I open the door to my room and stumble in. How did I get here? I think, but when I try to recall the path I took my mind pulls a blank. The light from the hall lets me get a handle on where everything is. To my right is the bed, big enough for two ponies to stretch out on comfortably. Candle tables are on either side of the bed, and above it a lantern hangs. The walls are a cream color, the carpet a dark blue. None of the candles are lit, so as soon as I shut the door the only source of light is the moon shining through the window opposite me.
I try to flop down on the bed, but my armor pokes into my side, preventing sleep. I get up on shaky hooves and try to undo the straps in the dark. Eventually I get fed up and make my way to the candles next to the bed. I light them, wincing as my headache flares up along with the wick. For a minute, all I can do is try not to throw up the countless glasses of alcohol I drank earlier, during the celebration.
My armor finally clanks to the floor, and I kick it into a corner. Normally, I would arrange it next to my bed, in case I was attacked during the night, but as intoxicated as I am I don’t really care. I flop on the bed and close my eyes, trying to ignore the pounding in my head and the dryness in my mouth, but sleep won’t come. Suddenly, my stomach lurches, and it’s only my fantastic reflexes that allow me to get to the bathroom in time to heave the contents of my stomach into the toilet.
Ten minutes and two trips to the can later, my throat feels like it’s on fire and my stomach is (mercifully) empty. I step into the shower, trying to wash the taste of alcohol and gastric acid out of my mouth. I scrub myself clean, my fur sticky from spilled drinks. My mane is full of twigs, and when I search my mind for a reason all I get is a blurry recollection of a dare involving a tree and a very large blanket.
Drying myself off with a towel, I crawl onto the bed, not even bothering to get under the covers. I fall asleep instantly. My dreams are full of death and war, like always, but in my drunken state the images are blurry and the sound is warped. Eventually, the dreams fade away and I drift in the blackness that is sleep.
I wake up the next morning with a killer hangover. Luckily, I emptied my stomach last night, so when it heaves nothing comes up. I moan and turn on my side, trying to lessen the pain in my head. Something pokes me, and I shove a hoof down by my side to find the offending item. It comes back with a note, printed for easy reading.
Ghost Anlace,
As the war with Africaanas is over, all ponies will be returning to their homes. Your last listed place of residence is an orphanage, which will not accommodate ponies over the age of eighteen. Princesses Celestia and Luna have graciously given you permission to stay in the Palace for as long as you wish, so there is no rush for you to find a house. When you do find a home that appeals to you, you will not have to pay for it. The Princesses’ Grace comes with a large amount of bits that should be enough for any modest home you can find.
Cordially,
Quillus Amanuensis, Royal Secretary of Princess Celestia
I moan again, throwing the card as hard as I can across the room. My head hurts too much to decipher what exactly the note means, and the sunlight streaming through the windows isn’t helping. Crawling out of bed, I shut the curtains, but not before seeing the courtyard the window looks over.
It looks like a tornado hit it. There are cups and bottles strewn around the stone, and the buildings are covered in toilet paper. The grass is trampled, and in some places torn up. There are ponies sprawled unconscious in trees, some of which look suspiciously like they had been bucked repeatedly. Burned-out firecrackers float in the Hydra fountain, and each of the Hydra heads have a party hat on.
I sink to the floor, not even bothering going back to bed. What happened last night? I wonder, and try to pull up any memory of the last twenty-four hours. I remember getting on the train, the rooftop jaunt, and the ceremony, but after that…
Then I remember. Princess Celestia had taken the Zebras (what had their names been? Naha and Bunt Cake? It didn’t really matter) into another room with Princess Luna to discuss the details of the peace treaty. Two hours (and for us military personnel, three bottles) later, the four had come back with smiles on their faces. They called all the citizens of Canterlot together (still don’t understand how they did that) and gave the good news. The crowd had broken out in joy, and things just went downhill from there.
Some ponies had brought lots and lots of alcohol and food and party supplies, and when those three are combined (especially the first one) in any situation, it creates problems. My memories are a blank after my seventh bottle of hard cider, but I get vague flashes of music, fireworks and an argument about whether a blanket would make a good parachute. That explains the twigs in my mane and the bruises on my side, which I had been too drunk to notice last night.
A knock at my door makes me jump. “Who—who is it?” I call, trying to sound normal.
A deep voice, slightly muffled by the door, answers. “Ghost, it’s Mist. If you aren’t too hungover, breakfast is downstairs. Do you want to pass?”
Mist was one of the ponies in my regiment who I grew close with. His coat is a dark purple, like a bruise, and his hair is a golden white. His Cutie Mark is a hammer, which was his weapon of choice in the war. We were like brothers, always trying to outdo each other in everything. I guess I got the last laugh, since Mist is only a First Lieutenant and I’m a Captain. I get up, finding myself remarkably steady on my hooves. “No, I’ll be right there.”
“Okay. I’ll save you a seat, unless you need some help walking.”
I test my legs and nearly collapse, but force myself to my hooves. Gritting my teeth and willing away the pain in my head, I say, “No, you go ahead, Mist. I know how much you love your hay fries.”
“See you there,” he replies. When I can’t hear him walking anymore, I pull myself over to the bathroom and start the shower, gulping down water for my parched throat. It lessens my headache enough so that I can walk somewhat normally. When I’m sure that my stomach won’t try and rebel against the fluids, I open the door.
The hallway is about the same as the courtyard. Muddy hoofprints track across the carpeted floor, the walls, and even the ceiling. Bottles have been kicked to the sides of the hall, allowing easy walking for one pony at a time down the corridor. The smell of alcohol, dirt and body odor almost makes me regurgitate the water I had drunk.
“Some party, huh, Ghost?” I turn left, startled, to see a gray pegasus who I vaguely recognize from the ceremony yesterday. “Thank Princess Celestia that I remembered my sister’s advice when drinking spirits. All you have to do is drink one glass of water for every glass of alcohol and you don’t get a hangover. No one ever tell you that?”
He talks softly, lessening the impact his words have on my headache. I nod, swallowing hard to keep everything down, and say, “No, I’ve never heard that. You’re, uh… Flintlock, right? Bolt Flintlock? You got a medal in the ceremony.”
He nods, pleased that I remember. “That’s right. Can’t believe the war’s finally over. The ponies here have been waiting for that announcement for so long that when it came, they went a little nuts. I don’t think you could find another bottle of hard cider, or for that matter any spirits at all, in the whole of Canterlot today. You look like you did your part in making that happen. Do you need some help to get to the dining hall?”
He’s a little random, and it takes me a minute to process everything in my half-dead state. I look down the hall left, and then right. I have absolutely no idea where I am or where the dining hall is, so I nod. He trots past me, motioning for me to follow. We turn right, then left, then left again, go down some stairs and through a set of double doors before we reach the dining hall.
Rows of tables and comfortable chairs greet us. The hall is long, with a medium-sized nook set aside to present the food. The floor is white marble, and two walls are covered in windows. The ceiling is high and arched, with no design. The place is full of ponies, and I guess that ninety nine percent of them are military. Half of the ponies in the chairs are sleeping or falling asleep, and the other half are either clutching their heads or picking at breakfast with a slightly green tint to their faces. Thankfully, the dining hall is clean of bottles and other unsavory items, and the smell of food makes my stomach settle.
I pick up some toast, some muffins, hay fries and a glass of water and look for Mist in the sea of hungover ponies. Finally, I see him sitting by the windows, staring into the distance. When I get closer, I notice that Bolt Flintlock has taken a seat to the left of Mist. The chair to the far right is empty. I take it, glad to get off my (slightly unsteady) hooves.
We eat in silence until Mist speaks up. “Do you remember the reason we started to drink so much?”
Bolt frowns slightly, his eyebrows pulled together as he thinks. “I think it was because the war was over, and we’re war ponies, so what do we do now? At least, that’s what Ghost said last night when we were walking down the hallway to our rooms.”
I flinch upon hearing my name. “I said that?”
Bolt nods. “Yeah, you were pretty hammered. Mist said about the same thing. You two were the only ones who weren’t drinking either because the war was over or because the drinks were free.”
I lay my head on the table and sigh. A shadow looms over me, and I look up to see a green unicorn with a quill for a Cutie Mark standing next to me. When he sees that I’m awake, he starts to talk softly. “Ghost Anlace? My name is Quillus Amanuensis, the royal secretary. Princess Celestia would like to speak with you.”
Mist’s eyebrows disappear into his mane, and Bolt whistles softly. I start in surprise. What could Princess Celestia want with me? Quillus leads me out of the dining hall and into the throne room. Throne room? Oh Sweet Celestia, what did I do last night to be called to the throne room? I think with trepidation. The doors open, and I see the Princess sitting on her throne with the same calm expression that I had seen during the ceremony.
I walk to the foot of the dais and bow, managing not to fall over. “Princess Celestia, to what do I owe the honor of your presence?”
Say what you like about me, I can be a charmer when I need to be.
She smiles, a gentle smile that makes me relax ever so slightly. “Ghost Anlace. I have called you here to continue the conversation we had last night. Did you get Quillus’ note?”
My mind is in overdrive, trying to find some recollection of a conversation with the Princess. “A—A note, Princess?” The note that I threw across the room that morning flashed across my mind. “Oh, that note! Yes, Princess, I got Quillus’ note. But, uh, I don’t remember exactly what it said. Could you refresh my memory?”
She chuckles. “Do you remember our conversation last night, Ghost?”
I hesitate. “Uh… no, Princess, I’m afraid that I don’t. Most of last night is a blank.”
A map surrounded by a rainbow aura floats before me, opening to reveal a map of Equestria. A small town southwest of Canterlot is circled with a circle that looks drawn by a two year old. I squint, trying to read the name of the town, and finally see Ponyville in small letters just below the circle.
“You and I had an interesting talk about where you were going to live now that the war is over. You were sober, actually, and circled it once I described it as an Earth Pony town. You said that it was where you wanted to live.”
“I—I did?” I stutter.
The map shuts and drifts back to Quillus, who stands behind me and to the right. He takes the map in his teeth and trots out the door, presumably to put it back. Princess Celestia nods. “Yes. You did. Luckily, there is a house for sale in Ponyville at the moment, and I took the liberty of purchasing it for you. If you have changed your mind, I can always sell it again.”
I thought it over. If this Ponyville was an Earth Pony town, I would fit right in. From what I saw on the map, it was a quarter of the size of Canterlot and half the size of Manehattan. It was out in the country, which meant there wouldn’t be any snobby rich ponies. I hate ponies who act like they own the whole world, which is why the idea of living in Canterlot is out. Manehattan would be too hectic for me; plus, there were some ponies from my war days that I never wanted to see again. A big city increased that risk.
“No, Princess, I haven’t changed my mind. A home in Ponyville will be wonderful, I’m sure.” My voice is steady, and with my answer the Princess nods.
“Wonderful. Here is your ticket for the one o’clock train to Ponyville.” A blue ticket floats in front of me, and I take it with my teeth. “Your armor will be sent down with you in a week or so. Now, hurry, Ghost. It’s almost twelve thirty, and you won’t want to miss your train.”
My eyes widen and I gallop out of the throne room, passing Mist in the front hallway. “Ghost, where are you going?” he yells.
“To Ponyville!” I yell over my shoulder, the ticket still clamped between my teeth, making my words muffled. I barge out of the front door and run for all I’m worth, heading to my new home.
**************
Princess Celestia watched Ghost go with a small smile on her face. Quillus, who had come back in time to watch Ghost speed out the door, said hesitantly, “Princess? You were talking with Princess Luna all of last night. From what I remember you hardly left the room. When did you talk to Ghost?”
She winked at Quillus. “I didn’t. But Ghost needs a town with reliable ponies that show friendship to everypony. He didn’t pick it, but he doesn’t need to know that, does he?”
Quillus grinned slowly. “Yes, Princess, I understand.”