Bucky and Kicks Take A Holiday

Chapters

Miz Orange
The Beard
A Rare Experience
A Short Interlude

Miz Orange

Applejack could feel sweat dripping down her neck, despite the autumn chill. If anyone saw her here tonight, she would just die of humiliation.

The streets of Manehattan stretched out around her in all their orthogonal grandiosity, true urban canyons that seemed to stretch and gobble her up. She shifted her stance as the line of ponies moved forward. Her disguise, a poofy blue dress and matching hat, seemed to be completely inadequate, thanks to her fear of being noticed.

Rarity had been, understandably, surprised by the dress order. It was, quite literally, the last thing she'd expected Applejack to ever order; the design was Rarity's concept piece for a funeral dress, to cover a pony whose body might not be viewable in its natural state due to a predator or some other tragic accident.

Applejack found that "Kicks McGee" was tapping quietly against the sidewalk, and she forced herself to stand still. Acting nervously would only draw more attention to her.

It seemed like forever, but she was at the front of the line. The burly pony with sunglasses (at night?) glanced at her, and after an intolerably interminable moment of that impenetrable gaze, he opened the door for her.

Applejack stepped inside The Eraser Club.

The worst part about paperwork is its inevitability.

Whether the papers were shipping invoices for a load of jonagold apples (the produce, not her cousin), or liability waivers for body-altering magics and descriptions of which limbs were to be removed and how, Applejack hated paperwork.

The handsome blue stallion with the eye patch stood patiently, politely looking somewhere other than the forms for which he was waiting. Through her hooves (of which she still retained all four), she could feel the thump of a bass amplifier somewhere in the club.

This room, a small office with wood paneling, was the last thing she had expected at this venue, but it was somewhat comforting that she wasn't being tossed into a mosh pit full of three-legged ponies without so much as a quick orientation.

She signed her name, hoping that their confidentiality policy was as ironclad as they promised. "Here you are, darling," she said in the high-class accent she had practiced so much in those horrible weeks following her parents... departure. She couldn't imagine living here in Manehattan now, but it had its vacation destinations.

The handsome stallion glanced at the paper. "This way, 'Miz Orange'," he said, using the alias she had provided. "This way to Doctor Eraser."

"... is four hours. Miz Orange? Miz Orange, did you hear me?"

"Whut?" asked Applejack, shaking her head. She caught her accent slipping, and cleared her throat. "Pardon me, Doctor, I believe I missed your last point."

In truth, she'd only had one ear in the conversation to begin with. The last few minutes had been a whirlwind of activity.

First, her "Form Order Form" was separated from her confidential information, and processed by a mare wearing socks and nothing else. Her vividly red mane and tail were in place, as if her otherwise total baldness were merely a fashion statement. Which, Applejack supposed, was possible in a place like this.

Then, she was instructed to follow "the twins," a pair of mares who she initially thought were earth ponies. When they turned, she was startled to see each sporting a single wing, one on the right, one on the left. As she walked behind them, her long blue dress dragging on the ground, she surreptitiously inspected their backs. There was no sign at all of the muscles and bones that should have been under their skin and coat. She found herself marveling at the magical skill of the work.

They entered a costuming room. The twins inspected the Carousel Boutique's work, and after a short discussion, declared it suitable for "the evening's entertainment."

Applejack thanked them for the complement and almost referred them to Rarity's shop, but stopped short when she remembered her desire for secrecy. She didn't want one word of this getting back to Granny; such vile perversions might stop the old dear's heart!

The Twins hiked up the dress and swiftly measured Applejack's hindquarters, adding another page to her paperwork. Then, wordlessly, they drew back one of the curtains.

Atop a velvet platform sat an oddly shaped cart. Like a hospital wheelchair, it had two large wheels. That was where the similarities ended. Instead of a seat and back, it had an offset padded cushion. Instead of two smaller wheels, it had a single small wheel centered under the cushion.

"The strap is optional," said Lefty (as Applejack decided to think of her), "But we recommend using it until you're used to the motion. We've had a few unaccustomed customers slip off their hindcarts in the middle of the floor, and they were SO embarrassed!"

Applejack chuckled nervously.

She entered the presence of Doctor Eraser with a nervous tremor clenching her belly. If her jaw wasn't clamped tightly shut, her teeth would be chattering.

He was portly unicorn stallion a hand shorter than average. His yellowish coat gleamed, his silver mane glistened, and his eyes sparkled. Three horseshoes arranged in the shape of an "L" adorned his flank. The wrinkles around his face were from years of smiles.

He was old and kindly, even bordering on cute. And as far as she could tell, he wasn't missing a single body part.

From the club atmosphere, Applejack had expected a more sinister figure, someone like the stereotypical tattoo artist or carnival sideshow act. This gentlecolt was a grandfatherly figure.

"Well, Miz Orange," he said as if it were her real name, "Your order form says you want to experience the temporary removal of your hindlegs."

She nodded, and gulped.

He looked over the hindcart the twins had left in the room with her. "Everything seems to be in order. Now, don't be nervous, dear, I promise it won't hurt."

His face was so kind, so gentle, and his words so sincere, that she felt in that moment he could replace her as the bearer of the Element of Honesty, if something ever happened to her.

"I'm a medical doctor," he continued. "My specialty is the removal of living limbs for painless procedures. Only the affected body parts enter surgery. Neither the removal nor the rejoining are painful."

She nodded, but her mind drifted as he continued talking. She wondered if she could really go through with this temporary mutilation of her own body. It was selfish of her to risk her livelihood on this silliness. Selfish and arrogant to go to a unicorn to fulfill some strange urge that she daren't even discuss with her closest friends.

It was during Trixie's brief but terrible reign over Ponyville under the fishbowl that Applejack first got a taste of this madness. The Great And Powerful Ruler Of Trixietopia had grown increasingly difficult with her demands. Apples without peels or seeds? Ridiculous. But to Trixie, these demands were no laughing matter.

When Applejack had refused to make Zap Applesauce with the year's remaining stock, Trixie had screamed, enraged, "DO you think Trixie is JOKING? Well, let's see you make APPLESAUCE without ANY LEGS!"

Applejack had felt herself lifted into the air. There was an unkind jerk, and she fell into the vat of Zap Apples. She tried to climb out, but only her front legs pawed uselessly at the bumpy surface under her. She turned her head, and saw, to her utter horror, that her hindlegs were gone.

Trixie's laughter rang through Town Hall.

Trixie had returned her legs within minutes just to stop Applejack's blubbering tears.

Apparently, heartrending sobbing was enough to trigger the last ounce of compassion the Alicorn Amulet had left Trixie. Or perhaps it was merely annoyance.

Applejack had tried to forget, but even a month after Trixie's defeat and apologies, she'd found herself checking her hindlegs every hour.

It was hard for Applejack to keep secrets, especially from her friends, but no one knew of her deep and abiding fear. Her legs worked right, and the orchard work got done on time, and still she checked herself every hour. She'd reach back, and feel the comforting firmness of her own thighs, right where they should be.

But sometimes, a pony has to face her fears head-on. It was how she'd gotten past the life-shattering pain of her parents' untimely deaths, and it was how she'd get through this.

"... is four hours. Miz Orange? Miz Orange, did you hear me?"

"Whut?" asked Applejack, shaking her head. She caught her accent slipping, and cleared her throat. "Pardon me, Doctor, I believe I missed your last point."

He smiled that generous smile. "I said that the spell's fail-safe is four hours, Miz Orange. If you do not return to the front counter to retrieve your appendages, they will find you. Now, do you have any questions?"

The erstwhile Miz Orange, swathed in her all-encompassing blue dress, rested her barrel on the long, curved cushion of the hindcart.

Doctor Eraser's horn pulsed into a glow, and she felt the strap tighten about her midsection. "Lift your left hindleg, please," he said.

A moment of panic consumed her, and she clenched her hind legs firmly against the large wheels. "Now, now," said Doctor Eraser, "You can back out at any time. You are here voluntarily, and nobody will think less of you for leaving now."

She gulped. There was one pony she would disappoint if she didn't see this through, and that pony was determined not to let fear win. Slowly, she unclenched her lower legs from pastern to stifle, and finally her thighs. "I'm ready, Doctor."

She felt a magical tingle reach all along her left leg, from the tip of her hoof to the top of her dock. It felt cool to the touch. Then there was a gentle tug, and the sensation faded.

All sensation faded.

There was an emptiness that defied sensation. With a shaking left forehoof, Applejack reached back, and for the first time, felt what she'd been expecting.

Nothing but air.

She reached farther, her weight turning the parked hindcart slightly beneath her. She could feel her tail, and the tail of the dress beyond that, but no thigh.

She felt further down. She felt air where her knee should be, air where her ankle should be. She tried to move her left leg, and still felt no sensation.

The sound of her own pulse sounded like a herd galloping through her ears. She breathed fast and shallow. Her head swam. This was as terrifying as she'd expected, and more. She couldn't feel her left leg, and she definitely couldn't buck it.

"Calm down, Miz Orange," said the comforting voice of Doctor Eraser.

It felt like an eternity had passed since she'd last heard that voice, and like a deeply rooted tree during a thunderstorm, she grasped it. "Can Ah see it, if'n you don't mind?" she asked.

"Certainly," he said. He backed up a step and levitated a fuzzy orange object around her.

It took her a moment to recognize it. It was knobby yet delicate, and well-shaped by years of applebucking. It even had three large apples near the top. They looked so much bigger up close than they were from the usual angle.

Applejack reached out with a forehoof, and gently stroked her detached left hindleg.

It was a strange, almost otherworldly sensation. It floated in the levitation glow, rotating slowly as she touched it. She felt no sensation from the leg itself, only from her forehoof. It was truly no longer a part of her.

Her head cleared, and she took a big sigh. After all this, she was still Applejack, still herself. She could survive this.

She had survived Trixie. The realization struck her like a Zap Apple tree when bucked early.

For the past month, whenever she closed her eyes, she could see the Zap Apples around her, could feel them beneath her instead of her legs. She'd even skipped her Sunday morning Zap Apple Jam-covered toast with breakfast recently.

But now, with her own leg perversely dangling in front of her, she finally felt whole again.

She smiled.

"Ready for the other one?" asked Doctor Eraser.

"Yep," she replied.

The Beard

Applejack had never realized how much strength it took to walk. She pulled herself forward through the sparse crowd with only her front legs, while trying to appear nonchalant.

The hindcart upon which she lay was unobtrusive, made from thin golden rods and brass fittings. It was well made, didn't squeak at all, and was clearly made for indoor use only. With her now lighter hindquarters hidden by the tail of the dress, and the subtly colored wheels spinning silently on either side, it almost appeared that she was gliding along in ease and luxury.

She could tell because one wall exiting Doctor Eraser's booth was covered entirely in mirror.

Now that she was in the club proper, Applejack could see that Club Eraser was a larger building than she had thought. It was laid out like an indoor market or department store, with various sections for various purposes. One section, lit with calming white light and sectioned off with frosted glass, had a neon sign above the entrance: "Put Up Your Hooves Spa." Another section seemed to have daylight; a few ponies in sporting gear (and most missing at least a hoof) were visible stretching near a racetrack. The stencil-painted sign nearby said "Three-Quarter Horse Gym."

But the section of the club that caught her eyes was marked, simply, "Rooms." She glanced down at the big brass key on a ribbon around her neck.

Fear had driven her here, but now that her original objective was met, she found herself with four hours to burn. Truth be told, she was somewhat curious. What drove a pony to pull off a perfectly good limb? She'd had some vague ideas about teenage rebellion or secret perversion, but she really didn't know. She didn't want to go around interrogating ponies, and truthfully, she felt like being alone with her new-found sense of peace.

She flipped room key "8" up into her mouth, and paced down the hallway. "Four, Six..." she muttered in as Manehattan an accent as she could through clenched teeth.

She had placed the key in the lock of room eight, had turned the doorknob, and was about to step through the enlarged doorframe when she heard the worst possible thing she could have imagined.

There was only one pony in all of Equestria whose surprised gasp could convey recognition, joy, and anticipation of total, mindbendingly fun entertainment ahead.

Applejack clonked her head on the doorframe. So much for new-found peace.

"Ohmygosh Applejack whatareyoudoinghere whydoyouhavewheels ooh a hindcart whatchagotunderthedress?"

With her eyes closed and her head resting on the doorframe, Applejack sighed. Despite the futility of trying to convince this particular pony of an untruth, she spoke in a clear Manehattan accent, "I don't know to whom you are referring, my dear. I am Miz Orange, proprietor of a small produce shop on the corner of Fifteenth and Vine."

There was blessed silence for a moment.

"Roleplay? I can get into it! Arrr!"

Applejack opened her eyes and turned to see Pinkie Pie in the most outlandish getup she'd ever... no, she corrected herself, one of Pinkie's typically outlandish disguises.

Pinkie's hat was a giant black tricorner. Underneath it, her curly pink mane was pulled around her face in imitation of a beard. She wore an eyepatch adorned with a stylized drawing of a pony skull.

She was grinning almost as widely as the skull.

"Miz Orange," said Pinkie in a "pirate" accent, "I be the dread pirate Pinkbeard, captain of the Jolly Ridgling. I heard o' ye an' yer family fortune. I hereby kidnap ye, forsooth and anon, come high tide or low water, 'till ye take me and my jolly crew to yer buried treasure. Arr!"

Applejack's gaze passed down the lines of her friend's body. Pinkie also wore an oversized blue coat with gold trim, and epaulets on the shoulders. Her hindquarters were covered by a pair of tight-fitting white pants. On her right hindleg, she wore a big black boot. Where her left hindleg should have been, the white pants were tucked around the top of a wooden pegleg.

Applejack sighed again, and muttered in a low voice, "Fine, Pinkie. But pertend Ah'm who Ah say I am, 'cause Ah don't want no one to find out Ah'm here."

Pinkie tilted her head slightly. "Why wouldn't you want anyone to know you're at the most funnest place in all of Manehattan?" she asked in a stage whisper.

"Ah gots mah reasons," said Applejack, glancing down the "hotel" hallway toward the main lobby.

"Say no more, friend'o'mine," Pinkie proclaimed in the loudest whisper yet. She cleared her throat and spoke louder. "Yer own quarters should suffice fer me first line o' questionin'. Arr!"

"Oh no, I am being kidnapped by a dreaded pirate," said Applejack, deadpan, as she led Pinkie inside room number eight.

Room eight was a tastefully old-fashioned bedroom, with lace and frills and wallpaper. There was a window looking out onto a small diorama of a sleepy village on the coast.

It was the kind of bedroom Applejack might expect to find in any of her cousins' homes, aside from the wall-length mirror that continued across the ceiling.

The bed was large enough for about four ponies to sleep comfortably. Applejack scrunched her muzzle, her earlier thoughts about city-folk perversions coming back to mind.

"Arr!" said the dread pirate Pinkbeard, "Stand aside, ye landlubber!"

Applejack felt a poke on her rump, and reared up instinctively. Instead of simply standing on her hindlegs, however, her weight left the center wheel of the hindcart, and balanced on only the two big offset wheels, she found herself scooting backward into the hallway.

There was a muffled thump, and Pinkie said from underneath her, "Ow. I'm okay."

Applejack quickly pulled forward into the room, and turned around. Pinkie was wiggling on the floor of the hallway, trying to stand up. Her hat had come off, and she looked at it sadly.

Applejack saw something she'd missed in her earlier cursory evaluation of the pink earth pony. With her coat on, it was hard to see that BOTH of her left legs were wooden.

"Sorry there, Pinkie," said Applejack, trying to figure out how to help her up without falling over herself.

"Arr, the dread pirate Pinkbeard, oof, ain't interested in th' sympathy of a captive, uff. Hold on." Pinkie stopped wiggling, and rolled onto her other side. With the momentum of her roll, and with her real right legs curled under her, she easily popped up on all fours. With a trumphant grin, she picked up the brim of the hat in her mouth and flipped it back onto her head. "Now, into th' cabin with ye, scalliwag. Yer escape attempt has failed, as all such attempts shall while Pinkbeard is captain of this vessel."

With both ponies in the room, and the door closed behind them, Pinkie grinned. "Well, that was sorta fun."

Applejack was still flustered from the minor accident. "You sure you're okay, 'Pinkbeard?'"

Looking at herself in the mirror wall, Pinkie turned a circle. "Yup, everything's ship-shape." She she brought her right forehoof up and scratched her chin in thought. "Well, it would be if we had a ship. But we're just pretending this is a ship. But if this is a ship, wouldn't the wall be a wooden slope instead of a mirror straight up and down? I wonder if they have a room here that's ship-shape?"

Applejack let her friend babble on. She had come down hard on the cushion of the hindcart when she'd reared, and was now growing tired of the constant pressure on her chest and belly. She supposed she could get used to a hindcart eventually if she ever lost her legs for real, but there was no sense in sticking it out if she didn't have to.

She reached her long and flexible neck along her side and pulled the release for the hindcart's strap with her dextrous lips. With a *click*, the strap came free, and she took a deep, relieved breath. Without further ado, she pulled herself onto the bed and lay there on her belly, grinning stupidly. "Well, Ah'm yer prisoner now, Pinkbeard. Do yer worst."

"Do it in the voice! Do it in the voice!"

Still grinning, 'Miz Orange' said in her Manehattan accent, "You ruffian, you'll never get away with this!"

Pinkie jumped onto the bed and rolled around giggling.

Feeling the bed bounce underneath her truncated barrel, Applejack tried to adjust her position on the bed.

Her lack of rear legs, even of lingering stump, made her lean onto her side instead. This change in her center of gravity wasn't something she'd had to get used to while on the hindcart, but now that she was rolling free, she had to make do or she might wind up on the floor.

She felt another poke at her rump. A glance at the mirror above showed Pinkie was pressing that front pegleg against her thigh. Or rather, where it would otherwise be.

"Hey AJ-- I mean, arrr Miz Orange, yer present condition tells yer tale poorly. If ye plan to keep yer head, I require a better tellin'."

Applejack tapped her chin with a forehoof. "Several months ago, I was visiting my cousins at the ancestral homestead of Sweet Apple Acres," she said, maintaining the accent. "I was caught up in a debacle involving a crazed mare, a unicorn who commandeered the entire town. She pulled my legs from my body, and the magics proved irreversable."

She rolled onto her back, showing the somewhat intricate underside of the dress. As with most formal designs, the sides were loose folds while the part that would have covered the knees was shorter, in case a pony had to run in it.

It was strange for Applejack to look up at a mirror; she felt a bit of vertigo, as if she was about to fall down on top of herself. She shook off the feeling, and using her forelegs, pulled up her dress.

The edge of the dress came up, first revealing her tail, tied with a green ribbon instead of red as part of her disguise. Next, it revealed a short white slip, silky and shiny. The contours were unfamiliar, and she gulped nervously. If she didn't actually see what lay beneath, it was still somewhat in the realm of a fantasy or a dream.

Pinkie Pie's wide eyes spoke volumes. "Arr, that be neato and strange," she said, pointing up at the mirror. "I see she left nary a lump nor a stump upon yer rump!"

Then, Pinkie pointed her hind legs, both the real and the false, forward along her belly in what resembled a yoga pose. With a swift motion, she leaned forward with her mouth and grasped the pegleg in her teeth, pulling it off with a jerk.

With her teeth still clenched, she said, "Ar rarrk ra ree..."

Applejack rolled her eyes.

Pinkie spit the prosthetic to the side. "I said, I like to leave a bit of a stump." She pointed with her right forehoof to the now-empty left leg of the tight-fitting white pants. "It gives me more options for fake legs."

She kicked the boot off her right hindleg, and then wriggled both thighs as if she were trotting. The right pants leg ran as expected, while the left leg's cuff flopped around. "And it gives me something to play with!" With her one forehoof and the fore pegleg, she expertly tucked the cuff back up the leg, and wiggled it some more to demonstrate.

Applejack's gut clenched. Seeing things missing from herself and Pinkie was one thing, but seeing the results in motion did something to her insides. It wasn't exactly unpleasant; in fact, it felt more like a yearning, gnawing hunger to see more.

She turned her attention back to her own torso, and while she still had the courage, pulled up the silky slip.

There was the dock of her tail, the small bit underneath which was covered in coat hair, not tail hair. There were the usual modestly fuzz-covered bits she expected to see.

To either side, the shape of her hips looked squashed, like the area around the bottom of a tomato. Gripped by a sudden impulse, she tried to make her hindlegs trot. Her pelvis wriggled a bit, and her tail moved, but nothing else happened.

She reached into the slip and ran a forehoof along her rump, then along where her thighs should have been. Her mind mapped the sensations of that stretch of skin as the area around her thighs. The deeper pressure against her thigh socket in the odd hollow was so alien that she reached in with her other hoof and pressed symmetrically against the other hollow.

She stayed like that for a good thirty seconds, just gently rubbing her forehooves where her hindlegs should have been, looking up at her reflection and just drinking in the moment.

Applejack let her forehooves drop from where they had touched the hollows of her hips.

"That is th' weirdest sensation Ah have ever felt."

"Tell me about it," said Pinkie, "The first time I tried a bilateral hip disarticulation, I was falling on my face all over the place. That was before I knew how to do a front hoofstand."

Applejack let the slip drop back around her. If she didn't look too closely, it almost appeared as though she still had her hindlegs. "So, Pinkbeard, tell me a little about yerself. How'd'ya misplace yer appendages?"

Pinkie giggled. "Weeeeell, me left hind were an appetizer fer a fierce alligator in the swamps way doon south." She wiggled her left thigh stump inside the white pants. "An' if ye help me off wi' me blouse, ye'll see fer yerself what be left of me left foreleg."

She scooted closer to Applejack, and sat up on the bed with her back to her. Applejack held the collar of Pinkie's jacket with her teeth, and said, "All set."

With a smooth motion, Pinkie pulled free. Underneath was a poofy silk blouse. It coordinated with the off-white pants and their black belt.

The poofy sleeve was tied taut with a thin pink ribbon where the wooden leg emerged from it. Applejack could see the outline of how shortly Pinkie's foreleg was amputated. Only the upper half of her upper foreleg remained.

"When the Jolly Ridgling was under fire from Canterlot's Air Cavalry fer stealin' the Golden Apples from Celestia's garden, I ordered return fire. Th' cannon weren't gettin' high enough, so I ordered extra powder. Even th' Long Tom weren't made fer such powerful charges, and he blew."

She undid the buttons on her shirt, which hung limply around her. "Um, AJ, can you help me with this one too? Ribbon first."

Applejack pulled one side of the bowed ribbon, and the knot slid free, loosening the sleeve. Then she held Pinkie's collar again. "Set."

Pinkie scooted forward on the bed. The blouse stayed in Applejack's teeth.

Pinkie stood up on the bed. Now she was garbed only in her black tricorner hat, eyepatch, and white pants. A cuff secured her upper foreleg to the pegleg.

The cuff was held in place by a web of three straps which wrapped entirely around her torso. There were buckles and connections and cross-straps, and Applejack's head started to spin. It was so much more complicated than the rear pegleg.

"We were captured that day, aye, but me leg was attended to by th' court physician herself," continued "Pinkbeard." She reached back with her flexible neck and tugged at the fastener on one of the straps. It came free, but two more remained.

"She said she didn't know how I'd kept me other legs with all that shrapnel flyin' about th' deck, but she swore that I'd stand before Her Majesty an' give an accountin' of th' misdeeds I'd committed."

She strained to reach the other fasteners, but she couldn't reach them. This time she flopped down, her upper back a few inches from Applejack's head. "Could you get the last two?"

Applejack reached out with her teeth and pulled one, and then the other. "Doncha think you shoulda got a quick release button of some sort?"

"Silly, then I couldn't have you help me with this!" said Pinkie. "Okay, watch this." With a wiggle and a shake, the straps fell loose. Pinkie sat up again, and this time the prosthetic arm stayed on the bed.

Unlike the unbroken, smooth fur of Applejack's limbless hips, the stump of Pinkie's upper leg ended in a bald patch with scars cutting across the skin. Applejack pulled back. "Dangit, girl, that's some realistic lookin' healed wounds there!"

Pinkie pursed her lips coyly. "Wanna.... touch it?" She lunged at Applejack, surprisingly spry for missing two legs.

Applejack backed away instinctively, grimacing. "Pinkie!"

A grin spread across Pinkie's face. "You shoulda seen the look on your face! You were all, aaaah!"

"Ah do NOT wanna touch yer stump. Now that's jest gross."

"Awww." Pinkie's grin faded into a pleasant smile. "But did you see what you did?"

Applejack looked up. The mirror overhead showed that she'd backed away using only her forelegs, which were still braced against the bedspread, ready to back away again.

"Huh." She turned to Pinkie. "Ah guess Ah'm gettin' used'ta' this, somewhat." She muttered, "Don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing."

"Sorry I freaked you out, Applejack," said Pinkie, "I'm used to the other customers being a lot more stump-touchy. This your first time here?"

"Yep," said Applejack, glancing again at her lopsided friend's foreleg skin. "Ah been a mite distracted lately 'cause'a what Trixie done to me that one time. Now, she put my legs back on right, but they ain't made fer such strange magics. They're strong, dependable earth pony legs and they's supposed to stay where they were made." She sat up and touched the fabric of the long blue dress where her legs should be.

"I've been here a few times," Pinkie said, "I heard about it from Rose, who heard about it from Lyra, who heard about it from someone in that human club of hers. I love new ideas that make me feel funny at first, so I dropped in last year, and I've tried a lot of the variations."

"So," said Applejack hesitantly, curiosity finally getting the better of her, "Mind if I touch it now?"

Pinkie tilted her head. "No problemo, my stumpy friend." She held out her missing leg, balancing precariously with her right legs and her left thigh.

Applejack sat up, noting how strange it was to sit without legs or stumps. She balanced herself on one forelimb and reached out the other.

Pinkie's skin was smoother than she expected, even on the scars. Tender, new skin. Applejack supposed it was all part of the artistry of The Eraser Club. "Weird," she said, and shivered. She put down her leg. "Well, Ah'm pretty much done here. Ah did what Ah came to do, and Ah'm jest about ready to put on mah legs an' head home."

"Ask me about the eye patch, Miz Orange, and I'll help you onto your hindcart!"

"Fine," said Applejack in the Manehattan accent she'd practiced every night for the past week. "Pray tell, oh dread pirate Pinkbeard, I simply must find out what happened to your eye."

Pinkie rolled off the edge of the bed nearest Applejack and stood on her remaining right legs. She leaned against the bed for support. "Arr. The miserable sea birds, they be roostin' in the rigging all day long. I made th'mistake'a lookin' up just as one'a'them scurvy sea-rats let loose with a big fat white one. Right in my eye she went."

Applejack grimaced. "So, your eye got infected and had to be removed?"

"Pinkbeard" shook her head. "Nay, matey. Ye see, t'was the first week I'd had me hind leg off!"

She made a quick forward-back motion with her left rear stump, and it took Applejack's imagination a moment to picture Pinkbeard scratching at her eye with a hind pegleg.

If the rooms of that hallway hadn't been well soundproofed with the best magics money could buy, the management would have had a dozen complaints about the raucous laughter that night.

A Rare Experience

Rarity hummed to herself as she applied the lotion to her bare skin. Her horn's glow added an arcane glisten in the dimly lit room.

Rarity had taken the middle of the week as a working vacation in Manehattan, and she never missed a chance to drop by the Put Up Your Hooves Spa. Tonight she was luxuriating in the full treatment: the Take Off Your Coat and Put Up Your Hooves package.

She lay on a deluxe red velvet chaise lounge, and as the lotion soaked into her now clammy skin, she thought about her hooves. They were in the next room over, being polished, waxed, and detailed with curlicue floral patterns. At the moment, her forelegs ended at the wrists, and her hind legs ended at the ankles.

Her coat, meanwhile, was two doors down, being vacuumed, shampooed, and conditioned to within an inch of its life. She always wondered how they got it off in one piece; if she still had her hide on, what connected the hairs?

She shook her head, and smiled at the mirror. Without her mane and tailhair, she looked like a big-eared foal. Concentrating, she summoned the four pointed glass tubes from beside the lounge.

Extending her right foreleg stump, she hovered the first tube onto it. It fit like a boot. The left glass fore prosthetic was as comfortable a fit, and she scooted forward, putting half her weight on the stiletto points. She levitated the rear glass hooves into place, noting the unusual feeling as her usually unencumbered hocks took the remainder of her weight.

She posed. The mirror showed a totally bald unicorn on smoky violet glass points smaller than a doe's dainty hooves. Almost perfect.

But she was still indecent. A pony without her coat was nude, and a true lady should never be rude, crude, or nude in company.

A silk fichu hovered around her neck, and a decorative cloth saddle with undercloth covered her back and rump.

At last, she cast the spell she'd practiced for two weeks: a shimmering wave of light sprung from her bare spine, running from just behind her horn all the way down to her tail.

It was inspired by the spines on Spike's head and back, and she had to admit the exotic fringe of illusion wisping in the ethereal breeze made her look like some untamed beast. What Fluttershy might think were she to see this!

The illusory tail covered her indecency perfectly.

It was time.

She stepped into The Eraser Club's main entry hall, her magical mane rippling boldly. She took a stance, balanced on three points as she lifted one glass forehoof dramatically.

Those that still could, stamped their fore hooves in applause.

These ponies could really appreciate art.

Rarity was milling about with other body art aficionados, discussing accessory crafters such as Glazing Saddles, the glassblower who'd provided her with the exquisite legs. Suddenly, a feral yowl pierced the air.

She turned, realizing these glass hooves might not be good in a survival situation. The room had fallen silent as all eyes watched the newcomer.

A spotted leopard returned the gaze, held fast by a diamond-studded chain. The other end was held by one of the most striking figures Rarity had ever had the privilege to behold.

Like Rarity, this mare was bare of coat, mane, and tail. Unlike Rarity, she wore only an iron helm with curled ram horns. Teal eyes peered out from the fierce metal brow. From her back, two scrawny featherless wings protruded.

The leash was held by the denuded pegasus' stubby wing. It was apparently more muscular than it appeared, if she trusted it to restrain the beast, which prowled and paced on its lead.

But it was the scars which caught Rarity's breath in her throat. Over the whole of the Beastmistress' body, white lines stretched in a haphazard maze. Sometimes a single line, long healed, but more often in parallel pairs or triplets, her body bore testament to many creatures faced and, presumably subdued, given that she stood alive before them. One ear had been torn through and healed, and had it been furred, would probably retain the silhouette and illusion of wholeness.

"By Luna's Starry Mane," swore Rarity under her breath.

The Beastmistress scanned the room, her face betraying nothing. Then, she whistled.

The leopard leapt onto her back and planted itself between her wings. And then, the most marvelous thing yet: it started to purr.

Rarity cringed; she could almost feel Opal's claws digging into her back. But there was no wincing, nor blood.

And then the Beastmistress walked calmly toward her. Without a word, she unfurled her left wing, and a key dropped to the table from the fleshy protuberance. It had a room number on it.

Then, she disappeared down the hallway.

The other artistes around Rarity had backed away, and slowly she realized that the unique mare had been looking only at her the entire time.

Wordlessly, she retrieved the key with her magic. She felt like she could collapse on the spot, but she held onto her strength. Clearly, she was wanted elsewhere.

She gave the hallway corner a wide berth, so as not to be surprised. The mare was waiting by a door near the far end. The leopard had lain across her back and was watching from its perch.

Rarity placed the key in the lock, and opened the door with her telekinesis. The mare glanced at the open door, and back at her.

Both mares entered, and Rarity closed the door behind them.

As soon as the door closed, the leopard leapt across to the dresser, where it lay down once more.

The pallid mare pulled the helmet from her head with shaking hooves. A violent shiver ran through her body as she sat down. "Those legs are beautiful, Rarity."

Rarity let her magical mane spell expire, and the light in the room normalized. She knew that voice almost better than her own, and it was the last confirmation she needed to be sure. "Oh, dear Fluttershy, please come up on the bed. I am a bit cumbersome at the moment."

Fluttershy removed the leash and climbed onto the king-sized bed. Rarity, for her part, took care to reverse the order in which she had donned her glass legs as she, too, lay on the bed.

And then they hugged, Fluttershy crying and shivering violently.

"Shush, shush," said Rarity, stroking her foreleg stump down Fluttershy's back. The other mare had started hiccupping five minutes ago, but it had finally subsided. "There, there. That was an impossibly brave thing you did. Why, your performance was simply breathtaking."

"Thank you," she mumbled into her hooves.

The leopard looked up, then went back to grooming itself.

"I'm serious. Though I wouldn't have recommended testing your assertiveness in such a... Mythical manner."

The only response was a high squeak.

"I don't think anyone recognized you," continued Rarity, "especially with your tail cropped off like that."

"That's real," said Fluttershy, raising her head.

Rarity looked closer. Unlike her own exposed tail, Fluttershy's was not a long, tapering, graceful piece of flesh. Instead, it was a gnarled stump, scarred along one edge. This did not appear to be the usual artistic hornwork of Dr. Eraser. "How did this-- when did this happen?" said Rarity quietly, stunned.

"Back when I'd just moved to town from Cloudsdale, I wanted to talk with the animals all day long." Fluttershy sighed. "I was living in an apartment, walking dogs and grooming cats. It wasn't a good income, but I squeaked by."

Rarity remembered the shy yellow mare who'd rung her parents doorbell and barely audibly asked her, "excuse me, would you like to adopt a cat? It's okay if you don't, I'm sorry I wasted your time."

"So what happened?" asked Rarity.

"A tiger escaped from the zoo." Fluttershy smiled. "He took more than a little talking to, and he managed to grab my tail with his teeth. When he... bit it off, I discovered The Stare. It comes in handy, but I don't like to use it, because the poor dears always feel so bad afterward, and then I feel guilty, even though I only do it for their own good."

Rarity let out the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. "So the tail extensions are a cosmetic necessity."

"I make them myself, from my own mane." Fluttershy pointed with one hoof at the stub, which she waggled. "It has a patch of hair on the left side, where it isn't scarred."

"Well, my dear, you do an excellent job," said Rarity, smiling, "I would never have known if you hadn't told me. Why, we've been going to the spa together for how long, and I've never noticed? Brava." She slapped her forestumps together with a clapping noise, then looked down in horror before remembering why her hooves were missing. "You know, once we're properly, ahem, reconstructed, I'll treat you to dinner. To celebrate today's small victories."

Fluttershy smiled. "I'd like that."

Author's Note

One last note: when not wearing her extensions, Fluttershy's tail has one thick lock of pink hair, but it really looks quite pitiful. No wonder she was so ashamed when Gabby Gums exposed her secret, thinking it was for vanity.

A Short Interlude

After the short health and safety interview, the kind attendants had led her to a small room where Dr. Eraser had magically amputated her forelegs below the shoulders, and her legs at mid-thigh. Now she was making her way across the floor of the club using her wings to propel herself. She giggled at the thought of the pun pinkie would have made if she were here:

"Clubbing seals."

Currently, her hooved limbs were in a locked storage room until she decided to leave. With the way these fellows stared at her, that might not be a while. Twilight wiggled her tail, and watched the stallions watching her. Rarity was right; the Eraser Club would be a great place for a fun time.