My Guardian Cozy

Chapters

Part 1: Beautiful Summer Sun
Part 2: Takeoff
Part 3: Agent Golden-eyes
Part 4: Rolling in the Flood

Part 1: Beautiful Summer Sun

“Wake up,” says a pegasus mare rocking my shoulder.

I could hardly squint to see her. The room turns bright.

The standing pegasus yawns. She turns around. Pulling off my blankie with as much focus as she could muster so early in the morning, she bucks me right in the side.

My only protection is a Princess-sized t-shirt of a knight chess piece with snipped holes by my wings. My muscles, sore from yesterday and every other day before that, aren’t happy, but they’ve gone numb at this point. I’m too also numb to resist her with any more than a jaw rub as she bites my hair and drags my body off from my cozy nook in the wall to the crystalline floor. I land on my hooves before dropping.

“Wake up!” she shouts again, kicking and rolling me with her forelegs. But I’m still too snug between my own feathers to be convinced. The barracks are narrow; you could easily touch both sides at once.

That could’ve been the end of it: she leaves, and I would’ve been left to deal with the consequences of later. But no! We look out for each other… mostly to avoid collective punishment, but we do look out. Instead, between the sounds of various other ponies groaning and neighing, I hear the taps of her hooves fade out, pause, and return.

Something drips onto my face: two drops a second. Then it starts leaking. Our room is underground, miserable, and cold, and so is this. When a bit of liquid seeps through my lips, my sensitive teeth start to tingle. She starts hosing me completely, aiming for my nostrils, then across my shirt to my nether regions, then back up, drawing circles around my face, back down, making it look as if I had wetted myself.

She lightly taps another sleeping mare, a unicorn, in her bed, who rolls over, and with a leg dangling, looks at me and starts chuckling all dopey.

I stretch my upper body up and snatch the water bottle from her mouth. She dodges my attempts to hit her across her face. I charge my shoulder and toss the half-filled bottle. The pegasus dodges the attacks and sticks out a tongue. But I threw hard. The bottle bounces off the next wall and delivers her a lovely blow.

The room watches as I roll back towards my wall. Under my bed are boxes of my things. From a two-thirds-empty jar of foal’s breath, a flower grown near Kirin reserves, suspended in an agent, I pluck out a pedal and eat the thing raw, chewing it into mush before swallowing.

As I wait for the Sound of Silence curse to wear off—which the idiot sleeping opposite forces me to inflict on myself every night—I admire myself on the floor. Everything from our ceiling to the wall and below is made of crystal. And we’re responsible for keeping our barracks clean.

Being pleased with anything you do here was a conflicting when you hated everything Royal so much. But I’m sure once I can secure and enact the finer details of my plan, I’ll be able to laugh all of this off later. Though there couldn’t be a worse job in any period of Equestria than being a royal guard to a spoiled Princess.

I’m as close as a pony could get to “knowing your enemies.” There was no use retreading ground with Twilight. So, I got myself a makeover and spent the better part of a year getting myself into this room of frat-house fillies with no manners. My squad, very high up, includes ten ponies including me, all mares, and two reformed changelings—I guess their gender is drone? The ponies are: two unicorns (one crystal, one flesh), six pegasi, and two crystal earth ponies.

I once was literally the ghost of a filly haunting her own body, stuck in a limbo with nothing to watch or do but soak in despair and hatred; and I was losing myself.

Discord made sure I was conscious. He made sure I could hear. My eyes however were clouded by stony cataracts. But the last sight I saw was of those three smirking, and Discord so happy with himself for coming up with this torment—oh golly, you! You got me. You really did! If we had played along with your plan forever, you would’ve dealt with us all the same; but I guess I passed up my chance at doing the right thing. I should’ve turned my filly back on you guys: all-powerful Grogar and the only two creatures who cared, and cried all the way to Twilight Sparkles. Perhaps she would’ve rewarded me with a pillow and an extra inch of ceiling space in my new tighter, lonelier cage in Tartarus.

And all because I said the truth that Friend is Power to her one—her one—question. That made me hopeless. A lost cause. That’s how she treats her right-hoof filly? Whatever. She wouldn’t have helped me anyways. I have no regrets other than not destroying her when I had the chance.

Back to the reflective floor. I saw myself: white coat; silver, straight, glittery, mane (and a bit bedheaded); and red eyes. Chrysalis hated the idea of me coming here, calling it a “convoluted suicide,” a “pathetic fantasy” of mine, and a “deplorable plan only a pony could conjure.” But at least she didn’t disfigure me. I still look adorable. Not as adorable as Cozy Glow, but prettier than everycreature here, that’s for sure!

My cutie mark is a boring old dagger pointing downwards to show I’m ‘tuff. Chrysalis refused to transfigure me a chess-related cutie mark, “None of my disguises are that on the muzzle,” so I had to go with this poetry that shouts: “backstabber.” At least I got this shirt. And don’t worry. This disguise doesn’t need me to wear an enchanted bow or chug a potion every hour. Every cell that makes up my skin, coat, eyes, bow, tail, feathers, mane, and bones has been altered. It’ll take a routine of magic and chemicals four times a day over a week to rekindle my old colors. She even nudged my face bones a skosh. But my cheeks are still as bubbly as ever! As I’m constantly reminded by—

Biting water hits my withers and the edges of my mane. Great. Now the unicorn’s joined.

“I’m awake!” I yell. Her eyelids and body flinches and she casts a shield. The room starts to clap. “Go to Tartarus! All of you!”

Maybe this is why they love waking me.

No pony nice has ever heard a non-filly Cozy, and it’s been ten years since I’ve had to breathe again, so all I had to do was cut out my “golly-ness.” So basically, turn it into a boring, basic, and bland baby of itself. Piece of cake mostly, though I really gotta remember who I am and how to breath 4-7-8 whenever my temper gets tested.

Poorly-acted dramas of fear and heartbreak line my path out of the room. A few of my fellow guards are too tired to taunt, so they merely watch, amused.

The last pony to the exit, another pegasus mare, slaps me on the rear.

“You woke me, grumpy,” she says, legs still curled under her blanket. While staring at her, I use a hind leg to topple over a stack of a stack of comics under her bed. “Oh, real mature,” she says. It takes her a few seconds to figure out why I took two steps back. Drip, drip, drip. I squeeze the bottom of my shirt like an udder.

“Hey!” she shouts.

I use a flap of my wings to dodge her grab—she catches herself on the wet floor—and I exit the room.

Good gosh, do I always forget what air smells like! That room is always a den of musk: sweat, pine oil, and baby-power. The baby powder isn’t working. And the ventilation is almost always broken; but either way, it’s cold, so the sweating thing remains a mystery. Freezing temperatures aren’t a problem for a pegasus pony such as myself, but you could tell when others were awake and it's never not awkward, at least when you don’t drop dead from exhaustion.

The clock in between the “hallway”—more of a tunnel—reads five o’ four. How I love the summer! Today is a Saturday too. As long as “my Princess” is awake, I have to be awake, which speaks for itself, really. Hardly any other squads know this issue.

Twilight will raise the Sun in about thirty minutes.

Most of the other barracks are still sound asleep, so the showers mostly have just our group.

I look around before flying up to a vent. Inside are a bunch of toiletry bags. I grab mine. Flurry Heart’s a rude and bossy boss, though Shining is my real boss. She would beat me, berate me, and parade my useless position—but I have better things to do than practice Them’s Fightin’ Herds. Like: clean her bedroom, wardrobe (bigger than our barrack, by the way), and bathroom because “I trust you,” “I don’t want all of Equestria sniffing through my stuff,” “You don’t have to do it, but if you brush my back I’ll brush—” Oh, shut up! At least I get to steal a few of things. There’s a spectrum of soap bars on a shelf next to her bathtub, from red wine to cucumber & tea. Of course, I “redistributed” a few to myself. Pony coats need care, after all, especially white ones. As her guard, she should bear some responsibility in making sure I have what I need to look after myself.

The water from the showers is…

I buck the wall. The dangling luminescent crystals shake.

“Woah,” says one of the two changelings from my group. They’re mostly used as decoys during diplomatic visits and as comfort for Flurry who was and still is close to Thorax.

“Don’t you ‘woah’ me. Have you all just been standing around here without heating?”

There’s a pause before I heard a half-blocked chuckle whistling in his throat. “You’re really mad.”

“Yeah, because Princess F.H. has us waking up at five AM! I bet a thousand bits she won’t be up before nine.” I abuse the shower button, waiting for the heaters to turn on. “Seems I’ll also need a stronger potion if you’re sticking your nosy muzzle in my heart and reading my most personal private feelings!”

Emotional deodorant was a Pony invention made a century after the “sparkly-eyed pegasus” tribe got drained to extinction by my dearest friend Chryssie. It’s optional for royal guards now, but I choose to wear it after Pharynx said I smelled like a psychopath. Not many drones have seen enough sides of Cozy Glow back when she was a filly to suss me out, and they can’t know purely from petrification because I’ve been told that alters the smell—if it wasn’t already drowned out by our combined rightful anger. But better safe than have situations like this:

“Spraying your chest won’t do much if bucking the wall,” he says. “I mean, it’s obvious you’re mad. Also funny. A pinch of bitter. Spicy.”

“What do you know?” I continue spraying, feeling a brief but deep tightness everywhere as my body absorbed the potion. That should last me for a few days. “We’re working on a Saturday and they can’t even give us warm water?”

“It is five AM,” says the changeling.

“Doesn’t matter.” There isn’t enough time to kick down the mechanic’s door and grab and drag his flank all the way here. So, I take a mental note of this and enter my frozen stream of water.

I’m a pegasus pony. Our cities are tens of degrees colder than grounded villages. A lack of warmth is only an insult. A few drops of shampoo on my mane and tail—which isn’t Flurry’s because her hair is like steel wool and irritates my scalp red—and I start scrubbing. The slight glitter to my hair is my disguise's only bedazzling feature.

The changeling places a hoof into my stream of water and recoils. At least in their default form, they aren’t the best at keeping warm. Their bodies could produce their own antifreeze, sure, but at the expense of wanting to hibernate. “Maybe you’re right about the water, Softz,” says the changeling, before transforming into a copy of me, without permission, pirating my coat and feathers.

“Softz” is my nickname. A pony’s name says a lot about their calling. Applebloom comes at an apple farm. Scootaloo rides a scooter last I saw her… I guess Sweetie Belle is sweet.

Since I really needed this gig, I had to choose something that would say—and reaffirm to Chrysalis—that I was a royal suck-up, who’d have no meaning if she couldn’t live her “purpose.” And I couldn’t pick “Guardian Angel” because that’s the name of the mare who dragged my harmless filly self to Tartarus! I still remember all their names… So “Silver Seraph” was what I chose, matching with the hair and the high-ranking winged pony serving a powerful being—but unless they’re desperate for my help, nocreature call me that! They call me “Soft,” “Softz” “Softie,” etc., or “Cherub,” or “Cheubz,” because I’m, “shorter, lower-ranking, and have too much of a baby face” to “seriously” be called Seraph. Awful nickname. It grates my ears when they say it, but that’s probably the point with these idiots.

Even Cadance had stuttered nearly calling me that a few times. Now she says my name with so much articulation that I always expect her to add: “If that is your real name” to the end of her sentence. It isn’t, but neither is Cozy Glow.

After also rubbing my body with soap and rinsing, I notice the reluctance of the pegasus pony, whose comics I had soiled, standing next to me. She turns towards me, holding a standard-issued brush for clearing the fuzz off our coat. Then she trips me and I slip on my own soapy water. "Whoops." While I’m down, she dates to ask, “Hey, uh, Seraph...do you wanna… uh, groom each other?”

I get up, growling at her, go to wrap Flurry’s towel around myself, and hide my bag back into the vents. The need to be condescending is burning in my throat, but to be frank, brushing your own flank is like cutting your own mane. You could easily reach, but it’s awkward, and hardly quick or thorough. So I just say, “I’m not doing it,” and leave. Pegasi genetically have a pretty bad fuzz situation, but at least we move around a lot.

The cafeteria is closed. Their meals usually tasted like papier-mâché anyways. All that is here to eat right now are energy bars, packets of chips, and cup noodles from a few vending machines, one of which loved to scam. There is a shared kettle in our barrack, but I want to spoil myself, not burn my tongue with kirin-dragon spices.

I go upstairs to the first level of the building. The security ponies live on take-out and coffee and nap under blue fluorescent lights. The ones below are warmer thanks to decay. Casting only a glance, they unlock the gates.

Twilight hadn’t yet raised the Sun.

Our building isn’t attached to the four legs of the Crystal Castle, but it stands right across and is linked underground by the series of tunnels and chambers where I slept and bathed. If the crystal heart were to shatter, we’d have some protection. If only they could actually keep the heating fixed. The nicest thing about this station is a nearby park. Crystal apple trees shade benches where senile ponies would sit and watch their grandfoals play with the critters. A bit unproductive.

Passing by me as I walk down the streets are joggers. They would do a half-salute. My wings would autonomously wave back; I was born too polite.

Every day, a coffee truck would park in front of this park. This is my favorite crystal pony. He's serving a jogger and brewing the order of a front-counter guard from our station when he greets me. “Good morning, Seraph.”

“See you’re not allowed to sleep, either,” I reply. “Morning to you too! Just my usual pastry.”

“Can I—”

“NO! I don’t want a coffee.” Coffee isn’t my thing. Chrysalis loves it despite it being, I’m pretty sure, poisonous to bugs. All I want from this stallion are his warm and not-too-crunchy strawberry puffs. My poor tummy aches for freshly baked confections, not microwaved rations. For a young mare without expenses or a leaching family, my pay still doesn’t make up for the hours and pain I sacrifice for the creatures I despise. But at least I can afford whatever treat I want from this menu. But I can’t save them because my loser bunkies keep eating my stuff!

“Here you go.” The stallion slides me a white paper bag.

I tell him, “Keep the change.”

I release my wings and do a few stretches before taking flight.

Based on the shop lights and steam of the train chugging in from the snowy horizon, I could tell it’s around half past five; I must be quick about this. The ground within the Crystal Heart’s reach is as clear as could be. The skies inside had a mild scattering of light clouds. I circle around one loose collection to craft a bean-shaped chair. My body sinks as I lean myself back, hind legs dangling over the edge.

And no, I’m of average pegasi weight and height, so I won’t be letting off the parties. This is my one pleasure. The temperatures up here are perfect for a pegasi.

The ground is a study web of streetlamps and a drizzling constellation of homes resembling salt lamps. Schools have broken up for the summer holidays. Many ponies are planning to travel this season.

Don’t worry, Flurry doesn’t even know how to buy a ticket. Not for anything. When she does use public transport, she gets her own carriage, if not the whole vehicle. She’ll never be affected by the surge of commuters too much. At most, she’ll whine about the places being crowded. Many creatures means many adoring fans. That leaves me with two extra problems: I have to shoo away the crowds of colts and fillies and foal-adults wearing creepy t-shirts of her face, and I have to console the Princess herself.

“You don’t know what it’s like to be so worshiped and adored”, she once said. “You can’t announce your plans to anypony or else the paparazzi will hunt you down. You can’t even sneeze in public, or they’ll use your photo in an article about hay season—with a really ugly face by the way. But that’s not as bad as the constant praising and worshiping of the ground you walk on. I chuckled at a school filly’s painting once and the media reported that she tossed herself off a cliff! I mean, she was a pegasus, but still! It’s so much pressure…”

Yes, yes, Flurry. “Let it all out,” I replied. “Please blabber on about how just awful your life is! You’re right: I have no idea what it’s like to be so loved. I’m afraid my advice could come across a teensy bit shallow. Why don’t I pull you home in your golden-laced carriage and ask your personal chef to brew you a feel-better cocoa? I could call up the directors of some Applewood studio and book you a premier to an unreleased movie? Or I could fly to the store and decree that they hoof over that new gaming gizmo box with the virtual-reality goggles and pack it with a game on pre-order? Or you go to bed early for once, on the bed that I made, and if so, I’ll herd some clouds over to make it rain over the whole Empire so that you can fall asleep to the soothing drip of droplets against your ceiling-spanning windows!”

I never said that. Well, I did, but less passive-aggressively. Only out of necessity.

Sun’s still not up. I gobble up the rest of my breakfast and brush the crumbs off my belly. As I spin my cloud chair, feeling each second of freedom before I'm forced to serve Your Highness, I stop and notice Cadance and Shining’s bedroom windows are lit. No surprises there; those two actually have jobs, even if Saturdays are half-days. I also spot, down below, Shining Armor himself—jogging.

Oh golly, curse my perfect vision. Popping in and out to me as he passes under the streetlamps, I could see what he’s wearing: a tight pair of fruity blue shorts that had a slit for his tail with a white tank top and sweatbands.

“Idiot,” I mutter, tossing up and down a crumpled-up ball of my pastry bag.

A creature behind me gasps.

There are crystal earth ponies, and there are crystal unicorns: a rare tribe, mostly fitting as nobles due to a preference Sombra had—gee, I wonder why? But there aren’t that many crystal pegasi. Besides tourists, ninety percent of fliers here work for the Crystal Government, yet still, they’re the tribe most in demand. Me and my pegasi guard “friends” had all been trained by Canterlot. And if you were to be fired, you’d be sent back to Gallus who’ll decide whether to cancel your five-year-long contract or have you posted to some less-than-desirable location. No, not the Griffon embassy! Please, Captain, I’m used to Tartarus; send me there instead! Though I’d really prefer the Sombra treatment.

I clear my throat and spin around. “P-Princess?!”

Flurry Heart is standing on a cloud, still in her jammies: sky-blue with a queen chess piece and white edges: separate shirt, and trousers. No hat, and she has bedhead. Her height is near Cadance’s, enough for her to be able to rest her chin on my head, and ponies had big heads. Her mouth is agape and her eyes are wide open.

“P-Princess Flurry Heart?” I say. “You’re… up so early. I would’ve thought it was Hearth’s Warming Day. He-he…”

“Don’t try to change the subject,” she says, disappointed. “Did you call my dad an idiot?” She has... sharp eyes. And she turns away. “I thought you were better than that…”

“I was thinking of somepony else. I was—”

Her expression makes me check my hooves to see if I had somehow turned coral. Nope, all’s good. I’m not Cozy. She’s only mad at me.

“Were you thinking of me?!” she asks, stepping closer and closer until my wings enter hovering mode, piercing and killing my poor chair. “How could you, you stone-hearted…”

“...Princess, I…”

Flurry starts to chuckle. “I’m kidding! You could tell I was kidding, right?'' She pushes one side of my collarbone, softly to her, which is pretty hard. “You really gotta lighten up! Why so serious?” she says in a psychotic, nasally voice. “It’s the beginning of summer!”

“Pff! Of course I knew you were joking.” I cross my upper legs.

“Uh, no, you didn't,” she says matter-of-factly. “Your eyes were like—Oh Frolicking Flurrryyyyy!” Her eyelids are magically pulled backwards to mock my alleged dinner plates. Then she starts to rub her eyelids’ lower sides.

“No—no!” I say. “My eyes were only ‘oh frolicking Flurry’ because I couldn’t help but notice yours look bloodshot. Is it allergies? What happened to the eye drops the nurses gave you?”

Flurry took a few sniffles. Then she starts to inhale erratically: warning signs of impending doom—her sneezes. I flew a reasonable hoofball-field’s length away.

But she teleports behind me, still sucking up air—before making a fake “achoo!”

Flurry chuckles. “Come on! Just because I sneeze doesn’t mean I’m gonna blow a hole into the ceiling. I’m not that bad at controlling my magic anymore.”

“...When you were feeling really sick two weeks ago, you—”

“Well, yeah, but that’s Blu Flu,” she defends, “not allergies! Come on—” She levitates over a cloud for me to stand on and grabs my wing. “Makes me sneeze. I can prove it!”

“...Nah.”

“You can trust me! ...Sorry.” Flurry lets go of my wing. “But you can’t say my horn’s a loose cannon unless you do! Okay?”

“Sure thing, Princess.” I salute her. “So, about your eye drops?”

“Oh, thaaaat—yeah, I kept closing my eyelids as it dropped, or it would hit my muzzle, and—can you help me out?”

“...Sure...” I’m used to these sorts of jobs by now. “Just don’t tell your father I called him an idiot.”

“Oh, so you were referring to him?” Flurry looks so smug.

“You knew, I was. He looks silly in those shorts.”

“You’re giving me so much blackmail to use against you, Softie,” Flurry says.

“I thought we agreed on mutually assured destruction?” I retort. “We wouldn’t want me to spill all of the many juicy secrets I have on you, now would we?”

And I had lots to share, first with her parents, then her Alicorn aunts, then the press; in the opposite of that order and in loops—if need be. Screw our leader—one of our two hornhead—I’m the one she whines to about anything the most! Hey, can you tell Mom I accidentally shattered her caretaker’s old mug? Can you check if this part of my body looks normal? Hey Seraph, please don’t tell anypony, but, uhm, my bathroom’s “throne” is a… I don’t know how to fix it... Ugh, fine! At least it’s not a bucket in a cage.

Flurry lies and says, “Hah! I don’t care about ponies knowing that stuff about me.”

“Sure, Princess.” Another example of our stalemate: the Princess wants me to call her “Flurry”; I want her to call me Silver or Seraph. She calls me neither unless she’s desperate and needs my help. I call her Princess unless I’m commanding her to help me do the thing she wants me to do. Not the most potent insult when you’re an actual Princess—and the first innate Alicorn born since Equestria’s founding at that—but at least I can win over an eye roll when I really stress the word. “I’m sure you don’t, Princesssss.”

“Can you just help me out or not?” Flurry asks.

“Of course, of course,” I say. “That’s why I vowed to you and sanctified, isn’t it? Can I just go get my armor first before your whimsical dad yells at me?”

“Oh, don’t worry about that!” She dismisses my very real concerns with a wave of her hoof. “Won’t you help a Princess out first? Or at least a friend?”

“...You better defend me,” I say. “And don’t you struggle too much! Okay, Princess?”

“I won’t!” she assures as we both spread our wings and glide to her bedroom balcony. “Besides, this is your job. It’s fulfilling! Isn’t that what jobs are for?”

“What do you know about jobs?” I say to her face.

She struggled.

Part 2: Takeoff

I spent half an hour giving therapy and wrestling Flurry to get the antihistamine drops even over her eyes. She kept pushing me back with her legs, wings, horn, and tail; and she was strong. That was after it took us a while to find the flipping thing. I was pretty sure she hid it on purpose and resisted only to watch me get mad. But I succeeded by six thirty and she conjured a portal for me to fetch my armor set. She stepped back after seeing and smelling the place.

The room was empty. They stopped waiting for me during inspections before they knew Flurry tended to pull me out for trivial things. I could be tidying up my bedding and all of a sudden disappear in two flashes. Whether she was cycling through my usual locations or her horn could point to where I was like a radar, she kept a secret. But I knew my armor had a magical beacon inside she could sense.

Inside my hanging armor set were apple-scented air fresheners. Guess who gave us those.

My headpiece—silver, same as the others—had a reddish-pink brush along its spine: a “crest.” The back of the helmet extends down, floating above my withers. My poking ears secure my headpiece when I’m flying, and a ridge inversely arcs down to cover my glabella. My back, chest, and flanks are fully shielded by my body plate. Each of my hooves had a horseshoe that snakes up at the front. Winged creatures don’t have to wear saddles; praise golly! My job was to guard Flurry, not give her horsie rides; but that doesn’t mean I’ve never been asked before by her parents to carry her off from the sofa to her room.

Later, I was standing outside of the Royal Family’s living: practically a cutout of a cottage with its wooden floors under carpets, a fireplace, and a television set with consoles and media players that I have to troubleshoot sometimes. My hoof held a spear, and to my side was a guard whose only job was to patrol the castle—not near as honorable of a job as mine if you loved the Royal Family as much as I don’t. We stood there for about an hour. The main events were: Flurry entering, a few chefs carrying breakfast because Cadance and Flurry wanted to watch TV, and Shining Armor returning, not paying me any attention, which must’ve been a conscious effort.

Before my basic military training, I had to attend a health screening, where the nurse kept rowing my cheeks. “Checking for tumors,” was her excuse, but I could read her eyes. She brought in a doctor for a second opinion. He tugged me too. Day zero and I was already seen as less than a pony: a critter, a chipmunk of sorts. And the violations only worsen. They said I was wasting my looks not joining a pageant before age takes a better toll. It’s unhealthy how much I crave spite. Indignation propelled me to reach the top rank of my company, and on the day I was to be honored in front of Shining Armor—he “subtly” pinched me in my you-know-where. Hastily, he covered his act by stroking my hair, saying later that he thought a lock had fallen over my eyes and that he was simply shifting it over my ear. Even told me off for it. What baloney! And I had nowhere to report this to, and no shoulder to cry on here, so I kept these memories as a record for future retribution—when the time comes.

The Royal Family was discussing the weather when:

“What about if we went to Horseshoe Bay?” Cadance suggested. “It’s been a while.”

I was going to choke. Horseshoe Bay was on the other side of Equestria. That’s a five-hour trip at best, hardly considering all the luggage they’ll probably pack and not use and also winds.

Shining agreed with the plan. “That’s a great idea.”

I had to wait until Flurry entered the hallway to go to her room to speak out. “Princess, I don’t want to, uhm… spoil your plans but… are you sure you don’t want to go someplace a bit closer? I mean, a seven-hour trip? No pit-stop at Canterlot?”

“Oh, Cheubz, I’m sure you’ll be fine,” Flurry said. “We’re just brainstorming ideas anyways. If you don’t want to pull the carriage, I can get the others to stop picking you.”

“What? You mean you’ll tell your dad to tell to them? Yeah, no.”

“Well, maybe you should work out more?” Flurry said, poking me in my stomach with her undodgeable magic. “Hey, maybe I could help you? I… think we have a gym.”

“I’m the peak of my species, Princess!” I said, humbly. “I really don’t need a workout unless you want me to flaunt to the others.”

“Sure~”

Despite dismissing my feats, Flurry did take my suggestion seriously.

We’re going to Horseshoe Bay tomorrow. Earlier than eleven A.M. so they properly check out the sites.

Today we’ll simply fly to a beautiful pier near Manehattan—a three-hour trip.

And now my partner and I, a pegasus who has a pastel orange tail and feathers, are flying. I say to her, “Should be there soon. Seems like there’s only a hundred miles left.”

We’re both scouting ahead of the four pegasi who have to pull the carriage. Two of Cadance’s guards, who weren’t ever asked to do menial or maid work—or even the carriage, really—are guarding the back. By the way, maids are paid twice as much as guards.

As we pass a bird’s eye view of the multistep waterfalls of Neighagra Falls, we look at our sides, at each other’s side, and above, and below. Yep, low chance of rain.

Two separate snow-tipped mountain ranges to our sides are shortening, bridged by a forest and a dreary village invisible during the day. The skyline of Manehattan to the left is still a dot from this distance. All we have to do is keep flying forwards.

Today’s biggest bother is the heat. The Sun has no worries turning Equestria into an oven. There’s only a scarce canopy of racing clouds to stay under. At least the Sun’s behind us. My muzzle would act as a mirror for light to bounce off into my eyes. Ponies may have three eyelids, but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t have goggles. Maybe if I’m lucky Flurry will spare me a pair of sunglasses while I’m standing still that I can’t move to take off. As for my coat, while white is supposed to be a reflective color, it leaves me without much sunburn protection. So unless I want to wake up as Cozy Glow, I have to smell like sunscreen. Flurry was the one who spurted the bottle onto my legs and wings. She called my wings my “engines” and my legs my “wheels” and talked mechanically. This is what she does: talk down to her guards like they’re her newborns.

“It’s turbulent today,” says my partner.

“Yep,” I say against the sound of the wind blowing into our ears, “it’d be fun to glide or dive through this, but… we should probably dash to the pier already.” We keep a stable pace of five wingbeats per second. My wings can slice through the wind pretty well but these streams are coming from all directions.

“Well, at least we don’t have to nurse Shining Armor’s skysickness, huh?” jokes my partner. “Poor hornheads.” She looks behind before flicking her head, signaling for me to detach. After a deep breath, flies the outline of an arrow before continuing our previous path.

You have to be quick to make a pegasus trail and this is how we communicate in the sky. She flies now at twice her previous speed.

I’m not above that.

We race to the pier. My tail produces a trail too with an outline of red matching my eyes. Our legs ceased dangling and we took up a superhero pose to minimize drag. Despite her head-start, I’m already past her tail. She accelerates too. I return the gesture.

Seven minutes later, we're at the seaside town. Seems we’ll have to resume this later. Both of us slow upon entering a residential zone, causing our trails to fade. I cross from under her to get to the other side. There, I aim for a building waving Equestria’s flag, landing on a pad with a big “H.”

The public already noticed me: foals with balloons and ice cream gawk as I jump over the edge of the police building onto the gated entrance. The police ponies approach me. “Did something happen in Canterlot?”

I say nothing and walk into the air-conditioned station. To my left are civilians staring, sitting on plastic chairs. But a couple in front of me, hogging the line, are too caught up in their own problems to care about the presence of a royal guard. Hello?!

My wing and hoof, one for each pony, separate the pair by the middle. “This’ll take a second,” I say. The mare of the couple, bloodshot eyes from tears or catnip, seems tempted to use her magic to push me back but her partner calms her down.

I make my position clear anyways: “Your gross magic touches me, and you’ll both forget what sunlight looks like.” Then I smile at the receptionist. “Good morning! Gosh, your village really needs to order some clouds. Sheesh! Anyhow, I’m here on behalf of the Crystal Empire. The Royal Family’s coming to bless your beaches. They’ll land in around~ ten minutes. All good?”

“...Another one,” says the stallion of the couple. What is that supposed to—

I notice a pony to my left wearing shades, a black suit and tie over a white undershirt, and an earpiece made obvious by a wire. They’re leaning on their hind legs against a wall.

“...Don’t tell me—”

“Twilight’s not coming,” says the agent.

I sigh a breath of relief.

My partner and I both meet back at a parking lot. She had checked the water for currents, sharks, and made sure it was just right. As the royal carriage lands between us, I’m able to hear the pants of the four pegasi who drew the shortest biscuit sticks.

The changelings and earth ponies stayed at home, and the two unicorns sat at the rider seats. Their job is to chat with the Princess and conjure paper bags for Shining; and navigate, but they never do. They’re also supposed to use their horns to shield us against the elements: snow, rain, hail, sandstorms; and violent sun rays, but they would never, ever! unless it’s severe enough for us to have to stop on a cloud, or if they’re feeling nice that day. So yeah. Never happens.

There’s a sequence of turns and movements I had to do when opening the carriage doors that starts with my turning ninety degrees. As I perform my duty, she lands opposite to me.

Flurry and Cadance get out from my end; afterwards, a sun-hued aura holds the edge of and gently closes the door.

This was worse than Twilight.

“Aunt Celestia and Luna!” shouts Flurry, tip-tapping to the latter’s sides. “You decide to come here too?”

Celestia giggles in her condescending, reserved way. “Oh, your parents called us and we happened to be quite free. It’s been a while.”

Her eyes cycle through her grandniece, her adopted niece (still don’t get what that means) and her green nephew-in-law, and stops at me. She approaches me, towering at twice my height. My eyes stay fixed forwards. The Alicorn lowers her head, her face a blank. “I forgot you got new guards, Flurry,” Celestia says.

And then—and then… she did it…

“Sister, what are you doing?” asks Luna, wearing a summer hat and sipping a glass of tropical juice that has a tiny umbrella.

“This one’s cheeks are like a cloud!” Celestia says. And you can imagine the act she’s doing. Everypony’s watching, and worse than the public are my peers, lousily trying to keep their snickers and scorns down their throats. The parents bring out their cameras, as well as one of those wonderful unicorns in our squad, who had Cadance’s strapped around her neck. Luna has a camera too, but she hasn’t taken a picture yet. She joins in “inspecting” me.

Celestia continues, “Oh, they make them sillier each year!”

“...Yes,” Luna replies as she presses my muzzle. “Short thing.” I am an average height for a pegasus pony, and in fact, I’m not even the shortest in my group! My mouth, for self-benefit, stays neutral, but my eyes would blink a squint after each harder tug on my cheek or booping.

Getting lampooned during every parade rehearsal was one thing, but to act this out in public? No creature has ever been targeted for their looks as often or as harshly as me! Even Luna is now getting possessed by that look—you know, the one that says I’m just a kitten in a cat café and not the peak of my regiment. And Shining Armor lets this happen! Jeez, look at him, getting pats on the back from his family. Good job, good job. Cuck.

“Alright, that’s enough,” Celestia says to her sister. “We’ll continue this on the beach.” And, with one crescendo of a pinch, she turns and leads the way.

I couldn’t watch for myself her manner degrading since she abdicated her throne, but if news came to light that she had been dead for all these years and that drones were pretending to be her, only to keep her image alive because Twilight was so awful, I wouldn’t be shocked.

Flurry stays behind and places a wing over my back. “So, what are you going to do at the beach?” she asks me.

“Oh, you know, standing guard mostly,” I reply. “Because, y’know, I’m a guard.”

“Oh…” Flurry’s ears drop. Oh golly, what did I do?

“Princess, I wasn’t trying to sound passive-aggressive,” I lie. “It’s just my duty to keep you safe.”

Flurry’s face switches. “Keep me safe? Pff! I could destroy every creature in this village—right now.” A few parents pull their foals a couple of useless steps back. Her eye almost touches mine; I can feel her exhales against my face.

“...I’m sure you could, Princess. I’m sure you could.”

“I wasn’t trying to sound aggressive.” Flurry smiles psychotically. “But anyways, Celestia seems to really like you. She can be your guard. Right after me, of course.”

I squint. “Her Sun’s doing a doozy today.”

Flurry uses a wing to umbrella me from behind.

“Thank you, Princess.”

There are more of those “agents” from before in the police station. Seems to be the Sister’s bodyguards. But they’re so only-for-show that Celestia hardly walks at a speed they can keep up with. It’s funny watching those black-suits struggle to keep casual and not break into a jog.

And you poor things have to wear too many layers of clothes. But hey! Your front legpits might be a swamp, but at least your rears have plenty of air. And wow! are those interesting cutie marks! Just bustling with personality and individuality and… profundity. Glad you’re wearing those shades to hide your secret identities.

Gosh, even my flanks have armor! They really should’ve stayed defunct.

Luna starts to out-walk her sister. Celestia re-takes the lead. Then Luna gives a devious smirk and, wings stretching further than her height, she dashes.

“Oh, you are on,” Celestia says.

Credit where it’s due: the suit ponies have decent synergy. Not as good as ours when my “friends” aren’t acting dumber than they really are (debatable); but when the earth agents would jump over a ledge, they would always get caught by a telekinetic grab or a pegasus before they hit the ground. The height of the lower walkways is only a few meters from the top, but they need to be quick. Soft landings soon aren’t enough. Earth agents are getting tossed by unicorn agents getting tossed by pegasi until they looked more like a circus than my bunk mates last night (it was a Friday).

All of this clockwork thinking just to be reduced to theatrics for when the next band of Supervillains takes over Equestria. I’m guessing it’ll be a sequel!

My Princess umbrella fell. Flurry looks back at me—speed-walking. Oh, golly, here we go.

“Race you!” She magicks my helmet the other way around and bolts off. And though my ears secured my headgear through the coastal winds in the sky, Flurry’s start was enough to blow it off my head. I grab my helmet and put it back on.

“Race you” sounded an awful lot like a command. I’m not to disobey a command from the Princess. So, I duck down, left pair of legs kicking back, and dash as well.

But Cadance’s blue hue almost immediately grabs the back of my neck. Shining Armor, my boss, levitates in his magic, colored the same as Twilight’s, a backpack of sundries for the beach to between my four legs.

“Have fun,” Cadance says, before turning me around, and with my wings out straight, she throws me like a paper airplane. The boost manages to make up for Flurry’s head start.

But the beach was only ten seconds away.

I swap the bag from my legs to my teeth and land in front of my Princess on the sands.

The Sister’s agents had already segregated a part of the beach for the Royal to enjoy their day at the beach, away from those commoners, am I right? There are about two ponies for three sides—not the thickest line. But most families seemed to only throw an occasional peek. And the beach isn’t too busy. Must be too hot for sane creatures.

Remembering my responsibility, I dig into the bag.

“Sunscreen, Princess?” I remind her. For having the evolved vigor of an Earth Pony, Alicorns are not immune to sunburns. And I’d be the one preparing ice baths, or changing her sheets if she lays a towel on her bed and sleeps with ice packs on her back, or our group would have to follow her if she decides to burrow herself in snow.

Can’t let it happen. For my own sake.

Flurry walks away from the edge of gently sinking sand and marches up to me. “Okay, fine, if you want to…” I catch her smirking before she turns and sits on the sand, close enough that her mane tickles my muzzle. Even sitting, she’s a giant. The tip of my head is at the level of her eyes. I have to get on my hind legs for this.

I take off my front horseshoes and hold the bottle sideways in my mouth. With my forelegs on her shoulder plates between the base of her wings, I splotch a circle onto her back. Using the softer side of one leg, I scrub up and down her back like a paint roller, making my way up.

I tread on a sensitive area. Her neck scrunches as I brush her withers. Her loopy tail trips me over.

“Sorry!” she says, covering my mouth, red-cheeked.

While hovering, I flatten my posture and prop the back of her mane over my left leg. My right leg swipes downwards. Success! I cover a layer, but her wings elbow back and they swat me like a mosquito. This better be a reflex and not her pretending, or else!

I ditch the ears to focus on her lower back. The head can be the crown.

I tip-hoof around that mallet she has for a tail. How does Alicorn hair do that? Doing her back takes a while, but isn’t too dangerous.

Next are her wings. They have some sort of exotic ability to sharpen if I press on the wrong nerve or cause her to feel threatened, so I made sure to brush down, along, not against, her feathers.

After covering everywhere the Sun shines on her back, I squeeze sunscreen over her cutie marks—she helps in lifting each flank for me—and wipe up to her legpits. Once I cover her legs up to her hooves, all I have left is her belly, chest, her face.

“Princess—” I wipe her chest with an extra dollop because of all the fluff. “—can’t you reach this area on your own?”

“No!” Flurry says very believably. “Plus, you’re better at this than I am. And you’re already here so…”

“I am pretty good.”

“You are.”

“Thanks.”

Now for her head. Need to hover again. I feel like a chapel ceiling painter, meticulously avoiding her lips and eyes in pursuit of covering the face of the divine. Those were somepony else's words, not mine! I realize how close our faces are to each other’s. But no, this is fine. I’m a guard. Military training had forced me through all sorts of positions; this is nothing. I mean, who talks in a public shower? Lo, I could see myself in those eyes.

I say, “Alrrrright,” awakening her sleepy ears as I fly pad them with suncream. “We’re done! No more sunburns!”

“I smell so chemical and feel slimy,” Flurry says. “But thanks, Softz!”

“No problem, Princess,” I reply.

“Guard!” shouts Luna; I spin myself. “Help me apply sunscreen also. My sister is hogging the bottle to ‘teach me a lesson’ in not ‘emptying’ hers. Can you believe her pettiness?”

“No,” I say with one side of my lips in a default smile, left eye twitching. Eye, stop twitching! “And I don’t mind that at all…”

“Bye Softie,” Flurry shouts as she gallops and jumps into the sea with Shining.

Cadance is lying on a sarong on the sand engrossed with a book. A guard holds an umbrella over her head as if it were a spear.

I try to deal with Luna fast. This is the Princess who smiled as she executed me, who knew Evil herself and held a grudge for a thousand years. She looked a filly in the eyes and declared her hopeless without trying. She had everything when she turned bad too: family, friends, power; what did I have? She was an Alicorn filly ruler. I was living on a scholarship. If anypony deserved a second chance, it was ME! Not her. And I only got out of my statue by accident. Nepotism. It’s all just nepotism. And your class, species, tribe.

Of course, I’m not going to give her my best in covering her back. So unlike Flurry, I don’t use the side of my legs. I take off my horseshoes to keep my incompetence believable and use my hard hooves. This’ll show her!

“Ow! You do a good job of massaging, Softie,” Luna says. Just my luck. Seems they aren’t rough enough to scratch Alicorn hide. “Do you carry experience?”

“…” I guess I have to answer. “My—” What should I call Chrysalis? “—Mom had me walk on her back a few times. She’s a very hardworking mare, single mother, many children, lots of problems. Her muscles can get pretty tough and sore.”

“Ah, so you had to work around the house in your family,” Luna says. “No wonder young Flurry Heart has you doing servant work as a guard. That’s a great deal of trust she places in you. Otherwise, before that, she would let her rooms deteriorate, not letting anypony inside. Your talents lie in servitude it seems.”

“Your Highness, I’m honored.” She can’t see my strained grin.

“Pass your mother my blessing,” Luna says. I won’t, thank you very much. At least she only wanted me to do her back. Now I could focus on doing my guarding jo—

“Sister,” Luna says to Celestia who came over, “you’ll fail to believe young Flurry has been hoarding this guard’s talent. My joints have never felt so invigorated! Take off your other shoes, guard!” she instructs before turning back to her sister. “My only criticism is that this pegasus pony is too light.”

Luna looks around for a solution. “A hah! You, crystal unicorn! Lie on your fellow guard’s back.” She looks at me. “I will not abash you by soliciting a stranger.”

Pegasi guards don’t wear saddles; they cover our wings. My crystal hornhead bunk-mate does and is already taking off hers. I smack her glistening horn whilst the Princesses aren’t looking. When they do, we both smile as widely as angels, happy to sever our Highnesses in any way or form—oh, yes. When they turn back around, we resume our banter.

The Sisters’ agents are watching over my work. They would chat behind their hooves to their earpiece, chuckling, and it wouldn’t surprise me if they had hidden cameras too. Whatever. They’re just jealous. They’re royalists whilst I’m only pretending to be a royalist. Most mindless ponies would pay to get this close to any Princess. I’ve been to places that prided themselves on a Princess entering once. They usually didn't even managed sell a thing to royalty. They would hang big plaques of grainy security footage. What losers!

Celestia moans whenever I crack a stubborn joint. Each step I take is one of rage—rage at injustice, an attack on their providential indifference, and every second I spent alone; for every thought that came in and out of my head, carrying the hopeless message that I was to be here forever. That Equestria would fall before Twilight lets me talk, or if she ever will. And I’m just an object made to suffer, right? Some cruel creator had made me only to glorify the Mane Six through my defeat, and all else he does to me is cosmically josh, harboring into me these thoughts!

“Oof,” Celestia pronounces. I try to level the pressure of my hooves. “She is good!” And Princess Regal pinched my cheeks again with magic. Was that my reward? I continue my dance begrudgingly.

“You never told me you were so good at massages.” Oh, golly help me! The crystal unicorn is using telepathy now. I refuse to respond. Just continue soothing these fools. It’ll make the days they spend as statues all the colder. “Can you hear me?” She plays a bell sound in my head. I jump out of shock.

The Sisters seemed to enjoy that move.

“Yes! It does work. Seemed the sisters enjoyed that move. You should do it again.”

Okay. I wave my body like a startled bull. First, I buck the air at a high angle; then, I flick my head back. The crystal hornhead’s chin meets the extruded metal base under the brush of my helmet.

She pinches my ear and whispers, “Cadance is watching us, you featherhead!”

To my left sat Cadance. And her horn was glowing, now dimming. Don’t tell me she was the one… I never got a telepathic message from either mare before. But I did get ones from the other rude mage in our group when I was in pain or she couldn’t sleep somehow, and I assumed… Golly.

My attempts to apologize by rubbing my soft feathers against the crystal mage’s back were met with wide telepathic slaps. Her magic is as weak as her crystal muscles.

“Oh Your Highnesses, Princess Celestia and Princess Luna,” she says. “I don’t mean to impose myself on your spa session, but I know of a mass multiplication spell.” Oh, come on. “Well, technically it’s more to do with gravity and weight than mass.” Smartass. “My friend is almost hollow.” Now she’s knocking my head. “Do you think it would improve your relaxation if I cast it? And can I?”

“The pegasus guard is still rather light,” Luna admits, “but I’m afraid I don’t intend to stay here forever. There are other places to explore.”

“I agree,” Celestia adds. “But do remind us next time we visit.”

“I will, Your Majesties,” she says. “I will.”

Luna lifts me up, without permission, so that she and her sister can walk off. And she places my bottom on the warm sand. She also pulls her umbrella and hammers it next to me as a “gesture of gratitude.” I know all about these tactics of manipulation! She didn’t even say thank—

“Thank you for the massages… What was your name?” Celestia asks.

“Softie,” Luna answers.

Celestia giggles. “Thank you for the message, Softie.”

“Yes.”

I still hate that name.

…

“Get off of me,” I grunt to the unicorn hugging my neck. She pulls over a few fallen leaves and branches from a nearby tree and magicks together make-shift reins and a bit for her to grab onto and use to bridle me.

I’m one plucked feather away—one—from bucking this mare’s horn clean off her forehead and giving her hoof as one of these Princesses petrifies me! I won’t care if she doesn’t.

“Princess Cadance, Your Majesty,” says the crystal unicorn, “can we offer you a massage?” She pulls me by my armor's collar closer to the Princess.

“...This week was tough…” Candace says, dropping her book and feeling her neck. “Seraph—you know what Flurry’s preferences are. Why don’t you get her something sweet and check up on her and Shining? I can’t even see them from here. Afterwards, I wouldn’t mind feeling what Celestia and Luna were praising you about.” Cadance tucks five bits into my chest piece.

Saluting, I fly, albeit awkwardly, and finally, the crystal idiot teleports off.

I land on the base of the pier and walk up. There are games, stores, and stalls. Only one layer of moldy wooden planks keeps everything falling into the ocean. You could see the waves and the barnacles on the foundation’s pillar by looking at the gap between the planks.

Lining the railings, especially on the side where Cadance is sitting, are agents. I doubt this is the Sister's typical security. Must’ve been a reunion of sorts, a once-in-a-year mission for the sport of it. The ages of the black-suits varied a lot. A few look to be in their twenties, but most are scratching forty, fifty, sixty even.

A cutie mark is all I need to know if a pony showed up on that day. The day of my harshest defeat, when I last properly saw Tirek. Perhaps it was a grander force, but I couldn't let go of those memories—of faces and of cutie marks. And while in a statue, all I could do, and perhaps all I was supposed to do, was listen and hear the sounds of freedom and happiness: of happy foals with parents and migrating birds landing on my head. There were so few creatures who never showed up. Let me think: a few stuntpony pegasi, a fashion designer... Even Flim and Flam showed up, and Neighsay. Oh, Twilight.

I see an agent with binoculars watching over the railings. Seems to be in her forties. Her beige coat with a navy-blue mane has a bubblegum-pink center streak. And her cutie mark is of three wrapped sweets.

The cactus carrier.

She was the mare who I let borrow my friend Scootaloo’s helmet. Wonder what she’s doing now?

Anyways, a few months ago, I was at the library, scouring the archives of mentions of Cozy. I’m not sure if it’s normal to make yourself angrier, even if it is in pursuit of knowledge, but these are the moments that keep me going. Let’s not go over how upset I was over how they remembered me in the papers; her wedding day honeymoon shared the same week as my death.

When I lived in Ponyville, I had visited her confectionery shop. Dandy place, I gotta say. But that doesn’t make up for her showing up as part of Twilight’s big heroic comeback. And my treats were much tastier than her, anyhow. And Pinkie’s.

My job as a guard was to be disciplined.

My waking speed doesn’t change. Using a hind leg—I kick in the tushie over the pier—and whistle away. The edge of my peripherals senses her pulling something. She has a grapple and tosses to the pier.

I stroke a gust towards her hook, blowing it into the sea.

Two splashes.

Cadance only glances for a second.

I’ve achieved a tiny revenge. Hopefully, when my proper plan goes through, I’ll be able to get a hold of her and all her filly-hating friends. Tartarus is going to get awfully crowded.

Part 3: Agent Golden-eyes

Author's Note

Let me say again: this story is one day of many days of Cozy's guard days. Please don't expect a big ending. This is a slice of life. Around three chapters left? If you want more stories with Cozy as a guard please take any of the ideas here. Please. We need more Golly stories. Okay enjoy!

Part 3: Agent Golden-eyes

I have no regrets other than not crushing Twilight when she was down. But if I had to have one for today, maybe I should've waited a few more years for revenge and not have tossed an agent off a pier.

Cadance’s instructions were as clear as that crystal hornhead’s skull: get Flurry a treat. So, it’s a hot day, and we’re at the seaside. Would it hurt if I got her an ice cream? No, of course not. She’s a mare. A spoiled mare, but a mare. And I pretend to care for this mare. So, I walk across the pier and follow the trail of happy dessert-carrying foals.

The only thought I should have is: how many flakes would Flurry want? After all, she is a very fat—I mean, big—wait, no, why am I being polite? She’s Princess-sized. But as I walk past carnival games and light-weight rides of screaming grandparents, I notice a couple of things.

The Sister’s agents, or more accurately: Canterlot’s agents, are in every corner I cross, behind stands, leaning on the rails, sitting in the rides next to intimidated creatures. And they’re all eyeing me with a hoof to their earpiece or a leg out to read their fancy watch. My guard friends aren’t here. Two are busy slacking off on a cloud. The other two are defending the carriage and the fifth is still holding Cadance’s umbrella.

I am alone and surrounded.

My target is in front of me: an ice cream stand run by a griffon in a fez. I should try to hurry. A line of customers stood in my way. Guess there’s no other option.

“Excuse me!” I say, using the broad side of my wing to push a colt climbing onto a stool to reach the counter. “Official agent of royalty coming through.” I look at the griffon, sharp-eyed. “Sir, I need your very bestest strawberry ice cream. Three scoops, with jam sauce, and a wide cone, and two flakes.” My hoof slams the counter. “Princess Flurry Heart demands it!”

He looks at me, talons interlocked under his chin. “Alright.” His voice is deep and lacks humor, and despite as the fez implies, had a hint of country. “You happen to be lucky, pegasus. I only have three scoops of our ‘very bestest’ strawberry flavor left.”

“Aw,” whines the colt, “but I wanted a—”

“Shush! How much, Mr. Ice Cream Creature?”

He plops a third scoop and adds a layer of syrup. “Twelve bits.”

“Twelve bits?! That much? You’re not charging me extra because I’m from Flurry, are you? You should know there’s probably a law against that.”

“Read the sign.” He points up. “Just market prices for this level of quality”

The menu above really does say twelve. Could be enchanted, but if not…

Golly, I thought. “Gosh,” I say instead. “Jeez, what has happened to my Equestria? Twilight’s economy, am I right, kid?” I nudge him.

But there’s no colt. Instead, I had nudged an agent on the tie.

I pull an extra ten bits out from a pouch taped inside my body plate whilst staring at my reflection through the agent’s shades.

I ask the agent, “Are you going to order something, or…?”

No response. No movement. Not good.

I slide the bits over the counter.

“Oh, come on,” complains the griffon. “You really have to toss it to the floor?” He counts one-by-one the number of coins.

“Aren’t you a griffon?! I passed you more than twelve! Your eyes are supposed to be better than mine.”

“Can’t make those generalizations anymore,” the griffon says, still counting. “Twilight’s trying to connect our species.”

“Well—” I look back. There are two more agents leaning against the railings behind me. “—Eye anatomy isn’t really analogous to something like coat color or...” I watch as one of the agents behind levitates a bucket of water from over the pier. “...I mean, who is Twilight to be talking about these sorts of things? Having a school for something as basic as Friendship run by ponies? Like other creatures need our help? And she assigns her own friends as teachers and now it's being run by a covert and overt narcissistic couple? Bit of a purple-pony’s burden situation going on there, wontcha say?”

“I guess,” says the griffon, applying two rich flakes onto the scoops. “...You know I’ve actually got a condition where I’m color-blind for yellow. Frankly, I can’t tell a lot of you ponies a—”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah! That’s really sad. Say, can I have my ice cream now, please? Uh, Flurry Heart’s ice cream?”

“Sure.”

I grab the cone. But his ice cream scooper is still attached. As I try to walk away, he pulls out the strawberry scoops, leaving me only an empty cone.

“Oh, come on!”

“Sorry,” he replies, taking my cone and putting the scoops back on.

I wait, and wait, and pounce!—only for him to pull my ice cream back.

“Oh my hoofness!” I drag my eyelids, and shout through my teeth, “Just give me my flipping ice cream!”

My hind legs and wings start to climb over the counter as the griffon keeps denying me my ice cream which I paid extra for!

He passes me my treat upside down, only to steal my scoops as they fall. He gives me my treat back only to trade it with an empty cone. He then places, upside down, his full cone on top of my empty one, and pulls his upwards, stealing my cone as well!

One particularly high hum of magic twitches my ears as the two of us battle, not only with my hooves and his claws, but also our wings.

My back is facing the wall when—splash!

The Griffon looks at the agents, water dripping from his back.

I snatch what’s mine and leap through the door. But to my side stands an agent, with a gun—a water gun. I duck. A stream of water hits my helmet’s crest and falls onto the floor. The agent’s second shot is halted by my buck. Their gun gets knocked into the ocean.

I have to get out of here.

My hooves skid across the floor as I turn the corner and kick myself into a low aerial dash. But everywhere I look, every corner I zip past, has a shadow hosting an agent. The reflections of their undershirts and shades marks me with panic. They want revenge. How petty!

But Seraph can’t be fearful. She’s a character of Cozy Glow, and Cozy Glow never felt fear. Besides maybe a hooful of times, possibly, maybe.

My wings spread out just in time to see a water balloon pass by half an inch from my face. This agent has a fully loaded slingshot.

I lean on an outside table at a restaurant. “Need to borrow this, filly.” My teeth grab onto a plastic plate and I bend towards the floor and spin, let go, and—Smack! That’s one agent down.

The filly, holding a slice of cake, cheers me on. But I can’t bow now.

Agents already have me surrounded. Hollow steps emanate from the top of the restaurant. An agent has a gun pointed down at me.

My body enters flight mode.

I gallop past crowds of creatures, a wing holding my ice cream. Agents litter my path, hiding under the counters of stalls or in gaps between any two buildings so tight that an Abyssinian would struggle not to get stuck. There’s no space or mercy for my wings to unfold so my legs are all I have for mobility.

A squirt of water shot from over a food menu: I limbo under the stream. A water bullet shot from between the planks on the floor; I stomp until I hear a slash. A pegasus—wait, is that a guard from my squad?!—body-slams a cloud, releasing a pillar of water:

My hamstrings pull the emergency brakes, bringing me to a sit. Once I reach a complete stop, I pull a stray Ocellus and place her under the torrent. Her birthday balloon flies up and knocks the pegasus off her cloud. The changeling’s face is a permanent gape without any blinks.

My ice cream is still safe. I adjust a leaning flake and use a feather to taste a drop of syrup. My lips form a whistle and I blow the melting edges with my frosty breath—something, something, pegasus lungs are made for high altitudes, air cools as it expands through a tight nozzle, can of air analogy—Science!

Thump. Thump. Thump: I hear hollow steps.

The greenest teal, golden eyes under front-leaning shades, and a lyre cutie mark. Oh. My. Golly. All unicorns are psychos but this one’s a real schizo. Her marriage shared the opposite page in the newspapers the day I was turned to stone. Those two and that derpy mailmare. How dare they share my newspaper! At least the helmet her partner stole from my good friend Scootaloo doesn’t have a slot for horns. I swear, those things irradiate away the prefrontal cortex!

I dash towards the end of the pier, tail sliding past the unique shape of Lyra’s aura: a giant sort of claw with five round digits.

Several water balloons chase me. I roll and yaw out of the way of the projectiles. But because of my wingspan, I’m forced to front flip into a gallop. The roof has too many hazards. A wall of creatures blocks most of their throws. There in the distance, I spot my prize: the ocean. All I need now is to jump over the railings and fly against the wind.

Thirty-five meters. Thirty. Twenty-five. Twenty. Fifteen. Ten.

Everything turns slow as I trip.

Like that day twenty years ago, all my eyes can fix on is Luna’s smile. Her hind leg is sticking out. She had tripped me. The Princess, cosmically indifferent to my pain, turns her head away, whistling, and goes back to playing on an arcade machine.

Lyra locks me in her golden hue.

To my side stands a physical game stall. Shoot the target with a counter-attached water gun a ridiculous amount of times and win a Kludgetown-made plushie of… Cozy Glow? I thought they burnt all of those… Honestly, I'm not even too disfigured. Don’t know why they made me look so punchable or like a bumblebee throwing a tantrum, but—wait, focus!

I lean to my side and kick the air to try to get an inch closer. My wingtip spins the water gun around its axis until it’s pointing at the approaching psycho. I press the button to shoot, lips manifesting a smirk.

Not even a drip shoots out.

“...What, you have to pay if you’re not even playing?” I say.

“Why would you not?” Lyra asks.

“I don’t know, maybe to test out the game?” I reply.

“How does that make money?” she asks.

“Exactly! That’s all ponies chase nowadays. Bits, bits, bits! How in Equestria can anypony find happiness being so greedy? Some creatures need to learn how to live.” I turn to the stall owner. “How could you do this to me? You don’t deserve those plushieEE—”

But before he couldn’t answer my question, Lyra drags me away.

You’ve doomed me, Luna. You’ve doomed me.

Lyra brings me to a part of the pier where no stall stands to my left or right, railing to railing. However, perpendicular to the major axis of the pier, two stalls are opposite each other. The empty space resembles the letter “H,” and we were at that bridge between the two paths. Creatures seemed to avoid the helpless guard being bullied by a mare over twice her age.

I mean, look at her eye bags. Now look at my cheeks. How can you ignore this?

I need to come up with something, or I’m a goner. Come on Cozy! This is Lyra Heartstrings. You have to know her weakness.

…

Well, she’s not really a celebrity.

Focus! My brain’s a steel trap. There has to be a useful news article with info somewhere in my perfect memory.

“Lyra!” I shout. “Look! It’s a~ whatcha call it! Y’know the featherless creature with the Tirek grabby thingies and the tiny~ oh you-know-what—ears! Eyes? Brains.” Lyra’s not turning. “Look behind you! It’s a portal to their dimension! Oh noooo—it’s closing. Bzzzzzzz. Oh gosh, it’s closing. Better turn around.”

Lyra finally turns her head. But I was still in her aura.

“I don’t see a portal,” Lyra says, unamused.

“Oh boo, you’ve missed it,” I say. “But keep looking! They might see you’re interested and think: ‘Aw gee, we really gotta go back for this pony. She’s such a fun mare. So smart and with such great tastes in hobbies, and occupation, and other mares.’”

“Yeah—” Lyra turns back. “—I’m not that stu—Ow, Fuc—ouch!”

My dart strikes the base of her neck. How could she put me next to a dart-throwing stand?

I’m free from her grasp. All I have to do now is jump over an edge—any edge. There are two railings to my sides. I rush for the one further from Lyra, gaining lift as my wings extend out. I’m about to fly off—until I’m grabbed.

An earth pony agent, dripping wet, jumps me from over the railing. Her muscles are tough from climbing one of the pier’s beams. Beige coat. I flutter but Bonbon bites my tail, and I resemble a panicked chicken tied by the leg. My feathers can be weapons at high speeds, but these actions occur between tenths of seconds. There’s no space for me to charge.

I twist myself to face her. She grabs my tail with her hooves as well and swings my head to the rusty railings.

Who would’ve thought this helmet would be anything other than a heavy decoration?

Bonbon locks her forelegs around my shoulder joints and my wings.

I push one of my rear legs through the empty space between the rails and try to pull myself up. Steady, Cozy. I firm a different hoof against the floor and try to stand. My combat style is tuned to deliver kicks at Mach speeds, not steadily lift. But I am a Mare of Will. I could bench press Flurry, probably. My only issue is this pony not giving up. Her weight rises as more of her gravity gets forced through my poorly positioned legs. And I win a centimeter! Her butt is off the ground by a centimeter! All I have to do now is—

She lifts and buckles her hind legs around my waist. My belly gets squeezed. And she bites into the brush of my helmet before I can bash my head back. Useless piece of metal!

Clip. Clop. Clip. Lyra’s steps sound extra angry now.

Bonbon sits up straight and keeps me facing my dementor. Her hind legs clamp onto my stomach deeper than my ribs as she notices Lyra holding, in her five-pointed aura, a dart.

Lyra lowers her head to my temple and wears a sickly grin. Facing me, she points the dart awfully near my eyes. “Where were you aiming this for?” she asks through her teeth and smile. “Originally, when I was turned back?”

“...He, he. Nowhere! I hit my target! I was just waiting for you to turn around, actually...” My ears are drooping. That never happens.

Bonbon contains my heightened thrashes as Lyra’s aura extremity tosses the darts in the air. She grabs it with her claw-thingy and tilts the construct back. Instincts force my wings to form a shield, but nothing lower than my carpal joints are free, so I can only hide under vane-made bars of primary feathers.

Seconds pass by without pain. I take the risk of peeking.

Lyra throws her dart.

But she catches it again. The needle hovers a centimeter from my cornea mound.

Lyra laughs. “You really think I'm gonna blind you just because you tossed Bonbon off the edge?”

The needle is still so close, I’m scared blinking will throw it off course. My chest and feathers are ruffled.

“C’mon—” She pinches my cheek with her yellow… thing. “—kicking Bonnie into the water is a classic!”

“He he…”

Lyra throws the dart again. My ears shoot back up. She strikes a dartboard. Then she takes the dart back and tries again. And again. And again.

“Lyra, it’s the posture,” Bonbon says, sounding grumpy. Wonder what got her in a bad mood.

“What do you mean ‘my posture?’” Lyra asks. “I’m using magic.”

“Well, maybe don’t then? You do know even mages need good posture, right Lyra?”

My wings try to fold. The sensation of my feathers should blend in with the wind. All I have to do is act slowly. And bite my time. And wait for the perfect opportunity between having enough of myself free and not having these ponies realize to be able to perfectly—Jump!

Bonbon's seat hadn’t even budged from my attempted escape. Golly, what do they feed earth ponies?

“There! Bullseye!” Lyra says, a dart perfectly in the center of the target.

Bonbon pulls a hoof across my face to smack herself. “Lyra, you threw that an inch away. That doesn’t count.”

“Oh, whatever.” Lyra dismisses Bonbon with a wave and presses on her earpiece. “Ptz! Target has been immobilized. Bring in the instruments, over.”

I gulp. “The uhh… what?”

Lyra walks over and nods at a creature behind the corner. With her magic, she pulls out a whole assortment of weapons, each in her golden hue suspended in a wavy grid. She verbalizes her thoughts on each one, naming and laying to me every grotesque detail she remembers. And reveals to me just how badly she’s sick in the head.

“Ooo, water hoof-guns.” Lyra spins a pair around and points them in various directions. “Mobile, light, perfect for dual carry… You know, your pupils make your eyes look like two large targets. They're so red, nopony would be able to tell if they were bleeding.”

I lean back into Bonbon. She twists my head and looks into my pleading eyes.

“...Her irises are red, Lyra,” Bonbon says. “Not her pupils.”

“…” Lyra points the water guns at Bonbon.

“Do it,” Bonbon dares.

Lyra’s muzzle scrunches as she battles with herself. She lowers the guns to the floor. “These things are cheap anyways.” She drops the guns. “Let’s see what else we have!”

Her horn pulls out another weapon. It looks to be made out of two foam cylinders: one long one, on top, attached to a second one that has an equal height and circumference. Lyra saunters to the railings and ducks the flat tip of the weapon inside the ocean.

I could hear the rod-shaped lung of the device fill up by suction. The mad mare must’ve used an auditory spell just to make my coat hairs stand on end.

She reels the weapon back up. “I’m not sure what these things are called, but look at how the handle sticks out. One push and all the water inside goes spewing! How fast it goes depends on how much force I use.” She shoots the weapon at the sky. The stream reaches the height of a streetlamp before splattering down between my hind legs. Water drips under the cracks. “D’aww, are you scared? We haven’t even started yet.”

Bonbon bites off my helmet as Lyra pulls up her weapon, refilled. The mouth of the weapon delivers my brow’s ridge a sloppy kiss as Lyra positions it as well as herself. She turns around and stretches her hind leg, ready to deliver the weapon’s handle a buck. My pupils constrict. “Flurry, please, if you can hear me… Twilight...”

Lyra’s rear hooves are touching each other, concentrating on a single point, as her front bends down and carries her weight. I close my eyes and bite my lips into a seal.

“...No,” Lyra says, standing normally. “Muy fácil.”

She goes back to her grid, and inspects the nozzle of each weapon, checking for narrowness and barrel length. “Hmm… Perfect!”

“Check this out, foal-face,” Lyra says. “The Super Soaker CPS 2000: the most powerful water gun ever placed on the toy store shelves. This baby can shoot at a rate of thirty ounces a second and has a range of fifty-three feet.”

“Hooves,” Bonbon corrects.

Lyra rolls her eyes. “No pony has a hoof that long… Fifty-three hooves. It has a range of fifty-three hooves.”

Gosh! That’s eight-hundred-and-fifty milliliters a second and sixteen meters!

“They had to take this soaker off the markets because of ‘injured children’ and ‘eye damage.’ Man, do parents love to ban fun?”

Bonbon takes a moment. “...How is this less easy than using the other weapon?”

“Is that what ‘muy fácil’ means?” Lyra asks, aiming the gun at my head. “I don’t even know what language that’s in. I just heard it in a show and thought it sounded cool.” Her eyes go back down and she notices my leg reaching for the cylindrical weapon she dropped.

I awkwardly smile.

Lyra kicks away my hope. Her grip around the trigger glows brighter. “Any last words, Albino?”

“…” I took a deep breath, eyes transfixed at a point.

And I blow into the tip of the weapon. Pressure builds inside my lungs. Have I invited a clean shot to the roof of my throat? Lyra tilts her head at my foolishness. But I feel a sound through my lips. My teeth clutch onto the weapon and I force my head downwards. The cap on the top of the tank pops off.

Lyra is shot in the face.

“Lyra!” Bonbon cries.

I free my wings to push against Bonbon’s neck. As nimble as a pegasus with a soldier’s haste, I slip under her crossed hind legs then roll onto my belly. The earth pony pounces me as I try to fly. She bites my tail and her hooves slide up to railings. My wings flutter into a blur, beating more times a second than a hummingbird foal. Bonbon tugs my tail—that actually doesn’t feel too bad on my spine—but I’m on the floor, and she tackles over my back.

She grabs the cylindrical weapon—full—and points it to the back of my head. But my hind legs are in a position where I’m able to stand against the floor and knock the pony off. I jump to the pile of the grip of devices Lyra dropped. From the pile, I pull my Excalibur: a weapon identical to what Bonbon has but of a polar color—and empty.

Bonbon shoots a jet of water at my chest. I use the side of my foam rod to block the attack. Now both of our weapons are empty. And there lies Lyra’s soaker on the floor. From the light passing through the tank, we can tell it still has juice.

The earth agent and I battle with our blades. My stance: swift, aggressive; I poke her muzzle and retreat my front leg back to slash up at under her jaw. I don’t have my helmet, and my horseshoes are on the beach, but I still have my body armor.

Bonbon seems to be immune to my attacks. Maybe her suit has padding. Her offensive is forceful. I use my wing to block a smack to my sides, but my whole body moves along with her hit. I’m at a bipedal position, hind hooves skating over the floor. As I stagger backwards from a blow and recovering, Bonbon throws her weapon against my equipped hoof. She jumps to the soaker before either of our weapons hit the ground.

I command my wings to create a gust. The soaker is blown away from Bonbon’s grab—and so are our falling weapons. The two foam cylinders move to hit her in the head and chest.

Before she can recover, I dash and grab the soaker. Flying upwards, I point the weapon at Bonbon.

Bonbon sighs. She turns around, eyes refusing to meet me.

“Your reflexes are real sharp,” I say. “Is that what sharing a room with a lunatic does, Bonnie?”

“Please don’t call me that,” she replies.

“I can relate that sentiment.”

I close my right eye. I aim the soaker. I fire.

Only a few drips leave my weapon. Bonbon’s upper eyelids are flat.

“...Does this thing not work?” I ask, shaking said thing around.

Bonbon takes a few steps to the side. But after a while, she says, “Do you not know how to charge a water gun?”

“Pff! Of course I do.” I check to see if any part of the weapon is loose or missing.

“You need to pull the bottom part back and forth,” Lyra says, who has a soaking red tissue in her nostrils from when the cap of the soaker blew off.

“Lyra!” Bonbon shouts. “Also, wow guard! You’re really throwing plates, stabbing ponies, and giving mares nosebleeds because of water? I should to speak to Cadance after this.”

“You won’t be speaking if to anypony if I!…” The gun still isn’t shooting. “What do you I have to do again?”

“Move that handle on the bottom up and down,” Lyra says.

“Uhm…”

“Like this.” Lyra summons her magical claw-thing to form a loose fist and performs a crude up-and-down motion. A few parents cover the eyes of their foals. “Just stroke it up and down and it’ll shoot the string.”

“...” I detach myself from Lyra’s toy. “Whatever. I’m so far above this.”

“You’re really not playing dumb?” asks Bonbon. “You don’t know how to use it?”

“Gosh, your foalhood must’ve sucked,” Lyra says with a grin.

I open my mouth to retort. Splash! I got shot in the back.

Not by Bonbon. Not by Lyra. Not by some other agent.

“Hah!” Lyra laughs. “You just got owned by Sunbuuuu—rincess Celestia!”

Celestia licks her own ice cream as she lets go of Lyra’s first chosen weapon: one of the small plastic guns. “Seems I’ve won, sister.”

Luna stands over the soaker, picks it up with her magic, and reveals to me how it’s charged. “I must ask, Softie—”

“Pff! That’s her name?” Lyra laughs.

I say, “It’s a—”

“—why exactly are you fighting with our security?” Luna finishes her question.

“...I don’t know why,” I say. “All I was doing was buying an ice cream, and all of a sudden, a hundred ponies in black suits show up trying to soak me!”

“And you kicked me into the water for no reason before that,” Bonbon adds.

“...You’re referring to this ice cream you dropped?” Luna asks, levitating, in a cold blue bubble, the treat I got for Flurry.

“I did see from afar that you tripped her, Luna,” Celestia says.

“I was, uhh, couldn't resist but attempt to remedy the situation,” Luna replies.

Celestia licks the vanilla around her lips. “I did ask a few of our agents to get me the most popular flavour of ice cream from that griffon’s stand. Could that have caused it?”

I admit, “I did get the last scoops... I’m sorry, Your Majesty.”

This job is turning me into a crazy pony. Did I seriously just apologize to Celestia? Over being earlier than her for an ice cream?!

“It’s fine,” Celestia says. “Vanilla is an underrated flavor. If you want to give this to Flurry, it’s probably best you give it to her now. We’re about to have a proper meal soon.”

Celestia passes me Flurry's treat, perfectly preserved, still with all the flakes and syrup, and not a drop had leaked to the bottom tip of the cone.

I fly over to a path along the rails where Celestia and Luna couldn’t see me from their angle—and I pull down an eyelid and stick out my tongue at the two agents.

Sure, I might’ve, debatably, lost the battle, but I've won the war!

Lyra grabs the gun from Luna and takes aim.

I ran away giggling only to hit a wall and fall into a yellow portal on the ground.

And it's not Lyra's yellow.

Part 4: Rolling in the Flood

Something has gone wrong. We don't seem to have an archived copy of that chapter.