Chapter 1: Taking Flight

Hate.

That was the best word Gilda could find. Hate. Hate for the world, hate for the her life, hate for her job-

"Can't you fly straight?!"

Hate for her boss.

"I hired a griffon chauffeur to impress ponies!"

Hate for the pudgy bastard, stinking rich, yet as cheap as they come, a dull-yellow, brown-maned unicorn -even if he hardly ever seemed to use his head-spike, she noted- slob named Cash Grab.

"I don't pay you to swing and sway all over the sky," She could practically see the smug smirk he was making, the one he always clucking made whenever he told this same, stupid joke, "so straighten up and fly right!"

She must have heard that one a million clucking times in her life. It wasn't funny when her friends said it, it wasn't funny when her folks said it, it wasn't funny when her instructors said it, it wasn't funny when her parole officer said it. It. Wasn't. Funny.

Luckily, she learned that swearing under her breath was neither visible while she was pulling the chariot, facing away from the fat dirtbag, nor audible, the wind alone drowning out her own profanity. Profanity that sometimes gave her pause for thought, making her wonder if maybe she should see a shrink after all. Or a pal, just someone to talk to? She'd been short on those these last several months.

Bringing Cash Grab's Chariot wherever he told her to, which unfortunately never seemed to include a dragon's roost, or that fire swamp she'd heard about, anything to see this prick burn, was how she got by now, and for the last few weeks. Today he was going to Canterlot, just to show off. And why not? He was wearing some stupid, shiny coat and puffy hat-thing, glittering with fake gold that wasn't gonna fool anyone with two brain cells to rub together. Which, where they were going, might actually work out pretty well. she had dragged this over-decorated pile of junk through the sky here more than once, to the home of all things stupid, stuck-up, overpriced, and hoity-toity. She hated hoity-toity.

Gilda hated Hoity Toity, too, but that was another story.

Still, carting bloated, pretentious ponies around was the longest-held source of bits she'd had in a long time, so she'd keep on course and land in the usual spot near some fancy gazebo things in the park, mentally preparing to be stared at like some kind of sideshow freak, again, by snooty ponies that probably never worked a day in their lives so Cash Grab could feel smugly superior to the ones that just walked everywhere, or hired pony cabs.

Being left to stand by the chariot, not allowed to so much as find a warm place to bask in the mid-afternoon sun and pass out for a few hours, left Gilda with a lot of time to think. A recurring topic in her head was the concept of humility, right next to what it meant to be cool.

"So I walk into my golden parlor, and what should I see but another of those door-to-door types?"

They were both things that seemed as far from her boss as possible.

"Ohhohohohoh, indeed?"

Especially when he was talking to his fellow rich slimeballs.

"Mmyes," one droned as he and two others listened to Cash Grab telling them about yet another pony looking for a loan he sent packing, "pesky sorts, they, always asking for... I say, what was it againe?"

How many times had she heard the most supposedly well-spoken ponies in the world butcher their own language? Dressed like idiots in clothes that cost too much and didn't do anything? Besides attract dragons, maybe. Many times, she'd fantasized about a full-grown fire-breather swooping out of the sky, snapping one of them up and chomping away, just for the gems embedded in their stupid outfits.

"Money, dear boy," Cash Grab said with as much of that I'm-better-than-you air as he could suck in and puff out through fat lungs, "The paupers come crawling to my beautiful home in search of coin they don't care for enough to earn themselves."

You're one to talk, you corpulent pile of- ...How long had she known what 'corpulent' meant? Maybe hanging around fancy-talkers was at least improving her vocabulary.

"But Cash," one of the overdressed stooges asked, "isn't the whole of your business distribution of wealth? Borrowed money with interest, and the like?"

He delivered what Gilda found to be an intolerably pompous laugh in response. "Yes, but only when I'm guaranteed a profit from the venture, that's why they call me Cash."

She could almost smell the ego stinking up the air, but his rich buddies drank it in like the pricey wine they probably chugged every damn night, at least pretending to laugh right along with him.

When the fat bastard caught his breath, Gilda couldn't decide whether she hated his laugh or his voice more. "Ohhh, yes, you have to be smart to make money, boys, know the ins and outs, the ups and downs, else you end up doing..." She could have sworn he was talking in her direction now, or at least louder, "Menial labor!"

Another round of empty laughs before he spoke again. It was getting easier to decide.

"I know not all of us can be wealthy and successful, someone has to do the dirty work," Someone, she noted, not somepony, someone, "the grunt labor, things respectable ponies wouldn't dream of-"

That was it. Gilda threw off the reigns, looking square at Cash Grab's fat, stupid face. "You got somethin' to say?!"

He and all his prissy pals looked at her like she was a ball of molted feathers. "I say whatever I please," the heaviest of them said, snout upturned, "Especially to the help that doesn't know it's place."

She wiped the look off his bloated countenance by darting over to where he stood, grabbing him by the stupid, not-golden coat, and holding him far enough off the ground that his pudgy limbs couldn't reach it. "I've been carrying your fat ass around for weeks, and as much as I try to count the days, it's all the same, sickening blur to me now."

Cash Grab sputtered, a flicker of fear in eyes that spent most evenings counting stacks of bits. "P-put me down right this inst-"

Gilda gave him a single, violent shake, her voice a harsh whisper as she glared unblinkingly at source of around 80% of her ire of late. She made a mental note that none of his 'buddies' were coming to his rescue, a split-second glance showing them to be cowering a few meters away. "I've been trying to decide," she told her trembling target, "what I hate most about you, and I think I've made my pick."

He only whimpered in reply, looking about as though hoping the guards would show up to save his worthless hide. She could only see it as an improvement.

"I hate your voice," she seethed, "because every time you open your mouth, I can just taste how much better you think you are compared to everyone else, how little you care about anything but your money, your 'place' among ponies who don't do anything important."

His eyes locked onto something behind Gilda as he waved a hoof in an 'over here' kind of way. She didn't care to look.

"Your place, fat boy," she growled, golden eyes boring into his, "is not in some golden palace, not acting like you're better than any one of your stupid-looking cronies," not even wanting to see his face anymore, she turned to look at the chariot she had just been hooked up to, "and not in the sky!"

Dropping the obese pony like a sack of rotten eggs, Gilda sped over to her former burden, picked it up in both talons, let out a long, loud roar, and smashed it repeatedly against the fancy stone tiles of the landing area, chips of it flying in every direction, until everyone could see it exactly the way she did; a pile of junk. All was silent for several seconds, ponies all around stopping to stare at her before she glanced to Cash Grab, her voice calm and casual. "By the way, I quit."

It was right about then that she heard a slightly annoyed stallion clearing his throat. "Hope I've not come at a bad time, gents?"

She was expecting a pony guard captain or something, and while he was bulky enough to be a guard, even had the white fur thing going, he was dressed in a simple little tuxedo-neck thing and blue bow-tie, complete with a rose stuck in the black part.

Cash Grab scrambled to his stubby hooves. "Prince Blueblood!" He pointed at Gilda. "This ruffian just destroyed my property, you saw the whole-"

Blueblood moved passed the griffon without so much as a sideways glance, approaching Cash instead. "Yes, yes, not my concern, we have business to discuss."

"B-business?!" He spat, "I think it can wait until I've been compensated for my chariot, and the emotional damages suffered from that-"

The pasty pony prince's face showed only bored disdain. "I have reviewed your proposal to install 20-meter advertising boards for your loaning agency in farming villages across Equestria, and it has been refused." He continued right through Cash's shocked displeasure, not giving him a moment to verbalize a reply. "And since you were gracious enough to send in the money before a descision was made on the matter, I will be repurposing those funds to cover some of your..." He did that thing where you choose a nicer word in place of the first one that came to mind. Rich ponies did that a lot, Gilda noticed. "outstanding debts."

The pony in the ugly not-gold suit paled a little at this, mouth twitching as he tried to say something, but Blueblood either didn't notice or didn't care. "That concludes our business, good day." And he turned to walk away.

"N-n-now wait just a minute," Cash demanded, pointing at Gilda again, "as the highest-ranking authority figure present, you have to do something about that filthy felon!"

The prince stopped, looking around breifly in a much more tired version of the way Cash had when he was in Gilda's talons before sighing quietly. "The charges?" He spoke without so much as turning to look at the fatter pony.

Cash's face lit up like he ate a baby phoenix, his calling in life in plain view. "Three hundred bits for the chariot, another hundred for the damage to my wardrobe, and for my emotional recovery, it, it could be thousands of bits to work out all the-"

Blueblood sounded more irritated than obliging. "And what, dare I ask, did this...?" He glanced in her direction.

"Gilda," she provided, matching his tired glare. If I've learned anything about these high society pricks, she thought to herself, it's that the higher up they are, the more they look down on everyone else. This guy's probably even worse than Cash.

"Yes, thank you," he muttered, "what did this Gilda do that was so traumatizing as to warrant diversion of funds from important Equestrian affairs to repair your 'damaged psyche'?" He pronounced the last two words a lot like how you might pronounce 'pretty hydra' or 'cuddly cragadile'.

Cash replied so quickly it was as if he'd been cataloging offenses in preparation. "She insulted my healthy girth, used foul language in my presence, nearly subjected my delicate person to violence, belittled my-"

He still wasn't facing Cash, but Gilda saw the prince roll his light-blue eyes. "Would you say it's been a dark, scarring experience?"

"I-I certainly would!"

"That you're so shaken you can hardly stand?"

"I am indeed," he said, quickly dropping to one knee, wobbling about lightly.

"Really."

Gilda could almost taste his hatred for the 'victim', like he'd been through this more than once.

"Really, I'm simply-"

"In possession of the worst acting skills I've ever seen, and Canterlot Theater does have a foals' night, Mr. Grab."

That shut him up for a minute.

"I'll make you a deal," he said with a mix of condescension and venom, looking over his shoulder, "show me that you're still suffering from this incident a few weeks from now and I'll forget how your display makes a mockery of all who ever recieved psychological scarring by one means or another."

"B-but you can't just let this beast go!"

Gilda was getting sick of being pointed at, showing it by adopting an aggressive stance, paws and talons on the ground, , back arched, wings stretched just slightly. "You're no paragon of civility either, you fat, cheap bastard!"

The pointing did not stop. "And that's another thing, she's simply abusive! If your royal ears could hear some of the bile that beak has spewed, they might never work right again!"

Blueblood raised an eyebrow, finally turning to actually face those he was conversing with.

Gilda called back. "I only give what's due, you inbred, bloated tight-wad!"

Cash Grab's face contorted with righteous indignation. "Somepony ought to have your wings clipped, you-"

"SOMEONE OUGHT TO MAKE YOU INTO GLUE!!"

The collective gasp of most ponies within earshot was followed by a short, stunned silence.

Gilda, still fuming, slowly looked through those present, practically daring any of them to move. The first motion she caught sight of was the prince moving a hoof to his mouth, shaking lightly.

Hoo, boy.

A pony from the gathering crowd, a mare in a fancy dress, stepped forward with a worried expression. "Are... are you alright, my prince?"

This, some part of her knew, would have been the part where a smart, sensible person would calmly apologize, or at least reword things a bit. Not today. If she was going to tell off the last pony in Equestria she could get work from, this guy was no fur off her tail, pony royalty or not.

She fixed him with a deadpan stare. "Ohh, like you've never heard worse. I bet you shout more depraved things in bed most nights."

Another group gasp was cut off by Blueblood throwing his head back and laughing.

This was a good day for shock, it seemed, for the ponies of Canterlot knew one thing; Prince Blueblood was the coldest pony in the city. He hardly smiled, rarely gave anypony short of the princesses the time of day, cared nothing for the attention of other ponies, even the loveliest, wealthiest noble daughters offering their hoof. He was the last noble anypony in their right mind would go to if they needed help, the first noble anypony was likely to hear from when there was bad news for them on a bureaucratic level, and the less said of rumors surrounding the prince, the better. The griffon surely had no idea how close her assertion likely was to the truth, but there was no doubt that Prince Blueblood didn't laugh.

Mares fainted, stallions covered their ears, all who weren't doing one of those looked to the skies for some sign of a threat worse than Tirek come to claim them all.

While those ponies were being dramatic and perhaps a little silly, Blueblood caught his breath, trotting calmly over to Gilda with a relaxed smirk on his face. "How would you like to work for me? I could use a bodyguard."

A single talon was directed at him in reply. "Yea, well you're a big-!" She blinked, the challenge quickly fading from her posture. "Wait, what?"

He was still smiling like he was about to win a game with a lot of money on the table. "I said, come work for me, I know you're reasonably strong if you can destroy a well-built chariot with your bare talons. I can pay you handsomely, of course."

She caught sight of ponies in the crowd far behind him, some looking at her -or him, it was hard to tell at this angle- with disgust. Some, however, showed what looked like concern, waving their forehooves in an 'X' shape, shaking their heads, or making throat-cutting gestures. She gritted her teeth, looking at them through narrowed eyes. They think I'm scared of this pompous windbag? I'll show 'em.

Gilda looked Blueblood dead in the sky-blue eye. "When can I start?"

His grin was almost sinister. "I'll show you to your accommodations in the palace, top of the line, naturally."

She had a few seconds after they started walking to raise an eyebrow at the contrast between his facial expression and the spoken sentiment before a nearby guard cleared his throat meaningfully.

"Erm, Your Highness? I'm afraid your new employee is, uh, under arrest?"

The bodyguard whose career lasted all of fifteen seconds froze. Busted!

"Hm?" Blueblood stopped, tilting his head curiously at the guard before his eyes widened. "Oh, right!" He glanced to Gilda. "One moment please." He trotted back to Cash Grab, who looked like he was still trying to shake off the impact of very recent events.

The longest head-spike Gilda had ever seen on a pony glowed as the prince levitated a slip of paper from his fancy neck-thing, joined by the rose that had been embedded in it. He held the rose in front of his face for a second as it made a clicking sound, a little black point sticking out of the bottom of the stem, which he started writing on the paper with. "Take this to the nearest bank," he told Cash, "and you should be refurbished. Three hundred bits for the chariot, a hundred and fifty for the suit."

Cash Grab beamed, but still looked slightly confused. Probably about whether or not to correct Blueblood on the second part, but he was answered before the question could be passed or vetoed in his head.

"I know you said one hundred, but I'm feeling generous-" another gasp from the crowd went ignored as he clicked the rose-pen again and reset it in his neck-thing, "-and, really, doing you a favor here." The last part was muttered under his breath, but she could still hear him as he handed her former boss the check, looking at that shiny, not-golden suit like it was a thick layer of rotten fruit. "Can't believe you're fine being seen in that tasteless thing..."

Cash was too happy about the money to respond to the burn, but Gilda would quietly treasure the moment forever. Blueblood turned to face the guard, who was still waiting near her with an eyebrow raised. "I hereby issue a royal pardon for Gilda here. Any questions?"

The guard sputtered, blinking rapidly. "B-but, with due respect sir, she committed vandalism and disturbed the peace," the pegasus in probably-real-gold armor gestured to the ponies that had fainted, "in broad daylight, you can't just-"

Blueblood smirked, eyes alight with a certain challenge. "As the highest-ranking authority figure present, what I say goes." He made a follow-me gesture with a hoof toward Gilda as he started walking again. "Carry on, Sergeant."

Moving to follow the pony that apparently just saved her hide, Gilda quickly turned her head to give the guard a smug "I'm-getting-away-with-this-nah-nah-nah-nah-nah-nah" kind of look, but before she could so much as form the expression, she saw the peacekeeper looking right back at her with a mix of what she could swear were fear and pity as the prince led her away. Like he was leading her straight to a chopping block.

Sergeant Whatshisname wasn't the only one, either, as a quick glance over the crowd revealed.

With just the tiniest hint of caution fear panic a feeling the proud griffon would never admit aloud, she looked quickly back and forth between those sad stares and her new boss, who kept his gaze on the towers of the palace, hanging in sight above the rest of Canterlot. She could see that he was smiling, not quite a devious smirk, but a grin that said "I'm totally up to something."

She gave the crowd one last glance over her shoulder. What did I just get myself into...?

Author's Notes:

The cover art was initially going to be Gilda making a cute face while holding up a middle claw, but the "how do I know this is acceptable to post" thing in the FAQ said if I have to ask that question, it's probably not acceptable. Hopefully what I found instead is fine too.

A flabby OC, because I don't think there were any characters on the show that worked for what I wanted to do with that role.

D'oh!

I kindof wish I were writing this from a first-person perspective, could convey so much more personality that way, but there'll be too many characters from whose viewpoint various parts of the story will be told that that would make things messy.

Speaking of messy, Gilda's LittlePip-level swearing will not actually be depicted because I'd rather not have to put a Mature tag on this story for that alone. ^^;

Chapter 2: New Pecking Order

Chapter 2: New Pecking Order

Weird looks and hushed whispers accompanied them all the way to the palace. Blueblood didn't even seem to notice, the same laid-back grin on his face the entire trip, not a care in the world. It was nice not being frisked when entering somewhere important for once, doubly so when the pony that brought her there was allowed to waltz right in.

Not that her new boss was actually waltzing, but he definitely had a spring in his step. The moment they were alone in one of the long, decorative hallways, Gilda reached over to tap him on the shoulder with a talon. "Alright buddy, what's going on here?"

He didn't slow down, but turned his head slightly. "Hm?"

She narrowed her eyes, keeping her voice low. "Everyone back at the gazebos was looking at me like you were planning to serve roast griffon at the next big shin-dig! What the hell was that about?!"

He actually seemed to tinge green, stopping where he stood to stare at her for a moment, aghast. "Th-that... Are you suggesting I plan to eat you?"

The hybrid shrugged, an eyebrow raised. "I'unno, you tell me! Did you see the looks we were getting all the way here?"

The prince seemed to shake off his revulsion, raising his snout slightly. "For one thing, Miss Gilda, we do not ingest flesh of other beings here."

She knew that. Damn shame, too, one of her earliest memories was of catching a tasty rat.

"For another, I imagine they're simply unaccustomed to a specimen of your stature roaming the city."

Specimen of my...?

He smiled again. "That will change, rest assured, but in the mean time you'll be needing somewhere to stay, I should think?"

Gilda blinked, flapping her wings once as she adopted a more casual stance. "Those, uh, 'top of the line' accomodations?"

Blueblood nodded, the two of them continuing down the hallway until he saw another white unicorn coming down the opposite end, calling out to get her attention. "Miss Raven, a moment?"

Raven, her brown mane and tail both set in a bun, a white neck-thing different from the prince's with a red ruffly thing hanging from the front, visibly tensed. Gilda could see her blink twice behind her black-rimmed glasses. "Y-yes, Prince Blueblood?"

He gave that same relaxed smirk, but something on Raven's face said it made her uncomfortable. Or maybe it was the griffon behind him. "That guest room I've never used, make sure it's in tip-top shape and see to it that my new bodyguard is comfortable."

Her eyes shot back and forth between Blueblood and his new protection, mouth open just slightly as though dying to ask the question that her eyes practically screamed. 'what's going on here?'

Gilda, standing behind her new boss, shrugged lightly, which she hoped would communicate, 'you're asking me?'

The exchange took less than a second, Raven locking onto Blueblood. "Right away, sir." She trotted off, presumeably to go do... Whatever preparing a room meant.

"So," Gilda probed, "I take it you don't get a lot of new hires in here? What happened to your last bodyguard?"

He chuckled. "Nothing, the position has always been vacant, but with recent events I'm feeling compelled to amend that." The grin disappeared as he raised a hoof to his chin in thought. "Not that all the royal guards at once would stand up to a threat like Tirek or Nightmare Moon, should we ever see either again for any reason, but what's the harm in preparing, no?"

She very briefly contemplated whether it was better to get out now or risk death at the claws of a super monster. Remembering her bravado from earlier, she reached a decision. Bring on the freakshows. If I'm dying, I'm dying like a badass!

None of this registered in her face, however, prompting Blueblood to continue the conversation himself. "So, would you like a tour of the palace? It usually takes quite some time," his head-spike lit up again as he levitated a little stop watch from his neck-thing, which she made a mental note to find out the proper name for, beaming proudly, "but I've managed to shave it down to one hour and fifteen minutes showing foreign dignitaries and honored guests around. Two hours, ten minutes if you include the Royal Garden!"

Gilda deadpanned. "I couldn't care less what this place looks like or what ancient, cheesy crap you've got waiting to get knocked over and broken in the halls."

Somehow, he smiled wider, which was starting to annoy her. "Of course, shall I point you to the dining room? I'm sure you'll find the palace staff have perfected culinary-"

"Um, Your Highness?" Raven popped up behind him at some point, tapping his shoulder with a hoof. "Your bodyguard's quarters are ready."

The wide, slightly creepy smile faded to a calm, neutral expression. "Hm? Oh, yes, show her the way, would you? There are some matters I should probably attend to myself."

Gilda irritably flapped her wings once as she called after him, startling Raven. "Wait a second, aren't I supposed to be guarding you?"

Trotting away, he glanced over his shoulder. "Not to worry, while in the palace, the chances I'll come to harm are virtually non-existant. Be seeing you!"

She scowled, this whole thing stunk of funny business. Raven's hoof was waving in front of her face. "Pardon, Miss Bodyguard?"

"Gilda." She remembered she was supposed to be crashing in the fanciest bed she'd likely ever see tonight. "The room, I guess?"

The pony with a feather and ink pot on her butt smiled. "Right this way, please."

It was, without a doubt, the swankiest room Gilda had ever been in.

Shimmering silver and glittering gold were on almost everything, furniture, walls, ceiling, and the edges of the floor, shaped into all sorts of crazy-intricate patterns. In the center of the roof was a chandelier so bright it hurt to look straight at it, not helped by the light being reflected off the many, many, many gold surfaces to illuminate the room even further. Mirrors of various shapes and sizes, almost none reasonable for actually looking at yourself, were apparently welded to a few things in the room, mostly on the ceiling around the chandelier, the floor was mostly done in white carpet so soft she might have paid good money to sleep on it, and there were classy paintings on every wall, encrusted with the gold and silver patterns, of course.

She looked at Raven, an eyebrow raised. "So, how dead am I if anything in here gets busted?"

What Gilda guessed was some kind of secretary blinked once before giggling. "Ohh, not to worry, everything in this room has been destroyed at least twice."

"..."

"Since I started working here, I mean."

She asked for elaboration in the form of a confused head-tilt.

Raven adjusted her spectacles calmly. "Strange things happen here at the castle, Miss Gilda. Not copiously so, but enough that we have well-paid maintenance staff at the ready when destructive forces should strike. I think the most recent was due to a visit by a friend of one of the regular musicians."

No worries if I break something on accident, then? She smiled. Right-on! "Cool. So, where can I grab some grub around here?"

Cash's chefs might've given her funny looks every time they saw the griffon, but they also gave her some halfway decent meals, sometimes even warm. Stumbling through Canterlot palace with a lightly swollen stomach, she was sure things were different here. She ate several things she couldn't identify and something that smelled like Prench toast, shaped like a star. Details were lost somewhere in the binge, but a few things stuck in her memory; good food, cheery ponies bringing her the good food, and a LOT of good food being brought by cheery ponies.

She half-expected them to burst into song. For reasons she wasn't quite up to asking, there were instruments lined up along one of the walls.

They were nothing like Cash's flimsy 'friends' and cronies, they smiled, asked what she would like, gave suggestions when she realized she had no idea what the cluck anything was called here, and then brought them to her without a trace of condescension or that 'ew, I'm serving food to not-a-pony' look she sometimes got, even if only rarely.

If I had the kinda money some of those ponies do, she thought, sluggishly scraping a talon along the floor as she went, I'd be... An unpleasant thought hit her like a hammer to the back of the head. I'd... I'd be just like them, wouldn't I? Selfish, smarmy, egotistical? Wasn't that just how she and Dash used to be, when she didn't have to worry about keeping herself fed? The ashamed bully hung her head as she wandered the palace alone, quietly hating herself.

It had gotten late, and it was while wandering the halls in search of the room with all the shiny crap and a bed to slip into a food coma in that she bumped into someone, her usual fallback of 'watch where you're going' in such situations coming out as a dull mumble.

"Oh," the taller figure she'd collided with giggled in a friendly tone, "pardon me, I didn't see you there."

Gilda was far too stuffed to be mad at the moment, settling for drowsily gawking at the speaker, the sight immediately snapping her awake.

"Hello," Celestia said softly, "I haven't seen you around the palace before, what is your name?"

"I, h-hi, uh..."

"Ai'h'hia?" She giggled. "I don't think I've ever met a Saddle Arabian griffon before, but salaam alaikum none-the-less, effendi!"

Not-Ai'h'hia shook her head. "I mean, Gilda, my name's Gilda."

The pony that controlled the clucking sun nodded. "Nice to meet you, Gilda. What brings you to the castle at this late hour?"

She composed herself as best she could, trying not to think about where she'd be banished if she ticked off a princess. "I work here, I mean, I work for your son and-"

Celestia's eyes opened widely in shock, her ethereal mane taking on more fiery hues for a split second. "My WHAT?!"

Gilda cowered behind her talons, held up in a weak defense, "I-I mean, uh," her brain was scrambled, what was her new boss supposed to be again? "Th-the guy with the long head-spike, neck-thing, keeps a flower-pen in it?"

She went from a mix of horrified and outraged to just confused, blinking twice. "...What?"

Whatwashisnamewhatwashisname?! "Uhh, white pony, blond hair, blue'n yellow star-thing on his ass, hasn't had a bodyguard in forever?"

The mouth of the most powerful being she'd ever met twitched before curving into a smile. She closed her eyes, giggling for several seconds, then started laughing, loudly. Gilda could only stand there feeling increasingly uncomfortable as the princess went from rearing up on her hind legs to flopping over on the ground and kicking her legs in the air, laughing like she'd lost her mind the whole time.

She eventually started to catch her breath, standing up again and wiping away tears with a hoof as she got up. "F-forgive me-hee-hee-hee! It's been..." She took a deep breath. "Ohh, at least a few decades since somepony has made a mistake like that."

Gilda gulped, but maintained eye contact.

The princess paused, brushing a hoof against her chin in thought. "Well, that I've heard about, at least." She shrugged, her voice very, very calm, even friendly. "Prince Blueblood is my nephew, not my son." Celestia's smile sent a weird, warm tingle through her chest. "You say you work for him now? What do you do, if you don't mind my asking?"

The near-panicked hybrid felt like she was dodging arrows by scant centimeters, each question the one that might do her in if she didn't provide a good enough answer. "Bodyguard."

She felt a lead weight drop in her gut when the princess's face grew mostly neutral, apart from a little frown. "Bodyguard? ...Is he being threatened by somepony? Does he not feel safe anymore?"

Bullseye. Dead. She had no answer for this, only able to stammer incoherently while desperately fumbling for a reply.

Celestia smiled apologetically, reaching out with a massive, white wing to gently brush the feathers atop Gilda's head. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to worry you, but you can understand my own concern, can't you?"

She nodded once in reply, possibly the only thing she could do at the moment before the alicorn turned her head in the direction of a voice about a split second before Gilda heard it.

"Ohh, there you are, Miss Gilda!" It was Raven, who apparently also made a habit of wandering around the castle right after sunset. "You weren't in your chambers, so I wished to make certain all was-" She stopped, quickly bowing to the pony with an even longer head-spike than her new boss's, if only slightly. "Good evening, Princess!"

Celestia replied with a pleasant grin. "Good evening, Raven." She quickly looked to Gilda. "I'll be seeing you, Miss Gilda, please take good care of my nephew."

Standing on her paws and delivering a crisp salute, wings folded, might not have made the most sense at that moment, but it was the first thing that came to mind. The princess's smile didn't go away as she trotted off, so she figured it was a good call.

Right up to Raven's lightly bewildered look.

Her avian eyes quickly shifted about before locking on what she guessed was the castle secretary. "What?"

She chuckled in response, offering a friendly smile. "Please don't worry, I've seen much stranger shows of respect for ponies of Her station." She looked away somewhat nervously. "The rain-dance has to have been the most perplexing to date..."

Curious, but also wanting to get some shut-eye, Gilda changed the subject. "Right. So, where was my room again...?"

All things considered, she slept well that night.

Author's Notes:

Raven is a background pony that sometimes pops up as somepony's assistant. Sometimes she's Celestia's aide, sometimes she helps Mayor Mare do stuff, sometimes she cowers before Luna while dressed in a devil costume. She also switches between unicorn and earth pony, as ponies we're not supposed to pay attention to kindof do. For simplicity's sake, I'm going with Celestia's unicorn aide.

Chapter 3: Feathered Friends

It must have been months since the last time Gilda had to sleep off a food coma, but more surprising was the fact that she'd been allowed to do it. It was halfway to noon by the time she woke up, and with no sign of somepony shouting at her about oversleeping. Were they just scared I'd scratch their faces off if they tried? That did kinda almost happen one time, but she actually apologized to the guy she swiped at, honestly not having meant to hurt him. Luckily, he was surprisingly cool with the idea of a snazzy new scar.

Weird memories of weird ponies aside, she got up, patted her feathers down, and went looking for her boss. He must have had something for her to do by now.

"I've got nothing for you to do right now."

"Seriously?"

He shrugged a bit, not looking up from the papers on his desk. "I do apologize, but I'm afraid your first day on the job won't be terribly interesting. I'm not due to go anywhere until later this evening."

Nothing else to say immediately springing to mind, Gilda bit the hook. "Where's that?"

Still not looking up from apparently the Most Amazing Papers In The World, Blueblood smiled a little. There was a hint of that I'm-totally-up-to-something smile he had yesterday. "Does the name 'Honest Heart' mean anything to you?"

"Not a thing."

"Me neither. In fact, I'm not sure that's even the fellow's name, but he's the pony thought to organize the most charities in this city, so he has a lot of 'friends'."

Gilda didn't miss the mocking tone in that last word.

"As such, when his daughter, couldn't even guess the name, has a birthday party organized by the man himself, you can bet 'everypony who's anypony' will be tripping over themselves to show up with the most expensive thing they could have wrapped and throw it in her face. Not literally, mind you."

Shame, might've been fun to watch. "Right. So what's this got to do with you?"

"The mare in question usually takes after her father, if only out of a sort of twisted expectation that she do so. Genuine benevolence or not, it's always good to stop by to encourage that kind of thing. Who knows? We may even have fun for bit while we're there."

"We?"

Now he looked at her, an eyebrow raised. "You're my bodyguard, remember? Starting yesterday?"

Gilda tinted red. "Oh. Right."

Mercifully, his attention returned to the forms as he marked one with a stamp. "The event is due to begin around 7:00pm tonight, but you're free to do whatever you like until then. Do you have anything to wear?"

"Didn't exactly bring a bag." Truth be told, she didn't own anything she thought was worth lugging around, just made flying harder. Stuff like jewelry and sentimental trinkets was for saps, anyway.

"I see. I'm sure one of the outfitters around town would have something in your size."

"Pass."

"Suit yourself. Or, don't, as the case may be. I intend to depart around 6:45pm, so feel free to explore a bit until then."

As much as it felt like she was already pressing her luck, Gilda had learned when to just take a break. Granted, she was getting those pretty often in the last day or so, but when your kinda creepy totally-up-to-something boss doesn't specifically tell you to do anything, you've got all the reason in the world to not do anything. On the other talon, she was getting bored and exploring the castle sounded kinda cool, so that's what she did for the day.

She walked all over the place, the guys in shiny, gold armor barely looking at her twice as she went around just looking at stuff. She still didn't want a tour and still didn't care about the stuff they had lying around waiting to get knocked over, (which wasn't actually all that much, she only saw like three vases) but it was probably too soon to go around opening random doors. When that particular temptation got to be too much, she opened a random window and flew outside, perching on one of the high walls.

If Gilda were a dweeb, she might have peered out over the horizon, a talon just over her eyes as she scouted the territory, alert for any sign of trouble. It would also be very dweebish to go marching along those high walkways, not a sound but the wind and not another living thing in sight as she patrolled, imagining how she might have to light some huge signal fire in the event that something showed up to cause trouble, and the whole city, roused by the ignition, would similarly burn with the fury and passion of battle as they united to fight off the threat, everyone going nuts in a city-wide bar-fight.

That would be a dweeby thing to do, which was why Gilda did no such thing, and would smack anyone that said otherwise.

Shut up.

The higher spots on the castle roof also proved to be pretty good for sun-basking, so she did that for a while too. Lacking a watch, she looked down at the city to find one of those huge wall-clock things some of the snazzier buildings had. There was about an hour left until it was time to get going, so she flew down to wait near Blueblood. It only took her fifteen minutes to find an open door, so she didn't have to wait as long as she'd first thought.

She didn't want to ask, but it felt necessary. "Are we there yet? I know that's a dumb question, but we passed the guys saying 'thanks for coming, great to have you here' going through those big doors four minutes ago, and we're still outside."

Blueblood chuckled. "Yes, the palace isn't the only building in Canterlot with it's own estimated travel times. If you've ever wondered how ponies around here stay in shape, this is half of it."

She nodded a little. "I met your aunt yesterday. Does she always say hi the way other cultures do?"

He glanced at her with an eyebrow raised, as if appraising the statement. "Celestia, you mean? I have two aunts now, so I have to ask." When she gave an affirmative nod, he went on. "That sounds like something she would do, yes. Possibly because it's something you'd not expect from arguably the most powerful being in the world, for more than sheer magical might."

Gilda tilted her head as they walked. "Whaddya mean?"

"Well, looking at how some others in lofty positions behave, it's reasonable to wonder why she of all ponies would deign to match the customs and mannerisms of, hypothetically, other, lesser beings than herself. Perhaps it's to ingratiate herself to them, perhaps it's just out of politeness."

She shrugged a little. "Seemed like a pretty nice lady." When she wasn't immeasurably pissed off, at least, even if for just a few seconds.

"Indeed. Luna is perhaps a little abrasive, but she's a good pony too."

"And the other two princesses?"

"Honestly? I don't know. They seem to do their own thing pretty well, for whatever that's worth."

Eventually, they got to a well-lit area with a long balcony overlooking a cliff, the sun beginning to fade in the distance, a lot of ponies in snazzy duds standing around having I-bet-I-can-hold-my-snout-higher contests. Gilda took a second to wonder if houses near cliffs were like window seats in this city. There were fancy snack tables and classical bands playing and a whole lot more crud that made the party look like a pricier version of that day in Ponyville.

Then it clicked.

Blueblood saw her trash that stupid carriage and thought she'd be good for a laugh, so he gave her a hollow job, planning to bring her along to the party tonight to see her make a fool of herself, just like Pinkie Pie had. Well screw him, she'd be on her best behavior! He couldn't fire her if she didn't do anything wrong, right? Union laws and stuff. She wouldn't swear, wouldn't knock things over, wouldn't sock ponies in the muzzle no matter how bad they had it coming, total angel.

As they'd been there for all of thirty seconds before she started getting weird glances, she didn't exactly have her work cut out for her.

They spent the first few minutes of the shin-dig just walking around, Blueblood not so much as making eye-contact with anypony, and the ones looking their way looking more at her than him. Just in case, she kept an eye out for anyone looking like they wanted to bust someone up, she did have a job to do, after all. No one was getting close, but there were definitely a lot of faces like those back at the gazebos as they'd been leaving, and she couldn't shake the feeling of being watched, though Blueblood himself was hardly giving anyone a second glance.

Before long, he actually stopped to talk to someone, apparently the birthday girl. She was a pegasus, looked like a grown mare, but her voice sounded sorta fillyish, so Gilda wasn't sure how old she was. That was kind of a thing with ponies, actually. Red fur, yellow hair tied back in a bun, wearing a long, flowy dress that covered her butt-mark. Maybe that was another kind of masquerade ball thing? Disguising their asses instead of their faces? Gilda clamped her beak shut to not laugh like an idiot at the thought as Blueblood made small talk for a minute or two and they learned she was studying medicine, named Phoenix Down. Blueblood said something about good intentions and keeping up benevolence worthy of somethingorother, but Gilda couldn't help her attention drifting.

She saw some ponies she'd seen before here, some of them pegasi in blue suits. Tight, yellow-lightning-striped blue suits. She knew she'd seen those uniforms somewhere, but couldn't remember what the group that wore them was called. Before she could worry about the chances that this would drive her nuts later, a blue-suit pony with fiery, orange hair and yellow wings might have noticed her staring and walked over, lifting her goggles to show bright-orange eyes.

"Hey," said the smiling newcomer in the group's general direction, "surprised you made it out, Blueblood. No petitions that needed vetoing, no proposals that needed rejecting?"

Phoenix Down looked just a little relieved as Blueblood looked away from her to answer the blue-suit. He responded with a dry, oh-what-do-you-want kind of tone. "Yes, my work is not ceaseless. You would understand, I should think."

Gilda picked up a hint of an insult in that last part, but fireball-hair just chuckled at him. "My team doesn't get called out to do stuff all the time either. It's almost like not everypony can afford to hire the Wonderbolts to do stuff, huh?" She gave a friendly wink toward Phoenix, who shrunk back a little when she did. "And no, your old man didn't pay us to stand here. Happy birthday, kiddo!"

The red pegasus smiled sheepishly, replying with a nervous giggle. "Y-yes, thank you, Miss Spitfire."

Spitfire, thought Gilda, that's right, this is one of Dash's idols. Don't know why. The Wonderbolts. Equestria's star fliers. Gilda had actually kept an eye out for these guys in the newspapers, and what she heard didn't impress.

Nodding once, Spitfire returned her attention to Blueblood. "So what've you been up to?" She glanced at Gilda, still smiling a little. "Making friends?"

Then he got that up-to-something smile again. "Something like that, yes." He gestured to Gilda. "I'd like you to meet-"

"Uh, sir?" A pony in a black business suit appeared possibly out of nowhere, whispering into Blueblood's ear.

The prince emitted a quiet, annoyed "Hm." before turning to Spitfire again. "Seems you were prophetic after all, Captain."

"I, huh?"

He looked at Gilda. "Stay and guard the birthday girl, would you? I'll return shortly." And then he headed away from the party area. Or at least, this party area.

She might have taken issue with being told not to stick to the guy she was supposed to be guarding for the second time, but Best Behavior meant playing along. She gave Phoenix Down a sideways glance. "He do that a lot?"

Phoenix jumped. "I-I'm sorry?"

There was a snicker from the Wonderbolt. "Yea, he gets called away like that every other time I see him." She smirked a little, watching him go. "Didn't even get to the usual routine this time."

Phoenix Down self-consciously brushed a hoof along her neck. "I have never seen him up close before, he is a lot more... detailed than the magazines say." She sighed. "I am sure he noticed me blushing."

Gilda raised an eyebrow. "How would anyone know? You're already red."

Blinking twice, as though she was only just aware of this, Phoenix giggled and lightly tapped her own head. "I suppose you are right, Miss... erm... f-forgive me, I think Prince Blueblood was just about to introduce you?"

She gave a quick nod. "Gilda, gonna be guarding you 'til he gets back, I guess."

"I do not think that will be necessary," she nodded to one of the ponies in suits and sunglasses standing around the edges of the party area, "tonight's festivities are well-staffed in terms of security, so I think you will be more than free to roam as you see fit." She blinked, her eyes widening in horror as she realized a possibly-xenophobic interpretation of what she just said. "I-I mean, that's not to say you should go anywhere, or that you shouldn't be here, I-I just meant, uh-"

"This place is perfectly safe," said Spitfire, coming to her rescue, "you really don't have to worry about guarding anyone here." She looked at Gilda with a raised eyebrow. "You haven't been working for him for long, right? He probably just doesn't want you to see how he works so soon."

That caught Gilda's attention. "How does he work?"

Spitfire shrugged a little. "Eh, it's not something you wanna talk about at a party. Aaaanyway," she looked at Phoenix with a hint of a smirk, "you were doing okay with him back there, he wasn't doing that you're-the-dirt-beneath-my-hooves glare."

Again, Phoenix looked somewhere between confused and terrified. "W-what do you mean?"

The grin turned lewd. "I'm just saying, get a little flirtier with it and he might give you a little more than a happy birthday."

Phoenix turned bright scarlet. "M-Miss Spitfire!!"

Huh, thought Gilda, stand corrected.

Spitfire chuckled. "Nah, I'm kidding, guy's stone-cold when it comes to that kinda thing. Still," smirking a little, she quickly scanned the room for any sign of the prince, "worth a shot, y'know?" She noticed Gilda giving her an appraising look and smiled apologetically. "D-don't worry, I don't have any funny ideas, just saying."

It took Gilda a second to remember that she was supposed to be keeping an eye out for potential threats. Maintaining a no-really-I-know-what-I'm-doing-I-wasn't-hired-just-yesterday feel, she gave a sharp nod. A minute later, Phoenix Down was addressed by a well-dressed couple that didn't lower their snouts enough to look at her while speaking as they offered her a stupidly shiny box with a ridiculously glittery bow. That was when she noticed that Blueblood hadn't actually given the birthday girl anything, like he came here exclusively to say 'thanks for not being a tool' and nothing else, if not for Gilda's suspicions on why he'd brought her there.

There was a little problem with that theory, though; Blueblood was nowhere in sight. It was possible he was watching and waiting for her to screw up from somewhere she wouldn't notice, or that he'd have a snooty friend tell him about it later, but the being-watched feeling was getting worse, making it hard to think. Leaving Phoenix with Spitfire and Mr. and Mrs. Whoever, she opted to see if they had anything to help clear her head at the snack table, reminding herself that anything strong enough to do that fast might be detrimental to the Best Behavior plan.

Author's Notes:

I think I like writing Gilda.

If it wasn't apparent that this rendition of Blueblood doesn't particularly like his fellow pony, I hope to make it less ambiguous in future chapters. No, not through violence, oddly-placed racism, shouting, having ponies banished, or any display of cruelty whatsoever.

Chapter 4: Down Time

Standing by a table with a wide assortment of tiny food items, Gilda hadn't even picked up a glass when she felt a hoof tapping her shoulder. She forced herself not to even look annoyed as she turned to see a tall, lanky, head-spike pony. She had white fur (didn't all of them?) and really light-pink hair, her faded purple eyes almost making her look like a ghost. This was probably the pony that had been watching her.

"Excuse me, Miss Gilda?"

She tried not to let the weird sense of I-see-dead-pony this mare was giving off show on her face. "Yea?"

Pale Pony smiled a little. "I am Fleur De Lis, pleasure to make your acquaintance."

Ignoring that she already seemed to know her name, Gilda looked at her in surprise. "Floor Dealies?"

The Phantom Head-Spike blinked. "Y-what? No, no, Fleur De lis."

"Floor De List? Floralist? Florist? You work with flowers?"

She gave Gilda a look that said she was starting to reconsider whatever series of decisions she'd made to lead up to this moment. Regardless, she persisted. "Fleur. De. Lis."

"Floor, D-list? I don't mean to be culturally insensitive here, but you've got kind of an accent."

One of the Ghost Who Trots' eyes twitched as she spoke through gritted teeth set in a very forced smile. "Say it with me. Flooh-Or,"

Gilda played along only because of plan Best Behavior's failure to include saying things like 'Screw your stupid name, I'm just gonna call you something short and easy to remember, but adequately descriptive and kinda funny.' "Flooh-Or,"

"Dee,"
"Dee,"
"Liz."
"Liz."

The Spirit of Hearths Warming Past smiled. "Fleur De Lis."

"Floor De-"

The smile looked forced again. "You know, maybe just 'Miss De Lis' will do."

Not seeing a reason to argue, Gilda nodded. "So what'd you want to talk about, De Lis?"

Fleur let out a little sigh of relief. "You are a new-hire of one Prince Blueblood, are you not?"

Gilda had three guesses about what this pony wanted. "Yea?"

"How has your work been thus-far? Nothing too troubling, I hope?"

"Not really," the world's least body-guarding bodyguard answered with a shrug, "Prince get a lotta ponies comin' at him with baseball bats and stuff?"

Fleur's surprised expression said he probably didn't. "N-no, not that I've heard about." She seemed to realize something, looking away as her mind wandered. "Although, I suppose that could explain..." She shook her head, taking a quick look around the snack hors devoure table before determining that there wasn't anypony really paying attention to the two of them and looking Gilda dead in the eye. "Let me get straight to the point, I was there when you were hired by the prince yesterday and I'm here to help you."

And now it was getting interesting. "You wanna guard Blueblood too? Way I'm hearin' it, he barely needs one bodyguard, so-"

"No, no, help you, Miss Gilda! Whatever he offered you, whatever contract you've signed, I'm sure there's a way out if-"

"Hang on, I haven't signed a contract, haven't signed anything. Nopony's even asked me to read anything so far."

Now Fleur really was confused. Prince Blueblood was too familiar with Equestria's legal system not to have contractually tied down anyone working for him.

What could his angle be?

She knew he was up to no good, back at the gazebos, and when Gilda and Blueblood were out of sight, she'd even cried out that somepony had to help the poor griffon! She was alone in seconds. Still, she wouldn't just wait for somepony else to set things right, she'd do it herself this time! But first, she needed to know what was going on.

"Let's try this," Gilda suggested with a snap of her talons, "you tell me what's got everypony that sees me near the guy so spooked, I-" she caught herself just in time, "-I, uh... I, listen, quietly?" She forced what probably wasn't a convincing smile, but it had to look better than the vague threat she'd almost issued.

"Well," Fleur answered, "that's just the thing, nopony really knows what the prince is capable of. Not terribly long ago, he was thought to have somehow foalnapped Princess Celestia, Princess Luna, and Princess Twilight Sparkle all at the same time, but when they returned a day later, it was covered in the media as a horrible misunderstanding, Princess Celestia herself giving a statement that he was essentially just standing in for them, in laypony's terms."

Gilda was skeptical. "One guy took on three princesses and won?"

Fleur clicked the edge of a hoof against the floor, the equivalent of Gilda's talon-snap. "That's just it! Initially, everypony was talking about how he had viciously seized power, but in hindsight, he had the perfect alibi. He never came out and officially said he had abducted anypony, the story of a lone unicorn overpowering even one of them was absurd, and he already had something more believable at the ready, backed up by none other than his supposed captives! I suppose there's a chance it might have been true, strange things do happen, but can you name anyone in history to get away with something like that?"

That was pretty fishy. Either they didn't do a good job of sending memos around here or Blueblood somehow intimidated the princesses into keeping quiet about the whole thing. There was no clucking way he was just stronger than them. Blackmail? Deal with Discord? Wasn't he supposed to be working for the princesses now too? Luckily, De Lis seemed to know stuff. "So, any clue how he pulled that off, or...?"

"None, but that isn't what really worries me. The most unsettling issue is that, in his one-day reign, Prince Blueblood did nothing with his newfound power. No decrees were made, no laws were changed, it was as if he'd all but taken the day off while the princesses were away." She nibbled worryingly at her lower lip for a moment, looking around for any sign of him or one of the ponies in black suits known to draw his attention. "He must have done something in that time, and nopony knows what. Whatever his plans, it's possible you are the next step, whatever that may entail."

"Uh-huh..." Okay, so being all sketchy is just his usual thing. Maybe he's got an M.O. I can keep an eye out for? "What's he actually been caught doing? No ambiguity, no misunderstanding, the factual rap sheet."

Fleur sighed. "Very little. The prince has been exceedingly careful in his dealings up to now, but, well..." She brushed a hoof along the underside of her muzzle, only one incident popping into her mind. "There was his outburst shortly after the chaos of the Grand Galloping Gala. After the animals had been cleared out and things had started to quiet down again, those who hadn't fled were subjected to an un-earthly display of profanity after he stepped on a shard of broken glass. I wasn't present for this, but those recounting it say it would make harlots blush and hardened pirates stunned silent, that if he were present, King Sombra would have stopped what he was doing and taken notes!"

"I know who that is, and you're exaggerating."

"Well, that's how the legend goes." Fleur glanced about, as though afraid she were being watched. "At any rate, I suppose there may not be an immediate problem, but for your own sake and perhaps that of all Canterlot, please be careful."

And then she slunk away, leaving Gilda to finally nab a damn drink. Regrettably, it looked like Phoenix Down wasn't old enough for booze yet, so she made due with some fruity punch. Or something. Red crud in a bowl. It was precisely as fruity as it smelled, the sheer intensity of concentrated... stuff, making her shudder a little. She quickly flapped both wings -not an uncommon gesture back home- to steady herself while her tongue came to its senses, but for the rest of her life, this would be what she believed the color red tasted like. Then she got that being-watched feeing again. Glancing around, she found more than a few ponies looking her way with something between discomfort and disgust.

She shrugged. Maybe I wasn't supposed to drink that? But it's in a punch bowl! Got a ladle and everything!

It was while she looked for something else to slake her thirst that she heard a voice from behind her. One that sounded like it had spent too long sucking on one of those Buffalo peace-pipe things out in the desert.

"Heya, what brings you here?"

Gilda turned to see another Wonderbolt uniform being worn by a light-blue mare with bright, even-ghostier-than-De-Liz-white hair, done up in spikes. Whether that was due to wind or a stylistic choice, she didn't care to ask. "I'm the prince's bodyguard." It was during the split-second that Gilda glanced around for him that she decided not to ask if she'd seem him recently.

PointyMane McChainsmoker chuckled. "Bet that's fun. This is a party, so I won't ask about work, just wanted to say it's nice to somep-ehh..." There was a flicker of a sheepish smile. "Sorry, somebody reminding this town that wings come with feathers."

"...What."

Chokey-Smokey-Big-Mane-Pokey gestured to the floor around them, pointedly at the four or five feathers Gilda had shed when she flapped her wings. "That, how normal wings aren't Prench coats that never shed? That stupid, unspoken rule that says you can't let a single down fall without making a scene? Fascist crap, if you preen your wings well enough that you can still fly, it shouldn't matter if you lose a feather or two!" She shook her head, "Dang, ain't here to rant, either," then stuck out a hoof, "name's Fleetfoot!"

Gilda lightly wrapped a talon around the hoof to shake, quietly wondering how ponies adopted such a thing in the first place. "Gilda. What was that about fascist crap?"

Fleetfoot, whose name was marginally easier to pronounce than De Liz's, snorted. "Control, gotta 'keep everyone in line' or whatever, rules on everything, stuff you wouldn't think twice about getting ponies to look down their snouts at you for being normal. S'like, fur and hair fall out all the damn time, so they need to be swept up anyway, but with feathers, it's just a lot more noticeable, so they act like you're outright littering by having less than perfectly-groomed wings!"

"Ohh, that." It came up in some of the swankier places Cash took her to, how she was making a mess that the ponies who wouldn't actually have to clean up themselves got the angriest about. Maybe something to bear in mind for Canterlot. "Before we go any further," she thumbed over her shoulder at the table, "you know if any of this doesn't taste like a scented coloring book?"

The slightly hoarse Wonderbolt smiled a little. "You must be looking for the adult table. Honest Heart probably doesn't want his little filly getting drunk or anything, but the real drinks are over here."

And with that, Fleetfoot led the way. They talked a little more about feathers, how most of the Wonderbolts wore their suits to public events mainly so they could focus on their wings and not worry about meticulously grooming their coats while they were at it, and Fleetfoot's theory about some kind of borderline conspiracy to repress pegasi, griffons, and anything else with wings. Something about insecurity from those whose feathers didn't come in as fast and seeing others with plumes to spare made them feel inadequate or something, Gilda had kind of stopped listening by the third glass of champagne. Tasted better than Red, that was for sure. Somewhere along the line, Fleetfoot got called over by... somepony. Gilda couldn't have cared as she sipped from another glass.

Never understood Dash's fascination with those guys. I fly because it's awesome, not to wear a suit!

She nursed this thought with another glass. This stuff was way bubbly! Where was Blueblood? She was starting to feel a little... What was that word, when you were all sleepy, but awake? And kinda dizzy? Another glass would surely help her think.

Nope.

Wait, yes!

She had an idea; if Blueblood was hoping she'd go making non-feathery messes (or maybe those too), she'd just go to sleep! It wasn't like she could do anything bad during a nap, so that was what she'd do!

Hah, I'm a genius.

When the prince finally returned, he immediately noted the relative quiet of the celebration area. A quick look around helped to determine that it wasn't because of him this time, so he wondered if one of the Element Bearers was in town.

And wouldn't that just be delightful?

Nopony looked the least bit alarmed, but voices were definitely low. It was odd. Perhaps there had been-

"Hey, Blueblood."

He stopped, but didn't turn his head. "Hello, Captain."

As usual, Spitfire had to circle around so they could speak face to face, but she did love a challenge. "When you pick a guard, you sure get the right one for the job. Any chance I can borrow you for a bit the next time recruiting season swings around?"

The second hook was ignored. "Miss Gilda is performing well as security, I take it?"

"Well, kinda. She actually curled up and went to sleep a little bit ago, right in the middle of the floor, and nopony's had the stones to wake her." Smiling, she turned her head in the direction of the sleeping sentry. "Birthday Girl kinda smiled and said she was guarding all of us, that she'd wake if something dangerous happened. It was cute, so I think that's why nobody's raising a fuss." She looked straight back at the prince in response to a very short laugh from behind her, finding him wearing a tiny hint of a smile and apparently speaking through clenched teeth to keep it that way.

"Did she, now? Yes, I suppose that would keep things peaceful, but I really must collect her and be off. If you'll excuse me."

Spitfire blinked twice as Blueblood paced toward his dozing bodyguard, but she recovered from her surprise in time to trot along after him anyway. As long as he was in the party area, he was fair game. That was how parties worked. Besides, she wanted to see how waking up the griffon said to have flown into a rage the other day would turn out. A few ponies watched as they stopped in front of Gilda, who looked a lot like a big, half-feathered housecat.

"Miss Gilda," he said while lightly shaking her with a hoof, "wake up, time to get going." She let out a standard-issue drunken grumble, making Spitfire giggle.

"From the look of that glass over there, I think she might've just had a few too many, found somewhere cozy, and gotten comfortable." Her eyes half-lidded, she turned to Blueblood, casually leaning on him with a foreleg. "Doesn't sound like a bad idea, don't you thi-"

She, Blueblood, and quite a few party guests were startled by Gilda springing up from where she'd lain, looking squarely at Spitfire with piercing, slightly bloodshot eyes. Spitfire took a quick step away from the princess's nephew, smiling somewhat sheepishly. "Not trying anything, all cool here."

The area was dead silent as Gilda stared at her, slowly raised a claw, and snapped her talons in a manner that left one pointing at Spitfire. "An' let that be less'n to ya."

Another quiet moment followed before Spitfire giggled, turning to a visibly perplexed Blueblood. "Like I said, sure can pick 'em!"

"I-indeed..."

The normal, noisier air of the party bled back in a few seconds later. Truth be told, Gilda was only barely awake when she'd half-opened an eye and saw a blur that vaguely looked like a sky-blue pegasus with a messy mane, which was why she'd gotten up so quickly. That she apparently interrupted some kind of maybe-attempt on her boss was dumb luck, which was the best kind of luck. Maybe. Thinking was wobbly right now. How did she get here?

It was only while they were leaving through the long, long walkway through which they'd come in that Blueblood said anything to his occasionally stumbling employee. "You're plastered."

She replied without looking at him. "Pfft, did not."

If she had been less focused on pushing the ground (the entire planet!) away from her face by keeping up a halfway-reasonable walking pace, she might have noticed the amused grin Blueblood wore for most of the trip back to the castle.

Gilda's eyes shot open in the middle of the night. Having somehow found the extra-cushy bed she'd been in the morning before wasn't what bothered her so much as something that happened earlier.

HolycrapIthinkIthreatenedaWonderbolt!

AndIgotawaywithit!

...Sweet!

And then came sleep.

Author's Notes:

I stand by it, a lone unicorn out-magic-ing an alicorn princess is horseapples. Looking at you, Starlight, you dirty cheater. That, or alicorns really aren't as powerful as we've been thinking. I mean, excuse me for guessing that the power to move a celestial body amounted to more than a bug-lady who binged on sweet nothings for a few days, but apparently not.

Also, you might be thinking I missed a golden opportunity to have Gilda do something funny while trying to bow/salute/something to look respectable to every high-society pony she met while trying to behave, like with Celestia, but she doesn't strike me as dumb enough to repeatedly try the same thing. As she caught Raven's reaction, she won't be trying to work out the proper show of respect every time she meets someone.

Though that does give me an idea for a similar story with a less intelligent character... Hint? Same voice actress.

Speaking of, I notice a recurring theme between this story and that one. Hard not to make a scheming Blueblood look suspicious to anyone not in on his plans, protagonist and reader alike.