"Everyday Life With Guardsmares"
by The Man From Another Time
themanfromanothertime@gmail.com

Written for the Royal Guard Mare thread on /mlp/

FAQ, Locations/Character List, and gag list: https://ponepaste.org/1058
Art: https://derpibooru.org/search?q=fanfic%3Aeveryday+life+with+guardsmares
(spoiler warnings apply to both links)

CHAPTER 7

> You are Artemis Sparkshower, and you are in unfamiliar skies over an unfamiliar land.
> After all, when have you *ever* had yourself a full (heaping, even) plate of mouthwatering dinner items ready and waiting to be eaten, only to simply leave it sitting on the dinner table, all alone?
> Even temporarily?
> But it was the right thing to do, because you couldn't let Honour go to the buffet all by herself, unescorted.
> Not when there were batponies and drunken sailors and overbearing fathers all marauding about!
> Besides, this way you could usher her to the best grub.
> Well, not that you'd actually *tasted* any of Their Majesties' incredible spread yet, but still -- you remembered what was available at each and every station, and you were more than ready to serve not just as her escort but her guide as well!
> And yes, maybe you could also pick her mind a bit when it came to your Very Important Pony, who wasn't actually pony, but that hadn't stopped you from becoming interested in him.
> As you wonder just how to broach that last subject, waiting in line for the second long serving table, hovering in the air and holding Honour's plate for her, to your surprise it's your comrade who speaks up first.
> "Hey, Artemis. When you were with the Royal Engineer in the ballroom after your dance and my father approached you, he didn't, uh, turn around and say anything after his parting message to me, did he?"
> Lily had already shared how she'd used a tricky little bit of magic to allow Honour -- and herself, and Purity -- to all listen in on that conversation.
> You shake your head.
"No, that was it. I think you heard everything."
> "Hmm."
> Still facing forward at the next pony in line, she furrows her brow.
> You're not surprised she was still turning things over in her head, but the Grand Galloping Gala *was* supposed to be a party.
> Was she going to fall into the same trap that Lily did just minutes ago in this same buffet line, worrying over something instead of letting go and just enjoying herself?
> Putting on a reassuring smile, you try to flutter over into her field of view.
"Don't worry, Honour. If you still want to avoid your father, I'll spot him long before he can find you. Or, if you have something to say to him, I can do that too. I'm sure Anonymous would also be happy to act as intermediary messenger on your behalf..."
> There's no reaction, so you continue.
"... I mean, if there was any doubt before, he's proven himself a real gentlecolt, hasn't he?"

> Still staring aimlessly ahead of her, she mutters in response.
> "Sure, even if he's not exactly a 'colt'."
> Exactly!
> Your face erupts into glee.
"And that's what really makes him so special, I think! He's not a pony, and he hasn't even been in Equestria for very long, and by his own admission he's been a bit of a shut-in until Her Majesty gave him bodyguards, but even so, he's observant and clever and he's figured out so much out on his own!"
> All that unmitigated swooning seems to finally pull Honour out of her daze, and she whinnies softly, smirking at you.
> "Still flying high after your dance in the ballroom?"
> You're blushing, but you make no effort to conceal it.
"Yes. There's nothing wrong with that, is there?"
> There's a brief pause where she looks you over from head to tail.
> Then her expression softens.
> "No, I suppose there isn't."
> She goes quiet, facing forwards once more, and you find yourself at a loss for what to say next.
> Did she see something?
> You discreetly scrutinize your own dress.
> Everything seems to be in order.
> It's not like you've spilled anything on it, and it still looks as lovely now as it did when Lily plucked it off the rack in that Hackney Trot discount fashion outlet.
> Even better than then, actually, since she added slits for your wings and corrected the fit for your, ahem, athletic physique.
> You pause to think for a moment.
> The line advances another few hoofsteps, bringing you one place closer to being served.
> That's when it occurs to you: Honour wasn't evaluating your *clothes*.
> She was evaluating *you*.
> Well, wasn't that what she said, after the little incident with you sticking your tuft out at the Royal Engineer?
> When it came to a possible relationship, she said she didn't think Anonymous would be receptive until he thought you'd gotten over your break-up.
> True, it hadn't been very many actual days since that date, but the long-distance nature of the relationship since you arrived in Canterlot for your VIP training had perhaps made letting go a lot easier.
> You certainly *felt* over it, ever since Thursday, and especially since arriving at the Gala, no matter what Lily said.
> And after that wonderful dance with the Royal Engineer less than an hour ago, you didn't feel *big* any more, either.
> It was a wonderful high.
> Is that what Honour saw, when she looked you over?
> A confident mare, soaring proudly on her own two wings?
> Is that why she didn't raise any objection after you gushed just now?
> She'd said she didn't think pursuing a relationship with him was a good idea, not while you were his bodyguard, but she also said that she wasn't going to stand in your way.
> The question of what your quaternion's Corporal saw in you foments a more important question on your mind.
> What did *Anonymous* see, when he looked at you?

> If he's as observant and clever as you think he is, he knows you've tried to flirt with him in the past.
> You've never come out and propositioned him -- nothing even close to what Purity did, nor had you been in a private romantic setting as Honour had, in the Canterlot Rookery's 'Well of Life' -- but you *had* made some moves.
> Moves to which he had previously been oblivious, owing to apparently them being uniquely Equestrian and not part of his people's repertoire, but given what Honour said he had learned, he surely *must* understand what you'd done by now.
> Even your unintentional incident with the Maypole dance should have been a fairly obvious early warning sign.
> He had been flattered by being asked to join you later in a ballroom dance instead, though he accepted it as a cultural activity, rather than a romantic one.
> Which was your original intent for both dance requests, or at least your original *conscious* intent.
> As attending the Gala seemed very much to be a one-time opportunity, you wanted to experience this event to its fullest, and if Huckleberry was going to stubbornly refuse to come, then you were going to ask the nearest eligible stallion to join you instead.
> But if Anonymous was still treating the Waltz as simply a window into Equestrian social customs, why the unplanned dip at the end?
> And why no reaction to your kiss, besides a smile in return?
> Wasn't he curious what it meant?
> He'd never shied away from asking questions until now.
> Was this all just innocent play to him, spontaneous expressions of elation from succeeding at a task he'd been nervous about performing, or was he actually testing the waters?
> And if he *was* testing the waters, how serious was he about moving to the next step?
> It's not as if there wasn't a lot he didn't already know about you; what more could he want to discover?
> Hurricanes, it was confusing!
> Things hadn't been this convoluted with Huckleberry, that was for sure.
> Growing up together in the same village made things a lot easier.
> It had been a much simpler relationship, too, based not just on physical attraction but on a mutual social exclusion.
> At school, he was being teased for his rough simplicity, and you for your size; finding comfort in each others' hooves was, in the end, only natural.
> And as wonderful as that natural love had been, being a heavily-teased *equus non grata* amongst village ponies your own age sure brought on its share of difficulties.
> Anonymous might be out of his element in Equestria, but he certainly wasn't a social *outcast*, and you, as an elite VIP bodyguard, attendee of the Grand Galloping Gala, competitor in the upcoming MXP Games' Grand Mêlée, wielder of the Anthony Theolonicus 'Bradamante Lance', and apparently the target of recruiting efforts both by the 1st Air Division, 3rd Armoured Battalion 'Valkyries' and the Princess-Cadenza's Regiment of Auxiliaries 1st Battalion 'Peregrines'...

> Well, you were clearly no outcast, either.
> Thinking back to how much you had achieved, how much you had grown over the past few weeks since taking up VIP duties filled you with pride.
> But the hesitation and confusion about how to approach things with Anonymous still lingered in the background.
> Purity was right; you were moving too fast.
> Why rush in?
> It's not as if the Royal Engineer was about to be scooped up by some other mare, despite everypony joking that the Grand Galloping Gala was some kind of magic dating event.
> And this wasn't a race or a competition; your Very Important Pony wasn't surrounded by a ring of other challengers for his affection.
> The important thing, and part of the reason you accompanied Honour on this expedition to the buffet tables, was to make sure that you were secure in moving forwards, regardless of the pace.
> After all, nopony could make a successful advance while their rearguard was being threatened...
> But maybe you ought to take a more cautious route to that action, too.
> Perhaps a little 'covert reconnaissance' was in order.
"Did you and Anon talk about anything interesting while we were up at the buffet?"
> Honour shrugs.
> "Not really. We spoke about the Gala, mostly. He was interested in the Palace itself, too. Basic history-lesson stuff..."
> She glances off into the crowd for a moment.
> "... I also asked him a few questions about Leeward. Nothing worth bringing up again now."
> It's really sad that she has such an awful relationship with her own father.
> You still can't quite believe it -- or that Lily's relationship is, as she claims, even worse.
> Part of you really wants to find a way to help, but you've no idea where to even start.
> Besides, you suppose it really is a personal problem for Honour to sort out.
> All you can do is be her supportive friend, like how the others supported you after your breakup, or how the whole quaternion tried to support Honour when she had her flash-flood storm with Anonymous.
> Come to think of it, you were so elated after your dance with the Royal Engineer, and Honour was so distracted by his conversation with her father, and then you were distracted again by the start of dinner, you never found out if she reconciled things with her own coltfriend!
"Did things go okay with you and your friend Sergeant Castlerook?"
> With a sigh, she steps forward as the line advances and starts to look over the offerings at this buffet table.
> "I suppose so. He agreed we could live somewhere other than Fillydelphia, transferring when both our contracts come up this summer, though he said he still wanted to give one last try at patching things up between me and Leeward..."
> Honour glances up at you as you hover close down to present her with her dinner plate.
> "... I'm not too thrilled about that, but given how Anonymous was able to put him in his place, maybe it's worth a shot."
> Wow!

> She nods as you place the plate on the table and she requests service for a few items from the kitchen attendant.
"It sounds like it could be wonderful, on both counts. There's no harm in letting him try to talk to your father, is there?"
> After her plate receives the designated delicacies, you scoop it up again in your forehooves and the two of you head over to the next table.
> "Probably not. Leeward seemed to be pretty subdued at the end of that last conversation, but who knows. Either way, I really don't think anything Alex could say will change his mind one way or the other..."
> She bobs her head sideways, her eyes widening out momentarily.
> "... Though I would've said the same thing about any attempt by the Royal Engineer's as well. Guess I was wrong about that one, too."
> This sounds awfully stormy.
> Let's redirect those dark clouds!
"Well, at least you're not wrong about what you picked for dinner, at least! This all looks great! Not that Their Majesties would put out any dud offerings."
> Honour glances up at what you're holding.
> "I don't really want much more than that to start. And I hate the lineups. The food's not going anywhere; let's just head back for now. No sense in keeping everypony else at the table waiting."
> She disengages from the line-up, and you're left feeling confused.
> Was it something you said?
> You scrutinize the Corporal's face.
> Curiously, despite apparent successes with both her admirer, Sergeant Castlerook, and her father, Leeward Bound, she was still wearing her usual frown.
> And as much as it was *usual* for her, you couldn't understand why she'd be frowning now, in a place like this, at such an event, when everything was going so well!
> It's so confusing that there's just nothing for it but to ask.
"Honour, is everything okay?"
> She sighs, but replies immediately, as if she'd expected the question.
> "It sure seems to be, doesn't it? I sorted out my troubles with Castlerook; Leeward got put in his place; I'm attending the biggest event of the year, surrounded by drink and food and friends..."
> A quick roll of her shoulders and a squirm of her plot shows off just how well her red dress fits.
> "... and I think I'm even getting the hang of this outfit, as outrageously revealing as it might be..."
> Pausing, he looks up at you.
> "... So why don't I *feel* like everything's okay?"
> You've half a mind to tell her that you think she's been 'down' so long it must look like 'up' to her.
> Classic spatial disorientation; happens to tired, cruising pegasi all the time: fly through a cloud, lose visual bearings on the horizon, unintentionally enter a 'graveyard spiral', and come out of the cloud dangerously tilted and pointing down.
> It's a good analogy for the situation, but given Honour's terrestrial roots, you decide the wiser course would be to simply land on your haunches, still holding her dinner plate, and listen.

> Honour sighs again.
> "I don't know; I really don't. I'm anxious; I feel like something's missing, or something's about to go wrong, but I can't put a hoof on what..."
> Sitting down for a moment, she throws her forehooves up in the air, exasperated.
> "... Or, buck, maybe I'm just finally losing my mind."
> TROWAL, maybe you *should* have spoken up about her always being down!
> This is worse than when she was kicking herself over making 'the wrong decision' at Newstirrup bridge.
> She was wrong to do so then, but at least she had an argument to make, however poor it might have been!
> Now she was just agonizing over her future -- a feeling which was all too familiar to you, after your blow-up with Huckleberry.
> Glancing around the sea of dinner tables surrounding you, you spot a free space and quickly deposit your Corporal's meal there for safekeeping.
> Then you step back up and around in front of the glum, red-robed brown pony.
"Whoa there! There's nothing crazy about feeling uncertain for the future. We all feel it now and again."
> She sighs again, casually looking around the room.
> "Sure, now and again."
> Looking around yourself, you see happy faces, laughter, smiles, ponies having the times of their lives.
> Enjoying themselves.
"You've done what you said you were going to do, and things are set the way they are for now. Worrying isn't going to change any of that. Let's just enjoy the night we have here before us, okay?"
> Honour lifts her eyebrows and starts shaking her head.
> "I *want* to, but I... I get in this *state* where right as I'm about to get what I've always desired, I pull back, like it's suddenly turned to poison..."
> With a deep breath, she lifts a forehoof, placing its frog against her forehead.
> "... I did it to Castlerook. More than once, even. I *wanted* him, and I knew he *wanted* me, and I just -- I just pulled back from him, I don't know why..."
> You watch a tear stream down her left cheek, even as she tries to force a smile.
> "... And now it's happening, and he's doing everything I wanted him to do, and I can't even feel happy about it."
> Closing in, you hold out your forehooves in support, and she drops one of hers into your grasp.
> You think back to all those nights you'd spent agonizing over your absentee Huckleberry.
> Even when things were all sorted and arranged properly, like the test visit to Canterlot a few months ago before you started VIP training, there was a gulf that did, at times, terrify you.
> Worse was when you wrote to him to set things up for another visit, and you would wait anxiously for a reply.
> You shake your head reassuringly.
"Because he's not here with you right now. You've set something up, but it hasn't actually happened yet. You're anxious that it might not happen at all."
> Sniffling, she tries to recompose herself.
> "Yeah. Yeah, I guess so. You probably understand that better than anypony else I know."

> You nod.
"Uncertainty about plans was one of the worst parts of being with Huckleberry. Even before I came to Canterlot, he cancelled things an awful lot. He would get really nervous about everything, always want to call things off. Sometimes it felt like I had to *force* him into going places, and that wasn't very fun, either."
> Honour nods, and there, sitting in the grand hall, surrounded by jubilant party-goers enjoying the finest culinary delicacies that Equestria had to offer, the two of you share a brief moment of interpersonal synchronicity.
> She was the Huckleberry, you realized, to her faithful Castlerook: hesitant to act, consumed by her own doubts and fears.
> And now that she *had* committed to being with him, she was terrified of it.
> Just as your 'Puddin' had acquiesced to your VIP assignment but been too scared to take the next steps.
> You let go of Honour's forehooves and reach out to embrace her in a big hug.
> Friends didn't let friends feel bad like this without support.
> In the end, you couldn't save Huckleberry, but you won't let the Corporal self-destruct like he did.
> Especially not on a magical night like tonight!
> There's no resistance from her, so you maintain the big minotaur-hug.
> And you'll keep maintaining it until she doesn't need it any more!
> 4th Armoured will always hold the line!
> That was a common motivational slogan at your previous regiment, dating back to an old battle against the dragons.
> Honour's breathing, short and pained at first, starts to calm back down to a steady, if elevated, normal.
> You hear her sigh and feel her lift a forehoof to wipe away another tear.
> "I need to step outside for a moment to catch my breath. You can-"
> Can head back?
> Not happening!
"Nope, I'm coming with you."
> As you release her, she resumes her objection.
> "But, Artemis, your din-"
"I can visit the buffet line again, and so can you and anypony else."
> The brown earth pony nods.
> "Yeah, okay..."
> Then she nods towards the nearest set of doors.
> "... Come on, over there."
> You follow behind her on all fours, pushing open a double set of arched Prench doors which open to a small basement-level stone-paved landing and, on the left, a set of stairs leading up to the main grounds.
> Honour doesn't hesitate to trot right up, and you in turn, until you find yourselves on one side of the palace's grand entrance courtyard.
> This is where the early-arrival guests had been entertained earlier, which you and the rest of the quaternion had observed from that balcony in the West wing's South annex.
> There were still a few refreshment stations here, and a few party-goers, but most of the crowd had clearly moved on inside the palace, and the extensive gardens 'behind' the main building.
> Your brown Corporal comes to a rest only once she's firmly planted all four hooves on the courtyard's trimmed grass, rather than the walkway paving stones or gravel driveway.

> That's when you notice her actually start to relax, coming down from the emotional state she'd been in.
> You watch as her hooves seem to sink deeper into the short green foliage.
> A magical connection with the ground was said to be the source of the extraordinary endurance of Earth Ponies, and there were many who believed that direct physical contact with *soil* was a way to replenish that reserve of strength.
> Some of those same ponies also believed that an Earth Pony extensively denied the opportunity to touch hooves with natural, living earth would lose their strength and wither.
> Sort of like a pegasus' wings atrophying if denied the opportunity to fly, you suppose.
> Standing on all fours with her eyes closed and ears flattened back, Honour didn't seem to so much as *breathe* the crisp spring air as she seemed to *absorb* it.
> You join her on the grass.
> Pegasi like you might not have any particular deep connection to the land like your four-limbed kin, but you sure preferred the touch of grass to just about anything else.
> Not to mention, if given a choice of surfaces onto which to crash-land...
> Well, grass was one of the obvious 'good' choices -- and the taller and thicker, the better.
> Taking a deep breath, Honour opens her eyes, lifting her ears back up.
> "Sorry. I got a little worked up in there."
> You shake your head.
"It's all right. I understand."
> She nods.
> "Yeah, you do."
> Honour closes her eyes and takes another deep breath.
> After blowing it out slowly, she opens them up again.
> After that, she just stands there, looking slightly up towards the sky.
> Well, since you're out here, you might as well join her in her silent meditation.
> You're committed to helping her; it's not as if you were going to leave until she was ready to go back.
> There's a burst of raucous laughter over closer to the main entrance doors, but you resist the automatic impulse to turn towards the source of the noise.
> Instead, you just look up at the stars.
> It's a clear night out; cool and fresh.
> A great night for flying, especially with the moon waxing gibbous and high in the sky, draping the world in silver light.
> Another loud blast of laughter from over by the entrance, harsh and throaty, and accompanied by boos in reply -- but you shut it out as you did the first outburst.
> Something's making the stars particularly pretty tonight.
> You don't think you've seen them this spectacular since Her Majesty Princess Luna visited the Royal Engineer.
> And you're not even sure if you'd actually been gazing at the real sky then, or if it was all part of some hypnotic magical illusion.
> A moment of stellar transcendence in the presence of the Princess of the Moon.
> Strange.
> Simply *thinking* of that moment seems to fill you with a sense of calm and purpose, the same as you'd felt in the live moment.

> Your thoughts turn to the other stately figure who'd been present in the room.
> He hadn't made the stars rain from the sky like snowflakes, and you don't remember him glowing brightly as you do the other *ponies* in the room, but with his calm, attentive demeanour, Anonymous stood out in his own way.
> Like a quick low-pressure front that comes in to break up an intense heatwave.
> There was just one lingering question in your mind...
> And only one pony who could answer it.
> You could do this.
"Honour, do you-"
> "Artemis, I want-"
> Oh, TROWAL!
> The two of you started speaking at the same time, but Honour recovers more quickly.
> "... Sorry, go ahead."
> You shake your head.
"No, I insist."
> Tipping her head down and pawing the ground with a forehoof, she swallows.
> "I wanted to say, if you're thinking again of going after the Royal Engineer, take it slow, okay? And keep things simple to start..."
> Then she lifts back up and looks you in the eyes.
> "... A peck on the cheek, bringing him his dinner plate, that sort of low-key stuff is all right. Ask him to the dance floor tonight, though I think he'll ask you first -- probably all of us, actually, if we're not otherwise occupied. I think he regrets not dancing when we were out on Tuesday, and that he doesn't intend to make the same mistake twice..."
> Well, that warm front certainly blows away all of your storm-clouds.
> She scrunches up her muzzle a bit.
> "... But even if things go well tonight, remember that he's not from here; he's used to looking at things a different way than us. It'll take time to establish a relationship. If that happens, and if we're still his bodyguards, I'll reign in Lily if she sees what's happening and starts laying into you; Purity too, though I imagine she'll have more discretion..."
> Taking a deep breath, she finally lifts her other hooves as she turns her body towards you -- and the stairs back down into the dining hall.
> "... But don't let anypony push things too fast -- and that includes him as well as you, okay? It'll be for your own good, and his. I don't want to see either of you get hurt, especially not when we all have to work together. That means avoiding rash moves and hasty decisions. You understand?"
> You nod, remembering Kilfeather's assertion that good-looking single ponies wake up to find themselves coupled in the morning.
"I understand. And I'll take it slow. This is actually what I was going to ask you."
> Honour snorts.
> "Yeah, I figured. I may have my troubles, but I'm not blind."
> Smiling, you step forwards and spread your forehooves for another embrace.
> She opens hers in turn and you hug each other, briefly.
> Once you both let go, she sniffs and shakes her head.
> "... Thanks, I needed that -- the trip outside, and the pep talk earlier... and even the hugs."
"It's my pleasure!"
> That's when you hear an echoing shout from over by the main entrance.

> "It'll be me pleasure to rearrange yer face, ye scurvy scalawag!"
> You turn to look, and just as you parse the basic arrangement of the scene -- almost thirty sailors, divided in two boisterous groups, grinning and rearing up on their hind hooves at each other -- your view is interrupted as five billowing dark shadows crash down on the throng of quarrelsome ponies.
> Standing atop a suddenly-flattened would-be-brawler, one of the black-cloaked meteorites throws back his hood to reveal a Night Guard helmet -- with a dark head and two yellow slit eyes beneath its armoured brow.
> "In the name ob the Prrrincess ob the Moon, jou are all under arrrrest for disturrbing Her peace. Do not rrresist!"
> Shocked by the sudden arrival, the two groups seem momentarily unable to react.
> Beside you, Honour has noticed the disturbance as well.
> "Looks like trouble."
> A couple of stragglers at the outer edges of the group scurry off, bolting for the palace, but the bulk of the two apparently rival crews stay put, turning away from facing each other, and towards the newcomers.
> One of them, near the front, reaches into his vest and pulls out a flask, quickly uncorking it and taking a swig, before tossing it to the next pony behind him, who dutifully swallows a draught of his own, passing it on in turn.
> "Oh yeah? Well, despite our rivalry, we's all of us loyal merchantpones of Her Majesty Princess Celestia, the Princess of the *Sun*, and we don't none of us take orders from murderin' blackguard *bat* ponies what worship the dark night."
> Cracking his forehooves into each other, he takes a determined step towards the Night Guard soldier, followed soon after by another sailor, and then another, then another.
> You gasp.
"Trouble? Make it double!"
> In response to the menacing advance, the five Night Guard all rear back and kick out their forehooves.
> With a familiar *snicker-snack* that's audible even at this distance, you see they all suddenly have shining steel blades now protruding from their forelegs.
> Oh, hurricanes!
> Almost immediately in response, three horns light up, a half-dozen pairs of feathered wings extend, a number of hooves holding glass tumblers smash them to make deadly jagged weapons, and a few of the sailors even reach back to their flanks, drawing knives of their own from beneath their belts or breeches.
> Thundering tornadoes!
> Weren't those ponies searched for weapons before being admitted to the palace grounds?!
> Without waiting for the next escalation, Honour launches into a gallop.
> "Come on! We'd better intervene, or somepony might wind up dead!"
> You don't need to be told twice, and flap your wings to blast off right after her.

> Except...
> Two unarmoured guardsponies wearing gala fineries against a gang of thuggish sailors and five batpony 'Star-Phase' warriors?
> What exactly are the two of you going to be able to accomplish without any of your *weapons*?
> As you barrel down on the group of armed ponies, you gulp.
> Then you grit your teeth and follow your Corporal's lead.
> 4th Armoured Regiment's motto was 'Prepared and Loyal'; you might not be prepared, but you sure will be loyal!
> Despite Honour's frequent misgivings, she's proven that when push comes to shove, she knows what to do.
> So, beware, miscreants!
> The Royal Engineer's Very Important Pony escort quaternion is here -- or part of it, anyways!




> You are Honour Bound, mere Corporal in the Royal Guard, and in just a few moments you're going to find out if you can summon up enough command authority to get a squad of Night Guard and a pack of sailors to both stand down before somepony gets seriously hurt.
> Galloping along next to you, Specialist Artemis Sparkshower turns to speak.
> "This doesn't make sense! When we met Carmen earlier, she told us the Swarming Meteors were suspended from Night Guard duty because of what Marcos did! Why are they here, now??"
> You're no expert in batpony 'Star-phase' temples, but you can spot the same attack when it's used twice.
> Either some other school has exactly the same swoop-clobbering tactic and hoof-blades, or Reverend Mother Superior Carmen Ebonshield isn't trustworthy.
> And you know where you'd place your bet.
> Okay, Honour.
> You just have to get in there, use your best "I am in charge here!" voice, and nopony will notice you're in a cocktail dress and completely unarmed & unarmoured.
> At the very least you ought to be able to cause enough disruption to delay the impending violence.
> "What's the meaning of this? Who gave you permission to charge and draw weapons, Sergeant? And you, there, you ruffians -- how dare you raise your hooves against the Guard? Back away this instant!"
> But before you can even reach the starting point, a brilliant silver pegasus colt in Royal Guard armour flutters down in front of the Swarming Meteors.
> His uniform has the single epaulette of Lieutenant Junior Grade, but more interestingly, on his right foreleg you see a familiar black band with the letters 'R.U.C.' sewn into it with white thread.
> Royal Undermountain Constabulary.
> From his angle of entry, the officer must have been patrolling with the batponies -- which meant that the Night Guard were on station at the Gala, but they were being *supervised*.
> As you arrive at the scene, you note that the sailors haven't backed away, though they did at least cease their advance.
> The officer, however, seems much more concerned with the behaviour of the batponies.
> "... Well, Sergeant? I want an explanation!"
> For his part, the batpony 'Sergeant' keeps his eyes on the drunk belligerents.
> "Teniente Naranja, dese ponies werrre yust about to-"
> The argent R.U.C. Lieutenant gets right up in his dusky Sergeant's muzzle.
> "That is not an excuse! You forget that you are under strict orders, Sergeant! You are not permitted to take action without consulting with your superior officer first!"
> Pointing down at the crumpled sailor beneath the batpony's hooves, he continues.
> "... Did you do so prior to assaulting these guests, Sergeant?"
> The batpony scrunches up his muzzle for a moment before answering.
> "No, mi Teniente."

> Vindicated, the Lieutenant turns his nose up at the batpony, then turns on his heels to face the ornery sailors.
> "Sheathe your weapons and back away, Sergeant. I will take care of this."
> He doesn't audibly grumble, but you can see the frustration written on the Sergeant's face as he nods to his four comrades and they all back away off of their victims, before pausing to re-holster their spring-loaded hoof-blades.
> Now the crowd's attention is on the officer.
> "... Disgraceful! You sailors were invited here to celebrate the anniversary of the Merchant Marine, and what do you do? Draw weapons on the Guard, after nearly coming to blows -- and for what, some trivial argument over whose ship is the fastest? I'll have you all thrown in the donjon for this nonsense!"
> For a junior officer, he's certainly got the right attitude of command, and the ponies before him do deserve a dressing-down -- but you're not sure about ragging on their argument as 'nonsense' or 'trivial' is going to help.
> Sure enough, his final statement elicits a few grumbles and jeers from the crowd.
> "Trivial?"
> "Nonsense?!"
> You even see a few forehooves go up -- with the opposing one placed in the crook of the elbow.
> "Buck you, peeler!"
> "Get lost, butter-bar!"
> "Buzz off, Jack Law!"
> That just sets the officer off even more.
> "How dare you! I am an officer of the Royal Guard, and you are guests here in Her Majesty's palace. You will respect my authority and disperse this instant! Disperse, I say!"
> His Canterlot-accented cries fall flat as the brigands start to advance on him once more.
> "Come on, lads, we'll give this stuffed hat what 'e deserves, then we'll have at the bloody bats!"
> Suddenly aware of his peril, the Lieutenant takes one step back, and that just opens the floodgates -- a moment later he panics, then bolts to take cover behind the five Night Guard soldiers he just disarmed and dressed down.
> "Sergeant, draw weapons and prepare to engage!"
> Before he can even finish barking out the order, the batponies have already readied themselves for a fight once more.
> The crowd surges forward, more energetically than when they were faced with the Night Guard alone.
> Looks like you're going to have to clean up the L-T's mess after all.
> Time for a different strategy.
> With Sparkshower at your side, you just barely intrude in-between the two groups before summoning up the salty bellow of a Fillydelphia dockside mare.
"Anyhow, everypony knows that the Tambermane is the fastest clipper ship on the Four Seas..."
> That gets you a few glances.
> Seems like you're on the right track.
"... Anypony who thinks otherwise must be a fool or a moron, and clearly needs the sense knocked into them, or maybe their teeth knocked out."
> And now you have their attention.
> The advance on the batponies and the embattled Lieutenant comes to a halting stop once more.
"... Isn't that right, Artemis?"

> You just hope Sparkshower understands the situation enough to play along -- and that she can dig down and find some source of coarse churlishness.
> "Uh-Yes! That's right! Why, I can't imagine the kind of toothless, er, scurvy-hoofed, uh, freshwater marine who would even consider any other ship for supremacy."
> Good mare.
> The sailor leading the slow charge -- a big earth-pony colt dressed in white slops with a blue jacket and a black bowler cap -- comes to a halt and faces you.
> "What've we got over here? A couple of loud-mouthed mares looking to leave the Gala with shiners?"
> Time to go 'full Fillydelphia'.
> You lift an eyebrow and sneer as you look him up and down.
"As if you could touch me. I've seen better stallions slurping sausage and taking it between the buns behind quayside bars off Front Street."
> A few jeers and guffaws call out from behind him as you can see the sailor-colt's ears start to boil.
> "You're all talk, little filly. Go on and scram."
> Now you slap one forehoof against your flank, lifting your upper lip to crudely show your teeth.
"Make me. You wouldn't last two minutes on the Fillydelphia docks. What garbage-scow do you even serve on, anyways?"
> Snorting out his nostrils, he clops a forehoof into his chest.
> "The Antelope, out of Baltimare, and she's no damn scow."
> You snort right back at him as you lie through your teeth.
"Yeah, she's no scow, but she *needs* one to haul her off. I've seen the Antelope down at the docks; she's a sickening sight, with her sails in rags and listing to port. I hear your cook spends his days in the scuppers with the staggers and jags, too."
> Accompanied by boos from some of the ponies behind him, the sailor shakes his head.
> "You've got a nasty tongue, filly. Someone ought to slap it clean out of your muzzle."
> Now, to show him you really are serious about spoiling for a fight.
> After all, it's better that the two of you duke it out with fistihooves than that the Swarming Meteors get involved with their daggers.
> With luck, beating up just one or two of them will disperse the crowd.
> This wouldn't be your first boxing match with a mariner, anyways -- just the first one since you left Filly'.
> Hiking your skirt, you rear back on your hind hooves and defiantly raise up your forehooves.
"Please. There's no way a barge as broad and fat and loose in stays like you will ever hit me."
> Scowling at the latest insult, the colt still hesitates to commit against you, so you get back down on all fours and lower your head down, scraping a hind hoof against the ground as if you're readying for a charge.
"... Come on, bilge rat! Don't tell me you're afraid to hit a mare. That's the only way an ugly picaroon like you could ever get one to stick around long enough for you to wet your whistle, anyhow."

> Your final put-down pushes him over the edge, and with the jostling, ornery crowd at his back furiously egging him on, he turns his body fully towards you.
> "Well, we were gonna teach that meddling officer and his scum batponies a lesson, but I guess we've got room for a little appetizer first. All right, foul-mouthed filly, let's dance!"
> You spare a quick glance to make sure that the Swarming Meteors and their R.U.C. supervising officer are staying back and that the crowd's focus is on *you*, before looking back at your opponent.
> He's so confident that he'll end you with just one blow, the muscled stallion simply rears back and steps forward on his hind hooves, then swings wide.

Suggested background music: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2MtOpB5LlUA (Yugo Kanno - "Il Vento D'Oro", from "JoJo's Bizarre Adventure: Golden Wind" [2018])

> Transported back to your youthful days brawling in the dockside alleys, time seems to slow down, and you're filled with a serendipitous confidence.
> The turbulent sea of confusing possibilities of what might happen in the future -- with Castlerook, Leeward, Anonymous, Fillydelphia, and more -- collapses into the straight and narrow river of the immediacy of the here and now.
> And that path is so predictable, so constrained, and so familiar that you can completely let go your worries and turn all your attention to the present.
> Unarmed combat between maritime earth ponies.
> With your newfound focus, what was just a sloppy, easily-avoided attack turns into a clownish pantomime sloth's movement.
> You don't even have to *think* to dodge; you've already ducked.
> And now that he's left himself open, how to riposte?
> Certainly, you could try for a fast knock-out as he has.
> A solid hoof to his chin, probably followed by a second, might be enough to get him flat on his back, if he's got a glass jaw.
> But you know from experience that a quick end won't impress nor rattle the crowd as well as a longer brawl.
> You need something with some meat to it, so that your fight with their stallion satisfies their own blood-lust, even if their champion loses.
> Let him take the heavy swings, then, and you'll start with a few body blows to soften him up.
> As you establish your strategy, you can almost see the steps before they come.
> Duck the clumsy haymaker, step back to draw the fighter further away from the crowd.
> Although you're putting on a show for the other sailors, it's still important to try to minimize any interference.
> You need to keep them as spectators to this petty mêlée, not participants, if you want to actually win.
> The sailor's forehoof passes well above and in front of your head, and you line up the next motion.

> Aware that you've moved back, but not yet cognisant that you're too fast for this, he takes a heavy step forward and swings wide with the other hoof.
> Already a bit tilted from the first wild swipe, his second attack is more of a proper hook but still puts him dangerously off-balance.
> You lift your head up to avoid the low-aimed blow and prepare to strike.
> As the mariner's hoof sails beneath your chin, you launch forward on your hind hooves, thrusting one forehoof out until it connects with his shoulder.
> Celestia, he's solid!
> That first forehoof finds nothing but thickly-corded muscle and bone, so you launch the other one lower, at his ribs.
> The second connection has the impact you want, and you see the colt cringe even as he lurches.
> From his careless strikes as well as your hit, he's forced to get back down on all fours, or else topple over sideways onto the ground.
> That's when he's most vulnerable, and you take full advantage, planting your own forehooves in the grass and pivoting around on them for a quick double-hind-kick.
> It's impossible to conceal such a big motion, but all he can do when he spots your red dress flying out at him is curl his flank and try to lurch away from you.
> Enough to lessen the blows, but not enough to avoid them, and you can see his cheeks puff up as your kidney double-shot knocks the wind out of him.
> Having completed the attack, now it's you who's vulnerable, your flanks exposed.
> He rears up again on his hind hooves, but having wised up to your speed, he settles for a left-hoof jab.
> You're certain a left-hoof cross is going to follow, so to mix things up you tense and lean into the first blow.
> It hurts, but it works: he's so surprised when his first forehoof ricochets off in an unexpected manner that it spoils the follow-up, sending his hoof wild.
> That creates another opening, and for more, this time.
> Starting with a single hind kick for good measure, you spin around again and pile your head forwards, butting into the back of his flank.
> The impact sends pain shuddering down your neck from your skull, but you mostly catch him in the soft spot past his ribcage, and more importantly your effort actually knocks him off his hooves.
> Struggling in the air, he flails down with his forehooves as you push through to ensure the topple, but your own hooves come up faster, seizing his torso and torquing him sideways.
> Now, instead of landing on his side, he slams right down on his back, knocking his head shortly after.
> He's on the ground, so you leap on top to pound, knocking a gaskin into his groin as you crash your forehooves down into his neck and face.
> With instincts that make it clear he's no tenderhoof, he brings his own limbs up to shield those vulnerable areas, all while trying to buck you off.

> You continue to hammer away, trying to break past or get around his guard, but you just don't have the reach, and eventually he manages to shove hard enough that you're kicked over, rolling onto your four hooves.
> Furious at having been knocked around this way, he snarls out as he rolls over and gets back up, a streak of blood trickling down from his mouth.
> "Damned whorse!"
> Them's fightin' words.
"You're in for a wreckin', jawn."
> With a shake of his head, he re-cocks his shoulders and squares up against you.
> His head might still be full of tipple, but at last now he's showing you that he actually has some fighting chops.
> Good, that'll make for a better show.
> As the two of you circle around, sizing the other up, you're momentarily brought brought back to real-time, just enough to hear the crowd's cheers and jeers.
> "Come on, get 'er, Flass!"
> "Clobber that whorse!"
> "Keep your hooves up!"
> Even better; the more they get into it as spectators, the more likely they will be to feel spent if he loses.
> You just have to make sure to achieve that ending.
> Artemis is watching observantly from the sidelines, her eyes darting between you, your opponent, the crowd, and the group of batponies, who so far haven't budged an inch.
> Even the Lieutenant seems to be caught up in the duel.
> Back to it, then -- and this time, you'll start the offensive.
> Surging forwards, you grit your teeth and watch the stallion's eyes go wide as you launch a top-hoofed uppercut at his chin.
> Turning his head, he narrowly avoids it, only to catch your cross in the neck.
> He cringes from the pain, but it's not so much that he can't react, and he squats down almost onto his haunches to lift his own forehooves for a reply.
> That might work, if you hadn't already swung your back around to start kicking him in the side.
> A heavy hoof glances off your withers as you spin, and a moment later you're once again burying keratin just past his ribs.
> But you connect with some solid hip-bone this time, which screws your recovery enough that you can't risk a follow-up.
> Recognizing his mistake in sitting down, 'Flass' stands up again and rushes forward, lifting his forehooves wide at the last moment.
> He's going to try to grab you and wrestle you down; can't have that.
> Your head still hurts from the last time, but you tune it out and push yourself to go low, hurtling forward into his attempt at a grapple.
> As his forelegs seize your barrel, your skull slams against the base of his rib-cage.
> The momentum-transfer stops you in your tracks, but you managed to keep your neck straight enough to stay planted.
> While he scrabbles to get hold of you, you thrust your neck up.
> "Argh!"
> You lift him into the air, but you can feel your strength failing -- you can't get him over this way, so you tilt your head to send him sideways.
> With all four of his limbs flailing in the air, the manoeuvre just barely works, and he flops over onto his flank.

> Turning to land the easy hits, you get a couple of forehooves in on the same hind spot you've been working so far, but then you feel a jolt of pain in your head and you have to withdraw.
> Buck, did you actually crack your skull against him?
> You blink, and your vision briefly goes blurry.
> Another blink, and you're seeing straight again.
> Still on his side, he's lethargically trying to get back up.
> You don't have the same volume of liquid courage in you that he has, which has been to your advantage so far, but if the alcohol's numbing effect keeps him from going down, that's a real problem.
> That's when disaster strikes.
> "Aw, stinkin' whorse, what a dirty move. I'll get her for ya, Flass!"
> One of the eager audience members -- thankfully, not one of the armed ones -- hustles in from behind you, aiming to grab you.
> And when one comes, another might follow, and another...
> You barely have time to feel panic at the thought of being ganged up on by more foes, when a pink-and-yellow blur goes streaking by over your shoulder.
> "DYNAMIC ENTRY!"
> The outstretched hind hooves of a spiralling Artemis Sparkshower crash into the interloper's muzzle, and she beats her wings once to come to a magnificent skidding landing on all fours, even as her victim goes tumbling back head-over-hooves, rolling through gaps in the crowd like a stray cannon-ball.
> Instantly, your pegasus saviour spreads her feathers wide and rears up on her hind hooves, menacing the crowd.
> "... Epona-a-buaidh! Sow the wind, and reap the Whirlwind!"
> Good mare.
> Really good mare.
> But maybe tone it down, lest you goad more of them into attacking.
> You've got problems of your own again, though -- Flass is back on his hooves.
> He looks steady, but as the two of you face each other once more, something about him seems different.
> It's hard to put a hoof on.
> On a whim, you stand up straight, effectively lowering your guard, goading him to attack.
> Watching you do it, he doesn't seem to know how to react.
> No, that's not it: he knows how he *wants* to react -- but he *hesitates*.
> He's finally feeling intimidated.
> Good!
> With the way your head hurts, and having already attracted one ringer, it's past time you ended this.
> You can't bait any more clumsy attacks out of him, but you can take advantage of his hesitation.
> Kicking up your heels, you charge.
> In response, he has the sense to rear up and throw out a jab to force you away, but he fails to put his full power into it.
> You weather the limp blow against your muzzle even as you rear back yourself.
> He tries to turn away, thrusting out his cross hoof in another keep-away attempt, yet once again it's just hoof and foreleg that connect, lacking the real power provided by the twisting shoulder, barrel, waist, and hips.

> The impact of that lame hoof against your muzzle doesn't faze you in the slightest and now, having pushed through his ineffective guard, you unleash your own assault.
> Pivoting on your hind hooves, you wail against him hook after hook, slamming alternating forehooves into his head, battering it back and forth like a punching speed-bag.
"Oorah! Oorah! Oorah!"
> You haven't shouted the battle cry of the 186th Fillydelphia Volunteers since you were fresh out of 'shoe camp, but somehow it just comes out naturally as you pummel your opponent into submission.
"... One-Eight-Six, Fillydelphia Volunteers! Oorah!"
> A final hammer-blow, summoned up with all your power, sends Flass crumpling down to the ground before you, landing on his rear with the rest of him flopping limply out afterwards.
> Huffing and puffing through your nostrils, you pause momentarily, still on your hind hooves, looking down to make sure he's down for the count.
> But when it's clear he's out cold, you finally let yourself get back down on all fours.
> Sweet Celestia of Equestria, you have a splitting headache.
> You need a drink -- but there was something else to deal with first.
> Turning to face the other sailors, you see sad, disheartened faces.
> Perfect.
"Ahoy, you lot! Haul your damned bilge-scum the buck out of here before any more peelers show up! Sharply, now!"
> Exchanging glances, they don't have to be told twice, and a few of them hustle forwards to pick up their fallen champion.
> Sparkshower joins you at your side as you start towards the batponies, who are still posed in front of five clobbered sailors.
".... Let them go! They won't cause any more trouble, right?"
> That last question is directed back at the former belligerents, who nod and meekly mutter affirmatives in response.
> As if on cue, the Lieutenant steps out from behind his protective wall of soldiers.
> "Ahem, excuse me, but I am in command here, and I will decide-"
> You've seen his kind before.
"Lieutenant, you can either let these five go, or you can deal with fighting the rest of that mob -- again."
> The junior officer goes silent, but his batpony sergeant lifts an eyebrow.
> "Ay am not afrrraid of such a fight."
> You point an angry forehoof at his still-extended hoof-blade.
"You should be. That's a tool for killing; you think your Great Mother wants *deaths* at the biggest party of the year? And for what, instigating a brawl amongst themselves? That's not Equestrian justice, it's a slaughter."
> The use of the batpony term for Princess Luna immediately elicits the full and undivided attention of all five batponies.
> After a moment's consideration, the sergeant nods to his soldiers, and all five back further away from their knocked-out prey.

> Even as more glum sailors come to haul fallen comrades back inside -- and probably to the nearest drinks table, for recuperative tonics -- the Lieutenant starts to sputter out protestations.
> "But... At least we should, uh, an arrest, er, we can't just-"
> You ignore him and step up to the batpony leader.
"Now answer another thing for me, 'Sergeant'. Why are Swarming Meteors on duty tonight? The Reverend Mother Superior said you were all on suspension, after what Marcos pulled."
> The blathering Lieutenant's jaw drops open wide, but the Meteor sergeant just lifts the other eyebrow.
> He looks you and Artemis over.
> "Jou... Jou arrre two of the ones he attack-ed. The Caporal Bound, and the Specialisto Sparkshower. La tierra y la pegaso..."
> Tilting his head back, he starts to nod.
> "... Now jour actions makes the sense. Jou know how we fight, so jou interbeened to stop us from killing, jes?"
> When the gears finally tick into place, he steps forward right towards you, coming muzzle-to-muzzle.
> The batpony Star-phase act of respect, opening himself up to a possible head-butt if you are offended.
> "... We Meteors have indeed been shamed by the actions of our Sixth, and rrremoved from the duties rrregular. But, this Gala, she ees exceptional. Therre would not be enough Stars to monitor the skies without us. So, a few grroups such as mine habe been allow-ed."
> That explains it, you suppose.
> If the Royal Guard was on heightened alert for some unspecified threat to the Gala, then it made sense they'd have redoubled the Night Guard patrols as well.
> Even if the biggest threat *to* the Gala was quite possibly the Night Guard itself.
> Softening his expression, the sergeant glances up at your brow.
> "... Eef jour eentention was to aboid the bloodshed, Caporal Bound, ay must tell jou, unfortunately, that you have fail-ed."
> Withdrawing from the tête-a-tête, you lift a hoof to your forehead.
> Sure enough, there's a splotch of blood on it when you lower it back down.
> You probably didn't *actually* crack open your skull against that bull of a sailor, though you clearly broke skin.
> Artemis stares up at your injury.
> "It's just a small patch, Honour. You should get it looked at, but I don't think it's bleeding quickly, if it's even still open at all."
> Well, at least the blood'll go with your red dress.
> The batpony Sergeant nods at you.
> "Jou fight with the great conbiction. Ay see now how Marcos was defeated so easily. Ay am a Fifth of Meteors, Luis Reynauldo. Jou should know, por cierto, that for his crrimes our Sixth has accepted the libertad condicional, the probation, in the serbice of las Lunares. This is an arrangement most unusual; normally, we would habe taken him and meted out the justice ourselbes within our temple, as we did with his conspirradores, but he rrefused."
> Interesting, but you don't really see the relevance.

"So?"
> Luis shrugs.
> "Ay tell jou this simply as a courrtesy. Jou habe earned my rrespect; jou should know that the one who sought jour death is free, and no longer underr the control of our temple. For now, eet ees as eef he had join-ed the Lunars."
> Then he smiles.
> "... Eef jour group will again enterr the rookery for trraining in the Grand Hall, have a message sent to me. Eet would be worth being awoken een the middle of the day to watch you again, and ay will bring others. Besides, we owe jou at least this courtesy as well."
> You do remember how every other batpony Star exited the training chamber after your group showed up.
> Purity had said that was down to antipathy against her, more than against Equestrians like you, Artemis, or Lily.
> It seems like you're making some positive waves.
> Maybe Luna's mission to the Royal Engineer wasn't so crazy after all.
"It's not up to me, but sure."
> Luis Reynauldo, Fifth of Meteors, gives you a quick bow, then, replacing his black hood over his head, turns to his commanding officer.
> "Excellenté! May we have now the permiso to rresume our patrrol, teniente?"
> The flabbergasted Lieutenant takes a few moments to pull himself together.
> "Uh... Er... Right, sergeant, move out! Sheathe weapons and resume DRAGCAP at one hundred hooves."
> Acting in utter silence, the five batponies take to the air, as the armoured pegasus officer clatters up after them.
> For a moment, you watch them go, then you turn to Sparkshower, who looks at you worryingly.
> "Are you sure you're all right, Honour? You took some awful-looking hits to your head."
> You smile.
"Artemis, honey, for the first time in a while, I think I actually feel *good*..."
> It was true.
> Maybe it was just a rebound from your breakdown, but you really did feel a lot better after bashing that colt's head in.
> Grinning broadly, you sidle up beside her and are about to hook a foreleg over her back, when you remember that you've probably got *blood* on those too.
> So you just nod at her instead.
"... Now come on, let's get to the little fillies' room so I can clean up."




> You are Lily Glamerspear, and you can't catch a break tonight.
> No sooner had your group arrived at the Gala than you were accosted by Honour's hilariously overenthusiastic father.
> And no sooner had he left than you'd all had to flee outside, skipping Their Majesties' receiving line, to avoid a repeat.
> Then Honour had split off, and that was the first departure from your Gala squad.
> Later, just when things were getting spicy from ribbing your Very Important Pony (who wasn't actually a pony) about his tastes in actual female ponies, Eb's mother had shown up to spoil the festive mood.
> The next departure came when Artemis and Anonymous peeled off as a two-pone fireteam to prepare for the Lipizzaner dance.
> That had actually been a good enough show, you supposed, and you had to admit some mischievously smug satisfaction at your little eavesdropping job afterwards.
> But when your crew was finally gathered back together, and when got your hooves on some grub, and when you were really actually starting to enjoy yourself and settle in to party-mode, Purity had pointed out that Artemis and Honour seemed to have disappeared from the buffet line.
> Your cheeks bulging with a mouthful of delicious 'Foin Cordon Bleu', you'd looked around up, incredulous.
> But as far as either you or the Royal Engineer could spot, she was right -- they were gone.
> With Leeward Bound and Carmen Ebonshield both roving around the Gala -- along with who knows else -- their disappearance was concerning.
> Enough so for the Sergeant to suggest that you go looking for them, and everyone had agreed.
> A plan was quickly devised for you and her to search the area, while Anonymous stayed back at the table to hold your seats and to await them in case they returned on the own.
> You'd felt a bit gung-ho, eager to save your comrades from certain peril.
> Some of that was definitely the rum punch talking.
> Having scoured the buffet line as well as the immediate dining room but come up empty-hooved -- and Artemis was *not* a small pony, plus Purity could recon from height -- you were starting to wish you hadn't gotten up from your dinner table at all.
> Yeah, maybe your missing two comrades were in 'certain peril' and you'd be able to ride in, their fellow quaternion members, to turn the tables on whoever had waylaid them.
> Or, y'know, maybe they'd just gone to hit up the little fillies' room.
> Purity apparently has the same thought, landing next to you after finishing a quick flap-through of the dining hall annex.
> "I wonder if perhaps they have gone to the lavatory? I could check."
> You nod.
"Sure, I mean, I dunno where else they would've gone. There's guards at the doors, it's not like they got clubbed over the head and abducted in sacks..."

> The scenario plays out in your head, and you furrow your brow.
"... Plus, I don't think either of 'em would even go down in one hit. So if there really was a scuffle, there'd have been a real commotion."
> She shrugs.
> "I agree, of course. Although, I note that the Lunars have many means subtle available to them. Still, I hope that no calamity has befallen our comrades."
> You point a hoof in the direction of the nearest servant, a bus-colt with a white apron hastily clearing a dining table to make it ready for the next set of guests who might want to sit down.
"Yeah. I got no idea where the restrooms are around here, so you'd better ask somepony like him. For myself, I'll trot around one more time for good measure and see you back at the table. Hopefully one of us finds 'em, or we'll find them waiting for us there with Anon."
> With a reassuring smile, but her eyes curiously already focused on her destination, the batpony trots off towards the bus-colt.
> The very young, fairly handsome bus-colt.
> And is Eb deliberately swaying her hips by putting one hoof directly in front of the other?
> Hoo, foal.
> Hopefully she remembers to actually ask where the washrooms are, instead of just hitting on the young palace servant.
> You leave your middle-aged colt-slaying cradle-robbing libertine master-of-assassins quaternion-mate to do her thing and turn back towards the buffet and main dining *hall*.
> They *had* to be in here somewhere.
> Squinting, you scan the crowds.
> Even though you were wearing an exquisite Louis Valise dress, part of you wished you had your highly unfashionable, but very useful, Martingale-Locksteed Mark III Air Defence Assisted Targeting helmet on.
> With the ceiling of this room being two floors tall, and with upper-storey viewing balconies all around, the Mk. 3 ADAT's zoom lens would really come in handy in a situation like this. 
> Even if it didn't go at all with your LV dress, or your hoofbag, or your mane-do, or your horseshoes.
> Eh, that last one, actually...
> You suppose some actual military equipment might go well with 'Gladiator' style sandals, in a 'Playfoal' sort of way.
> Ancient soldiers wore something like these, didn't they?
> As you're absent-mindedly looking around, a group of swarthy-looking nautical stallions comes swaggering by.
> More than a few of them spare a glance and approving smile in your direction, and you can't help but smirk and wink back.
"Hello, sailors."
> It comes out barely as a whisper, but buck, mare what are you doing?!
> After everything that went wrong with Mailedhoof, rolling in the hay with some merchant mariner is definitely not what you needed right now.
> Although...
> One of the few unicorn colts in the pack swishes his tail in your direction, before tossing back his mane.
> Mmf.

> You can see from the trace of blue light from his horn that he's helping to telekinetically carry a passed-out comrade amongst his own.
> A case of too much rum, probably.
> Unlike a ship's grog ration, the liquor dispensaries of Their Majesties' Palace of Canterlot did *not* water down the drinks.
> But that stallion helping cart off the drunk though...
> Mmmm-mmm, yeah.
> You could definitely watch that well-groomed tail go flappity-flap while the firm hindquarters it's attached to are going slappity-sl--
> "Good evening, Specialist Glamerspear."
> Buck!
> Caught 'mirin, you go stiff as a board when you hear Montgomery Mailedhoof's baritone voice speaking almost straight into your ear.
> Ponies you did *not* expect to run into during the Gala included Honour's dad, Carmen Ebonshield -- well, any batpony other than Purity, really -- and one Royal Guard Captain Montgomery Mailedhoof.
> Wasn't his family supposed to be here with him?
> As public as he'd been with you in his professional entourage, there's no way he'd cross the line of rubbing his wife's muzzle in his infidelity.
> You quickly glance around nervously, only to find he's all alone, in a well-fitted three-piece black frock coat with matching pants, a grey vest, and a rakishly-tied cravat.
> Despite him being solo, you figure you'd better start by playing innocent -- and by pretending that you were still his saltine, despite your impending termination of this soured-beyond-repair relationship.
"Good evening, Captain Mailedhoof..."
> Turning your head, you find he really is uncomfortably close in beside you.
> It's a position momentarily excusable given the crowd, but anypony watching the two of you will start to get suspicious.
> You don't know whether you should reposition to avoid that suspicion, so you just roll with his lead for now.
"... How are you enjoying this year's Gala?"
> He inhales deeply through his nostrils, his muzzle slowly browsing down the back of your neck, taking in your scent.
> That sends a chill down your spine.
> But you can't brush him off here and now -- well, not completely, anyways.
> Mailedhoof is the reason you're in this getup, after all.
> "It has its ups and downs. Some of the crowd is certainly more pleasing to the eye than usual..."
> That'd be you.
> "... But others are as unwelcome as they are unsightly."
> Uh...
> He can't be talking about his family, could he?
> Even through your brief but intense salt-lick/saltine relationship, he'd never actually *trash*-talked his wife.
> You'd always thought of somepony who simply wanted more -- or more likely, who believed that they *deserved* more.
> More than just monogamy, to be specific.
> So who's he talking about?
> All the sailors strutting about like they owned the place?
> You could imagine they might get rowdy, and the way Honour's dad trotted off to settle an argument all but confirmed it.
> But that didn't seem like enough to hate on them.

> What, did Mailedhoof lose big on last year's Army-Navy hoofball game or something?
> Before you can further ponder that question, Mailedhoof answers it with one of his own.
> "... Who was that red-dressed *bat*-pony with the black hat that I saw you with just now?"
> The way he seems to almost *spit* out the word 'bat' makes it now crystal clear the kind of creature he considers 'unwelcome' and 'unsightly'.
> And Eb wasn't the only one of her kind at the Gala tonight...
> Heck, she wasn't even the only *Eb* at the Gala tonight.
> You don't really know how to answer Mailedhoof; did Don't-Ask-Don't-Tell apply here?
> Even if it, did it matter?
> And why the buck does he care who she is?
> Especially if he's not a fan of batponies?
> Whatever.
> You don't really want to belabour the point with a colt that you're done with, so you just recite the perfunctory truth.
"She's part of my quaternion. One of the Royal Engineer's bodyguards, posted by Her Majesty Princess Luna; he got us all tickets to attend."
> Captain Mailedhoof snorts.
> "Ah yes, our dear Princess of the Night and her loyal minions. Has she been on your assignment for long?"
"No, only two and a half weeks."
> He doesn't need to be reminded that the whole tour of duty has only been a few days longer than that, or that Luna apparently wanted Purity in from the start.
> "Terrible. I'm surprised she's lasted. Didn't you complain to your commanding officer?"
> Yeah, you probably *shouldn't* tell him that by this point you've been through thick and thin with Purity Ebonshield and treat her as you would any other Royal Guardspony.
> Lucky for you, there's a truthful way out again.
"Corporal Bound raised an objection, but it got nowhere."
> "Mmm. Orders are orders..."
> To your surprise, Mailedhoof steps forward, coming out in front of you, almost muzzle-to-muzzle.
> He looks you up and down -- and your blood starts to boil when his gaze lingers on your Silver Ram.
> You haven't forgotten what he did, and how he forced you into it.
> You haven't forgiven him, either.
> What a shame that the Gala was no place for a murder, or even a good solid beating.
> Even though he'd managed to overpower you with his telekinesis in your bedroom, if you could get in a first strike when he didn't expect it, maybe you could still take him down by yourself...
> As if to shut down the very idea, the Captain shakes his head with a stern expression on his face.
> "... Well, my dear, I'm afraid you've been seen by my friends in the company of one of those *creatures*, and there's been questions asked. It's very awkward. I'm sorry you haven't got a choice in the matter; I assure you, neither do I. Of course, I'm very pleased you're here to admire at the Gala, but I simply can't take the risk of associating with their kind through you, so I'm here to tell you that we're through. I don't expect I'll see you again. Good-bye."
> With that, he gives a curt nod and strides off past you the way he came.

> What...
> What the buck?!?
> WHAT THE BUCK?!?
> DID *MAILEDHOOF* JUST DUMP *YOU* BEFORE *YOU* COULD DUMP **HIM**?!?
> THAT BASTARD!!
> and...
> and all because of EBONSHIELD?!?!?!?!
> *WHAT* kind of snobbish, inbred, blue-blooded, hawksville-jawed, bucking Sol-Invictus-worshipping, unicorn-supremacist, plothole *racist* would-
> Then you catch yourself, and remember how you first thought of the 'Sergeant'.
> Not badly enough to up and quit or start anything right then and there, but certainly enough to hold her in the highest suspicion.
> Sure, you'd been manaburning at the time, but you couldn't blame that for the entirety of your prejudice.
> After all, you didn't come up with the stories of batponies all being a bunch of fang-toothed, blood-sucking, soul-stealing, foal-napping, nocturnal villains.
> Nor had anything or anypony forced you to keep them in the back of your mind to pull out in case you saw one of the 'beasts'.
> Still, to dump *you* as a saltine because you happened to *work* with a batpony?
> That was beyond the pale.
> Hmm.
> Then again, maybe his friends had had friends in the Watchtower; ponies who had lost their lives during the secret invasion that nopony was supposed to talk about.
> But even Major-General Hoofstrong hadn't been against working with a batpony, and she had been in *command* of the fortress during that assault.
> No, this must be plain old regular garden-variety Canterlot unicorn snobbery.
> His horned peers had seen his squeeze with a batpony, and it's as good as if you'd been caught literally rolling in the mud like a pig.
> Worse, actually -- they'd at least have gotten a laugh out of seeing you in the dirt.
> As a pretty young mare who knew how to dress, and especially with your tale of defeating upstart non-noble Kilfeather, you'd been his asset in social circle.
> Now, with your association to Purity Ebonshield and the rest of her Moon-born race, you were a liability.
> So, just like that, he'd dropped you like a hot potato, without even a kiss good-bye.
> You bet Mailedhoof doesn't even really hate batponies, because you can't imagine Mailedhoof actually giving a buck about anypony who isn't a noble-born unicorn like himself.
> Well...
> In terms of you wanting to break up with the Captain, you supposed this neatly did accomplish that.
> You'd just... pictured *yourself* on top for the encounter.
> There was a dream that he'd be disappointed, maybe even apologetic.
> "No, please don't go, Lily! I can't go on living without your brilliant conversation, roguish grin, and impeccable bearing! Who else can I take to the Officers' Lounge to show off on my foreleg? And who else can I find who will possibly look that good in a Louis Valise original?"
> Mmm, that wasn't quite right.

> "No, please don't go, Lily! I can't go on living without your firm plot, tight snatch, and dexterous tongue! Who else can I take to the Officers' Lounge to show off on my foreleg? And how else will I have my balls drained when they become ever so full and laden?"
> Yeah, that's more likely.
> Ehh....
> Given that he was an arrogant, self-centred ass who could probably get just about any guardsmare he wanted, either way your dream was pretty unrealistic.
> Maybe it's better that you avoid putting yourself in the position of trying to end a relationship with somepony who had a lot more clout than you.
> It could've turned into an ugly fight.
> But at least with a fight, even if you'd lost, there would have been some bucking VIOLENCE involved!
> Some Celestia-damned physical catharsis!
> As it was, this was all unbelievably unsatisfying.
> You feel like you just got blue-beaned without even the satisfaction of a titillating build-up.
> Which kinda describes your last couple of encounters with Captain Mailedhoof, now that you think about it.
> Shaking your head, you try to clear what's just happened out of your head.
> Gotta focus on what's important: finding Honour and Artemis.
> If you keep daydreaming about sailors or dominating ex-coltfriends, next thing you know you'll have somepony else sneaking up on you, like Leeward, or Carmen.
> Swivelling your head around to quickly re-establish your bearings, you're pleasantly surprised to see three familiar ponies walking towards you.
> Well, *two* familiar ponies: Artemis and Purity.
> You mostly recognize the third as one Corporal Honour Bound, but what in Equestria has Honour done with her mane?
> And is she actually *smiling*?
> Eb calls out to you as they arrive.
> "Ah, Lily, come and see, I have found our camaradas after all!"
> You nod, still scrutinizing the Corporal's mane-do -- and you note she has a new tail-do to match, as well.
> She's unbraided both of them and appears to have had both hot-blown, too.
> Wavy and flowing, showy and glowing, her new hair now lives up to her racy outfit.
"Yeah, no kidding. Changed your mind about the braids after all, Honour?"
> That quip doesn't even get you the faintest hint of a scowl, but your energetic pegasus comrade jumps in and answers before the earth pony can reply.
> "We had to pull the braids out, unfortunately. She needed a quick wash after getting into a fight outside -- there was blood stuck in her mane and on her coat."
> You lift an eyebrow.
"No kidding, got into a scrap at the Gala? And didn't even think to invite the rest of us -- or at least *me*?"
> In another surprise for you, the brown mare whinnies with amusement.
> "Heh, I didn't invite you because I was trying to put a *stop* to some violence, not escalate it..."

> She nods her head back towards a set of doors.
> "... A bunch of sailors were about to have a scuffle outside when the Night Guard intervened, and the crews turned on them instead. Knowing what we do about batpony fighting, I figured it'd have turned into a bloodbath if we let them come to blows. So, Artemis and I inserted ourselves as targets instead. I knocked out the ringleader, while she took out his would-be backup..."
> Then she chuckles.
> "... I got some blood on me, like Artemis said, so we headed to the washroom to clean up. It's insane in there. Never mind a quiet servant at the door dispensing perfume and marely essentials like a fashionable club has; in the Gala's little fillies' room they have full-on blow-dry operators and stylists ready to administer a quick wash-n-trim."
> Artemis's eyes bulge out a bit.
> "I couldn't believe how busy it was! Dozens of mares, just sitting in a washroom, talking and working on their manes and tails! Why, when there's a whole party out here to enjoy??"
> You grin.
"Eh, if the lavatory's an event of its own, why not? And I guess it makes sense. It's a long night, ponies travel from far and wide, and even if guards like Honour's Sergeant Castlerook are posted to cut down on the unauthorized explorations, guests do get up to things and need a way to get back in order. If the place is bumping now, I wouldn't be surprised if it gets even busier once the dance floor opens up."
> Honour smirks.
> "I could believe that...
> Then she glances up at Sparkshower and then Ebonshield in turn.
> "... Anyways, I'm all done cracking hooves and heads now, could we get back to the dinner table?"
> Don't have to ask you twice.
"Yeah, sure thing."
> But who is this well-groomed, zesty Changeling infiltrator and how have they managed to replace your frumpy-frowny Corporal without anypony noticing the difference so far?
> And would they mind sticking around for a while -- at least the rest of the evening?
> Ah, but all of a sudden there's the familiar glower back on her face.
> "Wait, where's Anonymous?"
> You jerk a forehoof over your shoulder towards the main dining room.
"Holding down the fort at our table with our now-cold dinner plates, why?"
> Honour's look of concern turns to despair.
> "You left him all alone? After he talked about not wanting to be abandoned at the Gala?"
> Artemis gasps, slapping both forehooves against her muzzle.
> "Oh, no! That's right!"
> Snorting dismissively, you turn to head back.
"Ah, come on, he was only joking. Besides, we've only been gone a few minutes; just long enough to look around a bit to find you two, and heading back to him whether we found you or not."
> Apparently that isn't good enough, and Honour actually pushes by you, taking the lead.
> Unsurprisingly, second place is quickly occupied by Sparkshower, who flaps overhead to trail right behind the Corporal.

> You and Purity might as well follow at the faster pace the two of them are now setting.
> Not like you expect there's anything to be concerned about.
> How hard could it be to sit at a round table and keep four other seats empty for a quarter of an hour?
> As you finally make it around a large crowd that was blocking the view of your seats, you're thoroughly unsurprised to see the Royal Engineer still sitting down in the same chair he was when you left him.
"See, he's fine. No problem being left alone."
> It's Artemis who answers, landing in front of you.
> "He's not alone."
> Her tone's a bit cold.
> Ah, there's a *mare* speaking to him -- sitting on her haunches behind one of the chairs, rather than on it.
> A purple unicorn in a bustled blue dress, from what you can see.
> The pegasus emits a quiet grumble which grows in volume when she sees Anonymous tilt his head back in laughter.
> But it disappears once he notices your approach and gets to his feet with a smile.
> "Ah, here's my companions now, actually."
> The unidentified unicorn rises up on her hooves, and that's when you notice she's actually no mere unicorn -- she has feathered wings at her sides, too.
> While you're processing the presence of this alicorn from out of nowhere, the Royal Engineer looks your group over.
> "... I hope everything's all right?"
> Honour steps up towards the table.
> "All fine; I just had to freshen up."
> Anonymous turns down towards the purple pony -- who must be some kind of *royalty*, you realize, for her to be walking around with horns and wings at the same time.
> "Oh, good. I was just telling Princess Twilight Sparkle that we've gotten into so a number of unbelievable adventures together already, I was concerned another one was about to begin. But I guess since you're all back safe and sound we can put our next perilous undertaking off for another day."
> Geez, a Princess; guess you ought to bow?
> She's regular-size, though, not big and tall like Their Majesties.
> Well, at least a curtsy would be polite -- any noble would appreciate that.
> But before you can even begin, Princess whatshername telekinetically pulls out a scroll from a case on the belt around her dress.
> With a quill retrieved from the same location, she quickly scribbles something on the paper, then tucks her pen away.
> "I'm happy to hear it! Well, as I said, I saw an unfamiliar creature looking a little lonely at this table here, and thought -- we can't have any loneliness at the Grand Galloping Gala, it wouldn't be right! But I've got a long list of things I need to do if I'm going to officially take over planning and running next year's Gala, and I've got to get back to it. I'm sure we'll speak again, Lord Anonymous."
> Anonymous bows as she withdraws.
> "By all means, your Highness; anytime you are in Canterlot Palace, please drop by my office."

> The four of you give proper signs of respect to the cheerfully busy purple alicorn before taking your seats at the table once more.
> The food's a little colder now, but you don't doubt it'll still be good.
> Anyways you can always get up and grab some more -- the buffet line's looking a little less busy now.
> Anonymous looks happy, and so does Purity.
> But Honour and Artemis both seem concerned.
> The pegasus' attitude, you understood -- after all, the Princess was *unescorted*, as far as you could tell.
> But had Honour lapsed back into dourness?
> And what was Anonymous' take on the whole thing?
> Let's shake this tree of mystery a little and see what fruit falls down.
"So, we leave you alone for a few minutes, and you're already chatting up a Princess, huh? Guess maybe Lieutenant Kilfeather was right about the Gala being hookup central after all."
> He just laughs off your comment.
> "Oh, that was nothing; we barely said two words to each other before you all got back..."
> Then you can't help but notice his gaze drift towards the Corporal.
> "... Decided on a different hairstyle for the rest of the evening, Honour?"
> Suddenly in the spotlight, she turns her head down towards her plate, picking up her fork with a forehoof.
> "Uhh... Yes."
> Reminded of the meal before him -- and before each of you -- the Royal Engineer picks up his own cutlery in response, as does everypony else at the table, but he's still looking Honour over.
> "It looks good on you. I think it gives you a more... convivial appearance."
> Honour almost chokes on the food she's just shoved into her mouth.
> Can't take a compliment, huh?
> That's back to standard.
> Artemis speaks up, deflecting attention back towards herself.
> "That's right! And there's just something about your usual mane-style which always seems strange to me... When I was younger, the first time I saw a mare in braids was on a class trip to the old Prench fort of Deux-Rivières. One of the historical reenactors playing the medical nurse had a braid and would just constantly tug at it. I think she was a bit nervous about her performance..."
> Scooping up a heaping mouthful of 'Quiche Lothringen', she concludes.
> "... I never saw you do that, Honour, but I always wondered why you wore your mane in braids, when it looks so much better this way."
> The Corporal sighs.
> "It's just easier to manage when it's done up. Although, to tell the full story..."
> She looks around the table.
> "... I used to wear my mane and tail like this all the time. Right up until my divorce."
> Artemis gasps.
> "Oh, no. I'm sorry, Honour! You should have said something, we could have taken the time to weave it up again."
> But the earth pony just smiles as she shakes her head, wavy mane following along.
> "No, no. It's all right like this for now. Like I said, I feel a lot better."

> Anonymous reaches for a bottle of champagne that's been set in the middle of the table.
> Well, hello, that's a tasty new addition since you got up to look for the wayward pair.
> "Shall we toast your good feelings and new style, then? A sommelier came by with this while you were all off, I asked him to leave it corked until you got back."
> Deftly unscrewing the retainer, he places the bottle in his lap and pushes the cork off with his fingers.
> *POP*
> Yeah, burst that cork, colt.
> Wisps of vapour emerge from the mouth of the bottle for a moment, before he starts to dole out the bubbly.
> Honour takes her filled flute but looks embarrassed.
> "Not my hair, please. We ought to salute something greater than that."
> The Royal Engineer grins.
> "All right. I'll keep it simple, though. Here's to a wonderful evening!"
"I'll drink to that!"
> "So will I!"
> "Me too!"
> "¡And I also!"
> As everypony else lifts their glass in agreement, before tipping back and drinking a sip of *brut*, you can't help but wonder what's going to happen next.
> There was still the Games, the Royal Engineer's 'foundry' project, your sessions with the batpony Eclipse...
> And then there was tonight.
> Now that you were *officially* single, you had no intention of leaving this Gala without seriously playing the field.
> And from what you had seen, this was just as target-rich an environment as everyone had always said it was.
> Glancing over at Purity and Artemis, tonight's other two players on the 'mares' team, you wonder how well they'll do.
> Then you slyly look over at Anonymous.
> Would he pick up on Artemis' attempts at a pass?
> Or would he instead go long, and see that purple Princess again?
> Or maybe there was something else in his cards?
> Anything other than the first would hurt Artemis, sure, but then, you were just as sure you could find her a colt as well, if she struggled to find another on her own.
> Anyways, single and looking at the Grand Galloping Gala, in a Louis Valise dress?
> Yeah, this is going to be the best night ever.
> Lowering your drink, you find yourself grinning from ear to ear as you lean back in your seat.

Suggested interlude music: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ajmI1P3r1w4 (Terror Squad - 'Lean Back', featuring Fat Joe and Remy Ma [2004])




> You are Sergeant Blacks- err, no, wait a moment.
> That was the disguise you wore for the presentation of the 'Whirlwind'.
> Yes, you are Purity Ebonshield, and all this drink is clearly starting to go to your head.
> The food helps, but even so, you are feeling quite 'happy'.
> And you are greatly tempted to imbibe further, for at this Grand Galloping Gala of Equestria there is absolutely no shortage of alcohol.
> Still, you should restrain yourself.
> After all, if you go too far, then you will have difficulty enjoying the dancing later.
> Besides, there is no need to drink for mere entertainment, as there is enough of that on offer already.
> A great deal of it, in fact.
> Start with the larger show, more distant.
> The ballroom has opened once again, and from your table you can admire the traditional and formal dances being conducted within.
> An orchestra of over twenty musicians sits on a raked platform at the far end, performing for a crowd consisting mostly of middle-aged and older ponies in elegant suits and rich, ornate ball-gowns.
> There are a few junior members in the crowd as well; débutantes and other scions of the nobility, according to Lily.
> Whatever their age, the dancers flow around the room with grace, though the music is, in your opinion, rather stilted -- almost as if they are dancing to an Equestrian military march with a very rigid beat.
> The harmony of the orchestra is very pleasing, of course, but they're not playing the style of dance music you're used to, nor like what you've heard at Canterlot nightclubs, which was more familiar and enjoyable.
> You're looking forward to dancing to that sort of beat later in the night.
> Regardless, the majestic sight of so much coordinated movement is still certainly something to behold, even if it is somewhat removed from your table, and a little obstructed by the heads and hats of interposed ponies.
> And those are the next most proximate source of amusement.
> For as guests finish their meals, they begin to move from table to table, greeting each other, respectively admiring the latest fashions, and generally catching up.
> With all the furniture, it's not quite as social an environment as the grand staircase entryway and hall, but there are still many faces and outfits to be seen for a perceptive voyeur such as yourself.
> Perhaps nothing quite so exotic as your genuinely otherworldly outfit, but still, you did not stand out quite nearly so much as you expected when surrounded by so many other styles, all adorned with glittering jewellery, tall decorative feathers, fur shawls, bold capes, and more.
> You attracted attention, to be sure, and that too was amusing.

> There were several very promising candidates for dance partners later, when the music was more to your taste and your belly was not quite so full.
> And, with a certain subtlety, you have made sure to let each of those handsome colts know that they will be welcome with you on the dance floor at that time.
> Not all of them were brave enough to come by and introduce themselves, but that's quite all right with you.
> You'll remember their faces for later, and you're perfectly capable of seeking them out yourself if you run out of, or grow bored with, the more aggressive suitors.
> Ah, the beautiful game of romance hoof-loose and fancy-free.
> How hard would it really be to find a little bit of privacy later in the evening?
> Honour told all how the Royal Guard is corralling the guests in the main public areas in an effort to curb such dalliances, but there are always unguarded avenues, and the Stellar Dancers are, after all, masters of infiltration.
> A shortcut through a kitchen or closet, an unlocked second-floor window or skylight, or even an out-of-the-way lavatory...
> In the worst case, you can simply go back to your own room upstairs in the West wing, though it was quite a distance to travel just for a quick little 'encounter'.
> And besides, you ought to reserve your own chambers for the final catch of the night.
> With so many attendees visiting from far away, you doubt you'll find anyone to outright replace your young student, Gilbert Lionheart, but he was often busy with his studies at the Schola Magia, and it would be pleasing to have a 'backup colt'.
> Which brings your attention to the closest source of entertainment.
> The poor, lovestruck pegasus Artemis Sparkshower.
> It's really a bit villainous of you to enjoy this, but you can't help yourself.
> She squirms in her seat, sighing and looking wistfully at the formal ballroom dancers.
> Every once in a while she glances back at the Royal Engineer, your Very Important Pony (who isn't actually a pony).
> He's enjoying the show, too, but it's clear he knows as little as you do about the steps for these formal dances.
> And while he was perfectly happy to practice for and then perform one of them earlier, he's certainly not about to get up and make a fool of himself by struggling to learn brand new moves in front of hundreds of Equestria's gentry.
> Even worse, unlike the 'Lipizzaner Waltz' he performed earlier, almost all of these dances you're watching now are done down on all fours.
> Anonymous wouldn't even have the benefit of trying to copy other colts; he'd have to come up with his own manoeuvres all himself.
> As a result, getting up and dancing with Sparkshower was completely out of the question, and understandably so.
> Hence the frustrated squirming by your poor unfortunate pegasus comrade, who from the way her head bobbed at every beat and followed every bob and weave of the dancers, clearly did know the steps.

> She wanted to get up and dance, and who could blame her?
> The grandest social event of the year, a by-invitation-only exclusive ordinarily reserved for Equestria's gentry?
> Artemis was unquestionably a beautiful young mare, and in her adorable tea-length dress, you had no doubt that if she were to get up and dance then she would not merely meet the standards of the floor but, if accompanied by a suitable colt, actually raise them.
> As amusing as it is to taste her silly self-imposed vexation, you can't sit idly by and watch it go on any longer.
> After all, what kind of a friend are you to let this suffering go on?
"Artemis, dear, why don't you get up and join the dancing?"
> You point a forehoof at a gaggle of tuxedoed colts huddled around the bar closest to the dance floor.
> It's like a Canterlot cab stand of dance partners; a shop window with everything on display.
"... Look at all those fine young stallions eagerly looking for the next elegant mare who will allow them the privilege of leading her out onto the floor."
> From the way she writhes in her seat you can tell she's been thinking about this already.
> But in her mind she probably believes such a thing would be a 'betrayal' of her current beau, even if they're not formally attached.
> Or even informally attached, for that matter.
> You decide to go straight to the root of the problem, and turn to face the object of her desire.
"... Our little table ought to be represented in these formal dances, don't you think so, Great Lord?"
> Anonymous smiles at you, then Artemis in turn.
> "Of course! I wish I could join you again, but I'm afraid I'd make a terrible fool of myself. The music strangely familiar, but all I'd be able to do is repeat our dance steps from the Waltz, and that's clearly not what they're doing out there..."
> He chuckles.
> "... Don't let my earlier request not to be left alone stop you from enjoying the party. It was partially in jest, anyways. We're all here as private individuals, and I don't want anybody thinking they're on a leash..."
> Then he grins, lifting his eyebrow and looking around.
> "... I *am* definitely looking forward to getting up later, when the modern stuff starts. It's a lot closer to what I'm used to from my world."
> Poor Sparkshower still seems to hesitate, and she turns to her other comrades.
> "Well, if it's all right with you..."
> Glamerspear is the first to reply, blowing out dismissively as she holds her drink up in a teal telekinetic aura.
> "Pfft, of course you should go, marefriend! If you're worried about beating off unwanted suitors, I'd be happy to come with ya."
> Honour shakes her head, her recently-liberated mane flowing behind.
> "You'll be fine. This isn't my kind of dance either, but go up and enjoy yourself, Artemis. We'll keep our eyes on you from here."
> With some trepidation, the pegasus climbs out of her chair and down onto all fours.
> "Okay..."

> She takes a deep breath and scans the lingering colts in the distance, as if trying to identify a target, her ears flicking left and right as she does so.
> "... Okay! Right!"
> Having clearly made her choice, Sparkshower bursts into what begins as a marching gait, before relaxing into something formal but properly less rigid, trotting gaily over towards the dance floor.
> All four of you still seated at the table watch as she makes her way around the tables and through, around, or over, the occasional crowded bottleneck, until she stands a few hooves away from that same little herd of colts.
> She has their attention almost immediately, and seems to give them all a final look-over.
> Then she takes another bold step forward and appears to fix her gaze on a single individual.
> He's a dapper young unicorn stallion with a steely-blue coat and a brushed-back orange-yellow mane, broad-shouldered in his suit compared to Artemis with her haunches bare and just as tall as her -- though the horn gives the appearance of him being slightly taller.
> Mmm, tall, dark and handsome; she has a fine taste in gentlecolts.
> You don't know what she says, or how he replies, but immediately after that exchange she gives a petite curtsy and he a quick bow, and moments later he's leading her to the dance floor.
> And just a few steps after that, she's now a part of the fluid, elegant display.
> Honour glances over towards you, speaking softly.
> "Thanks for giving her that kick, Purity. She needed it."
> You just nod and resume your enjoyment of the show.
> It's difficult to keep a constant eye on your comrade as she sails and whirls across the ballroom along with her colt, but you do try, at least for this first piece.
> After all, you're curious to see if she sticks with the same companion for a second go-around...
> When the music slows and the dancers comes to a halt, you're pleasantly surprised to see her still standing with the same colt, waiting expectantly as the orchestra pauses momentarily to flip their music sheets to the next tune.
> Just as the musicians take up their instruments once more, that's when you hear an all-too-familiar voice speak up from behind you.
> "My dear Royal Engineer, how good to see you again! I was so hoping we would run into each other again this evening..."
> Great Mother help you!
> You are far too drunk to handle your actual mother right now.
> Putting on your most pleasant smile, you pivot in your seat along with everyone else to once again greet Carmen Ebonshield, Reverend Mother Superior of the Children of the Stars.
> You don't have to turn far, for after a quick introductory dip, and faster than your VIP can get to his feet, she strides over to Sparkshower's vacated chair.
> "... Please, please, don't get up on my account. May I join you?"

> Without waiting for any more answer than the absence of a frown, she immediately seats herself and tucks right in, clasping her forehooves together with a smile before spreading them wide on the tablecloth, as if holding court.
> Holding court is what she generally does in the Rookery and on the Moon, so why not here, too?
> Even with the friendly, casual veneer she's presenting at the moment, her imposing presence is enough to make Glamerspear straighten up a bit in her seat.
> With a faint smile, Carmen looks around the table before settling her gaze on Anonymous.
> "... Well. It seems I owe a number of debts to you and your entourage, my Lord..."
> Raising her eyebrows, she shoots a knowing glance at Honour, and then at you, before shaking her head and lifting her eyebrows.
> "... I must confess, I am beside myself with shock at the events which have transpired this evening. But let it not be said that I am incapable of admitting my own faults or of trying to remedy them, though of course I must first pay penance and seek absolution..."
> Inhaling deeply, she faces the Corporal, turning her forehooves frog-up and bowing her head in a posture of supplication.
> "... My child, I am deeply in your debt for your actions on the front lawn. I shudder to think at what tragedy might have resulted if Reynauld's Swarming Meteors had been unleashed upon those unsuspecting Equestrian sailors, and your timely intervention saved not only lives but has also prevented a scandal that might easily have ruined this wonderful evening..."
> Tilting her muzzle back up, she continues.
> "... And, if you'll forgive a little brutal honesty -- I'm afraid I must blame it on the free-flowing drink -- such an incident would certainly have been a considerable setback for the Great Mother's goal of reintegrating our peoples."
> The stoic Corporal doesn't seem to quite know what to say.
> "Uhm... You're welcome, Your Reverence. It was nothing; I saw the potential for trouble, and I dealt with it."
> Is that a hint of rosiness in her cheeks?
> Will this earth pony forever be embarrassed to take a compliment?
> Carmen titters with amusement at the reply.
> "Ohh, but you are too modest! You must know that I consulted privately with Lieutenant Orange afterwards, and he expressed his appreciation. The Fifth of Meteors also spoke most admiringly of your prowess. By his account, you completely outplayed your opponent..."

> Reaching out a forehoof, she gestures at Honour's mane.
> "... And, lo! You've come out of that brawl looking, if I may be so bold, even more stunning than when the evening began! What a beautiful mane you have; you really must consider wearing it down like this more often. And how well it goes with that lovely red dress! I can't imagine why you're not already surrounded by suitors eager to ask you to the dance-floor. Don't tell me you're so demure as to turn the poor gentlecolts away? I'm sure your coltfriend, that handsome Sergeant, wouldn't mind his mare being exhibited in the ballroom for all to properly appreciate."
> Your brown comrade's cheeks become a little more red.
> She has to clear her throat before answering.
> "It's not really my thing, your Reverence."
> Carmen nods as if she understood everything implied by that sentence absolutely perfectly -- which, given her considerable information network and expert skills at personal manipulation, might actually be the case.
> "Well, perhaps I have something more to your liking. Carlos?"
> At her command, the same young dark-grey moustached colt you saw her with earlier approaches the table with a rectangular wooden box tucked under one foreleg.
> Sitting down on his haunches, he pulls it out and presents it, removing one of the sides with a forehoof to reveal a large wine-bottle inside, surrounded by straw.
> Making sure she has the attention of everyone present, Carmen gestures at the offering.
> "This is a *magnum* of what I consider to be the Moon's finest *cava*, the word we give our sparkling wine; it means 'cellar', since of course the wine must be cellared to become bubbly..."
> Everyone leans in to take a closer look, yourself included.
> Is it the vintage you think it is?
> "... Grand Mountain sparkling wine, aged fifteen years. On the Moon, you know, wines and beers are considered precious because of the amount of water required to produce them, as well as contained within the finished product. Distilled spirits such as 'Maestro Cazador' are the preferred tipple of the lower phases, owing to their reduced water content and therefore price. We Lunars reserve gifts such as 'cava', which requires additional water, time, and labour, for only the most deserving of individuals and occasions. I think you will find this Grand Mountain vintage is more than competitive with the best Prench Champagnes."
> Yes, that's the good stuff, all right; but was that a direct attack on your prior choice in smuggled liquor?
> You can't help but riposte.
"It would seem Your Reverence has come to the Gala bearing more than just pretty mares and handsome colts with which to woo the Equestrian elite."

> As you expected, she isn't fazed in the slightest by your irritated outburst.
> "Of course! One mustn't come seeking favours without bringing gifts. But this is for you, as well, Stellar Seven. I owe you a great apology; far greater than I could repay even with all the sweetest wines of the Moon..."
> What is she talking about, now?
> With a deep sigh, Carmen raises one forehoof towards you, then drops it defeatedly back down.
> "... You were right, my daughter. You were right, and I was wrong..."
> This is a joke, right?
> You've never heard her admit being wrong before.
> "... It was a mistake for me to try to subvert the Great Mother's wishes by manipulating her into taking one of my Lunars for the Royal Engineer's bodyguard. I thought I was improving our chances at progressing integration by preventing someone untrained and unprepared for diplomacy from being assigned here on the surface, and yet here we are. There have been troubles, yes, but even so you have done more in these few weeks than I could have imagined happening for months..." 
> She's playing again, acting.
> This is not sincere; it can't be.
> "... An Equestrian soldier who rushes to rescue Stars from their own inadequacies. Batponies openly attending the Grand Galloping Gala. Equestrians who come freely of their own will into the Rookery, to converse with our Rocks and our Stars and our Eclipse, to trade and to train, bringing gifts and opportunities..."
> Carmen indicates the Royal Engineer.
> "... And the prospect of Rocks coming to the surface to aid in an Equestrian project, as well. All of this, without any command or instruction, let alone scheme or grand plan..."
> Your mother, her coat almost unrecognizingly bare of the chalky makeup she has worn for your entire life, looks at you ruefully, her speech slowing from her usual rapid patter.
> "... The Great Mother's blessing is upon you, my child, whether you know it or not. There is no other explanation. I bore the blessing when I correctly predicted Her return and secured my place at the top of the Lunar hierarchy. I thought that would stay with me forever, and in my arrogance I have lost it..."
> A tear escapes her left eye, and she brushes it away with a forehoof.
> "... I know I am very demanding, and I have asked a lot of you, Purity. I never approved of your choice to live as a Star. And when you refuse me even the slightest thing, I am sinfully filled with wrath. I have commanded outrageous things be done against you in my vengeance. And yet here you have given the Children more than I could even have conceived of asking for..."

> Taking a deep breath, she sighs.
> "... I'm not going to pretend I'm capable of stopping my petty schemes and manipulations; they're simply in my nature. And I'm not going to beg your forgiveness here and now. But I am sorry, my child. I am sorry for what I've done, and I'm stunned and ashamed at what great strides have been made in spite of me, rather than with my help."
> You cannot deal with this right now; not with your mind so foggy from alcohol.
> Evaluating the truth of anything Carmen said was difficult enough without also being a little drunk.
> Then again, she was more than a little drunk herself as well -- though that too, could be faked, and she had a greater tolerance for the stuff than you did.
> Best to just change the subject to something more immediate.
"I see. Well. I suppose we can speak of this more later. I take it having delivered your apology and the cava you will now be off to entice some other elder statestallion in the name of the Children?"
> Carmen whinnies, tossing her head back and actually *slouching* down a little in her chair.
> "Oh, no, I'm spent for the evening. I'm not the young mare I once was, you know; and anyways, the crowd of 'elder statestallions', as you say, is growing thin. They, like me, are forced by age to retire earlier than you young foals and fillies. And I'm afraid my own talents are rather disadvantaged when dealing with youth..."
> With a chuckle, she points at the table's own white-label champagne bottle, and her companion Carlos quickly reaches over to pour her a dollop into one of the unused glasses surrounding the floral centrepiece.
> Looking frankly exhausted -- you've never seen exhaustion under her eyes before, not with all the makeup she always wore -- she tips back and downs the glass in a single mouthful, before signalling for another.
> While that's being sorted for her, she looks over at you and a wry smile appears on her face.
> "... But what's this I'm hearing? Say something else, my dear. In Equestrian."
> Eh?
"Huh? Say what? I don't understand what you mean, Reverend Mother."
> Lifting her eyebrows, she starts chortling uncontrollably, looking all around at everyone else.
> "Ohohoho! Don't tell me I'm the only one who hears it? No?"
> As the second serving of champagne is presented to her, she lifts the glass, still laughing.
> "... My dear darling daughter, you are skilled without equal in a great many things, but your Equestrian has always left something to be desired. Understandable, of course, for as a Star you were not extensively trained. Yet here you are, a few hours after we last met, speaking now without an accent and without any of the errors in grammar so common to our kind when they use the Solar tongue..."
> With tears in her eyes, she takes a drink.
> "... You must be absolutely hammered. Ahaha!"
> Flabbergasted, you turn to your companions for confirmation.

> Anonymous nods pensively.
> "You know, now that your Reverence has pointed it out, I can hear it, too."
> Impossible!
> Lily chimes in as well.
> "Hey, yeah. Your accent's gone. That's pretty funny."
> Even Honour shrugs and nods at you.
> This is absurd!
> Liquor can do a great many things, but it can't suddenly make you speak proper Equestrian, err... speak the Equestrian proper -- wait, which order are the words supposed to be in?
> You clearly need to lay off drinks for a little while.
> Just how much alcohol is in this special celebratory 'rum punch' drink, anyways?
> The fruit juice must be masking the bite.
> Still giggling at her revelation, Carmen sits up straight again and sets her glass down, once again appearing to hold court.
> "Now, I just have one more item I would like to discuss. I see that Specialist Sparkshower is enjoying herself on the dance floor, and we've already discussed Corporal Bound's present situation. My dear Purity, I know you're unfamiliar with these formal Equestrian routines, though I'm sure you've already got your keen eye on several choice stallions for later. But Specialist Glamerspear? How is that so luxuriously-accoutered a mare such as yourself does not have a handsome colt to hang on her foreleg and dote on her every need?"
> Lily swallows, before licking her lips.
> "I'm actually taking a break from playing the field right now."
> Your mother feigns shock.
> "Heavens! Don't tell me some tragedy has befallen your love-life?"
> The unicorn narrows her eyes before replying.
> "Something like that. Not that I'd say 'no' if the right colt came along, but I'm gonna play things slow for a little while."
> Reverend Mother Superior smirks knowingly.
> "I see, of course. You must forgive my prying; it is one of the responsibilities for a Reverend Mother to play 'matchmaker' for the Children of their House, particularly the Stars and Lunars who are required to breed as instructed, but we also help facilitate matches for Rocks and Dust as well, and this is a duty which I absolutely relish. Sizing up potential mates, determining who would be happiest with whom, and calculating which pairings will produce the finest of offspring -- it's a grand, complicated game, and I do very much enjoy games -- and the more complex, the better..."
> She grins, turning to the Royal Engineer.
> "... Which brings us to the final member of this table. Come now, my Lord Engineer: tell me you've already had several proposals this evening from eligible members of the landed gentry. Or at least, given your proclivity for military affairs, a fine young officer or two -- a Captain, at least, or perhaps a Major."
> Singled out once again, your VIP can't help but chuckle.
> "I'm afraid I'm flying solo at the moment, your Reverence."

> Carmen sighs.
> "Tragic. I accept that you refused one of my nubile young Lunars and declined Purity's offer, but you must allow me to help you in this matter as best I can. I assure you I have made several contacts of interest already; all I need is the information to better understand your Lordship's pleasures."
> Now Anonymous' chuckle turns into laughter, and Lilly guffaws behind a raised forehoof.
> "It's not the first time I've been asked to explore that topic tonight. I'm not sure if a second interrogation will yield much better results than the first."
> With a sly expression, Carmen looks over at the unicorn.
> "I see. It's good to know your guardsmares are on top of things when it comes to your best interests. I suppose the best I can do is make a few more proposals of my own..."
> Picking up her wine-flute, she swirls the champagne around a little bit, watching the bubbles precipitate.
> "... Upon reflection, the landed gentry are likely to be too provincial for someone who wishes to industrialize Equestria. You need someone more urbane; an heiress, perhaps, to a brewery or distillery, or a mine or mill. Something largely self-sustaining, so she can give you and your projects the attention they deserve..."
> Tilting her tufted ears, she taps a forehoof against her chin.
> "... A military mare would still be a good match, I think. You are trying to bring a new, higher order to the Equestrian economy, and as a capable military is also well-regimented but forward-looking, a proper officer should appreciate and support such an endeavour..."
> Taking a sip, she licks her lips.
> "... Or perhaps you aspire to loftier heights? We have not yet conversed at length, true, but I judge you a fine gentlecolt from what I have seen so far. You are learned, with an impressive physique as well. And I understand you have formed a close relationship with the Equestrian diarchs, particularly Princess Luna..."
> You can't help but snort out as soon as you realize where she's going with this.
"Reverend Mother!"
> Carmen only purses her lips slyly.
> "What? Am I not the head priestess of our Great Mother? Am I not obligated to tend to her every need? And she is a mare, with a mare's needs..."
> Leaning forwards, she lowers her voice.
> "... Believe me, I know. Her Majesty has, at my urging, availed herself on several occasions of the services of my prime Lunar stallions. But the lamentable truth is that she restrains herself to an unhealthy infrequency, probably out of some desire to not overindulge to excess. I think it would be far better for her mental state if she had a single, dependable partner to rely upon for her needs, both physical and emotional."
> You can't believe you're hearing your mother propose this openly.
> The shock of it makes you even ignore the fact that she has just casually spilled a very secret detail of the Great Mother's private life.

> Your jaw hangs down, and when you glance around the table, you see bulging eyes and open mouths all around.
"You would endorse the joining of Anonymous and Luna?"
> The Reverend Mother Superior gives the slightest of shrugs.
> "Why not? Not to insult the Lord Engineer, but I can certainly think of worse matches..."
> Carmen licks her lips, gesturing dismissively with one forehoof.
> "... It's no secret that the Great Mother has difficulty communicating with us, her Children. After all, we developed on our own for a thousand years while she slumbered in torpor. She made us physically, yes, but our society is alien to her, and this saps her confidence in dealing with our issues. Even Equestria has changed in ways she doesn't recognize, and this makes things worse as she's without any stable base besides the support of her sister -- which is considerable, to be sure, but still a very narrow platform..."
> She looks at you.
> "... You've spent some time in her company, and the Stellar Dancers are mystics who profess to understand the Great Mother through asceticism. Surely you have noticed these issues as well."
> You furrow your brow.
> She's not *wrong*.
> Yes, the Great Mother sometimes appeared unsure, probably in part because of the reasons that the Reverend Mother has described.
> And you would be overjoyed to see your people's Goddess paired up with a handsome stallion who could live up to the very high standards expected of him.
> The Royal Engineer might just fit that bill, and personally you did not see anything wrong with the Great Mother pairing up with any creature at all, provided they were worthy.
> But you found it impossible to understand how Carmen could make this proposal.
> You remember her eagerness to trigger the invasion when Nightmare Moon awoke, how she spoke of the dream of a world dominated by your kind, with other breeds serving at best as second-class citizens, and all other intelligent creatures relegated even further beneath.
> You remember, too, her almost complete breakdown when the invasion failed and Nightmare Moon was 'reduced' -- that had been Carmen's choice term -- to Princess Luna.
> Perhaps she really has altered her goal to be the successful integration of batponies into Equestria, but you can't imagine that she has completely abandoned her racist principles.
> She was unquestionably a batpony supremacist; and this was no surprise, for batpony supremacy was part and parcel of everything taught to foals in the crèche.
> The Children of the League of Stars were the predestined rulers of Equestria and of the whole world.
> The Children were smarter, faster, stronger, and purer, than the Equestrians could ever hope to be.
> The Children would win because the Moon is harsh, producing a hardy breed with strong institutions, while the Equestrians had grown soft in their lush paradise.
> They were weak, and the weak should tremble before the strong.

> This was the dogma all foals of the Children were made to take to heart, yourself included.
> It was only when you joined the Stellar Dancers that Master Draxon was able to open your eyes to recognizing that truth was not to found in the repetition of absolutist mantras and simplistic arguments of supremacy.
> You never fully appreciated that lesson while he was alive, but afterwards were infinitely grateful, for it deadened the impact when the inconceivable news arrived that the invasion had failed.
> The Shadows, Dust, and Rocks were also fortunate; they may have had this fanaticism drilled into them in the crèche, but in the absence of reinforcement in their mundane daily lives, they soon lost it like a useless appendage.
> But for the other Stars, and worse, the Lunars?
> The invasion's failure was apocalyptic, and many of them were still struggling, two years later, to come to terms with reality.
> And that's why you were perplexed that Carmen, of all Children, would ever accept, let alone propose, not merely a non-batpony, but a complete non-pony, as a suitor for the Great Mother.
> You knew she was a creature of very few scruples, but surely this was a line she was incapable of crossing while still maintaining her supremacist beliefs.
> And you refused to believe she had abandoned that supremacism.
> As these deep thoughts continued to tumble about in your half-drunken mind, it's Anonymous who comes to the rescue by grounding the conversation once more.
> "Your Reverence advances a number of intriguing ideas. I appreciate the offer of your services as a, uh, facilitator in these matters, but I'm in no rush. I've been in love before, and I find it's best to let things happen naturally."
> Carmen appears half-frustrated at being denied and simultaneously half-amused for the same reason.
> "Hmph. Well, let no-one say I didn't try. As for letting things 'happen naturally'..."
> Downing the rest of her champagne, she delicately flutters out of the chair and back onto all fours, smirking.
> "... I suppose all I can answer is that I am curious to see where this magical night of nights leaves you in the morning. I do hope you awaken with a warm and supportive presence beside you. And with that, I bid you all a good evening; I shall retire to the Rookery..."
> After a graceful bow, she waves a forehoof at the boxed bottle of sparkling wine.
> "... Carlos will deposit my gift at your office, my Lord, so that you needn't be burdened with keeping track of it tonight. I don't dare try to upstage Their Majesties' cellars, and there will be an occasion for you all to enjoy it in the future, I'm certain."
> With a bow of his own, her colt closes the box and places it back under one foreleg, before bowing again and following the Reverend Mother Superior off towards the main hall.
> There's a long silence at the table.
> Carmen does have that kind of effect on things: sweeping in like a tornado, leaving destruction in her wake.

> Anonymous puffs his cheeks and blows out loudly.
> "Your mother sure is something, Purity."
> It's the understatement of the century, and it completely wipes away the troubling thoughts you'd been having.
> You can't help but laugh and relax into enjoying the pleasant vibes of the Gala once more.
"Yes, she is."

Suggested interlude music: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=889H0Am7vFo (Axwell - 'Feel the Vibe' [2005])




> You are Artemis Sparkshower and this is what you've always wanted.
> Here you are, in the ballroom of Canterlot Palace, at the Grand Galloping Gala, in a beautiful dress, dancing the night away.
> There's a live orchestra playing a lineup of mostly waltzes with a few lively polkas and two-steps thrown in for some excitement.
> And, to crown it all off, there's a handsome colt dancing with you.
> Pleasant-faced, broad-shouldered, well-trimmed, and sharp-looking in his tailored tailcoat and starched collar.
> He's tall, too -- tall enough to look proper next to you, from you could tell in your stolen glances towards the thin mirrors that hung between the row of doors to the main hall.
> You couldn't fly any higher if you tried.
> So why didn't you *feel* like you were flying high?
> Yes, you were enjoying yourself, but you felt strangely unfulfilled, and as a result a little distracted.
> Not so much that you missed a single hoof in dancing, though; not even with this relatively unfamiliar two-step.
> It was a pretty recent dance craze sweeping the ballrooms of Equestria, and you hadn't had a chance to learn it yet.
> Your companion clearly knows the moves, though, and he leads you easily through despite your inexperience.
> He doesn't say a word, not that he needs to -- he's good enough with his dapper-shod hooves that you get the motions implicitly.
> It's a bit incredible; you don't think you've ever been so effortlessly guided at a dance before, not even when you first were led around the floor by your coach, back in school.
> Certainly Huckleberry never managed anything like this, but that was a low hurdle to steeplechase over.
> You had often led him for the first few times with each new dance.
> It could take him a while to get him to a point where he was competent enough to take the reins, but you had been willing to put in the effort.
> In the end, when he was able to lead you, it was always worth it.
> Maybe this present ease you felt was just from being generally more experienced, even if not in this particular promenade?
> And how many times had your current partner wordlessly taught the two-step to a mare?
> That thought nags at you a bit.
> Not that you had presented yourself to him with any expectation that this interaction should go any further than the ballroom, of course.
> This was you stepping up to get what you wanted out of this event.
> Now you can tell everypony back in Berry that, on top of everything else that had happened on this assignment, you were also led around the dance floor at *the* Grand Galloping Gala by a handsome unicorn colt.
> Probably a member of the nobility!
> Not that that really mattered to you, but who knew?
> Sure, you hadn't been properly introduced.
> And sure, it seemed like you weren't the first novice he'd introduced to the two-step.
> But wasn't it wonderful and magical all the same?

> You take a breath, and for a moment you drop the smile you'd been wearing.
> He doesn't seem to notice, perhaps taking that for an expression of struggle to follow along in the movements.
> The next guiding push is very slightly firmer than the last.
> Even though you couldn't keep your face up, he makes sure you don't miss a beat when it comes to your hooves.
> He really is good at this.
> You glance over at the group of colts you'd picked him out from.
> In the blurred vision imposed by the the quick, bouncing motions of the energetic dance, they all blend together, a flock of largely identical and interchangeable stallions.
> Sure, some were shorter and some were taller, and some where broader or narrower, and some had their manes up while others had them down, but did it really make a difference?
> Thundershowers, you didn't even know his name!
> But wasn't that on you?
> You hadn't asked, and he hadn't ventured.
> You'd just curtsied and said, "Good evening, sir. Would you care to lead me to the floor?"
> And he'd replied with a smile and a bow, "Certainly, madam, it would be my pleasure."
> It hadn't been *cold*.
> Only... *lukewarm*.
> And maybe that's what was sapping your enjoyment.
> Skilled and handsome as he was, you simply had zero emotional connection to this colt.
> Yes, this was fun and the environment was beautiful, and you were learning a new dance, but without a connection it didn't feel special.
> You had hoped to be doing this with somepony you *knew*.
> They didn't have to be a fantastic dancer; that wasn't the point.
> The Royal Engineer had made a few missteps during the Lipizzaner Waltz, forgetting which move came after which, and you had been the one to lead the recovery, but that had still felt better than this.
> Even dancing with Huckleberry and his four left hooves could feel better, when he was putting confidence and effort into it.
> Gosh, you might almost be happier to dance with one of your own comrades; not in the romantic way, of course, but you wouldn't be the only mare-pair on the floor, and at least you'd be having fun with someone you knew.
> Maybe you ought to start the ball rolling on connecting with this handsome stallion?
> Other couples around you were talking; you could hear and see them.
> But how to break the ice?
> Your momma always said you couldn't go wrong with a nice compliment.
> After a quiet bridge by the woodwinds, the band starts into a reprise of the marching tune's main theme, signalling an impending end to the piece.
> That'll be your time to strike; you focus on the steps as you wait for the big finale, and the pause before they start the next tune.
> The brass takes up the theme once again, louder than the last, repeating the final notes before going quiet.
> There's a brief polite applause from the dancers and lookers-on.

> You make sure to give your partner a warm smile.
"That was lovely. You're very good at this."
> His own smile is modest but appreciative.
> "Thank you. Do you dance the Wheatstone Post Two-Step often?"
> He knows you don't; he's being polite.
> And he's very tactful in his phrasing: asking how often, instead of how many times, or how much.
> You shake your head gently.
"Not as much as I'd like to."
> He glances over towards the orchestra; following his gaze, you see one of the performers start to set up with a small square concertina.
> Then he turns back to you.
> "I think a tango will be next. Would it please you to continue, Miss...?"
"Sparkshower."
> You curtsy again, and he gives the same polite bow as when you first met him, only this time he lifts up your right forehoof in his own.
> "Charmed, Miss Sparkshower. I'm Pacesetter."
> Okay, that's step one accomplished.
> Still not enough to feel a connection, but at least now you can say you had a good time dancing with *Mister Pacesetter*, instead of just a nameless colt in a white-tie tailcoat.
> There's still a little time for some more talk before the next dance starts.
> Your mister of the moment sets up to be ready for the music.
> "Do you tango as often as you two-step?"
> He sure doesn't waste any time.
> Which, you reflect, isn't a problem; the orchestra won't be around all night, and you'd really like to do some more ballroom dancing before the modern stuff begins.
"More so..."
> You can't help but blush a bit as you set up facing him.
"... though still not as much as I'd like."
> The tango wasn't exactly a popular dance in back-country Berry; you'd only been exposed to it after joining the Royal Guard and quartering closer to metropolitan Cloudsdale.
> You'd attended a few raucous nights out with the rest of your battalion when timing or weather just didn't work out for visiting Huckleberry.
> "I'm certain the orchestra will provide us a few numbers this evening before wrapping up, even though some elders still frown on it as scandalous. Is it popular in your circles?"
> It takes you a moment, but you realize the question he's asking isn't about the tango.
> He wants to know what society you come from -- what place, what people.
> That puts you on edge a bit.
> A well-mannered and impeccably-dressed unicorn colt, who had been clustered with a gaggle of similarly-immaculate peers?
> Surely he had to be from some well-heeled Canterlot family?
> Maybe not major nobility, since you didn't recognize the name, and he didn't introduce himself with a title -- then again, maybe so, since they didn't always like to flaunt it, and he might not be a direct inheritor.
> And against that possibility, here you were an ordinary common soldier?
> Okay, maybe not *ordinary*, but still common -- as in common*er*.
> Would that be good enough for a gentlecolt like him?
> Did it matter, in the context of simply enjoying some dancing together?

> You heard a joke once that "You can't get somepony being *you*, you gotta *lie* to get somepony!" but that wasn't something you were prepared to do.
> He's waiting for an answer.
"I'm afraid I'm still a little new to Canterlot, so I'm not sure."
> You decide to keep it simple: you do live in Canterlot right now, and you are a little new, and you haven't gone out ballroom dancing in Canterlot until now.
> It's not the whole truth of the matter, but it's no lie.
> The accordion and the strings begin to play their sharp-edged tune, and in a moment, Pacesetter takes you off.
> You're a lot more familiar with these steps, and it shows.
> Not for a moment do you hesitate or doubt about what he wants you to do.
> He picks up on it, too, and leads you into more complicated moves, which you easily follow.
> But the tango's really not that hard; even Huckleberry got it quickly.
> You glance over towards your table, spying the tall Royal Engineer chatting with somepony on his left, but you can't make them out through the crowd.
> It was a shame he didn't feel comfortable stepping out here with you -- or with anypony at all, actually.
> True, he'd made some mistakes in the Lipizzaner Waltz, and that was after a lot of practice, so to a certain extent you understood his reluctance to venture out onto the floor again, untrained in anything else.
> After all, he'd only really started dancing with ponies a couple of weeks ago.
> Well, he'd said he would get up when modern nightclub-style stuff started.
> You had that to look forward to, at least.
> The night was still young, and full of opportunity.
> Your partner dips you sharply, and you can't help but beam with pleasure as the two of you execute the gesture without any trouble.
> As much as you used to get hung up about your size, and got teased about it, it wasn't like you were genuinely too large to be handled by an 'ordinary' colt.
> Not even by a unicorn, often considered the physically 'weakest' of the three Equestrian races.
> Though you *did* still feel obliged to select the tallest colt out of his group of doppelgangers.
> That thought makes you glance back over towards your Very Important Pony again.
> He's plenty tall enough for you.
> What was it Lily said she'd fantasized about while she was mana-burning?
> Being clutched under one arm, couched against his hip, defended by his shield while she let rip with her missiles?
> Not quite what springs your wings, but you understand the appeal.
> "Have your eye on somepony over there, Miss Sparkshower?"
> The unicorn in front of you catches you looking.
> Time for another incomplete truth.
"Just my friends. We're watching out for each other tonight."
> Pacesetter raises an eyebrow.
> "Is this your first Gala? I've never heard of it being anything but safe. With the exception of last year, I suppose."
> Honour didn't mention anything strange happening last year, when she was on duty.
> She was stuck in a guardroom, though.

"You were here? What happened?"
> He sniffs a bit.
> "Nothing serious, just a lark with a few smashed decorations and some spilled food. They kept it out of the papers, but I'd dare say it livened up the mood. The Gala could use a bit more of the avant-garde..."
> His eyes light up a bit.
> "... Will you be staying for when the musicians retire in favour of the turntables?"
> It's obvious he's looking forward to that style more than this formal dancing.
"I plan to."
> Yet he *knows* ballroom, which means he's been *taught*, which means he probably *is* from a well-to-do family of some sort.
> Then again, you'd been taught as well, and your family was definitely not well-to-do, so what did that say?
> He's very well-mannered, but you knew how to behave cordially as well, so that was no help in pinning him down.
> Nor for him to pin you down, either.
> Actually, upon reflection, he hadn't actually confirmed that he'd been at the Gala last year, only that he knew what happened.
> Oooh, hailstorms!
> Things hadn't been this complicated Tuesday night, when you were being swarmed with colts who didn't seem to care about your social status or your breeding or even that you were wearing a baroque tartan to a hip nightclub.
> That had really been something else, and you're still not quite sure you understand what happened.
> You'd felt just... open.
> Open to talk, open to flirt, open to dance, open to intimacy, open to *anything*.
> And every colt around you seemed to sense it.
> Was it some animal instinct?
> Or was it some kind of subconscious alteration to your gait, your gaze, your posture, your movements?
> Whatever it was, it had taken a very conscious effort to hold yourself back.
> You hadn't dared allow yourself to step out on the floor.
> If you had, you'd felt certain it would inevitably have ended up with you in bed with that colt.
> Maybe not even in bed; just in the washroom, beast-with-two-backing it in a toilet stall.
> And you're pretty sure it wouldn't have stopped with just one.
> From the way they were all coming on to you, you don't think they were able to resist at all, either.
> You *had* wound up getting fairly physical with several of them just standing there.
> 'Light petting', Cosmoponitan magazine called it.
> Things progressed to even 'medium petting', at points, even if you had shut that down quickly before they could get out of hoof.
> Thundershowers, just thinking about that night sends something up your spine -- and down your hind legs, too.
> It couldn't have just been the alcohol or the exhilaration of victory; it had to be another side-effect of your 'temporary abomination'.
> Just like how you had gotten sick at dawn, or had strange dreams of eating & drinking, or the way you'd got so righteously angry that you threatened to run Songwell through without any provocation.

> And while it was terrifying to feel your inhibitions drop out from under your hooves, you had to admit the animal magnetism that the 'echoes' of the Accursed Shadow had bestowed on you had certainly been effective.
> How many calling cards did you ultimately wind up stuffing into your belted plaid?
> More than enough to make any mare jealous, you were certain.
> Imagine being able to attract colts like that anytime you wanted!
> 'Attract', or maybe 'lure'?
> Aggression, dreams of eating meat and drinking, being able to attract colts as if by magnetism?
> It hadn't escaped your notice that there was something predatory about all those things.
> Both Ignacio and Ebonshield had described Accursed Shadows as predators of a sort.
> Feral creatures, thriving on fear, feeding on the life of others.
> And, having been possessed once, even if in a controlled situation, made you more susceptible to being possessed again...
> What would the third, the tenth, the fifteenth time look like, if you kept training with Lily?
> How many more sessions would she need to figure out exactly how to blast those horrible things out anypony, and then completely out of this world, like a professional?
> With all this running through your head, you barely notice that you're being dipped and the music has stopped.
> Pacesetter lifts you back up slowly, then releases you and gives a bow.
> He looks over towards the orchestra and begins to applaud.
> You follow his gaze.
> Wait, they're packing up?
> Not just the accordion-player, but the whole band?
> The conductor is inviting all the players to stand and bow even as servants are clearing stands and papers.
> Just how long have you been deep in your own thoughts, pondering everything while flying through tangos like some clockwork automaton?
> Still foggy coming out of the trance, you join in the applause as well.
> When that dies down, your partner turns back to you.
> "It's been my pleasure to dance with you this evening, Miss Sparkshower. I hope the feeling is mutual. Would you care to continue together after the changeover?"
> Oh.
> He wants to keep going?
> That possibility hadn't crossed your mind at all.
> You had nothing against him, but what about the Royal Engineer?
> Honour and Eb had both cautioned you to take it slow.
> ... Although you're not one hundred percent certain if Purity wasn't *also* talking about if you ever had to stab him.
> She seemed to rather intimately link sex and violence in the way that she spoke.
> Anyways, back to Pacesetter and being honest but coy.
"I promised somepony in my group I'd help them get warmed up on the floor to start, as they're very new here. But after the first few tracks, maybe?"
> After all, why not keep enjoying yourself with this unicorn colt?
> Maybe you can learn some more about him, and see what he can learn about you, and besides, you don't want to smother Anon.

> Plus, hadn't Lily mentioned that envy was a powerful tool for catching a date?
> You could work it both ways, on Anonymous and on Pacesetter...
> Then again, it could *also* backfire on you, if you saw Anon dancing with anyone outside of your quaternion.
> Just have to keep your cool about it; not like when you spotted him speaking with Princess Twilight Sparkle.
> Your partner smiles and bows again.
> "Certainly. I understand how the Gala floor can be intimidating..."
> He nods towards the same flock of colts where you first found him, still roosting up against the wall, in the corner of the dance floor.
> "... If we don't find each other, make enquiries with my group there. Ask for Albert."
> Albert Pacesetter?
> It still doesn't ring any bells, but at least now you have a full name to go on.
> You decide to keep things on the level, and point back at your table.
"I will, Albert. And likewise, you may ask for Artemis over there."
> Like a proper gentlecolt, he lifts up your forehoof and bends to kiss it, then releases and backs away with another bow, before turning to return to his gang.
> You'd better go collect Anonymous if you want to start him off with the opening modern dance.
> Things sure do seem to move quickly at the Gala, in more ways than one -- just as you'd been warned by one Lieutenant Valiant Kilfeather.
> It was apparent that as much as he was capable of deplorable deeds, that colt did often know what he was talking about -- the Gala, the Games, combat in general...
> By the time you arrive back at your table, the crowds of tired, older guests have thinned out, replaced by throngs of younger ponies eager for a hipper beat.
> The rearmost tier of the raked orchestra stand has already been converted into a simple stage and sound booth.
> Hip-looking ponies with baggy pants, backwards-turned baseball caps, and rows of gold chains around their necks are already wiring up the station's equipment.
> "LAAAAAAAAAAADIES AND GENTLECOLTS!"
> The crowd erupts into a cheer as one of them takes up the microphone.
> "... WELCOME TO THE MAIN EVENT!"
> Hurricanes, that's loud!
> Louder than a hurricane, actually, and they haven't even plugged in all the speakers yet!
> You step up besides your VIP, but before you can proposition him he gets to his feet.
> "Artemis, you're back just in time! I hope you didn't wear yourself out before I could punch your dance card!"
> Perfect!
"Not at all!"
> A seat over, Lily grins and salutes you by raising her nearly-empty champagne flute.
> "All right! Let 'er rip, you two! Let's see some real moves! Woo!"
> Purity gives you a quick nod as well, though she seems busy scanning the room and looks about ready to bolt from her chair.
> Doubtless she's already picked out her first target and is just waiting for a clear avenue of assault.
> Gosh, she's got you thinking in stabby terms for her finding a partner, too.
> Or maybe it's just the liquor.

> Honour just gives you a look that you can't really read.
> Then she smiles briefly.
> "Have fun out there."
"Thanks."
> Before you can get another word in, the loudmouthed MC starts up again with the microphone.
> "NOW TELL ME, ARE Y'ALL READY TO GET DOWN?"
> There's a youthful cheer, and forehooves thrown in the air.
> No wonder all the stiff-upper-lip elder gentlecolts scrambled away so quickly.
> They're even dimming the chandeliers and setting up disco balls!
> Anon tosses his hat back at the table; he says something, but you can't make it out over the crowd.
> "NAW, NAW, NAW, COME ON! I CAN'T HEAR Y'ALL! I ASKED IF Y'ALL ARE READY TO GET DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWNNN?"
> The cheer is so loud this time you impulsively flatten your ears against your head to muffle it.
> What was that Honour had said about last year's Gala being ridiculously loud?
> You really hope that wasn't about to be repeated.
> You wanted to feel the beat, not be deafened to it!
> "AWWWW YEAH!"
> There's a brief pause while the MC turns around behind him, only to get a hooves-up from the DJ at the discs.
> "YEAH, WE READY! BUT FIRST, I GOTS TA INTRODUCE SOME *VERY* *SPECIAL* *PONIES*. SO LET'S START BY GIVING IT UP FOR THE VERY LATEST ADDITION TO THE ALICORN ASSOCIATION, THE PURPLE PONY OF POWER, THE ELEMENT OF FRIENDSHIP, HER HIGHNESS PRINCESS TWILIGHT SPAARRRRRKLE!"
> At his cue, the DJ blasts straight into an energetic dance tune.

Suggested background music: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ecrf9uoHSTc (2 Unlimited - "Twilight Zone" [1992])

> The very alicorn that Anonymous had been speaking with appears on-stage, stepping up next to the bowing MC.
> She waves to the crowd, and there's another, greatly subdued cheer of approval as people seem more interested in starting to dance.
> Even the MC is starting to groove up on stage, and seeing this, Her Highness begins bouncing a bit, too.
> It looks a little awkward, but then it gets even worse when she closes her eyes, rears back, and starts just flailing with her forehooves, barely in time to the beat.
> You're really not the judgemental type, but that's *terrible*.
> She must not have any rhythm at all.
> "YEAH, YEAH, YEAH, FEEL THAT BASS, YEAH!"
> The MC bounces around even more, encouraging her to keep going hard.
> They make quite a pair, off-tempo Princess and a colt with a flat-brimmed baseball hat so big it seems like he could just tuck himself completely up into it.
> To say nothing of the heaps of chains that might just weigh more than your whole armour set, or the baggy pants that were big enough for you to to use as a caparison.
> And does he still have the shiny label sticker on his hat?
> Who does that?
> Well, at least nobody should feel awkward starting to dance after that performance.

> Finally, after following after Anon through the crowd for what feels like an eternity, he manages to stake out a free square.
> You land on your forehooves, and immediately the Royal Engineer turns around to face you, a broad smile on his face.
> He starts bobbing and weaving to the beat, and you join in as well.
> Now this is more like it!
> These motions are unrefined, and scarcely coordinated between the two of you, and yet somehow you feel a closer connection with Anon then you did with Mister Pacesetter.
> It'll be hard to rip yourself away from this to find Albert, but you'll have to do it -- for your own good.
> Your new bipedal partner kicks it up a notch, and his gradual abandonment of restraint is infectious.
> Pretty soon you find yourself flailing almost as wildly as the very pony you'd just been criticizing up on stage.
> Then the MC butts in again.
> "YEAH-YEAH-YEAH AWRIGHT! ONCE MORE FOR PRINCESS TWILIGHT!"
> There's an even milder applause, mainly because everypony is too busy getting down to dance, but Anon at least stops his arm motions to join in polite clapping, so you do too.
> Her Highness looks almost relieved to be leaving the stage.
> The DJ mixes in a new track as the MC continues.

Suggested background music: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6jJkdRaa04g (Yello - "Oh Yeah" [1987])

> "AND NOW Y'ALL IT'S TIME FOR US TO GIVE THE HIGHEST OF PRAISE, THE BIGGEST OF CHEERS, THE PINNACLE OF APPRECIATION, TO THE ABSOLUTE STARS OF THE MAIN EVENT. LET'S HEAR IT FOR THEIR MAJESTIES PRINCESS CELESTIA AND PRINCESS LUNA, OHH YEAH!"
> The crowd erupts in a deafening cheer, and there's some kind of commotion near the stage.
> Anon cranes his head, his brow furrowed, before breaking out into a smile and a laugh.
> You turn and have to flap a couple of times to get high enough to see what's going on.
> The two sister-princesses are slowly being pulled out onto the dance floor on an extravagant quadriga-style chariot drawn by four guardscolts -- two Royal Guards harnessed side-by-side with two Night Guards.
> It's not exactly a quick procession, what with the crowd having to part ways to let the vehicle through, but Their Majesties seem to be enjoying themselves, sitting on their haunches, smiling at the crowd, waving and poking their forehooves in time with the music.
> They even look like they're sort of singing along; that's cute.
> The chariot finally arrives in front of the DJ booth and stops to let the diarchs blow kisses to the MC, who playfully opens his mouth and clasps his hooves to his cheeks, then his chest, as if he can't believe they just did that thing which had very obviously been prearranged.
> After more waving to the people, they disembark, and the chariot wheels around to exit back the way it came.
> Looks like this is now officially a Royal dance floor.

> You see the DJ start up another turntable and place their hoof on the fader slider, mixing in a new song.
> As the new beat comes in, she lowers down a pair of stylish purple shades and starts to groove along on-stage.
> "ALL RIGHT ALL RIGHT ALL RIGHT PARTY PEOPLE, THAT'S THE ANNOUNCEMENTS, NOW LET'S GO, GALA TIME! DJ PONE-3 GO ON 'N TAKE US GRANDLY GALLOPING INTO THE NIGHT! YEAH!"
> Unlike the two poppy tunes used to introduce the princesses, this one's a proper modern dance track, and it soon launches into a deep, throbbing bass.
> Within moments, everypony on the whole floor is bouncing along with it, you and Anon both included.
> It's a flap up from a moment before, and finally you really do feel high up on cumulonimbus cloud nine.
> Maybe not at the absolute peak -- you're not so much dancing together as you are dancing in front of each other, but you *feel* connected.
> Anon has his eyes on you, and you have your eyes on him.
> The two of you start playing with moves, throwing new twists back and forth.
> He'll stop and do a spin, and then you'll repeat it back.
> You'll rear back and wave a forehoof in the air, and in response he'll get down low, spreading his arms as if supporting you.
> He puts his left hand out, and you match it with your right forehoof, clasping together as you continue to dance in place.
> When you get up on your hind hooves and start turning again, he sidles up behind you, shadowing your foreleg motions with his arms and mirroring your turn.
> That's nice, but it'd be better if he'd put a hand on you...
> You reach a forehoof up to guide him down onto to your shoulder at least.
> In the heat of the moment, the crowd seems to part around you, as if pushed away by the sheer force of your connection with this stallion.
> When you feel his fingers against the frog of your hoof, you close your eyes.
> "There thou art, Anonymous!"
> Your eyes shoot open again to find Their Majesties Princess Celestia and Princess Luna dancing just beside you, and immediately you get back down on all fours.
> Where did the Princess of the Sun get all those carnival bead necklaces she's wearing?
> And when did the Princess of the Moon put on those stockings and that striped hat?
> For that matter, where did they both get those glow-stick hoops that they've decorated themselves with??
> They had none of that when they came in on the chariot!
> You suddenly realize they're both stepping along to the music, so you get back to trotting in place.
> Behind you, the Royal Engineer never dropped the beat, and he bows in place.
"Your Majesties! Great party!"
> Then he points his index fingers at their hooves, extending his thumb upwards.
"... And nice moves!"
> Celestia shuts her eyes and grooves a little bit harder.
> "Hah! Thanks!"
> It's a bit intimidating dancing with abandon in front of the rulers of Equestria, but you start to get back into the swing of it.

> Luna smirks.
> "Do not think thy compliments excuse the way thou blewest Us off at the rotunda!"
> Huh?
> Perhaps noticing your confusion, Celestia leans in a bit towards you and Anon.
> "You skipped out on our receiving line after those sailors made a scene."
> Luna pushes her chin out and purses her lips.
> "And such impertinent behaviour from one of Our councillors of the Blue Chamber, We cannot forgive!"
> It's fairly obviously a mock display -- the mood is too light.
> Still, being accosted by the diarchs of the palace, even in jest, puts you a bit on the defensive.
"Terribly sorry, your Majesties. Please accept our apologies: we had to help Honour escape from her father!"
> Celestia raises an eyebrow.
> "Escape her father? Ah, the plot thickens!"
> Luna whinnies.
> "Only if thou continuest to visit the dessert table, sister dearest."
> At that, the elder sister in question starts to bounce back and forth even harder, turning to position her rear end closer to the younger sibling's muzzle.
> "Sorry, I can't hear anything over how much more fun I'm having than you."
> Her Royal Majesty the Princess of the Moon blows a raspberry at Her Royal Majesty the Princess of the Sun.
> And then both proceed to levitate their glow-rings in the air around them, raving with abandon.
> You look up at the Royal Engineer, who's laughing even as he dances.
> Soon enough, you're fully back in the mood.
> It's all a bit silly, but still wonderful.
> The four of you dance all in a little group, and for a brief moment, you almost see the the ceiling start to open up again into the stars, the same way it did when Luna visited in private.
> Then you realize that actually it's because a swarm of unicorns have joined the DJ on the stage, and they're using their horns to provide animated magical illumination for the dance floor.
> Flashing strobes, shimmering beams, colourful floods, and all manner of sparkling, glittering spotlights fill the room with ecstatic illumination, everything reflecting off of the spinning disco balls.
> You lose yourself in the experience, dancing just for the love of life and the exhilaration of the moment; never mind trying to guide Anon's hands onto you right now.
> The DJ blends one song into another, and another.
> Eventually, you remember your pledge to Pacesetter.
> But you're having so much fun here and now!
> Well, at least you wouldn't be leaving Anon alone on the floor.
> What better company could he have than Their Majesties?
> And it's not like he's hard to find, given how he's head-and-shoulders above everypony else but the ruling alicorns of Equestria.

> Taking to the air, you lean your muzzle up against his ear.
"Anon, I promised that other colt from earlier I'd see them again for a dance. Will you be alright?"
> He nods, pointing at the diarchs, then turns to speak into your ear in turn.
> "Sure, I'll be fine. Not like I'm alone out here! Go have fun! And don't be afraid to come back if it doesn't work out, or heck, bring him over here! This is where the real party's at, ha ha!"
> It's good to hear he's having as much fun as he looks like he's having.
> You're having fun, too.
> But well, it's the Gala.
> Much as you were interested in Anon, you *did* need to take things slow with him, and you *should* really try something -- some*pony* new.
> Thundershowers, sometimes it was hard work taking the high air current!
"I will. And I'm sure we'll dance again later tonight!"
> You blow him a little kiss and give an airborne curtsy to your rulers, who barely nod their head in acknowledgement, understandably too busy enjoying the music to acknowledge every pony arriving or leaving.
> Time to find Mr. Albert Pacesetter and see what sort of modern moves are in his repertoire!




> You are Lily Glamerspear, and if anypony asks, no, you aren't seeing somepony right now.
> And you don't think you're ready for another relationship right now, either.
> Which isn't to mean that you'll say "no" to every possible proposal.
> Just that you might have to think about it for a bit.
> A colt starts chatting you up at the bar?
> Okay, why not?
> He invites you to the dance floor?
> Yeah, sure -- that's what you're all here for, isn't it?
> Leans in close to your nape and lays a hoof on your plot?
> Eh, maybe, if he's cute, but you'll have to keep an eye they don't go too far.
> You wouldn't want anybody getting *too* hoofsy with you out in public on Their Majesties' Royal Dance Floor.
> And if the colt suggests you sneak off somewhere more private?
> Well...
> Just as long as you don't think he's about to slap a ring on you.
> That said, getting felt up by charming, handsome, well-dressed and well-mannered stallion would definitely help lift this evening up from the trash-pile that that two-silver-barred down-dirty bastard Captain Mailedhoof dropped you into.
> You're still fuming over the fact that he dumped you over, of all things, your association with batponies.
> And before you could dump HIM!
> That was some top-shelf, hundred-proof, weapons-grade, pure, unadulterated, 24-karat bullsh-
> "What are the two of you doing still sitting down? Come on, let's get out on the dance floor!"
> The Royal Engineer's arrived back at the table.
> Wait, the Royal Engineer's arrived back at the table?
> Honour pipes up before you can.
> "What? How come you're back? Where's Artemis?"
> With a smile on his face, he claps his hands and then jerks a thumb over his shoulder.
> "She went to find her ballroom partner from earlier. So let's go! Don't tell me the two of you are going to sit here all night?"
> The thought had crossed your mind, but no, you did actually want to dance.
> Honour is still stuck in the past.
> "She left you alone??"
> This buckin' mare.
> You decide to interrupt and redirect, putting down your drink and getting to your hooves with a sly grin on your face.
"Yeah, what's the matter, couldn't you find yourself a partner out there?"
> Anon chuckles.
> "I found myself a pair of real royal beauties, sure. But Their Majesties said they needed to do the rounds before they could just dance with me all night."
> You almost miss a step.
> He was dancing with not just one but BOTH Princesses?
> And after chatting up a third earlier in the night?
> Damn!
> You shake your head.
"Three Princesses in one night? You sure don't waste any time!"
> He starts grooving a bit in place.
> "I guess I'm just making up for avoiding the dance floor Tuesday night. Or maybe it's the rum punch."

> Their Majesties' Signature Cocktail for this year's Gala certainly did hit pretty hard.
> You had only been out drinking with the Royal Engineer once now, and he had seemed to hold his liquor fairly well, but you haven't exactly been keeping track of his alcohol intake so far -- not that it was your job to do that, at least not *tonight*.
> As you step over to join the still-boogieing colt, you give a playful little shoulder-check into his hips.
"All right, big guy, let's get out there and you can show me your moves."
> He returns the hip-check against your flank, but points over at the brown pony with the new mane-do.
> "How about you, Honour?"
> She shakes her head, her recently-liberated flipped-up curls tossing to and fro.
> "Not now. Maybe in a bit. You two go."
> The good Corporal seems resigned to sit here all by her lonesome for the rest of the night.
> It's crazy, but you're not her keeper -- besides, she smoothed things over with her partner, and the Royal Engineer put her dad in his place too, didn't he?
> What's she got to mope around about, then?
> Anon nods, too upbeat to display any potential disappointment at the moment.
> "Okay. But don't think I won't come back to get you later!"
> Grinning from ear to ear, and still bobbing and weaving to the beat, waggling his fingers in time with the music, he leads you back towards the dance floor.
> Coming up alongside him, you give him another bump.
"So, how many calling-cards have mares stuffed into your sash so far?"
> He snorts.
> "Nothing yet, hah! Still on my case about hooking up at the Gala? Don't tell me Purity ran off to hunt someone down for me personally."
> Now it's your turn to whinny.
"Are you kidding? She left on her own big-game safari just seconds after you got up to dance with Artemis. I expect to see her prize trophy throwing up in our washroom tomorrow."
> "Ah, I see..."
> The tall tailcoat-wearing biped looks down at you with a sly smile.
> "... And what about yourself? Surely I won't be your only dance partner tonight? If Artemis has found herself a potential new beau and Purity is about to pair up, shouldn't you be on the prowl as well? Or are you already spoken for, like Honour?"
> Oof.
> Talk about hitting you where it hurts right now.
> You kinda awkwardly chuckle.
"Geez, Anon. Can't a lady have her secrets?"
> He stops for a moment, taken aback by your refusal, then shrugs.
> "Sorry. I just figured turnabout was fair play from earlier."
> Sighing, you shoot him a pained grimace.
"It would be. It's just that I'm not in a happy place right now, relationship-wise, and the wounds are still a bit fresh."
> The Royal Engineer arches his eyebrows sympathetically.
> "Oh, no, not you too? After Artemis had her own breakup a week ago Friday..."
> You nod.
"Yeah. At least she's already well on the upswing. Plus, I mean -- her heartbreak is way worse than mine. She'd been with Huckleberry since school..."

> Waving a forehoof dismissively, you continue.
"... My break-up is of a barely three-week-old relationship. But it's about *how* it ended, ya know?"
> Lowering his hands, he pushes back the sides of his coat and casually slips his white-gloved fingers into his pockets.
> "I think I can imagine. Sorry to hear it. Do you need to talk?"
> Shaking your head, you jab your same free hoof towards the dance floor.
"Not right now, and maybe not for a while. But you don't have to worry about me, Anon. I've taken harder knock-downs than this, from better colts than him..."
> Lowering your leg, you start up again, then turn back towards him.
"... But, thanks... sir."
> Your Very Important Pony, who isn't actually a pony, removes his hands from his pockets and lifts them up, presenting them to you palms-forward.
> "Hey, now -- no formalities tonight, right?"
> Grinning, he steps forward to join you.
> "... Off to the dance-floor!"
> The two of you continue to make your way through the crowds.
> It's not so busy here amongst the dining tables as it was earlier during the main dinner service, nor even during the quieter ballroom music.
> The DJ's amplified tunes are loud enough to force anypony who wanted to have anything like a real discourse to retreat far away from the ballroom.
> And as the music was no longer quite to the liking of the old blue-blooded fossils who ran Equestria, many of them had taken off as well, conversation or no.
> Yet there remained enough to make it necessary to pick your way between tables and chairs to get around or through the crowd.
> Along the way, Anon finds the groove again, but when you're forced to politely stop and wait for a large party that's clearly leaving their table to depart, he pipes up once more.
> "Okay, not trying to pry open fresh wounds here, but since you and Purity were laying into me on this topic earlier, I have to ask: what's *your* type? Or are you not in the mood for this stuff at all?"
> That's a bit of a bombshell, considering your 'type' had just had a forceful rearrangement of the full-force-hoof-to-the-muzzle variety.
> Still, you suppose after the needling you gave Anon, maybe you owe him a quick info-dump.
> And anyways, what's the harm?
> Inhaling, you shoot him a sly glance.
"Eh, I can swing it for you, boss. But let me start off by saying that you would've gotten a *very* different answer if you asked this a few days ago..."
> Sitting back on your haunches, you flick your bangs back with a forehoof.
"... Right now, I'm looking for a tamer kind of stallion, not some wild unbroken buck; somepony with a good head on their shoulders, instead of one poised to go off like a rocket..."
> You shrug.
"... Physically, he doesn't have to be winning the Bronze Pony Triathlon, but I mean, I keep myself pretty fit, and he ought to keep himself pretty healthy too, even if he's maybe swinging a bit too lean or too thick..."

> Staring impolitely as the elderly group takes their time donning their hats and coats and purses and feather boas and all sorts of other crap, you continue.
"... As for species? Honestly, I lean towards my own kind; nothing against the others, but their stallions just don't rustle me the way a handsome unicorn does."
> Anon lifts an eyebrow.
> "You've dated a pegasus before, though?"
> Ugh.
> Lieutenant Kilfeather, plot-hole extraordinaire.
> You nod.
"Yeah, I know. I mean, I wouldn't have seen myself falling for a fast-fighting flyboy, even back then, but I sure did..."
> Wrinkling up your muzzle a bit, you elaborate.
"... But with Val, it wasn't so much about the physical attraction -- even though there was that too, I mean, he *is* pretty handsome, in a ladykiller kinda way -- it was about the entourage, the celebrity. He'd just won the Grand Mêlée. He was on top of the world in the Royal Guard, him and his crew, and I was a wide-eyed Private who'd been granted permission to sit up there in the throne-room with them."
> Snorting, you conclude.
"... Of course I didn't realize that to him I was just another in a long line of floozies, and he eventually treated me as such. I was young 'n' dumb, and if maybe I ain't the smartest mare around, I still learn from my mistakes. So I'm definitely not into doing anything like that ever again."
> A sigh escapes your lips, and your ears droop down sideways.
"... Of course, having said all that I'll still probably go falling again for some hyper-aggressive ultra-stud who'll sweep me off my hooves and then inevitably break my heart taking advantage of me. Story of my life, really."
> Anonymous looks down at you with concern.
> "It happens that often?"
> As the group before you finally leaves to let you proceed, you answer.
"... If I had a five-bit piece every time I got mistreated by an 'alpha stallion' who thought that me being theirs meant they could do whatever they wanted with me, I'd have ten bits, which isn't a lot, but it sucks that it's happened twice."
> Continuing towards the dance floor, you glance up at your tall companion.
> He looks a bit more subdued and deeper in thought.
> What's on his mind?
> He can't just be pondering *your* failed relationships.
> Heh, is he thinking about mares for his own sake?
> Maybe you ought to have taken this approach earlier; instead of digging in and teasing him to open up, you should've bared your own tastes, desires, and experiences.
> Artemis, you're sure, with some prodding would have been eventually more than happy to gush about what she found attractive.
> And you already knew what she'd say: big, strong, handsome, considerate, courageous, kind.
> All attributes that coincidentally matched the Royal Engineer.
> As for Purity, she might have looser standards, but you think she would have freely chatted about them as well.

> Honour, though?
> Heck, that mare barely knew what she wanted, let alone seemed comfortable talking about it.
> Still, three out of four guardsmares spilling their gossip-guts ain't bad.
> Chatter like that probably would have helped him get on-track with how things work around here.
> And speaking of how things worked, was he still oblivious to Artemis' advances?
> Yeah, as a non-pony he hadn't noticed stuck-out tufts or wingboners or horn anteglow until Honour laid down the law to him, but surely he understood that there was some meaning to sharing an intimate close-held formal dance, or giving a kiss on the cheek, or a companion fetching him his meal?
> Like, that stuff had to be universal, yeah?
> A clever colt like him had to have an inkling at least, right?
> You wonder if you should spill some beans on that whole situation.
> Help kick it along.
> Maybe there's a tactful way to go about it.
"Hey, Anon. You know what *signs* to look for when we're out on the dance floor, right?"
> He lifts an eyebrow, raising his voice to be heard over the intensifying music.
> "Signs of what?"
> Shooting him a sly grin, you nod up ahead.
"Of a mare checking you out, dummy! I'm your shield-bearer out there, ain't I?"
> Anon furrows his brow, clearly unfamiliar with the unicorn expression for a friend who helps another in their pick-up game.
"... You know, your *wingmare*?"
> That gets a snort and a grin out of him.
> The pegasus equivalent term is a lot-better known, you suppose.
> "Okay, 'wingmare'. Is that what I have to look out for? Signs I'm being checked out? So I can make the next move over to her -- if she's my type, that is?"
> He catches on quick.
"Sure, why not? Most mares appreciate a little initiative..."
> You purse your lips and tilt your head.
"... Not to say you might not get chatted up yourself -- like Little Miss Princess Purple back before dinner. Gotta keep your ears up for that, too."
> She'd been cute, if a bit dweeby, but that dancing on-stage later with the MC?
> Woof, and bow-wow too.
> Javelin: dodged.
> The Royal Engineer waves a hand dismissively.
> "Ah, that was just a friendly talk. She's helping organize the event, and performing hostess duties."
> As you finally reach the edge of the dance floor and some room opens up, you give him an elbow poke.
"Sure, that's how it starts! Then she shows an interest, wants to hear you talk about yourself, smiles when you ask her about herself, maybe touches a hoof to your shoulder..."
> You try to trail off suggestively, but it's too loud here to really do that.
> Still, Anon seems to get the gist.
> "Same as where I'm from, I guess. But is it mostly guys who take the biggest first step with ladies here, too?"

> Finally finding your hooves free to dance, you start to bob and weave to the DJ's latest bass-heavy track before even thinking about answering your VIP.
> You close your eyes for a moment and soak the music in, feeling the beat throbbing in your chest just as much as you hear it in your ears.
> Yeah, that's the good stuff.
> A proper speaker setup: no rattle, no pop, no fizzle or fuzz, just big bad BOOM 'n' BWUAAHH.
> Opening your eyes, you find Anon digging into the tunes as well, doing a basic left-left-right-right two-step.
> Okay, so he definitely doesn't have four left hooves, but you already knew that from how he did the Lipizzaner Waltz with Artemis.
"It's usually colts approaching mares, yeah. Like, I dunno, eighty-twenty split? Depends on the situation, I guess."
> Anon starts to clap on the off-beats, rolling his shoulders as he swings.
> All right, variations, so he's not just a bob-along-bozo.
> "So what am I looking for, here on the dance floor? Extended eye contact?"
> Bobbing your plot, you start to swish your tail, warming up for executing a proper twirl later.
"Sure. Stares, with a smile or a smoulder or even a kissy-face, that's a good start. Maybe a mane flip, too, like this."
> Your short bob mane-do isn't exactly long enough for a proper flip, but you give it your all, dipping your head down before throwing it back, and even shoot him a little come-hither tongue-pull across your upper teeth, maintaining eye contact the whole time.
> Anonymous looks appropriately impressed with your manoeuvre.
> "That's quite the move. I don't think I could miss a sign like that."
> You chuckle.
"In my experience, the average colt could miss a brick hurled at their forehead."
> He points a single finger at you, one hand at a time, flipping them back and forth with the beat.
> "Hey, I'm no average colt. But in my experience, the average girl -- err, mare -- thinks she's throwing bricks when she's barely blowing bubbles."
> Eh, you can give him that.
> You've witnessed enough drunken failed attempts at flirting from members of your 'fairer' sex.
> Heck, you probably made all number of them yourself when you were younger, and especially back when you used to get a LOT drunker.
> Hypnotized by the beat, memories come flooding in of other depraved nights of liquor-fuelled debauchery.
> Including a few with Kilfeather & co.
> There's a pang of pain at your brow, and it's not because anypony's tossed any bricks at you.
> Damn.
> You're nowhere near *old*, but still, the safe stopping distance between 'pleasant buzz' and 'splitting headache' has noticeably shrunk since you graduated Private First Class.
> It's almost like rank is linked to alcohol tolerance.
> Total capacity isn't an issue -- you've seen cape-wearing Master Sergeants neatly stow away entire kegs in their barrel chests at the Royal Guard's Annual Ball.
> But finding that perfect midway spot is getting harder.

> And dancing hard isn't exactly conducive to feeling good after putting away as much drink as you have.
> Only one solution for now, though: power through.
> Clenching your eyes shut, you rhythmically bounce your plot, first hard, then gradually backing off to just the right speed.
> The swishing feeling as your skirt rhythmically tugs on your croup tells you you've got it going on back there, and you slowly open your eyes, turning your head slightly to admire your hoofiwork.
> Yup, you're dancing a spinner, dancin' a spinner, it don't stop.
> You're turning a few heads around the floor -- and why shouldn't you?
> Spinning ain't easy, but somepony gotta do it.
> And at the moment that somepony is *you*.
> Facing back towards Anon again with a satisfied look on your face, you find him doing his own rotational move, with his hands balled up into fists.
> With every other beat, his forearms sweep out a pair of circles, while he sways left and right, snapping his fingers and stomping his feet.
> Damn, that's not bad.
> Freaking bipeds had it easy on the dance floor.
> Pegasi, too, since they could use their wings to rear back more easily.
> Well, a simple four-on-the-floor tailspin isn't all you can do.
> Time to take it to the next level.
> Carefully, you work your forehooves back until all four of your hooves are gathered together.
> Then you walk your forehooves up the inside of your hind legs, squatting down slightly as you do so.
> It's a lot of work and hard balancing for somepony as sloshed as you are, and you're pretty sure you ungracefully stuck out your tongue while concentrating, but you manage it.
> Yeah that's right, everypony, two-hoofed tail-spinning!
"Hahaha! Tailspin!"
> Anonymous beams a smile.
> "Oh-ee-yay! Spin it, you can win it!"
> But he's not out of moves, either.
> Dispensing with the small arm swings, he starts to bend his knees a bit, grinding down lower, before starting to swoop one arm while the other pumps.
> Buck, that looks pretty good.
> By comparison you're up here wobbling like a chicken.
> Okay, spin time is over, the only way to top this colt is to go full biped.
"Huurh!"
> Up you go onto your hind hooves, abandoning the spin but keeping your hips moving with the beat.
> Closing your eyes and turning your head sideways, you slowly run your forehooves up your flanks and then spread them high above you, swaying left and right.
> Your raised sandals aren't making it any easier, but at least they're not full pumps or stilettos.
> Having achieved full extension, you open your eyes again.
> Posed like this, your face almost comes up to Anon's.
> Well, like, the top of his chest, at least.
> But that's almost the right height for slow-dancing together.

> No wonder Artemis, a considerably taller pony than you were, was so happy dancing the Lipizzaner Waltz with him.
> There probably weren't a lot of stallions out there who could make an appropriately-matched couple paired with her and her earth-pony blooded 'heavy assault frame'.
> Which brings you back to the subject of maybe dropping a hint or two on Anon about her attentions.
> Before you can do that, though, the Royal Engineer shows you his well of epic dance moves hasn't run dry, either.
> Showing up your mere *extension*, he starts punching up into the sky, alternating hands across his body before drawing each back down, like he's snatching love-bricks out of the air and slipping them into his pocket.
> And all that accompanied by lean-backs that would be impossible for a pony to pull off.
> This buckin' colt.
> Gonna push you to the edge, huh?
> Okay, right!
> Time to show him how all the thirsty mares do it up in Manehattan, dead-ass.
> And you included yourself in that category, back in the day.
> Staying reared up on your hinds, you lower your forehooves and start twirling them around each other in front of you.
> Stomping in time with the beat, you also turn in place until you're facing away from Anon.
> And that's when you hit him with the 'thang'.
> Throwing your forehooves up into the air once more, you bend over backwards so far you can actually look up at him upside-down.
> You have to take a step back to avoid toppling over, and you can't hold the pose for long, but that's your 'pee-yes-ee day reh-sis-tans', as the Prench say.
> Then it's back down onto all fours, before you screw up and ruin the whole show so far.
> Anon nods, a grin on his face.
> "Oh, so it's like that, huh?"
> You shoot him a sly smirk in-between steps.
"Yeah. Put up or shut up, boss."
> Lowering his hands, he chuckles.
> "Okay, but you asked for it."
> As the song heads into a bridge, he pauses his stepping and takes a moment to adjust his cuffs and white bow tie.
> The instant the beat drops, Anonymous launches into the fanciest footwork you've ever seen.
> Flapping his arms like they're wings, his feet step, stomp, and tap so fast they're just a high-energy electric blur at the end of swaying knees.
> You've barely figured out what's going on before he switches it up, spinning his hands as before but shuffling sideways left and right without lifting his shoes off the floor.
> What in the Tartar-damn-?
> Turning sideways in place, he bends his torso over, swinging his arms back and forth as he kicks the opposite foot almost straight back, exaggeratedly running in place.
> B-B-Buckin'-huh?
> It's impossible!
> After a few bars like that, then he kicks it up another notch -- or rather, drops it down, flopping forward onto his hands and knees before dropping to the floor.
> You're stunned to see him ripple his whole body, flopping forward like a seal on the beach.

> And then he jumps back up, throwing both his arms and one foot one way and then the other.
> It's the highest-energy dancing you've ever seen!
> You can't withstand being served this hard!
> Your heart sinks when you see he hasn't stopped, either, merely settling back into variations on the opening fancy footwork, still an impossible blur.
> It's your first VIP shift all over again, with the trotting 'jog'!
> So much for becoming the star of the dance floor over here, you're relegated to second fiddle.
> You're so stunned by this development that you can't do much more than a basic left-left-right-right two-step.
> Well, maybe having Anon as the star won't be too bad.
> If he isn't interested in picking up a mare for himself, then that leaves the field open for you to crutch on him to attract your own.
> The Royal Engineer goes into some kind of private dance-trance, shutting his eyes as he works through his routine.
> Did Artemis seriously walk away from this?
> No way; she must have left to meet her formal-dance partner without having seen your VIP open up the taps.
> Anonymous pauses his footsteps to start into a hips-and-knees-only groove, one hand on his head holding to a nonexistent top hat that he left back at the table half an hour ago.
> Unf.
> You bite your lower lip.
> That's some serious body-pumping action.
> You wouldn't say 'no' to being on the receiving end of a little of that.
> Heck, you'd even take it backwards.
> Looking around, you see that he's indeed getting more than a few interested glances.
> Guh, but what about Artemis?
> She's your squaddie, and she called dibs on Anon.
> Yet the mare *isn't* here.
> She could've blown off that other partner if she'd wanted to; he probably wouldn't even have noticed.
> 'Say la vee', you suppose.
> She made her choice.
> Now the Royal Engineer's in the crosshairs of a free-for-all.
> And as his loyal and faithful bodyguard, it's up to you to make sure he gets nothing but the best.
> You start to wiggle your plot once more, setting up for another spinarooni.
> Okay, Lily, Operation Amorous-Attention-Attraction is a GO!
> Yeah, you're spinnin', you're spinnin', you're spinnin.
> Anonymous opens his eyes, grooving in place as he watches you swish three-sixty.
> "I got something I've been wanting to do. Do you trust me?"
> Buh?
> You go wide-eyed, still casually spinning your tail.
"Uhh... Yeah?"
> He nods.
> "Okay, just keep doing what you're doing!"
> What's he gonna -- okay, he's next to you, squatting down, reaching one arm underneath your barrel and WHOA NELLY.
> You're in the air!
> In one swift move, Anonymous, by Appointment to Their Majesties Princess Celestia and Princess Luna, The Royal Engineer of Equestria, hoists you up onto his shoulder, and stands up, your tail spinning inches from his face as you face backwards.
> Then he puts his free hand in the air and twirls his finger.
> *Then* he starts step-rotating in place as well.

> Triple spin! It's a triple spin!
> Princess Celestia almighty, Princess Celestia almighty!
> As Celestia is your witness, he has torn this dance floor up in half!
> It's everything you ever drunkenly hoped and dreamed of doing, and you can't help but start to cry marely tears a little.
> Buck, your mascara's gonna run -- but chin up, Lily.
> The ponies gathered here, they'll all remember the night they witnessed the fabled triple spinarooni at the Grand Galloping Gala.
> They'll speak of this event in hushed whispers for years to come.
> You breathlessly whisper in-between sobs.
"Just keep spinning. Just keep spinning."
> Beneath you, Anonymous grunts.
> "Hah! I wasn't sure if this would work! Ready to go down?"
> You'd follow this stallion to Tartarus and back; at least, that's what you think right now while the liquor's still in full effect.
> Somewhat less elegantly than how he got you up in the first place, the Royal Engineer crouches down and helps your four hooves get back onto solid ground again.
> It's all you can do just to keep spinning, managing to never drop even one rotation-per-minute.
> That beautiful, handsome, powerful stallion gets back up and resumes his simple opening two-hoofed two-step.
> "You OK? Let's take it easy for a bit and then see what else we can come up with, yeah?"
> You're speechless; all you can do is nod with a dopey grin on your face.
> Best night ever.

Suggested interlude music: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-uRi_xo92VE (Martin Solveig - '+1' (feat. Sam White) [2015])




> You are Honour Bound.
> And liquor-bound.
> In fact it's fair to say that you're probably more 'liquor' than 'Honour' at this point.
> Sitting before you is yet another glass of Their Royal Majesties' Celebratory Grand Galloping Gala Rum Punch.
> It really would be for the best if you stopped drinking for tonight.
> And what reason did you even have to be guzzling these down, anyways?
> You'd already had your catharsis outside, hadn't you?
> You'd made your choice earlier to throw in with Castlerook.
> Your father had been put in his place, too.
> And you'd even found the time to deal with two threats to the Gala in the form of belligerent sailors and bloodthirsty bats.
> So why were you still trying to drown out your thoughts with powerfully boozy fruit juice?
> Unconsciously, you reach a forehoof up to your wavy mane, recently restyled in the mares' restroom, and idly twirl a dangling lock of hair around.
> You don't get the opportunity to do that a lot these days with your hair always gathered up in a braid; not like you used to.
> For a moment, you're taken back to younger, more innocent years.
> Underage, hanging out in one of the Fillydelphia dockside taverns close enough to Fort Mifflin to host the most explosive combination of drunken & bored soldiers and sailors.
> 'A Stallion Full of Trouble'; what a glorious dive bar.
> With its small, cramped serving room and an equally small and cramped 'sitting-room' that had nowhere to sit.
> Little more than an upturned box for a tiny performers' stand, and a full iron cage for the bar itself so that there could be no arguing after last call.
> How many scraps had you gotten into there, before or during your enlistment?
> How many times had the brawls spilled out into the street -- or been forcibly pushed there by the establishment's sorely put-upon and heavily-scarred bouncers?
> When there wasn't a fight, there was always the riotous laughter, the singing-along to a soldier's march or sailor's shanty, the shameless flirting with anything clean-shaven and able to stand on all four hooves.
> Oh, you did twirl your curls then, didn't you?
> Even if you were still an insecure teenager, confident that you were too boring and brown to ever catch any colt's eye.
> Not that you were even your natural dull colour half the time what with all the bruises from scuffling.
> You touch a forehoof to your bumped brow and remember that tonight was a callback to that era in more ways than one.
> The 'Stallion' wasn't where you'd met your husband, though; in truth, you never heard of anypony hooking up at that dump.
> Maybe it was because everypony was just there to get absolutely hammered on the cheapest swill possible.

> Shortly after you passed the legal drinking age and made Private First Class, you were inducted by your seniors into attending a slightly more upscale kind of piss-soaked watering hole.
> One with actual furniture, some of which was even upholstered, and more entertainment than a fiddle, fife, or squeeze-box could provide when accompanied by the percussion of hind-kick-roundhouses and forehoof-haymakers from the crowd.
> Sure, the drinks were more expensive, and they actually checked your ID, but as a result you could mostly return to base entirely in your natural coat tone, instead of sporting a black welt accessory.
> You'd even managed to get halfway decent at eight-ball, before you got swept off your horseshoes to become hitched up, largely abandoning the bar for what you'd hoped would be a happy married life.
> How eager you'd been to jump into that.
> How quickly it'd all fallen apart.
> And not long after you'd found yourself galloping away from those bars, that base, and the whole city.
> Now you're stationed in the capital, wearing a designer dress rather than your olive drab service uniform, sipping cocktails in place of cheap cider, dining on platters of creamy Prench pastries instead of rough bread and barley stew.
> You went up in rank three times, got hastily married and messily divorced, switched to another department, and earned a Silver Star fighting against the Changelings.
> Is that really all you could achieve in the *seven* years since you enlisted?
> While others you knew had made Sergeant or done more with their life than just rank up in the Guard?
> It was depressing.
> Maybe that's why you were still drinking.
> As you reach a forehoof forward to lift up the elegant short-stemmed tulip-shaped glass with its orangey-pink concoction, the Royal Engineer arrives, throwing his jacket over the back of the next chair over and sitting down next to you.
> "Honour! Why are you here when there's all this dancing to be had?"
> With a wide, enthusiastic, smile, he deftly undoes his cuff-links and rolls up his sleeves, then attacks the tie at his neck, sweating profusely as he loosens it.
"Just waiting for them to play my song."
> He chuckles, pouring himself a full glass of water from the pitcher on the table and chugging it down.
> Then he takes a deep breath and sighs back into his chair.
> You gingerly sip your beverage.
> It's warmed up since it was poured; the rum is starting to overpower the juice, making its presence known.
"Taking a break?"
> Anonymous shakes his head, spreading his arms and pulling his cheeks into a shrug.
> "I've run out of dance partners!"

> He dismissively waves a hand out in front.
> "... Artemis left to find her formal-wear partner from earlier, Their Majesties had to go do the rounds, Purity only really stopped by briefly to show off her beau for the evening, and otherwise I've been dancing with Lily until moments ago, but she's finally given up and said I've worn her out, quote 'more than a double-time hike up & down Three-Mile Hill' -- albeit, also quote, 'not in a bad way'."
> You stifle a whinny.
> Did that mean it was now your time to step up?
> You had promised not to abandon him, but you haven't exactly gone anywhere.
> The Royal Engineer glances back and forth between your drink and you.
> Then he sighs again and leans back in his seat.
> "So, what's eating you? Didn't you patch things up with your, ah, friend? Castlerook, wasn't it?"
> You nod, slowly.
"Yeah, I guess I did."
> "And your dad agreed to leave you alone for a bit, so you don't have to worry about that any more tonight."
> You nod again.
"True."
> "We don't have to worry about the batponies tonight any more, either."
"No, we don't."
> He pauses to look you over again.
> "Are you hurting physically? From the fight outside?"
> You shake your head.
"No. There's a bump, but it's a dull pain, and the liquor's keeping it under control."
> Anonymous shrugs.
> "So, why are you parked here, then? If you don't feel like dancing, you could go hang out with your mister Castlerook."
> Now it's your turn to sigh.
"I don't know. Things still feel off. I just can't help but look back at the past..."
> You roll your head to and fro.
"... I've made a lot of mistakes. Missed a lot of opportunities. I guess the regrets are still outweighing the... 'promise of tomorrow', or whatever you want to call it."
> Anonymous pauses for a moment, then leans forward, putting his elbows on the table and clasping his hands together.
> "Can I be candid with you, Honour?"
> Part of you wants to scoff and make a dismissive remark, knowing the patronizing advice which inevitably follows such a question -- that's certainly what you would have done, and did do, as a youth to any authority figure trying to control you after you realized that your mother couldn't control herself and your father wouldn't even try to stop her.
> You've been past doing that now.
> And especially so to your Very Important Pony, who may not be a Pony, but who has demonstrated multiple times to you that he was genuinely Very Important.
> You just nod.

> Unclasping his hands, he holds his palms forwards to you.
> "This isn't the first time I've seen you get consumed by regrets. You *have* to get over yourself. Everybody misses opportunities. Nobody has a perfect history. I've got plenty of things I wish I'd done, and plenty more things I sure wish I hadn't. Do you know I had wanted to go into teaching engineering, but didn't have the grades to make it into the doctorate program? I decided to work for a bit instead and maybe try to go back later with experience. But even though I did alright, several others in my graduating class climbed the ladder up much more quickly than I did."
> Wait -- so he wasn't an accomplished genius back on his world?
> Considering everything he's managed so far here, not to mention how he's comported himself, that revelation comes as a bit of a shock.
> "... And, you know, after I called off my engagement, I didn't dream of being 'professor' any more, either. That mess really broke me..."
> He drops his hands to his legs in defeat.
> "... You just have to take what life throws at you and try to catch as much of it as you can, and then move on. Sure, you can look back now and again to improve yourself, but you can't dwell on it or spend your hours measuring your achievements up to those of others. That doesn't do any good. I mean, look at me, here..."
> Lifting his eyebrows, he glances around the room, and for a moment, with his formal wear dishevelled and his mask of intense focus removed, you're taken back to when you first met him and thought to yourself just how *alien* he appeared.
> Glamerspear may have been the one to crudely voice her comparison to a monkey, but you'd felt a not entirely dissimilar feeling, even if it had faded quickly.
> He wore the same clothes and spoke the same words and felt the same things and yet...
> He wasn't *from* here.
> "... This place is still foreign to me. Everything's similar and yet so different. And at first I thought my coming here was a disaster. Of course, I was immensely grateful when I found a place to fit into this world, actually an incredible place, but I didn't see it as an opportunity, just something to knuckle down into for survival. It didn't really start throwing me any challenges until you three showed up, and then even more when you became four. I like to think I did an okay job at handling the tribulations..."
> Anonymous smiles.
> "... But, Honour. Corporal. You've handled everything this posting has thrown at you. That *I've* thrown at you. You beat Kilfeather at his own game, you learned to drive, educated me in Equestrian culture and custom, helped teach me how to fight, put on a fantastic demonstration for the upper crust of the Equestrian government and military, taken us into the darkest depths of an alien society, and fended off an ambush by some of their finest warriors. You're one of the most adaptable and capable creatures I've ever met..."

> He holds out a hand, as if asking for your forehoof.
> You don't know what else to do, so you give it to him, and he closes his fingers around it, then places his other hand gently on top.
> "... Maybe you're not happy with where you've been or where you're at right now, but I promise you if you can shut away your regrets for long enough to face the future with a clear head, there's a world of opportunity opening up before you that can more than make up for whatever failures you believe you had before, and I'll do everything I can to help you seize it all."
> It's not a bad speech.
> You're a little inspired.
> Swallowing, you withdraw your forehoof.
"You going to get me promoted to Sergeant, sir?"
> Ignoring your switch back to formality, he throws his hands into the air with excitement.
> "Demonstrating the Whirlwind can do that! Or participating in the MXP Games! Or all the work you've done with the batponies! I may not know about how the military works here, but hell, with everything that's happened so far I bet I could recommend you for a promotion tomorrow morning, and you'd receive it in the afternoon. And then maybe you can finally look forward to what comes after."
> His smile and energy are infectious, and you found yourself feeling a little uplifted.
"That would be Staff Sergeant."
> He snorts at your deadpan joke.
> "Hah, of course! But for now, how about you set your sights on an achievement that's immediately within your grasp?"
> This sounds like the setup for a bad pick-up line.
"What's that?"
> The Royal Engineer of Equestria, with his bow-tie loose around his neck and his collar open, his cuffs folded back and his vest unbuttoned and open, and noticeable dampness under his arms, doesn't miss a beat.
> "Have a good damn time tonight here at the Gala. I don't even care how, but I can think of a few ways, if you're stumped for ideas."
> Well, it's not much of a hook, but it'll do.
> And it's obvious from his energy that he's champing at the bit to get back on the dance floor.
> As you pause for a moment to ponder just what you ought to do when you get to your hooves, a familiar tune starts to blare from the dance floor.
> It's the intro to an old cheesy hit that you'd almost be embarrassed to say you used to love to dance to, except that it's a great song and everybody else danced to it back then and still now.
> This surely signals the start of a set of similar goofy throwback tracks more to your era.
> May as well see what moves your VIP can do, if he managed to wear out party-mare Glamerspear, 'not in a bad way'.
"You up for more dancing, sir?"
> He grins.
> "Absolutely!"
> In the time it takes you knock back your drink, clamber out of your seat, and get down onto your hooves, he's made himself presentable again.

> The jacket stays off, but he dons his top hat once more, and with everything else done up and his red officeholder's sash layered over top, he looks like a dashing warmblooded light-charger out of one of the historical battlefield paintings in the palace's portrait hall.
> Or maybe something a little more modern.
> A dapper rum-running gangster from prohibition-era Manehattan?
> Without the pomade or the baggy trousers, though.
> Anonymous tips his hat and gestures graciously for you to head over first.
> You start towards the dance floor but call back to him over your shoulder, though your poofy red shawl gets in the way a bit.
"I must've missed a real show earlier if you managed to wear out Lily already."
> "She said something about our 'triple spinarooni' being the best move she's ever done?"
> 'Our'?
> What kind of dancing had those two been up to out here, exactly?
> And what kind would you be in for now?
> You furrow your brow and face forwards.
> The dance floor doesn't seem to have changed much since you looked over when it first opened to modern music.
> There was the stage with the 'hype colt' MC who was still doing his best to inject energy while the DJ held a headphone up to one ear as she bobbed left and right, working the controls.
> Flashing strobes, coloured washes, and a pair of glittering reflective balls casting rotating dots managed a respectable nightclub setup.
> And the speakers were plentiful, loud, and well-tuned, with deep bass that you felt in your ribcage.
> It wasn't your scene, not any more, if it ever really was, but you still appreciated the quality and effort.
> Most of the places you'd gone on Tuesday night had superior setups, but none of them had the glitz of the Gala.
> A sudden vertical movement catches your eye.
> Is that a pony trying to climb up a Maypole?
> No, it couldn't be.
> The maypoles were outside, thick, and wooden.
> This was brass and narrow enough for the drunken reveller to try to wrap their hind legs around.
> It was a portable dance pole; freestanding, with a wide padded base to accommodate amateurs.
> When had they hauled this out?
> You glance the other way and see there was another identical model on the other side as well.
> From behind, Anonymous chirps up at noticing your gaze, though he almost has to shout.
> "You didn't see when they brought those out a little while ago? Even had some pros to demonstrate, then the MC ran a game singling out showboaters on the floor and encouraging them to give a try on a pole. Couple of guests made decent attempts; Lily said she wasn't in the mood to be public tonight or she would've got up; I was almost tempted. Laughs and applause all around. That MC's pretty good at keeping the show going, actually."
> You sigh, though there's no way he can hear it.
"Would you believe I took lessons for a bit?"
> "Really? If you still remember the moves, you should get up there and take point, 'Sergeant'!"

> Shaking your head, you push out onto the floor, no longer nearly as crowded as when Anonymous and Artemis had come up to dance at the start, or even when he'd come back to grab Lily.
> Even with panties on underneath and a shawl on top, and despite getting into barehoofed brawl in it, you are still very self-conscious about this incredibly lascivious dress.
> It would take a very particular state of mind to get you up pole-dancing in front of the remaining crowd at the Grand Galloping Gala.
"Maybe if the right track comes on. And if I'm feeling warmed up."
> Having reached a free spot, you turn to face your VIP.
> With a smirk, he starts bobbing to the beat.
> "You need to get warmed up? Let's get hot, then!"
> Spinning the tables on him, you shake your head and waggle a forehoof as you start to weave to the music as well.
"Nuh-uh! That's a different song. Listen!"

Suggested background music: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=12CeaxLiMgE (Dillon Francis & DJ Snake - 'Get Low' [2014])

> When the main hook starts, you surprise even yourself by launching into the song with abandon, and you're privately happy to see your VIP do the same.
> If you look ridiculous, at least you look ridiculous next to someone far more conspicuous than you.
> Behind you, up on stage, the DJ's cut out the track's original vocals and pasted in the MC speaking them live, injecting the vitality of immediate performance into the playback.
> While you're a bit rusty and out of practice, Anonymous is clearly running at full steam, having had almost the whole evening to warm up, busting out a repertoire of energetic moves in perfect sync with the beat.
> It's almost intimidating how agile he is when he's not in a formal setting, or wearing heavy minotaur bronze armour.
> And he could still be pretty swift in that last outfit; you remember him running you down in the sandpit practice.
> Frowning for a moment in-between steps, you realize you really ought to take his advice and look forward, not back.
> Think instead about how he'll do with that gear in the Games.
> How his steam-powered carriage will work.
> How you'll do.
> How the whole team'll do.
> You couldn't expect a podium finish; there were too many other teams with accomplished warriors that had been training for it all year.
> On the other hoof you've only known each other for a few weeks; even less in the case of Purity.
> But hopefully a decent performance combined with the novelty of a mixed group and the Whirlwind itself will elevate you to the middle of the pack instead of being relegated to the rear.
> Taking fifth or sixth out of eight would still be an accomplishment, especially if Lily does a good job demonstrating how the Whirlwind can sweep the skies.
> Purity, even though she was more of a solo performer than a team fighter, had the skills to elevate you that high, surely.

> And Artemis with that rocket-lance ought to be a smash hit, if the battle in the Grand Hall of Stars was anything to go by.
> You all still had a lot of training to do, and that day would be absolutely exhausting, but it was something to look forward to.
> And, who knows?
> If Anonymous can't get you promoted right now -- assuming he was serious about trying to use his influence to bump you up, rather than drunkenly boasting -- surely the prestige of raising the Canterlot Palace Military Office's VIP Section banner at the Games would provide enough career recognition for an impromptu review and advancement.
> At least then you could head back to Filly' and meet Castlerook eye-to-eye on level ground.
> You whinny to yourself.
> Heh, maybe even becoming *Sergeant* Bound would be enough to get Leeward off your back, if Anonymous' impassioned speech earlier and Alexander's scheduled sermon later didn't do the trick.
> Wasn't a bosun to a ship's crew what a sergeant was to a platoon?
> That was worth the pay bump up from Corporal alone.
> Energized by thoughts of a promising future, you find yourself letting loose, even allowing the fun-fur-trimmed red shawl to slip a bit, showing off more of the scandalous red dress underneath.
> You really shouldn't have brought this thing out here; your VIP isn't wearing his jacket, after all.
> Looking around, you realize that you're hardly in poor company when it comes to plot-revealing outfits.
> Plenty of mares around are shaking everything their dame gave them with little more than their tails to cover the underneath.
> The music's too good and you're in too good of a mood to want to head back to the table to drop it off right now.
> And you can't just hoof it to Anonymous, even though that's how it's supposed to work, between colt and mare on the dance floor -- except you're not 'colt and mare'.
> Putting it out of your mind, you let your thoughts drift back to the future, but you don't get far before another very familiar beat starts to fade in on the preceding classic beat.
> Oh no, they aren't, are they?
> They are.
> It's *that song*.
> The one you practiced to for a month for your recital.
> Your recital for *that course*.
> Of all the eclectic experimental election of hobbies and interests you'd spun through to 'find yourself' after your divorce, why'd this one have to come up as relevant, here and now?
> Well, no sense wasting what you learned.
> Both poles are presently empty.
> And your dress is about as form-fitting as your leotard was back then.
"Alright. I'm warmed up."

Recommended background music: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RZuJ_OHBN78 (Beyoncé - 'Naughty Girl' [2003])

> He's surprised, but doesn't think for more than a half-moment before following you over to the brass instrument.
> Do you still remember how to do this properly, or are you about to fall flat on your plot?
> Good thing the routine starts slowly on just your hind hooves.

> Stepping onto the base, you rear up and steady yourself against the pole with a forehoof held high, starting to bob in time with the building beat, your dress-tassels and furry shawl bouncing along with your mane and tail.
> Already, quite a few of the immediately surrounding eyes are on you, as the newest amateur aspirant.
> Wait for it...
> At the fourth bar, you start to strut around in a circle to the tempo.
> It's encouraging that you manage to keep perfectly steady on your hind hooves; doing it in slippers rather than heels certainly helps.
> The intro act gets you a couple of hoots of encouragement from the little pocket of nearby dancers.
> When the lyrics start eight bars later, you stop and shake off the shawl, kicking it away over to Anonymous, who catches it up without hesitation in one hand, to a scattering of spectators' cheers and whistles.
> He's standing close enough to reach out and hold you, if you needed help, which is a little reassuring.
> And now that you're set up, he continues his own routine in support of your own, acting like a back-up dancer in a live show.
> The half-a-hoof of extra height provided by the padded base actually raises you up as high as Artemis was when she was dancing the Lipizzaner with him.
> His active presence nearby actually makes your heart race a bit more than the public exhibition already did.
> But surely he won't want to remain with you in the spotlight once you really start embarrassing yourself.
> You shut your eyes momentarily in concentration.
> Now, can you still climb this thing and hold on...


> You are Lily Glamerspear, and your legs are wobblier than you think they've ever been in your whole life.
> And it's not the booze.
> Well, it's partially the booze.
> But never mind galloping for eight hours straight -- the Royal Engineer dancing at full tilt for an hour and a half was enough to knock you off your hooves.
> Still, you suppose this wasn't all bad.
> You had felt the groove overtaking you; it was a good pain.
> You're going to be sore as all buck tomorrow, but so what?
> You had the day off.
> Besides, that's how this assignment had been going since the beginning, and you certainly wouldn't trade it for any other boring regular posting.
> Where else would you have gotten to do all this stuff, including attending the Grand Galloping Gala?
> Now, back to enjoying one of the simplest privileges of said Gala.
"Another Manehattan. And gimme a cherry with the stem still on it. Longest stem you got."
> Only a polite nod in response from the bartender, but it's late and loud and the bar is still pretty busy, even if there are a few free stools here.
> Of course, it's only a temporary installation, but there's just something about being able to sit down at a high table and admire a wall of liquor with some well-dressed ponies who will mix you up whatever you want from it.

> Since you've had enough fruity rum for the evening, you're going back to an old faithful, named for your hometown no less.
> And the cherry on top was the cherry on top.
> You have some plans for that; plans involving the unescorted pair of bucks chatting to each other a few seats down.
> Yeah, maybe you WEREN'T looking for a coltfriend right now and maybe you WEREN'T likely to horizontally mambo with a stallion tonight -- not with how your hooves felt after all that dancing.
> But you could still have some fun and show off to a pair of studs.
> Besides, it'll boost your self-confidence after Mailedhoof dumpstered it earlier this evening when he chucked you out over your association with Purity.
> Yeah, that's right, colts, look over here, check out the real deal.
> Your cocktail arrives with the harpooned cherry just where you want it.
> Time to hit 'em with the ol' tongue twister.
> Keeping your eyes fixed over on them, you snap the stem off and stick your tongue out, deliberately avoiding the use of your telekinesis -- no cheating! -- as you drop it in place.
> One of them elbows the other, and they look over your way, clearly interested.
> Okay, now poke your tongue to the roof of your mouth to bend it in half, bite down to hold the middle, cross the ends, and -- hey, what the buck?
> The other one elbows his mate back, pointing away past you, and the two of them crane their necks to behold something new on the dance floor.
> Okay, who the buck has the absolute *teats* to upstage you while you're cherry-knotting?
> Infuriated, but still holding the stem in place, you spin around to find the target of the colts' attention.
> When you see it for yourself, your eyes go wide and the cherry-stem drops from your open mouth to the floor.


> You are Purity Ebonshield, and this is the best nightclub you've ever been in.
> Never mind the excellent music at 'The Stables', the dazzling lights at 'Tapestry', the stylish furniture at 'The Mad Ox', or the raw youthful energy of 'Earthquake', here at the Grand Galloping Gala, this is everything you had expected, dreamed, imagined, hoped, and wished for.
> All that and you could still 'hang out' with your companions so dear!
> A shame your Gilbert did not have an invite, but he was only a student, after all.
> You might have perhaps asked for one on his behalf, but you did not wish to impose on your VIP or give your paramour the wrong impression.
> You are merely his teacher for the moment; you could never be his long-term lover.
> Best to take breaks now and again to make that relationship clear.
> So tonight you are dancing with somepony else instead.
> He's a little older, true, but still youthful enough for you to initiate.
> And what beautiful movements he can make with his feathered wings!
> It makes you jealous that yours are leathery, even though they have never let you down.

> Did the Great Mother know her Children would be envious of the handsome pegasi when you were at last reunited with your Equestrian kin?
> As much as you are pleased that the prospect of fighting has ended and your Creator has peacefully reunited with Her divine sister, part of you wonders what plan, if any, Nightmare Moon had had in mind if She and Her Children of the League of Stars had emerged victorious when She returned.
> You had been certain that Carmen would have pushed for racial 'purity' and the prohibition of interbreeding, at least up until her inebriated confessional earlier tonight.
> It was hard to believe your mother could really have changed her mind, but then again, she was nothing if not opportunistic.
> The music becomes sultrier, so you close in tight around your partner, wrapping your wings around his body and nuzzling into the crook of his feathered wing, up against his paisley-patterned golden vest and crisp white shirt.
> No wonder your Very Important Pony stated that he found feathers interesting.
> Perhaps you should not have jumped at the prospect of a unicorn for your first Equestrian coupling.
> But Gilbert was a very interesting partner in his own right, and has taught you so many things about Equestrian customs and culture.
> "Whoa, someone's on the pole now, and they're really working it. You ought to get up next and show what you can do, miss Purity."
> You inhale deeply, taking in the strange foreign scent of preening oil.
"Mmm, I told you already, my sweet Paget, I am not here to show off."
> He curls his powerful wing-arm around you, surrounding your head with feathers.
> What a delightful feeling!
> "Yeah, but she's the best so far. You said you were a professional acrobat, didn't you?"
> A little lie, but technically true.
"Ahh... You really wish me to demonstrate in public? Don't you want to keep me for yourself?"
> He hugs a little tighter, and nuzzles down against your own neck, speaking into your ear.
> "Nopony's going to believe I danced with a batpony gymnast if I'm the only one who saw you tonight."
> You chuckle.
"Is that all I am? A trophy? A conquest?"
> He whinnies softly, nibbling your nape.
> "I don't think anypony could conquer *you*, miss Purity."
> After taking a moment to revel in the feeling, you lift your head up and open your eyes.
"Let us see, then, this performer who has taken your attention away from me."
> It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust to the brilliant flashing lights.
> But when you see her, the only thing you can think is:
> Those are *not* among the moves of the Temple of the Shining Stellar Dance that you had taught to your comrade Honoria.


> You are Artemis Sparkshower, and it's a beautiful night out.
> You're a little less enthused with the reason why you're outside.
> Albert Pacesetter, sadly not at all out of character for somepony from the upper crust of Canterlot society, is a smoker.

> You'd had quite some time dancing happily together so far, and when he invited you to head out onto a balcony for a moment to 'get some fresh air', the thought of it being for tobacco hadn't even crossed your mind.
> Things got a bit awkward, at least from your view, when upon reaching the balcony edge, he telekinetically pulled a polished silver cigarette-case out of his breast pocket and offered you one of the crisp little white cylinders with three decorative gold bands, which you declined.
> He must not have lit up before dinner, or you probably would have picked it up on him during your tango or two-step.
> Then again, you had your head so high up in the stratosphere that perhaps you wouldn't have noticed, and there were enough ambient odours in the hall that it might've been impossible to place it on him in particular.
> Well, nopony was perfect.
> And anyways, it's not like you were about to propose, or anything like that.
> There were no strings being attached here.
> He was just a gateway to a pleasant evening, which you had indeed enjoyed so far and which you looked forward to continuing to enjoy, once your partner finished his smoke break, just like the dozens of other ponies out here indulging in their vice.
> Pacesetter blows a plume of smoke out away from you, then extracts a small silver canister from another pocket and stubs the cigarette-butt out into it.
> "I do apologize, miss Sparkshower. It's a terrible habit. I'm afraid it's quite impossible to avoid amongst my peers, however."
"Unfortunately, I can say the same is true in my circles as well."
> After all, what proportion of Equestria's ordinary rank-and-file Guardsponies smoked like chimneys when they were off-duty if there was nothing better to do?
> Half?
> Two thirds?
> It was a lot.
> Being out of barracks and in the palace proper at least meant you got away from the smoke.
> And you were happy your VIP didn't imbibe either.
> But here the two of you were, still being coy about your own social situation while trying to suss out that of the other.
> That was almost a bigger frustration than the smoking.
> "But you have managed to abstain where I succumbed. It is true what they say that the fairer sex is also the ultimately stronger one. I hope we may continue our merrymaking tonight together in spite of this difference."
> You smile.
"I'd like to."
> Pacesetter bows his head.
> "Thank you. I promise no further interruptions. But shall we gaze upon the stars before returning inside?"
"I'd like that, too."
> Rising back up, he nods his head up towards a spot in the sky, away from the palace.
> "Splendid. Do you know any astronomy? The constellation 'Cygnus', 'The Swan', is spectacularly visible at this moment."
> Oh, stars!
> You love stars!
> That was one of your best courses in recon training.
> The trick will be to share what you know without making it clear *why* you know how to astronavigate.
> So the game continues...


> You are Honour Bound, and you're about to collapse.
> Your thighs are *not* up to clamping onto a pole like this any more.
> And hanging upside-down with a gut full of liquor was a really bad idea.
> Why'd you have to design your routine to end with a 'Jasmine' straight-leg inversion, slowly rotating around the pole?
> Now you're stuck here, unable to loosen your hindlegs just enough to slide down gracefully (as you were supposed to) or to bend back up to seize the pole with your forehooves.
> All you can do is crash down when everything gives out in another second...
> Just before that moment comes, you feel firm hands against your spine come up to support your weight.
> It's Anonymous, but you wouldn't care if it was a demon from Tartarus right now.
> Transferring your weight to him lets you release your grip on the pole and you try, as delicately as you can, to lift your back and put your hind hooves on the ground again.
> You wobble a moment, but your dance partner keeps his hands on you, shifting his grip to your flanks and barrel.
> You're panting, there's foam at your neck, and you feel like you've drenched this scandalously elegant dress in sweat.
> "Easy there."
> His soft voice is reassuring.
> "AY, YO, Y'ALL, GIVE IT UP FOR MISSY BROWN OVER THERE IN THE RED FOR THAT TRIPLE-A PROFESSIONAL SHOW JUST NOW, AM I RIGHT? YYYYEAH!"
> That amplified holler from the MC is rather less reassuring.
> Though you have to admit that the few moments of applause and cheers are a nice conclusion as you finally get back down on all fours.
> But you are definitely done for now.
"I need to sit down, away from the crowd."
> "Sure. Over here."
> The Royal Engineer puts on his broadest public smile and waves a bit in farewell to the audience, who quickly get back to partying, as he escorts you past the dinner tables and over through a doorway into the 'Carousel Room'.
> So named for the enormous painting of an oval carriage race covering one of the walls.
> Here, there were a few club chairs and coffee tables, and as there was no bar or drinks station nearby, it wasn't very busy.
> Your VIP sits you down in one of the seats and then squats so low in front of you so that you actually have to look down a bit to see his face.
> "You need anything? Glass of water? Something stronger?"
> You shake your head.
"No. Just a moment to rest."
> He nods, and watches as you catch your breath.
> Then he licks his lips, glancing back towards the dance floor and brass pole.
> "You looked like you were about to collapse at the end."
> You nod.
"I was. It's been a while. I haven't practiced in a couple of years..."
> You look down at the floor, shaking your head.
"... I don't know what I was thinking. The rum punch must really be in the driver's seat for me to make a fool of myself like that."
> Anonymous sighs.
> "Hey. What'd I tell you?"

> Gently taking up your forehooves in his hands, he continues.
> "... You can't keep putting yourself down like that. I sure didn't see a fool out there. You were so fantastic, I had trouble keeping up with you. Do you want to know what I *did* see?"
> Swallowing, you look up into his eyes.
> "... I saw an *amazing* performance put on by a *gorgeous* g--"
> He chokes off a word, but you barely notice the interruption.
> "... A gorgeous *mare*, with a stunning *mane*, in an exquisite dress."
> Then he lifts your right forehoof up to his mouth and kisses it softly.
> "... You're beautiful, Honour. I can see it. Anybody who can't is completely blind."
> He...
> The...
> It...
> You think you're about to fall over, even though you're already sitting down.
> An eternity passes before you take your next breath.
> And you still don't know what to say in reply.
"I..."
> It takes an act of willpower to shut your eyes and break away from his gaze for even a moment.
"... Maybe I will take that glass of water after all."
> Anonymous nods.
> "Okay."
> He gently guides your forehooves back onto the seat in front of your haunches, and then gets up.
> "... Don't go anywhere. I'll be right back."
> You're completely stunned; you couldn't move a muscle if you wanted to.
> It's a miracle you haven't toppled onto the floor.
> There's a pounding in your chest and in your head, and it isn't the bass drum from the dance music.
> Before you can even put two thoughts together, he's back with the water.
> Your mind a blur, you take it and drink it all down.
> And when he squats down in front of you to take the empty away, you can't help but be captivated by his eyes again.
> "Better?"
> You feel yourself nodding.
> He nods, tenderly.
> "Okay..."
> Then he bobs his head back towards the dance floor.
> "... Are you done for the night, or are you still up for some more dancing? The regular kind, I mean."
> You find yourself scooting forwards, hind hooves touching the ground, followed by fore.
"Yeah..."
> He stands up beside you, and you find yourself swishing your tail in anticipation.
"... Yeah, we can keep going..."
> Finally, real breathing returns to you, and you inhale deeply, swelling your chest with a strange and unfamiliar kind of confidence and determination.
"... We can keep going all night. They'll have to drive us out with spears and javelins."
> You look up, and the Royal Engineer smiles down at you.
> "All right! Let's wreck the joint!"
> And with that, you accompany your Very Important Pony back to the dance floor.


Suggested interlude music: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T9Jcs45GhxU (Chris De Burgh - 'Lady in Red' [1986])




> You are Corporal Honour Bound, and the sun is shining on your face.
> Why is it so bright this early in the morning?
> It's only spring, damn it.
> Your eyes want to open in reaction to the light even if the rest of you just wants to get back to sleep.
> With a low groan, you find yourself squinting and blinking into blindingly low-angle morning rays that are, mercifully, at least coming in slightly from the side instead of fully head-on.
> It takes a supreme effort of logical processing to realize you can just bring a hoof up and mask out the visual intrusion.
> And then another supreme effort to actually move your limp foreleg up in front of your muzzle.
> Plopping it down roughly, you find yourself sinking back into blissful deep sleep.
> Except something feels off, and it's not just the radiant warmth now beaming onto you.
> In your haze it takes an eternity of dipping in and out of consciousness to process even the most basic of input signals.
> Finally, scrunching your eyes closed as hard as you can, you reach back down to find your covers.
> There's nothing there.
> Buck, did you just pass out directly on top of everything last night?
> You scratch your hoof against the bed underneath you hoping to dislodge them and eventually wriggle and squirm your way underneath.
> But there's nothing there.
> No slack fabric of a blanket or sheet.
> It's not even very soft, you come to realize.
> Are you even in your bed?
> Did you pass out on the couch?
> More moments pass, drifting between wakefulness and slumber.
> The shared couch was pretty soft, though; not firm like this...
> And there's...
> Your train of thought is suspended by another blissful collapse into sleep.
> Wait...
> There's no *window* in the common area of your quarters.
> Where *are* you?
> Now it's you forcing your own eyes open, grunting as you face the detested sunbeams.
> That's a huge window it's all coming in through.
> You glance down and see you are, in fact, on a sofa, just not the plain and low Lawson-style one from your room.
> This is an elegant Chesterfield, in blue upholstery with white diamond pleats.
> Where've you seen one of these before?
> A vision of a scene starts to materialize in your hungover head.
> A long, royal-blue sofa, with three sitting chairs in the same fashion, all arranged a large round coffee table...
> Your breathing stops and your heart skips a beat.
> Your eyes open wide.
> You're in the Royal Engineer's chambers.
> You're lying on his sofa, facing his window.
> And now that you've been shocked awake, you notice the limp weight across your barrel, the steady movements at your back, and the slow, regular movement of air rustling your mane.
> The Royal Engineer is right behind you.
> Lying on the sofa.
> The sofa you're on.

> Swallowing, you hesitantly turn and lift your head to look.
> He's right there, passed out behind you, with his arm draped over you.
> You're being spooned by your VIP.
> To your relief, you find that he's still dressed in his shirt and pants.
> His jacket's been thrown over the far armrest, though his vest is nowhere to be seen.
> You're still wearing your own dress, and your panties.
> Your shawl's been tossed next to his tailcoat.
> Part of you is relieved at the evidence pointing to nothing having happened between you, besides passing out together on the same couch.
> The other part is starting to panic at the fact that you're still here.
> Lowering your head back down to face forward once more, you try to think.
> You remember escorting him back to his chambers...
> Or was he escorting you?
> Both of you were pretty wasted.
> And exhausted.
> What time had the dancing finally stopped?
> You remember staying to the very end.
> They were clearing the table linens by the time Anon retrieved his jacket from his seat.
> It was still dark outside then, you were certain.
> Three in the morning?
> Maybe four?
> There was hardly anypony left on the dance floor when they called it a wrap.
> There were hardly any *guests* at the Gala at all, in fact.
> They almost did have to chase you out at sword-point, like you'd boasted to him last night.
> And...
> And you remember what *he* had said to you just before that.
> You remember how it made you feel.
> Oh...
> You need to get out of here.
> There's nothing for it but to slip away and hope he doesn't wake up.
> Cautiously, you slide your hind legs out and lower your hind hooves to the ground; then, in a smooth motion you slowly roll away from him onto the floor.
> It shouldn't be easy to stand after last night, but the adrenaline somehow lets you do it without falling over.
> You look back and see the Royal Engineer is still completely out, his arm and hand now lying on the sofa instead of you.
> His hand...
> You remember going to sleep with a reassuring grip around your barrel...
> And before that, his fingers stroking your coat...
> Your left ear twitches with the memory of him nuzzling into it.
> Taking a deep breath and swallowing, you hoofpad over to grab your shawl and pick it up in your mouth, unwilling to risk two-legged movement at this time.
> Then you creep over to his door and gingerly depress the lever handle.
> There's neither squeak nor creak when you pull the door open.
> Celestia bless the caretakers who kept all the Palace's locks and hinges well-oiled, and bless Her decorators who put plush, sound-deadening carpeting in every hallway.
> Thanks to them, your early-morning escape from the tender clutches of your VIP is completely silent.
> Looking up and down the corridor, you see that your flight will also go unwitnessed.
> Bless the Chamberlain who placed the Royal Engineer's chambers in the out-of-the-way West Wing's South annex.

> After a brief pause of silent thanks you set off at a 'nonchalant' trot, making for the staircase to the servants' second floor.
> Up there, the risk of running into somepony was greater, since there were ponies quartered everywhere, but what would they see?
> A fellow serving-pony returning from wherever they'd spent the night, which might have been anywhere.
> The feeling of panic starts to dissipate once you reach the stairs.
> It's okay; it'll be all right.
> You only slept on the sofa with your VIP.
> So you cuddled a little; it wasn't anything significant.
> Just two drunk, tired partygoers collapsing onto the nearest horizontal surface after an evening of singing and dancing.
> Singing...
> Somehow, he'd known the lyrics to one of your favourite old melancholy pop hits.
> Was it similar to a song where he came from?
> Or had he heard it in one of the nightclubs you visited earlier in the week?
> Maybe he was even getting most of the words wrong; you might've been too drunk to notice.
> Either way, you remember being thrilled that he had the self-confidence to sing along, and that made you want to sing with him.
> Which you did.
> 'I don't know why you don't care.'
> You remember dancing closely.
> 'You take all my love, but you're not there.'
> *Very* closely.
> 'What is wrong and what is right?'
> Your hoofsteps up slow to a crawl and you close your eyes.
> 'Give me a sign.'
> You'd given him a sign, all right.
> Never mind floofing your tuft out, or popping your wings, or leaking mana from a horn.
> All the booze from last night hadn't suppressed the memory of you grinding your tail and plot right up against the Royal Engineer for most of that song and much of the next.
> And he hadn't resisted or pulled away; rather, he'd gotten into it, leaning down and back, swaying left and right opposite your motions, elevating your drunken attempt at a flirtatious groping into a provocative sensual dance.
> You stop in place.
> Whatever else had conspired to have you sleeping in his arms on his sofa, you remember one thing clearly.
> You had *wanted* it.
> That realization brings you to a dead stop at the top of the stairs.
> Sitting down on your haunches, you reach a hoof up to your brow.
> Your mouth opens limply, releasing your shawl onto the floor.
> It takes you a while to catch your breath.
> Celestia.
> You really messed things up this time, Honour.
> Never mind panicking over the potential embarrassment from being found sleeping with your VIP, instead now a deeper fear sets in from your betrayal of your relationship with Castlerook.
> What would he have said if he'd seen what you did?
> What *will* he say if word gets to him?
> And what'll he do?
> All after you'd just reconciled and made grand plans for the future.
> You shut your eyes, and a couple of lonely tears dribble out.

> It's not just him you've gone and hurt, either.
> So much for Sparkshower's ambitions to pursue a new relationship.
> And so much for your advice to her to play things slow.
> She'd cooled things down after the hot ending to her Lipizzaner Waltz with the Royal Engineer, and largely avoided smothering him with attention or affection at the dining table.
> Presumably, she'd gone and had a proper and congenial evening with that high-society colt she'd just met.
> And what had you, the gutter-trash underachiever from Fillydelphia gone and done?
> Only smashed your plot up against his gear in the crudest way possible without somehow being obscene.
> So, good job, Honour.
> A double disaster in one evening.
> Triple, if Anonymous didn't black out like after Tuesday night's club crawl.
> Truly a buck-up worthy of the Grand Galloping Gala.
> Damn it all to Tartarus...
> He'd even spoken about getting you bumped up to Sergeant just before you hit the dance floor!
> What if he thinks you were engaged in plot-for-promotion trading, and reports it?
> Or what if he really does submit the recommendation, and somepony else recalls what you had gotten up to at the Gala?
> That could land you in some real hot water.
> The catastrophic possibilities of being discharged from the Royal Guard and being disowned by your coltfriend dance away a while in your pounding skull when they're interrupted by a familiar voice.
> "Honour? Are you OK?"
> Oh, buck, no; not her.
> The big, cream-coloured pegasus with the yellow mane before you looks weary, with some puffiness around her eyes, and her ears flopped sleepily back along her poll.
> Clearly, you're not the only one who stayed up late, as was certainly to be expected.
"Sparkshower, what are you doing up at this hour? We're not on duty today."
> Sparkshower shrugs.
> "I know. But I guess my internal clock won't let me sleep in any more right now. I was tossing and turning in bed for a while so I thought I'd just get a little breakfast in me and then see if I could rest more after that..."
> She tilts her head and bends it down a little to scrutinize your guilty face.
> "... What about you? You've got a diamond pattern pressed into your coat. Did you wind up sleeping on a chair downstairs, or something like that?"
> Buck!
> The sofa fabric!
> Mercifully that pattern was, from what you remembered, pretty common throughout the palace.
> You touch a hoof to your cheek and try to brush away the evidence of your misdeeds.
"Yeah... Yeah, something like that."
> "It can't have been very comfortable. I guess that's why you woke up now, too."
> You sigh.
"I'm up because the sun was in my eyes."
> Bending over, you pick up your shawl with your mouth and throw it over your back.
> Then you squint down the hallway in the direction of your room.
> You try to lick your lips only to find it's like rubbing sandpaper over bare rock.
"Is our water jug full? My mouth's dryer than Tartarus."

> Sparkshower slowly shakes her head, and that's when you see she's got a small saddle-strap with your copper jug on it.
> "It's empty. I was going to fill it up at the kitchen, too."
> You sigh.
> As hard as it would be to fall asleep with your head in this state, it'd be even harder when you're so cotton-mouthed.
"I'll come with you, then."
> Sparkshower cocks her head slightly.
> "Are you sure? You look pretty exhausted. I'll be back quickly."
> You slowly start towards this wing's servants' kitchen, and she follows behind.
"No. Now that I've said it, I'm too thirsty to wait."
> "Maybe you ought to eat a little something, too. You don't look very good."
> Food is absolutely the last thing you want inside of you right now.
> In fact the reverse might almost be preferable, but thankfully you didn't get hammered enough last night to suffer that fate, apparently.
> Just keep things moving, make small talk as needed, get your water, get your rest, and pray that the truth won't get out.
> To anypony.
> As you proceed down the hallway, you realize that the worst part of all this wasn't just the maximum potential penalties that you could suffer, in terms of career and conjugality.
> It was the fact that you just had no way of knowing what would *actually* happen.
> And one big reason for *that* is that you had no idea what Anonymous was going to do, assuming he remembered.
> Beyond questions about how much he could recall -- which probably wasn't *more* than you did, but might be *as* much as it, and that would be bad enough -- there was the simple truth that every time you had tried to predict what he was going to do, you'd been proven wrong.
> You thought he might have been about to make a move on Sparkshower at the theatre -- well, only suspected the possibility, really; Glamerspear was the one who completely misread it -- but no, it was just an evening's entertainment.
> You assumed he would retreat from the pas-de-sabots, or give up Artemis and the other tokens as hostages to pass, but then he actually put it to your choice.
> You never thought he'd come up, sheepishly, when Sparkshower and Glam had blown up on each other over the Gala, and then offered tickets to all of you -- even Sparks' now-estranged coltfriend.
> With Luna's visit, at least, you simply had no idea what to expect at all: from him, from Her, from Her Presence.
> But when you'd blown up at him over his rearranging his room without any of you present?
> With workers and servants moving around his furniture and taking his directions all day long, without even one of his bodyguards present, against protocol?
> He'd said the one thing you couldn't tolerate, and you'd gone from a stern talk to completely flipping out.
> Yet after that explosive outburst, he'd gone out with Sparkshower and bought you an apologetic bouquet; that was when you realized you had no idea what was going on in his head.

> He was a Very Important Pony, and he wasn't a Pony, and he was Very Important, and he wasn't anything like any other VIP you'd ever worked for or heard of.
> Your train of thought barely slows down as you enter the kitchen, this morning little more than a jerkwater outpost to scoop up water before steaming off to your bedroom terminus.
> At least you could read Anon's emotions well enough, for the most part; when he was riled up, he certainly wore them right on his sleeve, plain to see.
> And now that you'd worked with him a few weeks, you felt you understood his often detached, logical way of looking at things, even if you couldn't completely simulate it.
> But somehow taking in those inputs did not let you predict his actual output.
> Often enough you couldn't even understand what made him get emotional, either.
> How come he was so happy and bubbly last night, but restrained and subdued for Tuesday's club crawl?
> Well, until he got completely hammered, at least.
> But what VIP would have accepted Eb's offer to venture into the batpony Rookery, just for a place to train?
> You'd gone along with it, and to be fair Her Majesty Princess Luna had asked for something like this, but his easygoing attitude had still surprised you.
> For someone so meticulous and whose work involved such accuracy, how could he throw himself into the unknown like that?
> It boggled your mind a bit.
> He'd even shrugged off the revelation that his batpony bodyguard was actually an assassin.
> And what really confused you sometimes was the way he let you walk all over him.
> The bouquet was bad enough, but letting you sit in on his massage at Spa Dalecarlia?
> Not demanding you avert your eyes when he was naked in the Well of Souls?
> Overall, just allowing you to impose Equestrian social customs to the absolute hilt?
> And yet not, sometimes.
> He wouldn't let you take the fall for him with Major-General Hoofstrong over the live-fire Whirlwind exercise, and he refused to be held aside as a non-combatant during Marcos' ambush.
> Even though both of those actions were very clearly part of your job description as a bodyguard.
> And then there was the even bigger bunyip in the room...
> What, if anything, did Anonymous want?
> Even if they'd touched you deeply, his compliments and that hoof-kiss after your pole-dance last night could've been dismissed as just the innocent reassurance of a friend -- a *close* friend.
> But after waking up in his arms?
> Maybe not.
> Did he simply fall victim to your blatant seduction?
> Or was he genuinely interested?
> You think back to his sad-drunk lonely outburst on Tuesday night, when he mumbled about not wanting to be alone any more.
> And when he whispered about how you ought to let your hair down...
> And when he ran his fingers through your mane, massaging your crest...
> "Uh, Corporal? Are you done?"

> Sparkshower's voice shakes you back to your senses and you realize you are still standing right in front of the sink, with the water-jug and a single kitchen cup both full before you.
> Your mouth, however, is still bone-dry.
> Shaking your head quickly to jolt yourself awake, you snatch up the cup and guzzle the water.
> Then you wipe your mouth and look over to your pegasus comrade as she holsters the jug on her saddle.
"What about your breakfast?"
> She lifts an eyebrow.
> "I already had it: a couple of slices of toast with butter and jam. You've just been standing here the whole time while I ate. Are you sure you're okay?"
> You scowl at yourself.
> You're not doing yourself any favours by trying to mull everything over right now.
> Focus on what's important: making sure nopony finds out.
> *Especially* not Sparkshower.
"I'm just tired. Come on, let's head back. We could both do with more rest."
> She nods.
> "Right."
> You really did need to be careful; even bleary, she'd still picked out the pattern imprinted onto your coat from the Royal Engineer's sofa.
> And you'd foolishly admitted being woken up by sunrise.
> That was a dangerous amount of information to have fed to a recon-expert pony already, even though plenty of palace windows faced East.
> It was imperative that you avoid divulging anything else that could incriminate you.
> Buck, who actually *had* spotted you and Anonymous together last night?
> You know you were the last ones to leave, so nopony you know should have spotted you actually go into the Royal Engineer's chambers.
> Glamerspear had abandoned dancing with your VIP out of exhaustion, but you can't imagine she outright left the Gala then and there.
> Did she see your pole dance?
> Your grind?
> What about Ebonshield?
> Had she been too wrapped up with her latest acquisition to notice your first and very public display?
> And where had Artemis been the whole time?
> Did she go so far into giving Anon some time-out that she didn't even glance over at him when dancing with her colt?
> She hasn't mentioned anything, yet.
> Your heart starts to race again as it did but minutes ago when you realized where you'd spent the night.
> With luck, Sparkshower would go back to sleep longer than you, and you could check the other potential witnesses yourself first.
> Not to mention, talk to your VIP.
> OK.
> You can run damage control on this; it won't be too hard.
> Reaching your room, you almost breathe a sigh of relief as you open the door.
> Only to have that relief obliterated by panic when you hear the toilet flush.
> Somepony was in the washroom, and in two seconds they were going to see you walk in with Sparkshower.
> Would it be Glam, or Eb?
> And would they be in a chatty mood or just in a hurry to get back to bed?
> Sparkshower steps past you to deposit the filled water-jug on the sideboard.
> As she does so, the door opens to reveal a very tired-looking Glamerspear.

> "Is that water? Thank Celestia, I'm parched. You're a lifesaver, Sparks."
> "You're welcome, Lily. I guess we're all a bit dry after the late night, right, Honour?"
> Ah, buck.
> Midway through a guzzled cup, Glam lazily glances over at you.
> "Damn, didn't even notice you there..."
> As she telekinetically lowers the vessel back down, she cracks an exhausted grin.
> No, no, don't you dare...
> "... Heh. Lot less conspicuous when you aren't up on a pole."
> Damn you to Tartarus, Specialist Lily Glamerspear!
> Sparkshower cocks an eyebrow and turns to look at you.
> "Up on a pole?"
> Buck!
> The pink unicorn snorts.
> "Oh, you didn't see? Turns out our Corporal is one heck of an acrobat, and a bit of a closet exhibitionist too, I'd say. Where'd you learn to pole-dance like that, huh?"
> Shut it down; shut it down, now!
"A class I took during my post-divorce crisis. And you won't see it again unless I get very, very drunk. So you may as well forget it happened."
> At that, she whinnies hoarsely.
> "Forget it?! A performance like that? Even if I could, there's a hundreds others who'll remember. *Especially* our VIP, given his front-row seat, complete with participation award. How late did you two stay up dancing, anyways? They must've had to kick you out."
> Sparkshower's head swivels to Glamerspear, a confused look on her face, at that last statement.
> This is getting out of hoof.
"I'm exhausted; I don't want to discuss anything right now. Let's just get back to bed, and we can blabber all about the Gala in the afternoon, okay?"
> Glam's smirk fades, and she nods slowly.
> "Yeah, sure."
> She starts towards her door, and you start towards yours.
> Sparkshower remains still, however.
> Just go to bed, just go to bed, just go to bed, just go to bed.
> You pass her, and a few steps later reach your forehoof out for the door-handle.
> "Honour..."
> No-no-no-no-no!
> "... last night, when you fell asleep downstairs..."
> Wait-wait-wait-wait-wait!
> "... was it on the Royal Engineer's blue sofa with white diamond pleats? The one in his sitting area that faces East out the big window behind his desk?"
> Your eyes cringe shut.
> You've been made.
> With a sigh, you lower your hoof, but you stay facing the door.
> Nothing left but to come clean; at least you can truthfully say that nothing happened.
"Yes. But we just cuddled, okay? He didn't even take his suit off."
> There's no reply.
> After a moment, you lift your head and look back.
> Glamerspear's jaw is hung open in shock.
> Sparkshower's eyes are wide as dinner plates.
> It's the unicorn that breaks the silence with a hoarse, hissing, whisper-shout.
> "'JUST CUDDLED'? YOU MEAN YOU *SLEPT* WITH ANON?!"
> Oh, bucking damn absolutely everything and everyone to Tartarus!
> Sparkshower had only figured out *where* you'd slept, not *with whom*!

> The pegasus in question starts to pant.
> "You... I just... I just thought you fell asleep on his sofa after helping him get home, like on Tuesday."
> Congratulations, Honoria, you just played *yourself*!
> Choking on your own spittle, you hold a forehoof up in supplication.
"That's what-- That's what it was supposed to be, and-- and-- and somehow it just turned into passing out on the couch together, okay? But nothing happened, Spar-"
> Interrupting you, she just throws up her wings and stomps off towards her room.
> "No, no, you're right; I don't want to discuss anything right now, either! I don't want to discuss anything *at all*!"
> With a loud bang, she kick-slams the door shut behind her.
> There's a clattering from inside as she rattles on.
> "... I don't want to discuss you spooning with Anonymous on his sofa! I don't want to discuss how you pole-danced with him when I couldn't! I don't want to discuss how I ought to 'play it slow'!"
> You saunter over towards the door, absolutely dejected with yourself.
"Artemis, please!"
> "I SAID I DON'T WANT TO DISCUSS!"
> There's one final rustle from inside, and then you hear her window slide open.
> Well, this wasn't the first pegasus defenestrative rage-quit you'd witnessed.
> But a moment after you hear wings open, there's the unmistakable and deafening *CLICK*-*FWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOSSSHHHHH* of the Bradamante Lance rocketing off into the distance.
> Damn it all to Tartarus.
> You collapse onto your haunches in front of Sparkshower's room door, curling up into the crumpled mess that you are.
> Glamerspear is still just staring at you in shock.
> Moments pass in silence, and then there's another click and creak.
> Ebonshield's door opens and the violet batpony pokes her head out.
> After surveying the apparent damage, she steps into the common room and gently shuts the door behind her with a wing-arm.
> She probably didn't sleep alone in there.
> You look up, dejected, a scattering of tears streaming down your muzzle, as the Sergeant sidles up next to Glamerspear, shooting her an inquisitive glance.
> With a sigh, Glamerspear spills the beans.
> "Honour slept on Anon's sofa last night. *With* him. But she says that nothing happened."
> You try to chime in, but your voice comes out as a croak.
"Nothing happened."
> Glam doesn't seem to believe you.
> "Well, either way, Sparks didn't take that too well."
> Eb considers things for a moment, then sighs as she looks down at your miserable form.
> "Well. Ordinarily for such a situation, I might have some joke or tease to make, given my own introductory proposition to our VIP, but I see that things are well beyond such a point..."
> Approaching you, she holds out a forehoof to help you get back up.
> "... What has happened last night?"

> You take it and haul yourself onto your hooves, though you're unsteady; she leads you to one of the chairs at the breakfast-table and, once you're seated, grabs another for herself, scootching in close.
> Glam just watches from the sideboard, pouring herself another cup of water.
"Eb, I don't really want to talk about it. I just want to get some sleep."
> The master of assassins pats your forehoof.
> "The short version, then. In case Artemisa returns while you slumber, that I might help settle things."
> You really don't want her to have to take care of your affairs.
> 'Affairs', now there's a word.
> Sighing, you give in.
"A song I used for my pole-dance recital came on, so I performed it. I made mistakes and almost fell off, but Anonymous helped me avoid complete failure. And he'd danced in support. After a short rest, we kept going the rest of the night. We got... pretty close. Didn't leave until the DJ packed up. By the time I helped him back to his room, we were both exhausted enough to just collapse on his sofa. I woke up with the sun in my eyes and the Royal Engineer's arm around my barrel, and left as discreetly as I could. He was still asleep when I exited."
> The batpony's dark nostrils flare as she inhales deeply.
> "I see..."
> She considers your words for a few moments.
> "... And how did you *feel* when you were dancing with him? When you fell asleep together?"
> You shake your head again, furrowing your brow.
"I don't know. I can't remember, exactly. I had something like half a litre of rum in me, you know."
> "Mmmm, yes, of course, but come now, Caporal..."
> Eb lowers her head down to look up into your eyes.
> "... If you remember the events so clearly as this, surely you remember also how you *felt* about them?"
> That's...
> Damn it.
> You know she's right.
> All morning, you've been thinking about how you felt.
> It was a tangled mess of emotions and questions.
> How to sum it all up succinctly?
> You cast your memory back to find a reference point, and when you do finally find one that fits all too well, you shut your eyes in a cringe again.
> It shouldn't be that, but it is.
> With a sniffle, you mutter out the truth.
"I felt like how I did when my ex-husband and I first met."
> Opening your eyes again, you see Purity's sympathetic, yet concerned, face.
> Over at the sideboard, Glamerspear knickers and then clacks her tongue.
> "*Hnn-hnn-hnn*. *Tsk*. Well..."
> She cocks her head sideways and rolls her eyes up towards the ceiling.
> "... At least this time you don't gotta worry about him wanting to marry you for your money."

Suggested interlude music: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HEXWRTEbj1I (Haddaway - 'What is Love' [1993])




(Chapter still in progress...)