The Easyglider Accords
It was well past midnight by the time Senior Airmare Valiant Dawn staggered into the Royal Camp, but the tent he was escorted into buzzed with panicked activity. Frazzled stallions and mares with haggard faces lined the walls of the space, chewing on their lips as the highest-ranking officers of the Earth Pony, Unicorn, Pegasus Guard huddled over a magical war table. Their bickering faded into silence as they caught sight of the young pegasus patrolpony.
“Airmare Dawn!” a sergeant along the wall snapped, stepping out to stand before the exhausted stallion. “Report!”
Valiant Dawn popped his wing up in a salute. "Sergeant Featherflame! No unusual activity to report at this time, but it appears as though the zealots have fully infiltrated the city. No signs of a struggle."
Sergeant Featherflame swore, stomping an ash-grey hoof against the chilled ground. The officers around the main table likewise frowned. All but one, that is.
"Well, this is shaping up to be a right ole' tragedy, isn't it?" a mare's voice rang out, entirely too cheery for the situation.
"Commander, please," murmured a particularly decorated unicorn mare.
Commander Easyglider ignored her. Stepping around the glittering war table, she bounced over to Valiant Dawn and threw an pale yellow foreleg around him. Her flight jacket brushed against his wind-chilled coat.
"Don't be shy now," she chuckled, guiding him over to the map. "Someone get this stallion a drink. An unflavored one," she added sternly.
A steaming mug of straight black coffee was quickly pressed into Valiant's hooves. Easyglider nodded approvingly.
"Best enjoy that while you can, boy," she said, somewhat grimly. "The Equestria flavor profile is on the brink of complete and utter collapse. Say goodbye to your breakfast blends and Manehattan brews, 'cause they're swirling around the cultural drain, right down there with pompadours and those awful puffy-shouldered blouses that the Bluebloods are so fond of, thank goodness," she added in an undertone.
"Is the situation really that bad?" Airmare Dawn gulped. "Baltimare appeared to be infiltrated, but the local economy didn't appear to be affected."
The commander rested her hooves on the war table and surveyed the flickering outline of Baltimare. "Oh, it will be. There’s no stopping it, once it’s inside the city limits. We call it a cult, but it's really a plague. A sickness of the taste buds. You're local, yeah? Ever visit Manehattan? Phillydelphia?"
"My parents took me to the Big Apple as a foal. I'm planning to take my marefriend there next week, we're goin—”
"How sweet," Easyglider cooed. "A romantic vacation with your special somepony, right around Hearth's Warming. Such a thoughtful trip must've taken a right awful amount of planning, yeah?"
Valiant Dawn felt himself nodding. Tentatively, he added, "We've been planning the trip for over a year. She doesn't know it, but I'm gonna propose."
A few of the officers smiled at him, some dabbing at their misty eyes, and Commander Easyglider let out a low whistle.
"So touching," she sighed. "It's a shame that Manehattan is currently the center of a PUMPKIN SPICED WASTELAND."
She whirled around, jabbing a hoof at the unicorn mare that had chided her earlier.
"Man, Captain Sharp Watch, it must feel pretty terrible to know that you were assigned to guard a city and it's now filled with zombies because you didn't take the threat of seasonal beverages seriously enough."
Sharp Watch cringed, but Easyglider had already rounded on another officer, this one a portly earth pony with a stately, well-groomed mustache.
"And General Stonewall, I really expected better of you!" The commander sounded almost hurt. "All that good work with that changeling hive a few years back, and now Manehattan doesn't even have recognizable pizza anymore. And you still thought my team would perform in your Hearth’s Warming spectacular! I can't let the Wonderbolts can't perform in a pizza-less city!" she protested. "It's cruel and unusual."
She heaved a sigh. "You know, when I got the Summons to go to the Castle in Canterlot, I thought for sure I was about to get a royal chewing-out for that triple reverse-butterfly corkscrew I did with Fairy Flight in last month's show, but nooo. It was a promotion. A promotion and a wartime assignment."
She paused and glared at the gathered officers. "Y'all do realize I'm in the process of demilitarizing the Manual of Tactical Maneuvers, right? Surely you’ve noticed that I'm a stunt flyer, yeah? Good? Just checking. Because this is not my job."
A few of the generals shifted uncomfortably, while others merely glared at her, disdain evident in their eyes.
"But whatever," she continued nonchalantly, holding up a hoof. "You command folks made a mistake. I get it. The real officers--" she abruptly spat the word, scowling. "Were all too busy being important and serious to acknowledge a measly little potential threat, and now the silly air headed stunt flier is the only hope Equestria has. Super unfortunate, really."
Silence hung in the air, thick and uncomfortable.
"If this cult gets from Baltimare to Canterlot, then Equestrian culture as we know it is doomed," the commander murmured, all trace of frivolity gone from her voice. She raised her gaze to Senior Airmare Valiant Dawn. "If you want your romantic proposal, then we're leaving at dawn for Baltimare. It's time to end this."
The thought of his marefriend's delighted smile (her exclamation of Yes!, her beaming face as she walked towards him down the aisle) was the only thing that kept Valiant Dawn from quailing before the darkness in the Commander's gaze.
For what must’ve been the hundredth time that morning, Valiant Dawn frowned down at his disguise. Or, rather—his lack of a disguise. He had been gifted with a bulky sort of jacket to go over his coat, but other than that, he was completely identifiable.
The Commander, on the other hoof, was nearly unrecognizable—her aviation jacket had been traded for a rather demure woolen dress and shawl, her barley-gold hair was carefully combed into a sleek chignon, and a pair of oversized sunglasses hid her silver eyes.
“Dear Celestia,” she grumbled, as they trotted towards the edge of Baltimare (No wings! Their cult is rooted in the fruits of the earth, so we must attack from the ground). “Let’s hurry up and get this over with. I look like somepony’s rich grandmother.”
“Nopony will recognize you, at least,” Valiant pointed out, tugging at his collar. “You’re pretty famous around these parts. And all of Equestria, really.”
Easyglider’s mouth compressed into a thin line. “I’m aware.”
As they neared the center of the city, the dirt road beneath their hooves evened out, becoming wider, smoother and, eventually, cobblestoned. Though the hour was still early, many ponies could be seen milling about. They ran to and fro, some with shopping baskets held on their backs or in their arcane grasp, some with furrowed brows and looks of concentration on their face, but all of them—all of them--either heading to or coming from the central plaza.
“Brace yourself, Airmare,” Easyglider muttered, adjusting her dress. “Things are about to get messy. If we survive this…” she trailed off.
The few ponies meandering down the street had turned into a steady stream of bodies. The two undercover agents found themselves swept up in some sort of current—a veritable riptide pulling them in towards the center of Equestrian cultural destruction.
“Ma’am?” Dawn prompted, slightly worried. He struggled to remain at her side in the throng.
“Sorry, was trying to figure out if I’m in the mood for a cold brew or not.” She cleared her throat. “Alright, if we survive this, I want a triple espresso caramel latte with extra salt, some daffodils, and the largest buttered croissant in the city. That’s an order.”
Valiant nodded stiffly. “Understood, ma’am.”
The townsponies around him, Valiant suddenly noticed, all bore the same facial expression: deadened and blank, except for a deep, violent hunger boiling behind their eyes.
“Here we go.” Commander Easyglider gritted her teeth.
The pair rounded a corner, and then they were in the central plaza.
A few hours ago, Valiant Dawn had examined the city proper from a cloud, peeking at the shops and fountain through a pair of binoculars. Then, the city looked much as it always had: a few trees scattered about between historic buildings—a few in the process of being decorated for Hearth’s Warming.
Now, he hardly recognized the place.
Gone were the Hearth’s Warming decorations—what few candy canes and bunches of mistletoe that had been put up were notably absent, along with any hint that the most wonderful holiday of the year was right around the corner. It didn’t even look as though the city was preparing for Nightmare Night.
No, the streets of Baltimare merely looked as though they had been left to the mercy of a particularly nasty brand of parasprites—ones that spat out autumn-themed decorations rather than new pests.
“Holy mother of pinecones,” Valiant heard Easyglider mutter. “This place looks like a kindergarten craft fair.”
Valiant didn’t disagree with her.
Painted pinecone wreaths adorned every door, some with tiny pumpkins fastened amidst the prickly cones. Dull brown leaves—well past their prime—crunched underhoof, mixed with fake red and orange ones that appeared to be cut from cloth. And everyone—everyone--was holding some sort of orange-colored item.
“This is bad,” Easyglider muttered in Valiant’s ear. She pulled him over to the side of the street, where they were quickly pressed against the wall of a local store. “Come on, in here.”
They slipped into what turned out to be a horseshoe store. Every shoe on display was either gold or copper, many of which were engraved with leaves, pinecones, or pumpkins.
It was the same story with the clothing boutique they entered—not a single garment in view was any color other than the autumn trifecta.
“I should probably send my parents a thank-you note,” Easyglider commented as they burst back onto the street. “Being doomed to wear gold, orange, and crimson for the remainder of my natural life isn’t so bad when you’re yellow and gold to begin with.”
“I don’t mean to question your methods, Commander,” Valiant began, as Easyglider led the way towards a nearby bakery. “But haven’t we seen enough proof that the whole city’s under the cult’s influence?”
Easyglider laughed. “Why, Airmare Dawn, we haven’t even met any zealots yet! But no, we’re not looking for evidence of contamination. We’re looking for anything that isn’t—”
The smell of freshly-baked bread swept over the pair as they entered the building, tinged by the unmistakeable scent of cinnamon, nutmeg, cloves, and—
“Pumpkin,” Easyglider hissed.
Pumpkin spice bagels, muffins, croissants, cinnamon rolls, sandwiches... Everything in the shop was tainted with the seemingly-innocuous orange gourd.
“Good morning, folks!” the baker chirped, adjusting a pile of pumpkin scones in the display case. “What can I interest you in?” She straightened up.
Valiant eyed her warily. She seemed pleasant enough: short, stout, with an easy smile on her face. Her eyes looked fatigued, and she had heavy bags beneath them, but the unsettling hunger was absent from her tired gaze.
Valiant cleared his throat. “There sure is a lot of pumpkin in here,” he began.
Instantly, the mare’s face changed, losing its pleasant cheerfulness. She gestured the two of them closer. Once they were all huddled around the counter, she whispered, “It’s terrible! I don’t even like pumpkin, but it’s the only thing that will sell. The ponies won’t touch anything else—not even blueberry.” She closed her eyes. “I used to have a reputation for the best blueberry scones in all of Baltimare, and now I’m just another supplier for the pumpkin spice mafia.”
Easyglider peeked over the rim of her shades. “You don’t happen to have any of those scones left, do you?”
Nodding solemnly, the bakery mare reached under the counter and pressed something. A series of clicks met Valiant’s ears, followed by the creak of hinges. The mare disappeared from view briefly, then reappeared with an ornately-carved wooden box. With a respect bordering on reverence, she opened the lid to reveal a single, perfectly triangular golden scone dotted with deep purple blueberries.
The Commander’s eyes glazed over. “Exquisite,” she murmured, holding out a hoof. The baker slid the scone into a paper bag and passed it over. Easyglider buried her face in it and inhaled. “Smell that, Airmare?”
Airmare Dawn personally could only smell pumpkin and nutmeg, but it seemed to be an important moment, so he nodded.
“That’s what we’re fighting for, Airmare. That right there.”
Valiant Dawn frowned. “I thought I was fighting to propose to my marefriend.”
“That too,” she amended, waving a hoof in dismissal. “And also probably the cultural integrity of the Equestrian east coast. But mostly blueberries.”
“Onward?” Valiant offered tentatively.
“Onward,” Easyglider agreed.
The closer they got to the center of the city, the more difficult their journey became. Valiant soon found himself clinging to the hem of Easyglider’s dress like a timid foal, desperately trying to avoid losing her in the throng of beanie-wearing, scarf-adorned bespectacled ponies that suddenly seemed to be everywhere. Through the (suspiciously absent) lenses of their glasses, the ponies’ eyes were glossy and dull, transfixed upon a figure standing in the middle of the Grand Fountain.
Valiant almost didn’t see the mare, at first: her cinnamon-colored coat was only a shade darker than the foaming liquid swirling around in the fountain’s basin. Rather than water, it seemed as though the citizens of Baltimare had seen fit to fill their waterways with pumpkin spiced coffee.
“I’ll bet the sewers smell confusing,” muttered Easyglider. Valiant cringed and tried not to think of it.
The mare in the fountain raised her hooves abruptly, sending pale orange liquid flying into the air.
“Citizens of Baltimare!” she cried, her voice resounding through the square with a deep, powerful echo. “The spirit of autumn is free at last! No longer will pumpkins and cinnamon and nutmeg be confined to the months before Hearth’s Warming!”
Valiant Dawn froze. The mare’s voice was deepening, growing louder and louder as it rang with power. The mare’s deep red mane began to move, fluttering in an invisible breeze.
“Soon, all of Equestria will join our ranks!” she cackled triumphantly. “THE PUMPKIN SEASON WILL LAST FOREVER!”
“Commander,” Valiant hissed. “Commander, we need to act now.”
“I’m on it, doodlepop,” Easyglider replied, ripping off her disguise to reveal her signature aviation jacket. With her tousled golden mane freed from the chignon and her silver-grey eyes flashing dangerously, she strode headlong into the crowd.
Ponies parted around her like butter yielding before a hot knife. It’s the Wonderbolt Commander, they began to chatter. The new one. Easyglider. Easyglider is here!
The mare in the fountain must have heard them, because she craned her neck around excitedly. “Easyglider is here? Where?”
“So I’ve gathered you know who I am,” the Commander drawled, stepping out of the crowd. “But I haven’t the faintest idea as to what your name is.”
The mare drew herself to her full height. “I am Cinnakin Spicewalker, and my destiny is to bring the magic of autumn to taste buds all over Equestria!”
“Okay, but did your parents saddle you with that name, or is it somehow an improvement over your birth name, or what?”
Cinnakin glared. “It’s an expression of who I truly am. Cinnamon and pumpkin. Tasteful and strong, a traveler and a connoisseur! Something that appears to be a mere simple flavor concept, yet has depth and complexity beyond measure.”
“A right Renaissance mare, then,” Easyglider snorted. She took a step forward, keeping her tone light and conversational. “I also fancy myself a pony of many talents. Bit of an officer, bit of a celebrity, heck of a flyer… and unbeatable in a drinking contest.”
Cinnakin stroked at her chin—why, Valiant had no idea, since it wasn’t as though she had any facial hair to stroke.
“Unbeatable, eh?” The nutmeg-colored mare said, grinning slyly. “Would you be willing to bet on that?”
“My whole life and livelihood,” Easyglider replied, narrowing her eyes. “The first pony that can drink me under the table gets my rank, command of my team, the contents of my bank account—everything.”
Valiant Dawn pushed through the crowd towards Easyglider. “Commander, what are you—”
“Do you want to propose to your mare or not, Valence?” she muttered back. “I’m trying to do you and Equestria a solid, here.”
“Duly noted and appreciated, ma’am.”
Cinnakin slapped the water coffee in the fountain. “Alright, Easyglider. Your offer is too sweet to refuse. Well,” she amended. “It’s not as sweet as the dulcet exquisiteness of the pumpkin spice flavor profile, but it’s nice enough that I’m willing to put my Secret Spice Recipe into the pool.”
“I want full control over all pumpkin spice goods and their current manufacturers, too,” Easyglider demanded.
After a moment of deliberation, Cinnakin nodded. “Fine.” She grinned. “It’s not like I’m at any risk here. Nopony loves pumpkin spice like I do. I could out-drink you without even trying.”
“By Celestia, you’re in for a rude awakening,” muttered the commander, as she unzipped her flight jacket and hooved it to Valiance. She trotted to the fountain and jumped into it.
The two mares settled in front of each other, followed by the eager eyes of half the city. Both accepted orange-colored cups from one of the zealots littering the square. For a moment, nopony seemed to move.
“I.. I guess I’ll monitor this, then,” Airmare Dawn coughed. “Alright, on your mark—”
Easyglider slid her sunglasses back on.
“Get set…”
Cinnakin smirked.
“GO!”
The mares plunged their cups into the fountain and all but threw the liquid at their face. Both gulped down the contents in less than two swallows, then went back for refills.
Gulp, gulp.
They kept a steady, even pace—matched, drink for drink.
Gulp, gulp, gulp.
After about ten cups, Easyglider began to take an extra swallow to down the drink. She still finished at the same time, Valiant noticed hopefully.
Gulp, gulp, gulp.
The coffee almost looked pretty, the way it streamed through the Commander’s soft golden coat (a color that was quickly becoming darker, sodden as it was with fall-flavored beverage).
Gulp, gulp, gulp.
The zealots began to shift uneasily. The mares had already consumed far more coffee than should be possible, with no signs of stopping.
Gulp, gulp, COUGH—
Valiant perked up. Cinnakin Spicewalker was sputtering—hacking and coughing and spitting up like a foal who didn’t want to eat its disgusting, pre-digested canned foal food.
Commander Easyglider merely raised an eyebrow at the choking mare, finished her cup, drank another serving, and then stepped out of the fountain, stretching and beckoning Valiant over.
“Cool beans,” she said, taking a bite out of her blueberry scone. She glanced around the square at the slack-jawed zealots staring at her with a mix of awe and horror. “Okay, but y’all know this stuff tastes like recycled compost, don’t you?”
She slid back into her jacket.
“Really,” she chided, as they hung on to every word she said. “If you wanted a good flavored drink, you should try peppermint.”
Slowly, surely, the manic look of delight crept back over the face of the foiled Pumpkin Zealots.
“Commander,” Valiant whispered urgently. “What are you doing?”
“Buying myself three months of happiness and another promotion,” she whispered back, grinning. “I’m the only one on the command council that loves peppermint.”
Valiant gulped.
"And that," Soarin said happily, slamming his #1 Deputy mug on the table for emphasis. "Is why you can’t have any sort of flavored beverage within ten miles of the Academy."
Rainbow Dash stared down at the hot chocolate inside her own mug. "That seems a bit extreme,” she said plainly. “Do you guys really still enforce that rule?”
“Are you lot talking about the Easyglider Accords?” Spitfire asked, trotting into the mess hall. “Those are a riot. Tell her about the betting restrictions on officers!” she called, chuckling.
“Oho!” Soarin rubbed his hooves together gleefully. “Okay Dash, prepare yourself for the biggest amount of ridiculo—” He froze mid-sentence, frowning. Flaring his nostrils, he whipped his head over to where Spitfire stood mixing her coffee and gave a mighty sniff.
“Uh, Lieutenant? Lieutenant Soarin?” Dash waved a foreleg in front of his face, but his eyes remained transfixed on Spitfire’s #1 Captain mug.
“Spitz,” he whispered, horrified. “Spitz, I thought we were friends.”
“Hmm?” Spitfire turned around, lifting the mug to her mouth. At the sight of Soarin’s shocked face, her eyes widened. “Soarin, no, this isn’t what it looks like—”
“I can smell it, Spitfire. I can smell it.”
“Soarin, please—”
“PUMPKIN SPICE ALERT!” Soarin screeched, leaping onto the table and pointing an accusing hoof at his captain. “WE HAVE A CODE ORANGE IN THE MESS HALL.”
“THIS RULE IS ANTIQUATED” Spitfire yelped, leaping for the exit. “I REPEALED IT THREE YEARS AGO!”
Soarin shot towards her like a blue bullet, screaming, “You can’t repeal the Easyglider Accords. You can’t touch the Easyglider Accords.”
Then he tackled Spitfire out of the mess hall, across the hallway, and through a window (from the sounds of it) and Rainbow Dash heard no more.
Across the mess hall, Fleetfoot hurriedly tossed the contents of her own coffee cup out the nearest window.