A getaway to a magical land of physics-defying and overbearing, over-friendly creatures is not as great one would think it would be. Well, it's certainly not as great one ODST would think it would be.
Chris always wanted to get away from the hell known as the Great War, but god damn, this is not the sort of fantasy getaway he had in mind. He could barely find a chance to escape from his affectionate hosts, and he still hadn't located the Spartan. SPARTAN-104—his superior, and the only other survivor from his unit. Well, not exactly his unit, as him and his squadmates were in no way Spartans, but for the time being, their transfer was active, and he was considered a part of Blue Team.
His current status was operational, but just barely. He was currently sitting in what was basically a super-sized gingerbread house, surrounded by laughing, dancing, prancing ponies, all partying in his honour. “What an honour,” he thought sarcastically.
He'd been trying to avoid this party since the idea first emerged from the pink, poofy one's mouth. He'd told them he had his objectives, that he wasn't their to cause any harm or stir up any trouble, and he was pretty sure they believed he was genuine, but they were all so fixated on making friends with him. Well, for the most part, the other five did understand that he had bigger worries, but they allowed the pink one to 'do her thing', promising him that he would be free to roam about undisturbed once it was just out of the way.
He didn't believe any of that. They were obsessed with him. The pink one especially.
Most of the time, he avoided conversation. If he needed something, he would usually just look in their direction and ask for it, never addressing any of them by their names. He knew each of their names, but they were so girly. He was all for cutesy things; he loved kittens and puppies, and was a sucker for a girl that acted like a princess—a kind princess—but their names were over the top. He hated addressing them, because he felt waves and waves of embarrassment poor down over him each time he said one of their names. Well, Rainbow Dash, Rarity, and Applejack weren't so bad, but saying them still made him feel weird. Probably because they were names that belonged to ponies.
He usually tried to keep to himself, and he was perfectly alright with this. But his six friends weren't, especially the pink one.
“And so, I really really tried to find cherries to put on the cake, but for some reason, EVERYPONY in town is out! I tried my hardest to get them though, believe me! I even tried using one of Twilight's weird glowy potion thingies to grow them—you do believe me, right? I hope you aren't upset or anything!” Pinkie Pie fretted.
Chris sort of zoned out when Pinkie Pie talked. He had been thinking about SPARTAN-104 again, trying to determine a general area where he could start looking for him when the party was over. He hadn't paid a lick of attention to anything Pinkie Pie had been saying until she was almost finished talking. He'd gotten good at that. It bought him plenty more time to think about more important things while she droned on, and he could make it back just in time to give a simple, “Sure,” or, “Okay,” to assure her that he'd been listening. She really didn't like it when he didn't listen. She'd repeat everything she had already said if she learned he hadn't been paying attention to her.
“Uh, nah, it's fine,” he said. He and everyone else around could clearly hear the indifference in his voice, but for Pinkie, all she needed was to hear him say that.
“Great! So how are you enjoying the party?” She beamed.
“It's nice. The punch is good.”
“Glad ya like it! It's my great great great great grandmother's recipe! It was a family secret, until it wasn't anymore. Now, everypony in Ponyville knows the recipe, and can make it themselves!” She beamed again, and just sort of stared at Chris with her big dopey smile.
“Greeeat,” Chris said, not all that sure how to respond to such simple-minded conversation. The other five girls called Pinkie 'innocent'. Chris preferred the term 'simple-minded'.
The door flew open behind them and another barrage of rambunctious ponies entered the house. Chris jumped at the sudden noise and his hand dropped down to his right thigh, reaching for a sidearm he knew wasn't there. Habit had been toying with him his entire time in Equestria, or maybe it was PTSD. Either way, his instinct whenever he heard a loud noise was to raise his weapon in its direction. So sometimes, the ponies found it a little odd when his hands made strange motions at loud, sudden noises. But he was getting better at controlling it; knowing that the most dangerous thing around was a barrage of endless, pointless questions from Pinkie Pie, he was becoming much more comfortable as each day passed. Yet, much more uncomfortable as well.
“Chris, I can't help but notice you're still wearing your, what was it... battle attire?” Rarity asked.
“Battle dress uniform,” he corrected. “I like it.”
“But it's torn in some spots, and it looks so uncomfortable! Why don't you wear the clothes I knitted for you?” she retorted.
“It's not that torn. I thought you'd just be glad that I took my body armour off. Besides, I'm used to this. No offense, but, I'd kind of just prefer to keep wearing it.”
“Fine,” Rarity huffed. “But you're going to have to take it off for washing sooner or later, and when you do, I hope to see you wearing the clothes I made you!” she said with a slight edge of annoyance in her voice.
“Now now, Rares. Don't hassle him about clothes no more. I'm sure they're the last thing on his mind right now,” Applejack said.
“Ugh, and cherries aren't?” she seethed, before quickly covering her muzzle with a hoof and blushing. “I'm sorry, I'm just kind of disappointed that he's not wearing them. I really wanted to see if I could design clothes for human beings as well!”
“Ah, don't you worry sugarcube. I'm sure you could. You've made all sorts of fantastic clothes for creatures aside from ponies!”
“Oh, thank you dear.” The two exchanged smiles, then all eyes turned back to Chris.
“So... how long do these parties usually go for?” he asked.
“And that's the story of when a bee-bear attacked Ponyville, on Matilda's wedding day! It's a real good one if you ask me—a real bonding moment for everypony! Do you want me to tell you the story of the changeling attack on Canterlot now? It's a real good one as well!”
Somehow, Chris had wound up agreeing to hear a very ridiculous story from Pinkie Pie's huge arsenal of ridiculous stories. He momentarily reconsidered the effectiveness of blocking out what she was saying until she was almost finished speaking. Inattentively saying “sure” is what got him here.
“Um, one story is enough, but thanks... I'm going to go get some punch.”
“Okey-dokey, but don't be long! There's still plenty of partying to do!” Pinkie chirped as Chris got up.
“Right, plenty of partying to do,” he thought morosely. His eyes landed on the punch table across the room, and he sighed inwardly at the size of the crowd separating him from it. The moment he stepped onto the dance floor to try and get over there, he knew there would be a flock of ponies immediately on him, trying to get him to dance, talk, or whatever. And there was no going around them. The crowd of dancing ponies had long since exceeded the boundaries of the original dance floor, and they were now spread out throughout the entire room. It was like one big dancing mass—one big, overly happy, overly affectionate mass. But there in the kitchen, Chris noticed the backdoor. He had a clear path to it, and he didn't need to go through the dance floor to get there. He'd made his mind up instantly.
He hung a quick right into the kitchen, hoping Pinkie Pie hadn't been watching him as he walked off, then casually said, “Hey,” to the few ponies who were lounging in there. Fortunately, those ponies were there for a reason; they weren't the most outgoing of the whole bunch. They didn't try to pull him off to the side to chat or anything like that, and instead, just nodded and said a quick “hi” back to him.
"This will be easy," he thought. He pulled up a chair, grabbed a bowl of crunchy-looking cracker treats, and sat down. He didn't want to sneak out immediately, because that was bound to create some confusion. And eventually, it would make its way back to Pinkie Pie.
“Pinkie Pie,” he thought with a shudder. In truth, he shouldn't have had anything against her. She was sweet, and in any other circumstance, he probably wouldn't have minded her quirkiness, but this was no regular circumstance. He had a job to do, and so far, playing it the ponies' way was not working. The only way to get anything done was to sneak off. There was no telling what Twilight's definition of "undisturbed" was with Pinkie Pie on the loose, so he wasn't confident that her promise of him being free to roam about undisturbed would be kept.
He looked around. Each of the ponies in the kitchen had now returned to their own little bubbles and had more or less forgotten about him. Now was the perfect time to act. He placed the bowl of cracker treats down on the floor, then quietly got up and slinked over towards the door. It's not like he really needed to be quiet, as the music and chatter were so loud, but there was also no reason not to be quiet. It didn't hurt to be careful.
Once at the door, he pretended to see something interesting outside, and casually looked out the window for a moment. He then looked back to the other ponies in the kitchen, and seeing that they hadn't even cracked a glance his way, he quickly unlocked the door, opened it just a crack, and sneaked out like a sly cat. He gently shut it behind him and looked around the street. There weren't many ponies out, as most were crammed into Sucarcube Corner, so he figured he wouldn't have any difficulty sneaking away. He was grateful for that. The fewer eyes on him out here meant less of a chance of being discovered by Pinkie Pie, and that mean't linking up with the Spartan all the more sooner. All he needed to do now was grab his things.
When he'd first been discovered, he was unconscious. He awoke a day or so later, and learned that all of his belongings, save for the more finicky parts of his body armour, had been stored at the “Friendship Rainbow Kingdom Castle,” more simply known as, "Twilight's castle". That would be his first stop. He darted away from Sugarcube Corner, then assumed a typical walking pace once he'd gotten far enough away. He really wanted to run, to insure that Pinkie Pie didn't catch up to him—because she had a habit of doing that—but he really needed to play it casual on this one, at least until he got to Twilight's castle. The castle was near the outskirts of town, so he could run it from there without drawing too much attention.
His head swivelled from side to side as he walked, scanning to make sure that his overbearing pink friend wasn't approaching. However, he was also secretly admiring some of the finer details of the buildings and houses as he passed them. It was odd; many of the buildings had straw roofs and a simple structure, but the detail that was put into the woodwork and decorations of each building made it seem as if those simplistic features were just novelties, meant to preserve a sense of antiquity. Much of pony society was odd to him, but he had to admire the simplicity and pleasantness of it.
A few minutes passed. There was still no sign of Pinkie Pie. He was glad that Ponyville wasn't all that large. In another few minutes, he'd be at the castle, and then he'd be able to throw his gear on and get out of there. He thought about what Twilight had said to him when he'd first woken up. “We found all six of you, but... you're the only one who lived. I'm truly, truly, sorry.”
What she didn't know is that there were seven of them. Chris had to wonder though, why had SPARTAN-104 not performed a bio scan of the six troopers and taken Chris' unconscious body away with him? He'd only worked with the Spartan for a short time, but it was enough time for him to understand that the Spartan was a compassionate soldier who would never abandon his comrades. There was only one thing Chris could think of; there must have been a struggle. Twilight had told him that it looked as if there had been some sort of scuffle. The Spartan was probably just warding off a threat, then came back for them afterwards, only to find them gone. He'd try to hail him again on his short-range communicator once he got to the castle. It had been a day since he'd last tried, so perhaps today would bring new luck.
He turned onto a street that had been appropriately renamed “Friendship Lane” and laid his eyes on the castle. He hadn't made bad time, and there was still no sign of Pinkie Pie, or anyone for that matter. It was beginning to get late—the sky was turning purple and the brightest stars were already visible—so he figured most of the ponies would either be retiring for the night or partying at Sugarcube Corner. He picked his pace up to an anxious jog and closed the remaining distance between himself and the castle, then pushed open one of the massive doors and entered. The door gently swung shut behind him and a soft echo rang out through the spacious hallways, diminishing after a few seconds. As he walked through the hallways, he found himself looking around for the hundredth time at all the splendor of the castle's inner passageways. He found the decor to be a little bit froofy, but the architecture was absolutely marvellous. He was no architect, but any person, even him, could admire it. However, it served to reinforce the odd view he had of pony society. Most of the buildings in this town were simple or practical, but then there was this masterpiece.
“Well, I guess we have the same situation on our planets,” he thought.
He arrived at his quarters—a large, luxurious bedroom—and went over to the chest his belongings were stored in. Fortunately, the ponies warmed up to him quickly once he told them he had no ill intentions, so he was allowed to keep what few weapons he had on him—an M6S sidearm and his combat knife. He pulled them out and set them down on the table next to the chest, then began pulling out the segments of his body armour one by one and equipping himself in them. He left his helmet for last, and slipped it over his head after equipping his short-range communicator onto his wrist module. He synchronized the communicator with his helmet, then opened up a comm channel and immediately began broadcasting on all frequencies.
“This is Corporal C. Spencer. My status is operational, and I am currently being sheltered by the local populace. They are non-hostile, intelligent beings... And they speak our language. Does anyone copy?” He waited.
“Lieutenant, are you out there?” he asked.
He waited a few more seconds, but still heard nothing. He wouldn't give up that easily though. He kept on waiting, simply listening to the sound of the static. He glanced around the room anxiously, trying to distract himself from the thought of no one replying—again. He'd been trying for three days now, and was losing hope fast. He knew that if anyone could find a way back to where they should have been, it would be the Spartan. And Chris really wanted to be there if he did.
Suddenly, he heard a fluctuation in the static. He held his breath. His heart began to race and he bit down on his tongue. He pushed his helmet into his head, getting his ear as close to the speaker as possible, and waited.
For a few seconds, nothing happened. But then, there was another fluctuation. And another. And then, he heard a small voice.
“It's good to hear from you, corporal. This is Lieutenant, Junior Grade Frederic-104. What is your position?”
