Rarity and Prince Blueblood dart out under the cover of falling presents. She knows better than to question the logistics of a Pinkie Party, and her partnership with Cheese Sandwich would likely not double but quadruple the insanity. She can feel the gentle tug in the back of her mind, an insidious coaxing that promises laughter and joy and good times for all if only they would stop and join. She’s not sure if her previous exposure to the partymare’s parties makes it easier or harder to resist, because she knows she really would have fun blowing on the party horns and playing the party games and eating the party food and party party party party-

She shakes her head, partly clearing her mind and wishing she could cleanse it further, and drags the enraptured Lunaris along.

The perimeter of Crystal Guards has fallen into disarray, with a third of them striving to maintain order with shouted commands and furious stamps, a third of them ruining the chances of the first group by wildly scurrying about, and a third of them showing an interest in the diversion that would be better classified as dereliction. And no wonder, with the unclaimed presents practically begging to be ripped open, their contents sure to satisfy any and all cravings…

She bears down on a body of buffoons bunching up around a banana-themed box. She prays the peeling presents present a perplexity that protects their presence from perception, and hides her hair halfway under her hat. A glance at her gallant guardian gets a gasp at his guise; he slanted his saddlebag sideways, seeming a simple sharecropper with slumped shoulders and stupefied surprise at his showering surroundings.

They pass through unmolested, drawing little more than a cursory inspection from one of the few remaining guards attempting anything approaching order. Even so, the oppressive feeling of being watched remains; their hurried pace slows to better blend in. She does not want to be caught, an ignoble end if there ever was one, and given that the Crystal Guards are specifically looking for Twilight and her Friends?

Once the presents pass from eyesight she feels a weight lift from her mind. They pull into an alley between two crystal buildings, one fancy shop and one bustling restaurant. “Remind me to never antagonize your alliterative ally,” Lunaris remarks as he straightens up, a mere shake of his golden mane enough to restore his chiseled good looks and send her heart fluttering. His broad chest, his pure white coat, his long horn - and what else might be as long? She might have swooned if he shot her a smile; instead, he adjusts the long, thin bag at his side as he studiously looks around. “Do we have a heading?”

“We need information.” Rarity scans their surroundings. They’ve gotten a little off track, but not by much. Most of the closest buildings are numbered homes, unlikely to be of any help. A massive stadium dominates the back part of the castle, and most of the hustle and bustle is directed in that direction. They could try to blend in with the construction ponies, but there are a number of bored-looking guards monitoring the passers-by. The broad street leading toward the Crystal Castle itself looks relatively unguarded, and-

Wait. She squints at the tall figure carrying a bulging gray duffel bag and making his way to the outer edge of one of the four legs of the castle. Doug? What is he doing here? And accompanied by two Crystal Guards? She frowns as he walks up to the solid wall, glances left and right, and then slips around the side to the door on the inside. The guards wait outside on high alert.

Going through the front door wouldn’t work. They’d be spotted and taken in for questioning for sure. She needs to find another way inside, and the best place to do that? She checks the sign on the building next to her.

Perfect.

The nearby bar has to be the seediest joint Rarity has ever laid eyes upon. The berry-stained sign reads ‘Halter Sops’, as likely a name as an imperative directed at anypony who treads inside. Darkened windows obscure the ponies crammed like cattle into stalls, the many slow-moving shadows trudging about aimlessly, as far as she can tell. Not seeing any better choices she presses the door open, the soft glow of sparsely spread lightstones embedded in the ceiling casting everything in dull shadows. Off duty guards sit in grim groups, burly construction workers wearing roughened outfits as tough as their husky coats, and a motley mix of changelings big and small fill the booths, leaving two spots available at the bar.

“Salt or hops?” the surly changeling running the counter demands as they draw up. He’s one of the smaller ones, but with a rack of horns she could hang half a dozen dresses on. He idly cleans a glass with a rag so dirty Rarity wouldn’t have used it to wipe up spilled oil from the Cider Squeezy. She’s appalled at the conditions, mouth moving but no sound coming out as she works through how to best display her displeasure.

“One line of finely ground sea salt,” Lunaris covers when Rarity fails to respond.

The burgundy barling grunts before sifting underneath the bar. He pulls out a long bottle with a tapered cone on one end and a hoof crank. A blackened hoof tips it upside down, the thin end just above the counter, and expertly grinds out a thin white line. He dips the rag into a bowl of thick black liquid, a squat changeling nymph occasionally barfing up more.

“Excuse me?” Rarity exclaims, aghast at the order, but more so how Lunaris puts the side of his head against the dark laminate and licks the salty trail up with one smooth motion.

“Fer’s you?” the barling demands as Lunaris’ eyes roll back in their sockets, cleaning up the minute remnants of the line.

“The lady will have one small block of trace-mineralized,” Lunaris answers, somewhat out of it and not moving from against the counter, as Rarity again fails to respond.

“Excuse me?” Rarity repeats, this time directed at Lunaris, as the barling brings out a (somewhat) clean black plate and a small, sandy-textured white block dappled with spots of orange and brown.

“I’m sorry, would you prefer it loose in a bucket?” Lunaris chuckles at his own joke, Rarity not at all amused. He flicks his eyes at the entrance. “You’ll need it to recover your strength. Exercise and sweat burns through a lot, and there will be no shortage of strenuous activity soon enough.”

Rarity follows his gaze to the dozen or so Crystal Guards congregating just outside the door. The one wearing the most ornate getup barks orders left and right, the polished spears of the others waving to and fro as they hustle into position. Her eyes widen, then turns to surprise as the barling flips a sign on the window to ‘closed’ and bars them inside. She gulps, taking the opportunity to daintily nibble a corner from her block.

It tastes, well, salty. Any other flavors, if it is flavored at all, are easily overpowered. But it’s not the taste that displeases her so much as the earth pony connotation; the, for lack of a better phrase, cheapness, the raw utility, as opposed to acquiring the required sodium through higher quality meals. Now, she does not begrudge any ponies who do need the increased intake, primarily earth ponies and to a lesser extent pegasi. Even her sire would partake in a block or two after racing around the yard for hours with her, but her dam did her best to keep her from noticing.

“What was that for?” she asks as the barling returns, finishing off her block with another two chomps, a certain urgency in her voice.

“The seedy salt joint always closes this time’a day,” the barling responds with a detached shrug as one of the Crystal Guards futilely bangs against the barred door. Nopony in the bar reacts more than a cursory glance before returning to their cups. “Now, what brings the two’a you’s in here?”

Rarity grins, quickly getting into character. “We’re looking for information,” she demands as Lunaris gulps down a gallon of water and searches for another. The barling slides him one without so much as a glance. “Any way into or out of the Crystal Castle that wouldn’t be guarded.”

“They’s blocked off all’a da secret entrances,” the changeling answers with a gruff grunt. A thin smile creeps across his burnt-red muzzle. “All but one. Ya know the stadium they’s puttun’ up?”

“It’s hard to miss,” Rarity says with a nod.

“Dey still’s need’s ta keep it connected fer water’n such.” The barling’s eyebrows flick up at the ‘n such’; Rarity suspects (with mounting horror) that will be where they need to go. “Best way out’s the back.” He waves his horns in the general direction.

“Perfect.” Rarity grins despite her trepidation, then pointedly looks at Lunaris and then the empty plate. She grumbles to herself about how he ordered the most expensive item on the menu as she searches through her coat for an appropriately sized gem.

A thunk on the counter surprises her. “Keep the change,” Lunaris says with a suave smile at the barling, the sparkling stone on the counter easily triple the cost of their ‘meal’ and whatever tip she might have given for the information. He shifts the bag on his back, loosening the straps on the front, and heads to the rear exit without a backwards glance.

Her heart beats faster as she follows him to the back door, trying to keep her eyes off his rump. She didn’t know the Prince had such a generous streak in him! She thought he would be like so many of the other nobles she has run into in her line of work, pompous and self-important with little love for the common pony. Is it merely to impress her, the Element of Generosity? He would have been more obvious about it then, right? Made some sort of sign, a wink and nod perhaps, to impress upon her his gallantry and love for his fellow working pony (or ‘ling)? And she wouldn’t have liked that, it would have confirmed him as just another rich snob with more coin than compassion. Perhaps it is a way of greasing frogs, forging new contacts with bits and promises of more for continued service. That would make more sense, Equestria’s foremost foreign diplomat always looking to expand their web of informers.

He stops as soon as they are out of view of the rest of the bar and pulls out a small vial from a compartment on the rear of his bag. “Take this,” he says, levitating it to her, “but don’t drink it yet.”

“What is it?” Rarity says, taking the round vial. It’s small, holding less than a swallow’s worth of liquid.

“It’s a sow potion,” Lunaris explains, though the word means nothing to Rarity. What would pigs or planting have to do with a potion? He notices her confusion. “I got the recipe from Zebrican shamans. Don’t ask what’s inside, you don’t want to know.” Rarity holds it a little further away from herself. “It makes you run faster. But don’t drink it yet, it doesn’t work indoors.”

“Oh, one of those.” Rarity shoots him a sly grin. “Do you use any other performance enhancing spells?”

“Alacrity.” Rarity rolls her eyes as he ignores her banter. She nearly gags as he removes a pair of old black leather (leather! the thought sickens her) boots, the craftmareship far from expert and clashing with, well, everything else about him. She’s not sure which bothers her more. Thankfully he doesn’t put them on, merely taps them together and replaces them into his bag. She goggles as he pulls out a flowing black silk sash, leaving it loose around his chest. “Ready?”

Rarity nods as he trots forward, yet his pace would imply a walk. He opens the door, letting her go first (how gracious!), and follows behind her into the alley on the opposite side of the bar.

“Hey!” a lookout shouts. “They’re going out the back!”

Next Chapter: Ch. 148 - Brittle Barrier, Part Two Estimated time remaining: 8 Hours, 36 Minutes