10. Saint Mane's Infirmary
Equestria : 1940
Monday 17 June - Canterlot, Equestria
“Is any sick among you? Let him call for the elders of the church; and let them pray over him, anointing him with oil in the name of the Lord.”
— James 5:14
* * ✹ * *
Jon had not expected to survive the auto accident.
He also had not expected to see the insides of another Equestrian hospital ever, but he was not about to complain about his minor scuffs and bruises when he could have been dead or maimed instead. In all respects, the stark white walls and cool corridors were preferable to the alternative.
The empty room Jon found himself in could have easily been a human hospital room designed for short people, due to the way his bare feet stuck out of the bottom of the bed. It made him consider how Equestrian hospitals and their staff seemed to parallel and differ from human hospitals. For one, they both stripped their victims and left them in chilly rooms for extended periods of time, although human hospitals at least gave out thin paper gowns to keep the cold away. However, he had not expected the plate of sugared hay twists to snack on while waiting, or the collection of old bridle catalogs to browse.
And he was naked under the blanket, of course. That at least was starting to feel normal.
He was just trying to make sense of a fold-out in the catalog when a forest-green unicorn mare with a police cap hooked over her horn slipped in the door. She took one look at the catalog, then looked up at Jon and slowly shook her head as if trying to picture the human wearing any of the Equestrian fashions.
“Good afternoon, Mister Walthers,” started the mare in a rich contralto voice as she produced a clipboard with her magic. “My name is Officer Grace. Are you comfortable?”
“More comfortable than I should be,” admitted Jon, tucking in the edges of the blanket. “Hitting that wall as fast as we were going should have left your hospital with a bloody human/unicorn jigsaw puzzle to pick apart. Instead, I just feel like I’ve been trampled during a white sale at Penny’s. How are the prince and Schadenfreude?”
“Multiple contusions, bruises, and abrasions for the prince,” said the police mare, “although from the way he whines about it, you would think he was broken worse than his automobile. Schadenfreude has a broken foreleg, and a tire track all the way down his back like a skunk. Did you know the automobile caught fire after the two of you were dragged out of the wreckage by Twilight Sparkle?”
“Canterlot is all the safer for it,” said Jon. He straightened up with a wince and ran his tongue around the inside of his mouth. “I think the worst injury I have is a little chip on one tooth and my pride.”
“Fortunate, considering somepony tried to kill both of you.” Grace looked up from her clipboard and fixed Jon with a steady glance, as if she were waiting for him to confess to attempted regicide.
Giving the mare a dismissive flip of the wrist, which still hurt, Jon scoffed. “I’ve given it some thought. Schadenfreude couldn’t have jiggered the automobile controls and gotten run over trying to save us. He’s annoying, not dangerous.”
“Mister Schadenfreude is not a suspect,” stated Grace. She levitated a manilla folder from her clipboard and spread the contents out across the nearby bedstand. There were several clear photographs of Blueblood and his hapless human mechanic on their ill-fated automotive expedition, but also pictures of the half-naked human and the bathing batpony. The policemare wordlessly shuffled the last photos back into the envelope and spread out the pictures of the Cord roadster. It was obvious that they were chronological order due to the number of external accoutrements that had fallen off during the short trip, including most of a rear quarter panel which Jon had not noticed during the chaos.
“The Canterlot fire patrol managed to quickly extinguish the fire,” she continued as several more images took form in the low glow of her green magic, showing the interior engine compartment of the roadster spread out over the exterior of the vehicle. “And my department did a preliminary scan of the malfunctioning mechanical relays. You will note here and here—” sections of the glowing magical projection blinked in darker shades of green “—where low-level unicorn enchantments sheared off the transmission linkages and accelerator cables, and the ruptured brake lines from an earlier spell.”
“Wait a minute.” Jon sat up in bed regardless of the pain and the way his blanket shifted over his bare torso, and regarded the glowing images, which he would have been fascinated by in any kind of different environment. “Somebody tried to kill us?”
“A unicorn with sufficient skill to cast five different triggered enchantments,” said the policemare, who Jon suddenly realized was a skilled unicorn too, and alone in the room with him.
Fighting to keep his mind off the possibility of getting murdered in the hospital bed, he asked, “Like Twilight Sparkle?”
The concept obviously bothered the green mare. She bit her bottom lip and brought up another green image, this one of the crumpled roadster flattened against the tall stone wall where it had reached its final destination. Small bits of the projection flickered in shades of green, with a broad green swatch over the stones of the wall. “The only reason you and Prince Blueblood are not dead is because of a cushioning enchantment cast on the wall right before impact. You were both thrown clear of the vehicle, as the bruise patterns on your bodies show, but instead of the both of you breaking your hard heads on the stone retaining wall—”
“Twilight Sparkle saved us?”
“Again, sir, it is premature to make any such determination of fact. Between the fire damage and the collision, I was unable to ascertain an exact thaumaturgical match for the spells used in the engine or the impact zone, but I’m fairly sure none of them match the Princess’ student’s aura. What I need from you is any observations you may recall from the incident that may clear up the inconsistencies. Any unicorns you may have seen in the vicinity, color patterns, glows, or unexplained phenomena.”
“Well.” Jon thought back to that terrifying moment before they hit the wall. “I saw a flash of blue light right after I grabbed the wheel. I thought it was Blueblood’s magic at the moment, but his was gold. Then there was another flare on impact. That’s really all.” He thought for a while as the policemare remained silent. “The first flash resembled a teleportation spell, I believe. One of the students in my classes demonstrated it a few years ago for me first hand. I didn’t see who did this one, because I was turning the car into the wall.”
“You manipulated the steering wheel before impact?” Officer Grace made a few more notes on her clipboard, then used her magic to project a glimmering green view of the street along with several skid marks, one of which was a long curve terminating at the stone wall.
“The street was full of ponies further down.” He could not offer any more words except, “I didn’t have a choice.”
“We all have choices,” said Grace in the same impassive tone she had been using since the interview started.
“Not always.” The deep and powerful voice of Princess Celestia filled the room as much as the tall form of Her Highness striding through the hospital room doorway. “Sometimes, we are unable to adjust our course when events spiral out of control. Good afternoon, Doctor Walthers.”
“He is not a doctor,” said Grace. “I’ve reviewed his records—”
Celestia turned her head infinitesimally, looked at the policemare, then turned back to Jon. “I’m so glad you were not seriously injured in the accident, Doctor Walthers,” she continued. “I’ve just returned from Schadenfreude’s room, and it seems he will make a full recovery. After sufficient pampering, of course. There were four nurses with him when I arrived.” Celestia clucked her tongue. “Such a charming rogue. Oh, and I see Officer Grace has developed photographs of the accident.”
The mare in question opened her mouth as if to correct the Principality’s monarch, then quietly closed her mouth without saying a word.
While shuffling the photos around, Celestia continued in a bemused tone, “My dear nephew is so distraught about the loss of his automobile. He should be more grateful for his life. I heard from one of my little ponies that you pulled Blueblood’s head down when the two of you went through the side gate, Doctor Walthers.”
“Yes,” said Jon. “It was reflexive. All that glass and wrought iron.”
“He’s a very handsome young unicorn,” said Celestia in a playful tone. “He tells me that all the time. I think he looks much better with his head attached, even if he keeps his nose in the air all the time.”
“I like my head where it is too, Your Highness.” Jon ran his fingers through his hair and took a deep breath. “How’s Twilight doing?”
“About as expected.” Celestia let out a deep sigh and began to shuffle the photographs back into the manilla envelope. “She thinks the whole thing is her fault. I told her that the previous mechanics all probably left magical residue behind when they worked on the automobile, and when combined together, it caused the accidental runaway cascade. Magic can be so unpredictable in that fashion.”
Behind her, Jon could see the policemare take a breath as if she were going to say something, then Grace reconsidered her action and returned to her silent stance with the unused clipboard hovering by her side.
“Anyway,” continued Princess Celestia, “I’m so proud of her for teleporting ahead and using that cushioning spell. She refuses to take credit, but I know my student better than anypony. Oh, and I heard a joke while out in the hallways. Would you like to hear it?”
“By all means, Your Highness.” Jon eyed the silent policemare. “It should make me feel better. Laughter is the best medicine, after all.”
“Quite right.” Celestia cleared her throat. “One pony said to another, ‘I heard that Prince Blueblood was in a terrible automobile accident.’ The other pony asks, ‘Oh, no. Was the automobile injured?’”
Celestia paused with an anticipatory expression. The police officer obviously did not think it was very funny. Jon, however, snorted with laughter, which made his ribs hurt so he did not laugh for very long.
Giving a brief shrug, Celestia continued. “Oh, well. In any case, I hope this little accident does not discourage you from enjoying my beautiful country, Doctor Walthers. I suppose the introduction of automobiles will just have to wait a few more years until we ensure they can be used safely in a magical environment.”
“Yeah, and give some more training to your Royal Automobile Inspectors,” mused Jon.
“Beg pardon?” Celestia cocked her head slightly to one side. “I’m not familiar with that position in the bureaucracy.”
Jon frowned and tried to think back. “I remember somepony saying something about one inspecting the roadster before we left the carriage house. I’m fairly sure I got the title right in Equestrian. It could have been a carriage inspector, I suppose. The root words are the same.”
“Hm…” Celestia turned to look at the police officer. “Sergeant Grace, have you ever heard of a Royal Automobile Inspector?”
“No, Ma’am. And I’m not a Sergeant. I’m just a Patrol Officer.” The thin frown at the corner of the officer’s lips grew and she flipped back a few pages on her clipboard. “Mister Schadenfreude mentioned a royal inspector in passing during our interview.”
“Check it out, please, Sergeant Grace,” said Celestia in a pleasant tone of voice that held a faint ring of sharpened steel behind it. “I need to have a few private words with Doctor Walthers before he returns to his apartments for the evening.”
“Yes, Your Highness.” Grace stopped writing on her clipboard and narrowed her eyes. “I’ll arrange a security escort for him. It could be dangerous if he should have another—” her hesitation was almost imperceptible “—accident.”
“No need to trouble yourself.” Celestia gave a dismissive hoof-wave. “The city is abuzz with rumors about the accident. Having Doctor Walthers escorted back to the castle by several uniformed patrol officers would simply make him a prime suspect in their eyes, while keeping him locked up in the hospital here would cause all sorts of needless speculation about the seriousness of his injuries, and those of Prince Blueblood. I have a better solution.”
* * ✹ * *
“Almost there, lovercolt.” Nightshade nudged the bedroom suite door open and flipped on some of the lights. The glittering reflection off her dark coat and dragon-like wings was attractive in a way that made Jon a little self-conscious about having taken the bare batpony on a trip through town. As much as she had been a flirty stinker in private before, being out for a walk in the sun had brought out her grouchy nature, which was not improved by the startled cry from inside the illuminated room.
“Hey!” protested Laminia with one batwing pulled over her eyes and the other stuck part-way out from under her quilted cape. She peered out from the closet where she apparently had been tidying up Jon’s clothes and shining his shoes with a towel. “Watch the lights, Night-Night.”
“Didn’t want to let my special somehuman break his neck on a loose rug,” said Nightshade as Jon plodded slowly into the room. “He already tried to break his head today.”
“You play too rough with your toys.” Laminia took a peek out from under her shading wing, her huge yellow eyes glowing like gold in the subdued room lighting.
“Not me.” Nightshade took off her dark glasses and pushed a chair over for Jon to sit down. “Prince Blueblood took them out in his motorcar for a drive around town. The engine ran away from him and the two of them wound up smashing into a wall.”
“Ouch!” Laminia squinted and blinked several times, giving Jon a long look from fedora to shoes. “So that’s why I had to go dig his tweeds out this afternoon.”
“Yeah, you would have needed his best suit for the funeral if Twilight Sparkle hadn’t used a spell to cushion their impact.” Nightshade yawned. “Oh, and Schadenfreude got run over trying to stop the motorcar.”
“Oh?” Laminia perked up, but Nightshade waved a hoof.
“Broke a leg, but he’s fine.”
“Oh. Drat.” Laminia eyed Jon again, taking his fedora when he handed it over. “Loverboy here doesn’t look too battered.”
“I’m fine,” protested Jon. “I just ache all over, and being paraded through town for all the nosy busybodies to look at didn’t help. All I want to do is go to bed.”
He paused, then looked at where Nightshade was stretching one broad membranous wing after another with slow, deliberate motions similar to sleepwalking. “What, no snappy comeback?”
“Gimme a month and some sleep.” Nightshade yawned, showing quite a number of sharp teeth. “Got to bed late, Courier pulled me out of a sound sleep, had to fly over here to get your stupid suit, fly over to the hospital to get you stuffed into it, didn’t even get the opportunity to help the nurses, and had to walk naked with my pet human all the way back here with everypony who saw us thinking that I’ve been banging you like a drum.”
“You’re not?” asked Laminia, who had finally quit holding a shading wing over her eyes and was working on getting both of the wings stuffed back under her quilted cape.
“It’s not for lack of trying,” said Jon. He leaned back in his chair and winced as he untied his shoes. “I don’t see what would have been wrong with walking back here in my dungarees and t-shirt instead of struggling into my tweeds.”
“They were shredded like you had been dragged through a rosebush.” Nightshade took a large bottle out of her saddlebag and put it on the floor with a thud. There were zig-zag patterns around the bottle mixed with random curved zebra runes in what looked like some sort of script, if one were to squint hard and had a good sense of imagination. “I suppose I should be jealous. I heard Twilight Sparkle nearly ripped you out of your clothes looking for broken bones.”
“What is it about every mare wanting to get my clothes off,” muttered Jon as he kicked away the last shoe and began to peel off his socks.
“Speaking of which,” said Nightshade while still reading the bottle. “Take your clothes off and lie down, or you’ll look like a thundercloud tomorrow with as black and blue as you’re going to be. Or you can take a bath first, I suppose. There’s a lot in this bottle to deal with.”
Jon draped his tweed jacket over the back of the chair and eyed the hefty bottle even while Laminia suppressed an indignant huff and picked up the jacket with a proper hanger in her teeth. “I got a sponge bath at the hospital when they were examining my injuries, despite my objections, so I’m going straight to bed. Can I drink half of it now and half in the morning?”
“All of it needs to be used tonight before you go to sleep,” said Nightshade, squinting at the squiggly text/runes.
“I’ll be up twice to pee,” he grumbled, shedding his tie and slacks, but keeping his underwear and shirt due to the presence of two females in the room. It still left him as the most overdressed creature there.
“If you drink it, you’ll be in a lot worse shape than the accident,” said Nightshade. “It has to be rubbed in. All over your body. Every inch. Well, except for those inches, I suppose.”
Laminia promptly trotted off to hang up his slacks and jacket while carrying his discarded socks in her tail. “You’re going to tear him up with your guard shoes,” she cautioned “I’ll get you some clean socks so our guest isn’t mangled.”
“Thanks, Lamby.” Nightshade pursed her lips and gave off a low whistle while reading. “Caution: Use only on the skin and not within. May cause yawns and reduced power for all night plus one hour. Even their instructions rhyme.”
Jon settled down on the largest rug and reluctantly shed his shirt (but kept his boxer shorts), lying down face-first for his medical rubdown. After all, the scattered red rash of friction burns and purple of impact bruising were just starting to hurt, and he did not want to know what his battered body would feel like in the morning without treatment. Besides, sampling the effects of a zebra potion would be educational for any future discussions with other humans.
As long as it did not turn him into something.
He was just considering what kind of frog or even pony he would wind up being turned into when Jon felt the feathery touch of Nightshade’s wings along his bare outer thighs and her hot breath on the small of his back.
“Let me get those for you.” The two small ‘hooks’ like fingernails on the top joints of her wings snagged his elastic waistband and her teeth delicately nipped the back before there was a brisk movement and Jon found himself stark naked on the rug, just like he woke up every morning. “I don’t know why you sleep in those,” said Nightshade, tossing the discarded boxers to the other side of the room with a flick of her neck. “It’s got to be unhealthy.”
“Very funny, Night-Night. Here’s your socks,” announced Laminia, tossing them onto Jon’s bare back. “Let me get this shirt into the wash and I’m going to take a nap before work too.” She gave out a loud yawn with probably the same sharp-toothed expression that Nightshade had just made.
“You could help if you want, and the two of you could just talk for a while,” volunteered Jon without thinking. He turned to look at the frowning batpony and had to add, “Otherwise, you’re leaving me with this depraved pervert rubbing her hooves all over my body with nopony to hold her back.”
“No, no,” said Nightshade with obvious false reluctance while she picked up the socks. She seated herself on Jon’s bare rump with her warm coat feeling tickle-y against his skin, although heavier than he really expected. “Don’t mind us. We’ll be fine. Ignore the screaming and moaning.”
“Help, help,” muttered Jon into the thick rug. “I’m trapped by a fat guard!” He eyed Laminia, who was rolling her eyes in return. “I’m serious. Well, mostly. I can’t get her to talk about— Did you call her Night-Night?”
“None of your business,” said Nightshade through a mouthful of sock. “And I don’t need to talk.”
“She needs to talk to somepony,” said Jon bluntly. “Princess Celestia said so. She won’t talk to me about what she needs to talk about, and the two of you seem to know each other, so if you can talk to her about anything, it should help, I guess…”
“I really don’t have the time,” grumbled Laminia. “My wings are itching like mad and I need to get my dad to preen them, like I was going to do before work.” Looking a little self-conscious, she stretched both wings out from under the concealing cloak and gave them a slow flap, which drove a comfortable breeze over Jon’s bare back.
“I wish I had time to get my wings preened too,” muttered Nightshade as she arranged the socks on her forehooves. “I’m going to be gooping this galoot forever, then I get to go stand out next to Green Mountain and listen to him study for his Preliminary Preschool Magical Aptitude Determination test until it’s time for me to collapse again.” She climbed off his bare bottom and sat down on the rug in order to tug on the cork in the bottle of zebra medicine, but it gave Jon an idea.
“What kind of oil does it take to preen with?” he asked. “Because if baby oil will work, I’ve got a bottle in my suitcase.”
“Yeah, the good stuff,” said Laminia. “Johnson, not that cheap knock-off brand.” She peered at him, holding her head almost upside-down to look into his eyes. “What do you use it for, anyway? You don’t have wings.”
“I mean if you volunteer to help Nightshade,” he continued rapidly, “it would only make sense for me to help out in return. It’s what a friend would do.” Jon thought for a moment. “Your father preens your wings? Isn’t that a little… awkward?”
“Not as awkward as having a monkey do it,” she grumbled, although she did not tuck her wings back under her quilted cloak.
“There’s nothing like having a human preen you,” purred Nightshade as she poured a dollop of the gooey potion on Jon’s lower leg and began to rub it in with sock-clad hooves. “Those fingers are magic. They get into every little corner. I may just get in on your action myself.”
It made an awkward mental image for Jon to continue past, particularly with the way Nightshade was rubbing the zebra goop into his thigh. “I promise I’ll be very gentle, and only touch where you want to be touched and oh God that came out so wrong.”
“I’ll watch him, Lamby,” said Nightshade. “If he gets out of control, I’ll fling my body in front of his wanton advances.”
Laminia grunted and left, but she came back with a pair of Jon’s clean socks in her mouth. She eyed the human for a moment, then dropped the socks on the floor and untied the quilted cloak covering her scarred wing, putting it to one side so it would not get splattered.
“On one condition, monkey boy,” she cautioned. “You call me ‘Lamby’ and I’ll make you regret it.”
“So, were the two of you— That’s cold!” Jon twitched when Nightshade poured another dollop of the gooey potion on the sole of his foot and began to rub it in with sock-clad hooves, planting her furry rump on his leg to keep it from twitching out of her reach.
“Friends,” continued Laminia through the sock in her teeth. “Back when we first came to Canterlot. She went off to beat up a bunch of stallions and I… well, you know about me already. We saw each other every few months. Last year at Hearth’s Warming we had a cup of cocoa with my adopted parents.”
“Gave you a pair of stockings that year,” prompted Nightshade as she worked the zebra potion into Jon’s thigh.
“They had holes in them,” hissed Laminia. “And not just where they needed to have them, either.”
“Yeah, they did,” said Nightshade, and Jon could hear her smirk. “You’re just too slow off the cloud, Lamby. You ever going to make a move on that big lug who came back with the kirin? Or you just going to peek at him from around corners and imagine what he’s like in the sack?”
“He’s not interested in me,” said Laminia in a low growl. She poured a matching blob of zebra potion onto Jon’s other thigh and started gingerly rubbing it in with sock-clad hooves.
“He would be if you wore those stockings around him,” quipped Nightshade.
- - Ω - -
Jon tried his best to remain silent while the two mares kneaded him like bread dough, because the conversation was far more education into Equestrian personal relationships than he had ever gotten in any classroom. The two batponies took off into some of the most raunchy fields of mare-on-mare discussions that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. Estimates of various stallions’ vital statistics were exchanged and critiqued, as well as hypothetical performance in bed and prospective progeny afterward. Jon did notice that none of the observations were of the direct variety, and that Laminia was by far the least knowledgeable about specific details of nighttime nooky activities, although the most creative with suggestions.
To his dismay, the discussion soon traveled the inevitable path to the details of human males and observations that he really did not want to hear, but listened anyway. After all, he had prompted Nightshade to finally talk to somepony, so he really could not complain. Thankfully, Nightshade had only one British data point to her experience, even though she had collected data on that specific point for several months, resulting in a number of humorous but embarrassing stories. Still, it was oddly… nice to have a zebra potion massaged into his skin by two batwinged pegasus mares while lying naked on a thick throw rug.
He was never going to tell anybody. Ever. Not even under torture.
“That’s about it for this side,” said Nightshade, giving Jon a nudge. “Roll over and we’ll take care of your front.”
“I think I’m good.” Jon stretched out his arms and legs to make it more difficult to roll him over.
“Roll over, you big…” Nightshade put a cool nose into his bare side and gave a solid push, which went nowhere when Jon dug his fingers into the thick rug to avoid being flipped. “Come on, it’s nothing she hasn’t seen before.”
“Actually, I didn’t look earlier,” admitted Laminia. “Humans seem a little… deformed.” She unconsciously flicked her crippled wing as if she were uncomfortable having it exposed without a covering cloak, then nosed it back against her side with a grimace of distaste.
“Trust me, I gotta show you this human thing. It’s weird. Besides, I let him play with my wings so he owes me,” said Nightshade. “The least he can do is give you a look.”
“Well…” Laminia shuffled her wings and scowled. “I let him touch my wings a few days ago too, you know.”
Nightshade gasped. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you had first dibs.” She snickered again from behind Jon’s limited field of view. “Roll over, lovercolt. I promise we won’t touch. Much. And I’ll get you a towel if you’re embarrassed.”
“Intensely so.” Jon licked his dry lips and considered the little fleck of sharpness on a back tooth from his experience with Prince Blueblood’s automobile. After all, Nightshade was finally talking, and besides that, life seemed potentially very short lately, so there was no reason not to grab onto everything he could. Quietly.
“I suppose, since you both trusted me enough to let me touch your wings and I’m going to be preening you later. If you get a towel and don’t tell anybody. Particularly Twilight Sparkle. Or Princess Celestia. Or anypony else. Any creature on the planet. Ever.”
There was a faint breeze indicating one of the batponies had made a quick run to the bathroom, then a large towel dropped over Jon’s head. “Deal,” said Nightshade. “Just keep the towel there and we’ll be very respectful of your—” she snickered “—little attributes.”
Thankful that Schadenfreude was in the hospital and that Jon’s camera had not been returned yet, he shifted positions slowly, one limb at a time, until he was lying flat on his back with the towel over his face.
“See,” declared Nightshade from somewhere outside of the encompassing towel that blocked his vision. “Isn’t that the weirdest thing you’ve ever seen?”
“It’s so… small,” said Laminia. “You can hardly see it for all the hair. And it’s sticking almost straight up.” A faint whiff of breath passed across Jon’s stomach, making his belly twitch involuntarily, made only worse by a second and third puff of air that he suspected came from Nightshade.
“I’ve seen smaller and I’ve seen bigger,” said Nightshade with a snicker. “All human males have ‘em. You sure she can’t touch it, Mister Walthers?”
“I’d rather not.” Jon squirmed under the unseen inspection of the two mares, trying to think of cold water or military formations marching in the sun.
“What good do they do?” asked Laminia. “I mean having one of them is odd, but why would he have two useless things like that?”
What?
Jon carefully lifted one edge of the towel and observed the two batpony mares examining his upper chest with obvious fascination. Laminia snatched back her sock-covered hoof that had almost touched Jon on one nipple, giving a nervous glance around the room before applying another blob of zebra potion to his stomach and rubbing gently.
“Totally weird.” Nightshade poked Jon on one nipple several times, making him give out a startled yelp. “Stallions don’t have ‘em, but every human, male or female, has a pair.”
Moving slowly, Jon transferred the towel to cover his groin, then relaxed with a glowering frown while the two mares continued their potion application. Laminia seemed uncomfortable with the touching while Nightshade obviously was one step away from whistling while she worked. Both of them continued applying potion to his less-private areas until Laminia stopped, lifted the towel, and considered what it had covered.
“I know stallions have one of these. It’s different than theirs, I suppose.”
Nightshade took a longer look, quite obviously restraining herself from a more detailed critique. “Well, he’s Jewish on his mother’s side. Circumcised, right Mister Walthers?”
“Yes.” Jon considered the obvious question that Laminia was considering and added, “I don’t think it’s a good idea to poke it with that goop on your hooves.”
Laminia put the towel back. “I wasn’t thinking that at all. I’m not some pervert who is trying to make up for being dumped by jumping every monkey she sees.”
Nightshade stopped rubbing the zebra goop into Jon’s thighs. He could feel a tremor start from where she was still touching him, and when he hazarded a look from between narrowed eyelids, the batpony’s dark face had paled under her coat, with both ears laid back down flat against her head. Jon was abruptly aware of the steel shoes under the damp socks, and the way Nightshade could most likely kill him in a few short motions. Laminia was not, however, and continued to muse under her breath while attempting to rub goop into his toes.
“Sure your old coltfriend’s a featherheaded horseapple and threw a fit just because you were picked to go off to monkeyland instead of him, but he’s male, and that’s built into their flat heads. Any idiot could see you were better than him for the sneaky-sneaky stuff.” Laminia lifted Jon’s big toe and wriggled it around before applying more goo between the rest of his toes. “Then I get a letter about you shacking up with Mister Human Soldier, and he’s storming around the barracks like a thundercloud. Shows just why he was the worst possible pick for the job, complaining about how humans were just savages. You’re a blithering idiot yourself if you try running back to him, but I suppose you’ve got your own monkey boy now, so that drigible has sailed.”
At the resulting silence, Laminia frowned and looked back and forth between Jon and Nightshade. “What?”
Jon cleared his throat, despite the possibility of catching a steel horse shoe where it would do him the least good. “Nightshade didn’t say anything to me about a breakup before she went to Britain.”
“Of course not. She’s an idiot.” Laminia took in the faint tremor from her friend and moderated her tone, although while looking directly at Jon. “She’s always been an idiot. She attracts idiots too.”
“Like you?” It was not the best witty parry that Jon had ever given. Still, Laminia puffed up a little when the jab got through her defenses, then after a few breaths she deflated back to her original size.
“Yeah, I guess that makes three of us nitwits.”
“Maybe so, but at least I’m not a virgin,” countered Nightshade with a flick of her tail that brushed against Laminia’s side.
“Nothing’s wrong with that,” said Jon a little faster than he wanted. Both batponies peered back at him, Nightshade with a look of anticipation and Laminia with an odd smile and a twinkle in her eye, much like a cat who found a fresh mouse to play with.
“I was wrong,” said Laminia. “He’s obviously not a human after all. I mean this old and not even broken to the harness yet.”
“Not every male human is a horny—” Nightshade stopped with her tongue stuck in the side of her cheek, then peeked under the towel again. “Well, he is obviously male. And everything looks like it works. He must just be attracted to ponies instead of his own kind.”
“I like girls!” protested Jon, pushing the towel back over his groin again. “I just haven’t… I mean it’s been a long… I like girls, all right? Human girls. Humans are naturally wired to be attracted to other humans.”
“Human males will mate with anything that moves slow enough to catch,” said Laminia.
“Or anything they can lure to them,” said Nightshade. “They think giving you a sugar cube is some sort of code for giving them a blow—”
Jon moved fast enough to hold a hand over Nightshade’s mouth, which did not work as well as he had hoped when she caught one of his fingers between her lips and sucked on it. After snatching his hand back and drying it on the towel, then putting the towel back over what it was supposed to cover, he gave both of the giggling batponies as cross of a frown as he could manage.
“Equestrians are horny little horses too,” he countered. “I’ve studied your mythology. Griffons and their Cat Mother and Eagle Father. Hippogriffs when a griffon catches a pony for lunch and decides that having them for dinner with a nice wine and some candles is a lot more romantic.”
“Don’t forget the kirin,” said Laminia. “The Big Brothers don’t like to talk about whatever happened with our ancestors back a couple of thousand years ago—” she extended her good dragon-like wing and gave it a slow, sensual flap “—but there are some dragons in Japan who got physical with unicorns back… well, supposedly way before Equestria was discovered by the West, so the myths are fuzzy as heck. I know they’re real because the Japanese Emperor’s chef is one of them and came back to Canterlot a few months ago.”
“With Anpan,” added Nightshade. “He’s this chunky Little Brother that Laminia’s been trying to drag into a shadow and molest.”
“And there is the sphinx, of course,” said Laminia forcefully as if to change the subject.
As much as he wanted to tweak Laminia about her handsome batpony friend, Jon considered the cat-ish creature he had met during the diplomatic dinner, and the way that it had licked him as if determining if he were going to be part of the main course. “It/he/she is a hybrid?” he asked. “Of what?”
“Cat Mother got around,” said Laminia. “Not quite sure with who, but there’s probably more sphinx kittens out there somewhere. There’s a couple other oddball creatures out there too. Manticores must have been a real sight to see. Same for chimeras. Changelings too, wherever they’re hiding.”
“At least humans are infertile with Equestrians, or we’d see some centaurs,” said Jon.
“They’re around too,” said Laminia. “Long time ago, from what I understand, and not quite a human/pony cross. More like a species of their own. I read books,” she added, cutting off Jon’s unasked question. “There’s all kind of weird and unusual stories in our history, so I spend some time reading since I’m so freaky weird too.”
“You’re not that weird, Lamby,” purred Nightshade with a yawn. “I’m sure you’ll make my monkey a kind, gentle, passionate lover.”
“My monkey?” Jon lifted an eyebrow. “I don’t remember my name on your— I mean your name on my rump.”
Nightshade hissed while pressing her hoof into the side of Jon’s rear like she was branding him. “There we go, Lamby. Treat your rental kindly and return him in good condition. Just don’t go screaming too loud and disturb me while I’m guarding in front of your door, okay?”
Laminia nearly fumbled her half-spread wings, then thwapped the other batpony with the scar-striped tip, although she winced afterward. “He’s your bed monkey. Just try not to make too much of a mess of the sheets for me to clean up tonight.”
“Other than the mess we just made on the rug?” Nightshade gave the bottle a thump on the bottom to get out a reluctant glop, much like she was thumping on a catsup bottle. “The day maids are going to think we both were—”
“Wait a m-m-minute,” protested Jon while trying not to giggle, although he could not say anything else while Nightshade was rubbing the zebra potion on the dark red abrasion across his waist just below his navel. He had probably caught his belt on something briefly while being ejected from the roadster, and the leather had protected something else near and dear to the production of future members of the Walthers family, so he really did not regret his decision to wear a belt with his dungarees.
It did make for a very awkward place for Nightshade to apply the medicine, though. Mostly because he was ticklish, but a little due to the tendency for her sock-clad hooves to wander. The redness faded with every stroke, turning from an angry stripe of ruptured capillaries that had stung something fierce to a pink stripe looking vaguely candy-like, although he was not about to taste it.
The war of words over possession of his body continued with various degrees of seriousness, much dib-contesting and body judging, and more than a few obscene suggestions, until Nightshade gave the huge potion bottle a last weary shake and sat it to one side. “No more potion, and no more unpotioned spots on our dibber. My monkey’s all yours for whatever immoral purposes you wish to inflict upon him. Ten bits an hour, plus deposit.”
“I should let you keep him,” considered Laminia with a long, slow look at Jon’s stretched-out body. She staggered over to Jon’s crumpled shirt and began to peel out of her wet socks, trying to ignore the way her dark wings sagged without their covering cloak. “We made him useless for preening purposes.”
“I’m up,” declared Jon, staggering up to his bare feet with a frantic grab to keep his towel in the process. He felt remarkably well, without most of the aches and pains he had been suffering earlier, and only pink patches on his skin instead of the previous rashes and bruises. A short stretch later, he retrieved the Johnson’s baby oil from his luggage and considered Laminia, who was still sitting in the middle of the floor while struggling to get the wet socks off. Nightshade had been able to use the little ‘hooks’ at the top edges of her wings to skin out of her soggy socks in record time, while the crippled batpony was worrying away at them with her teeth and obviously disliking the taste of the potion they had been soaked in.
“Do you need any help?”
“No,” said Laminia even while Jon ignored her and began removing the wet socks. “Well, maybe. I guess having a human around is a little useful,” she added, looking marginally more cheerful once the socks had been fully removed and tossed into the laundry pile. “Hey, Studly. Want to loan me that towel so I can finish cleaning up?”
“I better not.” Jon wrapped the towel more firmly around his waist and vanished into the bathroom, emerging with several clean towels for his snickering massage therapists. “Here. Um… So I guess we’re ready for preening your wings. How exactly do you…?” He gestured with the bottle of baby oil, which set both batponies into giggles.
“First, Lamby needs to get that wing all stretched out like this,” said Nightshade, displaying her own broad dark wing. “Start in the depression with a little puddle. No, higher. Yeah, that’s the ticket. Now start rubbing it in with little circles.”
“Like this?” Jon knelt down to get more comfortable and drizzled a little more baby oil on Nightshade’s dark wing, then added some to the second wing that was pushed in front of him by Laminia, who gave him a short snort.
“Don’t hog the monkey,” she growled, then gave a little hiccup as Jon began to rub the oil down her dry dark membranes, held taut against the pressure of his fingers. “G-gentle,” she added with a little gasp. “Easy. Oh, that’s nice.”
“Now who’s hogging the monkey?” asked Nightshade, giving Jon a little poke in his bare chest with the tip of her wing, then spreading it out for more attention. He drizzled a little baby oil on the guard’s wing in return and tried to split his attention between the two batponies.
Their preening soon turned into an embarrassing symphony of exaggerated gasps and pants of pleasure on their part, and a failing attempt by Jon to keep his towel firmly in place while his massage clients wriggled around his waist to get their wings at the right angle for proper rubbing. The kneeling position he started in turned out to be terribly uncomfortable, and the addition of several pillows to the floor let him get seated and braced without being pushed over by the occasional involuntary unfurled wing.
Between the potion and the baby oil, the rug was going to need a full laundering, which made him glad they had not attempted this in the bouncy bed. Nightshade probably would have appreciated it for the ability to rub herself against him even more, like a cat who was claiming ownership over him. Laminia was not perfectly stable with both wings extended, and shifting positions on the bed would have been… even odder than this.
Preening gave him a close and direct experience with a part of pony anatomy he had never expected to touch before, let alone be directed how to rub the proper amount of oil into and maneuver around for the best stretching. Even Laminia’s scarred wing provided an exceptional educational experience, with both ponies guiding him through the delicate process of getting every bit of upper and lower wing properly oiled until she could move and stretch it without more than the occasional wince.
“I could have you do this all night,” moaned Laminia, who was lying next to the other batpony with their wings overlapped.
“I’m almost out of baby oil,” said Jon, putting the bottle to one side and running his fingers along the trailing edge of one nearby wing without really knowing who it belonged to. Identification of Nightshade’s rear, which promptly popped up in front of him, was easier due to the five-pointed purple flower on her plot, a sign that her special talent was considerably different than Laminia and her broken heart mark..
“Tell you what,” started Nightshade with a wriggle of her rump. “I’ll show you something I’ll bet you’ve never seen before on a pony.”
“I’ve seen your rear more often than your front,” countered Jon. “It’s getting to the point where I can recognize you easier from behind.”
“Oh, very funny.” Nightshade curled up and brought her head back in a display of Equestrian flexibility, putting her nose just over the very base of her tail and pressing it firmly into her soft dark coat. When she lifted her head, the edge of her nose glistened in the subdued lighting of the bedroom, and she motioned for Jon to touch it.
“Natural preening oil,” she declared while Jon rubbed it between his fingers. “Not quite as good as Johnson’s for doing the large membrane sections and just a little different than pegasus uropygial secretions, so we can’t preen a feathered pegasus without them looking greasy afterward. It takes a friend to allow somepony to put their nose there.”
“I… um… don’t think I want to nose you in the butt.”
Nightshade rolled her eyes and caught Jon’s fingers in her teeth. “These,” she muttered. “What I want you to do is get a good glob of it and grease up the rough skin on the leading edge of Laminia’s wings up to and including the first elbow joint.”
“And…?” Jon looked at the relaxed batpony all stretched out on the rug with her wings extended to each side, both good flying surfaces and the one covered in thin white scars.
“You said you wanted to learn about us. Oil up or shut up.” Nightshade shuffled around but kept her rump pointed at him with the two slightly greasy spots at the base of her tail glittering in the subdued lighting of the bedroom.
Jon tightened the towel around his waist and gave it a good knot. Then he reached over to Nightshade and used as gentle a touch as he could to ‘milk’ the greasy fluid off her back. It would have been easier if she had not kept lifting her tail to one side.
“Sorry,” she whispered. “Instinct. Do you have enough oil?”
“I think so.”
He leaned over Laminia’s back and put one greasy hand on each of the muscular wing bones, each about as thick as the ones in his forearms and hollow to reduce weight. The thick tendons flexed under his fingers like cables, making Jon truly realize just how strong a pegasus had to be in order to fly. Smearing the organic oil up and down her wings to the first elbow join made Laminia gasp, twitch, and jerk until she flattened down on the rug, extended her wings to their full extent and gave out a low, sensual moan.
The motion pulled him forward to keep his fingers on the greasy wing root, which made him go almost prone over Laminia’s warm fuzzy back. Despite it being nearly dark in the room, Jon felt as if he were stretched out over a sun-warmed blanket with all kinds of interesting things going on under it. Worse, Laminia had worked up a bit of a sweat while rubbing the zebra potion into his own skin, so his position sprawled across her warm back was not exactly stable as she shifted positions with every motion of his fingers.
My next bath is going to be absolutely full of little grey hairs.
“Uhhhh…” moaned Laminia. “Up a little. Little more. There. Scratch.” As he followed directions, Jon could feel the texture of the leathery wing edge under his hands change, becoming slightly more rough and pebbled. A simple oil rubbing with the tip of his fingers did not seem to do the trick, but when he switched to his fingernails, Laminia shuddered under him and bit the rug.
“That’s the spot,” purred Nightshade to his side. “Keep going and I’ll tell you exactly what you’re doing.”
“Holding on for dear life,” said Jon as Laminia’s wings gave a low shake at the same time her torso rocked back and forth, as if she were trying to slide him off her sweaty back, or make him even more covered in grey hairs.
Nightshade snickered. “Exactly, only you’re not a few thousand feet up. You see, when a boy pegasus loves a girl pegasus—”
“They rent a hotel room, like sensible ponies,” said Jon. He quit scratching at the rough patches on Laminia’s wing root, only to start up again when she growled, a deep, hostile sound that made him fear for his fingers.
“If they’re our kind of pegasus,” continued Nightshade, “they go out flying and find a cloud to preen in, with nibbling and other such non-monkey activities until they get all excited. Then they fly even higher, and at the top of their arc—” Nightshade made a swooping motion with one hoof. “Fly United Airlines.”
“Oh.” Jon scratched one one wing and watched as Laminia’s wings warped to that side, then an equal scratch on the other wing. “So the stallion can control the glide by biting her on the wings while they’re having— Oh!”
Nightshade snickered at the expression that must have crossed his face. “No, I never tried that with Ian. If he ever fell off, I’m not sure I could recover fast enough to catch him.”
“Actually, I was thinking about my current precarious position.” He stopped scratching Laminia’s wing edge for a moment and cocked an eyebrow at Nightshade when the low growl sounded again.
“Lamby.” Nightshade puckered up and blew into one of Laminia’s ears, which made her shake her head and scowl. “Snap out of it, Lamby. Let my monkey go to bed.”
“Bed sounds good,” growled Laminia. “Mine. All night.”
“Mine!” growed Nightshade back, although she put a hoof in the center of Laminia’s back and rubbed. After several minutes, it made Laminia’s rigid wings begin to sag, more so when Jon contributed his fingers to rubbing the cable-like tendons along her spine.
“Okay, yours,” groaned Laminia, so flat against the floor that she could have been a rug. “How much to rent those fingers for the whole night?”
“Mine,” insisted Nightshade. “Go get your hefty coltfriend to rub your back tonight.”
Jon could see the instinctual way Laminia retracted her crippled wing, so he reached down and stretched it back out along the rug again, then went back to her well-deserved back rub. “Anpan is going to see your wing eventually. If he’s worth it, he’s going to see past it to what’s inside.”
Laminia grunted and nosed down into the rug with a sigh. “That’s not any better.”
There was nothing in Jon’s accumulated knowledge that seemed as if it would help, so he took a long shot. “Persistence is the key to accomplishing difficult things. If you don’t try, you’re guaranteed to fail. You’ll stew in your own bile until you’re an old, wrinkled prune with no teeth. I mean look at the way Nightshade keeps trying to get into my… Wait a minute. Let me think of another example.”
Laminia giggled, then gave a languorous stretch that rolled Jon off her back and onto the rug. “Oh, stars I’m tired. I’m half tempted to just lie here on the floor until morning.”
“Great idea.” Nightshade stumbled over to the bed and gave a laborious hop up onto it so she could towel off the extra oil on her wings. “I had no idea I was so tired. Wish I could take a nap before work, but I’ve got to keep my human protected.”
Laminia opened one eye, then rolled up onto her hooves with a grumble, although her wings still dragged on the floor. “You’re getting oil all over the bed, Night-Night. Let me get you another towel. Will you be needing anything or anypony this evening, Mister Walthers?”
Jon did not respond at first. The night’s activities had made him sweaty, and he needed a few minutes to towel off and regain his sanity before getting in to bed, so he took the empty potion bottle and got a book out of his suitcase. While the two batponies worked on getting toweled off too, he noticed they kept a series of slow flaps going in order to circulate the air in the room, making it cool and comforting in the lateness of the evening.
Once he had dried out enough, he put the used towel over his shoulders and sat in the light of the suite’s desk lamp for a few minutes, working through the Zebrican-Equestrian dictionary and the bottle’s instructions with a pencil. “I’m fine. Hm, this rhymes in Equestrian and English,” he muttered. “How in heck do they do that?”
“Ask Twilight Snuggles,” said Nightshade with a broad yawn while Laminia fussed over her, tucking a clean towel under her forelegs before starting to rub any last bits of zebra potion off her hooves. “She snuck by while you were ministering to our naked bodies. Just peeked in the door, watched you oiling us up for a while, then left.” Nightshade giggled. “I hope she dragged Green Mountain into another suite and had her way with him. Loosen up that tight tail of hers. I think she blames herself for your automobile accident.”
Jon just grunted in response and kept translating the bottle’s instructions, but after a time, decided he should at least speak up in favor of Celestia’s cover story for the roadster ‘accident.’ “Twilight saved my life. She won’t admit it, but the roadster must have been doing a hundred when we hit, and she’s the only unicorn in the vicinity who could have put up a cushioning spell that powerful.”
At least if the unicorn who sabotaged the Cord had not gotten cold hooves and cast the spell himself. Or maybe it was a warning? But of what?
An assassination attempt was possible, after all, despite the policemare’s insistence that a unicorn had been involved. Unicorns were considered the most peaceful of the three pony tribes, which was quite a high bar to clear. Then again, the species they were compared against was humans, who had barely gotten to a population of four before one of them killed another.
Ancient sibling rivalry aside, even humans with their naturally violent nature took a special mindset to attack somebody with intent to kill. Shooting those two thugs in Cairo had taken a lot out of Jon, and he found himself looking over his shoulder constantly afterward, even after he had returned to the US. Hearing an Egyptian accent still made him nervous, as if some distant relative of the dead killers were going to jump out and accost him.
He mused about it while walking across the room to turn the dimmed overhead light the rest of the way off, then walking back to his bed in the subdued illumination of his bedside lamp. The US ROTC program had given him the bare basics in being a soldier, but they had not trained him to kill. How did the peaceful Equestrians train their soldiers? They certainly did not train their students to be violent, if Twilight were a good example. He was so preoccupied, he did not even think about the other observers in the room when he draped the oily towel over his suitcase and changed into a fresh pair of boxer shorts.
“Hey, Mister Walthers.” Once the startled human had turned around to look, Nightshade pointed at the sleeping batpony on the foot end of the bed and whispered again, “Isn’t she cute like that?”
Laminia indeed looked cute, as snug as a bug in a rug, and all the usual adorable phrases all rolled up into one. She had obviously fallen asleep while toweling off Nightshade, and sprawled out with her bare wings limp. Even in slumber, she took care to keep her crippled wing on the top side, making it spread out over the quilted duvet (which he needed to thank Princess Cadence for sometime) like a different, totally organic quilt made of pain and medicine. He pulled the edge of the blanket over the sleeping pony and considered the space remaining on the bed, which was adequate for his less-than-sizable frame and left plenty of space for him to sit down beside Nightshade.
“Yeah, she’s adorable,” admitted Jon. “Just don’t ever tell her I said that.”
“Deal.” Nightshade continued looking at the other batpony, her smile gradually turning into a thin-lipped grim expression more appropriate for when she was wearing armor. “May cause yawns, my left tit. That potion must have soaked through our skins better than yours.” The thought that was bothering Nightshade became abruptly clear when she added, “Just like Root Stock and that damnable German poison.”
It was a mental punch to the gut, and explained why the guard was fighting so hard to resist the sedative effects of the zebra potion. Jon put one arm around her tense shoulders and brushed down her mane, painfully aware of how vulnerable he was to her steel shoes or sharp teeth while clothed only in a thin pair of boxer shorts. The tension did not lower as he had hoped while running his fingers through her mane, but she did not leave, which was at least a plus.
“When you were working with the British, did you ever have to kill a person?” asked Jon. It was not exactly how he wanted to start the conversation, but it was what came out of his mouth while his tired mind was whirling.
Nightshade turned away for a time, then checked her sleeping friend, presumably to make sure she would not be able to hear the response.
“Once,” she whispered. “When Ian was on the mission to retrieve that report.” The muscular batpony trembled and pulled her wings closer to her body, but did not say anything else for a long while.
“I’ve killed,” he said quietly but with a horrible feeling about how his confession sounded artificial and false. “In Egypt, during an archeological conference. Well, not at the conference. That would have really stirred things up amongst the old geezers. After the conference, when Professor Yearling received an invitation to a private reception, she took me along. Seems there was something called the Gorgon Charm recently discovered in Palmital de Minas. The owner wanted to show it off to a few of the notables, and Professor Yearling thought I’d be interested. Either that or I’d be useful in translating for the German who owned the piece.”
“So you talked him to death?” Nightshade let out a huge yawn. “Sorry. It’s the medicine. Go on.”
“Well. Anyway,” said Jon, trying to get comfortable against his warm pillow. “After viewing the amulet, Miss Yearling convinced the owner that she should take it to a friend of hers. It took some discussion, and I was more interested in the rest of his collection, so I don’t remember many of the details. Then when we were taking a cab back to the hotel, it stopped in this dark alley with a couple of thugs outside pulling the doors open. The driver was in on the attack, because he had a gun pointed at us when he turned around.” Jon swallowed. “I shot him twice through the back of the car seat in the middle of his little speech. Then I shot the man trying to grab me through the open cab door. He had a knife. Professor Yearling went out the other cab door. I followed. We ran like the devil himself was chasing us. No idea what happened to the other man on her side of the cab. Miss Yearling had a wing bandaged up, so she couldn’t fly. When we got back to the hotel, she made me shut up about the whole thing. Said they were probably after her and made sure I was on the next airplane out of Egypt.”
Jon took a moment to pour himself a glass of water from the pitcher on the bedstand, because his throat had gone bone-dry.
“How do you know they died?” Nightshade quietly took the half-empty glass of water from him and finished it off, passing it back when she was done. “Just because you shot—”
“Princess Celestia told me.” Jon took a short breath. “The only way she could have known is if she investigated. She could have left me ignorant. I wish she had.”
“At least you had some distance from the person you killed.” Nightshade leaned into Jon and put her head down on his leg. Her resulting tremors traveled up his skin to give him a cold chill, and he began to stroke the back of her mane by her ears out of reflex, which calmed her down slightly, at least.
“I should have stayed in cover, but I just had to go look. It was far too late at night, and my partner wasn’t back yet, so I was getting antsy. Hiding in a tree while a German patrol went by seemed like a rational precaution just in case one of them spotted where we hid the cob.”
“And one of them did?” asked Jon after a period of silence.
Nightshade nodded, although she did not move from her position on the bed, stretched over his leg with her eyes closed. “I grabbed him from behind before he could call out. Used a chokehold. By the time I had taken him to where I was going to tie him up, I had crushed his throat. I didn’t notice until I put him down, because I was wound tighter than a ten-cent watch. So I untied him and threw the body into a nearby ravine before sneaking back and moving the cob where it wouldn’t get found.”
“Did you tell your partner?” asked Jon.
Nightshade nodded with a prickling of her warm nose against his bare thigh. “They talked about having to kill during the Guard Academy, and the British military gave me some terrifying training with Major Coats, but every time I think about it, I can feel his face against my coat. The way he struggled. I didn’t even know his name. And then I found out about Root Stock, and I was afraid that if I returned to the field, I wouldn’t be able to stop killing them until I was killed in return. I don’t know why Celestia put me in charge of guarding you.”
“I think I do.” Jon patted her on the head while settling down on the bed and pulling the sheet over himself. “You needed a friend. To talk with.”
Nightshade grunted while Jon got comfortable under the covers, then went back to curling up beside him. “Green Mountain is all alone out there in the corridor. I should get to work,” she said with a toothy yawn.
“You’re guarding me.” Jon scratched lightly behind the ear that seemed to need it the most.
“I guard you at night,” said Nightshade without moving a muscle from his bed, but still making a yawning noise. “During the day, you can abuse my body and touch whatever you want.”
“Then you can guard me from here. After all, there’s a dangerous mare in my room.”
Laminia took that moment to let out a long snore as she shifted positions to lean against the covers over Jon’s feet. Then after another breath, she repeated the snore while Nightshade let out a small giggle.
“Lamby did that years ago when we first came here,” she whispered. “She couldn’t fly, so we walked, and slept days in haystacks.” Laminia snored again, and Nightshade giggled. “Like Sun and Moon, some things never change.”
Something really dramatic is getting ready to change in your world. And Twilight Sparkle still hasn’t made a single friend to help prevent it.
Jon turned off his bedside lamp and closed his eyes. Maybe tomorrow.
Stats
Page generated in 0.065 seconds
Total duration
877 users online
635,658 hits today, 2,054,621 yesterday
FIMFiction
My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic Fanfiction
Designed and coded by knighty & Xaquseg - © 2011-2024
Follow & Support Us
Support us
SubStar
Chat!
Discord
Follow us
Twitter
MLP: Friendship is Magic® - © 2024 Hasbro Inc.®
Fimfiction is in no way affiliated with or endorsed by Hasbro Inc.®
This chapter was such a narrow line to follow. The topic is so sensitive. I mean how many people knew stallions did not have nipples, raise your hand.
See, I’m educational.
The fact that yesterday's and today's chapter both got posted a couple of hours later always makes me obsessively check if it's out yet like the kid constantly asking ARE WE THERE YET.
I hope we'll get to see more of what Twilight thinks about the whole accident next chapter. Having something like that happen to a teacher/friend can really scare you good.
I wonder how Twilight is taking these lessons to heart? I hope Jon will at least get to meet her new friends before he leaves.
Special air service was founded in 1941 sou how does she have their training even before they were founded? And why would British allow some one outside their nation for this training? Well okay there were Norwegians ho were trained, but that was only because of necessity rather than trust. Because Great Britain wanted to keep them secret sou that would be a huge risk for them to train some one outside their nation.
I may be crazy, but I swear this was supposed to be a story about Twilight Sparkle learning friendship. But at this point, I don't remember (distracted: oil + bat ponies) and I don't care. Carry on, as you will. I'm quite amused at the whole thing as it's going.
To: Princess Celestia
From: Clean Sheets, head maid of castle guest rooms
Re: state of the rug in Mr. Walther's room
Princess, I feel it is my duty to bring to your attention the state of one of the rugs in Mr. Walther's room. Somehow, it has become covered in oil. Is this normal for humans? Please advise.
9283897
Sensitive to the nipples at hand....?
Wait, no, don't answer that. In fact, never mind.
Hnnngh okay sorry I gotta go this chapter got WAY too awkward for me.
I managed to skim most of it but that's just waaaay more visuals than I can handle. Might check back in in a few chapters to see how the friendship lessons are going. Poor Twilight doesn't seem to be getting/making much progress, although if its like the show then they really wouldn't until, like, THE DAY BEFORE. Yaaaay for stress!
Well, good to see that Twilight managed to save Walthers's life. Oh, and the Prince survived too. Yay.
And it's really good to see the bats opening up about stuff. They really needed that.
Here's hoping this has been a step forward for Twilight's studies rather than a step backwards.
Just some small question is this the version of Equestria and its isles thats used in your story?
Since Kirin and Hippogriffs seem to exist.
Should be leathery or something else xD?
I’m no longer convinced that Twilight is the key to stopping Nightmare Moon.
9284310
It could be feathery in the figurative sense.
Nice bait-and-switch with the nipples thing. :-)
I wasn't sure what to make of the Equestria 1940 concept when you announced it, but I figured I'd probably enjoy a new Georg story regardless. And I was right! Eagerly awaiting more.
9283988
It certainly does seem unlikely and anachronistic although being so covert a group it wouldn't be a huge surprise to find it existed before it was historically officially founded. They did train alongside other countries forces at various times during the war (free French, Greek, American) but only once they were fairly close allies, although Nightshade certainly suggests Equestria is working with the British the fact that it seems to have been more openly working with the Germans makes it very unlikely that they were be granted such access.
It didn’t click for me at the time, but the ambassadorial meeting and the japanese dragon mention means that humans and ponies aren’t the only species openly out and about in this world.
It’s not so much “Ponies in earth”, as “1940 with a focus on equestria”.
9284817 Yep. Equestria is more or less a refuge.
9284764 Spooks operate at some of the most odd angles and with something called 'compartmentalizing' where various bits and pieces of intelligence agencies are kept totally in the dark about others. And also the actual establishment of a section in the armed forces is preceded by a number of experimental pokes and prods where A can be put together, then folded into B, and eventually into C which gets the name. For example, the Coats Mission which was responsible for evacuating the British Royal Family in the event of invasion in WWII. The actual building of it took place in 1938-39, but it only solidified in mid-1940.
9284613 This has been in the build phase since this thread popped up in the writer's group in November 2016. I started it then and puttered with it since until I decided to focus on this and get it done so the rest would have a chance.
9284362 9284310 True. It's a figurative feathery.
9284358 It's not that much of an AU. And Jon would look *terrible* in a tiara.
9284251 Twilight is getting *credit* by Celestia for saving Jon. She claims she didn't do it, and that another unknown unicorn with considerable power and talent must have done it instead. (You should be able to guess it is Starlight, who is *agast* that her plan to humiliate Blueblood went so wrong.)
9284096 This is the dirtiest chapter I've got, other than where Twilight and Jon get thrown into a mud puddle by Rainbow Dash.
9284051 Really, I had *no* idea that male horses did not have nipples until one of my commenters mentioned it in a story where Celestia was making an off-hoof comment about something being as useless as 'tits on a stallion' (because around my home it was 'useless as tits on a boar.')
9284050
9283897
I knew.
Also are you trying to kill me with adorable bat ponies?
Well that or testing the waters for a clop fic, I mean... wow.
9283988 Good point, I'll switch it to the Life Guards, (Technically, 1st Regiment of Life Guards in the British Household Regiments) since they're a flexible group and Nightshade is in the Equestrian Household Regiment so there's some parallel.
9284043 Jon feels much the same way.
9283958 Oh, I've got a chapter for each, her Canterlot friends (well, friend) and Ponyville friends.
9283931 Because I have them all lined up and I punch Publish from my phone first thing in the morning when I get up. I took Friday off and slept in.
This is delightful! I love the flirting between, variously, Nightshade, Laminia, and Jon.
This makes me think that we might now know who was removing his underwear at night.
9285095
Maybe i'm little nitpicking too much, heh the only reason i know sou much about SAS is pretty much because i read " Commando" comic books sou much.
i63.tinypic.com/2553ry0.jpg
i64.tinypic.com/2dr9pgo.jpg
Hmn. You know what, sure, I could ship it.
Hopefully Green Mountain will be alright out in that hallway.
Guess they were right in the last chapter Schaden's special talent must be surviving all the things he does to others. Hit or should we say ran over by a Cord Roadster and only got a broken leg and tire mark down his back. It seems impossible he survived let alone got off so lightly
Of course Miss Yearling had a wing bandaged up.
9286277
Well, her books wouldn't sell as well if they all ended with "and then Daring Do flew away."
Why does everypony want to rut with humans?
And if the genders were swapped, would most of this chapter have been as amusing?
A thought occurs to me. Could Celestia have sabotaged the automobile ride as an excuse to keep cars out of Equestria?
Holy Celestia, this was hot. Whew, I had to stop reading at work and finish later.
Had to check and make sure the author wasn't ClopficInTheComments.
9326863 No, that particular chapter I wrote is staying in the unpublished archives for now. Maybe I'll let it out later. I've gotten a bit of feedback from people who wanted to see Twilight and Green Grass again.
Huh, so that's how you preen a thestral. And here I went most of the chapter thinking you'd forgotten what tribe they are.
9285085 Ahem. Just leaving this here.
[Adult story embed hidden]
Come now. Morgues also tend to have those
What, besides Schadenfreude and Blueblood?
Yea, he "chose" not to be a second Wrong Way Corrigan
Keeping the myth alive
She's covering it up? Huh. Why?
Schaden getting hurt just brightens up everybody's day
You might want to specify that the trying was from her side
Not tonight, honey, I'm having "reduced power"
Ha.
She's enjoying this role way too much.
Big lug? Lamby and Lumpy, sitting in a tree?
Celestia will know anyway, y'know. She always does
Oh, very nice bait and switch, Sir. I applaud you
Oh, right. How do you get fire breathing ponies?
Well she sure is relaxing around him
Been there. Better to just keep scratching
This euphemism was not in any way endorsed by United Airlines. But fly with us anyway. No such thing as bad publicity
Well somebody sure changed her mind
Burn!
Goddammit, she stole the thing, didn't she?
Uhuh