[center][i]ding[/i][/center]


Oh thank the fucking Lord, you’re [i]finally[/i] back home.

You make the ever-so-very-sore shuffle out of the elevator and into your penthouse proper, noting that Cid wasn’t present like he usually was. You mean, you’d expected him to be gone for a while - right on through until your first “meeting”, in fact - but [i]boy[/i] howdy did you wish he had a cold one on standby for your return! Now you had to get one from the fridge yourself! What kind of bullshit was that?

Ah, well. Cid had some very important work to get done for you, namely getting the next part of the plan underway. And he’s been itchin’ to get it done something fierce, too! Biggs and Wedge were champions in their own right, absolutely, but when it came to the cloak-and-dagger parts of your plan, Cid simply couldn’t be beat. Besides, he’d left the place nice, pristine, well stocked and organized for your return.

You’ll have to apologize to him later for fucking up his immaculate feng shui.

But right now, you needed some relief. From both the aches and pains, and from the ever-present filth that remained from your showdown with Tempest. Fortunately, thanks to that attack on the hippogriffs way back when, you had managed to steal some very special things from them that would ensure you’d be in tip-top shape come tomorrow. And failing that, the day after.

So to the bathroom you go, only this time your destination is not the shower. No, today you’d be getting it on with the bath. More specifically, your fully tricked out and very large freestanding bath, almost the size of a full-blown hot tub, complete with water jets, pull-out showerheads, two high-speed taps for the fastest fill rate in the West, and the multicolour foam soap dispensers on top of all that. And as if [i]that[/i] wasn’t high-end enough, the whole thing was patterned with gold in cool spiralling water patterns and studded with the occasional sapphire, both inside and out.

Hot damn, it still looked just as good as it did the day you jacked it from Queen Novo’s palace. Along with the rest of your bathroom’s facilities! The shower alone was a massive upgrade over that pile of shit from Abyssinia’s royal shitter!

However, there was a very good reason that you only used this bath for special occasions like this. Besides time constraints, anyways. Sitting inside a frosted glass container kept inside of a nearby cabinet was the very special “bath bombs”, also courtesy of Queen Novo's formerly private reserve.

Straight-up, these bath bombs had health regen.

No shit, you pop one of those bad boys into the tub and it’ll slowly - very slowly - melt away all of the cuts and bruises of a long day’s session of in-real-life Street Fighter. Fucked if you know how it works, but it seems to have something to do with the sapphires in the tub: they always light up from inside whenever you use one of those special bombs.

You’d totally use this thing every day if you had access to more of these bombs. At first you thought about putting Wedge on the job, but you didn’t want to divide his invasion work up even more for something you could handle yourself with some careful rationing. Besides, there'd be time aplenty for that [i]after[/i] everything was said and done.

Though you also needed to keep a stock of different kinds of regular bath bombs too, on account of the magic regen ones being unscented. Probably for the best, to be honest.

Hmm, think you’re feeling white sage today.

So with both orbs of cleanliness in hand, you crank the taps to full blast and wait patiently for them to fill halfway before tossing in the bombs. The sapphires inside the tub begin to twinkle and glow a nice navy blue from within, several flakes inside the regen bomb glowing along with them and floating through the water as the main mass was effervesced away. Before long, the tub was up to full capacity, and you jumped right in without any further delays.

[i]Ahhhhh, yeah.[/i]

This was it, right here. This was the good stuff. Already you could feel the magic literally melting the pain right out of your musculature, just like the normal bomb was already melting the dirt off of your skin. Cranking the jets to full blast, you grab the ever-handy loofah, load it up with foam, and start going to town on the funk.

Nothing was gonna keep you from making the most of this.


[hr]


The Storm King tapped his foot on the ground impatiently. He had been kept waiting for too long, far longer than his elites had any right to. They should have brought the source of these bizarre, infuriating documents before him by now. His patience and temper were rapidly depleting with every second that passed, and that [i]incident[/i] with the gymnasium before was not doing them any favours, either.

Their little stunt had not only destroyed most of that tower, but had also somehow managed to compromise its structural integrity as well, forcing the Storm King to task his skilled storm beasts with the job of performing emergency repairs. He had made [i]very[/i] certain to give both of his commanders a piece of his mind, too. Tempest had laid the blame on Anonymous’s shoulders. And he had accepted all blame for it, stipulating that the entire event had somehow been ‘worth it’.

‘Worth it’? That was all he had to say on the matter? That it was ‘worth it’? The invasion is only days away, and all hands were needed to ensure things would go smoothly! And somehow, his pointless diversion of time and resources was ‘worth it’?! 

The Storm King snorted, trying and failing to shake the thoughts of his commander out of his head. There was no denying that Anonymous was exceptionally talented, and with a true appetite for evil the likes of which he’d never seen outside of himself. But every bit of his talent seemed matched by his infuriating and utterly irreverent devil-may-care attitude, grinding on his every nerve like sandpaper. His complete lack of respect for his authority had led to countless shouting matches, and he never once learned his lesson. If anything, he seemed to take it as a challenge, finding small new ways to further grind away at the King’s nerves! And the Storm King [i]always[/i] noticed his new ways.

The worst part of it all was that he still had no idea what it was that Anonymous wanted. Tempest was, at the very least, easy. Foal’s play, even! Dangle the hope of restoration in front of her like a carrot from a stick, and watch her dance to his tune. But the Storm King knew better than most that doing evil for evil’s sake could only take you so far. Sooner or later, you would need a goal, an endgame. It was easy to pass Anonymous off as a lucky buffoon, but his new, sneaky ways of infuriating him at every meeting betrayed a level of cunning that was rare to see.

He was planning something, that much was certain. That he still didn’t know what he was planning caused him great concern. A constant, gnawing unease grew in the pit of his stomach whenever he thought about it, and it incensed him to no end.

The King’s ruminations were broken, at last, by the arrival of his elite guards. The doors to the strategy room opened, and a quartet of said elites marched in, surrounding a single storm beast. The one caught spreading those papers to his elite guard. It was quite hard to miss him, given his queer butler attire and the way he carried himself. Just who did he think he was, prancing around like that?

The beast was led to a chair for interrogation, but continued to carry himself with refinement and grace, seemingly unfazed by the entire scenario playing out. [i]That would be changing soon[/i], the Storm King thought to himself as he approached the seated outlier.

“Ah, good. They finally found you. Let’s just get to the point, [i]minion[/i],” he begins, glowering over his captive. “You were caught spreading [i]these[/i] to your fellow beasts.”

He waved a small folder in front of the clothed beast to enunciate his point, the folder containing a smattering of documents that he would never in a million years even think about giving to his underlings. Even just the short list of the contents he had scrawled on the folder’s cover was almost enough to make him retch!

“Employment contracts? With salaries? And medical benefits? [i]Dental[/i] benefits, at that? Even worse, a [i]union?[/i]” he rattled off down the list, his features screwing up in disgust with each new item he read. “And a hideous new logo, to boot! If this is your idea of a practical joke, I’m afraid it’s gone much too far.”

The beast did not react, regarding him with a cool, unfazed look the entire time. It was enough to light the Storm King’s already short fuse. It didn’t take very long for his teeth to start grinding, nor for him to start seeing red over his prisoner’s utter indifference.

“Your kind aren’t smart enough to come up with this on your own!” he snarled, getting right into the beast’s face. “You wouldn’t even know what half of these... [i]things[/i] are! Who drew these documents up?! Answer me!”

A simple grunt was all he got in response. The words froze the King’s thoughts stock still for a brief moment, the gears of his mind stalling out all but audible to those in attendance as his anger was briefly eclipsed by his shock.

“What did you just say?” he finally said after the moment had passed, his voice whisper-quiet yet deadly serious.

The beast repeated himself. The Storm King’s shock did not eclipse his anger for long, and the two quickly reached an equilibrium. Previous uncertainties he had held in his mind began to come into focus, the solutions to those questions now painfully apparent. All with new, one-word answers.

Anonymous.

“[i]He[/i] came up with this, did he?” he hummed, scratching his chin in mock thought. “How very... [i]unfortunate[/i]. And just how long has this pathetic racket of his been going on for?”

Another simple response was given, only this time the answer sent him into a nearly blinding rage.

“[i]WHAT[/i]?!” he explodes, screaming into his captive’s face. “He’s been planning this for [i]HOW[/i] long?!”

Once again, the beast repeated himself, the picture of calm and collected. The King spun away from the beast, continuing to rant and rave, putting voice to his thoughts instead of keeping them contained in his head like any sane person would do.

“Months. [i]Months![/i] That was it! That was his plan then, was it? From the very beginning, he was going to overthrow me! He was going to take the title of Storm King for himself! That wretched, good-for-nothing [i]scum[/i]! I plucked him off of those feculent streets, gave him a new purpose in life, and [i]this[/i] is how he chooses to repay me?! Why, that scheming little recusant [i]rat[/i]! Thinks he can pull the wool over [i]my[/i] eyes, does he?! I swear, when I get my hands on him, I’ll...!”

His enraged ranting dies down as a thought occurs to him. He slowly turns around, continuing to talk to himself while his expression settles down into a devious smile.

“Well now wait just a minute here. Perhaps this can still work in my favour? Hmm, I suppose he thinks he has me fooled then, does he? That he has me right where he wants me? Blissfully unaware of the dagger he has to my back? Oh, what a silly little creature he is, so silly indeed. He’s going to be in for a very, [i]very[/i] rude awakening...”

The beast continues to regard the Storm King with that same look, resisting the urge to drum his fingers out of boredom.

“Yes, yes, I can already see it!” the King continues to ramble, gesturing wildly in the air in tune with his vivid imagination. “Waiting for me to arrive during the invasion, he’ll believe that his so-called victory will be complete! That I’m ripe and helpless for the taking! And then, at the last minute, as he goes to get the drop on me, BANG! He’ll be finished! Done! Struck down by his better! Yes, yes! He’ll rue the day he tried to pull one over on the one and only Storm King!”

It was even harder for the beast to keep from rolling his eyes at the display, especially when he began his maniacal laughter. His master, as always, had been right about him.

“Guards!” the King screams, jabbing a finger at the beast. “Send this insubordinate wretch to the dungeons! Now! Get him out of my sight! [i]All[/i] of you, out of my sight! Out, out, [i]out![/i]”


[hr]


[i]Ahhh[/i], that’s the stuff. An hour of soaking did, in fact, get all the aches out of your system. The cuts and bruises were still there, sure, but much smaller and healthier looking than they were before. Another soak like this tomorrow, and you’ll be in tippity-top shape for the big day.

Just as planned.

The tub finally finishes draining itself out, and you give yourself a once-over rinse with one of the showerheads. From there, it’s a quick matter of towelling off and slipping into your robe.

And at long last, your promised giant fuckoff crowler of beer is clasped in your hands, freed from it’s climate-controlled prison. All that was left now was to kick back and relax--


[center][i]ding[/i][/center]


Oh, [i]hello[/i]. Why’s the elevator coming up here? You weren’t expecting any visitors, and Cid [i]definitely[/i] wasn’t coming back for a long while, so who’s the mystery guest?

Wait a minute. Those footsteps. There’s only one person on Storm Island who has a gait like that.

Your smile returns with a vengeance the millisecond you connect the dots in your head.


[center][b]SLAM[/b][/center]


Tempest bucked the entrance hall door open hard enough to break both the door and the doorframe, the door hanging off of the wall by its bottom hinge for a beat before the screws pull out of the wall and it collapses to the ground. Your very purple and very pissed off guest stomps her way in, looking like she’d just gotten out of the shower herself. All she had on was her bodysuit, but she was cratering the ground with every stomp even without her horseshoes.

She wasn’t even trying to hide how steaming mad she still was. Gone was the thinly veiled dislike for you, masked by her cool glare. This time, she was glaring at you with undisguised hostility, teeth bared and ears pinned back.

That [i]might[/i] have been intimidating for ponies, but it remained the cutest thing in the known universe for lil’ ol’ you.

“Oh hey girl, what’s up?” you chirp. “Can I getcha somethin’ to drink?”

“Shut up,” she hisses. “Just shut up!”

“D’aww, now why would I do that?”

“We aren’t finished,” she growls. “Not even close!”

She continues her march of doom towards you with every intention of trying to kick your ass again. Pretty impressive honestly, seeing so much fight left in her! Your smile adopts a dangerous edge, both of your hands coming out and extending in a welcoming gesture, beer still in hand.

[i]“Ho? Mukattekuru no ka? Nigezu ni kono NONNY ni chikazuitekuru no ka?”[/i]

“Don’t bother begging for mercy. You’ll have to attend the invasion in a wheelchair once I’m through with you!”

[i]“Ho hoh! Deha jūbun chikazuku ga yoi!”[/i]

That’s one menacing step for man.

One angry snort for marekind.


[hr]
[center][b][color=#9426af][i]ゴ[sup]ゴ[/sup]ゴ[sub]ゴ[/sub][sup]ゴ[/sup]ゴ[sup]ゴ[/sup][sub]ゴ[/sub]ゴ[sub]ゴ[/sub][sup]ゴ[/sup]ゴ[/i][/color][/b][/center]
[hr]


The elite guards finally arrive at the prison tower with their captive in tow, crossing over the sole connecting bridge towards it. The tower itself was short and very wide, about the width of one of the docking towers, and the connecting bridge was much longer than the usual bridges, supported with cables along it’s length. They board the elevator and descend towards the first major security measure for the tower: a large, horizontal metal surface resembling a bulkhead wall more than a proper floor and placed just above the water level outside.

They disembark onto a catwalk suspended above its surface and crossed over to a manually operated elevator in the middle, two of the elites peeling off to operate the two cranks controlling the matching pair of sliding metal doors underfoot, clearing the way for the elevator to be lowered into the jail. Once all of the storm beasts were aboard the elevator, the elite guards closed and locked the scissor doors and began operating the large on-board winch, lowering their steel cage little by little towards their destination.

The entire jail was set up as a panopticon; a thin central guard tower that the elevator lowered down into, surrounded by the numerous jail cells built into the walls. The elevator was only one of two ways to access the jail level, the other being a sextet of ladders dotted around the jail’s outer circumference and meant for emergency access only. No matter the access method, the entrances were all securely sealed to prevent any escape attempts. The jail had also been set up to be flooded at a moment’s notice, handled by a trio of sealed iris door floodgates near the top of their bulkhead ceiling and providing yet another deterrent for any would-be escape attempts. Water steadily streamed out of the tiny pinhole opening in each gate, running down into gutters that conveniently provided the drinking water supply for the few inmates housed within.

Once the elevator came to a stop atop the tower, the scissor door was opened and the elite guards escorted their captive inside and down to the base of the tower, entering the main complex and coming to a large interrogation room already full of waiting prison guards, each chuckling menacingly and cracking their knuckles in anticipation of what was to come next.

Once the captive was seated, two of the elites flanked their quarry while the other two  sat opposite to him across the table. But as the seated ones began asking questions to which no answer was given, the mood in the room began to turn. Those two, unease growing in the pits of their stomachs, looked around to find the prison guards blocking the exits to the room, regarding them with the menace they had erroneously assumed was meant for their captive. It was then that the two elites flanking their captive began to laugh, pulling a set of well-hidden documents from their respective armours and setting them down on the table in front of their captive.

The same documents the Storm King had caught their captive spreading around.

Humming in thought, the “captive” procured a small wooden case out from within his suit, pulling a gold-plated fountain pen from within its velvet-lined interior. Asking his two “captors” if they had any questions, the two shook their heads and indicated that they indeed had none. Humming his approval, the suited beast signed off on the documents before him, welcoming them to the new order as the two collected their paperwork, receiving hearty cheers and shoulder claps from the prison guards all the while.

The other two elites opposite to their “captive” jumped out of their seats, brandishing their weapons and backing up against one another, on guard for anyone trying to get the jump on them. Their demands to know what was going on were soon answered by their “captive”, introducing himself properly as Cid and inviting them to lower their weapons. Neither did.

One of the prison guards set a teacup and its accompanying saucer down in front of Cid, containing his favourite brand of premium honey-ginseng green tea. Returning his pen to the case and the case to his suit, he gently sipped the beverage and began to make the pitch to the only two storm beasts in attendance that were not in the loop.

The Storm King, he told them, was a fool. A fool that had no intention of sharing the riches and territory he had subjugated with their efforts, and was instead plotting to dispose of them once he finally attained the power he had long sought. But his esteemed master, Commander Anonymous, had no such intentions. Through him, they had finally found a leader who not only understood their plight, but offered a path to a strong new empire: one in which they would not be discarded like trash once their master attained his goals through their efforts. Moreover, for the first time in their history, they would be treated well and compensated accordingly for their efforts, and would always have a place in the new world order he would forge.

Well, perhaps Cid’s master wouldn’t have put it anywhere [i]near[/i] that dramatically. His [i]real[/i] reasoning for deposing the Storm King varied wildly between reciting “[i]kingdoms good, empires bad,[/i]” and accusing the Storm King of being a “[i]chicken-lickin’-finger-fuckin’ piece-a-shit discount Hades lookin’ rat bastard,[/i]” whatever [i]that[/i] was supposed to mean. But Cid knew better than most that his master well and truly did have his people’s interests and well-being at heart, and had fully accepted them for who they were.

He offered them only two options: to stand against them, lose, and remain in chains here; or to join them and help usurp the current Storm King, ascending their esteemed commander to the position instead. A prison guard set down two copies of the contracts on the table in front of them, quite literally placing Cid’s offer onto the table. Setting down his half-empty teacup, he leaned forward on the table, planting both elbows down on the surface and knitting his fingers together, regarding the two with an expectant look.

Time to choose.

Unfortunately, it was not to be. They refused, proclaiming their loyalty to the Storm King and trying in vain to make their escape. Cid sighed with undisguised disappointment as they were apprehended, disarmed, and dragged kicking and screaming towards the solitary confinement cells. It was always a shame when his offers were rejected, but alas, the closer he got to the Storm King’s closest analogue to an inner circle, the greater the likelihood of rejection was.

Regardless, he had a schedule to keep. Standing up from his seat, he made his way towards a much more open part of the tower, where a large table had already been set aside for tonight’s current task: interviewing any last-minute new additions to his master’s ranks. Fortunately, not many new faces were present, and the process went smoothly as he welcomed nineteen new individuals to the new order.

Cid reclined and waited at the table, flicking through his pocket journal and ensuring all of the little details of importance were accounted for. The elevator could be heard rising back above the water line, and then descending back down once again after a few minutes. Moments after its return, the two accomplices he was waiting for were escorted into the room, their telltale glasses betraying their identities.

Wedge shivered like a twig in the wind until he finally saw Cid, his fear exchanged for elation in the span of a only a second. Biggs continued to put on his tough guy act, even more so after seeing Cid. Ever the competitive type, that one. But the two of them performed their roles admirably: Biggs’s braggadocio and confidence earning the loyalty of his cohorts while also acting as a diversion from prying eyes into their activities, and Wedge’s phenomenal and ever-surreptitious intelligence gathering abilities directly aiding his master and their plans.

They exchanged the final details of the plan openly, no longer requiring those silly little notes between themselves. Their new roles for the invasion plan were assigned, their duties very clear now. Their brief business concluded, they shook hands and parted ways, the pair returning to the elevator and ascending back to the tower complex. With, of course, one final note to deliver to their master, simply to inform him of today’s events, none of which were unexpected. Cid replaced his journal and retired to the former warden’s quarters for the night, its prior resident having been relocated to a solitary cell days before after unwisely deciding against joining his master’s uprising.

Everything was in place now, all the pieces moving precisely how they were supposed to. Only two questions remained in his mind now. How long would it be before they could officially welcome their new Storm King? And would the first plan be sufficient for his ascent to the position?

His master was quite right. The second plan would be less than ideal. Yet it remained a very strong possibility that they would need to put it into play, depending on the invasion’s outcome.


[hr]


“How could I let this happen?”

“Whatcha mean, girlfriend?”

“How could I lose? To [i]him[/i], of all people?”

“Well, I don’t know if I’d qualify this as a [i]loss, per se...[/i]”

Tempest didn’t acknowledge your replies, continuing to stare up at the ceiling and talk to herself. Now, that kind of melancholic insanity wasn’t healthy, so you make to fix it right away. Reaching over with a free hand, your fingers make contact with her ear.

Her expression goes through a lot of different phases the moment the itching begins. First came the alarmed look of anger where she snapped out of her despondent stupor, her head shooting up off of the pillow.

Then her ears do a little swivel as the sensation hits, her sudden movement arresting just as suddenly as her look morphs into shock, the tiniest of gasps escaping her as whatever she was about to yell at you died in her throat.

Then her eyes screw shut, her ears pinning back as she trembles slightly in your hold, teeth gritted with a light whimper as she does everything short of pushing you away, caught between wanting nothing to do with you and wanting so much more of what you were dishing out.

That phase lasts for the longest before she finally caves, her head plopping back down onto her pillow with a curt little snort, kicking up a small plume of loose feathers. Once again, she was refusing to look at you while doing a very poor job of hiding just how much she was enjoying the sensation of the ear scritches.

Which absolutely included the adorable little scrunch.

“Y-you haven’t won anything,” she huffs, trying and failing to sound tough. “You’ve just delayed your death.”

Your only response is an affirmative hum, a wordless little “[i]whatever you say[/i]”. But anyone with a functioning occipital lobe could tell just how much this absolute cutie pie loved the attention.

While she calms down, you survey the domain of your bedroom. Or to be more precise, what was left of it. About the only thing that remained in serviceable condition was the custom projection clock on your nightstand, continuing to shine the time on the ceiling in binary: about quarter to six in the morning. So you still had fifteen minutes and change before the alarm went off. Plenty of time.

Everything else wasn’t nearly as lucky. All around, your shelves, desks, and stands had their contents rustled up or pulled out onto the floor in a heap. The fixtures mounted onto the walls were either crooked or missing. And the fan overhead barely hung on by the steel cord of its grounding strap, swinging gently in the air and determined to hold out for reinforcement.

The biggest casualty, of course, was the bed. The covers were all torn to shit, with some of the trapped clouds inside the mattress having escaped, pooling across the ceiling like smoke. The feathers inside most of the pillows had been ripped out, strewn all across the floor along with their cotton vessels. It was a testament to its quality that the bed remained as nice to sleep on as ever.

And that’s exactly what you did, crashing for the night with your eternally adorable co-commander. By some act of God, the remains of the duvet still managed to preserve what little decency the two of you had, your respective clothes having long since been ripped to shit and pulled off by the other party, in that order. For her part, she was splayed out on her back on the other side of the bed, still within easy reach of yours truly.

Well, looks like she’s a whole lot calmer now. Calm enough to talk? Only one way to find out!

“By the way,” you open with a smirk, “Good morning.”

“There’s nothing [i]good[/i] about this morning,” she mutters back.

“Aww, don’t be like that!” you cheer, redoubling your itching efforts and drawing a light gasp out of your adorable little partner. “Didn’t I tell you that this was a no grumps allowed zone?”

“When I’m finished with Equestria,” she growls, more to convince herself instead of you, “I’m going to kill you.”

“Oh, yeah? Why wait?”

She barely has time to blink before you pull her over towards you, a light yelp leaving her as she’s plopped down on top of your chest, nose-to-nose with you.

“I’m right here, aren’t I?” you hum, the picture of smug certainty. “Naked, defenceless, not even fightin’ back! And it’s not like you need me to take Equestria, anyways! So why wait? Do it.”

The move takes her right off guard. She wasn’t expecting her silly little empty threats to get called out so directly, so soon. She blinks, splutters, stammers, more or less going through the whole tsundere spectrum in the span of a few seconds. Until finally, her entire expression drops to something much more uncertain, much more nervous.

Without another word, your hand brushes its way up along her neck and through her mane on its way back to her ears. The sudden start of the move makes her tense up, but she does wind up relaxing until the point they resumed working away on her ears, her head craning down and coming to rest on top of your chest.

The other hand strokes along her back, a pleased little hum escaping her as she adjusts herself to lay flat at an angle across your chest.

“[i]Mm-hmm,[/i]” you hum, still smiling away. “That’s what I thought.”

Whatever she grumbled at you this time wasn’t really audible, so you let it slide while continuing to give Commander Cute here some much needed TLC.

Hm, you should probably get up soon. There’s still a lot to take care of today, and you still need to get the status update from the boys. On the other hand, well...

Five more minutes.


[hr]


“How did you-- [i]nngh...[/i] get away with hiding this from the Storm King?” she half-moans as you continue shampooing her mane.

“What do you mean, ‘hiding’? The big ugly dipshit only has eyes for the ‘[i]gold and plunder[/i]’ kinda treasure.”

“Unbelievable. I could have-- [i]aah![/i] Just taken things for myself this whole time?”

“Aw, don’t sweat it. Tell ya what, I’ll give you first dibs on the loot at Canterlot. How’s that sound?”

“Sounds-- [i]mmnh...[/i] long overdue.”

“See, now you’re talkin’!”

All she responds with is another pleased hum, trying her best to not get [i]too[/i] overwhelmed with all of the sensations bombarding her. The awesome regen bath water, the dragon fruit scented bath bomb being dragon fruit scented, and of course, some of that aforementioned TLC courtesy of yours truly.

Bath time has a way of making folks way less prickly.

Tempest ducks her head under the water after you spent way more time than necessary cleaning that mane of hers, rinsing the shampoo out before coming back up. She lays down on her back across one of the water jet covered spots, cranking it to max and letting it do its thing while you recline in your own spot.

Things settle into a comfortable silence, save for the sounds of water jets. S’for the best, really. You’d gotten damn near forty minutes of cleaning in by now, and well over half of that was neither cleaning, [i]nor[/i] PG-13. Man’s gotta have a break, sooner or later!

“So,” you say, breaking the silence, “Any big plans for the big day?”

“My plan is to win.”

“That ain’t really a plan, baby girl. More like a certainty.”

“I suppose [i]you[/i] have plans then?”

Hell yes you do, but most of them aren’t for her to hear.

“Sure do,” you hum, “Sample the local goods, become the tickle fight grand champion, find a way to redo the royal throne room to my liking, send my enemies to the most adorable gulags in the land, oh the list goes on! I’m fuckin’ [i]pumped[/i] for Equestria!”

“I don’t really care what you do while we’re there. As long as it doesn’t get in the way of my goals.”

With that, she sits up and climbs out of the bath, looking away with her nose turned up while she towels herself off.

“Just so you know,” she continues, “I’m coming back later tonight.”

“[i]Ha![/i] I knew it,” you laugh, cupping the back of your head with both hands, “The A-non remains irresistible!”

“[i]For the bath,[/i]” she hisses, glaring daggers at you. “I need to be in top condition.”

“Whatever helps ‘ya sleep at night, babe,” you wink. “Though I can help with that too, if ‘ya like.”

“Are you [i]trying[/i] to make me kill you?”

“Are you [i]trying[/i] to be this cute, or does it just come natural?”

That earns you a faceful of wet towel from a now very red-faced mare, which you make no attempt to dodge or remove.

“Bastard,” she mutters.

“In the flesh, livin’ it up, not givin’ a fuck,” you chortle. “Although in [i]your[/i] case--”

“[i]Shut up![/i]” she barks. “Don’t you [i]dare[/i] finish that sentence!”

There was no stopping the long wheezes of laughter coming out of your pie hole, which got no reply other than one final flustered snort before she stomped her way out, the ding of the elevator heard shortly afterwards.

“[i]Ahh,[/i]” you sigh to yourself, pulling the towel off your face and the plug out of the drain, “You’re a riot, Tempie.”

A more wistful sigh leaves your lips as you climb out of the tub and begin drying off.

“Shame you’ll be turning on me by the time the invasion’s all over.”

While yesterday and this morning were loads of fun, it also confirmed your suspicions about her. What you had on your hands was the tragic kind of villain, a good soul buried under a whole bunch of bad experiences. Which, unfortunately for you, meant that she could be turned from the dark side with a single new friend. And friendship was precisely what your enemy specialized in.

Oh, you had zero intentions of stopping her. You knew in your bones that she was gonna turn good, and no amount of uphill battles with Sod on your part was gonna stop that. While it was yet another big push towards Plan B being all but required by now, there was no point in trying to mess with things beyond your control. Not when you had plenty of things [i]within[/i] your control that demanded attention.

Like, for instance, your new message.

Backup bath robe now on, you head over to the intercom panel next to the elevator and buzz the maintenance guys, grabbing the note hidden inside the loose speaker grille.

“Sorry to bug you boys, but I need me some cleanup crews here. And one of the spare beds.”

Your smile grows three sizes more evil as you read off the note’s contents.

All according to keikaku.
