//------------------------------//
// Skeeter the Lurker's When the Stardust Settles (Kris Overstreet's "Expeditionary Force") 
// Story: Never the Final Word (Vol. 2) 
// by FanOfMostEverything 
//------------------------------//

Months later, the wing-genralier sat in, at least for him, a cramped room in what he heard was called the "white house".   Though why the circular room was called "the oval office" eluded him.  Not that it mattered at the moment.

He was flanked by two surviving lower ranks, including a Feli-Marshaller present at the initial attack.  Also in the room were a few VIPs including someone called the president, a few people from some place called the "You-Enn," and a couple of other races from other planets and sectors who were on "good," for a given definition of good, terms with them.  All were here, naturally, to watch the signing of the, ugh, peace treaty.

There was also her.  That pretty white know-it-all, horn-headed, limp winged, smug faced, translation unavailable, so-called princess.

He was quite mad at the sudden and wholly unexpected outcome, if that wasn't obvious.  He was quite a few emotions, really.  Annoyed, irritated, embarrassed, burning with the fury of a thousand supernovae, and ashamed to name a few.

Annoyed at these humans, who couldn't just accept being made into a servitor race...

Irritated, because his elite troops got their shit kicked in by ponies who on a normal day stocked a store shelf.  Seriously how does that happen?

Embarrassed, because thanks to this colossal mess, the other servitor races were now making efforts to gain the help of the ponies, and rumors abounded that other races that put up with the Mwew were now gearing up to also kick them in.  FUN TIMES.

Ashamed, because he knew there was probably a large number of things he could have done to mitigate this, and the true top brass were prrrrobably going exact a painful price before things truly went bottoms up.

And furious.

Pure, gamma-hot, unbridled fury at the so-called "princess" of the ponies.  For when asked why nearly eighty percent of her provided combat force were meager wage slaves, she had simply said:

"Luna made a bet."