Honour’s only consolation (if she could really call it that) was that, as awkward as this all was for her, it seemed to be affecting Glamerspear and Sparkshower much, much more. The cream-coated pegasus wasn’t really cream anymore -- she was beet-red, and trying her best to bite her tongue and look away from the public displays of affection without appearing rude to the sergeant's 'guest' -- all while trying to finish her own second plate. Meanwhile, the pink unicorn's snout was so scrunched up, the scullery mares could use the wrinkles as a washboard. Honour was half worried Glamerspear’s muzzle was just going to just implode inwards.