//------------------------------// // 1. Surprise Attack // Story: Rockets and Friendship // by Spooples //------------------------------// You are Furtive Wind. Yup, the Furtive Wind. Feel free to take a sec to pat yourself on the withers. The only thestral in Equestria with the teats and the sneaks to slip into captain Midnight Blossom’s personal grotto and snag that secret copy of Playfilly under her bed. The thestral whose luscious locks have virtually thrown many a Daydweller stallion into your bed. Yes, your dreams count! You're a thestral and all your dreams are lucid, so they count! But please! Hold your applause. Because right now you're working. Refugees from Fillydelphia have been pouring in during the last week. Stories from the traumatized ponies range from “powerful wizard from another dimension pledges to tear Equestria asunder,” to “local colt discovers mare-level magic; whimsy up to dangerous levels.” "This is suspected to be related to the dimensional tempus-intervellum cascade detected three days ago over the Foal Mountains. The Elements of Harmony have already been dispatched. Furtive Wind, you are to be under the command of Midnight Blossom. You will keep tabs on the Elements, even though it’s completely unnecessary and they’re guaranteed to deus ex machina the problem away with their oh-so earned friendship magic, blah blah blah, I’m autistic but everypony’s too scared to tell me, my sister got all the flank genes." At least, you’re pretty sure that’s how the debrief went. You started to zone out once the Elements were mentioned. The problems pretty much solve themselves when those mares are involved. But hey, at least you get to travel through the Equestrian wilderness in their stead! Here’s hoping you can get some Daydweller steed to travel through your wilderness. Baddaboom! You so don’t sound like a virgin in your head. You mentally sishoof yourself as you hop over a stone, quiet as a cave mouse. The sunlight peering through the odd gap in the green overhang never catches sight of you as you effortlessly make your way through the forest. With the rest of your team sleeping back at camp, it’s easy for you to remain of the shadows. That ominous sound that woke you and your broodsisters is in for a serious surprise! So what if Midnight said we should keep together and alternate watch until nightfall? Preemptively taking out whatever made that noise is just as good as keeping watch! The best defense, good offense, something-something. Thud! You freeze mid-step as your ears swivel to the direction of the sound. That was close. About twenty cubits away. One o’clock. Weaving through the forest to stick to the dark shadows, you slowly make your way to the source of the sound. Your tail flicks with anticipation and you find your teeth chittering excitedly. You’re the sneakiest thestral on this side of the Bay. Nopony gets the drop on you. You're the one who gets the drop on Nopony! You’re gonna be the best watcher Blossom’s ever worked with! Then maybe she won’t be too mad at you when you go hit on some Baltimarean colts. After the mission, of course! She can be a bit of a joyless cuntwagon, aspiring to be part of Luna’s personal guard and all. Goddess, you remember her reaction to when you were just trying to lighten the mood a few hours back, when the Foal Mountains first came into view in the horizon; all ominous and magicky. "Lips shut and eyes forward, Private." You wouldn’t hold it below her to get angry with a mare trying to score after a tough day’s work. Goddess, what's her problem with you anyways? You know how to follow orders! …Shut up. With a soundless hop over a hock-height stone and a slither into a hefty bush, your destination lies just ahead. Like your proud ancestors hunting the mighty moose-mice, you slowly peek through the bush to see-- Zigga what? The swirling cloud of dark magic above the Foal Mountains is clearly visible now, through the large, circular clearing in the forest's overhang. The undergrowth below is also cleared away, leaving a smooth patch of grass and dirt to be soaked by the bright sunlight. What’s taken you so aback, however, is the fact that there’s a stallion in the clearing. He’s turned away from you, standing tall and proud. His red coat gleams beautifully, and his earthy-brown mane seems to embrace the rays of sunlight in a fiery display. His tail— DAYUMMMMM DAUGHTER, look at those BUNS! The noble thoughts that reside in your head – ones like “Is this colt the source of the disturbances?” and “What’s he doing in the forest? Where are his mares?” – are replaced with… less noble thoughts. Thoughts like, “I wonder how he’d look like in my bed, covered in sweat and all other manners of bodily fluids,” and, "Relax that Y-7 gland and lemme see the goods, colt." You’re out of the bush and in the sunlight before you know it. You feel that familiar tingling sensation in your chest whenever you're around stallions. Especially Daydwellers. The exotic type. But you're not going to stutter this time, no siree. You've got the upper hoof. You're a Night Guard now, for Goddess' sake! ...So, Wind. How’re you gonna do this? He still hasn’t noticed you. He’s also standing stock still. The poor dear must be deathly afraid, out here alone in these woods. That’s it! Give him a minor spook and come off as the suave, protective, adventurer type. You've seen it hundreds of times in… …fiction. The ol’ tap-them-on-the-rump-and-say-something-nonchalant-but-flirty. Never fails. In your dreams. Literally. The only question is, what should you say to him? Colts are into that Stallionism stuff nowadays, aren’t they? Normally you’d gag at the prospect of kissing up to a colt, but after Quickthistle got some stallion to try some very… primal things with her after a day of treating him with (gag) respect, you’re curious to see what the fuss is about. …He still hasn’t noticed you. Alright Wind, get ready to respect the guano out of this stallion. Heart pounding and giving your best rendition of a confident smirk, you raise your hoof and… Tap tap. “Hey there, hot stuff," you coo with a well-practiced flick of your mane. "You look scared stiff. Need a burly Night Guard to protect yo--?” Thump. The cardboard cutout of a stallion’s backside flops to the ground, leaving you alone in the daylight. …Wha— ”HUTAAAAAAAAAH!” Before you could even think the words “I do not consent,” a weight suddenly crashes down onto your back. You immediately start thrashing, bearing your fangs, and letting out a few totally marely squeaks. Red hooves – the same color as the cardboard cutout – cut in and out of your vision as you flail. ”I’VE GOT YOU NOW, YOU BAGUETTE-DEEPTHROATING SISSY!” a stallion’s gravelly voice booms in your ears as the weight struggles with you. “I DON’T REGULARLY DEEPTHROAT BAGUETTES!" you wail, "THAT WAS ONE TIME AS A FILLY!” You snag something fleshy with the tooth of your wing before the stallion on top of you grunts, relenting enough for you to plant two back hooves underneath his barrel. Without thinking, you buck, sending the stallion careening into a tree. THUD! The stallion slumps to the ground on his back, unmoving. As your nerves realize it wasn’t a rabid chimera on your back, rather a stallion, guilt floods your system. With a quick flap of your wings, you’re by the limp stallion’s side. Oh geez, you snagged him on his cheek. That’s gonna leave a scar. “Are you okay, mist--?” you begin, but are immediately cut off by the chimera-like scream of the stallion, "SURPRISE ATTACK- OOMPH!” The stallion below you lunges for you. He would’ve gotten you, too, if he hadn’t suddenly turned into a flailing blur of hooves and fur. ”WORK, DAMNIT!” the stallion yells to nopony in particular. “DAMN, FRILLY HORSIE HOOVES! WHY DO YOU REFUSE TO WORK?! PROBABLY COMMUNISTS! DAMN YOU, COMMUNIST HOOOOOVES!!” The stallion struggles some more before eventually giving out, letting out a “harumph” as he lies on his back, eyes still glaring at you. All you can do is blink owlishly back at his indignant expression. ”Medic!” he abruptly shouts, giving another half-hearted flail. No response, obviously. Your brain is too busy buffering to even attempt to comprehend the last few seconds of insanity. ”…MEDIIIC!!” Once again, no response. The stallion’s eyes suddenly widen, before what you guess is realization sets in. ”Oh, right…” he mutters to himself. Whether it’s the sight of an emotionally distressed stallion, or a byproduct of your brain not working correctly, you slowly reach a hoof to the stallion. Instead of taking it, he-- ...Zigga. He SNARLS at you. Not a growl or a whimper, but a full-fledged, predatorial SNARL. You’re surprised to see a set of canines among his flat teeth. Very exotic indeed. He mutters something about “Operation: Surprise Attack” before slowly, carefully getting onto his hooves. You don’t have time to recover from the fact that this colt just shrugged off something that would put most mares in a coma before he’s suddenly in your face. The stallion’s icy blue eye -- the only thing in your vision right now -- is studying you. It doesn’t feel the same way as most stallions’ eyes do; it’s exact, sharp, and interrogating. It flicks this way and that, drinking in every detail of your face. The way he glares at you makes you feel a tingling sensation unlike any other tingling sensation a stallion’s gaze has tingled you. …Alright, Wind. Say it. You’ve been practicing this in a mirror—erm. SAVING this for a while now. Four words. Just say them. ”Like what you see?” It’s the perfect opportunity. IT’S THE PERFECT OPPORTUNITY DON’T LET IT SLIP STOP ACTING AUTISTIC HE’S OPENING HIS MOUTH SLOWLY— ”What does the baguette feel when you cut it?” the stallion grits between his teeth. …What. Not "What?" Just "What." Not even a question at this point. Through mareculean effort, you finally will yourself to take a step back. The stallion immediately follows you, his scrutinizing eye unmoving in your vision. ”What does the baguette feel,” he repeats with a tone that suggests you really, really want to give him an answer. “…when you cut it?” “…I…" you stammer before a gulp sends you into agonizing silence. "...Don’t know?” ”…It feels pain." As if a switch had been flicked, the stallion suddenly rears back and lets loose a goodhearted cackle. "PAIN! Haha! That's French for bread! It's a pun! Funny, isn’t it?! Worth a good laugh, wouldn’t you say?!” “I… don’t know.” ”LAUGH, YOU BAT-CANOODLING MUTT!!” You eke out a forced chuckle that grates against your throat like sandpaper. This seems to give the stallion something to think about as he eases off, taking a step back. He stands tall above you, eyes narrowed but no longer aggressive. …Wait, when did you start sitting down? ”Distinct lack of snorting and hon hon hon-ing,” the stallion mutters to himself, eyes still laser-focused on you, stuck in a paranoid dance. “Doesn’t smell of cigarettes and debauchery…” …He smelled you? Oh Luna, when was the last time you took a shower? ”ANSWER ME THIS, MAGGOT!” the stallion bellows, immediately grabbing your full attention. As he speaks, he trots left and right, as if on patrol. “Let’s say a group of unruly, melanin-enriched gentlemen affiliated with a certain religion of peace wants to come into your home and bend your daughter over without her consent. Do you let them in with your blessing and a kiss on their feet, or—” Quick as a whip and twice as snappy, he’s in your face once again. ”—DO YOU PUT A STOP TO IT?!” WHO IS THIS GROUP OF MELON-ENRICHED GENTLECOLTS AND HOW CAN YOU GET THEM TO BEND YOU OVER?! "I-I-I’d put a stop to it!” you screech out instead. All suspicion and hostility leave the stallion like air from a balloon. He gives a good-natured chuckle before rearing his hoof behind your back and-- WHAM! Oh Luna, can he slap a mare on the back. Owie. ”Sorry for the scare, son!” the stallion says. Your ears have to swivel backwards to hear him from your stunned state. “Just making sure you weren’t French!” Wait, what's that, ears? He's walking past you? …The buck’s a French? Focus, Furtive Wind! This isn’t how a Night Guard is supposed to act! You shake your head and open your mouth to interject, but the stallion’s voice commands the stage. ”I’ve just been on the hunt for a certain Frenchie who loves the sight of a healthy back!" he says. "You haven’t seen any Frenchies who love the sight of healthy backs, have you?” Heh. Damn straight his back is healthy-- BUCKING FOCUS. “...N-no,” you say meekly. You immediately put a stop to that stutter, clearing your throat. “Wait. Hey! Why’re you alone here, sir? And what’s a Frenchie?” The stallion’s ear flicks, but he makes no other acknowledgement of you. Instead, he shakily leans down and picks up the cardboard cutout, staring down at it with vitriol— He’s gonna start yelling again, isn’t he? ”YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO ATTRACT DIRTY FRENCHMEN!” the stallion yells, shaking it like an interrogation victim. “NOT CUTE BAT-PONY-LADIES! A FAMILY OF BOXES WERE KILLED TO MAKE YOU! NOW THEY WILL BE AVENGED!” …He thinks you’re cute? KER-BLAMO! In front of you now is just the stallion, standing on his back hooves, a brown mist of splinters and dust surrounding his head. …He just headbutted a cardboard cutout into oblivion. ”Amen,” he nods to himself before elegantly and fluently dropping to all fours. Just kidding. He tries to drop to all fours, but instead flops onto the ground like a ragdoll. There’s a subtle bounce to his muscular frame that you can’t help but notice. ”Damnit!” he barks in frustration. …Alright, Wind, NOW’s your chance. You approach the grumbling stallion and offer him a hoof. The stallion stares at it for slightly too long to not be called awkward before slapping his own hoof onto it. You help the stallion up – or, more accurately, heave him up using every muscle you can recruit at once – and he beams at you. ”Thanks for the assist, Bat-Lady-Horse!” he says cheerfully. “Um,” you start as you keep the instinctual urge to puff out your above average tuft, yes it’s above average, shut up Quickthistle. “My name is Furtive Wind. And I’m actually a thestral. But don’t worry! Lots of Daydwellers don’t know what we’re called. And it’s my pleasure, m’lord.” And for a solid five seconds, your face is frozen in that stupid, friendly expression as you registered what just happened. You just said m’lord out loud. No need to make any witty remark or joke about that in your thoughts. You are the joke. ”Well, it’s been eventful, miss Passing Wind!” the stallion exclaims, “But now I gotta go make another cardboard cutout of my butt! That French bastard won’t know what hit him!” Alright, no more games. He’s making his exit. Time to buck up, Furtive. Buck up in the good way, not in the bad way— Shut up, brain. Start talking, mouth. “Wait a minute, sir," you susurrate, soundlessly swooping to the stallion's side. "Are you alone in these woods?” The stallion turns toward you, tilting his head in adorable colty confusion. ”Of course not!” he exclaims as if it’s the most obvious thing in Equus. “My roommate’s here with me!” “Really?” you press, taking a step forward. “Where is she?” ”Him, actually! And there he is, up there in the spooky, magicky mountain!” ...WHAT! Exclamation point this time! IN ALL-CAPS! The stallion starts waving frantically at something you wish with every bone in your body isn’t what you think it is. But slowly, delicately, regretfully, you turn towards the Foal Mountains, still surrounded by ominous, dark magic; and realize your fear. ”HI, MERASMUS!” the stallion calls, although his voice is muffled under the thunderous sound of your heartbeat in your brain. “I SAW YOU FALLING THROUGH THAT PORTAL YOU MADE, SO I JUMPED IN TO KEEP YOU COMPANY! ISN'T THAT GREAT?!" You’re not sure if it’s just your imagination, but the magical viscera around the mountain seems to cringe away at the stallion’s whimsy. The stallion grins at you. ”He’s been really grumpy lately," he muses, "But I’m sure he’ll forgive me for the racoon-yogurt-teleporter incident soon enough. He’s a swell roommate! Whelp, toodles!” The stallion once again makes a move to leave, but you reach forward and lay a hoof on his withers. His unbelievably muscular withers. "Wait, sir," you begin as the stallion turns back to you. “What's your name? And how long have you been in this forest? You know, it’s dangerous here.” The stallion rolls his eyes upward as he mouths what you assume are numbers. After calculating, he finally says, ”Three days now! And my friends call me--” You don't catch that last part. You're too busy recovering from the sudden pathological whiplash you've just experienced. Three days. That’s enough time in isolation to make any stallion go crazy! No wonder he's acting so weird. You need to get this stallion back to camp. Midnight would know how to get him situated. “Listen,” you say, unable to decide between sweetness or urgency. “I’m part of the Night Guard. Why don’t you follow me back to my team, and we’ll get you taken care of?” ”You’re part of a Guard?” the stallion says as he once again tilts his head. “A soldier, you mean?” You nod, but that familiar tinge of smugness you feel whenever a colt gawks at your guardhood is muted by your concern. The stallion's shoulders seem to deflate as he gives you a gentle smile. ”What’s your rank, son?” he asks. The reverence from the stallion makes you take a step back. His blue eyes are calmer now, filled with a respect you never wouldn't expected from this whimsical colt. Does he have experience as a Guard? Was he a Solar Guard? ...Ah. It’s starting to fall into place now. An ex-Solar Guard, suffering from PTSD, running away into the woods to escape from it all. You feel a swell of determination as you look this poor stallion in the eyes. ”I’m a Private right now,” you confirm. He gives a slight smile, so different from his usually manic nature. That's a smile you could get used to. ”Oh-ho!" he exclaims with a heavy chuckle. "Those were the days! I remember when I was a Private. Well actually I don’t because I just skipped straight to the fun part, but I can still remember it if I try hard enough! I have a vivid imagination.” Oh Luna, it’s worse than you thought. Something horrifying must have happened while he was a Private. No. During his first mission! The reality of war, sweeping away his naïve, yet commendable ideals of making the world a better place... He was so young... So innocent... You want to hug him, but... perhaps the simple joy of a warm embrace from another pony has been tainted. Now he can only feel the way his dying comrade's body slowly lost her heat in his arms. You give the lost, in denial stallion your warmest smile as the sting of tears touch your eyes. “Hey,” you coo, trying your best to hide your fangs from the diurnal colt. “It’s alright, mister… stallion. You don’t have to hide anything from me. I’m here to help.” You chuckle goodheartedly, and supposedly in a comforting manner. “I’m actually supposed to be on watch right now, so you can just follow me back to camp…” It doesn't sound so noble when you say it like that, but-- ”YOU IRRESPONSIBLE, INSUBORDINATE BASTARD!" the stallion's voice reverberates directly into your skull. Fwomp! You're on your ass, staring at the stallion as he's suddenly in your face once again with, "THAT WAS NOWHERE NEAR PROTOCOL! YOU DO NOT APPROACH AN UNKNOWN FROM BEHIND AND TAP THEIR SHOULDER LIKE SOME SHY SCHOOLGIRL! WHAT IF THEY WERE ARMED?! WHAT IF THEY WERE AN ENEMY?! AND HOW DARE YOU LEAVE YOUR TEAM VULNERABLE WHILE YOU GO OFF AND PLAY THE HERO?!” “…A-bah-buh-duh huh?" your dumb ass stammers. ”STAND up straight!" the stallion commands. "PUFF your chest out like you’re PROUD to be an American!” As if on cue, an eagle calls out in the distance. You're pretty sure eagles aren't native to this part of Equestria. No, wait, focus! Stallion or not, you can't let somepony talk to you like this! Somepony that isn't Midnight Blossom, you mean! "Now just wait a minute!” you start, but like a match being consumed by a roaring forest fire, the stallion’s voice overtakes your own: ”THAT WAS AN ORDER, PRIVATE! GET INTO PROPER FORM NOW, BEFORE I KICK YOUR TEETH SO FAR DOWN YOUR THROAT YOU’LL BE ABLE TO LITERALLY EAT YOUR OWN SHIT!” You stand up straight, puff your chest out, and are proud to be an American. ”Nevermind, scratch that!" he spits, "Just for your lack of etiquette, get down and start your disciplinary pushups!” You give a silent prayer to Her Lunar Majesty as you get into position and start counting reps. Midnight always said you'd regret skimping out on physical training. Meanwhile, the stallion hasn't stopped talking, and you haven't stopped paying attention like a good little recruit. ”NOW HERE IS WHAT’S GOING TO HAPPEN! YOU’RE GOING TO MARCH YOUR BAT-LADY-HORSE KIESTER UP TO YOUR HIGHER IN COMMAND AND EXPLAIN THAT YOU BROKE RANK AND APPROACHED AN UNKNOWN WITH RECKLESS ABANDON! THEN YOU WILL BEG FOR FORGIVENESS, AND OFFER TO CLEAN THE TOILETS AT BASE FOR THE NEXT MONTH! AND I’LL BE WATCHING YOU THE ENTIRE DAMN TIME! AND THEN YOU WILL STAND STILL WHILE I BRUSH AND BRAID YOUR HAIR, BECAUSE YOU ARE ONE OF THE MOST ADORABLE THINGS I’VE EVER SEEN, AND SEEING YOU GET HURT IN ANY WAY WOULD EMOTIONALLY DEVESATE ME! If you so much as have the slightest iota of a THOUGHT to lie about the affront to the God of War you’ve committed on this day, SOLDIER, I SWEAR TO THAT GOD I WILL STRANGLE YOU WITH YOUR OWN, FRILLY TRAINING BRA! DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR?!” Knees heavy. Arms weak. Dad's spa-killme. You can't breathe. AYO ZIGGA YOU CAN’T BREATHE! “ha... ha... Sir... yes sir!” you finally gasp out before dropping down for another rep. The stallion gives a confused haw as his voice once again assaults you, ”LAST TIME I CHECKED I WASN’T A DEAF GRANDMOTHER, SO YOU MUST NOT BE TALKING LOUD ENOUGH! NOW ANSWER ME AGAIN, EARMUFFS! DO! I! MAKE! MY! SELF! CLEAR!” “I can… barely… breathe!” ”YOU CAN BREATHE AFTER YOU’VE ASSURED ME I’VE MADE MYSELF CLEAR!” Why. Did. You. Skimp. Out. On. Physical. Training. “Y--…" you hack up, quickly snapping your mouth shut so you don't vomit. "Y-you don’t know… how hard this is… colt…” ”NONSENSE, PRIVATE!" the stallions bellows. "I GOT BORED SINCE YOU WERE TAKING SO LONG, SO I’VE BEEN DOING PUSHUPS AS WELL! I’M ON MY HUNDREDTH ONE RIGHT NOW!” You look up, blinking through the sweat and—oh. Oh. Oh, that's not fair. That has to be a hate crime, because that's just not bucking fair. ”ONE MORE TIME, PRIVATE!" the stallion roars. "DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR?!” Calling back upon your proud ancestors, you muster the will to take a deep breath and bellow out, “SIR YES SIR!” The stallion lets out a proud cackle, throwing his weight from his forelegs onto all four. ”Outstanding, Private!" he says. "That's enough!" You collapse onto the grass below. Our Mother, who art in Hasbro, copyrighted be thy name... "NOW!" the stallion yells, and that one word is enough to make your blood freeze. "Do as you’re ordered, Private, and don’t you ever THINK about pulling this crap again! FALL IN!" And with that, the stallion turns around and starts marching. Heaving like an obese unicorn who only does horn day, you shakily get to your hooves and fall in behind him. You don’t have the heart to tell him he’s going in the opposite direction. …Then again, you’re also face to face with his ass. … Well, time to follow the captain's advice. Lips shut and eyes forward.