For Want of a Nail
The Night Guard - Night Mares
For Want of a Nail
Historians view the clash of vast impersonal forces as seen on the battlefield and the diplomatic negotiating table as the true pivot of any major conflict. On a deeper level, sociologists view interpersonal conflicts and cultural memes as being the true driving force behind these wars and battles. Celestia considered all of them to be completely wrong. In her opinion, there were very few conflicts in Equestria that could not be solved by the proper application of tea at what she determined was a pivotal moment, applied not to the combatants and generals, but to other ponies considered inconsequential to the conflict.
With this in mind, the ongoing tea could have been considered an event more groundshaking than the Minotaur Red Uprising⁽*⁾ or the Neighpon Airship War⁽¹⁾, as the result was to shape the course of Equestrian culture for the foreseeable future in ways that mere bloodshed and destruction could not match.
(*) Quelled with a single tea between General Earthshatter’s mother and Rebel Commander Bonebreaker’s young sister, with Celestia in attendance, of course
(1) The tea that preceded the peace treaty took place between the manedresser to Emperor Blazing Sun Rising Into Clear Skies, the head masseuse for High General Sour Apple Crumb Cake, the speechwriter for One Low Water Bridge, and Princess Celestia. It was a particularly difficult tea. A second plate of fudge crisps had to be baked, and three entire pots of tea were sampled.
It was a relatively normal tea in the Rooibos room, a small and cosy tearoom in the south wing of the castle with no fewer than seven windows and a crystal chandelier imported from Zebrica several centuries prior. Recent additions to the room from the Zebrican ambassador included several fierce masks and grass-tufted spears for the stereotypical ‘look’ that the room was needing, in addition to a quite solid table made of ebony and several comfortable stuffed cushions in striped patterns so cleverly done that Celestia once had tea with the Zebrican ambassador in the room and lost track of her several times.
The elderly snow-white Nocturne who occupied one end of the table and the somewhat less elderly greying violet pegasus who occupied the other end of the table were not what historians would consider pivotal to the ongoing conflict, but the degree of importance that Celestia placed on their intelligence reports could be deduced by the fact that she had been taking tea with the older mares weekly for over a month so far. In fact, several foreign intelligence services had been driven into a frantic tizzy over the fact that the Princess of the Sun had carved⁽²⁾ this much time out of her schedule for the wife of the Royal Guard Day Commander and the mother-in-law of the Royal Guard Night Commander.
Celestia did not mind one whit. The two older pegasi were absolute fountains of information about many subjects, from the various trivialities of current events to a number of insightful clues about how Luna’s little integration scheme in the Royal Guard was coming along. Between the mint crisps and a rather complicated Apple Lemon Pomegranate white tea which Miss Cozy had not quite perfected yet, they laid out a rather impressive pattern of facts that Celestia recognized with a sinking heart. Not all wars were meant to be won, but indications of this conflict showed that even though Luna had won most of the battles, she was losing the war.
It was a heavy burden, but she kept up her pleasant disposition through the tea and the rest of her activities of the Day until later that evening when she met with Luna at dinner for a few minutes of precious privacy.
(2) Princess Celestia’s schedule had a density just slightly higher than granite, and even minor changes in that schedule could cause aftershocks all the way around Equestria as the various tectonic plates that made up the government shifted in response. More than a few foreign powers had assigned the codename ‘Quake’ to Twilight Sparkle for just that reason, and they treated any visit of the bookish purple unicorn to Canterlot as if the Four Horses of the Government Apocoltypse⁽³⁾ were dropping by for a little constructive mayhem.
(3) Overtime, Scandal, Budget Cuts, and Forced Resignations.
The small private dining room tucked into the south side of the Royal Residence had seen many changes over the last century, but the one change that Princess Celestia appreciated the most was the occasional presence of her sister when their mutual schedules could be wedged open enough for a leisurely hour of morning or evening discussion over food, or as Luna tended to view it, food over discussion. This evening was somewhat more tense than usual, with the return of the Crystal Empire and the inevitable conflict with the Griffons over its proper ownership. Despite the diplomatic mission sent to the griffons, or perhaps because of the odd diplomatic mission sent to the griffons⁽⁴⁾, their conversation remained circumspect until the servants had departed and only the two sisters remained at the dinner table, watching the beautiful sunset until Celestia broke the silence.
“Luna, I’m sorry, but I’m afraid our little experiment with the Royal Guard is just… it’s not working out well.”
“I am more worried about the diplomatic mission to the Griffons by our northern province, dear sister.” Princess Luna shifted uncomfortably on her cushion while smearing an unhealthy amount of butter across a roll and following it up with half of the jam bowl. “I will admit to a certain amount of dissention in the ranks, however. There have been four retirements in the Night Guard over the last few days, and one for whom we wish the chastisements of old were still in force.” She took a rather vicious bite out of her roll and talked while chewing. “Has there been any progress with finding the Royal Gelding Irons, Celly?
“No, and even if we could find them, you know you’re not sending any of our Guards home with fewer parts than they had when they took the oath, Luna.” Celestia marinated a piece of steamed asparagus in cheese sauce and bit the end off. “No matter how tempting,” she added.
“There are nearly a dozen mares signed for the new cadet class at the Academy,” said Luna, paused in momentary thought as she gestured with what was left of her sticky roll. “The ball appears to be rolling well, if I understand the phrase correctly. We have heard many positive comments from the stallions at the sparring rings about how the candidates acquitted themselves during combat training.”
“Fighting is not the answer to fitting in, Luna,” chided Celestia. “You of all ponies should know that. How is your wing feeling, by the way?”
Dark feathers unfolded and a gentle flap resulted in little more than a pained wince from the Lunar Princess. “Perhaps I should take a few more days before I return to sparring. You should try your skills against our guards again too, Celly. It would do you good.”
“Perhaps someday. I do not think we have any pads in the armory in my size anymore.” Celestia shook her head and placed the piece of cake she had picked up back onto the dessert table. “In any case, although our guards may view our new additions as proper sparring partners, they are not accepting them as guards. Unless something is done, the new class of mares scheduled to graduate from the Academy in two years will face a preconceived idea of their role from their fellow Royal Guards that does not view them as equals, but as lessers.”
After a moment of consideration, Luna said, “Perhaps a separate force would—”
Celestia did not have to say a word.
“True,” grumbled Luna. “Separate, they would never be accepted as equals. Perhaps if we were to manufacture a crisis that would draw them together in order—”
This time Celestia did not even have to change a single muscle in her expression.
“Harumph!” Luna picked up the piece of chocolate cake that Celestia had put back on the dessert cart, jabbing a fork viciously into its creamy center and not stopping until only a few damp crumbs remained.
“We must trust in Harmony, Luna.” Celestia took one last sip from her glass of mineral water before pushing her chair away from the table. “Until then, we have a great number of duties to attend. Tomorrow I have a meeting in Fillydelphia, and I know you have a full slate of meetings and appointments this evening. With the reopening of the Crystal Empire, we shall both be quite busy for the next few weeks, and perhaps the solution to our problem will present itself in an unexpected fashion.”
(4) The events of Luna’s diplomatic attempt with the Misty Mountain aerie are detailed in Diplomacy by Other Means
~ ~ ~ * ~ ~ ~
Daelia Thermal fought back a yawn as she kept an eye on the light traffic flowing through the Royal Hangar. The Communications section had couriers out all over Equestria flying confidential messages to and from every Royal Guard installation large enough for a landing spot, and she suspected more than half of them were simply cries for guidance from nervous guards. The colorful lights in the sky from the newly returned Crystal Empire were something different and strange, and much like Standing Water, even the best trained ponies in the Royal Guard reacted to the strange with a sudden urge for reassurance from their mother. She could see some poor overworked unicorn in the Correspondence section with a copy spell and a stack of blank papers, putting out a constant string of Remain Calm and Pony On orders, although she was starting to think that sending the orders out with a small plush Celestia doll would be more calming.
As Royal Guard chariots rolled in, it was the Dispatch section’s responsibility to check off their arrival times, have Maintenance do a quick once-over for any problems, move the chariots from one place to another within the cavernous hangar by means of the shallow cloud layer laid over the stone floor, and prepare them for departure again as needed. Her task this evening was Special Royal Communications Relay. If a courier message arrived by chariot that required the immediate personal attention of Her Royal Highness of either Sun or Moon, she would be the one responsible to directly deliver the missive. There was a certain tradition to the post, and Sergeant Stroganov had explained that the somewhat dented and scratched coffee thermos issued was not under any circumstances short of death itself to be opened or consumed by the duty officer, but instead kept for the rather difficult task of waking Princess Celestia before the dawning of her sun, or Luna in the inverse. The exact instructions had been “Open it under her nose and stand back. If she doesn’t move, check her pulse, and for heaven’s sake, do not grip the thermos with any force or you’ll lose a hoof.”
She had chosen her observation post with great care. Her wing with the golden ring around a primary feather was displayed closest to any approaching ponies, and there were no comfortable chairs or perching spots within reach for any casual conversation-seeking stallion to rest while trying to ‘get to know her better.’ The Dispatch Sergeant at her side was a crusty old Nocturne with a series of healed vertical slashes across the near wing that showed up as white scars on his dark coat and wing membranes. And more importantly, he also bore a glint of gold on his left wing too, which he had explained came with a wife from Clan Rumble, three children, seven grandchildren, and an upcoming retirement in a few years that she suspected had been ‘a few years away’ now for decades. He was an unmistakable master at the art of determining just what reason a young stallion had for approaching, dealing with that reason, and sending them off before they could find an excuse to settle in for conversation.
Of course that didn’t stop him from chatting as they sat through their evening shift. She had always enjoyed the company of Nocturne when she was a young skyglider in Canterlot. Even the ones who were not in the police force were comforting and gentle, generous with tips and never turning into some controlling freak who wanted to tie a young mare up. Even when Garrison had convinced her to actually enter the police force, she found the Nocturne there were just as kind and gentle off duty as on, even at her wedding to Garrison and afterwards when he had fled to Vanhoover, leaving her alone in Canterlot with a bulging belly and no relatives. She tried not to think about what had driven him away so suddenly, but during long nights like this, her worry tended to come out in her conversation, and the nice Sergeant was a very sympathetic listener.
* * *
The night train was filled with the low clicky-clack of the tracks and the rumble of the rails as it sped on the way to distant Fillydelphia, filled with snoring business ponies, drowsy vacationers, and the occasional piercing shriek of small foals who did not like where they were going or the method being used to force their compliance, and had no problems verbally expressing themselves. Two mares dressed in the armor of the Night Guard sat on comfortable cushions near the front of the passenger car, trying to look out the window at the dark night and ignore the warbling screech of an earth pony infant with an earache in the back of the car.
“You iss sure dat using the sleep spell on der little colt vould be bad, right Rose?” Miss Banehammer had given up on the book she had brought and the ineffective earplugs, turning instead to the game of What Could We Do To Shut That Kid Up that all of the other passengers in the train were playing in their own minds.
“It’s too dangerous to use on a young pony,” explained Rose patiently. “It’s not his fault that his ears didn’t pop right when we came down off the Canterhorn. With luck, his first good yawn will clear his tubes and shut him up. My little fillies always cried at first when we took the train to visit relatives in Manehattan.”
“Und they all survived too,” grumbled Banehammer in a rather good-natured fashion, tapping her breastplate. “If I vasen’t in this tin suit, I’d go back and offer some advice to the mother, but I don’t think dat’s a good idea now. Haff you notice the way other ponies look at us, Rose?”
“My granddaughter didn’t recognise me,” said Rose. “She just looked at the armor and started squalling. Feather said she wouldn’t nurse for hours afterwards.”
“Yaa.” Banehammer snorted. “Standing Vatter, he not care about the armor one vhit. He just tinks his mamma is in a funny dress. Der rest of the ponies, not so much.”
“It’s a symbol,” said Rose, touching the gleaming dark armor with one hoof. “Like the police uniforms, but more so. Police officers are supposed to protect ponies and fight for them if need be. Royal Guards are supposed to die before letting anything past them.”
Banehammer snorted again. “Like changelings, or Discord, or Nightmare Moon, or even that mountain of papers back in the Advance office.”
“No, not quite.” Rose’s face twisted as she thought. “My… grandmother told me once that all of Equestria is just Princess Celestia’s back yard. She doesn’t really rule, per se. Technically, the Parliament runs the country and passes the laws, but the Princess is hired by the Parliament to do the things it can’t do like raise the sun, appoint moral ponies to the judiciary, and administrate over the bureaucracy. The Guard is in effect a metaphor for the Princess, and as such, we carry a little of the Princess along with us wherever we go.”
“I don’t think der boys consider us to be carrying any of Princess Luna in our pockets,” grumbled Banehammer, trying to find a more comfortable spot on her cushion now that the squalling noise of the colt had faded.
“But we are,” said Rose. “We’re headed to Fillydelphia to provide advance security for Princess Celestia’s visit tomorrow morning. We get to liaison with the chief of police there, check on the preparations for her visit, make sure the meeting room is secure—”
“Und other critical things like checking der lunch to make sure it has cake,” added Banehammer. “Und vhen the big boys driving the chariot land, they’ll ignore us like ve vas poo.”
Rose stopped flipping through the stack of papers she had gotten out and sighed. “Yes, I suppose so. All we can really do is our jobs, and trust in harmony that they’ll come around.”
Banehammer scoffed. “Harmony could use a svift kick in der teeth.”
* * *
There was a certain harmony to a properly executed Changing of the Guard in the Canterlot castle, where forces of Night gave way to the Day guards in elaborate rituals watched by many early rising ponies. Every single morning, there were a bare minimum of a dozen eager young faces gathered to eye the handsome young stallions who marched, flapped, and saluted to the rhythm of the drums and lone trumpet. The dark flag of Night was lowered, folded, and marched away by the retiring guards while the radiant flag of Celestia’s sun rose up the flagpole at the exact moment the sun’s rays illuminated the parade ground.
Where the public eye was less attentive, there was less pageantry and more warm camaraderie. Civilian members of the Royal Hangar crew exchanged high-hooves with their Guard counterparts as the Day crew filtered in, interfering somewhat with the activities of the castle staff. Princess Celestia was scheduled to depart on a trip to Fillydelphia sometime mid-morning, which meant a rush for the Celestial Phaeton to be examined, waxed, polished, loaded, and then left to sit for several hours until the drivers showed up to drive it out of the hangar. There should have been some natural disagreements as the castle staff and the Royal Guard civilian employees of Day and Night tried to occupy the same space at the same time, but the recent appearance of the Crystal Empire meant their interactions were mostly limited to “Have you heard anything since yesterday?” and “No, have you?”
Specialist Daelia Thermal twitched and shifted positions as she waited on her somewhat late replacement, at which point she would waste no time shedding her armor and becoming Mommy again, which was a growing concern as Standing Water had not nursed very well early this evening, and milky hydraulic pressure was building beneath her. She let out a explosive breath when she saw Lieutenant Hackamore trotting across the sunny cloud-covered hangar floor in her direction, but twitched in annoyance as she caught a glimpse of his folded wings when he saluted.
“Specialist Thermal, I am here to relieve you.” Hackamore suppressed a cough as Daelia frowned.
“Um. I’m sorry, but I don’t think you’re very prepared to run messages to Princess Luna with your wings in that condition.” Daelia fidgeted at the look the stone-faced officer was giving her. “Sir.”
“I’m just fine. It’s just a little moulting. I’ve got a few days before it cuts into my work hours, so get lost and let me take over the post.” Hackamore reached for the clipboard containing the courier records for the evening, but hesitated as Specialist Thermal flew straight up and hovered overhead.
“Ah. No. Sorry. Really, I think you should call for a replacement. Sir.”
Lieutenant Hackamore scowled and lifted one hoof. “Listen you little—” He coughed into the upraised hoof and scowled even fiercer. “I outrank you. Now get down here and give me that clipboard. That’s an order, Specialist.”
An ear-piercing tweet blasted through the Royal Hangar, stopping all work dead in its tracks as every pony in the building looked up to where the brilliant pink pegasus had just blown into her whistle. “Excuse me. Sorry. Could the Duty Captain please come over here? Please? We have a little dispute.”
A rather irked Nocturne in violet armor flapped over as the rest of the hangar crew returned to their work, each keeping a careful watch on what was happening out of the corner of their eyes. Captain Billow landed next to the irate lieutenant and joined his glare up at the hovering pegasus. “Thermal, what in heaven’s name are you trying to pull? It’s not bad enough I have to take double-shifts, so give Lieutenant Hackamore the—” Giving the angry officer a sharp glance and taking one step back, Billow continued, “Lieutenant, open your wings.”
“Sir?” Despite his best effort, Hackamore’s wings twitched, and a single blood-tipped feather floated to the cloud-covered hangar floor.
“Feather Flu,” growled Captain Billow after a closer inspection revealed several more bloody feathers about ready to fall out. “Dammit Lieutenant, we’re short hooved enough without you playing martyr. You know ignoring the symptoms will just lay you up for weeks instead of days. How am I supposed to replace you in the roster?” His eyes darted to where Miss Thermal was drifting away. “Specialist Thermal, do you think you can pull a double-shift along with me today? I’ll scrounge through the duty roster and see if I can scare up somepony for the afternoon shift, but between a flu outbreak and all of the commo crew flying to every corner of Equestria, the only way I could replace Lieutenant Typhoid over there is to have Princess Luna take a shift.”
“Um. I will if you need me to, but I need to make some arrangements, sir. I’m already late to pick up my foal—”
“Mamma!” A rather frustrated deep violet mare with her mane tied back in a matronly bun flapped into the hangar with an upset little pegasus foal in her grasp. She was obviously one of the castle staff from her starched two-tone outfit nearly being a uniform of its own, and identification tag hanging from a Royal Blue lanyard, but there the resemblance to order ended. Her mane was starting to frazzle in little frantic wisps of mauve and turquoise that floated around her head in a fuzzy halo, and a brilliant orange foal bag stuffed completely to the brim and then some with various support equipment was awkwardly braced across her back. The little pegasus colt gave another strident cry of recognition and burst out of Miss Strata’s grasp in an explosive blur of wings.
“Mamma!” Once again, all work in the hangar came to a screeching halt, only this time the reason was a little blue blur that streaked across the cloud-covered floor in huge wing-driven leaps, rebounding off the stunned captain like a trampoline and flinging himself straight up into Thermal’s grasp with a happy cry.
“I’m sorry, dear. He got away from me again.” Strata flapped closer and shrugged out of the foal saddle, dumping it onto the cloud-covered floor along with the diaper bag. “I really can’t stay, Daelia. The prince is going to go insane if I’m not there when he starts the meeting.”
“Ma’am, you can’t… I’ve got an operation to run… Prince?” Captain Billow shot a glance at the back of the hangar as if some horrible monster was about to stampede in and begin making demands. “You work for Prince Blueblood?”
“It pays the bills, Captain.” Daelia took a moment to let her mother-in-law kiss her on the cheek before she blurred away in a flurry of wings. Standing Water bleated with hunger and nuzzled for his delayed breakfast while his mother faced the captain with a nervous smile.
“I’m sorry, Captain. I really need to get somewhere to feed him.” Standing Water took that opportunity to deliver a sharp nip, and Daelia added, “Real soon.”
“Ahh…” Captain Billow was by no means slow, and had heard about what had happened in the Academy exam room, which caused him to entertain an idea he had never considered before. “Maybe we can find some sort of accommodations for you, Specialist Thermal. Could I get the two of you to serve as Special Royal Communications Relay?”
Five Minutes Later…
The sounds of a happy feeding foal were muffled by a neatly constructed but still temporary cloud construction at the side of the Royal Hangar, allowing a little privacy in a small walled room with enough space for Specialist Thermal to keep her head poked out and watch for couriers. Her front end took care of logging entries in the logbook and greeting the puzzled messengers as they arrived and departed while her rear end took care of breakfast, leaving only her hollow middle missing out on food of its own.
“Pardon me? Miss Thermal?” Sergeant Petunia made his rather uncertain way into the hangar with the rather cautious prodding of non-pegasi when faced with a cloud floor. The whiteness lapped at his ankles and knees as he walked forward, stopping a respectable distance away from her impromptu privacy shelter as if perhaps there was some ferocious monster hidden inside making the sucking and smacking noises. “Captain Billow caught me on the way home from the training grounds and said I was supposed to bring you lunch. Or breakfast.” He eyed the rather flimsy cloud stall and stifled a yawn. “I could leave it over here for when you’re done. I should be getting to bed anyway.”
“Food,” growled Daelia, sounding a little like some ferocious beast before blinking and ducking her head. “I mean, yes? Could you bring it over here?” She shuddered to the impact of an impatient little colt head-butting her in the barrel again. “I just got him situated.”
The paper bag turned out to be waxed with cloud repellant and as Petunia spread the contents out on top of it, Daelia began to nearly inhale the contents. “There’s so much here,” she mumbled through a full mouth. “I can’t possibly eat all of this myself.” She shuddered under the impact of a little blue head again. “Sometimes he’s so hungry and so fussy at the same time. I can’t help but think he’s allergic to something. Here, you can have the grapes.”
“Thanks.” The sergeant watched her demolish a few corn muffins and a banana while eating the grapes, wincing every time Standing Water head-butted her. Finally after he had run out of grapes, he volunteered, “Mum alway used to yank the teat away when my little sister head-butted her.”
“Really?” Daelia licked away the crumbs from an oatmeal bar and dove into a blueberry bagel, or at least as much as she could dive in without one hoof to brace the bagel against to tear off chunks. She had learned that Standing Water viewed a three-legged mommy as something that was fun to tip over, so during feeding, all four hooves remained firmly braced. This time when he butted her in the stomach, she abruptly shifted to one side and listened to his bleat of surprise at having to scramble for the breakfast spigot again. “I hope that works,” she whispered as if somehow he would have been able to hear his mother conspiring against his dining preferences.
“It took Mum weeks,” admitted Petunia. “M’little sis, she’s a powerhouse. It was either that or cracked ribs. Jus’ a little brotherly advice, ma’am.”
“Thank you.” It did seem to calm her foal down, and Daelia added, “I’ve never gotten brotherly advice before.”
“I’ve never gotten to give much of it either,” admitted Petunia. “When yer whole job is bouncing snotty young colts off the sand, it don’t make for many close personal relationships. Leastwise those that don’t come with fracutres and discombobulated limbs.”
The rest of breakfast passed relatively quietly until the food (solid and liquid) had all been eaten and a snoozing Standing Water had been freshly diapered. After crafting a little bit of cloud into a bassinet and arranging a blanket in it for his nap, Daelia tucked her foal in and crafted the surrounding cloud walls into a denser privacy wall for him, pressing in with her hooves to pack the cloud into a solid, foal-proof barrier against the inside wall of the hangar and leaving a few small holes for ventilation.
“There,” she declared. “That should hold him for an hour or two. Thank you, Sergeant Petunia. For breakfast and for not being upset about…” Daelia waved a hoof and bent it at a sharp angle. “You know. The knife thing.”
“Think nothing of it, Ma’am. I’m looking forward to our next training session so you can show me how you did it.” He mimed lowering his hoof and raising his chin until he was laying upside down on the hangar floor, waving all four hooves in the air. “Just saw you move once, and then all I could see was sky. It was a nice knife though. I’m going to have to order another one sometime.”
Petunia raised his head at the resulting silence and scrambled to his hooves as he noticed Daelia with her lips drawn into a tight line and breathing in short pants. “Whoa, sorry Ma’am. Didn’t mean to resurrect any old ghosts.”
“I’m sorry. That’s… OK… Sergeant…” She fought the cascade of memory to a halt and took a deep breath. “It just sneaks up on me when I least expect it.” After a few more deep breaths, she added, “You know?”
“Yeah.” He looked over his shoulder as if he were hoping for another courier to stop by, but the cavernous hangar was only lightly filled at this time of the morning. With so many chariots out on messenger missions, even the maintenance crews had returned to putting unneeded coats of wax on the few remaining glossy chariots as an effort to find something to keep themselves occupied. “Miss Grace… I mean Specialist Grace explained it to me. A stallion who would do that… Yew ever find ‘em, make sure and tell me. The Royal Guard takes care of its own.”
“If I find him, I’m going to have him arrested and see him stand trial,” she whispered back. “If I’m not a damned chicken and freeze up like that.”
“Yer not a chicken,” protested Petunia. “No chicken would go diving into this job with a little foal to boot. Ain’t no stallion that I know of ever had the stones to try it solo neither.”
“I’ve got a husband.” She kicked a piece of cloudstuff to one side. “He’s just in Vanhoover with ninety thousand bits worth of jewelry from the police evidence locker and some floozy from the parking enforcement division.”
“Oh.” Words seemed to evade Petunia like they normally did, fleeing underneath the thin layer of cloud that protected the stone floor of the hangar from the tramp of armored pegasi hooves. “Do you miss him?”
“If I hadn’t missed him, he’d be sitting in a jail cell right now. I just barely clipped him above one ear. I was pregnant at the time. It threw off my kick.” Another chunk of cloudstuff got punted to one side and burst into nothingness as it hit the wall of the hangar.
“They think ya let him go intentionally, don’t they?” Daelia nodded and Petunia fidgeted. It is said that if you only have a hammer, all problems look like nails, and the only thing the burly earth pony really knew was directed physical violence. Well, and hoofball, which was specifically directed physical violence of a socially acceptable nature.
“Tell ya what,” he volunteered. “Yew need sumpthin’ to take yer mind off of things. Hows about you show me how you did that disarming maneuver, and I’ll help yew brush up on yer kicks between couriers checking in. We got a good chunk of empty space here in the hangar, and if’n yew gotta take off to run a message up to Princess Luna, I’ll stay here and watch the crumb cruncher. He’s a cute little sprout.” Petunia fought back a yawn. “It’ll help us both stay awake.”
“We don’t have any pads.” Miss Thermal reached out and poked Petunia in one furry white shoulder. “We could get hurt.”
“Naa. Not if we’re careful. Anything over so many kilopascals of impact and the enchantments kick in. Go ahead.” He tilted his shoulder towards Daelia. “Give it a good solid punch.”
She poked it again, only perhaps just with the tiniest bit of additional force.
“Oh, come on. Hit me like you’d hit your husband.”
A minute later when he picked himself up off the hangar floor and dusted the cloud off, he added, “I deserved that. Maybe I should have picked a different example?”
Miss Thermal peeked out from behind her hooves. “A-are you ok?”
“A mite sore.” He rubbed his shoulder. “The sparks yew saw was the enchantments on the armor kickin’ in. They’re about an order of magnitude stronger than the ones woven into the police uniforms.”
“I knew that,” she said with an irritated huff. “I’m not a dummy.” She looked around the hangar with an evaluating expression. “You’re right, though. It would keep me awake during the slack time and help work out some frustrations. It’ll be like being back in self-defense courses with the other girls.”
“Yew took self-defense courses?” asked Petunia, unconsciously favoring one wrist.
“Taught them for the last four years.” Perfectly pink-and-orange wings stretched as Daelia swept into her warm-up kata, feeling the blood circulate in her legs after being sedentary all night. She darted up, rolled to one side, and spun into a series of short petit jetés from dance training, ending in a short flying kick that made her pant for air. “My wings are still pretty well toned from all the flying I did with my foal, but my legs are horribly out of shape.”
Petunia rubbed his jaw while nodding. “Yeah. We can work on that.”
~ ~ ~ * ~ ~ ~
Surprise can be a good or a bad thing, depending on the pony or thing doing the surprise, and whether the surprise is something you wanted to happen. Celestia had a very firm idea of the importance of surprises and the ponies being surprised, i.e. very important, and other ponies. Princess Cadence had never been a very satisfactory foil for any of Celestia’s ‘surprises’ even as she had become older and more mature, which she put down to a bit of an inferiority complex at being constantly compared to her ‘aunt.’ Twilight Sparkle had been very fun to surprise, but only in very limited circumstances that did not involve her favorite student diving into a pile of books to figure out just why the little trick that Celestia had done was supposed to be funny.
It just sucked all the fun out of a good practical joke. That, and the detailed fifty-page report on the history of whoopie cushions and their practical uses that would inevitably follow.
Having Luna back in the castle again was a pleasure that filled Celestia’s heart with joy, her voice with song, and the cash boxes of various Canterlot joke stores with bits. Which explained why when she stepped out onto the Grand Celestial Skyport and her chariot was not waiting for her scheduled trip to Fillydelphia, her first thought turned to her sister. Perhaps some arcane little trick or stunt was in the process of developing, or maybe even Twilight Sparkle had decided to join their little games. Nothing materialized, however, so she calmed Kibitz and assured him that the schedule was still intact, with plenty of casual time at both ends to accommodate the meetings even if she had to fly herself to the destination (to which he reacted in much the same shocked fashion as Rarity facing some of Luna’s old wardrobe).
It would have taken five minutes to trot through the corridors and stairs of the castle back to the Royal Hangar, but she could see it from here, and given Luna’s sense of humor, the Celestial Phaeton would be delivered to the platform just as she trotted into the hangar, and vice versa, for however many times it would take to be appropriately ‘funny.’
With the delicate grace that only an alicorn could muster, Princess Celestia swept up into the air for a short flight and glided to a near-silent landing just inside the hangar doors, although after a moment’s worth of observation, her stealth was somewhat unnecessary.
Inside a roughed-out cloud fence, there were four Royal Guards engaging in a very restrained sparring match. It was fairly common for her guards to exert themselves in physical contests such as hoof-wrestling or jogging outside their duty stations, as well as the inevitable sparring inside the training grounds. On rare occasions she had even seen them rough out areas for training when bored or trying to fight anxiety. But she had never seen her off-duty guards pack to the edge of a makeshift training circle with such concentration before. They were all watching a burly unicorn courier being held in a cautious headlock by a second guard, with Specialist Thermal and a second earth pony guard nearly at nose-length away giving the match a spirited evaluation.
“...so you can see how Specialist Trotters here looks fairly well trapped. Corporal Knack even remembered to have his elbow bent around his other hoof for a change to keep the chokehold in place no matter how much Trotters wriggles about.”
“His technique is a little different than in the dojo,” said Thermal with careful examination of the trapped joint. “With the armor, you don’t have to worry about a counter breaking a collarbone or cracking your shins. Still, it’s very dangerous. You can collapse a carotid artery even if you’re careful.”
“Right,” agreed the earth pony, who Celestia finally recognized as Sergeant Petunia. “We don’t normally use this hold in combat, but we do practice countering it, just in case. Okay, Trotters. Let’s see if you can remember our little lesson from last week. Go!”
The unicorn courier shifted his weight forward and thrust out with one hind leg in a restrained blow that barely raised sparks from the impact of the guard’s armor and shoes. The ‘attacker’ staggered slightly, and Trotter twisted to escape the hold while lighting up his horn.
Bad move.
The defending courier’s magic went out like a light as the attacking guard slammed his armored forehead into it, making the courier stagger in pain and slap a hoof against his side to ‘tap out’ of the exercise. Both attacker and defender took a moment to sit down and get their wits about them as Sergeant Petunia chided the unicorn. “What do I tell you every time in the ring, Trotters? If you’re grappled, never try to use magic. Roll to one side or kick his legs out from under him.”
Thermal cleared her throat and turned to the spectators. “If we could get an earth pony volunteer now, we can — Princess Celestia!”
It was amazing how those two simple words spoken in Thermal’s panic-stricken squeak caused every pony on the hangar floor and a few in the rafters to abruptly change their behavior. Maintenance ponies returned to intensely waxing already intensely waxed chariots, couriers with delayed missives edged towards the exits, and over a dozen Royal Guards around the ring suddenly displayed an intense desire to teleport elsewhere, even the non-unicorns.
“No need to stop on my regard, Specialist Thermal,” said Celestia, trying conceal a giggle as the four drivers for her chariot began to buckle themselves into the harness with expressions indicating they had just arrived and were shocked, shocked to find this degree of laxness among the other guards. “In fact, I happen to have a few minutes before I really need to leave anyway. That looked fascinating. It’s been years since I’ve been in the ring with any of the guards. Do you think one of you fine gentlecolts could show me that move?”
One gold-clad hoof pointed, eliminating the totally unnecessary step of finding a volunteer, and Celestia picked her way daintily into the circle with a burly pegasus following, looking much as if he would rather be peeling potatoes for the next century. He braced at her request, slipping up behind Her Royal Highness, Diarch of Equestria, Princess of the Sun, Sol Invicta, She Whom He Had Sworn To Protect With His Life, and tentatively slipped a foreleg around her neck.
“That’s not very tight, Sergeant Hammerlock.”
His grip tightened to the point where it might have slightly inconvenienced the breathing of an asthmatic foal.
“Sergeant,” she began, “if you do not tighten your affectionate grip, I shall tell all of your fellow guards just exactly what you did with the daughter of then Commandant Buttercup twelve years ago on the night after your graduat—”
Panicked muscles drove a powerful foreleg across Celestia’s throat, cutting off her wind and any more embarrassing revelations. Princess Celestia reared up just enough to get her forehooves off the cloud floor, and displaying a flexibility not found in mares a small fraction of her age, slammed both of them backwards into the sergeant’s armored barrel with a muffled clang that drove the breath out of his lungs in a mighty ‘whoosh.’ She then pitched forward, tucking her chin down and heaving her hindquarters up in a short forward roll that ended up with a somewhat flattened Royal Guard lying directly underneath of the Solar Princess. With a grin, Celestia spread her wings and waved her hooves in the air, wriggling against the flattened solder like she was scratching an itch on her back until a struggling Sergeant Hammerlock tapped out with a hoof against the cloud floor.
After a nimble roll to one side, Princess Celestia stood up again and bowed to her gasping opponent. “Thank you, Sergeant. My sister was right. That was fun.”
“Thank you, Your Highness,” gasped Sergeant Hammerlock from his semi-prone position with no apparent desire to stand at any time soon. “We are at your command.”
“Oh, no more this morning,” she said, casting a glance at where the chariot was waiting with all four drivers attempting to put on an air of complete innocence and patience. “Why don’t you go down to the armory and see about having them make me a set of sparring pads. We can practice some more in a few days.”
“Your Highness?” If the bulky pegasus had looked out of breath before, he looked nearly suffocated now, and continued to maintain his somewhat popeyed and stunned expression until Celestia’s chariot had vanished out of sight to the north.
“I think she likes you,” whispered one of the nearby guards.
“I think she broke a rib,” whispered Hammerlock. “Somepony help me to the infirmary.”
~ ~ ~ * ~ ~ ~
Captain Billow was not in a good mood. His wings itched, the first two pegasi he had tracked down to serve an extra shift as Special Royal Communications Relay had turned out to also be in the infirmary with a mild case of Feather Flu, and that only made his wings itch more despite the fact he did not even have feathers. He had finally managed to get one of the newly-graduated cadets — a fuzzy-cheeked young pegasus named Blade — to ‘volunteer’ to staff the position under the condition that he be permitted extra rounds in the sparring circles over the next week, and the sight that greeted his eyes when he returned to his duty station made him grind his teeth in frustration.
A rather lumpy section of cloud had been formed over against the wall, guarded by one of the off-duty front gate guards who was standing just as straight and sincere as if he were standing in front of Celestia’s door.
A pair of Royal Guards was locked into what appeared to be a mutual wrestling hold while sitting inside a somewhat ragged looking circle made out of tufts of clouds in the middle of the hangar floor.
A number of the idle maintenance ponies had gathered to one side of the entertainment to watch, gathered into small groups and pointing at particular interesting moves.
And both Miss Thermal and Sergeant Petunia were keeping their distance away from the two stallions locked in a hold, and apparently trying to determine which of them had the advantage at the moment.
“‘Ten-HUT! Officer on the floor!”
A stampeding wave of crisp salutes and wide eyes greeted Captain Billow, looking so much like the time he caught a half-dozen of his little nieces and nephews raiding a cookie jar that he had to suppress a snort of laughter. “I hate to break up your little training session,” growled Billow, “but if you gentlestallions have nothing else to do, I’m certain that the maintenance crew on the parade grounds needs a few volunteers with tweezers to crop the grass.”
Billow uses Intimidate. It’s highly effective.
In mere moments, the surplus of curious stallions had been dealt with, scattering to their respective tasks with such vigor that most of the fragile cloud fence around their ring was also scattered to the far corners of the hangar. The awkward guard at his shoulder almost scurried off too, having to be restrained by a hoof and subdued into staying put with a firm glower.
“Specialist Thermal, I brought your relief. He’s been briefed on the job, so you can take off whenever you want.”
“Yeah,” said Specialist Blade, eyeing the female guard with a certain degree of hesitancy that did not seem to disturb the young mare at all, and taking the offered clipboard without taking his eyes off of Thermal’s wings. “Thanks.”
As Thermal collected her things and headed for the lumpy cloud structure stuck to the hangar wall, Blade leaned over to him and whispered, “She’s another mare in the Guard?” At Billow’s quizzical look, Blade added, “I ran into two of them at ‘Save The Hostage.’ Vicious old hags. Nothing like that.”
“Yeah,” grumbled Billow. “Looks like we’re stuck with them.” The two of them watched the young pegasus trot over to the Nocturne guardstallion standing in front of the small cloud structure, pausing at the regulation five strides away and lifting her head with a look of intense concentration. Folded-up wings perfectly level, face composed, and posture so perfect she could have posed for a recruiting poster, Specialist Thermal took the regulation three steps forward and saluted, a brisk and exacting movement of the hoof that was mirrored perfectly by the ceremonial guard, both of them holding the position without a single twitch.
“Master of the Post, I request relief!” snapped the guard in the ageless and hallowed tradition of the Royal Guard.
“Watch Guard, I am here to relieve you!” snapped back Thermal in perfect counterpart with exactly the same cadence and tone used by the guard changing ceremony several hours ago.
“I stand relieved. The watch is yours. Guard well the Princesses,” replied the guard, dropping his salute simultaneously with Thermal and engaging in the rather formal march and countermarch steps that ended with him marching out the hangar door as Thermal held her perfect stance next to the cloud structure. Finally she relaxed, with a whoosh of a breath held for too long and a quick step over to pick up her foal entertainment and restraining gear.
“They do have a few advantages, I suppose,” admitted Billow, watching Thermal twist into her foal carrier saddle. “Still don’t think they’re Royal Guard material, though.”
“I don’t know, sir,” said Blade, watching Petunia help put the saddle on with no small amount of trepidation. “There’s a couple of them that I sure as taxes wouldn’t want to cross, but I’m not quite sure I’m ready to take orders from any of them.”
The temporary cloud structure was cleared away by the sharp application of several petite pink hooves, and Thermal bent over the cloud bassinet in the middle with a soft coo that turned almost instantly into a panicked shriek. Chunks of cloud went flying as the young mother flung the empty foal blanket to one side, pawing through the rest of the packed cloud material while screaming at the top of her lungs.
“Standing Water! Where are you?”
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I would never harm a little foal for the purposes of literature.
Special Operations Sergeant Hammerlock on the other hoof...
10 bits says he's stowed away on the chariot of a certain alicorn princess.
Standing Water went with Celestia. I seen that a mile a way.
the wife of the Royal Guard Day Commander and the mother-in-law of the Royal Guard Night Commander.
Let nopony say that Celestia doesn’t know how play for keeps
Nice cliffhanger. Thermal's gonna kick so much ass next chapter, she'll show why you don't mess with the Mama Bears.
I got a bad feeling where that foal is... ^.^
And then Hammerlock died of massive internal bleeding.
Awesome work. I love your style.
5336168 I was not criticizing you; rather, I was trying to make sure that all writers of MLP FiM fanfiction are aware of certain facts so that they look even smarter.
Information is power, and since there is a lot of pony stuff on FiMFic, info on horses and ponies is especially empowering. Below is a rundown of technical terms of pony anatomy that is actually fun to watch. I can imagine that the video is used in schools in Equestria.
My Guess: In Celestia's Chariot getting to play junior guard. Or causing a chase to this tune somewhere:
I predict a mad scramble to find him.
5336408 Dang, I was hoping I didn't hang that large a lampshade on Celestia's trip. Still, it's better than Monster/Letters, where some people reading the story still think I killed Twilight's parents, or Diamond Tiara Buys a Little Sister, where I swear some people still didn't realize who DT's mom was at the end.
5336452
Please tell me you aren't serious about that last part; I don't think you could have been any clearer.
5336266 But what they write supports what I say:
They write about leaving out one of the pronouns, but the same idea works when you have "[noun] and/or [pronoun]", like in the cases here. You just need to leave out the rest of the list (in these cases, the noun), see here.
5336230
Huh. Well, fair enough.
5336452 The reactions of Filydelphia when Celestia shows up with a little colt sleeping on her back would be hilarious, the tabloids would have a field day, and Banhammer would take the little scamp off Celestia's hooves.
For want of a nail, a mind was lost.
You're clearly arranging something here, but I'm not sure what. I look forward to finding out.
Hey Georg, long time fan of your works here with some comments... and a concern. Let me begin by saying that I really liked your fanfic "A War of Words - The Opening of the Guard" in particular which is your prequel for this piece but also set in a much larger universe which, admittedly, I have not finished reading about entirely. That fic was hilarious and the manner of the story telling, from snippets of private and public notes, was very interesting in it's execution. You told a funny story in an unorthodox way which actually makes it one of my favorite fics on this site in all honesty. It was refreshing on multiple levels, it wasn't only funny and presented in an interesting manner, but also seemed very true to the nature of the show itself and I could believably see it made into an episode with a few modifications for their target audience which is surprisingly rare and thus an even more worthwhile treat. I've actually been working on a review of this work that captures all the ways that I like it, and why it's one of my personal favorites. Moreover having read this piece and certain others, I deeply respect your attention to world building and "versimilitude" (I refuse to use "realistic" to discuss a world of magical talking ponies because the argument of "it's just a kids show" is to easy to make, however it always ruins the suspension of disbelief when the authors can't be bothered to be consistent or ignore obvious solutions to problems so this is the word I use instead). I try to help others with their fictions by pre-reading and editing and I've pointed them to your stories, and your excellent blog posts on writing. Forgive me for what appears to be an over-long preamble of gushing but I want to establish with perfectly crystal clarity that I have enjoyed your works, that I want to like this work, and that I am trying to see where you're going with this but I'm getting really confused as to what your aim here is and as the story has been on going I've become ever more conflicted about finishing it.
So with all that said I really must say, with all due respect, "WHAT IN BUCKING TARTARUS ARE YOU DOING?!" Seriously man, I'm not sure if you want to be laughing with these mares or at them but I've served with military women and I'm feeling that this is disrespectful to them.
I really want to like this story, I really do, so I'm going to try and reel myself back here and explain where I'm going from and some things that I thought you did quite well before I get to my main criticisms and why I'm feeling a touch insulted. I'm going to replace all the swearing I learned in the service with more... "show appropriate" lines so that I don't get this post removed so but I hope that it gets my incredulity across. I'm a retired veteran whom had a female commanding officer and whom after the service received black belt training from a retired policewoman. I have a deep respect for both of these women whom had to work twice as hard for half the respect. So this project of yours strikes a personal cord within me as I think of those two indomitable ladies. I saw first hand times when they were disrespected, times they had to work far harder for the same accolades, and finally I saw them overcome obstacles to achieve high ranking positions within their organizations. As a man others whom would degrade them would confide in me, including other superior officers, their concerns about letting these "ladies" in (I put that in quotation marks before the many derogatory terms they used would most assuredly get this post taken down). The lines of Commander Snowy Peaks has reminded me of such things that I've heard but with a more "Teen" rating.
The martial arts instructor, a retired policewoman, could dislocate the arm of a man THREE TIMES her size. I know this because I watched her do it on more than one occasion. It was quite frankly the best advertisement for the dojo she helped found. If she could turn an arthritic grandmother into a legitimate threat imagine what she could do with a more able-bodied person. The female commanding officer I spoke of was always "on point." Her uniform was always immaculate and her knowledge of not just procedures, but how to get things done when the overwhelmed bureaucracy inevitably failed was impressive. I respect these women greatly as well as their forebearers. So much so that the biggest demerit on my file, to this day, was breaking the jaw of someone of my rank that dared to insult them greatly (the demerit was not for breaking the jaw, but for getting into a fight where I was outnumbered and thus getting beaten bloody). This took INCREDIBLE amounts of effort and sacrifice on their part to continue training and putting in hard work after many of their male peers would have stopped.
For all the good they do, and all the support I still give to the military, I must admit that SEXISM and RACISM are both rampant in the service. Part of it is you have a lot of young hot heads with something to prove. You did a good job on showing that in this work as well as the fact that many individuals come from the lower class and so their choices are either drudgery, criminality, or the military. The military has been a path for economic and social mobility for the lower class for generations. I also feel that you did a good job talking about "Mount Paperwork." Most people don't understand the vast logistical system that goes into inserting and maintaining an advanced fighting force. Every front-line service-person has a train of about a DOZEN people dealing with the bureaucracy needed to manage the vast storehouses of food, equipment, intelligence, and paperwork needed to make a modern military function. Moreover the "chatter" and the "boredom" are also quite spot on. Most military duty consists of guarding and standing in one place waiting for something, ANYTHING, to happen is exactly as painfully tedious as it sounds. For many it's even worse than that however since they joined to actually fight which makes it even more grating to be stuck on "Door Duty."
Now I'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt here since you've mentioned underappreciated American Military heroines in your comments such as the Rear Admiral you've named Grace after, and assume that it WASN'T your intention to seeming insult these people from what is admittedly likely a mistake of omission. So as Cold in Gardez 5323854 and Bad Horse 5319337 have stated in their reviews a point that I wish to explicitly expand because it is the crux of why I feel that these individuals have been disrespected: we don't see any of the mare's sacrifices so it looks all too easy. Above I told you about my female commanding officer and about how I SAW her struggle with the system. While her professionalism was top notch and her knowledge of procedure was excellent this wasn't because of some bull**** eidetic memory (which many professionals claim doesn't exist and those that do can only show a DOZEN cases out of billions of people), it was because she spent HOURS EVERY DAY working hard to be the god**** best! Rear Admiral Grace Hopper didn't get where she was because of some kind of magical destiny, she was a very smart lady no doubt but if you read the books about her you'll learn that she sacrificed and worked and ENDURED more than any of her peers to make her projects a success My sensei the retired policewoman was shorter than I was, and she was never confused for an amazonian warrior queen. The reason why she was able to so well defend herself on the police force and the reason why she was able to run her own dojo was because she practiced EVERY DAY after the other officers had already left. Now sure cutiemarks imply magical destiny but none of them have cutiemarks in combat. We saw a group of ponies with cutiemarks of comicbook fighting symbols when Daring Do was attacked in her house so it's not a stretch to say such things exist. This however isn't the case, these mares are wiping the floor with everyone from cadets to hardened warriors AND WE DON'T EVEN SEE THEM BREAKING A SWEAT. Honest to god I've seen self-insert mary-sue fics with more struggle than this! The fact that you're playing all this as comedy makes this particularly frustrating as I don't know what we're supposed to be parodying. At this point, someone could claim that this is all just a trollic about Mary Sues and I couldn't really dispute them. Now I know that you're mostly doing this from the men's perspective but they manage to beat the TRAINED VETERAN COMBAT INSTRUCTOR, pass the exam with some of the highest marks, etc, etc, etc and we don't see how they did it. Admittedly part of the problem is "showing vs telling" but it goes deeper than that because we don't know how they passed the exam. The exam that's very hard to pass (supposedly) but that we can only assume they did effortlessly since there's no mention of any input of work on their part. That's what's leaving me upset and feeling insulted is that there isn't any appreciation of any effort here. IT JUST HAPPENS for them which is INCREDIBLY insulting for what is obviously supposed be an Aesop about something here. If we had a scene where the mares were all studying furiously every night while the rest of the cadets were asleep that would certainly help. Instead we have constant scenes of a lactating mare having to have privacy screens installed all the damn time by soft-hearted guys with little better to do at the moment. It doesn't make her seem competent, and it sure as hell doesn't show the VERY REAL sacrifice that military mothers have to make. Any military personnel has to be away from their children and anyone that would let a child wander around a military base is incompetent. Furthermore this is played for jokes as well and I'm not sure why it's supposed to be funny. What am I laughing at? The mare? The Situation? I don't know what you wanted us to laugh at but I do know that with these concerns I'm not laughing at all because at turns you seem to be making fun of the IDEA of sacrifice in the military itself! The reason why people respect military personnel is because they make sacrifices for others. The flippant nature of this whole work, where you try to present a believable military drama, but then constantly tearing it down by pointing out with neon lights that even the Princesses think it's a joke, is kind of dark. The stallion says that the ONLY THING he has worth living for, worth dying for, is a princess WHO DOESN'T NEED HIM FOR ANYTHING, other than to seemingly prank him. THAT'S REALLY DARK MAN. So with all this said, I don't know what your Aesop is anymore. I want to believe that you're trying to write a drama (with humor that just isn't working as well as you hoped) about one gender being accepted into a role usually reserved for the opposite but with how sideways this whole thing is going, with nothing from the mare's perspective, and their constant overachievement I'm not so sure. Since you play their overachievement FOR LAUGHS I'm not sure if you're laughing AT these mares or with them. Are their achievements supposed to be funny because they couldn't possible do it?
So if we had some extended chapters where we saw the mares really struggling, really working hard, sacrificing even, to overcome these obstacles then I could get behind this project again. As it stands, I can see that you want me to be laughing, but I'm not since I'm not sure if I should feel offended. I'm not sure if you understand the sort of sacrifice these women you're supposedly basing these characters had to endure and while I want to give you the benefit of the doubt, I'm not sure you respect it either. Some scenes from the mare's point of view could really assist in getting whatever point it is you have across because right now I'm just not getting it.
Please note, none of my concern has anything to do with partiarchy vs matriarchy or the fact that ponies can be prejudiced. Also please note that I have no problem with having a mare that is physically stronger, or even larger, than your stallions nor do I think that they necessarily have to solve the problems in a way other than is expected of the stallions. What I want is you to SHOW us that the mares are having to put in a substantial effort to overcome the deck that is being actively stacked against them. My problem is that I'm not sure if you're mocking the idea that being a soldier requires hard work and is a worthwhile occupation... which is insulting to myself and the women I had the PRIVILEGE of serving with that I won't stand for. I've gotten more vehement than I meant to, so I'm going to step away form this now and try to come back with a cooler head.
5319337
Poor Sergeant Hammerlock, but on the plus side, what a story. Not many ponies can claim to have been personally flattened by Princess Suplexia and lived to tell the tale.
Trying to fight somepony the size and strength of Celestia hoof-to-hoof must be borderline impossible. Hell, I think a four-pony fire team would be hard-pressed to even slow her down! If she gets it into her head that she needs to sharpen up her combat skills, the number of folded, spindled and mutilated guards in the infirmary may go up slightly.
Oh no! The foal is on the loose!
Is Strata a nocturne? Who is what when it comes to flying ponies isn't explicitly stated that often.
5334424
But Hammerlock is such a great character in BL2.
5337851 Princess Suplexia. (snort) New headcanon established.
5338586 Well, I had a Nocturne spar with Luna in Diplomacy by Other Means for just a hair under three minutes. Of course it was Pumpernickel, so it ended badly...
5341198 (checks) No, she's not. I thought I color-coded her in a previous chapter, but nope. I should go back and update that.
5337583 I plan on making a blog post to self-justify my decisions in this fic later, so stay tuned.
5337386 Take a look at the next chapter's title. It's a giveaway.
5337174 Yeah, the tabloids would love to run headlines "Incompetant Royal Guard Screws Up Again" "Foal Endangerment or Intentional Abuse" "Security Snafu's Strike Castle" The only problem is that editors have to sleep sometime, and Luna perfers to deliver her criticism in a fashion that cannot be ignored or dodged.
5336940 I'll see if I can find the quote. (backtracks) Well, only one, and it may have been sarcasam. So it's an untested theory.
5342049 In full disclosure, I totally borrowed that name from somewhere else. Would have sworn it was the name of a fic posted here, but now I cannot find it even with the fancy new searching system.
I laughed so hard! Not a reference I expected to see.
For those of you who didn't catch it:
Pokemon
"Fractures and discombobulated limbs"
Okay, I know there's a whole thing about ponifying words and what not... I do not think that apocalypse needs to be made into Apocoltypse... just makes it hard to say.
7216303
I always went with "Ponyocalypse"
I hate to be the pedant in the room, but Intimidate is an ability, not a move, and furthermore inflicts a status, so it can't be super effective.
10259006 Well, he was grey when he was younger, and many cadets ago.
8427203 Yeah, I'm not much on Pokemon moves.
6995489 Youse gotta excuse his way of talkin, on account of he's from Joisey.
Uh oh... look's like Celestia has a suprize guest
That's pretty great