Obligation 1.3

>“You’re basically terrible.’
“I love you too, Anonymous,” you reply in a cutesy, infantile voice.
>“It’s like you’re not even listening to the words coming out of my mouth!” he shouts exasperatedly.
>Anonymous had joined you in the gardens of the Canterlot Palace.
>He eyed your guard with disdain.
>Or the Love Guard division as he called them.
>Returning his regard to his alfalfa sandwich, you couldn’t help but think he looked a bit sad.
>His round-shouldered cringing and lowered head made him look so vulnerable.
>There were actually several options available from the kitchens that you KNEW he enjoyed.
>You called him on it even.
>“I’m just trying,”  he acidly explained while not looking you in the eye, “to associate the sadness of this meal with present company.”
>He didn’t enjoy coming to the palace.
>Said he didn’t like being reminded about being on Celestia’s government teat.
>Poik!
>You threw a wrapped biscuit at him.
>Anonymous maintained a flat-eyed stare as it hit him in the face.
>Mechanically picking up and unwrapping his biscuit, a smile cracked his face.
>“You murdered a possibly sentient being for this meal?”
“Nooooo, silly,” you cooed at Anonymous, knowing it irritated him to no end.
“I just happened to swipe it from the Gryphon delegation,” pinching his cheeks with a tendril of telekinetic blue sparkles.
“Who, yes, killed a definitely sentient pig for this,” you soberly added, “though the term you may have been looking for is ‘sapient’.”
>“Nah,” he replied.  “That’s usually to horrify only sparsely educated ponies.”
>He then tossed his alfalfa-only sandwich in the direction of the nearest member of the Love Guard division.

>It made it about three feet before falling to pieces in a spray of green.
>He then proceeded to bite into his sausage egg biscuit with great relish.
>By which you mean he enjoyed it.
>Relish would be a terrible topping, probably.
>“Princess, sully your mouth with some sweet, sweet murder?” he asked, offering you a bite from his breakfast sandwich.
>You leaned in to snatch a taste from his mouth.
>His dodge caused you to overbalance, and crash onto him in a splay of legs and feathers.
>“Whoa!  I don’t consent!  Pony rapist!”

*****

>You are Lieutenant Lambent Song, and for your sins you are Officer of the Day standing post this evening.
>At the moment you are hoping against hope that Princess Cadance quietly sleeps another twenty-four hours until you're off-duty.
>At this point you'd settle for the ground opening up and swallowing you whole.
>If the display of power the princess had let loose in Canterlot had been purpose driven weaponized love, her reaction to attempting to part her from..."Anonymous" would best be described as an unaimed friendly-fire conflagration of love.
>The desperate kind that leads to mothers tearing timber wolves in half.
>Anyways, the so-called Anonymous had suggested that the Princess' maids could see about cleaning her up after her ordeal, a warm meal and a soft bed.
>And that they could cry out and Anonymous, the Guard and the Princess could resume their three-way standoff at any point should they deem it necessary.
>As low as it seems, you'd have preferred her ordeal would have drained her so that sleep would have been an attractive option.
>But no, she got a both a bath and dinner for two, chaperoned by her maids and fell asleep holding "Anonymous'" hand.
>Who immediately pre-empted questioning by the guard by forcing his way into the dungeon and barricading himself in one of the cells.

>He'd offered his clothes in lieu of a "cavity search", whatever that was, but otherwise was declining to answer questions.
>Claimed it wasn't his “purpose in life to provide masturbatory aid to limp dick Lieutenants with titillating stories that were none of his business.”
>At which point he tossed an unemptied chamber pot at your head and said that killing ponies may be a crime, but in your case it would be more like performing a late-term abortion and he'd be out of prison by Winter Wrap-up.
>There was also that unfortunate business with those two members of the city guard.
>"Anonymous" claimed they never identified themselves as members of the guard, and in any case looked like scoundrel types impersonating the guard.
>Badly, at that.
>He added that the rest of you looked untrustworthy as well, but happened to wear the uniform better.
>Given that you were alone in addressing his barricade, unable to cajole, browbeat, or otherwise induce Guardsponies to stand watch on Anonymous, you couldn't disagree with him.
>His barricade of his cell really didn’t do much other than block your view.
>Not even constructed, just all the furniture piled up.
>He hadn’t even closed the door of his cell.
>If you weren't here you imagine he could leave his barricade and slip out of the palace unnoticed.
>It really didn’t help that the Captain had lost control of the rumor mill from the get go.
>While you were examining a particularly boring part of the ceiling, you couldn’t help but consider that it was a pegasus auxiliary member of the guard who had made the discovery AND was able to tell somepony about it.

>In life, Anonymous had "nailed to the wall" some minor “undisciplined” elements of the guard, so by the time you woke up to formally assume your post some of the naive members were already speaking in awe and excitement at his his miraculous return.
>And his instrumental, if not completely understood role in the conclusion of the most recent search and rescue effort.
>You were personally hoping that he was just a changeling, since the alternative...
>"Hey, stop ignoring me!"

*****

"Hey, stop ignoring me!"
>The lone miniature horse snapped out of whatever self-indulgent reverie had occupied him for the last while.
"So did your send everyone away because I said hurtful things, or do your subordinates just hate you enough that they won't join you here."
>You affected a thoughtful pose from around your barricade, ignoring the injured silence from the other party.
"You some kind of masochist? Does abusive language get your dick hard, is that it?" you asked derisively.
>"I d-don’t—!” he stammered in a panic.
"Relax, man. Horse. Whatever."
>The diminutive purplish-gray coated horse, better costumed in his silvered armor than either Fat or Stupid, with more flourish and insignia than both, appeared to be affecting a look of injured pride.
>But combined with your disdain for anyone, horse or otherwise, who wanted to be an authoritarian stormtrooper, you ignored it.
"Strictly speaking I was just trying to get your men to kill you."
>“They would never…” he weakly protested, before drifting off so quietly you couldn’t make out his objections.
“Never is a very long time, Lieutenant,” you rejoined, picking idly at your sackcloth attire.

>There hadn’t even been any sackcloth in the dungeons.
>It was all very proper and humane accommodations down here, so you had to ask a domestic-looking pony for some before you had settled in for your standoff in the dungeons.
>She was also generous with the kitchens, offering to prepare any requests.
>You had asked her for some gruel or anything else that could be easily eaten for nutrition in the event that you no longer had any teeth in a couple hours.
“But that’s not important anymore, since you’re not attempting to induce them to anything and they’re not here to see or overhear any of my attempts to undermine your authority.”
>But you can’t help really, really wishing they were here so that you could keep trying.
>Peeking from
“Lieutenant, you can go on wishing that I was a troublemaker that you would miraculously ‘disappear’ in much the same fashion as my apparent return, but the only way I’m going back into that hole in the ground is if you put me there.”
>Now THAT got a reaction.
>Interesting.
“You can also continue believing that if you keep misbehaving as soon as the Princess leaves the room that you won’t soon find yourselves removed.  Quietly or violently, it will definitely be forceful.  And permanent.”
>”Are you threatening—”
“I threaten nothing, ponyboy.  You saw how badly your princess reacted when that idiot tried to escort me for ‘processing’.  I imagine he only survived because he was knocked out in the initial blow and subsequently hit five other guard ponies.”
>”I-is,” he stammered before dry swallowing to find his words, “is that what happened?”
“He also had the benefit of travelling the length of the great hall before exiting a window, instead of being jettisoned directly into a wall or pillar.  Something about ragdolling like that magically makes things less worse, but I’m not here to explain impact mechanics to you.”

>You retreat from looking over your barricade to sit back down on the bench in your cell.
>Scratching idly at a cuticle, maybe the idiot will realize that more’s at stake than a petty power play.
>Which you intend to make them lose.
“Anyways,” you say, speaking a bit louder since the lieutenant was now behind you, “carrying on as you have is a good way to find yourselves unable to do your actual job of protecting the princess in the event that I intend some ill-will or misfortune that you appear to believe I represent.”
>You’re not done needling him yet, however, so you watch him through a gap in the furniture.
“Which, from what I’ve been able to gather you have already failed miserably at once before.  Some OTHER threat, that is.”
>The lieutenant appeared angry at that, untucking his tail finally.
>”What do you know about—”
“Nothing!  And if you keep making this about you and institutional pride then you’re gonna find yourself on the outside, unable to advise WHEN asked, and likewise unable to ACT when you believe it’s necessary.”
>You pause a moment.
>"So, uh, what do we do?"
>You want to face palm very badly.
>In fact, you decide to do so.
"I know you can't see me, what with this barricade, but I am striking my face with the palm of my hand. This is to indicate my gobsmacked state, because while I may have been trying to get your subordinates to kill you, your superiors, none of whom you have heard from in hours, are content allowing your princess to kill you when she finds out that a single misguided pony was responsible for putting me in the dungeons, taking my clothes, and giving me only gruel to subsist on."

>You don't hear anything from the lieutenant on the other side.
>Hearing the clatter of armor hitting the ground, a moment of alarm fills you.
>You sneak a peak around the barricade.
>The erstwhile lieutenant is busy shrugging his armor off.
"Hey, hey, hey hey hey, what are you doing?"
>You rush from out behind your furniture pile.
"You know this won't get you off the hook, right?"
>The only indication you had that he heard you was his brief increase in forcefulness used  when he threw his stuff at the ground.
"Hey. Hey! Stop it!"
>You take another tentative step towards the upset pony.
"Work with me here. You quitting now means that I'd have to do business with an organization that had decided to have a fall guy take the blame."
>"How are you any different?"
"True I tried to get you killed, but I disagree with their methods."
>Which still doesn’t make you different, but whatever.
>However, his ear twitching is a bit distracting.
"I will go to great lengths to ensure that they don't get anything from this exchange. Even cooperate with you."
>There go those ears again.
"So work with me here."
"In fact, the only way I will make any effort to  behave is if you stay. Further—"
>His ears!
"Stop!”
>He freezes in place.
“Okay, I’m not going to give you a choice here.  What I’m going to do now is go directly to Princess Cadance and tell her that you’re basically my favorite pony and I want to work with you.”
>You consider it a moment.
“Unless you sit down with me right now and establish your role in this.”
>He regards you like the suspicious bastard he his before speaking again.
>“You’re bluffing,” he accuses.  “You may have spooked some of the naive and misguided members of the guard, but there are still guards at their post.  They,” gesturing with a toss of his head, “certainly won’t let you in to see the princess.”

“Pony please!” you deride.
“They’d be doing me a favor if they didn’t let me in.  So unless you WANT the princess to isolate herself from her protectors, you’re gonna have to give me an option that doesn’t involve me cutting them out of the loop.”
>Dressed only in his leg armor and surcoat, you can see his frustration written on his face.
>“Damn, damn, damn!” he shouts, angrily kicking his armor about.
>You can’t help but laugh at the scene in front of you.
>An exaggerated cough draws your attention to the open door.
>“Umm...am I interrupting?” asks the helpful mare from earlier, gruel in tow.
“No, no, not at all,” you smoothly answer.  “Were you able to find anything more suitable than this otherwise serviceable sackcloth?  I think we’re past that particular misunderstanding for now.”
>“Oh, right!”
>She removes her tray of gruel her back and reaches into her saddlebags for a bundle.
>“Yes, um, the princess had kept these around so I think they’ll still….”
>She shyly offers the bundle to you.
>You accept it, resigned for now that for whatever reason you’re walking in the shoes of a dead man.
>In this case, literally.
“Thank you, um...I don’t think I caught your name earlier?”
>“I am called Feather Duster, Anonymous.”
>Hmm…
“...”
“That’s not a real name, is it?”
>He shy smile broadens at that.
>“You got it in one, sir!”  she exclaims.
>But she quickly covers her mouth with one hoof.
>“I’m sorry, I know you don’t like being called ‘sir’.  It’s Madame Flinthooves, by the way.”
>Narrowing your eyes suspiciously, you regard the domestic pony with an upraised finger and a question on your lips.

“Rrrright, okay.  Lieutenant!”
>”Hmm, what?”
“You’re out of uniform!” you bark.
>His body responds with discipline despite his previous mood.
>Shooting up into what you assume is a pony position of attention, barks his own reply.
>“Yes si—!  Er, Anonymous,” he finished lamely.
“Get your kit together and find your men already.  Horses, whatever.”
>His indignation having bled away, he finally takes a look at his state.
>He sheepishly begins gathering up his scattered armor pieces.
>You ignore him for now and turn back to Madame Flinthooves.
“Well, now that that crisis seems to be over, who do I see about some accommodation less likely to scandalize the sensibilities of the princess?” you ask, gesturing to your unmanned barricade.
>“Hmm, yes,” she nods sympathetically.  “That wouldn’t do at all.”
>Searching your, well, not memories, but…
>Feelings?  Gut?
“Something...with a fireplace, sitting room, and windows if you can manage it, thank you.”
>Where did that come from?
“Oh, I think we can find something,” she coyly answers.
>She looks at the lieutenant.
“Try to play nice with the guard, if you can,” she adds as she begins gathering up her things.
“No promises.  But I think Lieutenant…”
>You’re at a loss for a moment”
“Hey!  What’s your name, Lieutenant?”
>“Lambent Song, si—!” he barks, cutting his own response short.  “Er, Anonymous.”
“Right, I think Lieutenant Lambent Song and I have found an accord.  Or have agreed to find an accord at any rate.”
>She regards you with measured gaze before breaking into another smile.
“I suppose that will have to do for now.”
>And with that, she departed the dungeons.

>You take a moment to doff your sackcloth and put on another man’s clothes.
“So, Lieutenant?  Or is it Lambent Song?”
>“Lt. Song, if you please.”
“Of course it is.  So Lt. Song, I imagine very shortly you will be ‘promoted’ as my liaison.  To limit my own interaction with the guard at large.”
>The Captain of the Guard would be stupid to leave you free rein, ha ha, to speak to some of the more impressionable members if the overheard whispers reflected the sentiment of the guard at large.
>And you didn’t want to have to deal with them, so here at least your desires aligned.
>“As you say, Anonymous,” he answered unhappily.
>Grabbing the gruel left behind by Madame Flinthooves, you begin eating the depressing meal.
“Let’s work out some details then…”