FoxtrotUniformCharlieKilo-Mare 2: The Buckening.

I coughed. Flecks of spittle flew out of my mouth and landed on my chest. I noticed they had been tainted pink by my own blood. I felt the breeze by my eye before I saw the hoof. It smashed into the side of my jaw, spinning my head with enough force to pop my neck. I closed my eyes and spit. I heard the rattle of one of my teeth hitting the floor and ran my tongue over the spot where it'd been. Fresh blood began pouring down my throat.

I turned my head to my aggressor. "Who taught you how to punch? Your husband?"

He swung again, this time at my torso. I didn't have time to tense up. The fetlock struck me just above the false rib, and I heard rather than felt the bones crack.

An irate voice came from the shadow that had been hitting me. "Are you always a smart-ass?"

"Not always," I croaked. "Sometimes I'm asleep."

The next hit smashed into my left eye and rocked my head back. My entire body throbbed in pain. This session had gone on longer than the previous ones. Normally, they asked a few questions, threw a few punches, and dropped me back into my hole. It wasn't a perfect arrangement, but I'd come to appreciate the animalistic simplicity from these stallions. But this time, it seemed they were willing to kill me to get their answer.

"I'm asking you one last time," he said. "Where is she?"

"Last I checked, in your mother's bedchambers. We were having a thre-"

And that was all it took. He bellowed with rage and began pummeling me. I'm pretty sure he bit me once or twice, too. It didn't last long, it never does. They can hit hard, but they've got no endurance. He ran out of breath and stood panting over my prone body. I tried moving my hoof, to see if the bit of broken glass was still embedded there.

Yep, it was.

"That," I said, flexing my jaw, "hurt."

He continued to stand over me, panting heavily. A bead of his sweat fell off his nose. I watched it fall to the floor. He turned to walk away, back to the door. Back to freedom. Halfway there, he thought better of it and came back, thrusting his face into mine. It wasn't very pretty. Dried spit had collected at the side of his mouth, yellowed and crusty. The white fur clashed with his golden headpiece, and his eyes were red and bloodshot.

"You're gonna get what's coming to you," he whispered. "This will all be for nothing. She doesn't care about you. She's abandoned you. Your little rebellion will be squashed in the next few weeks. They're running. They're scared."

I turned my one unbruised eye to him. "So then. Why not set me free?"

He chuckled and pulled his head away. As he turned to leave, he kicked once more at me. The force was enough to rock me back. I smashed into the floor, hard. I laid there, doing my best to take shallow breaths and avoid antagonizing my ribs. He continued his low laughter as he opened the door. I heard it up until the door closed once more, locking me in the room. Alone.

Finally.

The chair I'd been tied to had taken some abuse recently, what with all the smashing I'd been doing to it during these "talks". It seems like this time, the back had finally given up its mad hope of remaining attached to the seat. After a bit of effort, I managed to untangle my hooves from the broken chair. It was now or never. I re-arranged myself over the chair to give the illusion I was still tied down.

I played the waiting game. Time crawled past with glacial slowness. It couldn't have been more than 5 minutes, but it was the longest 5 minutes of my life. Entire nations could have risen and fallen in that time period. Generations could have been born, fallen in love, and begotten their own children in that time. I'd seen games of chess that played faste-

The door swung open. Standing in the doorway was my escort's guard. He always showed up first, just to make sure there was nothing wrong with the situation before the second guard could come in and haul me back to the hole. I waited for the door to close before I spoke.

"Hey, mister. I've got to go."

He looked at me, confusion in his face.

"You know. Go. To the bathroom."

"Shut up," he barked.

"I've really, really got to go."

"Then piss yourself there," came the reply.

"I don't have to do that. I've got to crap."

Realization dawned on his face. "No, you don't. Hold it."

"You have foals?"

He shook his head and glared at me.

"I do. Well, not really. I'm the Godparent of one, anyway. And you can't do it."

He growled. "Do what?"

"Tell them to hold it," I said simply. "You're trotting down in Canterlot and they say 'I've got to go' and you have to drop everything. Because you can't just not crap. It's going to happen. So if you wanted to walk out so you don't have to smell it..."

He began walking to me, yelling. "No. I'm not leaving and you're not going to take a shit. Alright? You hear me!" With each word, he stepped closer and closer to me until his face was right above mine.

My face flew into his nose. I spun my leg around and managed to get it around his neck, pulling him to the floor with me. He began swinging wildly, punching and straining. It seems he was about to learn a lesson. Arms are strong, but legs are always stronger. Two, actually.

Legs are also stronger than necks.

He put up a fight, but after a couple dozen seconds his will was broken and he went limp. I held him for another two minutes to make damn sure he was down. I'd have faked suffocation as soon as I'd realized it was inescapable, so I made it a point to be sure it wasn't an act. I stood up and almost lost my footing as my body screamed in many colorful ways. I was in no fit condition to escape, but it's not like I could reschedule things to my own schedule. I hobbled on three legs to the door, gingerly carrying the limb that was coated in glass. It took effort, but I managed to haul myself to the door. The plan was simple. As soon as it swung open, I'd jump the guard and make a mad dash for freedom. Well, not so much a mad dash as a mad crawl, but the principal was the same.

And so the waiting game began once more. I strained myself, listening for hoovesteps or heavy breathing. Anything to indicate someone was coming to the door. I must have been listening too hard, though. For a moment, I thought I heard screams. The hairs on my neck prickled. I slowed my breathing in an effort to calm down, but a shiver of fear washed through me. There it was again. A shout. Closer this time. I closed my eyes and heard it. Hoofbeats. A steady rhythm, coming closer and closer to the door. I prepared myself for the attack. The door didn't click open like normal. It flew open, as if somepony had run full speed into it. It swung and smashed into the wall, splintering on contact. I stood in my corner. Heavy breaths emanated from the doorway. I held my own breath. As soon as I saw the hoof, I shouted and threw myself at the stallion. Mid-leap, I realized his fur wasn't nearly as white as the castle guards. It was tan. And instead of palace armor, he was naked. I saw his eyes just as he saw mine, and we collided and tumbled into the hallway.

"Snails!"

"Snips!"

I pushed myself off my friend and a thousand questions jumped into my head. "Snails! How'd you get here? What took you so long? Wh-"

He cut me off with a shake of his head. "No time to explain," he said. "Fuckmare's in trouble."