>you make your way trough the dark and filthy trenches of the bunker complex currently housing the two of you
>the air was frozen as you felt each step inviting more cold into your body
>with the dirty laundry on your back you explore the crevices of the vast, abandoned front line defenses
>you knew there was no more running water, your best shot would be to find some replacement sheets
 
...
 
>before you stands a charred door
>you recognize the markings of the door to be one of the housing areas of the higher-ups in the Hoofiet Union
>careful, you push against the door
>the door comes crashing down, the silence of the desolate landscape broken, causing you to jump
 
>you try to get a good look inside but even Celestia's light has the sense to not shine here
>you dispatch a quick illumination spell and soon wish you didn't
>before your hooves, past the charred door-frame laid an equally charred corpse
>it was the Higher-up that first told you to run for the hills to take out the dragon that torched the place
"The people's hero"
>the words echoed through the scorched room
>you remember now, your old nickname
>the one given to you for being the first solider to survive an encounter with Aryanne
>such an undeserving nickname
>not only did you save her life, you shared your bed with her
>you felt disgusted with yourself
>a lump of guilt lodged itself in your throat as you thought about the atrocities Aryanne had committed
>war crimes, torture, civilian executions, genocide. You've read her papers
>she was, without a doubt the most vile pony you've ever met before
>soldiers on both sides of the conflict were scared of her, you were no exception
 
>you cringe as you step over the corpse of the poor stallion and make your way further inside
>the interior wasn't nearly as badly torched but the signs of dragon's fire were clear
>in times like these you thank both the Solar and Lunar Princess for the cold air that has stolen your sense of smell
>you find what you expected to find, storage chests filled with clothing, pictures of the stallion's campaign, a couple of rifles-- oh, hello
>after digging through your third chest worth of stuff you pull out a couple of large, white sheets
"Perfect."
>you pack the sheets up nicely and head back into the main infirmary bunker were Aryanne surly must have finished preparing dinner
 
>walking back, your guilt slowly re-surfaces
>very rarely did you feel threatened by Aryanne's presence but that was probably just because she's taken a liking towards you
>but why?
>you ponder the question as you continue your walk towards the main bunker, suddenly it hits you like lightning from clear sky
"Psychopathic tendencies"
>you whisper under your breath
>Aryanne's disinterest in social norms means that she will not see you as the world sees you but how you truly are
>that's why she doesn't seem too bothered with the fact that you're a soviet
>that's why she will kill indiscriminately
>she speaks of compassion and kindness as 'weakness' but she has clearly shown you both in the past
>you guess you just feel selfish for enjoying her company despite what she has done and what she is capable of
>a talk was definitely in order once you returned
 
>you push back the infirmary door with as much authority you can muster, looking for the fascist filly
"ARYANNE! WE NEED TO HAVE TALK."
>you spoke out a little louder than intended
>"In here, meine Tunte~"
>you march over to the bedroom/made kitchen area and found Aryanne cooking something that smelled like old gym socks and wet horseshoes
"What are you of cooking? Smells like farts."
>Aryanne lazily looked up from her cauldron and gave you a faint smile
>"Fatherland specialty. It will make your... lackluster psyche big unt strong like Aryanne."
"...Are you calling me fat?"
>"Your genes and poor diet throughout your lifetime has rendered your muscles slow unt softer than most every Germaneian solider. Why do you think you have such troubles in hitting us on the battlefield?"
>Aryanne giggled for herself before continuing
>"This place, this.. bunker is not suitable for an SS-Oberführer. There is no running water, we shit in the woods unt I am soooo blood thirsty that you wouldn't believe."
>the mare faked fainting and swooned, landing over your back
>"Meine hoofsies absolutely ACHES to bathe in the blood of my enemies."
 
>the exaggerated tone of her voice annoyed you more than regular Aryanne and you proceeded to take a few steps forward, causing the mare's head to connect with the concrete floor
"This is of no joking matter, we have no plans on how to proceed after we leave the safety of the bunker, what side we return to, if we part ways, exile..."
>you saw Aryanne get up off the ground from the corner of your eye as she spoke
>"YOU might not have a plan, but I have several."
>she collected a bowl of the unfamiliar dish in her mouth and placed it down in front of you before continuing
>"Plan A. I return to Germaneia as a hero for bringing in der komunist solider that shoot down my ride. You will be put in a concentration camp but I am sure that with my influence I can get you transported over to a labor camp."
>you give her a look
>"What?! I'd come visit!"
"Did your 'master race' brain think of nothing else?"
>"He he. Plan B was to strangle you in your sleep."
>you groan
"C'mon Aryanne. Be serious!"
 
>"I was serious. Anyways, plan B. I cover your cutiemarks with bandages unt smuggle you past the front lines dressed as a germaneian solider. Then when we're past the bloodiest parts of the conflict we.... Alright, alright you got me, there is no plan after B. I never planed further than capturing or strangling you. "
"God dammit Aryanne. Alright, be of listen. We walk north-west of here, my.. family lives a few miles away from here. We spend a few days there and get our bearings, update ourselves on how the war is going then figure out what to do, deal?
>"That zounds pretty well unt dandy but have you forgotten who I am? My status unt might will strike fear into the hearts of your peasant parents."
"Way ahead of you. We are also to paint some stripes on your coat with motor oil to disguise you as a Zebra. 'Aryanne' is wide spread name among the farmers living closest to the fighting. Your death-squads made sure of that..."
 
>"HAHA You are actually serious?! Me? Aryanne? Eine Zebra?! You-- You got a great sense of humor Veronika. That is the silliest, most ridiculous thing I have ever heard since, well. Ever!"
>you take a spoon's worth of the green goo Aryanne cooked up and roll it around in your mouth whilst trying not to break eye-contact
>kraut, typical
>"There is no way, absolutely no way. I'd rather racemix with a camel or some other form of filth. The notion alone is just absurd!"
 
................