"Draft Foal Chasing Legs."
By Cliffordwriter (https://pastebin.com/u/Cliffordwriter)

URL: https://pastebin.com/6RU0TfG2
Created on: Friday 4th of September 2020 12:22:33 AM CDT
Retrieved on: Friday 30 of October 2020 07:47:27 AM UTC


https://boards.4channel.org/mlp/thread/35797189
https://boards.4channel.org/mlp/thread/35815960

>Be Doe, John Doe
>It's been 18 months since you entered a coma due to a hang-gliding-updraft-anoxia event.
>You're trapped in Technicolor fantasy horse land
>You were even "saved" by a rainbow-maned pegasus as you fell to earth tangled in the shattered remains of your wing.
>Your approaching 2 year dry-spell is the longest you've been without female companionship.
>Not that no one here's flirted with you, but you still aren't over your 'they're four legged and don't even come up to my chest' hangup. 
>That wall might be cracking though, you've felt your gaze hitch to the cabooses of a couple of the local mares when it crosses them, and not just out of the offended prudish reactions that caused the same sort of glancing when you were a recent arrival.
>The kind of machine you are trained to fix doesn't exist here, and a "sisterly solidarity" seems to make it hard for you to find permanent mechanical work of any other kind.
>You odd-job as much as you can, do some ag stuff in the season for it, but find yourself having to take domestic jobs too in order to keep your savings growing. You wanna get a workshop for yourself and then see if you can introduce Equestria to hydraulic power.

>You get a foal-sitting request from a new family of customers, it's the Macintosh/Rainbow/Pinkie household, a young herd with two young foals, a pegasus toddler and an infant earth pony, both colts, which is some kind of huge deal, but you can see why, swinging dicks are kinda rare here.
>apparently all three of the herd adults have important business with the princesses.
>Odd, that, Macintosh kinda struck you as a homebody, you know him pretty decent from helping out at the farm the herd shares with his unattached sisters and elderly granny, and from drinking brews in an amiable silence, you wouldn't have pegged him for a politically involved sort, even if his two wives and sister are.
>You basically never see him in town, he was considered the "catch of the county" before Mrs Dash and Pie managed to make it official, and some of the other stallions you're friendly with say he was uncomfortable with the attention mares paid to his body instead of his work.
>Rings some bells that bring to mind old sensitivity training videos.
>Dumb, the stud's the biggest horse you've seen that wasn't wearing a crown and works like 4 other ponies put together.
>Not stupid either, you know he runs the books for the farm.

>Anyways, long story short, you've got the two little tykes for "at least 2 days, We'll get you a restock on nappies and pumped milk if it goes long" in your little house in town and the immortal rulers of your coma fantasy have your buddy's farm on lockdown complete with significant military presence.
>It goes pretty smooth for the first night, the colts are adorable, the littler one, Macintosh the 3rd, is at that age where the only real trouble they make is a filled nappie, unless they're a crier, and he ain't, and Jonathan, the pegasus is content to race around you in circles and tire himself out. 
>The next day is a little different.

>Mac3 isn't happy with your morning routine, he wakes you up crying because he's hungry, mad, and soiled. 
>Jonathan is bored with your house in the morning light, and upset at how long you have to ignore him to get his baby brother settled.
>So he plays keep-away with the diapering supplies while you change his brother and throws things and spits his breast milk and cereal hot poridge at you for fun (which he made you eat a spoonful of before he'd even open his mouth; is it bad that you thought it was actually super good?)
>You regain control by 9 am, turns out that Little Mac finds being carried at a light run in your human arms to be delightful, and Jonathan thinks that chasing you is fantastic fun.
>You don't notice it, bit you're drawing a bit of an audience.

>This discovery serves you well, at least until Jonathan's patience runs out as you finish changing Mac3's 4th nappy of the day, and he bolts. 
>You finish the nappy without looking so you can keep your eyes on Jonathan, and then your off, Mac squealing in delight as you cradle him like a football in the crook of your arm and bolt after his brother.
>Direct pursuit might not have been ideal, now it's a game, and while Jonathan might be a toddler, he's also the son of both an accomplished dray-racer and the fastest pegasus in the era of reliable recordings, and way faster than a child who needs to concentrate to walk in a straight line should be.
>You can catch him, but a stern chase is a slow chase.
>He runs under a rail meant for grown ponies to lean on, you vault it. 
>He does around a bush, you clear it at a leap.
>He threads through a little swarm of older foals, you clear them like a dive tackling safety.
>Mac the 3rd shrieks with delight with every leap, and Jonathan giggles heroically as he strains to keep ahead of you.
>Jonathan is running out of park, ahead is a tight hedge too dense for him to thread through. 
>the little bucker, who so far has barely even hovered in your presence, takes off flying and clears the hedge, your fingers just barely missing his little barrel as you reach for him.
>You hurdle the hedge in pursuit, but he's gaining altitude.
>Dead ahead is a sidewalk café, Jonathan strains for altitude, you're not sure he'll clear the facade, and you know you gotta catch him now, if you aren't gonna follow underneath him with a catch net until he gets tired.
>You leap as you cross the street, bounding off a planter, vaulting off a standing height table, and kicking off of the front door's lintel as you spin and reach, and get the fingers of your right hand around his ribs before you come to a halt, back against the wall, feet 12 feet off the sidewalk.

>You hang in the air like Wyle E. Coyote for a moment, before you fall to the sidewalk and do a bent knees landing with a laughing colt tucked under each arm. 
>You pause blowing a raspberry on Macintosh the 3rd's cute little snoot when you hear a single clapping pony turn into the applause of a crowd and raucous cat-calling.
>The park border hedge is lined with mares, and they look at you with ill concealed interest. 
>You flush, momentarily, unused to being the center of so much vaguely positive attention.
>You haven't had this many ponies watching you since they relaxed about your carnivore status, and turns out this kind of crowd scrutiny is even less comfortable. 
>You do your best to maintain your cool as you catch your breath and juggle your charges and try to leave.

>The crowd isn't parting, you have to force your way through the smattering of mares who've blocked the road.
>the ones closest to you aren't bold enough to say anything, but you can hear the ones you're safely past remarking to their friends as if you aren't able to understand.
>"Too bad it's so obsessed with clothes, I'd like to see the flanks that top foal chasing legs like those"
>"See the flanks? Buck that, I wanna bite'em. Delish."
>"It's a crime that a stallion so good with foals is watching someone else's for money."
>"He's taller than Big Mac, I wonder if it's proportional?"
>"The flat face is a problem, but I'm sure We could find him a mask or something."

>You're almost through the crowd, when somepony works up the courage to make a big mistake, and you feel your somewhat worn old pants tear as a mare actually does bite your flank.
>the kick was instinctual, but you're not a pony, your legs are too long and your hips are far higher. Instead of catching her safely in the chest or legs with what they would, frankly, consider a restrained bop, you kick the randy dumbfuck teenage mare right square in the voicebox.
>She goes down choking, and your realize that you're the only human, nearly the only stallion, in a mob of roundy onlookers, you've got two little baby horses in your arms that are counting on you to keep them safe, and you just dropped one of the troublemakers.

>You bolt.

>You're halfway to the corner of the block before the elements of the crowd more upset at your temerity than worried about the gasping victim of your kick figure out what's going on, and you take the corner as soon as you can, your ears filled with the tenor thundering of small hooves in your wake. 
>Pre-noon traffic helps you maintain your lead, you can leap over pedestrians faster than your pursuers can run around them, and when you jump onto and over a produce cart, you really build a lead.
>You take another left and immediately cut right to scramble down the alley in the middle of the next block, and you think you've lost them, but one that doubled back when they realized they couldn't see you down any of the next corner's streets raises the hue and cry and your pursuit resumes.

>Two blocks away you see a friendly space, Carousel Boutique, but you can't just blow through the front door, you're looking at the back of the building.

>Two blocks away and you've got a 1 block lead.

>One block away and you've for a little more than a half of a block lead.

>50 feet away and they're right on your heels. You pitch Jonathan into the air, he'll make the roof of the first floor even if he doesn't fly, 

>15 feet from the wall, you see Jonathan clear the gutter and your pursuers are no longer metaphorically nipping at your heels, they're upon you and the lead mare is ripping the back panel of your shirt from the rest. 
>You spring into the air and grab the branch of Rarity's little shade tree one handled, and swing your hips as you trade momentum for rotation, and transition to squatting on the tree branch, 8 feet off the ground. 
>From the branch, you scramble higher, briefly clutching the tree's trunk as the second mare tries to buck you out of it. 

>Before she can take a second shot at it, you leap from the tree to her roof, and gather up the laughing Jonathan, before rapping gently on the cupola window.
>You wake with a start as you realize that the boys are no longer sitting on your lap.
>In the dim light, you see Little Mac crawling after his brother, as his brother climbs across the top of Rarity's vanity. 
>You leap to your feet as Jonathan knocks a lighted makeup mirror off the vanity, and catch it before it can fall onto Little Mac.
>The chair you were dozing on falls to the floor with a clatter.

>"Rarity?" calls a voice from downstairs, "I thought you and Twilight were out at Macintosh's?"

>The room is silent except for the Mac's happy babble.
>Jonathan breaks the silence, loudly declaring "Need Gu Poddy!"

>"WHO'S THERE!" Sweetie Belle calls, "You're not supposed to be there! I'll scream for help!"

>"Sweetie, it's Jon Doe," you call, "I was chased by some angry mares and climbed the boutique to escape, I'm watching Big Mac's kids and Jonathan needs a potty, can you come lead me to one please?"

>"Oh!" Sweetie squeaks, voice cracking, "Ah, I'm in the bath right now! Sorry!"

>You facepalm, of course, occupodo, the inevitable fate of someone trying to help a toddler who's potty training.

>"Sweetie, is there another toilet in the building? I've never had the occasion to ask while here before."

>"No, there isn't. It's OK, though, just follow my voice, I'll be fine, there's still plenty of bubbles."

>Your brain twitches at the oddity that she cares at all, Sweetie is naked at least 90% of the time you see her, but in the bath she needs bubbles for modesty... 

>If anything the threat of Jonathan's deuce spoiling the atmosphere would be what you'd expect her to be worried about.

>You chivvie Jonathan down the hall, bouncing his brother on your hip, and in typical pony modesty schizophrenia, the door to the bath isn't even closed.

>Pony toilets always reminded you of the squatting toilets common to the third world, and all of the long unhelpful unwelcome memories you have of posting slightly racist memes as an underage B& when the Iraq war was in full swing, but you can see the benefits for potty training parents. Jonathan beams with pride as you pay him your full attention and praise his effective big boy use of the potty, idly bobbing Mac where he can look at and be entertained by Sweetie, but she pays him only a portion of her attention, alarmed as she is by the shredded condition of your clothes.
>"Scandalous that they'd do such a thing, especially in the presence of such precious little colts!"

>"I did kick their friend right in the throat, but yeah, it was scary even before then. I couldn't beleive what was happening until she bit me."
>Jonathan finishes, but before you can beg your leave, Mac3 has a humbucker of a blowout. >Complete containment failure
>All over what's left of your pants. 
>Some even gets on Jonathan's neck as he tries to flee the stench. 
>something you gave him to gum must not have agreed with his microbiome, either that or Pinkie must have given you a stale jar of pumped milk.

>Good Lord

>Sweetie, unphased as she was by Jonathan's deposit in the toilet, can't take the stench and leaps out of the tub to flee the room, tracking sudsy water out into the boutique.
>her tail flagging as she flees, did you catch a glimpse of a large rhinestone under her dock?
>Nah, couldn't be.

>You grab Jonathan before he can flee, and kick the door shut.

>You set the hoof washing sink to an appropriately warm temp and quickly wash Jonathan's neck and then his hooves with fresh water. 
>Sure, there a bubble bath right behind you, but memories of g4mrgurl bathwater making the news for unfortunate reasons keeps you from dunking your buddy's kids in someone else's bathwater, even though you don't really think you have much reason to doubt Sweetie's moral turpitude or even know if there are any Equestrian STIs on Equus.

>"Sweetie?" you call, "Can you entertain Jonathan while I change little Macintosh?"

>You hear hooves slipping on soapy, wet, polished and waxed hardwood, and then Sweetie Belle bounce off the door.

>You hear her clamber back onto her hooves, "Sure thing Jon! Just let me grab myself a towel first!"

>Her voice is very nervous sounding.

>Sweetie nervously pokes her head into the bathroom, obviously holding her breath, and attempts to magic a towel for herself out of the linen closet. 
>She nearly accomplishes this, but then gasps for air, gags on the smell, and loses control of her magic as she gags and retches. 
>Jonathan finds this hilarious, but cheerfully complies when you ask him to take the towel she dropped on the floor out to Sweetie.

>You've got Mac3 out of the soiled nappy, and cleaned off in the sink, and almost all of the mess down Rarity's toilet, except for the reusable nappy (currently sealed in an enchanted scent and stain proof bag that you had Twily get you in Canterlot when you first took a job foal sitting) the baby wipes in the trash, and your soiled clothes, which are in a neat heap on the floor, dry side down, at your feet.

>You're breaking out the powder when Sweetie calls through the door, "Jo-ooon! I don't know what to do! Can I come back in the bathroom?"

>You recognise that tone, it's the "Youngest or only child handed a cousin's baby and they don't know if they should treat it like a person, like a dog, or like a fragile collectable" voice.

>"Come on in, I've got my soiled clothes off, but I'm still wearing my undershorts, so it's fine."

>Sweetie re-enters the room, followed by Jonathan, who's pulling on her tail. 

>"Sweetie, I think Jonathan is trying g to get your attention, ask him what he needs. It might not make sense to first crack, but he'll recognise and appreciated your effort and attention.

>Jonathan mostly seems to want Sweetie to listen to him doing his best to say her name again and again. 
>"Sounds like he like you, Sweetie Belle."

>Sweetie looks at you, ticking Mac3's tummy and little hooves as you pin on his new nappy, and blushes furiously.

>You catch her eye and ask "What's up?"

>"Um, I know from Sociology class that the idea that Stallions just instinctively know how to treat foals is kinda sexist hooey, and to actually got more to do with what families expect of their colts and fillies, but you are so good with foals and I know you aren't that way because of traditional equestrian values shaping your own upbringing, being from so,excited other place or something, so how do you do it? I never know what to do with foals, I just get so nervous."

>"You're right that it's not about my own cultural expectations, my own people have similar dimorphism to you ponies, but we have the same number of girl babies as boy babies, so there's no consideration that one or the other sex is more rare than the other, and we consider female to be more nurturing than males. But I grew up in a big family and got used to holding and playing with little babies at a young age, all my siblings did. It's actually really easy to be in the right frame of mind here because even the grownups and teenage ponies display such strong Neoteny that they are cure by my standards. Only the biggest stallions, like Big Mack and Snowflake, manage to escape this category in my head. Even Luna and Celestia are cute to me."

>"What's that got to do with it?"

>"A few things. First you want to protect cute things and babies, excuse me, foals, need to be protected from things they don't understand or the they aren't strong or coordinated to deal with yet. Second, you want to help cute things grow and thrive, and that's what foals are trying to do all the time..."

>"The goal of all young life is to prepare for later sucess, all the games they play and the way they investigate things and older ponies and the way they watch and copy things, they are all about growing stronger in body and mind and learning what they need to succeed in their interactions with the world and other ponies. Third, cute things make you want to love them, and that love is what helps you to remember choose actions in their interest."

>"But how do you know you're doing it right?"

>"You can't know for certain, but you just gotta start with your gut, and learn from experience. Foals try to let you know whether what you're doing is a good idea too, if you pay attention to what they are doing too. You see how they pay attention to me when I speak? And how they focus on you when you do? They are trying to learn more vocabulary and the rules for grammar. This is why I don't speak baby talk. I might change my tone, but I don't say nonsense words."

>"I've never thought about it like that before."

>"Young brains are like sponges, they drink in everything they're exposed to, so you've gotta treat them with care and make sure to show them things that nourish their minds and personalities, and always remember that they are learning from your example."

>"That's kinda scary. It sounds like a lot of pressure."

>"It is a lot of pressure, and it can be scary, but it will make you a better pers-pony if you do your best to rise to the challenge. Nopony ever does it perfect, so you shouldn't let the pressure of expectation grind you to dust, though."

>You're now completely done packing up the diapering stuff in your day pack, and you foist the burbling infant Mac off on Sweetie Belle to let you work on getting the diaper disaster off of your damaged clothing.

>Sweetie Belle seems a little overwhelmed, but she handles it well, softly singing them a chipper tune as she alternates between letting the boys play with her mane and nuzzling them gently, though you can feel that you're not escaping her gaze as you scrub your clothes in her bathroom sink.

>"I'm sorry to impose like this, especially to ruin your bathtime," you interject as you rinse your clothes. "I really appreciate you helping me like this, but I've gotta ask if you'll do me another favor."

>"A-anything!" she stammers, "this isn't any trouble at all!"

>"I need to talk to Twilight's Guard to make sure I'm not in trouble, and I need to make sure that my house is safe before I take them back home with me. Could you help me with that?"

>"You want me to watch them or do you want me to go talk to the guard for you and check out your house?"

>"In my world, I'd have you watch them for me, but here, I think that it'll be better if I keep them with me until this is settled, the fact that this all happened while I had them with me makes it a fair outrage, and keeping them with me will probably help offset the whole 'alien predator kicked a teenager in the throat' factor..."

>"What I'd actually like to ask you to help with is getting me a friendly group to walk with me to these places and watch my back."

>"You mean in a fight?"

>"I don't think it'll come to a fight, but I don't want to get snuck up on or isolated, so a couple friends would be really helpful."

>"I can do that! I'll see if I can find track down Scoots, and then I'll have Scoots grab Bloomy, and then we'll come get you. Would that be enough?"

>"That'd be great Sweetie, you three would be great for this."

>Sweetie dashes out, leaving you to entertain the two foals in the upstairs apartment in Carousel Boutique while your clothes dry off.

>Soon enough, the terrible trio arrive, their usual exuberance replaced with purposeful seriousness for Sweetie and Scootaloo, but Applebloom's mien is of ill concealed rage as she takes charge of the other two. 

>"Thanks for coming you guys. Gimme a sec to get the boys situated and we'll get headed over to the castle. Bloom, they're safe and we're gonna keep them safe, relax just a little before you crack a tooth, it's upsetting Macky, we're gonna go to the authorities, not start a street fight."

>"Jes ain' raight, not jes thet they chase a stallion with such intent, but with mah two babbeh nephews in yer care! Ah could buck their bucking faces in!"

>"Language, Bloom, little pitchers have big ears; sides, I did kick the one that started it right in the throat, that wasn't the right thing to do either."

>"That doesn't matter John, the whole affair is unseemly, and it isn't right from start to finish. But listen to him please, Bloom, we need you to be level headed to help with this," Sweetie says to mediate.

>"Right Sweetie, we've got a stallion and two precious colts to get to Twilight's castle, let's focus on that, and not worry about the rest for now!" declares Scootaloo

>You let the girls lead the way out of the boutique, and Sweetie locks it behind the group. You've got Mac tucked into the crook of your arm and Jonathan riding on your right shoulder as you take the center of the triangle made by the teenage fillies.

>As you filter through town, you see ponies reverse course when they see your group, you suspect that Bloom's face may have reverted to murderous, but at least one of your friends notices your procession.

>Time Turner calls out to you, "John, what's going on? I heard a rumour that you'd been in a fight, though I didn't believe it until I saw your clothes, what happened?"

>"I took Big Mac's colts to the park because I'm foal-sitting for him, and Jonathan led me on a chase. I ran into some ruffians, and kicked one when she bit my flank. Then I had to run away, now the Crusaders are helping me out. We're going to the guard station at Castle Friendship, you want to grab a herdmate or two and walk with us?"
   
>Time Turner takes a moment to process, you can almost see the wheels turning in his head. 
>Poor guy might be a genius with precision manufacturing to make his clocks so accurate, but your middle school social studies teacher might have said his social intelligence isn't the swiftest; finally you see understanding click into place, and he gallops off, hollering for his lead herdwife.

>Shortly, Lyra and Turner are following along side the Crusaders and you make small talk with the whimsical fellow, doing your best to bolster the confidence of your group and project an image of unassailable certainty to onlookers. As you pass through the market square section of town, you notice that your party is being shadowed on parallel streets, but there's fewer shadows the closer you get to the edge of the market. Hopefully this means that they're losing their nerve and not that they're herding into an ambush. 

>You unwrap your sling from the strap of your pack and palm it with a hefty silver bit coin in your right hand.

>The rest of the walk to Twily's castle is uneventful and when you and Turner march into the headmare's office, two baby colts in your arms, the duty officer and receptionist on the desk who try to control access to the captain are helpless to delay you in the face of their own prejudice.

>The contrast between Turner's cultural inclination to bluster, babble, yell, and get upset , and your own cultural inclination to demand respect and stick to the concrete make him your unintentionally perfect foil in your effort to get Official Equestria to work to accommodate your needs and get official recognition of the morning's events to portray you positively.

>Assured that you're not jailhouse bound, you go to take your leave, but the guard captain has another thought before you can reach the door, and assigns two of her patrol mares to escort you home.

>A short while later, your friends and your official escort reach your home, and to your shock, the front door has been knocked off the hinges. Your sling and your coin fall to full extension as you transform from relaxed to prepared to fight with a rapidity that unsettles the guardsmares. 
>None the less, they enter your home first and quickly pronounce it clear, though when you enter, you can see that whomever broke in also trashed the place. 
>Your first move is to change out of your ruined clothes.

>You're not gonna stay here, you can't babysit in a tossed house.
>You relay as much to your escort, the lead mare uses a telecom crystal in her lapel to confer with her superior officer

>The Crusaders entertain Jonathan for you while she does this, you're busy changing Mac's nappy again.
>Smells like his tummy is happier now.

>Plans are made.
>They didn't include you in the discussion, no great shock, but at least you drove the forming of the question the guardsmares were resolving, that counts as input, right?

>Luna is assigning two guards, one to watch your home, one to watch you and your charges.
>This should free up the local guardsmares to find and correct the ringleaders of the mares dumb enough to think what happened was OK.
>Twiggles is giving you a suite to stay at until you're done babysitting.

>As soon as the black and silver clad mares are at your house, you depart. 
>A Thestral mare in full panoply makes for a smooth and unbothered trip through town.
>You bid Lyra and Turner adieu as you pass their herd home, "...and I promise we'll talk again soon about precision grinding, Turner, and thanks again for coming with today Lyra!"

>Castle friendship arrives faster than you expected, moving at a soldiers pace instead of the languid rate you had to enhance the projection of unbothered confidence makes a huge difference.

>The digs are ultra fancy, and huge, but Jonathan's cranky, he wants to be out where there's no roof.
>"Scoots, could you please go find a courtyard we can run and play in?"
>"On it, Boss!"

>You and Bloomy feed the boys while she looks, and she's back before they're done.
>"This place is a pain to navigate, John, there's basically no straight lines to anywhere, but I found a nice garden that's inside the walls."

>"Thanks for that, Scoots, we'll head that way as soon as Jonathan finishes his dinner," you proclaim, largely for the Colt's hearing.
>Jonathan goes from playing with his dinner to eating with gusto.

>Done with dinner and out in the garden, you all sit or lay on the grass, except for your guard, who keeps her feet, and Jonathan runs slower and slower around you all, excitedly saying the same thing to each of you as he passes, "den gu fwy an' Jan fwy tu an den Jan Zoom, hehehehe,"
>He's getting tired and even less coherent, but it's obvious that he found this morning exciting and fun and wants everyone to know about it.
>Mac crawls inside the square made by you and the Crusaders, just as Jonathan runs around the outside, changing the direction he's crawling everytime he notices that his older brother is no longer where Mac was headed.

>When Jonathan speaks to you, you make sure to give him your full attention and to speak back to him about the good parts of the day with clear enunciation, but the rest of the time, you're trying to work on Luna's guard.

>"I can't just call you Miss, that's 4 ponies just right here, and Miss Guard isn't much better, there's a barracks here for Twilight's guards, so that's like 20 ponies minimum in this castle. Would you give me your name, Miss?"

>She shifts uncomfortably and makes non-committal noises, you hope she decides to tell you when she finishes her internal debate.

>Mac passes right out while hugging Bloom's knee, and Jonathan is starting to get cranky and slow to move, so you lift the little blighter and snuggle him into your neck, before helping Bloom set her littlest nephew into her back for the walk back to the suite. 
>Miracle of miracles, you bob Jonathan to sleep before you get to the bed, and you and Bloom get them both tucked in without waking them.

>Quietly, you and the girls explore the rest of the suite, you're not sure Twilight has much staff apart for Spike, but somehow your bag has been unpacked and an ensuite wet bar is stocked with cider, ice, the jars of pumped milk from your charges' mothers, and a collection of sandwich fixings in a tin pail on ice.

>Tomato and mayo sarnies with chilled hard cider makes for a nice and light evening snack as you relax with the Crusaders.
>Ms Bat still hasn't given you her name, but at least consents to a sarnie; she refuses the cider.

>"Wow, that's th' stuff!" Bloom quietly exclaims, "Ah'm a mite s'prised that Miss Princess has a stock of our fermented dry! Ah've never seen her drink anything but sweet fresh!"

>Sweetie chimes in, "A mare in Twilight's position needs to have stores to suit all manner of guests, I bet her kitchen has a thousand things that she doesn't like to eat or drink."

>"I wonder what they'll send us if we ask?" Scootaloo contemplates.

>"If this is the new game, I know what to ask for," you declare, heading to the a cubby near the door.

>You reach out to rap your knuckles on the apparent cabinet, but before you touch it, it opens to reveal a smartly dressed page-stallion.
>"What can I do for you, honored guest?"

>"First, I'd like to express my thanks for the spread you've all out on already, the tomatoes were fantastic. Second, I'd like to ask if the kitchens could fry me a pair of pork chops and a couple of fish fillets, and could we get a pineapple?"

>The page has an admirable pokerface.

>"A moment sir," he says, before ducking back into his cubby, and out of sight in a direction that makes little sense according to your understanding of euclidian geometry.

>Great.

>"Guardsmare, did you see what I just did?"

>"That he follows paths that don't match the angles we see, sir?"

>"Quite. I'm sure you understand that this means any space large enough to hold a pony is a possible entrance we need to watch. Frankly it reminds me of the way Mrs Pinkie can move, so possibly the spaces don't have to be able to hold a pony, but instead only allow a pony to squeeze though as an aperture."

>The brief view of your guards sclera confirms that your idea that the aperture threat was not something even a trained paranoia expect.

>Shortly the page returns to his station, "Sir, we can accommodate your request, although I need further instruction on this 'pork chop'. We know it's schweinefleisch, but our chef on duty is not familiar with the cut."

>"It's a cut from the lower back of the animal that's a perpendicular section of the loin, including a segment of the spine and a rib," you say as you turn your lower back to the page and motion to your own "chops".

>The gesture makes Applebloom turn a little green in the gills.

>"How would you like the cut prepared?"

>"Season it with salt, dried cayenne or other chili, paprika, and white pepper, and then broil it on high heat until it's reached an internal temp of 160°."

>"And the fish?" 

>"Give the fillets a milk wash and then dredge them in corn flour, pepper, cumin, salt, and mustard powder, and pan fry them in neutral oil until they're fully opaque, serve with lemon and minced tart pickled vegetables."

>"Very good, anything else?"

>"Can you recommend a brandy or whiskey to accompany the fish?"

>"Certainly"

>Shortly the page returns with a cart and several covered plates. The pineapple is slivered and arrayed in an artful plate with cherries and the fish and chips are plated on beds of spring greens. The Crusaders share a fish filet and the smell of cooked pork entices your guardsmare to take off her helmet and accept a portion of one of the large chops.

>"Cerus Thorn," she says, speaking for the first time with her helmet off.

>"Pardon?" you ask.

>"My name, I'm Lance Corporal Cerus Thorn"

>Her face is lovely and more delicate than you expected.

>"Like the night blooming cactus? Appropriate."

>She's taken aback, "I'm surprised you knew about those, they don't grow near here, you've got to get out to Dodge Junction or Appleoosa to see them outside of the Lunar gardens."

>"Remember, I'm not from Ponyville, I'm from far further afield than that."

>The conversation dies as she thanks you for the pork and puts her helmet back on.

>The Crusaders are eying the crystal decanter of dark spirits with interest.

>"Girls, that going to likely be stronger than the alcohol you've had before unless Mac's been letting you drink Jackie's namesake, so if you want to share it with me, I'm in control of the pours, and you're starting out with just a small portion, alright?"

>They nod their assent.

>"Yeah, that's cool," says Scootaloo.

>You pour yourself a taste and then give each of the girls about half an ounce over an ice cube, it's pear brandy, well aged, with strong barrel tones from the oak.

>Then you fill your tulip glass to about half and sprawl on a divan to relax.

>The Crusaders and you pick at the pineapple plate while taking small sips of brandy and nibbling on the remaining part of fish, but it's eating for lack of more entertaining sport, not eating though hunger.

>Bloom's the first to finish her first sip of the brandy, but Sweetie Belle isn't far behind her. They both ask for more, but a bottle of cider and a half shot of brandy is hitting Scoots like an axe handle, she's already looking at her friends with half lidded eyes and exaggerating all her motions.

>She breaks the silence as you pour slightly larger portions for her friends, "Fillss, y'know 'm bent an don't mush care bout stallions, buh I wanna be in a hurd wif you, I wuv you bowf, an I'll suppor whatever y'wan ifn you guys lemme be par' of it. I don' care if he's cute or a ponni or..."

>She trails off pointedly attempting to not look at you.

>You miss the rest of her rant over the noise of you pouring ice out of a filigreed silver pail, and you're at her shoulder, ready to put the bucket in front of her muzzle as she heaves and expels the contents of her stomach.

>"Remember this, girls, you can't let Scoots mix brewed drinks and hard liquor. This will be important if you guys want to make good impression dating."

>"Ah'll make sure t' keep that in mind," Bloom vows

>"Feeling better now that you've purged the poison, Scoots?" you ask.

>At her nod, you tell her, "Go wash up, you'll feel better."

>While she looks for the ensuite, motion Applebloom to follow you and going to the wetbar to mix Scoots something to settle the stomach, grating ginger into a mixer cup, juicing a lime and a lemon, straining it all into a cup of seltzer water, and mixing in a dab of honey and a pinch of salt.

>"Is that a potion?"

>"Nah, it's not magic, just helpful to settle stomachs."

>You return to the divan to find Sweetie laying across your spot, so you pretend not to see her and gently sit on her ribs.

>As she thrashes and Bloom giggles, Scootaloo returns and accepts the stomach settler, quiping, "I know you said you were gonna pin him down and make him writhe, but I see he's turned the tables on you, Sweets."

>God, you're a creep, giving alcohol to cute teenagers was a mistake.

>Time to let her up, you hope her embarrassment helps keep her off your lap.

>Scoots diffuses the situation with a heroic belch that makes the other Crusaders dissolve in giggles.

>"Nice push Scootaloo," you praise her, "feeling better?"

>"All better!"

>"So Bloom, you got any idea what everyone's up to that Mr Family Man had to get a sitter for his colts for 2 days?"

>"Ah don' know it's mah place t' say. An' Ah don' know it all."

>Cerus Thorn startles you by joining the conversation, "It's about his sons, actually. Dash is expecting again, and the doctors say it's another son. Three sons in a row has happened only twice before in the records the princesses have been able to compile and they want to study the phenomenon, especially in the light of the birth of Flurry Heart."

>Her diction is completely level, but you can smell the euphemisms like a dead rat in your larder.

>"I imagine that their tests are strenuous and thorough, but if any stallion has the strength and fortitude to withstand such a trial, it's Macintosh."

>Sergeant Thorn shakes her head like she's trying to get a fly out of her helmet.

>The trade in innuendo has gone over the head of Sweetie Belle, at minimum, and she thinks that Cerus doubts my words, "You don' think Big Mac is tough enough? He runs the farm by himself whenever our sisters leave town and it always goes fine. He gets hurt once and it takes all the the Elements of Harmony to fill in for him, Applejack wasn't able to do it herself!"

>Scootaloo either really doesn't get it, or really gets it, "Not only that, but he's really big. He's not as muscular looking as snowflake, but he's almost as tall in a normal stance as Snowflake is rearing up on his hind legs! He's the closest thing to a princess size stallion that I've ever seen. I'm confident that if they need to test him again to be sure of the results, that he'll still be able to handle it, after all, he's the only stallion athletic and cool enough for Rainbow Dash!"

>Apple Bloom is hiding her face in her glass to compose herself, you're buying your cheek to keep from laughing, and Sgt. Thorn has frozen stock stiff to try and maintain her composure.

>Scootaloo looks around the room with a look of incomprehension, unable to figure out why no one responds.

>You've seen this filly play poker, she either loses intentionally as some kind of bizzare performance art or she really doesn't know what she just said.

>By the time you've reached the bottom of your second glass of brandy, you're tired enough for bed. 

>You stopper the decanter and put it back in the drinks cabinet, drain the main vein, brush your teeth, dismiss the light enchantment by the 4 poster, and sneak into bed with the colts.
>The precious little buggers snuggle tightly to your chest as soon as they feel your warmth.
>You hear the Crusaders quietly talking about nothing important as you drift off, but just as you're about to journey to the Land of Nod, you snap awake, Cerus is hanging from the ceiling vault over the bed, intently watching you breathe.
>She knods to you in acknowledgement and then you let sleep take you.

>5 hours later, you wake to Mac's squirming. 
>He needs a change and you're trapped, Bloom is lying facing you on the other side of the colts, Sweetie Belle is trying to be the big spoon, and Scoots is sprawled across your legs.

>"sergeant thorn" you whisper urgently, "could you lend me a hoof?"

>Her giggle at your predicament is mellifluous and airy, "how might I be of assistance?"

>"If I can hand you Mac, I think I can extricate myself."

>"This I want to see, by all means."

>You hand Cerus the light fussing and semi-concious baby Mac and then set Jonathan up against his aunt's barrel.
>From there, you wiggle away from Sweetie Belle enough to sit up, and then scoop Scoots off of your knees and make her Sweetie's little spoon.
>Then you inch off the foot of the bed and slide the Jonathan/Bloom pile up against Scootaloo, and commit the scene to memory when they all wiggle tighter to each other, bloom and Scootaloo almost muzzle to muzzle, with Jonathan barely coming between them and Sweetie Belle clinging to Scoots' back.

>You take Mac from between Cerus's wings as she remarks on your work, "That is impressively sneaky of you, to disappear from the middle of a pile of 5 ponies without waking any of them. You've got a light touch."

>You waggle the fingers of your free hand at her as you carry Mac to the ensuite for a change, "Universe's premier manipulator limbs, right here."
>That's good for another chuckle.
>Her demeanor towards you sure has softened since last night, you wonder if perhaps she'd been making some kind of untoward assumptions about you.

>After changing Mac, you check the cubby where the page had been posted last night, to find a different stallion. 
>Crap, you'd meant to tip the previous one before you went to bed and you completely forgot. 
>Oh well, you'll just have to count on Twily's seneschal to carry a tip for him.
>You order breakfast, "Could you please send for two large omlettes with bell peppers, onions, eggplant, and pork bacon, two short stacks of oat cakes with apples, walnuts, and whipped cream, a bowl of grain cereal, dry, with a mug of hot creme so I can mix them when he's hungry, and two coffees with a tray of fixings, creme, sugar, cocoa, that sort of thing."

>You reguard Cerus for a moment, "make one of the coffees decaffeinated."

>"Very well sir, will that be all?"

>"For the moment, not everypony's awake yet, Thank you."

>"Awful marely of you to order a filly her supper without consulting her," Cerus coos saucily.

>"What? Nah," you say with a wink, "I'm just hungry, that was all for me."

>You really like her laugh.

>When breakfast arrives, Cerus and you eat it on the balcony with Mac, and you slip him little tidbits to gum alongside his first bottle of the day. 

>Lil' blighter shows a marked love for bacon, one oat sized crumble at a time.

>"You know, when I first met you, I was worried about your relationship to those young mares, they seem quite taken with you, and it was a bit off-putting."

>"I suspected something of the sort, given the way your demeanor changed overnight, I figured that you were laboring under an expectation that I failed to live down too."

>"I know that Sweetie has a crush on me, and you heard that Scoots will follow the other two anywhere, but my magnetism yesterday had more to do with my little charges than anything else. I love foals and children of all sorts, and that makes me appear classically stallionish to those who watch me interact with them. That, plus Sweetie's crush and Bloom's protective attitude towards the colts and Scootaloo's desire to weld herself to her friends and a smattering of cultural expectation and I'm probably lucky I didn't get sexually assaulted for a second time yesterday. The reality of my lot in life in Equestria and my personality is formed by the fact that a lot of what you guys assign as marely is considered by my people to be manly, with the man being a male of my species. The challenge is that as of next week, I'm coming up on 2 years of celibacy, and not because I want to be a monk, I've not seen a female of my own species in 18 months. This is causing some of the barriers I've built to weaken, which is why I need to tread carefully around good looking young mares half my age, and I realized about halfway though my first glass of brandy last night that I was taking inadvisable risks. I feel lucky that Scootaloo is such a lightweight."

>"Risky business indeed then. I feel it's good to hear that your just a mortal and not a saint, anyways. Though you must have a will of iron or be a bit signal blind, Sweetie's not the only mare throwing herself at you that I've seen. Both of those guardsmares yesterday were down, and I'll admit you're an intriguing figure."

>"Dama de Noche, I'm on duty until releived of these little ones," you rumble back to Cereus with a wink, "besides, it's been 2 years, I bet I'd pop like a 14 year old who's first fillyfriend just got her fist heat."

>Yeah, you really like her laugh.

>Your plate mostly picked clean, you stand without preamble and set Mac to burble happily at the cream colored Thestral, while you make your way back into the room.

>You sneak softly to the 4 poster and gently pull back the curtain, everyone's still sleeping.
>You check at Jonathan's barrel, good, it's still dry, despite the fact that it's almost an hour after Mac told you to make sure he gets to the bathroom.
>You gently slide him out from AppleBloom's legs and carry him to the ensuite before waking him with a kiss to the nose. 

>"Jahn!" he burbles, nothing but smiles.

>A miracle of both worlds how precious little beans like the youngest Apples are able to greet the the day so enthusiastically and without chemical assistance.

>He potties dutifully at your direction and beams at your praise, before fluttering in your wake as you head out to the balcony to fetch his breakfast from the tray Cereus and you had taken there. Warm cream and Dash's milk makes the puffed oats and barley into a nice little porridge, and he also appreciates the apples and walnuts on the last little wedge of the hotcakes Cereus didn't finish.
>He seemed more enthusiastic about the sweet things than the couple bites of omlette offered to him, but perhaps he's just getting full, because he did eat a little bit of everything, repeating, "yum yum yum," though mouthfuls of food.

>After breakfast, Sgt Thorn is relieved, her relief a Pegasus in Celestia's colors who won't give you her name.
>Whatever, be that way.
>You take the boys back to the garden after a quick potty check for Jonathan and leave the Crusaders a note telling them where you're at.

>The little pegasus colt tears around checking every single different thing with uncontained glee, and Mac happily gums your shirt while babbling at you. 
>You narrate for him what his brother is up too in order to give him some attention despite the necessity of watching his brother like a hawk...

>Jonathan enjoys the narration too, squealing "Mee!!" when you say his name and "yup yup!" when he knows that he's doing something you say.

>You're favored with smiles from various staff while you lap the garden, playing with the colts, but you're mostly left alone until the Crusaders catch up with you just before lunch.

>Of course, it's just after breakfast for them, so they don't join you in eating the cucumber salad you get from yet a third page, though Mac gets a toastpoint to gum and a couple of little mushed up bits of cuke from your plate and Jonathan has a decent portion alongside his bottle as well.

>The lady of the castle is still away and your daytime guard is still unwilling to speak to you, so the rest of the day passes without news. 

>After they get hungry, the Crusaders decide to go check on the boutique, so after 3 you don't even have them to talk to either.

>You focus on the colts you're foalsitting but they're getting bored too, and they get progressively fussier and more willful as the day progresses, and as supper approaches, you find yourself chasing, on foot, a flying little pegasus who's way faster than he has any right to be. 

>You vault a manure cart pulled by a gardener, several walls of the hedge maze, a page and a maid who are having a liaison in the hedge maze ("Sorry!"), several more walls of the hedge maze, the fountain, a sundial, a black rook on a giant chess set, but he's just slightly too high to catch.

>He ducks low to avoid the crown of a shade tree, but you are slowed by needing to hurdle 4 lines of wrought iron fence in quick succession, and he's to far ahead of you to grab.

>You leap the koi pond, landing in a beautifully raked Maresansui, spraying sand all over the black setting stones with your impact, before sprinting through the rest of it in pursuit of your charge, leaving craters disrupting the patterns with every stride.

>Mac 3 squeals with glee at your every bound.

>A wall you don't think you can mount looms in the distance, you've gotta get him now before he climbs high enough to clear it. 

>Leaving the Maresansui, you leap to the head of a lucky dragondog statue and from there to the crossbeam of the Torii.
>You run the width of the torii watching your target and time your leap to let you grab Jonathan from the air and wrap him to your chest with his brother as you fall backwards into a boxwood shaped like a Yak to commemorate the treaty of friendship.

>You worm your way back up and out of the boxwood, feet first, colts protected from the thorns by your arms, and drop back down to the ground to a single slow clap and a pair of livid gardeners.

>A powerful voice clears its throat and the gardeners tear their eyes off you to meet the disapproving glare of Luna herself.

>"Leave Us in Peace."

>Her voice tolls like a great cathedral bell even when she's not using the Royal Canterlot tone, it demands the rapt attention of Jonathan and Mac 3 instantly.

>Cereus, back on duty, is the single clapping mare.

>Luna addresses the rest of her party, those who you did not notice in the face of her arresting presence, "Methinks, Lord Apple, that if you feel you would need uncommon ability in a deputy stallion, in order to keep on top of your growing family, that there is least one worthy candidate at hoof."

>"He's certainly demonstrated th' ability to win over mah boys," comes the rumbling basso reply, "But that's not th' kind of thing yah choose fer convenience and ability, it's also a matter of th' heart. Ya'll mares will simply have t' pull yer weight in th' home as I did in matters economical, be it th' proper role of a mare or not. Romance him on his own merits if you want him, otherwise engage him for his fee as a sitter or nanny."

>"Mac's wisdom prevails as thou expected, Princess Twilight," Luna admits, "as too were you, Sergeant, correct about John's physical charms. His figure may be odd, but those are some of finest foal chasing legs We've e'er seen."