Chapter 2: Some Excitement
For a moment Guidestar was frozen in astonishment at the trio of garment-swathed Ponies who first ran toward him around the corner, then bolted and ran away in the direction they had come. But only for a moment.
In the next moment, Guidestar leaped into action, launched himself down the hall, half-spear raised and ready for mortal combat! Alert to the possibility of a trap, he whirled about as he rounded the corner; quickly scanning in all directions to ensure that he could not be taken unawares by an attacker.
Nothing -- nothing but a door slamming shut at the end of the corridor in the direction the trio had vanished clearly showing the direction they had taken. His duty was plain.
Guidestar flashed down the hall to that door; reaching it just in time to hear a key turn in the lock aned a bolt sliding into place to bar the door from opening. He heard the sounds of receding hoofbeats on the stairs beynd that door, while he frantically fumbled for the key to the door.
I don't have it! he suddenly realized. For this watch he had been issued only with the keys to the magazine and to some of the adjacent doors which contained ancillary supplies: two small arms lockers, some artillery loading and maintenance equipment, and a few supply rooms.
He groaned to himself. He knew a little lock-picking, but lacked specialized tools; to attempt to force the solid oaken door with only his puny half-spear would be laughable. It would probably destroy his weapon, to boot.
He needed help. He raised his whstle to his lips, then suddenly asked himself the obvious question.
While I'm here, who's guarding the magazine door?
At that thought, he leaped back to the corner around which he had first seen the trio. It had occurred to him that there were two corridors leading to that post, and that the trio might have been feinting to draw him off. Reaching the corner, he peeped around it.
As he had half-expected, there was a figure at the magazine door. The figure was obviously a Pony, wearing the same concealing hood, robes and cloak as the others. The Pony looked short and stocky, though it was difficult to tell through the all-obscuring garments; and it was bent over the door; trying to work a key in the lock -- trying, and evidently failing to do so. There was absolutely no sign of any confederate, and the lone Pony was not keeping any watch on the corridor.
If Guidestar blew the whistle, he would alert the intruder, who would probably run. To catch the intruder, Guidestar would then have to leave his post in the other direction. If he acted alone, he risked being overpowered before giving the alarm. But he was larger than the would-be burglar.
He decided, and leaped, holding the whistle in his mouth and blowing it at the absolute last moment.
The whistle emitted an ear-piercing shrill voice as he closed with the mysterious figure at the door. THe figure whirled round, and Guidestar was able to get a god lok at its face as the head lifted and the Pony cried out in surprise at the sudden interruption. That face was surprisingly young -- and feminine -- with a solid but fillyish muzzle, light yellow coat and ice-blue eyes, stray wisps of bright orange hair escaping from under the hood.
The first revelation was not entirely surprising, as though West Hoof normally admitted cadets at around eighteen, for the exceptionally gifted it made exceptions, taking them as young as fourteen -- the age that Guidestar Flight himself had entered the Academy. The second was a bit more surprising -- the Academy had been established as co-educational on the founding of the school fourteen years ago, but the students were more than nine-tenths male.
Most mares aiming for a military career went to the (in some cases literally) sister school of Hussar, on the eastern shore about 10 leagues upstream along the Half-Moon. Cycle suppressors had been around for a century now, but sexually-integrated schooling was still seen as a rather new and daring development -- and one with potentially-scandalous implications, for the obvious reasons.
Guidestar was expecting the sudden sharp shriek of the whistle, and had his ears folded back. The filly was taken unawares -- Guidestar saw her visibly wince from the that shrill sound -- and in that moment of paralysis, he was upon her. He flung aside the half-spear -- he did not wish to stab or slash a young teenaged filly -- and tackled her.
Guidestar flung his forelegs around the filly, bowled her over and brought her down. He got her into a solid hold -- he was by no means the champion wrestler of the Academy, but he had a firm grasp of technique, and the skill to use it -- and immediately discovered that he had a real fight on his hooves.
The filly was smaller, younger and female; but she was also powerfully and solidly built. She could almost have been an Earth Pony, though Guidestar could feel wings moving under her robes. Despite her femininity, she wasn't that much weaker than Guidestar himself. And, despite the disadvantageous position from which she had started, she was struggling gamely, trying to get a limb free so that she could kick him.
More than once, she did just that, but was able to land only glancing blows on him, because he held her in a position in which she could not use her own strength effectively. Nonetheless, those blows stung, demonstrating to him the ferocity of her defense, and making clear to him that -- had they started from an equal footing -- he might have been losing the fight.
And he had more to worry about than her hooves. At one point, he made the mistake of letting his left cannon get within reach of her mouth, and she bit down hard on his limb.
"Yeowch!" he cried, clipping her on the head with his right hof, and managing to make her gasp and enable him to retrieve the wounded appendage. Then he had to scramble to get her forelimbs properly pinned, taking several hits from her hooves to his barrel in the process. "You fight like a Canal-Pony!" he grunted angrily at her. The rough close-in brawling tactics of the Ponies who dug the canals, and manned their locks and the canal-boats which plied the inland waters of Equestria were infamous. Many of them were big Shirish brutes as well, half-savage recent immigrants.
"I fight to win!" the filly snarled at him. Her voice was girlish but determined. She tried to butt his nose with the back of her head, a move which he avoided by turning his own head so as to take it on his right cheek. "I'll give you a proper drubbing, when I work loose!" She squirmed wildly, and screamed in rage -- almost like a wild animal.
Guidestar had however marked her educated, upper-class tones. Guidstar had himself come from the lower Pegasus gentry, the squirarchy of a small town in northern Mane. She had plainly come from the true Pegasus aristocracy; one of the families which could trace their origins to Old Equestria. She's from one of the High Clans, he realized. Better-born than me.
And that was as far as his cool reasoning took him, because then he noticed something else, as their struggles together wafted air up from inside her cloak and robes, from what must have ultimately been under her tail.
The filly was starting her Cycle. Unsuppressed.
He had missed this before, because of the muffling effect of her concealing clothing, but now this clothing had become disarranged by their battle, and every time she squirmed, more marescent puffed out over himself. He had her in an excellent full-body hold, grasping her from behind and he had managed to stop her from trying to bite him by biting her own neck, just hard enough to grasp the loose skin firmly. It was a really good hold, he was proud of having achieved that hold in a real fight; it let him control her with minimal effort and little harm to her; it had plainly been the correct tactical decision.
The only problem was that it was uncomfortably close to the position a stallion might assume with a mare he meant to mount -- and at this point, the indelicate term seemed the more appropriate one, since Guidestar did not envision himself making love to a mare by tackling her and defeating her in a fight, with bruising blows given and taken on both sides. And, when that unsuppressed marescent wafted up from her privates past their barrels, where her back pressed up against his chest in a violent parody of spooning, and he smelled it when he was biting her neck in a manner which no decent mare would have permitted of a stallion unless there existed between them a certain, very tender understanding.
There was, manifestly, nothing at all tender at present between Guidestar Flight and the mysterious filly, judging by the numerous bruises and several bites they had already inflicted upon one another. Guidestar's big intelligent brain knew this all too well.
Unfortunately his big nose and vomeronasal organ, filling with the exciting tang of marescent, suddenly and irresistibly flehmened, aroused into action certain basal parts of that big brain, parts which had their own opinions on the matter. They were telling him -- and his most private parts, which were woefully lacking in any equine intelligence, that he was about to mate a mare in estrus.
He was a healthy seventeen-year-old stallion. HIs private parts responded in a biologically very appropriate but socially very inappropriate fashion.
For a moment, the mystery filly stopped struggling, frozen in obvious shock.
"What's that --" she started to ask, and suddenly must have realized exactly what it was that was pressing against the back of her leg. "Oh, great bloody balls of Tirek!" she shouted, and at that moment, Starguide had to appreciate both her spirit and her command of Classical references, in what must have been a supremely upsetting situation. "I'll be damned if I let you do that!" the filly cried in evident outrage, and if her previous struggles had been energetic, they were surpassed by what followed: a squirming, squalling ball of female equine fury in his grasp, breaking his theoretically-unbreakable hold and hitting him repeatedly, rocking his head back and sparking fireworks behind his eyes.
"I'm not a-doin'anythin' like that!" Starguide protested, his dialect starting to slip under stress from the school-received pronounciation into the more rustic tones of backwods Mane. "I'm detainin' you, not molestin' you!"
"You're sure as Tartarus not going to molest me!" she agreed, and attempted to enforce this claim with a back-kick which -- had it landed where intended -- would have regardless of his intention at least temporarily robbed him of the capacity to rape away her virtue.
Starguide managed to avoid this painful outcme by jerking her shoulders back toward himself, thus pushing her hips forward, and away from his own body, robbing her back kicks of both accuracy and force. In the process, he unavoidably brushed his embarrassing erection against her rear, eliciting further cries of anger and disgust from his offended captive.
"Stop doing that!" she hissed.
"I'm not doin' anythin'," Starguide replied, "but a-holdin' you!"
""You may call it that up north in Mane," she snapped, "but in Cloudsdale we call it by a much less polite term!"
Her struggles were such that he feared a very unfortunate accident might happen, but luckily she curled her tail around her privates, preventing such an outcome. However, the friction of her tail hairs against his organ -- which, in another context, might have been a sexual technique short of actual conjugation -- was extremely and inappropriately distracting. As her tail moved with her, he feared that the continued stimulation might induce an emission even more embarrassing than his tumescence, if he did not alter their position, and quickly.
By main force he dragged her into a new hold; this time with her on her back. He had one cannon and hoof hooked around both of her forelegs, and he lay atop her with both of his hind legs between her own, spreading her legs so that she could not effectively kick him. It was a technically very good wrestling-hold, and Guidestar -- who with the exception of one drunken foray into a brothel in the company of some of the older cadets, was almost a virgin -- should not be blamed for his failure to realize that he was putting his captive into the second most popular Pony mating position -- belly to belly.
Neither of them realized this, until her first struggles against this new hold resulted in his stallionhood pressing into her lower belly, specifically against her small udder; which was fortunately a bit north of the most compromising and dangerous position possible in this posture. She gasped in horror; her tail almost automatically twitched between her thighs; and Starguide came very close to release in that instant -- in the process, gasping for an entirely different cause.
"Vile beast!" cried the girl scornfully. "You're no better than an animal! Well, do your worst. You may hurt me, but I shan't cry!"
The effect of this declaration was somewhat spoiled by the fact that the tears were already welling in her eyes. Those eyes might have been lovely, had they not been glaring at him in anger. Not fear, he realized. She's brave to a fault. Too bad that I'm going to have to turn her over to the commander of the watch. Not as bad as what she's worried about, but she'll still be in trouble. I wish I didn't have to do that.
He rearranged his body so that there was now no danger of unfortunate contact, and said more softly. "Look, miss, I'm not going to hurt you. I was never going to hurt you; we just wound up in some unfortunate positions -- and, well, as you may know, a colt can't control some reactions."
The blank look he got at that last part convinced him that she was every bit as young and innocent as she seemed, despite the fire in her. He was suddenly reminded of his own younger sisters, and the last of his lust receded. He would have felt protective toward her, had she not still been struggling, albiet now somewhat less frantically than before.
With the violence of her motions, her hood had fallen back, and he could now clearly see her features: sturdy, strong and determined ones, which might have seemed almost coltish, had it not been for a certain feminine delicacy in the shape of the muzzle and, of course, the marescent with which they were both drenched. Her bright orange mane had frizzed out in their fight, forming a halo of hair around her face.
The expression on that face was of course hostile -- frightening, in its implications of murderous rage. Seeing the anger on that face, Guidestar was glad that he had her in a firm hold; he recognized that this fury was no mere facade.
He recognized something else, too. Her identity.
She was a fellow-cadet. He had seen her in the new freshman class. She had stuck in his mind, because she had entered the Academy young, as young as had Guidestar himself. He had never spoken with her, but he had marked her intelligence and determination, both of which she must have had, to make it into West Hoof at only fourteen.
And he knew her name.
"Leona?" he asked. "First-Year Cadet Leona Wind?"
Leona gasped at him in dismay at his recognition.
Stats
Page generated in 0.017 seconds
Total duration
1,028 users online
295,157 hits today, 1,996,409 yesterday
FIMFiction
My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic Fanfiction
Designed and coded by knighty & Xaquseg - © 2011-2024
Follow & Support Us
Support us
SubStar
Chat!
Discord
Follow us
Twitter
MLP: Friendship is Magic® - © 2024 Hasbro Inc.®
Fimfiction is in no way affiliated with or endorsed by Hasbro Inc.®
" no Sirish-ponies need apply" l see
7321270
Yep. To be fair, there were some good reasons for prejudice against the first-generation Catholic Irish of the early 19th century. They came from a harsher and economically-poorer culture than our own, and some of them could be pretty damned brutal. Their rough fighting tactics included eye-gouging and ear-biting; maiming was not that rare a consequence of their brawls, even weaponless. Of course, their descendants are now solid parts of the American Establishment.
7321276 Agreed, although NINA signs are pure fabrication, the "know-nothing" party was definitely a force to be reckoned with. The Italians and other assorted southern and eastern europeans also had their prejudicial problems as you well know, being from the inlet to america that those kinds of people would arrive at
Well this was an awkward first meeting. Now I wonder what they wanted with the powder reserves. Still this is a very big black mark on little miss Winds record if she doesn't start to talk quick like.
"How appropriate, you fight like a barge!"
In any case, now I see which of the Mane Six this story—and its protagonist—is related to. Didn't think to cross-reference your recent blogs until now. Certainly an awkward first meeting. While this will go well in the long term, the immediate future is uncertain, and largely hinges on just what Leona and company are doing.
7321651
Yep, these are Fluttershy's future matrilineal great-grandparents. And this is a perhaps almost too literal example of Slap Slap Kiss Kiss. Though nopony at all is in a mood to kiss during Chapter 2.
7321281
The NINA signs were real:
http://www.irishcentral.com/roots/history/High-school-student-disproves-professors-theory-that-No-Irish-Need-Apply-signs-never-existed.html
7321276
One of the few things Gangs of New York got right.
These were Fluttershy's ancestors? I hope the poor mare never learned how they met or what happened; she would probably have fainted dead away!
And 'No Irish Need Apply' -- yeah. My father was old enough (born 1928) to remember when the local Catholic neighborhoods had names like 'Shitpot Alley' and the like.