Everyday Life With Guardsmares
Chapter 128
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This was the first time in a while Corporal Honour Bound had been in an ordinary, terrestrial cab pulled by an ordinary, hooves-on-the-ground earth pony driver.
‘Or is it?’
She furrowed her brow, trying to remember last night. Surely they five drunkards didn't just stumble back to the palace from Canterlot's fashionable Tallyho district on hoof? The events leading up to their collective decision to head home were still pretty hazy, and everything after that was a complete blur.
At least having another nap until the afternoon had managed to clear the dull, throbbing pain in her head. Honour could thank her earth pony constitution for that -- or maybe just her well conditioned liver. When she’d awoken for the afternoon shift, the rest of her comrades were still feeling out of it, and she’d suspected her Very Important Pony, who wasn't actually a pony, was likely to be out of it as well.
As Honour looked out the window, trying to remember, the Royal Engineer interrupted her thoughts.
"By the way, Corporal, I don't think I properly thanked you for your assistance last night."
‘Uhh...?’
He smiled, though there was a pain in his eyes which told her he hadn't been bluffing about nursing a painful hangover headache. Not enough to keep him in bed, he'd said, but too much to keep him from being productive in his office or the garage. So, instead, here they were in a cab, on their way to the Bridle Path Clothiers to pick up his Gala suit.
“I should say you went well beyond the call of duty. And I do apologize for my inappropriate behavior."
‘Uhhhhhhhhhhhhh.’
Panic started to set in a bit.
‘Just WHAT did I do last night?’
‘Or what does he THINK I did?’
She opted for the honest approach. "Thank you, sir, but what 'assistance' are you referring to?"
He waved a gloved hand dismissively. "Keeping me from getting into fisticuffs with that bouncer, for a start. When he refused us entrance on the basis of our obvious drunkenness, I don't know what overcame me. It was my fault for provoking him, and it wouldn't have ended well if we'd actually traded blows."
That did sound like something Honour would have done, and Glamerspear had already corroborated the incident itself.
"Yes, sir."
The Royal Engineer chuckled. "I suppose the drinks went to Specialist Sparkshower's head as well. After I ducked his punch and that poor colt bounced off of Glamerspear's magical shield, Sparkshower tackled him so fast I'd have sworn she'd brought that rocket-lance along for the night."
It sounded like quite the show; she was almost upset she couldn't remember it. ‘Drunken member of the Blue Chamber shouts expletives at bouncer, ducks under punch while unicorn bodyguard shield-bounces the target back and the pegasus tackles, while earth pony runs blocker on the VIP.’
Honour had a vague recollection of standing on her hind hooves, forehooves pressed up against Anonymous' chest, while he struggled to step forward, waving his hands and hollering taunts past her head. Could she remember any of them?
'I'm gonna beat you like a rented mule, boy'?
That sounded familiar; it just needed more slurring, and the scent of alcohol accompanying it. She also remembered him asking repeatedly 'Do you know who I am?' and then rattling off his full title: 'By Appointment to Their Majesties Princess Celestia and Princess Luna, The Royal Engineer of Equestria'.
The Royal Engineer in question continued before she could recall any more of his litany. "Anyways, after Sergeant Ebonshield wrangled Sparkshower away, you rallied the rest of the quaternion and somehow -- I really don't know how -- calmed things down enough to hail a cab and bundle us all in."
‘A-ha! So we didn't just hoof it back to the palace.’
"That was very well done. And I seem to remember making all sorts of wild suggestions which you somehow also managed to talk me out of -- like going somewhere for a snack or desserts or hitting up another bar."
Anonymous wouldn't be the first drunken companion Honour’d had to convince to turn in after what had already been a very full night of partying.
"But you put your hoof down and saw us all back to our residences, safe and sound. I don't know what got into me; I haven't gotten drunk like that since I was studying for my Bachelor's degree."
She nodded knowingly. It was funny how despite the social gulf -- not to mention the racial one -- his experiences seemed to mirror her own. "Yes, sir. I don't think I've imbibed so much since I first joined the Guard, either."
Her VIP swallowed, and he pulled his handkerchief out to mop a bit of sweat up at his brow. "Well, I appreciate you managing to keep a level head throughout the ordeal. And I'm sorry if my antics ruined the night. But you really didn't have to help me in my chambers afterwards. Regardless of what Sergeant Ebonshield's said about ancient Equestrian traditions, I don't think that kind of help is demanded of you in your position, is it?"
‘In his chambers?’
Stopping a fight, hailing a cab, and dissuading further partying was one thing...
‘What did I get up to in his room?’
She started to get a bit hot under her armored collar. "Sir?"
He emitted a pained chuckle. "I mean, my suit -- it would have taken one night's sleep in it. Wrinkles iron out eventually. You didn't have to help me get undressed."
‘I helped him out of his suit.’
‘That's... a little awkward, but it wasn't really too bad, was it?’
Yes, clothes were different for him than for ponies, but she’d already seen him naked when she passed through that waterfall in the Lunar Sanctuary, in the batpony Rookery under Canterlot Mountain.
"I do appreciate your thoroughness, though."
Honour wracked her brain, trying to reconstruct the scene. As the drunken haze lifted, pieces started to click into place.
Suggested background music: British Sea Power - 'Your Body Betrays Your Degeneracy', from 'Disco Elysium' [2019]
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p1nkmNTpzOU
She found herself on her hind hooves again, but not out on a cobblestone street. It was indoors; in the Royal Engineer's chambers, and she was on the other side of the low movable partition wall which separated the living, dining, and work spaces at the front from his bed and dressing area.
Her forehooves were on his chest -- and around them, slightly -- but this time he wasn’t struggling against her. He was just leaning slightly, and swaying.
The buttons on his shirt were giving her trouble.
‘Why are there so many of them??’
‘And why are they so small??’
‘Damn unicorn tailors not accommodating anypony without telekinesis... or hands.’
"Lemme... Lemme help. I can do... I can do buttons."
Honour remembered saying ‘no, sir, I'll take care of it, sir.’ There was no way some BUTTONS of all things were going to defeat her, drunk or not. She managed to undo one more coming up from the bottom and her muzzle met his fingers as he got the top three open. That was a triumph, but when he pulled up his shirt to reveal two more buttons previously hidden below his waistline, her disappointment was immeasurable.
"I got-- I got these. Jus'hold onto me so you -- so you don't fall down."
He struggled in place, wobbling on his feet, and it was clear that drunk fingers were scarcely better than drunk hooves, or drunk teeth, at manipulating the obnoxious little fixtures. Finally, he got them undone, and with the cufflinks already removed, he could take his shirt off. The undershirt followed after only a little struggling and a near-tumble sideways.
There was just one piece left, but when he hunched forward to get a look at the Tartarean clasp which held his pants together, he almost fell right over the corporal. She raised a hoof and told him to just wait.
‘I got this.’
It was like solving a puzzle.
She sat down on her haunches for a more comfortable approach, and he put his hands on her withers, steadying himself, while his eyes flickered open and closed as sleep began to overtake him.
There was a button, and a zipper, and then on the inside there was a little buckle. But that was not enough: there was more in there -- another button? -- and she had to root around with her hooves and muzzle to figure it out.
Between his trousers and his underpants.
Dangerously close to certain other things.
But as Honour struggled towards the solution, she felt one of his hands go to her neck, gently stroking her coat back and forth. That was a distraction she didn't need right now, but...
But it felt nice.
She paused in her furious work. That momentary rest allowed sleep to start catching up with her, too, and as the tender ministrations continued, she found herself leaning forward into him, resting her head against his abdomen. His other hand left her shoulder, and she felt fingers start to pierce into the threads of her braid. Slowly, he dug them deeper and deeper, parting the strands of her tightly-bound mane until he reached her crest and began to massage.
She felt her eyes close.
"Soft choco-pone... Soft... Why'd you... Why'd y'wear y'hair up like this anyways, co'pral. Oughtta let it down, s'probably prettier likedat."
With one ear against his chest, she didn't so much hear his mumbling as feel it.
"Prettier... Errythingsso pretty here. Softnpretty."
The fingers worked deep, and she let out a small moan, tilting her head sideways to guide them along their way.
"Prettynsoft, nsoftnpretty... Jus wanna... wanna curl up with errything. Curl up... Curl up."
She felt his chest rise and fall with each breath.
"Curl up... Curlup an'not be alone."
The rhythm of her lungs synchronized with his.
"Donwanna be loneanymore. Donwanna... Donwanna..."
There was a sudden movement, and Honour was jostled back to her senses by the labored breathing of her VIP, who had tears in his eyes.
The Royal Engineer stepped back from her, thrusting his pelvis forward and arching his back, standing on his toes as he angrily attacked the last two inner buttons holding his pants on. He almost stumbled over sideways before getting them open, and once that was done, he unceremoniously sat down hard on the ground, his back up against the side of his bed, with his pants around his knees. As he leaned up against the wooden frame, Honour saw his eyes shut, and then his head lolled forward, surrendering to exhaustion.
She remembered hesitating for a moment. But she couldn't leave a job half done. He'd be all stiff and sore in the morning if he slept sitting up like that.
Straightening his legs, Honour pulled his pants off and then put her muzzle under his shoulder, hoisting him up.
"...Huh? Whuzzat? Whuddufuck izzat?"
She told him who she was, and that it was time to sleep, and as she lifted him level with the mattress, he instinctively turned around, his hands finding familiar purchase in the soft bedding and silky sheets.
"...hokay. Gnngiht cpral. GudnighintzzzzzzzzSNORTzzzz." He barely got himself in before plummeting straight to sleep.
Honour gently pulled the top sheet over her VIP, and then managed to make her way out, past his plush easy chair and two very inviting-looking sofas, through his chamber door, up the stairs to the second floor, and into her own bedroom to flop out on her own bed.
Back in the present, the Royal Engineer sat across from Honour in the cab, looking tired, but friendly and appreciative. He remembered her helping him undress, but did he remember what he did? Groping her neck? Fondling her braid? Commenting on her manestyle?
Admitting his loneliness?
And had she even remembered it all, or was there more she’d forgotten? Somehow, she felt certain it didn't go further than that. Maybe he'd said more and maybe the embrace -- what else could she call it, if she didn't resist? -- went on for longer than she’d realized.
Honour carefully watched his eyes as she answered him. "I was more than a little drunk myself, sir. I've been told that I can get quite determined in that state."
He ruefully shrugged his eyebrows. "I can understand that. When I got drunk in school I'd often go home and try to bang out my homework. Sometimes it'd even be legible in the morning. But last night I felt like I was on the verge of collapsing; it wouldn't have been very good if I'd fallen on top of you. Adults like us really ought to know better than to drink so much."
There was nothing evasive in his voice. He just remembered the shouting at the bouncer and then the clothes and the tumbling over; he might've been half-asleep already when he put his fingers in her braids and told her she'd look better without them.
‘Wearing my mane down…’
She hadn't done that since before her divorce.
When she’d left her ex-husband, she left Fillydelphia and her friends, left her old post and her old career, and she’d left her old manestyle behind, too. Now, the only times Honour’s mane hung free was when she brushed it in the evening and redid the braid in the morning. She hadn't even let it down for Castlerook -- not that he'd asked.
‘And even if he had asked, would I have?’
As with the offer to move back to Filly with him, it was an uncomfortable thought. About as uncomfortable as the thought of her VIP running his fingers through her mane, calling her a 'Soft choco-pone,' telling her she'd look better with her mane down, and then crying to himself about loneliness.
Well, at least the latter situation wouldn't come up again -- not if they both measured themselves next time, as he suggested. The whole quaternion had gotten tipsy; even Ebonshield didn't escape without a hangover, and if Honour was old enough to know better, then she was even more so. All of them were still sleeping it off back at the palace upstairs. Whereas here she was, feeling well enough for a two-wheeler coach ride to Poole Street.
The colt up front wearing the tackle called back over his shoulder. "Here we are, m'Lord; Bridle Path Clothiers, Poole Street. That's twenty bits, sir."
As the carriage came to a stop, Anonymous reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out two ten-bit pieces. He opened the door, stepped down, and hoofed -- handed, rather -- them to the driver before Honour exited the vehicle as well.
"Here you go, cabbie. Is there a stand nearby where we can find a carriage for our return?"
As the colt sat down to put the fare in his purse, he pointed a forehoof down the street. "Just down there, sir, not two blocks away. Your Lordship might even find me there."
Honour glanced inside the window of the store. There were a lot of customers in there -- at least a dozen that she could see, and who knows how many more in any of the other rooms. And they didn't look like they were all part of the same group.
‘Looks like we’ll be waiting for a while.’
"I don't think we're going to be in and out too quickly."
There was a deep rumble in the grey sky above, and all three of them looked up to see imminent darkening.
Anonymous frowned as he spoke up. "That's not a welcome noise. I don't much fancy a wet dash while nursing a hangover and possibly with a new suit in hand."
‘That's a ridiculous statement.’
‘I’m his bodyguard -- I’d go run the two blocks to get the cab for him, he wouldn't have to run with me.’
"Sir, if it's raining when we come out, I can always-"
As he'd so often done before, he infuriatingly ignored her suggestion of sacrifice for his sake before she could even finish making it, addressing himself to the driver. "Tell me, my friend, could we arrange for you to come back and pick us up in, say, two hours?"
Somehow the way he casually used 'we' mollified her rage at being overruled. She supposed that even if she’d run for the taxi stand and gotten soaked on behalf of her VIP, then there would've been the question of what to do with her afterwards. Some VIPs would tell their bodyguards to walk back to the palace.
Anonymous definitely wasn't one of those; she’d take the carriage with him for sure. Normally she would stand on the running board at the back, getting even more wet and probably muddy, too.
And the Royal Engineer wouldn't have accepted that either. Which means he'd order her inside to sit next to him, and then she’d soak him by virtue of adjacency.
The cabbie shook his head as Honour heard the trotting of hooves all around her from ponies hustling for cover. "Sorry, m'Lord, I'm afraid it's against agency rules; scheduled pickups require a four-wheeler minimum. You could hire me for the half-day, though. It's two hundred bits, but I'll refund you the twenty from just now."
"Very well. On a day like this, it's worth it."
Honour’s VIP reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a long wallet, opening it to extract a pair of hundred-bit notes.
It had been a lot fuller last night when they first hit the town. Hundred-bit notes, five-hundred-bit notes, even a substantial wad of thousand-bit notes. The Royal Engineer had said he'd not just come in under budget on the Whirlwind, he'd also been pretty frugal with his personal allowance up until now. That's how he was able to buy bottle service tables at three different nightclubs without batting an eye.
"Here you go."
"Thank you, m'Lord. And here's your twenty bits back. I'll be right here warming your seat for you when you've finished."
With a cheerful forehoof salute, the colt unhooked himself from the two supporting shafts, propped them up on folding rests to keep the cab level, dusted off his hooves, and then clambered into his own taxi to take refuge from the impending rain.
The first spits of water just started to fall as they entered the coltswear store. Honour’s observations inside confirmed what she saw from the outside; it was packed in here. There were seats set up with customers waiting on them, and staff darting to and fro with outfits held in hooves or wings, or more commonly in magical telekinetic glows. Honour could always tell Gala season in Canterlot by how busy the clothing shops were -- even on a rainy day.
A slender young unicorn mare with a feathered cap waited at a book-stand inside, like a restaurant hostess with a seating plan. "Good afternoon! Welcome to Bridle Path Clothiers. Are you here to pick up an order, or would you like to browse?"
"Picking up. It's for a bespoke suit."
She consulted the tome spread open in front of her. "I'm afraid it's going to be a wait of around thirty minutes, perhaps an hour if you wanted to try it on first. Or I can write you in for an appointment later?"
There was another rumble of thunder outside, and then the sky started to unload on what poor ponies hadn't made it to shelter in time. Usually Canterlot only got scheduled drizzle during the daytime, with major showers reserved for the night; this must've been a big weather pattern if the Airborne Weather And Climate Service pegasi couldn't break up the storm front without putting it in the forecast. It was pretty rare for severe weather to slip by the AWACS.
"That's all right, we'll wait for a room."
After taking his name, she directed them to an empty pair of seats, to be called up when it was their turn with a staff member and fitting room. Accepting the seat, Honour sat taciturn for several minutes. The Royal Engineer accepted a glass of water that the receptionist-mare brought him, then closed his eyes and joined her in silence. With the hangover, her VIP was apparently, and quite understandably, not in a chatty mood.
That didn't bother her.
Glancing around, Honour took in the crowd. There were colts of all ages waiting for their Gala outfits, some of them accompanied by their partners, a few of them by either their children or their parents, and curiously, two of them even had bodyguards. Neither of those were wearing official Royal Guard dress, though that didn't necessarily mean they weren't Royal Guardsponies, since special uniforms could be issued by the VIP. But she felt certain that neither of their patrons were guests of the palace, which meant these escorts were private hires.
On her right was an older colt, probably in his fifties in loose but elegant robes, with a curly mane, a short mustache, and a goatee. He was accompanied by a young, thin pegasus tart, smartly dressed in a tan jacket with gold epaulettes, a red side cap on her head and a black silk scarf completing the ensemble. She was clearly trying to look like she'd been in the guard, but with her age, there was no chance, not unless she'd washed straight out of 'shoe camp. She wasn't even armed -- no sabots, no weapons. Her fashionable medium-length manestyle was practical enough, and maybe she simply didn't feel the need to be visibly armed in a coltswear store, but the corporal was still almost certain she was just for show.
Honour wondered if the colt was even nobility. He didn't seem to quite have that aristocratic air -- maybe he was a commoner who'd been decorated for some service to Equestria? He might even be a retired general or other high-ranking official -- among non-nobles, those were the most common kinds of ponies given the privilege of a retinue. Either way, he must at least have some wealth to make use of his granted affinity by hiring a model as a VIP.
To Honour’s left, sitting in a corner, was a young twenty-something noblecolt regarding most of the room with a muzzle upturned in disdain. Accompanying him was an earth pony mare in her late thirties or early forties, who was wearing an ordinary, open-collared white shirt, with a beige pleated skirt and a pair of small brown saddlebags on a matching belt. Unlike the pegasus, from the bulge around her hooves, Honour could tell she had sabots on -- but she'd concealed them under dark brown short boots. The whole outfit screamed 'grey mare operator'; Honour was certain she had wraparound 'tactical' sunglasses in one of those bags.
But the corporal had to admit, she did fit right in here, and probably would anywhere else her VIP would care to go, too. Add a brown tie and a beige blazer and she'd be formal enough for the palace. Although she was doing a good job of blending in, Honour noted that she was also alertly watching all the movement in the busy store. She'd had proper training; she'd probably been in the Royal Guard, and maybe even in the VIP section.
The corporal caught the bodyguard eyeing her up, and from the look of sympathy she seemed to project, Honour was all but certain she'd served in exactly the same role. Her eyes seemed to say, 'I've been there, sister.' With maybe an apologetic hint of, 'It doesn't get much better, sorry.'
The corporal was struck by the two opposites of bodyguard duty before her. On the one hoof, the pretty decoration, hired for their youth and their looks and maybe a few other private things, but definitely not their fighting ability. On the other, the seasoned semi-retired warrior, fit as a warrior should be, and doubtless capable of projecting authority if needed, but hired for their genuine ability to protect a noble family's scion.
Honour had never been the first one; she wasn't good-looking enough, and regardless, by the time she’d joined the VIP section, she'd already been too disillusioned by her divorce to primp and preen and put on the haughty air required.
But, if she remained in the VIP section, was she heading for the second example? Five or ten years from now, when she was fully disillusioned with the Guard itself, would Honour retire a corporal, or maybe if she was lucky, a sergeant -- promotions were rare in this posting -- would she then wind up a private bodyguard herself? Being overruled by the noble family's head, dealing with the protestations of the young noblefoal, and putting up with just as much nonsense, if not more -- albeit for better pay?
If not, what was the alternative? Castlerook's timid proposal to go back exactly where she’d come from? Back to Fillydelphia, back to her family, and her old friends, and her old enemies? Back to her old regiment, except everypony competent had already been promoted past her? She’d reached Corporal half a year before Castlerook, damn it! And here he was a sergeant, pussyhoofing around his obvious plans -- Honour and Alex, in Filly', in the Guard, together.
She didn't know if that's what she wanted, but part of her almost wished he'd put his hooves down and properly push her into it. Celestia, she’d been out drinking with him three times and he'd slow-played her every time -- because he thought she was still the fragile mare who had to leave town when her marriage blew up in her face. Whereas she went drinking with her VIP just once and he'd already drunkenly groped her. Well, her mane, anyways. If Castlerook did the same thing she’d probably -- no, definitely -- melt right into his hooves. Yes, she was fragile after Filly', and yes, she wanted to know her colt respected her space and her opinion and her intelligence and all those other things about her. But damn if Honour didn't also want some aggression along with that respect.
She sighed.
Better try to make plans with Castlerook in what's left of this week, before the Gala. No doubt his regiment would be busy escorting sailors to and from the palace the whole time. Including the Tambermane's crew.
Including Leeward.
Honour shivered, and silently prayed to Celestia that she wouldn't run into him. The odds weren't too bad. It was a big palace, and a big Gala, after all. Unless he got there first and heard their party being announced in...
"Mister Anonymous? We have a fitting room for you now. Just this way, please."
One of the salescolts, wearing a measuring tape over his withers and with dark sweat spots at the shoulders of his otherwise impeccable dress shirt, led Honour's VIP over to one of the side areas of the store. She followed after him, surprised to be served so fast.
Glancing back at the seated crowd, she noticed that several of them now had elegantly-wrapped packages and boxes ready to go -- they were all just waiting for the torrential rain outside to let up.
‘Huh. I must've been daydreaming about the future longer than I thought.’
Even more time was made available for her to silently reflect as the Royal Engineer stepped into one of the cubicles and changed into his new outfit. Craning her head a bit, Honour looked back into the main room and saw that the young pegasus bodyguard was dripping wet, looking very unhappy. She must've gone out to ask Honour's cabbie if he was for hire -- that old colt wouldn't have sent his gaudy jewel all the way down the street to the taxi stand. But sending her just to the curb in front of the store for a cab ride home? And then she'd have time to freshen up, before anypony else would see her? Yeah, that, he'd do.
A glance at the older bodyguard revealed that she was bone dry. No doubt she saw Honour’s VIP's exchange with him before they both entered the store, and correctly informed her own charge of the situation with that tempting taxicab just outside the door. She even caught the grey-mare operator smirking at the ornamental guardsmare.
A flash of lightning illuminated the windows, and several of the ponies -- the wet guard included -- jumped in surprise. With a sigh, the operator bodyguard casually reached a forehoof into her left saddle bag, whipping out a pair of sporty sunglasses which she casually slipped on.
‘Hah! Called it.’
Honour heard the sound of a latch, followed by the steps of formal-shoe soles against the wooden floor.
"Well, Corporal, what do you think?"
The Royal Engineer stood before her, wearing a smouldering look and appearing resplendent in his bespoke, three-piece Gala tailcoat suit.
‘He's…’
‘I’m…’
‘Wow.’
‘Uh, maybe…’
‘Maybe I’m going to need to put my hair down -- for the Gala.’
Suggested interlude music: ZZ Top - 'Sharp Dressed Man' [1983]
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WUnp0xPF6zw
