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4228 25.11 KB 395
4228 25.11 KB 395
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To be a Mother by Escapade
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>You are Stormy Flare
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>Former Captain of the Wonderbolts.
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>...
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>You can hear the hushed whispers of the ponies surrounding you.
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>Your ears twitch underneath your hood, as you attempt to make out what they are saying.
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>Mentally, you can’t help but curse yourself.
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>While the years of training were still fresh in your mind, you body simply isn’t as responsive as it once was.
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>As a young mare, you would've had no problem picking up every single word that left their mouths.
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>But now — you can’t make out anything…
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>…
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>Resigning to the fact that you won’t be able to hear what they’re saying, you instead take the moment to think back to when this started.
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>…
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>It was almost like it happened yesterday…
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>Then again, that’s probably because it /did/ happen yesterday...
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>Even now, you struggle to fully register all that has happened...
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>Everything was so quick — you almost didn’t have time to catch it.
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>You were sleeping in your Cloudsdale home when, without warning, you were awoken by the sound of your bedside table being knocked over.
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>Startled by the noise, your eyes shoot open, only see the entire wall beside your window was /gone/.
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>Moments later, nearly a half-dozen large, dark stallions poured into the room, wings fully fanned.
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>Before you could even sit up in bed, three stallions jump on top of you, and pin you down.
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>You screamed as they placed a bag over your head, and strapped your wings to your trunk.
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>Within only a few moments, they had tied your legs down as well effectively rendering you immobile.
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>Only seconds later, you could feel yourself being moved quickly toward the now missing wall, before plummeting through the sky.
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>Your half-awake mind was being pumped full of adrenaline, but by then, it was useless.
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>Whatever potion they used on your wall they must have also used on the cloud bed below.
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>Undoubtably, you were free falling toward the ground far below.
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>While you attempted to break free, you couldn’t move your wings or hooves so much as an inch given the tightness of the restraints.
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>The wind pushed the bag tight to your ears, deafening you as you fell head-first toward the ground.
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>Your training started to kick in, and you found yourself counting the seconds pass as you fell.
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>One… Two… Three…
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>It should take approximately thirty seconds to free-fall from Cloudsdale, but since you started counting late, you weren’t totally sure how long it had been.
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>Thirteen.. Fourteen… Fifteen…
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>…
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>Twenty-one… Twenty two...
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>By then, your panic was uncontrollable.
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>Wonder bolt training taught you that, from such a steep, vertical fall, you /need/ to pull up, or at least slow-down by now.
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>Still, nothing but the rush of air passing by filled the sky.
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>Your instincts were starting to kick in, and you began to frantically fight against your bindings.
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>That sensation of falling while bound… any pegasus struggles with it.
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>Twenty-six… Twenty-seven…
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>Without warning, you felt something push against your chest, followed immediately by a /gut-wrenching/ turn.
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>Thirty-one… thirty two...
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>You could hear the wind brush over the wings of the pony below you.
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>Only then did you begin to realize that you were most likely strapped onto the back of one of the larger pegasus.
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>Again, without warning, you felt yourself being tossed by a number of sharp, seemingly random turns.
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>In your panicked haze, it dawned on you that they must be weaving through the forest below Cloudsdale.
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>You were silent.
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>You couldn’t scream; your lungs almost entirely denied air given your speed.
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>The flight last for perhaps another twenty seconds, before you felt yourself slowing down.
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>Soon, you felt the pony below you touch down onto the ground.
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>”Landing zone clear…”
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>A few other stallions replied.
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>”Clear…”
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>”Clear…”
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>”Step up a perimeter…”
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>A much closer, calmer voice pierced the air.
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>”Is the package secure?”
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>You felt the stallion quickly roll you off of his back, and you were caught by what feels like two other stallions.
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>Magic began to caress your coat, as the bag was lifted off your head.
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>A dark blue unicorn approached; standing over you, covered in an thick, black hood.
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>”It’s her.”
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>You tried to interrupt.
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“Who are you, what’s going on?"
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>A number of other unicorns, all without hoods, walked closer, encircling you.
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>”She’s clean…”
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>The hooded stallion nodded.
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“NO!! NO! WAIT!! Please! You have the wrong pony!"
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>”Did the repair team arrive?”
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>A random pegasus replied.
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>“The walls and bed should have been fixed by the time we touched down…”
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>Seemingly satisfied, the stallion standing over you nodded.
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>”Bag her and prep for transport, we’re on the clock…”
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>The hooded stallion, and the surrounding unicorns all turned, and begin to walk away.
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>Before you could open your mouth again, another stallion quickly placed a muzzle over your snout, and slipped the bag over your head.
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>You tired to fight your bonds again, and again, you fail.
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>The sound of a cart being pulled on the ground filled the air.
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>You tried to scream, hoping that the pony, whoever it was, could hear you.
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>Unfortunately, the muzzle made your “scream” nothing more than a muted squeal.
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>The cart continued to draw closer.
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>”Load her in, then proceed to base; we’ll debrief there."
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>You felt yourself being lifted, and then just as quickly, dropped onto a soft, cushioned bed.
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>”She’s in. ”
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>You heard a thud above you, followed by a series of locks.
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>It quickly dawned on you that you were in a trunk.
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>”… all clear…”
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>”… all clear…”
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>From inside the box their voices were practically nonexistent.
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>Then ou felt the cart jerk.
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>You hit the side of the box, and, instinctually, you began to feel yourself falling.
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>You tried to scream — tried to beg for release — but by then, the only noise was the sound of cart wheels on rock.
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>After traveling for what seemed like an eternity, you remembered being moved to a larger, more comfortable box.
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>In reality, it couldn’t have been more than a few minutes at most, probably just enough to get to a more secure location, so that they could safely transfer you.
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>By the time you were moving again, there was the distinct sound of a train tracks clattering in the background.
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>Although you were still tightly bound, you were fortunate enough to be afforded enough room to lay down without experiencing free-fall panic.
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>…
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>The train ride was much, much longer.
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>Hours passed with nothing but the ambient noise of metal wheels on metal rails.
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>Eventually, you calmed down enough to actually think, and take stock of the situation.
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>Unfortunately, there’s wasn't much to go off of.
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>You were in a box, which is presumably locked, headed to some unknown destination.
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>Even if it wasn’t locked, there was no way for you to even attempt breaking out.
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>There’s no context, or even real hint of /why/ they took you — or even who “they” are.
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>With so little to go off of, you were forced to consider why you would have been of interest to /anyone/.
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>The first thing that came to mind is your military experience; but that didn’t make much sense.
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>You’re a /former/ Wonderbolt, over a decade into retirement; there are a number of other pegasus with the near identical résumés…
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>This had to be a government raid.
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>The Wonderbolts, or whoever replaced them, were almost certainly the culprits.
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>The precision, and accuracy of their assault was well beyond anything a common criminal group could possibly accomplish.
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>Even from your time as a Wonderbolt, and performing countless exercises, /none/ of them were /that/ cleanly executed.
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>Then again, your Wonderbolts were much more frequently used as a display and drill team than as functional military unit.
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>Under this new Princess… well… that’s no longer true.
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>While you knew better than to actively aid the rebellion, you kept your hears up.
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>Word in the rains said that ponies simply /disappeared/ at night.
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>Of course, you had no way of confirming these stories, and never directly knew any of the ponies in question, so it was impossible to verify.
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>What you /did/ know was that Nightmare Moon’s forces were relentless in their persecution of the rebels; the newspapers made that all too clear.
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>Still, that told you nothing, and gave you no explanation of why you were taken.
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>...
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>It hit you.
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>Then, you remember feeling a raw, almost primal sense of dread overtake you.
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>The kind that only a mother could possibly experience.
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>What if this isn’t about you at all…
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>…
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>What if this is about Spitfire...
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>You remembered waking up in a holding cell.
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>As you slowly came to, you looked around the room and saw… nothing.
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>The room was entirely barren.
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>Not “barren” as in “no decorations,” but “barren” as in it was /literally/ empty.
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>But that’s not what caught your attention.
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>What stood out instantly was the room’s /size/.
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>It was massive.
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>To the average Equestrian citizen, that would be a pleasant surprise — after all, no one enjoys being in a closet for weeks on end.
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>But after working along side the Equestria’s security services for a number of years, you knew why large cells like this were used.
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>When dealing with… exceptionally dangerous prisoners, be it griffon special forces or powerful cult leaders, extreme measures were needed.
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>Sometimes a dozen mages were required to safely contain and control such prisoners, and set up proper restraints.
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>To put it plainly, a smaller cell couldn’t possibly hope to hold so many ponies at one time.
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>…
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>But from your experience, the fact that you were in such a cell told you that you were in a high security government facility.
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>Given the nature of your capture, there was an /extremely/ good chance that this particular base was off the books.
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>As a Wonderbolt, you knew that a few of the ponies you captured ended up going to those sites.
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>Unfortunately, you were never told exactly /where/ those sites were located.
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>…
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>You sat up slowly, and checked your wings.
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>The cell, while helpful for those particularly dangerous prisoners, was entirely wasted on a pony like you.
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>Pegasus can’t be mages, and they don’t have the raw physical size and strength of a griffon.
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>You spread your left wing, and checked your feathers for any pressing injury.
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>A Wonderbolt takes pride in their wings at any age, and you’re no exception.
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>Your inspection of each delicate appendage was thorough, and took a few minutes to complete.
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>Given your situation however, it was unlikely that stealing few minutes for yourself would be problematic.
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>Fortunately, your wings were intact.
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>A few ruffled feathers to be sure, but nothing that you weren’t able to fix.
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>As you preened yourself, your mind began to wander.
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>By now, you’d convinced yourself that this was about Spitfire.
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>At first, you thought they might be bringing you in as a hostage, hoping to force her into surrendering herself.
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>Tactics like that weren’t uncommon within the criminal underworld of Equestria, even through most avoided such extreme methods.
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>You remember your blood running cold as the second possibility came to mind.
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>What if… what if they planned to interrogate you? — To find Spitfire?
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>The idea was frighteningly easy to accept.
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>You’re her mother /and/ a former Wonderbolt yourself.
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>They probably think that you’re helping the rebels fight, and are assisting Spitfire in her plans.
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>Of course, that wasn’t true, but there was no way they knew that.
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>You felt weak.
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>You aren’t a young mare anymore.
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>If they wanted to use… extreme measures on a older mare like yourself, you didn’t stand a chance.
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>Maybe you could hold up for a few days, perhaps a week if you really tried.
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>But unless they took care, after that long, your body would start failing.
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>Free-Fall cages, waterboarding, and asphyxiation instantly came to mind.
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>If they didn't to leave a trace of their actions, those were all viable options.
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>But if they weren't concerned about your safety....
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>You'd rather not think about what methods might be used.
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>This new "Empire..."
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>You know nothing about how their military, let alone their security services function -- no pony does.
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>Slowly, you considered the idea you might /never/ see the light of day again.
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>...
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>Then again, that was already the case for most ponies.
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>You come back to reality.
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>Just as you finish re-adjusting a particularly resistant primary feather, you hear the door unlocking.
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>Your ears quickly perk up, and your eyes instantly lock on the solid metal barrier.
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>Releasing the feather from your mouth, your heart begins to race.
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>You weren’t expecting them to return /this/ quickly.
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>Quickly, you managed to sit up properly, just in time for the door to glide open.
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>While you expected a wave of ponies to come pouring in, you were surprised when only a single, relatively unimpressive unicorn enters the room.
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>You quickly scanned his body, but just like the unicorn from earlier, he's covered by a large, dark cape and hood,
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>Do all of the unicorns wear that uniform now?
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>"Hello Ms. Flare..."
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>His voice was strangely calm, if slightly ruff.
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>"It's such a pleasure to finally have the opportunity to speak with you personally..."
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>That sent a chill down your spine.
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>For a moment, you considered sticking to your training, and giving him only your name, rank, and service number.
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>You quickly decided against it.
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>That would seem like you were still in a military mindset, which would hint that you're part of the rebellion.
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>Engaging in conversation was the only choice.
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"Who are you? Why am I here?"
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>"Who I am isn't important..."
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>He replies, walking closer toward you.
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>"You were brought here as a matter of great interest to the Crown.”
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>The archaic language is… strange, but the meaning is clear, and only confirms your fears.
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"You must have something wrong, I haven't done anything, or broken any laws, I-"
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>He raised his hoof.
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>"Ms. Flare, please relax, you aren't in any trouble..."
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>”This is about your daughter, Spitfire…”
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>Your heart stopped for a second, but you managed to maintain something /resembling/ composure.
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”Spitfire?”
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>He nodded, his expression remaining neutral.
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>”Yes. If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to ask you a few simple questions.
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>Hoping to preempt his inquiry, you spoke.
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“I don’t know where she’s at if that’s what you’re asking — I haven’t spoken with her in some time.”
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>He smiled.
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>”Of course not Ms. Flare, your daughter was secured by one of our teams a few months ago…”
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>”It would actually be quite concerning if you did know her whereabouts…”
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>You practically felt the blood drain from your face.
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>Your stomach felt heavy; your legs, weak.
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>Ignoring your panic, he continued.
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>”You see Ms. Flare, I’d like to ask you a few things regarding your past, so that we can better understand Spitfire…”
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>”Your cooperation is encouraged, and will help ensure that your daughter will still be of use to the Crown in the future.”
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>The threat wasn’t lost on you, but the wording was… odd.
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”What does “of use to the Crown” mean?”
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>You carefully control your voice’s tone and tempo.
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>Given your emotional state, it was critical that you avoid sending the wrong message.
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>If you spoke incorrectly, he might not answer your question at all, or worse…
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>”I’m afraid I can’t answer that question at this time, although again, given your cooperation, you may be informed in the near future.”
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>You cursed yourself, thinking that you misspoke.
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>You were fully aware of how bad the situation was — in a box at some unknown location.
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>Odds were, no pony knows you were even taken, let alone where you were at.
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>Your daughter was being held prisoner, and your cooperation is perhaps the only thing keeping her safe.
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>The options were nonexistent.
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”If I answer your questions… you won’t hurt her: right?”
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>He nodded.
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>”That is correct.”
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>You took a deep breath.
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”What do you want to know?”
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>He retrieved a small scroll from his cloak, and a equally discreet… needle?
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>You watched as he slowly sunk the needle into his skin, just above his shoulder, before pulling it out.
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>The wound healed almost instantly; the only evidence of it’s existence being the blood left on the metal rod.
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>He spoke with the same calm, relaxed tone as before, as if stabbing himself was an everyday event.
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>”You damed Spitfire while you were still with the Wonderbolts, correct?”
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>You recoiled; your mind only barely registering the question.
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>It was a… strange question to be sure, but not particularly concerning.
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“Yes that’s correct, I was still with the Wonderbolts…”
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>He nodded, and wrote with his blood covered needle on the scroll.
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>”And were you still actively flying with your unit at the time, or were you already serving in an administrative capacity?”
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>Again, the question was strange, but not alarming.
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”I flew with my unit for the first month, but once I found out I was pregnant, I stopped, and took up the desk.”
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>He nodded.
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>”So you didn’t know you were pregnant? Was Spitfire an unplanned foal?”
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>By now, you were beginning to get suspicious.
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>After looking at him for a moment, you decided that you could risk asking a question.
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“Is there any reason why you’re so concerned about her birth? I fail to see how that’s important…”
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>He shook his head.
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>”Please answer the question Ms. Flare.”
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>With a small sigh, you replied.
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”We weren’t exactly… expecting Spitfire, no. She was our little surprise.”
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>“Failed birth control?”
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>Your ears dropped in humiliation.
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>Unplanned parenthoods, while not terribly uncommon in Equestria, are looked down upon.
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”Yes, failed birth control.”
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>He nodded, still writing on his notepad.
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>”And was it a condom, or did you use a potion?”
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>You replied weakly.
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”It was a potion.”
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>That answer caused him to write an exceptionally long note.
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>At least, that’s what you assume he’s writing; you can’t tell for sure.
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>”And Spitfire’s father was Swift Wing, correct?”
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>Your eyes went wide.
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“How do you know that?”
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>He continues to write, not looking up from his scroll.
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>”We have access to all military records and communications from before our Empress’ reign; the communiques between yourself and Swift were particularly flirtations on a number of occasions.”
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>Were they?
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>It’s been years, you don’t remember-“
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>”Please answer the question Ms. Flare, was Swift Wing the sire?”
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>You paused for a moment.
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>They probably already knew the answer anyways…
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“Yes, yes he was.”
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>More notes.
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>According to official records, he died in a flight training accident a few months before you gave birth, correct?
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>You nodded solemnly.
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>You remember that day with painful level of accuracy.
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>Getting the report on your desk…
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”Yes, that’s correct.”
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>”He wasn’t at fault for that accident as records indicate; his flight partner’s hoof-claws accidentally slit his neck…”
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>The details again, are painful to recall.
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>”That’s correct…”
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>He again takes an exceptional amount of notes.
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>”During your pregnancy, did you and Mr. Wing commonly accompany each other to bed?”
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>Good Celestia this questions are strange…
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>But if that’s what will keep Spitfire safe, you’re more than happy to share trivial, if extremely personal information.
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“What do you mean by “accompany?” We didn’t have sex very often if that’s what you’re asking….”
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>He shakes his head.
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>”Cuddling, did Swift “cuddle” you on a regular basis?”
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>…
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>You almost had to suppress a smile.
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>Your were kidnapped for /these/ questions?
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>Of all the mundane, harmless questions, /this/ was the strangest.
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>Then it crossed your mind that maybe he was delaying.
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>Maybe he was getting a baseline of your responses, so that he could more effectively ask the /real/ questions later.
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>If you remember correctly, that was something they discussed during interrogation training.
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>The interrogators would start with simple questions, /then/ get to the more aggressive, meaningful inquiry.
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>You remember having sincerely believed that you’d caught onto his plan.
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”Yes, we did cuddle regularly — almost every night if I remember correctly…”
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>More notes.
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>But if this /was/ just a test, then why was he taking notes?
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>”Were you restless while with brood? Did the embrace of a well drilled and loyal stallion help to calm your nerves?”
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>…
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>The question was so strange, you’re forced to interrupt again.
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“I’m sorry, but I really don’t see the point in-“
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>”Remember our deal Ms. Flare; please answer the questions…”
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>You closed your mouth.
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>As trivial as the questions may seem, answering them was helping to keep your daughter safe.
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>But in the back of your mind, there was an… odd sinking feeling — like you were missing something.
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>You swallowed, and tried to think of an answer.
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>Unfortunately, your pregnancy was so long ago, specifics like that have faded away from your memory.
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“I… I don’t recall, it’s been years…”
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>He nodded, seemingly understanding your inability to answer.
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>”Do you remember having trouble sleeping alone while pregnant?”
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>Oddly, that was a lot easier to remember
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>You did remember having trouble sleeping when he was late from training.
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”Yes… actually, I do recall having a hard time sleeping alone…”
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>But if that was true, then that meant that you /didn’t/ have a hard time sleeping with Swift…
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>…
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>How did he even /know/ that?
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>…
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>”And after his death, did you find other stallions or was your body only loyal to its sire?
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>Looking up, you saw him writing furiously on his scroll.
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“What do you mean?”
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>He continued to write.
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>”After Wing’s death, did you find other stallions to calm your body as you slept?
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>Your body subconsciously grows tense.
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>These questions… it’s like he’s /trying/ to humiliate you.
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>Did he want to imply that you were some sort of whorse?
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>There was no way he could have possibly known the answers to that question.
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>You could say Celestia herself held you, and he wouldn’t know any better.
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>Growing tired of his games, you chose to lie.
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“No, I didn’t. After he died, I slept alone…”
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>Realizing you may have sounded a little harsh, you continue.
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“I was… recovering from Wing’s death — I just needed some time to myself.”
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>The unicorn standing before you nodded, and wrote a small note before continuing.
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>”You do realize that lying would be considered a breech of our agreement, correct?”
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>You nodded.
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“I know that, I-“
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>”We have testimony from at least six different stallions who served underneath you during that time, all of which claim to have slept with you on at least ten, if not more occasions while you were pregnant.”
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>”They claim that you requested their company, since you didn’t want to spend the night alone after Wing died, and that “it was what he would have wanted.””.
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>Your tongue stops moving.
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>You slowly close your mouth.
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>He knew that?
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>You were under the impression they were going into his blind — after all, who cares about these questions?”
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“I…”
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>He cut you off.
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>”I’d assume that you simply had a lapse of memory, correct? Such things occur with aging mares like yourself…”
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>You knew wasn’t being sincere, you’re retired, but no where need old enough for your memory to start slipping.
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>No, he was offering you an outlet; an outlet which you /glady/ accept.
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“I… I must have forgot, yes. I’m sorry…”
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>He nodded
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>”It’s no problem Ms. Flare, I’m certain you didn’t mean to lie to me.”
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>For the first time since the questioning stared, he looked up, and made eye contact with you.
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>His gaze was deep and piercing.
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>You froze.
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>”Tell me Ms. Flare, if Spitfire was with brood, do you believe the comfort of a stallion might be helpful to her as well?”
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>…
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>The question stopped you dead in your tracks.
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>Spitfire?
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“What do you mean?”
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>Your voice was frantic.
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>”Why does that matter? Is Spitfire pregnant?”
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>For the first time, since the questioning began, the stallion looked up at you.
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>Only then did you realize just how strange it was that he /wasn’t/ looking at you.
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>His eyes were hauntingly calm.
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>You began to panic, standing to your hooves as you tried to confront him.
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”What have you done to Spitfire? Where is she?”
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>The images flashing through your mind were terrifying — insane.
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>They /couldn’t/ be true.
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>As you took your first step forward, you felt a thick presence of magic coat your hooves and snout.
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>You tried to scream, but couldn’t.
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>Again, it was only a soft, muffled squeal.
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>The stallion across from you casually rolled the scroll closed, and replaced both it and the needle into his cloak.
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>”You may take this time to relax Ms. Flare, the Empress will be with you shortly, and speak to you about how you may assist the Crown.”
by grapenut