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The Blueblood Papers: Royal Blood

by Raleigh

Chapter 6

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I dare say we could have found the Castle of Friendship ourselves, it being the single largest structure in this tiny village and visible from just about every part in it. If anything, we might have arrived earlier if we didn't have to answer tedious questions and then stop for ice cream along the way (which I paid for, as apparently somepony had taught these foals about the concept of noblesse oblige). The cobbled stone path that formed the main thoroughfare of the village led straight to the steps leading up to the main door of the castle, and I assumed that this was a later addition to the pre-existing road organised and built by mortal ponies, and not spontaneously formed into existence like the building itself. Then again, I had no idea how powerful the Tree of Harmony's architectural abilities were, so as far as I was concerned extending a road should have been foal's play compared to raising an entire castle from the ground.

Twilight abruptly vanished from the balcony. It was always rather disconcerting when she did that; even as a fellow unicorn I always felt that having oneself forced through the holes in the fabric of space and time to be somewhat unnatural. As we approached the set of golden stairs sweeping up from the road, the leftmost of the great set of double doors was enveloped in that same pinkish-purple glow and was pulled open to allow us entrance. I admit to hesitating before crossing that threshold, as some peculiar sense of anticipation chilled my innards when I glimpsed the grand entrance hall beyond. The Cutie Mark Crusaders, our guides, had no such anxiety about being in the home of royalty, apparently being frequent visitors to the Princess, and simply trotted on in.

I followed to find myself in a vast hall, which, like most castles and palaces built in the old unicorn style, was the crux around which the other rooms, hallways, chambers, and so forth were constructed, rather like spokes on a wheel. Quite unlike mine, then, being a labyrinthine mess of passageways and rooms built with no obvious or rational purpose, at first designed by a distant ancestor of mine who was a few Elements short of Harmony and then modified by successive generations who were not much better. Anyway, the crystalline motif and the purple colour scheme of the outside was carried through into the design of the interior, as indeed was the tree-theme, which was repeated in the design of the wallpaper in what I could only assume was a rather egotistical touch on the Tree of Harmony's part. It was all very elegant and majestic; the overall effect filling one with both a sense of awe and kindness, at once evoking the fearsome and terrifying power of Harmony as well as its welcoming, soothing embrace. Rather like a cathedral, then.

Though it took considerable effort, I was determined not to appear at all impressed with any of this, and thus affected an air of aristocratic aloofness. Sunshine Smiles, however, could not contain himself and let out a quiet and reverent humming noise as he looked around and up at the hall.

Twilight was already there, standing before us in the centre of the hall. Smiling broadly, she seemed genuinely pleased to see me, or perhaps her mirth was directed at the three fillies who proudly presented Colonel Sunshine Smiles and me to her. I looked around, expecting to see liveried servants rushing forwards to take our luggage to our rooms while the hostess greeted us, but alas I saw none - not a butler, valet, attendant, maid, chef, hoofstallion, retainer, or even a gardener to be seen at all. The absence of staff in so grand a palace was rather odd and very disconcerting, like something vital had been sucked out of this place, but I imagine that she still had yet to fully internalise her new position in life and the considerable advantages that it brings, such as never having to worry about performing tedious manual tasks ever again (unless one's regal aunt sends one to the frontline, of course). Then I recalled Spike's continued existence, and for a brief moment, looking about the vastness of the hall around us, I almost felt sorry for the Princess' number one assistant cleaning this entire building by himself. Almost.

"Welcome to the Castle of Friendship!" she said cheerfully as we approached.

"Your Highness," Sunshine Smiles intoned, bringing his head down in a deep bow and scraping his right hoof along the slick marble tiles. This time, Twilight refrained from correcting that behaviour as she had done with me, instead reciprocating with a smile and a slight inclination of her head, all in a manner peculiarly reminiscent of how Celestia acknowledged such greetings.

"Princess Twilight," I said, following the Colonel's lead with a little less of an exaggerated motion, and instead merely inclined my head a few degrees in her direction.

The three fillies rushed forwards ahead of us, each of them beaming proudly at their Princess. I stood back a little and watched, shocked at just how brazenly familiar they were behaving towards the pony who was ostensibly, despite her low birth and distinct lack of breeding, a co-ruler of Equestria. There was no bowing, curtseying, genuflecting, prostrating, or even nodding; they had simply marched on up as though she had never been granted the pair of wings that rested elegantly against her sides.

"We brought the Colonel and Commissar Blueblood, Twilight!" said Apple Bloom. So, they were on first-name terms with the Princess, then. I had gathered the foals must have had some sort of friendly relationship prior to her ascension, which had continued despite the new gulf that existed between their respective social positions.

"Oh, thank you," said Twilight, sounding a little surprised. "I was about to send Spike to fetch them, but he's been busy helping Pinkie Pie set up tonight's party."

"See?" exclaimed Sweetie Belle. "I told you it was just a party."

"Yeah, well, it's still a really important party!" retorted Scootaloo, somewhat defensively. "Come on, girls, even if we can't find any Changeling spies there'll be lots of army ponies who need a Ponyville Militia escort to the Castle. Let's move out!"

The three fillies cheered, again at such an obscenely high volume that I feared that the entire crystalline structure of the building would just shatter and bury us under a mountain of elegant shards. There was probably some peculiar function of the lungs of foals, later lost as one reaches maturity, that allows their voices to reach such heights of shrillness and loudness in spite of their tiny size.

As I ruminated on this conundrum and waited for the ringing in my ears to cease, the Cutie Mark Crusaders saluted Colonel Sunshine Smiles with clumsy waves of their right forehooves, which he reciprocated with an uncharacteristic sharpness for an officer whose regard for the age-old traditions of the Royal Guard was often less than what his position demanded. After a round of 'good-byes' and 'farewells' and so forth they galloped out through the door, and I was finally free of them.

With that out of the way, Twilight escorted us to our rooms. From the entrance hall, we were led through a series of wide, airy corridors and halls. Judging from the thin layer of grey dust that rested on the floor and over the sparse furnishings, this part of the vast castle was rarely in use. This was understandable, considering only the Princess and her assistant/butler/servant/pet baby dragon lived here; even my palace, though populated with staff as any great house should be, had areas that nopony had set hoof in for weeks, months, years, or even centuries.

"I hope the Cutie Mark Crusaders weren't too much of a hassle," said Twilight.

"Not at all," I said, wisely keeping my true thoughts on the three fillies to myself.

"Did they ask to see your 'papers'?" Twilight chuckled. "They did the exact same thing to Princess Celestia last time she visited."

"What did she do?" I asked.

"Had Raven Inkwell show them a one-bit coin, the side with her face on."

"We all did odd things trying to get our cutie marks," said Sunshine Smiles, grinning to himself.

His, of course, was a stylised yellow sun with an abstract depiction of a happy face, consisting of two sunspots for eyes and a coronal loop for the smile, and striking yellow beams fanned out in an irregular fashion. It resembled a foal's depiction of Celestia's golden orb, albeit made by a better educated one with access to a greater array of drawing equipment than just crayons and paper. Far be it from me to allow my gaze to linger on another stallion's rump, especially when a rather more attractive example from the opposite sex was more easily in sight, but I did ponder the praxiological implications of such a joyful cutie mark and special talent on a pony whose job was to spread the precise opposite.

[Praxiology is the study of cutie marks and their meanings. Blueblood's reference here is anachronistic, as praxiology was codified as a specific field of science five years after the end of the First Changeling War by the Cutie Mark Crusaders.]

"So, Pinkie Pie is setting up the party?" I said, wanting to change the subject. Though I had yet to meet her personally, I had heard stories from those who have about the exuberant, energetic, and utterly insane party planner's behaviour. Though I had assumed much of it was hyperbole, as many of these tales seemed to imply a terrifying disregard for the laws of physics and reality that seemed rather too close to that of a certain daemonic lord of chaos, I feared what awaited me that night; would I be hobnobbing with my fellow officers or playing pin-the-tail-on-the-pony like some foal's fifth birthday celebration? Then again, my foalhood birthdays were always rather sober affairs, at least until I had to move in with Auntie 'Tia, by which time I had outgrown those sorts of games anyway.

"Oh yes," said Twilight, oblivious to my growing anxiety. "She's planned everything; she even made the invitations herself!"

"Did she now?" That Pinkie Pie apparently knew about formal evening wear did help assuage some of my misgivings about tonight's event. Not by much, though; bobbing for apples in full ceremonial dress complete with a heavily starched and rigid collar would be a tad impractical, should it come to that.

Twilight nodded. "She's been a real life-saver, especially now that princess duties have taken up a lot of my free time. This will be the first official state function the Castle of Friendship hosts, with ponies coming from all over Equestria to attend, so I want to make sure it's absolutely perfect."

Something told me that it wouldn't; a hunch, as one might call it, or merely an observation on the universal tendency towards one's expectations to be utterly dashed upon reaching that lofty threshold of 'absolutely perfect'. Provided that there were no ridiculously large cakes or Changelings at the party, for it was my understanding that social disasters tended not to repeat as far as my extensive experience in such things went, whatever happened I trusted in my ability to get out of scrapes at least mostly in one piece. That said, my habitual paranoia was conspicuously quiet for once, and for the first time in a while, at least since that rather unpleasant encounter with an overly-sharp cake knife, I felt as close to 'comfortably at ease' as I possibly could with the grim spectre of my impending return to the front looming over me.

It turned out that this castle had an abundance of guest rooms, and so a number of other officers who would be attending this party had also been granted their use. In fact, a few of the keener ones had already arrived and set themselves up in their chambers. I imagined the Tree of Harmony had intended for this place to be used as some sort of communal hub of friendship, rather than being for the exclusive use of Princess Twilight and her friends. The room that I had been allocated was rather small, at least by my standards, consisting of a modest single bed, a wardrobe, a dresser and mirror, and a large window that provided a lovely view of the bucolic Sweet Apple Acres. Overall, it was not the worst place that I ever had to stay in, as a few nights spent in that disgustingly unhygienic cave had rather lowered my standards somewhat; war tends to do that, and while I had immersed myself in luxury since my return to Canterlot, the more homey style of this guest room suited me just fine.

Cannon Fodder dropped off my suitcase for me, while I sat on the bed and tested it. It was quite comfortable, but not as soft as I'd have liked; I prefer a more yielding mattress that one can just sink into, yet rigid enough to support rather more vigorous activities.

"I know it's not as luxurious as you're used to," said Twilight, standing at the doorway and watching me with a slightly amused look. She then stepped out of Cannon Fodder's way as he slipped past to get to his own room, her nose wrinkling as my aide got close enough for her to take in the full, unvarnished blast of his body odour.

"Princess," I said, sliding off the bed and back onto my hooves. "For the past two years I've been sleeping on rigid camp beds and on the ground, so I think this room will do me just fine, thank you."

"Oh, good! Spike will be happy to hear that."

"Why would Spike be happy?" I failed to see the connection, but something told me I would like it when Twilight elucidated that particular point. Anything involving a certain baby dragon tended not to bode well, if that debacle at the Equestria Games was any indication.

"He assembled most of the furniture in the guest rooms," said Twilight, sweeping her hoof in a wide arc. "The Tree of Harmony left most of the castle empty, so we had to bulk-buy some flat-pack furniture from the Crystal Empire. You know, to keep with the whole crystal theme. We tried to do all of it together, but, you know, Princess-things got in the way and Spike had to do a few rooms himself. I think the Cutie Mark Crusaders might have helped out with a few too, hoping to get their cutie marks in flat-pack furniture assembly."

I eyed the bed I had been sitting on just a few moments ago warily, expecting it to just collapse at any moment. "What's a flat-pack?" I asked.

Twilight gave me a queer look; one that implied that she couldn't work out whether I was honestly ignorant of the concept, which I in later years discovered for myself, or simply making fun of her. My presumably gormless expression seemed to prompt her in the direction of the former, but I was spared yet another lengthy, tedious, and condescending Twilecture when who should pop his grotesquely mutilated visage around the open door frame but Captain Red Coat, appearing like a malevolent ghoul behind the Princess.

"Excuse me," he said, mercifully sparing me from having an inordinate amount of my time wasted on a subject I didn't particularly care about. "Sorry to interrupt, everypony."

Red Coat slipped past Twilight, who, despite her status as the foremost expert on friendship in Equestria, still could not suppress the primal instinct to recoil from the sight of the stallion's disturbing facial disfigurement. It had been more than a year since he had faced Queen Chrysalis in battle, indeed Twilight had been there when he lost a foreleg and half of his face to a searing blast of magic, and while his wounds had more-or-less healed to the point where he could still function as an officer of the Royal Guard, what was once the face of a young, handsome, youthfully optimistic stallion scarcely into adulthood was now marred forever. There was no getting used to the sight of it, I'm afraid to say, only learning to suppress the overwhelming urge to avert one's gaze from the mutilated horror that was once a stallion's face.

"That's okay," said Twilight, apparently forcing herself to look him in his one good eye. "How can I help?"

"It's my dress uniform," said Red Coat, taking the midnight blue dress tunic that was draped over his back and holding it up by the sleeve, all in a manner that would have made my valet faint with shock. "I can't get my hoof through the sleeve properly. The machinery keeps getting caught, and I don't want to tear it. Maybe I should just cut it off?"

Military prosthetics were hardly elegant things, being designed to be cheap, durable, and easy to maintain so that the crippled soldier can be returned to active duty as quickly as possible. The result was that the rather ugly brass and steel appendage attached at the stallion's shoulder stump was far bulkier than its organic counterparts, and the tailor who had designed, cut, and stitched together this tunic had not anticipated that its wearer would one day lose a limb.

"A tailor should be able to fix that," I said. He probably could have done that in Canterlot, where most renowned tailors outside Saddle Row conducted business, before coming all the way to this backward little earth pony village, but I kept that thought to myself.

Red Coat winced and looked at his hooves, ears wilting. "I don't really know any of your fancy tailors, sir, and I don't think they'd have me either."

Not without an introduction, of course, but I would have been happy to arrange one for him with one of the more egalitarian-minded of my favourite tailors. That was beside the point now, anyway; we would hardly be able to return to Canterlot in time, and it appeared that taking a pair of scissors to this exquisitely crafted garment was our only option to make young Red Coat here look at least somewhat formal enough for tonight's event.

"Oh, Rarity can do it for you," said Twilight. My right eye twitched at the mention of her name. "She'll be in her shop about now. In fact, I'll-"

An almighty crash echoed through the entire castle - the calamitous sound of a very large, fragile, and expensive chandelier falling from a great height and shattering into a thousand pieces on a marble floor. I should know, I've seen and heard chandeliers fall far too many times in my life. Twilight froze, her body tense and her mouth hanging open in shock, while Red Coat and I exchanged awkward glances with one another. The silence that fell was so total, so all-encompassing and suffocating, that even with my damaged hearing I could make out a voice that was unmistakably Spike's from somewhere deep within this castle, just barely on the cusp of audibility:

"Oops."

Twilight snapped her jaw shut and forced what was probably the worst fake smile I had ever seen. I'd have thought by now she would have mastered the art of the disingenuous smile, being the most important skill royalty must learn. "The Carousel Boutique is just off the town square, and now-I-have-to-go-and-fix-this-bye!"

Before either of us could say anything, Twilight popped out of existence once more with an eye-stingingly bright flash of purple light. With her gone to deal with this latest crisis to demand her attention, I placed my suitcase on the dresser, popped it open, and started unpacking. Normally, I would have a servant do this for me, but against all expectations there were none available in this entire castle, and I was not about to let Cannon Fodder get his filthy hooves over my dress uniform. Besides, I had seen Drape Cut do this before, so how hard could it be?

"Sir?" said Red Coat. I looked up from arranging my pyjamas on the bed to see him still standing in my room.

"You heard the Princess," I said. "Rarity's shop is 'just off the town square'. She'll sort out your sleeve."

"I know," he said, shuffling from side to side on his hooves. "I was just wondering if you could come with me. All of this fancy clothing is new to me, and I wouldn't know what to ask for."

He just didn't want to venture out with the 'normal' ponies by himself; I saw through that conceit instantly, but, feeling unusually generous, seeing as I still felt I owed him for taking that shot instead of me, I decided to humour him. Leaving my suitcase behind, and hoping that it and its irreplaceable contents would still be there when we returned, Red Coat and I retraced our hoofsteps through the corridors, back to the entrance hall, and out into Ponyville.

Twilight didn't actually point out where the town square actually was or how to get there, but fortunately for us, my special talent was more than up to the task. Ponyville was a typical rural village of Equestria's empty and boring Midwest; the town square formed the hub and was dominated by what should have been the tallest structure here, the town hall, were it not for the sudden appearance of the castle. It was simply a matter of heading there, avoiding more street urchins along the way, and in theory this Carousel Boutique should be relatively easy to find. Knowing Rarity as I do, being the sort of low-born mare with a delusional aspiration to ascend into the aristocratic elite of our realm, her shop would stand out amidst these primitive thatched hovels by being an almost perfect replica of traditional Canterlot architecture.

Red Coat was subdued for most of the journey, as he walked on with his head bowed in the manner of a condemned criminal on his way to the gallows. Occasionally he would look up and glance around at the villagers, who were for the most part simply getting on with the tedium of their day-to-day lives, and upon making eye contact, or what he probably thought was eye contact, he would immediately snap his gaze back to the very interesting patch of ground at his forehooves.

"They're staring at me," he said quietly, and mostly to himself.

I looked around, and as I was quite used to being stared at by gormless members of the public amazed at seeing an actual prince walk amongst them, I hadn't really noticed. Seeing now with a newer perspective, while the majority of these simple villagers were far too engrossed in buying fruit and vegetables, chatting, or wandering around aimlessly to give either of us a second glance, more than a few were quite openly watching Red Coat and not being terribly subtle about it either. Most, of course, looked away when I returned their gaze and had the good sense to look guilty when caught in their indiscretion.

"Nonsense!" I said with forced cheerfulness. "They're staring at me."

Red Coat gave me a rather pointed look; it was not one of my best attempts at misdirection, of course, and he saw straight through it. Nevertheless, I had said it and therefore I was duly bound to commit to it, so I performed my best impression of Princess Celestia on a public visit by smiling and waving at the ponies around me. It simply led to even more awkwardness, but, at the very least, I could say that it had been deflected from my companion and onto me.

Fortunately, Ponyville is, or was back then, a rather small village, so the indignity of our walk through the town square was rather short. Acting on a vague hunch, which is how my special talent likes to present itself most of the time, I led Red Coat away from the bustling market in the shadow of the town hall, and down another nameless street. The dirt road, little more than uncovered ground where a succession of hooves had trampled away the grass and weeds, opened up into a small field or park. There, a short distance after the cottages ended and atop a small hillock surrounded by a few trees and some small tents, was the centre of what would later become Rarity's empire of fashion.

It appeared that my assumption was at least partly correct, though it appeared that the proprietress had mashed together architectural cues from all over old Unicornia rather than a straightforward imitation of the Canterlot style. Apparently modelled on, well, a carousel, it was a tall, circular design painted in soft pinks and blues, and in keeping with the apparent chronic illiteracy that has gripped this poor earth pony community, the signage proudly depicted a ponnequin instead of a name.

The bell chimed as I opened the door and stepped inside, and I was immediately taken aback by just how empty the shop was. Your typical Saddle Row tailor is located in a rather small building constructed before Ponyville was even a single parked wagon in Canterlot’s shadow, and yet must service the sartorial requirements of a great many clients, each of whom have exacting standards and the wealth to back those up. Therefore, each shop along that famous Manehatten street bursts at the seams with so much accumulated stuff - suits, shirts, sports coats, blazers, ties, pocket squares, bolts of cloth, cutting rooms, fitting rooms, portraits of notable customers (namely me), and so on - crammed into an area no larger than one of the smaller bathrooms in my palace. What I saw instead was a wide open and airy space, with a small stage on one side of the room and a fitting area on the other, a grand staircase swept up to the floor above, and ponnequins clothed in elegant gowns were dotted strategically around the place. The decor, too, was quite unlike the somewhat oppressive style of a traditional tailor's, with their wood-panelled walls, heavy oak furnishings, dim lamps, and staff who always regarded the newcomer with suspicion and barely-concealed contempt. Instead the Carousel Boutique was light, welcoming, and generally quite pleasant; I didn't like it.

The door at the back of the room swung open, revealing Rarity herself. "Welcome to the Carousel Boutique!" she announced with the confident cheerfulness of a born salespony. "Where everything is chic, unique, and magn- You!"

The expression of pure, unadulterated hate flashed across her face for about half a second before she deftly recovered her composure. Another pony might not have noticed it or merely dismissed the fleeting death-glare as a product of their imagination, but I was rather more in tune to such things than most, and it seemed that despite having saved her life (purely by accident, I assure you) Rarity still bore an irrational grudge against me. If she could hold onto that, then she might fit in with the Canterlot aristocracy she aspired to joining better than I had initially thought after all.

"Yes, me," I said. Red Coat followed me inside and shut the door behind him, and then took up the position normally occupied by Cannon Fodder in my shadow. He looked to the ground, and appeared to be trying to angle his head so that only the 'good' side was visible to Rarity.

"Well!" she said with a defiant sweep of her head as she trotted on over. "What brings you to my humble little shop? I had expanded my business into stallions-wear, but I'd have thought my creations were beneath your notice, Your Highness."

"Ordinarily, you'd be right," I said, stepping to the side. "But my friend here has a sartorial emergency that requires your expertise."

"Oh?" Rarity arched an eyebrow, but bit back on the obvious retort that must have been forming in her head about me not having any friends. She would have been right on that account, of course, but I was not about to admit it to her. Instead, she slipped effortlessly back into her more usual charming demeanour, with a soft, welcoming smile to her lips and a delicate flutter of her painted eyelids. Acting as though I had just completely disappeared into the ether, she stepped past me and approached Red Coat.

"Then you have come to the right place!" she said, extending a hoof as one would to coax out a nervous dog. "Come now, darling, there's no need to be shy. Let's take a look at your garment and see what's wr-"

Rarity shrieked; a short, violent exclamation as she recoiled in horror. Red Coat had looked up, revealing to her the puckered scar tissue that covered the entire left side of his face. With her hoof over her mouth and eyes wide in shock, she stared, apparently stunned into paralysis by the realisation of her own faux pas. Quite at a loss as to what to do, I stood there dumbly, knowing that nothing I could say would possibly lessen the embarrassment that suffused the room like Cannon Fodder's body odour.

Red Coat turned to leave, but that had jolted Rarity out of her fugue, and she darted forwards and touched him on the shoulder.

"Please don't leave," she said, and Red Coat paused. "I am so very sorry for that outburst. It was unprofessional, rude, and downright unladylike of me. Believe me, I am not in the habit of screaming at my customers, or anypony at all for that matter. You just startled me, is all. Come, you must be here for Twilight's party tonight, so I'll make it up to you by ensuring you'll be the most dashing officer there."

Pulling insistently on his upper foreleg, she led the reluctant Captain Red Coat onto the stage, where he stood in that rather awkward manner young stallions do when they find themselves at the centre of unwanted attention. Rarity, having gotten over her shock rather quickly, trotted around him in a circle, appraising his form and stature with a rather amused 'hum' of appreciation. She then enveloped his uniform in a soft blue glow from where it was draped over his back, and held it by the shoulders, suspended in mid-air.

"It's the sleeve," said Red Coat, though Rarity didn't seem to acknowledge him, instead running her expert eye over the garment. "I can't fit my metal hoof in it. I thought about cutting it off-"

"Cutting it off?" exclaimed Rarity, somehow sounding more shocked and horrified than her short, sharp outburst earlier. She held out the sleeve for him to see. "Somepony put a lot of care and attention into crafting this sleeve, and you wanted to cut it off? Heavens, I am so glad you came to my boutique so I could stop you from committing such a crime against tailoring."

Red Coat blinked vacantly at her; he was right, he was quite out of his depth with this sort of thing. "I'm sorry?" he blurted out.

"So you should be!" Rarity snapped. She grabbed a tape measure, seemingly out of thin air, and began the process of taking measurements of Red Coat's prosthetic limb and mangled shoulder. "Now, tell me about yourself."

"There isn't much to tell," said Red Coat, shrugging.

"Nonsense! Everypony has their own story to tell. And stand still, please, and do try to relax; it's very difficult to take accurate measurements when you fidget like that."

"Sorry."

"Quite alright, my dear." Rarity scribbled down a few notes on a sheet of paper on a clipboard, which I recognised as being the same arcane scribbles my tailors used to summarise a pony's unique physiognomy. "Elegant clothes allow a pony to present the best possible version of themselves to the world. A garment such as this tunic says to everypony who sees it, 'I am a stallion of strength, fidelity, honour, and duty', when it's worn correctly. Sometimes it just needs a little coaxing to have the desired effect."

"Right now, I just want ponies to keep their lunch down when they see me." Red Coat shrugged, earning himself an admonishing but playful slap with the end of the tape measure.

"I think I can do more than that." Rarity smiled, stepped onto the platform, and guided Red Coat to the mirror, and while it was clear that the stallion would rather not look at his own reflection, she lifted his head up delicately with a hoof and held it there. "That little bit of rudeness earlier aside, I'll tell you what I see. I see a young stallion who has been through much to help keep Equestria safe; somepony who has been very brave indeed. I can't hide your face, and nor would I wish to, but if you project enough confidence then ponies will look past those scars. My job, no, my calling, is to bring that brave, noble pony inside you to the fore. Now hold still, I need to measure your inside foreleg. And you can help me by telling me your name and what you do."

"Oh, uh... my name is Red Coat, and I'm the captain of an earth pony company in..."

As that was going on, I had grown bored of hearing Red Coat recount his life's story and had wandered over to the ponnequins. The sartorial arts were something of a casual hobby of mine, back when I was much younger and better looking than I am now. Sartorialists will point to me as leading some sort of vanguard in shifting the traditional Canterlot style of stallionswear away from the stiff and rigid forms of my father's generation, and onto something that was altogether more comfortable without sacrificing elegance. Really, however, I just wore what I deemed to be acceptable and, as ever, others chose to rationalise my choice of a soft, turn-down collar with a blue bow tie instead of the starched wing collar and an extravagantly knotted cravat as having some sort of grandiose point to it. The fact is, I just happened to be rich enough and good-looking enough to get away with it, and in my early twenties I had little else going for me besides those two.

Rarity's designs, despite her provenance as a designer of ladies' garments for cider-drinking country folk, were rather impressive. I had gravitated towards two ponnequins, one displaying what I had first assumed was a Solar Guard officer's mess dress uniform and the other a fairly standard navy blue lounge suit. The styling was rather conservative on the latter, but I had to admit that the detailing was of exceptional quality. What I noticed, however, was that the padded shoulders and structure of the military uniform, designed to make one look as impressive and authoritative as possible regardless of one's stature and posture, was echoed in the civilian suit. Upon closer inspection, I noticed that the mess dress was entirely without any form of military insignia, and was more of a costume than something to be worn by genuine officers.

"It's the latest trend," said Rarity, having finished taking Red Coat's measurements. The tunic was hovering in mid-air just behind her, wrapped in that soft blue glow, with the sleeve and shoulder marked with a series of lines and crosses at seemingly random places. "Military chic."

"I was wondering why so many unlikely ponies had been promoted to general," I said dryly. I hadn't worked it out back then yet, but when mares start wearing tight, brightly coloured tunics with gold lace and young chaps develop a craze for growing extravagant moustaches and whiskers, it was usually a clear sign that the country has forgotten what a dreadful business war actually is. Just a tip from me to you, dear reader, to watch out for such things and make necessary preparations to escape the insanity that is bound to follow.

[The short-lived 'military chic' craze is correlated to public support for the war, and peaked around the time of the declaration of war and again at the publication of the Twilight Sparkle Reforms. By contrast, another contemporary fashion among young ponies was to defy austerity measures by wearing extravagantly designed shirts, jackets, coats, suits, and dresses that used excess fabric that was otherwise rationed.]

"Fashion is merely a reflection of the times we live in," Rarity continued, "and these are very strange times indeed. Nevertheless, an entrepreneuse must adapt to her clientele and its milieu. Ponies look up to their heroes, which are usually the Princesses in most normal circumstances, but these days it's soldiers."

"I remember those princess dresses," I said. "Every mare in Canterlot looked identical for a month."

Rarity made a sort of quiet 'huffing' noise. "That wasn't my finest hour, I'll admit, but as an artiste I can at least nudge fashion away from trite imitation and into the realms of elegant personal self-expression. I certainly won't be making that mistake again."

"Quite." I lifted up the sleeve of the suit and ran my hoof over the fabric, finding it to be quite smooth, soft, and light compared to the heavier wools I was used to, almost like silk. Lifting the right quarter of the jacket, I saw below Rarity’s label printed on the inside pocket was that infamous ‘CC’ logo. "I would have thought you'd be struggling with fabric rationing. My tailor has a three month waiting list."

[‘CC’ stood for ‘Controlled Commodity’, which means that the piece of clothing met the government’s wartime austerity regulations.]

"It has been a struggle," said Rarity. She had crossed over to a desk in the corner of the room where an antique sewing machine rested, and without slowing or halting her speech, she sat down before it and got to work, as though the movements required to alter Red Coat's uniform were entirely automatic.

"But the imposition of such restrictions merely forces one to become more creative! To use what little I have in the most efficient way possible and to find innovative new fabrics that have yet to be rationed. After all, it simply would not do for everypony to be clothed in rags even in this time of crisis. That suit you're looking at, for example; cheap, inferior wool is blended with a tiny amount of star spider silk, making it much tougher and more wrinkle-resistant than such a light cloth would otherwise be, so it will survive long after this dreadful conflict has ended."

It didn't take her terribly long to complete the alterations, and within a few minutes she had Red Coat trying on the tunic. To his evident surprise, not only did the sleeve effortlessly accommodate his misshapen mechanical hoof, it now appeared to conceal it completely; and now to all outward appearances, if one’s attention was not pointed towards the stallion’s false limb, it appeared to be as real and organic as his remaining three legs.

While Rarity continued to fiddle around with Red Coat's tunic, offering opinions on how he ought to wear it to flatter him as much as possible, I thought about what she said about the suit. The star spider silk had intrigued me; even the tailors of Saddle Row struggled to get enough of the stuff to make a single pocket square, let alone have enough to blend it with wool to make a suit. Its alleged properties were legendary, being nigh-indestructible without sacrificing lightness and comfort, and in Equestria's distant past had been used as a flexible armour by the elite of the Royal Guard. It was a shame it was about as rare as common sense in a government employee these days.

"Rarity?" I called out.

She let out a quiet, exasperated groan, then turned and offered the most insincere smile that I had ever seen on a mare. "Yes, what is it?" she answered in a sort of sing-song voice.

"Where did you get the star spider silk from?" I asked.

"Why, the Everfree Forest, of course!" She said the name of what is quite possibly the single most dangerous spot in Equestria this side of Tartarus as though it was just the quaint, little, family-run fabric shop just down the street from her boutique. “It’s the only place they live.”

"Of course," I said. "Rarity, I want to commission you."

Her eyes practically bugged out of their sockets, and her mouth dropped open. "What?" she blurted out. "I mean, of course, it's just... why me?"

I chuckled and shook my head. "Come now, I'd have thought you wanted a royal warrant to go with your new line of stallionswear."

[A royal warrant of appointment is issued to tradesponies who supply goods or services to members of the Royal Family, Prince Blueblood included. This allows them to advertise to the general public that they supply to the issuer of the warrant.]

Rarity smiled, though the quizzical crease of her brow remained. As Captain Red Coat was busy admiring his reflection for what was probably the first time since he earned those scars, she trotted on over to me, and said sotto voce, "A royal warrant would give my business a boost in these difficult times, but I can scarcely imagine you of all ponies being so generous with yours."

"Is it so hard to believe I just want to support small, independent businesses?" I said with mock indignation.

"Yes!" she hissed.

"Fine. I want you to make me a suit of star spider silk armour like the Royal Guard of ancient times; something I can wear underneath my uniform and cap, and will give me some modicum of protection the next time I'm thrust in the way of some very angry and hungry Changelings."

She hummed and tapped her chin with a hoof, while I tapped a forehoof on the ground to affect a sense of impatience. In truth, I was desperately anxious; this might be the only opportunity for me to get some damned protection without Pencil Pusher eviscerating me for going against regulations.

"If you think you can actually do it," I said. Rather like Rainbow Dash, the best way to get her to do something is to imply that she can't, but only if it involves fashion.

"Darling." Rarity stroked her hoof through her mane and stuck her nose up in the air, and with the utmost formality, she fixed me with a piercing gaze that made me consider my little jab might have pushed her a little too far. "I can make anything the client desires. We can source enough silk from the Castle of the Two Sisters, and Twilight's library is sure to have some ancient tomes detailing the proper techniques. The question, however, is simply a matter of cost. I fear it might be a bit pricey, even for you."

I held up a hoof and shook my head dismissively. "I never discuss money," I said, giving my best impression of my father sneering at a common clerk. "Have your staff contact mine, and we can come to some arrangement. I trust that would be satisfactory?"

It would, but in hindsight I should have at least attempted to negotiate the price down, as vulgar as that would have been; the cost would prove to be rather steep even for a pony as fabulously wealthy as I, and would force me to open up the Sanguine Palace to the lowest and most disgusting creatures on Faust's divine creation, tourists, in order to recoup the rather hefty fee Rarity would place on her services. No price was too high for me to improve my chances of survival even by a tiny amount, however, and in the coming months, and indeed for the rest of my life, that sentiment would be vindicated a thousand times over. Having peasants, some of them not even ponies but foreign creatures, wander through my home, taking photographs of my family heirlooms, dragging their hooves and claws and Faust-knows-what-else over my carpets, and harassing my servants, was a tiny price to pay for even the slightest leaning of the odds for my survival.

Author's Notes:

Most of this chapter was written while I was sick with what I suspect may have been the coronavirus.

Now wash your hands.

Next Chapter: Chapter 7 Estimated time remaining: 11 Hours, 17 Minutes
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