From Stalliongrad With Love

by LoyalLiar

Lollypopth

I was convinced to add the following events to my narrative by my ‘good’ ‘friend’ Hat Trick, whom I owe a great deal of money… or something.  If there are any foals reading this, I have two pieces of advice.  The first is to remember that no amount of money is worth your dignity.  The second is that you should stop reading this right now!  The rest of this story already wasn’t particularly appropriate for young foals, but this segment simply could not be retold with any degree of justice if it were to abide by the common laws of decency and respect.  As a result, you should stop reading if you are too young or too old to be employed, if you are easily offended, or are nursing, pregnant, or may become pregnant.  Reading this chapter may increase your risk of heart attack or stroke, and has been known to cause shortness of breath due to increased laughter.  Do not read ‘Lollypopth’ if you are taking aspirin for chest pain, as this may cause rare but serious bleeding.  Consult your physician before continuing.

December 25th, 1452 A.S.
Ponyville, Domain of Canterlot
906 Hours

Roscherk Krovyu walked tall, like a stallion renewed.  Admittedly, said renewed stallion was still only barely three feet tall, but nopony was about to point that out to Celestia’s bodyguard unless they were particularly cold, and didn't really care for their eyebrows very much anyway.  He wore gilded armor under his black jacket, and a military-issue saber and collapsible spear were belted to his sides beneath his wings.  For the first time, he strode the streets of Ponyville as a real guardspony.

Unlike the crowded streets of Canterlot, Ponyville was abuzz with a lack of activity.  The week after Hearth’s Warming, families were back to the seclusion of their homes and out of the slowly melting snow.  It would be time to clean up winter soon―what a ridiculous notion to a Stalliongradian―and then there would be foals in the streets.  But that day, the corpses of snowponies dripped their watery lifeblood onto uneven patches of snow and ice.

“Hey, look who it is!”  A snowball whizzed past the stallion’s face, and he batted a second aside with his wing almost by reflex.  A third struck his jacket, though he barely noticed it between the thickness of the fabric and the weight of his armor.

“Hat Trick.”  Ink glared at the white pegasus, standing sideways so that the motion of his wing dipping into the snow would go unnoticed.  “Do I need to blow up your paint set again?  Or did you learn your lesson last time?”

“I didn’t think you’d remember, Inky.”  

A literal wave of snow soared into the air as Roscherk spun with his wing extended.  Hat Trick was fast enough to shield his precious fedora―not a trilby, for all the uncultured swine reading this―but his wings and coat were left utterly soaked.

Ink scooped up another mass of snow and readied it, only for a nagging voice in the back of his mind.  He imagined it to be Celestia, if she were sixty years old and sounded like a dying cow, and looked exactly like his aunt in every imaginable respect.

“Now, Roscherk,” said the mare in his mind, in perfect Stalliongradi.  “It wouldn’t be very respectable for the Commander of the Honor Guard to go using his combat magic to hurl all that much snow at a helpless―”

The nagging voice was silenced when one of Hat Trick’s snowballs smacked into Roscherk’s face.  “What’s wrong, Mr. Ink?  Lost in my beauty?”

“I should not be doing this, Hat Trick,” the guardspony answered.  “It would not befit an Honor Guard.”

“Oh?”  Hat Trick laughed, dropped his fourth snowball, and paced forward.  “So Princess Celestia gelded you?  Here, I was hoping we could have a drink and catch up on old times.”  Of course, Hat Trick referred to the Thursday card nights that had been omitted from previous segments of this tale for the sake of its accessibility to more delicate minds.  “What are you actually doing back here, anyway?”

“Running an errand,” Ink answered.  “Twilight Sparkle spent the some-odd hundred million bits my brother gave her on donations to the Royal Academy and Celestia’s School and the Canterlot Library, and the History Museum, and at this point I suspect you get the point of the list.”

The civilian cocked his head.  “So what are you, then?  Her congratulatory singing stallion-gram?”

“Do I look like a prostitute?”

Hat Trick briefly considered taking the easy, one-word answer, but ultimately decided that he was a better pony than that.  That is not to say ‘better’ in a moral sense, but rather, better in the sense of replying to such an easily twisted comment.  His choice of words ran thusly:  “I guess not.  I can’t think of a mare who’d sleep with you for free, let alone paying you for it.”

“Visit Stalliongrad sometime.”

“I guess I can imagine there’d be mares who’d take that deal,” the artist admitted.  “But personally, I’d still choose to freeze to death.”

Despite being perhaps the second most flame-retardant pony alive in Equestria (after the five-time Equestrian Chili-eating champion, Asbestos Plumbing), Ink had to admit that he’d been burned.

In the course of thinking up a sufficiently brutal and defenestrating insult, Ink managed to deliver a single knock to the door to the Golden Oaks Library with his face.

“Hello?” an unmistakable unicorn’s voice called out.  “Is it urgent?  We’re closed.”

“Twilight, it’s me,” Ink answered, clutching his face.  “Roscherk.”

The door was flung open with the aura of an archmage.  “Oh, Mr. Ink!  I wasn’t expecting you; come in.”

After his few months in Ponyville, Ink had to reflect that perhaps the library was one of the world’s universal constants.  From the bust of Smart Cookie (now with a fatal sickle-induced wound) to the case holding the Elements of Harmony, to the vague state of disorder, it was exactly the way he remembered leaving it.  In fact, the only appreciable difference to the room was the pink alicorn sitting at the far side of it.

“Oh!  Princess Can Dance!”

“It’s Cadance, Roscherk.”

Ink’s head tilted to the side like a lost puppy.  “You know my name?”

“We’ve met more than once,” Cadance noted with a lack of amusement.  “Shining Armor is my husband.”

“Oh.”  Ink’s mind raced for more words.  It came up with only one.  “Shit.”

“I’m glad we understand each other,” Cadance muttered.  “What are you doing here?”

“Didn’t I tell you, Cadance?” Twilight asked.  “Roscherk stayed with me over the summer, helping me with my thesis on the magic of friendship.”

“I see,” Cadance answered, in a voice that might have been called political were it not for the honesty of its statement.  “Who’s your friend, if I may ask?”

“Princess, this is Hat Trick; he makes his living being a smartass, mostly.”

Hat Trick flipped the former half of his name off with a wing, holding it over his breast as he bowed.  “It’s my pleasure to meet you, Princess Cadance.”

“Likewise,” she replied.  Then she shifted her attention to her former foalsitee.  “I’ll relieve myself for a moment so you can help these two.”  The pink alicorn turned and walked away, most likely entirely aware of the four eyes locked onto the crystal heart stamped on her ass.

Red Ink leaned over to Hat Trick’s ear.  “I would tap that like I wanted a glass of beer.”

“That’s weak, Ink; real alcohol doesn’t come on tap.”  Then he smiled.  “I would tap that like I needed syrup for my pancakes.”

“I prefer waffles.  I would tap that like I was on stage performing a musical.”

“Ooh; well played.”  Hat Trick stepped through the doorway to the warmth of the library interior, and immediately wandered over to the ‘Art’ section.

Ink made his way into the library, pulled off his jacket, and draped it over Smart Cookie’s face.  “Ah; much more comfortable.  How are things in Ponyville?”

“Oh, you know.  Slow.  Calm.  Devoid of fire.”  The unicorn cracked a little smile.  “No major monster attacks, which is nice.  Dash has been better, but she’s holding out.  How’s Canterlot?”

“Awful,” Ink replied.  “All these nobles are so stuck up, and the Princess insists I can’t even threaten any of them.  They spend all their time talking through their noses and sucking each others lollypopth.”

Twilight chuckled.  “That word is pronounced ‘lollipops’, though I don’t recall many of them going around at noble parties.”

“That’s because I didn’t mean candy, Twilight.”  Ink rolled his eyes.  “How can I put this in terms you’ll understand?  You know my brother, right?”

Twilight nodded.  “Predvidenie; I went to college with him for a while.  I think Cadance had a class with him too.  Isn’t that right Cadance?”

Ink hadn’t really paid much attention to the sounds of plumbing that were omitted from previous scene descriptions, and thus was surprised when Cadance answered from a mere few feet away.  “Yes, I had a class with Predvidenie.”

“Well,” the Stalliongradian continued.  “Predvidenie is a great example of a stallion who absolutely loves to suck other stallions’ lollypopth.”

Rather than some condemnation of his crude analogy, Princess Cadance shifted in the pink spectrum from the socially acceptable ‘pretty princess range’ to the dangerous ‘red zone’.  “That, uh… that isn’t exactly true, Roscherk.”

“What are you talking about?” Twilight demanded.  “Can I get a straight answer?”

“No,” Ink muttered with a chuckle, earning a glare from Cadance.  His own focus moved to the alicorn.  “We’re talking about penises, Twilight.  Specifically, stallions who like to be on the receiving end of them.”

“The correct plural is actually penes,” Twilight clarified, simultaneously raising the educational value and significantly lowering the actual dialogue in the room.  “Also, isn’t that a bit homophobic?”

He shook his head.  “I never said there was anything wrong with it.  Nothing wrong with liking stallions; only the stallion he actually chose.  What I was getting around to explaining was that my brother decided to reveal his preference in the most hilariously embarrassing way I could ever imagine.”

Cadance bypassed the pink spectrum completely, winding up in a shade that very much resembled Ink’s own.  “Okay, listen to me, Roscherk: your brother didn’t want that to happen.  It was mostly my fault.”

Ink looked at Cadance incredulously.  “Really?  This ought to be good.  How could you possibly be responsible for that catastrophe?”

The princess of love cleared her throat.  “Well, it all started in Charms class…”

November 9th, 1445 A.S.
Classroom 101, The Royal Academy of Canterlot
1328 Hours

As was the case for so many college ponies, the stallion known as Foresight was a walking ball of hormones and addled thoughts.  Unlike his immaculately organized future self, these thoughts were largely random and utterly uncontrolled.  Baron Frostbite will want to see my report card, but I failed astrology.  Cadance is so attractive.  I’m going to be up all night if Blueblood throws another party upstairs.  The major schools are Abjuration, Enchantment, Conjuration, Transmutation, Flank, and Horn.  Wait, no, that’s not right…

“Good morning, Foresight.”

The blue stallion shook himself to regain his focus, then again to get his golden mane off of his glasses.  “Oh.  Hi, Cadenza.”

“We’ve been practice partners all year, Predvidenie.  You don’t have to be such a stranger.”

The unicorn gulped.  “Uh… right.  Sorry, Cadance; just got a lot on my mind, with everything that’s going on.”

Cadance rolled her eyes.  “I know what you mean.  Today is family day, and I’m just hoping my dad hasn’t brought his entire personal guard, like he did when I left home.  He’s so paranoid.”

“Sounds rough,” Foresight muttered, levitating a scroll, quill, and inkwell out of his bags and onto his desk in the middle of the lecture hall.  “I’m glad I don’t have to deal with any of that.”

The Bitalian princess smiled.  “What’s your family like?  Anypony coming to visit?”

Glasses were adjusted, and a deep breath was taken.  “My dad, my brothers, and probably Baron Frostbite.  He’s the one paying my way through classes here, and he’s pretty good friends with my dad.”

“Oh?  I didn’t know you knew the Baron of Stalliongrad.”

“My dad’s an alicorn,” Foresight mumbled, bringing out a smile of anticipation on Cadance’s face.  “Before you get excited, he’s terrible at magic.  He used to be really good, but then my mom died…”

“Sorry; I didn’t know.”  Cadance looked down at her book.  “Looks like it’s about time for class to start.”

As if part of some greater narrative or production which could assure such timing, Cadance’s words heralded the arrival of an aging unicorn.  Dr. Graymane, whose magnificent profile served as the backdrop to the dartboards not only of his students, but also his fellow teachers, stomped up to the podium in the center of the classroom and began to lecture at his students from the top of his lungs.

“Today’s lecture is on the topic of Cutie-Oscillating Charm Spells; this may be the most important lecture of the year, and as a result, I quite honestly do not care when your parents or families do or do not arrive.  To a real mage, and certainly to any aspiring archmage, family is a distraction worth attending only so much as they provide a useful feature like tuition or a test subject for your experimentation.  On that topic, if anypony has seen my wife, a careless student left her cage open last night, and now he’s quite lonely in there.”

In the ensuing silence of fear and awkwardness, Dr. Graymane began scratching on the chalkboard at the front of the room with a carrot.  Nopony in class knew why he used a carrot, or why the carrot was able to produce white chalk when drawn along the blackboard.  Nopony had the gall to ask, either.  When freshmen would ask, the classic response was to simply shout “WIZARD!” and walk away.

Foresight began to scratch down notes as Graymane shouted with his back to the class.  “As you are hopefully aware, supposing you aren’t too hopelessly dim to actually graduate, cutie marks can have a huge impact on the power of a pony’s spellcasting.  What you probably don’t know, because foals of your generation are lazy and can’t be counted on to even read two chapters ahead in their textbooks, is that a pony’s special talent can also allow them to work magic which is outright impossible for other ponies.  Today, the majority of you will be demonstrating that said spells aren’t worth the breath I used to explain them to you.  Perhaps two or three of you will have a spell with the capacity for something valuable, like cleaning up all the shit the collective class was slinging around in the essays last week.”

As the aging unicorn scratched arcane forumulae (no self respecting spellcaster would ever describe their complex recipes of magic as ‘formulas’, for fear of ‘fitting in’ with ‘normal ponies’), Cadance slid her pencil into her notebook and shut it.  “I already know how this works.”

“You do?”

The alicorn nodded.  “You know my ‘heart spell’?”

Foresight adjusted his glasses.  “The one that makes ponies fall in love?”

“More like a hormonal imbalance,” Cadance whispered.  “Otherwise, that would be just a little bit…”

“Unethical?”

“Yeah.”  The Bitalian princess chuckled to herself.  “Anyway, I can probably help you figure yours out faster than we could sitting here getting yelled at.  Want to head back to the practice hall and work on it?”

“Sure,” Foresight replied, closing his book.

Red Ink collapsed backward, placing a wing over his face.  “Oh.  Oh!  Suddenly, it all makes so much sense.  Wow, Candace, I almost can’t believe it.”

“Cadance,” the alicorn corrected.  “And I hope now you can respect that it wasn’t his―”

“Respect?” Ink scoffed.  “My brother doesn’t deserve any respect.”

Twilight glared.  “Predvidenie is a kind and generous stallion, and his sexual orientation―”

“I don’t hate my brother because he’s gay,” Ink interrupted.  “And really, after how he reacted when Polnoch and I hired that donkey stripper for his birthday, I doubt he is.  I hate my brother because he’s an asshole.  Not just any asshole, either; he’s like the prophesied king of the assholes, long awaited by a mourning populace of douchebags and drunk frat colts.”

Twilight gave Ink a look which spelled out in no uncertain terms that while she was impressed by his mastery of Equiish, she was disappointed in his choice to use her lessons for a cause of evil instead of kindness and charity.

Ink responded with a look that simply said ‘no shit’.

“Hey, Hat Trick,” the Stalliongradian called.  “Come here; you’ve gotta here this.”

“You used the wrong form of ‘hear’ the second time,” Twilight commented.

Ink nodded as the white pegasus took a seat nearby.  “Got it, Twilight.  Now, listen to this; you’re gonna piss yourself.”

Baron Frosbite was a pale blue, rather lanky stallion who almost looked like he belonged on Princess Luna’s Night Guard.  His magic levitated an absolutely tiny glass of vodka as he reclined on his own cape, inside the closed chamber of his flying carriage.  “Tell me, Eye, has it been a while since you’ve been to Canterlot?”

“Just over twenty years,” answered the well-muscled golden alicorn.  “Predvidenie was still very young, and we didn’t have either of you two yet.”  Gentle amber eyes shifted to a pair of pegasi in the room, alike in their slick black uniforms and completely unalike in virtually every other way.  One was tall, fit, pale blue, and generally looked far more like Baron Frostbite than his actual father.  The other was a sexy badass with a perfect physique, a red coat that makes mares everywhere swoon, and enormous wings.  “Why are we speaking in Equiish, Frostbite?”

“Why, because I don’t want Roscherk and Polnoch here to embarrass themselves when we see Princess Celestia.  The last thing I need is for such high ranking police officers to look bad in front of the Royal Guard.  We’ll have to tell them an inspiring story about your work, colts.  I’m thinking a good choice would be that stallion you rescued from his alcoholic father.  The one with the really generic Equiish name.  What was it?  Frank?  Joe?”

“Josef Stallion” Polnoch grumbled in his almost freakishly deep voice.

“Ah, yes, that’s it.”  Frostbite cracked a smile, and emptied a bit of his expensive vodka into it.  “It’s astounding how just a little bit of kindness can prevent a lifetime of evil and cruelty―even for an earth pony.  You two turned his life around, my colts.”

“Am no your colt…” Roscherk mumbled, refraining from his native tongue primarily because Frostbite was perfectly fluent in Stalliongradi and would thus understand every insult the foul-mouthed colt could fling.

Baron Frostbite rolled his eyes.  “Perhaps you should let Polnoch do the talking tonight, Roscherk.  You do understand what I’m saying?  Do I need to use Stalliongradi?”

“He’s not an idiot, Frostbite,” Watchful Eye scolded.

The baron shrugged.  “I didn’t mean to say he was.”  There was clearly more to the thought, but nothing more came when the carriage lurched to a halt.  “Ah!  Here we are.  Eye, colts, I give you the Royal Academy of Canterlot.”

The door of the carriage opened to a mass of students and their families embracing, talking, and vaguely enjoying one another’s company.  Roscherk and Polnoch shot one another a quick glance, before simultaneously making gagging motions with their hooves.  The ensuing laughter went a long way toward distracting the brothers as a heavyset unicorn approached their little group.

“Sforzando!” Baron Frostbite called out.  “It’s been so long.”

Sforzando Eccessivo, Il Principe of Bitaly, folded himself at the foreshoulder into a stiff bow.  “It truly has, Frostbite.”  The portly pony picked his head up, looking across the assembled ponies.  “I didn’t know you had any foals, Frostbite.  And… oh?”  The Prince’s gaze fell on the golden coat of Tsar Watchful Eye.  “An alicorn?  I don’t believe we’ve met, sir.  My name is Sforzando Eccesivo, Prince of Bitaly and Heir to the Neighdici branch of the Line of Platinum.  You are?”

“Watchful Eye,” the Stalliongradian replied.  There was a pregnant silence, as Sforzando waited for a list of titles which frankly never came.  “I’m here to see my son,” Eye finally noted.

“Oh, that’s splendid.  I’m actually here to see my daughter, Cadenza.  She’s an alicorn as well.  Perhaps you could teach her some of your more unique magic―”

“I don’t practice magic,” Watchful Eye snapped.

“Oh…”

“Well, I’m glad you two have gotten on together,” Frostbite announced, wrapping a foreleg each around the necks of the stallions in question.  “Come on, let’s go find ours.”

Nopony felt the need to comment that, simply by virtue of the height difference between his two ‘friends’, Frostbite was making a rather impressive diagonal.  Regardless of the silence on the subject, he was practically kneeling with one hind leg, and the other was struggling to find the ground at all.  In short, he walked like a dog trying to take a piss.

Polnoch and Roscherk followed quietly, shooting the occasional odd glance here and there as virtually the only pegasi present.  They would probably have kept up with the adults, were it not for the combination of Polnoch’s youth (at age 18), his height (3’11” at the shoulder, towering over the heads of most earth ponies, let alone pegasi), and his physique (which experts in the field described as ‘undeniably sexy’ - Cosmarepolitan).  All of these traits were present in a collegiate environment, full of countless hormones, and mares who had spent their last several weeks cooped up with the best, brightest, and generally nerdiest stallions that Equestria had to offer.

The fact that Polnoch was wearing a sleek black Stalliongradian police uniform did nothing to help the matter.  Realistically, the gold epaulets were almost cheating.

They came at him like a tsunami.

“Mares… please…”  Polnoch picked up a particularly aggressive azure mare with what appeared to be mare-pattern balding, and threw her across the room ‘gently’.  “I can only pleasure four of you at a time. Form an orderly line or something.”

The lovestruck mare, a lowly illusionist with no real family and no real talent, who went by the name ‘Beatrix’, swore that she would someday win the Stalliongradian’s heart.  Of course, like everything else she ever did in her life, she would fail at that task, and go through her years lonely and envious of more talented and more friendly magicians.

Roscherk glanced over to the lonely mare.  “Hello.  You are to be want sexing with stallion?”

“Get away from me, perv!” the mare shouted back, throwing down a smoke bomb and fleeing like a little bitch.

His self-esteem shattered, the elder of the two pegasi collapsed onto his hooves, sobbing.  “Why?”  

“There, there,” Polnoch comforted his brother, wrapping a blue wing over the stallion’s shoulders as the other batted hormonal mares away left and right.  “You sleep with far more mares than me, Roscherk.  Why, you’re practically a *****.”

“Not to help.”

“Right, sorry.” Polnoch smiled.  “We’ll find you somebody to love just yet.”

For the sake of brevity, this narrative will omit the subsequent musical number.  Suffice it to say that pop sensation Friendly Mercury did an excellent number, but nothing could offset Roscherk’s miserable Equiish.  When Mercury slipped and broke his foreleg, there would have been ample opportunity for a joke; however, Roscherk had not yet learned to light himself on fire, and thus could neither label himself the new Mr. Farenheit, nor deliver a witty one-liner about breaking thermometers.  Instead, the best he could come up with was to half-heartedly mutter ‘another one bites the dust’, and walk off in self-pity.  No matter how much he wanted killer queens and fat-bottomed mares, it seemed he was just a poor colt with no pony to love him.

Having expended the entertainment value of the scene, the Stalliongradian brothers adjusted their classy outfits, timed their steps (an awkward process, given the height difference), and walked off in search of their elders.  It was an involved process, given the immensity of the unfamiliar castle.  By unspoken agreement, the two stallions set about their search the same way they did whilst serving as police officers: clearing each room one by one until the target was located.

After bucking in four doors, Roscherk Krovyu growled.  “I am swear, Polnoch, if not finding behind this door Father, I―”

The door swung open, and as if by magic, the pegasus found his words stolen away.  The room wasn’t particularly notable.  Its only contents were a series of stupid-looking ‘cold-sore red’ symbols drawn on the floor in what looked like sidewalk chalk, and two ponies.  One was incredibly attractive.  The other was his older brother.

Predvidenie’s eyes seemed to sparkle in an unnatural light.  The room’s glow dimmed, save a brilliant column centered on the royal blue stallion with the golden locks.  For a moment, the world stopped.  His heart skipped a beat, and his eyes grew wide.

“Roscherk?” Predvidenie asked, with a tenderness that could move mountains.  

“Predvidenie?” Roscherk replied, as if addressing a hoof fungus.

There followed a long moment of utter stillness, where a single whispered word might change the course of fate.  Roscherk judged his elder brother and found the scrawny unicorn wanting.  Predvidenie drank in his younger brother’s physique, and found himself unquenched.

And the thirst could not be denied.

There are moments in Equine history when fate looks at an impossible scenario and dictates that sheer force of will can overpower the laws of the universe.  Such struggles have made gods of mere mortals, toppled empires, and sent blood pumping through stilled hearts.  On that day, one such event transpired that would shake the foundations of Equine civilization forever.

Predvidenie was a tall lanky stallion who took magical dueling for his P.E. credit as a way to avoid both polo and physical exertion in general, beyond the jogging that produced his physique.  He compensated for his average looks with expensive clothing, such as the scarf that fluttered off of his neck in his sudden burst of movement.

Roscherk, in contrast, was what hoofball players referred to as an untackleable foe, whose center of gravity was a mere two feet above his hooves, and yet whose body mass was far more than the average hoofball player.  Earth ponies four feet in height had failed to topple him, and would continue to do so well into his future.

For the first time in his life, Predvidenie ignored the physics and lunged.  Roscherk lost his hoofing taking a step backward in confusion.  That little motion was all it took.

The pegasus had been expecting a blow to the head.  What he recieved instead was a wet, mushy feeling.  Lips?  And then… a tongue?

Predvidenie would have described the scene differently.

His brother’s supple lips rolled like the gentle snowy slopes behind Burning Hearth Castle.  Though rough, they bore a surprising depth, and hid a tender secret.  It was poetic, that a pegasus and a unicorn, both native to the land of Hearth’s Warming should embrace in such taboo love, abandoning the bygone restrictions of the past in favor of a bright new future for all ponykind.

The unicorn’s tongue slid gently into his brother’s mouth, exploring tender cheeks before touched only by the fairer sex.  And surely, how unfair they had been to hide such a glorious example of a stallion from the world.

Then Roscherk bit down on his brother’s tongue.

“He kissed you?” Hat Trick asked, holding a wing to his face.  “Wow.  That… I honestly don’t think I know what to say about that.”

Twilight Sparkle finally found control of her jaw.  “Cadance, that was your fault?  I heard everypony was making fun of Predvidenie before he transferred to Trottingham, but…”

“Yes, Twilight, that was my fault.  My fault, and the fault of his brothers who turned around and told everypony.”  Cadance leveled a glare at the red pegasus, who was laughing so hard that it seemed his cutie mark might fall off.  “Honestly, Roscherk, I suddenly realize that Shining is right about you.  You are a terrible pony.”

“Cadance!”  Twilight gasped.

Red Ink shook his head.  “No, Twilight, she’s right.  I still have a long way to go before I actually earn anypony’s forgiveness.  Besides, the Honor Guard captain has to be a terrible pony, sometimes.  Come on, Hat Trick; let’s give the mares some privacy.”

Hat Trick twisted his head like a confused puppy.  “Didn’t you come here to deliver something?”

Ink reached into his jacket and threw an envelope on the central table.  “There.  Done.”  The captain allowed his civilian acquaintance to leave first, and then turned back in the doorway to offer some parting words to the princess of the Crystal Empire… who really ought to be an Empress then?

“Cadance, one last thing: if your husband ever decides to grow a pair of balls, tell him that he can say things to my face, instead of bitching to his wife.  I’d probably have fun kicking his ass again.”

And with that, the door to the library slammed shut.

Twilight Sparkle looked at Cadance, and saw a goddess of fury and vengeance made manifest, albeit in a shapely, pink, and distinctly effeminate form.

“Uh… Cadance… you don’t look so good.  Um… sunshine sunshine―”

“Not now, Twilight,” the alicorn interrupted.  “Nopony insults Shining.”

“Mr. Ink!  Mr. Ink!” the chorus of voices was three pitches too high for Ink’s comfort, but he nevertheless smiled at the noise.

“Class!  How are you all doing?”

“Great!” Sweetie Belle answered.  “Ms. Cheerilee said we had to stop learning about Stalliongrad because it was too violent, though.”  The class nodded, with notable pouts on a few faces.

“Too violent?  Red Ink?”  Hat Trick laughed.  “You’re joking, right?”

Ink, who still hadn’t quite grasped sarcasm in Equiish, nodded.  “When I was your age, I carved my name in a Vargr’s back with one of my own quills.  But oh no, history is too violent.”

“I do not appreciate that, Mr. Ink,” a distinctly older mare’s voice noted from behind Ink.  The stallion performed a military reversal, and stood to his full height.  Cheerilee had to look down slightly less to meet his eyes.  “I’m frankly appalled at some of the lessons you taught these foals.”

Ink put his hoof to his chin, making a show of thinking.  Then he smiled.  “Oh.  Well, as Captain of Princess Celestia’s Honor Guard and her personal bodyguard, allow me to observe that I really couldn’t give less of a shit, Cherry Lee.  I’d never been a teacher before, and frankly, I probably learned more from those foals than they did from me.  But now I’m back on top of the world, and I can do whatever I want.  For example, this!”

Then his wings wrapped around Hat Trick, and they came together.

For Ink, it didn’t seem real.

Things like this were only supposed to be in the purview of schlocky romances, like the ones Fluttershy and Rarity were so fond of—yet there Hat Trick was, frozen in her place, with Roscherk’s lips interlocked with his.  Hat Trick’s cheeks burned, his heart palpitated, and his mind spun from the simple fact of her situation.

It was exactly like the way Ink had seen it in movies.  There were fireworks flaring off his own wings, whistles of approval from a few passing mares, and sweeping strings from a gray mare with a cello; there was an enormous shift in his previous paradigms, and a sudden epiphany of new emotion.  It was simply Hat Trick and him, with the world around them nothing more than a vague afterthought.

All too soon, Hat Trick’s lips parted with Roscherk’s, as the taller but weaker stallion’s resistance managed to push Ink away.  A ghost of warm breath washed over Ink’s muzzle as the artist retreated.  Roscherk forced his eyes open; immediately, he found himself once again lost in Hat Trick’s furious gaze.  The older stallion’s pale white cheeks were laced with the faintest hint of crimson and his lips still parted slightly as he shouted in slow motion.  Ink’s heart had blocked out all noise.

The guardspony remained frozen in her place, as Hat Trick’s strength failed to displace the stronger military-trained stallion.  Roscherk’s forelegs had, at some point unbeknownst to their owner, wrapped themselves around Hat Trick’s waist and under his tail as well.  No matter how hard he tried, the captain couldn’t find the words to break the silence of the moment that existed only within his own mind.   He was torn between euphoric excitement and utter terror―what if Hat Trick doesn’t like me―which resulted in a noticeable tremble running throughout his body.  Hat Trick’s forelegs pressed against Roscherk’s chest, failing to escape his grip while also sensuously rubbing him up and down.  Mere inches below, the one part of Roscherk which was peculiarly tall made itself know, rising to the occasion.

“Hehe…” the civilian in the pair chuckled.  “Okay, that was a pretty good one, Ink.”

Instead of letting go, Ink fluttered bedroom eyes.  “You alright, Hat Trick?” he asked, his voice airy and soft.  “I know that might have been sudden.”

“Let go of me!” Hat Trick answered, struggling to avoid the guardspony’s collapsible spear.

“You sure?” Ink asked teasingly. “You’re shaking.”

“That’s because you’re hooves are on my ass!  I’m pretty good for a joke, but you’re taking this too far!

“First kiss?” Ink inquired with a quirked eyebrow.  “I understand how uncomfortable it can be.”

Hat Trick’s roar had devolved below the level of intelligible conversation.

“With a stallion, or ever?” Roscherk asked, his seductive voice turned up to maximum.

“I will kill you with an axe!” Hat Trick replied after an insignificant pause.

Ink’s mouth formed a silent ‘oh’, his wing providing a constant hug to the older stallion.  Though Ink imagined silence filling the air between them, the actual words Hat Trick released were unfit both for the crowd of foals present, and for repetition here.  

Then Cadance’s spell ended.  Ink blinked twice, looked down at himself, and realized exactly how he was holding Hat Trick.  Without further ado, the white stallion was abruptly dropped in the snow.

Then there was a real silence, as Ink slowly turned to look around.  Without exception, every eye in Ponyville was staring at him.  For the first time in his life, Ink buttoned up his jacket, concealing ‘little Ink’ from innocent eyes who just weren’t ready for his glory.

In retrospect, there was only one filly who could have ever broken the ensuing silence.  She walked up to Ink’s side and looked him squarely in the eyes.

“Tho you like lollypopth too, Mither Ink?”

***** - While this unfortunate word had been blocked out of Ink’s memory at the time (resulting in him releasing a loud, fog-horn like shriek mid-sentence to Hat Trick, Twilight, and Cadance in sheer violation of the Golden Oaks Library’s noise restrictions), he would later realize that the list of options was quite finite.  It had to be something like colt-whore, or gigolo, or male prostitute, or marenizer, or…

Ink quickly came to realize that his opinion of himself was about as low as his opinion of authors who used footnotes in documents stored as scrolls instead of books, or on other mediums where the text is presented on a single ‘page’ of theoretically infinite length.