From Stalliongrad With Love

by LoyalLiar

Moonraiser

August 30th, 1452 A.S.
Sweet Apple Acres
0947 Hours

        The mare known as Resistant rolled her neck.  Trees shivered in fear of the motion.  The great master Macintosh shared her strength, but he was a kind and sensitive caretaker who afforded the trees respect.  Resistant was a callous, cruel being; a taskmaster who punished failings and poor yields with brutal uprooting.  The orchard was still in awe of the terrible fate of the tree the Apples had named Walt (but who was known by his peers as Krang, Mighty Master of the South-Eastern March).  

        The taskmaster's work was done, and she sighed gently to herself.  Her borrowed harness slid off her neck slowly, and took its place resting against a supporting beam on the Apple's porch.  Her coat sucked down sweet freedom, shedding away a slight tinge of sweat.  Her hoof idly removed her wide-brimmed straw hat, and began to play with her right ear.  Or rather, the little stump where only half of it remained.

        "Mornin'," a deep and booming voice muttered.  Resistant twitched, slamming the hat back onto her head to conceal her curious scar.

        "Uh,…"  

        Big Mac nodded gently, before his lazily lidded eyes swept over the domain of his dynasty.  "Yer done?  Already?"

        Resistant nodded.  "Jus' now," her tongue delivered, graced with little tics that suggested a heritage in one of the tiny farming villages far to the north of Trottingham.

        "Well then, yer off fer' now," Mac answered, staggering the world with the length of his thought.  "I'll do the west forty."

        "Already done," Resistant told him.

        "Huh?"  The workhorse's brow rose.  "Ain't nopony that fast."

        The mare shrugged.  "Took eight hours."

        "Ya been working since two in the mornin'?"

        "I don't sleep much," she told him honestly.  "So I worked."

        It was a testament to the sort of stallion Macintosh Apple was that he did not advise Resistant a doctor or even a nap.  It was not that he was afraid of her reaction. nor that he lacked concern for her well-being, but rather that without so much as a word he could see that nothing would be gained from speaking.  A life of few words had lent Big Mac that peculiar skill, to look at something and strip it down to the simple truth.  He could give no more than a single glance to his youngest sister and know whether or not her homework was really done.  On a good day, he could estimate the value of her property damage.  With older mares, that same casual glance told him not only of a night's activities, but their length, the number of ponies involved, and the general satisfaction derived for all parties.  It was a consequence of this skill which caused him not to look his grandmother in the eyes very often.

        When Macintosh looked into Resistant's eyes that morning, he saw the same thing he'd seen for the past days since he'd hired her on.  A desperate mare, with a secret or six.  But also an honest worker, with strong legs and no desire at all for harm.  And as a stallion of few words, he had no desire to ask what she was hiding.

        Thus, in that moment, he asked a question very different than the comment she had been asking.  "Wanna play a game of 'shoes?"

        She shrugged, and nodded, and only a moment later, they had made their way around the house to the little pitch the Apple family had set up.  Macintosh dragged out four shoes - two in red, two in blue.  "Go 'head," he muttered, around a stalk of wheat that Resistant was sure had been granted from on high by Celestia herself, given its longevity.

        Resistant reached down to the first of her blue shoes and stopped with her hoof just a few inches away.  After a moment's hesitation, she instead picked it up in her mouth, and swung it about for a level toss.  Her aim was passable, but it wouldn't win the game.

        "Fair shot," Mac noted, before placing a hoof on the pronged end of one of his own shoes.  "But I was expectin' a farm mare like you'd know how ta buck San Palomino style."

        Before she could respond, his forehoof stomped down on the prongs of the red horseshoe.  It popped up into the air, hovering at a height ever so slightly above his head.  During the time it took to rise, the huge stallion spun around, so that his hind legs rested where his head had been.  Staring backwards over his own shoulder, his eyes traced the falling shoe.  He reared up into a single-legged buck, and then lashed out just as the shoe reached the level of his back.  Hoof met shoe, and the latter was sent flying off like a bolt of lightning.  

        It struck the target pole directly, but bounced off from the sheer force, landing just inside of Resistant's initial toss.  

        "Great shot," she told him.

        "It's a bit hard," he explained, but his explanation was cut off before he could go any further.

        "What're ya doin', Mac?  Y'already done with the whole side—"  The elderly matron of Sweet Apple Acres stumbled around the side of the barn, where she stopped thankfully just short of dead.  The wrinkles on her face piled up at the corners in a seventy-wagon traffic jam that could only be her smile.  "Oh, y'all with a filly-friend.  Ain't mah place tah interrupt y'all."

        Resistant spared a glance Macintosh's direction, and then stifled a small chuckle at the way his face had grown brighter.  "Gran,–"

        " Oh there ain't nothin' fer me tah be doin' here.  Ya’ll have fun, now.  And be nice tah my gran'son, you."  Granny Smith stumbled away the direction she had come, but a few of her words leaked back around the building.  "…best dern hips ah've seen in years."

        A long, hollow silence settled into the morning air.

        Big Macintosh followed his usual habit of offering a single word response.  In this case, the word in question was "Ahdon'knowwhatsgottenintoGranny,butahain'tmeantanythintowardya."

        It took a moment to parse the thought, before Resistant smiled as disarmingly as she could manage.  Tragically, hers was a smile that could thaw a cold war, and it came across looking almost predatory toward the similarly sized stallion.  

        "Er, uh…"  That legendary addition to the collected sum of Equiish speech was left to flop helplessly and suffocate in the morning air.

        "It's fine," Resistant told him calmly.  "I'm not looking for a stallion."

        Once more, Big Macintosh revealed the extent of his character.  This time, in place of silence, his tool was a few well chosen words.  "Why not?  Ya seem like a nice mare."

        "Oh, so you have been looking?"  The response would have come across as charming (if canned) had she smiled when she delivered it.  Instead, Resistant seemed scolding in her response, and the force behind her words reflected on the more introverted farmer.

        "Uh, no, ah just–"
        
        She sighed, raising a hoof to calm him.  "A joke, Macintosh.  And I had a perfectly good stallion."

        "Had?"

        Rather than answering the question, she resumed their game.  Her left forehoof stomped on one of her remaining shoes.  It bounced up in the air as she reared up for a buck.  The strike itself came out half-hearted, however, and it skidded to a stop just short of Mac's better throw.  

        Knowing a sore subject when he saw it, Mac took his second shot.  The motion was smooth and practiced, right up until he completely missed the shoe on its way back down.  He'd been expecting a chuckle or a tease, but the implacable Resistant didn't so much as bat an eyelid.  In a way, he was grateful for that.  His hooves stomped again, and this time, his buck landed perfectly on its target.  The red shoe clanged onto the targeting pole and stuck there; a perfect ringer.

        "Nice," Resistant muttered.

        "Thanks," he drawled back.  "But the game ain't over yet."  He marched across the pitch in silence, and returned with all four shoes in tow.  Two blue crescents fell at Resistant's hooves. "Ah really am sorry 'bout Granny.  She just don't know when ta back off sometimes."

        Resistant stomped down on a shoe and sent it flying.  It soared just over the top of the target pole, and kept going another dozen feet or so beyond.  "Doesn't bother me.  I can deal with an old mare just fine."

        "Ain't said ya couldn't."  Mac casually stomped his own shoe, and shot it off again.  It was a gentle buck, by the standards of a titan, and it bounced to a stop in the dirt just short of the goal–much closer than Resistant's.  "Ya might have an easier time of it, though, if ya just told 'er yer spoken for."

        "Spoken for?"  Resistant looked away from her target to shake her head.  "I guess I've never thought of it that way… It's been seven years now, Macintosh."  He watched her chest spread wide and draw back as she sucked down a breath.

        Macintosh was a stallion of few words.  And so, rather than wasting words comforting the towering mare with the blunt-jawed face, he simply patted her on the shoulder with a foreleg and smiled.

        "Thanks."

        "Ya been a big help, Resistant.  Now mah sister can afford to run off with 'er friends like she's always wantin' ta."

        Resistant smiled knowingly as she lined up her second shoe of the set.  "National heroes, right?  Where is she today?"

        "Ah, out with some friends," Mac answered.  "Later on, they're all goin' ta meet some new stallion in town for dinner.  He came by yesterday, actually, lookin' fer work."  

        Resistant's hoof stomped down on her last shoe as he drawled on.  Her hind legs pulled back, building up her force and controlling it carefully.

        "Name's Red Ink."

        Resistant's buck was an animalistic display of force.  She lashed out with all her strength, and the shoe she struck shot off with a speed to rival the best of the Wonderbolts.  As if at the same moment, a deafening slashing noise preceded a painful thud.

        The solid iron spike driven into the ground as the target for the game of horseshoes had not been knocked over.  Resistant's buck had sliced it cleanly in half.

August 30th, 1452 A.S.
Fluttershy's Cottage
1826 Hours

        The door to Fluttershy's peculiar home was not really being held open.  Instead, Roscherk Krovyu slouched against it, as his eyes watched the skies overhead.  He had clearly noticed the mass of approaching mares, and for the most part simply chose to disregard them.  

        "Oh boy!  It's Inky!"

        The roll of his eyes did eventually wind up looking Pinkie Pie's direction.  Of course, given that her muzzle was only about a third of an inch from kissing him, it would have been hard not to see her no matter where his eyes were actually pointing.  He pulled his head back a bit to spare himself the pain of trying to focus on what could be accurately described as a pink smear over his vision.

        The mare was garbed in a light dinner dress that he would have bet money was hoof-made by Rarity.  If nothing else, the absence of stains and crumbs on its fabric clued him in.  Then, of course, were the gems and the frills, both of which she seemed too obtuse to appreciate.

        "Nice dress, Pinkie Pie.  Замечательно выставляет напоказ твои бедра. Не то, чтобы пони-нибудь бы мог их не заметить."

        "Ooh, is that Stalliongradi?  What'd you say?  What'd you say?"

        "I really liking your… mane."  He lied smoothly, before folding a hoof across his chest to lazily point into Fluttershy's cottage.  "Table is set.  Be heading inside."

        "Okey dokey!  Thanks, Inky!"

        "Roscherk," he grumbled as she quite literally hopped past him.  

        The next mare to approach was a more palatable sight, if only for her respect for his personal space.  Yet even from a distance, he could smell them.  Apples.  The one true enemy that must be defeated.  

        She was garbed in a cowpony hat, and nothing else.  Clearly, Rarity had less influence over the farmer than the baker.  For a moment, he contemplated using that as the base point for breaking up their friendship as a way to free himself from his torturous assignment.  Then he remembered exactly what such action would entail for Equestria, and for perhaps the very second time in his entire life, he felt a little surge of gratitude toward the concept of friendship.

        "Well, howdy.  I reckon ya look a sight better than ya did at the party last night."

        "It was… not finest hour."
        
        Applejack shrugged.  "Believe me, I can understand.  First impressions not always comin' out the way ya want 'em, right?"

        Roscherk Krovyu paused mid-nod to consider a conundrum.  In his past, first impressions virtually always came out the way he wanted.  Namely, the other pony would quiver in utter terror of his reputation, if not the literal fire spreading across whatever building they happened to be occupying.  Unconditional surrender would follow shortly afterward.  Then, punishment in turn: either a relatively swift execution, a permanent crippling of their magic, or an extended imprisonment.  Regardless of his choice, the odds of ever meeting such a pony again were slim.  In his mind, it was a beautiful thing when first impressions became sole impressions.

        Nevertheless, a gut instinct warned that the Bearers would likely not appreciate his mentality on the issue, given the events of the past days.  So, rather than clarifying the honest truth, he set about lying to the face of the Bearer of Honesty in the form of a continued nod.  To his surprise, the action went off without a hitch.  Applejack wandered into the house and proceeded to take her seat.

        Third in order and second in descending scale of utter fury was the Bearer of Magic, Twilight Sparkle.  Her brows were creased down into a glare that ran even and parallel to the flat crop of her bangs.  She wore a pleasant yellow sundress with a singular pink ribbon that looked surprisingly simple for a creation of the local fashionista (at least, compared to the designs he had seen that morning).  

        "Добрый вечер, Sparkle."

        The unicorn rolled her eyes.  "You're not fooling me, Red Ink."

        "Not even giving me chance?"  Ink t'sked as he shook his head slowly.  "Fluttershy will being so disappointed, Sparkle."

        "Well, she'll just have to learn to cope, then."  With a small huff, Twilight trudged inside.

        It took all of Ink's willpower not to swat her flank as she strode past.  He would likely have failed his desperate resistance were it not for the bright blue blur that shot up to his face.

        "Rainbow Dash."

        Like Applejack, she had chosen to wear nothing.  Quite unlike Applejack, her approach to their discussion was the very opposite of forgiving.  "Red Ink."

        "We even have something saying to one other?"

        "No."

        "Good.  Sit."

        In retrospect, he was proud of the conversation.  It had been short, and while far from friendly, it hadn't ended in a decapitation or, at the very least, a black eye.

        As the final guest approached, the back of Ink's mind scolded him.  Proud?  For ending a conversation without violence?  Why should that be something to be proud of?  Could it be that he was really changing?

        He certainly hoped not.

        Rarity approached last, wearing an outfit that only she could have possibly stomached.  The lace and the frills would have had him in a gagging fit (or functioning as a living incinerator), were events more within his control.  Tragically, he instead was forced to endure the thing she wore over her body.  

        "Oh, Roscherk, so good to see you."

        Her voice couldn't have been that bad earlier that morning; he was certain it would have killed him outright.  Rarity was far beyond the realm of merely putting on airs, and seemed to have begun putting on whole skies.

        "Thank you," he muttered.

        Rarity cocked a brow.  "Normally, at least in Equiish, that would be 'it is good to see you too,' or something to that effect."

        Ink drew in a very slow breath, and then forced it out through his nostrils in a blunt snort.  "Then I am being safe, for being close to right as my Equiish."

        Rarity wore a sort of teasing smile as she shook her head and wandered into Fluttershy's cottage.  Ink pulled himself up off the door, and then tugged it shut behind him with a wing as he stepped inside.

        Fluttershy's cottage had been more-or-less emptied of animals.  This produced a rather amusing environment in the fenced yard out back, but thankfully Angel was still inside, and thus unable to orchestrate a formal coup (or even a chicken coup).  Despite his presence, the interior of the room was marked by a restrained calm.  A simple, round, and decidedly non-magical table was surrounded by seven small and humble cushions.  Opposite the door, a window surrounded by rather strange char marks looked out on an otherwise pleasant evening.

        Red Ink tromped straight past the six mares who were in the process of taking their seats, and headed into the kitchen of the cottage.  With each step, he asked himself why he even bothered.  The best answer he could come up with was that Celestia would kill him if he didn't.  The thought certainly provided impetus, but it did little to actually bolster his enthusiasm.  Shrugging off the thought, he flared his wings and conjured a warm but subtle fire.  With a bit of effort, six ceramic bowls were arranged atop his feathers.  Donning an entirely false smile, he made his way back into the main room of the cottage, sidling through doorways to accommodate his wingspan.

        "Oh my, dinner already?  I'm quite famished."

        "Oh, it smells super-duper yummy.  Like…"  Pinkie Pie stood up from her cushion and made a show of sniffing the air.  "…pickles."

        "It's pickle soup," Fluttershy explained, as Ink silently made his way around the table, setting down bowl after bowl in front of the Bearers.  "Mr. Ink's recipe all the way from Stalliongrad."

        A bit of soup splashed on Ink's shoulder as he twitched at the name.  Scowling slightly, he set the final bowl down in front of Fluttershy, and returned to the kitchen for his own dinner.

        His parting strides were marked by a nearly vomit-inducing slurp.  Ink's teeth gritted together as a scolding voice called out.  "Pinkie!  It's terrible manners to start when Roscherk hasn't even had a seat yet."
        
        "Oh, but it smelled sooo good.  I mean, maybe it could use some hot sauce, or frosting, or sugar, or lemonade, or–"

        "Soured cream," Red Ink told her coldly, dropping a bowl of the thick white substance onto the table, where it clattered against the wooden surface.  Pinkie smiled, and scooped a vast and heaping helping onto her own soup.  Meanwhile, Ink sat down with his own bowl, and took a careful sip.  Not three minutes in, and his patience was already spent on that one alone.  It was going to be a long evening.

        A bit of a silence settled over the table as everypony enjoyed their soup.  Everypony, that is, except Rainbow Dash.  She stared down at her bowl not with disgust, but a sort of blank expression as though haunted by ghosts of the past.  Fortunately for her, such ghosts were only figments of her imagination, at least for the moment.  It would be at least six months before the past started catching up with her, and then in a much different form than pickle soup.

        Fluttershy was the first to actually comment on Rainbow's vacant stare.  "Oh dear.  Rainbow, are you okay?"

        Rainbow Dash's head swiveled slowly upward.  "This is rassolnik, right?"

        Ink's head swerved.  "You are knowing name of dish in Stalliongradi?"

        Rainbow nodded slowly, and then took a very visible gulp.  "I'm not really hungry."

        "Oh, come on, Rainbow.  Roscherk spent all this time preparing a nice meal for us, and you aren't even–"

        "I'm not hungry, Rarity."  Rainbow stood up and turned for the door.  "Look, you can all pretend he's gonna turn out nice if you want, but I know what guardsponies are like.  Be careful he doesn't light the rest of Fluttershy's house on fire."  With those gracious parting words, the mare darted out the door and into the evening sky.

        Fiction had taught Red Ink that in the wake of such a blunt departure, a welcome silence would overtake what little conversation might have existed.

        Fiction was dead wrong.

        "Hold up, Red, y'all 're a guardspony?  I thought ya was a school teacher."

        "Yeah, Inky, why didn't you say so?  Ooh, that's so exciting!  Do you have cool armor?  Do you work for Twilight's brother?  Do you have to dye your coat white and–"

        "Please, be shutting up."  Ink accompanied the comment by pounding his hoof on the surface of the table.  

        Fluttershy jumped at the motion and the sound.  "Mr. Ink, manners."

        Ink leaned her direction and muttered in a voice perfectly audible to the entire table.  "I was telling you this was stupid idea."

        The yellow mare wilted under his attention.  "I'm sorry…"

        Ink let his gaze slowly slide across the five remaining mares.  "Well, you are knowing now, my 'secret'."  He added the quotes with the tips of his wings.  "May as well be telling you everything.  I am name Roscherk Krovyu.  Commandant of Army and Guard of Free and Equal Ponies of Domain Stalliongradi."

        Pinkie giggled.  "Wowzer, that's a long name.  Do they have a nickname?  'Inky's team'?"

        In the time it took the unbearable mare to utter her comment, Twilight Sparkle had recovered from her sudden shock.  "Wait… you're the Commandant of the Black Cloaks?"

        "Black Cloaks?"  Pinkie's brow wrinkled, before a surprisingly literal lightbulb ignited overhead.  "Ooh, like your jacket?"

        Ink ignored her as he glared at Twilight.  "Well, was.  I should not be surprised you are knowing of us."

        "Uh, 'Black Cloaks'?  Didn't ya'll say somethin' about them earlier when you 'n Rainbow came back from that, uh, history trip?"

        "Archeological expedition," Twilight corrected her tragically undereducated friend, before returning her attention to Ink with a spiteful glare.  "And yes, I do know about the Black Cloaks.  You'd think I'd remember being driven out of Saraneighvo a few years ago by your crazy guardsponies."

        "Wait… that was you?"  Ink had to put a foreleg behind him to keep from falling over as he broke into laughter.

        Nopony else found it funny.

        "So, Twilight, do tell us about these 'Black Cloaks'.  They're the guardsponies of Stalliongrad, yes?"

        "They're…"  Twilight clearly had something acidic.  To Ink's surprise, a silent exchange between Fluttershy and the unicorn spared him yet another useless diatribe of a civilian criticizing his work.  Instead, Twilight concluded with "…a lot like Mr. Ink."

        "Thank you," Ink told, knowing full well that the words were not intended to be a compliment.  "But it is not my work anymore.  Now I am serving Princess as Commander of Honor Guard."

        Twilight stood up, and Fluttershy followed the motion.

        "You–"

        "Twilight, give him a chance," Fluttershy scolded in her soft but forceful voice.  "I can understand if you disagree with Mr. Ink, but he's been a sweetheart most of the day.  Isn't that right, Roscherk?"

        The Stalliongradian cocked his head.  "A 'sweetheart'?"

        "Well, yes.  I mean, maybe not at the market this morning…"

        Pinkie Pie quite literally lunged into the conversation.  "Ooh, ooh!  I wanna hear about that!  Mrs. Cake said something happened at the market this morning!  What happened?  Tell me!"

        Red Ink and Fluttershy shared a knowing glance before the former began to tell yet another story.

August 30th, 1452 A.S.
Ponyville Public Market
1117 Hours

        The green earth pony presented his goods, and Red Ink glared at them.  "Jar of pickles for fourteen bits?"

        "Well, yes.  That is what the sign says, as I'm sure you can see."

        "Uh, Mr. Ink, that seems like a fair price…"

        "Be shutting up, Fluttershy.  We are not spending your bits like this."  Ink pushed the taller mare aside and placed his forelegs up on the front of the merchant's stall to lend himself a bit of height.  "Five bits."

        "Five?  Do I look like a charity house, Mr…?"

        "Krovyu," the red pegasus responded calmly.  "And you are…"

        "H-his name is Mr. Pickle."

        "Pickle?"

        "Yep, Mr. Crow-view.  Just like Miss Fluttershy said, I'm In A. Pickle.  And I don't very much like the way you barter, so I'll do you a bit of a favor.  Ten bits for the jar, and you get away from my stall so I can do some more business."

        Red Ink's brow twisted like the twirled moustache of a villain who could only be described as 'nefarious.'  The pegasus stallion turned his attention briefly to his companion.  "Mr. Pickle is having farm, yes?  Cucumbers?"

        Fluttershy didn't seem to understand the question, so she nodded innocently and answered calmly.  "Just out of town to the south."

        Ink smiled with far too many teeth.  Then, in a single fluid motion, his hooves lunged out and grabbed the other pony by the scruff of his mane.  The wooden stand rattled.  Fluttershy shrieked.  Mr. Pickle's eyes widened.

        "Now I am thinking you are really in pickle.  You are saying ten bits and I leave?  Here is counter-offer.  Six bits, and I am not burning down your crops."

        Pickle's eyes turned to pinpricks, and he nodded in silence.  Smiling more genuinely, Red Ink released the other pony, took his jar of pickles, and stepped aside.

        The ponies were watching him, eyes wide, some legs trembling, and at least one bladder contracting.  The last one really detracted from the mood.  Being intimidating was great, until everything started to smell like salt and you could no longer enjoy a margarita.  Still, in time, he was sure Ponyville would warm up to him.  At least that one pony already had.

        He swaggered up to another stall with a smile on his face.  A dozen or so bottles of wine, and as many harder alcohols were arranged in a pair of toothy racks, an earth pony mare stood between them with a distinct smile on her purple face.  

        "Hiii!" she shlurred…. er, slurred.  "I'm Berry Punch.  Wanna get shomething tashty to drink?"

        Red Ink nodded.  "Do you carry gin?"

        "Why of courshe!"  Her hoof gesh– gestured to one of her display racksh…

        Ahem.

        Her hoof gestured to one of her display racks.  The motion was tragically misjudged, and sent her wares spilling onto the grass.  Thankfully, it was only a small fall, and none of the bottles cracked.  Ink scooped them up quickly in surprisingly dexterous wings, and had them back in their case in no time.

        "Thanksh."

        "Be thinking nothing of it," Ink answered, before beginning to actually read the labels.  Vodka, Scotch… Mead?  Really?  He had to shrug off his surprise.  Coffee Liqueur, and finally, Gin.  

        "Mr. Ink," Fluttershy called out to him, seemingly cross despite her quiet voice.  He was surprised it had taken her so long to deal with Mr. Pickle and find her way back, to be honest.  Yet he held his tongue, as hers lashed out.  "That wasn't very nice of you."

        "Oh, hi, Fluttershhy."  Slurring a name that actually contained an 'sh' blend was a feat that could only be accomplished by a mare whose very ass was stamped with supremacy over the blunter points of alcohol.  Or perhaps, it would be more accurate to say that the blunter points of alcohol had total mastery over her–ass and all.  "I didn't shee you there."

        "Hello, Berry Punch."  Fluttershy looked away from the mare, and used Ink's presence as an excuse to mask her shyness.  "Mr. Ink, you really shouldn't be so mean."

        "You would rather have paid twelve bits?"  Before she could answer, he shook his head.  "I was not thinking so."  Ink grabbed the vodka off the shelf.  "Am I being okay with taking sample, Punch?"  He had to admit, he liked the name.

        "Shure.  Jusht don't drink too much."  

        Ink popped the top off the bottle and sucked a swig into his mouth.  He then made a great show of swishing it around, like a particularly over-enthusiastic model from a mouth wash advertisement.  

        "Uh, Mr. Ink, what are you–"

        He cut her off not with his voice, but the roar of flames.  His open mouth released a pillar of fire easily thirty feet long into the sky over Ponyville, accompanied by a terrifying roar.  Fluttershy yelped again, and this time accompanied the motion by darting back.

        While his previous show had been earned him worried glances from the corners of ponies eyes, this action earned him their fascination, or at the very least their interest.

        "Oh, Mishter Ink!" Berry Punch muttered, swooning.  Ink caught her in the wing that didn't hold the bottle of vodka, and he looked down into her eyes.  Had he been wearing his jacket, it might very well have popped open from the sudden (offended) surge of his shoulder muscles.  Her face wore a heated desperation, and a lust beyond the unfocused dancing of her pupils.  Her disgusting breath swept over his slightly unkempt facial fur.  "Letsh do it!"

        "No," Ink responded, as his wing dropped her rather bluntly onto the ground.  A few ponies chuckled as Ink replaced the bottle of vodka, took the bottle of gin, and leaned down (he wished–up, in reality) to Fluttershy's ear.  "Give four bits.  Vodka was garbage.  I had meant to swallow it."

        Ink moved to walk away from the stall and leave Fluttershy to settle the actual counting of the bits.  In that action, he very nearly tripped over a mass of six or so knee-high fillies and colts, led by a trio in red caps.

        "Wow!  That was awesome!"  Ink barely noticed the weight of the orange pegasus filly as she leaned on his foreleg.

        Another of the tiny ones–Apple something–gave him a toothy grin from beneath her pink bow.  "Ya didn't say ya were part dragon, Mister Ink."

        "That is because I am not," Ink answered, endeavoring to part the small sea of foals.  His efforts failed miserably.  "You are wanting something?"

        "Well, yeah, mister.  We wanna know how ya did that!" shouted a diminutive colt with a distinct Trottingham accent.

        "Yeah!  Even the Great and Powerful Trixie couldn't breathe fire!"  The colt who delivered those words could be described as the stick figure of a unicorn.  He sounded as if his nose were clogged with his frontal lobes, and Ink had half a mind to do him (and the rest of the town) a favor by fishing them out.

        "Pegasus magic," Ink explained as though it were the simplest thing in the world.  And, at least for him, it was.  "Join guard if you are wanting to learn."

        "Aw," the orange pegasus muttered.  "But you have to be eighteen to join the Royal Guard."
 
        Ink's brow rose for a few reasons.  Firstly, there was no actual age restriction for his guard, although the practical entrance requirement would have prevented such colts and fillies from ever actually making it into the Black Cloaks.  Secondly, though, was the fact that this little filly knew that fact.

        "You have tried joining Royal Guard?"
        
        "We all did," explained the third caped filly.  The little white unicorn with the curly hair smiled up at Ink.  "We thought we could get guardspony cutie marks."

        "Most ponies are joining guard because of cutie mark.  Not other way around."

        Applebloom cut in.  "Well we're the Cutie Mark Crusaders, and we're on a quest tah find our cutie marks!  So we gotta try everythin' we can!"

        A voice from the far side of the market called out.  "What's she's trying to say, Mr. Ink, is that they're a bunch of good-for-nothing blank flanks!"

        Red Ink's mane cracked like a bullwhip from the speed at which his harsh brown eyes locked on to the speaker.  She was a pink filly, wearing the stupidest headdress he had ever seen.

        Rarity made a wounded noise as she looked up from her soup.  "Mr. Ink, I made that tiara."

        "Then I am supposing Tiara is Sweetie Belle's sister.  It would be explaining whiny voice."

        The ponies at the table gasped and drew back.

        "H-how dare you?"

        "Very easily," Ink answered, this time stumbling into a clever response not by virtue of his own wit, but out of a blind luck that stemmed from his awful Equiish.  "Now kindly being quiet, so pink one is getting story, and staying quiet as well."

        The pink filly in the utterly disgusting tiara strode up to the group, accompanied by a frankly ugly gray friend in hideous plastic-framed blue glasses.  In Ink's mind, her mane style was to die for.  This did not mean what most other ponies might assume.  He meant that he would rather die than look at it.  The fact that the braid rather resembled a noose laying against her neck only seemed to encourage him.

        The first filly adjusted her stupid headpiece as she glared snootily at the caped trio.  "I bet you don't even know who Mr. Ink is."

        "Ah do to!" Applebloom answered.  "He's a Stalliongrad pony–"  Ink winced.  "–and he's new in town."

        "Heh.  I knew it.  You blank flanks don't have a clue.  Mr. Ink is going to be our teacher while Miss Cheerilee is away."

        The foals' eyes shot from Diamond Tiara onto Red Ink's face–or rather, the broad hoof that was suddenly covering it.

        "Really?"

        "Can ya teach us how ta breath fire?"

        "Please don't make us study math."

        "Shut up!"  Ink flared his wings as he shouted.  As one, the foals cowered, and he sighed to regain his composure.  

        When the stallion again opened his eyes, there was a moment where Ponyville seemed to have faded away.  Snow was falling.  He felt the chill on the tips of his ears.  Standing on frosted cobblestone streets, a mass of little ponies were staring up at him.  His eyes shrunk to pinpricks at the sight of the two at the front of the group.  Both earth ponies.  The elder was a filly, maybe six at most.  Her eggshell coat and frosted off-white mane gave her a faded, almost sepia appearance as she stared into the stallion's eyes in terror.  Her younger brother, no more than four, was too young to understand why he ought even be afraid.  His misty purple-blue coat and matching near-white mane bobbed as his eyes darted around the snowy street.

        Ink blinked, and it was gone.  No more of those faces, but for just a moment he was shaken, and a moment was all it took to deprive him of his edge.

        "Apology.  It is true.  I am being teacher for you, and so I am not being rude.  We are having fun.  But first, we are remembering important lesson for before class, yes?"

        The foals shared confused glances before the smallest of the students (with the Trottingham accent) spoke up.  "Uh… what lesson?"

        "When we are wanting ask question, what do we do?"

        Almost immediately, one hoof from every member of the entire group shot into the air.

        "Very good."

        The hooves did not go down.

        "Oh."  Ink rubbed his temple.  "Uh… Applebloom, you first."

        "Ya gonna tell us how ya got yer Cutie Mark now?"

        Eyes rolled.  "No."

        "Aww…" bemoaned the Cutie Mark Crusaders as one.  

        "Story is not for young pony."

        "Wait, Inky, your Cutie Mark story isn't for foals?  Did you do something naughty?"  Pinkie Pie wiggled her eyebrows so wildly that they failed to be suggestive and instead jumped all the way into the realm of comedy.

        Ink's daily quota of groans had already long-since been exceeded and so instead he chose to growl at her, baring the corners of his teeth as he did so.  "Pink Pie, I am not telling you either.  Clearly, you are foal more than them.  At least they are learn taking no for answer."

        Twilight cringed.  Red Ink certainly didn't have a monopoly on distaste for awful word choice.

        "Well, ah reckon ahm glad ya didn't tell Applebloom.  She'd 'a run off 'n tried ta get her mark jus the same way."

        Unlike her 'country' companion, Rarity held off her words in favor of staring pointedly at Ink's hind end.  Unlike with Applebloom the previous morning, he didn't mind the attention.  Of course, then she started talking.  Hers was the only voice he had ever experienced that was more tolerable while hung over.  Then again, that morning was his first time being hung over in almost seven years, so perhaps there was some bias behind the observation.  Or maybe not.  Science was no more his forte than Equiish grammar.

        "I must ask, though, Roscherk, how in Equestria can a quill writing in red ink be considered a 'mature' talent?  Did you perhaps grade a paper too harshly for another student as a foal?"

        He offered her a silent, level-eyed glare.  "You are wanting to hear story of market, or story of ass?  I can only be telling one."

        Rarity and Twilight flinched at his coarse language.  Or, perhaps, it was that he proceeded to lift his bowl to his lips and drain it all in a fashion that would make most frat colts jealous.  For starters, most chuggable liquids weren't filled with diced potatoes and pickles.

        "There.  Now I am not having to stop for eating.  Hopefully, you are not finding time to interrupt me between words."  Glaring from eye to eye across the table (and kindly skipping Fluttershy), the sole stallion in the room continued his tale.

        Ink swept over the small sea of raised hooves, and sighed even as his lips betrayed a slight smile.  "Class, it is being summer, yes?"
        
        "Well… yeah," the nasally challenged unicorn observed.

        "And yet here you are, standing in market, wanting to be asking many questions."

        "Yeah, we wanna know more about you!"

        Ink smiled like a wolf as he leaned down to the caped unicorn fill who had just responded.  "Then I am expecting you will all be very enthusiastic in first day's class, yes?"  Before the implications could (fail to) sink in, the grown stallion waved his wings.  "Be running along, students.  Enjoying last days of summer."

        As the foals ran off with a mixture of reluctance and excitement, a few older ponies approached.  The first spoke with a quiet voice.  "That was nice of you, Mr. Ink."

        "They are not liking me so much on first day of class, I am betting," the stallion responded to Fluttershy.  "Look at them.  Running off, no discipline.  Take three in capes."

        "The Cutie Mark Crusaders?"

        "Yes.  They are having earth pony.  She should be taking point of formation.  Pegasus should be flying, and monitoring rear of squad.  And what is unicorn filly doing, with nose pointed into ground.  Where is attention?  Where is awareness of threats?"

        A distinctly masculine voice cleared itself.  "Uh, threats, Mr. Krovyu?"
        
        The stallion drew his attention not by virtue of his tone, but by the correct inflection on his name.  A brown earth pony with a slicked back black mane and a bright red tie offered a smile just as predatory as any Ink had ever worn.  The filly with the stupid headpiece was standing halfway beside and halfway between his legs.  So, her father, then, he assumed.

        "When I was colt, one was not running down streets without keeping close eye on surroundings."  Ink extended a hoof.  "You are being…"

        "Filthy Rich," the stallion answered, offering a handshake that Ink could at least respect, even if the earth pony was no match for the pegasus' physical strength.  "I do some business with your brother."

        In response to the name, Ink snorted, and spat a ball of phlegm onto the dirt road.

        "How disgusting," Rarity gasped.

        "Yes," Ink replied with a smile.  "Predvidenie is disgusting.  Thinking he is so much better than other pony, with stupid scarf in different knot for every day of week, and glasses framed in solid gold.  At least this… Rich pony is having better taste.  Though I am still not understand you Canterlot ponies, wearing collar of shirt with tie, but no actual shirt, or jacket."

        As was the norm for the Bearers, their foremost scholar provided an explanation.  "Well, unlike Stalliongrad–" Ink gagged on a sip of water.  "–it does tend to get warm here.  I'm sure you've noticed."  Twilight glanced outside, to where the setting sun was plainly visible; a clear contrast from the city of perpetual ice.  "So we tend to prefer just the collar because shirts and dresses are usually very warm."

        "Unless they are well designed for that sort of thing," Rarity added.

        "Well, yes."

        Having recovered from near death by the most loathed of all puns, Ink shook his head and resumed his story.

        "I see," Filthy Rich observed, staring at the miniscule puddle of mud that had just been created.  "Well, in any case, I do happen to know something about you, Commandant.  And while I am very much a believer in firm discipline, I trust we both understand that there will be none of what was just witnessed with Mr. Pickle in the presence of my daughter.  Is that understood?"

        Ink leaned forward, speaking in a harsh whisper.  "You are having many balls, Rich.  In Стольный, even Tsar is not telling me how to do my job.  Tartarus, even Celestia does not interfere."

        "Is that so?"  Rather than backing down, Filthy Rich's less-than-friendly smile grew wider.  "I suppose I'll have to ask her about that when I see her in Canterlot next week.  While I'm at it, I'm sure Secretary Foresight and the Tsar will be glad to hear what you've been up to here in the Domain of Canterlot."

        It wasn't merely a slap in the face; the words were a stake to the heart.  Where a thousand swords and sharpened shoes and spells had failed, a few simple sentences had dropped Ink to the dust.

        His knees trembled.  He fell in slow motion, until he was sitting in the dirt.  The noise of his flanks striking the ground was deafening.  His jaw hung open.  His eyes were unfocused as his mind raced.

        "I'm glad we understand each other, Mr. Ink.  Come along, Diamond."  Filthy Rich walked away from the fallen pony, smirking as he went.  "Oh, and be careful with the rest of the merchants here in Ponyville.  Mr. Pickle is a good friend of mine.  Do find me if you feel we have anything else to discuss."

        "Oh, I am finding you," Ink responded.  Tragically, due to an utter lack of dramatic timing, this line was delivered almost a full minute after Filthy Rich, his daughter, and her unbearable gray friend had all fled the scene.  

        "You're okay?" Fluttershy asked, helping the stallion to his hooves.  "You were just sitting there, staring off into the distance for, oh, three minutes or so.  I almost went to get Nurse Redheart, and–"

        "Fine," Ink interrupted.  "I am being fine."  He adjusted his hoofing to a wider, more aggressive stance, and brushed the dust off his coat sloppily with his wings.  His voice had become snappy and irritated.  "Next on list?"

        "Oh, uh… we got potatoes and pickles and your gin, even though, uh, Rarity said you shouldn't be drinking–"

        "Not for dinner," Ink snapped.  "For cooking."

        Fluttershy darted back from his voice.  "Oh.  Alright then.  Well, next you said we needed sour cream?"

        Ink swept over the market, and was disappointed that his fleeting intimidating reputation had largely failed.  Either the ponies of this town were surprisingly quick to forget, or they trusted that Filthy Rich had 'handled' the situation.

        Nopony 'handled' Roscherk Krovyu.  Well, except Filthy Rich, who had just done exactly that.  It didn't do good things for Ink's mood.  His eyes finally alighted on the dairy stand, identifiable by its huge ice chests, and the logo of a cow overhead.  He didn't so much walk toward it as storm in its direction.

        Tragically, the dairy stand was unmanned (unponyed?).  Gritting his teeth, Ink shouted toward the stand.  "Milk pony, I am wanting business!"

        "Might want to get your eyes looked at, then.  Spilt Milk is on her lunch break."

        As was becoming a rather tiresome routine that day, Red Ink turned around to look the speaker in the eye.  Behind him, rather than another merchant, he found a subtly off-white pegasus stallion kicking the last leg of an easel into place.  From beneath his black fedora, the tips of a brown mane could be seen, just above a friendly (if sarcastic) smile.

        "Name," Ink muttered by way of a demand.

        "Depends who's asking," the other pegasus answered, before raising a hoof to the very tip of his hat.  A casual downward flick tossed it into the air, and without even looking up, the pegasus caught it on the tip of his wing.

        "Oh, Hat Trick!"  The mouth of the pegasus in question briefly flickered into a frown.  Meanwhile, Fluttershy smiled as she caught up with her angry companion.  "I, uh, see you've met Mr. Ink."

        "I'd say just about everypony in town has by now, Fluttershy.  He isn't hard to miss, though I can see how he might sometimes get overlooked."  Hat Trick grinned as he paced around Red Ink, until his line of sight to Fluttershy passed directly over the short stallion.  

        "You are thinking yourself clever?"

        "On a good day," Hat Trick replied, before glancing up to the sky.  "Weather's certainly nice enough to count.  Usually is, around here."

        "You could start story by it," Ink observed, poorly translating an old Stalliongradi idiom.

        "Yes, I suppose one could, if one were a terrible writer."  Hat Trick and Red Ink spared a moment to glare together into the foreground before continuing their conversation.  "So you're the new school teacher.  Running around telling stories about your friends from Stalliongrad breaking other ponies knees, and threatening the shopkeepers.  I'm sure the parents are thrilled."

        "You are watching tongue.  Father is great pony."

        "I didn't mean your parents, though I'm sure you look up to them."  Hat Trick paused for just a moment to let the blow sink in.

        Ink sprung at the opportunity, beginning to pace around the taller, but far thinner pegasus.  "Clever.  I am eating two height crack, but three, and knees are breaking.  Then we are seeing who looks up to who."  His eyes alighted on the rough outline that had begun to appear on the pony's easel.  "At least one of us is being good at 'special talent'."

        "Thanks, but there's really no need to insult yourself," Hat Trick responded without missing a beat.  He slowly reoriented himself face the angry Stalliongradian pony, and leaned over to grab a paintbrush.

        Ink's wing slapped his jaw lightly, but enough to stop the motion.  Hat Trick took a moment to replace his fedora, and then glared.

        "Uh, stallions…"

        "You are having problem with me?" Ink asked.

        Hat Trick shrugged.  "I'm just a fan of nice ponies.  I moved here to get away from some of the worse chaos back in Fillydelphia.  I mean, Ponyville's great for inspiration, if you don't mind Ursas and Nightmare Moon and Discord–"

        Ink's wings flared, and somehow, the simple motion stopped the onslaught.  "I am not evil."  His nostrils flared as a snort of anger followed the sentence.

        "Uh, Mr. Ink…"

        Hat Trick adjusted the former half of his namesake, and moved once more for a paintbrush.  This time, the action involved trying to reach around Red Ink, which the militant pegasus took with less than total grace.  Seeing only that the other pony was 'stepping to him', Ink reached out a well-sculpted foreleg and shoved Hat Trick away.  After catching himself, Hat Trick made a very, very poor decision: he pushed Ink back.

        Surprisingly, this was not an issue of Ink's violent retaliation.  Even as irritated as he was at the pony who could be said to rival (if not exceed) his wit, Ink was well aware of the metaphorical sword Celestia had hanging over his head.  Unfortunately, Ink's excellent control over his limbs did not extend to one curious and very-nearly unique feature of his body.  When he was shoved backward toward the case filled with Hat Trick's opened painting supplies, his temper flared in an entirely too literal fashion.  Fire spread across his wings, and then into the painting supplies.

        To reiterate: the magical fire of Red Ink's anger mixed with the extensive supplies of paints, thinners, and other miscellaneous chemicals belonging to a professional artist.  

        The explosion, it is said, was quite large.

        "You blew up the market?!"  Twilight shouted.

        Ink shook his head, and raised a wingtip as if to calm her.  "No, Sparkle.  I explode only…"  He paused, dipping his head as he counted silently.  "…four stalls.  Dairy, lettuce, alfalfa, and…  Fluttershy, what was fourth stall?"

        "Ms. Protractor's school supplies."

        "Ah, yes.  I am having forgive students Monday."  Ink smiled, seemingly entirely jovial about the subject.  "Really, only three and half.  Dairy was in metal cases with ice.  Product undamaged.  Only burnt down wood."

        "So let me get this straight."  Twilight glanced briefly toward Fluttershy with surprising sympathy, before returning her angry glance to Red Ink.  "You threatened Mr. Pickle's life to save six bits on a jar of pickles, you told the Cutie Mark Crusaders that you had an 'adults-only' Cutie Mark Story, you picked a fight with Hat Trick, and then you blew up roughly one seventh of Ponyville market square?"

        Ink took a moment to consider the statements, glanced to Fluttershy, shrugged with his wings, and then concluded the series with a single curt nod in Twilight's direction.

        Twilight rolled her eyes.  "But now you're here, just sitting fine, like nopony is going freak out about you?"

        "Well, being fair, fire was not my fault really… and only casualties were eyebrows and front of Hat Trick's hat."

        "You– agh!"  Twilight ran a hoof down her face, stretching her jaw in a way that surprised Ink.  "Do you just not get it?  Or do you not think far enough ahead to understand the idea of consequences?"

        "I am thinking that I am very much understanding consequences, Sparkle," Ink told her bluntly.

        "Uh, ah ain't so sure 'bout that," Applejack told him evenly.

        "Ooh, ooh, I have a question!" Pinkie put one of her forelegs on the table beside her empty bowl, and raised her other hoof as high as she could reach into the air.  "Call on me, Inky!"

        "You are joking."

        "Nuh-uh.  See?  I've got my hoof raised an everything."

        Red Ink took a moment to close his eyes and massage a vein that visibly throbbed even through the coat on his temple.  "Fine, Pink Pie.  What?"

        "If you blew up the milk stand, where'd you get this sour cream?"

        It was the sort of question that forced a total paradigm shift, which was a strange event for Ink but entirely familiar for Pinkie's friends.  As one, the entire group slowly shifted to stare at the bowl of sour cream with a mixture of fear and disgust.

        It took Ink a moment to realize what they were assuming, and then he smiled.  "No, no, do not be worrying.  It is soured cow cream, not from goat or… I am not knowing.  Whatever else Canterlot pony is milking.  I am thinking, already in debt to milk mare; why not put it on tab?  Plus, there was much smoke, so no questions were being asked."

        "Are you telling us that you stole this sour cream?" Rarity asked, readying her hoof for rapid deployment to her forehead.  

        Ink nodded.

        Twilight Sparkle screamed.  "That's it!  Look, Mr. 'Ink', I don't care who you think you are, but you aren't welcome here in Ponyville any longer.  I'm going to go get Spike and have my brother and Princess Celestia–"

        "No!"  Ink spread his wings and darted forward, landing in a combat stance between Twilight and the door out of the Fluttershy's cottage.  "Please, Sparkle, not that!"

        "Oh, now you're worried?  Afraid Shining Armor will kick you out and throw you in the dungeons?"

        Ink locked up completely, stiff legged, wings flared, and eyes widened.  It took all the effort of his stocky neck simply to twitch a pathetic excuse at a desperate shaking of his head.  "No, Sparkle."

        "Twilight, dear," Rarity called from behind her at the table.  "Perhaps we can all just sit down, and sort this out–"

        Twilight didn't even turn to address her friend.  "I think he's had enough second chances."

        "So he caused a little trouble and got plastered at a party.  Big whoop.  He ain't any worse than the Crusaders."

        "That's just the beginning.  Spike told me what you said on the way here, Commandant Krovyu."  Twilight leaned forward, until their muzzles were nearly touching.  "I know what kind of pony you are."

        Ink swallowed thin air.  The motion was nearly audible.

        "Twilight, I think you're scaring Inky!"

        This time, Twilight simply ignored the protest.  "We'll see what Celestia has to say when she finds out about what you did in Stalliongrad."

        "…she knows."  Ink muttered, softly enough that only Twilight could hear.  The unicorn's eyes grew wide.  "That is why I am here; more than you know."  Quivering, he fell out of the way of the door.  "And so if I am failing here, she is having me killed."

        "What in tarnation?"

        "Dear, the Princesses would never–"

        "I don't think…"

        "No way!"

        All save Twilight cried out in protest.  The purple unicorn looked the blood-colored stallion in the eyes.  "What did you do?"

        Ink clutched his brow.  "You would not be sleeping at night.  But what Celestia is knowing is history."  He turned to face the group.  "We are not playing games here anymore, I am seeing.  Time for joke is past now.  I am soldier.  Not like Shining Armor; on good day, he is police pony.  He is not knowing real war."  The brief words were directed at Twilight, but Ink's focus quickly returned to larger group.  "I was colt when dragons attacked.  Brother and I spent days sneaking out, stealing food for family.  When city was rebuilt, Baron Frostbite was putting me in secret police.  Spent days hunting earth ponies running from assigned farms, enforcing curfews, and standing in frozen towers on dragon border, watching for attack."

        His eyes lost focus.  "Father was breaking first.  No longer standing racism.  Paranoia.  Stalliongrad was well fed enough, secure, but ponies were not happy.  And because he is alicorn, they were following him.  So seven years ago, brothers and I are taking up army of rebels.  I was fighting soldiers who had once been my… what is word?  Follower?"

        "Subordinate?" Twilight suggested.

        Ink nodded.  "And I was killing them.  Well.  Not many ponies are having special talent for war."  He glanced down at his hoof, and for just a moment it seemed as if something wet and slimy were dripping off.  "I am learning from Mentor… name of Steel Lining."

        Fluttershy wrapped her wings around herself tightly and shuddered once.  "Oh…"

        "Something is wrong?"
        
        "I… I promised I wouldn't tell."  The mare shook her head.  "I'm sorry."

        Ink gave her a moment to reconsider, before moving his attention back to Twilight.  "Sparkle, you are know him?"

        "Not very well," she responded.  "But he was Princess Celestia's bodyguard since before I was born.  Everypony called him 'the Commander'.  I only learned his name at that funeral a week ago."

        "He was…" Ink hesitated.  "Point is, he is teaching me what it is meaning to be guard.   'Hooves are not toys, Roscherk,' he was saying always to me.  And his Stalliongradi was being bad as my Equiish, if not worse."  The shadow of a smile danced over Ink's lips.  "So I am trying to be guardspony like he was teaching me.  And it is working well.  At least, until now.

        "He and I are freeing home together.  We toppled Frostbite with own hooves, brought end to blizzard, and revolution.  Brought freedom.  Then he was leaving, and world was falling apart.  My army break beneath my hooves.  Traitor hired assassin, killed my brother.  I have spent years hunting for them.  And then I was finding trail, both to traitor and to assassin."

        The stallion's tone dropped even further, and the pace of his words slowed well beyond their already sluggish pace.  "I am coming to Canterlot, after 'Commander' is being killed by them.  I am given his position; as his student, and as one who is knowing tricks to capturing his killers, it is making sense.  Assassin was being lost, but I am hunting down traitor in Baltimare, ready to end it."  

        Little sparks winked into being along Red Ink's wings.  "But Shining Armor is stopping me.  Wanting to take her alive.  I… lose control.  Fight him.  Building is catching fire.  Apartment.  Many ponies are hurt.  Three die.  My fault."

        Nopony else seemed to have a clue what to say, just as Red Ink expected.  "It is mistake Commander would never be making.  I am coming back to Celestia failure, and now she is punishing me.  That much I am understanding.  Simple.  Easy.  But this… 'friendship' garbage, it is not being useful to me.  She is try making me soft?  What good is that in her guard?"

        In the ensuing silence, each of the five mares remaining in the room shared a glance with the others.  Then, finally, Twilight took charge and spoke up.  "Could you… go outside for a minute?  The girls and I need to talk."

        Ink said nothing.  His footsteps and the chill of the evening air served as an excellent answer.

        
August 30th, 1452 A.S.
Edge of the Everfree Forest
2206 Hours
        
        Roscherk Krovyu stared up at the moon, enraptured by its surface.  The perpetual ice storms of Stalliongrad hid the pale orb from view constantly, and until he was already a grown stallion, Ink had only ever seen pictures.

        The night wind tickled his mane, his ears, and his feathers.  The bark of the tree against which he sat was rough, scratchy, and incredibly comfortable to rub against.  It was a beautiful night, and he knew he ought to enjoy it, as in all likelihood it would be one of his last.

        "I know a place where the water is warm,
        when it falls on your nose from overhead.
        Birds join in song and the trees sing along,
        In the Valley of Dreams that lies ahead.
        No fear of ice, for the feeling is nice,
        When you lay down to rest on a soft green bed.
        I want to go, there's no ice, there's no snow,
        Just the warmth of the sun and a soft green bed…"

        "We are curious that thou sing such a song, Captain Ink."  

        He jumped to his hooves at the haunting voice that echoed from every direction at once, and his eyes scanned the sky, finding nothing amidst the blues and purples and blacks.  "Who is there?"
        
        "You would lead our sister's Honor Guard, and yet you do not even know our…"  There followed a moment of silence.  "…my voice?"

        Ink spun when the voice suddenly came from a single definite point behind him.  He spun in place, and very nearly keeled over.  "Princess Luna?  I am not expecting you."

        She smiled at the corner of her mouth.  "You would serenade my moon with such an entrancing melody and then not expect my presence?"  And then the towering mare reached out and tapped him in the middle of his mane.  "Surely my sister hath chosen her new watchdog with more cunning than that."  He scowled slightly, but she continued before he could speak.  "We must know: was that a lullaby?"

        "No," he answered.  "Only one lullaby at home.  I was sing slowly, but song is meant for two parts, more lively.  Mare and stallion, together."

        "You sing a love song to my moon?"  Luna smiled widely enough that Ink's gut sank.  He could have sworn that just for a moment he saw fangs at the corners of her smile.  "Indeed you are a most amusing pony, Roscherk Krovyu."

        "But you are here to put an end to me?"

        Luna's smile disappeared instantly.  "And here we had hoped that one of our sister's Honor Guard might not hold our past so tightly against us.  Do you expect that I am here in hunger?  That, as the foals fear, I have come to devour you?"

        Ink gave her a confused expression.  "I am not expecting any particular execution.  But Sparkle is sending her letter, and my life is ending, yes?"

        "I should believe I would know if your fate were so sealed, Captain."  Luna looked into his eyes closely.  "I spoke with my sister last night in regards to your situation."

        Ink gestured with a tip of his head toward Fluttershy's cottage.  "My fate is already being sealed."

        "Oh, really?  You know this?"

        Ink rolled his eyes.  "Yes, Princess, I am knowing with certainty.  Many times I have been on other side of heavy door.  If I were being inside with Serp and Molot, I would be drinking and telling stories of mares I have bedded, simply to kill time.  To further punishment, and enjoy suffering."

        "I see."  Luna grinned with obvious amusement.  "And you believeth that the Bearers of Harmony are of such a mentality?  That they shall leave you to sweat and await your fate as they drink and carouse within, telling stories of their conquests?"

        "Why else are they putting me out here?"

        "Perhaps they are in all honesty making a decision, and seek privacy.  Shall we bet on it?"

        "What?"

        Luna grinned like a school filly, though with the subtlest hint of some greater wisdom behind the teasing corners of her eyes.  "We go up there to the window and listen in.  If you are proven to be correct, I shall relieve you of your obligation."

        "Princess Celestia is not–"

        "Our sister is not your concern, Captain.  We have been given power over your fate, because we believe in you.  Though we are not inclined to simply relieve you of your task, it is within our power."

        After waiting for a spell, Ink prompted her further.  "But…"
        
        "But if I should be proven right, then you shall sing for me the rest of that song.  Both the parts.  Romantically."  She offered him an enormous wing.  He hesitated for only a moment, before realizing that he had nothing to lose.  Or so he thought.

        The alicorn princess and the ex-guardspony moved like shadows, drawing up to one of cottage windows.  Without exposing his face fully, Ink could only make out the shadows that were cast against the window.  Still, he was close enough to make out their voices.

        "–ain't the point, Twi.  I don' know what all he done in Stall-yun-grad–" Red Ink very momentarily leaned away from the window to vomit.  "–but it ain't our place to say what that means."

        "Yes, dear, Princess Celestia sent him to us because she thinks we can change him.  Fluttershy succeeded with Discord, after all."

        "We had the Elements of Harmony to hold over his head!  What happens if 'Red Ink' goes flying off the handle?  What happens when he kills somepony?"

        "I don't think Inky's like that, Twilight.  I mean, sure, maybe he's a little crazy–"
        
        Somewhere, a kettle took offense at the racist slurs of a nearby pot.

        "–but he isn't going to hurt anypony.  Well, at least, not on purpose.  I mean, come on, he's a guardspony.  If he went around hurting everypony, he wouldn't be very good at his job, right?"

        "He isn't like my brother, Pinkie!  Rainbow and I saw what his guards are like when we went to Saraneighvo.  One of them killed another pony with a sickle!"

        Red Ink leaned back from the window to slap himself on the face with a hoof.  "Serp, how stupid are you possibly being?"

        "She speaketh the truth?" Luna asked in a forced whisper.

        The Stalliongradian nodded.  "A few years ago, subordinate was onto plot by rebels.  Not recognizing Sparkle.  Idiot."  Luna's eyes went wide, even as Ink went back to listening in.  He already knew his answer of course, but curiosity had wiped the idea from his mind.

        "But ah thought you said ya didn't know him 'fore yesterday, Twi."

        "Well, I didn't know him.  He probably would have lit the inn on fire!"

        "Oh, come now, Twilight.  That's hardly fair of you.  He said what happened in the market was an accident, and Hat Trick can be a bit caustic even on the best of days.  Although I will admit Roscherk's attitude didn't help…"

        "He kills ponies!  What part of that are you not understanding?"

        "Uh, the part where he ain't killed any ponies, Twi.  Ah mean, I ain't doubtin' ya, so ta speak…"

        "I suspect what Applejack is trying to get at, Twilight, is that while he may be a bit rough around the edges, it seems like you might be making unfair assumptions about him."

        "Yeah!"  A crash signaled Pinkie Pie jumping, or rolling, or some other activity that the eavesdroppers could not see.  "And we all know what they say about assumptions, right?"

        "That they–"

        Pinkie Pie cut Fluttershy off immediately.  "That they aren't very nice!  And you're a nice pony, Twilight, so we know you won't just assume he's a mean bad meanie evil nasty-nosed…"  The pink mare ground to a halt, and then groaned.  "Sorry girls, that one got away from me.  Uh, meanie-pants.  There, finished it."

         "I'm not assuming as much as you think, girls.  He killed a dragon!  He said so himself, to Spike."

        "Well, not every dragon is my dear Spikey-Wikey."  Ink suppressed a gag as Rarity continued inside.  "And, I once again remind you Twilight, he is a guardspony.  Perhaps this dragon was… less than pleasant."
        
        "Maybe it was like King Krenn," Fluttershy agreed with surprising force, before her voice caught on a moment of guilt and regret.  "Though that still wouldn't be very nice."

        Everypony was quiet for a moment, as the shadows on the window moved together into a single mass.  Ink stole a peek out of confusion, and caught a glimpse of a massive group hug.

        "Poor Discord," Pinkie Pie muttered to nopony in particular.

        "We had to do it, girls.  We stopped a war."

        "He still don't deserve bein' stuck like that.  Even if he was a pain in the flank."

        "Applejack!"

        "Oh, uh, sorry, 'Shy.  He just got on my nerves, turnin' all the apples into chocolate or whatever whenever he'd drop by."

        "Just because he doesn't understand how to be a good friend as well as we do doesn't mean he wasn't trying."  Fluttershy's voice grew more forceful.  "He just needed a chance, and for somepony to take the first step, and be his friend.  And, uh, I think Mr. Ink is the same.  That was why I thought of a dinner party."  Fluttershy's voice dropped a bit in volume.  "I know this didn’t quite turn out that well, but I'd really like it if you'd all help me."

        Twilight's voice picked up.  "He really reminds you of Discord?"

        Fluttershy laughed lightly.  "He, uh, burned down my drapes when I told him.  I guess in Stalliongrad, they don't know about Discord."

        "Oh."  That was all Twilight Sparkle could come up with.

        "So, we all agreein', then?  'Cause I'm gonna go get him, if y'all 're ready."

        Ink's head pulled back from the window.  "Come, Princess, we are–"  But Luna wasn't there.  He hadn't heard her move, yet she was nowhere in sight.  Without time to concern himself, Ink took her disappearance in stride.  Namely, the stride of sprinting away from the window and sliding to a rest beside his tree.  His action fell just in time, too, as his back struck the wood just as Fluttershy's front door swung open.

        "Ya out here, Raw Shark?"

        Having already emptied his stomach from her accent, Ink sighed.  "Mr. Ink is being fine, Applejack.  Otherwise, it is Roscherk."

        "That's what ah said.  Anyway, we figure ya oughta come on back in now."

        "Right…"  Ink slunk forward slowly as Applejack darted back inside, shutting the door behind her.  He spent the intervening steps contemplating how best to convey his false surprise at their decision.  The actual impact of their words was something that could be puzzled over later.  

        He pushed open the door, and realized instantly that he had no need for false surprise.  For the first time in his life, he found himself unhappy to be at the bottom of a pile of mares.  Legs were wrapped around him in a stifling hug.

        "This is stupid," he announced bluntly, once the surprise had settled.

        "Aw, come on, Inky!  Everypony needs a hug once in awhile."

        "Perhaps I am misunderstanding, but friendship is not contagious disease, yes?"

        "Of course not," Twilight told him.  He felt her weight shift off the pile.  "Friendship is a form of Emotionally Resonant Thaumic Field."

        "What."  It wasn't a question.

        Fluttershy picked up where Twilight had left off.  "What Twilight is saying is that friendship is magic.  And we all want to be your friends."

        "Oh."  Ink closed his eyes as he pondered.  "Thanks.  Now get off."

       Dear Princesses Luna and Celestia,

Today, I am learning many valuable lesson about friendship. It seems first step in lessons is that I am not understanding why 'bother' with friendship.

In Стольный, I was having had three ponies who I thought of as friends. First was little brother, Polnoch, who in Equiish is being called 'Midnight'. I told you about him when I was first meet you. Others are still alive: Serp and Molot. Good subordinate, but not really friend. Serp is more fan than friend, and Molot sees me as Commandant first, pony second.

They were who I was think of when I was hearing 'friend'. They were who I was drinking with, dragging after mares with, and 'hunting' with back home. But I was not making sacrifices for them. They were not urging me into being a better pony. Only I was told always that I was in the right. Always I was a hero. In some way, I am always knowing always knew it is was 'bad' for me. Commander Lining is not needing ponies to bolster his reputation.

Regardless, today I am being told differently. Today, I am learning that friendship is bond between ponies who are wanting the best for each other. We are see friendship in ponies who we are opening ourselves to, and who are also being open themselves to us, to share in aid, in happiness, and… other sappy things. (You were doing so well there, Red) I am not lying to you; these are not being my words. I am being was told these things, but Sparkle (Either 'Twilight' or 'Ms. Sparkle') is reminding reminds me that I am to be experiencing them myself before I am writing to you. And so I am informing you, partly because 'honesty' is Element, but also because I am suspecting you are would knowing the truth anyway, and lying is waste of my blood.

Sparkle's plan is that, when I am not teaching or otherwise busy, I am spending time with her friends, one by one, learning of their Elements. Some, I am thinking, are stupid, but perhaps when I am practicing magic with Sparkle herself, I am will getting better control over my temper, and fire. (Do you mean 'your fire'? Or can you actually control other fire too? Ooh, now I want to do an experiment! I haven't ever had an Empath to study before. I wonder how friendship will affect your magic! What do you mean I'm writing it down, Spike? I haven't even asked him…). That is what you are really wanting out of a guardspony, yes? Control?

Well, whatever your purpose is, I am will likely ending up dead from this, so I am supposing you are will be happy either way. Either Rainbow Dash is killing me, or I am killing self when I am reaching 'Pink Pie's' lessons. Laughter is a wonderful side effect of alcohol and young mares; not balloons and foal's games and puns. (You have to give Pinkie a chance. And as for Rainbow Dash… We'll put her off for last, I think. Probably better that you don't have to deal with her after what she's just been through…)

Now Sparkle is telling me that I should be informing you of other goings on. So where am do I beginning? Ah! I am getting got a job as substitute teacher for the school here in Ponyville. Sparkle is most firm in insisting that I am learning better Equiish (or at least a non-progressive tense), so she is going to grading this letter for grammar later. I have not had paper graded since the day I earned my Cutie Mark. It is a strange experience.

Also, I am meeting met most beautiful mare in entire world today. A Pegasus, with a slender body and a gorgeous mane. She is like me, with fire in her blood and eyes of warrior, though she is hiding it much better, and is not fighting ponies. Only monsters and creatures of forest. She is felled bear single-hoofedly, without even recourse to weapons or magic. She moves in silence, like shadows, even sneaking up even on me. When I am being back to in the guard, I am hoping to recruit her.

(Princess: I guess he's talking about Cloud Kicker; she's certainly got a lot of fight in her, though I have no idea what she'd be doing fighting a bear. Fluttershy might know more. I just hope he doesn’t wind up breaking somepony's heart… or their spine.)

Finally, I am telling will tell you this because Sparkle is twisting my wing over it. Today, I am blowing blew up Ponyville marketplace. It was accident. I am eventually repaying the damages (though I would be appreciating loan from home; teacher salary in this Domain is pathetic), but Sparkle is insisting I am telling you so that when Royal Guard come to investigate, I am not having to deal with Shining Armor again. We are all remembering what happened last time, after all, and Ponyville is beautiful town.

Sparkle is telling me that is sounding like threat, so I am to clarify: this is not my trying to hold city hostage; just observing 'reality of situation'.

Concluding report for August 30th, 1452 A.S.

Cpt. Red Ink, Honor Guard

-Roscherk Krovyu

August 30th, 1452 A.S.
Midair over the Domain of Canterlot
2314 Hours

        Luna had brought only a single bodyguard–a crime which would have had her elder sister in fits following recent events, had Celestia any chance of noticing.  However, as the illusionist of the family, the odds of Celestia even noticing something wrong were low at best.  Thus, instead of dragging her newly assigned, marenizing unicorn protector all the way from Canterlot, she was free to enjoy the company of a single Night Guard.

        Third Brother's expression could very easily be described as 'terminally unimpressed'.  His slitted yellow eyes scanned the ground far below as his rough purple mane billowed in the wind rushing past his face.  Though he was the largest and strongest of her Night Guard, Luna chose him for not for his strength, but because she enjoyed his near-silent company.  

        She watched as his eyes moved, sweeping back and forth.  Usually, the golden ellipses were sharp, jumping from point to point, but that night, they swept slowly and smoothly, failing to see what lay before them.

        "Something troubles you, Third Brother."

        He flinched, as if being caught in a daydream or a memory.  "Forgive me, Mistress; I had no intentions of making my thoughts known."

        Luna's brow rose  with enough curiosity to kill three and a half kittens.  "So you have been keeping secrets from us?"

        The usually stoic stallion winced.  "I... I had believed they were honestly not of your concern, Mistress.  I beg your forgiveness."

        "There is nothing to forgive, Third Brother.  We would ask, though; what is it that fills your mind?"
        
         "I am wondering what you intend to do with Captain Ink, which the Sun Goddess would rather not."

        Luna smiled more to herself than at her servant.  "Do you know how long it has been since my sister has had a real battle?"

        Third Brother's wings shot wide, and he came to a hover.  "I... do not understand the question, Mistress.  I suppose... thirty cycles, since she fought and fell to the Changeling Queen?"

        Luna shook her head slowly, taking the task of hovering in place with far more grace than her defender.  "A single burst of magic is not a 'real battle' Third Brother.  You see, in ages past so long ago that they have faded even from the memory of my sister's precious tomes, I was the warrior.  Celestia does not well understand what it is to risk herself in defending something.  Hers are the ways of peace and diplomacy first and foremost, and she is by far my better at both."  Luna let out a sort of chuckling snort.  "But she does not know of the life of a warrior.  And she knows nothing of redemption."

        She had thought the issue resolved with that revelation, and so moved to fly on.  However, like the last strand of toilet paper clinging desperately to the bottom of a hoof, Third Brother gave her pause by speaking up again.

        "Mistress, I... I fear I must ask to speak my mind."

        She looked at him quizzically.  "But of course.  I would not have you hold your tongue without cause."

        Third Brother grimaced, and his neck twitched as he struggled to find his words.  "Captain Ink... he is not as you are, though you seem to believe he is."

        "What do you mean?"

        "You..."  Third Brother winced as if in physical pain, and his eyes darted toward the moon hanging overhead in the sky.  "Yours is to seek redemption, knowing that your actions were wrong.  But Captain Ink... his heart is broken."

        "Ah, I see."  Luna smiled.  "His is an issue of romance?  It would explain his song–"

        "No," Third Brother interrupted quite forcefully, before drawing back as he realized that he had interrupted Luna.  "Forgive me, Mistress.  Mine was not the place to speak so swiftly or so freely, and–"

        "Calm yourself, Third Brother."  Luna swept over beside him and wrapped a foreleg around his neck to calm him.  Flying in such close proximity ought to have been difficult, yet Luna had no trouble in the timing of her wingbeats.  "We are speaking freely here, alone.  I would rather you not fear me."

        He looked away sheepishly.  "Of course, Mistress.  My point is that my metaphor was in poor choice.  Not 'heartbroken', but heart broken, as one might break a bone.  The damage was done long ago... at least, by the standards of mortals.  And the wound has never been set."

        "I am afraid I do not fully follow.  Are you saying that these lessons in friendship will not be enough to fix his behavior?  His nature?"

        "I am informing you of a truth that he has not recognized himself, Mistress.  Or, at the very least, one which he has not accepted."  Third Brother's face returned to its usual even expression, punctuated only by the tips of his rather short fangs sticking just barely out of his mouth.  "I was once told that a soldier is one who fights to defend something they believe to be bigger than their self.  Captain Ink forgot that lesson, long ago.  Now, he fights in denial, believing that if he finally wins, he will have back something he lost."

        "And that is?"

        "His last real friend."    

        Luna pulled slowly away from Third Brother, her mind consumed with a thousand burning questions.  The Night Guard, in turn, set about scanning the surrounding sky for threats once more.  Yet despite his action, he spoke up again.  "These lessons in friendship, and the Bearers; they may force him to face reality.  But his heart is set in its ways, healed into a twisted, limping thing.  It will have to be broken again before it can be set."