A few days later. Cadance’ room…

“But Shinyyyyyyyy, I wanna go!~”

How could Shining Armor, Captain of the Solar Guard, abjuration superstar supreme, hottest stallion this side of the mountain, ever refuse the begging pout of his soon to be wife, Cadance.

It was too powerful. Her eyes, brow, and lips working in tandem to swipe at the depths of Shining’s heart. There was no defense, no possible spell from the school of abjuration that could fend off the blazing offensive.

“Of course, Cadie, we can go…” He relents, unable to resist, but doubt finds a way to worm its way into speech, “but, I dunno…”

Cadance’s face morphs to an unimpressed raised eyebrow.

“You seriously believe that shit? Buck’s sake, Shining, thought you knew better.” Cadance rebukes, her northern accent starting to creep into her usually prim speech. Shining scrunches his muzzle, throwing his withers up in a defensive shrug.

“Hey, you know I don’t like the papers either. But, you know, something something grain of truth in every…” Shining lets the connotation hang. Cadance rolls perhaps the most exaggerated eye roll she can muster, earning a giggle out of Shining. The animatedness his fiancé conducted herself with was just one of the many things he loved about her. A fresh break from the stale drabness of the Canterlonian dating scene.

“Yeah, I’m sure if he was a meat munching murderer, he would be allowed to perform for the nighties every single day.” Sarcasm drips from Cadance’s voice like honey from a comb, shaking her head every syllable to drive the point deeper and deeper home. Sobering, Cadance flops a wing around her love, adding in a gentle tone: “It’ll be fine. If he tries anything I’m sure both you and I could take him on. Unless mister captain of the bucking guard, who rose to the top despite the thick stench of maresculinity that clouds the sols, is too helpless to take him on.”

Shining looses a warm smile at the wave of assurgence sent from his wife, relishing the relaxing feeling working its way through his tired muscles. That was another thing about Cadance, she could brighten up any room just by walking in. She just had such a strong vibe about her that was entirely contagious, spreading it wherever her golden horseshoes landed.

Quite literally. Cadance is an empath.

It was a bit odd at first, that lifting feeling, almost like smoking weed while shotgunning three beers and munching on special brownies.

Not that Shining Armor would know. He’s a studious colt. He would have never attended a certain party at a certain classmate's house in a certain lower district while three certain ponies were away on a special holiday. Being picked to be shoved in a closet with-

Ahem.

Eventually, Shining Armor grew to love the feeling. Cadance?

Many tearful nights of doubt were spent between the pair, insecurity at the conviction of love laid bare under the security of soundproofing… A really heart wrenching scene, perhaps that is all that should be said on that matter, it’s a little too private to divulge.

Shining Armor leans further into Cadance’s embrace, dragging his cheek against Cadance’s soft neck. She giggles at his adorable antics, leaning in to deepen their mental connection.

Something special they discovered one night after a particularly violent round of… activities. They could feel each other on levels beyond the physical. Cadance’s arua engulfs her lover’s, their favorite metaphysical position. It was almost like spooning, the way her mind gently caressed the edges of Shining’s consciousness, cradling it like a newborn.

Another weird Cadance thing that he absolutely adored. A thing that only he was privy to. That thought made his chest stick out with pride.

“Sooooooooooooooo…” Cadance’s whiny beg stretches across the room, “can we?”

Shining laughs, flicking his very conditioned mane sideways and firing a smirk at his marefriend before saying: “Cadie, I think we’re going no matter what.”

“He can be taught!” She proclaims in response, bopping Shining on the nose and chuckling when his muzzle crinkles into that adorable shape she loved.

Cadance’s smug aura overpowers Shining’s. Hopping off her bed, she rigidifies her posture in dominance, grunting out a ‘damn right’ before dipping into the bathroom without a word. Typical song and dance, Cadance has long forwent the silly practice of ‘notifying one’s partner’ of date nights. She would simply put on makeup and drag him by the tail to whatever event she had felt like going to that evening. Sometimes quite literally; peaceful slumbers rudely disturbed by sharp pain originating from Shining’s dock. Soon after his face would impact the floor.

Northern spirit. Just another thing Shining absolutely adored about Cadance, despite the bruising.

And Cadance made sure there was a lot of bruising. In more ways than-

Ahem.

Sliding off the bed, Shining Armor creaks off toward the wardrobe, humming while running a comb through his luscious blue mane. While he wasn’t the most colt-y colt, evidenced by the numerous fights he had gotten himself into in his youth, he did try. For Cadance at least. She is, in his eyes and the eyes of the entire nation, too bucking sexy to fumble.

So, Shining Armor, delinquent of the Sparkle family, tom-colt overlord, one-two-lights-out-for-you, begins the arduous process of straightening his coat and shaping his hair. Lounging around on the bed had done a number on him, as well as the previous bed related activit-

AHEM.

Thus, beautification remained an incredibly painful task. Shining Armor yanks his comb down his chest fluff, ripping apart the many knots that has wormed their way in. He suppresses a grunt of pain, gritting his teeth as he continues working at his chest-fluff.

This is more painful than taking two hind legs to the face! He bitterly grouses, working his chest fluff to be as puffy and ‘sexy’ as he possibly could. Shining screws his face in determination.

He would be that hot piece of ass for Cadance or he would die trying.

Now, his attention is turned to his hooves. Specifically, the shaggy bits of fur that partially covered them. With the care he would give to inspecting a subordinate, he starts to work, evening out the offending bits of hair into pleasing geometric shapes. They were also poofed up appropriately.

Cadance has a thing for fluff.

Ritual complete, Shining does one last inspection, twirling around, checking out his ‘features’ in the mirror as he did so. Spotting an unwelcome tuft of hair on his nape, Shining reaches around to rectify it.

His hoof never contacts the hair. He is suddenly shocked still by a wave of powerful emotion. That emotion.

“My my~ You look pretty.” Cadence purrs. Stalking forward she runs a feather across Shining’s jaw before sliding into his view.

Lip bit, creasing it in just the right places. Check.

Oh no…

Tongue darting out every so often to tantalizingly trace her perfect lips. Check.

But I spent so long getting ready…

Half lidded stare that would make a prostitute blush. Check.

OhmyHarmonyhowdoesshedothat.

Shining’s coat stands on end. Cadance’s mind envelops his wholly, absorbing his growing lust into her own. She slices inward, piercing his being and demanding his whole, undivided attention. Practiced, Cadance meanders to the bed, dragging each step out, agonizing Shining in every one of her movements. Her tail starts to make its journey upwards.

He can feel it starting to slip out.

“Well?~” Cadance asks, her voice dropping an octave to a more salacious tone, filling the air with desire so thick it could suffocate a whale.

I really should say something… I mean we really should probably go, it’s almost four o’cock- CLOCK.

…

Well. Might as well be honest…

He practically flies onto the bed, much to Cadance’ approval. She lets out a delightful sequel as-

Oh for God’s sake! Why do they… and? How big- why does she own… she had that there the WHOLE TIME?

These two are actual fucking animals!

.

.

.

.

Officer’s club…

Wow. I am playing like complete dogshit.

Cyrus was not exaggerating, he is playing like complete dogshit.

Uncomfortable rhythmic desyncs, disgusting dynamic mistakes, and to top it all off, random wrong notes. Not the wrong notes that you can get away with playing, but wrong notes that stuck out like an ugly streak of sauce on a white shirt.

But that wasn’t the worst part. The worst part was that he wasn’t even playing anything in particular. He was playing scales and arpeggios, the literal barebones of music. Things that eight year old kids could belt out on a whim. Stuff that an expert should be able to do in their sleep while being violently thrown around in a tornado.

HOW THE FUCK AM I MESSING THESE UP!?

The frustration starts to creep in, firmly rooting itself in Cyrus’ scrunched up face. The frazzled human pulls his fingers off the keyboard, despite his ego egging him on to play another round. He stares at them, flexing his fingers every once in a while as a little test to see if everything is in order.

Nothing wrong with my fingers… I did my stretches when I woke up… C’mon!

Ego wins, Cyrus lowers his fingers back to the keyboard. A deep breath, and Cyrus begins again. First, C major, ascending scale. Arpeggio down, swap to D major. Ascending scale-

An incredibly fat devil’s tritone screeches into the air. Cyrus had missed the F sharp. On his left hand. Not even children fuck up that bad.

A second of disbelief. Cyrus can only stare at his index finger, still firmly pressing down the glaringly wrong note.

He screams. A horrendous wail. His hand impacts his thigh, trying to smash it to pieces in an attempt to vent his frustrations.

The piano stool is ejected behind him, he rises to his full height. Unsure of what to do, he can only stand there, hands shaking with barely contained rage. Cutlass’ ears perk up, she shifts her attention away from the latest issue of Power Ponies and onto the baby-raging human.

Cutlass watches on in quiet contemplation. Cyrus starts to hop, all the while mumbling obscenities. Reaching the wall, he punches it.

“FuuuuuuuUUUUCK!” Comes the shout of a stupid man who thought it was a good idea to strike knuckle first. Far removed and sitting at the bar Cutlass is deciding whether or not to double over in laughter or go help the poor human. Still ruminating, she sips the last of her refreshing lager.

Maybe I’ll leave him to simmer down a bit… Cutlass thinks to herself a book goes sailing through the air, impacting the floor in a heap of fluttered paper. Still upset, Cyrus turns his attention back to the piano, picking the stool up from where it lay and smashing it back into position. He flops down and wastes no time angrily belting out frustrated scales, wincing every time he plays a wrong note or desyncs his hands. They pile on, adding to his frustration in an entirely unavoidable way.

Man was tilted.

Cutlass’ urge to laugh intensifies at the loony-tunes-esque antics of Cyrus. She just about loses it watching Cyrus start to pull extraordinary faces, stretching his jaw as low as it could go while sticking his tongue out like a pony possessed.

Oh my Niiiiiiiiights if I had a recording crystal right about now…

But a heavy worry holds her back, poisoning her joy.

Cyrus is having a really shit time. Not that it was all peaches and cream before, but things have taken a very noticeable turn for the worse.

The things they said! Cutlass furiously thinks behind her mask of calm. The press conference, while entertaining for Cutlass to hear about, had turned out to be a complete, objective disaster. The papers slaughtered him.

Every. Single. Article.

Every. Single. Frontpage.

Horrid Beast Stalking Canterlot Castle: Kindness Overstepped?

Meat Eating Monster! Possible Demon Stalking The Streets of Canterlot.

It’s Gone Too Far.

Reports Confirmed! Tartarus-spawn In The Castle!

Has The Princess Lost Her Mind?!

It was impossible to shield him from seeing them.

It was even more impossible to shield him from the looks, stares, uncomfortable shuffling, and worst of all, the constant side-eyeing. Of course, the majority of the guard didn’t really believe the outlandish and wild claims the papers make. But then again, rumors and grains of truth, surely there was something to it. After all, there must be a reason why it’s plastered everywhere from the low districts to the high.

Cutlass, being a good friend, had done her very hardest, diving into the trenches of guard gossip that she so vehemently despised to defend Cyrus. In vain, the small conglomerate of rag readers remain entirely unconvinced. They continue to trumpet their script all through the barracks and mess hall.

Cyrus tried to remain aloof, but ho matter how he denied it, Cutlass knew.

It cut him. Made his hairless coat crawl with insecurity. She was sure that it haunted him, creeping around him like a dense fog, striking in the hours before and after his sleep.

After all, she’d feel the same way.

But he’s just gotta be tough… This thought flashes through Cutlass’ mind again, one thing she had learnt about Cyrus during their friendship. The stupid wall she had been throwing herself against over and over these past few days, trying to peer beyond……

“You alright?”

About the third time Cutlass has asked him. He nods his head as wholeheartedly as a customer service worker dealing with a petulant customer. He tries to keep his eyes trained on the unfamiliar slew of shops passing them as they walk through Middlesward.

The stares demand his attention.

It was about three in the afternoon, the sun casting an amber glow across Middlesward. Aptly named, it sits in between the upper and lower district - the rich and poor alike mingle, reflecting the myriad of businesses housed by multicolored walls and eye-catching doors. This was the real Canterlot: the intermingling smells of regional spices fighting the general stench of tucked away rubbish bins, the random conversations all struggling for dominance over each other. Anypony could flitter toward whatever struck their fancy, unkempt and invisible.

But today, they were everything but invisible. At this time, getting from Don’s Decadent Mac N’ Cheese stall in the food section to the nerd store in the miscellaneous section takes about twenty minutes of mumbled ‘excuse me’s and ‘coming through’s. However, the pair managed to arrive in just under ten minutes, the usual hordes of ponies that would hinder their progress either shakily dipping into a nearby shop or crossing the street to keep their distance.

Oh, and the silence. The utterly crushing weight of silence that screamed at Cyrus each passing second they walked. The turning heads from behind the windows, tracking every movement until he disappears from sight.

The growing pit of anxiety in Cutlass’ stomach stretches ever further. Reaching up, she tugs on the hem of Cyrus’ shirt, earning a semi-pensive look and causing him to stop his gait. Fixating her golden eyes onto his brown, she tries her best to project warmth in her features, despite her growing worries.

“You know, we don’t have to… I mean, you don’t have to. I can grab the music.” Cutlass offers, her whispers carrying across the silence, causing her to wince. Cyrus presses his lips into a wrinkly pout, looking away to hide his emotions, clamming his body language shut by crossing his arms across his chest.

“It’s fine. I chose to do this. I need to follow through. Can’t play into the rumors.” Cyrus mutters, trying to sustain a brave tone through his wavering breath. He steps forward, ignoring Cutlass completely, focusing his attention forward.

Shut down again Cutlass thinks. Sighing, she picks up her hooves, catching up with the human……

Cutlass pulls herself out of her frustrated reminiscence, in part helped by the newfound silence in the room. Cyrus had calmed down enough to realize that continuing to practice was counterproductive. Instead, he stares blankly at the floor, void of all emotion. Taking it as her que, Cutlass slides off the barstool, trotting over to the disgruntled human.

“You okay?” Cutlass asks, feeling like a broken record. She takes a seat next to the piano stool, gazing up at Cyrus’ neutral expression. He turns to face her, rubbing his jaw, a myriad of choices flashing before his dull brown eyes. His mouth emulates a goldfish, opening and closing in a few slow cycles. His lip trembles with hesitation, spreading to the back of his jaw. Tentatively, he shakes his head. Cutlass shuffles closer, putting a reassuring hoof on his calf. Tilting her head, she ensures Cyrus knows the ball is firmly in his court.

“I… don’t even know where to start to be honest.” He whispers, feeling the floodgate in his mind buckle. He can feel it rise like the bile in his throat, threatening to spill forth like ugly, rancid vomit. Somehow, as if she could read his mind, Cutlass presses her muzzle onto his leg, rubbing in a small circular motion.

That contact, the muted feeling of her softness through the fabric, somehow it always manages to pull him out of the depths. His emotional dam would hold. For now.

Too cute… He muses through the pregnant silence, I… have a good friend.

But…

“It’s calm,” He mumbles, sniffing and swiping at his nose, locking his jaw as tight as it could go, “I’ll be fine.”

Cutlass screams internally, rebuked again. Her patience is unable to combat her growing exacerbation, relinquishing her hold, she stands upright in a scoff, flipping her royal purple mane into the air as she stomps away.

This bucking… I just want to grab him by the withers and shake the-

“What?” Cyrus’ agitated shout interrupts Cutlass’ angry thoughts. She whirls around to face him. His arms are crossed, slight scowl on his face: “What did I do?”

What did he? Did he seriously just say that?! Cutlass furiously thinks. Spreading her wings, she flaps them in tandem with a leap, arcing through the air and landing in front of Cyrus with a loud clop.

“What did you do? Oh, I don’t know, maybe stink up the entire room with your bucking cloud of denseness?” She rebukes, stomping a hoof to punctuate her vexation, drilling her glowering, steadily slitting, golden eyes into Cyrus. He uncrosses his arms with a grunt, shrugging his shoulders and turning away.

“I said I was fine. What’s wrong with that?” He responds, defensive edge abundant in the way he spat his question. Cutlass’ snout quivers as she shakes her head in disbelief. Kicking her hooves in irritation, she mentally debates the merits of smacking the stupidity out of the gangly stallion sitting in front of her.

“Buck’s SAKE!” She vents, slamming a hindleg into the ground hard enough to produce a resounding boom. Deftly, she rockets a hoof out, gripping Cyurs’ shirt with the mana around her hooves. Yelping, Cyrus is brought to eye level by Cutlass’ sudden roughness.

“You can tell that lie all you want, but I see. I see how it affects you, how it digs under your coat!” Cutlass yells, bringing her muzzle millimeters away from Cyrus’ nose, “And it bucking hurts to see! But you know what hurts more? Every time I try to help, you just push me away. What? Am I just some random pony from nowhere? Am I not your friend?”

Cutlass finishes her tirade with a forceful shove, almost knocking the now thoroughly vexed human off the piano stool. Growling, Cyrus whirls upright, staring down at the offending batpony burning intensity.

“Fine, maybe you are a fucking random! Maybe you’re just a figment of my imagination! How the bloody hell am I supposed to live? Is this place even real? I DON’T KNOW!!” Cyrus expels his thoughts in a jumbled, incomprehensible mess. Slamming his hand on the piano, he allows his dam to be broken: “And none of you lot like me. You’d all be celebrating if I- and what the fuck, how am I supposed to be happy here? Yeah, whatever, the dancing monkey can play the piano, yippee! When that runs out, then what?! And what about my-”

In his anger, he didn’t notice the steadily deflating Cutlass until she let out a loud sniffle, forcing him to look back down at her. Steadily misting, her eyes slaughter Cyrus’ heart.

“S-so that's it, you don’t want to be…” She trails off, unable to continue past her rising sadness, that thought she had relegated to the worrywart corner breaking free and celebrating its confirmation. Dejected, her ears lose the strength to stay upright. Internally cursing, Cyrus tries to reach out to offer a form of comfort. Cutlass dips away, causing Cyrus to freeze mid attempt.

“I- I didn’t mean it like that. I’m just- I do care- I want to be friends-”

“You don’t have to lie to me.” Cutlass’ hollow mumble cuts through Cyrus’ poor attempt at a salvage. She presses her lips together, willing herself to remain calm.

Shit shit shit… What is wrong with me?! Cyrus internally scrambles, trying to come up with a solution for his earlier mess. Each stretching second forms a deeper gash, rifting the two apart.

Ah! Screw it. When in Rome…

Cyrus jolts forward, surprising Cutlass and firmly gripping her armpits. Grunting with exertion, he lifts the surprisingly heavy batpony up and into a hug. A move that had been pulled on him multiple times before whenever Luna or Cutlass could sense his unhappiness. The warm and tender touch, they were unafraid of showing Cyrus how much they cared. It would always manage to make him feel better, and Cyrus wanted to replicate it, regardless of how embarrassing it was to the human.

Cutlass, at first taken aback, eventually succumbs to the hug, letting the flat of her muzzle against his shoulder. She feels a squeeze, prompting her wings to unfurl and drape against Cyrus’ back. After a short moment, Cyrus lets her down, artificial awkwardness getting to him. He ejects an awkward cough, sheepishly rubbing his neck.

“Yeah, I uhh… don’t do that often. Sorry if it was weird.” He mumbles, plopping back down on his pianostool. Cutlass laughs, eyes now sparkling and lips upturned. She brings a foreleg around Cyrus’ calf, giving a short embrace to dispel his worry.

“Ah come on! It’s not weird, I do it to you all the time. I know I’ve told you, we ponies are addicted to hugging. Call it acclimatizing to your surroundings.” Cutlass says as Cyrus settles in beside her, sitting cross legged on the floor. She nudges him, rubbing her cheek against his shoulder, allowing an appropriate amount of time to pass before continuing: “...You know I’m not going to let you off the hook that easily, right?”

Cyrus sighs, leaning back on his arms and giving the ceiling a good once over. He casts a glance to the now very serious looking Cutlass. She places a kind hoof against his knee, gently pressing as if to transfer some comfort.

“I… need a minute to organize my thoughts.” Cyrus says, shifting his weight upright and hugging his knees. Cutlass nods, shifting her hoof from his knee to his back, ensuring that he knew: she was there.

Silence shrouds the room, broken only by the occasional sighs of Cyrus. Deep in pensive thought, he enters a fierce internal battle.

I should tell her.

But… if I do…

She’s given me a lot. First pony to actually talk to me.

And she never will again, if you start spilling your sob nonsense.

She asked.

She doesn’t know.

…

C’mon, be honest with yourself.

…

Don’t be silly. Don’t risk it, you’re already hated by everyone else.

But… if she does end up hating me, was she ever really my friend?

Who fucking cares. It’s better than nothing.

… I’m going to do it. She cares enough to get mad about it.

…Fool.

“I feel- *cough*” Cyrus’ throat hitches from lack of use, the period of quiet was quite long, “I feel alone, to tell the truth.”

He keeps his gaze firmly fixed onto the floorboards.

“Not that it’s your fault, or Luna’s. It’s just- you said it yourself, it digs. And it hurts. And it’s not like anyone can fix it.”

He peeks to Cutlass, trying to gauge if he was perhaps overstepping his bounds. Cutlass looks back, ears pointed directly at him, nodding along to every detail. Pressing his lips together, Cyrus prepares to go further.

“I don’t know what to do. Nothing feels real- well, that’s not entirely true. It’s hard to describe… It’s like, so many things are similar. Music is about the same, language is about the same, even culture! But there are so many small differences that I can’t help but think that this is all fake.”

Exhaling, he hugs his knees tighter, gripping on for support. Cutlass’ hoof moves off his back, terminating their physical connection. She sits, digesting.

“So… you feel like everything is meaningless?” Even after everything… Cutlass half says, half thinks, drooping her ears down to reflect the sadness forming in her stomach. Cyrus grunts ambiguously in response, causing Cutlass’ anxiety to spike. She scans, trying to decipher his body language for any sort of assurance. Cyrus’ face remains ever stony, a barricade to his inner machinations. His strange rounded ears remain ever unmoved, small eyes offering no clue to what was churning in his mind.

Finally, after a tense pause, he turns to face Cutlass, as neutral as ever. Parting his lips, he offers a reply: “It’s probably not something you wanted to hear. Especially after all the time we’ve spent… I think you understand why I really don’t want to talk about it.”

A cold laugh bursts forth from Cyrus’ chest as his hands reach to rub his face.

“Well. Thanks for telling me. Even if it does kinda hurt.” Cutlass murmurs.

“I- that’s not… damn it!” Cyrus stammers, slapping his thigh, “I’m just a fucking schizo. I- you lot… if it wasn’t for you and Luna, I’d be a stain on the parade ground. But then again, am I just coping?! I don’t know! What am-”

“Stain on the parade ground?” Cutlass interjects, suddenly very animated, worry quickly spreading across her face as she pulls Cyrus face down toward her, “you don’t mean…”

“I- not really… I mean, I’ve thought about it? But…” Cyrus can’t continue, his steadily increasing breathing taking over his speech. He tries to look away in shame, but Cutlass’ strong hoof locks him into place.

“Cyrus… I had no- that is really serious. I can’t believe you haven’t told me!” Cutlass firmly says, drilling her eyes, full of concern, deep into Cyrus soul, “Like, are you bucking kidding me? Do you know what that would do to me!?”

Cutlass shouts the last sentence, startling Cyrus. The flurry of anger, sadness, and worry meld together, exiting her eyes in droplets of water. Winding back, she punches Cyrus in the shoulder, discharging some of her boiling emotions. Cyrus doesn’t react, frozen to the spot.

“You know I care about you, right? You know I look forward to hanging out, right? You think I’d spend my time on dead end, no prospects guard duty if I didn’t?! Shit!” Cutlass blurts, passion overcoming her being as she stands up, jabbing her left wing at Cyrus’ face. Whirling, she begins to pace, short angry clops ringing out against polished wood.

“Seriously! Come the buck on, Cyrus. Fucking cunthead!” She bellows, causing the wood underneath to shake with the violence of her speech. Bringing a hoof up, she gives Cyrus a healthy punch on the shoulder, face still split with her temper. He yelps in pain, shifting back and cradling his surely bruising arm. Cutlass stomps up, chasing the steadily retreating Cyrus until his back touches the wall. He raises his hands in defense, whimpering under the harsh scrutiny of Cutlass. Feeling the contact of hooves on his shoulders, he lets out a terrified screech.

“Don’t do it.” Almost a whimper.

Cutlass embraces Cyrus with her whole being, wrapping every able appendage around the terrified human. Sniffling follows, along with a steadily growing wet spot, ballooning from the place where Cutlass had buried her muzzle.

“If you feel like it please find me first… please…” She pleads into his chest, holding Cyrus tighter in her deadlock. Shock wearing off, he slowly and hesitantly responds, slowly snaking his arms around her body.

“Aw… Cutlass. It’s not like that, as in, it’s not that bad,” He mutters into Cutlass’ ear, giving her a squeeze, “you guys keep me from it. Seriously, without you and Luna, I don’t know what kind of state I’d be in right now.”

Cutlass peers up, trails of tears framing her face in winding rivulets, melting Cyrus’ heart into a puddle. Relinquishing a hoof, she wipes her snout, cleansing her of the evidence of her sadness, whispering: “P-promise?”

The softness of her voice, wavering with insecurity and kindness, eyes like deep pools of her soul. Cyrus’ only instinct is to console his friend. After all, she was the one who stuck by him, listened to him drone on about soccer and music, lifting him up when he felt down. Memories of their first meeting, nervous and awkward, fill his mind with the warmth of nostalgia.

But it calls.

Ah you’ve made her cry. Idiot.

…

Fool… She will never want to speak to you again.

Shut up. You’re the fool.

And he doesn’t look back. He retightens his grip onto Cutlass, inviting the warmth in.

“Promise. Thanks for… being my friend. Even if I’m a complete cunt.” He says, patting Cutlass on the back. She pushes, breaking the hug and returning onto all fours. Scowling, she gives Cyrus a few more tepid punches on his aching arm. Cyrus twists his body defensively, grunting in pain, a small smile creeping onto his face.

“You’re damn right you’re a cunt. But you’re my cunt.” Cutlass replies with a grin of her own, “and don’t whine, you deserve those punches. And I didn’t even punch you that hard, you marshmallow.”

Turning, she strides over toward the bar, gesturing for him to follow with a sharp flick of her clawed wing. Reaching the bar, she deftly slots two glasses under their respective beer engines. Hooking both her wings onto the pumps, she pulls, allowing the amber liquid to froth and fill up the glasses. Looking up, she sees Cyrus lumbering over, he lands on his seat with a flourish.

“You finished assaulting me?” He quips, reaching over the bar to collect his glass. Cutlass barks out a hearty laugh.

“Absolutely not.” Cutlass snarks back, picking her own drink up in her hooves.

Like so many times before, the friends share a drink, heartfelt conversation flowing as easily as water. This time, however, a newfound appreciation embraces the two, making their smiles and wit all the finer.

.

.

.

.

The next day. Celestia’s room…

The little wooden duck begins its intrepid journey toward the water well, propelled onward by its burning thirst. Swooping in a brilliant arc, it dives, valiantly piercing its beak into the depths of the pool. There, it satiates itself, dragging water into its needy throat in unsustainable volumes. Satisfied, it cranes back upright, swinging back and forth in complacency.

Then it gets thirsty again.

Da widdle duck goes down, da widdle duck goes up. Celestia narrates, her chin resting on her desk, magenta orbs trained on the desktoy doing its thing on her desk. A half read dossier lies next to her, black ink twisted into something about the current state of the Manehattan rent prices and how they were completely reasonable.

Perhaps half read is an overstatement. One-eight read is more accurate. That's about how long it took before Celestia wanted to rip her eyes out. Which, coincidentally, is exactly what is making it difficult for her to return to it. And it is the reason why she is currently staring at her dunking bird with an intensity that could rival her sun.

Da widdle duck goes- I really should get back to it. Celestia tries to wrench herself out of her procrastination, but finds she just can not bring herself to read another line of insipid Olde Party drivel. Her attention returns back to the duck.

Da widdle duck goes down, da widdle duck- maybe I should go for a walk or something. Celestia internally concludes, pushing her chair back and deftly teleporting a paperweight onto the dossier. This particular paperweight was in the shape of a dog peeing, a fitting tribute. Not a soul in the castle knew of its existence, not even her sister.

Slipping on her golden shoes, she steps out the door stealthily, taking great care to keep as low a profile as possible. Her ears are trained on a swivel, making note of every minute noise. She would be invisible, only the most powerful of tracking spells would be able to detect her presence.

The maid cleaning the hallway perks his ears up, raising a hoof in greeting with a smile before bowing.

Celestia is many things. Incognito is not one of them.

She forces a smile back, utterly dejected that she was unable to go five seconds without being spotted by a member of staff.

To her credit, she is a giant white alicorn with flowing rainbow hair.

Turning, she trots down the hallway in a show of absolute controlled grace, confidently putting one hoof in front of the other. The intersection steadily approaches her, but she remains unfazed, not even bothering to flick her eyes toward the directory posted in the middle where the two veins meet. With conviction, she decidedly turns right, moving down without breaking her stride. On and on she trots, homing in on-

Where the tartarus am I… Celestia’s mind turns, trying to grasp her bearings, was this- no this should be the ambassador’s corridor- but no, I could have SWORN the kitchens were… Oh dear.

She was meant to head straight. In fact, when the castle was built, she had made sure the kitchens were directly in line with her quarters.

Out of her depth and helplessly lost, Celestia meanders to a halt at the next castle directory. On it, a simplified map sits, each intersection marked with a name and each vein marked with a different color, very similar to a city subway. A very comprehensive system, designed for tourists and dignitaries alike to find their bearings in the labyrinth of Canterlot Castle.

It had been a very long time since invaders were a threat.

Squinting, Celestia brings her nose as close as it can go to the map, tracing the multicolored lines to and from their endpoints.

Hmmmmm I’m pretty sure I’m on the Manehatten vein…

Central vein.

And to get to the kitchens I need to get back onto the… oh dear, which vein?

The Royal vein goes unnoticed. Even more unnoticed, the very large ‘CANTEEN’ written in bright bold red, marking it as a notable spot.

Was it the…? Hmmmmm… logic… which vein would make the most sense for the kitchens to be on… Ah! Of course! The Supply vein!

Which would force her to walk about forty minutes more than she needed to.

“Um… you okay?”

Celestia almost jumps out of her coat, whirling around in an instant to face the culprit.

“Yes, my little pony, how may I-” Celestia’s practiced speech screeches to a grinding halt upon seeing the creature standing eye level to her, “oh, Cyrus.”

The human in question waves, unsure of how to respond. Clearing her throat, Celestia starts again: “Hello. To answer your question, I am fine. I…”

Celestia swivels her head, double checking to make sure that there was nopony lurking.

“Am completely lost! In my own castle, can you imagine?”

She laughs, barrel shaking in time. Cyrus narrows his eyes into a squint, plastering confusion onto his face.

“Hold on, you’ve lived here a thousand years, innit? How…” The human’s thought is quashed by the growing mirth of Celestia, who upgrades from simple laughs to belly guffaws. Cyrus, in a similar fashion, upgrades from confusion to bewilderment.

“Ah! *heh* Even so! I was always terrible with directions. It’s more my sister’s forte.” She responds through subsiding giggles. Cyrus eeks out a smirk, snorting to himself as he folds his arms, casting a faux nonplussed look.

“Riiiiiiight… Didn’t you build the place too?” Sarcasm flows thicker than mud from Cyrus’ mouth. Not to be outdone, Celestia unfurls her wings and brings them to her forehead. She shuts her eyes, sticking out her tongue with an apologetic smile. Cyrus bursts into hysterics at the bleping Princess.

Ah, it feels good to be a bit silly. Celestia thinks, sticking her tongue out further and tilting her head from side to side to the growing amusement of Cyrus.

“Aha! Oopsie!” Celestia says, putting on a cutesy voice before succumbing to her own ridiculousness into brilliant pearls of chuckles. At ease, Cyrus extends an arm, leaning on a nearby wall.

“So what brings you to Soldier’s Rest? You’re pretty far from the Central vein if I’ve read the map right.” Cyrus interjects, naturally shifting the conversation onto something a tad more serious.

“Weeeeeellllll. I was reading the latest, and most riveting, report on Manehattan rent prices. It was so incredible and rousing that I simply had to get to my hooves and take a walk to vent my pure excitement at reading that most wondrous document!” Celestia punctuates her sardonic praise with dramatic swoons and sighs, every so often bringing a hoof to her chest to really accent her overflowing enthusiasm.

“That dogshit? What has the wonderful Olde party cooked up for you then?” Cyrus asks, causing Celestia to roll her eyes.

“As you say, they have cooked dogshit. Disgustingly verbose prose to distract me from their real goal. Making bucketloads of bits off their property investments…” Celestia spits, words stinging like corked wine on her tongue. Cyrus strikes his stubble in pensive contemplation, letting out a simple ‘hmmm’. Pouting, he shakes his head.

“Well, you know what they say. Same shit, different toilet.” Cyrus snarks, earning a string of hysterical giggles from Celestia.

“Well said! There certainly have been many different toilets… in my age, I have lost track!” Celestia responds, nodding in approval at Cyrus’ adage. He harrumphs, smiling at the praise.

“So, you on your way back-“

Cyrus is cut off by a series of gagging noises originating from none other than the Sun Goddess herself. She hooks a hoof around her neck, twisting like she was choking herself to death, expressing her displeasure as violently as she can.

“Buuuuuck no! I’m running from my responsibilities here,” Celestia’s eyes glint with an idea mid sentence, “say… would you be happy to help a mare out?”

Cyrus waves an arm in approval. Celestia lowers her head, shifting closer to Cyrus and dropping her voice to a whisper: “If you can suddenly have a pressing diplomatic matter you need to discuss with me, I can go to day court tomorrow and say I had to deal with it instead of reading that heap of drivel on my desk. Sound like a plan?”

“Someon- pony’s procrastinating… What would this ‘pressing diplomatic matter’ entail?” Cyrus jabs, crossing his arms and raises an eyebrow. Celestia puts on a sly grin, shuffling ever closer to the shaggy haired human.

“Mhhh… perhaps the incredibly pressing matter of how you’re deficient in tea and cake? I have just the remedy in my quarters.” Celestia explains with a rare amount of cunning in her voice. Before Cyrus can respond, she raises an interrupting hoof: “You hang out with my sister and she likes you so I know exactly what you’re about to say. Yes, I’m inviting a stallion into my quarters unprovoked and I should ask you out on a date first. Hardy har har, shut the buck up.”

The last sentence was more sung than said, with Celestia mimicking the cadence of a well known Equestrian nursery rhyme. Cyrus scoffs, raising his hands in defeat and cracking a large smile.

“Touché. Well played” He admits. Celestia raises her head in smug victory.

It would be short lived, however. Celestia strides off, flipping a wing in the air for Cyrus to follow. Instead of trailing along, Cyrus clears his throat.

“You do realize you’re going the wrong way right?” He snarks, much to the chagrin of Celestia. She spins to meet the, now incredibly smug, Cyrus. Tapping his foot, he traces the incredibly obvious route with his finger on the map, making sure to tap on each stop along the way. Journey complete with his finger, he wordlessly slips down the hallway.

To snatch defeat from the jaws of victory… And such unbelievable disrespect! She muses as she follows the deft navigation of the much more competent Cyrus, I can see why my sister-

Celestia almost smashes into Cyrus, having been daydreaming while tailing Cyrus. They had reached their destination much quicker than she had expected; it would have usually taken Celestia twenty minutes to navigate to her quarters from where she was, no doubt due to her more creative pathing. Cyrus made the journey in about five minutes.

A quick series of blinks allows her to regain her bearing. A flash of her horn disables the security wards and forces it to swing open.

“Stallions first.” Celestia gestures with a dip of her head. Scowling, Cyrus crosses his arms.

“Oi, piss off. It’s ladies first where I’m from.” He quips, flicking his head toward Celestia’s room to allow her passage first. Celestia does not budge.

“You’ll find that my devotion to chivalry is unrivaled across my land.” Celestia’s challenge hangs in the air as her eyes narrow, bringing a defiant glare to her muzzle. Her wing flexes out in tandem with her head.

The infamous double down.

Cyrus remains unfazed, his years of being half-English having prepared him for this very moment. He extends a crossed arm, touching the door with his palm and bowing.

“After you. Age before beauty, after all.”

Age before… this little rascal! Celestia thinks, the inklings of laughter threatening to burst through and threaten her position in this game of chicken. She shifts her face to a more kindly form, beaming a sickly sweet smile.

“Nay! After you, your status far outstrips mine as sole ambassador and endangered species!”

Too engrossed in silliness, she realizes it as soon as it leaves her mouth.

The hurt flashes across Cyrus’ face for a millisecond before it is destroyed by his stiff upper lip.

But like sees like, and Celestia’s experience catches all the detail that would usually go unnoticed.

Buck! How could I have said that?! What a horrible thing to-

“Well, you’ve beaten me. I suppose I should take more advantage of my status.” Cyrus jests, playing it cool. He strides into the room, swinging his arms around confidently.

Celestia doesn’t buy it at all. Apprehension clouds her as she follows suit, magicking the door closed behind her.

“Make yourself comfortable. I’ll just be a moment.” Celestia says, walking to the kitchenette. Instinct takes over as her mind starts to turn, planning an appropriate strategy to fix the massive mistake she had just made. She spies at Cyrus from across the countertop, trying to gauge the emotional state of the human currently lounging on her sofa.

Ah, should I just attack the problem head on? Or play it cool like he is? Ahhhh how could I have been so callous-

*Fweeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee*

The whistling kettle jolts Celestia out of her thoughts. Practiced, she pours the boiling hot water into her florally decorated teapot. Today’s choice would be hibiscus and honey, a perfect pairing to the carrot cake she was currently levitating toward the coffee table. Tea properly prepared, she brings it over, sitting down in the seat across from Cyrus.

“I’ve prepared some hibiscus and honey. It’ll be properly steeped in about three minutes.” Celestia lectures. Cyrus shifts upward from his half-lying position, scooping up a fork to pick out a morsel of carrot cake, ensuring to ration out the orange colored icing appropriately.

“Thanks. Appreciate it.” Cyrus says, lifting the fork to his mouth but pausing before it enters. A short debate flies across his eyes before he puts his fork back down. He stares straight down at Celestia, continuing in a more serious tone: “I’m fine, by the way.”

The chunk of cake being levitated toward Celestia’s maw jerks to a stop, sending the piece flying into her face, impacting and imparting a stain of icing on her left cheek. Spluttering, she brings a napkin to wipe the sugary orange away. Cyrus chortles, although without much mirth, shaking his head slightly.

“It’s calm. Seriously. You don’t have to apologize for what you said, we were just messing around,” Cyrus murmurs before finally taking a bite of his cake, demolishing the sweet nibble in two chews, “your tell is your ears. They should bounce up and down a little bit. Luna has the same problem.”

Full of surprises… Celestia muses, recovering by pouring the tea.

“Duly noted. But despite your previous protest, I would still like to apologize. What I said was out of line… I do want you to feel welcome here, despite their best efforts…” Celestia responds with a dip of her head, chewing on her last statement disagreeably. Cyrus waves his hand as if to brush the offense under the rug.

“Hey, dogs will always bark… speaking of, there are a lot of dogs, aren't there? Must be a lot of work.” Cyrus adds before blowing on his tea.

“Yes, there certainly are. I’d hope my ponies would learn to be a little more… accepting. And it’s worth it, by the way, the trouble,” Celestia kills the implication swiftly, “you have no idea how much of a help you’ve been to me.”

“Help? Can’t lie, feel like I’ve been nothing but a headache for you ever since I’ve got here…” Cyrus counters, his eyes inadvertently falling downward. He adds a healthy dollop of honey to his tea before tracing his gaze to meet the radiant smile of Celestia.

“The absolute contrary. I don’t think I need to beat around the bush with you. Ever since Luna got back from…” Celestia’s visage darkens considerably.

Still cuts so deep.

“...my poor decision to banish her, she’s been- well… incredibly despondent.”

The impressive figure of the Sun Goddess shrinks remarkably as she stares into the depths of her pink, still steaming tea. She forces a series of rapid blinks and shakes her head, trying to reboot her brain.

“Right. Heard about that… although, I suspect you’ve heard way more than I have. I’m not one to pry into nasty business.” Cyrus says inbetween small, measured bites of his carrot cake, ensuring to ration it appropriately to have enough to enjoy with his tea. Celestia is much the opposite. Reigniting her horn, she rips a heft chunk out of her already half eaten slice of cake and delivers it to her mouth with blinding speed.

“Appreciate that… and it’s in the past. With your help, it’ll stay that way. I can’t tell you how worried I was seeing her mope around the castle day after day,” Celestia lifts her tea, taking a premature sip, grimacing as the still hot liquid scalds her tongue, “aside from the first week, I’d say you’ve had a remarkable impact.”

Cyrus pouts at the mention of his turbulent first week, mindlessly stabbing his cake a few times with his fork.

“Bleh. She’s still apologizing for that, we’ve patched it up. At least I think we have. She still doesn’t secretly think I’m a gigademon, right?” Half jesting, Cyrus pulls an impressive concerned face, leading Celestia to surrender a chortle.

“Of course not. She only speaks of you in high regard. Yes… the first week was rather… to borrow a turn of phrase, arse cancer to watch.” Celestia maintains a straight face as Cyrus explodes with laughter, thankfully not having any food or drink in his mouth.

“A-arse canc- wha… where did…” Logic fires in his brain, throwing his head back Cyrus lets out another barrel of chuckles before declaring: “Luna!”

“Yes! Quite. Luna!” Celestia parrots, finishing the rest of her cake with one deft swipe of her fork. The next one appears in rapid succession, teleported from its safe hold in Celestia’s fridge. Humming contentedly, she takes another bite of perfectly crafted cake, reveling in the natural and comfortable lull in the conversation.

Feels good to be able to let loose… She happily thinks, earlier dread thoroughly cleansed with good spirits. Wishing to resume, Celestia breaks the warm silence: “Well, to add to my sister’s apologies, I must offer my own for what transpired. I had to let her make her own choices, you know. She is perhaps the most stubborn and bullheaded pony I have ever known. That, combined with… well, you know.”

“Yeah. I understand,” Cyrus offers a simple, but effective response, running a hand through his black, shoulder length hair, “I mean, just the other day after the fealty ceremony. She could barely keep her eyes open and was still refusing to go to bed.”

“Ah, sounds like her. I remember very fondly how she absolutely refused to wear clothes to formal events when those came in fashion. Something about ‘not covering my natural beauty with insipid cloth’.” Celestia divulges before an evil idea bubbles to the surface of her mind. Sensing the chance to arm a soldier with the perfect ammunition for teasing Luna with, Celestia drops a bit of confidential gossip: “She’s still embarrassed, you know. Inviting you to come share her bed… honestly! I thought she had put her promiscuity behind her.”

“Oi oi, promiscuity? I know what that word means. Go on.” Cyrus excitedly banters, shifting himself, quite literally, to the edge of his seat. Celestia splits her face into an evil grin, mentally rubbing her hooves together and cackling to herself.

“Ah, her glory days. She would strut around, flaunting her very toned form for all the stallions to see. And being able to see dreams? Made target selection incredibly simple,” Celestia raises a contemplative hoof to her chin, rubbing in a slow circle, “I think her record was three in a day? Or perhaps four. Ah, sex was such a lax thing back then… When I’d scold her for it, she’d always call me jealous. And perhaps she was right! It was simply unfair, the amount of stallions she had falling head over hooves for her.”

Cyrus can not contain the slimy smile bursting across his face. His mind was already hard at work, thinking of all the different scenarios where he could use this newfound information.

“Interesting… very interesting. And if I were to ask her about this, do you think I could make her turn purple?” Cyrus suggests, mind spinning more deviously than Celestia could possibly imagine.

“Undoubtedly.” She responds, making the pair break into rounds of wicked crowing.

Ohhhhhh she’s going to be sooooooo mad! They both think in tandem, unbeknownst to each other. Once again, the conversation slows to a comfortable stop, allowing the pair to finish divulging in the deliciously tart hibiscus tea and perfectly moist carrot cake. Glancing to the clock, Cyrus lets out a massive groan.

“Ah, it’s already three? I gotta go, otherwise Cutlass is going to blow up the castle looking for me,” Cyrus sighed, slapping his thighs as he gets to his feet, “it was really nice talking to you, Celestia.”

“Likewise, Mr. Huang. Don’t worry about the tableware. You go on, I know of Cutlass’ reputation,” Celestia happily chimes, standing up herself, “before you go, I would like to say one last thing.”

“As you said, there are a lot of dogs. While it’s easy to say you don’t really care, I know firsthoof how aggravating it can be. What I’m trying to say is, you do matter. Take care.” She lectures in a more serious yet kind tone. Pressing his lips together, Cyrus nods in appreciation.

“Thanks. I’ll see you later.” With one last wave, Cyrus slips out the door and off to wherever he was meant to go.

A friend… they are few and far between for me… things are going pretty well! Finally. Harmony, I pray there are no diplomatic emergencies in my future… Celestia thinks while gently wrapping the dishes in her golden glow, ‘accidentally’ knocking Manehatten Rent Prices: An Argument For The Contrary onto the floor in her journey to the servant’s tray. Flopping down on her bed, she summons the rest of the carrot cake, humming a happy tune.

Author's Note

.... I may have lied about my promised update schedule.

Things have been very busy on my end. I cannot guarantee when I will next post, but I hope there won't be as long of a gap compared to this one.

As always thanks for reading!