The Risqué Risks of a Non-Standard Living Arrangement

The Sun.

He remembered the rule to not stare directly at it... but these days, its glow seemed so soft and faraway through the castle’s stained glass that he couldn't help himself. With little else to do at his post, Brick Break would catch his eyes locked on the nearest window more often than not, watching the bright celestial ball on its daily quest to reach the west horizon. There was probably a metaphor in there somewhere about something, but Brick wasn’t the type of pony with a penchant for flowery shit like that.

Then, there was the Princess; she indulged all manner of artsy interests, whilst he and the other guards simply stood watch or escorted her around the city. Though, the latter was usually a responsibility reserved for actual soldiers; sure, he’d occasionally fill in if a member of her routine security-detail left town on vacation or spent time on paternity leave, but such occasions were few and far between. It probably wouldn’t go over well if the tabloids and their horse-race journalists learned about a former bouncer being allowed to regularly safeguard their alicorn idol.

Hell, the idea seemed a bit wrong to him, and he was the one securing her chambers almost every day. Brick could only imagine the look on his mother’s face if she could see him now. Frankly, he’d submitted the same application and résumé to Canterlot Castle that he sent to about a dozen other places-- a shot in the dark, to be honest. He still had no idea how he’d landed the position or why the Crown’s bureaucratic prudes had chosen him.

Sometimes, Brick amused himself with the notion that the Princess herself had plucked his papers from the stack and spontaneously demanded he be hired; after all, she was nothing if not eccentric. However, the likelihood of that being the case was nearly zilch. It seemed far more probable that Raven Inkwell played some part in it; Raven shared the Princess’ sense of humour, and word around the Castle was that she’d come from humble beginnings before earning her position as Royal Secretariat.

There were no clocks outside the Royal Chambers, but any guard who needed those moving arrows to tell time with the sun visible in the sky wasn't worth his salt. Brick had memorized the Princess’ wake-up schedule down to the minute, and by now she was more than a little late to crack the door and greet her morning entourage. A change in schedule could prove troublesome, but Brick tried not to expend too much willpower worrying about it; for all he knew, the Princess did it to deliberately goad her guards.

As if on cue, the ancient hinges on her door creaked as it swung inwards. Then, the Princess emerged, stepping almost silently into the hallway with a sly smile. Brick’s eyes darted to her face before he forced them forwards again.

"Good morning, my little ponies~" Princess Celestia sang, her voice as regal and reassuring as ever. She turned and faced each of her three sentries, silently appraising them. Brick watched the other two’s mixed reactions in his peripherals before she finally came to him, and he could clearly see a large red orb affixed to her nose; it rested just below the smug, all-knowing look in her eyes that told him she’d already seen his double-take.

Brick raised an eyebrow. “Err… Your Highness?” It was the best he could manage whilst the other guards struggled to stifle their snickers.

The Princess simply tilted her head curiously, utterly irreverent to the absurdity of her current nasal accoutrement. "Hmm? Is something amiss?" The alicorn leaned forwards ever-so-slightly. Despite it being only the tiniest adjustment in distance between them, Brick could feel his pulse quicken as a bead of sweat rolled down his right temple.

“Your nose,” he rushed the words out.

"My nose?" Princess Celestia stuck out her lower lip just a bit, the closest he’d ever seen to the Princess pouting. "Whatever do you mean, Brick Break?"

“There’s, uh, a sort of red, clown… thing.” His voice trailed off towards the end of his attempt at an answer.

But, yes. Princess Celestia was wearing a clown’s nose-- a big, spongy, red one.

Right in the middle of her face.

There wasn't anything particularly funny about it, necessarily. It seemed sort of like your aunt trying to pull a prank on you— benign, harmless, and adorable to the extent that it reminded you that, despite her relative age, she had at some point in her past been not so much different than you. Sometimes, it made a good joke funnier. Brick didn't consider anything about clowns particularly humorous; in fact, they proved annoying at times. Yet here he was, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing.

There was something about the way she kept looking at him, so innocent and genuine, as though she'd just woken up with the thing on her face and not even noticed it. Brick had no idea why the stakes seemed so high, but it was suddenly imperative that he not crack first.

Oh, for all things good in this world, DON’T laugh first.

The Princess straightened her posture and looked about, checking the expressions of the other guards as though to test the accuracy of Brick’s testimony.

“Is this true? Something sullies the royal snout?”

An armoured mare trembled behind the alicorn, hardly able to contain herself, and the other stallion stationed beside Brick smiled openly, though he made no sounds. Still, nopony had outright laughed yet; so Princess Celestia tilted her head back and stared down the end of her own nose, crossing her eyes.

As the final sprinkle atop her silly sundae, the Princess shook her head back and forth, with the goal of dislodging the offensive red ball and flinging it from her face. The end result resembled something like a giraffe with its head stuck in a jar of peanut-butter. Brick watched the powerful muscles of her neck flex as she moved, twisting side to side, until the other smiling stallion finally threw in the towel: the guard let out a muffled “snrk” to stem the tide before a veritable tsunami of mirth knocked him over, and he collapsed on the floor with laughter.

“Pfft-- hahahaha!”

He hit the ground like a sack of heavily armoured potatoes, gasping for breath, incapacitated as if he'd taken an arrow to the knee. A fit of infectious giggles overtook the other mare.

The Princess allowed herself a motherly smile, content with her zany victory, and Brick couldn’t help but smirk too. Her magic pulled the tiny red puff off her nose and teleported it away in a blonde flash. “I saw it for sale in a costume-catalog the other day, and it spoke to me; I couldn’t resist. It would surely cause at least one of you to break.” She winked at Brick.

“An amusing prank and pun, Your Highness.”

The Princess almost frowned at his words and a soft sigh escaped her lips: “Oh fie. That’s like not laughing at a joke and then saying “that was really funny” afterwards.” For a moment, Brick wondered whether he should apologize to the Princess, but her next comment quickly derailed that thought. “Alas, a rather voracious appetite afflicts me today. Shall we?” She punctuated the proposal with an half-open wing gesturing towards the Great Hall.

“As you wish,” Brick answered, using the same words from yesterday. Then, he and she departed the doors of her quarters, leaving the other two guards to collect their composure and discourage the curious from disturbing the Royal Chambers.

Oftentimes, Princess Celestia pelted him with attempts at small talk as she strolled leisurely through the castle, probing him with harmless little questions and queries that nevertheless bounced off him like bits of gravel against his gilded horseshoes.

Today, however, she didn’t.

As he marched alongside her (careful to avoid standing directly behind the Princess), her jovial mood from earlier seemed to shift; she kept her eyes facing forward, and an awkward silence settled over both ponies. Brick scratched his head, or tried to, through his clunky helmet. The enchantment that bleached his coat white whilst wearing his full panoply caused the roots of his mane and tail to itch-- not unbearably, but noticeably… especially without the view of the sun through stained glass windows or the Princess’ endearing antics to distract him.

They approached the large double doors leading into the Great Hall, and Brick moved from one side of the Princess to the other, preparing to open the smaller portal that led into the kitchens. By now, he’d learned that Princess Celestia preferred to peruse the kitchens before dining and satisfy her urge for small talk (that he so often left wanting) by visiting the Castle’s culinary artisans.

Today, however, she continued onwards.

Having paused at kitchens’ entrance, Brick quickened his pace to catch up with the slightly taller alicorn. “Your Highness…?”

“Yes, Brick?”

“Don’t you want to speak with the Kitchen Staff?” He instantly regretted his inquiry: the moment after the words left his mouth, Brick realized first that the Princess of all ponies wouldn’t forget such a thing and, secondly, that he ought to feel relieved at not having so many ponies approach the Princess in such confined quarters; it was not uncommon for him to have to stand between her and kitchen-maids holding knives, pots of hot oil, or any other number of potential hazards. For all he knew, Princess Celestia’s little detours into that area could’ve been her own special way of stressing him for declining her repeated attempts at polite conversation.

The Princess stopped before the Great Hall and turned to address him before entering. “I already saw and spoke with them this morning.”

Brick’s brow furrowed, and he looked down for a moment. He reached back in his memory to the morning’s early hours when he first relieved one of the two Lunar Guards. He couldn’t recall seeing her outside the chambers at all, and the Royal Travel-Log hadn’t mentioned any midnight-excursions when he last checked.

“You may have found one unseen passage in the Palace, Brick, but I assure you: there are countless more, even ones that elude the Captain of the Royal Guard…” She paused, one hoof on the door. “I designed many of them with him in mind; it would be remiss of me to think all the coups and betrayal of the past five thousand years could not happen here.”

Were his armour’s enchantments not already blanching his coat, Brick was sure he’d look pale. One rarely heard grim words from the Princess in private, and never in public.

Following nearly a year of working in Canterlot Castle, Brick still couldn’t name a single member of the staff with whom he shared a close relationship. To him, work was work; at the end of the day, he did a job and collected compensation so he could live his life however he wanted outside of work. The act of “guarding” Princess Celestia seemed mostly pedestrian. Almost mundane, at times.

But moments like the one he’d just experienced tested the mettle of that philosophy and shook his Weltanschauung. Ponies saw the Princess as a beacon of hope, an ideal to emulate, and a paragon of peace; she served as a physical reminder that (regardless of their everyday stress and troubles) a new day would always dawn. Brick shared that sentiment for the most part and counted himself among the masses who preferred to live in the moment as mayflies, rather than ruminating on the centuries of strife in the years BC; Before Celestia, things were different... worse. In the millennia since Equestria’s founding, the Princess always remained, offering guidance and protection whenever her little ponies needed her. But moments like this had him questioning everything he thought about his life; it set him on edge.

Brick caught a glimpse of the Princess eyeing him with a sideways glance before she pushed open the double doors to the Great Hall and entered. The room always seemed so enormous when only the two of them occupied it; Brick’s eyes traced the thick columns along the walls up to overhead arches. Beams ribbed the vaulted ceiling; from there, long tapestries hung with events of various historical significance, ending in golden rope and tassels. Even Princess Celestia looked just a tad small by comparison, sitting at the head of the Hall’s giant bloodwood table, politely munching cinnamon toast and usually scanning either a book or reports of current events.

By now, Brick knew the Princess usually indulged her sweet tooth on the second course, opting for any number of vittles (most common amongst them being cheesecake, oatmeal creampies, and eggy bread with syrup). He closely monitored his own intake of sweets due to diabetes on both sides of his family; though, that pattern proved more of an inconvenience than a debilitating disease for their robust, earth-pony bloodlines. Regardless of his own diet, Brick remained largely ignorant of alicorn biology, and he tried not to think about the Princess’ shapely body whilst working.

“Brick Break,” she beckoned him to her side. He obeyed. The words “Are you well this morning?” and “How was your weekend?” served as the Princess’ usual catalysts for small talk. So, her new, more open-ended starter for today only increased his feeling of unease: “Are you alright, or no?”

Brick blinked once. Her large, pink eyes longed for an answer. Unsure of what she meant (he hoped), Brick offered the same safe reply as every other day.

“Fine.” A moment passed. He clarified: “I’m fine, Your Highness.”

“It seems you have something on your mind, Brick, and have for some time.”

“No, ma’am. Just another early Monday.”

The Princess’ gaze lingered on him a moment longer before she returned to her plate and finished her toast. “Very well.” She nursed a glass goblet of sugary orange-juice with both hooves, and rays of sunlight streaked through it. "Brick," Princess Celestia almost whispered, "might I ask you a personal question?"

“Of course, Princess.” He answered automatically, but something changed in the Princess’ face when she heard him utter her title. He couldn’t be sure of what it was; it was gone in an instant. Being the one to grant her permission-- even for something as insignificant as question-- heightened is anxiety. His conscience faintly warbled something in the back of his mind; its voice resembled hers so much.

“Are all things right at home for you, Brick?”

Again, he answered automatically: “They’re fine, Your Highness.” But he didn’t stop there, like he should have. “Why do you ask?” He mentally kicked himself for not letting the subject die.

“Oh,” the Princess said. She didn't seem taken aback-- Brick suspected there wasn't much in the world that could surprise her-- just contemplative, subsumed in the sincere thoughtfulness that seemed to govern her every graceful movement and gesture. Brick couldn't tell if she was hiding something behind the brief pause in conversation; hoping to outwit an immortal was well beyond his abilities, the little voice at the back of his head reminded him.

"Well," the Princess continued; the way she spoke seemed to stretch the seconds between words across eons of time, the listener hanging on her every syllable as if she weaved some tapestry of eternal enlightenment. “Curiosity, I suppose. It seems so much time passes by with myself in place at the Palace… almost like a fixture in a machine. A spinning cog, ignorant of events just outside her dream of perpetual motion.”

For the second time that morning, Brick felt the foundations of his world waver beneath the weight of what he heard; rarely were words criticizing the Princess spoken, and few of them belonged to individuals of positive repute. Yet, here and now, the Sun’s Avatar expressed disappointment in herself.

“Ignorant is a word I’ve never associated with you.”

At that, Celestia blushed; Brick felt his heart skip a beat. The distant gaze clouding her vision cleared, and she turned away from him for a moment. “Thank you, Brick.” She looked at him again, her eyes tracing the lines of his face. “I can see that I’ve disturbed you greatly. Please, don’t let me trespass against you further. Take leave for the remainder of today. Lieutenant Shining Armour should arrive shortly, and he can manage what duties of yours remain.”

“Your Highness, I--”

“Leave me, good sir.” The Princess’ white, motherly features seemed to harden into marble, and the pink pools of her irises turned to dense pearls as she issued the order.

Brick briefly considered staying, but his discipline quickly dismissed that thought. Instead, he snapped to a salute, quoting her coat of arms: “Axios!”

She dismissed him in kind: “Godspeed, guard.”

He passed Shining Armour at the entrance to the Great Hall, and the two stallions shared a short exchange of words before Brick departed Canterlot Castle for the Market District; there, he planned to procure fresh pasta and butter to calm his troubled mind. His armour probably needed oil and polish too.

“Yo, yo, yoooo.” Frosty's voice drifted into the kitchen, where Brick Break stood over the stove. He put down the spatula in his mouth to answer her.

“In the kitchen!”

The sound of hooves on hardwood echoed through the dining room behind him before Brick heard Frosty prop herself up on the pass-through window between both rooms.

“Howdy ho, how's it go?”

Brick rolled his eyes at her greeting. “Pasta's almost done.”

“Is that so? But I brought home Donut Joe's, though.” The stallion heard the rustling of a paper bag and looked over his shoulder. Surely, there was Frosty-- her gray hooves still dirty from the walk home and up on his countertop-- shaking fast food with one wing. She beamed at him with dimples on both cheeks, her eyes almost forced shut by her wide smile. “Mozzarella sticks and--”

“Caramel shakes?”

“Sweet caramel milkshakes,” Frosty quickly corrected him. “Salted caramel is for sycophants, and products of incest.”

He shrugged. “I'm surprised you don't like it, then.” Frosty stared at him for a moment, mouth agape, before cackling at his retort. Brick smirked and returned to the non-stick pot of noodles and boiling water. “Careful with all that dairy; it'll go straight to your thighs.”

“Psssh.” Frosty waved a hoof dismissively at Brick as he poured the pot's contents into a colander. He dropped two slices of butter into the warm, empty saucepan as she continued. “My metabolism could run circles around yours, old man. Besides, you complainin’ about havin’ eye-candy walkin' around your house? We both know how much you love “big” mares.”

One of Brick’s eyebrows arched at her. “Old man? I'm thirty.”

“Yeah, ancient, homie. You're older than me; so, you're old.” Frosty stuck her tongue out at him.

“If you say so.” Brick strode past the silver pegasus to the dining room's table.

“Oh!” Frosty flapped her wings and leapt into the chair across from him. “You won't believe what I saw on the way back from the shop today.” She virtually buzzed with excitement. “Guess!”

“I don't know. What?”

“C'moooon, guess. I'll give you a hint: it was in... the Art District!” Brick held in a groan at her mention of the hippies' den; a stallion of the Royal Guard and loyal soldier of the Sun, Brick feared few things, but the smell of that place... it haunted his nightmares. Well, that and the mares there, either drowning in dreads and draping themselves all over him or obese beyond measure and hardly able to hold themselves up. At least the latter were easy to escape.

“A sword-swallower?”

Frosty rolled her eyes and clicked her tongue. “You would think that. Nope, guess again!”

“A mime?”

“Oooo. Good guess, but no!”

“Was it--”

“Alright, I'll tell you!”

Brick chuckled as Frosty straightened up, raising her hooves in front of herself to emphasize the enthralling tale of her adventure into the bohemian First Ring of Hell.

“There I was, a lone mare (if you don't count the rush-hour crowd) wandering through the Art District when what should grace my soft, supple, defenseless ears but,” she paused for a quick breath, “the glorious sound of... the hurdy-gurdy!”

“A nerdy slurpy?”

“A hurdy-gurdy, Brick!”

“Close enough.” He shrugged at her pout. “Never heard of it.”

“Uncultured swine!” Frosty pronounced in her posh princess voice. “It's a minotaur instrument, dumb-dumb. Or at least that's what the unicorn playing it told me. Here,” she raised her hooves for emphasis again. “Imagine, like, a keyboard-guitar mixed with a violin. Or the love-child of a midget piano and his rich cello wife.”

Brick brought the tip of a hoof to his chin and looked up in contemplation. “Sounds less like a love-child and more like a botched abortion.”

Just as Frosty opened her mouth to reply, a knock came from the door, and she froze. Both ponies shared a look. Neither one moved until a second knock sounded. Brick spoke first: “Did you invite any pony over?”

“No, it's the fourteenth today.”

“I know.”

Brick pushed his chair back and moved towards the door. Frosty retreated into the kitchen, standing in front of the dry goods cabinet where they'd stashed a shotgun behind the oats on the second shelf.

The soldier braced his shoulder against the door and flattened an ear on the wood to listen. Hearing nothing suspicious, Brick adjusted his stance and prepared to open the door. He'd considered drilling and installing a peephole when Frosty first arrived, though learning about the existence of peephole-reversers quickly killed that thought.

Brick opened the door with one hoof and caught the object moving towards his face with the other. His own maroon hoof dwarfed the one he caught, and he stooped his neck to look at the smaller pony's freckled face.

“Coral. Hello, how are you?” His voice carried enough volume to both inform Frosty of their neighbor's arrival and inadvertently startle the miniature mare whose hoof he held. Coral's eyes widened and flicked from Brick's face to where their hooves joined; she immediately blushed.

“Oh my gosh, Mr. Brick! I'm so sorry-- I didn't mean to kick you! I tried knocking once or twice, but nobody answered. I was only gonna knock one more time, I swear! I didn’t want to scuff the wood, but then you opened the door and now I've assaulted a soldier and now we're holding hooves. That's got to be better than having a black eye though, right?” Coral's eyes begged Brick for some sort of affirmation from under her multicolored bangs. She silently screamed at herself for saying something so stupid: not having a black eye is better than having one right? She could be a real nincompoop sometimes, especially around strong, stoic stallions... especially ones named Brick.

The soldier released her dainty blue hoof and chuckled lightly. “I agree: not having a black eye is good.”

“Same,” she echoed. Silence reigned for a moment or two. “...so, uh, Mr. Brick. How are things?”

“Just sat down for dinner after a long shift. How are you?”

“Same...” she absentmindedly replied, before realizing her mistake. “...by which I mean, uh, not same. Since I'm here, y'know, and not at home. Eating dinner. Heh.”

More silence.

“I see. ...s’that for me?” Brick motioned to the letter resting on the small of Coral's back, hoping to suss out the reason for her visit and politely send her off as soon as possible.

“What? No. I mean... sort of. Is Hoarfrost home? It's for her. Mailmare must've dropped it in my mailbox by mistake, probably.” Coral bit the envelope and passed it to Brick.

“She's out, in the Art District. I'll give it to her when she gets back.”

“Lucky her.”

“What's that?”

“Nothing! Thank you-- I mean, you're welcome! Uh, goodbye!” With a burst of stunning speed, Coral suddenly galloped across his lawn, leapt over their shared fence, and slammed the door to her adjacent house shut in less than 10 seconds flat.

Closing his own door less hurriedly, Brick turned back to the dining room's table, where Frosty had already resumed munching away on her mozzarella sticks. She watched him approach and took a long drag of her milkshake before speaking: “She's cute. Don'tcha think?”

“I guess.” Brick hoisted himself back onto his chair and returned to his fettuccine al burro.

“Aaaaand, she likes you, dude. Like, a lot.”

He looked up to see a cross-eyed Frosty pulling a steaming string of cheese from the crust of a mozzarella stick with her teeth. Her wings fluttered slightly as she chewed its gooey goodness. “So?”

“You gonna FUCK her?”

“Frosty.” He eyed the pegasus sternly. “She's sixteen.”

“Yep! And as far as Celestia's concerned, that means she's up for grabs now; I did my homework.”

“Princess Celestia,” Brick corrected her. “Just because you can do something doesn't mean you should, Frosty.”

“Aight, I get it, I get it.” She raised both forelegs in surrender. “You don't wanna cross a line, even for an ass that fine and even if it ain't a crime. I just have a higher tolerance for the... clandestine.” Frosty winked at him, and he rolled his eyes.

“Hey. I spend time with you; if I lowered my standards any more, the Guard would ask me to... resign.”

“Your rhymes ain't nothing compared to mine, bro.”

“That's a double negative, DJ Hay5.”

“And that ain't how you say it, homie; it's DJ Haze-- not DJ Hay Five.” Frosty punctuated her phonetic superiority by blowing a very scholarly raspberry at the soldier. Brick shielded his meal out of reflex before some of her spittle could toucha his spaghet.

“Lecturing an Equestrian on how to speak Equestrian?”

“It's leet speak, old man. Get with the times and get some better rhymes.”

Brick half-smiled at her adorable insolence and slid the envelope from Coral across the table. “Here.”

“Mmm!” Frosty wiped her hooves on her tuft of chest-fluff before lifting the letter. Upon opening it, a deluge of photographs fell out. It piqued Brick’s interest, but he remained silent whilst she read.

After several more bites, he looked down at his meal in defeat. In his house, silence had become uncomfortable during the months since Frosty's arrival; something about her crystalline voice seemed to settle his often muddled mind. He exhaled: “Ah, damn it.”

Frosty looked up. “Huh?”

“Remember when you put diced chicken in my pasta last month?”

A mischievous grin cut across the mare's face. “Yeah... definitely one of my more expensive pranks. Why, what's up?”

“It tasted really fucking good.” Brick paused and chose his next words carefully. “I wouldn't mind trying it again.”

Her wicked smile melted into a more genuine, dimpled one of pride. A moment passed before Frosty blushed slightly, her face assuming a more artificial look once again. “Well, it was me who made it; so, it couldn't've been that bad.”

The two resumed eating until both ponies' plates laid bare and Frosty collected them for cleaning. Brick followed his friend to the kitchen’s sink, watching her work. The cabinets were always stocked full of food, especially nonperishables; ever since his youth, Brick despised seeing their shelves empty. Applesauce, canned pineapples, dried fruits, granola-bars, pretzels, trail-mix, yogurt-covered raisins-- whatever, as long as they always had something to eat.

Brick turned his mind to more pleasant things, to the present. “Who sent the letter?”

“It's from Cherry Berry. You remember her? I think you two met at Nightmare Night; she was a gargoyle, and I the bootylicious bugbear.”

“Your friend from Ponyville, the pink and yellow one?”

“Oh, yeah-- you're right, Brick: she is pink and yellow. I don't know how I could've forgotten that.”

“Hmm...” The soldier rested his chin on one hoof in mock contemplation. “Being colourblind might contribute to that, but it's a solid maybe.”

“Smart ass.”

“Fat ass.”

“Old man.”

“Leech.”

Frosty's jaw dropped in indignation. “Hey!”

“Freeloader.”

“Hold up, it's my turn!”

“Keep up or shut up, slut.”

The mare's nose scrunched up. She stuck her tongue out at the smug stallion.

“If you keep making that face, it might stick that way,” Brick warned her.

“I'm so done with you, yo.”

“Hi, Ms. Done-With-You. I'm Brick, but all the mares call me Thick.”

“Yeah, thick in the head maybe,” Frosty muttered, more to herself than her roommate.

“Depends which one you mean.” Brick wiggled his eyebrows salaciously. The pegasus put down the plate in her hooves and turned away from him, trying desperately to hold in her laugh. Ultimately, her efforts proved futile as an absurdly loud snort escaped her nose, followed by fully-bellied laughter. Brick smiled and watched her seize with mirth. Her eyes squeezed shut, Frosty's barrel heaved deep breaths as her wings fluttered and her tail twitched back and forth.

By the time his eyes reached her toned flank, her hilarity had largely subsided. Her cutie mark, an icy feather blowing in the breeze, reminded him of something. “Hey, Cherry flies hot air balloons, right?”

Frosty wiped her moist eyes with the back of a hoof before answering. “Heh. Yeah... that's what her letter's about: if I send her some bits, she buys film for her camera and sends me snaps of all the high-altitude birds she sees. Tree swallows, red-winged blackbirds, mute swans, great blue herons-- stuff like that.”

Bird-watching always seemed a strange choice of hobby to Brick, given Frosty's high level of everyday energy; he imagined that activity reserved for the elderly, or tree-huggers. Had he not known better, he would have thought the hippies in the Art District influenced her; however, she'd loved flight since the day they met. She once told him how the freedom and adrenaline of flying sharply contrasted the austere lifestyle of her homeland, where only certain castes were allowed to fly with impunity. Frosty and Cherry's shared love of aviation probably served as the primary reason for their friendship, now that he considered the situation more deeply.

Frosty continued, despite Brick’s internal monologue: “Actually, Cherry doesn't have her own balloon yet, but she just met a pilot willing to take her on as an apprentice if she can break his record. Like, flying from Ponyville to Las Pegasus and back in so many hours-- that kinda thing. He said he'd give her one of his balloons if she did.”

With that, she set the clean dishes on the drying rack beside the sink and leaned against the countertop. She noticed Brick staring at her thighs, but didn't say anything.

Eventually, the ogling ended, and Brick spoke: “I'll refill the bird-feeders.”

“Nah,” Frosty waved a hoof dismissively, “I got it, B.” Swaying her hips for him, she sashayed over to the dry goods’ cabinet and bent over to reach where the bags of birdseed slouched beneath the bottom shelf. “BRB, homie.”

When Frosty kicked open the kitchen's rear door, Brick noted the lack of sunlight outside; dusk had passed without him noticing. Winter would soon conclude, and she'd want to visit Ponyville for her first Winter Wrap Up. Frosty had barely persuaded him to approve the Nightmare Night trip, on the condition he accompany her; tempting fate with unnecessary risks seemed unwise. With how well that last excursion went, however, Brick could see the upcoming holiday as more of an opportunity than a threat. Personally, that earth-pony tradition never appealed to him; seasons followed a predictable pattern in Canterlot, allowing for more secure schedules and simplifying his duty of protecting the Princess. But if it managed to brighten Frosty's life--

“Whatcha thinkin' about, Brick Break ole buddy ole boy?”

The soldier's vision focused on Frosty's large emeraldeyes. He hadn't noticed her return. He wondered what other things he missed with her around; perhaps the Nightmare Night trip went less smoothly than he thought.

Slowly, he answered: “Winter Wrap Up, Princess Celestia... You.”

“Y'knoooow, I heard Celestia visited Ponyville last year for Winter Wrap Up. Who knows? Maybe I could meet your boss one day.”

“Ha ha ha-- no.”

“Well,” Frosty tapped her hooves together nervously, “if she's not going this year... you think we could, maybe take a couple days off?”

At the possibility of a concrete commitment to her plans, Brick's mind defaulted: a thousand reasons why not came to mind at once, all clamoring for his attention. Alarmed blared and sirens echoed off the walls of his skull as strobe lights flashed behind his eyes. His conscience started a dumpster-fire and desperately tried sending smoke-signals to the stallion's frontal lobe. His aspirations to earn the rank Captain of the Royal Guard wailed a song of dying hope.

Frosty's small, hopeful smile trumped them all.

“I'll think about it.”

The mare bit her bottom lip to contain her excitement, wings fluttering against her back. After a moment, she surrendered to her glee and embraced Brick. “Oh, thank you, Brick! Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Frosty nuzzled her face into the larger stallion's barrel.

“Hey, Frosty! I said maybe!”

“You said you'd think about it.” Her voice sounded muffled before she looked up at him. “Being the wise, rational soldier we both know you are, that means you'll reach the only logical conclusion-- an undeniable and unadulterated yes.” The pegasus beamed up at him. He offered no objection, silently assenting to her hug. “Now, c'mon, mister!” She thumped a hoof against his broad chest. “The sun's down, and I'm down; it's bedtime. It's the fourteenth! To the bed-mobile!”

“You ready?”

“I was born ready-- let's head to bed, I said!”

The tip of Frosty's orange tail flicked her roommate's nose as she turned towards the stairs. Brick followed her to the second story, unable to avoid looking at the pegasus' pudgy little rump; though her long, luscious tail obscured her true treasures, his imagination ran wild with various activities involving them and the pair of modest teats nestled beneath her soft, smooth tummy. Her swaying hips only encouraged such sexy thoughts. Eventually, Frosty reached her destination, pausing at the entrance to Brick's bedroom.

There in the dark, green flames danced over Frosty's smaller body until a tall, regal figure stood before him: with wings white as snow and eyes pink as the setting sun, the imposing form of Princess Celestia replaced the shorter silver pegasus. From horn to hooves, a nearly flawless imitation... perfect in every way but one: Frosty never quite nailed the Princess' mane; a band of crimson hair billowed on unseen wind in place of the Princess' usual streak of pink. It was a minor mistake-- invisible at a distance-- though indisputably wrong. Having never met the monarch herself, Frosty never knew she always got one of those hues wrong. Brick never corrected her; that fault made her unique, set her apart from the Princess if only in a small way. The changeling looked cute despite her ignorance-- eager to please and proud of her abilities being so productive.

Frosty closed the distance between both of them, and Brick twitched when her warm breath grazed his ear: “I'm ready to pay my rent, bro; how you want this ho?”

Brick didn't immediately answer, savoring her salacious tone.

Frosty giggled in the Princess' voice. “What, bug gotcha tongue?”

“No... not yet.” He smirked, nuzzling her jawline just below the chin. She smelled of lavender, and it stirred something inside him. He longed for the day he could touch the real Princess so intimately... a day he knew would never come. A deep growl rumbled in his chest. For now, this would suffice-- his fantasies for her sanctuary. “On the bed. Let's go.”

“Yes, sir!”