Harem Alliance

"We're working on a solution to the problem."

Celestia's briefing echoed again in Spitfire's ears as she paced in her office. She had, herself, been dealing with the fallout since it had started. Of course, her aggressive and domineering personality had dissuaded any zebras from approaching her during her operations, and her status as a national celebrity has made it very difficult for any particularly strong-willed zebras to approach her.

Granted, she wouldn't particularly mind letting a zebra ravage her, if she was allowed to consent to it. If she had some say in the events, She would pin him to the floor, slip a condom over his cock, and ride him until she was satisfied. She didn't hate the zebras, or even dislike them. Except, of course, the ones who had speared her soldiers during the Fillydelphia defense. Which was quite a few of them, really, but she didn't hold it against them. It was their job, and ponies die in such conflicts. Still, her disdain for them stemmed from the loss of her soldiers, not their race.

She took a deep breath and shook her head, trying to dislodge that thought. Her Wonderbolts had fought bravely, and had managed to repel the zebras from Fillydelphia. It was one of the few cities that had survived and even repelled the zebra onslaught, and had not fallen. She'd only served to deter them and force them into Baltimare, which admittedly had fallen, but she couldn't protect everypony, and she'd led her team to the third major victory in the whole campaign. She'd won four other battles and only lost once, and that was because she'd failed to mobilise her troops in time, and they had arrived to defend an already-captured city.

She flopped down in her chair and glanced up at the bourbon decanter. Her predecessor had turned to it when he was feeling down, but she shook her head. That was for celebrations, and she could celebrate when this issue was solved. But as long as the ponies she was supposed to be protecting were in danger that the law couldn't do anything about just yet, there was no time for celebrating.

A knock at her door drew her attention. "Come in."

Soarin hovered in, his leg still in a sling after what he'd done at the battle of Canterlot. As much as she considered him a goofball and a show-off, he had jumped in front of a catapult to save Fleetfoot's life, even after she'd called him a "Thecthist Thun of a Bitth."

"Are you almost ready?" he asked, not venturing much further than the door.

Spitfire looked up at the clock. She'd been so anxious about what was going to happen that she'd lost several hours to just pacing back and forth. So many hours, in fact, that she'd forgotten to sleep through the night. Now she had to do her show on no sleep.

"Close the door."

Soarin hovered in a bit more and closed the door behind him "Ma'am?"

"I didn't sleep last night. I was thinking about yesterday's claim. I feel like we should be doing more, but I can't figure out how."

Soarin hovered closer. "Do you want to just cancel the event? We can tell the press that there was an emergency that demanded your attention."

Spitfire shook her head. "Don't cancel. Don't tell anypony about this, either. I'm entrusting this information to you, and only to you. If I should strain myself out there, pull the plug."

Soarin shrank down. "On your life support?"

"No! I mean on the cameras. The event. If I should, by your discretion, be unable to perform, you are to stop the show, call a medic, and inform them that my inability to perform is due to the condition in which I started. Not until then, okay?"

"I don't--"

"That's an order."

Soarin took a deep breath. "Okay."

"Good. Let's go."

"Not yet," answered Soarin. "If you're set on doing this in your condition, I'm taking you in a chariot. And we're not leaving until you've had some coffee."

The event started off simple. It wasn't a big show, really, but the preliminary meet-and-greet was very popular. Since the Wonderbolts had been engaged in the conflict when it had been happening, the scheduled start of the flight show season had been postponed, though all pre-purchased tickets were honored.

There were a few seats at the Wonderbolts' table that were not filled, as the holders of their seats were either too injured to attend, still suffering psychological trauma from seeing the horrors before them, or in the case of Swift Striker, dead. In his place sat a memorial wreath, as well as a stack of flowers from his fans that had already overflowed off the table.

Soarin, Fleetfoot and Thunder Smash were the only ones sitting at the table with Spitfire, as a result. Other teams with no military affiliation were there, such as the Washouts, the Shadow Bolts, the Redwings and the Rough Cuts. The Redwings were down two chairs from last year, having been uncomfortable with attending, seeing as how it was a select team of gryphons that had started the fight. While they were not affiliated, they didn't want to be blamed, so they were holding back. The Rough Cuts, an all-dragon team, was more than happy to take the extra chairs to show off their new team members.

Now, since this was a public event, and there were children everywhere, Spitfire was confident that this was a safe space. Even the training exhibition after the signing would be away from any zebras, as the field was up in the sky where they could not tread. This was for safety reasons, as it prevented any falls from being fatal. But to help the spectators spectate, there were cameras above broadcasting to screens here on the ground.

The first two hours went fine, with Spitfire going through six cups of coffee, always brought out by Soarin as they signed autographs and talked to the fans. She was feeling a bit jittery when it was time to head up, but at least she was awake. The coffee was keeping her up, and the kids telling her how heroic she was had boosted her confidence. She was proud and ready to perform.

As she stood up, though, her sudden shift in movement shifted her bladder, and before she could mount the chariot that would take her up to the performing field, she had to stop by the little fillies' room.

She took a moment to splash her face with cold water after washing her hooves, looking up into the mirror and giving herself a short pep talk. "Yes! Yes! I can win! I feel great! I! Can! Do! This! Hyeeeaa--"

"What are you doing?"

She turned and blushed, clearing her throat and composing herself in front of Lightning Dust. "Morale boost," she said, finding her pride. "Every member of my team is an unstoppable flying machine, and sometimes, we need to be reminded of how easy it's going to be to kick your arse."

"Perhaps you could do it a bit quieter? Ponies are trying to take a shit in here; shed off two pounds before doing the aerobatics."

"Whatever," scoffed Spitfire. "I'm done, anyway."

Drying her hooves, she opened the door, coming face-to-face with a zebra. He had a coupon.

"Damn it all..."