Worth of a Dream (Locked)

[Fantasy Script]

After quite a few days of travelling he finally reached the path that would lead up towards Canterlot. Script had been travelling by night, reasoning that the darkness would give him a bit more protection and rested by day, hidden in grooves, bushes and caves as best he could. Albion had been invaluable, being able to guide Script away from at least one dodgy encounter. The small fox wasn’t exactly a coward but certainly knew how to pick his fights wisely. Finally he had arrived; he only hoped that the guards wouldn’t attack on sight. He couldn’t imagine them to be overly welcoming of strangers from distant lands right now.

Especially at this ungodly hour of the morning, he thought. Guessing by the moon dipping just past the horizon it was about five in the morning. Whoever’s shift it was, was probably tired and antsy, hoping for his shift to end.

Much like Fantasy Script.

The cider in his flask was almost gone by now, which wasn’t a very comforting thought. Admittedly he craved a good pint of fresh, foaming delight delivered by a pretty barmaid.

“By Celestia’s golden hoof shoes…” he muttered, unable to comprehend what he was seeing.

As Script gazed at the ruins that had once been a proud city it took his breath away. In a terrible, sinking, wrenching wave of disbelief. He had seen the Sky Titan in the distance, had felt the waves of etheric energy that had spilled forth from that rip in reality as it had been summoned, but to see the destruction it had wrought was something else. To see Canterlot in ruins was something that he couldn’t quite comprehend. Here was living proof to him the powers with which he would be confronted should he truly join the frontline. Now was his chance to make haste back home. Now was his chance to reconsider.

But he wouldn’t. Fantasy Script carried with him not only his own dreams of one day seeing Ponyville, free of terror and enemies but also that of his father. The Town of Harmony being resurrected again, alive and vibrant, was his ambition, his effort to make things right again and repent for his father’s death.

As the guards spotted him, he slowed down and lastly stopped within a reasonable distance. Close enough to have a basic conversation, but as unthreatening as possible, with lots of time for the guards to react where he to do any funny business.

“Greetings! My name is Fantasy Script!” he bellowed, loud and clear, easy to understand and pick up for anyone, his voice gruff and deep as always. He stood rigid, at attention and looked straight ahead, his face impassive, perhaps a bit grumpy as was the norm for him.

Albion’s head poked out of his little poach at the bellow of the Foodgiver and observed his surroundings with a keen eye. Intelligence glinted in the small eyes as he watched their surroundings, always searching, always looking for something.

“I hail from Stalliongrad and I have come to join the Guard and help as only a willing fighter can.”

He certainly hoped that he could enter the city, unsure whether procedures had changed, whether they would assume him to be a spy or something else. He really wasn’t in the mood to deal with stupid questions. His only motivation was to join the guard, start training and get those thrice cursed dogs out of Ponyville as quickly as possible.

He wanted some authentic Sweet Apple Acres cider, for Celestia’s sake…

Forlornly he took a swig from his flask, draining the last drops of delicious home-made cider. His mother’s own recipe, and about the only thing he could make without causing clouds of smoke to billow from the kitchen window.

[Red Charge]

Fantasy Script approached the bottom of Canterlot Mountain. With the tunnel entrance for trains completely buried, the only way up would be via airlift, or teleportation. The group of lookouts posted at the bottom of the mountain was to keep watch for any Diamond Dog attempts to pop up from the ground at the base of the mountain to sap against the foundations. Fortunately that has not happened yet, nor did the Diamond Dogs reach the valley yet. Fillydelphia's forces were on their way as well. It was likely that they'd meet the Diamond Dogs half way, at least, that was the plan.

Slightly to the distance, Fantasy Script could see the few griffon airships remaining on the ground. These too were in various stages of lifting off, it was unwise to keep them on the ground as the Diamond Dogs would likely try to sabotage them. They were all flight worthy anyway.

The lookouts were somewhat suspicious of Fantasy Script as he approached. But with the Changelings well under the Field Marshal's control and, honestly, that they would have been a lot more subtle with trying to get into the army ranks. They figured he would be pretty safe to bring up. He looked big enough and they were going to need whoever they could get.

"Alright you, see that tent at the base? Have the unicorn teleport you up, then find the recruitment officer. Hope you're good for it, going to get real noisy soon."

He directed him to a tent at the base of the mountain, an improvised command tent, occasionally a pony or two would go in, or come out as a bright light flashed from within. What a taxing job it must have been.

Inside the tent he found a rather short lime colored unicorn wearing what appeared to be a lead blindfold. "Up or over?" The stout unicorn asked gruffly.

[Fantasy Script]

“Thank you.” Script replied, nodding to the guard. He’d find the officer on his own, shouldn’t be that hard to do, probably close to the barracks or something. He felt a shiver of fear tingle down his spine at the mention of teleports.

Slowly he made his way over to the tent and blinked at the blindfolded unicorn. A lead blindfold, why in Celestia’s name would they need a lead blindfold? Bah, none of his business, he thought. If the weirdo wanted lead covering his eyes he probably had a Dang good reason for it. Probably weird magical laser eyes or something… it was too much of a bother to ask now he just wanted to rest his weary bones.

The guy was most likely tired as buck anyways, no need to annoy someone who was going to rip you apart and assemble you somewhere else. Or rip a portal through time and spaces… or whatever. However teleportation worked, he never really got the hang of it. Too complicated for him and honestly, he didn’t feel comfortable with the whole thing in general if he really thought about it, which is why he chose to ignore most of the theory he had read up upon in favour of letting the skilled pony do what the skilled pony did. Completely trusting the stranger to not buck up his genetic make up and turn him into a radish.

Script really wasn’t overly fond of teleporting.

“Gotta go up.” He grumbled just as gruffly easily matching grumpiness with the teleporter. His voice wavered a little, betraying his nervousness. He didn’t fear teleportation. It was just a healthy respect. He knew it would happen a lot and it would mostly be done by skilled ponies or in emergencies where there was buck else to do and Celestia Dang the consequences. Nothing to worry about.

“Let’s just get it over with.” He muttered moodily, mostly to himself. He took a deep breath and readied himself. Really a unicorn afraid of a little magic… he wasn’t a filly anymore.

[Red Charge]

The unicorn said nothing and instead started charging magic in his horn. Fantasy Script became completely blinded in the next second. All he could see was bright white. He had a complete sense of weightlessness for exactly an instant but then he felt his hooves meet solid ground again. However, it took his eyes several minutes to fade from white into the real world. Well, that would explain the lead blindfold. Spending all day, every day, looking at bright magical flashes could not be healthy on the eyes for anyone. But at least he was there, and though everything still seemed a few shades whiter than it should have and maybe a few stars were popping in his field of view, Fantasy Script was in Canterlot proper.

Without the tall spires seen from all over Equestria it was hard to think the city was still complete rubble, but the foundations for a new Canterlot were already in the making. At least the first story on several buildings was restored, with emphasis on larger municipal buildings. The palace, surprisingly, still lay ruined and neglected, the Princess putting the well being of her citizens before her own. Again as soon as he arrived he was accosted by guards, who looked him up and down, muttered something about "offensive clothing" and sent him off to the recruitment officer. Apparently he wasn't the only volunteer to have arrived in recent days and the guards did not pay him a great deal of attention. They provided very vague instructions that sent Fantasy Script in circles around the same ruined spire for maybe half an hour before he found the turn they were referencing (it wasn't a turn at all, it was going through a destroyed kitchen with a surprisingly functional faucet).

Of course, every single pony and griffon he saw along the way gave him a look, what with his outlandish attire and all. When he reached the recruitment officer's tent the pony was far too busy organizing paperwork to pay attention to him. He said the phrase, "One moment, please." Far too many times to be considered courteous and by the time he actually turned to Script, they were interrupted by a soldier, who, after taking several more minutes of the officer's time, went on his way.

Finally the officer readied and empty form and was ready to write down Script's details.

"I'll need your name, date of birth, city of origin and current address, marital situation, names and addresses of immediate all immediate family members, you're going to need to sign this waiver, fill out this medical questionnaire and take it to the medical pavilion to get a medical and psychological checkup, after you're done with those, you bring the waiver and a copy of the medical forms to me, the other copy will stay with the medicine corps and another one you take with you. You'll be provided an A-51 for the armory to pick up your standard gear and an A-52 to store your personal possessions. After you're done signing for all of your standard gear you bring a copy of both A-51 and A-52 to me, and you keep a copy with you. Then you fill out form A-55 for your salary and an A-58 for insurance. You are recruited with the rank of private or specialist depending on your qualifications for the duration of the volunteering period as defined by the War Council, you will not be eligible for field promotions and at any time of uncertainty will follow the orders of the nearest regular military personnel. You will be assigned a unit where you will bring your personal file, which contains a copy of the information you provide to me here and copies of the forms you will fill out. Any loss of forms and or equipment will be coming out of your salary. Once you finish your recruitment process you will receive a hoofbook listing general rules, regulations and the moral code of the Equestrian Military. This hoofbook will be marked with your details and the loss of it is considered a court-marshal offense, as it must be on your person at all times. Any questions?"

The pony spoke rapidly, with not even a single pause to allow Fantasy Script to interrupt him, he pulled up several more forms, the medical questionnaire (complete with psychological appendix), all of the other confusing forms and the waiver and was now waiting for Script to either ask a question or start giving out his details. Paperwork, of course, the bread and butter of any organization. Seems like doing this would take the better part of a day, but that was the requirement for enlisting, it seemed.

[Fantasy Script]

“Mother of Magic!” the blinded pony swore rubbing futilely at his eyes and trying to regain his vision. By the princesses, he could wholeheartedly agree with the notion of a lead blindfold now. Buck, he wanted one of those just on the off chance he would ever have to be teleported again. That unicorn could at least have warned him that the light would be that Dang bright for Celestia’s sake… muttering and cursing he stood there, not moving much until his eyes could, at last, sort out at least bright spots and slightly less bright spots. It took a moment, and by the bemused look of the guards he saw once his vision cleared this must be something rather common that he was finally able to see, even though the world seemed to have become a tad brighter since he last saw it.

“Stupid teleport spells, stupid blinding flashes of light, stupid teleportation magic, stupid blindfold…” he muttered for a good while longer until satisfied that his vision wouldn’t get any better by just standing around.

The guards’ amusement turned sour as he finally made a move and they began to search him, question him and generally do what guards were supposed to be doing, commenting on his clothing, which, admittedly, looked rather out of place, especially the skull helmet. After a lot of poking and prodding he was kindly pointed in the direction he had to go. Script only nodded in thanks, keeping his mouth shut lest he begin cursing and insulting people that probably could beat him down and shut him up rather effectively. Even still he looked even sourer as he was finally allowed to explore.

Sure he understood the need, didn’t mean he had to like it.

At least Canterlot seemed to be on its way to healing. Buildings were slowly rising up again, streets were being cleared and houses began to look like houses again instead of rubble and ruins. That the palace was still in disrepair was kind of sad, but he could respect such a decision. Showed that the ruler cared about their citizens first and their status second. He nodded approvingly. He turned a corner, as per the instructions, what little there of there was, and followed the path until he hopefully found the turn they were describing.

And followed it.

And followed it.

After the fifth turn or so, Script was pretty sure that that piece of rubble looked exactly like the other four pieces of rubble he had encountered so far, further study proved him right as by the sixth turn he found the mark on it he had left. This was getting increasingly annoying. The looks people were giving him didn’t help and he more than once barked at someone to mind their own business when a comment about his attire reached his ears. Sure, he looked outlandish, but by the Princesses did they have to be so blatant about it?

Seventh turn, the piece of rubble stayed the same and no turn had revealed itself so far. He decided to try it the other way round for a change, maybe the turn was easier to spot that way.

No luck.

It took him the better half of an hour until finally he saw another path – leading straight through a broken kitchen. It wasn’t even a turn, just a break in the wall not even remotely recognizable as something similar or even distantly related to a turn.

“Oh for the… what is it with this city…”

Stomping through the ruined kitchen and only distantly noticing that the faucet seemed pretty lively still he trudged onwards finally, FINALLY, making it to the officer he had been looking for.

Only to wait.

And wait.

And wait some more.

He was ready and willing to use bodily harm by the time that soldier came in and his glare was drilling a hole through the poor saps skull – or so Script liked to imagine. Thankfully for the poor soldier, Script didn’t know any drilling spells that would have been powerful enough to penetrate a skull in the time he had. He knew a drilling spell, a few tiny ones for rune crafting but nothing effective enough to properly make a point. Finally the officer had the time to answer him and by the Mother of Magic did Script wish he hadn’t. What followed was a litany of forms, rules, questions and statements that, at the tempo they were being spewed at him, neither made sense, nor could be followed. He was tired and rather annoyed by now and had to swallow a lot of choice curses that he wished he could throw at the pony before him.

Alas, he reminded himself, he needed to be calm. This man would decide whether he would make it into the ranks or not. Through clenched the he slowly pressed out his breath and carefully and as respectfully as he could manage addressed the pony before him.

“Sir… with all due respect, either give me the d-… the papers and I’ll fill them out myself, or take the time to make this easier for the both of us. I think I got most of the beginning…”

He sighed, hoping that the man would forgive him his rather strained tone of voice. Easy breaths Script, he told himself. Soon you’ll have a shot at saving your father’s dream… just calm the buck down.

“The name’s Fantasy Script… born…” he thought a moment before naming the date; he never celebrated his birthday anymore since his sister had died as well. It took him a moment to remember which day it had been. “Stalliongrad was my home; I have no current address, single, no living relations as far as I know. Now what do I need to sign? And I realize there are standards to be met, but by Luna’s Moon please tell me there is some way I can keep my sword and helmet at least?”

He could feel the hoofcramp already; this would probably take all day if he was really lucky before he could finally collapse into a bed. He tried to be as cooperative as possible but his patience was already wearing rather thin, he was tired, hungry and craved a good cider and the tour around the spire certainly hadn’t helped.

Easy breaths, Script, he told himself again and again. You need to do this; this is the most important thing right now. Don’t let your tongue ruin it this is the only shot you have…

He prayed the officer was the forgiving sort, or even the understanding sort, or at least the sort that would let a bit of gruff go. Maybe write it off as a Stalliongrad thing, a lot of ponies in that city where rather gruff and temperamental.

[Red Charge]

The recruitment officer sighed in resignation, took out a blank form and quickly scribbled something on the back of it before folding it into a perfect paper bird and with magic, sending it on his way. The little paper bird flapped its wings as it took off out of the tent towards its unknown destination.

The officer then addressed Script's question about his gear, "Unfortunately, no, your sword breaks off and stabs someone in the eye, that makes both you and us liable. Your personal possessions will be stored and returned to you upon the completion of your service period or sent to be stored in a storage facility local to your home settlement. Regulations are regulations. For special permits and permission you may file a request no sooner than 30 days into your service period." At that the unicorn began filling out the many forms with Script's details, occasionally asking another question here and there to fill in a blank. By the time they were done another unicorn had entered the tent, his seemed far healthier than a soldier's coat should seem, nearly glistening in pale amber and his mane was short, scruffy, but stylish, heliotrope in color. Almost the mirror image of Script, the pony healthy, well fed and well rested. He wasn't in uniform so one had to assume he was currently off duty, for whatever reason.

"This is Lucky Drops, he's been helping me with showing the new recruits around. Lucky is a new recruit himself, came in a few days before you did from Neighroby, he'll take you around and help you get through the recruitment process. Lucky, this is Fantasy Script, be a lam and help him through the soldiering chain, will you?" The officer asked, neatly stacking the forms in the order they were to be filled out in and adding in one additional checklist form to keep track of the stations in the soldiering chain. He handed the forms to Fantasy Script and patiently waited for the duo to leave so he could resume his work.

"Sure thing, hey there partner," The unicorn said, shaking the grumpy unicorn's hoof heartily, "Alright, looks like you've got all the forms, let's get this ball rolling. First stop, the Medical Pavilion." As the recruitment officer returned to his paperwork, Lucky took Script outside. He effortlessly guided the northern pony through rubble and debris around Canterlot. "Don't be alarmed if they're a bit too touchy in the examinations, they need to check for EVERYTHING you know? Don't want to get stuck paying your medical bills for life because you had a... pre-existing condition, you know? Just hope you get Nurse Red Heart, she's a cutie, I'd let her give me a check up any day if they'd let me. Oh and then they check you for crazy, but yeah, you know, maybe you should let me hang on to that skull thing for you while you're in there. I mean, I dunno if just having a skull is a reason to disqualify you, but better safe than sorry right? Oh right and if you see the Princess in there, don't forget to bow, she doesn't really care about these sort of formalities, but you know, the commanders do. One of the other guys I brought in forgot and well, he was sent packing all the way back to Trottingham." Lucky Drops sure seemed to know his way around and he was energetic and chatty along the way as well. He was so perky it was almost obscene.

The medical pavilion was visible from most of Canterlot, being the only multi-storied 'building' for lack of a better word in the city. Lucky's knowledge of blocked roads and shortcuts came in very handy got them there in record time. He must have done this trip several times in the last few days, helping new recruits go around. He stopped outside, "Here we go, right on in... and uh yeah, about that skull..." He started, shrugging.

[Fantasy Script]

Script groaned. Great. He couldn’t even keep his lovely piece of highly magical carnage. He had lugged the thing down here form Stalliongrad, used it to fend for life and ambition and now they were telling him that he had to lock her away. He hung his head a little, clearly disappointed. All that hard work enchanting it to the peak of his ability, the nights of research, while not exactly wasted – he had learned a lot after all – were to be locked away. It was sad, it was a tragedy, it was honestly annoying.

He shook himself a little. He sounded like a drama queen… he needed some food and sleep. Hopefully he would get at least one of the two soon.

As Lucky Drops entered, Script nodded to him, not feeling up to friendly greeting, plus the guy was just too… perky. There should be rules against people being this perky when he was this tired. He was a morning person usually, but buck he hadn’t had a good night’s rest since… since… well since a while at least. It was nice to see that he was still getting in apparently and someone to lead him around was exactly what he needed now, if he were to run circles around another spire he would probably try to eat the Dang thing out of pure spite.

He nodded at the officer, muttering “Thank you, sir.” before he followed Lucky out of the tent. The perkiness continued and soured Scripts mood further. It wasn’t exactly personal, only that the personality of the pony was slowly grating on his bared nerves and adding oxygen to his burning, short fuse. Script tried to focus on not smothering Lucky by getting out a notebook, one that he had used primarily for research and calculation of enchantments but would now also hold some more general notes.

Maybe he should start a journal, he thought, would be nice to have something to just record and order some thoughts in, save some impressions. He would look into that later on. For now at least the notebook was used to sketch a rough map while he followed Lucky with some annotations and notes about things the pony told him.

The joke about the nurse got him entirely flatfooted, eliciting a short snort from him. Although he had to admit, if he had to be handled, he would prefer a cute nurse to do the handling. He hadn’t had much of a chance to admire the mares of Canterlot yet, being much too focused on where he was going and his sour mood, maybe some nice legs and a cute smile would lighten his day… he wouldn’t say no, honestly. Though he was pretty sure, Murphy, that pesky little gnome, was listening and plotting already.

Everything that can go wrong will go wrong, he thought darkly. Murphy and he weren’t on speaking terms for a while now.

The skull… seriously, what was the problem with the skull? It was a valid option to guard the head. Metal was expensive and an armour smith needs to be paid for. Bones and leather on the other hand are much more easily acquired, especially if one had just killed an owner of such materials and were decent, quality material. He preferred leather and bone, anyways, believing that such inherently living materials took better to enchanting. Probably not entirely true but Script was certain that the nature of these materials, being often even slightly magical, were much more useful for enchantment and produced better results than some simple steel.

Of course magical metals and gem stones were a whole other can of worms, but he hadn’t had much time or resources to experiment with those. Maybe he’d be able to change this now that he would get a regular salary. Maybe he’d even be able to get the military to handle the expenses? Furthering his training or some such excuse? Something that he had to look into at some point. There was research to be done in the name of SCIENCE!

He nodded along at Lucky’s recommendation only to stop short. He would see the Princess? The actual honest to Harmony Princess? Maybe she’d be wearing her regalia… oh how he wished he could have a look at those lovely pieces of craftsmanship… the masterful metalwork, the gems, the Enchantments! Of course he would bow, who wouldn’t before such loveliness?

Pulling the helmet off his head he looked into the empty eye sockets, remembering the day a pair of yellow eyes had glared at him, fangs dripping with blood as his little sister’s life seeped into the snow, her warmth forever lost to the world…

He pushed the skull into Lucky’s hoofs.

“Just please, don’t lose it.” He murmured his expression as if he had bitten into a lemon – a particularly horrible one – and entered the tent.

[Red Charge]

The pale amber unicorn looked at Fantasy Script incredulously, "Lose it? And risk having to replace it with my own? No way. I'm guarding this as if it was my own skull. You can bet your hooves on it."

As Script entered the fancy tent he noticed nearly immediately the partitions, each patient had his own partition in the tent. Which was good, meant there weren't as many injured anymore. Just a few unicorns recovering from spell-shock after the Sky Titan arrived and, of course, Percheron Razorwing, still recovering from who knows what the Sky Titan actually did to him. The nursing staff was very lucky to have had the Ponyville refugees among them as the nurses and doctors from the village were very well practiced, being so close to the Everfree Forest. Though some had been sent to Fillydelphia to help tend the injured after the battle, the Medical Pavilion was still well staffed.

One nurse in particular was apparent, nearly running the show. A feisty looking pink haired mare with a white coat and a cutie mark in the shape of a red heart. Lucky Drops was not kidding about her being cute and she was free, too! All Script had to do was walk up to her. Of course as soon as he took a single step he was immediately accosted by what appeared to be the largest, scruffiest looking doctor he's ever seen.

"New Recruit?" The doctor asked with a hoarse voice, "C'mere, let's get you over with." He pulled the unwitting unicorn to an empty partition and immediately began the roughest, most intrusive physical Fantasy Script ever had. Of course that doctor had to insist on doing a 'through' examination, adding several more examinations than necessary and all of them, of course, uncomfortable. So sore was Script when the doctor finished signing his papers and checklist, that it seemed very likely that pony was in the wrong profession. Of course, Equestria did not have a torturer on call, but if it did, this pony would be it.

Script had to walk funny for quite a bit before he was able to get to the psychiatric evaluation. There he was presented with a litany of questions and psychological trials. After describing what appeared to be an identical member in a series of about 50 inkblots, he was finally let go saying he checked out 'well enough'. Probably means in military terms that he wasn't about to go axe crazy on anyone in his own squad anytime soon. Maybe they should give this test to that sadistic doctor pony too. What seemed to be half a day later and he had his medical forms signed and copied and his medical and psychiatric evaluations checked on his checklist. Coming outside (still bearing a limp as a reminder of the medical inspection) the first thing Script saw was his skull on Lucky Drops' hoof, facing the perky unicorn as he and the skull engaged in a fierce staring duel.

"To be, or not to be, that is the question—
Whether 'tis Nobler in the mind to suffer
The Slings and Arrows of outrageous Fortune,
Or to take Arms against a Sea of troubles,
And by opposing, end them? To die, to sleep—
No more; and by a sleep, to say we end
The Heart-ache, and the thousand Natural sh-"

However, the pony's recitation of Ham-let, the age old play of the vengeful pig prince was interrupted by a loud yelp when he noticed Script limping at him. His limbs rearranged chaotically into a four hoofed standing position and the skull, having being accidentally tossed up in the chaos landed sideways on his head.

"I was getting bored, you were there for so long!" He pleaded, handing over the skull theatrically, on the way noticing the apparent limp of his temporary charge, "Ooooh, limping are we? You stud you. Wink wink nudge nudge say no more!" He nudged the unicorn with his elbow, wiggling his eyebrows slyly.

[Fantasy Script]

He threw Lucky a strange look at his comment.

“What do you take me for? A homicidal maniac?”

Shaking his head he moved inside finally. He looked around, noting the state of the medical tent and nodded slowly. Looked good, a lot of competent seeming staff, well staffed too… only a few patients left as well. It was honestly surprising after such a large scale attack, to be this effective was rather noteworthy. Only a few unicorns left after such a catastrophe… simply amazing.

Looking around further he finally spotted the nurse that was most likely the one Lucky Drops had pointed out. “Sweet Celestia…” he whistled lowly. That one was a serious cutie. Feisty looking one, just how he liked them, with a bit of spunk and attitude. He was about to step forward and see whether she was willing to give him a little touch up when he was approached by the biggest, scruffiest and worst of all, male, doctor he had ever had the displeasure of knowing.

As he was dragged away he could only think one thing: “Screw you Murphy!”

Under much pain, protesting and yelling, mostly by him, Script managed, finally, to escape and limp away. A true Torture if ever there was one. He gazed longingly at the sweet nurse that nearly could have been the one to examine him before he trudged away, now not only sporting a frown that could curdle milk but also limping – seriously did he have to do it that… thoroughly? He was wondering whether or not he should feel violated in some way. He just wanted to sleep… eat and sleep… mostly he wanted rest and a bit of privacy to curl into a ball and suppress the memories of that horrifying examination.

Then came the psychological exam. And Horsechach’s Blots. Lots of stupid looking ink blots and he would swear to Luna that each and every one of the Dang things looked exactly alike. Except that one, that looked a little like something that probably shouldn’t exist and was a favourite of some of Craft Love’s fiction that he had enjoyed for a while. Until he began jumping at shadows and fearing that the deep ones were actually real. It didn’t help that he once had a rather terrifying encounter with some sort of seapony. Or whatever it was. She… yeah let’s not go there.

At last he was certified to not be a homicidal maniac. At least he hoped so.

Finally, FINALLY – he was ready and willing to burst out into a Heart Song just to celebrate the joyous occasion of having finished his examination – he was allowed to leave. Outside he encountered Lucky Drops doing a pretty decent rendition of Ham-let.

The other pony noticed him soon enough and tried to flee himself in excuses. He just raised an eyebrow before – lacking probably a lot of gusto thanks to the horrid day he was having – he added:

“That flesh is heir to. 'Tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wished. To die, to sleep--
To sleep--perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub,
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause. There's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life.”

“Like the story as a whole, the ending sucked though. Mind you, I read a modernized version, they only kept the soliloquy the same. And took about ten pages to explain it in the appendix…”

He limped over to the pony, took the skull without much flourish and placed it on his head again. Lucky’s hinting only earned the pony an almost desperate snort that was as much laughter as it might have been a sob.

“I only wish… horrible, horrible torturer got me… I swear Canterlot is trying to get me to leave again.”

He shook his head slowly.

“Bah, see if you can break me city. I bucking dare you! I double dare you!” he rumbled, clearly agitated.

Script shook his hoof at the sky to emphasize his point, before he simply sighed, appearing quite defeated.

“Please tell me we can get something to eat now.”

He looked at Lucky, eyes drooping from tiredness and rimmed red from the repressed anger and annoyance at pretty much everything, stomach growling like a Timberwolf and a frown on his face that could ruin Pinkie Pie’s good mood.

[Red Charge]

"First of all, you come to Canterlot wearing a skull, that's homicidal maniac if I ever saw one." Lucky Drops said, "And also, you got that big grumpy doc? So lucky! Now you know you have a healthy prostate!"

To Script's last question, he replied.

"Eat? Now? No, no, no, we have so much left to do if we want to finish this today! We still need to go to the armory so you can deposit all of your stuff and then you have to sign all of your gear and your armor. Might take a while before you find your size, it's tricky, you'll see. Then you have to get your measurements for your dress uniform and your kit-bag and then they need to take you out back so you can practice so they can give you a weapon, it's a process!" Lucky Drops said, "Then we gotta go back and you need to fill out more forms, we gotta move it, chop chop!"

The perky unicorn led the way through even more devestated households, being out of reach of the limping Fantasy Script and constantly calling back to him telling him he's being too slow. Not that it helped that the annoyingly energetic pony picked what was probably the most intense (but most direct) route to their destination. Script literally had to limp up a near vertical climb over a fallen spire to get to the other side with Lucky egging him on from the top.

It seemed that Script's hooves wore thin by the time they reached the one-story building that housed the armory. Built on the remains of a jeweler's jewelry, it has been transformed into a storage room and a small smithy. It was no foundry, but weapons and armor were brought here from storage and given to fresh new recruits. With the smithy offering minor repairs here and there. The back had a makeshift training yard to test weapons and help new recruits pick their arm of choice.

Lucky led him inside the building, where there was a very long table with a row of ponies handing out armor and gear from organized piles behind them to new recruits passing through. The first pony in the table line was taking anything the ponies had to storage. Lucky steered Script to said pony and the pony took his deposit form to list what he was depositing. When done listing all of Script's equipment, he signed a form and gave the copies to Script. At this point, Lucky winked at the now flank-naked Script. "Hey guys," He announced to the other ponies in the line, who grinned back at him, calling back "Lucky! Here's the main pone right there."

"Hey Box Car, how's that rash going?" Lucky asked the first one in line, a knowing smile on his face.

"It's gone, just like you said! You're a lifesaver!" The pony called back, nodding at the amber unicorn.

"What about you, Rebar? Roller? Your hooves all better?" He asked a couple of others who replied much the same. "Can you guys take care of my friend here? You know, give him the good, padded stuff."

"We just got some brand new padded chrome plated armor, completely new out of Fillydelphia, we're supposed to give it away only when we run out, but hey, sure." Box Car said.

"We also have some extra orthopedic insoles brought over from Royal Guard reserves, the best kind." Roller said, "I can fit him right up for two pairs."

"I've got some Griffon Coats stashed," Rebar said, "And I'll tell Point to open a box of the new weapons we got with those Chrome plated bardings."

"'Eyyy," Lucky said appreciatively, "Now that's camaraderie right here, y'see that Script? They'll take good care of ya. Down the line you go then."

As Script was pushed from one pony to the other, he was met with surprisingly comfortable equipment. First, he was measured for shoes and insoles. The shoes felt so incredibly uncomfortable, he'd really have to walk with these all day long? Fight in these? But then, when he got those insoles... heavenly bliss... No shoes he has ever walked in before had been this comfortable. He almost fell no stress on his hooves, oh sweet Celestia it was like walking on clouds.

Next up his body was measured and they whipped up for him a brand new, shiny armor, with a full visor'd helm, which were considered far better for protection AND comfort as well as flank and shin guards. It was very hard for non-officers to get this sort of equipment. Usually only veterans managed to get their hooves on gear of this level and it was sparkling brand new to boot! If all of that wasn't enough, the armor had padding, honest to Harmony padding. This meant two things - no awkward tabards in the winter slowing him down and no horrible chafes on his skin! Not to mention it lessened the stress on his back and shoulders, always a welcome quality. He picked up his deluxe Griffon winter coats (way warmer than standard coats) and the rest of his standard gear such as folding shovel, fire starting kit, tent raising kit, rope, flares, gas mask and so on and so forth.

Lucky then took him out back where he had to pick out a weapon.

"Alright, this one's all on you, just pick any weapon from the rack and start swinging with it. Tip, use your mouth so they can adjust fittings better. Who knows what might happen in the field and you don't want to be stuck with an ill fitting flail in battle let me tell you." Lucky said, shoving Script to the weapon racks. These racks contained pretty much every standard weapon one could think of. All Script had to do was pick one up and swing with it.

[Fantasy Script]

“Bah. Good solid skull to protect your own I say!” He snorted. “Yay I guess… healthy prostate and sore rump. Go me.”

He cheered listlessly. Of course though, there was to be no food. Why would there be food? He hadn’t eaten for nearly a day now, why ever would anyone think to spare him a moment to at least get a daisy sandwich or something. Seriously, what WAS he thinking? More stuff, more forms as well of course… ugh. Was he looking forward to the ‘armour’… he was half expecting some shoddy piece of leather to strap across his chest and a sharpened stick. Celestia knew what kind of gear a new recruit would get…

Groaning he moved after Lucky, trying desperately to keep up with the perky bastard. Up a ruin, down a slope, through a window, loop de loop. All the time his sore rump was complaining, his feet were starting to ache, his stomach was grumbling and his mood plummeted further and further. All for the dream, he thought. It was all for the dream.

The vertical climb though really made his horn itch. He just wanted to grab his sword and throw it after Lucky, hoping to brain the little blighter with it. He must see how much he was struggling! Why would he guide him through here?! This was, literally, a pain in the rump. A large one. That was incessantly smiling and egging him on further. Be Luna his witness he was going to brain that colt with his lovely and enjoy doing so in a most savage manner.

Stomping onward Script seemed a pony on a warpath contemplating gruesome bloodshed if he had the energy for it.

When they finally reached the smithy he was even more underwhelmed and already dreading whatever it was they would put on him. It was small, not even a true foundry and basically only offered small repairs. It was pitiful almost. Of course he could understand that, after the Sky Titan wrought its terrible destruction, there was nothing more to be had on such short notice, that they even had as much was probably a testament to endurance and tenacity but it didn’t change the fact that he wanted something more solid than shoddy leather and a pointy stick.

Inside he was lead over to the pony who would, for the foreseeable future, store everything that Script owned and treasured. It was a painful process and it took him a moment to separate himself from the necklace, this most treasured of items that he wore. It was for the dream, he repeated in his mind, over and over again. For the dream of his father, for his own dream. He could do this. To give up that last little reminder hurt, it hurt a lot, but it was something he had to do and it wouldn’t be gone forever. It was save, he would be able to get it back soon, surely.

Lucky apparently knew some of the ponies working this storage and greeted them accordingly. The amber pony seemed to be a well liked fellow who had friends everywhere and seemed to be a rather decent sort. Script had to admit, and would admit freely, that the pony was helping him greatly, taking the time to lead him around and show him everything, even if he DID chose to take the most annoying routes. At least he now had a decent, if small, map of Canterlot that he could use to navigate. Script was probably being unfair to the colt, projecting all his annoyance on him.

And then Lucky did something that cracked the shell of the grumpy northern pony.

He got chrome. Padded, brand spanking new chrome. It was shiny, it was beautiful, it was amazingly comfy and it fit incredibly well. It was by leaps and bounds the best of the best of armour he had ever had the pleasure of wearing. It was amazing. It was something he shouldn’t have and he knew that perfectly well. This was not something a new recruit should be handed, this was not something a private at all should be given. This was for veterans, for ponies who had served and deserved the best. And just because he had, indeed, been lucky, he had gotten his hoofs on remarkable, incredible gear.

The more stuff was pressed into his hoofs the more he was impressed with what was happening. Either Murphy was off annoying someone else or he there was, well and truly, a drop of luck for him to enjoy. This was way more than he had expected.

As Lucky pushed him towards the weapon rack – really? His mouth? Well alright he could do that as well, his trainer had insisted that he learn to use both, mouth and telekinetic drills – he stopped and turned around.

“You know Lucky; I seriously thought I was going to strangle you once I caught up to you. But you did me a great favour right now. This stuff is way better than anything I expected, way better than anything I deserve. I’m the grumpy sort, I know that, I’m not the likeable sort, I know that too and I don’t mind. Still, you did me a great favour, so thank you. I owe you one.”

With that he turned towards the weapon’s rack and began to search for something he’d like to own and wield. He preferred heavier, longer swords for both reach and impact strength. Having inherited his mother’s more solid, broader built and having trained with his own sword for quite a while he felt more comfortable with a bigger piece of steel. He carefully made his way through the selection testing the blades, testing weight and balance and general feel and looking for the one that felt right, that he felt most comfortable with. It didn’t need to be exactly like his unwieldy hunk, although he loved that huge thing to pieces, but it needed to be something that he really felt comfortable with.

This, he thought, was not something that should be rushed. His life and the life of his comrades would depend on this weapon.

After a while he finally found one that he liked. It was close to his old one, a bit slimmer but longer with about the same weight. A more elegant blade compared to his old one but it suited him. The pull on his neck wasn’t so bad and it swung itself beautifully.

“This one.” He finally said. “This one’s mine.”

A bit of back and forth to get the fittings just right and he was happy. His mood lifted considerably he moved back to Lucky.

“Alright, where to next?”

[Red Charge]

Lucky waved Script off dismissively, "Don't mention it." He said, "I help people out, they help other people out, it all works out in the end. Just wait 'till we get back to the tent. I've got a few things for you as well. Might wake you up from your grumpy mood already."

He watched as the northern unicorn swug around with his chosen weapon and when Script trotted back to him he seemed surprised.

"Uh what are you doing, no, that's just for you to choose what's comfortable, go over there to Point he'll whip you up a new one." He directed Script to the pony standing near the back of the racks, he was already unpacking a new weapon of the type Script had picked out. "From the Filly shipment, brand new, just finished treating and sharpening them this morning. If anyone asks we didn't have the weapon you were looking for so we gave you this. Always blame logistics, always believable." He picked one out based on the teeth marks Script left on the choice weapon, the fit was perfect. He also handed Script a very strange tangle of leather strips, with unusual green coloration.

"Green Salamander leather, gives you a lot of extra grip but doesn't chafe as much. Makes swinging this baby a lot easier. You're allowed to bring your own grip, so long as you 'didn't get this from me'." He said, then giving him a container of oil, "Whale, very good for your armor and your weapon, water rolls right off it, apply regularly and it becomes like a completely new layer of protection. Also insulates from cold and heat, so it helps preserve the metal. You should thank Harmony you're pals with Lucky. That guy can hook you up big time." He said vaguely, sending him off.

Lucky Drops grinned at the unicorn as he approached, clearly happy that he was able to melt his grumpiness away, "Alright, next up is back to the recruitment officer, he should have your military ID and dog-tags ready by now. Two go in your shoes, half in each shoe, you know, in case you blow up or get eaten. The other two around the neck, always." Lucky instructed, parting the fur on his neck to show he was wearing his. Quickly after he took off with Fantasy Script and more signed forms, as well as with another check on their checklist.

"After this you'll probably get back with me to the waiting camp, til they get you a squad. You can bunk with me, should be quiet, they never wake me up for night patrols." He said cheerfully. The journey back to the area where the Recruitment officer was located was a lot smoother, less ruins and more cobbled roads. By now it was already the afternoon, without noticing the entire day flew by. Right before they reached the tent however, Lucky swerved and headed down another road.

"Just a little detour, might want to leave your brand new equipment over in my tent before you head on to him, he''ll probably frown upon it, your check list should be good enough for the rest of the process, so long as he has his signatures he really doesn't care where you dump your gear." He said, leading him to a large camping area.

The tents were relatively empty most recruits were probably at chow time, the recruit on duty waved at Lucky, shouting, "It worked! I feel great!"

Lucky waved back at him and grinned. He led them into a somewhat larger than standard two pony tent, designed for draft horses carrying logistics carts. Inside Script saw Lucky had a sleeping bag with goose plume. "Griffon Officer sleeping bags. This one's actually mine, bought it from a griffon in Neighroby, great stuff. You can hang them off of trees or rocks even if you need to."

The happy go lucky unicorn gestured at the other corner, "Just drop your stuff here and head straight back up that road, that's the recruitment officer's tent. I'll go get you a warm meal from the mess." Lucky said, "And I'll see you when you're done." He gave Script a hearty pat on the back and went on his merry way.

[Fantasy Script]

Surprise showed clearly on Script’s face as Lucky told me he would also get a brand new blade. The one he had found was comfy, felt good as he gripped it, decent solid work, how would a new one, high quality work even, feel like? It was a huge difference as he found out. The balance was just that tad more right, the weight distribution just that bit smoother to make it incredibly good to swing. The momentum carried well, the blade actually sang as it whizzed through the air and the grip fit perfectly as if moulded to his teeth. It was astounding to be entirely honest.

The blade had a beautiful finish, virgin as it was, untouched and pristine. Script itched to use it, give it purpose and stain it with glory. It was an incredibly heady feeling to have something so precious entrusted to him. Gently he prodded the metal with his magic, just brushing against it, test how the ether felt inside, guessing what it might be capable off. He would have to ask whether it was allowed to enchant their gear or if he needed to pass a test or something first to be allowed to tinker with it.

He nodded at the explanation of Point, noting things in his booklet to keep in mind. He would have to change the grip later once he had eaten and slept some. He had only heard of such leathers, very high quality stuff that was handed to him here. He wondered whether this was a good thing but it would certainly motivate him to give it his all. While he would have done so anyways, to be given such pricy equipment just proved that he could be worth something here. That there was support here and that he was, if not exactly set up for success, at least he wasn’t set up to fail.

They had given him tools to shine; now it was up to him to prove that he was worth it.

He nodded again as Point finished.

“I seem to be. Don’t know how I deserve it though.”

Grabbing his stuff and packing everything away for later use he followed after Lucky once more. Thankfully the soreness was slowly draining out of his system and was now more of an annoying itch than a debilitating condition, the stretching and climbing and walking had certainly helped to loosen him up again. He wondered whether that was just a side effect or if Lucky had planned that as well. That colt just seemed to think of everything.

They reached the camping area and at the greeting of the recruit Script had at least to comment.

“You sure help a lotta ponies. Seems there’s not a single one you haven’t helped in some form.” There was no malice in his words, not even his usual gruff grump, just smooth baritone with the tiniest, smallest, most miniscule hint of a smirk. Some might even confuse this as a bit of teasing. He wasn’t of course. Fantasy Script does not tease. Anyone saying differently lies and that’s his story.

Script nodded, happy to get to put down that heavy load, sure he was used to carrying around his huge sword and stuff and he would have to wear and carry this stuff around on patrols and whatnot, but right now it just felt nice to put it all down and not worry about it. Of course Lucky seemed to have the best of the best, even here. A larger tent, a formidable sleeping bag… that pony was something else for sure. Then again, he probably did help a lot of people to get all these favours, didn’t seem like he was the exploitative sort.

Stretching his neck, and cracking his spine a little Script turned to his amber almost-twin.

“Alright, thanks a lot, again. Even if you say it’s not important, if you need something that I can provide, ask. Maybe a bit of enchanting or something. I’m by far no master, but I AM a journeyman at least, finished my apprenticeship two years ago.”

He nodded to the perky pony and left to get the rest of it done. With papers and documents and everything else paper trail related in hoof he made his way back to the recruitment officer. Script was ready to fall asleep on the spot, growling stomach or no, but the good fortune of the day at least allowed him to master this last stretch of his journey into the ranks of the Canterlot Army.

Sorting and arranging the papers to form a neat stack he made his way along the street, as suddenly for just a moment, a frown settled on his face, as a darker, more suspicious part of his mind got a word in. Why was Lucky so supportive? Was he really just a friendly pony? Was there some sort of hidden agenda? Surely not… no, Lucky Drops was probably just one of many incredibly helpful and friendly ponies that lived in abundance in Equestria. Surely there was nothing more sinister afoot than some good intentions.

But, whispered his darker thoughts, the road to Tartarus is paved with good intentions.

Script shook his head, he would have to see. Surely though, there was nothing sinister going on. That he even thought as much nearly curdled his mood again. But admittedly, he wasn’t much used to such good fortune. It made him uneasy, like there other horseshoe was about to drop. Still, to think that a good natured pony like Lucky Drops would plan something seemed… well actually it seemed extremely plausible. On the other hand, he was much too noticeable, too involved. If he was a spy or saboteur or whatever, then surely he would act less flamboyantly… right?

Grumbling a little at his sleep addled brain and paranoia he headed into the tent, banishing those thoughts to the back of his mind for now. Waiting for an opportune moment Script stood in the tent, the neat stack of papers floating silently in the air beside him.

“Fantasy Script reporting back from recruitment process, sir.” He would at least try for some formalism.

[Red Charge]

As Fantasy Script went on his way to the recruitment officer, he noticed the city becoming visibly less active, more and more ponies were retiring for the evening after a long day of hard work. In their place, groups of griffons from the 5th Fleet and the Griffon Delegation began working the night shift, clearing dangerous rubble, working on restoring the roads and concentrating construction materials. It was the quiet, less noticeable work but a very important one. The griffons were pulling more than their fair share of weight around, seems like they had something to prove to the Equestrians.

Fantasy Script reached the Recruitment Officer's tent fairly quickly and found the area completely empty, only the recruitment officer himself was around, sitting in his tent, filling out more forms, stamping others, filing, folding, stacking... How that pony could just sit all day handling paperwork without going mad was truly an unexplained phenomenon. He only stopped for a brief second to look up at the approaching unicorn before he began shuffling papers again, pulling out the ones Script needed as well as a laminated identification card and some shiny metal discs.

"You'll have more than enough flanks to kiss later, so spare me the 'dutiful soldier' bit." The recruitment officer said, "I have here your dog-tags and your military ID. You should carry both on you at all times, just do me a favor no hidden pouches near your crotch, I swear every time I see Lucky bend to take his out I almost send him right to detention." He said exasperatedly, hoofing over the table four dog tags, two for his horseshoes and two more on a chain to be worn around his neck. His military ID had a picture of him in his grumpy demeanor as he first appeared for recruiting, though he had no idea his photograph was even taken.

"Losing either means getting marshaled. Now we're going to fill out your salary form and your insurance form." He helped the pony fill out the forms as fast as the two could. When he learned that Fantasy Script's profession was enchanting he raised an eyebrow.

"First we get a field alchemist, now an enchanter... you know," He said, shuffling over some more paperwork and looking over an important looking memo signed by some officer or other, "Yes, yes, your squad assignment will wait. Stay in the military camp until we call you, Lucky should be able to show you around and keep you updated. The officer in charge is still in conference with General Gallop. Just stick with Lucky until you're called alright?" The pony asked, taking his forms and signing off the last two ticks on his checklist.

"Alright, you're now officially a member of the Equestrian Army, Private Fantasy Script. Morning Ceremony is exactly at six o'clock and you are not to miss it. You will be assigned your duties for the day afterwards," He explained, "If there are any left." He added as an after thought.

"Alright off you go, shoo. Go get Lucky to take you to mess." The officer dismissed him, shooing him out of the tent.

A brief walk later and Fantasy Script entered the tent to the smell of fresh, warm food. It wasn't gruel either, it was a herbal vegetable stew... some bread on the side and grains, even some juice with a couple of strawberry cake slices for desert. Lucky himself was lying on his back, patting his stomach and licking his strawberry coated lips clean.

"I'd have waited, but I was hungry. That sure hit the spot." He yawned loudly and stretched on his sleeping bag. "So what squad did they assign you to?"

[Fantasy Script]

The Griffins sure did their fair share of work, even though Script barely noticed as he walked along the path, his thoughts occupied as they were. He was somewhat startled to see that the officer was STILL doing paper work. Lots of it. That pony must be doing nothing else but reading, signing, stamping and shuffling paper work. Something that would Script mad within a day. Sure he could easily get lost in some formulae or etching or shaping of ether or something. Calculating and designing enchantments was something he could do for days, doing nothing but scratching out theories and possible formulas, but this?

This seemed like utter, mind numbing boredom. But then again, who was he to judge? Maybe the officer had a special talent for paper work, there were such things after all. He kind of doubted it, but it was possible all the same.

Friendly as always, Script thought and schooled his face into his usual frown. He was no one to complain about being a grump though, he wasn’t much better.

The thought of Lucky, bending over to grab his ID from a pouch hidden near his crotch derailed his thoughts quite nicely though. It was a bit like a train wreck happening in slow motion. He really didn’t want to imagine what that would look like, he just didn’t but it just happened. He shuddered a little. Just… no. Sorry but no. He shook his head, trying to dislodge the strange, strange images that comment had created.

Script felt himself nodding along with the explanations and slung one set of dog tags around his neck, the others would find a nice spot in his shoes. Taking hold of the ID he placed it inside his mane for now, securing it with the elastic that held his hair in place. It would be quite safe in there for now. Later he would see about getting something more reasonable.

Filling out more forms, his signature now a well practised scrawl he was happy to note that there seemed to be an end to it all now. As they came to his profession and the officer stopped to comment, Script’s eyebrow rose slowly.

“Sir?”

But whatever it was he was supposed to know, it seemed to be something he would find out at a later date. Not being assigned to a squad kind of sucked, but he had the feeling there was something going on, what with the cryptic comment of the officer. Perhaps they were planning something that needed a more unique squad? He’d have to wait and see, although he would be happier if he could be part of the rotations already instead of waiting around for orders and assignments.

Oh well. Nothing to be done about that… At least he was going to be stuck with Lucky for a while. While his perky nature and demeanour could be grating at times, he was a decent colt. It was certainly useful to know that guy and he had helped Script out a lot, enough reason to see whether he could repay that somehow. He really owed Lucky something and he would try to pay that debt.

Script couldn’t help his chest swell with pride as he was finally inducted. Even though all he had done was run around like a foal, following Lucky and cursing anything and everything he still felt accomplished. He was finally part of the Army. He was finally there, and had managed it. He smiled a little, for a moment just happy to be closer to his fathers and his own dream.

With the ceremony being at six he would have plenty of time to get some shut eye. He was an early raiser thankfully and had little problem with that. Hopefully he would get to do something, he didn’t like being idle. Then again, maybe he could find some good books about enchanting. Canterlot did once have one of the greatest magical libraries as far as he knew; it was worth a shot to see whether any of the books had survived. He would have to see tomorrow. A new day would bring new things.

Back in the tent he was ready to just fall asleep were he stood when suddenly; his nose was assaulted by the most delicious smells of food… glorious, glorious food. He barely took the time to say hello before he descended unto the meal like a flock of fruit bats on a juicy orchard. Being at least halfway into the food his brain finally processed that Lucky was talking to him. Taking the time to at least chew and swallow he slowed down considerably and answered his current bunk mate.

“No squad for me right now. Think the higher ups are planning something. Officer was a bit cryptic, dunno… something fishy ‘bout that. Going to get some duties tomorrow morning but that’s about it.”

He finished his meal in a big gulp licking his lips appreciatively. That was some quality grub right there. Far better than what little rations and plain grass he had had when he was travelling. This, right here, was comfort for the soul. He leaned back on his bunk when suddenly from his pile of gear a white blur shot forth, landing on his stomach.

“Uff… woah, there you are Albion… wait… oh darn…” He carefully reached out to the fox, seeing whether he was angry with him, but the small one let him pet him without much fuss. Not even glaring at him like he used to do when Script forgot to feed him.

“Yeah… you know I’m useless when I’m tired. Sorry Alb.” The fox just sniffed curling up on his stomach. Script continued petting him and turned back to Lucky.

“Seems you’re stuck with me for a while still, Officers orders.” He just hoped the nightmares would keep away for a while now. He was again doing something for his parents and while his sister could not be avenged… no better not think about that. His sister was in a better place… right… He just hoped his father was happy. His son had caused him only sadness in life, maybe now he could look upon him again and smile.

Scripts smile turned a little brittle. He missed his family…