Yet Another Horrible Decision - Chapter 9

                                   Yet Another Horrible Decision

 

                                            Chapter 9

 

 

>The wooden wheels of the open-topped carriage clack upon the cobblestone streets.

>The summer sun burns high in the early afternoon sky, adding to the dryness of the air considerably. It hasn’t rained at all since you arrived in Canterlot over a month ago.

>Twilight, sitting next to you, is obviously somewhat uncomfortable in the oppressive heat. Spike, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to be bothered at all. He’s actually napping on the seat in front of you.

“I’ve got to say, Twilight, I’m going to miss you. You’re definitely one of the most intelligent... uh, beings that I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting.”

>She turns to you with a smile as bright as the sun above, her discomfort barely impinging on her mood. “Aw, thank you Anon. You’re pretty smart yourself, and don’t you forget it!” Twilight looks back ahead at the railway station coming into view. “Part of me wishes I could stay with you and keep our cultural exchange going. I still have so much I want to learn, so many questions I want to ask...” She trails off, her smile fading.

“It’s not like we’re not going to see each other again, right?”

>She looks back at you, her eyes sparkling as brightly as her name would imply. “Of course we’ll see each other again! I mean, I really hope so. I’ve got my own studies to get back to, though, and you... what are you going to do, anyway? I can’t believe I haven’t asked you this before,” she says with an eyebrow slightly raised.

“To be completely honest, Twi, I’m not sure myself. I figured I’d ask Celestia for some pointers or something. It doesn’t look like I’ll be going home anytime soon...” Your expression darkens a bit as you add, “Not that there’s anything back there for me anyway.”

>Twilight’s face forms a wisp of a frown and it looks like she’s about to speak before she returns her head to face the road.

 

 

>“Well, it was nice meeting you, Anon. You’re a pretty cool guy. Hope to see you again soon,” Spike says. He then shuts one eye, points his claws like a pistol and clicks his tongue.

>You return the gesture you taught him, a symbol of the friendship you’ve forged.

>“Well, this is it. Don’t worry about what you’re going to do next. Celestia seems to think of you as one of her own subjects now. You’re in good hooves, Anon,” Twilight says to you, her words carrying the full force of her convictions.

“I’m sure you’re right, Twilight. You sure you’ve got everything? I can help you carry some of your bags in.”

>Twilight shakes her head. “No, Spike and I have got it.” The train whistles once, signalling the passengers to board. “Alright Anonymous. I’m headed back to Ponyville now. It was a pleasure meeting you, and an honor working with you. See you later!”

“Goodbye, Twilight! Tell all your friends I said ‘hi’! And ask Applejack when zap-apple season is, would you?”

>Twilight turns as she boards the train. “Of course. Goodbye, Anonymous!” She heads into the train car. A moment passes, and then you can see her seated next to a window, facing you and waving her hooves. Spike is on her other side, waving goodbye.

>You return their waves as the whistle sounds again. Twilight’s been one of your closest friends since you’ve arrived in Equestria. Pretty cute too.

>That reminds you, Rarity should be heading to Canterlot soon with the rest of your commissioned clothes. THAT’S a meeting you’ll be looking forward to.

>The train chugs away from the station, leaving a long plume a black smoke to mark its passage. A few moments pass and the smoke is all that’s left to be seen. Time to return to the castle and find out what fate has in store for you now.

 

 

>Aqua and green light refract brilliantly upon the cavern walls. A group of six changeling broodmothers gather in a semicircle, awaiting instructions from their queen.

>Chrysalis slowly gets up from the litter, set down gently on the floor by her trusted drones. Her belly visibly bulges from the eggs growing within, her movements slowed by their burden.

>“Broodmothers of my hive! I hope you all are ready for this, a great and unique gift. You will nurture and carry a new generation of changelings. These, our children, are the future of our race. They, and you, will bring us out of these barren lands, blasted and damned!” Chrysalis simultaneously speaks audibly and via mind-link, the broodmothers all respond by bowing in unison.

>A small grin forms on the grand queen’s features. She shuts her eyes and focuses.

>“I will begin on the right. All of you, assume positions! Prepare to be blessed with our future!”

>Beads of sweat form and begin to trickle down Chrysalis’s face, both from her exertion and the humid atmosphere of the lower levels. The broodmothers all turn and face the opposing wall, presenting their sex organs for transplant.

>A low, slick ‘pop’ announces the emergence of Chrysalis’s ovipositor. She approaches the rightmost broodmother and mounts her, forehooves placed on the smaller changeling’s withers. With one swift motion she penetrates the broodmother, drawing forth a pained gasp from the smaller bugpony.

>One egg slides out of Chrysalis’s womb, nearly visible in the translucent, semi-rigid organ, distending it slightly as it travels from queen to subject.

>Chrysalis’s breathing grows heavy as she labors, her protuberance rippling with effort as it guides the egg into its new host.

>The new hybrid would need to gestate inside its surrogate for another six weeks, growing considerably in size and maturity. Such was the changeling way.

>The broodmother beneath her groans with agony as her nethers are pressed widely open, the egg forcing itself in. Her internal muscles take control and pull the egg deeper into the birth canal. Chrysalis’s ovipositor disengages with a wet ‘schlick’, dripping lubricant onto the floor.

>The dark queen takes a moment to catch her breath and compose herself. This one was finished. It was necessary to spread out the egg distribution, to see how well this new breed would handle multiple births. Still, she already feels better. The pressure in her womb is already lessened, and within the hour she’ll only be carrying one egg. One very, very special egg. The endorphins multiply, easing her pains and spurring her on to complete her task.

>One down, five to go. Then it’s just a matter of time until the new breed of changeling, the breed destined to secure their race’s place in the sun, is birthed into the world.

>Chrysalis can’t help but smile at that.

 

 

>The throne room’s antechamber, by now familiar, rises gaudily before you.

>Although nothing has changed, the two portraits of the princesses still amaze you, their incredibly lifelike detail intermingled with their stunning depiction of the two demigoddesses provides a truly stunning effect.

>The guards flanking the door nod at your entry.

“Afternoon, gentlecolts. Is Princess Celestia available?”

>The guards look at eachother for a moment. The leftmost guard, one of Celestia’s elite, turns and heads through the door.

>For a moment you can hear snippets of conversation: “...n’t you think it’s a possibility? How could it hurt?”

>“I don’t thin...” Celestia’s voice can only be heard a moment before the door swings shut.

>You look over at the remaining guard, one of Luna’s elite. ‘Batponies’ as they’re colloquially known. This one you’ve gotten to know before.

“Hey, how’s it going Lieutenant Smiles!”

>The batpony shifts his eyes in your direction. “Good afternoon, Master Anonymous. Things are alright, I suppose.”

“Cool, cool.” You pause for a moment, an uncomfortable silence filling the air. “So, uh, how’s Gloomwing been? I haven’t seen her around lately.”

>Sunshine Smiles narrows his eyes, his face taking on an expression of worry. “Gloomwing? She’s been out sick, actually. I don’t think it’s any normal sickness, though,” he sighs. “More of a... spiritual affliction, I guess? Last time we spoke she said something along the lines of ‘feeling forsaken by the All-Father’. Personally I think it has more to do with family troubles. Her dad... he passed away, recently.”

“Ouch... I can sympathize. Next time you see her, tell her she’s in my prayers, alright?”

>He nods brusquely, “Of course, Master Anonymous. She would be happy to hear that.” He turns and faces straight ahead again, ending your conversation.

>It’s a damn shame, what happened to Gloomie. Compared to the rest of Luna’s elite guard, who are as intimidating as a group of ponies who reach up to your chest at best can be, she’s beyond adorable and very friendly. You hope she gets better soon.

>The grandiose double-doors click open and Celestia’s guard emerges, taking his place at its side. “Her Highness will see you now, Master Anonymous.”

“Excellent. Thank you, Lieutenant.”

>You walk through the doorway into the throne room beyond. Celestia sits upon her throne, as regal as ever. Next to her, however, is an unexpected sight.

>The Captain of the Wonderbolts: Spitfire.

 

 

>“Heya, Anon! We were just talking about you,” Spitfire happily announces, her voice lyrical.

>Celestia smiles warmly at you, as a mother greeting a long-lost son would. “Anon, I have good news for you! But first, tell me, how did seeing off Twilight and Spike go?”

“As well as could be expected. To tell the truth, Princess, I didn’t really want her to leave. There’s so much more we could’ve gone over, could’ve discussed.”

>“I’m glad to see you’re fond of my student, Anon. She told me much the same about you, but she has her own studies to attend to. Besides, it will take me awhile to compile all that has been learned into something suitable to present to the Triumvirate. I thank you again for your service, though.”

“You’re welcome, Celestia.” You turn slightly to face Spitfire. “Now what was it you two were talking about? If it’s about me I’d like to know.”

>Spitfire and Celestia exchange a glance, Celestia giving a small nod.

>“I came to inform you—and the princess—that the, um, ‘hangar’ contracted has been completed. I figured you might like to see it, as well as use it.

>“It would be advisable for you to do so as soon as possible, Anon. I’ve kept the Weather Ministry from their duties far longer than I should have. I’ve scheduled a few days of rain to make up for what’s been lost. You’ve noticed, I’m sure, how dry it is around here lately?” Celestia queries, head slightly cocked to one side.

“You mean... that was all for MY sake? Um, thank you, but really... enough is enough. I deserve no more special treatment than any of your other subjects.”

>Celestia’s eyebrows raise at your remark. “Any of my other subjects? Does that mean, Anon, that you consider yourself one of my subjects as well?”

>Spitfire and Celestia again exchange a small glance, Spitfire sporting a cute smile. You’ve definitely missed something.

“Well, your Highness—”

>“Celestia, Anon. We’ve been over this.”

“Celestia, to be honest I kind of do. As I’ve explained before, I... I have no reason to return home. The life available here seems superior, in many ways, to that which I would have back home. And here you are, an ageless benevolent autocrat, asking me if I would consider myself your subject?”

>You’re feeling a bit theatrical at the moment, though you know not why. You drop to one knee and bow your head.

“Princess Celestia, I would be honored if you would consider me one of your subjects,” you grandiloquently announce.

>A light chuckle, the sound akin to playful morning larks, emanates from Celestia’s direction. “Of course, Anonymous. I accept you as one of my subjects, with all the rights and responsibilities that entails.” Celestia drops into a somber, regal tone for that.

>“One step down, Princess,” Spitfire adds cryptically, her smile not leaving her features.

>You lift your head to see the two mares smiling down at you. For a brief moment you feel like an idiot.

>“Where’d THAT come from, Anon? That’s one of the stranger things I’ve seen, and I’ve seen a lot, trust me,” Spitfire adds whimsically.

“It’s just... I dunno. What you’re supposed to do in situations like this, I guess.”

>Spitfire closes her eyes and shakes her head, laughing lightly. For such a tough seeming mare, she’s surprisingly adorable.

>“I thought it was very nice, Anon. You’re a pleasant and humble sort, a... man? that I would be proud to call my subject. There’s considerable paperwork involved, but I’ll have some of it waived. The rest will be up to you, though,” Celestia says.

>“Anyway, Anon, would you like to accompany me to Wonderbolt Fields? I’m pretty proud of our construction teams; they’ve done an excellent job.”

>You stand up and stretch, feeling the eyes of the two ponies watching your alien body in motion.

“Sure thing, Spitfire. Lead the way.”

 

 

>Thankfully enough, Spitfire didn’t insist on taking one of the flying chariots. As fun as flight is, you prefer to do it with a seat-back and straps.

>Instead, you’re both comfortably seated in the carriage you had returned from the train station in.

>The heat of the day only grew in the time since you approached the railway station. Sweat trickles over your brow, coursing its way down your cheek.

>You feel kinda bad for these ponies, stuck as they are with an (admittedly, thin) coat of fur year-round. Spitfire is definitely feeling the heat as well, her mane slick with sweat, droplets of which run rivulets down to her seat.

>“Phew, can’t wait for the rain tonight. You’ve never seen an Equestrian thunderstorm, have you Anon?” Spitfire asks, her eyes drooping under the oppressive heat.

“Can’t say I have. I feel pretty bad, seeing as I’m kinda to blame for this weather.”

>Spitfire turns her head to look at you. “Don’t feel bad, Anon. Sometimes summers are like this. The Weather Ministry likes to keep things mixed up anyway. ‘Better for the local ecology’ they always say,” she replies with a smirk.

“That’s another thing that fascinates me about this world. Weather control is something my people have long since consigned to the realms of fantasy, and yet for you it’s a simple fact of life. As much as Twilight explained to me, I still have yet to see it with my own eyes.”

>“So your whole world is like the lands outside of Equestria? Where weather operates of its own accord? That’s... that’s absolutely foreign to me, and to most ponies. Excepting perhaps some of the travelling merchants, I suppose,” she responds, a mix of curiosity and wonder enlivening her visage. “We’ve got some time to kill and I’d like to hear more about your world, Anon. You wouldn’t mind telling me a story, would you?” Spitfire asks, a hint of a playful whine tugging at your heartstrings.

>You look ahead and see you’re just now entering the city of Canterlot proper. This trip, if you remember correctly, should take about 15 minutes or so. Plenty of time to tell this prestigious pony a condensed version of what Earth is like. Besides, you figure, it’s likely you’ll be asked this question several more times while you’re here. Might as well get some practice in. You turn back to look at Spitfire, also turning your body to face her more readily.

“Alright Spitfire. You see, where I’m from...”

 

 

>You spend the rest of the journey animatedly telling Spitfire all sorts of things about Earth and humanity. She listens in rapt attention, what you’ve learned about pony body language confirming your gut feelings. Even in this aspect these ponies share quite a few similarities with humans. The front of her body turns to face you as best it can in the confines of the carriage, her eyes (large as they are) lock onto yours, and she displays small nods or occasional verbal indications that she’s actively listening. She’s almost as hungry for knowledge as Twilight Sparkle, though she’s not quite as obsessed with intellectual pursuits, asking you questions quite often throughout the dialog.

>“So, wait, you’re telling me that you have an entire, uh, ‘net-work’ connecting the majority of your species? And it allows any of you to instantly contact anyone else... ‘connected’, right?” You nod. “Connected to the network? That’s absolutely incredible! I can’t imagine such a thing. Those thinking boxes of yours I can kind of get a grasp on, but...” Spitfire trails off as she looks ahead. The large depression of Wonderbolt Fields looms ahead, the carriage slowing as it nears.

>“Ah! Here we are. You ready to go, Anon?” Spitfire asks, turning to step out of the carriage.

>You get up, wiping your brow as you do so, and follow Spitfire out of the carriage and down to the track.

>Your Stuka is sitting where you left it, slightly shaded by the small tree nearby. In front of the largest building are the other five Wonderbolts, each flying in turn while the others observe, with a strange machine nearby.

>Spitfire doesn’t head their direction, though, instead walking towards your plane.

>That’s when you see it: Your completed hangar, about 100 feet away from and parallel to the curve of the track. A strip of paving extends from the beginning and end of the curve, culminating inside the barn-like structure.

>You’re definitely impressed with their work. Spitfire stops next to you.

>“So, Anon? What do you think?”

 

 

>After examining the hangar, which is very well built and equipped with all manner of tools for maintenance (not that it’s likely you’ll need them) you accompany Spitfire to the other Wonderbolts, still gathered in front of the main building.

>“Hey! Anon! Long time no see, stallion! How’ve ya been?” Soarin’ asks you, sticking up a forehoof for a hoof-bump.

>You return it.

“Not bad, Soarin’, not bad. I’ve got to thank you guys for letting me use your track as a runway and everything.”

>“Hey now, Anon, I never said there wasn’t a price to be paid...” Spitfire responds, looking up at you with a mischievous grin.

“B-but... I thought it’s all paid for and everything.”

>Spitfire looks at the others, all of them smirking and a few tittering nervously.

>Evidently they’re all in on some kind of joke, and you are its target.

>“Before you transfer your plane to the hangar, there’s something we need to see. Princess Celestia agrees with me.”

>That piques your curiosity.

“Alright, I’m game. What do you need?”

>Spitfire moves ahead to the center of the group, turning to face you. She almost seems out of place in her dress uniform as opposed to the flightsuit you’re used to.

>“I’m not entirely sure if you’ve been informed, but we Wonderbolts are technically part of the Royal Equestrian Army. We’re the most elite fighting force in Equestria, with a long tradition of service,” Spitfire adds, a surprisingly commanding tone forcing your attention. “If you want to keep this ‘Stuka’ of yours here, since you’ve admitted it’s a weapon... or weapons platform, whichever is more appropriate, we need a demonstration of its capabilities.”

>You cock an eyebrow.

“But I’ve already done that...”

>“I don’t mean a simple flight test, I mean we need to see just what this weapon is capable of.”

“Well, I’m afraid to disappoint you, but as I showed you a few weeks ago, there is no bomb attached. I could retrieve one from the place where I...”

>You cut yourself off, wary of revealing too much.

“I could get one, but I don’t think you’re aware of the power we’d be dealing with. A thousand kilogram bomb is a weapon of frightening destructive capability, and I wouldn’t want to damage anything here.”

>Soarin’ shakes his head, laughing as he does so. “Anon, Anon! You underestimate us. We... we don’t really know what one of these ‘bombs’ of yours look like, but we have worked up a wooden substitute. It fits in the carriage, I’ve checked it myself.”

>Seems they have you at a disadvantage. Furthermore, this actually seems pretty fun. You haven’t had a chance to test the weaponry on this thing yet.

>“Follow me, Anon. Misty, Rapidfire! Come with us, you’ll be showing Anon here what we’re capable of,” Spitfire orders.

>“Yes, ma’am!” The two Wonderbolts specified respond in unison.

>Spitfire leads the way, Soarin’ at your side and Misty and Rapidfire heading out diagonally toward the smaller track next to the square barrack-like building. Breezie and Fleetfoot fly above you, heading to the far end of the track where several wooden cutouts you assume to be targets are set up.

>You and the group of pegasi accompanying you stop nearby the targets, Breezie and Fleetfoot hopping into a trench not far beyond the curve of this smaller track.

>“Ready Anon?” Soarin’ asks. You nod in response, Spitfire noticing your assent.

>“Rapidfire, assault right!, Misty, assault left!”

>You look down the length of the track, watching as the two Wonderbolts take to the air and fly forward, rapidly gaining speed.

>They course down the track quickly, your eyes barely managing to keep up. Their wings set out rigidly to their sides as they approach the targets. Swooping down, they make contact with the thin wooden cutouts with their wings, flying back up and reducing their speed.

>You watch, stunned, as the targets simply fall apart, cut cleanly in two.

>“You see, Anon, with the proper training and technique, our wings can double as blades of a sort. Add some speed to the picture, and you have a pretty effective weapon. Breezie, Fleetfoot! Grab a few spears and knock the rest of those targets down!”

>The two Wonderbolts in the trench dip down for a moment, returning into your visual range as they fly directly upwards, each clutching a well-crafted spear. They both gain about a hundred feet of altitude before swinging around and propelling themselves downward, spears lifted at the ready.

>In all your years you’ve never thought you’d see HORSES being the jousters. Well, ponies, but still.

>Almost two blurs, the spears impale the targets and drag them into the air, before dropping unceremoniously off the spears and bouncing off the ground seconds prior to coming to rest.

“That’s incredible, guys! I’ve been wondering how you ponies would actually fight, ever since Twilight taught me about the wars you’ve had in the past.”

>Spitfire and Soarin’ both grin at you. “I’m glad you’re impressed, Anon. Anyway, now that you know what we can do, it’s your turn. Wonderbolts!”

>The remaining pegasi all turn to face Spitfire, saluting as they do so.

>“Set up a few more targets for Anon here! Afterward, I’d like two of you to sit atop the recruit’s barracks and observe. I’ll be joining you. The rest of you can take a break, although I’d suggest you do so AWAY from the targets. We don’t know exactly what this thing is capable of, and the last thing I want is for any of you to get hurt. WONDERBOLTS, MOVE OUT!”

>The Wonderbolts all split off in different directions, leaving Spitfire and Soarin’ your sole companions. “Alright, Anon. I’m going to observe from above. If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like Soarin’ to accompany you in the back seat. That alright with you?”

>You nod your assent and head back to your plane, Soarin’ taking wing and flying alongside you.

 

 

>The wooden dummy bomb the Wonderbolts constructed isn’t too far off from the actual shape, and it fits snugly into the bomb carriage just as a regular one would.

>The take-off went well, Soarin’ excitedly shouting in the back as you gain altitude.

>“Buckin’ sweet, Anon! Spitfire told me how awesome this was, but experiencing it yourself is a whole different matter!”

“Glad you like it, Soarin’! Just wait until we dive!”

>You can hear laughter from behind you as you bank into a wide turn, straightening out as the Stuka faces the smaller track.

>This being an earlier model, you finger the trigger of the dual 8mm MG-17s. The targets now faintly visible, you slightly lower your pitch for optimal strafing accuracy.

“Alright, Soarin’, I’m not sure how loud this is going to be, so get ready!”

>You hear him grunt in acknowledgement as you come closer to the targets.

>Lining them up in your sights, you wait a moment to come closer and scan the track to ensure nothing living will get in the way.

>Squeezing the trigger, you can hear a loud buzzing, the canopy only slightly dampening the roar. With the cyclic rate the same as the famous MG42, you can’t even hear the separate sounds of individual bullets. Now you know why that gun was called ‘Hitler’s Buzzsaw’.

>Every fifth round fires a bright yellow streak, the tracers collapsing into the target in your sights. You hold down the trigger for only a second or two, watching as the target splinters into a mess of tattered woodchips.

>You break off the target and raise your pitch, rapidly gaining altitude and banking around simultaneously.

>“BUCK YEAH! That was AWESOME, Anon!”

“You want awesome?! I’ll show you awesome!”

>Sufficient altitude reached, you circle around and gaze through the bombsight in the cockpit floor. The next target glides into view, milliseconds before it hits the center you begin the dive procedure. Flipping over, you see the ground above you a moment before you turn into the dive. Soarin’ hoots with joy in the back as the aircraft reaches its maximum speed. The target zooms towards you and you slam down the bomb-release stick. You can hear a small ‘thunk’ as the carriage slides forward and releases the wooden dummy, the ground screeching ever closer. You sit back and let the automatic pull-up yank you out of your dive, concentrating hard to avoid blackout.

>You manage to succeed, although greyout still affects you. Soarin’, on the other hand...

 

 

>The track extension is well paved, with nary a bump to be felt as you taxi forth into the newly-built hangar. Soarin’ is still a bit disoriented from his blackout.

>You park the Stuka directly in the center, careful not to slam the prop into the closed forward doors. Unclasping your straps, you throw open the canopy and clamber onto the wing.

>“W... we’re done, right? Oh man, Anon... that was incredible.”

>You chuckle and help Soarin’ unbuckle his straps. He flaps his wings and floats up out of the plane, allowing you to close the canopy.

>You walk back toward the smaller track, eager to see the destruction you’ve wrought. Soarin’ is floating beside you, whistling a merry tune.

>As you get into range, you see Spitfire and the rest of the Wonderbolts looking around in awe at the shattered wood splinters scattered around.

>“Well Anon, you’ve definitely proven yourself a capable fighter... in your plane, anyway. You’ve got my approval,” Soarin’ adds, looking at you for a moment with a smirk.

>Approval? Approval for what? There’s more going on here than meets the eye.

>“Anonymous, Soarin’! Great job, you guys. Anon, I take it those were the... guns, right? Incredible.. absolutely incredible. That target’s good for nothing more than kindling, now,” Spitfire points out. “Anyway, you’re the only one who knows, but the wooden ‘bomb’ landed here.”

>Spitfire walks over to the second target, sporting a large divot in the top where the dummy-bomb struck. This target is directly in the center of the track, with the third to its right untouched.

>“Now, do you mind telling us about how powerful such a thing would be? I mean, you’re really good... a direct hit can’t be easy at that speed. But it seems the guns were much more powerful,” Spitfire says, half to herself and half to you.

>You put a hand on your chin and look around, mentally calculating exactly how large the explosive yield would be, assuming a 1000 kilogram high-explosive bomb were loaded.

“Alright... you see the far side of the paved track? It’s about 75 feet or so out from the center.”

>“Feet? Anyway, yeah, I do.”

“Everything from that side of the track,” you wheel around and point to the other side, “to that side would be one massive crater. The destructive effect would be even worse if it were proximity or time fuzed for an airburst.”

>Spitfire’s mouth drops agape, the increasingly powerful wind from the oncoming storm buffeting her already unruly mane. She paints a striking figure.

>“That's... wow. I would hate to see a human war. If I recall, you said this was an OLD weapon? Then that means...”

>Droplets of rain patter on the ground and on your head. Breezie speaks up: “Not to interrupt or anything, Cap, but can we go inside? It’s getting a little unpleasant out here.”

>Spitfire breaks from her thoughtful reverie, nodding to Breezie and ordering the others to the main office. You follow along with them, covering your eyes from the rain as you walk.

 

 

>The interior of the main office is comfortably warm, and interestingly decorated. As with the exterior, the whole place has an early-twentieth-century aerodrome vibe. It’s pretty cool.

>Misty Fly comes in with a pot of tea and several cups, passing them around and filling them with a light, minty liquid.

>“...so Anon has my approval. I’m pretty sure none of the rest of you have any objections, do you?” Soarin’ asks the gathered Wonderbolts, all of whom indicate that, no, they have no objections.

“I’m clearly missing something here, what’s all this about ‘approval’, anyway?”

>Spitfire leans forward in her desk, placing her elbows on it, clasping her hooves together and gazing into your eyes. “Well, Anon, I was talking with Princess Celestia about you today. Consider what you just did a test, of sorts.” She looks at Soarin’ who nods at her and redirects his gaze to you, smiling.

>“Now that you’re finished with your ‘intercultural exchange’, you’re out of a job, right?”

>You think you see where this is going. And you LIKE it.

“Right.”

>“So, Anon, I’d like to ask you: What do you think of joining the Wonderbolts?”