Chapters The rain poured down in torrents, coating the Manehattan air in a fine mist. Lightning struck. On the streets, water rushed down into the drains, defiled by a strange rainbow pattern. No one was quite sure what it was. The humans said it looked almost exactly like pollution in their world, but that made no sense here. Here, there were no vehicles save for pony drawn carriages, no forms of energy that exuded that kind of waste. What was it?
The city's residents wondered as well, and for a while, there were many explanations, each more ridiculous than the last. After someone had the gall to say it was a waste product excreted by Celestia's hair, people began to lose interest.
But then, one rumor captured the city's imagination.
Once, people said, a tourist came to Manehattan, noticed the substance, and stopped a mare on the street. He asked her what it was.
The mare, in response, looked up to the sky.
"The sky is weaker here," she said, eyes dead. "It's letting in the rain from outside."
No one was quite sure what it meant, but somehow, it sounded right.
Crowds passed down the sidewalk, uncaring. Such tumultuous weather was normal here, after all. It always seemed like urban areas were the hellhole of Equestria. Yes, the wilderness was technically more dangerous, and no one even wanted to consider what the other, smaller countries were like, but still, nothing was quite like the cities of Equestria. They always seemed to be… experiments. The equivalent, in flesh and stone, of a god burning ants with a magnifying glass and watching what happened. If anything truly strange happened in Equestria, chances are, it was in one of the cities.
Or Canterlot. But there, "truly strange" was the best you could hope for.
Some people, of course, thought the entire country was like that, but they were clearly deranged. Celestia said so, after all.
A lone figure pushed through a crowd. He was only one walking the opposite direction. Everyone in the crowd ignored him. They either pushed him out of their way, or subtly moved away, just enough to radiate distaste, but not enough to actually be helpful. Still, he slowly made his way through the mass of people until finally, he managed to burst free into an alleyway.
The alleyway, unlike the street next to it, was pitch black. The only light was the reflection of skyscrapers in the rainwater. It was completely empty. All undesirables, including the homeless, had been purged from Manehattan recently. Not for any moral reasons—just so that he would be more alone.
Words could hardly describe how alone he was. One would assume not talking to anyone was the worst being alone could get. But this was worse. He should've known, with the weight of one of them behind it, that his fate would be much more thoroughly violated. Not only was he alone, but there was no chance of him ever finding solace. Most of the populace had been… well, the best word he could think of was programmed. Programmed to ignore him. But not just ignore him, since that could provide him with some benefits down the line—they were programmed to actively impede his progress in any way. If he tried to steal food, that's when they would notice them. If he tried to sleep on a bed, that's when they would throw him out. If he found shelter, that's when they would seek him out and beat him. And those who weren't programmed, whose numbers were rapidly dwindling, and were small to begin with, were not inclined to help him either.
Because he was Soarin, former captain of the Wonderbolts, and every part of his reputation had been smeared.
He let the ice cold rain caresses his body. At this point, he had grown used to the pain. Physical pain, he felt he could deal with. But emotional pain, the type of which was inflicted upon him for this punishment, was almost impossible to bear. He wished they had just gone all the way and executed him. It would've been better than this. If he died like a dog, he would have had more dignity than this.
He leaned upon the wall of a brick building, feeling a sting as an acid raindrop hit him. He began to laugh, but to an outside observer, "pant" would have been the more accurate word. He looked at the small scrap of food he managed to get away with. Half of an apple, rotten and moldy. He took a bite. If it expedited his demise, he would only be grateful. He was beginning to suspect, however, that the populace was programmed to maintain his life as long as possible, so he could not escape his fate with mere death. If he got food poisoning from the apple, he would probably wake up in a hospital, all fixed up. But then, as soon as anyone noticed him, he would be kicked out, the cycle beginning again…
How did things become like this? He could hardly believe the truth himself. Betrayed by all he considered dear. And for reasons incomprehensible to him. Reasons formed from pure madness. Just how many in this country were genuinely insane? And were they wrong? Or was he wrong, for expecting the world to follow any sort of order?
She was right. She had been his last chance. He was here now, specifically, here, because of his own obstinance. His own petty ideas about what pride was. Now, he could no longer afford to be as picky about pride. He could not afford any luxuries whatsoever.
Tears streamed down his eyes, mixing with the dirty, acidic rain. Soarin could only other two words: the name of his destructor.
"Peanut butter… peanut butter… peanut butter… peanut butter… peanut butter… peanut butter… peanut butter… peanut butter… peanut butter…"
Soarin wasn't quite sure what the worst part of being a cross-dressing waitress was—when the stallions hit on him, or when the mares hit on him.
He worked in a dingy old restaurant, with rotting wood walls, dirty pink felt carpets, and those irritating magic animated singing fish on the walls. The place had a constant stench of cigarettes, and was always filled with smoke, although Soarin, for life of him, could never identify the source of it. Not once was he able to actually find a customer smoking.
He wasn't really sure what the place's theme was supposed to be—he appeared to be the only man working there. The rest of the waitresses were women, not a cross-dresser among them, but no one seemed to notice anything unusual about him. Sometimes he wondered if his employer somehow had not noticed he was a guy. That didn't seem to make any sense, though. After all, he was a celebrity. It seems like someone should have recognized him…
But, he couldn't complain. The job paid, and more importantly, as an employee, he got free food. So far, this had been the most stable income he had been able to find.
Still, he worried. It seemed more and more like something unusual was at work. Other people were drifting further and further away from him, even though not the slightest thing was changing about how he acted.
Once, he went up to a table and asked for a couple's order, and the two mares completely ignored him. It didn't seem like they were intentionally ignoring him. They didn't even flinch. It seemed more like they had never registered him in the first place. Another waitress came up and quickly took the order with no incident, but the incident still shook Soarin.
When he thought about it, though, it seemed like people only noticed him when it was inconvenient, like when he dropped a glass, or screwed up a order, and that was absurd.
Besides, things could be worse.
And oh, were they about to get worse.
One day, Soarin was serving an older stallion who was giving him looks far dirtier than he would've liked. He had just given him his bill when the older stallion stopped him, touching him on his shoulder, letting his hoof linger a little too long, and said, "I'd like to see you. Alone."
Soarin tried to look for an escape. "Sorry, but I have to—"
Then, behind him, his boss appeared and made a grunt. "Now, Soren," she said, getting his name wrong as usual, "this here is one of our most valuable customers. We wouldn't want to disappoint him, now would we?"
If Soarin had few options before, he had no options now. The customer led him through a door towards the back of the restaurant that Soarin was reasonably sure was not there before, and they entered a dark dingy room with some couches that Soarin was definitely sure was not there before.
The stallion walked over to some type of machine, placing a large, round disk on it. He then set some type of spindle on top of it, and pressed a button on it, causing some music to blast out from somewhere. "Celestia's right. Humans are, in general, a menace," he said. "But they have brought some quite interesting things with them. Do you know what this is?"
Soarin was a bit distracted by the fact that it was blaring out slow, sensual sax music. "No," he stammered.
"It's a record player," the stallion said. "A technology for playing back recorded music. It's not the humans' only way of doing it, or even the best, but it's one of the few that we've been able to adapt for our own purposes." He approached Soarin slowly. "Isn't it?"
Soarin was not really sure what an acceptable response to a question like that was. It was too vague, and open-ended. He tried opening his mouth for couple times, but the words would not come out.
Before he had done anything useful, the stallion had crawled up beside him. "That's my job, you know," he said. "Deciphering human artifacts. They really are a quite fascinating species. It will be a shame when they are all gone."
He stretched.
"I need a chance to unwind," he said. "I just had the toughest last couple weeks. The princess wanted to erase someone. Normal enough, but this time, she wanted to she wanted it to resemble the method described by a human novelist as much as possible. Figuring out how to adapt it to this world, managing all the actors, who were confused by the inexplicable scripts given to them… it was quite an ordeal. And the worst part is, if it's done right, no one will even remember it. Not even us."
Soarin got a chill up his spine. He wondered if he was the target of that. It certainly would explain a lot.
But, if he was, this stallion would have recognized him, right? You couldn't erase someone so thoroughly that even the one responsible forgot… could you?
The stallion edged closer to Soarin's face. "This is where you're supposed to console me," he said, parting his lips. He edged his hips a little closer, and finally, Soarin snapped, and got off the couch.
"Look, I'm sorry, but this isn't a brothel," Soarin said. "I'm not sure what you want, but I can't give it to you. I'm straight, for Celestia's sake."
"Oh, I know that," the stallion said. "I prefer it. Straight people are so much more lively. They give the feeling of being… condemned. The last couple weeks have made me realize just how attractive I find that." He smiled. "And didn't you hear? People are disappearing from this part of town. I might have had a hand in that. Anyway, places like this are getting a little more desperate to make money. They're branching out." He got off the couch as well, and slowly started sauntering over to Soarin. "Don't worry. It's not like prostitution is illegal or anything. I don't think Celestia could stand for that…"
That was it. Soarin slammed the door open and stomped out. He couldn't take it anymore.
On his way out, he bumped into his boss.
"What do you think you're doing?" she said.
"I'm out. I'm done," Soarin said. "That stallion wants to have sex with me, and I can't do it. It's that simple."
His boss scoffed. "Is your pride that important to you?"
"Of course it is. I'll find something else. I can always find something else."
His boss stared at him for a couple seconds, her eyes filled with contempt, and, Soarin could swear, pity. "You can't. It's your fate now. I am your last chance."
Soren glared. "If I die out there, it will be better than this."
And with that, he left.
Being homeless was more difficult than Soarin had expected.
While yes, he had been left alive, all of his fortune and property had been seized. In addition, whatever he had been charged with, he never was quite clear on what it was, had so completely besmirched his reputation that few people were willing to help him. Occasionally, someone would begrudgingly spare him food, but never enough to fill him up.
It had only been a week, and Soarin could already feel his willpower began to diminish. He had realized he would not be able to take this lifestyle for much longer. He had been putting it off, since it would mean admitting defeat, but he finally gathered his resolve and decided.
Tomorrow, he would walk through the front doors of the local homeless shelter.
– – – –
He had only heard of it in hushed whispers. Celestia had never been a fan of philanthropy, and while she would never do something as uncouth as shutting the shelter down, if she found out about it, she would definitely make the inhabitant's lives considerably more difficult. Her philosophy was, yes, the poor can live in my country, but they'll have to be on their toes to do it.
After some desperate asking around, and in-depth homeless interrogations, to ensure he wasn't one of the princesses in disguise or Chrysalis or both, he finally found out where the place was and what the password was.
He stood before a large, imposing warehouse door. On the surface, it looked like any other industrial section of the city.
But apparently, this building was special.
He gulped, and inhaled, and said the password.
"The orange one ravages those beneath her with her whip."
Immediately, as if powered by magic (and most likely actually powered by magic), the doors slowly opened. Very quickly, though, they stopped, leaving a space just wide enough for Soarin to squeeze through, but not see inside.
He needed to get inside, he knew that much, so he walked through the gap.
To his surprise, the building was empty, save for Spitfire holding a whip. She was stepping on the back of an old mare, who looked up at her with rebellion in her eyes. "I like that password," Spitfire said. "As soon as I heard it, I knew I had to reenact it. Celestia went through the same thing, you know. When she read that book. Our goals happened to coincide very nicely." She sent the whip cracking down on to the back of the old mare's head, knocking her out.
"What are you doing here!?" Soarin said, too shocked to interfere.
"To destroy your hope, of course," she said, stepping off the old mare, now properly incapacitated. She walked towards Soarin. "After going through that much trouble to get your verdict, I couldn't just let you go and find friends. "
She said each word with a smile on her face. Despite the words coming out of it, it's wasn't an unusual smile at all. It was a completely ordinary, if slightly smug smile. She said everything as if it was not unusual in the slightest to her.
"Wait… you mean you're responsible for all this?"
Spitfire twitched slightly, and her body froze mid-step, with the exception of her tail, which, in intermittent spurts, angrily flared up behind her. "You didn't know?" she said, her voice clearly the one of someone who was at the limit of their patience.
"Of course not!" Soarin said. "I didn't think you were capable of something like this!"
The whites of Spitfire's eyes shone into Soarin's. She was now inches away from him. He had never seen her move. "Capable of this?" she said, but something was wrong with her voice, as if it was slipping in and out of audible range. "That's something, coming from you."
She leaped up into the air and landed on a girder above. She flared her wings, snorted, and looked down upon him, beams of sunlight illuminating her from behind. "Tell me, what is wrong with the beauty of a daisy?"
Soarin blinked. "What?"
"Tell me!" Spitfire roared, causing Soarin to cower back.
"Nothing! Nothing! I don't have anything against daisies!" Soarin said, very confused. "I don't know what you're—"
Spitfire started laughing, but Soarin could swear he could not hear a single thing. Something was in his head, though, and he began to feel lightheaded. "Then tell me," she said, her face now rapidly degrading into a twitching bundle of random emotions, "why did you choose peanut butter?"
Soarin felt a sinking feeling. At first, her response completely floored him, but then he thought back and back, through the most banal recesses of his memory, until finally…
He stepped back, terrified. "Over that?" he said. "You did all this over something so… trivial?"
Within a second, Soarin was pinned to the ground, Spitfire's nose pressed to his. "Trivial!?" she screamed, and silently fumed for a few moments. It felt longer, though, as Soarin began to sense that his life was in danger around her. Then, she backed away and smiled, which was arguably more worrying. "Oh, you'll pay for that," she said, hardly louder than a whisper. "You'll definitely pay for that."
She started to slowly walk away, and Soarin dared not follow, even though, even after all that, something about the way she moved, the way her body slinked forward, seemed to constantly entice him. Just when he was distracted the most, she snapped up into the air and brought the whip down upon the old mare with such force that it instantly killed her and made cracks in the asphalt. Then, she dropped the whip on the ground and continued out, as if nothing exceptional it happened.
Soarin fell to the ground.
– – – –
After that day, Soarin learned not to expect help anymore. If Spitfire had Celestia on her side, there was no limit to what she could do to him. In addition, she seemed to possess some strange ability of her own.
He was afraid that, if he relied on anyone too openly, she would appear and finish them off, as she had done to the homeless shelter. So he subsided on petty thefts, stealing food where he could, which mostly consisted of very pathetic rations from soup kitchens.
One day, he was leaning against a shop window, tired and haggard, planning out his next move to stay alive, when one of the passerbys stopped. It took Soarin a while to notice this. People rarely stopped for him. They rarely stopped for any homeless, honestly. They preferred to ignore the problem, and believe whatever Celestia was doing was somehow solving it. He looked up and saw a slightly familiar face.
"Soarin?" it said. "Is that you?"
Soarin looked at the stallion. "Yes?" he said weakly.
"What happened? I hardly recognized you!" the stallion said, touching Soarin's shoulder.
Soarin shrank back. "Didn't you hear?"
"No, not at all."
Soarin considered explaining the situation to him, but considering how everyone else was treating him, he decided against it. "It's a long story," he said. He looked around, not wanting to make this last too long. "Listen, do you have any food?"
"Oh, more than that. You look awful. Here, come to my place, and you can freshen up a bit, too," he said. He began to turn away. "Come on."
Soarin thought of Spitfire and lurched. "I can't."
The stallion looked back. "You can't?"
"You'd be risking your life, taking me in."
The stallion drew closer. "How? Have you fallen in with a bad crowd? Is someone after you?"
Soarin froze. Almost unintentionally, he ended up muttering, "Celestia's…"
Suddenly, the stallion became resolute. "Then you definitely need to come with me," he said. "Follow me. Now."
Wherever he was, he clearly knew what he was in for. Soarin followed.
– – – –
They went up many floors of a derelict apartment until they finally reached the stallion's room. He unlocked the door, and motioned for Soarin to enter first.
It was a small room, but nearly every part of it was filled. The walls were covered with posters and pieces of paper with elaborate drawings on them. A drafting table was squeezed into a corner, a pillow and blanket set up underneath it as a makeshift bed. A dusty window was the only source of light. A small door opposite to it led to what was presumably a bathroom.
As he looked at the posters, Soarin felt recognition dawning, and he turned to the stallion.
"Wait, aren't you the guy that—"
"Did the Wonderbolt posters? Yes," the stallion said. "El Furioso at your service. That was always one of my favorite pieces to do. Usually, I don't get to let loose that much on my artwork."
Soarin had never really thought about the posters much until now. "Really?"
El Furioso approached the window. "Usually I have so many rules I have to obey," he said. "Most of my work comes from designing the stained-glass windows in the castles. Someone else actually manipulates the glass, of course, but I'm the one that does the initial sketches." He looked out. "Working for the princesses is… interesting to say the least. I've had glimpses into a world I never wanted to see." He turned to Soarin. "Which is why I want to help you out."
Soarin balked. "But you're risking your life!"
"Only a little bit," he said. "I'm one of the few people that knows all the rules necessary for constructing royal artwork. Do you know all the royal artwork is calculated to produce an exact amount of fear in the populace? Some combinations of shape and color naturally terrify people. I know which ones. The rules are never written down, so I'm a commodity. They'll need a better excuse than this to get rid of me." He patted Sorin's neck, and nuzzled his hair for a bit, which was a bit more personal contact than Soarin liked, but under the circumstances, he couldn't argue much. "Now go get washed up. I'll have food ready when you're out. You'll need to look your best for your job interview, after all…"
Soarin smiled. Maybe things were finally looking up. At this point, he would take any job, no matter how undignified.
"Guilty."
Soarin was a bit shocked at this. He had just entered what could generously be called a courtroom five seconds before, and already he was being proclaimed guilty. "What? But I—"
"Your verdict has been handed down," the judge said. "It is guilty. There is no fighting against it now."
"But I never got a chance to defend myself!"
"You should've been here an hour and five minutes ago," the judge said. "We're busy people too, you know. We can't afford to spend hours waiting for each defendant to show up."
"This is absurd!" Soarin said. "No one told me what time the trial is starting or what room it was in! I had to run through all three floors of this building and check every single room to see which one was a courthouse. And this isn't even a courthouse! It's just a someone's living room that you commandeered!" A couple, presumably the people that lived in this apartment, awkwardly waved at Soarin from the couch. Soarin turned to Mr. Gracious, his lawyer. "You tell them. There's no way this is legal."
Mr. Gracious shrugged. "There really isn't much that can be done in this situation…"
"What!?"
Mr. Gracious put a hoof on Soarin's shoulder. "I'm sorry. I've done all I can do."
"There's got to be something!" Soarin said. "Come on! Think of something!" He thought back. "Isn't your middle name Kindness?"
"Yes, but my first name is Meekness," Mr. Gracious said. He looked up to the judge. "There's not much point in me staying longer, is there?"
The judge shook his head.
Mr. Gracious grabbed a hat from the table, put it on his head, and shuffled some documents into a briefcase. "I'll be going, then," he said. He looked at Soarin. "Good luck! I hope they aren't too harsh with the verdict!"
And with that, he walked out, pushing his way through a large crowd of spectators that were awkwardly squished into the back half of the room. Soarin could do nothing but stare in shock.
The judge clicked a pen with unicorn magic, which was, for every other species, the pony equivalent of giving someone the finger. "Now, for the verdict…"
"Wait," Soarin said. "Can't I at least find out what I was charged for?"
The judge shrugged. "You should've been here an hour and five minutes ago."
Soarin lost his patience. "This is ridiculous. Completely ridiculous. There is no way that any of this is a real court of law," he said. "You call me out, keep telling me I've missed appointments no one told me about, charge me with something without telling me what it is, commandeer other people's houses for your duties, and now you're handing down a verdict on me?"
Someone in the crowd spontaneously cheered, which infused Soarin with confidence, at least until he realized someone on the other end of the room was holding up an "applause" sign.
The judge jotted a few more things down. "You are now guilty of contempt of court," he said. "Your sentence has been adjusted accordingly."
Soarin laughed. "Adjust it all you want!" he said. "A kangaroo court like this doesn't have any power over me!"
The judge raised an eyebrow. "Do you really mean that?"
"Of course I do!"
The judge smiled, and odd move for such a stoic man. Then, he unleashed magic that enveloped his body, and suddenly, standing before Soarin was none other than Princess Celestia.
Everyone else in the room instantly bowed, but Soarin was two shocked to move. He had heard of things like this happening to other people, of course, but not him, never him. He knew that with her involved, there really was nothing he could do to save himself.
"Oh, frozen. I like frozen. Fifth time this month I've made someone frozen. One of my favorites," she said. She stepped off the podium. "I assume you recognize the legitimacy of this court now?"
Soarin didn't speak.
"Not that you have any choice in the matter," she said. "Oh, this really was so much fun. It's so hard being the perfect, benevolent ruler of Equestria, you know? Sometimes I just need to take it easy. Do a harmless prank. I'm sure you understand."
Soarin had expected her to tell the other people to leave, but she hadn't. She must be making a show of this, he thought.
"Now, let's get that verdict. First of all, you'll be stripped of your title, possessions, and wealth, but I think that goes without saying," Celestia said. She thought. "I suppose I could send you to the dungeons, but that just seems so unoriginal. Besides, it seems a bit excessive for you. I usually only do that to the completely guilty or the completely innocent." She paused. Then, an idea struck her. "I know!" she said, placing her long, sharp horn in the space between Soarin's eyes. Her wings fluttered. "I'll make it a long death. A drawn out death. Something new. Abstract. That sounds fun."
Soarin gulped. "Long?"
Celestia leaned in a bit closer, letting her horn poke into his skin a bit, causing a trickle of blood to run down his face. "Oh, don't worry, it's not what you think," she said. "You'll understand what I mean soon enough." Her horn glowed for a couple seconds, and Soarin felt a tingling sensation through his body, and then, she was done. She pulled back, and turned away from him, walking away.
Soarin blinked. "That's it?"
"That's it," Celestia said. "Now run along now."
"What… did you do?"
"Oh, just altered your wavelength a bit," she said. "Have you ever noticed that everyone in this world moves according to a rhythm? Some people can see it. You might be able to, after your mind goes. But probably not." Suddenly, her features hardened. "Anyone thick enough to stay when I ask them to leave can't be too intelligent."
The next thing Soarin knew, he was being flung at a wall.
– – – –
Once Soarin came to, he was leaning against a wall in an empty alleyway, bruised. He looked at himself. Aside from some minor injuries, he seemed fine enough. He wasn't sure what Celestia was talking about with a slow death. As long as he was still alive, even if his fortune had been taken away, he would be able to find a job somewhere, and live fairly comfortably… right?
Soarin didn't want to legitimize this nonsense by appearing concerned by it, but nonetheless, he found himself flying to a big-name lawyer with his uncle.
"Now, Soarin," Soarin's uncle said, "we can't let a problem like this get out of hand. You can't just expect problems to go away by ignoring them."
Soarin scoffed. "They weren't even real police officers…"
"That doesn't mean anything and you know it. I think you have heard enough stories to know to be appropriately cautious."
"Yes," Soarin said, "but you can't win against nothing. "
"You can't if you don't try," his uncle replied. "Have I ever told you about your grandfather?"
He had, about a million times. "Yes."
"Well, I'll say it again anyway." He cleared his throat. "He got kicked out of his home in the Cloudsdale because, when he was young, he had an illicit affair with a maid. Destitute, penniless, he was forced to live on the ground. He thought he would never have hope again, but then, what did he see?"
Soarin rolled his eyes. "Canterlot Castle."
"That's right. Canterlot Castle. As soon as he saw it, he was entranced by its beauty, and worked the rest of his life to get inside, or at least near it. He even pretended to be a land surveyor for Canterlot City. Eventually, he was given a temporary pass to stay there!"
"Yeah, on his deathbed."
Soarin's uncle's face hardened. "Yes, but he did get in, sort of, and look at us now! Just three generations later, and we're practically royalty. What do you take from that?"
Soarin always took the lesson of that story to be "life sucks," but he knew that wasn't what his uncle wanted to hear. "Perseverance pays off."
"That's right. Now let's get this thing taken care of."
– – – –
Luckily, Soarin had not been in a law office many times before, so he really was not sure what to expect.
The waiting room seemed innocent enough. It was almost like a doctor's waiting room. There were some nice potted plants, as snacks, some nice mints, as decorations, a slightly comfortable couch, and some extremely offensive magazines, which at least made good reading. Soarin was flipping through a particularly angry editorial about the "straight menace" when his uncle nudged him a bit.
"Now, once again, are you really sure…"
"Yes, I'm sure it's not a phase."
At that opportune moment, the door to the main lawyer's office opened, and a client walked out. He looked a bit more dejected than Soarin would have liked, and definitely had more whip marks than Soarin would have liked.
"Come in," a voice from inside said.
Soarin took his time, and set down his magazine. He wasn't at all eager to find out what happened in that room. His uncle hurried him along, though, and a couple seconds later they were inside.
It was a normal enough looking office, if a bit messy. Soarin could see client paperwork strewn about with reckless abandon, and could read details he probably shouldn't have been able to. He wondered how legal that was.
"Welcome," said someone who was presumably the lawyer. He was sitting behind the main desk. At least, Soarin assumed it was the main desk, since it was covered in so many papers it was difficult to tell exactly what it was. He was a unicorn, of course, since they were the only ones that had the physical ability to write up so many documents. It was all horribly speciesist if one stopped to think about it for a couple minutes, but Soarin, along with the rest of Equestria, stopped thinking about those things long ago. "I'm Mr. Gracious, probably the best lawyer in this town. Please, sit down."
There weren't actually any chairs, so Soarin and his uncle meekly sat on the floor, hoping that was acceptable. Apparently, it was. Mr. Gracious cupped his hooves together. "So, what kind of case you have for me?"
Soarin scratched his head, not sure where to start. "I got arrested."
"For what?"
"I don't know. They wouldn't tell me. One of the officers said it had something to do with child custody, but I've never had a family and they said they were lying afterwards."
"I can attest to that," his uncle said. "The no family part, at least. He's straight. You know they are."
"Oh, yes, yes," Mr. Gracious said, although it didn't seem he was responding to anything in particular. He looked deep in thought. "So how did you get out? From being arrested, I mean."
This is where Soarin started to lose his grasp on exactly what happened to him. "Well, apparently… I'm still under arrest. They said it didn't need to interfere with my personal life, I think." The more he thought about it, the less sense it made. "Is that normal? That isn't how arrests work, is it?"
Mr. Gracious gave a long, drawn out, exasperated sigh. "Well, you see," he started, "yours is a different kind of case. A case of that, lately, has been growing in frequence. No one is quite sure why. I blame decaying morals, myself. Anyway, it's a very… complete case, and it's conducted through a different type of court, one run in such secrecy that neither the client or the lawyer actually ever find out what the charge is."
Soarin's face fell. "Oh."
"But don't worry!" Mr. Gracious quickly chimed in. "I have experience of these type of cases. My way of working might seem strange at first, but trust me. I know what I'm doing."
"You mean you can acquit him?" Soarin's uncle said.
Mr. Gracious laughed. "Oh, no, don't be ridiculous," he said. "You can't get acquitted in a case like this. But you can delay the verdict repeatedly, indefinitely."
"How comforting," Soarin muttered.
"I'm good at my job, though," Mr. Gracious said. "The way I handle things, you can just forget about all of this. I will carry you above all this trouble with my own two hooves!"
Soarin's eyes lit up. "Really?"
Mr. Gracious winked. "My middle name is Kindness, after all."
Soarin was not sure how joking he was.
"We'll hire you," Soarin's uncle said, standing up.
For once in his life, Soarin found himself agreeing with his uncle. "I'm sure if anyone can handle it, it's you."
"You got that right," Mr. Gracious said. "I'll have this mess out of your hair before you know it!"
Rainbow Dash answered her phone.
"Hey, what's up?"
"Rainbow Dash. I need your help."
"Oh, hey, Soarin! How you doing, man?"
"I need you to testify for me in court."
"Court? What did you do?"
"It's a custody hearing."
"I didn't know you had children."
"I don't. That's why I need you to testify."
Silence.
"When is this hearing?"
"Next Sunday."
"Oh, that's too bad." Soarin heard a marker squeak on the other end. "I'm busy then."
"What? Busy with what? What could you possibly be busy with!?"
"A date with Fluttershy."
"A date!? A DATE!? Blow her off!"
"Have you seen her when she gets angry?"
"Just help me out here, Rainbow Dash—"
"See you, Soarin!"
"No! I won't let my life be destroyed by a sandwich!"
Rainbow Dash hung up.
"Stuck up flower peddling bitch!" Soarin yelled, slamming the phone down.
The guard stared at him. "I told you the phone call would be useless."
"Useless? You never said it would be useless."
"I said it could not possibly do any good," the guard said. "Basically the same thing."
Soarin ruffled his hair. "What's even happening, anyway?"
"You're under arrest."
"Okay, but that doesn't explain why we're in Fluttershy's house."
Honestly, Soarin had always wondered what the inside of her house looked like, but he didn't want to see it like this, never like this. Currently, he was being closely monitored by two guards. They preferred to be called police officers, but Soarin doubted much about them was "police" or "officer."
The room gave off a much more foreboding feeling than what he was expecting. It was a perfectly ordinary living room, if a bit Art Deco for his tastes, but he could have sworn he caught sight of a manacle hanging out of a drawer, and some dried blood in the carpet.
"This is where you are being held for arrest," one of the guards said, as if it explained everything.
Soarin looked confused. "But I thought you said something about a hearing."
"You're under arrest for not attending the hearing," the other guard said. "But also, in its place, this is being treated as a hearing."
Soarin stared. "Treated as? By who?"
"We are not at liberty to reveal that," one of the guards said. "The main reason for that is because we do not know."
Soarin paced around, which was a bit of an effort, since his foot was caught on something sticky on the ground. Probably syrup , he told himself. "What do you know, then? Was I ever even contacted about this hearing? Is there any way I could've actually attended it? And what crime did I even commit, anyway?"
"We don't know the answer of any of those things," one of the guards said. "We are but lowly police officers. We arrest people. We follow orders. That's all our job requires. If we were to do anything else, it would cause anarchy."
"So you don't even know what you're arresting me for?" Soarin said.
The guards shrugged. "No."
"Then what was that nonsense about the custody hearing you made me say!?"
"It was a lie." The guard shuffled around a bit. "You know. So you had something to say over the phone. Otherwise it would have been awkward."
Soarin put a hoof on his head. "Oh, this is just too much…"
The three stood there in silence for a bit.
"So what are we even supposed to do?" Soarin said. "Aren't you going to interrogate me or something?"
"No, but we can if it will make you more comfortable," one of the guards said. "We are mainly just supposed to observe you, and reach judgment on your character."
"My character?"
"Depending on what you say, or do, and the way you do it, you may or may not be possibly acquitted temporarily."
Soarin blinked. "How comforting."
At this, the two guards started whispering to each other.
"What, did that just make me look guilty?" Soarin said.
The guards hesitated a bit. "Yes," one of them finally admitted.
"Okay, so sarcasm is out," Soarin said.
"That also increases your guilt."
"What!?"
"As does that."
Soarin approached one of them. "What are you even talking about?"
"Trying to figure out how to subvert the system is a fundamental crime," one of them said.
"Trust me, I'd love to just do what you want and be done with this, but you aren't telling me what to do! " Soarin yelled.
The guards were not quite sure how to react to this.
"Tell me! What do I do!? " he screamed.
This outburst scared one of the guards a bit, who backed into a table and knocked over a photo, breaking the frame.
Soarin stood there, silently fuming for a couple seconds, then walked over to the front door. "I'm done with this nonsense," he said, and opened it. He paused, and looked back. "Aren't you going to stop me?"
"No, not at all," one of the guards said. "This arrest does not need to interfere with your personal or professional life, after all."
Soarin tried to comprehend that for a couple seconds, then gave up. He extended his wings and flew off.
The guards were silent, not sure how to handle this situation, or when their duties ended.
Unfortunately, the answer to one of those questions presented itself very quickly.
Fluttershy approached them from behind, licked her lips, and asked what they were doing trespassing in her house.
Author's Note
The other end of that phone call .
Ditzy looked around the restaurant, trying not to squint. She wished she could just wear her glasses, but that would break her cover.
Honestly, she wasn't completely sure she wanted to be here. Going on a date with him of all people seemed absurd. But maybe he wouldn't be so bad in this universe…
"Hello," Soarin said, hastily taking a seat. "Have you been waiting long?"
"No," Ditzy lied. "Hypothetically, though, if I was, could you tell me what kept you?"
"I was busy choosing a tie."
His chest was bare. Ditzy raised an eyebrow.
"…I chose not to wear one."
A waiter came by, and Soarin ordered his food. Ditzy leaned back, watching the spectacle.
"So, how did you get seats in a place like this so quickly?" she said. "I've heard it takes months to get reservations here."
"Being a worldwide celebrity has its advantages," he replied, smiling.
Ditzy was unfazed. "Even though you're publicly straight?"
Soarin looked confused. "What? I am not."
"Well, you did ask me out. In public."
"I had a hunch about you," Soarin said. "And if you weren't straight, I was going to play it as a joke. You know what they say. Gay ponies do more straight things that straight ponies, they kid around so much."
"Right," Ditzy said, cringing. "But honestly. You can't be too far in the closet if you're dining with me at a place like this."
"Oh, I told the staff you were my cousin."
Ditzy stared at him. "You know, I'm a bit insulted by that."
"Why?"
"Because if this evening works in your favor at all, then not only will the staff think you are straight, they will think you are incestuous and straight," she said. "I don't think the straight rights movement could take a blow like that."
Soarin blinked. "Straight rights movement?"
"What? You never heard of it?" She paused. "It does exist here, right?"
"What?"
Ditzy looked a bit embarrassed. "I came from… another country. Far away. Things were a bit different there."
"Oh," Soarin said. He smiled. "Well, that explains it, then. I can't imagine anything like that existing here! Celestia would shoot that down in an instant, and not metaphorically. You know, the Elements of Harmony…"
"…are a third straight," Ditzy continued, taking a sip from her water. "What? You never knew?"
Soarin lurched, then started laughing. "What? Don't be ridiculous. Who would…"
"Rarity and Twilight," Ditzy said. "And let's just say Rarity is… ultra heterosexual. I've seen it with my own eyes. The tabloids frequently have to tone her antics down, because they are extremely obscene and more ridiculous."
Soarin laughed. "Okay, Rarity I can believe, but Twilight?" he said. "Everyone knows she adores Celestia, almost obsessively. She'll do anything to impress her!"
"Anybody would do anything to impress Celestia, especially if they knew she was watching them constantly," Ditzy said. "You don't know if she's really happy where she is. For all you know, Celestia's just using her as a political tool."
Soarin hit the table. "What!? That's uncalled for!"
Behind him, someone cleared their throat. Soarin turned to his side and the waiter deposited their food on the table. Ditzy wasn't sure quite how long he had been listening, but it must have been a while, because she could have sworn she saw spit in her premium roasted medium rare hay.
"Mind trading plates?" she asked.
Soarin sighed, pushing away his sandwich. "Mine also has spit in it."
"Oh." She had been looking forward to finding out what "medium rare hay" actually was. She reached into it and almost took a bite. Almost.
"Where do you get these ideas, anyway?" Soarin said. "I've never heard anyone so open about criticizing Celestia."
Ditzy tried giving him a look, to change the subject, but it didn't work. "I suppose I enjoyed a lot of freedom back home," she said. "I miss it. And it's not like I have much to lose over here."
"Where did you live? What happened?"
Ditzy looked flustered. "Well, you see… it's a bit complicated…"
"I have time."
At that, a large, burly stallion grabbed Soarin by the shoulder. "You're late," he said.
Soarin turned around. "What?"
"You're late," he repeated. "For your hearing." He looked at Soarin's plate. "And I see your sandwich eating habits are inconsistent as ever, you sick bastard."
"What?"
"This doesn't look good for your verdict," the stallion said, and then started dragging Soarin off. "Come with me."
"Wait, what!? What did I—!? Ditzy! Help me!"
Ditzy sighed, and got up. "What can I say?" she said. "It's been a terrible evening, and now I find out you're criminal here. Tell me if I'm surprised. Good luck dealing with whatever this verdict nonsense is." She turned around and walked off, attempting to shove away the waiter, who was trying to bill her for her spat upon food.
"No! Ditzy! Wait! This isn't—! I didn't do anything! Ditzy!"
Soarin flew around, practicing. The sky was blue, the air was clean, and there was a general sense of peacefulness in the world. He took a deep breath, and exhaled, taking it all in.
Then a large anvil fell from the sky and just barely missed him.
"What!? What!?" he yelled, frantically looking around. He looked up, and saw the silhouette of a pegasus fly away.
From the ground, he heard a loud thud as the anvil went straight through someone's roof.
– – – –
"So you were just flying around, minding your own business, when someone dropped an anvil on you?" the inspector said, incredulous but professional.
"Yes," Soarin got out.
"Is there anyone you can think of that has a grudge against you? Anyone you think might want you dead?"
"Not particularly," Soarin said. "Other than just the usual crazies, of course, since I'm a celebrity and all…"
"Of course," the inspector said, closing his notebook. "That's all. You can go now." He went back through the room the anvil fell through, and started talking to the owner of the house about something related to insurance, or lack thereof.
Soarin considered asking for a bodyguard, but he figured he was pushing his luck already. Better not go too far and have them find out he was straight. They wouldn't even begin to take him seriously then. Besides, he could more conveniently hire a private security agency.
He walked out of the house, dejected. He probably wasn't going to get sleep for weeks thanks to this. Who could want him dead? Or was it just a coincidence? Did they just not like that person's house…?
"Hey, hey, Soarin!" a voice said from behind him. He turned around. It was Fleetfoot, one of his teammates. She walked up to him and gave him a short, platonic hug. "I heard the news. Are you okay?"
"Physically, yes," Soarin said. "But if that anvil was a couple inches closer…"
"Don't think about it," she said. "You're alive, and that's what matters."
"I suppose you're right."
They walked down the street, away from the scene of the accident.
"Do you have any idea why?" Fleetfoot said. "Do you have any ideas who—?"
"No, none," Soarin said, shrugging. "I guess it's just some crazy fan or something."
Fleetfoot hesitated. "You didn't make Spitfire angry or anything, did you?"
Soarin laughed. "Don't be ridiculous! She wouldn't kill someone if they made her angry."
"I don't know," Fleetfoot said, beginning to look worried. "I was roommates with her once. Promiscuity aside, there's just something… off about her. You know what I mean?"
Soarin didn't, but he could see the look on Fleetfoot's face. She was serious. "Well, she seemed fine yesterday," Soarin said, thinking. "I can't think of anything I've done that could have possibly rubbed her the wrong way."
"You didn't hit on her or anything, did you?"
Soarin froze. Did she know? "Okay, now you're just being silly. Don't you know I have a huge crush on that… other… guy on the team? You know, that… what's his name? That guy. Yeah."
Fleetfoot did not look convinced. "Seriously, if you did anything to bug her, you better apologize for it. She can get pretty wound up."
"If I can figure out what I did, I certainly will," Soarin said. He still honestly believed it was a crazed fan, but something about Fleetfoot's theory about Spitfire made him worry. "Did you ever—?"
"I never got too close to Spitfire, if that's what you're asking," Fleet foot said. "As I said, she kind of scares me a bit." Suddenly, she looked down. "Sorry if this is—"
"No, no, it's okay. I know you're just trying to help."
Fleetfoot looked at him, smiled, and flew off. Soarin continued walking the streets, thinking.
What did I do? What did I do? What did I do?
Soarin slept fairly well for having almost been murdered the previous day. He woke up slowly, stretching, and flew a few short laps around his room to perk himself up. Once he felt slightly more together, he landed on the floor and started heading towards the restroom.
On the way, though, something caught his eye. He turned around. Something was on his nightstand.
It appeared to be a small envelope. He walked over and turned it over in his hooves. There were no addresses of any kind on it, aside from a single word in the corner: "Legal."
He opened the letter, revealing a small sheet of paper.
"You have a hearing."
He shook his head and set the letter down. It must've been a prank.
– – – –
Today was one of Soarin's rare days off, so he took the opportunity to spend some time in Ponyville. It was far more quaint and relaxing than Canterlot, but not obscure enough to be low class, either.
Plus, he might get to see see Rainbow Dash, likely the fastest living thing in the world. He had little to no chances with her, of course, since she was, literally, gay as a rainbow, but he could at least watch.
As of yet, he had not been able to find her, so currently, he was drinking tea in a small café, discreetly eavesdropping on everyone else's conversations.
"Oh, oh, have you heard this one? So, so, you see, this human serial rapist gets teleported to Equestria and…"
"Yes, I've heard that one. It's not funny, it's just offensive. Why in Celestia's name would anyone make a joke about a serial rapist?"
"Celestia started that joke."
"Oh. Maybe it… No, you know what? It's still a terrible joke."
He decided to listen to someone else.
"Hey, have you heard about Rarity and—"
"LALALALALA I'm not listening! I just ate, you know!"
Boring.
"I'd like one Daisy Berger, if it isn't too much trouble."
"She's off work today and this isn't that kind of establishment."
More boring. He looked around and saw the mayor. That looked interesting.
"So I just got contacted by Celestia, and she said she wanted to experiment with a new legal system in this town. You're closest to her. Do you know what that's about?"
"No idea. She tried to drag me into it, too, but I've been too busy with that new human to get too involved. How's he doing as community organizer, anyway?"
"Oh, fine, fine. He's a fine politician, I'll give him that much."
"Right. Well, anyway, apparently Celestia read this novel from the human world that detailed some new legal system she really wants to try out. She wants me to read it, but I really haven't had the time yet. I think it's called something like, The Trial… or was it The Process?"
For some reason, Soarin got a chill up his spine when the name of the book was mentioned, but he figured it was nothing.
– – – –
Soarin wandered around town. No one was sure where Rainbow Dash was, and he was pretty sure he could find something to do somewhere around here.
He stopped when he heard a voice.
"Okay then, how did your little boyfriend get it?"
"He stole it from a museum."
"A museum?"
"The door was unlocked."
"Well then, it doesn't seem like its his either. I would say belongs to just about anyone, would you?"
"No."
"Yes."
"No."
"Yes."
"No."
"No."
"Yes."
"No."
"No."
"Gggaaaaaahh!"
"At least I can get some!"
There was a sound of a door slamming.
"Stupid wanker. Stupid flower peddling bitch wanker bitch asshole cunt!"
Something about that voice and the way it hurled out of obscenities entranced Soarin. That accent… it wasn't quite like anything he had heard before. It just made everything seem so classy, so sensual, even if the words coming through it were most definitely not. He had to know who this pony was.
He ran towards the source, passing by some official looking human in a suit, until he found himself in front of a large purple and white building—Rarity's boutique. He knew that much from the tabloids, at least.
"Dammit, dammit, dammit, dammit," the voice said, and Soarin turned towards the source. Standing before him was a pegasus, a gray pegasus with short fur and blonde hair. Her eyes were squinted in frustration. He could tell there was something wrong in the way that her pupils were facing, but he didn't care. They were still beautiful.
"Hi," he said.
The gray pegasus looked up at him in shock. She gasped, and backed away a bit, and froze for a second. "Hi," she got out.
"Do you… do you… want to go to dinner later?"
She almost looked hurt. "What?"
Soarin quickly backtracked. "If you don't want to, that's fine, I just…" He paused. "I just heard your voice and…"
The gray pegasus looked to the side and blushed. "I suppose I can," she muttered, then regained her senses and glared at Soarin. "Wait. Aren't you and Spitfire…?"
Soarin waved a hoof. "Don't believe the tabloids. Spitfire doesn't swing that way," he said. "She'll hit anything that moves, but I don't think she would be caught dead in a monogamous relationship."
"Right," the gray pegasus said. She looked up. "I'm Der… I mean, Ditzy. Let's hope this goes better than last time."
Soarin looked confused. "Last time? But we've never met."
Ditzy suddenly looked panicked. "I meant… the last time I dated. Yes." She swallowed. "So. Dinner. What time?"
"Tomorrow. At five."
"The place?"
Soarin, on a whim, named the most expensive restaurant he could think of.
Ditzy blinked. "Sounds good," she stammered, and flew off. Soarin sat back, and admired her.
Maybe things were looking up.
"Hey, I'm making sandwiches," Spitfire said. "Do you want daisy or peanut butter?"
"Peanut butter."
"Okay."
