Crimson meanders through the halls of the Canterlot Castle with the paper directions Moonlight provided. The ponies around, the guards, the maids, and random upper-class snobs, they don't bother him, they keep at a distance, just the way he wants them to. He isn't particularly interested in small talk with anyone, neither is he looking to explore every nook and cranny of the Castle. Right now, his objective is simple: relax for a while while Moonlight does her thing. He figured the best way to do that was go outside, where the air of the cool noon awaits him.

It takes him an uncounted amount of time to reach his destination, but he eventually walks through a large opened doorway at the far end of the Castle that leads to the expansive yard out back. Fresh air encases his mostly-exposed body, save for the cargo shorts shielding what matters most. It smells very dewy from all of the moist and glistening green out on the field, twinkling with sunlight as they sway gently from the calm wind.

His eyes jump between all sorts of training equipment, obstacles, and pony guards as they perform their routinely exercise. There are also many generic living barracks, appearing copied and pasted several times to form a rectangular resting zone for these busy troops.

Crimson spots a shady tree a good distance out, clear of the Guard's traffic, and deems it the best contender for his relaxation.

As he walks towards the tree, he catches eyes from guard ponies around. The ones training and moving don’t interrupt their routines to stare at him, but the more idle guards don't hide their interest. He ignores everything around him, looking for nothing but to slack off under the shade.

Crimson sits down at the base of the tree, resting his back against it and exhaling through his nose. It feels good to just relax with no impending responsibility. He had hoped to get more time to himself like this after the debacle involving the Black Spurs was over, but sometimes things just don't go according to plan. He won't let it bother him though, especially now, when he's finally able to loosen up.

Now that he's doing nothing but idling, his lack of sleep is seriously starting to bother him. He's able to ignore it well enough while busy, but now it's effortlessly dragging him in. He lets his burning eyes close completely, thoroughly enjoying the sensation of his eyelids providing moisture to his eyeballs.

That is, until he hears a collective "Ooo" call out from a pack of guards just ahead of him. His eyes break open to look towards the sound, and he realizes he has a front-row seat to some stationary training going on. Quite a few ponies are standing in a big circle, with two ponies in the middle of this circle fighting each other.

It clicks immediately, this regiment of training that he himself partook in many times while in his old gang. Good old-fashioned sparring.

The two ponies in the middle wear their staple gold armor and they strike one another with bare hooves. Looks like two stallions going at it, and they are delivering some rather righteous blows. They're definitely not holding back for this, which probably explains the armor.

Crimson’s brows raise in amusement, enjoying the show as he relaxes.

They batter each other, standing face-to-face breathless and exhausted. This particular spar must have been going on for a while now, both contenders look about ready to throw in the towel. That's a good indicator of an equal match-up, where only the slightest mistake on either party could end the match.

And there it is, the window of opportunity that was required to win. The session ends when one of the stallions ducks under a slow but powerful right hook, springing up and upper-cutting the other stallion right in the chin.

Crimson grins as the loser hits the dirt with his head rattling in his helmet.

A rather decorated guardmare in silver and gold armor, similar to the Bulletpoint fella's but a bit more lavish, blows a whistle to officially signal the end of the spar. The victorious stallion helps his defeated opponent up, helping him balance himself and giving him some words of respect. They bow to each other and step out of the circle while the other guards around cheer and stomp their hooves on the grass, entertained and humbled at the sportsmanship.

A heartwarming sight indeed, it's like the Guard in itself is its own family.

Crimson's left brow raises when he spots the silver-armored guardmare who blew the whistle turning to look at him. Her face contorts in bemusement, giving him a rather critical stare.

Another guardstallion in similar silver armor strides up to the mare, telling her something excitedly. The mare ignores what he says, prompting him to repeat himself more seriously. The mare does nothing but tilt her head towards Crimson, signaling the confused stallion to look over as well, and now they both stare at him.

The mass of guards parade themselves in a group as they talk to each other and laugh, but the two silver-armored ponies begin making stomping paths towards Crimson. He crosses his arms and slouches, dragging his back downwards along the tree until he almost lies flat, making himself look as sleazy as possible just to spite their stern gazes.

Finally, they stand before him. The snow-colored mare with blonde hair and blue eyes, and the teal-colored stallion with grey hair and brown eyes. Crimson looks upwards to meet their stare, saluting with two fingers, “Howdy.”

“That was a shitty salute," scowls the stallion. "Don’t ever do that again."

Crimson lifts his left hand and gives him a middle finger. "How's this one?" He can tell this stallion has no idea what this means, but the fact that it makes him angrier regardless is good enough for him.

“You enjoying the show?” asks the mare with less hostility, but still condescendingly.

“Sure am," Crimson replies, letting his hand drop. "That was some solid tusslin’ going on. Them's some good troops there."

“Thanks. I do my best to keep their errant hides in line. You must be the human Celestia informed all of us about. Gotta say, it’s weird seeing you in-pony.”

"I bet. Don’t worry ‘bout me though, I’m just here to watch.”

“Pssh, not like you could survive out there anyway,” the stallion remarks, looking away in a dismissive manner. "Interrupting my fucking promotion too."

“You're right, I'd probably get smoked out there,” Crimson gives the bitter stallion a tired smile.

“You sound awfully confident for someone who just put themselves down,” the mare remarks.

“Just mindin’ my manners, ma’am," Crimson sits up a bit, leveling his eyes with hers. "Don’t want anyone makin’ a fool of themselves."

“A wise guy, huh?" the stallion squints. "What? Too afraid of getting your ass placed on a plate and served?"

"The other way around, partner. I don't wanna hurt nobody. Ain't in my nature to get rough with people who don't deserve it. Less you ask for it."

"Ch, you're reeeaally full of yourself," the stallion grumbles, leaning his head towards Crimson. "If you’re so righteous, why don’t you get your two-legged ass up and show me how great you really are?”

The man stares back lazily, debating to himself whether to entertain this stallion.

“If you’re too chicken, of course, we understand,” the mare says with a grin, enticing Crimson further.

Making up his mind, the man shrugs and rises to his feet, towering above the two ponies that are attempting to haze him. The two aren't shooken by his height, remaining confident and full-hearty.

“I won’t get in trouble for doin’ this right?” Crimson asks.

The mare chuckles lightly, “Nope, we’ll let onlooking ponies know you’re not just getting your ass tossed around by the Royal Guard for no reason.”

“Alright,” Crimson grins, pointing at the stallion and then himself, “You ‘n me then, hoss.”

The stallion blows some air out of his nose, staring up at him harshly. “Let’s go then, monkey-boy,” he mutters as he turns around, walking back to the sparring circle. The mare follows him, and Crimson tags along last, heading back towards the big pack of guard ponies. It appears that a new spar is getting ready to start, but the stallion in silver armor steps into the center and forces them out.

“Aww, but I’ve been waiting all morning for my turn!” one of the contenders protests.

“Too bad. Move," the silver-armored stallion demands, acquiring his helmet from another guardpony who was holding it for him. "That’s an order.”

The two contenders groan in annoyance, stepping out of the center, mumbling curses to each other against their superior. The unusual interruption catches the attention of every guard in the circle, even garnering eyes from guards at other parts of the field.

“Who’s Banter looking to trash now?” a random guard asks.

“Dunno. Probably some recruit or something,” another replies.

“No... look,” a guard points her hoof.

The group of guards now direct their attention to the towering man, who stands on the outskirts of the pack. The ponies closest to him clear out, making a path for him to enter the circle. Their eyes are wide and trembling as they witness this disparate human from merely feet away. Whispers begin to spread all around while he makes his way into the center, standing a few feet away from his challenger, Banter.

The silver-armored mare nudges Crimson's left thigh, "So, uh, we don't got any armor that's going to fit you. You sure you wanna fight Banter without any protection? He's probably not gonna hold back. He has a tendency to do that."

Crimson shakes his head dismissively, "I'm good. No armor needed."

"You sure?"

He nods.

With an indifferent shrug, the silver-armored mare returns to her original position in the previous spar as the referee. She clears her throat and calls loudly, “Alright, listen up! The human has consented to spar without armor! Therefore, we're rolling with regular rules! No weapons, no magic, no crying! Three knockdowns per contender! If your opponent gives in or can’t stand back up, the spar is over! Contenders, do I make myself clear!?"

"Yes, ma'am!" Banter huffs firmly, keeping his eyes locked onto the man.

"Sure thing," Crimson nods twice, returning a lazy stare to his opponent.

"Are you two ready!?”

“Let’s go!” Banter shouts as he spreads his wings.

“Ready,” Crimson replies, standing there with his arms to his side.

“Spar!”

Like a flash, Banter darts forward. Crimson feels a rock-hard hoof crash into his stomach, solid and completely unblocked. He stumbles backwards, coughing out some spit from such a quick and unexpected strike.

Banter dashes away after the strike lands, landing on the grass while giving a wicked grin as he whispers, “This’ll be quick."

The crowd watches with anticipation.

Crimson fixes his posture, staring at Banter with tired eyes. He walks forward, raising his fists up in an oddly relaxed, some-what defensive position. Banter darts forward again, and he gets ready to intercept.

A turn of plans: Banter drastically tilts his wing angle to loop around in a sharp backflip just before he collides. With this new trajectory, Banter gets his hoof under Crimson’s lax guard and strikes his abdomen again in the same spot.

Crimson drops his hands and holds his stomach, grunting and taking a step back.

The guards around yammer and blurt randomly:

"Is the human even trying!?"

"Damn, I felt that one!"

“The human didn’t know what he was getting into.”

Banter doesn’t retreat this time, he keeps up the pressure. His quick and agile form dances at Crimson's front, delivering a multitude of completely unblocked aerial punches and kicks. A strike to the liver, a strike to the diaphragm, a stomach blow, strike after strike, he doesn't relent until he has thoroughly battered his punching bag.

Banter winds up his hoof while Crimson’s discombobulated self staggers, looking to end their one-sided caper. He brings it in, releasing a cry of victory as his hoof crashes into his opponent's face.

The guards watch with wide eyes, some even gasping and wincing at the loud bash of the impact.

Crimson shuts his eyes and staggers back, tilting backwards... but he doesn’t fall. He throws his body forward to balance himself out, leaving his head to hang and his hair to shade over his eyes.

The silver-armored mare directing the fight squints, looking at the man as he simply stands there, shoulders slouched and head hung.

Banter's grin of victory slowly turns to annoyance and confusion, lacking the understanding as to why this man is still on his two feet despite the vicious beating. He cocks his arm back again, “Rr, ryaah!” and he swings, decking the human on his other cheek, rocking his head to the side.

Crimson staggers back a step but doesn’t fall, slowly turning his head to face the ground under him again.

“Rrgh," Banter's eyes narrow in frustration, "just fall down already! RYAH!” he strikes his face again, and again, and again, and again. “FUCKING! RRGH! FALL! DOWN! HRGH! MAKE IT! EASY! ON! YOURSELF!”

The silver guardmare takes the whistle into her wing, bringing it up to her lips, ready to blow it at a moment's notice… but her sharpened eyes watch quietly and intently. The surrounding guards have pity in their expressions, witnessing the brutality before them.

“FUUCK!" Banter screams, panting in anger as he readies to strike him again. "Just... lie... DOWN! RYAA! – Grh!? Huh!?”

Banter’s hoof is halted suddenly, caught by Crimson’s hand.

His hand closes... very tightly.

"Uh-wuh?" Banter tries to look at Crimson's face, but his head is still hung and shaded over by his red scraggled hair.

His hand tightens, and keeps tightening. An unnatural strength begins to crush Banter’s hoof.

“H-Hey! Let-- Irk! Let GO! Ack! Fucking let go of me-- Rhk! RrhAaAa!” he begins to desperately kick and flap his wings.

“You’re fast,” Crimson says, lifting his head as he smiles at the flailing stallion. He stops tightening his grip, now only holding onto Banter’s hoof like a vice. Banter and the surrounding guard ponies look at the towering human with silent, dilating eyes. Crimson uses his free hand to wipe off some blood trickling down the side of his mouth before continuing, “But ain't got shit fer power. Yer frequent punches don’t equate to much if there ain't a spine behind 'em.”

"Ha-I..." Banter's panting form trembles at the man's wake.

Crimson swings his arm up, twirling himself 180 degrees. He brings Banter along with this movement, and he starts to spin him in circles above his head, over and over and over and over.

“WAaAAaAaaaAa!” Banter cries as he is spun like a lasso.

The guards around lose their shocked faces as they witness this bizarre spectacle. Their composure slowly breaks into a grin, then a chuckle, until they finally burst out laughing.

The silver-armored guardmare drops the whistle from her lips, attempting to stifle a snicker of her own.

After a good disorientation, Crimson stops spinning him. He extends his arm out to hold Banter out like a hunter who just earned himself some game, then he drops the stallion onto the ground, cleaning his hands together to gesture he's ripe and finished.

Once she sees that Banter is out of commission, the silver-armored mare blows her whistle, signaling the end of the spar. Some of the guards cheer and continue to laugh:

"That was insane!"

"What did we just watch!?"

"Poor Banter!"

"Somepony get a barf bag!"

"Is it bad that I kind of want to be spun around like that? It looks like fun!"

Crimson leans down and offers the nearly-vomiting stallion a hand, giving him a friendly smile.

Banter looks away with furrowed brows and lets his ears fall flat onto his helmet. Three stallions come up to him and aid him out of the ring, all appeasing to him and giving Crimson angry glares.

Crimson watches Banter's group of guards carry him away, welling with an ounce of guilt. "... I tried to warn 'em."

The silver guardmare trots into the circle, standing before Crimson and smirking up at him. “That was a crazy display you put on for us, guy. The way you played the second-in-command like a toy, I don't think he's too happy about that."

"I'm thinkin' he'll manage."

"You're either dumb as a rock or just stupid tough, but I’m guessing you were taking those punches on purpose.”

Crimson nods with a smile.

"Your face looks good despite all of those punches. Hardly a scratch. It looked like the hits were actually hurting you, until the very end there, when you stood in place and let him wail on you. At that point, it was too obvious. The way your body was moving? Your posture? You were standing with your legs shoulder-width apart, springing yourself to make it look like the punches were pushing you over. Saw right through your little facade in a second."

"Looks like I gotta work on my actin'."

“What you did was pretty ingenious actually. What you said to him was exactly right, he hits fast, but not very hard. Banter always prides himself too much on his speed, he doesn't focus on the strength behind it. Sure, he's in silver for a reason, but even the best need to be reminded that there’s still training to be done. This might finally be the lesson he needed to learn, so thanks for that. I’m Snowfall Winter by the way. Captain Snowfall Winter. Like, Captain of the Royal Guard Snowfall Winter.”

“It's a pleasure, Captain of the Royal Guard Snowfall Winter,” he mimics facetiously.

Snowfall sizes him up, anticipating the reply containing his name, but she is instead left in a moment of silence. “… So... yeah. This is the part where you tell me your name. It's common courtesy, if you were unaware.”

“Alright. But you gotta spar with me first,” Crimson points his thumb at himself.

Snowfall tilts her head, seeming intrigued by the challenge. "A spar? With you?"

“Technically not a spar, but that's what I'm callin' it. I'll tell you my name, all you gotta do is land one clean, unblocked hit, ‘n you win. I won’t fight back.”

Snowfall's expression lights up with interest, “That's it? That's all I have to do? Banter's right, you really are full of yourself."

"One unblocked hit," he reaffirms the condition.

"Alright, fine. You’re on.”

The surrounding guards look in addlement as they watch their captain taking off her regal armor. She tosses the pieces to some random guards, and they catch them with fumbling hooves.

Crimson and Snowfall take their distance, eyeing each other with grins that give off different energies, Crimson's coming off as playful and goofy where Snowfall's is confident and competitive.

One of the other guards in golden armor places himself where Snowfall did when she was directing the spars, taking on the task of referee. “The spar against Captain Snowfall and the human will commence when the contenders are ready! Are you both ready?”

“Ready,” Crimson says, raising his fists up firmly. It becomes apparent to the spectators that he had lifted his guard before when sparring Banter, just for looks. His guard appears solid now, like two pillars protecting his front.

“Ready,” Snowfall replies, spreading her wings akin to how the previous contender had done.

“Spar!”

A white blur, left and right, Snowfall becomes distorted lines as she weaves at an insane rate. She's easily faster than Banter, so much so that the spectators have a hard time keeping up.

THUMP!

The blurring stops when a strike is made before anyone had blinked. Snowfall’s hoof is located at Crimson’s left forearm, saving his chest from a direct blow. The punch was hard and strong, the perfect blend of speed and power, but alas, the strike was blocked.

Snowfall and Crimson, frozen in place for this brief moment, stare into each other’s eyes, narrowing them competitively.

Snowfall enters a flurry of blows, using both her hindlegs and forelegs as she twirls and spins in a powerful rush. Crimson quickly analyzes that this move-set is the same one that Banter had used, but it takes merely a second of being under-fire to realize this is Snowfall's own dance, and Banter was only mimicking it.

The guards watch in awe, taking in the opportunity to witness their captain at her peak. For many of the newer recruits around, this is a feature presentation.

Crimson’s eyes are opened wide, staring straight forward without shifting anywhere as he is pedaling backwards. His hands and arms move like a blur, blocking every single strike that shoots at him like some advanced automaton. The sound of colliding flesh is heard like an automated weapon, and the stallion who is directing the spar squints his eyes, trying his best to keep up with the rush.

Violent bashing of bone and skin, Crimson's arms are quickly becoming bruised from the abuse. Every crash of her solid hooves against his guard sends shocks of pain through his entire body until his nerve-endings shock their last. Sensation in his forearms is slowly fading, along with his ability to keep his guard up. While his face remains firm and unfazed, time feels as if it's slowing down, and this blitz is going on for an eternity. Unending punches and kicks with the force and damage of a sharp stone, forever and ever and ever--

Catch!

The guards around gasp.

Snowfall remains still, only flapping her wings after her final attack was intercepted. A spinning roundhouse thrown above Crimson's guard and towards his face is caught by his left hand at the middle of her hindleg. Unlike her attacks from the beginning of the rush, this kick was slow, sloppy, and terribly executed, leaving it as a perfect opportunity to step on the smoldering flame that became her barrage and drive it to a halt. Now, she breathes heavily in place, keeping herself hovering in front of him with the tiring flap of her wings as her leg is clasped by his unrelenting grip.

He twirls her around and latches onto her, pressing her back against his chest as he holds her in a chokehold but without the choking, only the grappling. "You can call me Crimson, by the way,” he coos into her ear.

The guards spectating are speechless. Snowfall doesn’t bother struggling or moving, she simply pants, staring into the nothing while she rests against the man's warm body, festering in her defeat.

He finally lets her go and she falls promptly onto her four legs. She turns her head, staring at him with a squint.

“The spar is over!" announces the star-struck stallion refereeing. "The human--err-- Crimson! Wins!”

The guards rile themselves up and stomp their hooves on the ground:

“Iiincredible!”

“You think he’s cheating somehow?”

“Oo! Oo! Can I spar next? Please!?”

“Nono! Me!”

“It was MY turn!”

“You gassed yourself out pretty quick, which was your downfall," Crimson states. "Though, the attacks were solid. I felt every single one of those, and they sure did fuckin' hurt," he smiles wryly as he presents the damage she caused to his forearms, bruised to the point of trickling blood.

Some guards gasp at the sight, whispering among each other:

"Haaardcooore!"

"Tender!"

"Is he alright?"

"Ew, that looks horrible!"

Crimson puts his fists on his hips, chuckling at Snowfall's bitter expression. "Hey, if it helps any, I liked the boldness of your strategy. My arms are beaten meat. I reckon if I were anyone else, my guard would'a dropped and I'd be on the ground right now. But, in the words of my sister, I'm just as stubborn as a rock." Snowfall shoots a wry squint at him. "I can see why you're the captain. You’re pretty good,” he says as he gives her two gun-hands.

After seeing her huff at his attempt to conciliate with her, Crimson crouches down next to her and ruffles her blonde mane. Snowfall feels like a child being given a motivational speech by their parent after losing a soccer game. In retaliation to his overly confident ruffling of her mane, she almost bites his hand... but then gives him a tilted smile to show she isn't actually upset, garnering a snicker from him.

“Embarrassed in front of my own Guard. You owe me a rematch,” Snowfall says in a perky but determined manner.

“You bet. We’ll have one eventually, but for now I reckon some of your other troops want in on a sparring session. I think I'm retirin' for the day."

"Next time you and me go at it, you'll be retiring on a stretcher. Get outta my circle, punk," Snowfall bumps his thigh with her side as she returns to her post again as the referee.

Crimson smiles at her and complies with her directive, exiting the circle by stepping between ponies that smile at him and hop in place as he passes them. He heads towards the tree again, hoping to actually relax this time--

"'N where're you headed, mate?" calls a stallion approaching from his peripheral vision.

Crimson stops and looks towards Bulletpoint, "Was lookin' to take a load off under that tree there."

"Ye?" Bulletpoint smiles proddingly and leans his head closer. "Is that all you got'a say for yeself?"

"Is there somethin' else I should be sayin'?"

"Considerin' ye shat on the two highest rankin' officers in the Guard, I'd reckon you'd have lots t'say!"

"Saw that, hm? I don't remember seein' you in the crowd."

"Just got done with me mornin' post, mate. Was headed to me barracks t'stash me armour, got that done, 'n I'm comin' back out t'see you in the middle of the sparrin' circle spinnin' Banta around like a bloody maniac."

Crimson rubs the back of his neck, putting up a guilty smile, "If it looked like I was havin' fun, then you'd be right. Maybe a bit overboard."

"Overboard? And Banta? One in the fuckin' same, mate. Nah, you did me 'n a few friends of mine a favor puttin' that cheeky fuck in his place."

"Sounds like this Banter fella is problematic then."

"Problematic in't really the word for him, it's more like..." Bulletpoint taps his cheek, "... he's just an ass'ole."

"Don't gotta convince me of that."

"Oh, ye!" Bulletpoint suddenly beams. "Speakin' of friends, I was actually headin' to a friend of mine's right now. You said you was lookin' to relax? This chick's the best for that."

"She in the Guard too?"

"Ye, but she's mornin' post like me, and we're done for the day. Lucky cunt lives in the Castle instead of the barracks, so hangin' with her means we hangin' in luxury. Plus, I stash all me beer in her fridge, considerin' I can't keep the shits in me barracks. Down for taggin' along, mate?"

"You had me at beer."

"Ah, that's the spirit! Knew I was gonna like you. C'mon, think she's already at her room right now," Bulletpoint waves his left wing as he begins to walk.

Crimson pockets his hands and follows behind him, turning his head back to the sparring circle one more time. Amidst two mares grappling each other in the center and the cheering crowd around them, he catches glimpse of Snowfall gazing at him. When the two make eye contact, she smiles slightly and squints at him, lifting her hoof to her eyes then pointing it to him in a manner that says, 'I'm watching you.'

Crimson replies with a grin, giving her a two-finger salute before he faces forward again.

Next Chapter: Camaraderie Estimated time remaining: 25 Hours, 22 Minutes