Mares und Panzer

by re- Yamsmos

One Day, We All Wish To Be Friends! Let's Get Started Today!

"H-Hello?"

"Duck Bill. Come in."

The words numbered four, and so Duck lifted the same rather stutteringly, letting the door slowly creeeeeeak shut behind her. Her ears alarmingly flicked upward as she realized it hadn't shut all the way—instead remaining slightly ajar with its latch blocking the frame—but, hearing the other pony in the room deafeningly clear her noticeably dry throat, she clenched her teeth as tight as she could, turned around, and proceeded to fully enter the security guard's office. It had been only a few weeks since she'd been brought into Principal Cheese's office, and so the effect wasn't all too wasted on her when the door—automated—finally closed behind her, completely silencing the ambient buzz of the passing period's bright hallways.

The comparisons between the Principal's office and this guard's office were few and... actually, no, just very few. She could probably count them with all of her appendages, as little they felt still somewhat attached to her at the pressing moment. The orange glow from the afternoon was instead a blueish-white, helped a lot by the fact that there weren't any windows looking outside; the only two windows that were here were interiors, and facing different sides of the room—one behind the guard at her desk toward the Freshmen/Sophomore hall, and the other to Duck's right giving her a lovely view of lockers, a few doors, and a poster that said, "Join the Literature Club, today!" except it looked like somepony had written "Litterature" at first, and there was a big black scribble that pretty much dwarfed the 'e' after it.

There was the L-shaped desk in front of her—the long part of which she'd be sitting down at eventually—and a bookcase full of not books, but various pictures, bulging vanilla folders, and stacks and stacks of blank paper tossed to and fro. Along the walls were more pictures, although at least ninety-percent of these looked hoofmade. "I love Mrs. Copper Top!" here on a bright orange piece of construction paper, and "Mrs. Copper Top is my dad!" over there on looseleaf, which didn't really seem right at all.

Despite the overall welcoming, friendly vibe of the office, Duck still felt more than just a relative... unease. She guessed that that was probably the point.

The guard must've noticed her turtling head and her slowly-pacing eyes. And also the fact that she was still standing there.

"Sit, please."

Duck rushed over to the front of the desk, not so much picking the rightmost seat as stumbling onto it with the gracefulness of a paraplegic butterfly. She subconsciously reached into her breast pocket and unfurled the hall pass she'd been given, placing it onto the counter next to the guard's nameplate.

She squirmed in her seat.

The random gibberish coming from the speakers to her left—which the guard apparently considered "music"—slowly quieted as its volume knobs were turned leftward. Instead of blocking any real conversation she and the guard could have had, it would now play a background track to her subsequent, and assured, demise.

"Do you know why I called you down today?"

Duck kept her mouth shut, even though she had no words attempting to escape at the moment anyway. She shook her head and dipped her chin.

"Really?" Mrs. Copper Top tilted her dull red-maned head. "So you're telling me that you don't recognize these, then."

Duck looked up. The guard leaned over to her left side, grabbed what sounded like a lot of papers, and threw down what she'd collected in front of Duck, who knitted her brow and attempted to make sense of what she was forcefully glaring at. Through the bits of water damage and random tears, she could clearly see that these were tests of some kind.

"EQ Biology 2," she read aloud.

Mrs. Copper Top nodded to herself. "That's right."

"I've... n-never seen these before, ma'am. I don't even have this class..."

Mrs. Copper Top hummed, chewing on her lower lip. She was quiet for awhile, then found her suddenly much stronger voice. "So the story that I heard about you and two other students sneaking into school last week after hours and stealing these from Mrs. Birch Tree's room was just..." she flailed her forelegs mockingly, "...made up then, right?"

Duck raised one of her own. "I... don't know what to say, m-ma'am."

Mrs. Copper Top—since apparently Duck had no other designations to give the much older mare sitting in front of her... behind a computer monitor, behind a desk that really seemed off-kilter now that she had nothing to do presently and could just stare at it idly, behind a pair of eyeglasses, which went up as she—rubbed her nose and thereafter her forehead with a prolonged, very familiar sigh that her mother had given many a time before.

Duck had recognized her quite speedily upon opening the door to the office, having seen her stalking the various halls around school like a military police unit—sometimes even wearing a similar helmet—or against a wall all cool-like during passing periods or lunchtime being talked at by around ten or so... less trustworthy students. Duck knew a bit about how the pony brain worked, if those classes her mother forcefully enrolled and later taught her in told her anything (besides how to blow one apart or crack through the skull to get into one), and she knew just what those students were looking, hoping, praying, begging the Gods every night before tucking themselves into bed, to get out of being friends with a security guard of a high school.

Was it one of them who'd pinned this honest-to-Gods rumoron her? A student who'd caught half a split second's glance at her as she speed-trotted to her next class with her head down and thought, 'Yeah, let's get this girl'? Maybe the infiltration had happened, and the perpetrators were friends of their's, and in the blind anger that came with seeing a friend get caught, they decided to drag a random stranger down as well, just to, for no reason, ruin somepony else's day? Actually, mind, her entire week was probably going to be awful after this... another hour in a staff member's office? Gods, she was surprised she wasn't throwing up now.

"Gods, why do I always get the difficult ones...?"

Duck lifted her chin instinctively, head in a tilt, only for her eyes to stray away from Copper Top—who was rubbing her cheeks around like putty as she stared at the ceiling—and to the source of the little whirring noise her ears had just taken notice of.

On top of the desk, emerging from behind a tissue box, was what looked to be a small, futuristic tractor with a pair of purple, animated eyes, barely the size of the recess in her hoof.

It stopped, realizing the other presence in the room.

Duck blinked.

It blinked.

The—what looked to be some kind of crane?—raised up over its... head?

WEER-OO.

Duck sucked in a breath. She leaned forward in her seat and felt a big stupid grin dirty her face.

"You are the cutest thing I have ever seen."

The little tractor's eyes became upside-down U's, and it nodded vigorously.

Copper Top's chair creaked as the mare returned to a proper sitting position.

"Ugh Godsdammit, now Beady's awake."

Duck raised an eyebrow.

"One of those..." Copper flicked a hoof, "...dumb robot things for your home. Tells you the weather and everything." She crossed her forelegs on the countertop and stopped herself before burying her chin inside, giving little Beady an odd look while it moved back and forth gleefully in some kind of flaunting trick. "I thought it... looked kinda cool for the office, so I just bought it." She must've believed her words suddenly became silent when she lowered her voice and added, "And of course it would be buddy-buddy with you."

Duck directed the downward movement of her brow to one of her ears. It flicked very angrily. She pouted out her lip and lightly booped Beady on its display.

WHOA.

It rolled back about a centimeter, staring at the desk—or rather its "floor" at the moment—and shaking its head in apparent disbelief.

Duck giggled.

It was kind of like... a dog, actually.

She'd always wanted one of those things, even if the prospect of caring about something else seemed like a colossal effort since she didn't really take care of herself first, but her Mother was never up for it. She knew her Mother to be a lot more than just a simple dog lover—namely because those five urns above the fireplace didn't carry equine relatives—but, no, letting her youngest daughter have a dog around was just out of the question. The oldest daughter, though, there was a young mare worthy of a canine. Around the time that Pumpkin Seed was a young filly, and Duck was maaaaybe an idea in her parents' heads, they'd had a Bull Terrier named Tank that, while very, very deaf, like, to the point where you could probably bang a pair of cymbals an inch from his head and he'd only flinch because it was just quick movement in the corner of his eyes, somehow knew when her Mother was home, and always greeted her at the door with heavy breathing and lulling tongue.

After that, there were no dogs in the house until... her sister's accident.

Duck supposed it was intended to be a therapy dog, even though Pumpkin Seed was all right in the head as far as she knew after all that happened. Then again, any excuse to have a dog around seemed more than all right with her. Her sister wasn't one to spit in the face of tradition, and as a tribute to the lovable Tank, she'd gone out with their Mother one afternoon and purchased an all-white—practically albino—Bull Terrier, later naming him "William" after William The Conqueror, or "Willie" for short after witnessing his total fright of a much smaller, much more literal bark-than-bite dog across the street.

Willie was very cute. Very, very cute, even when standing next to the much more imposing, much more intimidating General Pumpkin Bread. His presence alone was enough to let everypony around know that General "Old Blood And Guts" was around.

"You know..."

Duck lifted her chin again. Copper was burying a hoof into her left cheek and leafing through a binder with the other. Her expression just looked bored.

"...your teachers didn't seem to believe it, or even Principal Cheese..."

She looked up at Duck now, eyes narrowed.

"...but it's always the quiet ones, and you've been very quiet these past few minutes. That and your shying away just screams suspicious."

Oh, so it was like every time she was at the nearby airfield with her mother, where she'd get additional screening and a "polite" interrogation for awhile.

She... didn't like the airport anymore.

"I... I didn't do anything, ma'am."

"Hmm."

Copper seemed to make some kind of motion like she wanted Duck as far away as possible from her office, and so, hurriedly, Duck rose from her seat and attempted to leave the room. It was already way into fourth period by this point, and she didn't really want to get on Mrs. Ballpoint's bad side...

"Excuse me? Where do you think you're going?"

Duck froze, feeling her entire body cease each and every single one of its functions.

"Aah..."

"We're not finished here, young mare." Duck turned about, grabbing for the backrest of the chair and pulling it out. "Sit down." She did so, her heart beating out of her chest. Beady seemed to notice the sudden hostility in the room, and rolled up a few inches toward the end of the desk to look up at Duck. She looked at it and gave it a soft smile. If this was supposed to be some kind of therapy... robot, it was doing a pretty good darn job.

Copper picked up the binder, hugging it close to her breast. She started blowing through the pages much quicker this time.

"I also have reports here that you crawled through the vents and planted a firework in the colt's downstairs bathroom... one here about you illegally selling gum in the corner of the library before school..." Copper raised an eyebrow. Instead of pulling a paper across the binder, she seemed to lift one up as if attached to a clipboard. "...and this looks like a first-hoof account of you replacing the ammunition in the Aviation class with crispy rice treats, which doesn't seem... right to me." She put the binder down finally, but with her hooves still on it, gazed at Duck out of the corner of her eyes. "And then I had some colt named Frappe or something say you stole his lunch money, but..." She looked Duck up and down. "...I'm just gonna say he's lying about that."

Duck tilted her head.

"What I'm saying is, you've got quite the track record already, young mare, and I–"

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!

"Ugh, hey Beady, go hide." WHIRRRRR! Ms. Copper stared past Duck. "Who is it?"

"Mr. Cane."

Copper pushed herself and her chair away from her desk as the door opened behind Duck. She folded her forelegs behind her head and chuckled, "Oh, hey Candy, what's up?"

Mr. Cane's voice was way too loud in Duck's right ear. "You mind stepping outside for a sec? I see you're busy, but..."

Ms. Copper rolled her eyes. "Please, I've got all the time in the world." Her chair creaked as she rose from it and began to trot out. As she passed Duck, she whispered harshly, "Stay right there, young mare," and finally, deafeningly, slammed the door behind her. The two security guards—or at least, Duck assumed Mr. Cane to be one—began to talk seemingly right in front of the door, their voices muffled by the newly regulated two-inches of wood.

Duck's ear involuntarily flicked up, and she caught a few seconds of their discussion.

"Come on, it's just right down the street a ways. Everypony's coming."

"Eh, I dunno. I've got a lot to do tonight..."

"What if you see Mr. Arsdale?"

"Oh Godsdammit don't try and... is he coming?"

"I think so."

Oh, great.

Duck shifted in her seat, pressing her hocks together and twiddling her front hooves. She'd been left alone in a room she'd literally never been in before, and, by this point, wanted absolutely nothing to do with. The air felt hot as heck, though maybe it was just her uniform. She reached a hoof up to her neck and pulled at her two collars, airing herself a bit as her mind wandered. Her thoughts began to start their normal routine, and turned to any positive thoughts nestled... somewhere in there.

...oh!

She grinned from ear to ear.

"Um... hey, Beady, come on out."

WHIRRR!

The little robo-tractor... thing reemerged from its hiding place, which seemed to be a frequent, which seemed to be behind the tissue box. She guessed even robots couldn't handle that side of the internet. Beady moved to and fro in front of her, looking into her eyes the whole time with its boxy, light eye... things.

Well, these things were designed for homes, which meant that it was probably designed with kids in mind. Not that she was a kid. No. She was sixteen years old. Not a kid.

She leaned forward, placing her forelegs on her hocks and smiling sweetly.

"Well... let's see." She looked to her left. Aha! "Hey, Beady, do you know any tricks?"

GWEEE!

Beady drove around in a tight circle. Apparently proud of itself, it waggled its little crane and shook its head at Duck enthusiastically.

"Good job, Beady."

WEEERR.

"Hey Beady, go... drive around a bit."

WHIRRRRRR!

She'd mainly wanted to see the comparisons between the robot and the tracks on a tank, but seeing Beady's excitement for a simple maneuver was more than enough to put a smile on her face. It made a loose S and road toward the far end of the desk, coming back after doing a tight loop and rolling over the binder Ms. Copper Top had left shut in front of her computer. Beady fell down on what looked to be a few pieces of paper, crinkling them up and sending the topmost one askew as it—panicking for a few seconds—revved up and almost flew away with its sudden speed.

Duck giggled, leaning further forward to see where the little robot had went off to, but her eyes caught something in the corner of her peripherals. The pieces of paper Beady had stumbled across weren't something novice, or rather, something from a student's notebook. It wasn't looseleaf paper, or even machine-printed out. It was a hint of gold, possibly due to age and where it had come from, and looked to be hoof-written by quill. In the trash next to her, she only now realized, were the torn, tattered remnants of a brown envelope. The only thing she could still see was the stamp bearing EQ Air Mail, and the redded-out picture of the C-47 atop it.

Thoughts of simply ignoring the letter were quick to dissipate, and with one quick look-around to make sure that nopony—specifically Mr. Cane and Ms. Copper—was looking, she narrowed her eyes and looked at its contents, her brain working hard to decipher the upside-down letters as quickly as possible.

From what she could tell at first, what was written seemed to be... exactly what Ms. Copper had "heard" about her. All the... rumors, and such. Every single thing she'd been accused of for the past... what, half hour or so, was written right there...

...wait...

...she recognized that hoofwriting.

EEEEEEH!

Duck threw herself back into her chair and attempted to revert back to her previous position. Audibly clacking her hocks together again, she suppressed the urge to grimace and watched Ms. Copper return to her desk and pull up her own chair with a hoof and a groan. "All right, we're back," she told Duck, as if the commercial break for some kind of game show was over.

Duck didn't say anything.

Neither did Ms. Copper, who leaned back in her seat with her forelegs crossed, glaring across the way.

Intimidation tactics. Duck knew these fairly well.

Not to say she was immune to them and could handle them, just that she knew about them a lot.

"Well, I think we've taken up enough of each other's time..."

Excuse her?

Ms. Copper creaked her chair as she moved forward, collecting her papers and putting them back in her drawers.

"...I may not have disciplined you today, but I'm watching you, little mare."

Duck kept her mouth shut, realizing she'd probably just stutter something stupid out and end up missing more of fourth, if she hadn't missed it all already. She scooted her chair back and moved out from in front of it, then shoved it back into place and proceeded to walk toward the door. Ms. Copper turned up the volume on her "music" again, drowning out Duck as she pulled open the door and stepped a hoof over the threshold.

"Oh, and next match...!"

Duck turned her head.

Ms. Copper was glaring at her, grinning widely.

"At least... try to win, huh?"

Duck frowned, then walked out without a word.

She wiped her muzzle, adjusted her jacket, and headed to fourth.

---

"He says it a third time, a fourth,

I doubt he knows his fractions,

he says 'Add it', he says,

I hate his reactions!

He says 'Add it', he says,

is that the language of loooooooooove?!"

Duck didn't really expect to hear Betty Button on the garage radio when she opened the door, but she wasn't really complaining. Definitely wasn't the studio recording. Must've been live.

"He says 'Kill 'em', he says,

I doubt he owns a gun,

he says 'Kill 'em', he says,

think he's havin' too much fun,

he says 'Kill 'em', he says,

is that the language of loooove?"

Pulling her bag over her shoulder and discarding it on the floor next to everypony else's, she turned her head and expected to see the class doing something outrageously... not right, but, instead, had to pout out her lower lip and admit that she was moderately impressed.

Hurricane Team was busying themselves in and around their Tiger, adjusting nuts and bolts and loading ammo into the turret. Hail Mary was scrambling up the side skirts, belts of 7.92x57mm dangling around her neck and slapping metallically against the exterior of the tank as she reached the top, bent over, and handed the ammunition off to the waiting hoof of what looked to be Peanut Brittle.

Pansy Team were singing to themselves as they fixed the tracks on their Cruiser, and though they were thoroughly drowned out by Miss Betty still belting out her latest song, they were all smiles and cheers and still happily keeping to themselves. Sweet Tea, leading the group's session, reached into a toolbox and handed what she found to Vanilla Pudding, who passed it to Candle Light, who tossed it to Pine Needle, who—once finished with her tool—chucked it dangerously back over the heads of her crew, scoring it right back into the box which it came from with a loud CLUNK!

Both Platinum Team's SOMUA and Puddinghead Team's Stuart seemed to be vacant at the moment, and so she turned to her left at the sound of ambient noises to find both crews sitting at the tables they'd all assembled for the garages. Platinum Team sat at the roundtable Hurricane Team had dragged in from the unused closet by the cafeteria; Puddinghead Team sat on the class' makeshift propeller blade table, which was composed of sandbags—for support—and three leftover cargo plane blades from the Aviation class for the table itself and the two opposing seats. Duck's idea, but she wasn't... bragging or anything.

"This table is awful," Forest Fire half-mumbled loud enough for, well, probably everypony to hear.

Platinum Team hummed in acknowledgment, then rose from their seats and took up—hopefully—temporary residence at the opposite end of the propeller table in an instant.

Bit Rate lowered her hoofheld; Autumn Leaves slammed her book down on the table; Primrose stopped click-clacking at her laptop.

Plastic Beach just kind of... kept doing what she was doing. Which was listening to music. Loudly.

Busy Body snarled. "Oh, don't mind us!"

Puddinghead Team did as they were told.

Except Plastic. Again. Because... because she was already doing exactly that.

Busy crossed her arms, clearly not expecting the other crew to lay down and take it. "Simpletons."

Duck raised a hoof, intending to ask them if they'd seen Arco, Flurry, Graham, and Bluebell at all.

Without looking up from her hoofheld, Bit growled, "Yeah, just keep childishly insulting ponies, Busy. It's all you're good at."

Busy raised her own hoof.

"She isn't wrong," came Blank Check to Busy's left matter-of-factly.

"Oh don't you even start with me."

Blank lifted her chin regally. "It's just so awfully good that someone with the temperament of the esteemed Busy Body is not in charge of the laws in our wonderful country."

Busy shoved a hoof Blank's way. "Yeah, you'd be in jail."

"I think you'd both be in jail, to be honest," Primrose admitted, face lit up blue and white by her screen. "Ever heard of a 'coup', Busy?"

Busy stuttered. Blank brought up her right foreleg and buried it into her cheek, smirking at her future opponent. Forest Fire, reverting to her usual standing, cleared her throat.

"That one goes to you, Miss Body."

"I mean if she wants to start, she can start."

"No, go ahead, Busy."

Busy shot a hoof into her own tie. "No, I'm practically a gentlecolt, Blank. Go ahead."

"By Gods, it's like listening to a broken record," Autumn grumbled, looking up and grinning at Duck like she'd just said something outrageously humorous.

"Or one of Plastic's tracks," went Bit, who received a thwack upside the head by the young mare. "All right, only Souk Eye."

"I'm very proud of Souk Eye," Plastic replied, "it just needs a bit more and I think it'll be perfect."

"Sure, sure," said Busy across the table, "fill up your time with loud music, and video games and books and the internet, what have you, but just remember that, years from now, I'll be the one regulating it all."

"You'd regulate what we do on our spare time, when we're free to do whatever we want?" Autumn hissed.

"Of course. It's just in the interest of national security..."

"National security my ass." Primrose turned her head, eyeing up the three ponies with a pair of daggers in her eyes. "Is me watching a five-hour stream of a Caneighdian building a Nintwelvedo Labo kit really in the interest of National friggin' Security?"

Busy nodded, unfolding her arms. "Of course it is. Especially because he's Caneighdian." Primrose huffed. "We always need to be aware of our neighboring countries, what– what if he was somehow indoctrinating you?"

Primrose's mouth was an inch open. She blinked.

Her expression didn't even change. "What."

"You're not serious," went Blank.

Busy nodded, this time much more earnestly. "What if, somehow, he was indoctrinating you?"

"Yeah, no, you can repeat it, but it doesn't give it anymore bit of making sense. That which it still has zero," Bit Rate shot.

"What if, somehow, he was indoctrinating me?" Primrose asked. Busy nodded. "With cardboard?" Another nod. "A set of cardboard that was made for... kids." A third nod. "You talk about a wall a lot, but can I build one between you and I so I never have to talk to you or see your stupid mane again?"

At that, Busy rose from her seat.

"Oh, oh, so you're sensitive about your mane now?" Primrose asked, her voice strong despite instinctively scootching an inch away.

Blank pulled at Busy's sleeves, gritting her teeth.

"Okay, Busy, I know you're into big diversions today, anything to avoid talking about your campaign and your life and the way it's exploding and the way ponies are constantly leaving you and the way that you suck, but let's at least focus right now."

Busy shot Blank a death glare, but frowned, nodded her head, and patted her necktie down against her breast.

Forest, finally taking notice of Duck—who was honestly just standing there the entire time and not knowing how best to get away—rolled a hoof idly. "If you're looking for your friends, they're out on an errand for Mrs. Red."

Blank's frown suddenly shifted to a much-too-wide grin. She blinked her eyes at Duck and beckoned her over with a hoof. "Come, come, young mare. There's no need to be afraid."

"She's older than you," told Bit.

"And there are a lot of reasons to not wanna sit by you guys," Autumn spat with a shrug.

Blank scooted over, still grinning, and tap-tap-tapped the empty space next to her, hissing at the confused Busy who tried to take the position back.

Primrose looked up at Duck from atop her laptop's folding screen. "You don't wanna do that."

Duck opened her mouth.

"Just come sit on my right," Primrose continued.

"Uh..." Duck looked at Busy, Blank, and Forest, then turned to face Primrose, Autumn, Bit, and Plastic. Taking a few second to pull her bag up off the floor and hoist it over her shoulder, she stepped past the former—much to their chagrin and, from Busy, quiet threats—and paused before reaching the latter. She hopped up and took a seat between the two teams; Primrose sat to her immediate right, and Blank took up the spot at Duck's left. Sliding her messenger bag over her stomach and pulling out her binder, she decided that working on some homework while she waited for the others was a much better use of her time. She would've gladly taken the other, now empty table, but she was trying to put an end to the two crews' unrest, even if just by a little, or in another way.

Blank nudged Busy. "See, look at that. A bright young mare, doing her homework like she should. Does that sound familiar at all, Busy?"

Busy rolled her eyes. "No, Blank, it does not."

"Well, that's very good, because I certainly didn't mean the bright part. Just the homework part." She took a hoof and patted the table in front of Busy. "Chop chop. I've already done all of mine."

"Must be nice being Teacher's Pet, isn't it?"

Blank's eyes widened, and she sloooowly retracted her head and looked at everypony else at the table.

"I think Busy just criticized me for preparing for this upcoming test. And yes, Busy, I did." She glared at the pony in question. "And you know what else I've prepared for? I've prepared to be a leader of this nation one day. And I think that’s a very, very good thing."

"Leader of this nation? Please. The only thing you'll lead is the line straight to court."

Blank grinned ear to ear. She fanned a hoof out as if to present Busy, almost booping her on the nose. "Do you see this? A mare who can be provoked by a wayward comment should not have her hooves anywhere near a declaration of war."

"What good would you do in a war, Blank?"

"Is this an experience kind of thing, Busy, because we can talk about experience."

Busy turned to the table. "Oh, she has experience, but it’s bad experience—awful experience even—and this country can’t afford to have even a single month of that kind of experience."

Bit slammed her elbows on the table. "Can you take this somewhere else, please? I'm on my last life here."

"By Gods I wish she was on her last life," Busy remarked, pointing boredly at Blank, "that way we'd never have to see her again." She turned to Blank, now, then turned away and added with another jab, "If she can't satisfy her boyfriend, what makes her think she can satisfy Equestria?" A pair of ponies trotted up to the table, but seemed to have something much further past it in mind. Busy rotated about, holding out a wide open foreleg. "Heyyyy, if it isn't Peanut Brittle and Field Goal. My two favorite mares, how are you today?"

"Head hurts," first Peanut, then Field, said simply, marching right past.

Duck realized they were talking about her and fidgeted slightly.

Busy laughed loudly. "Hahaha, yeah, I bet, anyway I hope you guys have a good one okay bye." Busy watched the two Hoofball players leave for a few seconds, then swiveled back around like a turret and placed her chin on a pair of bridge-making forelegs. "It's always good to be on friendly terms with the physically fit members of society."

"What, so they don't beat you?" Primrose asked. Duck, made aware of the other mare's existence, curiously peeked over to see what Primrose was watching. Oh, wow, that five-hour stream was actually a real thing? Huh. Her other tabs seemed to include something called "blueit", a video called "Reneigh Circulation", and... wait was that allowed on the school's wifi? Probably not. And probably not a good idea to ask.

Busy continued talking, though it seemed that her focus was solely on Blank again at the moment, and vice versa. A moment of reprieve, thankfully.

POP!

Duck barely had time to jump at the noise before seeing something red slide across the table toward her. It was a bag of what looked to be chips, something she didn't really eat a whole lot. She stole a glance at Bit Rate, who smirked and pointed at it. "Well? Go on. Have a few."

Duck looked to her left, and then to her right. This was some kind of prank, right?

Bit rolled her eyes, but the smile still tugged at her lips. "I'm sharing with you, Duck. I'm not trying to hurt you."

Duck nodded, albeit without a word, and reached into the bag. Pulling out a chip—which she found to be triangular-shaped, and dusty with red—she studied first it, then the bag it came from. Her head tilted. "D-Doriftos?"

Bit sniggered. "What, you've never had Doriftos before? It's like, the stereotypical gamer fuel, along with Peak Fog."

Duck, holding the chip in both hooves, munched on it hesitantly. "I-I don't p-play many... games."

"How about the internet?" Primrose asked, sliding her laptop around so Duck could see.

"Are you still on HornHub?" Bit asked.

"No," Primrose reassured her.

Yes, she was.

"I don't really do much browsing..."

"Whoa!"

A hoof slid across Primrose's stomach, swiping her off the chair and sending her to the ground in an awkward mess. As the birds began flying around the fallen mare's head, Plastic Beach scooted over with a smirk. "How about music, then?"

Duck shifted. "I don't really..."

In those few seconds, Plastic took off her headphones and put them over Duck's ears.

Immediately, her head was filled with a soft beat and an admittedly pleasant vibe.

"IIII will, allllways

dream about... youuuu..."

"It sounds okay..." Duck told her, only for Plastic to quickly pull the accessory off Duck's head and slide back into place. Primrose took her position yet again, elbowing Plastic in the side and returning to her video.

"What about books?" came Autumn from the other end, holding up one of her own with both hooves proudly.

Well now that she had a bit of knowledge on.

Duck raised a hoof. "I... do read a bit."

Bit, Plastic, and Primrose groaned. Autumn pumped a hoof. "Sweet! Who's your favorite author?"

"I... I like Jünger."

At that, Autumn tilted her head. "Who?"

Duck tapped her hooves together. "H-He wrote Storm of Steel? A memoir on his... time fighting the Hippogriffs?"

Autumn frowned. "Oh. You read those kinds of books? I meant like, horror authors. Shel Goldstein, or something."

"Shel Goldstein doesn't write horror books," Bit tutted.

"Yeah but he looks scary as hell," Autumn shot back. "Plus he used to write for Playcolt."

Duck turned away, rubbing at her left sleeve. Of course, she had nothing in common with any of these mares.

"How about math?"

Duck's ears flicked up, and she turned to the source of the voice to find Forest Fire bundling up her infinity scarf.

"M-Math?"

Forest snickered, pointing a hoof at Busy, who was in the middle of scribbling something down on a piece of snow white paper. "Busy's doing her homework, and she's stuck on a problem."

"Am not!"

"Busy, you've been staring at that problem for the past few minutes and pretending to write something down—only to quote-unqoute 'erase it'—every time we've asked about it," Blank noted.

"Shut up," was Busy's only response.

Duck cleared her throat... prompting the three to stop what they were doing with a screeching halt—literally in Busy's corner, as she ground her pencil tip against her paper audibly—and look her way.

"I, um, I can do math."

Busy's face cracked, and she brandished a grin which she pushed against a cheek. "You? Math? Maybe two plus two, but that's about it."

Duck felt a growl crawl up her throat, then forced it back down.

"Aw, look, she's upset," Busy told the others, then faced Duck again. "Fine, why don't you take a look, then? Just don't get mad when you see I told ya so." Busy pulled her binder close to her breast, then slid it Duck's way before leaning back in her seat and crossing her forelegs behind her head.

Duck was on it an instant.

Chapter 2.6 "Limits of Infinity".

Oh, so it was just Calculus. Her eyes went up and down the page, looking for the problem that Busy was stuck on. Finally, she found it, and hummed to herself, pulling the paper closer.

𝓁im (5-e^x) / e^x

as

x->∞ (5+8e^x) / e^x

Hmm. She tilted her head about, tapping her tongue against the inside of her cheek. She pulled out her own pencil and began to go slowly, and lightly.

𝓁im 5/e^x-1

as

x->∞ 5/e^x+8

which all equals

-1/8

The bare second that she finished, the paper was snatched out of her grasp by a pair of yellow-orange hooves and a grunt of dismay. "What?!" Busy growled, holding the paper in front of her and looking about ready to rip it in half.

Blank chuckled. "Well, looks like it wasn't as hard as you'd thought."

Forest pointed at it. "Look, she even wrote lightly so you could erase it and put your own hoofwriting."

Duck raised a hoof hesitantly. "Y-You a-also skipped a step. Th-the limit of five minus e raised to the x power over e plus eight e raised to the x power as x approaches infinity. You just divided by e raised to the x power immediately, instead."

Busy crinkled her nose like last Sunday's lazy day shirt.

"J-Just a... I... sorry."

Busy hummed a bit huffily to herself, then bent over and began writing her own version of Duck's answer down. A noise came out that sounded vaguely like "thanks", but Duck, hearing her name called, flicked an ear upward and turned to look for the voice.

It was Mrs. Red, who held her office door open—the room of which sat at the farthest corner of the garage, and had a large window on the side for everypony to see into but not listen through—and waved Duck over to her. Duck, looking at both crews next to her and not seeing any reaction, quickly gathered her things, rose from her seat, and hurriedly trotted over to Mrs. Red, who greeted her with a pair of shut eyes and a loving smile.

Mrs. Red's office was much more barebones, but in its lack of complexity, it felt a lot... safer. What little there was was her desk, a few chairs—one of which was her own reclining office chair—her laptop, and a stack of papers Duck couldn't make out at the moment. The soft hums of Louis Hoofstrong's trumpet in "A Boop To Build A Dream On" quieted as Mrs. Red closed the door behind Duck, who put her bag on the floor by the threshold and took a seat in front of Mrs. Red's desk.

Mrs. Red's expertly laced-up boots clicked and clacked from behind Duck, to her left, and then in front of and behind the opposite end of the desk, where she fell into her chair with a grin and a giddy, "So! Let's talk shop, Duck. How have you been today?"

Duck adjusted her position in her seat. "I, uh... I've been okay."

Mrs. Red tilted her head, reaching for her water bottle and popping the cap off. Before tilting her head back, she asked, "Okay? That doesn't sound good to me," which echoed from the interior of her thermos.

Duck's hocks knocked like rocks. "Well, I..."

Mrs. Red waggled a hoof. "Hey, I didn't bring you in here to feel sad. I brought you in here to get ready!"

Duck tongued her cheek. She was... actually kind of hoping to talk about the office visit. Gods forbid, she had an actual parental figure to talk to anymore. Or in the first place. Still, business was business, and she straightened herself in her chair patiently. "Is this about our next match?"

Mrs. Red nodded. "Yup. The Cloudsdale Storms. You seen much of them before?"

Duck shook her head. "No ma'am. I've heard that they're pretty good, though."

Mrs. Red popped her neck. "Yeah, they're a pretty tough bunch, but they don't have almighty tanks as far as I've heard. Their Overall this year, Escargot, commands a light Prench tank, if I remember right. Don't have too many details; I'm surprised they even managed to beat Appleloosa at all. Most of their tanks are loans from Sergeant Applejack herself, and she made most of our tanks in the Never War, from the M4 to the T28."

Duck nodded, not really feeling too nicely about telling Mrs. Red that she knew all that already. To add, Sergeant Applejack was to command her own M36 Jackson Tank Destroyer, the name of which started out as a joke about Applejack not having any kids, and instead having a tank as her offspring.

"They use camo, as well, but I'm not sure what kind. And considering that it's expected to rain during our match, I don't doubt they'll play like the Bits and take cover in a line of trees. Keep your eyes and ears peeled out there."

"Of course, ma'am."

It was quiet for a time. Duck gazed at the floor and rubbed her arm.

"I-I, um... I got called in to Ms. Copper Top's office during lunch's passing period."

Mrs. Red sucked in a breath. "Oh, geez, are you okay? What'd she call you in for?"

"There were... r-rumors about me, apparently. Stealing tests after school, sneaking into the colt's bathroom, replacing ammunition in the Aviation class..."

Mrs. Red's brow furrowed. "Rrrr, why I oughta... that damn Copper Top. She's just being an a– er, she's just being difficult. I never really liked her."

Duck shivered a bit, still rubbing her foreleg up and down quietly.

Mrs. Red sniffled in tandem with Duck, then perked up and asked out of the blue, "Hey, how's your sister doing?" The segue was appreciated, but the new subject was not that much of a better one, to be completely honest.

Duck cleared her throat. "She's... okay."

Mrs. Red smiled. "Well, that's good." She creaked her chair as she reclined in it. "Ahhh, I remember working with your sister. So full of tactics, and ideas, and know-how. Every conversation we had about matches was just so... full of energy." She leaned forward, grinning into a cheek. "We always had our own maps out, scribbling things down and crossing out paths that wouldn't work for us. We were kind of one in the same, to be honest. She really was a carbon copy of your mother."

Duck squirmed.

"Things were pretty okay, until the..."

Duck scratched her arm and looked upward.

"Th-The accident."

"I'm sorry, Duck, I didn't–"

"No, it's okay," Duck replied quickly. She stared straight ahead, then dipped her chin and looked at the floor. She hummed. "She got a dog out of it."

Mrs. Red chuckled, "Oh, did she?"

Duck placed her forelegs in her lap. "Mmhm. A white Bull Terrier named Willie."

"Well, you'll have to show me sometime. He sounds cute."

"He is! I h-have some pictures from a few years ago lying around. Maybe I could find them."

Mrs. Red hummed. "That sounds great, Duck." Her gaze drew to her left, back toward the tanks still sitting in the garage. "Arco and the others should be back sometime soon. I sent them off to go get parts from the Vehicle Repair class a bit before you came in. Why don't you go get things started in the Comet? We'll be heading out for a short lesson today once they get back."

Duck nodded. "Yes, ma'am," she said with a quick salute, which Mrs. Red returned. Grabbing her bag and pulling it over her right shoulder—noting that she'd drop it off by the door before reaching her tank anyway—she took one last look at her teacher and gave a wave, then opened the door and had to shake her head. It seemed that somepony had decided that playing Crumpish Grenadiers alongside their usual radio set was a funny idea. Not that Duck was complaining, mind, it was just that everypony else seemed heckbent on drowning out the nice flute and drums with groans of annoyance and anger.

Humming along, Duck did as she'd planned out, dropping her bag at the entrance before heading past Hurricane Team—who glared her way and called her out (which she ignored)—and Pansy Team—who waved hi to her and, in Pine's case, patted her on the back—and marching over to her Comet. The soft instruments of Crumpish Grenadiers playing fittingly over the speakers, Duck scrambled up the sideskirts, hopped onto the roof of her turret, and fell inside...

...not in the way that she'd planned. Her left foreleg being the last thing in, it caught on the rotation lever on the inside rim of her cupola, and in her fumbling about to clutch at her bruise, she felt like she'd ripped her spine apart with the speed of her rotating around, and after feeling for that injury, she hit her head on the ceiling, sucked on her teeth, and clutched at her skull. Rubbing it, she felt her anger finally push through her reasonably thick walls, and threw a punch into the wall to the left of Arco's seat. Growling at nothing, she stopped at the drop of a hat... at the sound of something sort of heavy dropping in kind.

She tilted her head about a few angles, an eyebrow raised. Pulling her right foreleg back, she punched the wall again.

The same rattle from before, clearly a metal box of some kind. She let out a soft hum to herself which sounded vaguely like the beginning note of Crumpish Grenadiers, then leaned far over to her left and tried to peer behind the workings of the Gunner position. Past the few gauges, assorted pipes, and bits of metal, something fairly small and brown caught Duck's eye. It shimmered gold in the light from above the Comet as she lightly tapped it, and, deathly curious, Duck bent fully over, reached far down into the back of the turret, and pulled the box out with a grunt.

It was... yeah, it was a box, beat up as heck with chips and chunks missing from its exterior. It was a nice oak casing, with an intricate looking latch system holding it shut. The prospect that neither she nor anypony else had taken notice of it seemed incredibly off to her, but to be fair, with a loud engine literally behind them, the Comet moving, the turret rotating and firing, and the sounds of shells loading, unloading, and their own conversations, it might've been pretty easy to miss the sound of a box shifting about. Her questions on what it could contain—spurred on by the fact that she didn't think she could possibly get into it—were answered as Duck simply pulled it open to test its validity.

She swallowed a lump down her throat.

Sitting on a soft green cover, and encased in thin slats of wood, was a Crumpish Webley Mk VI, still somewhat shiny despite the bits of rust and aging on it. There were slots for thirty rounds next to it, but it seemed that only thirteen remained. The others must have spilled out at some point, or... used. Duck suddenly held the box to her chest, looking to her left and right despite being hunched over inside the turret of a cramped tank. Whose was this? Busy Body's? Mrs. Red's? The Comet had been sitting in the garage for years! This could be anypony's!

She looked to her left. The empty Gunner position.

To her right. The empty Loader position.

Nopony was around to see her.

She reached up and closed the hatch on her cupola, and, turning on the light that Graham and she had co-oped on fixing, opened the box again.

...it was a beautiful sidearm, she had to admit.

Maybe if she held it for just... a few seconds, it would be okay.

She darted a hoof over to it, then pulled it back.

She blinked twice.

And finally pulled it out of its case.

It... wow, it felt... pretty good to hold in her hoof. Like, really fantastic, actually. She didn't have as much experience with Crumpish firearms than she did Crumpish tanks, as most of her training back at her Mother's academy had been with M1911s and Springfields, but she could definitely see why Crumpish officers carried these things around. An M1911 was one thing, but the stopping power and reliability of the Webley was certainly a difference to Browning's firearm.

She turned the revolver round and round in her hoof, trying her hardest to study it even as her heart seemed to be beating out of her chest. This was an officer's sidearm, somepony who led ponies with a loud voice and a brave mind. They dressed studiously, and acted as such, chomping down on a pipe, carrying a riding crop, and blowing a whistle when it was time to head right into the gates of Heck.

Did this thing... oh Gods, did this thing kill something at some point...?

...some... pony...?

"Hey guys, we're back!"

"Is Duck around here?"

"Went into your tank already."

"Great! Arco, go tell Mrs. Red they didn't have them. I'll go talk to Duck."

"I hate you."

"You too, Arco!"

Duck's eyes widened. Oh Gods, they couldn't see this! This was hers!

Wait no, no no it wasn't hers! This was somepony else's! She had to hide it away so she could... find out whose it was and give it back! She couldn't... no, it wasn't hers! This was... not hers!

She swiveled about in a panic, slamming the box shut as the sounds of Flurry ascending the front of the Comet came to her. Gritting her teeth, she remembered its first hiding spot, leaned far over to her left, and promptly chucked the box back into the area behind the Gunner's seat just as the hatch above her head opened up, bringing in the light from the outside peeking in through the garage's windows.

Flurry's pink head appeared, a massive smile on her face.

"Hi Duck!"

Duck waved. "H-Hi!"

"How are you today?"

"I'm... g-good!"

Flurry chuckled. "Good!"

"Hey, outta the way, Princess," came Arco, who took Flurry's place once she finished frowning and moved over for him.

"Well that was quick," Flurry noted, pulling open her Driver's door and beginning to climb inside.

Duck moved over to Bluebell's position to allow Arco to take his own. "Yeah, well, it was literally just talking to Mrs. Red for a few seconds. Not that hard." He looked at Duck and nodded. "I'm good now, Duck." She shifted back over to her spot as Bluebell opened her own hatch—which Bluebell was finally able to get open recently, and could now fully use—and found her way inside.

"Gods, that was awful," the Unicorn noted, grabbing her gloves and wrestling them on.

"Who knew a group of ponies could talk on and on about a friggin' driveshaft?" Graham asked, taking up her own position at the front and left.

"Anyway, how'd things go on your end, Duck?" Arco asked, wiping his Gunner's sight free from dust and—after a second—the condensation from his breath.

"Okay," she replied.

"We have any water left in there?" Bluebell asked, pointing to the hydration box by Duck's head.

"Think you drank it all," Graham pointed out, tutting.

Bluebell threw her forelegs against her hips swiftly.

"You know, we should think about putting something else in there," Arco began, shifting in his seat, "like energy drinks or something."

"I think water's just fine," Flurry droned, eyes narrowed.

"I dunno, I think putting soda wouldn't be too bad," chimed Graham.

"Yeah? We could try putting Bepsi in it."

Bluebell shot Arco a death glare.

"Peak Fog."

Arco pursed his lips.

"Bepsi, without question."

Duck wanted to raise a hoof and tell them that it was built for water.

"Peak Fog, or we fight."

Arco rolled up his sleeves.

Bluebell caught his drift and popped her back.

"We fight."

"Bring it on."

Author's Note:

Oh my gosh, I missed the one year anniversary NO!

So so so so so so so sorry this took so long to come out! I drove down with the family all the way from Alaska down to Arizona this summer, and this whole time I haven't been able to get into the writing groove for this! Just to let you know, today, the twenty-seventh of September, this chapter started out as like less than 1k words, and after sitting my butt down and cranking it out, it's at what it's at at 10:35 PM. Yeah. I spent at least nine hours putting this chapter together, pretty much in one sitting.

It was not easy!

Comments

[Titan Commander Sebaste]

Very well done as always!

[Snowdrifter]

In other news, the Ponyville Horsepowers are in a riot. Somepony replaced all of their Bepsi, Peak Fog, tea and coffee with Diet Kroak!

The only flower pony present, Bluebell, told this reporter "SHADDAP!". She also failed to fall on the ground and moan about 'the horror' of the event.

Current suspicion falls upon the Crystal Shadowbolts, known for pranking their rivals whenever they start to develop a reputation, though it is not clear why they would bother with Ponyville. Perhaps Shadowbolts Principal Cinch coming out of retirement is a factor.