//------------------------------// // Tuesday // Story: Casual Friday // by totallynotabrony //------------------------------// This morning, I stop at the office briefly to rendezvous with Kimchi. We leave before I even see Colonel Tweak, which means I’m already in a good mood. I make sure to take off my security badge once we leave the office. Again, one of those rules. I guess if somepony outside the building saw it, they could duplicate it and fake entry to our building...where they would then be faced with a lot of ponies who would know they don’t belong. Kimchi and I go over to the motor pool, which is what the Army calls the place where you can check out official cars. Kimchi, like a lot of Koltreans, doesn’t like driving in Koltrea. I’m a fighter pilot. I like driving. In a crowded city with narrow streets, it’s like making a trench run. Kimchi doesn’t appreciate this. After a couple hours, we get to the place. I frown as I pull into the parking lot, seeing the North Koltrean flag in the distance. “Exactly how close are we to the border?” “Very,” says Kimchi. I show the invitation to a guard who points me to a little building against a wall. The top of the wall has a crackling field of anti-pegasus energy on top. We walk into the building. It seems to be just one room and it’s longer than I expect. The carpet abruptly changes color at the halfway point of the room and there’s a table in the center. A couple of allied generals and colonels are on the side of the table closest to me. A couple of North Koltrean generals and colonels are on the other side. I instantly realize that I’m not only in over my head, but I can’t even see which way to swim. “Who are you?” asks an Equestrian Army General. “Sir, I’m Lieutenant Dust, from Equestrian Administrative Command of Koltrea.” “Never heard of it.” Great! “I’ll just be going, then, sir.” “Just a moment,” says a General from Prance in accented tones. “Who is that South Koltrean soldier with you?” “F-first Lieutenant Kimchi,” she squeaks. “Can you translate?” Kimchi swallows hard. “Yes.” The general gestures her over and then turns to the North Koltreans. “Now we can begin.” The Nork who seems to be in charge leads off, translated through Kimchi. “For the honor of President Butterball, we demand you stop what you’re doing.” “No,” replies the Equestrian General. “But for the sake of argument, what specifically did you mean?” “Everything.” “No.” “Some things?” “What did you have in mind?” The Norks list off three dozen things that the coalition does that angers their great leader. “No.” “A few things?” And another round. Honestly, once I’ve gotten over the fact that I’m incredibly junior and inexperienced to even be in the room and the fact that I’m the only sailor present, who accidentally wandered into a high level diplomatic exchange, it’s mildly interesting to see the hayburgers of international diplomacy being made. I can’t see why anypony from EACK would have been invited in the first place, though. Maybe another formality that hasn’t been expunged from procedure yet. After five or ten minutes, however, the dry discussion gets boring. Kimchi’s still engaged, but only because she has to. I sit in a chair at the back and try to stay awake. My attention span must be incredibly minimal to be bored already. Fighter pilot. I can’t help it. I eventually nod myself into a nap. From time to time, I find myself in completely ridiculous situations. Once, my wingpony and I faked mechanical trouble and deliberately landed at an airport in a war zone to buy some booze to smuggle back to the aircraft carrier in order to infiltrate a speakeasy and bring it down. That’s another story, but the point is, my whole career sort of lands me in one unprecedented situation after another. I’d almost think I was used to it by now, but that’s the thing about the unexpected. Like when a shouting match startles me awake. Somehow, in the span of - I check my watch - five minutes, the conversation went so bad that the Norks started screaming threats about nuclear war. That’s what little I understand. The allied ponies are also shouting, and about as coherently. Kimchi is trying in vain to translate quickly enough. I feel like I should do something. Ha, screw that. No way am I getting involved in a spat between flag officers. The Nork soldiers guarding the door at their end of the room seem restless. I glance back. So do the South Koltreans behind me. The hair on my neck stands up when I hear safeties being clicked off. The 50-year cold standoff is about to turn hot right in front of my eyes and I’m not going to live long enough to even get credit in the history book for being there when it happened. I stand up, adrenalin starting to flow. I wish I was in my jet. I wish I had a weapon. I wish I had body armor. I wish that I wasn’t going to die in an office uniform. Kimchi glances at me, eyes wide. She sees the warning signs, too. Suddenly, a moment of clarity comes to me. I take a few rapid steps across the room, wrap my hooves around her, and plant my best impression of a romantic kiss on her lips. It takes two or three seconds, but all arguments cease. I open one eye and see every pony in the room staring at us. I disengage from Kimchi and wink at the audience. “Sorry boys, I didn’t mean to interrupt anything.” I then take Kimchi by the hoof and pull her out of the building. Outside, she promptly slaps me. “You had no right to do that!” “I’m sorry.” I rub my cheek. “But you have to admit, it totally worked.” She glares at me. “Jeeze.” Well excuse me for averting an international incident, princess. I turn away. I wonder if I can put “saved the world, and it was totally hot” down on my record when I apply for promotion? I doubt it would work, though. Colonel Tweak wouldn’t believe me, and the only corroborating witness thinks I’m a rapist. It’s a long drive back to base. Tuesday afternoons are designated workout time. We don’t get to leave early, in fact we have to stay on base an extra hour at the gym. Colonel Tweak said so. I wonder why he never comes to work out with us. Probably because he’s a dirtbag. I get changed into my yellow Navy workout t-shirt. The Army and Air Force both wear different shades of grey for their workout uniforms, but they have to wear a fluorescent safety belt with it. There are precious few times that I actually think my service’s uniforms have an advantage. Chief Iceberg wears a desert tan shirt. It says Navy on it, so that’s good enough for me. It’s not like anypony else on this base knows the difference. That’s probably why Skyray doesn’t even bother to wear his official RCAF outfit. Line Scribe isn’t there. He doesn’t have to be. I know he works out elsewhere, though. So do I, one workout a week doesn’t keep you in shape. I just wish I didn’t have to do this workout each week. With an hour to kill, I take my time warming up and then head for the multifunction court. On the way, I pass Rhyme on the treadmill, headphones on. She spares a nod and a smile. Clear Code is on a stationary bike, reading a book. I see Kimchi in the middle of a pose through the window of the yoga studio and look away, heading through the weight room. Drill Bit is on a resistance machine. Wretched Heart is nearby, curling freeweights. The gym’s multifunction court has a high ceiling. With the stupid no-fly rules, it’s about the only place on base where a pegasus can work their wings. There are already a couple in there, while ground-bound ponies play basketball down below. I stretch out my wings and go up to say hello. I can see them all giving me looks because of my shirt. It doesn’t bother me. In fact, I want to stand out. I am the best flier on base, after all. Shame I don’t get to prove it more often. The gym is big enough to fly in, but only barely. Trying for any kind of speed makes it feel cramped in a hurry. I settle for acrobatics. Skyray joins me. Without trading any words, we spontaneously engage in fighter maneuvers. I beat him, but not easily. I wish Rainbow Dash was around. She‘s a little more agile than me, but we’re evenly matched enough that I can make her pay for any mistakes. It’s challenging and fun to fly with her. Well, that, and she’s bi. I almost daydream my way into a wall. Maybe it’s time to changeup my workout. Chief is in the boxing ring. As I walk up, he throws a musclebound stallion in an Army t-shirt out of it. You wouldn’t think somepony with flippers could do that. I give him a nod. He looks around but other challengers are reluctant. I part the ropes and step into the ring. “You want to go, ma’am?” he says. “Rules?” “Try not to hurt me to much.” I take a stance. He nods and smiles. To be fair, he doesn’t, or at least not much compared to what he could do. I’m fast enough to keep out of his reach, but when he does get ahold of me, I end up on the mat. I can’t even really fight back. I mean, he’s a seal. His body is cylindrical and there’s nothing to grab. After the fourth or fifth time I end up on my back, I pause for a breather. The clock on the wall shows our mandatory gym time is up. Iceberg sees it too and give me help up. “I appreciate it, ma’am,” he says. “You can’t be getting very good training out of it if barely anypony can challenge you.” Chief shrugs. “You’re here and you tried, ma’am.” Is that all it takes? I mean, that alone I guess puts me ahead of Colonel Tweak. Maybe this leadership thing isn’t so difficult after all. Oh buck me, that’s right. I have to do this leadership thing.