In the cloudy mountain ranges of Pegalopse, the pegasus nation, there was a bustle of ponies shoring up the walls and buildings as the winter storms were starting to pick up again. Across the small district of Cloudsdales, a subset of the pegasi military junta headed by General Hurricane were busy taking in the resources gathered by the various sky captains who had visited the Earth Pony Free Democratic Republic and Unicornia, the kingdom of the unicorns.

Most of these resources were, of course, gathered by legitimate means as anything else would test the fragile peace between the three nations. As the various ships unloaded their wares to the direction of the harbourmaster to clean military standards, there was a ship moored in the furthest corner as if to say that if the ship was not seen, it did not exist. However, the Luster did exist and their captain saw to it that his crew worked to the standard expected by any citizen of General Hurricane’s nation despite the looks of contempt by the other crews. As a privateer, Pansy was used to this treatment but he did his best not to let it get to him.

As he trusted his crew implicitly to do their job without any issue, he made his way towards the harbourmaster office when Captain Narrow, Captain Straight and Captain Clear appeared from the crowd and Pansy groaned internally. He had hoped to avoid them entirely this time but those three had clearly spotted Luster when he had brought her in and made it their business to make his visit unpleasant.

“Hey, this is for official military vessels,” Captain Narrow said with the other two captains grinning on either side of him. “You will need to move to the civilian areas down below.”

With another internal sigh, Pansy flashed him a controlled polite look and told him, “You are fully aware that I am a captain, just like the rest of you-”

“Odd,” Straight said as he leaned into Pansy’s face with Clear preventing Pansy from moving away. “I didn’t know military captains had marks on their forehead.” With Pansy pinned, Straight tossed his hat to the floor and Narrow pushed his light yellow mane away, showing the branded P on his head.

With juvenile laughter, they knocked him to the ground and Straight placed a hoof on his back, pinning him the ground. “You might have been pardoned, but you’re still just a pirate, Pansy,” Narrow said, leaning into his face as Clear stepped onto his hat, flattening the crown to the base. “Don’t forget it and your place, Pansy.” Seething with anger, Pansy kept his mouth shut while they laughed to themselves again. They were walking away when Pansy drew himself upright and muttered something under his breath that the trio actually seemed to hear.

“What was that, pirate,” Clear spat at him, glaring furiously at the younger stallion.

“Nothing,” Pansy began as he tried to put his hat on when Clear threw him against the wall, sneering. Glaring back at him, he said, “Just that it is pitiful that you need three to beat me up.”

Pansy was fully aware that they would not let this pass and that no pony would bother to aid him, even in support of these three due to his past life, but sometimes things were just worth getting a beating.

Cookie stumbled as the stallion punched her, but she did not fall down. There was too much money riding on this for her to fall now, especially this early on.

Spitting out the blood, she ducked low and jabbed at his gut. It was like punching a stone wall but she had too much riding on this to flinch, to drop out now. She had just a few more rounds to go before and she knew that she could-

“What’s wrong, princess,” Crusted Pie chuckled at her, causing her coat to bristle with the crowd jeering. “Getting tired, princess?”

Snarling, Cookie launched herself at him, delivering blow after blow into his face before she spun around and bucked him in his chest, knocking him to the floor. “What was that, Crusted Pie?” she shouted at him, standing on his chest. “Are you getting tired, huh? Huh‽”

Cookie felt herself being lifted and pulled off of Crusted Pie with the crowd booing and jeering at the results of the bout. Struggling and fighting as she was carried into the backroom of the underground fighting arena, Cookie let out a grunt when she was dumped onto the ground in front of Bit Counter.

“Cookie, Cookie, Cookie,” Bit Counter said in a condescending tone, sitting behind his table and counting his profit. “What am I going to do with you?”

“Screw off,” Cookie snarled at him as she pushed herself upright and began to dust herself off. “I did the fight and I won.”

“Yes, you did but you were suppose to lose in the fourth round,” Bit Counter said with a glare. “Not win in the second round.”

Cookie snorted and shook her head. “Just give me my winnings, alright?”

Bit Counter just gave her a look before shaking his head and tossed her some money, not the full promised amount of course. Grumbling loudly as she grabbed her saddlebag, she stuffed her winnings into her money purse and made her way back into the main section of the arena before slipping through the crowds and finally out of the building.

Pulling her scarf tighter around her neck, she began to walk through the town towards her home, pausing in front of a statue of Puddinghead in the center of the wide street and glaring hatefully at it. Leaning backwards, she spat onto it before storming off to get out of the cold.

Clover scanned the pages of her book, using her yellow magic to turn the next page.

“Clover!” Fine Fit suddenly shouted, getting her attention. Jumping from her chair, Clover hurried over to where the voice had come from.

“Yes, sir?” she asked.

“Are the shoes done?” Fine Fit demanded, causing Clover to wince a bit before her ears shot upwards.

“Yes, sir, they are done!” she said proudly, puffing out her chest before bringing them in front of her boss. “See?”

“Yes, Clover, I do,” he said with an annoyed snort. “Did you also happen to forget that they were supposed to be delivered today as well?”

“Eep,” Clover squeaked as she ran off and went to grab the shoes so she could deliver them, only for Fine Fit to slap a wall of magic in front of her.

“Don’t bother, Clover,” Fine Fit said tiredly. “Shoe Sparkle, go give this to her majesty and inform her that the incompetent cobbler that delayed her Majesty’s order has been fired for the delay.”

“But sir,” Clover began only for Fine Fit to glare at her.

“Go and don’t come back,” he said, pointing his hoof to the door. Clover hung her head low, gathered her stuff and made her way out of the shop, doing her best not to tear up. This had been another failed attempt, and as she looked back at her bare flank, she wondered if she’d ever earn her mark.

She was so caught up in her own misery that she didn't see the pony that she walked into. With a squeak, Clover and the other pony were knocked to the ground, both of their belongings scattered to the floor. Muttering her apologies, Clover began stuffing her things into her saddlebags again. Once she’d gotten everything, she hurried out of the building and onto the cold streets again.

Snöflinga dove and leaned into the wind, doing his best to push himself forwards in his spöklik form. It was late, and he knew that he would be trouble when he got home but he just had to see the airships. He had hidden near the pony’s mountain and watched them come in for hours.

It was just awe-inspiring to see how much they had invented and created; Snöflinga had wished his own had taken the initiative and adopted some of their advances but it was not their way. Windigos had been migratory creatures and that is how it would always be. That was the wishes of the elders and the chieftain, and his father would never break from tradition, nor would he listen to Snöflinga’s ideas as the fourth son born. He would inherit nothing due to his position in succession, not with his older brothers with their mates and children, pushing him further down the line.

And yet he was still expected to be the perfect chieftain's son; to stand by his father and brothers during tribal meetings, even though he knew his voice would never be called for debate or council. None would address him save only to lecture him for what they viewed as his unbecoming behaviour concerning the ponies or unorthodox ideas about trying to adapt to become like the ponies. Or anything to do with the ponies that did not involve feeding off of their negativity.

Snöflinga let out a sigh as he spotted his clan’s tents, the meeting already underway with his brother Snöstorm glaring up at him, telling Snöflinga that tonight would be another one of those nights where he’d be asked why his five season old nephew knew better than him.

With another sigh, he headed for the tents, not looking forward to this latest lecture at all.