She Wore A Yellow Ribbon

by Backslasherton

Chapter 3

“Sir. Sir. Get up, sir.”

A voice shook Jackson awake. The bright light of morning blinded him. He looked around at his surroundings.

“How did I get in my bed?”

“You must’ve moved yourself in the middle of the night.” The voice said back. Jackson squinted and looked at the voice talking to him.

“Are you stalking me, Eve?” Jackson said wearily. This warranted him a pillow to the face. “My question still stands.”

“Get up. You have an appointment in twenty minutes." Shroud called as she walked out of the room. Jackson sat up, and attempted to remove his wrinkled shirt that he’d slept in. Suddenly he stopped, and he stared at the open door.

“Appointment with who?”

---

“Doctor Cerebellum?” Jackson read aloud.

“The department’s chief psychologist.” Shroud said. Jackson looked down at her.

“Yeah, I know. I hired her.” Jackson shook his head. “Why am I here?”

“That’s out of my paygrade, sir.”

Jackson rolled his eyes.

“Look, if it’s about yesterday, I told you I’m fine.”

“That’s not my call, commander.” Shroud said. She took off down the hall, calling over her shoulder. “Good luck!”

Jackson shook his head, cursing under his breath. The door to the officer swung open, and a blue unicorn greeted him.

“Commander Douglas. Welcome.” The doctor gestured for Jackson to enter. Jackson shook his head and took a seat in the office.

He looked around the office after he sat down. It was furnished liberally, giving it a very lived-in homely feel. He was sitting on a couch, and the doctor took her seat on a chair across from him, with a coffee table between them. He leaned back and put one leg over the other.

“Commander Douglas, can I call you Jackson?” She asked. Jackson shrugged.

“Sure. Can I call you Cera?”

“If that would make you more comfortable.” The doctor smiled. Jackson rolled his eyes. She was just like the therapists back home. Carefully wording everything so that it’s all about you and what makes you feel better.

“Alright. So why am I here?” Jackson asked.

“Why do you think you’re here?” The therapist asked. Jackson deadpanned to the doctor.

“This is gonna be a really long and painful session, isn’t it?”

“What would make it less painful?”

Jackson gave a sigh of defeat.

“Nothing, it’s just me being difficult.”

“Why?”

“Bad experience with therapists in the past.”

“May I ask what that experience was?”

Jackson laughed sarcastically.

“Pretty similar situation to this one. After an assignment gone wrong, I was in the hospital with fragmentation all over my chest. After that, before they were able to deploy me again, I was sent for psychological evaluation. The doctor couldn’t care less, and just wanted to get through it quickly so he could get through his next fifty or so patients he had to see that day. Basically asked me protocol questions, said I wasn’t able to go back yet and I convinced him otherwise.”

“And you think that this will be the same?”

“I hope not.”

“So let me help you. Why do you think you’re here?” She asked again. Jackson sighed.

“I think it is due to some of my recent episodes that may have happened in front of princess Cadence and my subordinate.”

“Have you had these episodes in the pase?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know what it is causing them?”

“I’m fairly sure it’s what we called PTSD back home.”

“And what is PTSD?”

“Post traumatic stress disorder. Typically something you get after traumatic events, like the name implies.”

“And what do you think your traumatic event is?”

Jackson hesitated.

“You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, Jackson.” The doctor said. Jackson shook his head.

“No, it’s fine. It’s just…” Jackson took a deep breath. “It’s just not easy to talk about.”

“Take all the time you need.”

Jackson steeled himself for an inevitably painful tale.

“My buddy, Joe, was one of my lieutenants. He wasn’t a model officer, but no one is. He was always screwing around with the enlisted men, getting close to them and all that.”

“What did you think of that?”

“I thought it was great. The men knew and trusted him on a level that I couldn’t ever get to. It never harmed his ability to command, really. If anything it helped him. They knew he cared about them, and that he wouldn’t carelessly risk their lives. But I think it was this connection in the end that killed him.”

“How so?”

“We were supposed to go on a night convoy to take some supplies to another FOB. We were getting ready to leave when a group of insurgents attacked the convoy. They took out a Humvee, and wounded a lot of men while they tried to get out of their vehicles. There was a squad or two that got hit real bad on the other side. Joey and a few other guys tried to pull them back to safety, but a suicide bomber came up and tried to kill them.”

Jackson paused, taking a few deep breaths.

“I’m sorry, this part is… uh… It’s not great.”

“You’re doing great, Jackson. If you’d like to stop, we can stop there.”

“No.” Jackson his head. "I'm fine."

“Joe tackled the bomber, taking most of the blast with his body. The rest of it shook a few guys up, but nothing serious."

Jackson shook his head.

“I tried to stop him. I tried to get him off the bomber, but I was too late. I was too close to the blast when it went off.” Jackson absentmindedly rubbed his chest. “I got a couple dozen shards of shrapnel or something in my chest. Some other bits and pieces hit me in the head, and I got thrown back about four feet. The other men pulled me back, but I passed out real quick after that.”

The psychiatrist had stopped writing, and set down her pen. The unicorn only nodded slowly as he spoke. Jackson rubbed his face.

“Everything from then on is just what I was told by others. They radioed in that we’d gotten hit hard, and the rest of the FOB was on alert and brought us the support we’d needed. The insurgents were either dead or ran away at that point. All in all we had twelve total casualties. Three dead, nine wounded.”

“So you were hospitalized?”

Jack scoffed at the doctor.

“Took about three surgeries and then observation for about two weeks, then another week or two of clerical work while I recovered.” Jackson rubbed his chest again. “After all that, I was able to go on leave for a bit.”

“Did that help you?”

“I didn’t take it.”

“Why not?”

“I’d already missed his funeral.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” The doctor said.

“Yeah, well. I didn’t really get a choice. They sent me home anyway.”

“And what did you do?”

“I went home and visited my family and his.”

“How did that make you feel?”

“It made me feel the same way that question makes me feel. Angry.”

“Why?”

“Because I watched my best friend die, and I couldn’t save him all because I didn’t fucking count my god damn shots!” Jackson yelled. He paused and realized that in his anger, he had stood up and started walking. He sat back down, trying to calm himself down.

“Why do you blame yourself for his death?”

“Because I would’ve been able to kill the bomber long before he made it anywhere near him. He wouldn’t have had to do what he did.” Jackson shook his head. “All because I didn’t count my god damn shots.”

“Well how many other people could have shot him?”

“I don’t know, I was a bit occupied.”

“Well just guess the number.” The doctor asked. Jackson thought for a moment and shrugged.

“Five.”

“So there was at least five other opportunities to disable the man, and you blame yourself for the error of many?”

“It’s not like that. They were taking out others, and this one was my target. I blame myself because I was irresponsible. You have to count your shots so shit like this doesn't happen. I did it for years, every time, and the one time I didn’t, it cost me the life of my best friend.”

“Why do you think you didn’t count your shots?”

“I got too comfortable, and I should never have. Convoys are infamously dangerous. I fucked up real bad. And I will never forgive myself.”

Jackson stared off at a wall, quietly shaking his head. The doctor noticed he was crying, something very out of character for the man. The doctor set down her notes.

“Jackson, do you remember what you asked me when you first came in?”

Jackson nodded, not looking from the window. He wiped his eyes, trying to regain his composure.

“I asked you why I was here.”

“And what did you think the reason was?”

Jackson thought for a moment before shrugging.

“I figured I'd fucked up enough that people finally thought I snapped. I faked my death to go and have my little four month trip to go kill ponies making bombs. Then I go and have a breakdown in front of one of the princesses.” Jackson scoffed. "I would've thought I was fuckin' nuts. I guess someone else did, too. And I guess some people in high places figured I might not be fit for duty anymore."

The doctor nodded.

“Well you were wrong.” The doctor smiled. Jackson was confused.

“What?”

“No one is questioning your ability to command. Your recent episodes are a part of why you’re here, though. But it wasn’t to see if you were fit for duty. It was to make sure you’re okay.”

Jackson furrowed his brow, and stared at the ground. He shook his head.

“Wait, are you telling me this isn’t a psych evaluation?”

“Well, I suppose it is. But not in the way you’re probably thinking.”

“Well then who ordered it?”

“I’m under orders not to tell you.”

Jackson stared.

“Cadence or Celestia?”

“I never said it was a princess.”

“There’s no way it’s not a princess! They’re the only ones above me!”

The doctor shrugged. Jackson groaned and fell back into the couch. The doctor wrote out a note and floated it over to Jackson. Jackson grabbed it out of the air.

“What’s this?”

“Your next appointment.”

“...Joy.”

---

“Shroud!” Jackson yelled. He ran into the department barracks where the officers stayed. The ponies in the room stared at him. His eyes scanned over the group. “Where’s Lieutenant Shroud?”

“I don’t know sir.” One of the lieutenants said. That was a mistake. Jackson came up to him.

“Well when was the last time you saw her?”

“She was leaving this morning, I don’t know where she went, sir.”

“God dammit, does anyone know where shroud is?” Jackson screamed.

“I’m right here.” A voice calmy said from across the room.

Jackson turned around. Shroud was sitting at her desk in one of the glass rooms on the far wall, looking very confused. Jackson nodded, trying to regain his composure and hurried over to her. He shut the door and closed the blinds as he walked in.

“I wanna know everything you know about why I was in a therapist session for the last thirty fuckin’ minutes!”

“Sir, I think you need to calm down.”

“I’m completely calm!” Jackson screamed. He pulled himself back. Slowly, he peered through the blinds into the room outside. Ponies everywhere were staring at the glass room. Jackson flung the door open.

“Get back to work!” He ordered. Ponies scattered to look busy, and Jackson shut the door. Much calmer this time. He took a seat across from Shroud, and took a deep, calming breath. “What do you know about why I’m having weekly therapist sessions?”

“Look,” Shroud started, trying to keep him calm. “All I know, is that I got orders this morning to escort you every week to Doctor Cerebellum’s office at the same time on the same day.”

“Orders from who?”

“I don’t know, a guard came and gave me the papers.”

“Who’s crest was on his armor?”

“There wasn’t one.”

Jackson leaned forward.

“Do you have the papers?”

“Yes, but I don’t think you’re gonna get what you want from them.”

“Just let me see them.”

Shroud shrugged and pulled open her top desk drawer. After digging through it for a moment, she raised up a plain looking manilla folder. She floated it over to Jackson, who grabbed it before it even crossed her desk. He flipped it open and frantically looked over it’s contents. His heart dropped as he saw only one paper.

MS. LIEUTENANT EVENING SHROUD
DEPARTMENT OF ARMS RACE PREVENTION
MILITARY OPERATIONS CENTER OF CANTERLOT
LION COMPANY, 1ST BATT., 1ST I.R., 1ST I.D., DARP

THE LIEUTENANT EVENING SHROUD IS TO REPORT TO THE QUARTERS OF THE COMMANDER IN CHIEF OF D.A.R.P., GENERAL RICHARD JACKSON DOUGLAS, EVERY THURSDAY AT 0900 HOURS AND ESCORT HIM TO THE OFFICER OF D.A.R.P.’S CHIEF PSYCHOLOGICAL OFFICER, DOCTOR CEREBELLUM. UPON REACHING THE APPOINTMENT, THE LIEUTENANT IS TO BE DISMISSED.

THESE ACTIONS WILL REPEAT EVERY WEEK UNTIL OTHERWISE NOTED.

BRIGADIER GENERAL LONGBRANCH
HER MAJESTY’S ROYAL COMMAND AND OPERATIONS CENTER

At the bottom of the letter was a very formal signature below General Longbranch’s name.

“Brigadier General Longbranch?” Jackson said aloud. He dropped the file into his lap as he looked up at Lieutenant Shroud. “Since when was he a Brigadier General?”

“I told you you weren’t gonna get much.” Shroud shrugged. She took the folder back. “You can try to ask him, but you’re not gonna get much from him either.”

Jackson shook his head and stood.

“Well thanks for your help, I guess.”

“You’re welcome?” Shroud shrugged. “Anyway, you’ve got a few invoices on your desk.”

“Alright, I’ll get to it.”

Jackson left and shut the door, sighing to himself. Ponies watched him with sideways glances as he walked through the officer’s barracks. He shook his head and ignored them. He pushed through the doors on the far end and into the administration building. After a few twists and turns through the hallways, he reached his office and closed the door. He slumped into his chair, staring at the pile of paperwork on his des, lost in thought.

---

The first thing Jackson saw when he opened his eyes was a purple carpet, and a fire roaring in an ornate fireplace. The problem for him was, his face was mashed into said purple carpet. He groaned as he rolled himself over onto his back. Everything hurt, for some reason. He looked down at himself.

Why am I in dress blues?

He was wearing black glossy dress shoes, with matching black socks. His pants were a dark blue with a red stripe running up the side. He had a black tunic with gold buttons and a black glossy belt around his stomach with a strap going over his shoulder. His left chest had a grid of medals and his epaulettes had two silver bars, signifying a captain. His black and white flat top hat was on the floor a few feet away from him.

“Are you alright?” A gentle voice called. The woman sounded comforting and motherly. Jackson rolled over to greet them.

“Yeah I think I’m…” Jackson’s eyes met the violet eyes of a strange looking white horse wearing gold jewelry. “...On drugs.”

“I’m sorry?” The white horse said, the same gentle voice from before coming from it.

“What the fuck.” Jackson whispered. “What the hell happened?”

His mind was racing, recounting everything he could remember. His memory of the last couple weeks was foggy. He remembered having guests over, or maybe just one. The last thing he remembered was going to a member of Lion Company’s wedding in dress blues, at request of the groom. Other than that, it was foggy. He decided to amuse his hallucinations, having no other choice.

“Where am I?” He asked, looking around. Jackson swore he saw the horse look worried for him.

“You’re in Canterlot Castle.”

“Canterlot?” Jackson scoffed. “I’m hallucinating some kind of Monty Python-esque horse parody of King Arthur.”

“I’m afraid I don’t follow.” The horse’s face was definitely showing worry now. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Never better!” Jackson yelled, jumping up onto his feet.

A sudden wave of nausea hit Jackson, and he stumbled towards a chair. He fell forward, hitting his stomach on the chair. Hard. He groaned in pain as he braced himself against the chair.

“Oh my goodness, are you okay?” The horse asked, coming towards him. Jackson waved frantically, gritting his teeth. The horse stopped in its tracks, staring worriedly at the man.

“I didn’t think you felt pain during a drug trip.” Jackson laughed painfully. “I suppose that shows you how much I know about drugs.”

“I don’t think you’re on drugs, sir.”

“And how would you know, Ms. Horse?” Jackson laughed.

The horse’s horn started to glow in a golden aura. Jackson’s jovial mood faltered. This drug trip was getting a little too weird for him. He felt tingly all over, but it ceased once the horse’s horn stopped glowing.

“What did you just do to me?” Jackson asked.

“You have a broken rib, but there are no drugs in your system.” The horse said.

“What the hell?” Jackson tried to push himself up, but it seems the horse was right. His side had a burning sharp pain, and he doubled over and cried out in pain, grabbing the chair again. “Son of bitch!”

“Let me help you.” The horse said.

Jackson stared at her. He was terrified. Not only did he just break a rib, but everything else already hurt and he was on some kind of bizarre drug trip, and there seemed to be no way out of it. While he was weighing his options, his hand slipped and he fell to the floor. He screamed as the pain exploded all over his side. The white horse very quickly rushed to his side, calling for help.

Not long after, an army of much smaller looking white horses in ornate armor came over and stared at him in awe, as if he was the odd thing here. The same tingly feeling from before returned, and he felt himself float off the floor.

“This part of the drug trip seems much more familiar to me.”

He looked over to his side, wincing as he did.

“Hey, can someone grab my cover?” He said, pointed over at his hat. He quickly dropped his arm back to his side, groaning. “Why does everything hurt?”

A guard walked over and picked up his hat with his magic. Jackson waved the guard over, and the guard placed it on his chest. They started walking, with Jackson floating on his back headfirst down the hall.

“Thanks, bud.” Jackson waved a hand up in the air. “What’s y’all’s names?”

The guards looked very confused at the man’s question, and they looked to their princess for what to do. The princess seemed to be more occupied with the man’s well being. The eldest guard shrugged.

“Private First Class Winds.” The guard on Jackson’s left said.

“Private Evening Shroud.” The other guard said.

“Winds and Eve. Nice to meet you.” Jackson waved. He pointed to the white horse over his shoulder. “Who’s she?”

“That’s the princess.” Evening Shroud said. “Princess Celestia.”

“Ah. Cool.”

The entered a set of doors, and Jackson felt himself being set down on a bed. Celestia came over and stood by Jackson’s side.

“We’re going to have someone look over you. Is that okay?” Celestia asked. Jackson nodded.

“Sure. Just leave what I’ve got in place. Unless it isn’t supposed to be there.” Jackson started breathing really heaving. “This hurts really bad.”

“It’s okay, just focus on me, alright?” Celestia said. Jackson nodded. “What’s your name?”

“Jack.”

“Where are you from?”

A doctor crashed through the doors, and ran to his side. Another two ponies came through the doors right after him with bags on their sides. Jackson tried to push it out of his head.

“Born and raised in Dallas, Texas.” Jackson winced as a doctor’s magic started undoing his clothes. “Moved to San Marcos after retiring from active service.”

“What did you serve in?”

A doctor lifted Jackson’s arm and started searching for a vein. Jackson shook his head, putting the pain out of his mind.

“United States Marine Corps.”

“What did you do?”

The doctor injected an IV needle into his arm, and hung the bag up on a bed post.

“Served in active combat in Afghanistan” Jackson’s mind started getting fuzzy, but the pain started to subside. “When I wake up from whatever drug trip Foreman managed to get me on, I owe you a drink. And you can hold... me... to that...”

The last thing he saw was the princess’s worried face as he lost consciousness.

---

“Jackson? Are you crying?” A voice called from the door.

“No, no I’m fine.” Jackson quickly wiped his eyes and shook his head. Jackson turned around to see the same worried face staring back at him.

“Celestia?”

“Are you alright, Jackson?”

Jackson nodded wearily.

“Yeah, I was just…” He stopped himself and threw up a fake smile. “I’m fine. What’s up?”

“I just wanted to finalize some plans with you before our meeting with Captain Shining Armor tomorrow.” She looked skeptical. “Are you sure you’re alright? I’ve never really seen you cry before.”

“I’m fine.” Jackson nodded. He gestured for her to come in. “Let’s look at those plans.”

---

They'd read over several dozen maps, briefings, and other documents outlining a security detail so intricate, it would make the Secret Service's head spin. The commander breezed through the plans, he'd wrote them after all. However, he failed to notice the princess's worried gaze hadn't left him.

“And then once we get to the festival itself, we’ll have department agents either undercover in the crowd or patrolling on the edges of the town. Then there will be a secondary force on a larger circle of the city in gear watching the woods line and the roads in and out of the city.”

“Jackson?” Celestia said softly.

“Now outer patrols will be all the basic gear; stuff like body armor, restraining devices, weapons and all that. I was thinking covert ops just have some kind of knife on them, maybe two, since they won’t need much because they’ll be surrounded by Royal Guards who can take care of the big stuff/”

“Jackson.” Celestia said, louder this time. Jackson looked up. Celestia stared, worriedly.

“Are you okay?” She asked again. Jackson shook his head, diving back into the papers on his desk.

“I’m just fine, thank you. And I especially don’t need weekly therapist sessions."

“Jackson,” Celestia sighed. “I didn’t even mention therapist sessions.”

Jackson shook his head and shuffled his stack of papers around. He was ignoring her. Celestia shook her head.

“Why do you still think that after all this time, I don't know when you're lying?” Jackson finally stopped, and looked up at Celestia. She gestured to him. “Look at you. You’re throwing yourself into paperwork, which I know you hate more than anything in the world, and you’re avoiding eye contact with me when you say you’re okay.” Celestia shook her head in exasperation. “I just want to make sure you’re not repressing things that you shouldn’t be.”

Jackson stared back. Nodding slowly, he set down the papers and leaned back.

“Do you know what the first thing you ever asked me was?”

Celestia shook her head.

“I don’t.” She said softly. Jackson gave a hollow grin.

"Bullshit."

Celestia frowned at his language.

"Jackson-"

“You asked me if I was alright.” Jackson deadpanned. She raised an eyebrow. He shrugged. “A strange looking guy like me just fell out of nowhere into your living room and the first thing you asked me was if I was alright. And do you know what I asked you?”

Celestia nodded.

“I do, but I can’t say that.” Celestia softly laughed to herself. Jackson’s smile was genuine, but only for a moment.

“Do you remember what the last thing you said to me was?” Jackson asked. Celestia didn’t move. “Do you?”

Celestia stared at the floor, not speaking. Jackson leaned forward onto his desk.

“‘Don’t be late. Have a nice day, commander.’”

Celestia looked up, angry.

“You confessed your love to me. Saying how you never wanted to screw it up. How it hurt you so much just to think of the possibility of hurting me.” Celestia scoffed. “Then you fake your own death, hide away for four months, and then come back and act like nothing happened. Now you're saying I wasn't supposed to be mad?”

“I was protecting you!” Jackson yelled.

“That’s a lie and you know it!” Celestia shouted back. "You just wanted to run off and play hero! Throw it in the government's face that you were able to dodge their procedures so you could do what you wanted do."

“Oh come on, you expect me to believe you would’ve let me willingly go and kill a pony hiding away in some god awful remote country by myself?”

“Of course I wouldn’t have! And Yakistan is not a ‘god awful remote country’.”

“Oh yes it is, don’t be all diplomatic with me. It's cold, it's wet, and they don't even have hot springs like the fun cold places do.” Jackson gestured wildly in indignation. “In any case, that’s the point. You wouldn’t have. You would’ve made us go through all the legal loopholes, or whatever else was required, while a psychopathic son of bitch runs off with his supply of explosives just waiting to be sold to the next half-ass organized group of fucktards that get their rocks off by blowing up innocent people.”

“Don’t you use that kind of language with me, and no I would’ve made you take someone with you!”

“And why the hell should I believe that?!”

“Because I loved you, dammit!”

The room fell dead silent. Jackson stared at the now flustered wreck of a princess sitting across from him. He stood silently, and opened the door. The clanking and crashing of armor resounded as the two posted guards went back to either side of the door.

“You’re dismissed.” Jackson said quietly.

“Sir, it’s by the princess’s order that we must sta-”

“Get the fuck out!”

“Yessir!”

The two guards quickly nodded and made their way down the hall.”

Jackson shook his head and closed the door, retaking his seat.

“You don’t need to be so hard on them.”

“I got him.” Jackson said softly, staring at the gun on his desk. A hollow laugh followed. “That seems to be the part that everyone likes to skip over.”

He looked up to see a much calmer princess staring back at him. She shook her head.

“I never forgot that part, Jackson.”

Jackson nodded slowly, looking back down at a picture on his desk. It had creases, showing it had been folded several times, and frayed edges that showed signs of being handled a lot.

It was a picture of two young looking highschool graduates in their cap and gown. The one on the left had shortly cut brown hair stick out from his cap, and a young looking, clean shaven face. In his hands, he had a diploma in sleek black leather holder that said his name was Richard Jackson Douglas. The one on the right had similarly cut black hair sticking out, and a similarly young shaven face. One striking difference was a scar on the side of his jaw that went up into his hair. His diploma named him Joseph Paul Carter. Both class of 1995.

Celestia watched Jackson stare at the picture on his desk, and looked back to him.

“I can’t imagine that your recent episodes are at all related to the ones you used to have, are they?” She asked.

Jackson nodded again.

“All it would’ve taken was one shot.” Jackson said softly.

“Jack, you can’t keep blaming yourself.” Celestia said.

“Can’t I?”

“No, you can’t.”

Jackson stared in silence at the picture.

“I’m sorry.” He looked up at the princess. “For everything. I don’t imagine it means much at this point, but I don’t know what to do.”

Celestia nodded.

“I understand why you did what you did, Jackson. Even if I despise how you did it.” Celestia smiled. “But I know your heart was in the right place. Even if I think you're an idiot, I forgive you.”

Jackson smiled back.

“But don’t do it again.” Celestia pointed a hoof at him sternly.

Jackson laughed and nodded.

“I think I can manage that.”

Jackson stood and walked around the desk to the princess and hugged her. Celestia smiled softly and leaned into his embrace, closing her eyes. The two sighed, enjoying the moment. Jackson pulled out of the hug, and sat back down in his chair, grinning. He furrowed his brow, and looked up at Celestia.

"So it was you who sent me to the therapist?"

"You're seeing a therapist?"

Author's Note:

Sorry for the reupload on the same day. I started writing Chapter 4 and realized that it was way more appropriate for Chapter 3 instead. So I accidentally added about 1000 more words. But hey, they're back to being on good terms.

Comments

[spiketen]

You’re dismissed.” Jackson said quietly.
“Sir, it’s by the princess’s order that we must sta-”
“Get the fuck out!”
“Yessir!”

He shut that shit down!

[Whodafuq146]

Best part!