• Published 2nd Jan 2019
  • 3,845 Views, 85 Comments

Security Issues - Andromidus

Brandt is a human. Brandt is also the newest royal security adviser. He has his work cut out for him.

  • ...

2 - Research

Or not.

He stepped out of the meeting room, stunned by how quickly the princess had brushed off all of his advances concerning the guards.

Well, she was a diarch of the country.

That meant her schedule was packed and decided days in advance—which he should've expected. So that also meant she only had enough time for the intended subject of the meeting and only the intended subject. Each time Brandt had brought up something else, he had been politely turned down and informed to tell her at a later time, a time preferably where they could freely talk. Nearing the end of their allotted time, Princess Celestia had expressed that she would love to hear more about him and his planet, although.

And that was also when he realized the sense of urgency in his question wasn't coming across to her.

That should’ve offended him in some way or form. Yet, it clearly didn’t. The princess was just too-damned good at word-fu.

In fact, he somehow felt worse after all of that. As if he was the one in the wrong.


“Sir? Sir,” someone said to his left. He turned to face the mare, who looked to be Raven Inkwell… Princess Celestia’s secretary. The same pony who had waved him in. “Her Highness has tasked me with getting you settled here in the castle.”

“Really? Well, don’t let me be the hold-up,” he replied. “I’m just thinking about things.”

“Very well,” she stated, pulling out a tablet from atop the desk. “I suppose we can start with the main hub.”

“Lead the way. I'll be right behind you.”

The pony nodded in confirmation. Raven trotted over to the door and knocked on it, to which the door was pulled open by two of the guards standing outside. Or actually, just one of them, Brandt noted as he stepped into the hallway. The other was just standing there, doing nothing.

Brandt narrowed his eyes in suspicion. There was a low but resonant noise coming from somewhere. Something that sounded awfully familiar. His brows furrowed and eyes narrowed to near slits. He stepped up and leaned closer to the still guard. That noise had gotten louder, enough that he could identify it.

Was this guard snoring?

Now upon closer inspection… those eyes looked like someone had cut out fake replacements. It was far easier to see the crayon-substitute irises. He glanced back to the other guard, who was averting his gaze, whistling and sweating bullets.

“Mhm…” Brandt murmured, rotating to directly face the guard’s drooping ear. He straightened his posture and raised his right hand, cupping it slightly. He proceeded to do the same with the other hand before bringing them together.

To a human, it may have sounded like an extra loud clap.

Considering both the proximity and a horse’s—or pony’s in his case—extra-sensitive hearing, it was like someone had decided to pop a firecracker, not inches away.

The stallion let out a shrill shriek and managed an impressive leap into the sky, leaving his spear clattering behind him. “AAAAHHH! SOUND THE ALARM! WE’RE UNDER ATTACK!!!” He crashed back into the rug, flailing as his helmet drooped over his eyes. “HELPPP! PONY DOWN! PONY DOWN!”

His partner rushed over and pulled him up, fixing the obstruction on the screaming stallion’s head. “Chill, you're making us look bad! We're not under attack!” he whispered. Or, rather, you could consider it whisper-shouting. Brandt could still clearly hear each word.

The stallion pushed his helmet further up and blinked, causing the fake replacements to flutter to the ground. “We’re… we're not?” He tilted his head in confusion and scanned the area, slowly trailing his eyes to see the glowering form of Brandt. He eeped and stumbled back.

“Sleeping on the job, guard?” Brandt asked, unamused.

“N-No sir!” he squeaked.

Brandt bent over and scooped up the fake eyes, waving them in the air like tickets. “Would you like to explain this, then, guard?”

A lump appeared in the stallion’s throat. His pupils darted about the area, appearing as if he was considering scenarios. His fur was taking a glossy sheen of sweat and his mouth opened and closed, failing to properly translate his thoughts. He was doing a spectacular job of imitating a beached fish. Of course—

His head snapped forward and nabbed the two pieces of paper between his teeth, sucking them into his mouth.

His face soured and he began chewing, with much difficulty on his part. It seemed that eating paper probably wasn’t the most appetizing of snacks. Nor was it a simple feat, either. He ate it slowly, thoroughly reducing the thing to mush before he awkwardly swallowed it all done.

“I… I don’t know what you’re talking about, sir,” he wheezed. The stallion was most likely in need of a liquid to wash down his… less than orthodox meal.

Brandt, on the other hand, had frozen still, hand still held out in front of him. There was a mixture of respect, disgust, and confusion stuck on his face.

If anything, the man had paid his just desserts. By literally eating them.

“I don’t…” Brandt started, before immediately stopping himself. He breathed deep before shaking his head. “I’ll probably see something worse. I’d rather just go, Miss Raven. I'm sure we're wasting enough time.”

The mare was quick to respond, leading him away from the scene.

“Oh my,” Raven coughed. She looked appalled. “I swear that usually never happens! What… I… what a terrible first impression! I do so apologize for that, Mister Brandt!”

Usually? “Right. Terrible first impression,” he replied. Brandt sighed for what was possibly the fifth time today and massaged his shoulder. “You know what? Let's not dwell on this. You had a castle to show me, right?”

“R-Right, yes, of course!” she stuttered. Ushering for him to follow her, they began their tour. They passed several coat-of-arms, some of which Raven was more than happy to describe the history behind.

Halfway down, she brought up her tablet and quickly read something off of it.

“R-Right there, as you can see, is the entrance to the throne room! It was constructed almost nine-hundred years ago, standing as one of the main rooms of the castle! It was reconstructed and repaired many times through its lifetime,” she half-read, half-libbed. “Princess Celestia stays there to listen to petitioners on all weekdays except Mondays.”

He bit his lip. This is going to be a long day, isn't it?

Somewhere along the way did the mare regain her composure and confidence, leading him around the castle with far more gusto than she had at the start.

“This here is the castle’s primary kitchen, responsible for serving the princesses, visiting dignitaries, and a hooful of Canterlot nobles,” she explained. “They work around the clock to be able to satisfy the demands while maintaining the legendary culinary reputation.”

Brandt certainly couldn’t deny that whatever was happening in there was anything less of perfection. His stomach grumbled its approval with a wistful noise. The aromas that drifted and danced all around him weren't of much help, either. Eating a light lunch was probably the worst move he could’ve made today (if one could call a granola bar and a shot of milk a lunch). Well, it was also that and not being able to convince his new boss that her guards were incompetent.

It was the little things, really.

Raven looked up, an inquisitive look on her face.

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his head. “Well, I suppose that’s what I get for coming here fueled by nothing more than a baked bar of oats and some milk.”

The mare’s ears perked up. “Oh? Well, I could always request for something small to help tide you over until dinner! The chefs certainly wouldn’t mind getting another chance to try and impress somepony, er, someone from another world with their cuisine!”

He smiled. This pony and he would get along just fine in the coming years. “I’m not complaining. Lead the way!”

Raven nodded and walked through the swinging doors. He followed right behind her, moving into a world he never would’ve thought was possible to feel. It was like being a kid in a candy shop, except the candy shop served something besides tooth-enamel destroying treats. So, a normal restaurant.

A normal restaurant that did a damn fine job in cooking food.

He noted how well the doors managed to separate the two rooms, right down to the sensory experiences.

The royal kitchen itself was noticeably warmer than where he had previously been standing, most likely due to the amount of heat radiated from cooking. There was much more noise than before, with all the commotion with pots clanging, food roasting, knives dicing, and skillets tossing. Ponies, griffons and the occasional minotaur would rush on by, pushing or carrying a food-related object. But that wasn’t what enraptured him.


The crowning jewel of it all was the smell.

Oh, sweet heaven on—

“AGH!” he cried as he met the brunt force of a burlap sack traveling at what was basically running speed.

Which promptly burst all over him, covering him in a thick layer of flour.

He violently began coughing and tripping over himself as he sought to make his way out of the mess. Brandt rapidly fanned his hand to assist in clearing the blooming cloud. Eventually, he felt something solid make contact with his back. Then, that solid surface gave way and he fell backward, his sense of direction rolling up.

He flinched as his ass made contact with the hard marble surface that was the dining room floor.

“Wh-hah-at the fuck just hah-ppened…!?” he shouted, still blind and still sitting on the floor.

In pain, mind you.

He could hear indiscriminate words shared among the staff. "Is that Blueblood?"

"Oh, what's he doing here!?"

"It must be one of those random cravings he occasionally comes across!" one gasped. "We should've been ready for this!"

"That doesn't look like Blueblood at all," one commented. "It looks like a malnourished, gangly minotaur." They paused before bursting out in hearty laughter. "Hah! I just described my cousin."

"Agathe! You did not just say that out loud! Blueblood will have your head for that kind of comment!"

"Thirza, I insist, are you blind? That does not look like Blueblood."

He coughed, shaking his head as he tried to make sense of everything. There was so much happening at once and his gut hurt. So many sounds and noises. But the loudest out of the noises was the rush of hooves making their way towards him. “Oh no, oh no, oh no! I’m so sorry, Lord Blueblood, sir!”

“Who?” Brandt asked, directed rather at the name than anything else. However, it didn’t help that he sounded as if someone pile-drivered his gut (which they totally did) and that a level of fury was slathered across his question.

The pony? gulped. “It… it was me, s-sir, T-Toasted Kernel,” the mysterious offender announced, with a healthy dose of fear and apprehension loaded into it. “P-Please don’t f-fire me! It was an honest mistake, really!”

He set to wipe the flour out from his eyes with what hopefully was his unsullied handkerchief. “Fire who now?”

“M-Me, sir?” she asked, unsure.

“Why would I do that?” he coughed out, dragging the fabric across his face. Much to his dismay, his eyesight problem did not improve. “Wha’d you do?”

There was a moment of silence. “I… I smacked you with a bag of flour!” she said, before gasping. “Uh, s-sir!” she quickly added.

Brandt took a second to process it. The girl sounded sincere enough—as in about to break into tears. These ponies sure do get emotional real quick. “Look, it’s fine. Next time, just watch where you’re walking and what you’re doing,” he replied. “Now could someone take me to my room to get changed? I’m not sure about any of you but wearing flour really isn’t my thing.”

The kitchen, surprisingly, was silent. There were whispers among the crowd that he could make out, not coherent enough to understand, but loud enough that Brandt knew they were talking amongst themselves.

After two minutes and him awkwardly wobbling to his feet, a familiar voice spoke up.

“I’ll… I’ll take you to your quarters, Prince Blueblood,” Raven said. “Please, let’s make this posthaste. I’m sure you’re quite upset about this, sir.”

“Upset?” he snorted (grand mistake on his part). “Tha-haaah-t’s just the tip of the iceberg, Raven,” he replied, after practically hacking his lungs out.

It wasn’t long before they were both standing in front of what he assumed was his room. Raven didn’t stick around for long either, muttering something about someone disappearing.

His eyes were feeling puffy and sufficiently irritated from all the flour. He probably should’ve washed it off rather than trying to rub it away. Reluctantly, Brandt groped his way into the room, definitely regretting that he had let Raven leave before she could lead him to his shower.

He managed to catch the blurry image of another pony.

“Gah, who’s there!? What heathen dares to…!” another, random person shouted, yet again. However, they paused, and Brandt assuming that they were sizing him up or trying to figure out who he was. “Oh my… is this supposed to be a surprise for me? Well then,” they purred. “Have you come to change out my… ahem… towels?”

He frowned. That was definitely not a reaction he expected. And towels?. “Uh, no. I’m Brandt, the new royal security advisor.”

“Oh well, Brandt, I can see why they tasked you with that position. You’re certainly… readily equipped for the job,” they said, mirth lining what was believed to be a sultry tone. “This certainly is a pleasant surprise!”

“Uh, quick question. Just who are you? I’m a little… blind at the moment.”

“Hmph. And to think… oh perhaps this is part of it…” they replied, momentarily offended. “Why, I thought my name was known far and wide across the country!They cleared their throat. “I am Prince Blueblood, unicorn stallion of the Equestrian royal family.”

“That’s… nice,” Brandt replied. “So what brings you to my bathroom?”

Your bathroom?” he chuckled. “Moving so quickly, tsk, tsk, you rapscallion.” He sidled his way closer. “I do think we should take things, slow and sensual, wouldn’t you say, Sir Brandt?”

Then it all clicked in his head. “Wait. Waitwaitwaitwait. You’re a guy, right? Man, er, stallion?”

“Yes…?” Blueblood asked, confused as to why they were breaking character. “What brings this up?”

“And you’re hitting on me?”

“Why, I thought I was being obvious!” he said, sarcasm dripping in his tone. “Do you have a problem with that, Sir Brandt?”

Everything froze as his brain began piecing the full puzzle together. Then everything in his body was kicked into overdrive. “Yes, very much, don’t swing that way. No offense or anything. You guys are pretty chill. Also, I don’t think I’m into ponies. Also, leaving,” he quickly blurted, turning back the way he entered. “Bye!”

He bolted into the hallway, sprinting as far as his legs could get him moving. He stuck his arms in front of him to prevent slamming himself into any objects. Eventually, he stopped around a pillar once he decided he was a good enough distance away. Admittedly, Brandt was lost, exhausted, disturbed, slightly bruised, and still covered in flour. He wondered where it all went into the shitter.

The kitchen. Something Kernel had hit him with flour. As he slowly began to remember the event, he thought back to something. What had that mare called him…?

Author's Note:


Minor Dialogue Edit