I Am Not Spartacus - If You're Here, Who's Playing the Sonata?
by Dan's Comments
Based in the 'Your Human and You' universe by MadMaxtheBlack
This story is NOT canon with Your Human and You

DISCLAIMER: My Little Pony is the property of Hasbro, Inc.

The chalkboards had arrived and it was time to go get them. Then comes the question of how to get them. Pink, Armor and Parasol are out helping the Great White search for a book that is to be a 'present' for Armor's sister. Of course the guards have gone with, and Octavia is practicing with the Royal Orchestra for the Summer Sun Celebration. With all the coincidences piling up, I should have seen what was coming next.

The redbird is at the front door of the apartment. With the largest, whitest, handlebar moustachiest, be-derbied earth pony I've ever seen.

The red bird gives an apologetic shrug.

"Paddy o'Furniture's my name," the worst brogue in the history of bad Irish accents on two planets tells me.

I make sure the door's closed before extending a hand. "Percy's mine."

The red bird is goggling, but 'Paddy' is out cold on the floor.

A pillow and ice pack for her head, and a few blankets for her supine Highness later, the red bird and I are walking through the corridors. I'm wearing my kilt and 'Cadence'-logoed shirt. I added 'For Empress' above the logo on the front and back, having heard that Pink is heir to the Crystal Empire. I've got my leash, and am carrying it, a large bag of bits, and a letter with Celestia's own hoofprint on it. The last gave away my overly ambitious coconspirator, hence the 'Irish' stevedore.

Philomena rides on my shoulder and no pony gives us two looks. Out of the corner of my eye, the red bird is still giving me worried glances.

I don't answer the bird's unasked question as we proceed towards the warehouse, where the return letter told us to pick-up the chalkboards.

"This is the weirdest set up I've ever seen," the manager of the warehouse says as she looks over both the invoice and the letter. "How the heck is the team gonna get to where they are going if they are blindfolded?"

The red bird gestures to me.

"Where in the entire realm of sanity does a human lead a pony?" the warehouse manager asks.

The red bird gestures at the letter, so I hold it up to the manager. It details the transaction and is specific that the human, Percy, will take the wagon to the location.

The manager frowns. "I have a better idea." She leaves and returns with a weird harness. "Let him pull the damn wagon himself."

I don't point out that I am not sneaking away to return her wagon later. The subject isn't breached.

I'm soon harnessed, by Philomena and myself, I don't trust the manager to do it. And the certs and inventory are correct. So we are on our way.

I could do without the idiot bird whistling Rawhide the entire pull back to the castle and to a loading dock I didn't even know about. Evidently there are corridors for palace servants and another set of 'roads' within the palace walls for the servants from the outside. The embarrassment and discomfort of the day is worth knowing I can slip beneath the radar of even the palace servants when I make my escape.

Our exit is near Pink's and the Great White's sister's apartments. Also, good information. The chalkboards are unloaded and placed approximately where they need to go, the wagon placed outside the loading dock, and we return to Pink's apartment.

The Great White is gone. Philomena and I part, and I wait for either the evening and my rendezvous, or the return of the flock of ponies I'm beginning to think of as 'my family'.

Evening comes first.

I am looking forward to my meeting with the Great White even more than usual. As much to see if she has rationalized away my revelation, or if she's getting the clues. I'm betting on the former. Most ponies don't deal well with 'the impossible'.

She's looking at the chalkboards, in her human form. She's covered her face and is evidently overjoyed. She already knows who obtained them, but the colors, places we put them, and that we'd think enough of her to help her on this very personal task is apparently an overwhelming experience.

When she spots me, she starts so hard she loses the spell and I approach the Great White in her natural form. A moment later, I'm in the form of her Gary Sue alicorn. Her nervous smile gets a little rumpled as she considers what she had planned for last time.

"You think the gate to your celestial temple shall stand against my one-eyed stallion ram?" I tell her, "That the petals of your lady-flower cannot be breached by the might of my male-chowder cannon?"

The Great White had started giggling halfway through and now laughs and pounds the floor with a hoof. "The Mares of Argocitiness? By the Horn, where did you hear that awful thing?"

"Parasol read to herself. Thought was love-talk," I explain, "She always read like that at bedtime."

"I'm glad she finally has a coltfriend, if she was reading those aloud," the Great White sobers, then considers, "Why is 'Armor' Armor, and 'Parasol' Parasol, but Cadence is 'Pink' and I'm 'the Great White'? You aren't doing anything wrong. I'm curious."

"Captain Shining Armor, is Armor to most, Captain to armored ponies, and Shining for loveplay. Parasol is Parasol to everyone," I tell her. "Pink is Cadence, Cadenza, Princess, Highness, Heiress, is too many names, so Pink is Pink."

I paw the ground nervously, somewhat by intent, some part by instinct. "The Great White also have many names, some ponies also use on misbehaving humans or humans they are having sex with, so Percy stay with the Great White."

I'm not sure if she's laughing and furious at the same time, or feigning one to cover the other.

"I see." Comes out, as neutral and cold as a snowbound morning. "Thank you for a name that is at least complimentary," she says to lighten the mood. She gestures around. "And thank you for finding and placing them. I'm sure Luna will love them."

I bow slightly. "Philomena and Percy worked together."

"Percy, can you talk, I mean besides now, are you able?" the Great White asks.

I pronk up to her and pronk around her. "You make Percy a pony, with horn and wings so Percy can make the Great White happy forever?" I ask, my mane touching and caressing hers, so she sees my enthusiasm. And I see her terrible sorrow and loneliness. Her surprise shows she did not expect that response, and is extremely uncomfortable at having gotten it with so much happiness and enthusiasm behind it.

"I'm afraid I can only make more alicorns the old-fashioned way," she says, then catches my widening grin, "And I intend to let you help with that. But I only know of one way to become an alicorn, and I don't know if I have the right to put you through that. I feel guilty enough putting Twilight through that."

"Oh," I say, a little disappointment seeps through and she 'sees' it. I crane my neck and look at her side. "Back on names. What 'tappable' mean?"

"What?" the Great White says in a strangled whisper, "Where did you hear that?"

"The big griffon has poem, you like to hear, or maybe better as love talk, seems like love talk," I say.

"Yes, 'one-eyed stallion ram' and 'male-chowder cannon' kind of love talk?" she asks.

"Yes," I reply, then I get a pensive frown, "May Percy ask?" I wait for her to nod a little worriedly, before I proceed, "Before, at big collection of humans and ponies, Pink suddenly start crying all the time. Everything Percy did made her cry more. She not angry, seem very sad. You understand why Pink cry?"

I can 'feel' her emotions churn, then she settles. "Pink thought you were sick, and was afraid of losing you."

"Buy another human," I say in confusion, "Lots around. Some are even as krizrax as Percy, some more."

" 'Krizrax'?" she asks.

"Krizrax," I say and nod.

"What is Krizrax?"

"Krizrax is krizrax, every human knows, ponies not know?"

"I've never heard of it," the Great White says.

"Oh, is why ponies don't refrible theirs?" I gasp, "Percy thought them just rude." I glance around nervously. "Or stupid. It okay if you don't refrible right, but some not at all, some do terrible job. Humans know not to point at them, much punishment."

"Is mine refribled properly?" she asks in alarm.

"Parasol does. Ah, Pink and the Great White not have krizrax to refrible," I say, and bow my head, then stand up, "Is no shame not to. Maybe lost in fight, maybe horn and wings and no krizrax. Is no shame for child not to know. But for a 'clever' pony to do bad job, is much laughter."

"Is Blueblood's refribled properly?" she asks.

"The Mighty Poof?" I wait for her strangled laugh to end, then continue, "His is meant insult."

"Calculated insult," the Great White says, "That sounds like him. So what is krizrax?"

'Happy Percy' is about to say, then I close up. "No," I say.

"No?" she asks, "I am - the Great White."

I nod and gesture at our twined manes. "The Great White unhappy when Percy talks krizrax, not talk it no more."

"But I want to know," the Great White says.

"The Great White not have, so the Great White not need to know," I reply.

"You will tell me," the Great White says as she gets nose to nose with me. I can feel her curiosity and a sliver of anger at my denial.

"Actually," I say. My wings are in and tickling before she knows what's happening.

"Little foal!" I say, "I shall reduce you to pleas and whimperings."

"No! No! No!" she squeals as I find so many of her ticklish spots. My mane isn't as schooled as hers, but it does the job. I have her backed into a corner in a moment.

"Your dignity stripped from you, your fillyhood laid bare to me."

"Marehood!" she gasps. Her wings are starting to rise of their own accord.

"Submit! And I shall not split you in twain!"

"Never!" she says as she gasps for breath.

"Submit!"

"No!"

"You cannot resist! You cannot win! Surrender now as spare yourself an endless agony!" I say.

"No budget meetings?" she asks and swings her butt to face me, "Do your worst."

I smell her arousal, but because it's not a full-blown heat, I can beat down the stallion instincts. I do stop tickling her, so she stands panting.

"You tricked me," she says.

"The Great White wants to be tricked and taken by a stallion too mighty for her loins," I reply.

"We've got to give Parasol some better books, and give Twilight those," the Great White giggles.

I mount her just in front of her hips, rather than behind her shoulders.

"Percy, no Celestia shut up, let him do it," she says.

"Yes, pray to your gods my prey, as I sacrifice you on the altar of my stallionhood," I tell her. She giggles a little, then gives the most pitiful whimper I've ever heard.

I start wriggling in. Her head comes up, and her eyes close. As I push deeper, I'm glad of our twining manes telling us what we're both feeling. Because the guttural noise she's making is like the female colonist's from Aliens having a chestburster rip out of her. Except the Great White isn't making that noise out of pain.

I push in as far as I can go, and the need to release my seed is almost overwhelming. But only almost, I start pulling back.

"Percy?" Celestia asks as she turns to the side to look at me.

Then I push in again. Celestia starts making the same noise. Only this time her head goes up so far it curves back and she's looking at me. Her glowing horn rubs on mine and her tongue lolls out of her mouth as I press in.

I concentrate on anything but the goofy face she's making, or the fact she's also sounding like she binged at the all-you-can-eat bean bar. What they never tell you in sex-ed, even in college, is that sex is messy, wet, full of embarrassing sounds and even more embarrassing facial expressions. 'O-faces' and pussy farts are part of it. The ethereal O-faces come from people who aren't getting a thorough screwing. A few of our colleagues invited us to a couples' party and they all claimed to get those eyes-closed, mouth-open expressions. My lovely fiance said mine looked like someone had shoved half a hot lemon in each end, and I said hers looked like a chipmunk.

Strange that all those with the ethereal expressions weren't together next month. We were. Now we might not have been if I'd told the whole truth that she looked like a bullfrog puffing her cheeks as she got close, because she thought chipmunks the most adorable creatures on Earth, I went with a white lie that kept me welcome in her bed.

Celestia's expression has got to be the most ridiculous she's ever made, especially with her eyes glazed and tongue hanging out. I'm probably looking like the hot lemon recipient, and the long, soft flatulent sound as I push in adds no dignity to the scene. But neither of us care.

If you're having sex, you want to look and act cool. If you're making love, you don't care if you look and sound like Elmer Fudd at a live squid-folding contest, as long as your partner is enjoying every moment of it. Celestia is, and so am I. She's also yoyoing a bit, as I thrust in her neck curves back, as I pull out, it goes forward again.

The scary thing is going on between our manes and the link. Like striping aside of divisions and boundaries between our emotional selves. A side effect of the magic I hadn't expected. Until above us are the heights, and below us are the depths. Feeling the joys she has and exult in them, as I feel her ecstasy at experiencing my emotional heights. Without memories there's no context, but the warmth of each of us fitting into the high points of the others emotional life.

But the depths, oh the depths. I feel those long knives of bitter memories, of failures and pain, of helplessness and impotent fury. Yet, a warmth suffuses me, and they lose their grip on me. Likewise, I feel the impact of feelings not my own: oppressive, painful, some greatly so, but survivable. Like the difference between resting on a bed of nails, and being thrown bodily onto one. And again there is the feeling of gratitude, in this case of having someone to divide the pain so it is not experienced full-force again, and double the joy so someone can understand it.

I think I figured out why there are no male alicorns. If the ratio of stallions to mares stays true with alicorns, no male would survive it. While Celestia gathers nearly limitless strength at the sharing, I feel as if all my life had been drained from me.

The spell that held me as an alicorn faded, and Celestia gazed down on me. 'Fair yet terrible' echoed in my mind as I could barely lift my head.

She lays down beside me, gathering me in with legs, mane, tail and even her chin. I feel deathly tired as I feel her warmth and strength surround me, but it is hers, not mine. And darkness comes, swiftly and completely. The promise of release, of withdrawing from this world into the great unknown beckons. But I am too tired to even decide, let alone stand and make the journey. I close my eyes and await the response.
------------------------------

Waking to the concentrated attention of three, brightly glowing horns is a new experience. All three ponies look profoundly worried, and the ceiling I stare at seems to be the living room of Pink's apartment. I grab Pink's and Armor's horns and touch them together. Then I grab a hank of mane from each and wrap their horns. The instant I do it, I realize how stupid a move it was, but somehow, I couldn't resist.

Pink's and Armor's eyes flew open, then the two of them blush furiously, Armor passing Pink's normal color. And they only have eyes for each other.

I glance over at the Great White, and she's struggling to gather enough hauteur to scold me. Her little fits and snorts aren't helping.

"Percy. Snikert. Percy, that was - gerf - Percy that was very naughty," she manages.

The pair are lifting their back legs in unison, giving two little kicks and setting them down, left, right, left, right. It's completely adorable, especially since the pair are so focused on each other and grinning like complete loons at a Joker-impersonation contest.

Finally, exhaustion sets in, and the two of them sit down, breaking the contact. Armor shakes his head to clear it. Pink just lays down on her hooves, her eyes wide as saucers. Still, she grins at Armor and his stupefaction.

"I've never," Armor manages.

"I'll bet you never," the Great White teases, "You asked how Percy got in the state we brought him back from. There's an even more powerful technique than that." She turns to me. "I apologize Percy, I had no idea that would happen."

Great, you're forgiven, what the heck happened? I was asleep for most of it, after 'a profound sense of fatigue, a feeling of emptiness.' 'Luckily I . . . I was able to interpret these feelings correctly. Loss of essence.' Oh no, you launched the wing using Plan R to attack Russia! After all, stranger love has probably not happened recently.

"I am a bit more concerned about Percy," the Great White actually looks embarrassed. The suppliant instead of the master. "Do you mind me, borrowing him?"

Pink snickers. "Of course you can borrow him. I must protect poor Shining, anything to blunt his 'insane sublimated lusts', where does Blueblood get that stuff?" Pink replies.

"Probably from the same books Parasol reads," Armor adds. He snorts. "That is one way to really clear the head out."

"Too bad he can't write, imagine the manual he could put out for young ponies in love, and nervous newlyweds," the Great White says, scandalizing the young lovers. Then she sobers. "I thought what we were doing was harmless. I never realized we synced so well. He's talked about being a pony to 'stay with the Great White for always'."

"That's so - talked?" Pink began, and she and Armor shout the chorus.

"I, uh, well." The Great White glances nervously at me.

I nod. It'll be interesting to watch. A spell later, I'm an alicorn. The look on Pink is pretty much as expected, to have it somewhat mirrored on Armor is a tad creepy.

"Uh, you and he have," Armor manages, he starts to bow, then stops embarrassed by his action.

I realize he's looking at a god-figure, not a sex-object, and he's more than a little worried that the population of such beings could suddenly skyrocket.

"It's temporary," I tell them, which really shocks them. Then I turn to the Great White. "I do forgive you. There was no malice, only loneliness, for both of us."

"Thank you," the Great White says. "So, Pink, what do you think?"

"Pink?" Armor says, "Hmm, yes that certainly describes her."

Pink glares at Armor.

I lean over and whisper in Pink's ear. "He too much, Percy used to call Armor: Lord High Executioner."

"Why? Oh," Pink says, her ears fold down as she remembers.

I nod.

Now it's Armor's turn to look worried.

The Great White returns me to human form. I'm glad she doesn't reveal the other shapechanging we do as part of our love-play.

"I won't hide that it may be a bit unfair, but he seems more comfortable when we're the same species," the Great White says, neatly side stepping her change, and still able to say she did tell them.

Armor shakes his head again, as he weathers another odd change to his world view. "Imagine if humans could talk normally. I think they would not be too happy with how they are treated by ponies."

"If Percy is any indication, they accept that treatment as par for the course, 'Ponies are ponies' Percy said," the Great White says. The trio seem ashamed of deserving the sentiment that their victims can't expect better of them.

"He was also very worried about your reaction to the medical examination, Pink," the Great White says, "That everything he did made you cry more. I explained it to him. He, accepted that as well." She doesn't tell them what I told her.

"How much intelligence does that spell add?" Pink asks nervously.

"Some, but not a huge amount. Creating intelligence is not easy. It's more a question of processing power, not education or innate cleverness. He can think just as deeply as a human, just much faster as an alicorn."

Interesting, or it doesn't have the effect on me that it would on a standard human. The speed of thought of a Terrestrial Human may be close to what an alicorn can manage.

"He and Philomena managed to hatch the plan to get all those chalkboards we saw, all on their own," the Great White says.

"Philomena," Armor says and facehooves, "A lead bit will buy you a dozen of Pony Joe's best that Philomena has been tormenting that pegasus." He shakes his head. "How did I miss that possibility?"

So, the 'red bird' has been delivering the occasional jack o'cado or other surprise to the would be assassin. Very vicious bird. But then, so am I. You missed it, because if it isn't a pony, it can't be as smart as a pony. The zebra, mules, cows and jackasses all prove that, at least they prove you believe that.
------------------------------

Several days of practice, and then Pink and I are to go to another 'Human Show'. The obstacle course, the sit, stay, stand routine I get the first time through. Retrieving objects over obstacles is laughably easy. Chasing a 'rabbit' is also hilarious.

It's attacking a pony, even in that full padded armor that gives me pause. It would protect against bites and claws, but is utterly useless against the joint-locks/breaks that I regularly use. Poor Muttonchops seems secretly glad I won't attack him, just get between him and Pink and knock him off his hooves. But the rules specifically state a takedown and submission is required.

Ironically, it's Dust Bunny who comes to the rescue. "I'll do it," the little shopkeeper says, and looks around, "He doesn't know me, but I think he knows I'm not a threat, so it'll be like a game."

All kinds of ideas suddenly crop up. While mares like Parasol read all these saddle rippers. It's usually the mares who initiate a fight to protect the stallions against real threats. Stallions are for threat displays and driving off minor problems. It's the herd who attacks when he gets in over his head. That's the difference. The mare in the saddle rippers, versus the girls in the bodice-rippers, are supposed to civilize the bad stallion, often be beating them in a fight, wearing them down sexually (basically raping them back, to exhaustion/submission), or defending them from some outward threat.

They get him in the padded armor and he waddles forward to make challenge. I charge over and knock him down. Muttonchops is about to declare the victory, when nimble fingers find the gaps in the armor. Poor Dust Bunny is suddenly squealing and flailing helplessly.

The others are trying not to laugh at 'crazy Percy's' unique definition of 'submission', only Parasol is looking worried. Then she looks stunned as I wave her over.

She facehooves and remembers who I regularly love-play with, and how the Great White loves playacting. She charges over and head butts me off Dust Bunny. "Leave him alone!"

She stands foursquare over him shifting as I move. "Don't move," she tells Dust Bunny, who hardly needs Pink's flying hearts the stare at Parasol with little, pink hearts in his eyes.

Parasol mouths 'Thank you', as Pink orders me to heel. Parasol knees down to check on Dust Bunny. She squeaks as he enfolds her in a hug. All the other ponies, save Pink are mesmerized by the adorableness. Pink raises a hoof, and I give her a fist bump. She seems very pleased by the events.

I make it up to Dust Bunny by using him as the grooming tester. Brushing out his mane and tail, polishing his hooves, and giving him a bit of a rub down.

"How can anything be vicious one moment and so nice the next?" Dust Bunny asks as he's melting into a pony puddle under my hands.

"Percy is very, special," Pink manages.

I'll leave it at that.
------------------------------

And Pink and I arrive at the 'Human Show', with the guards and Parasol. This one has a very different feel. It isn't a conformance show, with breeders bringing their wares to win bragging rights and plan breeding lines, this one is a 'neighborhood' show. There are a lot more fillies and colts, more families showing off talent and training. Oddly, it's also more organized. Signing in is easier, and the letter from the Matron gives some horse-hockey reason my body temperature doesn't cause me to spontaneously explode.

The really nerve-wracking thing is the way Parasol and Pink keep looking at the human females, and where and at whom I'm looking. I have a vague idea that they're interested in either studding me, or getting me a companion. While I appreciate the intent, I hardly need a pet, which is what another human would be. It wasn't beauty I picked my female companions for as a pit-fighter, it was calmness and intelligence. Not that they weren't nice to look at, but that wasn't the primary focus.

While Pink is chatting with a couple of others, I tug Parasol and get her to follow to a little, yellow, red-haired filly obviously outmatched by the tent she's trying to set. I brace up the tent pole with one hand and pull the guide rope taut with the other. Keeping it from slipping by standing on the slack.

The filly's hair bow matches her ears as they display her shock. "Whoa Nelly! You're a big one."

Parasol approaches. "He's harmless. Well, as long as you don't threaten his family."

The filly isn't scared. She's impressed. "Thank you."

I nod.

"You understand me?" she asks.

I need to get away from this kid, she's smarter than the average bear.

"He understands 'thank you'," Parasol says, "We'd better get back."

The filly sees a red stallion with orange hair coming over, so she pursues us. Crap. A clever pony I can do without.

"What class is he?" Hairbow asks Parasol.

"Guard," Parasol says.

Hairbow stares, then very deliberately noses me when we stop. "He seems too even tempered for a Guard class. He seems mild even for Service class."

"To protect me and my fiance, he ran a fire poker through a pegasus who was trying to beat us up in our sleep," Pink says as she arrives.

Hairbow goggles at that. She pokes me again. I deliberately pick her up and march back to her tent, set her down and walk away. "Wow!" she shouts, waving at Pink, "What's your stud fee?"

This day is not turning out well.

The first event is the obstacle course that Pink laid out in the pit, was it weeks ago? Normally, the handler ran the course beside the human. Pink runs through and just taps the edge of the barricades as she runs the course, then she stands at the final goal.

"Go!" she shouts, and I'm off.

Over the barricades, under the wire, through the tunnels, and finally up to where Pink stands.

"Stop, here," she tells me.

I take the stand position. The judges are arguing, actually they are going completely ape-shit. The rules say that the handler must direct the human during the trial. There's nothing that says the direction must be concurrent with the human running the course. Even running the course sequentially gave us a very respectable time.

One flustered judge heads over, stands on his rear hooves to turn my head one way, then another, and I must return my head to straight ahead by myself. Done and done. The judge goes over to argue with the others. The show Marshall has been called over, and neither Pink nor I can move until the judges direct.

It's almost enough to make me laugh at the ponies almost coming to blows over whether what we did was allowed or violated the rules. Finally they release us, without announcing our score.

The cloverleaf is a simple heeling exercise, with periodic halts, walk, trot, canter changes called by the judge. The human must go to a crouch on halting. I think we get a substantially greater number of 'halts' and 'canters' while we walk. It's not a problem, for me, Pink is a little winded and cross by the end of this stop-go like hell-stop business. She grumbles that they are trying to disqualify us on purpose. The rub is, every spectator knows it, and knows we excelled.

The next event is a simple chase. A target is dragged across a field. The human has to catch it. There's two types of responses. Some humans chase the object. Most in the Guard class race out to where the target will be when they arrive. A reason the classes are judged separately.

I can still run hell-for-leather, and beat the usual Guard times. As I return, I see the big, red stallion with orange hair and the sliced-open-apple mark talking with Pink.

This does not bode well.

"Our farm is first rate. We don't mistreat our stock," the stallion says.

Pink is clearly uneasy. "I am sure, but I'm afraid Percy is not for sale at any price."

The stallion is suddenly taken aback. "Ma'am, I was asking if you would be willing to train some of us. Anypony who could take the Crimson Death and make him tame enough to enter a show has got to have tricks we'd be more than willing to pay good bits for. If your human studs some of our females, that would be separate, but he's got a lot going for him."

It's all I can do not to burst out laughing as Pink and Parasol realize that the trainer was trying to hire them, not buy me.

"Actually, a certain unicorn experimented on him," Parasol says, "She did some work. We are still trying to figure out it all."

"Oh, I can't say I like that," he says, "Sorry for wasting your time." He walks away.

"Unicorn mad scientist?" Pink asks.

"What are the chances he'll ever meet Twilight?" Parasol counters.

The grooming competition is completely different from what would happen in a dog show. In this one, the Humans groom the ponies.

Brushing out Pink's mane and tail, brushing her teeth, hoof maintenance are all part of the testing. I note that the 'Service' class are almost a different phenotype from the Guard and Working classes. Most of the servants are slightly over five feet, but none except me are above five-six, and none of them have my musculature. It's a little like dealing with a pack of gangly teenagers. But none of them shows the clumsiness of youth.

I also note a good number of the female Service class humans are watching me. The judges also note my unusual techniques. Mostly due to Pink only relating the rules and us figuring out the best way to achieve them.

Again, the score is in the higher end, although several of the humans here are clearly more capable than I am.

The last part of the competition is pure Guard class. It is similar to the 'shooting hall' with pop-up targets. The weapons they have are an interesting mix. When my turn comes, I select an arming sword, several javelins and a kite shield. We didn't practice this, since Pink and even Armor expected the 'takedown the padded pony' exercise.

For a horrible instant I can imagine myself back in the pit. I master that self-deception. Step by step, I advance. I scan the area. I listen, I never let my eyes linger. I walk gingerly, not knowing if the targets are triggered by the judges, or my movements, or both.

A wood target pops up, I cut it down. Some of the targets are clearly non-threats. Others are hostages. My decision to throw the javelins at one of these causes some consternation, but I hit the bad guy in the forehead, not the hostage. I circle as I advance, trying to look in all directions. My eyes and head moving constantly.

There! No just a foal. In front: pony, knife. The target loses a head.

I walk into an ambush, at least a dozen targets pop up in rapid succession. The instincts trained long and hard into me take over. I get my shield between myself and the target, and cut them down. Stab and slash. Keep moving, dodge, attack, keep moving, keep looking. They're bundles of sticks lashed to a wooden pole with a hat on. I cut through many of them. Mixed in are some that are clearly non-targets. I push one or two of them away with my shield. None of the mock weapons touch me.

And I'm through that, still a ways to go. Another, no. That one, crossbow! A javelin takes that pony in the eye. I remove the javelin, put it with the others. I keep advancing.

The blood is singing in my ears. The old instincts are there. The artistry of the kill is not needed. I let the reflexes take over, speeding reaction. Foal, no target, armed pony behind, the javelin flies.

The gate to the exit, and it's over. I carefully set the weapons and shield aside. I need a few moments to stop being the Crimson Death reborn, and return to being silly Percy. The effect of turning it off fills me with fatigue. I sink to my knees.

For the first time, I look at the pony faces around me. The spectators. The other handlers. Even the other humans. Universally, I see fear. I am a trained killer. Not a wolf among sheep, but a bear with a machine-gun among lambs.

For my own sanity, I am glad when Pink embraces me and I don't react, other than to sag into her grip. It reminds me of what I can do is not the same as what I am. I am human, and I can kill, but I do not have to. Even when provoked, I do not have to.
------------------------------

Hairbow is back. But Pink and Parasol are with her. They set her on the bench I'm lying on. She carefully steps onto me with her forehooves. She presses and twists her hooves, slowly working out the kinks in my muscles.

"I never saw nothin' like that. What'd he do against a Timberwolf?" Hairbow asks Pink.

Considering she's giving me a rubdown, and fairly skillfully, I don't understand her concern.

"Probably kill it," Pink says, "If it threatened his family."

Hairbow nods. "I ain't gonna threaten his family. He'd probably kill and eat me."

Parasol enters, looking a little disheveled. "They're still arguing. Those hostage targets are supposed to be no goes, but considering he hit the hostage taker every time, there's a bit of an argument going."

Pink snorts. "I'm just glad we've done this well."

Now Hairbow snorts. " 'This well'? Highness, no rookie ever won a ribbon in this contest, ever. Nopony ever entered a Guard class in a Service event and managed even fifth. If you don't win a ribbon, there's no justice."

"Thank you," Pink tells Hairbow, who is doing an excellent job of putting me to sleep.

"How old is he?" Hairbow asks.

"At least seven, we don't really know," Pink replies.

"Highness," Hairbow replies.

"Cadence, please," Pink tells her.

"Cadence, there's no way he's seven, he can't be more than four at the outside."

Pink frowns. "Applebloom, he's been fighting in the pits for five years, the youngest he could be is six."

"My hooves tell me he's four, tops," Hairbow says.

I tune out the rest of the conversation and go to sleep. I'll let Pink deal with the biology of 'her' human.
------------------------------

Parasol happily squeaks and pronks up and down, Pink is trying to squeeze the stuffings out of me. Fourth place, no medal, but a ribbon, and 'better' than that, I have been advanced to Regional Graduate, which means I can automatically enter in any of the other shows. My many 'distinctive' responses to the events is going to require some heavy updating of the rules. Several of the judges admitted that it had cost me 'Best of Show'. But fourth place in both the Service and Guard classes is utterly unheard of.

I have to admit I am rather pleased by my performance. My only regret is there was no freestyle talent event. I'm sure my playing the cello would have really perplexed the judges. And the dark side of me still enjoys driving ponies up the wall. There's a fair amount of media, and they close in like vultures. Until I make it clear that all the bright lights and sticking cameras in Pink's face is not acceptable. Holding a pony up by the tail with his telephoto lens in the other hand and awaiting Pink's decision, gives the others a bit of pause, before the real guards arrive and restore order.

There's no escaping the media though. Pink was already popular, and my reputation as a pit fighter goes ahead. She gives a speech about love and tolerance, and earning the loyalty of your human through decent treatment.

It's standard ASPCA stuff, and it's also common sense if the creature you're talking about is a trained killer. The Royal Guard's humans are never hit, and rarely yelled at. No DI in the world would let a little thing like language get in the way of training a recruit. I also suspect some of the brighter humans are more trainable than the dumber ponies. After all, ignorance is curable, stupid is forever.

We ride back to the palace in an air chariot, which takes us right to the balcony of the apartment. There we disembark and go inside. Frankly, I'm exhausted. It's been a heck of a couple days in a not uncluttered week.

The news of our victory has not missed other ears. The Mighty Poof is soon over to congratulate Pink. If she owned a horse, I'd expect its head in her bed.

"Well, quite a stir, and a Regional Graduate in his first show," the Mighty Poof says, "From all the hullabaloo I would almost think he's intelligent."

"I'm sure that intelligence had something to do with it," Pink says, being painfully polite.

If I just snuck into his room and ate him, naw, too high fat. I'd have to render his head down as lard first.

"Humans are humans, they'll never be what ponies are," the Mighty Poof says.

There are historical precedents, I long to say.

"Anyway, the next show is in a few weeks," the Mighty Poof says, "You might want to enter, after you've trained yourself in how to win. Your flouting the rules cost you Best Of Show, don't you think your Ursine Persiflage deserves a better trainer than you?"

Low blow. I see Pink second-guessing herself. I sit down next to her and blot her forming tears. She smiles and rallies.

"I entered to see how well I could do. And I did better than anyone in history," she replies, "That's enough, we did very well. 'What if' is a fun game, but the reality is we did better than anyone else ever has."

Good girl.

The Mighty Poof considers a response and then leaves.

Pink sticks out her tongue at the closed door.
------------------------------

The entire crew is off searching for the damned book, again. I swear if it was so important, they should have put it in a secure place. Of course over a long enough history, it might once have been in a secure place, except no one can remember which.

Octavia's arrival for practice is punctual as ever. The two guards with her, especially the one with a 'comradely' foreleg around her shoulders gives a vibe that makes me wish I'd brought the fire poker to answer the door.

"You've been summoned," the second guard says.

The ferryman is going to be getting a couple of guests if this is what I think it is. Octavia is terrified and will be of no help. Killing a couple of guards will create all kinds of problems. Going with them will cause problems I might not live through.

The second guard suddenly realizes they've been moved from 'in charge' to 'on the menu'. "Wait, hold up," he says and shies, "It's safe, it's just a little . . . weird. Please, I promise you aren't going to be hurt. Nor is the lady."

The only thing that saves either of them is the red bird sitting on the molding down the corridor and urging me through gestures to play it cool. To say I'm not at all eager to 'play the game' is an understatement. But I trust Philomena, the bird likes jokes and has a bit of a mean streak, but even she wouldn't lead us into a fatal trap.

The guards are more nervous than I am, Octavia sets her cello inside the door, and plants herself firmly at my side, 'heeling' as well as I did Pink at the Human Show. I close the door and gesture for the guards to lead the way.

We go through a nearly hidden doorway, and down a set of stairs into a cross between Captain Nemo's and Dr. Frankenstein's lairs. The huge multi-keyboard pipe organ distracts both of us momentarily from the two large X-frames with the straps. Long enough that a collection of Service class humans collect Octavia and put her on the horizontal one, and I'm strapped to the vertical one by a Service class as two massive Guard class hold me in position. At the organ, lost in thought, is the Mighty Poof. He suddenly isn't so harmless anymore. The pony guards gallop away.

Philomena has followed us, she has a paper coffee cup full of corn which she pops with her heat, then eats a kernel at a time. She's obviously familiar with the antics of Blueblood the Mad.

"You two thought I wouldn't notice, thought I wouldn't care," the Mighty Poof says as he paces, then pulls out a piece of paper with notes on it.

Octavia gasps as she recognized one of her pieces.

"Arrogant Earth Pony with her human partner creating music, as if they were the master race!" he rants, "As if they were better than anypony else." "Better than everypony else," he shouts, then glares at Octavia. "You failed," he hisses and turns to the massive organ.

The glow on his horn and the glow on the keyboard sync, and he plays. Every note, every keyboard and stop, every jot and tittle of the impossibly complicated music struts out in perfect time and syncopation. It is utterly the most beautiful thing I have ever heard. He sight reads the music as his magic flows over the organ, pressing keys, changing stops, pressing pedals, never touching the organ with his hooves. Only an octopus trained by Bach himself could have physically played that piece, yet Blueblood looks as if serenity and joy were pouring out of him like a fountain.

Too soon, far too soon, it is over. Octavia has tears streaming down her cheeks.

"Ha!" he says, "Too hard for the master, too hard for a Prince of the Royal Blood? Foolish Earth Pony, yes cry, weep, and despair!" he shouts, foam rimming his lips.

"I think you missed the point," I say, "It was created to entice the master musicians to play, to separate those best, from the very best."

That he doesn't react in absolute shock, as Octavia has, to a human speaking bespeaks his madness. What crosses his face is chagrin. He addresses Octavia. "So it was meant as a tribute, a challenge to hack away the edges of boredom. For me, or any other true master." He bows. "I should have known, and I do apologize."

"I have other pieces, I can provide you with them," Octavia says as Blueblood's servants release both of us. "I cannot play them, and am grateful you found them worthy and a challenge."

"Yes," Blueblood says wistfully as he stares at the organ.

"Have you considered performing them, to an audience?" Octavia asks.

Blueblood looks at her and grins. His laughter is disturbing enough. When it dissolves into anguished sobs, it goes beyond what anyone should know. Again, I'm reminded of the straitjacket this society has put itself in. The humans cluster around Blueblood, cuddling and soothing him, and giving Octavia and I dirty looks at having disturbed him.

We take our leave, with Philomena leading the way. Before we open the door to the corridor, Octavia stops.

"That was kind of traumatic and more that a touch insane," she says, "Did you actually speak?"

I make the pony sign for crazy person, and point at Octavia.

"Good point," Octavia says, then smiles, "We cellists have to stick together. I'll be back tomorrow. I have some copies to make. I'll pick up my cello tomorrow." She heads off and I return to the apartment. I'm beginning to actively wonder if I'm the crazy one, or if this whole world is insane.