//------------------------------// // Chapter 1 // Story: From Yakyakistan, With Love // by Tumbleweed //------------------------------// “It’s not fair!” I tried for righteous indignation, but in retrospect, it came out as more of a whine Which, I might add, was entirely justified. What was supposed to be a pleasant morning of coffee and practiced laziness had been entirely ruined by the arrival of an all-too-chipper courier, bearing an envelope with Princess Twilight Sparkle’s official seal emblazoned on it. A Princess’ attention was an unnerving enough prospect on its own, but the ‘polite request’ within the envelope was even worse. “Yakyakistan! They’re sending me to Yakyakistan! And I haven’t even done anything! At least nothing the Princesses know about.” I paused. Frowned. Looked across the breakfast table the most dangerous (and somehow also one of the most attractive) ponies I’d ever met. “You … you didn’t tell Princess Twilight about that business with the tulips and the walrus, did you?” Carrot Top (a.k.a. Special Agent Golden Harvest, master of hoof-to-hoof combat, a.k.a. one of the most beautifully dangerous ponies I’d ever met), didn’t look up from her morning newspaper. “I didn’t.” “Then what’s got the Princess so mad at me?” I groaned, and let my head thunk down onto the breakfast table, hard enough to make the cutlery shake. Any pain that the impact might have carried went forgotten, as my cynical mind already started anticipating new agonies like frostbite and Yak cuisine. “It’s got to be Captain Armor-- Consort Armor –whatever his title is. He never liked me-- he even threatened to send me to Yakyakistan if I ever jilted his sister, and now he’s done it anyway!I swear, I didn’t jilt the Princess! Why, I haven’t jilted anyone since--” “Since when?” Carrot Top lowered her newspaper and arched a very dangerous eyebrow. “Since I met you?” My voice may have cracked a little. I raised my head and gulped down a mouthful of lukewarm coffee to wet my suddenly dry mouth. “Good answer.” Carrot Top said, and returned to her reading. “But if you must know, Sentry, sending you to Yakyakistan was my idea. Good to see that Fancy Pants passed the suggestion along.” “What?” My voice definitely cracked, then. “How could you? What did I do? Was it because I forgot our anniversary?” That was enough to give Carrot Top pause. “Do we even have an anniversary?” “I don’t know! Which is a damn stupid reason to send me off to freeze to death, don’t you think? Look, Carrot-- darling.” Desperate, I turned on the ol’ Flashy charm. “Whatever it is I did, I apologize, and I promise I can make it up to you--” “Sentry.” Carrot Top set down her newspaper, and reached across the table to lay one strong hoof over mine. “Flash. Think. If I were mad at you, don’t you think you’d know already?” “If I knew you were mad at me, I’d be running already.” I looked over Carrot Top’s shoulder, out through the open window at the busy Canterlot streets beyond. My wings twitched, ever so slightly. When I returned my attention to Carrot Top, I found her expression more bemused than angry. There was no mistaking the difference, as I’d been on the receiving end of both expressions more times than I could remember. “So … you’re really not angry?” “No.” “Well, now I’m just confused.” The corner of Carrot Top’s mouth turned up in a smile. “Per the usual.” “No thanks to you.” “Also per the usual. Now, will you let me explain?” “Please.” “You’re going to be part of a diplomatic mission--” “Oh no.” My stomach lurched at the ‘d’ word. I shook my head, fighting down a fresh wave of panic. “These ‘diplomatic’ missions always wind up with someone trying to kill me. It’s all supposed to be cocktail parties and trade negotiations, but that just means I’ve got to wear my dress uniform with the starched collar so then I get to be uncomfortable right up until the assassins show up. And then it’s more uncomfortable, but in a different way.” “It’s not an op.” Carrot Top said, even if she knew I didn’t believe her. Hell, she probably didn’t even believe herself, given the nature of her occupation. “But there are very valid reasons to send you to Yakyakistan.” “Such as?” “Yaks are very proud of their martial heritage, and so they’re inclined to respect fellow warriors. Seeing as of how you’re one of the most decorated officers in Equestria--” “--they’re going to put me up against some brute of theirs in some barbaric blood-duel or something, aren’t they?” My voice cracked. Slightly. I stared out the window again, wondering if I could defenestrate myself before Carrot Top could tackle me and drag me off to my terrible, Yak-murdered fate. “Of course not.” Carrot Top’s stern tone somehow soothed me. There was at least some solace to be found in the knowledge that, should some hulking hair-mountain of a Yak slay me, Carrot Top would dispatch said Yak without a second thought. Which would no doubt plunge the realm into bloody war, but it wasn’t as if I’d be around for it. “Yakyakistan and Equestria are friends. The worst you’ll have to worry about is someone challenging you to a drinking contest. Which, I might add, is the second reason you’re going to Yakyakistan.” “Wait, what?” “Yaks are also very proud of their drinking culture. Something about rules of hospitality and all that. As such, it would be … convenient for the delegation to have someone who can handle their liquor.” “You’re kidding.” I said. Carrot Top leveled one of her icy ‘Special Agent’ looks at me. “You’re not kidding.” I said. “The only other candidate is Princess Twilight’s friend Pinkie Pie, and she’s trouble enough when she’s sober.” “Which one is Pinkie Pie again? She’s not the one in the Wonderbolts, is she?” I wisely kept myself from sharing my opinions on said pony’s plumage. There’s nothing quite like watching a lady languidly stretch out to display her full wingspan-- at least, not for a red-blooded pegasus like myself. Of all Carrot Top’s surprising (and often terrifying) talents, telepathy was thankfully not one of them, and thus I remained on her good side for the time being. “She’s the pink one,” Carrot Top said, deadpan. “Oh, right.” An image of a chubby-cheeked, entirely-too-enthusiastic earth pony came to mind, along with memories of surreal hallucinations and a particularly splitting hangover. To this day, I haven’t touched absinthe since.* *See: Absinthe Makes the Heart Go Yonder “Which is why it’s down to you, Sentry. But relax. For once, you’ll actually get to enjoy yourself on your assignment. All you’ve got to do is to present a few toasts, make some new friends, maybe teach the Yaks some of your obnoxious drinking songs, and that’s that. So long as you don’t get sloppy and vomit into anything ceremonial, you’ll be fine. The rest of the delegation will handle the actual diplomacy.” “While I’m the designated drinker.” I mulled the concept over. “Pretty much.” Carrot Top leaned over the table and placed a gentle hoof atop mine. “And if that’s not incentive enough, remember. Yakyakistan is very, very cold.” “I’ve mentioned that. Repeatedly.” “But have you thought about it?” Carrot Top scooted over to my side of the breakfast table and leaned very, very close. “I mean, cold as it is in those mountains, there are certain things a pony has to do to stay warm.” She waggled her eyebrows in a manner less suggestive than declarative. “Oh,” said I. Gazing into those bright green eyes of hers, my objections tumbled away. Of course, the whole trip turned out to be a fiasco, but for once, not even Carrot Top knew just how much trouble we were getting into. You’d think a special agent would be a bit more cynical (especially after hanging around me for so long), but damn if she didn’t think we’d have an easy go of it for once. Both of us should have known better. I mean, Yakyakistan? It wasn’t fair.