the way to allow Zipporwhill space to walk. “Listen up; this little filly has something important to say!”
As the Commander pointed, every eye in the room followed, and attention fell on the little filly currently standing in the doorway. Zipporwhill squeaked, emitting a tiny eep as she retreated out of fright. She ducked behind the doorway, hiding from the stallions’ expectant gazes to collect herself.
O-okay, she gulped. Glancing once more around the corner, she saw the stallions still watching her with wide eyes, their ears turned forward out of curiosity as they waited for what she had to say. Okay, Zipp. She breathed. Just as you practiced.
Steadying her nerves, Zipporwhill held her head high and grabbed the handle of her cart. She puffed out her chest, giving a cursory glance to Iron Hoof and the mare beside her, and stepped back out into the open.
The ponies’ eyes watched intently as Zipporwhill strutted into the room, her eyes closed as she stuck a pose beside the commander. The usual Filly Scout procedure—she had to make sure it was convincing—puffed out chest to ensure the sash was fully visible, and a flash of a proud salute, as she squeaked out her lines. “I—” she stammered, “I’m Filly Scout Zipporwhill. Scout number sixty-nine, of troop number sixty-nine, Canterlot Division, an—”
“Yes, yes,” the Commander interrupted, hoof waving a yawn. He waved to the filly, barely missing the coffee table and two other stallions as he struggled to turn sideways. “Get on with it, we all know the Filly Scout designation!”
“O—Oh.” Zipp blinked. She glanced to the guards, and then to the cart. She pulled it a bit closer—“Well,”—and pointed—“I’m selling cookies, and—”
All across the room, stallion’s ears perked up. Their eyes lit up and all together they screamed, “COOKIES!?”
“Y-yes,” Zipp nodded. Scrunching her nose, she glanced to the cart, and was about to explain— “Bu—” –when she was suddenly cut off by a rumble and the loud stampede of hooves behind her.
The poor filly, she couldn’t get another word out as she was swarmed by her new patrons, each hoofing over bits and coins from their piggy banks.
One particular voice screamed above the rest. “I want chocolate chip!” Thunder shouted. Barging forward, he practically shoved his fellow guards out of the way as he stepped forth with a helmet full of bits in his hooves.
“C-Come on!” Zipporwhill wheezed. Pulling with all of her might, the tiny filly’s breath came in short pants as she struggled to pull the heavy cart behind her. Her mane was already starting to look a little frazzled. Her sash was crooked with chinks in its edges, and the beret—as she leaned back, flopped to the ground. “Oh...poo.” Taking a break, Zipp dropped the handle of her cart and leaned down to pick up the beret.
She carefully secured it over her head, being sure to hide the tiara well this time, and cast a glance back over the mountainous load.
The poor wagon, its wheels creaked and bent beneath the weight of the bits. The towering pile of money eclipsed the filly, coming just barely past the tips of her ears as they swayed precariously.
She was now owner to a small fortune, almost enough that, if she were old enough, Zipp could buy and retire to a small mansion in the country-side. However, that meant little for her plan. The idea was to tell the guards about the moon cakes. But, in the confusion, she’d barely had another word past her original speech.
In the end—she breathed a sigh—it was a good thing none of them really had a thing for peanut butter crunch, she concluded. If it weren’t for that last layer in the cart, they would’ve surely found her secret weapon.
With another, heaving sigh, Zipporwhill grabbed the handle of her cart to start moving again. “I guess I’ll just have t—“
“Hey, Zipporwhil!”
Zipp froze, her blood running cold as a voice called out for her from behind. “Oh no,” she whispered, dread creeping into her voice, “I can’t have been found out already.”
Her heart pounding, Zipp’s mind went into overdrive as she considered the situation. She glanced around the empty quad. She couldn’t run, that would be too suspicious, and they’d likely take up the chase. It would only be a matter of time before she was caught. There were guards everywhere, and the castle was locked, which meant, barring all else, she had to keep her cool.
Okay, okay, Zipp, She steeled her nerves, taking a deep breath, and listening intently as the sound of shambling hooves drew closer. There’s no reason to be alarmed. Maybe you just forgot something, and they’re bringing it back. “Yes,” She laughed nervously, putting on a weak smile as she turned to meet the mystery guard. “How may I—“
“Zipp!” The guard shouted, her southern drawl all the more apparent now that she was close. It was the same mare form before, with her ill-fitting uniform and wobbling pose as she trotted forwards from the barracks.
She took a few more, uneasy, shambling steps, her armour chinking loudly as it shook around her. “I—” She began, before being cut off by a yelp as she tumbled forwards, face planting and crumpling before Zipp into a heap of shattered armour and cloth.
The backside burst open, and two fillies, one orange, the other white, and both their manes streaked with sweat, emerged gasping for breath. “Air!” Scootaloo gasped, and fell over backwards.
Sweetie Belle dropped to the ground next to her, panting. “I thought I was going to die!”
The front of the armour moved, and Apple Bloom emerged wearing the guard’s helmet. She leered towards Zipporwhill, eyes narrowed as she glared her down. She prodded the filly in the chest with a hoof as she seethed. “Ya’ owe us, for this.”
“S-sorry, Apple Bloom,” Zipporwhill apologised, looking in turn to the other fillies in a messy heap in front of her, “I wasn’t expecting it to take quite so long…”
“No kidding,” Apple Bloom spat. She dropped to her flanks and, with some effort and many grunts, dislodged her head from the helmet and discarded it with the rest of the costume. “So,” she glanced to the pile of bits, “What ya’ goin’ do now?”
“Well, that backfired, horribly—“
“I wouldn’t say horribly,” Scootaloo cut in between gasps, with a hoof wave to the cart.
Zipporwhill rolled her eyes, and continued. “I think we’re going to have to go for plan B.”
“What’s—” Sweetie gasped and flopped onto her back. “—‘Plan B’?”
“We find the princesses ourselves,” Zipp answered without hesitation. She turned around and grabbed the handle of her cart, waving for the Cutie Mark Crusaders to follow. “Come on, they have to be somewhere around here.”
“Are y’all sure they’re in there?” Apple Bloom asked.
A lone voice, but a faint whisper in the night, echoed through the castle’s darkened hallways. With it the clatter of hooves, the squeaking of a creaky wagon wheel, and the shuffling of motion, signalled the arrival of the Cutie Mark Crusaders.
They gathered below the entrance to the castle throne-room, the gilded doors looming overhead. Their intricate carvings glistened in the night, reflecting the flickers of lantern light as Zipporwhill approached. Any normal pony would’ve found it intimidating, or impressive. She, however, only found it exhilarating.
This was it. There was no way they wouldn’t be in here. She trotted to the door and leaned with her weight against it, propping herself up with a hoof on the door as she listened for motions inside.
So far, nothing. It must be sound-proofed.
“Yeah.” Zipporwhill nodded. Pulling herself away from the wall of gold, she turned to address the earlier question, looking to Apple Bloom’s question. “If they’re not in the tower”—
Apple Bloom nodded. “Eey—” She was half-way through her Big Mac impersonation when she suddenly caught herself, and shook her head. “Nu-uh, I didn’t see anything.”
Zipporwhill then turned to Scootaloo. Still chewing, she had her cheeks puffed out as she crammed the last bite of an almond biscuit into her. “Mhm,” she hummed, wiping her mouth, and then shook her head.
“... And they’re not in the—”
“Woah!” Sweetie Belle stumbled forwards, breaking line to cut in front of Zipporwhill. “I thish—“ she slurred, swaying on her hooves as she struggled to keep her balance. Sweetie Belle slumped sideways, and tumbled into Scootaloo’s side, startling the filly as she grabbed her mane to keep her balance. “I think there wash shomtihng wrong with that—” she hiccupped, and slid downhill —“Grape jeuce.”
“—cellar.” Zipporwhill finished. Resisting the urge to facehoof, she turned away from Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo and went to grab the handle of her wagon. “Anyway, Zipp continued, stepping past Apple Bloom with the cart trundling behind her, “They have to be the throne room. There’s no other place they could be.”
“...Okay...” Apple Bloom agreed. She and Scootaloo, the latter struggling to stay standing whilst supporting Sweetie Belle, watched as Zipporwhill lugged the cart behind her.
The filly heaved and wheezed, pulling with all her might. The mountain of bits jingled and swayed as she slowly inched the cart right up to the throne-room doors. Then, once she was satisfied with its position, Zipporwhill paused to straighten her sash, and trotted around the cart to open the doors. “Okay,” she whispered over her shoulder, pausing with her hooves on the golden, poised to enter. “Keep closhe,” she lisped, “and follow my lead.”
Princess Celestia sat—lay—across her golden throne, reclined sideways with her hooves in the air and horn dimly lit as she levitated a silver hoof-mirror beside her. “I must say,” she hummed, silently to herself, eyes glued to her mirror as she admired her new reflection. “Cadet Zephyr Breeze did a wonderful job. I couldn’t have asked for anything better myself.” There was a pause. Smirking, glanced away from the mirror, casting her gaze down to the guards beside her. “Wouldn’t you agree?” she asked.
The guards flinched. Struck cold with fear, they both turned pale, and froze on the spot. Armour rattled between them as the right guard grappled with his spear, before flashing a salute and holding his position.
For the first few second, neither made a move to budge. They held their posts, sweat dripping from their brows, neither quite sure what to do.
With every second that passed, the silence grew all the more awkward. Ears and tails flicked, and the guard’s brows furrowed with worry. They could feel Celestia’s gaze burrowing into the backs of their necks, beckoning to them. A soft rattle started between them, growing louder as they trembled in their boots.
The right guard bit his lip and, at length, he looked slowly to his comrade, terror written across his battle-hardened gaze. “I-” He swallowed. “Is she talking to us?”
The other guard refused to answer. Instead, steadily, he jerked his chin in a near imperceptible nod, sweat beading his forehead as he stared back. “Wh- What do I do?”
A shiver ran up both their spines and armour clattered as they fought to keep their poise. “I don’t know!” the first guard croaked, his voice crackling just barely above a whisper, “We weren’t trained for this!”
“Uh...”
Gulping, the second guard glanced around, looking to the ornate carvings and stained-glass windows, hopeful that any of it would offer some kind of solution.
“Uh...” He swallowed hard, forcing back the urge to panic—C-Come on, you’re a royal guard, for Celestia’s sake! You can do this. He cleared his throat. For lack of any better options, he decided the best course of action would be to ‘wing it’, as the privates say. “Princess, you—uh—your mane is—uh—“
“I mean,” the other guard stepped in. He kept his eyes trained ahead, hooves trembling as they tightened about the shaft of his spear. “I—we, think your mane is—”
SLAM
The guards were cut off, and none too soon either. They let out a collective sigh as the room burst a thunder. There was a resounding crash and slam as the front doors flung themselves open, and then a filly’s voice yelled out, startling everypony present.
“Aha!”
“What in the—” Startled, Celestia almost jumped from her seat. She let out a cry, dropping her mirror and barely caught herself as she pitched over the edge, coming to a halt inches from the hard steps below.
The guards stood to attention. Leaping into action, they jumped to a stance before the princess, holding up their spears ready for battle. They watched, brows furrowed, ears twitching, as the room was filled with commotion.
Slowly, gradually, the sounds of many hooves came trotting their way. The squeaking of wheels—a war machine, maybe? –creaked from the darkness outside.
There was the chatter of more voices and, finally, they bore witness to the faces of their new foes.
Not one, not two, but three little fillies—Scootaloo and Apple Bloom, with Sweetie Belle trussed across their backs, trotted into the room, accompanied a fourth with a wagon of more bits than anypony ever imagine. Their leader, a green filly with a sash, crooked beret, and a smug grin that could kill the most grinchiest of grinches trotted up the aisle and came to a stop before them.
Zipporwhill puffed her chest out proudly, taking one look at the startled princess, and then turning to her comrades. “See?” She asked the crusaders by her side, glancing to each of them in turn. “I was right! I told you she would be—”
“Oh my Celestia!” Apple Bloom gasped, cutting Zipporwhill off as she set eyes on the princess.
She mirrored Scootaloo perfectly as they slapped their hooves over their mouths, whispering. “... what happened her mane!?”
Sweetie Belle, still drunk and flushed bright red, swayed on Scootaloo’s back. She eyes the princess, eyes crossing, and then shouted “Raspberries!” before proceeding to blow raspberries into each of her friends ears, pulling their mane, and toppling to the ground where she let out a quiet.
“Well... okay then.” Celestia huffed, and pulled herself to her hooves. He reclined back into her throne, casting a quick spell to straighten out her mane. The bright pink locks sparkled in her aura, seemingly coming to life as they drew back from her face, and caught themselves up into a similarly coloured hair-tie floating beside her.
The last thing to be corrected was the bangs—a style that, Zipporwhill admitted, reminded her of her local librarian, if she dared dye her mane. The guards snickered between themselves as Celestia brushed out her bangs, and leaned back in the throne. He crossed her hooves, and trained Zipporwhill in her gaze, raising an eyebrow as she did so. “Now,” she said, flicking back the odd curl with her hoof, “I liked this”—the sarcasm was palpable—“Then you’ll love my sister’s buns.”
“Hark!” As if on cue, Princess Luna’s voice came muffled, from outside. “Did somepony mention my buns?” It was followed by a crash. Somepony screamed, and a door was slammed; Several doors slammed, and then the unmistakeable sounds of hooves against marble as the princess approached.
A door beside Celestia’s throne was thrown open, and the princess of the night herself appeared in the doorway. She strode into the room, looking around excitedly, her mouth full and chewing, surrounding by crumbs, as two foot-tall cinnamon rolls floated on either side of her head. “Oh my,” She took one look at the fillies and then, taking another bite of her rolls, Luna looked to her sister. “Ish sashn’sh aware we were shashing guesheshsh?” she spat.
“Luna, please,” Celestia deadpanned. Resisting the urge to facehoof, she wiped the spittle and pieces of food away from her face. “I can barely understand—”
Luna cocked her head. “Whash?” she spewed more food as she trotted closer to her sister. “Whash swrosh wish me shewin’ wish m—“
“It’s bad manners! And I can barely understand a word you are saying!”
“Whe’s, we dosh shompha’ asho sho shed mashers...”
“Ahaha!” With the princesses distracted, Zipporwhill jumped to action. She laughed her most nefarious laugh, and grabbed the handle of her wagon. Then, pausing just long enough to whisper to the Crusaders—“Quick! This is our chance, get the doors!”—she left Apple Bloom and Scootaloo to their task and approached the bottom steps of the throne.
There were several grunts and groans—and Sweetie Belle’s snores—that sounded behind her as the doors began their long and slow journey, inching shut. Zipporwhill ignored it for now, instead focusing to the princesses and striking her most fearful pose. “Hahah!” She scrunched her muzzle, “I’ve got you know, Princess!”
“...and, for another matter, stop leaving the toilet seat up when you—What?” Celestia cut herself off. Both princesses halted their argument to glance to the filly before them, staring down at her in confusion.
They glanced to each other. Princess Luna muffled a snicker and Celestia, realisation dawning on her, silently mouthed, ...oh. She rose to her full height, looking down to Zipporwhill with a raised eyebrow. “...Oh?”
Zipp continued, unaffected. “I have you now, Princess Celestia, for I am not just any old filly scout!” With a flurry, Zipporwhill dropped her wagon’s handle and cast away her ingenious disguise. Tearing off the sash, she grabbed at the beret. “Behold, for I am—” She pulled on the beret. It tugged against her mane, and remained thoroughly stuck to her head. “Oh, come on,” she silently cursed, “now you don’t want to—” She pulled at it again, and again the beret refused to budge.
“Uh...”
Blushing intensely, Zipporwhill tried to hide her reddening cheeks as she looked meekly up to the princesses. She smiled, gesturing with her free hoof for them to wait. “H- Hold on, just one second.”
“Take your time.” Celestia said, sharing a snicker with her sister.
The princesses continued to giggle between themselves as Zipporwhill pulled aside. She turned her attention to the beret, grabbing it between her hooves, this time pulling on it with all her might. Come... She grunted from between gritted teeth. ...on— The beret popped free, flying away from the filly’s head to reveal the silver tiara beneath. “Aha!” she screamed, and spun around to face the princesses, puffing out her chest once more. “Behold, for I am—”
“A Princess?” Princess Luna threw in.
“N—” Zipporwhill scrunched. “No!” She stamped her hoof, shaking her head. “I’m a Royal Assassin!” Then, taking a step, hopped up the bottom steps of the throne and threw a hoof out, pointing directly at Princess Celestia. “And I’m here to kill you!”
The guard’s ears flattened, and their thin smiles lowered in a scowl as they glanced to the filly between them. Before, they’d simply been listening half paying attention, not really interested in the princesses’ business with a foal. Now, though, Zipporwhill had their full undivided attention, as did she the princess’.
“Oh?” Celestia asked. Ears pricked, she leaned forwards in her throne, brushing back her mane as she rose to her hooves. “You are, now, are you?” She kept her eyes trained on the filly, smiling as she started, slowly, down the steps.
Princess Celestia practically towered above Zipporwhill; wings spread and coat glistening in the dim light of the hall. She held her wings erect as she nodded ever so slightly. “And, pray tell,” she said, “How do you plan to do that?”
“L—” Zipporwhill squeaked. Her eyes as wide as dinner plates, she stumbled back off the steps and out from under the princess’ shadow. “L- Like this!” She scampered back to her cart, pushed the bits away, scattering them across the floor as she began to rummage through it, digging deep to pull out her secret weapon.
“Behold!” Zipporwhill’s voice echoed from within the cart, and the filly then emerged with her secret weapon. In the blazing light of holy fire, she held the scabbard above her head for all to see. “My secret weapon, Arceseus, ze Alicorn Slayer! With this mighty sword, I will rend your flesh like a knife through hot butter!”
Brimming with might, she swung the blade, pouncing upon Princess Celestia before anypony else could befall the wrath of her mighty blade. “Yaaah!”
BAP
A beat of silence.
Celestia looked down, one eyebrow raised. Zipporwhill looked back up to her with a gnarly grin.
More silence.
Silently, something clicked in Celestia’s mind and her eyes widen. “Oh.” Realisation dawned on her, and she repeated, louder this time. “Oh!” She stumbled away from the foal, clutching at her chest with one hoof whilst throwing her other across her forehead. She reared back— “Oh woe is me!”—proclaiming to the heavens, “I have been defeated!” and dropped to the ground with a resounding thud.
Zipporwhill’s grin grew wider, and all the more gnarled, almost manic in fact. “Hahaha!” she cheered, but not for long before Celestia rolled onto her back, hoof still draped across her forehead.
“I’m dying! Whatever shall I do? My pitiful alicorn might was no match for the great Zipporwhill and her magical blade!”
Zipporwhill stopped, her grin wiped clear from her face, replaced with a clear pout. Her ears flattened, face scrunching as she growled. “You faker!”
“I’m dyi—” Celestia paused. She glanced to Zipporwhill to look her in the eye. Face completely blank, she blinked once, her head with an innocent look about her. “Sorry, was I not convincing enough?”
The sounds of hooves clapping drifted in from the far side of the room, and Princess Luna shouted over, masking her giggles. “I thought you were a wonderful actor, sister.”
“Ah!” Celestia shouted, and shot a hoof to her sister, glancing to her momentarily before looking over the room and back to Zipp. “See? She agrees with me.”
Zipporwhill’s pout deepened, quickly turning into a full blown frown, that only seemed to cause her cheeks to puff out with trembling rage. “Die!” she screamed, seething with rage. Her voice crackled, breaking pitch as she tried to shove it full with all the malice she could manage. “Die! Die! Die! Die! Die!” She continued to screamed, swinging her wooden sword furiously as she proceeded to wail on the alicorn princess.
BAP, BAP, BAP, BAP, BAP
“Hey!” Celestia stifled a laugh. She squirmed and wriggled, desperately trying to pull away and out of Zipporwhill’s reach. “Quite it! That’s st—” She snorted, and caught the tail end of a laugh as the sword grazed a particularly sensitive area. “That’s starting to tickle!”
BAP-BAP-BAP-BAP-BAP
“Ah!” Celestia gasped. She was almost overtaken by giggles as Zipporwhill redoubled her efforts. “Help! Somepony!” Craning her neck, Celestia kicked her legs and reach out in desperation. “Guard’s, she’s—” Another giggle cut her off.
The guards, still frowning, looked between them with concern, their eyebrows raised as if they were silently, asking each other What the hay is going on!?.
There was a moment of hesitation before one of them took a deep breath. He lifted his staff, starting towards them before he was halted by Princess Luna’s words.
“Oh, I don’t know, Sister,” she said, muffling her own laughs, and rolled her eyes, “She looks awfully powerful.”
“Princess Lunacious Diane Faust!”
“Okay, okay”—Luna doubled back from her sister’s rage, hooves raised to try and fend off the flames. “Fine., I’m coming.”
“Yaaaaaah!” All the while, Zipporwhill continued to scream in her blind rage, swining and pummelling the giggling princess beneath, her face flushed red and scrunched with determination. “Die-die-die-die”
She was so focused on destroying her foe that she barely even registered the pair of gilded, blue hooves the trotted up beside her.
“Di—” Zipporwhill cut herself off as, seemingly out of nowhere, her sword stuck in the air mid swing. “Wha—” She pulled against it, and was surprised again as the sword pulled back, lifting her clear into the air.
“Okay, that’s enough now,” Princess Luna said. Her face slowly came into view, a frown—and the slightest smirk still visible among the crumbs of cinnamon swirl. “Let go of th—”
“Hey!” Zipporwhill screamed, her voice crackling with her most ferocious, deathly, and totally not adorable as – Flailing her hooves, kicking and swinging, Zipporwhill dangled helpless before the princess of the night, shouting, “Let go of me, Wench of the night!”
Princess Luna’s half smirk vanished. “That’s not—”
Before Luna could utter another word, Zipporwhill spun around in her grasp, raising her back legs as she came in for a landing, right across the princess’s face.
SLAM
The Cutie Mark Crusaders and Zipporwhill sat outside the front entrance to the castle, forming a neat line along the sidewalk. The sun was just peeking over the horizon, and the sounds of guards and roosters were heard rising with the crack of dawn.
Sweetie Belle, still hung over from the night before, sat chatting with her friends. “That’s wasn’t so bad,” Apple Bloom said, her drawl partly garbled as she sucked on her lollipop.
“Mhm,” Sweetie nodded. She levitated her own lolly away from her mouth. “Yeah! And it was nice of them to give us something to eat.”
“What about you?” Scootaloo asked, and turned aside. The other two joined her as they looked to filly hunched to their right. Her filly scout uniform only partly scuffed, she sat with her head leaned against her hooves and a frown upon her face. “Zipp?”
“They...” Zipporwhill grumbled, her pout unwavering, “...took my sword.”
Sweetie Belle piped up. “At least you still have your Tiara?”
“I—” Zipporwhill paused. Looking up, she glanced to the tiny trinket still stuck to her head. “Yeah...” She nodded briefly then, straightening the headwear, she stood up straight and held her head high. “Yeah!” she repeated, “You’re right!” This isn’t over yet!”
“That’s not what I—”
Zipporwhill bounced to her hooves, puffing up her chest. She beamed with pride as she spoke. “As long as I still have this tiara, I’m going to keep fighting.” She strolled out into the street, energised with newfound vigour. She held a hoof up in a fist, and spun back to face the Crusaders. “With every last breath in my heart, the princesses will pay for what they’ve done to me today, and—”
“D’aww!” Zipporwhill was cut short from her rousing speech when a female’s voice cooed behind her. “Isn’t she so adorable!”
Before Zipp could so much as give a double take, she was scooped up in a pair of hooves and cradled against a mare’s chest, pressed into her soft fur as Fleur Dis Lee gushed over her. “What are you—” Zipporwhill wheezed. She struggled against the mare’s death grip, scrunching her nose, squeaking as she tried in vain to wrench herself free. “Let me—”
“She even has her own little tiara,” Fleur continued, unawares to the foal’s discomfort, “Just like a little princess.” She practically crushed Zipporwhill, crumpling her sash between her hooves as she squeezed her into a tight hug.
“I—“ Zipp squeaked slightly, wheezing as she pushed back to no avail. Her face turned a hot red as she tried her best to glare angrily into the mare’s eyes. “I am not cute,” she groaned, “I am dangerous! I am a princess a—”
“She’s a princess!”
“No, that’s not—”
“Fancy Pants”—Cutting Zipporwhill off with another, tight, squeeze, Fleur turned around to call her husband over—“Honey, come look at this!” she cried, and trotted away, “We simply have to get one!”
And then she was gone.
Fleur trotted happily away, Zipporwhill still struggling in her grasp, as she took her off to show her husband. There was a faint grumble and a “Fleur, not again...” but otherwise complete silence.
Sweetie Belle, Scootaloo, and Apple Bloom sat together, staring on in silence; their mouths hanging agape. The last thing that remained was the tiny tiara, dropped in the in the middle of the street where it lay after it had been flung from Zipporwhill’s head.
Slowly, Sweetie Belle and Apple Bloom closed their mouths. Scootaloo folded her wings to her sides, and each of them shared confused looks.
“Well...” Sweetie Belle began, “...that happened.”
