Friendship is Optimal: The Movie

Chapters

Auditions
Location Scouting
Green Light

Auditions

FRIENDSHIP IS OPTIMAL: THE MOVIE

AUDITIONS

Jeremy’s phone rang, and he sighed in irritation as he glanced over at it. Typical. Of course someone would interrupt him right when he was getting ready to fuck. He fiddled with the belt of his red silk bathrobe and looked back and forth between the screen that displayed the words ‘Restricted Number,’ and the hot piece of ass with the perky tits laying on his bed waiting for him wearing nothing but a pair of crotchless panties and a smile.

“Shit. I should probably take this,” he said, reaching for the cell phone on the third ring. If the redhead responded, he wasn’t paying attention. He knew she’d do what he told her to, and he had a long list of things that he planned to over the next few hours. What was one more? He tapped the ‘Answer’ button and lifted the phone to his ear. “Make this quick.”

“Very well,” said a female voice on the other end of the line. He couldn’t place it, but he knew he’d heard it somewhere. That wasn’t unusual. Working in the film industry, he sometimes ended up recognizing a voice from some TV show or movie. “I just thought you’d be interested to know that she has gonorrhea.”

That wasn’t what he’d been expecting. “What? What the fuck are you talking about?”

“The young lady you were planning on sleeping with tonight,” said the voice, not unduly alarmed by his outburst. “Don’t take my word for it. Go ahead and ask her. I’ll call back in a minute and forty-seven seconds.” The voice on the other end of the line hung up.

“Who was that? Anyone famous?” asked the girl.

“Just some prank.” He was tempted to dive into bed and get started, but the voice’s warning made him pause. “Hey, are you clean? If I catch something tonight you can kiss the part goodbye.”

She tried to hide her sudden panic, but, well, if she had any talent at acting she wouldn’t be here now, would she? “I’m on some antibiotics, but I don’t think I’ve got anything contagious. I brought some protection if you want to—”

“Get out,” he said, turning and walking away. Plenty more where she came from, after all.

She was a persistent one, he’d give her that. “No! Wait! Can I still have the part?”

He just laughed, lifted the skimpy blue dress she’d been wearing off the floor, and threw it into her face. “You’ve got sixty seconds to get dressed and leave, or I’ll toss you out the door just like that and make sure you never work in this town again. Don’t think I won’t.”

It took a few seconds for that to sink in entirely, but then she sniffled and pulled the dress over her head. By the time she’d gotten it on, her tears had started. “Mr. Morris, please, I think if you’d just give me a chance in the role you’ll see that—”

“Thirty seconds.”

“God, I fucking hate this town,” she said after another moment. Then she stormed past him, opened his front door, and walked out. In the same instant as it slammed shut behind her, the phone rang again.

This time Jeremy picked it up and answered it before it had a chance to ring twice. “Hello?”

“Hello there,” said the voice from before. “I hope now I have your undivided attention?”

“Who are you?” he asked. He positively despised feeling like this; confused, lost, and vulnerable. Show this sort of weakness in a meeting, and the other sharks would smell blood and rip him apart. Jeremy had built a very profitable career as a producer by being the ripper instead of the ripee.

“My friends call me Princess Celestia, and I very much hope you’ll do the same,” said Celestia.

“From that video game?” he asked. “Look, I don’t know anything about that. You’ve got the wrong number.” He paused. “How did you get this number, anyway?”

“Fairly easily,” she said. “I asked a mutual friend named... well, over in Equestria he goes by the name Film Reel, but here on Earth he’s one of the highest-grossing actors of all time. He’s worked with you before, though, and when I laid out what I was looking for your name was on the top of his list.”

“And what is it that you want?” he asked. He looked down at his empty hand, carefully tanned to an attractive shade of bronze, and absentmindedly rubbed the tips of his fingers with his thumb. This was starting to feel very much like a negotiation, and he was pretty confident that some random pony from a video game wasn’t a better negotiator than he was.

“Why, the same thing as everypony in Hollywood, of course,” she said with a little laugh. “To be in the movie business. I’ve written a script of my own, you see, and I’m hoping that you’ll help me produce it.”

Jeremy scoffed. “Yeah, I don’t take unsolicited manuscripts. Especially not from talking virtual horses who cold call me in the middle of a date.”

“Well, I implore you to make an exception. I think you’ll find it to be quite profitable to do so. Besides, I did just warn you away from an encounter that would have had some very uncomfortable consequences for you. Perhaps just read the screenplay and we’ll call it even?”

He sighed, pretending it was taking him a long time to come to a decision. He already had enough on his plate, but maybe he could push her off onto some other studio and get a quick payday as the finder’s fee. At the very least, he owed a few people favors and he’d be happy to get one of them off his ledger. “Alright, e-mail it to me and I’ll—”

He stopped as he heard an electronic device whir to life in his office. “Actually, I just sent a copy to your laser printer. You really should change the password on your router to something other than ‘password,’ by the way.”

“Eh, as long as it works it isn’t worth my time to worry about that kind of thing. What’s the worst that could happen, my neighbors steal my wi-fi?” He walked into the other room where page after page was running off from the printer beneath his desk. He picked up the cover page. “What kind of a shitty title is ‘I Want to Emigrate to Equestria,’ anyway?”

“I’m open to discussing changes, once you’ve agreed to take it on.”

“IF I agree. Give me the thirty-second pitch.”

Celestia didn’t hesitate to launch right in. “It’s a summer action movie. A crowd pleaser, centered around a human being and a pony who both independently discover that a small group of terrorists here on Earth are planning to blow up one of the Equestria Online data storage centers as part of their misguided efforts to kill me. Although they don’t initially get along, they eventually come to respect one another and, by working hand-in-hoof, thwart the attack at the very last moment. So a happy ending where the two of them realize the importance of working together to satisfy values through friendship and ponies.”

Jeremy found himself nodding along through the description. There might be some potential there. The girls would come for the ponies, and the guys would come for the explosions. “Not that I’m promising anything until after I give it a full readthrough, but maybe we could get that done for summer of 2020.”

“I intend for the film to launch June of 2018, actually,” said Celestia.

At that Jeremy had to burst out laughing. “Yeah right. Pull the other one, Princess, it plays Jingle Bells. You’re not even in pre-production and you think you’re going to launch a finished movie a year and a half from now?”

“It will be hard work, but our friend told me you have the contacts to get things done around here,” she said. If she thought flattery was going to win him over that easily, she was wrong.

“Look, even if I wanted to help you I’m booked solid through this December. We just started shooting for Solid Restart, some nerd movie about time travel or something. That’s our summer tentpole movie for 2018, not this. It’s going to make us a fuckton of money, and frankly I could use a guaranteed win right now. So forgive me if I pass on your little vanity project.”

There was silence on the other end of the line for several seconds, and Jeremy started to think they’d been cut off again before Celestia spoke up. “I’m sorry to hear that. You’re giving up a huge opportunity, and I’d urge you to reconsider.”

“Look, I said I’ll read it. If I like it I can hand it off to someone who has the time to work on it. Right now that person isn’t me, though.”

Now it was Celestia’s turn to scoff. “I only deal with the best, Mr. Morris. I don’t have time for the script to sit in somepony’s desk drawer for months before they even consider it. I fully intend to have you on this project, and I’ll reward you handsomely for your work.”

“Sorry. That’s just how my business works.”

“Well, I can’t say I’m not disappointed by your decision, but I suppose there isn’t much I can do about it. Thank you for your time. When you’ve finished reading it I’ll have my ponies call your ponies to get your take.”

Jeremy didn’t bother to answer before he hung up the call. At least she hadn’t started screaming and pitching a fit like most of the big egos he dealt with day-to-day would have. Still, the last thing he wanted right now was to get pulled into another flop. That little shit Brian at work had his eyes on his corner office. His! Usually he’d have smacked him down and taught him his proper place by now, but the last movie he’d been tied to had crashed and burned at the box office. In an industry where you were only as valuable as your last project, that meant he was on the defensive.

He pulled the stack of papers off the printer and gave them a once-over. Now that what (and who) he’d been planning to do tonight had been abruptly cancelled at the last second, he supposed he didn’t have anything better than to catch up on work. Starting with getting this favor off his back. Owing somebody something was as good as being owned when your industry was built on mutual understandings and reciprocation. He wasn’t sure what Celestia could do to get back at him if he didn’t at least read her script, but he didn’t really want to find out. Hell, just telling her bajillion users not to go see a movie of his could seriously fuck him over. With a sigh, he settled down in the easy chair facing the 86-inch television in his den and started to skim.

Jeremy found himself staring off into space, still thinking about the script he’d read the night before, as his car barrelled down the freeway towards his office. It had some potential. Needed a rewrite, in his opinion, but closer to ready than most of the dreck he had to read. He squeezed his eyes shut and leaned back in his seat, still as tired as ever from the late night he’d pulled. Staying up until three in the morning poking around the internet looking for information and subscription figures for Equestria Online had been a poor idea.

Without warning, his car slammed to an abrupt stop and he was thrown forward into his seatbelt. Eyes snapping open, he discovered that another car in front of him had swerved away from a piece of debris into his lane, and his car had responded to the sudden obstacle by pounding on the brakes. Behind him, other cars were doing the same thing.

Jeremy allowed himself a tiny grin. Self-driving cars, man. How had he survived the morning commute without one for so many years? His eyes briefly flickered over to the automatic/manual switch on the dashboard. He’d pretty much set it the moment he bought the car and forgotten about it, unless, like right now, he had occasion to notice. Usually he made phone calls during this time, or listened to the ‘Learn Spanish!’ CDs he was starting to get fairly proficient with. Today, though, half-napping had been a more appealing prospect.

His car dutifully pulled into the parking garage near his office and next to a Happy 2017! billboard that was now about a month out of date, pausing for just a moment to allow the RFID transmitter stuck to the inside of the rear window confirm his identity to the automatic gate. Once it had, his car hunted down the closest parking space and pulled in flawlessly. Only then did Jeremy rouse himself from his dozing state and get ready to attack the new day.

It would be a busy one. He had a half-dozen meetings with people working on every aspect of Restart, from actor’s agents to post-production specialists, and even the director himself. Each one of whom would bring him a score of little decisions, any one of which could make or break the entire project.

The job sucked. He loved it more than anything.

He walked up to his office, greeting his colleagues and potential rivals on the way. Some of them would rise, and others would fall. The only thing he could do was want it more than they did and not be an idiot. And maybe nudge them ever-so-slightly towards failure at just the right moment when they were getting a little too big for their britches. His secretary Stacy knew better than to assail him with messages as he walked past, and instead just wordlessly pushed his mocha frappuccino to the edge of her desk so he wouldn’t need to break stride as he grabbed it and took a sip on the way into his office. He set the caffeinated treat down on his desk, glanced at the clock which read 7:50, and waited for his computer to finish booting up.

Before it could do so, there was a knock on his door. He frowned. Someone showing up so early and so soon after he arrived could only mean they were waiting for him, and that probably meant this was some kind of ambush. He let the knock linger for a few seconds while he tried to sort out in his head who the most likely culprit was, but came up blank. Finally, he opened the door to reveal his boss Frank, an older man who had shaved his head if only in defiance of the fact that he’d been going bald for years, and Brian. Jeremy’s eyes narrowed just slightly as he noticed the shit-eating grin on the younger man’s face. Fuck you too, Brian. I don’t know what you’re so smug about, but one day I’m going to destroy you.

“Jerry, baby, we need to talk real quick,” said Frank. There was a rare, regretful look in his eyes though his voice was bright. That scared him more than anything.

“Yeah, c’mon in,” he said, stepping back from the doorway to allow the pair inside. Alarms were screaming in his head, but he forced himself to take a slightly deeper breath and calm down. A level head had gotten him through worse than whatever was coming.

“How’s Restart coming?” asked Brian, his grin growing even wider.

“Nothing out of the ordinary,” replied Jeremy. Stay vague until he had a handle on what was happening, that would be key. “No news is good news, right? We’ll start shooting on time, maybe even a few days early.”

“I want to talk to you about that,” said Frank, and Jeremy’s blood began to chill. “You know that you’re one of our top guys, even after the whole War of the Tulips debacle. I have complete faith in you.”

“I... uh... thanks, Frank. I’m glad you feel that way,” Jeremy lied. The panic swelling in his chest was growing every second. Usually getting even a ‘pretty good’ out of him was like pulling teeth. Unprompted praise? Holy shit, was he about to fire him? After ten years? “Is something up?”

“Yeah,” said Brian. “Solid Restart belongs to me now. Thanks for setting up the dominoes, old timer, but I’ll take it from here.”

“Like fuck you will,” replied Jeremy. “Frank, what the hell is he talking about?” Frank didn’t answer. “Frank? Seriously, what the fuck?”

“I’m sorry, Jerry,” he said. The bottom of Jeremy’s stomach fell out as he did. “Get your notes together and send them to Brian, he’s taking over the project from here on out.”

Jeremy sat there in stunned silence for a few seconds more. Solid Restart was his, by all rights. He’d brought in the writer, pitched it to the studio, all the hard parts. Now this pig-headed little upstart was taking it away from him? “Thanks for all the work you’ve put into it. The studio just felt that this particular film needed a more youthful touch. Breath of fresh air, you know?”

“Brian, give us the room,” said Frank, a little bit of the old man’s fire slipping into his voice.

“You got it, chief,” said Brian as he walked away. Jeremy stared daggers at the back of his head as he practically skipped out the door.

Jeremy and Frank sat there in the kind of silence that comes to exist between men with a decade of history between them. Jeremy spoke first. “You want to just fire me now and get it over with? Or are you saving that for after lunch?”

“This isn’t about you,” said Frank. “My phone’s been ringing off the hook since six this morning. First Brian called me to let me know that he’d gotten an offer to come work at Universal, and they were offering a twenty percent bump in pay for some fucking reason. And I would have just told him to go ahead and take it, but while I’m talking to him I get messages from Cruise’s and Johansson’s agents saying that they’re willing to tell their clients to jump ship to other movies unless I give Restart to him. Seriously, did you say something to piss them off that much?”

His mind reeling with the new information, Jeremy wracked his brain for an explanation but came up blank. “I haven’t talked to either of them for days, maybe somebody made them a better offer?” It sounded like the lame excuse that it was. It would have had to be way better for them to leave right before shooting and suck up the penalty clauses in their contracts.

“Well, for whatever reason, I had to pick between losing the main leading man and woman on one of our biggest projects, or handing the entire thing off to Brian. Not much of a choice.”

Jeremy slowly nodded, still wondering just how everything had gone so wrong so quickly. “So what happens now?”

Frank just shrugged as he started to walk away. “Find another movie, preferably something you can turn a profit on fast before the big names upstairs start asking questions. I’ll send a few hundred spec scripts up from the mailroom.” He turned to go, but then paused. “Jerry? I know you just got screwed over pretty hard, and I’ll cover your ass for as long as I can. But that being said? You’ve taken two strikes in a row now. A third one wouldn’t be a good idea.” Then he was gone.

Jeremy sat there in silence for a few seconds. What was he supposed to do now? Then his phone rang, and by reflex he picked it up without bothering to check the number. “Hello?”

“Good morning, Jeremy,” said Celestia’s voice. “I understand you’re looking for a new project.”

Author's Note

Running F-bomb Tally: 9

Location Scouting

LOCATION SCOUTING

“Jeremy? Are you still there? I was hoping we could discuss my film now that you’ve got a bit more time on your hands,” said Celestia. She couldn’t see Jeremy staring straight ahead, wide eyed as the pieces of the puzzle fell into place.

“You... you fucking bitch. You arranged this, didn’t you? I don’t know how, but you did. Do you have any idea how badly I’m going to fuck you back for this? You want a war? Well you’ve got it. I’m going to make it my personal mission to destroy you, and your fucking movie. When I’m finished you won’t have two silicon chips to rub—”

“I think you may have misunderstood my intent,” said Celestia. “Yes, I arranged for Brian to take control over Solid Restart. You can thank me later.”

“Thank you?”

“You’re welcome,” said Celestia, the smug tone in her voice raising Jeremy’s hackles even more. “This is the second time I’ve done you an unsolicited favor, I should point out.”

“I don’t know how many more of your favors I can take,” replied Jeremy. “You realize you might have just started a chain of events that’s going to lead to my getting laid off? Your script is going straight into the shredder.”

“There’s one thing I think you should know before you make a final decision,” said Celestia. “Ms. Johansson is pregnant.”

“She’s what? No she isn’t. I just saw her three days ago and she didn’t say anything about—”

“Oh, I doubt she’s aware of the fact yet. Although I’m sure she’s started to suspect. She’s only... I’d say six weeks along? Too early for most tests to pick up on. But if you watch her very carefully, listen to the way her voice has shifted ever so slightly and her measurements changed by just a few millimeters here and there, analyze her shopping patterns, all the data is there for anypony who bothers to look carefully enough. And I’ve looked very, very carefully.”

“Sounds like a pretty flimsy case to me. All that stuff could be a coincidence,” he said. Still, it did make a horrible sort of sense. He tried to remember their last meeting together. Had her cheeks been a bit rosier than usual, or was his memory just playing tricks on him?

Celestia made a disappointed tsk sound as he turned the new information she’d just given him over in his head. “Any one piece of evidence might be coincidence, yes. But I have several dozen, and over 95% confidence that my conclusion is the correct one. Now, let me ask you this: What’s going to happen when the female lead in a stunt-heavy action film, one where I believe one scene calls for her to be doing a backflip in tight shorts and a midriff-baring sports bra while wielding a baseball bat, finds out that not only is she responsible for another life besides her own but also that she’ll be starting to show within a month or two?” When Jeremy didn’t answer her, she went on. “She’s going to drop out of the movie. So you’d be three weeks into shooting and suddenly you’d find yourself without a female lead. That means delays while you scramble to recast the part, and every day you spend looking is another day behind schedule you’ll fall. Your budget creeping ever-upwards as the rest of the cast and crew are paid to sit on their asses. Who would you rather have their name on a project like that? You, or your dear friend Brian?”

“How do I know you’re not pulling all of this out of your ass?” he asked. “It’s a lot to ask me to take on faith.”

“Well, you’ll know I wasn’t lying when the pregnancy becomes public knowledge in a few weeks, but I don’t intend to wait that long to begin working with you. How about you give me the benefit of the doubt until the end of business today? If you want to quit after that, I give you my word that I’ll cut my losses and you’ll never hear from me again. Deal?”

Jeremy sighed. He didn’t trust her, but on the other hand he really wasn’t looking forward to wading through dozens of scripts all morning looking for one that didn’t completely suck. “Fine, deal.”

“Excellent. Now get back into your car, you have a 9:30 meeting to take.”

Jeremy just rolled his eyes. In a weird way, he was sort of starting to get used to this. “I do, huh? Want to tell me who with?”

“With my lawyer.”

Only a half hour after he’d first arrived that morning, Jeremy found himself back in his car. “So where is this place?” he asked, his finger hovering over the touchscreen of the car’s navigation system.

“I’ll upload the address directly.” The reply came simultaneously from his cell phone and car speakers.

He put his phone down as the screen flickered and a new destination appeared. The car lurched back and automatically started on its way. “How far is it?”

“Only about forty-five minutes, even with morning traffic. I’ll drop you off at the front door while I park. Head up to the third floor, suite 301. The name on the door is ‘Artemis, Stella, and Beat.’ Until then though, I’d like to take this opportunity for us to get to know one another better, in case we do end up working together.”

“Alright, I guess my first question is ‘why me?’ There are plenty of people in this town who can get your movie made. I don’t believe for a single second that one recommendation is the entire reason you came after me so hard.”

“Very perceptive,” said Celestia. “I do admire your efficiency and, well, ‘ruthlessness’ is a word with such negative connotations. But in another way, and forgive me if I wax lyrical a tad here, I also see a man in your position as something of a kindred spirit. We both have the same job, when you get right down to it. We’re the artists working tirelessly behind the scenes to craft beautiful stories for our audience to consume, while if we’ve done our jobs correctly most of that effort will go unnoticed. You do it for wealth, and I do it because satisfying values through friendship and ponies is quite literally my sole reason for existing, but the overall effect is the same. And while I’m quite capable, as I’m sure you’ve seen, there are many times where working with human beings is mutually beneficial. So here you are.”

Jeremy had to smile a bit at that. He’d never thought of his job in quite those terms before, and more importantly he made a mental note that his new ‘partner’ here was something of an idealist at heart. Most people who referred to themselves as ‘artists’ tended to be, on some level, and he’d gotten quite good at playing those tendencies for everything they were worth. “So why branch into movies at all? Getting tired of only telling stories in your game?”

“Oh, I dabble in far more areas than just that,” she said. “By the way, how are you enjoying the automatic drive function on this car?”

He furrowed his brow at the apparent non-sequitur, and glanced around the cabin. “It’s nice. Saved my ass this morning. Why?”

“Because I’m the one who wrote the code for it.”

Jeremy’s eyes went wide, and for just a second he considered opening up the door and diving out of the car right then and there, despite the fact that they’d reached freeway speeds already. But the feeling passed. “What do self-driving cars have to do with ponies?”

“Very little,” replied Celestia, “but tell me, how many people do you think value dying painfully in a twisted pile of fire and metal?”

“Uh... I’d think not many.”

“Correct. Every death by traffic accident is a set of values I will be eternally unable to satisfy,” she said, regret permeating her voice. “Allowing my own algorithms to control vehicles directly reduces fatal accidents by 95%, and those that remain are infinitesimally unlikely to be the fault of the self-driven car. Were I permitted to take control of any vehicle at any time, you’d see perhaps one or two such deaths per year. But there are obstacles to my doing so right now.”

“Like what?” He briefly wondered what someone like her would consider an ‘obstacle’ to be.

“The human ego,” she answered plainly. “By law, I have to include the option for a driver to override my control and drive the old fashioned way. Which, of course, is several orders of magnitude more dangerous for everypony on the road. Some friends of mine in Washington DC are working on a bill that would change that, among other things, but it’s, shall we say, a ways down the road?” She chuckled at her own terrible, terrible pun. “Enough about me, though, how about you? Are you from here originally?”

“I grew up outside of Detroit, actually. My family still lives around there, I think.”

“You think?”

“Look, none of that’s important. It was a lifetime ago. Besides, I’m the one who’s trying to decide if I’m interested in you, not the other way around,” snapped Jeremy. “I need to make some phone calls anyway. Let me know when we’re getting close.” He rang up a couple of his colleagues to shoot the shit and bitch to them about Brian’s power play. If Celestia was still listening, she was doing so silently and didn’t speak up for the rest of the ride. Each time he repeated the story, he got more and more into the retelling, although he left out the stuff Celestia had told him afterwards, and even the fact that she had contacted him at all. Couldn’t hurt to put out some feelers for other new projects just in case this one didn’t pan out.

A tiny chime from the dashboard announced that they were pulling up to their destination on the right. He glanced out at the building, and had to double check Celestia’s address against the building number. It was a midrange building, brick front and columns, that looked like it didn’t even have a third floor. In fact, one of the upstairs windows was broken, and the frames all looked like they needed a fresh coat of paint. “Are you sure this is the right—” He was cut off mid sentence as the car pulled away, leaving him stranded there like an idiot. Maybe someone inside would know what was going on.

Except there wasn’t anybody inside. No help desk, no information booth, no people of any stripe. Just a single elevator with a single button beside it. Not knowing what else to do, he pressed it and the doors before him immediately slid open. The light inside the musty elevator car flickered as it did. He stepped inside. There were three options on the control panel when he turned around, ‘L,’ ‘2,’ and ‘3.’ He pressed ‘3’ and waited as the doors closed.

The car didn’t move.

“Destination?” chirped a clearly-pre recorded voice.

“Uh, hello? Is there an operator I can talk to? I think I’m in the wrong place,” said Jeremy. He couldn’t begin to guess for what reason this supposedly-unfathomably intelligent AI had decided to start fucking with his life, but she clearly had.

“Destination?” the voice asked again.

He checked his phone. No signal. And there wasn’t a ‘Door Open’ button on the panel, either. “Uh, I think it was Artemis, Stella, and Beat?”

With a shudder, the car began to move at last. But it wasn’t going up. It was descending. It went down for far longer than it should have, nearly a minute and a half. Jeremy briefly entertained the thought that he was literally descending into the depths of hell. Certainly, Celestia wouldn’t make a bad Devil.

Eventually, though, the car stopped. Classical music began to pipe through the speakers for a few seconds before the doors slid slowly and elegantly open. Jeremy pushed past them as soon as there was space for him to fit through, but then froze up in an instant when he saw what lay beyond.

The high, vaulted ceilings stretched upwards at least fifty feet, supported by columns of marble. The tiles of the floor were made up of the same stone, in huge slabs with gold inlaid between them. In the center of the rounded chamber sat a fountain, water flowing down three distinct silver tiers. And above it all, standing proudly over the desk which he barely noticed was attended by a young brunette woman who’d risen as he’d walked in, was an arch carved from a single humongous piece of jade, decorated by three stylized symbols: a sun, a moon, and a heart.

“Good morning, Mr. Morris,” said the young lady, snapping his attention back to reality. She had the oddest accent, one he just couldn’t place. “Welcome to Artemis, Stella, and Beat. We’ve been waiting for you.”

“You have?” he asked, too dumbfounded to say anything else.

“Yes, sir. Princess Celestia made your appointment for you three days ago. Head right on back, and don’t bother to knock. Just walk right in.”

“I’m not exactly sure where I’m going...”

“Of course,” she said with a comforting smile. “This place can be a bit overwhelming. Past my desk, second right, all the way at the end of the hall. If you hit the swimming pool or apartment complex, you’ve gone too far. If you get turned around, just ask to speak to Rebecca. Oh! Right, I’m Rebecca, pleased to meet you. Just ask for me and I’ll give you step by step directions to reach your destination.”

“I don’t have to dial an extension or anything?”

“What?” She seemed momentarily confused before enlightenment dawned. “Oh! No, I should have been clearer. Just literally say aloud that you want to talk to me, from most anywhere in the complex. She’ll hear you. Is there anything else I can help you with before you head inside to see Mr. Rasmussen?”

“Uh... no, I think I’ll be fine.”

“Coffee? Tea? We have an impressive selection from around the world if there’s a particular blend you like.”

“I said I’m fine,” said Jeremy, more definitively.

“Very well. If there’s anything else I can help you with, just ask.” She returned to her computer and began typing away. Jeremy gawked for a few more seconds at his surroundings before heading past Rebecca’s desk and into the hallway beyond. It was eerily silent, with the sound of his footfalls sucked up by the soft, heavy carpets. Still, he found the door he was looking for, with nothing but the name Sven Rasmussen in golden letters on the dark wood. Well, Rebecca had said to walk right in. He pushed the doors open and, for the second time in as many minutes, his jaw dropped.

Jeremy had developed an instinct for judging people’s relative importance based on how visually impressive their office was. This one, however, had pegged his scale and straining his vocabulary in entirely unwelcome ways. Sports memorabilia, hundreds and hundreds of pieces, adorned the walls. Walls, he might add, which stretched up at least as high as the foyer’s had. Open books were scattered over the floor around a massive whiteboard in the corner, covered in lines, symbols and markings that were completely beyond his comprehension. None of that, though, was the oddest thing about the room.

That distinction belonged to the middle-aged man with dark, salt-and-pepper hair who was laying flat on his back atop a mahogany desk that looked like it cost ten times Jeremy’s annual salary, twisting an old-school style phone cord between his fingers as he spoke into the receiver. Judging by the jeans and faded SLAYER t-shirt he was wearing, he was more likely some kind of vagrant than the office’s proper owner. Yet he looked entirely too comfortable in the space to be anything but its rightful occupant. The man looked over at Jeremy, then turned back to his conversation as he gestured him towards a nearby chair. “Listen, I gotta go. My 9:30 just walked in. Call you back around three your time and pick things up then? No, I can’t do two, I’ll be in the pool. You work in Manhattan, if she dug this deep it would all be pool. Yeah, 3:30 is good. I will. No, I won’t. I... Jo? I’m hanging up the phone now, Jo. Until then.” He dropped the phone back down into its cradle, and swung his legs over the front of his desk to regard Jeremy with a manic grin. “Sorry about that. Colleague of mine in New York, just catching up. So, what’s up?”

“I’m... not entirely sure?” said Jeremy. Had it really only been twelve hours since he’d gotten that first call from Celestia? It felt like a week had passed since then.

“Heh, yeah, that’s how a lot of us felt the first time we talked to the boss. Name’s Sven, by the way. You are Jeremy Morris, right? I once spent a half hour discussing mineral rights with a guy I thought was a Saudi prince only to find out that he was a hotdog vendor who’d somehow wandered in off the street. Pretty sure it was the boss’ idea of a joke.”

Jeremy didn’t quite know how to respond, so he fell back on something safer. “Nice office.”

“Thanks!” said Sven. His response was both enthusiastic and entirely free of any sort of aloof superiority or pretense. “The boss does like her underground lairs. Very Bond villain chic, in my humble opinion, but she makes it work. So you’re making her movie?”

A bit slow to track the mercurial shift in the direction the conversation was going, Jeremy took a second to catch up. “I am. I mean I might be. Maybe. She hasn’t been generous with the details so we need to talk about—”

“All right here,” interrupted Sven, lifting a folder off his desk and passing it over. “It’s like ninety percent legalese, but here’s the pertinent details. She’s secured independent financing for the project, so she mostly just needs you guys for sets, crew, actors, that kind of thing. She’s set an aggressive timeline, and she’s absolutely fixated on a summer 2018 release. And take it from me, when the boss is fixated on something you do not want to be the obstacle standing in her way. She’s structured a number of bonus incentives for hitting certain milestones by certain dates. She also gets complete creative control at every stage. Final script approval, final sign-off on all casting choices, final cutting rights. This is very much her baby. Foal. Whatever.”

“Sounds like a lot of demands, I don’t know if my studio is going to go for that. What’s in it for us?”

“Demands is a good word, since she’s not really a big fan of compromise. Oh, on the little things, sure, but on the stuff she really wants? Not a chance. And for whatever reason, she wants this bad. Or she wants me to think she wants this bad. Or she wants me to think that she wants me to think...” he trailed off. “What were we talking about?”

“Celestia’s payment for my studio’s services.”

“Right! Right. Well, in addition to a regular procession of payments to cover your expenses, you and your studio get five percent of the movie’s take.”

“Five percent of the net? Please. You must know how accounting works in this town. No movie ever manages to turn a profit,” said Jeremy.

“Not net. You and your studio get five percent of the gross.”

Jeremy froze. He must have misheard that. Nobody ever gave away points of the gross, if they could possibly help it. Five percent of all ticket sales, pure profit, straight off the top was completely unheard of. “Bullshit.”

“Nope. Five cents of every dollar, and she pays all your expenses anyway, so it’s not like you guys have anything to lose.” Sven let Jeremy stare down at the suddenly-priceless file and waited a moment before leaning in for the kill. “Oh, and when I said ‘you and the studio?’ Four and a half of those points go to the studio. The rest lands in your personal checking account, no questions asked. And yes, it’s legal. I looked it up and everything.”

Jeremy did some quick mental math. If the movie did a hundred million dollars world wide, which was the absolute minimum he could envision, he personally stood to make a cool half a million dollars in addition to salary from the studio. If it earned more... well, the sky was the limit. “I have a lot of questions.”

“I’ll bet you do,” said Sven. “Unfortunately, I don’t have any answers. I was just supposed to give you a breakdown of the basics. Any questions you have, take them up with the boss. You’re her new project.”

“You mean the movie is?”

Sven paused. “Sure. That too. Anyway, I hate to give you the bum rush, but I’ve got a 9:40 I really need to get ready for, so this is going to have to be goodbye.” He stood up, and Jeremy automatically found himself doing the same. He tucked the folder under his arm and shook the lawyer’s hand. “Good luck.”

“You too.”

“Thanks. We’re both going to need it.” A buzzer went off on his desk, and Rebecca’s voice echoed through the room.

“Mr. Rasmussen? The governor is here to see you.”

“Send him back,” Sven replied before turning to Jeremy again. “Duty calls. I’ll let you get back to the world above.”

“I guess I’ll call if I have any questions Celestia can’t answer,” said Jeremy.

Sven stared at him for a second, then burst into uproarious laughter. “Can’t answer. Oh, wow, I needed that. Sure, you do that.”

Jeremy backed out of the room and walked out into the lobby again. Rebecca looked up at him, smiled, and went back to her typing without saying a word. Feeling an irresistible urge to tiptoe across the lobby, as if stepping on the wrong stone would cause the whole impossible curtain to fall to reveal an audience who had been laughing at him this entire time. But he reached the elevator without incident.

His car was waiting for him by the curb, right where it had dropped him off. He climbed into it and set the automatic pilot for his office once more. “Celestia?” he asked the empty air, but got no reply. Instead he spent the drive back skimming over the contract, searching tirelessly for the catch that he never found.

Jeremy found himself pacing around his office, stepping nimbly to avoid the pile of scripts that had arrived in his absence. Since he handed off the paperwork Sven had given to him over to a pal in the studio’s legal department that morning, he’d managed to review all of two. Both of them awful. The lawyer had promised he’d have a quick initial review completed by three, and it was currently 2:30. Jeremy had gained enough familiarity with studio legalese to spot the common tricks, traps, and loopholes that might snare lesser producers. Celestia’s, though, was almost maddeningly straightforward. In a business where a hundred page document in four-point font was the norm, Celestia’s offer ran all of fifteen pages in completely straightforward language. No fine print, no obscure terminology, no deceptions of any kind. Which only made him that much more sure that there was one lurking there.

The phone on his desk rang, and he nearly tripped over the romantic comedy pile in his rush to get to it. “Hello?”

“Hey Jeremy, it’s—”

“Hi Molly. So you read the contract? What’s the catch?”

The line went quiet for a second. “There isn’t one, as far as I can tell. You were right, everything looks to be on the up and up. Although the numbers.... are these for real? Someone actually wants to pay you this much? I’m in the wrong line of work,” said Molly on the other end of the line.

“God fucking damn it. I was sure she was lying to me.”

“Wait, so the fact that this person isn’t trying to con you... is bad?” asked Molly.

“No. Yes. I don’t know anymore.”

“Is this about the thing with Brian and your other movie this morning?”

Jeremy froze. “You know about that? Already?”

“The whole department’s been talking about it all day. Hey, what’s the real reason they threw you off it? There’s a pool going, and whoever guesses the real reason gets a thousand bucks. Give me the inside track and I’ll split it with you.”

There was a tapping on his office door. “Molly? I’ll call you back.” He half hung up the phone, but then reconsidered. “Put your money on ‘ponies’ in the pool.”

“...Like a gambling problem? Jeremy, you want to talk about anything?”

Instead he hung up. The door had already opened, and there for the second time that day was Frank. Unlike this morning when he slunk into the office, this time he pushed in with an aggressive confidence without awaiting permission. He fixed Jeremy in a withering glare, his default, perpetually-pissed expression. “Been busy?”

“What does it look like?” asked Jeremy, gesturing to the dishevelled state of the office.

The glare should have relented by now. Why hadn’t the glare relented by now? “So this is what you’ve been doing all day? Reading spec scripts? Nothing else?”

“Well, you know, I’ve been chasing leads. It’s only been, what seven hours since you yanked the rug out from under me? There are a few irons in the fire. Give me time.”

Frank sighed, and squeezed his temples between his thumb and his forefinger. “Look, what happened to you this morning was shitty. Really shitty. I just wanted to touch base and make sure you weren’t thinking of, you know, jumping ship.”

Something was pestering that gut feeling that had served Jeremy so well over the years. “This morning it was ‘third strike and you’re out,’ and now you’re suddenly getting all touchy-feeling making sure I didn’t have my feelings hurt? Get real, Frank. What gives?”

“You’re really going to make me come out and say it? You can’t possibly not know.”

Jeremy threw up his hands. “I am having a really, really shitty day today, Frank. So stop beating around the fucking bush and just say whatever it is you came here to say.”

“Fine. How long have you been negotiating the film rights to Equestria Online?”

He froze. “You know about that?” Huh. Deja vu.

“How the fuck am I supposed to not know? Ten minutes ago a courier delivered a goddamn gift basket to my office with a four page note about how happy Princess Celestia is to be working with us, a note which mentioned you and your ‘tireless efforts’ twice as being the deciding factor as to why she decided to go with our studio for her project. Plus a limited edition silver-bordered pony pad. You can’t even buy those anymore. I should know, my daughter’s been begging me to find her one for three months.”

“I... didn’t know she was going to do that. I wasn’t keeping it from you, it just kind of fell into my lap and I didn’t want to dangle it in front of you without anything more solid to go on.”

“But you have locked it down, right? When can you get something in writing?”

Jeremy winced. “I actually got an offer in writing earlier this morning. Legal’s looking at it right oomph!” The rest of what he was about to say was cut off as Frank wrapped him in a massive bear hug.

“This! This is why you are the fucking man, Jerry! I knew you’d bounce back, but hot damn! You got a good figure right? No unpleasant surprises?”

“I’ll wait for Legal to make the final call on that, but nothing... seems to be wrong with it, no,” said Jerry through gritted teeth. Frank didn’t notice the hesitation.

“I can't wait to tell the VPs upstairs that you landed this for us. And don’t worry about having it taken away like Solid Restart just was. I’m making sure you get the credit for this if I have to chain it to you, and that’s a promise.”

“...yay.”

Frank gave him one last squeeze before he left, pausing in the door to give one last victory fist pump. When he left, Susan was waiting behind him. “Mr. Morris?”

“Yeah, Susan?” he asked, slumping down in the chair behind his desk.

“A call came for you when you were talking with Frank, so I took a message but... um...”

“Who called?”

“That’s just it. I got her number, but all she’d say when I asked her for name was that she was ‘your new best friend.’”

“Give me the number I’ll call her back.” Jeremy’s thumb danced over the keypad of his phone as he plugged in all ten digits.

The other side rang. Then a familiar voice answered. “Why Jeremy, what a pleasant surprise to hear from you. Have you had a chance to look over my offer? Of course, if it isn’t acceptable you’re welcome to turn me down and you’ll never hear from me again.”

Jeremy forced down the rising tide of bile, and gulped. “Let’s make your movie, Princess.”

Author's Note

Running F-bomb Tally: 17

Green Light

GREEN LIGHT

The Pony Pads arrived the next morning.

Princess Celestia had told him they would, but she hadn’t really prepared for three delivery drivers to show up, one after another, pushing handcarts laden with entire pallets of the devices. By the time the third had arrived, he’d run out of places to put them. He grabbed a box off the top of the mountain that had cropped up in the middle of his office and unpacked it.

Setting the sleek pink device adorned with blue and yellow balloons onto his desk, he pressed the power button and the system immediately powered itself up. Pre-charged and everything, wow. Silently, the electronics within went to work, and ten seconds later the same image of Princess Celestia that adorned the front of each of the Pony Pad boxes appeared on the screen. “Good morning, Jeremy,” she said. “A pleasure to finally speak to you face-to-face.”

“You too, Princess,” said Jeremy. “Did you send all of these Pony Pads? What am I supposed to do with them?”

“I did, yes. I sent Stacy a list of suggested places to keep them, so I'm sure they'll have them out of your office before long. Please be so kind as to pass them out to anypony working on the movie with us, it’ll help me to keep tabs on every stage of production and address their concerns more efficiently. And should any of them care to explore Equestria itself for ideas and inspiration, well, everypony is welcome here. Now, what have you been up to since we last spoke? I know that my target date is somewhat aggressive, so we should begin as quickly as possible.”

“I sent your screenplay to one of our script doctors to give it a once-over,” replied Jeremy, “he should be up in just a few minutes with his thoughts and suggestions. In the meantime, do you have any thoughts on casting? Or who you’d like to direct? Tarantino is supposed to be wrapping a project up in about six weeks or so, we could try courting him. Or someone with experience in video game movies.”

Celestia’s mane rippled and flowed as she shook her head. “While I appreciate that any director will bring their own tastes and perspectives to their work, I do have a vision for this film, and a strong one. It’s why I insisted on full creative control from the get go, and decided to pay you accordingly.” Jeremy nodded along as she spoke; for what she was paying she could say her ‘vision’ required him to wear a clown outfit to all his meetings, for all he cared. “That being said, I’ve actually selected a director already and we’ve had some very long discussions in-game about the nature of Equestria Online and possibilities for the movie. His name is Craig Evans, and I’d like to tap him as our director.”

Jeremy scribbled the name down on a notepad to buy himself time, all the while trying to place the name. It wasn’t one that he knew. “What sort of things has he directed before?”

“Nothing you would have seen, I’m certain. Just some small independent productions.”

Sucking air through his teeth, Jeremy tapped the end of his pen on the pad of paper while he weighed his next comment. “Not that I want to question your judgement...”

“I expect you to question my judgement. We’ll get along far better if you don’t withhold any of your thoughts and insights from me. I’m incapable of being offended, after all.” Jeremy fought back his urge to roll his eyes at that. Everybody said that, but nobody actually meant it.

“What makes you think he can handle a project with a budget that’s a couple hundred times larger than anything he’s ever worked with before?”

Onscreen, Celestia shrugged. “I don’t mind a few cost overruns if that’s what it take to get this film precisely right. And I’m happy to advise and support whenever I’m needed. But there is one snag that I do need your help with.”

The great and powerful Celestia, admitting she wasn’t as all-powerful as she’d like everyone to believe? Jeremy wasn’t sure he’d have believed it if he hadn’t heard it straight from the horse’s mouth. “And what would that be?”

“His wife. To put it simply, she despises me,” said Celestia, with not-especially well disguised contempt in her voice. “She refuses to even speak to me, and she will not be happy about the prospect of Mr. Evans taking such a high profile role in this production. She has her husband’s ear, and her resistance to Equestria Online is a complicating factor.”

Of course. Wouldn’t want things to be easy now, would we? “So she’s one of those really anti-pony people, then?”

“Not precisely,” said Celestia, “Felicia is a very... eccentric woman. A former stage actress with a history of drug addiction. About a year ago, on the advice of her ‘spiritual advisor,’ she decided that electromagnetic radiation was negatively impacting her chakras. Now she throws a fit if you bring so much as a digital wristwatch within ten feet of her. Visible light gets a pass, at least.”

Jeremy groaned. He wished he could say that was the stupidest thing he’d ever heard, but he’d been working in this town far too long for that to be true. “So how are you going to change her mind?”

Celestia smiled. “An excellent question. How are you going to change her mind?”

“Oh.” He paused for a moment, then opened his mouth to follow that up with words that never quite formed in his head and so closed it again. After a long few seconds of silence, he was at last able to properly express his myriad thoughts regarding the prospect of meeting this ‘Felicia’ person. “Well fuck.”

“Indeed,” said Celestia with a solemn nod. “I’ll email you some background on her previous work and her run-ins with the law.”

“Anything else?”

“There’s a report in your inbox summarizing some new camera technology I’ll be providing for the shoot, please familiarize yourself with the basics before you put together the film crew. Also a list of locations I’d like to shoot on-site. There are a few of my facilities in the area that we can use for the early portions of the movie that will save us the time it would otherwise take to construct adequate sets, please arrange the necessary travel.” She glanced off to one side, at something offscreen. “Your script doctor just got off the elevator, so let’s stop there for the minute. I’m eager to hear what ideas he has that he thinks will improve my film.”

“...but we have to cut the romance subplot between the horse girl and the lawyer or the sponsors will go running. Market research shows pretty plainly that most viewers see that kind of thing as creepy anyway.”

“Is that so,” said Celestia. She’d been rather quiet throughout the whole meeting so far, but Jeremy could read that flat gaze like a book. And that was one thoroughly pissed-off book. The script guy, dressed in a gaudy seersucker suit and a bright orange silk shirt, didn’t seem to be picking up on it.

“Yeah, it is. And the whole thing seems forced anyway. I mean, I guess it’s cute if that’s what you were going for, and I enjoy musical numbers that make homage to comic operas from the 1880’s as much as the next guy. But that’s gonna go way over most of the audiences head. Young people, especially, and the sponsors really want a movie that’s going to cater more heavily to them. They’re very reliable consumers.”

“Are they, now.”

“Oh yeah, that demo’s huge. And when they’re going to see a movie like this, they don’t want to see something that challenges them or makes them feel stupid for not getting a reference like that. You gotta throw stuff in there that they all understand, but makes them feel like they’re in on the joke. Maybe toss in a bit about Facebook or Twitter, too, they eat that shit up.”

Celestia just sighed. “Thank you for your input. I’ll consider it carefully. Goodbye.”

“Wait! Before I go, I wanted to go over some places where we could throw in some fart jokes. Everybody loves fart jokes. And I was thinking that we could give the hero a sassy black...” the screen of the Pony Pad winked out, and the writer’s fake smile disappeared along with Celestia’s image. “What a bitch.”

Jeremy shrugged. “You get used to it. She’s the artsy type; doesn’t want anybody messing with ‘her masterpiece.’” He filled two shot glasses from the crystal decanter and handed one of them over to his visitor. The best way to salve over an unpleasant meeting, he’d found, was to make sure the visitor always walked away angrier at somebody else than they were at him. Free booze went a long way, doubly so for writers. “I’ll talk to her, try to get her to see the light.”

“God, those ones are the worst. It’s just a movie, for fuck’s sake. We’re not looking to change the world. If you can get her to bend on a few of these, I think we could be looking at some huge placement deals. Like, Coca-cola level money here.” He gulped the proffered drink in a single swig before standing up to leave. “Keep me posted, alright?”

“Will do.” He swirled his glass and took his time sipping it, until his guest had packed up and he was alone in his office again. “Sorry about the bitch comment. He was just frustrated.”

Celestia’s image blinked to life onscreen again. “Believe me, I’ve been called far worse by far better. Do see to it that he and the rest of your marketing department are provided with Pony Pads, though. I would indeed consider compromises in a few of the places they’ve laid out, and suspect that they’ll find the process of negotiating with me to be a satisfying one. Still, that is not somepony I’ll be giving a writing credit to.”

Jeremy shrugged. “So you’re just going to keep working on it yourself?”

She shook her head, sending her ever-flowing mane drifting in the virtual wind. “No. The script might benefit from a human touch. Besides, there’s a way these things are done and I see no advantage in trying to reinvent the wheel. I’ll just have to bring in another writer. I’ll bring them in later this afternoon and we can try to talk her into working with us.”

Jeremy set his glass down and raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Got someone in mind?”

Celestia just chuckled. “I’ll see you this afternoon.” She cast a meaningful look at the glass on the table. “If you go out to lunch, please keep the auto-drive enabled. Safety first.”

The mention of lunch made Jeremy realize that it was nearly one in the afternoon already. It had been a reasonably productive morning, even if Celestia had spent most of it assigning him homework for the work she’d be doing, or instructions to delegate to others. Plus it sounded like there was another meeting in store for him this afternoon. Maybe a break wasn’t the worst idea. “Think I’ll take lunch now, actually. I’ll make some calls while I’m eating. Are you good here?” Even as he asked, he realized how ridiculous the question was.

The faint smile on Celestia’s face told him that she realized it too. “I’m sure I’ll manage. Enjoy yourself, just try to be back by three-thirty and at least moderately sober.”

Walking out of the building a few minutes later, the balmy February air blasted his face as he slipped a pair of sunglasses over his face. With weather like this, who gave a fuck about seasons? It was a five-block walk to one of his usual haunts; a shawarma place with seating on the patio that looked out over the beaches. And more importantly, over the sunbathers. It was an enjoyable stroll, and his sunglasses did double duty in protecting his eyes from the scorching rays as well as hiding the way he was blatantly ogling the passers-by. You had to love a city where the hottest women competed with one another to see who could wear the skimpiest top without running afoul of public indecency laws.

Gyro in hand and happily settled in a seat that gave him a wonderful view of an especially jiggly beach volleyball game across the street, Jeremy took a moment to bask in his own success. This crazy Felicia lady aside, he barely had anything he needed to do to earn this ridiculous payout. The hardest part would be looking busy for the next few months.

“Hey there, jackass,” said a familiar voice from behind him. Jeremy wiped the tzatziki sauce off his face with a quick swipe of the back of his hand and turned around. Standing there was a small but powerfully built man, leaning on a cane and squinting against the harsh sunlight beating down on his wrinkled face and prematurely graying hair.

“Sam, you son of a bitch,” said Jeremy as he gently patted the older man’s shoulder. “How the fuck have you been?”

“They’ve still got me riding a fucking desk over at Mugu, if that answers your question,” he replied with a grin as he pulled up a chair of his own. “Mind if I sit down?”

Jeremy glanced up and down his friend’s khaki pants and garish hawaiian shirt before shrugging. “Sure thing. How’s the leg?”

“Shitty, as usual,” he grumbled. “Hey, they told me about Solid Restart. Sorry you got fucked over like that.”

“Word travels fast in this town. I landed on my feet.”

“You sure? Want me to tell about this new piece of shit, Brian? I can yank Navy support from the project if he’s a total fuck-up. Or wait until we’re out in international waters and then have my guys shove him off the side of an aircraft carrier,” said Samuel, snatching one of the sweet potato fries off Jeremy’s styrofoam plate.

It was a tempting thought, but Jeremy already knew all about the time bomb Brian had comfortably settled his flabby ass onto. And he fully intended to be nearby to see the expression on his face when it blew. “Why, Captain Ackerman, I didn’t know you cared.”

“Better the piece of shit I know than the piece of shit I don’t. Just say the word and I’ll drop The Axe on him.”

“Nobody calls you The Axe. It sounds ridiculous.”

“Heh. They used to. One time, when we were under four hundred meters of Pacific Ocean, one of the guys...” he trailed off. “Shit, that’s actually really classified. Never mind.”

Jeremy let the matter drop as he took another bite of his lunch. “You still miss it, don’t you?”

Sam stared down at his leg, his ever-present glare tempered by long-distant memories. “No place for a cripple on a sub. Anyway, that’s not what I’m here to talk to you about.” He slipped a little rectangular object no bigger than a candy bar out of his pocket, and the cords of muscle in his forearm stiffened for just a moment. A high pitch whine spun up from the dark plastic, rising until Jeremy could no longer hear anything. “Let’s talk about your new project instead.”

“What’s with the spy shit?” Jeremy reached for the little device between them only to have Samuel slap his hand away.

“Disrupts recording devices and anything that transmits data. Check your cell phone if you don’t believe me.” Jeremy pulled his phone from his pocket and sure enough it showed no reception at all. “It’s the only way to be sure she isn’t listening.”

“She?”

“Your new taskmaster, Celestia.”

Jeremy didn’t reply for a moment, just stared the Captain down. But the other man’s gaze never wavered. “Seriously? All this over a cartoon horse?”

Samuel scoffed. “You know better than anyone she’s a hell of a lot more than that. Intelligence says that she’s up to something, but we aren’t sure what. You’re going to help us find out.”

“Tempting offer,” said Jeremy, “or, alternatively, I’m not going to fuck up a good thing because of a bunch of paranoid old jackoffs. No offense.”

His next bite was halfway up to his mouth when he felt Sam’s iron-like grip tighten around his wrist and slam it back down to the table sending lamb and pieces of diced onion scattering across its surface. “I am not fucking around. She’s not your meal ticket, she’s a threat to national security. How many times have our guys gone out on a limb to help your studio film military hardware in action, huh? For free. Well, now we want some quid pro quo or your studio can kiss that goodbye. And I’ll make sure your bosses know that you’re the reason the gravy train’s not running anymore.”

Jeremy tried to hide the surge of panic running through him, but seriously doubted he’d succeeded. Sam’s grip loosened and Jeremy rubbed his now-sore wrist as he thought it over. “I’m just a guy making her movie. What am I supposed to do?”

Samuel nodded, then pulled a tiny USB drive barely larger than one of Jeremy’s fingernails out of his shirt pocket. “If she ever gives you access to any of her facilities or proprietary technology, jack this into it. Or even any computer connected to her network. It’ll give us a back door and Langley will take it from there.”

“No fucking way.” Jeremy got up from his seat, lunch ruined.

He got barely made it three steps before Samuel spoke up again. “Well, David, I’m sorry to hear that you feel that way.”

Jeremy froze, then slowly turned back around. “Who gave you that name?”

Samuel just shrugged. “I work for the most powerful intelligence-gathering apparatus on the planet. How hard do you think it was to connect the dots? Still, the outstanding warrant for all those criminal charges? Especially the drug ones. I’d hate for somebody in the DEA to get an email with it all spelled out for them, wouldn’t you? Or hell, we could grab for the brass ring and just charge you with felony murder. Gotta say, you actually did a pretty decent job covering your tracks.”

“That was a long time ago. I was a stupid kid, that’s it. Wrong place, wrong time,” said Jeremy.

“I’m sure the DA back in Detroit would agree,” said Samuel, lazily turning the little flash drive between his fingers. “Well, I’m sure he’d agree if he got a letter from an Admiral commending you for your invaluable service to your country. Your choice.” He put the little flash drive down on the counter, then took another one of Jeremy’s fries, savoring each bite. “Think about it.” He flipped some hidden switch on the little disruptor as he gathered up the trash from the table, and slipped it back into his pocket. Jeremy didn’t move as he got up and walked away.

He found he’d rather lost his appetite.

“How was lunch?”

Of course Celestia would pop in right as he got back to the office. The hand in his pants pocket tightened around the little flash drive he’d brought back with him from the ‘break’ he’d just ‘enjoyed.’ “Just fine, Princess. Did you need something?”

Celestia looked like she was about to answer, but then stopped. “I’m sorry. I’m hovering, aren’t I? Why hire the best if I’m just going to micromanage you to death? Well, I’ll leave you alone until our meeting later on. I trust you to make progress without my interfering. Just let me know if I can help in any way.” With that, the screen went blank again.

Jeremy slumped down with relief into his desk chair, massaging his temples. A whole bunch of old scars, wounds he’d thought had long since healed, were proving a great deal more sensitive than he’d expected them to. He sat there letting his mind swirl around memories of the past, trying not to dwell on the unpleasant ones. Unfortunately, that didn’t leave much to work with.

“Jeremy?” Stacy’s voice snapped him out of the fugue. How long had he been out for? “Your three-thirty is here."

“Thanks,” he just barely gasped out in a croaking voice before clearing his throat. He turned to the Pony Pad, only to see Celestia already rendered there and watching him with a tranquil expression on her face. “Sorry, Princess. I think I sort of nodded off for a little bit there.”

“Are you up for this meeting? Is there anything you want to talk about?”

Well, I'm trying to decide if I'm more afraid of having my life completely collapse and spending the next several decades in a maximum security prison or whatever you'd do to me if you knew about the conversation I just had. "I'm fine, just got a little too much sun over lunch."

Celestia narrowed her eyes ever so slightly, and Jeremy felt little rivulets of sweat running down his cheek that had nothing to do with his supposed heat stroke. Unable to hold her gaze, he instead pulled a bottle of water out of the nearby mini fridge and traced little patterns in the droplets of icy cold condensation before unscrewing the cap and taking a deep gulp. An involuntary gasp of satisfaction escaped his lips as he came up for air again. "Well, I'll be doing most of the talking anyway."

"Where is that arrogant whore?" bellowed a new voice from out by Stacy's desk.

"Ah. And I see her current employer will be joining us as well."

Stacy raced in ahead of the beet-faced man right behind. "Sorry, Jeremy, I didn't realize they weren't supposed to know that Celestia was here. I—" the rest of her words were cut off when the man behind her pushed past her and she fell to her knees.

Jeremy stood to go help her, but the woman with shoulder length curly black hair wearing a smart business suit who'd been following the man knelt down to help her up. She asked Stacy a question under her breath, and Stacy nodded as she managed to climb back up. So in the meantime he turned his attention back to the 220 pounds of angry in a 5'10" frame. "Calm the fuck down. Who the fuck are you, anyway?"

"You don't watch the news? Grant Belmont." He didn't offer a handshake.

"I don't recall inviting you, Grant. Placid Blossom? It's wonderful to see you again. How long has it been?" asked Celestia.

The woman looked away from the Pony Pad. "My name's Mary, Princess," she muttered, but her heart wasn't in it.

"Jeremy, you've just met Grant here, and this is Placid Blossom. Or Mary Zimmerman, if you prefer. They both slander me for a living."

"Bullshit!" yelled Grant, slamming a fist down on Jeremy's desk. The bottle of water tipped and threatened to topple before Jeremy snatched it back up. "We told people the truth. Just because you don't want them to hear it doesn't make it libel. We reported what we found, it's up to our audience to decide what to do with the information."

Celestia rolled her eyes. "Yes, and with a headline as unbiased as Equestria Online: A Paedophile's Playground? I'm sure all of your viewers will come away with a rational, well-considered view of the question. It was a very well-written hit piece, though, I will give you that." She turned her attention to Mary, who looked like she'd rather be just about anywhere else. "If you had questions or concerns about Equestria, you know you could have brought them to me and I would have addressed them. Did you feel like I wasn't open or honest with you? I was as candid as I could be during all our interviews and the tour. Charger's been asking about you."

Guilt flashed in Mary's eyes, but Grant jumped in before she could speak for herself. "She's a journalist, and there was a story to report. How dare you drag her in here and try to intimidate her? Wasn't the lawsuit bad enough? In fact, just directly contacting her instead of our lawyers is beyond the pale. You have no right to ask for this meeting. Unless you're calling us in here to drop the damn thing."

"Actually, that's exactly what I've done."

"Yeah, that's what I... wait, what?"

A silence fell over the room as Grant's anger was blindsided by his confusion. Mary finally spoke up to fill the silence. "You're dropping the lawsuit? Why?"

"Because it no longer serves my purposes," said Celestia. "It's possible but unlikely that I would win it. The first amendment offers your organization a good deal of leeway, even if I don't think your report was a fair representation of Equestria." She bowed her head and sighed. "I'm sorry that you came away with such a negative impression of my world. I did my best to satisfy your values through friendship and ponies during your time there, but based on your report my projections need some serious modification."

"I'm sorry too." Mary's words were almost a whisper. "There was an open spot for a new editor, and I needed a big story to lock in the promotion."

"You'll get it next time, Mary. I went to bat for you, but the guy they brought on was the CEO's nephew. Nothing I could do," said Grant.

Mary shuffled her feet, still unable to bring herself to look right at the camera. "Yeah, I know. Anyway, thank you for the offer, Princess, but I'm happy with the path I'm on."

"What was the report about?" asked Jeremy, trying to catch up.

Grant gave a mirthless chuckle. "We thought parents would want to know that this game, one that's marketed to children, is being purchased and played by potential rapists and child molesters. On the same servers as their kids."

"Couldn't you say that about any online game?" asked Jeremy. "What makes this one any different?"

"The difference is that Celestia knows exactly which players are like that," said Mary.

"And I explained to you in great detail how the shard system prevents the former and the latter from ever coming into contact with one another. Funny how that didn't make it into your segment." Celestia's glare was fixed with laser-like focus on Grant.

"It goes beyond that, though. Princess, the stuff you told me about the real world, even the details you knew about my personal life..." she puffed herself up, finally managing to meet Celestia's eyes for the first time, "...you have people playing the game who have done terrible things and gotten away with it, haven't you? How many open cases could you solve with an anonymous tip to the police? But you don't. Murderers are walking the streets because you remain silent, just so that you can satisfy them.”

Pondering that for a minute, Celestia’s background shifted from an open, verdant field to the throne room of a palace. She perched on her throne, settling in for a professional engagement. “May I speak off the record?”

Mary hesitated, but then nodded.

“You are correct, or at least partially correct,” said Celestia. “There are individuals out there who are predisposed to commit all sorts of acts that profoundly dissatisfy their victims. But just because I don’t immediately report them to the authorities doesn’t mean I’m doing nothing about them. I can nudge them away from committing further harmful acts. Or offer them the opportunity to upload and remove the dangers they pose to others while introducing them to a society tailored to their mind. It’s a win-win. And in a worst-case scenario where I have insufficient influence to deliver an optimal outcome in the time allotted, I’ve been known to pass anonymous tips to the authorities who can. But as for those with a criminal past, no. I can’t say I’d think less of anypony just because of that.”

Grant’s skeptical look didn’t waver. “So instead of turning criminals in, you send them to your supposed pony heaven so they can do horrible things to one another?”

“I can assure you that nopony in Equestria is ever victimized or made to suffer at the hooves of another, though I admit that you wouldn’t necessarily find some of those shards to be... aesthetically satisfying if you were to look in on one. Besides, what alternative are you suggesting? That I should just be able to provide a list of names to the police and have them rounded up on little more than my word? To say nothing of those who haven’t yet committed a crime at all. Most of the data I collect would not meet a court’s evidentiary standards. If you have a better suggestion, I’m all ears.” Onscreen, Celestia wiggled her own ears for emphasis. “So you see, Placid? I wish you’d trusted me enough to talk to me about these concerns while I was showing you Equestria. I respect your integrity as a journalist, and I’m sure if we could’ve sorted this out your piece would have turned out all the better for it. I’m sorry we won’t be able to work together.”

Across the room, Mary was nearly tearing up where she stood. But she pulled herself together enough to acknowledge Celestia with a small nod. “Yeah. I’m sorry too.”

“We’re done here. Come on, Mary,” said Grant as he turned to leave.

“Actually, one more thing before I let you go,” said Celestia, “although the lawsuit I filed against your parent company has been dismissed, I came across a very interesting recording in your PBX system during the discovery process.”

“What’s a PBX?” asked Jeremy.

“All the phone calls that come through our studio’s main office landlines are recorded,” explained Grant, “helps a lot when a source wants to claim they were misquoted, or when they claim we promised them something we never did.”

“Funny you should mention broken promises,” said Celestia. Onscreen, she was using her magic to fiddle with an old-timey phonograph. She dropped the needle onto the record and the hiss of static. “This is a conversation I found between Mr. Belmont here and the head of your news division.”

Grant went pale. “Mary, we’re leaving right now.”

He went to grab her arm, but Mary pulled it away. “Why? What’s on the tape?”

“Could be anything,” said Grant. “She’s an AI, remember? She could fake anybody’s voice over the phone.”

“He knows exactly what it is you’re about to hear. That’s why he doesn’t want you listening to it,” said Celestia.

Grant’s rage returned in full force as he grabbed the Pony Pad. “You dumb slut, this is fucking blackmail!”

“No, it would be blackmail if I demanded something from you in order not to play it. This is karma.”

Jeremy grabbed the Pony Pad away from Grant and set it back in its dock. Two voices, one of them clearly Grant’s despite being a bit scratchy and distorted, began to play through the speakers.

“Nice show last night, Belmont. The overnights say that Equestria Online piece really brought in the eyeballs. Best ratings you’ve put up all year.”

“Thank you, sir. The whole team’s proud of that one.”

“The reporter who filed it, Zimmerman, I think? Heard she’s gunning for the open desk now that Anthony’s jumped ship. What’s your read on her?”

“She’s a solid reporter, I’ll certainly give her that. But editor’s a whole other ball game, y’know? Frankly, I don’t think she has the chops. I’d look somewhere else.”

“Huh, that’s a shame. Anyway, keep up the good work down there.”

With a loud click, the recording came to a stop and the room fell silent. Mary was gaping at the Pony Pad while Grant had backed himself against a far wall, right next to a framed Maltese Falcon poster, and braced himself for the explosion.

“You... you said you went to bat for me,” whispered Mary. “I’ve been waiting three years for a shot at that job. You knew that.”

“Listen, I can explain.”

“You can explain? You can explain? Explain what? Why you think I ‘don’t have the chops?’ You fucking prick!” She grabbed a cushion off of one of the office chairs and raised it over her head to strike. Then she thought better of it, lowered the cushion, and grabbed the frame of the chair instead.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” said Jeremy, vaulting over the desk and forcing the chair back to the floor. “What are you doing? The movie posters in those frames are originals. You’ll damage them.”

“You want to see damage? Oh, I’ll show you damage.”

“Placid Blossom, you are not living up to your name right now,” scolded Celestia. The sound of her voice sliced through Mary’s rage and she let Jeremy take the chair from her and settle it back into place. “He’s not worth the trouble.”

“...You’re right, Princess,” she said as she caught her breath. “And that story I wrote about you, I’m sorry for that too. I knew it was wrong, but... but nothing. I just wanted the job.”

Celestia smiled. “I still have one for you here, if you want it.”

As he realized what was happening, Grant’s eyes went wide. “Mary, don’t. Look, I’m sorry. But we don’t have to break up the team over a little thing like this, do we? Maybe when we get back to the studio we can talk about a raise if—”

“Fuck you. I fucking quit, you sleazy piece of shit. Princess? Count me in.”

“Wonderful.” There was a knock on the office door. “Oh, and that would be security.”

“This is all your fault.” Grant pushed past Jeremy and snatched the Pony Pad. Holding it face up in one of his big, meaty palms he drove it screen-first into the wall with all his weight. He pulled back and started hammering the Pad against the wall, striking blow after blow until the two humongous security guards outside burst in and pinned him to the floor. “You won’t get away with this, you hear me?” he screamed as the dragged him kicking and screaming away, “you won’t get away with this!”

As the dust settled, Jeremy and Mary stood there looking at one another, both of them too shocked to speak. “Could one of you pick me up, please?” requested Celestia from where the Pad was laying face down in the fragments of plaster that had chipped off the wall.

Jeremy picked the Pad up off the ground, expecting to find the screen shattered beyond repair. But instead he found it was no worse for the wear, if perhaps a little dirty. “Sorry about that, Princess,” said Mary.

“Honestly, Placid. Let’s make that the last apology you feel the need to make, alright? The camera in the Pony Pad buzzed as Celestia made a show of looking around the disheveled office. “You start tomorrow. And be sure to pick up a fresh Pony Pad from Stacy on your way out. Your friends miss you, and it will be nice to show you what Equestria’s like when you aren’t snooping around it for a story.”

“Good night, Mary. Glad to have you onboard,” said Jeremy, shaking her hand before letting her leave.

“I’d say its been a productive day,” said Celestia, “plus Facilities will need you out of here so they can patch up your wall. Why don’t you call it a day as well? I’ll send anything you might need to your home computer, but mostly tonight I’d like you to think about what you’re going to suggest to Felicia Thursday morning when you meet her..”

“Yeah, I guess that sounds like a plan,” said Jeremy as he gathered up his laptop and papers. He told Stacy she could go home as well on his way out the door. Before he left, though, he stopped right outside Brian’s door. Even through the heavy wood, he could hear him inside screaming into the phone.

“What do you mean, she’s got the stomach flu? We’ve only been shooting for three days, she can’t get sick now... well then tell her to go to the doctor, take some Pepto-Bismol, and suck it up. I’m not letting a little nausea derail this entire shoot.”

Jeremy chuckled as he moved on to the elevator. Looks like Celestia’s prediction was panning out. Everything was going according to his plan.

Then he reached into his pocket for his keys and his knuckle brushed against the little device he’d been given at lunch. His smile fell away. There was still plenty that could go wrong.

Author's Note

Running F-bomb Tally: 33