I, being Flash Sentry, never really understood practices of older times. Just the phrase ‘olden times’ makes me think of the old geezers who hang out at the bar, wearing a ballcap saying ‘Royal Guard Veteran’ and getting senior discounts at all the local pubs. Jabbering on and on ‘about the way things were this,’ ‘back in my day’ that.
It gets real old real fast. Pardon the pun.
Anyways.
Historically speaking the Royal Guard has always had some leadership issues. See, when it first started, you had to know all the right ponies and say all the right things. Officer spots to the peasants fresh from the street? Forget about it.
No, to make it high in the guard, you had to know people. Sons and daughters of important ponies shot up the ranks, experience or qualifications be damned. Grow the happy cabbage, and you’re good as gold.
That’s a phrase Flash Magnus taught me! Back when we trained together at the Crystal Empire exercises he taught me a few funny words. When he was a colt (which was thousands of years ago since he got spliced into the shadow realm, or something along those lines), it was often said that the farmers of the happy cabbage were the ones who pulled the strings.
Because happy cabbage is nothing other than cold, hard bits. And boy do ponies love their bits.
Magnus said the phrase came from an old pegasi story. Used to be this buissnesspony who made a bet at the bar that he could sell a wagonload of rotten cabbage to the city’s upper class.
So he wheeled it into town, called it a “Magical Elixir” to cure all ails, and sweet-talked them all into blowing bits on it.
Crazy bastard.
I’m not in it for the cabbage, happy or otherwise. The Guard has never been about the money for me. It’s hard to pin down exactly what it’s about for me, really, but I can tell you with absolute confidence it isn’t the bits.
I’m not exactly sitting pretty as a corporal anyways. Enlisted guardsponies are in fact the polar opposite of happy cabbage salesponies. But it is what it is.
Anyways! There’s a point to this, trust me. I’d never lead you on like that.
The point is that it is completely the fault of a pony with too much happy cabbage that I got into this mess in the first place.
Shining Armor leaned back in his chair, the frown etched on his face achieving new depths that Flash didn’t even know were feasible. “Corporal.”
“Sir.”
Flash fidgeted in his seat, resisting the urge to spin around in circles on it. He looked behind Shining, to the framed photographs, accolades, and medals decorating the young Captain’s wall. The decorations were the only thing personal in his office: the rest was stiff, stuffy, and boring. Just like most things in the Guard.
“Corporal,” Shining said again, resting his forelegs on the desk and tapping his hooves together. “Corporal, Corporal, Corporal.”
“Sir?”
“What am I going to do with you?”
Flash perked up. “A raise wouldn’t hurt, sir!”
Shining’s frown fell faster than an elevator with all its cables cut.
“...guess not. Sir.”
Being reprimanded by a superior officer was never a good thing. But being reprimanded by his superior officer’s superior officer’s superior officer’s superior officer was… unfathomably bad.
So bad in fact that Flash was certain he was either going to leave the office without a job or in a bodybag. Although the two weren’t mutually exclusive now that he thought about it.
“Corporal Sentry.”
“That’s me, Sir.”
Shining Armor, sighed, rubbing the base of his horn. “Very well. I’ll stop beating around the bush.”
You’ve chopped the damned thing into pieces already, Flash noted to himself.
“I’ve received some… conflicting reports about you. Yet your officers seem to be in consensus that you are against all odds good for morale. So that leads me to my main concern… what happened?”
Flash blinked. Shining’s voice had lost all of its intense, militaristic quality, and hit his ears as a genuine question. When he looked back at the Captain of the Guard, he was again shocked to find some sympathy in Shining Armor’s eyes. “W-Well, Sir, I… I uh, think it’s fairly obvious what happened.”
Shining Armor hummed. “I agree, but why did it happen?”
Flash’s eyes fell to the floor. He wished they would roll out of his face and under the desk, just to get away from the situation at hoof. But when his eyeballs failed to detach and evacuate, he began fidgeting instead. “Well… I’m not entirely sure, sir. I… I guess I must have, um, slipped, or made some sort of mistake.”
Shining levitated some papers from his desk. “Corporal Sentry, I obtained these records from the parade grounds. They indicated that prior to the ceremony, you put in an alarming number of hours into training, to the point where your credentials were placed on hold.”
“Yes sir,” Flash responded. “We had to get it right, sir.”
“That’s not all. Shortly after your credentials were temporarily withheld, your squadmate Full Barr apparently decided to follow in your wake.”
“Um. I guess he did, sir?” Flash offered.
Shining just sighed. “Corporal, I can put two and two together. You used Barr to get into the parade ground and put in more hours.”
Flash fell silent.
“Corporal Sentry, we have those regulations in place for a reason,” Shining nudged. “Overwork is a serious problem. Your dedication is admirable, but we all have limits.”
“Yes sir. I’m sorry sir,” Flash offered.
The look on Shining’s face told Flash he did not believe him in the slightest. “I think there’s only one option then. Corporal, I’m placing you on administrative leave effective immediately.”
Flash wilted at that.
“But, I’ll make you a deal.” Shining levitated a quill and a sheet of paper onto the table. “There’s an old friend that I want you to see, I think it’d help you out with your situation. If you do that, and if he agrees that you’ve put in good effort, then I’ll cut your leave time down. Is that acceptable for you?”
“Yes sir,” Flash exclaimed. “Thank you, sir!”
“Don’t thank me yet,” Shining chuckled. “Anyways, his name is Spearhead. And fair warning? You might not like him.”
When Magnus was in the guard, a lot of their job involved dealing with the wildlife that would plague the city. In particular, he told me about these furry little things that would terrorize the city. Called them bearcats. The thing about bearcats, according to Magnus, wasn’t really that they were dangerous.
They were sassy.
See, the bearcats looked exactly like bears, but were much smaller and the mindset of a cat. As in, they’d do pretty much anything in their power to plot against you while looking adorable. Pegasi loved those little rats. Made them pets and everything, only for them to start yowling in the middle of the night, pushing vases off tables… that sort of thing.
Adorable little bastards was the term he liked to use.
But the term came around to describe any pony who was just filled to the brim with sass. Like at a Las Pegasus buffet when there’s really good soup and you fill it up as far as it can go even if it spills over the side and burns your hoof kind of full.
But sass wasn’t enough to survive, and as far as I know that particular breed of bearcat died off when Filocuse fell out of the sky. Not sure where they’re at nowadays but Magnus thinks they’re probably doing ok.
I asked Magnus why he thinks it's so important I learn about all these old-fashioned terms.
He said that it's just because these are the words he grew up with, and it's still shocking to him how many of them grew old and out of use. Reminds us that everything’s gonna fade with time.
But I guess that’s neither here nor now.
Bearcats were assholes. And I never felt more like a Bearcat than after I first met Spearhead.
Flash Sentry had never really stepped into a museum of his own volition.
As a foal, his parents had seen it fit to bring him to one, but he had fallen asleep as soon as they stepped inside. They had never tried again since.
So when Flash found himself on the steps of the tiny gallery, he had no idea what to expect or even make of it. As soon as he set hoof inside, a chill ran down his spine. “Geez it’s cold in here!”
The first room was surprisingly barren. There was no reception desk, no seating area, not even any decorative plants to break up the bare white walls. Interspaced at perfect intervals were framed paintings; splotches of color on canvases.
Flash crossed the room to examine one. He squinted at it, trying to piece it together and make sense of it all.
“Parade Rest,” he read. The term was familiar to him but nothing about the framed mess made him think of the position.
“Aw man, love that one.” Flash turned to see a burly orange stallion trot towards him, a red scarf draped around his neck. “You Sentry?”
“On a good day. Are you Spearhead?” asked Flash.
“That’s what they call me! Are you Flash Sentry?”
Flash rolled his eyes. “Maybe.”
“Sick!” Spearhead smiled widely. “So, uh… admin leave’s no joke! What’d you do to get slapped with that?”
“Um… nothing, really, just the brass, y’know,” Flash said.
“Brass? Huh.” Spearhead rubbed his chin. “Back in my day they used iron for armor and stuff.”
Flash blinked. “What?”
“Anyways! Shiny said he wanted me to ‘do my thing’ with you, so let’s get started!” Spearhead crossed the room, pushing open a door at the end. Flash followed reluctantly, casting suspicious glances at the paintings as he left.
The backroom was more unkempt and bare-bones when compared to the gallery. Crates, boxes, and other items lay scattered around the room. The walls were naked with their wooden beams and supports exposed, and the entire area was lit by a sole lightbulb hanging from the ceiling.
In the middle of the room was a table with materials, and two easels each bearing a canvas.
“What… the hell is this?” Flash sputtered.
“That’s an easel! It holds up paper that you can paint on,” chirped Spearhead. “You, uh, know what paper is right?”
Flash blinked several times in confusion before barking out a laugh. “Hah! Yeah, I wasn’t born yesterday you know. Just… are you really going to make me do what I think you’re about to make me do?”
“Huh?” Spearhead tilted his head in genuine confusion. “I have no idea what you mean.”
“You’re gonna make me… draw stuff!”
“No!” Spearhead held up a paintbrush. “We’re gonna paint stuff!”
“That’s the same thing!” Flash cried, slamming a hoof to his face.
“Huh? No it isn’t! You use a paintbrush and paints instead of a pencil or a quill. C’mon, I’ll show you!” Spearhead thrust a brush in his direction.
Flash recoiled as if it were a knife. “No no, I know how to paint! I mean, it’s a piece of cake!”
“No man, painting is an art, not a dessert!” Spearhead interjected.
“That is not what I meant at all! Look, I’m just… I’m not interested in any of this stuff, okay?”
Spearhead twisted his face in confusion. “Well… Shining isn’t going to take you off admin leave until you finish the program, so you’re going to have to at least try.”
Flash stared at Spearhead incredulously, then wondered if this stallion even knew what ‘incredulously’ meant. “Seriously? He wants me to do… arts and crafts.”
“Yeah!”
“I… Fine!” Flash plopped down in front of an easel, staring at its blank and empty surface. “I’d almost rather clean the officers’ toilets again,” he muttered under his breath.
Spearhead set a wooden palette and several bottles of paint next to him. “So! Go crazy. Paint whatever’s on your mind, whatever’s been bothering you. Just let it all out!”
“Sure.” Flash picked up a paintbrush with his feathers and twirled it around absently. “Just… draw whatever. Got it.”
Spearhead sat down at the opposite easel, taking a brush in his hoof. “You not big into painting I take it?”
“Eh. Not really my thing,” Flash replied.
“Huh. Guess it’s not for everyone.” Spearhead’s brush danced across the canvas, even as his eyes drifted up to the ceiling. “I remember in the guard they made us practice quick terrain sketches. We had to be able to show the land and stuff, to get familiar with it or something.”
Flash blinked. “I remember that too. Never found it that useful.”
“Well, it’s pretty interesting! Makes you think about perspective and stuff. How to show distance, how to identify points of reference.” As he spoke, he flicked his brush up and a speck of blue paint landed in his mane.
“I… guess?” Flash really didn’t know what any of that meant.
“They used to say I’d take too long with those,” Spearhead laughed. “But I couldn’t help myself. Most of the others threw theirs away, but I ended up keeping mine. Bought some colored pencils on leave and filled them in. Held onto those for a long time in fact. Wonder where they’re at now…”
Flash stifled a yawn.
“You need more paint or anything? Other colors? I’ve got like every kind you can think of over here!”
“Uh, nah, I’m good.” Flash squirted out a drop of red paint onto his palette. “You really like art, huh?”
Spearhead perked up. “Oh yeah! Love it. Painting just… it lets me get out feelings, y’know?”
“Sure?”
“Yeah, you get it!” Spearhead jabbed his brush in Flash’s direction, sending more paint flying everywhere. He didn’t seem to notice. “Art is about expression! I can finally show who I am, set it all out there! It sets me free.”
Flash sighed, rubbing his eyes. He looked up at the clock on the other side of the room and groaned. With nothing else to do, he leaned over to the right of the easel to get a better look at Spearhead.
The burly stallion seemed completely focused on his work. He squinted, mouth moving slightly as he talked to himself. His hoof moved quickly, the brush hitting the canvas in a mix of strokes. Specks of paint fell onto his face and mane, as the occasional flick of his brush sent them flying through the air.
Flash snorted at the sight. “So, what do you do besides art?”
“Huh? Uh… not much, honestly,” Spearhead admitted. “I mostly just make and curate art in pop-up galleries like this. It’s fun though! I get to meet some great artists too.”
“Artists, huh?” Flash grinned. “You know any that… draw ponies?”
Spearhead nodded eagerly. “Oh, yeah, tons! I know ponies who do classical style, abstractionism, post-abstractionism… tons of ways to paint ponies!”
Flash grinned wider. “So, you ever make any paintings like… this?” Flash leaned forwards, resting his chin on his forelegs and flashed a droopy smile with half-lidded eyes in Spearhead’s direction.
Spearhead looked up and froze, mouth hanging open in mild shock. “You… I… Um…” He quickly shook it off and cleared his throat. “W-Well, I may have met a pony who did a thing like that.”
“Oh?” purred Flash. “Well, I dunno about you, but I’d kill for a gallery of shots like these.” He scooped up a tube of paint and squeezed it, all the while keeping a sultry smile. “Could invite friends over… squeeze out some paints. Have a good time…”
He stuck a paintbrush between his teeth and winked at Spearhead.
“Um… I didn’t know you have such a… fine appreciation for the arts,” Spearhead murmured, going back to his work (albeit with a red flush decorating his cheeks).
“I have some refined tastes, Spears. Can I call you Spears? I’ll call you Spears.” Flash smirked as Spearhead hid his face behind the canvas.
“You can call me whatever you want,” Spearhead muttered. “A-Anyways, I think I’m done with this. C’mere, what do you think?”
Flash stood up and trotted around. “I hope it’s… uh…” He trailed off when he saw the painting.
The painting was intricately crafted, each brushstroke exact and precise. But it was the colors that drew his attention: shades of orange and blue that perfectly matched his own coat and mane colors. The more he looked the more he saw familiar shapes and angles: a wing, a foreleg, a face.
“It’s, uh. It’s you,” Spearhead said, unable to meet Flash’s eyes.
Flash was uncharacteristically speechless.
“You, uh… I’d like to get to know you. If, um, that’s what you want.” Spearhead shook his head, blinking fast. “But, uh, what’d you draw?”
By the time Flash had processed the question it was too late. Spearhead had trotted around to the other side to find an absolutely blank canvas. “It’s, uh… It’s a marshmallow in a snowstorm?” Flash offered weakly.
“O-Oh.” Spearhead’s ears drooped. “Um. That’s… that’s fine, I guess. If that’s what you wanted.”
“Hey, I, uh… I didn’t really mean all that,” Flash muttered, rubbing a foreleg. “I… I was just messing with you, y’know? Just some… some good jokes.”
Spearhead’s ears drooped further and Flash felt a pang in his heart. “I… Yeah, man, I see,” he said weakly. “Hey, uh, you can go now. If you want. I’m sure you’ve got better things to do. I’ll clean up.”
Flash took a hesitant step forwards. “You sure? I–”
“Yes! Just… Just go,” Spearhead said, scooping up some of the paint tubes. “I’ll tell Shining you did fine. If that’s what you want. Just… just go.”
Flash worked his jaw, but there was nothing he could’ve said to change the situation. He hung his head and left, leaving Spearhead alone in the gallery, wondering what he had just done.
I don’t believe that I’m the type of pony to play dumb to their weakness.
I know I come on strong, I know I overcommit, and I know that I’m quite a few eggs short of a full basket.
But I still haven’t learned that sometimes I need to pay more attention to how other ponies actually feel. It’s… a foalsih thing I’m sure, but damn it if I’m nothing more than a foal in adult armor.
I thought a lot about what I did to him. How I led him on without realizing it, just because I was bored and thought I knew better. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve done this.
I hope it’ll be the last time but…
It’s on me to make sure, isn’t it?
This is a problem for another time. Right now, I feel awful. I burrowed up under my blankets at home and couldn’t stop thinking about his face. The disappointment, sadness… I never thought I was capable of hurting someone like that with nothing more than my words.
I’m sure Magnus has a word for how I’m feeling right now. He probably has a story too about how that term came to be, how it was circulated and used, and how it’s miles better than anything we use today. He surely wouldn’t have dug this hole, but maybe he’d have a way out.
But Flash Magnus isn’t here.
I’m here.
And I’ve made a beautiful mess.
I keep thinking about that painting and how perfect and beautiful it was. I’ve never even thought of art like that before. But the passion he put into it… and the disappointment following from my empty canvas.
I can’t let it end there.
I have to make it up to him. And I think I know how.
Flash had never been so nervous.
He flew up the steps and skidded to a halt in front of the gallery, carefully balancing the wrapped package on his back. With a deep breath Flash shoved open the door and barreled inside, shivering as the cool air greeted him.
Flash spared the paintings a second glance and headed for the backroom. “Hey, Spearhead?”
The door opened and Spearhead, face clean of paint this time, appeared. “Huh? Oh, Flash. I… didn’t think you’d come back.”
“Ah, yeah.” Flash rubbed the back of his neck and chuckled. “I… I just wanted to apologize for yesterday.”
Spearhead raised an eyebrow. “You don’t have to, y’know.”
“I felt bad. I really didn’t mean to lead you on then just… I feel bad that I didn’t even try when you made that piece for me.” He glanced over to the far side, where the easels still sat.
Spearhead smiled. “Oh hey, no worries. Not everyone can be into art.”
“Here, I made this for you.” Flash took the package and set it on a nearby table.
Spearhead opened it, gasping when he saw what it was. “Wow. Did you…”
“Yeah,” Flash said, chuckling weakly. “I, uh. I painted that. For you.”
The canvas was covered in a mess of color, and what appeared to be a stick pony painted in the middle.
“Hah! Wow, this is great,” Spearhead said, a big grin breaking onto his face.
“Oh, you can be honest,” Flash replied.
“Then yeah, it’s pretty terrible. But you put your heart into it, I can tell.” Spearhead put a hoof on Flash’s withers. “That’s what comes first!”
Flash nodded. “That… yeah, that makes sense.”
Spearhead squinted and leaned in. “Hey you got, like, paint in your mane!”
“Huh? I–” Flash looked up only to find himself south to snout with Spearhead.
The two immediately blushed, but neither looked away.
“Hey, um… I wasn’t being completely dishonest yesterday,” Flash sputtered. “I… you are kinda cute.”
Spearhead flushed a deeper red. “O-Oh! Um, wow, that’s… I think you are too!”
“So… would you like to go out with me?” Flash stammered.
Spearhead grinned and leaned a little closer. “I’d love to. I think I can make an artist out of you yet.”
“In your dreams, Spears,” laughed Flash.
“Tell me one thing though. What’d you do to get forced to come here?”
Flash chuckled weakly. “Ah. See, I uh, kinda practiced too hard for a ceremony. Made a… pretty big mistake. See, I… Well, I accidentally poked Luna in the ass with my spear.”
Spearhead blinked. Then, he let loose a hearty laugh, so infectious that Flash himself couldn’t help but laugh along.
Then, the two leaned in, and when their lips connected there was no piece of artwork in the world that could’ve shown what they were feeling.
