Obligation 1.2

>"Okay, Cadance. You're the chosen one, beloved by the Demiurge Princess Celestia, eternal god-princess of ponykind, shepherd of unconquered Sol."
>You just rolled your eyes, but motioned him to continue.
>Anonymous wouldn't be decent to be around until he'd gotten it out of his system.
>"I mean, you must be her favorite! Blueblood," he practically spat, "is a 'prince' because that's how the subordinate polity which he heads has chosen to organize itself years ago, the political equal of Duke Fancypants or the Neighponese… or the Mayor of Ponyville I guess."
>Anonymous shrugged about that last point.
>"But you, 'Princess mi Amore Cadenza', are princess ex nihilo with no subjects, no realm to govern, nothing except a decree from Sol herself that you are the Princess of Love."
>"So you, Cadance, have been made princess of nothing for reasons you don't know, by somepony you don't understand, possibly to your detriment."
>With the pose he struck, you expected the next words out of his mouth to be some variation of "come at me bro" or "fight me in real life".
>That smug look on his face, how dare he?
>You had been so riled at that you hit him with your love spell, to rekindle love forgotten.

>He tensed up, eyes closed.
>Deep breath in.
>Deep breath out.
>And relaxed, seeming to shrink a bit, as though shrugging off a great weight.
>He tentatively brought his hands to your face, slowly, cautiously.
"Anonym—" you started.
>"shh shh shh shh"
>His delightful dexterous hands cupped your face, his forehead pressed against yours, your horn resting against his crown.
>Your breathing grew ragged and your heart began to race.
>"Princess?" he asked, voice like brushed velvet.
"Mmm?" you responded, like a moonstruck idiot.
>He pressed the palms of his hands lightly to your cheeks before drawing his own face slowly away.
>In turn, he gently rubbed your cheeks with his palms before removing them.
>With only his fingertips resting on your face, he drew his nails through your short-haired coat, eliciting a thrill running from your face to your nethers.
>He brushed his nails  to the edge of the more sensitive skin surrounding your mouth.
>Almost drowning in stimulation you adjusted your stance a bit wider, almost bowlegged, and unconsciously opened your mouth a bit.
>You were only made aware of it when Anon, his touch so light you didn't notice him withdraw his fingers, put his hand to your muzzle to quiet you.
>"Don't do that," he said, voice flat again.
>He punctuated that by pushing your muzzle away.

>Your displeasure at dislodging a depth of six feet of dirt and a stone equally long was only matched by that of your current situation.
>Only the warmth of the ground, a faint discoloration of the earth, and some residual sulfurous scent attest to the earlier fire.
>Since passing out, the winged pastel abomination had  bonelessly occupied the vacant grave.
>Seriously, she was like a fish that had already been given a few whacks.
>However briefly, you had considered the possibility of just...filling in the hole.
>But a funny looking horse like that was bound to have someone who'd miss it.
"I guess this makes you the loser who's been saddled."
>Despite your words, you were still ambiguous about which of you was the loser here.
>Wrestling Boneless up out of the hole turned out to be quite the production, however.
>If you were some redneck hunter then wrestling a scaled-down horse out of a hole, even one with wings, would have been as easy as whistling Dixie.
>Or whatever it is that rednecks do easily.
>You settled for some variant of a fireman's carry.
>In prior practice, however, the carry-ee had always assisted you by hopping onto your shoulders.
>And "willing participant" isn't how you'd characterize her contribution here.
>Obstacle? Prop?
>Coupling her boneless flopping about with her unfamiliar shape, you overbalanced and found  yourself in the damp earth with a face full of velvet horse pussy.
>Your mouth was open and everything!

>You were relieved to find no taste or smell of "horse apples".
>You were horrified that you could definitively describe it as "not horse apples".
>After an indeterminate period of shock followed by some spirited scrabbling about, more to not think about anything at all, you ended up roughly with the horse-man configuration you desired, i.e. Boneless atop your shoulders.
>From the debris inside the open grave, it was just one overhead press and dumping her up top, hoping she didn't slide back in the hole.
>You had planned on surreptitiously filling in the grave again, but the taffy horse had nixed that just by stopping by.
>And falling in.
>Whatever.
>You settled for heading towards where Boneless had entered from, since an entrance was an exit as well.
>You also didn't feel like trying to scale iron grating.
>Passing a pile of supplies, you surmised that these were the same dumped earlier by...the evil sorcerer horse princess?
>Certainly the quantity of black candles wouldn't be used by any normal individual.
>While seeing if anything was drinkable you dumped an unsavory ruddy looking liquid out of a container before you found some water.
>Or delicious poison, you had no way of telling.
>With the night sky having shifted from the luminous full night to the false dawn glow that failed to really illuminate anything at all, you made for what you hoped was the exit.

>You are Princess Cadance, and your body hurts all over.
>You remember a familiar nightmare, the reaching, grasping animated corpse of Anonymous...
>Which was especially foalish of you because when they buried him they did so closed casket.
>They kinda had to just dumped in whatever they could scrape up off the rocks.
>Your only contribution to the service was to ensure that they didn't perform the usual rites for ponies.
>Oh! And a quiet, but stern reminder regarding his remains to those scientific curiosity seekers.
>Anonymous had previously decided that you were a miniature God-Princess and thus would still be young when he was dead of old age.
>He joked that he'd sooner risk pony hell than inadvertently ending up affiliated with pony afterlife.
>You told him that wasn't how it works, but he said he preferred his version.
>With a shudder you realized you felt unreasonably cold and dirty.
>Ugh, like the time you attended the "garden party" hosted by your sister-in-law's friend and went to bed immediately afterward.
>Bleary-eyed, you tried to make out your surroundings.
>Realization dawned like the friendship express.
>Anonymous!
>You recall being angry at the desecration of his grave, dreading to find his resting place empty.
>And shocked beyond reason to find it currently occupied.
>Frantically scanning, you spot his definitive footprints tracking fresh soil back towards the entrance.
"Anonymous!"

>Fat and stupid.
>You had no basis for judging pony intellect or mannerisms.
>But of the two peculiarly costumed ponies before you, the one on the left looked particularly dimmer than his companion.
>This, in spite of the full-faced glow surrounding his horn and the torch suspended beside him.
>His companion, who was full-faced as well as full-figured, looked particularly uncomfortable in his garb. Like he wasn't used to wearing it.
>If you hadn't spent your energy displacing earth and rock, maybe you could have exploited it.
>You'd say they stank of fear, but you couldn't smell fear.
>They look scared though, and seemed to find no comfort in the predawn chill.
>You can work with scared and confused.
"Why are you fat?" you rudely demanded, seeming to emerge from nowhere at all.
>Changing targets quickly, you turned to address Stupid.
"And why do you look stupid? I'd tell you to wipe that look off your face but I'm worried it's the only one you have."

*****
"Never allow yourself to get distracted from the task at hand. Losing focus is a good way to get yourself killed and worse yet, get anyone else with you killed."
*****

>Looking them over a bit longer, you realized their clownish costumes would have been considered professional uniforms on any other pony.
>The two wore them so badly you couldn't help but feel a thrill of opportunity.
>Sensing a nervous giggle from Fat rather than hearing one, you rounded on the unfortunate.
"Laugh it up, alright!"
>Looking appropriately nonplussed by your accusation, you pressed your attack.
"I daresay you look worse than Gomer Pyle here..."
>You ignored the raised hoof asking permission to speak.
"...because at least he could wear his uniform if he had someone to dress him."
"Whereas you are just..."
>Gesturing to all of Fat with a look of disgust, you fail to find the words.
"...ugh!" you conclude forcefully.

>Feeling that this is where someone particularly stupid would object, you turn and press an angry finger to Stupid's muzzle.
>“—!”
> His poorly considered interjection stopped short, his ruddy mien blanched white immediately at your chilly touch.
"You'll get your turn, so shut up for now," you growl just loud enough for both to hear.
>From your touch, you'd guess that he's about two steps shy of eye-rolling terror and insensibility.
>You ignore his pre-language gabbling protests, instead zeroing in on Fat to continue your harangue.
"I understand being a little overweight, but this," pointing roughly at skin being pinched where cheek met helmet, "doesn't even look like it was made for a pony."
>Even without a ruler, you make a big show of inspecting his uniform, taking time to poke, prod, and loosen straps.
>His obvious discomfort but tacit consent in this rigmarole was not the decision of a confident individual, so you continued to exploit his weakness.
"Look at this!" you shout, roughly snatching his helmet from his head.
"I bet this isn't even your helmet," you sneer, making a big show of searching for a label.
>You lean over to Stupid.
"Does this say ‘Clancy’?" you ask, gesturing to some fictional writing you probably couldn't read anyways.
>He takes your request at face value and pushes his own helmet up out of the way to see better.
>Which is when you clocked him with the helmet in your own hand.

>Fat could only manage an embarrassing squawk, because whatever he'd planned on doing went to shit when his armor fell to pieces, effectively hobbling him.
>You had to imagine the panic in his eyes, the lights going out as Stupid ceased glowing and his dropped torch sputtering out, but you drew back for another blow with your now-dented blunt instrument, just for him.
>He went down as though poleaxed.
>Given the powerful intake and exhalations from Fat, he was out.
>But Stupid was still sucking breath through his teeth in pain.
>There was probably a way to easily choke out a creature that was thirty percent neck muscle, but you didn't have the time to practice.
>Especially not in the dark.
>With a powerful overhead swing you hit him once more, dropping the helmet as you did so.
"Stay down you idiot!"
>Kicking his haunch for good measure, you felt your foot connect just right (or wrong) as your vision flashed red.
"Fuck this shit already!"
>You were reassured that he wasn't dead, however, when he continued making piteous moans at the indignity.
>You moved to clear the now dark crossroads in front of the cemetery.
>Clowns like that should never have been left alone without supervision.
>In fact...
>"Anonymous!"
>Boneless!
>Visibility may have been generally poor, but the nearest stand of trees was hundreds of yards away.
>And she'd already spotted you.
> Still, you tried to run for it but it immediately became apparent that you had at least rolled your ankle.
>Supported as you were by only one leg, her ensuing bullrush tackle hug cut you down like a harvester threshing wheat.
>"Is it really you?" she demanded.
>Attempting to adjust to a more comfortable position just prompted her to grasp more tightly, blinding you with blue-y glowy sparkles.
>"Oh Anonymous!"

>"Is it you?" she asked again, more insistently, more to convince herself than get any confirmation from you.
>Which is just as well, since you didn't have an answer for that.
>Tackled from behind as you were, you managed to shift in her grasp enough that she was no longer crying tears of relief into the seat of your pants.
>At which point Boneless redoubled her grasp on your midsection, and you settled for keeping her horn away from your throat.
>You felt the tentative touch down and approach of more winged horses.
>More sensibly, you saw the harsh glare of their approach, their numbers obscured by the relative brightness.
>Still, you were less worried about them than you were the sobbing horse all up on your jock.
>This was your life now.
>You settled for trying to calm the sorcerer wizard horse currently finding relief in your arms.
"shh shh shh shh"
>"Sound the all clear," a clipped, professional voice called out.  "We've found the Princess and...oh damn! Secure this—"
>But whatever his next order would have been was interrupted by explosive cracks of air indicating the arrival of still more ponies.
>A dull roar grew as a few ponies attempted to shepherd the new arrivals away from the spectacle of you and their princess, but you caught a few snippets.
>"Is that..."
>"...many other humans do you..."
>"I heard..."
>"...closed casket..."
>"...grave robbery..."
>"...impossible..."
>"...fire and brimstone!"
>"What's a zombie goast?"

>Ignoring the growing cacophony, you continued to awkwardly console Boneless, taking especial care to speak softly.
"Princess?" you asked, the question barely a rumble in your chest.
>The effect may have been spoiled by your hand grasping her horn, trying to gently but firmly direct it away from yourself.
>Her caterwauling slowed to a whimper, before that too eased for a moment.
>"Mmm?" she mumbled hopefully.
"Don't do that, —"
>Which she took as her cue to resume her hiccup laden cry, interrupting whatever else you had planned on saying, instead resuming to rub her tear-stained face against you.