“WHAT IS BEST IN LIFE?” Prince Rutherford bellowed, not for the first time.
The Yak to his right answered without the slightest hesitation, at an even greater volume. “TO CRUSH YOUR ENEMIES, SEE THEM DRIVEN--”
“WRONG!” Prince Rutherford interrupted the other yak with a ‘friendly’ headbutt, and sent him crumpling do the floor. “EVERYONE SAY THAT! IS GETTING OLD!”
The other yaks about the yurt murmured sycophantic agreement with their Prince. Not that I blamed ‘em. Hell, I did the same, given the fact that I preferred to keep my skull un-fractured. I wasn’t sure if this was some kind of yak ritual, or party game, or just some mad whim of Prince Rutherford’s, and I really didn’t want to find out. Nearly immediately after we’d touched down in Yakyakistan’s nameless capital (and ‘capital’ is a term I use loosely, here), Prince Rutherford and his entourage had swept the whole delegation up into an enormous circular tent to welcome us with a proper feast. The yaks didn’t bother with tables or chairs, instead hunkering down on various cushions and carpets strewn about the place in a loose circle. Unlike the strictly formalized royal dinners I’d attended in Canterlot, there wasn’t any semblance of formalized seating arrangements. In the sort of anarchy that would put any advice columnist into conniptions, the yaks shuffled from one seat to the next whenever one of their neighbors wandered off for a second serving of pickled cabbage dumplings, or to relieve themselves. (Which they thankfully did outside the tent, at least).
Which is how, by about my third bowl of halfway decent millet-beer, I found myself separated from the rest of the pony delegation and sitting next to the hulking mass of Prince Rutherford. Which wouldn’t have been so bad had he not swung his fearsome, shaggy face towards me to once again ask his question.
“SENTRY, WHAT IS BEST IN LIFE?!”
I stalled, occupying my mouth with a fresh glug of cold, fizzy beer. Seeing as of how I’d slept through most of my philosophy classes in school, I was entirely unprepared for the demanding profundity of the yak prince’s question. I scanned the circle with the corner of my eye, only to realize that the rest of the circle was watching me. The once raucous party simmered down into near-silence as dozens of yaks and ponies waited to hear what Flash Sentry, Hero of Equestria, had to say on the matter. Among the crowd, I caught a glimpse of Carrot Top’s lovely green eyes flashing a familiar ‘don’t screw this up’ look in my direction.
The last of the beer trickled down my throat, and I lowered my drinking bowl, breathing in deeply. Somewhat inspired (and somewhat tipsy), I prepared to launch into some rambling business about love and companionship and friendship and so on. You know, pony stuff. It would have been a great speech, the sort of thing that would’ve gotten my cutie-mark glowing and then some rainbows would explore or whatever and then they’d name a holiday after me.*
*The astute (or at least trivia-minded) reader might note that Sentry does have a holiday named after him-- or at least half of one. In recent years, Princess Twilight Sparkle has decreed that the third Wednesday after Hearts and Hooves Day on even-numbered years be noted as “Flash’s Day,” meant to recognize Sentry’s accomplishments, as well as those of Flash Magnus, in something of a two-for-one deal. Though it’s worth noting Flash’s Day isn’t recognized as a bank holiday, and honestly has slightly less cultural cachet than National Paperclips and Staplers Day, which takes place a week prior.
I set my drinking bowl on the ground, and prepared to make history. I opened my mouth to start my oratory--
--and belched instead.
Loudly, too. And trust me, calling anything ‘loud’ when there are yaks about is a hell of a descriptor. The belch had enough duration and reverb to amaze a whole crowd of 3rd graders-- or yaks, for that matter. That millet beer was potent stuff.
On the other side of the circle, Carrot Top facehooved.
Prince Rutherford snorted and stared down at me for a long moment, just long enough for me to see the whole of my wasted life flash before my eyes.
And then he started laughing.
“FLASH SENTRY IS WISE PONY! GOOD DRINK! GOOD COMPANY! THAT IS BEST IN LIFE!” Prince Rutherford declared. The other yaks set about laughing in agreement with their leader, and more bowls of millet beer were passed about. I leaned back on my cushion and allowed myself a moment of smug satisfaction. Moments like that were, of course, the very thing I’d been brought along for. I even began to think the yaks might not be so bad. Oh sure, they were enormous, literal-minded brutes, but at least they knew how to appreciate a good time, unlike, say, changelings (too anxious) or dragons (too argumentative). A few more drinks, maybe a bawdy song or two, and then we could hop back on the airship and get back to Canterlot before the hangover wore off.
Or so I thought.
“FLASH SENTRY IS STRONG DRINKER!” Prince Rutherford declared, in what might have been the most honest thing ever said about me by royalty. “FLASH SENTRY NEED TO TRY SPECIAL YAK DRINK NOW!”
“I do?” My eyes dropped to the thick and hazy liquid in my bowl. “This isn’t the good stuff?”
“NO!” Prince Rutherford smacked the beer-bowl out of my hooves. “ONLY STRONGEST WARRIORS ALLOWED TO HAVE SPECIAL YAK DRINKS!”
“Oh.” I looked down at the wet, shattered remnants of my bowl on the ground. “I’m honored?”
“YOU SHOULD BE!” Rutherford nodded sagely, then barked out orders to his subjects again. “BRING SPECIAL YAK DRINKS NOW!”
“NO!” A yak said.
Again, silence fell over the yurt.
The yaks shuffled around, making way for the dissenting voice. It was another yak, of course; this one just as big as Rutherford, with orange wool tassels hanging from their horns. The rebellious yak stormed across the circle.
“SPECIAL YAK DRINK ONLY FOR YAKS! THIS PONY TOO WEAK AND PUNY TO WASTE SPECIAL YAK DRINK!” The challenger said.
And that settled it.
I’ve never been a prideful sort, mostly because I’ve never had much to be particularly proud of. What, with the life of cowardice and incompetence and all. Had this random yak started going on about me not being able to headbutt glaciers or what have you, it would’ve been easy for me to shrug it off and hide behind my heroic reputation. All I would have had to do is murmur a few words and play the part of the humble, professional world-saver, and that would be that. But drinking? That was one of the few things I was actually good at, and like hell I was going to let some shaggy brute imply I was a lightweight. The fact I was half-soused already didn’t help much, either. And so, I sat up straighter, puffed out my wings, and said two of the most dangerous words one should utter in such a situation.
“Wanna bet?”
Prince Rutherford and his yaks reacted just as one would expect. Most cheered and taunted, while a few more enterprising souls started laying odds. The ponies’ reactions were the same too: Pinkie Pie yelled enthusiastically incoherent encouragement, Sergeant Lockstock and his squad looked impressed, and Carrot Top facehooved again. Though my survey of the room was soon interrupted as the orange-tasseled yak thundered up to me.
“ARE YOU LOOKING FOR A CHALLENGE?” said the yak.
“Are you saying it’ll be a challenge?” said I. As again, for the record, I was several beer-bowls in by this point. My ill-advisedd quip at least got the crowd in the yurt laughing again. It was the same sort of boisterous energy I’d seen countless times in countless pubs which meant, for once, I was in my element.
“DRINKING CONTEST!” Prince Rutherford declared. “FLASH SENTRY VERSUS DUCHESS HELGA! BRING SPECIAL YAK DRINK NOW!”
“Duchess?” said I-- and in response to my question, the yak with the orange tassels on her horns just nodded, and shoved another yak out of the way so she could sit down on the other side of Prince Rutherford.
“CHALLENGE ACCEPTED!” Duchess Helga said.
“RULES ARE SIMPLE!” Prince Rutherford said. “WHOEVER DRINKS MORE ARGH WILL BE WINNER!”
“Argh?” said I-- and in response to my question, one of the yaks slammed an empty bowl down in front of me, uncorked a wax-sealed jug, and poured. The potent scent of the goopy semi-liquid hit my nose with all the subtlety one would expect from anything yak-made. “Argh!”
“YES! ARGH!” Prince Rutherford nodded. “FLASH SENTRY IS SMART PONY TO KNOW PROPER SPECIAL YAK DRINK!”
On the other side of the Prince, Duchess Helga leaned forward, a cruel smirk on her muzzle. “IF ARGH IS TOO MUCH FOR TINY PONY FLASH SENTRY, HE CAN GIVE UP NOW.” Which, of course, was a trap. If I flaked out, the Duchess (and whoever wanted to curry her favor) would taunt me for the whole damn trip. Worse yet, if the yaks saw the ‘best’ Equestria had to offer as a disappointment, it’d color their opinions of Equestria in general, and no doubt scuttle the entire diplomatic process, and perhaps even lead to war or economic ruin or some other catastrophe well above my pay grade. So there was no other option for me than to drink the vile sludge that the yaks held in such high regard.
The things I do for my country.
Argh was the most aptly named substance I’ve ever had the misfortune of consuming. Even all these years later, I can vividly remember its smell (yeasty and half-rotten), its consistency (like a milkshake made from curdled cheese), and its taste (herbal and punishing). I at least knew better than to ask what was in it, or how it was made, as that’d make the feel of it going down my gullet even worse. Duchess Helga pounded down the stuff like it was water, forcing me to guzzle my argh down in thick gulps to keep up. The only conceivably ‘good’ thing that can be said about the stuff is that, after the first bowl or two, your mouth starts going numb so it doesn’t quite taste as bad.
Almost.
The yaks kept refilling my bowl, and I soon lost track of just how much of that alcoholic goop I’d consumed. My stomach churned, my face flushed, and my vision began to blur, making it even harder to distinguish one hulking form of a yak from the next. Whoever they were, I could only assume they were happy with me, as a great cheer arose each time I brought the drinking bowl full of argh to my lips. It could have been worse, though. As for as stomach-turning as the yak’s signature liquor was, at least it wasn’t hallucinogenic. The last thing I needed was another wormwood induced episode like I’d gone through the one time in Ponyville.*
*See: Absinthe Makes the Heart Go Yonder.
While I was certainly an experienced, nay-- expert, carouser, even I had my limits. My world narrowed down to just my hooves and the bowl in front of me, and it became harder and harder to lift it. I swayed in my seat, barely clinging to consciousness. I closed my eyes and breathed in deeply, bracing myself for defeat. I’d at least given the damn yaks a good show, so hopefully my heroic inebriation would be up to their standards, and the diplomatic mission could continue. Or something. Logical, coherent thought wasn’t exactly within my capabilities, at that very moment. But before I could fully give myself over to sweet, blissful unconsciousness, the entire yurt shook in a sudden, inexplicable earthquake. My eyes snapped open, and through blurry vision, I looked over at a large brown lump surrounded by other large brown lumps. I squinted through the drunken haze just long enough to make out the orange tassels splayed out around the one on the floor.
All the yak liquor apparently had me thinking about as fast as one, as the realization hit me just as Prince Rutherford stomped on the floor in declaration.
“DUCHESS HELGA PASSED OUT! FLASH SENTRY IS WINNER OF DRINKING CONTEST CHALLENGE!”
“Well, there’s a surprise.” I murmured to myself, and promptly passed out.
I woke, not in a puddle of my own sick, but in a surprisingly comfortable bed. So that was nice. Some thoughtful soul had hauled me out of the central yurt and into a smaller shelter in order to sleep off the prior night’s revelry. Sunlight streamed in through the yurt’s open door flaps, bright and punishing in my hungover state. The dryness of my mouth won out over the throbbing in my head, and so I rolled out of bed on mostly-steady hooves to search for something non-boozy to drink. I wondered if yaks drank coffee, or if I’d have to start rummaging through the airship’s galley. Either way, there wasn’t any coffee to be had in that little yurt, so I braced myself and stepped outside.
Yaks and ponies went about their business in the late morning sun, all of them looking damnably happier and less hungover than me. I shielded my eyes with one of my wings and scanned the village, searching for Sergeant Lockstock or any of the other soldiers. At least they could make themselves useful by fetching me something caffeinated. But, as I looked around, I found myself face to face with another pony entirely.
“You’re awake. Good.” Carrot Top spoke in the terse, clipped way she did whenever Special Agent Golden Harvest business came up. “We need to get moving.”
“What is it this time?” The prospect of new terrible dangers sobered me up with depressing speed. Dozens of horrifying scenarios ran through my brain, and I leaned in to murmur to Carrot Top so no one else could hear. “You didn’t kill anyone, did you?”
“What?” Carrot Top blinked. “No.”
“Just checking. And since you’re here talking to me and not stalking around, that means you’re not going to kill anyone, which means whatever the emergency is can’t be that bad, right? I mean, we’ve been in worse spots before.”
“We have, but that was different. I’ll brief you once we’re--”
“FLASH SENTRY!” A familiar yak voice bellowed. Carrot Top and I both looked up as Duchess Helga stampeded across the village. My stomach twisted itself in knots, both from fear and from whatever leftover argh was still burbling away in my system. The Duchess no doubt had taken her defeat badly, and was returning to take it out on Yours Truly. I stretched my wings out, preparing to take flight.
Such flight became unnecessary, however, as Duchess Helga skidded to a halt mere feet away. Before the tassels on her horns could stop swaying, she started shouting. “FLASH SENTRY WON CHALLENGE! THAT IS FIRST TIME DUCHESS HELGA HAS EVER BEEN DEFEATED! IT IS SOMETHING THAT DUCHESS HELGA HAS BEEN THINKING ABOUT EVER SINCE WAKING UP!”
“Oh, is that … good?”
“FLASH SENTRY IS STRONG PONY!”
“Thank you, but--”
“FLASH SENTRY IS WISE PONY!”
“Ha, well, I suppose I am--”
“FLASH SENTRY IS BEST PONY!”
“I don’t know if I’d go that far--”
“THAT IS WHY DUCHESS HELGA IS GOING TO MARRY FLASH SENTRY!”