1/9

Tick. Tick. Tick.
The incessant sound of the clock on the wall, each passing second only increasing my anxiety. Anything would help at this point, I’d been in here for over an hour. The dull sounds of ponies discussing in heated tones filtered in from beyond the walls, closer to murmuring. Part of me said to try and listen in, push my ear to the door and see if I could hear anything, but the burly stallions who had deposited me had said to remain in the chair and wait.
So, with little else to do, I waited. And grumbled. My skill at grumbling was astute enough that it could almost be by special talent, a skill I had developed over long years working as a street sweeper. The real key was to start with a murmur and just hold everything that was annoying you in the front of your mine until it naturally slipped into a venomous stream of consciousness.
“...already behind on my schedule and now the guard drags me in here for a couple of hours, probably illegally…”
The door swung upon and I, nobly and stoically, squawked and fell out of my chair, only to quickly scramble back up into it, heeding the commands of the stallions to stay put. I looked over the back of the seat to take a look at the heavy, utilitarian door that was the portal to this similarly uninspired office only to see an incredibly striking mare. Striking because of her athletic, toned form and aggressively beautiful facial features, and striking because she walked with a feline grace that made me assume she could kick me through the solid walls of this Royal Guard outpost. If that wasn’t enough to make me nervous, the bad mood was pouring off of her like a cloud, and my grumbling suddenly felt like a match next to a bonfire as her seething took on a physical form.
Her fur was a dark purple, the darkest mare I’d ever seen, with a muted red mane maintained in a mohawk that trailed back, carefully out of her eyes, assuredly in case she needed to beat the shit out of any small yellow stallions who happened to give her lip. Counterbalancing this dark coloration was the striking bright blue of her eyes, regarding me with some disdain. Other than her vicious vision, I couldn’t help but notice the scar across her eye and the shattered horn. I’d heard of a few unicorns who lost their horn choosing to keep it carefully tucked away, but she instead wore it proudly, making sure none of her hair obscured it.
	It wasn’t polite to stare. Also she scared me, so I turned around and sat down, feeling my heart beat a bit quicker. I wasn’t hyperventilating. Was I hyperventilating? Oh god, I could feel myself hyperventilating. Stay calm, First Prize, stay calm.
	She strode in her careful, confident manner behind the desk that filled up most of the too-small office, taking a seat behind it and laying down a manilla folder. “First Prize,” she said in the flat tones of a mare who is officially At The End of Her Leash and Would Appreciate a Little Space. “Street Sweeper for Neighagra Falls. Is this correct?”
	“It’s a temporary position while I get some bits together for-”
	“I’m not here to question your undoubtedly abysmal life choices,” the mare said. Ouch. “I’m Captain Tempest Shadow and I’m here to safely deliver you to your new position as Prince Consort for Princess Celestia.” She said it quickly and formally, like reading off a new company policy regarding snack breaks on the job.
	I blinked. I looked around.
	Tick. Tick. Tick.
	Tempest sighed and looked it over again once more. “Sun and stars I swear this is a prank,” she said, not exactly to me. “But I’ve rechecked it four time and everything is in perfect order. Right down to legal citations.”
	“I’m sorry, I’m afraid I don’t quite understand.”
	“Maybe Celestia herself is pranking me? I’m willing to bet she holds a grudge longer than Twilight does… But given how much of a tizzy this has caused back at base i doubt she’d be willing to cause that much chaos.”
	“So, wait, this is serious?”
	“Hm?” She looked back up at me again and shuffled around a couple of pieces of paper, a small red spark popping off of her horn as she thought with particular intensity. “Well, until I’m given cause to believe otherwise, yes. I’ll be taking you to Canterlot posthaste.”
	“What?” Surprise overwhelms me, with its old friend anxiety quickly falling in behind. “I can’t go to Canterlot! I’ve got a shift tomorrow and rent’s due at the end of the week!”
	Tempest rolled her eyes. “You’re a street sweeper.”
	“It’s an important job! They’re counting on me!”
	“I’m sure. Well, I’ll assign one of my stallions to fill in for you. Then, I’ll arrange for a small stipend to pay you rent until Princess Celestia comes to her senses and repeals this order.”
	So… it probably was just some kind of stupid joke. Pick some random stallion off the street and order her goon to come pick her up, only to laugh at her and tell her she takes things too seriously… I wasn’t about to be part of that game! I had rights! Dignity, dammit!
	“I won’t go!” I said with a voice that was supposed to be confident but came across more like a colt who refused vehemently to finish his peas. “You can’t make me!”
	“As matter of fact, I can,” she said, standing up and crossing over to the door. She knocked on it twice, and the sounds of hooves scampering to attention was audible on the other side. “As it so happens, the constitution has some very strange bylaws regarding this exact circumstances. Who ever could have put those in there.” Her tone was flat, and she wasn’t even bothering to look at me.”
	I stood up and stretched out my wings flapping a few times before a leaped up and over the chair, landing in front of the strange guardsmare. She looked down at me with a full head over my height bemusedly, as if questioning my shaky show of defiance.
	“You can’t make me!” I demanded. “I won’t let you!”
	She turned to face me, and with a smile that was more predator than joy stared me down. A few blue sparks shot off her horn before a full-fledged crackle of magical electricity surrounded it in a halo of magical energy, intense enough that I could feel it wash over my face.
	“Will you, now?” She asked, a sing-song crooning edge to her voice.