He was a Very Important Pony, and he wasn’t a Pony, and he was Very Important, and he wasn’t anything like any other VIP she’d ever worked for, or even heard of. Honour’s train of thought barely slowed as she entered the kitchen, this morning little more than a jerkwater outpost to scoop up water before steaming off to her bedroom terminus. At least she could read Anon’s emotions well enough, for the most part; when he was riled up, he certainly wore them right on his sleeve, plain to see. And now that she’d worked with him a few weeks, she felt that she understood his often detached, logical way of looking at things, even if she couldn’t completely simulate it.