//------------------------------//
// Training Is Difficult, And Homes Are Also So. 
// Story: Mares und Panzer 
// by re- Yamsmos 
//------------------------------//

Gurrrrrrgle.

Gruuuuuuuumble.

She felt right on the verge of keeling over and vomiting on the floor, but she knew that not a single thing would come out at all if she did.

Simply placing her forelegs on her table was a monumental struggle, and now, her ears muffling Mrs. Goodread's morning teachings by clutching tightly against her head, she could barely even feel them at all. They hung limply—uselessly—where they were, and she moved her shoulders around in an admittedly short panic to make sure that she still had some kind of earthly connection with them. She'd been fortunate enough to find a seat well away from the rest of the class at the start of the school year, so such actions she could do without the worry of a mean glare or a conniving snicker from next to her. Nopony looked back here in the first place anyway. Nopony needed to.

She breathed in and out of her nostrils to try and ease herself, but quickly caught a whiff of her un-showered body in the middle of her act and cringed in her brown seat as if doing so would change the fact. Maybe that was why nopony was looking at her today—if you just... imagined that something awful wasn't there, it might actually start feeling that way. Then again, if that were true, her empty stomach and her unkempt jacket wouldn't be bothering her as much as they were. She tried her hardest to ignore the former, and found herself focusing wholly on the latter. The four silver buttons going up her chest were doing their job, and her white collar presented the Princess' colors like they were supposed to, and her pockets' pleats were flattened and her cuffs were fine and her jacket was fine and not screwed up and totally okay and up to regulations but it was still working her up why was it working her up so much why was she getting so stressed about it-

THUMP!

Duck jumped.

A few of the ponies in front of her, hearing her surprised gasp, turned around and giggled at her, covering their muzzles with their sloppily-applied hooves to try and hide their amusement.

Mrs. Goodread had just thoroughly thwacked her stick against the white projector screen, which was currently displaying what a proper MLA-formatted essay looked like as an example for them all. Four lines, left aligned, name, class, teacher, date. Break. Title, center. Break. Indent. Thesis statement and on and on.

"...and now, if you're looking to try and get some points with me," Mrs. Goodread began, adjusting her desert-tan scarf and pointing at a part of the pre-written example essay, "instead of a comma, try using a few em-dashes, which—though they may seem tricky at first—are simply replacements for commas, and end up helping your essay look much more smoothly than using commas would. For your thesis statement, I'd like you all to introduce your topic, and inform me of its importance..."

She hadn't really cared about whatever topic she'd been given. Just the other day, she'd been talking it all up in her little head and felt so mind-numbingly, absolutely ecstatic that she could actually talk about her new friends in her first public high school essay... and now today, at this moment, she was just... dreading the whole thing. What if they had to peer-edit like they did back in the boarding school with their tank history tests? Ponies would just make fun of her for choosing something so stupid; they probably all thought that she was some lonely loser whose only saving grace was a group of other ponies she pretty much only saw for a single hour every weekday. She was never any good at writing coherently, and the words she managed to actually get down mostly came out as very factual and almost robotic in a way, completely devoid of what little personality she could admit to even having inside herself.

What an embarrassment. How stupid. Maybe she should've just scrapped the whole thing and wrote about something else. Her friends deserved better than to be a topic of some terribly-written paper.

Duck shook, accidentally letting out a short breath that vibrated and stuttered like she was sitting at the bottom of the world. A chill flew up and down her wrists and stayed there, and she curled her hooves inward to try and cease the feelings from getting stronger.

She tugged needily at her jacket.

KNOCK KNOCK.

Mrs. Goodread perked up, and, smirking, called, "Who's there?"

It was a few seconds before the reply came, muffled by the door in his face. "Principal Cheese."

"That's a really lame start to a joke, sir," Mrs. Goodread replied without even an ounce of hesitation.

"Oh, you're very..." The door opened toward the hall, revealing Principal Cheese, who restarted, "...you're very funny, Owata." Holding his morning brew in a hoof, he stood in the doorway and looked around at the classroom.

"Hi Principal Cheese!" went somepony near the front.

"Hi sir!"

"Good morning, Principal Cheese!"

"Hello, sir!"

"Morning!"

Principal Cheese, grinning wildly, tilted his drinking hoof—and his mug with it—and followed it quickly with his head. "Hell-oooo everypony. How are you all?" As the class uproariously began to give him their respective, chaotic answers, he looked at Mrs. Goodread and nodded toward the door, prompting her to put her yardstick down next to her podium and walk over to him. Whether or not Principal Cheese wanted their conversation to be the slightest bit private didn't matter, as, despite the class' seizing of the temporary moment to have obnoxiously loud talking matches across the room, Duck was able to hear it all.

"I have a few students transferring in from another class. Ms. Baloney's."

"Ah, yes! I got your email. Is that them behind you?"

"Yes ma'am, it is!" Principal Cheese stepped to the side...

...and Duck, watching out of nothing but curiosity by this point, sucked in a harsh breath.

Dark-gray coat. Light-yellow mane. Orange eyes.

Mocha Frappe.

He trotted into the classroom and began to pick out targets just as his tattoo-like companion Starburst walked up from behind him and took his usual place by his side. The two looked at each other and nodded, then, as a single unit, fanned their eyes around the different, multi-racial faces of Mrs. Goodread's third period English class to look for the weakest links in the uncomplicated, loose, terribly-fitted chain. Duck lowered her head, bit her bottom lip tightly, peeled her ears back, and looked down at the left side of her otherwise unoccupied table to try and make herself invisible, if only she were so astronomically lucky. Out of the corner of her eyes, Mocha and Starburst both stopped at once and broke into big, devilish smirks. She swore she heard Starburst cackle.

Principal Cheese and the rest of the class looked at first Mrs. Goodread and then her subjects as the former called, "All right, class! Today, we have two new students. Mocha Frappe, and Starburst!" The room boomed with greetings and jokes, most of which were answered right back.

"Hey guys."

"Sup."

And it was at that point, looking around as well, that Principal Cheese finally noticed Duck.

His eyes went wide.

And he opened his mouth.

"Uh, I– actually, uh..."

Mrs. Goodread looked at him.

The class looked at him.

Mocha and Starburst both looked at him, very slightly shaking their heads.

Principal Cheese was seemingly stuck in the middle of a gasp of some sort, or simply trying to find enough air to fill up his old lungs back to capacity. He looked at Duck for a long, long while. 

The both of them knew what was about to happen.

He closed his mouth.

His chest inflated.

"Never mind me," he finally spat out, then, clearing his throat, added, "Go on, Mrs. Goodread."

With that, he turned away and began to walk out...

...revealing a head of purple hair, and a flash of white, clenched teeth.

Sherbet was in the hallway, having seemingly joined Principal Cheese in escorting the two new students to their class.

She looked around for a little less than two whole seconds, found exactly who she wanted, and gave Duck a little wink before the door cut her out of sight.

Duck clenched her front hooves into a little ball.

"Well... we don't have many empty seats anywhere but the back..." She heard Mrs. Goodread attempt to finish, only for Mocha to halt her ending and immediately start heading Duck's way.

"That's good!"

Starburst huh-huh'd, "We'll take it!"

They stomped toward the back left side of the room, turned the corner of the table to Duck's right, and, grabbing hold of the backrest, promptly threw their chairs backward before aggressively taking a seating position and scooting forward to close the gap. Duck shut her eyes, and could only hear the two stallions as they dragged their two chairs toward the middle of the table to practically smoosh her between them. Satisfied with their positions, they yanked their backpacks off their backs and threw them onto the ground, unzipping various flaps and pulling out binders and books.

"I'll make sure and try to get you two our textbook by tomorrow," Mrs. Goodread informed them.

"Don't worry, ma'am, haha!" Starburst replied.

She clenched her eyes further and tried to turtle her way back into her body. Her shoulders were beginning to ache.

"Pee-yoo, mare, you ever hear of the word 'shampoo'? You smell like crap!"

Something hard jabbed her in the side, and she looked at the source to find Mocha on her right, an elbow pulling away from her ribcage.

His eyes took on a sinister shine, and he hummed to himself.

"Oh, we are gonna love this..."





"I HATE THIS SO MUCH."

"Gods' sake, Blank Check, shut up and get your tank moving!"

She blinked quietly, her muzzle warmly buried in her crossed forelegs.

"I can't read a thing in here! It's all in Prench, you motherless garbage pail!"

"Is that how a future politician is s'posed to speak to her people?"

THUMP THUMP!

"Close the gap! We're supposed to be in convoy!"

"Grrrr! Make us, you brainless imbeci–"

BRAAAAANG CUHP!

From where she could see, the business end of the Tiger's 88mm cannon had very simply, very noisily, very suddenly, rotated about about sixty-degrees or so and planted itself firmly against the back of the SOMUA's turret like an executioner before a crowd.

Everypony stopped what they were doing. The radio was silent, save for the static white noise coming in from the still depressed transmission buttons. The four tanks' engines still puttered in the distance, much quieter than her own. It seemed as if the entire world had just experienced a lag spike and was in the process of hastily catching back up.

The SOMUA—its turret now shaking as if to try and slap away the Tiger's muzzle—slowly revved back up, fired every piston of its V8 engine, and began to move once more. Stopping once again, it swiveled about to its left, stopped, rolled back onto the dirt-lain, tree-covered country trail, stopped, turned right, and finally became parallel once more with their assigned route. It puttered along for a few heartbeats before the Tiger, right behind it, began to churn as well, and soon everypony was back on track and making their way over to Duck's Comet, having stopped at the first sign of conflict at their rear. The fact that it was more team-based than projectile-based served a heavy reminder to her that she tried her hardest to shudder away from and lose focus on.

"Well, would you look at that," came Busy Body over the radio, "she actually waited for us." Humph. "I'll try and remember you when I'm in office, kid. I won't forget this."

Duck, not even blinking, idly reached around for her cupola's rotational lever and, grasping it, slowly turned herself around to face the front once again. Now that their daily tussle was done and over with, they could get back to their simulated combat scenario and continue on along the trail, waiting for their cue. Settling into place and hearing her cupola click, she readjusted her posture and jolted in her position as the Comet started up its slow crawl again. Arco and Flurry shared a few short words, but Duck was in no proper state of mind to hear them. The quicker they finished, the quicker she could head home and just... sit. She'd barely had the strength in her to climb up the Comet's side skirts at the start of class, and she was beginning to dread the dismount even more by the second.

From above her own engine came four pursuing growls, hisses, roars, and putt-putt-putts, signifying that the rest of the class was following her lead. Though she knew that turning around to make sure was a must, she found herself rooted to her spot staring straight ahead at the narrowing pathway before her. She was starting to get a serious case of vertigo now, too. 

An ear flicked up, and she instantly lifted her chin from her crossed forelegs to look toward their right.

She barely even caught the small light before its hellish scream caught up to her ears.

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE BEEEEYOOOOO!

The red arc kicked up a cloud of dirt on the side of the road next to her, zipping up and away into the heavens.

"Aah!"

"Zacherle!"

"Holy–!"

Duck, stabbing her left hoof against the roof of the Comet's turret, held up her radio and clutched it rigidly. 

She breathed in and out, feeling her throat achingly dry, but cleared it to the best of her ability. Now was not the time to get caught up in emotions. After. She clicked her radio. "E-Enemy tank at our 3 o' clock!" Sweeping her sights over to her right at the convoy, she swiftly yelled, "All tanks, reverse hard left, now!"

She expected the four to follow her lead again and do as she'd informed them.

Two of them did.

But instead...

"Hahahaha! What was that?! Couldn't quite hear you!" Lily chortled.

Duck flexed her chin.

"Speak up, Quacky!" went somepony else.

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE B-ZEEEEEEEEWWW!

Another beam of bright yellow, bringing with it all the horrible strength of a 105mm shell that passed over the top of the Tiger's turret by a bare inch. Duck sucked in a breath. If Lily had been poking her head out...

"Okay okay!"

The Tiger, jittering violently, finally managed to point their lightly-armored rear toward the left side of the road with the other two tanks behind it, allowing the SOMUA to do the same as well. As they stopped in that order, and Duck remembered that they were now waiting on her signal, she peeled her ears back, searched for her voice once more, and stammered, "All tanks, forward!"

At once, with her Comet just barely a second ahead, the class' respective tanks began to advance, first descending the small hill off the road and second churning the new grass below into cakes of dirt that kicked up in their wakes. The Cruiser tried its hardest to match their slower pace—intended to be at a speed all five could muster—and the SOMUA seemed to be straining itself to try and actually reach their sides. The Tiger would have left them in the dust if it could, but it could only handle twenty-four miles per hour before they'd need to have a look at its newly bursting engine. Not that that would have stopped them, to be honest...

"Where the hell's she at?" Lily barked, her teeth clacking, clearly caught in the middle of looking through every one of her optics frantically.

Duck clicked her radio. "Keep your eyes peeled! Scan that treeline!"

"Anyone see anything?!" Pine Needle shouted, her Cruiser's turret apparently copying Lily's fanning-about.

Their increasingly closing distance to wherever their target was waiting served only to shorten the amount of time any one of them could blow apart.

ZZZZZZZIP!

A blizzard of mud, dirt, and grass exploded in front of one of the Tiger's tracks, sending bits of disturbed Earth across the top of the turret that bounced and jumped with the Heavy Tank's movements along the field.

"Where'd the flash come from?!" Bit Rate spoke up, thumping something inside her own cupola.

"Flash?!" Blank Check exclaimed.

"Well yeah, it shoots, and it lights up!" Busy Body replied almost cheerily.

"You're making that up!"

"IT'S BASIC PHYSICS!"

"WHAT?!"

Duck's hooves flew to her chest and grasped the pair of binoculars hanging there. Popping off the protective covers and throwing the rubber cups over her eyes, she leaned forward in her Commander's position and peered through the lenses, sights deadset on the treeline she'd earlier minded. She hadn't been able to note the last shell's location—mostly because she was assuming its owner would recognize a Commander when they saw one and fire directly at her—but if she knew Mrs. Red, even if just by a little bit...

The massive, green-leafed oak trees stood proudly at the far end of the field in an L-shape, with the little part of the letter bearing a forested tumor of some kind that provided safety for what she now was noticing... was an odd bundle of bushes separate from the rest. Its orientation was off, and the berries dotted along its surface were a stark contrast to the emptiness of the brush all around it. And what she at first thought was a parting was now looking very curiously like the smoking end of a tank cannon.

She held her radio's button again and looked at her team to her right.

"Enemy tank spotted at my 11! Right in the far treeline, dead center of those bushes! Light her up!"

Instantly, the Stuart's three M1919s, the SOMUA's two Reibels, the Cruiser's Vickers, and—after a short issuance of sputtered curses—the Tiger's MG 34 began to crackle, snap, and pop from their mounts, flurries of four different calibers flinging their way in vague directions toward the forestry ahead of them all like some kind of sporadic light show. After a short few seconds of sustained, deafening fire, three streams homed in on one, and red and yellow and green tracers began bouncing off what everypony was—hopefully—now noticing to be thick tank armour.

She cleared her throat once more. Reveal its position with the coaxials, prioritize and increment cannon fire, and get two flanks going.

"All right I wa-a-ant..." Duck sucked in a shaky breath and let it back out to steady herself. Bunching up her shoulders, she restarted, "I want–"

"You want what?" Somepony in the Tiger yelled.

"Spit it out!" Lily joined in, chuckling.

Duck flexed her chin. "I–"

"Lily Pad, shut the hell up and let her speak!" Pine chimed in, unknowingly cutting her off as well.

Duck scratched at her foreleg. "I w–"

"You shut up! Why don't you go plug into your vinyl player and and feel sad for awhile?!" Lily shot back, slamming her hoof into an interior wall of her tank. Her voice took on a slightly higher register. "Oh, these ly-rics are so deep, I just wanna die!"

"Go headbutt a field goal–"

"Wait does she mean–" Field Goal perked up from further away in the Tiger.

"–you has-beens!" Pine was, by now, screaming in everypony's ears. "How many games have you guys won, collectively? Go on, gimme a count!"

"It's a team effort!"

"What, to choke?!"

"You son of a–"

"We'll get you later!" Hail Mary hissed.

The radio crackled.

"And I'll get you now!" Mrs. Red shouted, clearly agitated beyond all compare. "Listen to your Overall, and let her command you!"

From within the Comet below her, Duck heard Flurry call into Graham's area, "Thank you Mrs. Re–" only for Lily to interrupt her with the ferocity of a massive chainsaw.

"Excuse me, teach, but our Commander can't speak at all!"

Lily clucked a tongue, "Y'h, how the hell does somepony like her even get to be Commander?! She's scared of a pencil falling next to her! I think I should be the Leader here–"

Her suggestion was sent, received, and put under review for a span of about half a split second of time before another shell came whizzing their way, bouncing off the Tiger's right side with a shrill, descending whistle and a comical BUZZZZ-JUH-JUH-JUH-JUHHHH!

Lily was quick on the mic. "Can I report that?!"

"Duck!" Mrs. Red spouted above the sporty noise, "If you would, please. Continue."

She nodded at the tank in the bushes and began to open her mouth.

"YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAWN!"

Not even a full heartbeat came to Duck before a low whirring and revving began churning in the bushes. She barely even had time to register Mrs. Red's Centurion Mark III until it came bursting out of the brush and advancing toward the Tankery class in a growling charge. It only took her a short of wondering if this was all part of their scenario before realizing: the Centurion and its cannon was headed straight for the troublesome Tiger, even as the other lined-up tanks' coaxials continued unloading into its one-hundred-and-ninety-five mm of armour.

Duck heard Lily swallow a lump down her throat in her headset.

"Guh! Mrs. Red's coming!" Hail shouted.

"Is she gonna–"

KE-POOOOOOOO!

The shell exploded across the front glacis of the Tiger, completely obliterating the bow-mounted MG 34 and, evidently, scaring the absolute Be-sneezus out of Whipgrass, their Radio Operator in the front seat, who let out a sharp cry and screamed like a foal. As the machine gun's remnants clattered on the ground in front of the still rolling Tiger, Lily stopped hyperventilating for a second to yelp, "Fire back!" 

WHIRRRRRR!

"Do it!"

BOOM!

The shell soared through the air and missed by a hair's breadth, bouncing on the ground like a soccer ball and disappearing into the clouds in the sky.

"How do you miss from this close?!" Lily yelled, turning her head away from her mic.

"I'm aiming too far. It's not that eeeeasy!" Field Goal shouted back.

"Loading!" Peanut Brittle reported.

As the sounds of Peanut carrying a new shell toward the breech clicked, clacked, and thumped in her ear, Duck watched as Mrs. Red's Centurion, ascending the slight incline the field presented her on her side, began to angle itself ever so little to try and deflect the next shot, knowing full well how terribly thin its side armour was head-on even with its installed side skirts. The Crumpish tank was about seventy meters away from their position and approaching steadily, its crew making full use of its cannon's stabilization mechanics that would have sent the griffons' heads spinning during the tail-end of the War as it crawled along the bumpy field at about thirty miles an hour.

The Tiger, in the meanwhile, was ready to send another 88mm Mrs. Red's way.

"Fire!"

BOOM!

The Tiger's cannon retreated back into its housing for a second as its delivery screamed across the field and, just as Mrs. Red had planned for, nailed the side of the Centurion and sent much of its right side skirts in a splitting kind of fragmentation. Unfazed, however, it continued onward as if feeling nothing. 

Duck held her tongue, but heard Graham unknowingly speak her words for her. "All tanks, stop!"

Flurry halted immediately.

The Cruiser was next, followed by the Stuart and instantly pursued by the SOMUA. Pony heads began to poke out of various hatches on each respective tank. They, at first, looked Duck's way, then, getting no response but a shying away gaze, looked back at the fight erupting heckishly ahead of them.

The Centurion's cannon began to turn about to face the Tiger's front glacis, but looked to be drifting right past the driver's side and finally hovered over the air directly behind its left fender. It kept moving forward, but turned in to the right so its full profile wouldn't be given to the Tiger.

Its crew suddenly cheered.

"She's showing us her side!"

"Sides are always weak on a tank! Let's show her our front! Hardest part, meet softest part!"

The Tiger, staying its position, began to swivel about on the dirt and face the 'flanking' Centurion directly. Its turret whirrrred into place to fire directly into Mrs. Red's now diminishing tracks. Still trying to maintain its frontal fortitude, the Tiger followed the Centurion's movements and continued to present its glacis as its turret attempted to catch up.

"Crank it, Field, crank it!"

"Get ready to fire!"

"Faster!"

The Centurion was getting eerily close to getting the rest of the class' tanks hit by the Tiger's upcoming shell, but appeared to be... slowing down.

"Come on... come on!" Field Goal grumbled.

The 88mm passed over the rear of the Centurion.

"Right in the turret!"

"Wait!"

WHIRRRRR!

The turret swung.

"Fire!"

The shell flew...

...and completely missed the Centurion as it stopped, reversed, and adjusted its aim right on the Tiger's front step.

A quartet of short grunts fired off in rapid succession.

Lily went, "Guh...!"

KE-POOOOOOOO!

The front of the Tiger burst into flames, the smoke quickly dancing upward to mix in with the gray cloud layer above their heads. On the roof of the turret, a small hatch opened up, and a little brown rod shot toward the heavens and deposited a white flag.

SSSSFICK!

The separate hatches on the Tiger's armour began to swing violently open, clattering loudly at the metal that it met and allowing its coughing, hacking, stumbling crew to crawl, hop, and roll out of the tank's horrifically smoking interior. Lily, clenching her eyes shut, was the first one down, and she rubbed at her skull vigorously as the Centurion casually rolled up along the left side of the defeated Tiger. Mrs. Red swiftly popped open her Commander's cupola, hopped onto the roof of the Centurion's 105mm, and vaulted over the side, landing in the grass in front of Lily with a resounding thump.

Lily, now able to more clearly see the approaching, older mare in front of her, grit her teeth and stammered, "Wh-what the hell, ma'am?!"

Mrs. Red stamped a hoof into the grass, her face on the verge of going completely red. She grit her teeth and leaned in to glare hard at Lily Pad.

"I've had enough of your shhhhit, Lily Pad."

Duck gasped.

Some of the Candidates went wide-eyed.

The rest of the Jocks took an instinctual step back.

The Hipsters were in a mix of stopping themselves from laughing and glaring at the ones who were close to laughing.

The Nerds only blinked. Plastic Beach actually went back into the Stuart.

Lily Pad, meanwhile, frowned deeply, her cheeks sunk with fish hooks and her head craned back.

"I chose Duck Bill for a reason, and that is because she knows when not to say something so mind-bogglingly stupid that she ends up just looking like an ass." Mrs. Red flared her nostrils. "You need to realize that this is just like your Hoofball team. By yourself, out here, you're nothing but a big hunk of metal waiting to burst into flame and cook you alive. Together, you can take down anything that stands in your way. Now that I think about, I can see why it's hard to adjust. Your Hoofball team doesn't even have a chance of winning." Ignoring Pine's giggle from afar, she brought up a foreleg and thrust it Duck's way blindly, then adjusted her aim after looking straight at her. "With Duck as this team's Overall, we might just make it through and win this whole thing." Her lips peeled back, and she snarled, "Now get the hell back in your tank, and hit the garages."

She turned and began to trot back toward her Centurion.

She stopped halfway there, however, and, tossing her mane and looking back, adjusted her garrison cap.

"Class dismissed."

And with that, she climbed the side of her tank, hopped into the cupola, disappeared from sight, and began to drive away.

As the clouds of dust wafted into the air from behind the departing Centurion, Lily turned around to the sound of uproarious laughter directed her way from the Commander of the Cruiser, the entirety of the SOMUA, and Driver and Gunner of the Stuart. A snicker sounded from inside the Comet as well, right next to her, and strikingly feminine.

Lily, fuming beet red, fell to her rear, made an L shape with her right foreleg, and slapped the inside of it with her left. The laughter quickly shut up. The Pegasus paused in her next steps to look over at Duck still standing in her cupola, opened her mouth, flared her cheeks, and turned back to her Tiger. She waved her crew over with a flick of a hoof and a shake of her head. "Let's go home, already. I'm done."

Though she was the first to hop in, the rest of the Jocks quickly followed suit and started the Tiger back up, hitting the Emergency Restart button inside and prompting its attached buzzer to ring loudly for everypony to hear. 

"Duck?"

Duck's eyes began to blur together the different greens and browns of the area around them. She sunk her head in her forelegs and aptly clunked her chin against the roof of the Comet. Her sights glazed over. The radio in her hoof began to display an alien language to her.

"Duck?"

Scared of a pencil. Scared. Scared.

They weren't wrong. She could barely even face the day if she didn't have somepony to lean against.

She was scared. Of things. Of everything. A pencil, for sure. A teacher calling her name. The gaze of another pony. The mention of her family. Her family themselves. Every morning. Her own reflection. Her mane that she still found safety behind, despite. Going outside. Fresh air. Being under the scrutiny of any and every single pair of eyes that ever looked her way.

She was scared.

She was–

"Duck!"

She stayed her position.

Graham called, "Pine wants to know if we're leading the way back to the garages!"

Duck looked over at the Tiger. It was already beginning to move toward the school.

She idly kicked a leg.

"Just go," Arco said in a hush.

"All right," Flurry replied. The Comet stuttered, and, its engine growling, began to follow the Tiger.

"Hey!" Bluebell came, a tint of anger in her voice, "don't let those s͢ţ͜҉̷̀ú̶p͢͡i̡͘d̴̛̛́͢ ̸̧͘͢a̵s̷͝s̶͟͜h҉̸o͏͏̸l̶͘͟ȩ͠҉̴ ͝҉͜j̶̨ó̧̢̀͝c̀͢͠ḱ͞҉͞s̨͘͡ ̛͠҉͘g̡͡e̷̛͘͞t̸͞ ͢͡t̡̕ò̵͡ ̢y̨̨͘͘͢ǫu̕͢..."

Scared. There was no other word to describe it.

She wasn't scared of the deafening engines of the tanks in front of and behind her. She wasn't scared of their machine guns lighting up an ambushing target. She wasn't even scared of her Comet's own cannon sending a 77mm shell to whoever was receiving it.

She was scared of much, much more.

"̴̡͟͢͡D̨҉ǫ̡̀͝͞n̶̡̕͢'͢t̶́ ̸͘҉̷w̡͞͞o͟͟͝r̷̢͜͠͠r̴̷̀͘ý̷̴ ̕͞ą̀b̴̀͟o̸͢͞u͏̷̸̛t̢͠͞ ̵̡͜͟ẁ̷́͢h̴̡à̡̛́t̵̵̨͢͠ ̶̕t͏ḩ͢͞e҉́ỳ̛͜ ̛͜s̶̢͢͠͝a̵̢͢í̸̢͝҉d̛͠͏̡͞,́͟ ̷͜͝D͝ų̴͜҉c͏̨̡ķ̴.̴͏̷"̡́͜͠

"̶́́̕̕T҉h̸҉̷e͏͏y͞͞'̧̡͜r̷̡é̶͞ ̴̵̛͠͠j̵͟ù͘͟͠s̷̡̛͠t̛́́͠ ͜͏a̧҉̢̀ ̴̀͠b̧͏͠ù̸̀͘͜ǹ̷̡͜c̶̕͘͢͞h͏̴͜ ̨̕o̧͠f̨͠҉̕ ̵̧̡͜͜b͞͞҉ļ̡̀̕͟ò̷w̡̛h̴͘҉͜a̡͢͜͟r̸̕͢d́͢͞͝ ̡͟j̷͜͡e͘r̢̕͜k̨̀̕͜͟s̵̢̢͢.͏̨͏̶͞"̶̀

"͏̡T̴͘h̷̀҉͘͝e̶̢͞ỳ̡͘̕͝'̕͢҉r̷̨̨͜͢e̶͝ ̛̀͞҉j̢̛͢u̴̷̧s̴̡t̀̕̕̕͏ ́͢m̵̡͢͜͞a͟͠d̢҉,҉̧͟ ̶̢̢͘͘D̢̧́͝ų̶́c̷̛̕͡k̷͞!̴̧̨ ͠҉҉̕͢Ẃ̶́͝ę̶̶͝'̢͘l̀̕͡͝l̡̢͘͜͝ ̷̷s̸h͏͜͞ò̵̕͠͠w̵̴̧̛ ̸̷̀t̛͞͡h̷̕͢e̴͟͡҉҉m̷͞,͏̡ ̡͠͏r̵̶̡͜i̢͠g̨̢h̛͝t҉̷͠?̸̴̀̀͠"́͝

"̷͢͜D͏̷͟͝u̵̡͞͞c͝͏k̷̡̛̕͜?̴̧͟͠"̶

It was just like her mother said. And it was more than her mother noticed.

Sixteen years of age, and she could barely even get a word out. Even under pressure, when a sponge would finally expel its most embedded secretions, she clammed up and couldn't say a thing. She was unfit for something like this. She couldn't lead an entire team, even if they agreed with her every move and plan. She was an embarrassment and a disappointment... but not just to her family, to her friends. Arco, Flurry, Graham, and even Bluebell, no matter how thin the line. They looked up to her as the glue that held their crew together, and yet she could barely even look at any of them.

"̷̡͡D͢͢u̡͞c̛͢k͜͡͏!́͘͟"̧̀͢͜͠

Her mother was right.

What was she thinking?

Why did she join this class?

Why didn't she just shut her mouth?

She couldn't command a whole team of Tankers.

And she couldn't even command her own daily life without needing support from another source.

She dropped her hoofheld radio and let it swing lazily about, barely noticing their entering the High School's garages until the Comet—and the rest of the team's tanks—came to a complete, white-illuminated stop.

She wriggled her way out of her cupola and descended the Comet's side skirts, trotted over to the main doorway, grabbed her messenger bag, slung it over her shoulder, and walked out into the dead, choking, open air of the outside. Voices piped up and called behind her, but she didn't—couldn't—tell whether or not they were for her. It didn't matter anyway. It was probably for the best that she just disappear without a trace. She kept close to the far side of the school and made her way toward the other side of Ponyville.

Her walk home was quick, uneventful, and focused solely on every square foot of ground in front of her.

She ascended her apartment's staircase.

She unlocked her front door and stepped inside.

She headed toward her living room and looked at her couch.

She dropped her bag.

She remembered her bed.

And forgot it, walked over to her couch, and curled up atop it, clenching her eyes shut and biting terribly hard on her lower lip.

She counted herself lucky that nopony could see her crying.





Duck rubbed at her eyes absent-mindedly, mostly because of the yawn that had just overcome her and a little because she was still kicking away the overwhelming feeling of sleep out of her system. With her nearby lamp shedding a much-needed light on the sheets of paper in front of her, she bunched her shoulders up and pushed them as far forward as she could, grunting all the while. Another yawn, this one a bit less expected, came and went through her body, and she momentarily halted her poorly-executed exercise to raise a hoof up to suppress it. Blowing up her cheeks and shooting the air back out into the space of her living room, she scooted her chair an inch or so closer to her desk and picked up her pencil once again.

She'd remembered her homework much too late in the evening, after first getting up to go to the bathroom, and, with the time now reaching about five-forty in the afternoon, she was sitting in the corner of the largest room in her apartment—if just by a little—and facing the likewise biggest wall of it as well, her attention focused not on the assuredly cinnamon-flavored food she should have been pouring herself but on the next-day-due papers she simply just couldn't afford to skimp out on. As of the moment, she was nose-deep into her AP Calculus worksheet and wondering how such simple equations could count as AP Calculus work.

She was quick to mind her indecency, however, and quietly shook her head, pulling her scratch paper back over to her side with a free hoof. Sticking out her tongue, she placed graphite against tree and prepared to answer the question that was presented to her near the bottom.

She stopped, invasive thoughts beginning to spring up in her head again.

She hummed a low note and pushed them to the back of her mind, not wanting them to spoil her answering-spree. Just a few more questions and she'd be done with math, and then she could move on to her English essay and try figuring out what exactly she was going to do, and how exactly she was going to go about it. What topic should she focus on? The assignment was to explain something important to her life, and, rooting around through her brain, she... was kind of blanking, actually. She pursed her lips and brushed a few locks of her mane out of her eyes, taking a second to adjust her fluffy, Crumpish red pyjamas.

Her eyes flitted about and, joining sides with her newly grumbling stomach, landed on the kitchen nearby.

Could she really write an English essay on cereal?

DING DONG!

The sudden noise—and, honestly, the fact that somepony was possibly at her door—caused her to jump from her seat, quickly flounder atop it, fall over and spill across the floor, and barely dodge the seat before it came thunking down on her skull. Her ears smacking against the sides of her head and her green eyes shrinking to pinpricks, Duck grit her teeth and began to look around her apartment in a panic. No, not the bottom of the couch, that was much too short for even her! Uh, uh, uh, no, not the underneath of the sink, she might get stuck in there and have to live off dish soap. She'd go for the window close to her, but she was on the second story and didn't believe in herself enough just in general to go through with such a thing. Okay, okay, ummmm... the closet!

Splaying herself across the far wall and flicking her chin up to face the ceiling, she slooooowly inched her way toward the open hallway in full view of the door and her potential wrongdoer and, after steeling herself with a mighty breath and a choked exhale, threw her head around the corner to look for any signs of damage to her front entryway. If what she learned in that one book told her anything, they'd begin with the doorbell, then go for knocking, and then, when nothing else worked, they'd use whatever weapon they'd brought with them and force their way in. Then, and only then, they'd barge their way through her home and steal every box of cereal she had on her. She had to act fast.

Duck gave the closet across the way one last look before suddenly sprinting for it, yanking it open, and jumping inside. Through the thin slats of the plantation door, horizontal lines of light assisted her in locating her weapon of choice hidden in the corner of her new hidey-hole. Reaching into the bag and flinging away its protective cover, Duck clutched her frying pan with both hooves and adjusted her posture to look better suited on a baseball field.

Even from behind two doors now, Duck could hear muffled voices coming from beyond her front one. She could make out at least four, with one distinctly male and one other bordering on it. A stallion commanding mares in petty thievery? Definitely not unheard of. She sucked in a breath and steadied her grasp. When they came in, she'd have to prioritize, go for the knees, and make sure she knew her escape route... which was... also the front door they were going to be coming in from.

Puffing her cheeks out now, she waited for the axe to swing through the–

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.

"Aaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhh!"

She sprinted straight out of the closet, galloping toward the doorway in a thunderous charge. Stopping in front of it—and still screaming at the top of her lungs even as her next task proved difficult—she unlocked the door's top latch, stepped back, readied her weapon...

...and immediately dropped her pan in fright as four new voices echoed her, accompanying a booming entrance into her own abode that sounded vaguely of plastic bags and wooden utensils. Clenching her eyes shut and attempting to stare straight at the corner of the door, she brought up her forelegs and placed them over her face in case they went right for her eyes. Her own labored breathing being the only thing that met her ears, Duck slowly opened her opponents' suspected targets and found herself blinking them rapidly.

For in front of her were four ponies.

Graham was furthest from her, presumably staring at Duck from underneath the corked Equestrian M1 helmet tilted far too forward on her scalp, Tanker jacket clutched around her body.

Arco was behind Graham, lifting his chin up as if she'd punched him just a second ago and wearing some kind of olive green field jacket.

Flurry was next, her butt fully facing Duck as she carried two large plastic bags in her magic next to her with her eyes wide. Her wings were covered by a white cardigan and a royal purple shirt.

Bluebell was pretty much less than a foot away from her, frowning heavily and impatiently tapping a hoof against her carpeted floor. She pulled at the gray turtleneck sweater that was visibly warming her up much too quickly.

It was a short while before somepony said anything.

"Duuuuuuck!" Flurry called, dropping her two bags and tackling Duck in a tight embrace.

Duck began to sputter out dumb little noises, but managed a bit of coherence. "Wh-what are you all doing here?"

Flurry pulled away, beaming. Her horn lit up once more, and the bags previously on the floor hovered back by her sides. She tossed her mane. "Well... we all had nothing else to do today, and we were all pretty hungry after Tankery, so we decided we'd... grab some things and head to your house!"

Arco placed a hoof against his chest at once. "My idea, actually."

Graham made a face and tried to show him.

Flurry pouted out her lower lip, then did as Graham and let Arco see. "I helped," she said smally.

"You only woke up because we mentioned books," Arco replied.

Flurry let out a little half-chuckle, tapping the ends of her two front hooves together delicately. "Because I... thought we were gonna go buy books. I got excited."

"So you could sleep through them, right?" Bluebell quipped. Gods, she just really looked like she didn't want to be here.

Flurry turned at once. "Oh shut your..." She puffed up her cheeks. "No."

Duck raised an eyebrow. What were they talking about?

"...books?"

She looked over at her slightly—newly—disheveled desk, and all the papers that were still left sitting on it. Which wasn't a big number at all, really. Most of them were on the floor.

Movement caught her eye, and she turned to it to find Graham whipping her bag around and dipping her nose into its main flap. She noticed that the M1 helmet on her head had a biiiiig hole in the back of it and swallowed a lump down her throat. Graham came back up, holding something in her teeth which she attempted to describe.

"A cuhpleeh goy do chee cookug!"

Duck screwed up her face.

Graham tried to beat Duck at her own game, raising a brow as well. She went slower. "A... cuhpleeh..."

She noticed what she was doing, and how she was doing it.

PTOO!

THUMP!

"Ah!" Graham finally exclaimed, holding the book up with two hooves and presenting it—in all its newly drooled-on glory—to Duck. "A Complete Guide To Cheap Cooking!"

Flurry leaned much too far over to her right, smiling and pointing at the book. "All you need to know when you're low on bits!"

Arco followed suit, leaning to his left and bringing up a foreleg. "The perfect friend for a college scraper!"

Bluebell looked at the others. She was quiet. But she posed too.

"We're gonna cook some food together!" Arco, Flurry, and Graham exclaimed simultaneously to her ceiling behind shut eyes.

"And we're not taking 'no' for an answer!" Flurry said, the first to look back down.

Duck raised a hoof, her frying pan still clutched in a hoof. "Uh, I–"

"Vor, ponies!" Arco shouted, pointing a hoof toward her kitchen and leading the rush into and across its borders. They disappeared behind the corner she'd previously been hugging to avoid the sight of her inanimate front door. Bluebell scratched her head, having stayed where she was and probably realizing she couldn't cooly do anything at the moment besides just kind of... stare.

"Cinni-Toasty Brittles?" Flurry's voice asked.

Well they'd found her dinner.

"Get thaaaaaat crap outta here!"

HOOOOOK!

WHUP.

CHHHHHHHHHHH!

"Arco!" Graham yelled.

"He's paying for that!" Flurry shouted over Arco, who was having a bit of a hard time trying to defend himself.

Duck bit her lip. She was fortunate that her favorite bowl was drying up in the sink.

She looked over at Bluebell and opened her mouth to try talking to her, but found the Unicorn simply walking away from her and heading into her living room. After a few seconds, the sound of her couch sagging came to her, and she put her lips in a neutral frown and bunched up her cheeks.

Why were they doing all this...? There were a lot of restaurants and fast-food chains around Ponyville, some even relatively close by. Plus, she was sure that whatever was in Flurry's bags costed loads more than a simple order of large McDuckle's fries or one of their signature burgers. With these thoughts in her mind, she began to formulate what they could be cooking up in her little kitchen, and she found Bluebell at precisely the same time she realized: microwave ramen, white rice, and canned beans. They'd said the word 'cheap' a few times—even if the first time was garbled up in a mouthful of book—and, from what she recognized, those three were the top choices. While she had to admit that actually any of those were much healthier than what she usually ate... why were they doing this?

At the very least, they'd only be using pots and pans for boiling water, but then why were Flurry's bags... so...

...

She crossed the threshold of her kitchen and poked her head in to find Graham, Arco, and Flurry scurrying and scuttling hurriedly around the small area they had, carrying wooden spoons and measuring cups of all sizes and what looked to be origins. Vegetables, fresh noodles, assorted meats, and other things were set out on her counter, their plastic wraps chucked carelessly into her nearby trash can and poking out the top even as the lid was closed, which Graham suddenly opened up and deposited a little white bag into.

The Pegasus met Duck's faltering gaze, and after remaining there for awhile, suddenly grinned widely and trotted over to her. Duck's TV suddenly chimed on; Bluebell must have found the remote she'd hidden to stop herself from getting distracted.

She had a question on her mind, and, though she began to tug and knead uselessly at her long mane, she sucked up the courage inside to ask it.

"Wh-why are you all here? Doing this?"

Graham pursed her lips, then sucked them in. She broke out into a giggle. "Well... we saw how down you were today during class, and..." she paused, scratching the back of her head and jostling her helmet, "well, what happened yesterday too." She perked up and did a little hop. "We wanted to help you feel better! After all, you're the only reason we all know each other now! Just a big thanks!" She shut her eyes and nodded, then turned back to her work and promptly shoved Arco out of the way.

"Move your fat buuutt, Arco," Graham told him, picking up a spoon and beginning to stir in a container of chicken broth.

"Don't talk about my buuutt, Graham," Arco told her, reaching over and turning on the heat to the space his cooking pot occupied.

"It's really flat anyway," piped Flurry from the opposite side of the kitchen, her magic directing a knife lengthwise across two carrots and two celery sticks all lined up side by side.

Duck smiled.

Arco sneered, scrunching up his muzzle, but shook his head.

He let the boiling water in front of him know his despair.

"I hate you."





"Oh Gods I love this so much."

"Like some more?"

"Please."

Flurry lit her horn, and the bowl of steamed veggies levitated from the corner of the fold-out table and headed lazily over to Graham, who, like a child, waggled her hooves around impatiently as if it was her bottle of milk. Snatching it from the Alicorn's grasp, she quickly took hold of the spoon still sticking inside it and began dumping its contents onto her plate.

"Oi!" Arco yipped, bringing up a hoof and winding up.

Bluebell put her glass down and cleared her throat quickly, "Don't take it all, pig."

Graham frowned. "I barely ate anything today."

Despite her best efforts, the bowl took on a different aura than it had prior, and slowly hovered over Bluebell's plate. Bluebell took the spoon, collected a single serving of veggies, and dropped it on her plate before giving the bowl back to Flurry, who caught it in her own magic and looked at Duck, nodding toward it. Duck shook her head. The bowl CA-THUNKED onto the table, and everypony went back to eating, too preoccupied with what was on TV in front of them.

"And so..." continued the voice over on the screen, "Equestria was faced with a dilemma. If they kept sending weapons and vehicles to both Prance and Crumphill, the Griffon Empire would surely take note and question their state of supposed 'neutrality' that Princess Celestia had first sworn upon when conflicts began rising, even after her closest government official, Vice Admiral Whinniepeg, was assassinated just earlier that spring." The footage changed from the informational globe to what looked to be a company of Crumpish soldiers marching across a road between two massive fields, Brodie helmet-adorned heads turning to face and smile at the camera as they went by. A few Valentines, three Cruisers, and a lone Universal Carrier toting about a trio of Crumpish soldiers—one of whom was loading a stripper clip into her Lee-Enfield—passed by as well before the rest of the company appeared, doing the same as the last ponies.

"Crumpish forces under Lordess Gort were arriving in Prance in droves, spurred on by their determination to defend their allies from the likewise readying Griffonia."

The scene cut to griffon soldiers marching in formation across a busy street in what Duck guessed to be the city of Capital further inland of Griffonia. Dressed in their Stahlhelms and carrying their Kar98ks' butts in one claw, they stared straight ahead and continued onward toward wherever their generals were taking them. Just as the Crumpish, a squadron of tanks took the caboose in the masses, that being four Panzer IIIs, two Panzer IIs, and a single Panzer IV right in the center, its Commander standing up in her cupola and waving calmly at the shouts and applause that met her gaze.

A voice, not from the TV, caught Duck's ear.

"Why'd you pick some boring war documentary?"

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Graham give Bluebell the stink eye. Flurry began to light her horn, but the aura only shimmered on the handle of the cooking pot prior drying in the sink.

She cleared her throat and tugged at her pyjamas again.

"I... um..."

Flurry lowered the cooking pot.

Graham pursed her lips.

Duck turned around and looked at the four, who were now... all... looking... right... at her.

She looked away for a second and admired the part of her floor to her left, but lifted her chin. "I... really like war history. And I guess... hypothetical war... stuff as well." She coughed, adjusting her position. She was talking freely, and without hesitation... so why wasn't she completely freaking out right now? What was going on?! "I grew up around tanks, and the boarding school I went to before Ponyville High focused mostly on the Never War as a whole, so I... just grew up around it." She sat up, bringing up a hoof. "Something about it is so... interesting to me. Every able country in the world on the brink of war. The Big Alliance of Crumphill, Prance, and Equestria, versus the Top Three of Griffonia, Bitaly, and Yakyakistan, which, after Operation Barber-Rosa, would change to Griffonia, Bitaly, and Zebrica, with Yakyakistan switching sides. All these people and weapons and ideas of war that just..." she took her two hooves and smacked them together, then let them space out, "...never came to fruition. How could it have all gone? Would it have ended up just like the world's leaders claimed at Hearsay? Would the evacuation of Dunnkirque have succeeded? Would Griffonia's hectic blitzkrieg have caught the Prench off guard and force a surrender? Would our own aircraft carriers—thankfully—have been spared from the bombing of Horseshoe Bay just because they were out on maneuvers?" She settled down, smiling and reaching up for a lock of her mane to curl around awhile. "I just... the questions and 'what-ifs' are really... um..." She noticed the four eyes again and began to descend. "...They're just... interesting... to me..."

Flurry hummed instantly, rocking her head back and forth. "I've never seen somepony so passionate about something, Duck!"

She felt her face go red and turned away to try and hide it. "I... uh..."

Arco chuckled. "You mind taking my next EQ History test for me, then?"

Bluebell opened her mouth, a grin on it, before shutting it and frowning again. Looking down at her plate, she magicked her fork over to her broccoli and corn and began tossing them into her mouth.

Graham appeared to be doing the same, a hoof up, but stopped herself as Flurry looked at the ceiling and hummed.

"Hmm. Let me see..."

"See what?" Arco asked.

"Well," Flurry breathed, "Duck told us about something she likes, which was very brave of her, so I think it's fair I do too." She threw her chin back down and, brandishing a hoof from underneath her much-too-long cardigan, began to tap it as she mumbled to herself. "I sometimes stay up really late reading books."

"You're a marvel," Arco stated flatly.

"Aww, thanks," Flurry sang.

Graham leaned forward an inch and exclaimed, "I have a big collection of communication equipment!"

Bluebell snickered.

Duck... actually propped an ear up and turned. "Like what?"

Graham's response was simple: she reached over to the side of her Equestrian Tanker jacket and pulled out a long, L-shaped green stick which she flicked the right side of and pointed at Duck. She didn't even realize it was a flashlight until Graham began pressing a button and signing what Duck immediately noticed as Morse code.

"A flashlight?" Bluebell asked incredulously.

"Yup!" Graham beamed, flicking the switch back off and waving a hoof over it. "An Equestrian TL-122! We were gonna use these while in the jungles of Japaneigh in the Oceanic Theater!" She turned the switch on and pressed the button again. "Doubles as a nice flashlight—complete with a few different optics in the bottom here—and a Morse code messenger when you hit this button!" Placing it back on her jacket, she added, "I've got a bunch of stuff at home!" Graham bobbed her head around with each item. "Your usual quill, ink, and parchment; typewriters; old telephones; computers; ham radios; and even ones like they use in tanks!"

"That makes sense," Flurry noted, nodding, "since you're, you know, the morning announcer and all that."

Graham flailed a hoof. "I get it from my mom and dad. You can blame them for having such a crummy mare at the end of that mic." She straightened herself and reached for her plate again, ignoring Flurry's obvious attempt to sway her from the self-deprecation. "I just like how people have evolved in the ways of, like, talking to each other. You used to only be able to hear someone by literally riding over to their town to talk to them, and nowadays you can just log onto your computer and insta-message them about your day or whatever! And all in the course of less than a hundred years!" Her last few words went quieter as she apparently believed she was going too long, stuffing her face with noodles and slurping them up as Flurry looked at Arco in a snap.

"Your turn."

Arco made a face.

"What kinda instrument do you play?" Flurry prodded, batting her eyelashes.

He scratched his head. "Percussionist," he told Graham, realizing she was the only one who didn't know but still would have cared. "I hit those triangles hard." Flurry, Graham, and Duck giggled, causing him to laugh as well. "My uh," he repeated his earlier motion, this time more prolonged, "my mom and dad both used to play in their music classes when they were in school. Started when they were in sixth grade together. Dad went trumpet, mom went double bass. They uh, heh, they actually had a bit of a row about whether or not I'd join Band or Orchestra when it came my time. I chose percussion as a middle ground, but my dad said that he won, so he slept on the couch that night."

Graham choked on her noodles, dropping her plate onto the table and quivering cutely behind her two hooves.

Duck pointed a hoof. "Is that what your Cutie Mark is for? Music?"

Arco looked at the weird hurdle-looking picture on his flank, then looked back at Duck. "Well, eeeeeeh, kinda. You see that's a, erm, down bow symbol." He straightened his back and brought up his forelegs as if to play a violin. "It's the starting position for playing a violin or a viola, bringing your playing leg down like so." He demonstrated, taking his right foreleg and dragging it downward along his imaginary instrument's strings. "'Arco', my name, means 'with the bow', which you might think is weird because I play percussion... it's because it's the most basic of symbols for Orchestral music. A beginner's symbol, I guess. My mom at least won that round when I came home from school that day. My dad still gives me the stink eye." He leaned over in his seat on the floor and regarded Duck's butt. Which she realized was more her flank than her butt.

"What about yours?"

Everypony else spun about to look at Duck's Cutie Mark. She turned to look at it as well. A yellow, four-point star with a white duck feather in the middle, as if such an object was a grand kind of thing.

Oh Gods, not this story...

"It's a..." She coughed, but didn't feel the sweating that she usually associated with such untampered attention. "I got it when I was in the boarding school. I um, was having a practice match with my class, and I managed to take out all the other team's tanks by sneaking around and hitting them from bushes and treelines. As light as a feather, I guess, it's... not really interesting..."

Graham chimed, "So you were kicking butt before we even knew you?"

"I–"

"We oughta try that!" Arco gasped, pumping his hooves. "Be all ninja and stuff!"

"With your shooting?" Flurry quipped, "Please, we'd barely get more than a shot off before we'd get noticed."

Arco stuck out his tongue. "Oh yeah? What's your Cutie Mark for?"

Flurry looked disinterestedly at hers. What looked to be a crystalline heart brandishing a pair of light blue wings. If there was anything more interesting, Duck wasn't sure she could fathom it.

"Eh. Alicorn thing. It's pretty much just what I'll be doing for the rest of my life, just like your guys'."

"Like what?"

Flurry made an overdramatic pose, "Oh... probably just... spreading love and sprinkling care on kind souls wherever the globe calls for me. Or maybe I'll just be a sweet prostitute."

Duck brought up a foreleg and coughed aside into the hoof, her gut having been tickled at just that very moment.

Arco was howling. Graham was covering her beet red face with her hooves.

"What about you, Miss Graham Cracker?" Flurry politely addressed the mare, who peaked out from behind her cover with a grin spreading from underneath her hooves.

True to her name—at least partially so—Graham's was a stick skewering a marshmallow.

"Oh, my dad told me! It's because I can solve problems with simple solutions!" She pointed at her butt proudly. "Get it? You don't have a proper rod for your marshmallow out on the trail, so you get a little old stick and just poke it through! Instant marshmallow toaster!"

"Gods what I wouldn't do for some s'mores right now," Arco sighed.

"We should go camping–"

"Let's not," Arco stopped Flurry, who seemed to enjoy puffing out her cheeks on an hour to hour basis. She crossed her forelegs as well.

In her silent anger, Flurry leaned over and flicked her chin at Bluebell, who was busy playing with the back of her curvy mane as she stared straight at the ground.

"Hey, Bluebell," she called.

Bluebell lifted her head, then, as if she didn't realize it was Flurry, suddenly frowned. "Don't do it."

Graham flicked her chin as well. "Hey, Bluebell."

Duck bit her lower lip, trying to keep from laughing as Arco did the same.

"Bluebell."

Bluebell glared. Hard.

"I've got a bluebell flower on my ass, if that's what you're asking."

Duck looked away for just a second, but cleared her throat and stared back at Bluebell across the table.

Flurry bent the ends of her forelegs, leaned up onto the tabletop, and buried her chin in the gesture. "Why do you have a bluebell flower on your butt, though, Bluebell?"

Bluebell rolled her eyes. "Not like you care."

"We've literally been talking about Cutie Marks for the past five minutes," Arco nonchalantly droned.

Bluebell harumphed, crossing her forelegs and looking away. "Whatever. Don't feel like sharing."

Flurry raised a hoof. Arco put it down.

"Now Flurry," Arco began, immediately prompting Flurry to shake her head, mouth wide and turned inward, "I think it's only fair that Bluebell here keep her secrets if she wants it like so."

Flurry harumphed as well. "Fine."

"Now, can we all just..." Arco sucked in a long breath and pushed it back out, making a motion as if he were channeling the chakras of the Hipsters within him, "...get along, and continue our lovely dinner, thank you Graham?"

Graham smiled widely.

Duck reached for her plate again.

"Actually, I'd like to do something first," Flurry started.

Duck looked over to her left to see exactly what, but found only a pink blur and a light weight tackle her in a surprisingly bone-crushing hug. Gritting her teeth, Duck shut an eye and looked to Graham for help.

Graham nodded, and threw herself into the hug as well.

That was not what she wanted.

Duck looked over at Arco.

"Help," she mouthed.

"No," Arco looked like he'd mouthed back. Or maybe it was "go". Regardless, getting up from his seat, he made a low, "Huhh!" and practically elbow-dropped Flurry, wrapping his forelegs around them all.

Duck looked at Bluebell, though mostly because she had nowhere else to look.

Flurry did the same.

Arco did too.

Graham as well.

Bluebell blinked. Her left eye twitched.

Duck opened her mouth to tell Flurry that she probably didn't want in on such a shattering experience, and probably might have been able to get it out between the onslaught of tears she was beginning to feel prick at her eyes, but she watched in a stunned silence as Bluebell let out a low curse, got up from her position on the floor, walked around the table, and limply threw her forelegs around Arco and Graham.

Duck grinned at Bluebell.

Bluebell scrunched up her muzzle. "It's... it's not like I came here for you or anything. Free food."

"Shaddup," Flurry ordered, nestling in her position right next to Duck. Her body was... really, really warm. Maybe it was the cardigan and her shirt. Maybe it was her own pyjamas. Maybe it was the three other ponies providing more.

She didn't know.

But she started crying anyway.

Sniffling just on the verge of sputtering out dumb things, Duck shut her eyes and let out a little note as her friends' embrace strengthened. There, with Queen Crumphill's proposed "We shall fight on the beaches" speech buzzing from the still-active TV, a delicious meal of homemade food creating a heavenly aroma around her apartment, and her new friends all by her side, Duck smiled. For real.

Flurry hummed.

It was quiet for awhile.

Duck finally opened her eyes and, looking around, got out, "H-how did you guys know where I lived?"

"I followed–"

"We asked the Principal," Arco piped up.

Duck looked at Graham to find her mouthing "What?" to Arco.

She looked at Arco to find him shaking his head.

The two had separated from their pile to perform their actions.

Duck, pulling out her own forelegs, reached around and hauled them back in.

She had words on her tongue.

Maybe a pleasant, "Thank you."

But she remained quiet.

It was better that way anyhow.