Sunshine beams onto her eyelids, turning her previously blackened world a red glare. The muffled sounds of birds chirping outside of her windows are nature's wake-up call, announcing to the resting that another morning has arrived. As Moonlight's senses return from slumber, so do her thoughts. Immediately, she thinks about yesterday, the first encounter she has had with her colleagues in years.

"... Hmmh," she moans in a mixture of distaste and morning exhaustion, rolling onto her back while she pries open her eyes. She stares at the extremely blurry ceiling, bothering not to get her glasses on just yet.

She lingers on yesterday's events. Nothing went according to how she had planned it in her head. Ever since she returned to Canterlot, she expected to be berated, scolded, and even demoted from her position because of her unannounced leave... but it has all been the opposite. Celestia's open-armed affection was already enough to burden her heart with remorse, and yesterday did nothing to help. When she arrived at the research labs, head lowered and lips puckered, she encountered Swirl in her lab. Instead of being ignored or demeaned, she was instead welcomed, given a rather soft reception from such a stoic mare. A small pleasant exchange of 'how are yous' and a brief catch-up on current events is all that Swirl thought to give.

After the small talk, her mission was completed. She gave Swirl the mini-ANA and gave a concise explanation on its function, and the only thing left to do was leave... but a certain stallion, hearing the gentle murmurs of a familiar timid voice, poked his head out just before she could leave. It's... not that she didn't want to talk to him, she just wouldn't know what to say. She couldn't know what to say.

But he did, and it made her heart heavy. Not only was Magnifying Glass overly-excited to see her, he was being so sweet and complimenting. "Wow, Moonlight! You... You look amazing! You-You only get prettier as time goes on!" "It's so great to see you again, I-- uh, um-- we! We've missed you!" "I can't wait to work with-with you again!" It was pure affection coming from his mouth. Moonlight didn't understand. How could somepony be denied their feelings and still be this... forgiving? Attached? Especially after all of this time. It's like he doesn't even remember the past... or perhaps, he chooses not to.

Even now as Moonlight lies in her bed, holding Soap against her chest, she can't fathom why everyone is being so kind to her. She felt that the last pony deserving of being treated so honorably is her.

It was painstakingly awkward when she had to dismiss herself from them. She had no excuse why she couldn't stay in the labs and get right to work... but fortunately, they didn't ask. They only asked if she would be back. For better or for worse, she said she would.

Knock, knock, knock.

Moonlight quickly sits up and turns, using her magic to levitate her glasses from the nightstand to her muzzle. She adjusts them with her right hoof, still holding her plushy with her left. She scoots along the bed towards the headrest and peers down from the balcony rail towards the door, cautious as to who or what might come through.

The door opens, and in steps a burly lumbering man with scraggled red hair. Moonlight's expression is quick to beam happily. Crimson scans the area for a bit before he realizes she's upstairs. "Mornin', Moonlight," he hails to her from below, having his voice echo through the vast room. With a gleeful smile, Moonlight waves to him in reply. Crimson strides towards the staircase and takes it up, rising to the second floor to meet her at the edge of her bed. She sets down Soap and opens her arms, her smile turned to shyness.

Crimson obliges quickly, he reaches down and picks her up into a hug. She buries her cheek against his chest, almost knocking her own glasses off of her face. While Crimson doesn't comment on it vocally, he finds it entertaining how quick she was to ask for his embrace. She's terribly shy for many things, but this is becoming an exception. That's good, it might mean she's... well, she's getting comfortable with him, at least. Hopefully this is the first stage of breaking her out of her timid shell.

Crimson sets her down after a few seconds and he reaches for his left pocket. "Feast yer eyes on this." He presents the necklace in the palm of his hand, the thumbnail-sized amethyst rhombus. It still hums its ethereal song, reverberating softly with exotic magical energy.

Moonlight's eyes shimmer as they widen, along with a gasp of disbelief. "The... the necklace. You have it!" she looks up to him and smiles ecstatically.

"Sure do, 'n it's all yers."

"How? How did you manage to get it from Storm?"

"Well, you see... uh... she kinda... kinda wants a mini-ANA of her own."

"... AMiniAna?" she quickly repeats with a tiny mouth.

Crimson waves quickly to try and ease her, "Now, now, not quite the one you just spent an entire day makin'. She..." he pauses to breath and get his words out. "She wants a treasure huntin' device. Somethin' that'll scan things 'n get her to 'em. She wants more stuff. A thing to find her more stuff. It was the only idea I could get her to want."

Moonlight bites her left lower-lip in contemplation. "... A treasure hunting device? I've never tired to make something of the sort. ... Maybe I... could?"

"Please do, Moonlight. I, eh... kinda told her you'd get it to her in two weeks."

She reels suddenly. "Two weeks!?"

"I know, I know! It's a tall order, but... please, for the relic's sake, you need to get it to her."

Moonlight seems extremely displeased with this turn of events. Her eyes wander to different things as her track of thought travels. Eventually, it lands on the necklace still in the man's hand. Her eyes glitter again at its sight despite the ongoing tension.

Crimson snickers as he holds the necklace out for her, which she takes into her aura. Her pink orbs admire its small, simple design, but are also wary of what kind of arcane properties it might possess.

Crimson places his hands at his hips, smiling down at the adorably studious unicorn. The amount of attention and interest she's giving to it, holding it centimetres from her glasses, there's something innocent about it, like a toddler who just found a new toy and is giving it a look-down.

They spend a moment together in silence. Crimson hardly realizes that he's plastering his eyes on her, until he finally does. He shakes his head, looks away, then returns to her again. She's still entranced by the magical artifact finally in her possession. As he thinks of something to deflect his prolonged staring to, it strikes him that yesterday was the first day she met back up with her colleagues. "Say, Moonlight. How'd it go with yer researcher peers yesterday?"

"Mm? ... Oh!" her awed state disperses, taking up hesitation. "It, was... um... good actually..."

"That's good to hear? ... Why'd you make it sound like a bad thing?"

"Because. It is. It wasn't supposed to go well."

"We both know I can't work with that, Moonlight. There's a why to it that you're holdin' back."

"... Because I left them."

"This again?"

"Yes, Crimson! Of course this again! It's hard for me to understand it. I left everypony behind for nearly a decade, all because of a... a dumb personal issue I had! It was no excuse for me to leave my team, especially as the head of their department."

"It wasn't dumb, Moonlight. Somethin' that was dumb wouldn't have wrecked so much hell on yer life. What you did, movin' away from here to give yerself some space, it wasn't somethin' you wanted. It was somethin' you needed."

"... Wait, do you..." her eyes shift across his face, "... do you know what happened?"

He nods, gazing at her softly. "Celestia let me in on it. I didn't mean to pry, but I wanted to know why Canterlot's most prestigious researcher just up 'n left." Moonlight becomes visibly conflicted at this revelation. There are more than enough clues present on her that hint she doesn't want to talk about it. "I'm sorry fer pokin' too deep."

"No-no, I'm not... I'm not upset that Celestia told you. It... saves me the trouble. I've been wanting to tell you because you've been so nice to me, but... well..."

"Then there's somethin' else that's wrong."

"It's... I..." Her trembling orbs meet his, doing their best to repress oncoming emotions. "... Please don't look at me differently for what I did."

Crimson's brows line the top of his eyes. Celestia was right. "What you did? Moonlight, do you even realize that everythin' that happened to you... wasn't yer fault?"

"How couldn't it have been? If I wasn't so... so ignorant! Everything would have been better. He said he wanted a family, but I-- I was--"

"Assertin' yer position on a matter that pertained to you."

"'Asserting.' ... More like stupid little Moonlight was being too stubborn. I know I was the reason it ended terribly. If I had been a better marefriend, if I was just... a better pony, things would have turned out okay."

Crimson shakes his head and sighs, "No, Moonlight, no. C'mon, now. You're not givin' yerself any credit. I wasn't there when the whole show went down, but I see you now. I compare it to what Celestia told me, the younger you from back then. You're too sweet fer yer own good. You take the blame fer what others did to you. That ain't right. You need to learn to give yourself the credit you deserve. Without any self-worth, bastards, like a certain unnamed shit-stain, always get their way." Crimson sits down on the edge of the bed next to her, gazing down at her as she focuses her stare towards the ground. "... I know what I'm sayin' is easier said than done, but it's a process. It takes patience. Kinda like them experiments you do. You don't just jump right into the mixin' and the pourin', do you? You take measurements. You get it all ripe before you dig in. Take that process into yerself. Measure what you like, what you know, and what you want. Hold onto it, 'n never let it go. Comin' from a guy my sister dubbed 'stubborn as a rock', a healthy dose of stubborn is what dreams are made of. Don't let life's bastards slow yer roll."

Moonlight's eyes briefly shift to the right, closer to Crimson, then return to the ground where she was staring. A small smile forms on her lips. "... You sound a lot like Celestia."

"Heh. I'm sure she's miles more eloquent with her words than I am with mine."

"Maybe a little... but both of you are great at making me feel better. Maybe one day I'll be as good with words as you two are..."

"But you are good with words! You landed a prestigious job from yer ability to write and report, didn't you?"

"... I did," she meekly replies, "but they're not the same type of words needed for... social discourse..."

Crimson chuckles, "There ain't no specific language you gotta use fer talkin' to someone. Own your words, take 'em with confidence. The same confidence you use when you give a crowd a speech. Apply that same assurance to yerself, learn to love who you are, 'n you'll be on yer way to a better you sooner than you might think. Plus, you got me to help you along yer way. No one's perfect, not me, not Celestia. You'll stumble 'n fall along yer way, but always know I'mma be there to help you back up. You can count on that."

Moonlight finally lifts her head to stare at him, keeping her tiny smile. She reaches in and hugs his arm, nestling her head on his shoulder. He remains still, she looks comfortable resting on him like that. But his mouth doesn't keep still, it curls into a satisfied smile.

Knock-knock-knock-knock!

Out comes a rather bodacious pounding on Moonlight's front door, interrupting the moment as both of them redirect their attention. Moonlight's visible confusion is brought on by the large clock above the door, there's still about half an hour left before the maidmare should be knocking for breakfast. "Who could that be?" she asks with mild concern.

"I'll get it," Crimson offers.

"I-I'll get it with you," she replies quickly and looks up at him.

He gazes back at Moonlight, studying her sudden jumpiness... and he gets it. He knows that face, the one currently on her. It matters not that it's on the soft, adorable face of a pony, he's seen it many times on his sister. A face that says she's worried he might not be around again. He was only gone for a day, but a day too long for her.

Crimson doesn't want to let this concern him, he's sure Moonlight can adapt if he's not constantly around her.

Still, he doesn't plan on running off, so he smiles and nods. He helps Moonlight off of her bed and starts towards the staircase, coming down with her just behind him. They stand before the door, Crimson reaches for the handle and opens it. On the other side, a tan-coated mare with golden armor stands. She looks serious, just as all guardponies do.

Her eyes briefly shift to Moonlight, then back to him, then back to Moonlight. The stern face on the guard drops for a mountain of surprise. "Head Researcher Wish?" Moonlight's muzzle scrunches and she nods with embarrassment. "It's... it's an honor." Moonlight nods again, lacking any words to reply with.

"Howdy there," Crimson intervenes quickly, directing the guard's eyes to him. "What can I do fer you?"

The guard turns her attention to him, her serious face sitting itself again. "Greetings, my angel. By Celestia's decree, you are instructed to report for your first deployment."

"Deployment?"

"The Elite will soon be setting off on an operation. More details on said operation will be delivered by the Captain herself."

"Oh," Crimson mutters in realization. "... Yeah. Alright."

"Wuh-What do you mean, 'alright'?" Moonlight asks with a hint of desperation. "You just came back, a-and you were gone all day yesterday."

He sighs deeply, speaking while he's exhaling, "Yeah, I know. But we both knew I agreed to this, remember? It had to happen sometime. Reckon that time is now."

"But-but..." Moonlight puckers her mouth and her cheeks tint with a combination of frustration and grief.

Crimson crouches down and places his hand on the back of her head, waiting for her to look at him. Once she does, he comforts her with a fatherly smile, "Remember what I told you. First thing I'll do when I get back is visit. I don't fall back on my promises. Besides, I reckon you'll hardly have time fer me now that you've got that necklace and treasure-finder to worry about. I'm sure by the time I'm back you'll have all of it figured out."

As he talks, Moonlight runs her eyes on his chest, jumping between the many scars on it, then the gash on his right cheek, and his dark, exhausted eyes. She wants to believe he'll be safe...

Crimson rises to his feet and looks back towards the stoic guard. He nods to her, and the guard turns around to take the lead. Crimson follows behind her and glances back to Moonlight, seeing that she remains in place, expression turned with melancholy. He then fixes his eyes forward and exhales through his nose. The guilt of leaving never gets any easier.

Moonlight's ears drop to her head and retreats into her room.

‎

‎

Crimson glances around the halls he walks, keeping behind this quiet guard. He's too busy getting looks from all sorts of ponies around the Castle to ask the guard if she's just playing a role and isn't actually this serious personally.

With a quick survey of those around, it's obvious that word had spread. These ponies don't even try to make it discrete. With whispers like, "There he is! The golden angel!" he knows he's in for some publicity whether he likes it or not.

When he was up on the mountain yesterday, the descent was something he had not planned out very well. He had spent more time than he realized with Fate and Storm, turning the dawn to dusk without a trace. Getting sent up the mountain by Fate was easy enough, but getting back down was not as simple. The cold, hard rocky mountain offered no clear path to descend, so the only option he had was to leap off the peak and fly down using his Arch, which in itself, isn't a problem... it was all of the attention he grabbed doing it. He is pretty sure no one saw where he came from, the only thing the Canterlot nightwatch, or city denizens strolling under the moon, could have seen was a golden shooting star appear above the city and fly towards the Castle.

He does his best to ignore the onlookers, just as he has done before. Only this time, they're directly calling to him and are trying to approach him.

"My angel!" a mare shouts indiscriminately.

"Where are you going? What are you doing? Can I come with you?" a stallion trotting a little too close yammers.

"Could I get an interview!?" another mare behind the pack cries.

"My daughter wants to meet you!" yet another mare yells loudly.

Soon, their voices begin to drown each other out. The only voice of prominence is the guard's when she shouts and stomps her golden boot, "MAKE WAY!" She begins to scowl away the ponies trying to move onto Crimson, making the crowd disband well enough, but they hardly vacate. It takes more guards needing to leave their posts and assume crowd control for the congestion to ease up and allow Crimson to proceed.

At last, it's only the guard and Crimson again, the mob of voices is lost to another section of the castle. Now that he's focusing on his surroundings again, he quickly notices that this isn't the path towards the back field. Instead, they're heading towards the second floor of the Castle at the West tower. It prompts him to ask, "We're not headed towards the field, are we?"

"Negative," she responds quickly. "You are being escorted to the Royal Tailor. Celestia has not deemed you properly fitted for deployment. The tailor will ensure that you are."

"The tailor's gonna make clothes fer me? Free of charge?"

"Correct."

Crimson raises his brows. He sits well with the idea of finally getting something to wear that isn't grimy, torn up cargo shorts and thrifty sandals.

Soon enough, the two arrive at the tailor's. Like most rooms in the Castle, the tailor's office is vast, acting as both an office and an entire runway studio. Pony mannequins are scattered about, wearing all sorts of fancy, well put-together ensembles. Assistant workers are seated in desks with their cumbersome early-model sewing machines. They are working tirelessly on their creations, some from their creativity, others on Castle uniforms of different kinds.

The Royal Tailor herself is behind a desk, a teal and pink-maned earth pony wearing strangely 'fashionable' shades and attire. The guard approaches her, seeing that she’s holding a pencil in her mouth, scribbling on a piece of paper.

“Royal Tailor," the guard calls.

“Shh!” the tailor hisses with the pencil in between her teeth.

The guard mare squints in annoyance while the tailor sketches for a few seconds longer.

The tailor sets down the pencil and smiles widely. “Yes. Yeees. Yeeees! It is wandaful!” she raises her sketch into the air using both her hooves. She then plasters the paper onto the guard's face, “A work of art!” She retracts the paper, setting it back down and admiring it. “It will be byuteful.” Suddenly, she takes off her cyan-tinted shades and stares fiercely at the guard with her bright green eyes. “Why do you disturb Glitter Frock,” she rumbles with zero emotion.

With a squint, the guard retorts, “Celestia has ordered that the angel be fitted with new—”

As the guard is speaking, Glitter looks over to see Crimson standing there quietly at the entrance. “DA HYUMAN!” she suddenly shouts, interrupting the guard. The assistants stop their work to look over with wide eyes.

“Howdy,” Crimson raises his right hand.

Glitter gasps. At first, Crimson assumes it was because he spoke, but... “Dose shorts... dose sandals... they are atrocious!” She springs up from her desk with a tape-measure in her mouth, swiftly moving to Crimson, tugging him around as she takes his measurements. Crimson stands there, letting it happen with only mild dissatisfaction.

Glitter leaps up and latches herself to his shoulders, pulling him down to meet each other nose-to-muzzle. “Hyuman. Speak. Speak da words. Speak your deeepest desiiires~” she whispers, nearly planting her lips on his and breathing a scent of mint onto his face.

“Mm. I actually do have somethin’ in mind for clothes."

"Royal Tailor," the guard demands her attention. Glitter lifts her shades and eyes the guard angrily. "You are instructed to develop a uniform suited for weather conditions and dangerous engagements. You are not permitted to--"

As the guard speaks, Glitter lets her shades fall back down, turning to face Crimson again. She reaches for his cheeks and squeezes them. "She undastands not of da creative genius one may hold. Giff to me yor desire, and we shall see it through."

“Sure. You got a paper and somethin’ I can write with?”

One of Glitter’s assistance practically teleports to him, handing him a wooden pencil and a piece of parchment. Glitter lets go of him, allowing him to take his writing apparatuses, and he walks over to Glitter’s desk. Placing the parchment down and blowing on the tip of the pencil, he begins to sketch.

Ignored for a second time, the guard rolls her eyes and mutters curses to herself. She stomps towards the door and waits in the position of attention, shifting her eyes left and right in case anyone might have heard her profanities.

Glitter and her assistants hover over Crimson as they watch him scribble lines, forming the rough concept of the clothes he wants. Their eyes progressively widen as he draws.

"There," he states as he sets the pencil down. "Think y'all can handle that?"

Glitter stares at the sketch very, VERY seriously. "It WILL be done."

‎

‎ ‎

With exactly forty-nine minutes of restless production, Crimson stands in front of every tailor in the room with Glitter front and center. He shrugs his shoulders. He walks in a circle then raises his arms to his sides, looking down at the Royal Tailor with a smile.

He wears a grey shirt tucked into grey slacks, a brown leather belt firmly around his waist, black boots, and a dark-brown, color-faded duster that reaches down to the end of his calves. The duster was weaved with a magical fiber that absorbs and evenly distributes impact, making direct strikes less forceful and giving it a very dim glow.

“You gals... and guy,” Crimson quickly looks at the one stallion in the room, “did an outstandin’ job on this. True genius.”

Glitter scrutinizes as she trots in circles around him. “So dull... so working-class... so utilitarian. It’s perfect! Rugged, simple, yet attractive! A combanashion I neva thought possible! Hyuman, you personally sent fashion fouah decades back! ... Da fall line. I have inspiration. Regal. Utility! Da maids in Canterlot Castle were overdue for a uniform change!”

Crimson strides around, feeling right at home in his new clothes. “I love it so much I could kiss every one of you," he grins, staring at his duster sleeve with great satisfaction.

The tailor ponies, like a perfectly choreographed dance, line up on Crimson. The first mare leaps up and pulls his head down by his duster collar, and they each give him a peck on the cheek one after the other. Glitter, the last pony in the stride, hops up onto her hindlegs and grasps Crimson’s face with authority, bringing him in for a strangely passionate kiss on the lips. She breaks it as suddenly as she started it, popping her lips off of his and falling back down to her fours before announcing into the open air, “Not COULD! But DID! Live by dez words! Now. We resume our vork!” she cries, rushing back to her desk.

With a wipe of his mouth to clean a trickle of her saliva off, Crimson looks at all of the ponies dash back to their stations and restart their flow. It's as if he wasn't even there now. They're so engrossed in their weaving and tailoring, he is but a ghost to them. He watches them for a moment, admiring their dedication to their craft. He certainly thinks they're all miles off their rocker, but he chalks it up to everyone being a little weird. ... A little.

With an amused front, he turns around and walks back towards the guardmare, who looks at him with her serious eyes. "They did a good job, didn't they?" he asks, opening his arms in presentation.

"The Captain will not be happy about your uniform."

"I think she will. Meets all the requirements, don't it? Good for weather? 'Violent engagement'?" he mimics while air-quoting with his fingers.

The guard rolls her eyes and takes the lead again. They trek across the Castle, immediately heading to the lower floors with the fields as their destination. As they walk along the marble floors, the dull clack of sandals is now replaced by the finer step of sturdy cowboy boots. He rarely planted steps on perfectly smooth surfaces like Canterlot's floor during his time back home, usually walking on dirt or wood, but he already enjoys this sensation infinitely more than any other footwear could ever provide. He slips his hands into his duster pockets, wondering if they feel similar to his old one. To no surprise, it doesn't. This duster feels a lot softer and less friction-heavy, which is something he doesn't personally enjoy. But, nothing a few adventures in Equestria couldn't solve. He'll probably get his new get-up drabbed up pretty soon.

The guard leads him out into the fields. The sun is still hidden behind the massive Canterlot mountain, giving the world a tired, blue-morning hue. He sees and hears the routines of the guards, the constant shouting of cadence, numbers, and grunts of exertion. He catches many curious and friendly eyes, but they're much more respectful than a certain previous crowd.

The guard leading him approaches a small squad standing near a tree, the same tree he rested himself on during his first visit here. The idling squad consists of four ponies wearing silver armor and one pony in a Scribe robe, each one of them a familiar face: Bulletpoint, Strix, Swirl, Banter, and Snowfall. They are standing next to three metal containers, where Bulletpoint holds a clipboard and takes inventory.

Crimson and the guard stop before the team, drawing all of their eyes. Captain Snowfall turns her bored gaze towards the gold-armored mare and nods once. The mare salutes and dismisses herself, leaving only the lumbering man. Both Banter and Swirl are quick to shift from a resting expression to a bothered one.

"Hey there, new-blood," Snowfall smiles slightly. "I see the tailors had a good time with you. Not bad."

"Appreciate that," Crimson nods, "but the credit really goes to the tailors. Damn good at their job." He glances towards Swirl, a little amused at her presence. "Didn't know you were apart of the Elite, miss Swirl."

"I'm going to kill whoever told you my name," she scowls.

"You wouldn't, like... kill your own sister, would you, Swirly?~" Strix comments breezily.

"More than tempted," she growls before she returns her squinted stare to Crimson. "I am the Elite's field mage. Your uniform fails all aspects of any Royal Canterlot uniform. This leads me to believe either the tailors are incapable of basic instructions, or you somehow coaxed them to disobey."

"Yeah, seriously." Banter points to Crimson accusingly, "Captain, you're seeing this, right? There's no way in Equestria he's coming with us looking like that."

"While I did give the tailors instructions, they were just that: instructions. Not orders. Remember, Banter, he's not officially enlisted in the Guard. Our regulations aren't his regulations. He's free to go naked if he really wanted to."

"Please do not put that imagery in my head, captain," Swirl scrunches.

Snowfall redirects to Crimson, "I'm good to assume you're already familiar with everypony here. They all seem to know who you are already."

Bulletpoint chuckles, "At this point, cap'n, who don't?"

"Mostly familiar with Bubblegum there 'n B.P," Crimson affirms, "but I've met everyone here before."

Swirl's brows furrow, briefly jumping to her sister when he refers to her as 'Bubblegum.'

"Somethin' the matter, Swirl?" Crimson asks with at least some earnest intention.

"You know what you are doing. You are taking upon yourself to indirectly mock me by now referring to my sister by that childish nickname."

"C'mon now, Swirl, I'd never do somethin' like that. You two look real alike, 'n since you hate the nick, I gave it to Strix. ... You ain't gettin' jealous now, are you?" Bulletpoint's eyes dilate to grains of sand.

"Mmrrr, you--" Swirl's eyes beam with fire, but is quickly cut off by Snowfall.

"Knock it off you two. The point is, you're already ahead of the game with all of the meet and greet. That's great and all, but protocol dictates introductions, so let's get that out of the way."

"Alrighty then," Crimson acknowledges.

Snowfall begins walking in front of who she is presenting, pointing lazily at them when she speaks, "This is Second Lieutenant Bulletpoint, logistics, ranger, and recon. This is Staff Sergeant Strix Plum, infiltration, information specialist, and field medic. This is Scribe Swirly Cutie." Swirl's eyes dilate and she cringes horribly at the sound of her name being called out. Snowfall doesn't seem to care, but everyone else pretends to look away and mind their own business. "Like she said earlier, she's our field mage and second medic. And lastly--"

"And certainly not least," Banter cuts in.

"... First Lieutenant Banter, C.Q.C specialist and master-at-arms."

"I'd say more of a Grandmaster at Arms," he boredly looks at his hoof. The members of his team react tiredly to his boast.

"'N you?" Crimson asks Snowfall.

"Aside from shot-calling, I've got a few other talents. Most prominently, I'm the team's secondary infiltration expert. So now you know who your team is and what they do. Any questions?"

"One. What'm I considered? I don't think I was ever specified a role."

"You're the replacement for our frontline. If a mission gets hot, you'll be responsible for dispatching threats. Technically we all will, but you'll be at the front with Banter."

"Somethin' happen to the old frontliner?"

"K.I.A. Funeral was held last month for the poor bastard. Was one of the best the Guard had. Off-topic. Anyway, now that that's out of the way, are we almost ready to head out, B.P?"

"Yeh, 'ventory looks good. Only thing was missin' was our lad 'ere."

"If there are no questions or concerns," Snowfall glances between everyone, "let's get moving."

Bulletpoint and Strix move to pick up the metal containers, and the rest begin walking off together towards the farther end of the field. Crimson sees Bulletpoint taking up two crates onto his back, putting up some effort to get them situated. He reaches for the second container and carries it against his chest, offering to take it. Bulletpoint nods in appreciation.

The squad of six trek to an open platform at the far end of the field which rests a floppy mass of nylon material attached to a large hard-weaved basket. Crimson furrows his brows as they approach it. "... That a hot-air balloon?"

"That it is, mate," Bulletpoint replies. "You sound a skeptic."

"We're gonna use a hot-air balloon for... transport?"

"Yeh. Why?"

"Never really heard of usin' one'a these for actual transport. They're more like joyrides where I'm from. A train would be more efficient, wouldn't it?"

"It would," Snowfall starts, "if there were tracks actually laid out where we're headed. I'll get you up to speed once we get situated."

Crimson turns his attention to the pony who is tending to the balloon, an orange and tan-maned mare with freckles. She looks terribly out-of-place in this environment of proper uniforms and high-class attire, instead sporting denim overalls that are stained with oil and dirt. Maybe its the air she gives off, but he likes the look of this pony. She ignites the burner, slowly making the limp nylon acquire form.

Snowfall waits until the balloon is mostly filled, able to stand up on its own and safely allow entry into the basket. "Load up," she orders to the three carrying the boxes. They climb up the platform stairs and are given entry into the basket by the orange mare opening its door for them.

"Appreciate it," Crimson says to her.

"Ain't nothin' to it, partner," she replies with just the accent he expected her to have. Her polite and calm demeanor only adds to her charm. He isn't certain whether a part of him is starting to miss his home, but hearing her accent roll off like that gives him a sense of nostalgia. He's getting used to the straight-tongue and formal speak of Canterlot, but it certainly isn't his preference.

Now with the boxes set down on the basket, spaced out to distribute the weight, the rest of the squad boards the balloon. Even with six of them, they have quite a lot of space to move around. The basket is ample, allowing it to be of some comfort for long trails. Crimson glances around at everyone getting accommodated. Snowfall is exchanging some words with the orange mare, Strix and Swirl are getting comfortable, Bulletpoint is running through the logistics one last time, and Banter is on his own on the far-right end of the basket, looking off the edge of Canterlot towards northern Equestria.

Crimson focuses on him, on the teal and silver stallion that he tussled with a few days ago. It certainly doesn't look like Banter has put the spar behind him just yet. He hasn't bothered to even look at Crimson, much less attempt some sort of communication. While it doesn't bother the man a whole lot, it does make him worried that this negative synergy might be a hamper towards the rest of the team.

He doesn't have time to mull over it for long, Snowfall's voice calls for his attention. "Get your anchors lifted, everypony. We're heading out. Bulletpoint, get breakfast squared off." Bulletpoint nods and moves to the box Crimson was carrying, prompting the man to step out of the way. "And you," she says as she stares at Crimson, "listen up. Same goes for anypony that might have been asleep during the first debrief. We're on our way to the White Tail Smokey Mountains out in western Equestria. If the weather holds up, we'll be there by noon. Our objective is to acquire an artifact said to be held by the Featherlines. Relations with this griffon gang are not hostile, but I highly advise everyone to keep their guard up. The mission should be in-and-out. We'll get this done quick and be back in Canterlot by sunset. Any questions?"

"Yeah, one," Crimson begins. "We're headin' to a gang camp... to negotiate with 'em?"

"That is correct," Snowfall affirms.

Crimson's mouth becomes bitter. "... Ain't y'all the badges here in Equestria?"

"Get to the point, new-blood."

"Why're we makin' negotiations with a gang when we're the law?"

"Because," she states sternly, "we prefer to keep things peaceful in Equestria. Waging a civil war with the Black Horseshoes and all of their branches, including the Featherlines, won't cause anything but needless casualties and broken homes. As long as they stay in the greys of the law, we won't have to deal with them, and they don't have to deal with us. Let me be clear, they're not the enemy. So we're not fighting them. Understood?"

"... Yeah."

"Good," Snowfall gives him a small smile. "Now quit mulling and take it already."

Crimson feels a nudge on his side. He sees what she was referring to, Bulletpoint has been standing there holding a square ration for him while he was listening to Snowfall. He takes it with appreciation and pops the tin lid open, looking at its contents. A pocket of rice, two chunks of celery, apple slices, two boiled eggs, and a bag of orange juice on the underside of the lid. It's not a whole lot of food, but it looks like enough to keep him comfortably sated. He seals it back up for the time being.

"Alright, miss Seed," Snowfall bids the balloon mare, "we're all green. Unhitch us."

"Yes, ma'am!" she replies, trotting quickly to the rope that ties the balloon down to a ground anchor. She swiftly undoes the knot and tosses the rope into the basket, which Snowfall catches with her wing and sets it down before reaching up to the burner and cranking it up. Strong flames spit upwards into the balloon, and soon enough, the basket rises from the platform. "Y'all take care now!"

"You know we will," Snowfall calls back casually.

Crimson peeks his head off the side of the basket as it rises off the ground. He looks down to the freckled orange mare that helped them get off the ground, noticing her already staring at him. Upon making eye contact, her cheeks tint slightly and she smiles, lifting her arm to wave her hoof at him. Crimson returns a warm smile and salutes her with two fingers.

"Ain't for gettin' airsick, are ya?" Bulletpoint interrupts Crimson's brief moment, causing him to look over.

"Nah. I've been up in the air a few times."

"Heh, good thing then. We's gonna be soarin' here for a few hours, ya feel. My advice to you is ta' start gettin' your grub down, don't want'cha crampin' when we trek up the mountain."

"That means you too," Swirl squints at her sister. "Eat. Now."

"Aww, c'mon, Swirly. I'm not even, like, hungry yet! You know I like to eat at eleven!"

"You are not eating an hour from now." Swirl levitates her sister's ration and bumps it into her chest. With a scrunched muzzle, Strix takes it with her wings.

Crimson looks down at the tin box in his hand. With a deep breath to settle himself, he sits down against the basket's wall and crosses his legs. Bulletpoint sits down next to him, and together, they pop open their rations and begin to dig in, preparing themselves for the rest of the day.

Next Chapter: Beak and Talon Estimated time remaining: 22 Hours, 43 Minutes