From Stalliongrad With Love

by LoyalLiar

The 'Shy Who Loved Me

        Luna watched the bloody, bruised unicorn as he was dragged down the hall screaming and howling.  His thick, purple velvet cape, trimmed in snow hare fur, was a stark contrast to the monochrome that defined both his own coat, and the garb of his assailants.  He might have been a threat, were it not for the still-bleeding stump jutting only an inch off the front of his face.  Marrow, sparking nerves, and flecks of gore covered the stallion's face.  The disgusting, sickening mess did nothing to hold his tongue.

        "Уберите от меня свои копыта, мерзкие птицы!" the noble shrieked.  

        Luna closed her eyes and ignited her horn.  While there existed no true spell to translate the spoken word, within the realm of dreams and memories, the act of extracting meaning was simple.  In only a moment, her ears began to hear familiar and welcome Equiish, even if it did not match the movement of the speaking lips.

        " You're betraying Equestria for the lizards!"  The pale blue unicorn's protests ground down into an agonized whimper as a hoof struck his jaw.  Luna heard bone pop free of its socket, though it thankfully did not crack.  

        The two stallions dragging away the protesting noble were clad in black.  The younger wore a heavy coat, long enough to almost be mistaken for a cloak, were it not for the sleeves covering his forelegs.  Only his blood red face was visible above the collar.  Despite a fire of pure hatred in his eyes, his own jaw wore a smile.

        The elder assailant was more familiar to Luna.  Clad in black armor, trimmed in gold, the blue-gray pegasus guardspony was the very definition of apathy.  He didn't even look down as one of his well-toned hooves dragged his prisoner along the smooth stone hallways by his cape.

        "There is no need beating him, Roscherk."  Luna would normally have found a bit of amusement in 'the Commander's' struggles with the Stalliongradi language, but the brutality of Red Ink's dreams kept her mind from such levity.

        A younger Red Ink responded to the chastisement by stomping on the pitiful unicorn's shoulder.  "You've seen what he did to Stalliongrad, Mentor!  I'm tempted not to kill him at all!  Better that he gets to feel the sort of–"

        "Stop."  The word was not angry, nor did it even carry disappointment.  It was a command, in a strict military sense.  "Roscherk, you are not like this.  You know better."

        The native Stalliongradian sighed and nodded.  "My hooves are tools, not toys."

        "Correct.  Now–"

        "Do not waste your time, Equestrian."  The unicorn on the floor grumbled through gritted teeth.  "Some unicorn might have tamed you, but this one is a Stalliongradian pegasus.  A wild animal, who only understands violence."

        "It wasn't pegasi who started this war, Frostbite," Red Ink snapped.

        "No, you're right.  It was your disgusting cross-blooded ungrateful father.  I have to wonder what he paid for your support, mercenary."  

        The Commander, as Luna knew the elder pegasus, responded not with words, but by continuing down the hall toward a pair of double doors hanging ajar.  A bitter wind and stray gusts of snow had already begun to work their way down the frigid stone blocks that formed the castle floor.

        Red Ink slammed the doors open, and flexed his wings.  They ignited in fire as he stepped out into what could only be described as a solid wall of falling snow.  And, to Luna's awe, the snow stopped.

        "It's over!" he shouted, as the Commander dragged the stallion known as Frostbite up to the edge of the balcony.  A paltry resistance was given, but it wasn't long before everypony in the streets below could see the battered and beaten unicorn in plain view.  When Red Ink held up a severed horn, eleven inches in length by Luna's guess, all noise in the city stopped.

        "My subjects, I–" Frostbite began to moan.  Then Red Ink pulled back on his jaw, and the ruler of Stalliongrad died in plain view of his entire Domain.

August 30th, 1452 A.S.
The Royal Palace, Canterlot
0210 Hours

        Luna slumped over in her bed, and was surprised to find feathers and a soft coat where she had expected linens and silks.

        "Are you well, Luna?  You frightened me."

        It took the younger princess a moment to regain her surroundings.  Delicate periwinkles and absorbing dark blues decorated the walls of her darkened chamber.  Amidst the nighttime colors, Celestia's vibrant mane and pale coat stood out completely.

        "We are fine, Sister."

        Celestia's wing ran gently over Luna's shoulder.  "Who's fine, Luna?"

        "I am," she mumbled.

        "Good.  Now, tell me Luna, did you have a nice night wandering dreams?  Or did you perhaps have somepony specific in mind this time?"  The hint of a lifted vowel at the end told Luna that Celestia already suspected an answer, if she didn't outright know it.

        "You told me of your new bodyguard... I was exploring his mind."

        From the surprise on Celestia's face, it was clear that what she had thought she knew was wrong.  "Red Ink?  Why the interest?"

        Luna tweaked a little smile.  "Perhaps I hath a vested interest in... oh, what is the modern turn of phrase?  Rooting for him?"

        Celestia nodded with a smile of her own.  "I see.  And might I ask what that reason is?"

        A shadow of a doubt flickered over Luna's face as she turned toward the glass doors of her balcony.  Through their polished surfaces, one could see the night sky, and the full moon rising up over Equestria.  "Everypony deserves a chance to earn forgiveness."

        "Really?"  Celestia held her sister closer against her own side with the same wing that had been draped over Luna's shoulder.  "Then tell me, Luna, what did his dreams tell you?"

        Luna sighed.  "I have my doubts that he might ever champion friendship as your apprentice and her companions do.  There is too much war in his past, and too much fire in his blood."

        "So he's a lost cause?"

        The younger sister nudged her elder playfully with the tip of her horn.  "Do not presume to finish our thoughts before we have had a chance to express them, 'Tia."

        "Oh, and here I thought I'd gotten good at that."  Celestia's teasing voice was that shared by all older siblings across the world, as she turned fully away from the moon that had held Luna's focus, giving her sister undivided and total attention.  "What are you getting at, Luna?"

        "I would like the chance to answer his letters.  Perhaps I might offer him counsel that you... might not sympathize with."

        "As you wish, Luna."  Celestia pulled herself off her sister's bed.  "Goodnight."

        "Goodnight," Luna answered, as she laid back to once more wander the dreamscapes of her subjects.

        Roscherk's Journal.  August 30th, 1452.  

        Dog carcass in alley this morning.  Must be.  I can smell it, and... No, wait.  Just my stench.  From mouth.  Far too much to drink.  Also... blood?  And coat is filled with ash, like being on fire.  Waking up in mare's room.  Perhaps I am having better night than I remember.

        I am to be taking this journal for Princess, even though journal is stupid notion. Must write something; note on cover says so.  I simply write what I am experiencing.  Simple idea.  Waste of time.

        Slept poorly.  Bed too soft, and empty.  Dream of the Baron, and... why writing this?  Not concern of Princess.  Point is, woke in pain.  Now writing, wondering about cause.

        Know I did not kill anypony.  Not in cell.  No, this is... room of tiny filly?  Filled with stuffed animals.  Pictures of family.  I recognize older mare in pictures.  Sister?  She is seamstress, name of Rarity, who gave me journal.  She helped me after Polnoch's Jacket...

        Red Ink stared down at what he had written in the hard-bound journal, before his eyes wandered to the note he'd torn off the front.  

        Rowshirk (apologies for spelling),

        Twilight asked me to give you this journal, to write about what is going on.  That way, once you two find your way back to speaking terms, you'll have some material for your reports to the Princess.  I confess those weren't the exact words she used, but I'm sure she'll calm down eventually.

        I'm not quite sure when you'll be waking up, so if I'm not home, you can feel free to help yourself to anything in the kitchen.  I'm afraid I'm not likely to be done with your jacket any time soon, so I took the liberty of adjusting another item that I think will be simply stunning with your frame and coat.  It should also be a bit more comfortable in this warmer weather, should you have any business to attend to.  Otherwise, make yourself at home.

        -Rarity

        The groaning agony behind Ink's eyes forced him to read the message over three times before he was finally able to understand it all.  While he was very much used to the sensation of inebriation, hangovers were something of an old and forgotten nemesis.  A part of him considered a cold shower, but in all honesty, he lacked the motivation.  Instead, his eyes wandered to the bright red faux leather thing resting across the foal-sized chair at the other end of the room.  It was clearly meant to be a jacket, judging by the sleeves, though the rubies and the black 'V' that crossed over the length of the chest left Ink more inclined to label it a violation of the Geneighva Convention.  

        He didn't particularly feel up to any further thought while he was experiencing the pain of another pony wailing on the inside of his skull.  He stumbled out of lavender sheets and made his way out into the hallway beyond the small room.  From shortly down the opposite side of the hall, the stallion could hear running water, and singing.  

        "—Piece by piece, snip by snip
        Croup, dock, haunch, shoulders, hip—"

        It wasn't long before Ink's hooves were carrying him away from the noise of his own accord.  There were only a few songs he could really stand to listen to, and of them only one that was tolerable with any level of a headache.  And since nopony had died recently...

        In his haste to escape Rarity's music, the Stalliongradian found his way to the stairs.  And then, shortly after, he found his way down them.  His head didn't take long afterward to start outright throbbing.  

        "Пылающий зад Селестии!  Who is putting stairs..."  He looked around the room as his vision came back together.  "...in... sensible... location..."  His complaint trailed off.  In fact, the stairs were perfectly aligned with a narrow hallway, connecting the kitchen of the home/boutique to its main showroom.

        It was the revelation of the proximity of the kitchen which finally got a gurgling, desperate plea of hunger from Red Ink's stomach up to the pit of agony that currently was taking the form of his brain.  He struggled to his hooves, and didn't so much walk forward as lurch onto the flat sheet of green linoleum.  

        Nopony was around, and as a result, Ink took the opportunity to perform a formal supply requisition.  This is to say, he began rooting through Rarity's cabinets and refrigerator, grabbing any items of food that appealed to him in the slightest and piling them onto the countertop.  He passed over all sorts of rare and exotic foods with strange names, instead availing himself with all eighteen of Rarity's eggs, a solid hoof-sized block of some peppered cheese, and half a loaf of bread for toast.  The next step was a frying pan... or six.

        Ink flung open, and subsequently slammed, a dozen cabinets in his search.  For some reason, the noise of wood striking violently against wood didn't bother the stallion.  A more sober pony might have guessed he was somehow habituated to the noise, as if he made a habit of rather violent carpentry, or perhaps just beating down doors.  Ink had neither the sobriety, nor the inclination to support such a thought.  

        ""То что надо!” Roscherk slurred out.  His wing wrapped around a tall, thin glass bottle.

        "What do you think you're doing?!" Rarity shrieked.  The noise was harsh enough for Red Ink to very-nearly drop his precious prize.  It bobbled in the air, and he dove to put his wings between the bottle and the floor.  

        "Don't you think you've quite had enough, Roscherk?" she continued, causing Ink to wince in agony.  "I should think the surplus of that vile substance you drank at Pinkie's party would be enough!"

        "Not for drinking," he whispered, setting the bottle of 170 proof vodka down before it could be hurt.  Something could certainly be said of Rarity owning such strong alcohol, were there anypony present brave enough to make the comment.  Instead, Ink focused his attention on explaining himself.  "Cure, for headache."

        Only then did he get a look up at his hostess.  Rarity would have been very beautiful without her makeup, and her mane hanging down wet alongside her head.  However, any realization of her appearance was stolen away by the harsh ringing that remained in Ink's ears well after her vicious words were done.

        "Unacceptable!  And, frankly, shameful!  I'm having a very difficult time believing you are a guardspony, Mr. Ink, as I know Shining Armor would not employ a raging alcoholic!"

        Ink pinned his head beneath his ears and wings.  "Please... stop..."

        "Stop what?  Telling you the truth?  Forcing you to confront reality?  To take some responsibility for the sorry state of your body?"

        "The whining..."

        Rarity's eyes narrowed.  "Whining?  You think this is whining?"

        Twenty minutes and two war-crimes later, Ink was literally shaking in the corner, huddled in a tiny ball.  His eyes were pinpricks, staring unfocused in Rarity's vague direction as she went about assembling a nice, reasonably sized breakfast for herself and her houseguest.  When the teakettle whistled, Ink screamed.

        "Oh, come now.  It's just tea.  Drink some.  I'm sure it'll fix you right up.  Within reason, of course."  The mare poured a small cup, with a dab of milk and a touch of honey for good taste, before levitating it over to the brutalized pegasus.

        "Not as good as magic," Ink muttered.  His hooves and wings struggled with the tiny handle of the teacup, until it fell outright from his grip and shattered on the floor.

        Rarity tsk'd gently, more out of pity than annoyance. "You really are a lost soul here, aren't you, Mr. Ink?  I can forgive the cup, but I have to ask what you expect to do with magic to help yourself out of this sorry state."

        "Years ago, in..."

        "I would appreciate you coming to the table and speaking to me like a civilized stallion."

        Ink glared, and wished silently that the magic of the Stare were within his skills.  Alas, the disgruntled pegasus found no better option than to rise to his hooves and maneuver across the kitchen.  His motion ended slumped and slouching opposite Rarity at her small table.  She directed a cold glare to the way his forelegs rested on the table, but given the struggle it had taken to get him there at all, she chose to hold her tongue.

        "During war," the stallion began, before waiting momentarily for an interruption that didn't come.  He cleared his throat once more.  "...During war, mentor taught me skill.  With fire magic."

        "You've fought in a war?  The last time Equestria had a war, you and I would both have been foals."

        The growling that followed reminded Rarity of a timber wolf.  "Ignorant Canterlot pony.  No, we had war.  Revolution, in Stalliongrad."  For that one word, the pony forced himself into a mockery of a Canterlot accent, and his tongue beat down every syllable with excessive force.  "Mentor taught me fire."

        "You mean that magic you did at the party?  Where you lit yourself on fire, but you didn't get burnt?"

        "I am thinking Rainbow Dash knows that magic.  But yes.  Pegasus magic.  There is word in Equiish, but I am not caring.  Important is this.  Fire does not burn self, but it is burning things around them.  Or, if smart, inside them."

        "You... you burn yourself?  Inside your body?"

        "Mentor was poisoned.  He drank much vodka, all at once, so that blood would burn.  Then came fire.  Poison is not part of a pony's body.  Vodka is not either.  Soon, both were gone.  But blood is.  Flesh is.  Mentor was healthy."

        Rarity's mouth hung open exactly until the moment when she realized how unladylike such an expression had to look.  She clamped herself shut and nodded.  "In some sense, I must say that I find the idea frightening, but I suppose I can see how useful it is.  You intended to do the same here?"

        "Mentor's method was blunt.  At home, I mix... 'drink'."  Ink actually pantomimed the quotes with his wingtips.  "Three parts strong drink.  One part lamp oil.  In Equiish, is named 'Dragon's Breath'.  Wonderful for clear mind, but will burn the food out of stomach as well; hunger is small cost."

        "I see," Rarity lied impeccably, momentarily grateful not to be Applejack.  "Well, I suppose I can at least understand your motive, although I have no intention of permitting you to drink such a... substance."

        "Doesn't taste as bad as ingredients."

        Rarity's brow climbed its way up her face.  "Really?  Lamp oil?"

        "I was meaning vodka.  But that too."  

        It took the seamstress a moment to realize Ink was serious.  She discarded the thought and smiled in his direction.  "Would you forgive me for jumping to conclusions?"

        "What difference does make?" Roscherk asked.  "I am not angry."

        "Firstly, whether or not one is angry is not of concern.  An apology is about more than simply dealing with anger.  It is a matter of honor, and taste.  And even if that weren't the case, you certainly seemed angry."

        Ink rolled his eyes.  "No.  I was annoyed.  When I am angry, fire alarms are going off."

        "Aha.  So I was wrong about the alcohol, but I was correct about your rather..."  Her words hung in the air as she sought a diplomatic euphemism.  "...militant tendencies."

        "You are meaning fights?  Perhaps for a civilian."

        Rarity was taken aback by the comment for a moment.  A sip of her tea dispelled her shock, though it did nothing for her concerns.  "Well, if you're going to go around trying to cover up that you're a guardspony, you could certainly make an effort to behave like one of us."  She matched his derogatory tone to a 'T'.  "I suspect, were I in your hooves, that learning some self-control would be an excellent first step to fitting in here for... whatever it is that you're actually doing."

        "Discipline?  My discipline is–"  

        It was at that moment that some fundamental law of the universe was challenged.  The stallion truly named Roscherk Krovyu had intended the word 'perfect', but doing so would have been so utterly, intrinsically false that the very concept of honesty would not permit the phrase to be uttered.  Such a lie would have threatened the very fiber of space and time, and so they conspired to stay his tongue before it could do any further damage than his mind already had in formulating the statement.

        Well, either that, or Ink remembered that his loss of self-control in Baltimare in the line of duty had led to the unintentional deaths of three civilians, and a considerable amount of property damage.

        Rarity must have seen something flash across Ink's face, though her attentions were distracted by a knocking from the boutique door in the main room.

        "Come in," Rarity called in a sing-song voice, as her horn ignited to open the door.

        "As you wish, milady."  Despite the actual words spoken, the young and distinctly non-equine voice clearly carried stress and concern.

        Red Ink's mind supplied the necessary soap-opera canned laughter as the bell over the door jangled, and a little purple dragon walked into the room.  His reaction on seeing the hung-over stallion at Rarity's table was immediate.  It contained a mixture of fatigue, irritation, and... jealousy?  Of a romantic nature?

        As a stallion, Red Ink had always enjoyed two advantages when it came to his interactions with the opposite sex.  The first was that he was not particularly picky when it came to mares beyond them having a 'decent' appearance.  The second was that despite his short stature, he was capable of picking up and throwing most of his competition in a very literal sense.  It was a combination of these two factors which led the Stalliongradian soldier to lack much by way of experience with the idea of a romantic rival.

        "Oh.  It's you."  Spike's words could not have been more blunt without the addition of a comically placed anvil.

        Not quite sure how to respond, Ink settled for "Yes?"

        Spike outright ignored the stallion as he turned to Rarity.  "Can I help you with anything, Rarity?"

        "Well, as it turns out Spike, I'm not really planning to–"

        "Please."  The dragon whelp dropped to his knees and clutched his claws together.  "I have to get out of the library.  I'll do anything."

        "Out of the library?  Spike, why would you..."  

        Spike's glare in Ink's direction finished the entire line of conversation instantly.

        "...I see."  Rarity took a deep breath, and then a smile spread across her face.  "In fact, Spike, I do have something you can do.  I'll need a moment to write a quick letter, and then I'll need you send it on its way for me, along with a package."

        Spike's head hung slightly. "I... can't actually send packages to Princess Celestia.  My fire's only strong enough for paper."

        Rarity stood up from her seat, walked over to the young dragon, and placed a hoof on his chin.  "Oh, Spikey-wikey, I don't have anything for the Princess.  The message is for Fluttershy."

        "Oh.  Okay."  Spike's expression perked up.  "And the package?"

        "Well, he is sitting right there," Rarity explained, gesturing in Ink's direction.

August 30th, 1452 A.S.
Outside Ponyville
0858 Hours

        Silence is in some senses a great deal like a bandage.  Not a real, proper medical bandage, mind you, but those stupid flimsy things that you stick on a child to convince them that somehow, their "boo-boo" is magically better instantly.  Such a bandage often can do a good job of keeping blood from getting everywhere, and if applied correctly, the pressure can bring a great deal of comfort to a paper cut, or the stray nick of a kitchen knife, or some other petty civilian accident.

        However, much like silence, the longer such a stupid would-be bandage remained, the worse it would be to remove it.  The wearer would get to enjoy the entirely delightful experience of ripping out about half their coat trying to get the disgusting adhesive off, and then beneath it, they'd find that those hairs of their coat left attached to their body would be absolutely caked down in a sickening mixture of dried blood and... gooey stuff.  

        From the day he'd learned to light himself on fire, Red Ink hadn't gotten a single cut which had not subsequently been cauterized shut.  However, he still remembered (and resented) the thoughts of such infernal objects that had dominated the end of his every childhood scrape with his younger brother.  He'd learned very quickly that it was far more of a mercy to simply rip them off then to let them linger, and leave him with hours of washing and rubbing, trying to clean his coat of their built-up gunk.

        He could tell that gunk was building up between himself and the rather tiny green-and-purple dragon beside him.  He resolved to stop it from growing any thicker.
         
        "So... how is dragon coming to be in Ponyville?"

        Spike did not react well to his precious silence being broken.  He glared at Ink out of the corners of his eyes as he continued to walk forward on his stubby legs.  "I moved here with Twilight."

        "Okay... well, how is dragon coming to be live with ponies?"

        Spike attempted to growl in his throat.  The noise reminded Red Ink of a purring cat.  "Twilight hatched my egg when she got her Cutie Mark."

        "Dragons guard eggs well," Ink observed.  "How is she getting one?"

        Spike sighed, and his explanation came out grumbled and hesitant.  "Princess Celestia says one of the teachers at her school found me in Baltimare.  She says whoever my parents were, they probably died in the war.  Not like it really matters.  Twilight and the Princess are my family."

        Ink chuckled.  "You are latching onto Twilight, like gosling?  Thinking she is mother, because she is purple?"

        "Ugh, no."  Spike made a sort of shivering motion.  "She's like my sister.  I mean, she was only eleven when I hatched."

        Ink shrugged.  "Was joke.  Besides, she is not looking to me like good mother."

        "Hey, watch it, bub.  I can breathe fire!"

        Ink stopped in his tracks, staring at the little dragon with his claws balled into fists on his hips.  The pegasus turned around in the street, and leaned forward so that he was staring the tiny lizard eye-to-eye.  "So can I."  A little, almost teasing gout of naturally colored, red-orange flame licked over Spike's face.  By the time the smoke had cleared, Ink had stepped back to the road with a smile on his face.

        "You don't have to be such a jerk, you know?  Twilight was pissed yesterday."

        "Why?  She should be honored.  I am probably first stallion who shows interest in rutti–"

        Spike's punch was a masterstroke.  The tiny dragon succeeded where dozens of grown stallions had failed, catching Red Ink's heavy jaw right where it connected to his neck.  The stallion dropped like a sack of rutabagas (Ink was considerably denser than a sack of potatoes), clattering to the dusty road with shock on his face.

        "Don't talk about Twilight like that!"  Spike yelled.

        Ink stood up, and dusted himself off casually, pointedly ignoring the little dragon who was panting, and quite literally fuming as he stared daggers from his serpentine eyes.  Only when his blood-toned coat was free of dirt did he return his attention to the dragon.  The levity in his expression was gone completely.  

        "That was a good punch," he began.

        "I don't care about the punch!  Don't talk about Twilight like that!"

        "Defending your sister?  Touching."  Ink held a hoof to his jaw for just a moment, and then smiled.  "Fine.  You are having my apology.  But understand something else, little dragon."

        Spike took a deep breath, and then nodded.  "Yeah?"

        "I have killed wyrm.  Big dragon, grown up, with claws longer than my body, and magic strong as Princess.  If I were killing you, I would not even tell troops.  They would not be caring."

        Ink started up the road as Spike was left to process the thought.  It was only when he realized he was being left behind that the dragon abandoned his contemplations and broke into a run to catch up.  "You killed a dragon?"

        "You are maybe thinking that is evil, but in..."  He stopped, hesitated, and twisted his face into a brittle mask.  "...Stallion-grad, I am hero for it.  Well, that and for killing pony."

        "You killed ponies?  Like... like the Changeling Queen?"

        Mistaking Spike's shock for awe, Ink nodded and smiled slightly.  "I would not be making comparison, but yes.  I am glad to be seeing somepony, or somedragon, who is appreciating me.  Perhaps I am meeting another soon, yes?"

        "Uh, yeah?" Spike answered, entirely confused.  "I... what?"

        "We are going to meet Fluttershy, yes?"

        "We're basically there," Spike answered, gesturing ahead to a... well, realistically, a grassy knoll.  Ink absentmindedly noted that it would be the perfect place from which to stage an assassination, if somepony were walking down the road toward the nearby Everfree Forest.

        "She is living in... a hill she cut the sides off of?"

        Spike nodded.  "She likes it quiet.  Let's see if she's in."

        The pony and the dragon approached the cottage, as Ink's eyes scanned the surroundings.  To his assessing, predatory eye, there were dozens of shadowed hiding places and dens for tiny creatures; yet none of the animals themselves were to be seen.  He didn't have much experience with small animals, as most vermin that might dwell in a city were less-than-comfortable in the magical chill of Stalliongrad's streets.  Nevertheless, he found himself set on edge as his draconic guide finally reached the door.  A fist of scaled claws rapped on the door, and it slid open.

        In a hole in the ground there lived a pegasus. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat: it was a Fluttershy-hole, and that meant animals.
        
        Ink recoiled at the madness, and the motion, and the stench of it all.  Birds and vermin, brown-furred mammals and scaly reptiles.  Even... a seal?  Surely, a creature that didn't belong over four-hundred miles from the nearest ocean.  The stallion's momentary concentration was stolen away when Spike addressed the animals.

        "Hey.  Any of you know where Fluttershy is?"

        Red Ink assumed the dragon was joking, or insane.  Yet sure enough, the mass of animals calmed themselves, and a little white rabbit emerged from the masses.  Though like most rabbits he was silent, his little forepaws gesticulated wildly in an attempt to convey some sort of message.

        "Uh huh.  Yeah.  Okay."  Spike's head nodded along with the motions, as if he actually understood the creature.  Ink offered a concerned glance in the baby dragon's direction, just in time to receive Spike's focus in turn.  "Angel says she's out taking care of Hairy out by the forest, but she'll be back soon."  The dragon smiled, then turned to the rabbit again.  "Can you give her this?"  He offered the folded note Rarity had written only a few minutes earlier.

        The rabbit stared at the paper with something that seemed to cross disdain and scorn.  After a bit of proffering from Spike, however, he grabbed the note and hopped off.

        "Well, that should be it, then.  Just wait for a few minutes and she should be back, okay, Mr. Ink?"

        The Stalliongradian gave a sidelong glance to the room full of animals, who were all watching him, before offering a sort of hesitant half-nod.  "I survive."

        "Great.  I gotta get back to Rarity."

        Red Ink held himself back at the last second from a particularly distasteful joke about draconic anatomy, and instead watched silently as the dragon darted out of the room.  When the infantile reptile was gone, the stallion realized that he was alone in a glorified hole in the ground, full to brimming with animals.  His eye twitched only slightly, at first.

         
August 30th, 1452 A.S.
Fluttershy's Cottage
0908 Hours

        Seven minutes.  Seven minutes marked the extent of Red Ink's patience, before he snapped.  He grabbed a carrot out of the pile at his hooves (incidentally, it was the sixth of nineteen to have been thrown at him), and pointed it menacingly at the little white creature.

        "Посмотрим, как весело тебе будет, когда я засуну эту долбанную штуку так глубоко в твою задницу, что ее конец будет торчать из твоего рта! Спорим, я смогу поместить там еще парочку, прежде чем ты наконец сдохнешь!"

        It truly is a shame Red Ink's vocabulary wasn't so colorful in Equiish as it was in his native tongue.  But while most of the animals in the room were confused by the obscure threat, Angel understood the words perfectly; his history with the Stalliongradi tongue was complicated, but it explained his father's eye patch and missing ear, and his extreme mastery of produce-based guerilla warfare.

        The rabbit wasn't actually faster than the pegasus, but in the cramped confines of Fluttershy's 'cottage' (an extremely generous term, in Ink's opinion), Angel's size gave him the advantage.  To his credit, Red Ink only wasted six minutes on attempted bunny-cide before finally making his way to the door and leaving in a huff.

        "Waste of time," Ink muttered to nopony in particular.  At that moment, he considered his options.  It was a true expression of his boredom, and the fraying of his sanity, that he honestly considered heading into the Everfree Forest for a day or two, simply to kill time until his 'job' started.  On the other hoof, Celestia might decide to have him executed if he didn't at least send a letter her way with some stupid lesson.  

        He rolled his eyes, slowly realizing that he was actually regretting slapping Twilight's flank.  What was the world coming to?  And, worse, what the hay was he supposed to do?  Apologize?  He didn't really feel sorry.  At least, not for her.  He certainly felt sorry for himself, having to put up with such a moronic situation.  

        The wanderings and ramblings of his mind were cut off by a noise that enticed and caressed his ears, tantalizing them as the tips danced in the gentle breeze.  He found himself in a moment of ecstasy, leaning as if to brush gently against the source and allow its delicate care to continue.  Blood flushed to his ears, and they twitched back and forth erratically, their motion beyond the control of a mind overrun with pleasure.  There was only one thing which could bring him such happiness, and drive him to such heights of passion: pure, unadulterated violence.

        He could hear the tension of the grapple, as a body was pressed tightly between powerful legs.  His mind devoured the swift crack of a well-placed blow, and the howl of agony from the unfortunate... bear?

        He darted around the corner of the 'cottage', and down the hill.  The sound grew closer with his every hoof fall.  The roaring, the clash of hoof on flesh.  The crumpling of a body hitting the grass.

        And then there she was, emerging from behind a tree, a goddess of beauty and war.  He stopped, struck so still as to seem dead.  

        Her pink mane billowed in the breeze as she rolled between the bear's legs, and in the very same motion, her own hind leg swept across the grassy ground.  The enormous beast was toppled in an instant.  She wasted no time in taking advantage of her position.

        She caught his right hind leg in the crook of her leg, and twisted it around.  The scream of agony was musical.  It folded back on his body, so that his spine turned concave, in the shape of a perfect 'C', complete with serifs made of his ears and claws at both ends.  

        Without letting go, she reached down to his shoulder.  The butter yellow of her coat rippled with focus and control as her hind leg seized his right forepaw, and pulled up.  His body twisted over itself, framing her in the center.  The picture was perfect.

        And then, to conclude the act, her last free leg reached under his jaw and caught hold of his muzzle. The yank twisted his head around, at least ninety degrees.  The crack of his spine was audible.  The crumpling of his body bore a beautiful finality, like the last note at the end of a beautiful song.    And, like all good performances, he intended to give it the applause it deserved.

        His hooves beat against the ground, and she looked up.  Sparkling blue eyes swiveled and locked on the stallion, and then she was moving.  No hesitation.  No pause to consider her options.  Merely a spreading of wings and a blur of yellow and pink left empty space where once true beauty had stood.

        "Wait!" Ink called out, as his tongue and his mind dueled over the words to deliver.  "I am... I am wanting to talk to you!"

        His eyes wandered from tree to tree, as he walked into the grotto proper.  Without care, he wandered over the dead bear, and for just a moment he could have sworn he felt it breathing. Yet his mind was not concerned with such fantasies; instead, he was pursuing a dream.  A beautiful dream, with a flowing mane and hooves that could snap skysteel.  And she was getting away.

        "O-oh.  Okay."

        He nearly jumped as he turned.  She peeked out from behind a tree.  Only her eyes and the top of her mane were visible, watching him from a mere two feet away.  In silence, she had closed that much distance... he was astonished.  Had her intent been more violent, he would have held no defense.

        "Uh..."  Ink stumbled.  "I..."

        She stepped out from behind the tree, and her hoof gently teased the grass.  "You're... Mr. Ink?  Right?"

        "Oh, uh, yes.  Red Ink.  You are calling me Red, if you are liking to."

        She smiled, and nodded gently.  The motion concealed much of her face behind the mass that was her mane.  "I'm Fluttershy."

        "You're..."  He sucked in his breath, and forced himself to focus.  He couldn't allow himself to be stunned into silence by a mare, even one who was finally his equal.  Where had he lost the courage that freed Stalliongrad?  Where had he lost the drive that ended the Blizzard Revolution?  He shook his head, ending his chastisement, and smiled.  The gesture seemed only to unnerve the mare before him.  "That was amazing.  You are skilled with hooves."

        "Oh," Fluttershy muttered, glancing toward the dead bear.  "It's just something I've picked up.  It, uh, really helps taking care of the animals, sometimes."

        "Yes," Ink nodded, glancing toward the fresh corpse.  "You are truly taking good care."

        She smiled.  It was a small thing, but honest, and it lifted his heart.  "So... can I help you, Red?"

        "Oh, uh... yes..."  He begged his mind for an excuse, though it took a moment in coming.  "You are having mail.  From seamstress.  Rawreety."

        "Rarity sent me a letter?"  Fluttershy seemed emboldened by the mention of her friend.  "I wonder why she didn't just come visit herself.  It's always so much fun having her over."

        "Perhaps I am... taking her place?"  Ink wasn't quite sure of the proposition, as indicated by both his pause and the slightly forced smile that accompanied it.

        Fluttershy hesitated for a moment, before something like resolve took its place on what little the Stalliongradian stallion could see of her face.  Her wing gestured to her 'cottage' as she began to walk.  "Do you like tea, Red?"

        "Of course," he lied, as only one blindly consumed with thoughts of romance can.  He didn't even consider what he'd actually been asked, nor did he notice his hooves as they made their way back into the cramped cottage.  It was only then, in a rush of adrenaline, that his thoughts came surging back.

        The carrot was clutched in a paw, sharpened to a fine point and aimed for his throat.  The rabbit wore a bandolier of similarly weaponized produce as he soared through the air, ready to defend his mistress.

        Tragically, tactics that had served the rabbit well against the vile mares and stallions of Ponyville were little match for Red Ink's honed and sharpened reflexes.  Angel was caught by the tip of Ink's wing and thrown to the ground at the far side of the room.  Distracted by shuffling around the animals on the couch to make room for Ink to sit, Fluttershy didn't even notice.  

        "There, that should be nice."  She puffed up a pillow, and gestured for Ink to take a seat.  He moved over gently, watching the fallen rabbit, but no further attempt at assassination was made.  Almost as soon as his flanks hit the cushion, Fluttershy was pacing away.  "I'll just go get some drinks, okay?"

        "Wonderful," Ink answered.  And then he sat and waited, his eyes wandering the room.  There were birdcages without actual doors, little hanging cabins filled with the eyes of curious vermin, and the homes and signs of countless other tiny creatures.  His eye twitched slightly as it searched for somewhere to look which would not force him to stare at animals.  His gaze alighted on a small end table, and the  gently folded paper sitting atop it.  He recognized Rarity's note, though he didn't know its contents.  At that point, the test of his willpower began.

        He lasted twenty seconds.

Dearest Fluttershy,

        I have a request for you, which I am afraid you may not find enjoyable.  However, I can think of nopony better to turn to.  It isn't only your kindness that will help here, but the fact that you were the one who first brought out the light in Discord.  Now, forgive me for bringing up a sore subject, dear, but my point is that you are the pony most suited for a rather difficult task.

       You recall that rowdy stallion from Pinkie's party?  The slightly short pegasus with the thick accent?  Well, after you departed last night, things escalated.  To make a very long story short, I took Mr. Ink back to the Boutique with me, and let him spend the night.  In his company, I learned some curious facts about him.  I'm not entirely sure he recalls all of what he told me in the grips of his drink and half asleep on Sweetie's bed, but it was most... haunting.

        I'll get to that in a moment, but first, I feel I should explain exactly what I am asking.  You see, Mr. Ink (or 'Rowshirk', as he seems to prefer) is in a very unique situation, and–

        "Do you like sugar in your tea?"

        Ink jumped, and fumbled with the letter.  It had taken him far too long to struggle through the Equiish writing, decorated as it was with loops, curls, and frills.  Now, Fluttershy was approaching.  He barely managed to refold the letter and return it to the end table before she returned, holding a tray with a small tea set on the ends of her wings.

        Ink watched her approach, and set the entire display delicately atop the low coffee table in front of him.  She then reclined back in a thickly padded green chair opposite him, and smiled.  "Uh, was I too quiet?"

        He shook himself, tearing his eyes away from the mare.  "Sorry, what?"

        "What would you like in your tea?  I brought sugar, milk, and lemon.  Oh, but if you'd like, I have honey and cinnamon in the kitchen too."  Her eyes darted to the kitchen, and she moved to rise, as if he might be offended by the incompleteness of her presentation.

        He held up a hoof as gently as he could manage, though the spade-like rugged edge he presented seemed more likely to be interpreted as a threat than a calming gesture.  "This is fine, Fluttershy."

        She giggled gently as she sat down.

        "Am I making joke?"

        "Oh, no.  It's, uh, it's just..."  She hid behind her mane.  "The way you say my name is funny."

        His brow rose.  "Am I saying wrong?  Fluttershy?"

        "No," she answered.  "Just your accent."  Then her eyes flashed up.  "Oh, I'm so sorry, that's rude of me, and–"
        
        "It is being fine, Fluttershy."  He watched as she poured two cups of tea, and offered him one.  His wing took hold of the little cup gingerly, and he lifted it to his lips.  The flavor was awful, but a strong jaw went a long way toward concealing his opinion.  "Oh, here is letter."  He passed the paper across the table.  Fluttershy's reading gave him an opportunity to tilt his teacup, sending his warm beverage flying across the room to splash over an irate white rabbit.  

        It didn't take Fluttershy long to finish reading in her native tongue.  When she was done, she set the paper down, and took a gentle and demure sip of her own tea.  Something small had changed in the way the mare's back sat against her chair.  Her face stuck out boldly from beneath her mane.

        "So?  What is saying?"

        Fluttershy offered a small smile.  "I think tonight we should have a dinner party."