//------------------------------// // What does a mare love? // Story: Valentine's Day // by Admiral Biscuit //------------------------------// Valentine's Day Admiral Biscuit Close your eyes and imagine the most romantic Valentine's Day that you can. Go on, I’ll wait until you’ve got it fixed in your head. Whatever you’re thinking of, it’s not how KitKat spent her Valentine's Day. Or Hearts and Hooves Day, since she’s a pony. The morning dawned over the creepy forest as mornings often do. The sky got lighter heralding the coming of the new dawn, and a well-muscled pony who loved Cheez-Its pushed open the flap of his tent. Buttercup took a moment to enjoy the pre-dawn vignette, then turned back into the tent to wake his traveling companion. Scratch that, his adventuring companion. Both ponies were adventurers-for-hire. KitKat specialized in general woodsmareship, while Buttercup’s big talent was dealing with unwanted portals. Their mission, removing an unwanted portal in a haunted forest, played to both of their strengths. (The forest wasn’t actually haunted, it just seemed that was because odd creatures kept coming out of it, due to the portal there.) “You want hot or cold breakfast?” She poked her head above the covers and ran a hoof across her forelock as she blinked the last sleep from her eyes. “What’s the weather like?” “Dark, but it won’t be for long.” KitKat considered. As soon as she got out from under the covers, she’d be cold and it would take a little while to warm back up. A fire would help with that, but it would take longer and they'd have to leave it behind. “Might as well be cold.” She pushed the covers back and got to her hooves, strapping her tabarzin across her back before leaving the tent. One never knew; it was best to be prepared. Oats didn’t take long to cook, and it took even less long to not cook them. Since the pair had economized on gear by cutting back to only the bare necessities, they only had one bowl which they took turns eating out of. Buttercup graciously let KitKat eat first, while he folded up their tent. He threw it across his back and then took his turn at the oats while KitKat cleared up the rest of their camp. There wasn’t much; both were simple ponies who were most in their element with the least. Not to say that they didn’t enjoy the finer things in life (such as Cheez-Its); they both felt that the finer things were made all the more enjoyable when they were rare treats. KitKat, for example, thought back to her last time at the spa as she was bathing in a spring-fed pond whose source could only be a glacier up in the Crystal Empire. And Buttercup had thought fondly of the last—and in fact only—box of Cheez-Its he’d ever enjoyed, ones which had been brought back from a portal to Earth. It wasn’t just the taste, when it came to cheeziness they were mediocre at best. It was the satisfaction of a job well done, of addressing the portal that had provided the Cheez-Its as well as the gibbering clerk who had also come through said portal. With a shotgun. KitKat shook off on the bank, restrapped her saddlebags and bedroll (the tabarzin had stayed on because she knew full well foes wouldn’t be restrained by her bathing. While none had outright attacked her, one fish in particular had been giving her the side-eye) and then stood sentry while Buttercup took his turn. Only when he got out, completing the morning rituals, did they discuss their plan for the day. Said plan was sketched out in great detail on the bank of the pond, using a found stick. As plans went, it wasn’t much; when it came to planning the fact was that both KitKat and Buttercup were more reactionary ponies, ones who preferred having direction and then they’d just slog their way to the goal, dealing with whatever arose as it came up. That doesn’t mean that they were stupid ponies—far from it; they were both experienced and skilled at their respective trades. They just weren’t much for planning, and both privately wished that their employer had provided them with more details than a mouth-drawn map that highlighted in broad strokes the general layout of the duchy and had a broad arrow pointed to the forest in question. It had been useful enough in indicating which forest held the portal, less so when it came to actually finding it. Eventually, they decided that the best way to proceed was to keep heading into the forest and keep a keen eye out for what direction the monsters came, thus providing them with a direction to the likely source. That had been the same plan they’d had the day before, and in fact was also the same plan they’d come up with even before they entered the forest. The efficacy of that plan was immediately realized even before they’d both stood up from their makeshift battle map. A flaming arrow flew out from the woods and struck Buttercup directly in the chest. A brilliant shot, to be sure; he just sighed and yanked it out, flinging it back the way it came. For her part, KitKat followed it, unstrapping her tabarzin even as she weaved more arrows that followed the first (on its initial journey, not its return). Every day that she got to wade into combat was a good day in her book. A thunder of hooves behind her as Buttercup came up on her tail, taking an arrow to the knee (which didn’t stop his adventuring days) before they were on the band on archers. None of them had effective melee weapons, which was a shame—for them. In less time than it takes to write, KitKat and Buttercup had ruthlessly dispatched all of them. In another adventure, they might have taken time to pick through the remains to see what they could find. Currently, they weren’t lacking for bits or equipment, and since they knew their end goal, there was little they could learn from the corpses. By noon, they’d dispatched a squad of sassafrass spiders, one lone lobstrosity, and they’d successfully scaled a rock face that was between them and their goal. Or at least they assumed it likely was when an eldritch horror fell off the edge and splattered into rank ichor on the rocks below. They could have walked around it, but both KitKat and Buttercup were direct ponies who didn’t like overthinking things too much. Up top was another Lovecraftian horror who was smart enough to not fall off the edge but not smart enough to realize that two relentlessly adorable equine adventurers were a genuine threat. It met the same fate as its companion, although in a different way; it was not still a going concern when what was left of it went over the edge. There was nothing more fitting than eating their lunch on the churned-up forest floor where the battle had just taken place. Nothing more fitting than sharing dense travel bread and a few thin slices of emergency cheese, flavored with dirt and sweat. Nothing better than a brief interlude as a roc dove for them and only tasted the sharp edge of a tabarzin and a pair of steel-shod hooves. “She came from the southwest, too,” KitKat observed after they’d finished eating their lunch. Buttercup nodded. He had a hoof pick in his mouth and was cleaning his hind hooves. “You want a bandage for your rump?” The roc had managed to rake him with a talon as he’d bucked her away. “Nah, it’ll heal quick enough.” Buttercup looked into the woods, then around their temporary dining spot. “Looks like there’s an animal trail we can follow, at least at first.” KitKat nodded. “Been a few monsters along it, too, judging by the broken limbs and stuff. You ever wonder why monsters always seem to want to attack ponies, or eat them? Or both?” “Guess if they were just after plants we wouldn’t consider them monsters, would we?” “That makes sense.” “Tree might tell a different tale.” He pointed to a splintered trunk, victim to one of the eldritch horrors. “You wanna lead for this leg, or you want me to?” “Might as well be me,” she said. “I got better distance vision.” It wasn’t just monsters that they faced. A ‘haunted’ forest is a dangerous place, as is a normal forest. There were plenty of rocks that could injure a hoof or animal burrows that could turn a pastern. There was also a stream to cross, and of course no bridge. That left them with the choice of either trying to walk over it in a conveniently-fallen log, or ford through it. Each option had its advantages. Buttercup set his hoof on the log, which was rotten and thick with moss and slime. “I”m not sure it’ll hold my weight.” “I could go across first,” KitKat offered. “Even carry your gear to lighten you.” “You with my gear is just as heavy as me without my gear.” “I can set my saddlebags on the other side, then come back.” Buttercup shrugged. It was a decent plan. The first crossing went without incident, and on the other side KitKat unstrapped her saddlebags and bedroll and let them fall to the ground. Going back was easier, and she got complacent on her third crossing—-this time burdened with Buttercup’s gear—and almost slipped off. But she didn't. Just as she set hoof on the other side of the creek, the moleponies attacked.