Summer Grasses Are a Soldier's Dreams

Chapters

2 Despair & Longing
3 Settling In
4 Army Buddies
5 The Big Apple
6 Taste The Rainbow
1 Prologue: Ark Reactor

2 Despair & Longing

Author's Note

Sergeant Visovic story continues. We also get a look at how things shaped up from Fluttershy's perspective. No clop yet, sorry.
† Meganekko, for the uninformed, is a Japanese term meaning "glasses wearing girl." It's a moe archetype.

2 Despair & Longing

Summer Grasses Are a Soldier's Dreams
A Vogonverse story featuring Fluttershy

Time: 15:00 hours (3 PM EDT), Thursday, June, 13th, 2058

Location: 800 Poly Place, Brooklyn, New York

Place: Group Therapy Room

Session Conductor: Dr. Vanessa Ozbourne, PhD., Psychotherapy

"Good afternoon," greets Dr. Ozbourne, "it's good to see everyone back. Please, take your seats. Ms. Fluttershy, would you like the Barcalounger brought over for you?"

"Oh, yes, please," the buttery Pegasus mare says, "the subway ride over here was rather jarring."

"No kidding," says Sergeant Visovic, "you'd think that a pregnant lady would merit a seat. Oh no, not in New York…"

"It's fine, Ark," says Fluttershy, "I can handle it. But I could use a good chair right now."

"Corporal Higgins," orders Dr. Ozbourne, "could you move the lounger over here."

"Yes, ma'am." replies the Corporal. He picks up the chair with almost no effort. He places to the left of Sergeant Visovic and salutes the pair.

"Sir," he addresses the Sergeant, "Ma'am."

Corporal Higgins then returns to his post by the door to the Group Therapy room. As he does so, Fluttershy settles into the Barcalounger. Considering that her condition is rather delicate, the Pegasus sidles into the seat with little trouble. After adjusting her position to better get comfortable, she let's a smile crawl across her muzzle. Her right hand reaches out for Sergeant Visovic's hand; it finds it and the two lovers clasp hands.

"Aww," coos a young woman with a prosthetic left arm and leg.

"We get that a lot," Fluttershy says, "most ponies say we're a cute couple."

"And we're gonna be a cute couple of parents, too," Ark says, pointing to the Pegasus' swollen belly, "once those three get born."

Fluttershy giggles, saying, "Getting anxious, are we?"

Ark nods, "Yeah. I'll be the first to admit there's a lot of anxiety up here," he points to his head, "Not unlike any other man in my position. No plan survives contact, right?"

Fluttershy's smile grows wider, locking eyes with her lover, "You'll be a fine father, Ark. I just know it."

The two share a tender nuzzling, the human soldier and the pregnant human/equine hybrid. The moment is sweet until it's broken up by a fellow soldier in the circle.

"Sarge," the young man says, "I know you told us where you lost your legs, you never said how. Do you think tell us about that?"

The two lovers share a look.

"It's okay if you don't want to," Fluttershy says, to which Ark replies, "maybe it's time I told somepony else."

He receives a nod from his mate and he answers the young man, "I was in a patrol, sweeping for ISIS renegades on the outskirts of Damascus. My squad and I were in an area already cleared by ODU and the place was supposed to be clean. We had guardian angels on the rooftops and an older Abrams tank rolling as mobile armor in case things got hairy. I was rolling as defense for the tank and a good buddy of mine, Joey, was walking point. We stopped at an intersection to a neighborhood were Intel said there were some ISIS troops holding out. Mission parameters said we couldn't hit mosques for fear of causing a riot with the local Muslims, but it didn't say we could shoot near them. Well, the place where these idiots were holed up was next to a neighborhood mosque; we started making potshots in front of the building next to it."

"When nothing happened, Joey trots up the house, peers inside and says the building's empty; nobody home. We march on for a bit, until we see this box in the road. It's a perfect cover for an IED, so the Abrams blasts it. There's no explosion, so we think it's safe to proceed. One minute Joey's in front of me, the next, I can't hear squat because my ears are ringing so badly. There's smoke and dust and fire and I don't know why I'm on back. Then Lieutenant Geller tells me that there was a bomb in the road. I can barely hear her; my ears are still ringing."

"She tries to hold me down while a medic comes over to wrap me up. I don't know why the medic is gauzing up my legs then it hits me: I can't feel my legs. Lt. Geller is still trying to keep me on my back, but I get my head enough distance off the ground to see where my legs have been, there's now two stumps. The medic is also pumping some larger wounds of mine with biofoam. Never in my life have I been more happy to see elastic protein polymers and been less willing to have them in me."

"Anyway, I pass out that this point and when i'm awake again, I'm on a C-130 enroute to Rammstein. They outfit me there with some standard issue cyberpros and offer me the option of going back in or tasking a medical discharge. Then I ask about Joey. I get told there wasn't enough of Corporal Tribbiani to fit in a hatbox let alone a shoe box. So, I take the medical and get shipped back here. End of story."

"Fascinating," says Dr. Ozbourne, "and would you say you were traumatized by that incident, Sergeant?"

"Hay yeah, I was," affirms Ark, "for weeks afterward I'd wake in the dead of night, screamin' about fire and explosions and waking up my family. Things went on like that for two months… Even happened during Sacrament one Sunday. It got so bad that my father was looking into havin' me tranquilized for sleepin'. I've been on tranquilizers before and I was not havin' it. I moved out within days of that revelation, but I'm still affected about it. Joey had three kids and a fourth on the way. I dunno how his girl is gonna make it without him…"

"Damn, Sarge," says the young man, "that's rough."

"Yeah, it was for a while…" Ark replies.

"What changed?" Dr. Ozbourne asks.

Ark points to his lover and the mother of his children, "She came along."

Arkady's Perspective

I remember the day this all started because it was a day where I was seriously considering taking a nine mike-mike round to the brain pan. I was stalling before actually doing the deed when this ad pops on me. I hated ads on the Internet, but since the death of Net Neutrality, the corporations hit the World Wide Web with all the advertising they could afford to produce. This one was a little off, seeing as it came up as I was opening my Fluttershy playlist. It was almost like it was lying in wait…

A disembodied voice floods my thumpers, sounding lot like those late night infomercial salesmen, "Imagine that perfect someone, or perhaps you prefer somepony. Imagine them being ready for you, waiting for you, loving you. Well friend, imagine no longer! Vogon Biotech has the answer for you today. And our answer is simple: order your very own Help Mate®! Fully functional, completely reliable, and the moment you touch them they bond with you for life. That's right, they bond with you for life. How much more perfect can they be? If you're interested please, click the order button!"

"Huh," I murmur, "what in the doodlyfuck is this shit?"

So I click the button…

An anthropomorphic, sierra-coated stallion with a shock of blond hair emerges on my visor. Clad in a simple waistcoat of fine red velvet, and sporting trousers in a similar material, his mannerisms reminded a little of the late, great Billy Mays. He holds a lightly furred hand out to me, which I grab with my haptic glove covered paw. Despite being a digital character residing in the digital ether, his handshake is firm and cool.

"Mr. [Vie-so-vic]," the stallion states, mispronouncing my name horribly, "thank you for choosing Vogon Biotech! According to our records, you are looking for one of our Help-mates®. Our tracking algorithm of your Hulu, Crackle, and Netflix accounts has lead us to believe you are mostly heterosexual, within a ratio of 92%, plus or minus six percent."

"Okay, let's get somethin' straight," I start, "the name is [Ve-so-vich]. You'd be surprised how often people murder the name."

"It is Slavic?" the stallion queries.

"Russian, actually," I reply; the stallion flickers for a moment and the returns to an opaque state, "second, what do you mean 'mostly heterosexual?'"

"You've viewed a variety of movies and television shows over the last twelve months. Most of which are, on average, considered to be most appealing to the heterosexual market. However, there was a three week period in which you watched several movies aimed directly at the homosexual market. That is a statistical anomaly which gives the short gap of uncertainty," the sales pony stated.

"Huh," I wondered, "a three week period? Was there a time stamp for that?"

"Indeed there was," the sales pony states, and shows me the data. Okay, I'll admit it, I did catch a series called Loveless which was actually pretty interesting. The animation was crisp, the character designs were beautiful and the story, while a little on the "boys love" side, was very intriguing to me. That, and I did have a fleeting crush on Shinonome Hitomi-sensei. Sue me, the meganekko† thing kinda turns me on.

"Okay, I get it," I say, "so, you said somethin' 'bout a help mate. What exactly do ya mean by that?"

"It's just that simple," the stallion answers, "you will create, from a stockpile of characters we have license to generate from, a individual that will remain at your side at all times. They will assist in any capacity you can and will be the embodiment of the character you choose."

"Well, fuck me," I state, "sounds awesome. So, whatcha sellin'?"

Lighting up in a thousand watt smile, the stallion snaps his fingers. The static scene the commercial started as rearranged itself into something akin to a car dealership. He beckons me to follow him into a corridor that says, "Client Access." I do so, seeing but not feeling my legs carry me forward and listening to both his clopping hooves and my stamping feet, down a corridor lined with a lush, royal blue silk carpet and a matching wallpaper. The corridor ends with another door, which the stallion opens and inside the next room is a window, covered in red velvet curtains and cordoned by a similar color rope. He pulls on a tasseled chain and the curtain falls away. Beyond the window is a stage occupied by almost every single character from Friendship is Magic. I notice that Pinkie Pie, Applejack, Applebloom, and Big Macintosh are missing.

"This is what we're selling Mr. Visovic: is a living fantasy. A living, breathing, fantasy that will not end when you shut off your computer. It won't disappear when a television show goes off of the air, and it will grow with you. Think of it, Mr. Visovic, think about what it would mean to have that perfect somepony. That one special somepony to spend the rest of your life with. Isn't that something worth considering?" he asked.

"Yeah," I answer lazily, noting the figure of Fluttershy in the lineup, "that's pretty goddamn epic. I'd be the envy of every brony I know."

The Element of Kindness was standing next to her other Element Bearers, including two versions of Twilight Sparkle: original Flavor and Alicorn Twiley. I began to wonder who would had taken the Pinkie Pie, Ay Jay, Ay Bee, and Big Mac figures already. A part of me was saddened that Flutters was separated from her other friends. Although, if Vogon could make good on the offer they were selling, she wouldn't very lonely long. I walked up to her digital figure, her image growing bigger as I "walked" up to her. I touched her visage and in an instant, her form transmogrified into an anthropomorphic shape. It was rather fetching, I must say, seeing as she appeared to be lithe but not bony in this form.

"There's a catch, though, ain't it? What is one of those babies gonna set me back?"

"Aye, that is, as it it is said, the rub. It doesn't matter how much an artist loves their work; at the end of the day it's about how much money it's worth. They are twenty-two thousand credits a piece. It might sound steep, but consider what you are purchasing. It's not a machine, but a living breathing fantasy. She will eat, sleep, sweat, and even bleed. Everything she feels when she wakes up is real. There is no preprogrammed emotions in her. Oh, she'll have memories, slightly altered to match her new body, of her world, friends, and family. Everything ever written by the creators of the show, and of course any of the fan based content you would like us to consider, will be added to her memories. But beyond that all of her experiences and new memories will be completely of your and her making," he said.

"Yeah, steep," I parrot, remembering my Chase account still registering just below one hundred thousand due to tight monetary budgeting, "okay, I'm sold. I want Fluttershy."

"An excellent choice, sir! Just tap her image again," the sales pony instructs.

I tap the anthro Flutters image; her figure glows gold, her eyes open, and she smiles serenely. After quick blink, her figure is gone.

"The fuck just happened?" I ask.

"Fluttershy is being prepared for you right now," the salespony states, "There is a two month process to accurately grow and implant her memories. I should also state that she will be one of a kind. We here at Vogon pride ourselves of ensuring that our customers get exactly what they are paying for. You are getting Fluttershy, not a Fluttershy, but the Fluttershy. There will be no other versions of her made."

"It looks like I wasn't the first," I say, pointing to the gaps in the lineup.

"Well, what we offer is something of a niche product. There can be more than several dozen reasons why somepony does or does not want to buy. It could be cost, uncertainty, remote location, any number of factors," the stallion rapped, "however, all of our customers who have bought characters from other television series and movies have had nothing but praises for our work!"

"Okay, I'll take your word for it," I stated, "how is she gonna arrive?"

"Your Fluttershy will be arriving in a custom built Vogon Biotech transport. She will be dressed in a tailor-made the suit of clothing which you can choose at this time," the salespony said.

With another snap of his fingers, the window was replaced by turnstile set of images,. each depicting Fluttershy in various pieces of attire she was seen in from the show. There was her Dangerous Mission Outfit from "The Duel," her Grand Galloping Gala gown, the Mare-Do-Well costume from "The Mysterious Mare Do Well," her Private Pansy armor from "Hearths Warming eve," her Saddle Rager costume from "Power Ponies," the Admiral Fairy Flight uniform from "Testing 1,2,3" as well as her Princess Celestia costume from the same episode, her Bee costume from "It Ain't Easy being Breezy," a significantly modified work out getup based on the the episode "Hurricane Fluttershy," her Crystal Empire Jousting costume, the Pony Tunes outfit from "Filly Vanilli," the Ponyville uniform form "Equestria Games," and several outfits from "Green isn't Your Color."

A few of the "Green Isn't Your Color" dresses were catching my fancy, but the Pony Tones outfit was simply calling my name. tapping the image caused it to morph into something a woman would, complete with skirt, stockings, and some leather pumps. Then the image blinked out of existence.

"Very good, sir," the salespony said, "we hope that you will be pleased with her!"

The stallion snapped his fingers again and the scenery changed again. This time it wasn't the anthropomorphic stallion standing there, but rather an anthropomorphic Discord, standing at a kiosk in front of an old scroll type cash register. The god of chaos grinned, and handed me a receipt.

"Take good care of the former Element of Kindness, Arkady," he said, "she is my best friend and I would hate to visit upon you some calamity if I find out she's been mistreated. Although, I do admit, that might be fun!" Then he disappears.

I get redirected to Netflix and the first tagged episode of Friendship of Magic started playing. Go figure, it was "Filli Vanilli." I got through the intro and the theme song before pausing the video and taking off the haptic gear. After a quick survey of my domicile, I realized that this place was in no condition to receive a female boarder. Having been a bachelor for a great deal of my adult life, a certainly all of my returned civilian life, my brownstone was a shambles. I think my mother would faint due to the uncleanliness of the place. Having not much else to do and with both my cyberpros fully charged, I began to straighten up. I was really living the life of a slob, something my drill instructors would have beaten out of my through strenuous exercise and drilling.

I needed to plan this so I could get everything ready for when Fluttershy arrived. She would need a room and there were a few in the house that would suffice. She would also need clothes, hygiene products, linens, and sundry other niceties. The cleaning supplies and personal effects I could get at Krogers; I would need to wait on the clothing until Fluttershy was actually here, as I didn't know her size or anything. The house would also need sprucing up; the litter of pizza boxes and Stolichnaya bottles on the floor could not be healthy. I would also need to make sure the guest room was properly furnished; Uncle Sergei often used this place as a rendezvous for his mistresses. It was likely that the rooms were already furnished, but I had no idea how unkempt that furniture was or the last time it was dusted. With this basic strategy in mind, I went to work.

I went to clear the guest rooms. I had never been in them before, seeing as I resided in the master bedroom. I didn't want to seem unprepared for Fluttershy, so I attacked those first. The good news was, it seemed Uncle Sergei kept his house in prime order. Each room was fully furnished and well kept. Not a speck of dust could I see in any of the rooms. That was probably because each room was locked from the outside; the air in each was stale and old. That would mean a trip to Krogers the next morning, but I didn't care. I needed to get outside anyway.

I made a list of all things I needed for this mission. A Swiffer Duster, some unscented Pledge, toilet paper, sponges, light bulbs (a few of the light fixtures in those rooms had gone out), some Kaboom spray to handle any lime and rust stains, and garbage bags, to throw out any refuse. I also needed to charge my cyberpros. During my cleaning session earlier in the day, I managed to almost completely drained the batteries on those things. All I did were catcher's squats and crab leg runs, but still, I was looking at 18% charge for only two hours worth of work. I called up a Yellow Cab to pick me up at nine in the morning. I would have asked for earlier to avoid traffic going into and out of The City, but the Krogers in town didn't open until eight and I wanted to a quick breakfast before that.

The next morning, promptly at nine, I lept into the waiting Yellow Cab and headed into town. Traffic was a major bitch; it's the price you pay for living in the most densely populated city in the western hemisphere. I finally go to the supermarket at ten after ten the morning. I grabbed a cart from the cart cue and went inside. I'm no stranger to supermarket's, but the dizzying amount of aisles and shoppers can make anypony's head spin. After stocking up on my list of supplies, I crept out Krogers through a self checkout kiosk. There goes two hundred bucks of my hard earned cash, I thought ruefully.

I get back home roughly about half past one. As I'm hefting up my bags, I see my neighbor down the street, Katya. She is a pretty young thing at nineteen, with a cascade of fine blonde hair, the most brilliant green eyes, and the figure of a Fifties bombshell. I had once entertained the idea of dating her, but it was never to be. She was deep into BDSM culture; she once showed me her collection of whips, crops, and chains. I had nightmares of ISIS troopers dressed in leather and latex, smacking me up with cat o'nine tails for days afterward. She was nice enough besides and offered to help me get my gear inside. That was good because between my shopping expedition and the ride back into the Village, my cyberpros were running low on juice.

Once inside my house, I plant my purchases on the kitchen counter. Katya asks me what I have all the cleaning gear for. I tell her I have a guest coming, a long term guest. She asks me when this guest is coming by and I tell her that she should be here in two months time. She gets a quizzical look in her eye before confirming that my guest is female. I do confirm that fact and then she sets off on a monologue of what I could use to better accommodate her. Truth be told, her suggestions actually made quite a lot of sense. Given that I'm a guy, I have very little knowledge of the female grooming habits and Katya's wealth of information was simply staggering.

I eventually had to ask her if she had anything planned tomorrow in case I needed any assistance in girling up the brownstone. She said she was free in the afternoon, so we made plans to go to Krogers and maybe hit a Walgreens for all the feminine needs Fluttershy could use. She also suggested I fill up my pantry with foodstuffs. I had been living on take out so long, I rarely, if ever, had a filled fridge. So we also planned to grocery shop; she said she needed some eggs and milk, so she needed this expedition as well.

The next day, I went to check my email to and lo and behold, there was a message form Vogon. It was a questionnaire about which fan works I wanted added to Fluttershy's memory. Most of the fanfiction stuff I'd read was actually really pitiful. A great many writers didn't seem to have much use for Flutters or she was the subject of rape or grim-dark/torture fics. Still, there were a few I liked. We Live In a Kind World, When Opposites Attract, Her Angel, and Open With Myself came to mind. I also added in the Fluttershy from Friends With Benefits. L0rd0f7hund3r's depiction of the Element of Kindness was the one I considered definitive.

I was still sorta iffy about how all those stories would integrate into her psychology, but I bet Vogon had some top notch neuroscientists making the effort to seamleesly integrate them into her persona. Her memories from the show would carry the greater weight of her recollections, but those stories would give her depth.

In the meantime, I cleaned up the house to the best of my ability. katya did offer her services to get the place ready, so I would cash in on that when the opportunity developed. At the appointed time, I met Katya on the stoop of her brownstone and we entered a cab heading back into town. Once at Krogers, for the second time that week, she and I zipped down to the feminine hygiene aisle. I don't think any man knows what lurks in this forbidden zone, but the sheer scope of all the products that lined the shelves intimidated, I shit you not.

Katya gathered everything she could think a female guest could need, from sanitary pads and tampons, to scented oils and bath salts. There were even a few things I didn't know existed. Eyelash curlers, what the hell are those? Feminine wash? I had an idea of what that was but Lord forbid I ever seen a lady use one before. We loaded a cart and a half of that stuff before moving on to the groceries. It was here that Katya and I parted ways. She would be getting a separate cab back home because she only needed a few things. I, on the other hand, was stocking up for a months on end of indoor living!

By the time I left Krogers, I was heavy burdened and nearly a thousand dollars poorer. The cab ride back was made more uncomfortable because all the goods I bought wouldn't fit in the trunk. I really should have rented a minivan or something… Worse still, my cyberpros were drained again; I had just a little over 10% left. Katya was a lamb and helped me get inside with all my gear. She was also kind enough to fill my ice box and stock my pantry. It was then that she decided the old brownstone needed a "feminine touch." I watched from my La-z-boy as she rearranged the living room, kitchen, dining room, and study to be more presentable to a lady's eye.

Even after all those various tasks were done, I still fought back depression. My regular shrink just wasn't cutting it and I was feeling severely drained. I also was getting some demented auditory hallucinations, most likely brought on by the antipsychotics I was on at the time. Couple that with the sudden onslaught of flashbacks form Afghanistan and Syria and I was hanging by threads. It came to head one night, three weeks prior to Flutters arrival, when I mixed up my antipsych meds with a large helping of vodka. My overdose was thankfully load enough to catch my neighbors ears; the ambulance they called up got me to the hospital in the nick of time. After that, my regular shrink got swapped out for a new guy, a Doctor Randy Pullman. This guy really knew his stuff. He was loads better than the old guy. He even got me started new meds that worked far better than the old stuff I was using.

I was still having issues, two weeks to arrival. Some of the shit I did during battle would come to haunt me at the worst of times and even though the meds were working for me, I still had some wicked hallucinations. Thankfully, they were coming with less frequency and weren't nearly as severe as they were before. I did have to swear off alcohol for a while. Strong spirits and antipsychotics do not mix. At the insistence of my family, I went to confession for the first time in years. In my family, I'm something of a black sheep; I broke away from the church as soon as I was on my own. I wish I hadn't; the old priest that heard my confession practically damned me to hell. I came away from the exchange more convinced that organized religion was mind control…

I was till teetering on whether I should snuff it or not. The day of Fluttershy's arrival was fast approaching and I didn't really believe Vogon could pull off what they promised. False advertising was the chant in my head the night before her stated delivery and I got very little sleep that night with all the worry in my head. But I was gonna give life one last shot; it couldn't get any worse than it already was. Could it?

Dr. Ozbourne stays through Ark's recount of his life until now. She was making notes about things she found pertinent and occasionally making as comment about certain things he said. By and large, the specialist was the most talkative in the group; he also exhibited a sizable measure of charisma, keeping the entire group mesmerized by his tale.

"Miss Fluttershy," Dr. Ozbourne said, "we have to hear form you about all of this. Care to share your thoughts?"

The buttery anthropmorph took a deep blush to her cheeks and stammered for a few moments. When her lover's hand squeezed hers, she came to an understanding that she could speak only if she were comfortable with doing so. Sergeant Visovic gave her a warm smile, and she visible became more confident with his assurance.

"Well, okay, Doctor," she whispered.

Fluttershy's Perspective

I remember waking up in the back of a moving carriage. It was closed up, with no windows, and only a set of kissing doors at the end. The only sound in the thing came from upfront, but I didn't know what the noise was. I sounded like a blender in operation. I looked at myself and I saw I dressed in my Pony Tones uniform. This made me nervous; I didn't know if I had the courage to sing in front of a crowd today. At least the skirt did a good job of covering me up. I can thank Rarity and her excellent designs for that. That's when I looked in front of me; I saw two stallions in dark gray suits. They wore sunglasses over their eyes and I saw something like a microphone attached to the lapels of the jackets. They wore earwigs in their left ears; I don't know how I knew that. Such things just didn't exist in Equestria.

"Um, excuse me," I asked, "but, where are we going?"

The gentlecolts said nothing; they just stared at me. I think; with the sunglasses, it was hard to tell if they were looking at me at all. Even though it was quiet, it was still a relaxing drive. I may have been a teensy bit nervous, but I was going to be seeing Arkady for the first time. I found it weird that I had fond memories of a stallion I had never met. I could remember the color of his eyes, the shape and style of his mane, the prosthetic limbs he wore, the cut and color of his clothes. And I felt- love for him. Nothing romantic yet, I hadn't even seen him in pony. Still, I liked him and I knew he liked me, too.

The the carriage came to a stop. One of the gentlecolts in gray suits put a hand to his ear, the one with the earwig. He spoke softly to somepony; I couldn't tell what was said. Then the other dark suited stallion rose from his seat. He took a hoof to a lever in the kissing doors and opened it. A cacophony of sound assaulted my ears; wherever Arkady lived, it was a noisy place. The other stallion in the carriage with me held out a hoof. I took it and he hoisted me from my seat and brought me out of the carriage. My wings fluttered as I stepped away from the vehicle; I may not be a good flyer but the gentle breeze just asked to flown into.

It was a bit darker than I expected. Celestia's Sun was still high in the sky but the shadows from nearby buildings and a mild overcast made it appear like it was almost evening. The breeze was warmer than I expected, too. I had trouble keeping the skirt of my uniform from exposing me. Then I hear a gasp coming from my right. I turn to the noise and there he is, my Arkady. He looks just like I remember him, although a bit sadder. He wears a beige thermal Henley under a light gray hooded sweatshirt. His legs are clad in a pair of faded blue jeans; his feet are clad earth toned hiking boots. Despite the overcast in the sky and the darkness emanating from the buildings all around, he's wearing dark sunglasses. I'm certain his chocolate brown eyes are waiting behind them, though.

"Oh. My. Faust." he says, a look of both surprise and confusion awash on his face, "you- she's- buck-!"

"Arkady!" I exclaim, and rush towards him. As I wrap my arms around him a very affectionate hug, one of the stallions in gray speaks to Ark. I tune it out; what they have to discuss is not really all that important to me. What is important is that I finally, finally meet my good friend, Arkady! I can't remember when I have been happier. The tears of joy I shed are the same ones Ark has; he can't seem to believe that I'm here now.

"Oh, Arkady, I missed you!" I squeak, "Let's go inside. I have so much to tell you."

"Oh my Lord, look at the time," Dr. Ozbourne declares, "That will end this session. Sergeant Visovic, Ms. Fluttershy, would you both be comfortable with telling us more in the next session?"

"I'm good," Ark says, "возлюбленная, what do ya think?"

"Um," the pony girl starts, "I wouldn't mind telling more. Is that alright with you Doctor?"

"It's fine," Dr. Osbourne says, then adds, "next week, our schedule changes. We'll be meeting on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, as well as every other Saturday. Be sure to mark your calendars and don't be late."

With that announcement, the circle breaks up and leaves. Fluttershy doesn't stand up immediately, given the burden she bears, but Ark gives her a helping hand and the lovers leave. Unbeknownst to them, Dr. Vanessa Ozbourne watches them jealously…

3 Settling In

Author's Note

Sergeant Visovic continues his tale about his recovery from depression and suicide, now helped along by his anthomorph wife, Fluttershy.
†Pseudopod (Pseudopod Mechanics) is a subsidiary of Texas Industrial and Consumer Technologies (TICT). There are several firms involved with cybernetic prosthesis, including major companies like Johnson & Johnson, Siemens AG, Proctor & Gamble, and General Electric. Pseudopod, though, makes custom order prosthesis. Later, Ark will mention the sets (yes, sets plural) he has bought. The other companies make standard issue hardware and parts (Siemens AG does have a line of customized cyberpros with bionic enhancements) but few do actual totally custom made prosthesis. Very few do flash clone and nanobot cyberpros, which is the business Pseudopod specializes in.
The thing of note, in Test of Motherhood: Twilight Sparkle's Vogonverse Story, Camlio calls the central immersive computer core as a "Dive Hub." I'm laying down some hard and fast rules for this here, but in the West, that area is called, tentatively, "The Nucleus" Just FYI.

3 Settling In

Summer Grasses Are a Soldier's Dreams
A Vogonverse story featuring Fluttershy

Time: 14:45 hours (2:45 PM EDT), Monday, June, 17th, 2058

Location: 800 Poly Place, Brooklyn, New York

Place: Group Therapy Room

Session Conductor: Dr. Vanessa Ozbourne, PhD., Psychotherapy

Veterans of Afghanistan and Syria began pouring into the Group Therapy room earlier than normal. Dr. Ozbourne was actually rather happy about that. On any normal session day, the troops marched in with five minutes or less to spare. About the only ones that did come in on time were the ones closest to the VA clinic. Ms. Green, former Army specialist, struts in, her right leg a lot less jittery than it has been the last four months. According to Dr. Ozbourne's notes, she was given a new set of anti-rejection drugs when Rachel complained that her cocktail left her unable to distinguish tastes. It's a very common complaint, but not one that can easily remedied. The medications needed to accept cybernetic prosthesis had to be tailor made for an individual's own immune system; no two amputees had the same cocktail. Nor was it a good idea for two veterans to share their meds. Adverse reactions and potential allergic complications made doing so perilous.

Private First Class Desmond "Dizzy" Bing ambled in, but unlike his buddy, PFC Gautreaux, his artificial back was starting to futz out on him. At first blush, many might believe the young man has an affliction that caused his back to arch severally. The truth of the matter was that half of his spine was replaced by a cybernetic neural network, but it was rather glitchy. Chandler Gautreaux's synthetic gastrointestinal worked far better because the GI tract is much easier to flash clone. Dizzy, on the other hand, had to have the parts of his spinal cord that were damaged by an RPG round replaced; the cybernetic spine is still a work in progress. Flash cloning nervous tissue has always been a dicey setup; sometimes it works but most times it doesn't.

Today was a welcome surprise. Nearly all members of the therapy group 37G arrived earlier, even those who lived in Newark, New Jersey. Traffic from Newark to Manhattan is a huge bitch. Many of those in the group couldn't drive anymore, due to the side effects of the medications they took, so they either had to take the subway, take a bus, or get there by taxi. With an estimated twenty million citizens of which thirteen million had registered vehicles, it often took forever for a taxi to get the clinic. That's sparing construction, protests, and an occasional mugging.

Even so, many of the regular members made out today in record time. The only member who hasn't arrived is Sgt. Visovic. Greenwich Village isn't that far away, so certainly he could get from there to the clinic without much trouble, even by bus. Still, it was a little concerning that he hadn't arrived yet. No word had come to Dr. Ozbourne that he would not be coming in today. Neither was there word that his anthromorphic companion was giving birth. Mr. Visovic had the doctor's number in case such an instance was to occur. The minutes were flying by and still, no word yet from the married paraplegic.

"Are we late yet?" asks a tenor voice that Dr. Ozbourne is vaguely familiar with. The voice that answers him is much more familiar, even though it barely rises above a whisper, "I don't think so. See? We have five minutes still. We just made it."

"I just had to have a bad battery this morning…" laments Sgt. Visovic, "I know Pseudopod† is damn good at what they do, but you'd think they'd make a battery that would last for a while."

"The representative said that the battery may have been faulty," Fluttershy replies, "she did say that a new one would be shipped express, no charge."

"Well, their customer service is excellent," Ark comments, "otherwise, how could they be in business?"

"Is that you, Sergeant Visovic?" Dr. Ozbourne asks.

"Yeah, it's me," answers Ark, as he and his better half stumble into the room, "sorry for the delay. One of the batteries in my cyberpros up and failed me."

Fluttershy continues to explain, "It took us forever to find a replacement. Even so, it wasn't fully charged. Ark was forced to break out his crutches again."

"Damn," whistles Dizzy, "how come?"

"How come what?" Fluttershy asks, lowering Ark into a folding chair and then gently setting herself in a lounger.

"How come your battery failed?" Dizzy queries.

"Long story," Ark replies, "something about a recall and faulty components. It was a brand new battery, too. The recall was issued the day after I got it, but Tolstoy has been a ublyudok letting emails through. Especially after The Pink One got into the system. I don't think Tolstoy will forgive her for making his clothes and hair pink."

"Well, now that we know that you're safe," Dr. Ozbourne says, "would you like to continue your story, Sergeant?"

"Yeah, sure," Ark answers, "now, if I remember right, I stopped last time just as Fluttershy arrived."

The anthromorph in question nods her head, "Do you remember the next thing I said, Ark?"

Ark replies, "Oh, yeah, I remember…"

Ark's Perspective

"I'm hungry," Fluttershy tells me, "I don't think I've eaten all morning."

That doesn't surprise me. Mr. Puckett, one of the agents that brought Fluttershy to my house, said that she'd need sustenance soon. Something about the development process makes it difficult for Vogon anthromorphs to eat solid food until their "owners" bond with them or something. He explained that the briefing packet had all the pertinent details, as well as dietary requirements and assorted legal documents for Fluttershy, should she attempt to acquire employment.

"Don't worry," I tell her, "I was just about to put on lunch."

I have an arm around her waist and one her arms is wrapped around my neck. Bozhe moi, is her fur really soft! She's so warm, too; what little of her coat that's exposed radiates with a gentle heat. She is real, she is alive, and she is oh so breathtaking. And she's hungry, so I better get inside. Even with her sweater and pleated, wool skirt, she's gonna get cold fast in this September air. We reach the door and as per instruction, the door is locked.

"Tolstoy," I call out, "otkryt' dver'!"

The tumblers in the lock fall into place and the door opens. As Fluttershy and I step over the threshold, the AI for the building appears in the holostage that's part of the computer system Nucleus my uncle installed when he owned the place. The image balding, middle aged man with a bushy beard and cunning eyes appears, giving me a stiff bow before looking at the anthromorph clutching me. His visage turns from stoically aloof to outright horror, but the change is negligible.

"Moy Gospod', yest' li u nas novyy gost'?" asks the computer's avatar. Fluttershy startles at my side, but with a stroke of my hand, I calm her.

"Yes, Tolstoy," I answer, "this is Fluttershy. She'll be staying with us from now on."

Tolstoy replies, "I budet Ledi ostanavlivat'sya v spal'ne?"

"No, she won't be sharing the master bedroom with me" I retort, "she has her own accommodations, in the guest room across from mine."

"Ochen' khorosho, moy Gospod'." Tolstoy says, "Budet ledi takzhe yest' podklyucheniye k seti?"

"Yes, Tolsty," I jeer, "plus regular user privileges to the Nucleus. She'll also need a beginner course on immersion networking. Also, for the sake of Christ, speak English! Miss Fluttershy doesn't know Russian."

Tolstoy's image flickers for a moment, then he says, "As you wish, my Lord. Will there be anything else?"

"No, that will be all," I say, "Fluttershy and I will be in the kitchen. Reroute all calls and correspondence there."

"As always, my Lord," the AI says, before declaiming, "Bozhe moi!"

"W-who was t-that?" Fluttershy asks, her body quivering next to mine.

"That's Tolstoy," I answer, "the house artificial intelligence. He's surly and temperamental; it's a wonder why I haven't replaced him yet. My uncle installed him when he bought the place and I inherited the fucker when I moved in."

"Oh," Fluttershy says, "you don't really like him, do you?"

"Nyet," I reply, "the feelings mutual, though; he venerates my Uncle Sergei but can't stand the sight of me. Took me weeks to figure out he would only respond to me if I spoke Russian. I bet he's going to switch out the keys on the keyboards from English alphanumeric to Cyrillic."

"Is he really that bad?" Fluttershy wonders.

"I guess," I say, "I've never got him when he's in a good mood. And I thought the AI running the newer Schwarzkopf MBTs were horrid."

"I believe that if you showed him some kindness, he might behave for you," Fluttershy says confidently.

"Maybe," I tell her, "I don't have much hope."

"Do you remember, Ark," Fluttershy says, "when Gilda came back to Ponyville?"

I nod, remembering the episode in Season Six when the griffon came back and Fluttershy managed to befriend her. I'm unsure, though, if I was included in her memories of that moment; I hadn't had a chance to go over the briefing packet the Vogon agent gave me.

Fluttershy continues, "Well, I never gave up on Gilda, even though she was being a big meanie. So, maybe you could try that with Tolstoy. Uh, that is, if you really want to- If that's okay."

"I'll- I'll try, Flutters," I answer, "first, let's get you some lunch!"

Fluttershy issues a squeak and I can't help but beam at that. I don't know how they did it, but Vogon even got her cutesy squeak sound effect right. I lead into the kitchen, which is an extravagant affair. The dining table is oblong, made of polished oak, with intricate scroll work; it seats sixteen. The chairs are equally posh with seats made of crushed velvet. The wood paneling on the cabinets is also oak, in a deep ochre finish; the refrigerator and freezer also sport the veneer. There's naught but chrome on the dishwasher and the range, although the range has a ceramic cooking surface. The countertops, including the breakfast island, are done in a rosy granite and the baseboards are painted in a cerulean hue. The floors are polished white marble. To say my uncle had expensive tastes is an understatement.

I point Fluttershy to a chair on the island, holding out the seat for her. "I forgot what a gentlecolt you can be, Arkady," Fluttershy beams.

"I try," I say, "and you can call me Ark. Didn't I tell you that before?"

"Oh, yes," she says, a wistful look in her eyes, "was that before or after the Harpies came to town?"

"Before, if I recollect," I answer. I remember that episode, too, straight out of Season Seven. Did they honestly arrange her memories so I was at every major event in the series?! I'd have to test that bit later.

"Oh," Fluttershy says, "well, okay, Ark." The Pegasus' stomach growls.

"We should probably get some food in ya," I say, to which Flutters nods, "What'll ya have? I could make you a nice salad if you like."

"Oh, that's okay," Flutters says, "I wouldn't want you to eat something that doesn't agree with you. I can always make something myself…"

I reply, "In that case, why don't you go rummaging through the ice box and I'll fix myself some ramen or something."

Fluttershy gets up from her chair and sets to spelunking around the cavernous ice box made by Frigidaire. I head to a cabinet and fish out an Instant Noodle cup, a packet of crackers, and a hefty chunk of cheddar cheese I left by the sink. My companion finally rustles up some grub of her own and begins to make a king sized salad. Huh, is that a pack of shrimp?

"Hey Fluttershy," I start, "are you having shrimp with your salad?"

"Mhmm," she hums, "I'm having shrimp in my salad."

"Wait," I begin, "I thought you were an herbivore?"

"Oh, I am," Flutters explains, "but Pegasi also like to eat seafood, too. Things like tuna, salmon, shrimp, and crab are considered delicacies in Cloudsdale."

"What about lobster?" I ask.

"Oh, Celestia," Fluttershy moans, "I haven't had lobster in forever! If it's allright, could you- I mean, you don't have to if you don't want to- or can't afford it- But, could- could you get some lobster for me?"

The Element of Kindness issues another squeak and her eyes seem to grow a few sizes. I can hardly say no to such a pleading face, especially one from such a cute pony.

"Okay, Flutters," I reply, "next time I'm at Krogers, I'll see about getting you some lobster."

Fluttershy smiles, a grin that goes from eye to eye. She makes another squeak and my heart melts. Bozhe moi, she is so damn cute!

"Just don't expect lobster every time we go shopping, okay," I warn her, "lobster is expensive, especially so here in The Big Apple."

"Okay," Fluttershy says, beaming, "I don't think I can eat it everyday."

"Good," I say, "so, are you gonna cook that shrimp or eat it raw?"

"Oh, yes!" she exclaims, "I should cook this. Where are your pots?"

"By the oven, on the overhang." I answer.

Flutters floats (oh, yeah, she can fly, even though her wings are on the small side) and grabs a small sauce pan from the overhang. Meanwhile, I got my cup o' noodles running at a boil now in the microwave. I grab a cheese slicer from one of the drawers near the dishwasher and set to cutting blocks out of my cheddar. Fluttershy hums a jaunty little tune while she cooks the shrimp. I still don't see how she could eat them; I only keep them in the freezer as a courtesy to my cousins. I don't think I can remember what shrimp tastes like; the last time I had them was before I went to Basic.

"Ark, where do you keep the salt?" Flutters asks.

"Salt?" I begin, "oh, on the island. I use a grinder filled with sea salt; it's supposed to be better because of the iodine in it or something."

"This?" Flutters holds up one of the grinders; it's filled with large white, opaque crystals.

"Yeah, that's it." I reply, "should I get some salt licks next time I'm at Krogers? Or Academy Sports?"

Fluttershy blushes profusely, saying, "Uh, no, you don't have to. It's probably a bad idea, anyway. Do you remember that one Hearth's Warming Eve?"

Another episode I remember; Season Six, Episode Fourteen, where The Mane Six are in Baltimare and Flutters gets (comically) tipsy at a salt bar. I'm surprised that made it through the censors. Then again, it was one of the episodes that the Great Lauren Faust produced after her return to the series.

"Oh, yeah, I remember," I chuckle, "okay, no salt licks. Just go easy on that stuff, okay. Sea salt is a bitch get nowadays."

Flutters nods and goes back to her shrimp. My Instant Noodles are done, been done actually, so I take them, strain the excess water from the cup into the sink; with my ramen, crackers, and cheese in hand, I saunter over to the island and tuck in. Fluttershy follows me shortly thereafter; steam rises from her cooked shrimp. Even with the crustaceans in the rabbit food she's prepared, Flutters salad looks simply delicious.

"Bon apetite," I say.

"And to you, Ark," Fluttershy replies.

"Aww!"

Private Sarah Willows, a young woman with a shock of chestnut hair, coos as the paraplegic and his anthropomorphic beau nuzzle each other at the memory of their first meal together.

"So, what did you guys talk about?" Rachel asks.

"What we were having for dinner," Ark answers, "I wanted pizza, she wanted more shrimp. So we compromised on shrimp pizza."

"That was so good," Fluttershy comments, "Bozhe moi! I can't believe how good it was. I don't think Pinkie Pie or Applejack could make something so delicious."

"Me too," Ark adds, "that's the first time I had shrimp since my uncle died. He always had it when I came over."

"Was that often?" Dr. Ozbourne asks.

Ark nods, "Like, every other day after I turned fifteen. That was around the time my mama and papa pushed me to become a priest. I wasn't havin' that."

"A preist?" Dr. Ozbourne asks quizzically, "why a priest?"

Ark sighs, saying "Listen, Doc, when you grow up in The Stacks, there are only a few things you can do to earn a living or risk starvin' to death: become a thief, become a priest, work on the corporate farms, or join the Army. I considered the Army the lesser of all the other evils."

"Dude," Chandler barks, "you stole that line from The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly!"

"The what, the who, and the huh, now?" Ark asks.

"Wait-a-minute," Chandler starts, "you've never seen that movie?!"

Ark nods; Chandler scoffs at his answer.

"Fuckin' Philistine-!"

"Gator," Rachel demands, "shut the fuck up!"

"Why?" Chandler inquires, "it's a classic! How could he not have seen it?!"

"What part of growin' up in The Stacks did ya not understand, Chandler?" Ark growls.

"Private Gautreaux, Sergeant Visovic, please, let's show some decorum, yes?" Dr. Ozbourne declares.

Chandler stares at the good doctor, but Ark looks triumphant.

"Thank you," Dr. Ozbourne says, "so, what happened after dinner?"

"Oh, we went to bed," Fluttershy replies, "didn't you say you would give me the dime tour of the house after dinner, Ark?"

"I did and we did," Ark answers, "wasn't much to show, but enough to get reasonably familiar with."

Fluttershy then says, "The next morning was rather nice, too."

Fluttershy's Perspective

I woke up before Celestia's Sun rose over the buildings. I found it weird to be awake before the sun rose, even weirder to be in a place where the horizon is broken up by tall buildings. The only places I can think of that had buildings as large were Manehatten and Canterlot. I wasn't really sure about why I was awake given how dark it was. That's when I heard the mewling sound. I looked out the window of my room, the one Ark set aside for me. In a box just below my windowsill is a box filled with kittens. They can't be older than two weeks. I wonder who left them there; if I could find them I would give them a stern lesson. Creatures that young aren't strong enough to survive on their own. They need their mama cat's milk to live and won't wean off of it for at least two months. The poor little kitties…

I went to the kitchen. hoping beyond hope that Ark had some cream for little kittens to drink. As luck would have it, he did. I poured a bowl of cream, warmed it up in his "microwave oven" and went outside. I didn't think September would be so cold. I should ask Ark if we can go clothes shopping soon; the north winds are biting hard into my skin and it's too early for my winter coat to grow in. Still, I need to help these kittens. They'll die if I don't. I get to the box and gasp. There was a good size litter in this box, at least sixteen kitties. Half of them are dead; they must have died in the cold. The eight that remain are not far from freezing to death, too. It's a good thing I warmed up this cream; they're gonna need to bring their core temperature up. I have to wonder who could do this to poor, innocent kittens. Who could be so heartless and cruel?

"Whatcha doin'?"

I start, because I was intent on helping these kittens and wasn't paying attention to much else. Then I see it's Ark. He looks concerned when he sees the kittens in the box.

"I heard them mewling," I tell him, holding back tears, "they lost some of their brothers and sisters…"

"Poor little guys," Ark says, "let's get them inside. It's too damn cold out here to keep them exposed like that."

"What about-" I start, but Ark says, "That's okay. I'll get a new box for the survivors and we'll bury the fallen when it gets warmer."

I nod, not trusting my voice to crack with sadness. It hurts to see anypony mistreat such guileless creatures. I don't know how Ark puts up with it. Maybe that's why he became a soldier; he doesn't stand for injustice so he fights to stop it. We take the litter of kittens, both the quick and the dead, and head inside. Ark goes to a closet (the one I almost drowned in last night while searching for a bathroom) and he lays a fleece blanket on top of the remaining kittens. He then fishes out a box from the same closet. It's a smaller, cardboard box, completely unadorned with any writing or stickers.

"We'll use the old one to bury the dead," Ark says, "a damn shame, this. Poor guys never stood a chance in the cold."

"Okay," I said, "I still don't understand why anypony could be so heartless to such cute little kittens."

"Welcome to New York," Ark says, "people are cruel to each other over the silliest little things; you'd be surprised. The City So Nice They Named It Twice is still the angriest and most cruel on Earth. What makes you think that helpless, baby animals are going to be an exception to that?"

"It just-" I begin, "it's just- so sad."

Ark puts a reassuring hand on my shoulder. The place he puts his hand is a very sensitive spot for Pegasi. I don't think he knows what my extended wings mean; I mean, we were never this close back in Ponyville. We were friends, granted, but we didn't live with each other. He's also human, so I don't think he gets all the little things that can make a pony- excitable.

"It's okay, Flutters," Ark says, "we'll get these little guys healthy, then we'll see about getting them some proper homes. Hell, we'll even name the little squirts. Feel better?"

"A little," I squeak.

Ark smiles; I always liked it when he smiles. It's one of the few times I can see past his heartache and pain, where I can see Ark at his most- beautiful. It gives me the warm fuzzies just thinking about it.

"I don't know about you," Ark states, "but I'm hungry. Would you like some pancakes?"

"Oh, yes," I confirm, "pancakes sound delicious!"

"One order of pancakes, coming right up!" Ark announces, then he sidles off to the kitchen.

The kittens are drinking up the cream which is a good sign. They haven't gotten to the point where they can't ingest food. I feel awful for the ones that died. Nothing so young should have to taste the bitterness of a grave. Hmm, I wonder if Ark will let me keep one of them? I'll need to ask. Hmm, I smell strawberries…

"Come and get it," Ark calls from the kitchen.

The kittens should be fine now, even though their deceased brothers and sisters share their box. I separate the living from the dead, putting the survivors in the new box with the fresh blanket.

"Ark," I call out, "do you have anything to cover the old box?"

"Look in the closet," he answers, "might be something there."

I route around in the closet Ark was in earlier; I find a cardboard lid that's just right for the old box. I really wish we had a more fitting coffin to bury the dead kittens, but this is the best we have right now.

"Hey, Fluttershy," Ark calls from the kitchen, "do you like strawberries?"

"Oh, yes, I do," I answer, "I love strawberries!"

""Good," Ark comments, "I made us some strawberry pancakes. What about syrup? Do you like maple or honey?"

"I'll take honey," I reply.

I can see Ark's head peeking out from the doorway leading to the kitchen, "Very good."

Once I have the lid on the old box, I make to check on the surviving kittens. Many of them are asleep after filing their little bellies. I smile, knowing that even if I couldn't save all of them, I saved as many as I could. I then flit towards the kitchen where the smell of strawberries and pancakes is enticing. As I near the island, I see Ark toiling away at more pancakes. Sitting on a plate in front of one of the island stools is a stack six high of delicious smelling pancakes.

"Mmmm," I murmur, "smells good…"

"I hope so," Ark says smiling, "I've had lots of practice."

He hands a bottle of amber liquid, and I begin pouring it on my stack. I can smell that's honey; maple syrup doesn't usually flow this slowly. My mouth is watering and I can feel the pit that is my stomach grow in size. I use the flatware that was set around the plate and cut a triangle of the top most of the stack. Lifting into my mouth, I can taste buttermilk, sugar and, of course, strawberries. I moan in delight.

"I take it ya like 'em," Ark asks; I nod to confirm his question.

"Good," Ark says next," I wasn't sure about my cooking skills. You may not know it, but I don't cook all that often."

I swallow then say, "It's hard to tell. These pancakes are scrumptious!"

We continued talking and eating, mostly about what we did while the other was away. I learned that Ark was hurt is some place called Syria. I remembered his prosthetic legs, but he never told me where he got them or how. Now I know. I told him about my friends, what we were doing, the summer concert the Pony Tones and I were going on. He teased me about giving him a private concert. When I looked ready to burst into tears, he offered to hug me; I like when we hug. (Ark can be so cuddly, when he wants to be so.) We just chatted for hours, like we used to back in Ponyville. It was the most delightful breakfast I've had in a long while.

"That sounds wonderful," Dr. Ozbourne comments.

"It was," Fluttershy replies, "it was the first of many breakfasts with the two of us."

"I didn't know it at the time, but little moments like that, and other things, were what made me love Fluttershy," Ark adds, "there'd be other things that'd happen, too."

"Like what?" asks Dr. Ozbourne.

"Pinkie's wedding," Fluttershy responds, "that was fun, in it's own way."

"Yeah, I remember that," Ark adds, "and how we got the invitation was- well, rather interesting."

Ark's Perspective

A few days had passed and Fluttershy was finally acclimated to the house. The local ASPCA had taken the surviving kittens, but Flutters did convince me to keep one of them. The ASPCA folks were kind enough to give us food enough to last for a month, kitty litter, a litter box, and a basket bed for Snuggles. (That's what we named the little Tuxedo.) She had been given some hand-me-downs and freshly sewn works from my neighbor, Katya. (She's a seamstress, by trade.) They almost fit, but Katya was a little chubbier than Fluttershy was and bustier. I may need to bring her back over to get Fluttershy properly fitted. I still needed to get my companion some real clothes, too. That's why I was searching the web, looking for an online women's clothing store. I couldn't spend a whole lot and thankfully, I knew Fluttershy wasn't into fashionable clothing, despite being a fashion model for a time. Still, I was debating on whether Fingerhut, Spiegel, or Marshall Field's were a good bet for her clothing needs. That's when an interesting email arrived…

"My lord," Tolstoy announces, "you have an email from a sender I am unfamiliar with."

"What?" I simper.

"It is from an 'Andrew Williams,'" Tolstoy declares, "and if my search protocols are correct, he is an author of some mildly entertaining fantasy novels."

"Wait, Andy Williams?" I exclaim, "THE Andy Williams? Author of New Frontier, that Andy Williams?!"

"Correct," Tolstoy answers, "my lord."

"How did he get my email?" I wonder, "I'm not a member of any New Frontier fan sites. Okay, Tolstoy, go ahead and open it."

"As you wish, my Lord," Tolstoy responds, and the display running through my visor changes from the nominal data stream of the Nucleus to an image of well-to-do apartment. Looking at me with shimmering blue eyes and a mess of pink curls is an anthropomorphic version of Pinkie Pie…

"Hi-hi-hi there!" the Pinkie-in-the-email shouts.

"Uh, hello," I stammer out, "can I help you?"

"Yeppers," Pinkie-in-the-email says, "I'm looking for my bestest buddy, Fluttershy!"

"Uh, yeah, she's here, hold on," I say, a little bewildered, then call out, "Flutters, there's somepony calling themselves Pinkie Pie in an email asking for you."

Fluttershy tears down the hallway (Tolstoy has her marker pinged in the schematic for the house) and she appears at my side later, breathless, "Pinkie Pie?"

"Yeah," I say, "go put on some immersion gear." I tell her before facing Pinkie-in-the-email again, "She coming, hold on. Flutters, there should be a set by fireplace. I always keep a spare for emergencies or when I have guests over."

"Oh," Fluttershy says, "you mean these gloves and goggles here?"

"Yep," I answer, "put 'em on and enter the Nucleus. You have to see this."

For a moment I'm the only one in the Nucleus, then Fluttershy arrives, just as lovely as ever. It's strange, though, that in this digital version of her, she's not wearing any clothes. I try to hold back my blush as I take her (virtual) hand and guide to her Pinkie-in-the-email.

"FLUTTERSHY!" Pinkie-in-the-email cries in a crescendo, "Ohhh, it is sooo good to see you!"

"Oh, my, Pinkie Pie!" Fluttershy exclaims, "it's so wonderful to see you again! How are you?"

"Oh, I'm great!" Pinkie-in-the-email says, "You won't believe the things I've been doing. And I don't have my party cannon with me-"

I tuned things out for a while, because Pinkie-in-the-email went on a breathless diatribe about all she had seen and done. I don't know how anypony can sit still through all of that. Fluttershy must be very disciplined to allow the Pink Party Paradox Pony to rant that way. Things got kinda dicey when she described her relationship with her current beau, Andy. I had a hard time believing that the one and only Pinkie Pie was so kinky. If half of what she said actually happened, I would be hard pressed not to think of the Pink Party Paradox Pony as a nymphomaniac.

"-And then Andy asked me to marry him!! Isn't that great?!" Pinkie-in-the-email exclaimed.

"That's wonderful," Fluttershy replied, "when is the wedding?"

"Oh, it's happening in a week or so," Pinkie-in-the-email said, "and ♪guess what?♫ You're invited!!"

Does that pony speak only in exclamation points or what? I muse.

"Oh, I would love to come," Fluttershy says, "If it's okay. Ark, can we go?"

"I don't see why not," I answer, "where is it gonna be?"

"It's taking place in Anderson's Arcade, Oklahoma City, Oklahoma," Pinkie-in-the-email declared, "if you want, I can have Andy send you tickets!"

"Yeah, that's cool," I say, "VA benefits kinda rule out flying by air or riding by train."

There was a beep and soon, two Amtrak tickets appear in my inbox, ready for printing. Along with the tickets are printable invitations for the wedding, set in a neighborhood of OKC known as Bricktown. The invitation says this Anderson's Arcade is on 168 East California Ave. Never been there before, OKC, I mean; the closest I've been to Oklahoma was when I was doing Basic at Fort Hood. I've never set foot in the Panhandle State.

"There you go!" Pinkie-in-the-email declares.

"Thank you so much, Pinkie Pie," Fluttershy exclaims, "I can't wait to see you!"

"Me too!" shouts Pinkie, "I'll see you guys there! ♫Bring your smiles!♪"

The email closes.

"That is the longest email I have ever seen," declaims Tolstoy, "should I erase it from the server, my Lord?"

"No," I tell the curmudgeonly adjunct, "archive it. I'm wanna look that one over later," then to Fluttershy, "how did she know you were here?"

"Oh, that's just Pinkie being Pinkie," explains Flutters with a squeak, "she's always like that. Don't you remember?"

"Oh, I remember," I say, "this just caught me by surprise. Well, I guess there's no reason to delay. Come with me, Fluttershy, we're gonna go clothes shopping."

Fluttershy nods, with the widest smile I've seen her wear on her muzzle and we dive in. Our first stop on this virtual shopping expedition is a site called Trimline. The sight was recommended as not only were there innumerable links to clothing shops online, but there was also a simulacra seamstress page where we could have Flutters sized up. (She's a 34C, I discovered, and a size four.) After getting her measurements and a quick selection of stylish dresses for her to virtually try on, we were then directed to several sites that fit Flutters tastes. We moved about on sites like Love|Culture, H&M, Zappos, and a few others. Fluttershy eventually settled on LuLu's; I thought that an excellent choice, even though their selections weren't cheap.

She tried on many outfits, ranging from sportswear (it's weird that womens sportswear is so vastly different from men's sportswear) to formal gowns. I'd lose almost three grand just getting her some basic stuff, but she was happy with everything, so I couldn't complain. I did notice that Flutters was all too happy to be out of clothes as in them. Maybe it was my Russian Orthodoxy upbringing or the social conditioning of Kulture Amerikana, but I had some trouble looking at her in the nude. She didn't seem to mind at all. Once all the purchases were made, I made sure that they were expressed shipped to the brownstone. If we had a week to get ready for a wedding, then I wanted Fluttershy to look beautiful for the event. But not so beautiful where she upstaged the bride; that was a social faux pas of the highest order! With the day's tasks complete, I take of my immersion gear and exit the Nucleus.

"Hey Flutters, can we talk about somethin'?" I start. It certainly was a star because the Element of Kindness is standing around in the nude.

"Oh, sure Ark," Flutters answers, "what did you want to talk about?"

"Well, it's kinda embarrassing," I admit, "but I guess since you come from Ponyville, this is something that nopony has a problem with-"

"Ark, are you okay?" Fluttershy asks.

"Well," I begin, "yeah, I'm good. But, if it's all the same to you, I'd like it better of you wore clothes. Not just outside, but anytime you're in the house unless you're taking a bath or something."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Fluttershy laments, "are you- uncomfortable with me like this?"

"A little," I admit, "you see, people tend to get naked when they're- I don't know, lovers. You're my best friend, and although I love having you here, I'm not sure I'm ready for… Well, I don't think I can handle you walking around in yer birthday suit."

"Oh, okay," Fluttershy relents, "I don't want to make you uncomfortable…"

"It's fine, for today," I add, "just, you know, for future reference."

"So, Sergeant," Dr. Ozbourne starts, "do you still have an aversion to the naked body?"

Chandler groans, "Oh, come on, Doc Oz!" as he face palms.

Ark looks at the Good Doctor, then to Fluttershy. The hand not holding onto Fluttershy's hands gently lands on the anthromorphs swollen abdomen, wherein three lives are still gestating.

"It's pretty obvious I'm not," Ark replies, "how else would I make my wife pregnant?"

"There are fertility clinics…" begins Dr. Ozbourne.

"My legs got blown off, not my balls," Ark says, "the original equipment is still there and works great."

Fluttershy smiles fondly and says, "It sure does."

"When did this change come about?" Dr. Ozbourne asks.

"I think it was that one night after I dropped a fifth of vodka and kept going," Ark answers.

"Oh," Fluttershy comments, "I remember that night. That was a scary night."

"Why so?" Rachel asks.

"Well," Ark replies, "when I'm drunk, I get kinda silly. I'm a funny drunk, you could say. It's kind of a family tradition, as the song goes."

"Oh, yes," Fluttershy agrees, "and then he walked in on me while I was in the shower."

"Yeah, that was-" Ark starts, "Yeah, I honestly don't remember that part."

"I do," Fluttershy says, "you were- really frisky."

Doctor Ozbourne takes this all in, making notes on her Galaxy Tab. She had noted some time ago about the alcoholism in Sergeant's Visovic's family.

"Didn't you drain all the liquor in the house after that?" Ark asks his wife.

Fluttershy nods, "I did. You're so much better without that- poison."

"I agree," Dr. Ozbourne says, then she rises, "I'm afraid that's all the time we have for today. Let's meet up again on Wednesday, same time. Safe travels, everypony."

4 Army Buddies

Author's Note

Ark relates more of his (mis) adventures with Fluttershy.
Ark and his squad mates used handles while in the field. Ark was referred to as Ark Angel, Joey Tribbiani was given the handle "Tribble," because he was damn near harmless in Basic. The other handles in the squad are explained in the chapter.

And now for your biweekly dose of D'awws!

4 Army Buddies

Summer Grasses Are a Soldier's Dreams
A Vogonverse story featuring Fluttershy

Time: 14:45 hours (2:15 PM EDT), Wednesday, June, 19th, 2058

Location: 800 Poly Place, Brooklyn, New York

Place: Group Therapy Room

Session Conductor: Dr. Vanessa Ozbourne, PhD., Psychotherapy

Once again, the Group Therapy Room is filled with patients whose wounds are disparate as their ethnicities. The only individual that is not a patient amongst this group is the buttery anthromorph sitting besides a young man with a pair of cybernetic legs. She is burdened with a pregnant belly, but you wouldn't know it by the way she speaks, laughs, and otherwise carries herself. Fluttershy is feminine grace in a hybrid equine body. In some ways, Doctor Vanessa Ozbourne is jealous. She hides it under her professional demeanor, allowing the young couple to speak of their experiences.

"How are you doing today, Miss Fluttershy?" She asks.

"Oh, I'm doing well," Fluttershy beams, "although, lately, I've had to pee a lot more often than I'd like. According to my OB-GYN, that's normal for a woman having a baby. Although, I don't remember my mama ever having to go so much…"

"Well, you are having triplets, vozlyublennoy," Ark responds, "that's got to mess with a normal voiding cycle."

"Maybe you're right," Fluttershy says, "I shouldn't worry myself over something so silly."

"It's the miracle of life," Rachel said, "it's messy. Get used to it."

"And you're a new mother," Dr. Ozbourne added, "of course there are things which will drive new anxieties into your head. Thankfully, you have a wonderful husband and many just as wonderful friends to help you ease into the transition."

"That's true," Ark says, nuzzling his wife's cheek, "and I ain't goin' nowhere."

"Ah, Ark," Fluttershy coos, "you are so wonderful!"

All the females in the room emit a collective sigh when Ark and Fluttershy share a tender kiss.

"You are two are so cute together!" PFC Madison Wombley squeals.

"Oh, uh, thank you," Fluttershy breathes.

"Trust me when I tell you this, though," Ark adds, "we weren't always this way. There are still some things that will get under each others skin, sometimes."

"Praytell, Sergeant," Dr. Ozbourne asks, "what things?"

"So glad you asked," Ark replies.

Ark's Perspective

We had gotten back from Williams' wedding two days after we set out. We wished Andy and Pinkie off on their honeymoon on the Titanic 2. We were both incredibly exhausted, especially seeing as we had to come back into town through Jersey City. The engineer strike was still ongoing and NYP was shut down to a lack of personnel. Add to that the batteries in my cyberpros drained during the ride back into town and this was a miserable day so far. Fluttershy had to help me inside so I can set the batteries to recharge. I was so glad that was all over. And next I see jacob, I owe him a drink or maybe some pizza. We had only just settled back into the house, when Tolstoy emerges from the nucleus.

"Excuse me, my Lord," Tolstoy announces, "but there is a text sent by Master Jacob. He has invited to you join himself and his lady friend to an establishment named Ryan's Seafood."

"Huh," I mutter, "did you just get that? Cuz I coulda sworn there was a Ryan's Seafood in Oklahoma City."

"Actually, milord, that invitation was sent two days ago."

"WHAT THE FUCK, TOLSTOY?!" I roar.

"My apologies," Tolstoy huffs, "but the digital assistant that Master Jacob uses is an- officious personality with that daffy Liverpool accent that I detest so very much. I thought for certain he was attempting to defile the nucleus or plague with my core with a virus."

"Fuck you, Tolstoy," I growl, "Jake's an old friend and now he thinks I'm a Grade A asshole. Thank you very much…"

"Again, my apologies, milord," Tolstoy scoffs, "I also have an incoming call from someone who refers to themselves as 'Spaghetti.' I shall redirect the call to video mail?"

"No," I answer, "put Spaghetti on the line."

"As you wish, my Lord," Tolstoy acquiesces, "though I don't see the reason why." In moments, the face a pasty Italian boy emerges on the nucleus holostage.

"Yoyoyo, Ark Angel!" yells Corporal Gino "Spaghetti" Spagliani, "long time, no talk! Whatcha been up to, Sarge?"

"Oh, just chillin'," I reply, "just got back from Oh Kay See; I've got killer jet lag. Whatcha been you to, Spaghetti-Oh?"

"Chillaxin' wit my girl, enjoyin' the civilian life," Spaghetti says, "was hopin' we could gather the Squad for some five card. You in?"

"Fuck yeah, I'm in," I answer, "it's been forever since we've drawn a deck out. You keep in touch with the rest of the squad? How are Bumper, King, and Donut doin'?"

"Bumper? Man, he's ridin' desk at the Atlanta recruitment office. When you see him next, you're gonna need to salute him. He outranks you now."

"Bullshit!" I exclaim.

"No shit," Spaghetti says, "got bumped up to Second Loo, last I heard. Go figure; he's the only one in the squad that still all his original parts!"

"What about Donut?" I ask.

"Donut, dude?" Spaghetti groans, "Donut is back in racks. They're trying to sort out his programming and everything. Last i saw him, he had a screw loose or something; kept changing out of dresses and asking me if his looked fat."

"Yep, that's Donut," I reply, "what about King?"

"Cesar?" Spaghetti aks, "Heh, King has been doing duty at the Hood. They're using him to demonstrate tactical gear and last I heard from him, he's been put into Project Mythril."

"Project Mythril?" I ask.

"Yeah, some sort of new body armor test," Spaghetti says, "he let slip that Aperture and Misriah are working in conjunction to run the field tests. Something about exotic materials and molecularly bonded, nanoformed plating… I dunno. Sounds Black Box to me."

"Ha," I bark, "I bet he's making flush hand over fist!"

"You know it," Spaghetti replies, "he even bought himself a new car. Ya wanna know what it is?"

"Sure," I answer.

"A motherfuckin' Lambo, original ICE, Spyder style Gallardo!" Spaghetti shouts.

"Goddamn," I murmur, "that's so fuckin' flash…"

"No shit," Spaghetti confirms, "not too shabby for a kid outta the Compton Stacks."

"Not bad at all," I confirm.

"So," Spaghetti presses, "wanna get together, hang with the old squad, lose copious amounts credits?"

"Deal me in, motherfucker!" I revel.

"Sweet!" Spaghetti adds, "we'll be there Friday. I'll bring the beer."

"Dosvedanya! I reply and he tells me, "Buon giorno!"

"Who was that, Ark?" Flutters questions.

I answer, "That was an old Army buddy of mine. He and the surviving members of my squad are coming over Friday for some poker and a bowl session."

"Oh, you're bringing some friends over?" Flutters aks.

"Yup," I say, "if you like, I can introduce you to 'em."

"Oh, you don't have to do that," Flutters says, "but, if you want to, I don't have a problem with it."

"Okay," I say, "I'm sure they're gonna love ya, but I'd rather you get introduced after everypony is relaxed and settled in. Sound okay to you?"

"Okay!" she beams.

Fuck, if she keeps up a cute face like that, I'm gonna need to beat the boys off with a stick. Or maybe a club…

For the remainder of the week, Fluttershy and I try to keep ourselves occupied. She had Katya look after Snuggles and the poor little thing came back dolled up like a runway model from Fredericks of Hollywood. The little guy was shaking furiously when he came back; it took Flutters all of five minutes to get him back to his old frisky self. The poor kitten… Oh, and the Petsmart within The Village was asking around for volunteers to help some rescue dogs get adopted. I don't think I have to tell you who signed up on first blush. I came with just in case she got some hassle. Thankfully, none of the idiots in Dissonance came by and there plenty of people that were plenty fascinated by fluttershy helping out with the adoption drive.

Oh, and get this, she was even offered an associate position at PetSmart. Can you believe it? She initially turned it down, I think she finally caved when some of the associates had some trouble with a rottweiler that was acting out. She was to calm him down and get him into a pen. This truly impressed the in awe staff and the manager was hard pressed to figure out how she was able to do it. He explained that dog, whose name is Fluffy (that's one hell of misnomer there) had been troublesome from the get go. I'm more than certain that Fluttershy was happy to help out and now she's gonna paid to do so. You should've seen her; the smile on her face was priceless!

Meanwhile, I was keeping in contact with Jacobs girl, Babs or Barbara as likes herself to be called. She was trying to get contact with Flutters about adopting a cat. I told her that Flutters rescued a litter of kittens the other week; one or two hadn't been adopted by the Humane Society yet, so I would make some inquiries and see which ones were left. She was pleased with that, but she then went into a line of questioning about Jake himself. Specifically, she asked about his energy sword. Hell, I hadn't thought about that thing since before I went to Basic.

The story Jake told me was that Ronald Cromwell, a relation of his, had owned the company until Michael Davis somehow cheated him out of it. The blade, which was part of a military project that was cuttled after Davis took over, was supposed to represent a substantial evolution in military hardware. I dunno if it would run in conjunction with Project Mythril, but it sure sounded like it. I wonder how long it will take it before Glossman figures that Jacob hs the prototype… Anyway, she asked some questions about Jake himself, most of which I didn't have accurate information. The pills were something new to me; he wasn't taking anything before I went off to Fort Hood.

And then Friday came. Most of my old squad mates where arriving in the early evening, some time after six, from the way Spaghetti said it. The brownstone was relatively clean, but I did have to convince Tolstoy that i had other guests coming over and none of them were staying the night. Digging out my poker cards wasn't that much of a challenge, but I now had to remind myself about cleaning up the place. I thought discipline had been drilled into my skull during basic; I guess it went out sight, out of mind.

Soon enough that friday, a taxi arrived with all my old friends in it. Pvt. Gerald "Bumper" Hickman, PFC Cesar Oscar "King" Montiel, Cpl. Gino "Spaghetti" Spagliani and Sgt. Katy "Donut" McAvoy arrived on my stoop. Thank Faust I hadn't set Tolstoy to greet them or else things would have been awkward for the rest of the night. I met them at the door, invited them in, and gave them a quick tour of the place. Fluttershy hadn't got back from work yet, so they didn't meet her then. As he said earlier, Spaghetti brought the beer, Bumper had brought some quality endo with him (marijuana has been legal for public consumption in both a medical and recreational sense for almost twenty years), and both King and Donut brought snacks. I kinda wished Donut hadn't brought snacks; the 100 calorie snack packs he brought were less than what one would expect from a poker game.

"Damn it, Donut! What's with the snack packs?" King asked.

"I wanted a snack that would not go to my hips," answered Donut with a straight face.

"Dude," I grumbled, "you're an AnthroCom! Food doesn't go to your hips, it just settles on your motherboard!"

"Still," Donut retorted, "I do not wish to take the chance."

"Kee-rist, Donut," Bumper says, "when they programmed you, they really went off the reservation, didn't they?"

"I do not understand the question…" Donut replied.

"Fuck it," Spaghetti interjected, "let's play cards."

"That's interesting," Dr. Ozbourne says.

"What's interesting, Doc?" Ark asks.

"Well, your friend Katy. He's an AnthroCom but he acts feminine." Dr. Ozbourne replies.

"Yeah," Ark starts, "there was a mix up when he was constructed. He was ordered to be a companion for some bigwig within Vanguard Security, but some computer cracker got into the database at HyperDyne and messed with the code for almost ten thousand AnthroComs in production that day. Katy was amongst them; he would get reshelled with a male architecture with all the programming of his former feminine self. You can imagine how that went over for the client."

"Huh," is all Dr. Ozbourne replies with.

"Well, anyway, we got about three or four hands in when Fluttershy returns home," Ark says.

"That- was an interesting experience," Fluttershy comments, "I still don't know if how I got through that."

Fluttershy's Perspective

"Ark, I'm home!" I announce.

In the living room is a dense cloud of smoke and the sounds of several stallions talking coarsely. The smoke is sickly sweetly and a tad acrid. I've never smelt anything like it. It's also making me a little woozy. I couldn't understand why at the time. The coarse language, on the other hand, I understood; I didn't like it when Ark said them, but this was a group of stallions using them for every other word in a sentence. I just hoped that Snuggles wasn't in the living room…

"Zat you, Flutters?" Ark asked.

"Yes," I called back, "what is going on in here?!"

"We're playin'," answers Spaghetti, "and I'm winnin'!"

"That's wat you think, Fagliani!" retorts Bumper.

"Oi," Ark roars, "the homophobic shit doesn't get said in here!"

"Fuck me, Ark," Bumper replies, "when did you get all pussified?"

I then hear the sound of somepony getting slapped. I've been around Rarity enough to know that sound well.

"Gino, that will be enough," Donut says, "I am sorry, but the misogyny you are spouting must stop."

There's murmurs of agreement. I continue to walk into the brownstone, deeper into the dark haze, while my head gets fuzzier and fuzzier.

"Heya, Flutters," Ark says, a goofy grin on his face, "welcome home!"

I look at Ark, and then to the stallions seated around him. There's one with a hoofprint on his face; I think that one is the one they call Bumper. There's a stallion with lifeless eyes and a short cut blond mane. He smiles and I can see even in the haze that his smile is just too perfect. The stallion to Ark's left looks more like a colt; he's dark skin and darker hair make him stand out somewhat compared to the others. Across from my friend is pale stallion with a short cropped, dark mane; his pudgy cheeks and cunning eyes seem at odds with the rest of his motley crew.

"Damn, Ark Angel," calls out the pudgy faced stallion, "who is this? What is this?"

"Spaghetti, guys," Ark begins, "this is my good friend and roommate, Fluttershy. She's a Pegasus."

"Um, hello," I mutter, "n-nice to meet y-y-you all."

They stare at me. Oh, I always hate when ponies stare at me.

"Flutters, let me introduce you to the boys," Ark says, "the guy with a faceprint on him is Bumper. He was our wheel man in Afghanistan. He got called bumper after getting into to many accidents with the local automotives. To his left is Donut, Katy McAvoy. If you haven't sussed it out yet, he's an AnthroCom. His handle is a reference to the old machinima series, Red Vs. Blue. This guy here," Ark brings his hand to the withers of the dark haired colt, "is King, ay kay ay, Cesar Oscar Montiel. He's called King because his given name reminds us of Cesar, the first Emperor of Rome. Oh, and the guy across from me? That's Gino 'Spaghetti' Spagliani. We call him Spaghetti cuz an old sergeant can't be chuffed to pronounce his name right and that's what he came up with."

"Sergeant Baker wasn't the most imaginative dude," Spaghetti said, "albeit, he was dealing with some of the rowdiest troops in the known world."

"Oh, yeah, I remember," Ark says wistfully, "what was that prank that Joey played on Lt. Jenkins? The hair dye in his shampoo bottle?"

"Oh, yeah, I remember that," Bumper says, "man, Major Stanison had the biggest conniption fit over that; I can still remember the look on her face. 'Lieutenant, you do know that pink is not a regulation Army hair color, do you?'"

There's a round of raucous laughter; I have an idea of what happened. It does bring a smile to my face, although that may be the effect of this haze.

"Lt. Leroy Jenkins," murmurs King, "may God bless and keep him."

"I think we all remember his last words before that RPG took him out." Ark says, then in unison, the group of stallions shout, "LEROY! JENKINS!" This is followed by more laughter.

I'm not sure I get it; these stallions are laughing at nothing.

"Hey, hey, Flutters!" Ark calls.

"Yes?" I ask.

"You want some pizza? Spaghetti was able to grab a pie or two from Famous Ray's." Ark says.

"With shrimp?" I ask tentatively.

"Nah," Spaghetti said, "didn't think anybody wanted that."

"Oh, okay," I reply, a little disheartened, "well, if there's a cheese pizza, I can eat that."

"Yeah, there's a cheese," Bumper said, "but don't eat all of it. That one's mine!"

"Don't listen to that bendejo," King tells me, "there's two cheese pizzas; I'm lactose intolerant. Thanks for remembering, Spaghetti… You can have a coupla slices."

"Oh, thank you," I say, "uh, King, was it?"

King nods, "Yup."

I give him a smile and then walk towards a small tower of pizza cartons left on the coffee table. My objective is sitting there, laying amongst the detritus of beer cans, strange squares of paper, a leafy substance that smells like the haze in the room, and several lighters. There's also a glass cylinder that is partly filled with water; the cylinder has a pipe jutting out from it at an odd angle. I don't know why, but I'm exceptionally famished. I take three slices of the open cheese pizza; the taste is heavenly! Most ponies shy away from cheese. I know amongst the unicorns, cheese is something considered a "low brow, mud pony fare." I never understood that; cheese is delicious! I know Twilight likes it; I think Rarity does, too.

"Mmm, this is so good," I moan, "what kind of cheese is this, Ark?"

"Mozzarella," I think," Ark replies, "doesn't Famous Ray's use parmesan on their pies, too?"

"Yeah," Spaghetti answers, "but ordered these with provolone and asiago, too. Only the best for our game fuel!"

I saunter back to the card table, where Ark and his friends are playing some kind of card game. I look over Ark's cards; this is when I get my first big surprise about living in New York, or for that matter, living in this world. The cards these stallions are using are all weird… Where is the Princess? What is this Ace? How come there isn't a card an higher then ten? This is so confusing!

"See anything ya like, darlin'?" Bumper asks.

I reply, "More something I don't understand."

"Howda ya mean, Flutters?" Ark asks.

"The cards, they're all weird…" I answer.

"How are they weird?" Spaghetti wonders.

"Well, for starters," I say, "how come none of your cards go any higher than ten? And what is this 'Ace' card? Where did the 'Princess' card go to? Is that a 'Queen' card for? And the 'Jack,' what is a jack?"

"What the fuck is she goin' on about?" King asks.

"It's a cultural thing, King," Ark says, "hey, Donut, you got that book on ya? Hoyle's Rules?"

"Ah, yes," Donut starts, "I do have it."

Donut then produces a pristine copy of a book entitled "Hoyle's Rules of Games" from an inner vest pocket.

"You may keep this, miss Fluttershy," Donut says, "I keep several copies on my person at all times and I have a digital copy on my hard drive."

"Oh, thank you," I say, taking the book from Donut, "does this explain how the cards work and everything?"

"Yes, it does, my dear," Donut answers, "and shall be able to understand this fine game that we are playing with great ease."

"So says you," Bumper retorts, "you ain't won a hand all night."

"I do this for the camaraderie," Donut announces, "not so I can feel horrible about losing small sums of money."

"Whatever," Bumper snorts, "you're still down three hundred scrip."

"Hey fellas," Spaghetti says, "are we a social circle or are we playing poker?"

"Poker," barks Ark, "and I call."

"That sounds interesting…" Dr. Ozbourne remarks.

"Doc," Ark begins, "you don't know the half of it."

Fluttershy's Perspective

I would spend the next two hours pouring over the book. So many games…! I've heard of some of these, they're roughly equivalent to games we have in Equestria, but the way they're played is so different! The other's in this book are beyond what I know. Bridge, whist, canasta, these I've never heard of! Though, given an in depth analysis of the style and patterns of play, I can say, without any doubt, that Ark and his friends are playing poker. (They said so earlier, but I didn't know how to play it or even what it was about.) I believe I also know what this haze is. Marijuana was never officially banned in Equestria, but it wasn't thought of as detrimental, thus most ponies rarely imbibed of the stuff. I would use it sometimes as a healing herb, but I never smoked it. Humans are so weird…

"Hey, look who's come back," Bumper greets, "so, how do you like the game so far, honey cheeks?"

"Watch it," Ark growls, "she's my friend, not your latest conquest."

"Hey, man, I'm just being friendly," Bumper starts before Donut adds, "your manner of friendship borders on sexual deviancy."

"Cha," King says, "you're normal way of saying hello is whip out your dick."

"Fuck you guys!" Bumper roars, "I ain't gotta take any of this shit."

"Aw, come on, Lou," Spaghetti starts, but by then Bumper is out of his chair and out the door.

"Well, that was somethin'," King deadpans, "hey, señorita, you wanna step in on this game?"

"Who, me," I startle, "oh, I don't know…"

"Come on," Spaghetti pleads, "you've been reading that rulebook fer two hours! You hafta have learned how to play poker by now."

"Oh, well, I know mostly how to play," I say.

When I look at Ark for confirmation that I can sit or not, I see he has this strange look on his face. I can't tell if he's concerned I'm going to get fleeced of all my hard earned scrip or if he believes there might be a card sharp in me somewhere. I give him a warm smile; I'd rather not clue him in in case somepony accuses him of cheating.

"Aw, hell," Ark moaned, "Flutters, you better get in here before your smile gives us all a collective heart attack."

My smile widens as I take my seat, turning my grin on the rest of the table.

"Hnng!" King pantomimes, "I is having the diabeetus now!"

Spaghetti adds, "Dayum, girl, you can stop traffic just by walkin' by! And don't get me started on that grin o' yers. Make grown men weep with that smile, I swear!" Then indicating Ark with his thumb, "And you stay with this schmuck? Life is unfair…"

"I think I speak for all males in the world when I say that you are too cute for words, Miss Fluttershy," adds Donut.

"Oh, thank you!" I squeak.

"Okay, okay," Ark intervenes, "the mutual admiration society is over. I thought we were playing cards?"

"Yes, certainly," I remark, "oh, if it's not too much trouble, could you not smoke so much, everypony? I would rather not like to suffer a contact high."

"Pinche de madre!" King shouts, "How in the hell did you get a four of a kind in threes?!"

"Oh, I guess I'm just lucky?" I stammer, although from the look Ark gives me, I would say he knows it's more than luck.

"Damn, girl," Spaghetti says, "I knew you were kinda odd looking, with the horsey features and all, but behind that cute face is a card shark-"

"Card sharp," Donut interrupts, before Spaghetti continues, "card sharp that could put a professional poker player to shame!'

The pile of scrip notes amassed in front of me agrees, "Oh, well, this is the first time I've played this game."

"I cannot believe I fell for that bluff," Donut adds, "I was certain that my dummy straight was a solid hand…"

"Yeah," Ark smirks, "that's why it's called a 'dummy straight'; you'd have to be a dummy tot think you'd get it."

Everypony, including myself, agrees to that, before Spaghetti and King yawn in unison.

"Aw, man," King says, "I lost to a cute girl. I lost to a cute girl to the total of twenty-five thousand scrip. I make that in a week, ya know, but still, harsh!"

"Ah, you'll get over it ya big baby," Spaghetti says, "well, I dunno about youse guys, but I'm tapped. I sure as hell ain't stayin' in The City. It was good seein' ya, Ark."

"Likewise, fellas," Ark replies, "and next time, don't underestimate this Pegasus."

The guys nod, King giving the most solemn of the gestures and the stallions clear out. Some head for waiting cabs (Donut, Spaghetti) while King mounts his Boss Hoss and rides towards Upper Manhattan. I'm still having some trouble with differentiating between Manhattan and Manehattan. They sound so similar…

"Scrip note for your thoughts," Ark says, "you seem a little preoccupied."

"Oh, yes, I'm sorry," I reply, "there was just so much I've seen of your friends behavior and your own. It's made me rethink a lot of what I used to know."

"Like what?" Ark inquires.

"When did you start smoking marijuana?" I question.

"Is that a problem?" Ark says.

"It might be," I return, "I don't ever remember you saying you smoked that. And I don't remember you ever mentioned that you had."

"Well, I have," Ark retorts, "but it's not a habitual thing. I don't go out to Costco's and ask about their fine selection of endo. It's legal here, and while it might not be cheap but it's often better than nursing a hangover from vodka. Practically everypony in America has done it."

"I'm not sure I like that reasoning," I reply, "but if it's legal, then I guess there's nothing stopping you from using it. The thing I really want to know is, why do you stallions like to say such hurtful things to each other. You were really mean to Spaghetti, Donut, and King. I can understand Bumper; he needs an attitude adjustment. By why you were being so mean to your only friends?"

"Uh, well," Ark stutters, "well, truth be told, it's not something I think about. I guess it's a camaraderie thing? I guess when you fight alongside guys you wouldn't normally get along with, you try everything not to bring up shit-"

"Okay, I'm not liking that either." I growl.

"I'm sorry?" Ark moans.

"When you say words like- that. The 's' word, and the 'f' word, and all the other words that are supposed to be profane, I don't like them," I say, "Maybe I'm a little high right now, but I can't stand it when you think that makes you seem tough or funny. Ark, I don't want you using another curse word again."

"Okay," Ark says a little hesitantly, "I'll try."

"Thank you," I remark, "you were saying?"

"Oh, yeah," Ark begins, "well, when you're fighting for your life with guys that you have nothing in common with, you start, I dunno, finding ways to make them more common to you. And yeah, sometimes we, you'll excuse the expression, 'bust each others balls.' Male bonding is not an exact science or civil. I still don't know how you girls do it."

I nod, "I guess we prefer to see each other as good friends until proven otherwise."

Ark just nods.

I continue, saying, "Anyway, there is one last thing I wanted to know."

"That being?" Ark asks.

"What is up with the one you call Donut?" I inquire, "He- doesn't seem right."

"Well, because he isn't," Ark replies, which causes me to frown, so he continues, "I'm pretty sure I explained this, but maybe you didn't fully understand. Katy McAvoy, that's his name. One of the few HyperDyne AnthroComs still in existence. Originally, he was supposed to be companion to some muckety muck in Vanguard Security, but Anonymous, the net hacker cooperative, got ahold of their main server and played around with it. They rewrote all the codes and protocols for some ten thousand 'Coms that day. Seeing as he was meant to be some yuppie arm candy, Anonymous changed his production code over to a male case but kept all the feminine programming intact. So, he's a little off, because his programming and his casing are at odds. I guess he's like a girl trapped in a mans body, or something."

"Well." I huff, "at least he's nice."

"Yeah, that can be said," Ark adds, "when he isn't glitching out on ya."

"Was he like that when you served with him?" I inquire.

"Just about," Ark says, then yawning, he adds, "Man, it's getting late. It's almost midnight. Do you have to work tomorrow?"

"Yes, I do," I answer, "uh, Ark?"

"Yeah?"

"Um, what do I do with all these notes?" I timidly ask.

"Well, you could buy yerself something nice," Ark replies, "or, maybe you could give it to somepony who needs it more. It's your lucre; do with it what you want."

"Okay," I murmur, "goodnight, Ark!"

"Goodnight, Fluttershy." Ark repeats.

Then we both stumble into our respective beds.

"So," Dr. Ozbourne confirms, "Ark's blatant use of profanity, his casual use of marijuana and his treatment of his friends were aspects of him you couldn't initially stand?"

"Oh, no, Doctor," Fluttershy answers, "I didn't like them. At all. Ark has gotten better about most things but there's always room for improvement."

"Agreed," Ark says, "and we haven't even begun to scratch the alcoholism in me, thanks to my father. Or the sundry other tidbits that made me a rather pitiable excuse for a human being."

As the rest of the circle nods, Doctor Ozbourne gives a small gasp.

"Everypony, it appears we ran over time! Uh, again, thank you all for coming! Be sure to sign in for the Fourth of July Picnic. I am assured that Captain Willibong will be making his famous chili and there will be plenty of entertainments for all. I hope to see you all here again on Friday!"

The crowd disperses, but not everyone is leaving. In fact, Ark and Fluttershy have remained behind for some reason.

"Yes, Sergeant?" Dr. Ozbourne asks, "Is there something I can do for you and your wife?"

"Actually, Doc," Ark says, "I was wondering about something."

"Well, please, ask me anything." The Doctor beams.

"How long have you been a brony?"

"Actually," Dr. Ozbourne corrects, "I prefer the term 'pegasister.' As for how long I've been a fan of Friendship is Magic, I'd say, most of my life."

"But how?" Fluttershy questions.

Doctor Ozbourne chuckles, saying, "Did you know that Friendship is Magic first aired when I was six years old? I fell in love with the series right from the start. I had to beg my mothers to take me to BronyCon when I was ten because I wanted to meet Andrea Libman and Brenda Crichlow, the voices behind my two favorite characters, Fleetfoot for Ms. Libman and Zecora for Ms. Crichlow. I also had something of a girl crush on you, Miss Fluttershy, but when the show ended, I moved on. You can only imagine my surprise when, decades later, one of my favorite ponies shows up wrapped around the arms of one of my patients. It was a bit surreal, to be honest."

"Oh," Fluttershy exclaims, "is that why you were so solicitous of me when I first arrived?"

"That was part of the reason," Doctor Ozbourne confesses, "but the other part was that I was in awe that you were here. And a part of me found you strangely attractive in your current form. Mind you, I'm married and I have a HelpMate of my own…"

"Excuse me, Doctor?"

"Oh, yes, Beatrice?"

"There's a- I guess, zebra lady, waiting for you in the lobby? She seems to speak only in rhyme."

"Oh, yes," Dr. Ozbourne squeaks, "my darling Zecora. She frets about me when I'm late."

"Well, then, Doc," Ark quips, "you shouldn't keep her waiting."

Fluttershy adds, "And if you or Zecora ever feel like dropping by, we'll be more than happy to entertain you."

"Thank you, Fluttershy, thank you, Ark!" Doctor Ozbourne beams, "I'll need to see if we can take you up on that offer. I know Zecora has been dying to see you."

5 The Big Apple

Time: 16:45 hours (4:45 PM CDT), Thursday, June 20th, 2058

Location: No. 1 Innovation Way, Lampasas, Texas

Place: Chief Executive Officer and Founder office, 13th Floor, Texas Industrial Consumer Technologies Campus

The office on the thirteenth floor of the TICT Main Campus was a plush affair. Velvet cushioned chairs, a soft high pile carpet, pleasing replica paintings of Renaissance artists on the wall, an electric fireplace producing a warm glow in the otherwise cool room. An antique oak desk dominated the western wall, which was a triple thick, vacuum sealed and bullet proof glass panel. The chair behind the desk was rather simplistic compared to the furnishings surrounding it, but that was by design. It was less a place to rest than a place to work. Presently, it was occupied.

Moexatl Ana’Ra Rwo’tanque rarely left this office. It was his home. It was one of a few places where he could be in relative safety. In front of him, enclosing his desk and a good portion of the floor space around was a holographic projection. The projection showed a middle aged man with slightly graying russet hair and a young woman sporting a shock of black hair tied into a messy bun. She wore glasses and a severe business skirt, but otherwise she was a pleasant face to look upon. Not that Mr. Moexatl ever thought of her that way. The man was more stately coiffed, but looked more harried. The lines on his face were deepening, most likely from office politics. The bulk of those politics involved a group of new talent coming in.

“So,” Mr. Moexatl stated, “tell me about this new group of minds ya’ll recruited. What are they like?”

“Well,sir,” the young woman started, “they are some of the most brilliant madmen I’ve ever met. Cooper himself is working on ways of improving the gel formula to compensate for viscosity breakdown and he’s at 90% down with his research. He’s only been here a day and he’s this far. It’s awe inspiring…”

“And the others?” Mr. Moexatl asked.

The middle aged man now spoke, “You mean Wolowitz, Koothrapoli, and Hofstadter?”

“No,” the Boss affirmed with a cocky grin, “I mean the Safety Patrol, plus Four.”

“Sorry, sir,” the man said, “it’s just that each of these men are equally as impressive as Dr. Cooper. Dr. Wolowitz is already hard at work rebuilding the AI for Project Aegis. It’s sounding more personable by the hour. Drs. Koothrapoli and Hofstadter are working now on side project that will benefit Project Mithrandir, even though Team Taurus is confounded with it. The strides they’re making are astounding to say the least.”

“Have they seen the conundrum we’ve run into with Project Mythril?” Mr. Moexatl asked.

“They have sir,” the young woman replied, “Cooper and Wolowitz are getting the capacitance gel to deflect a greater tolerances than it ever has before. We’re on the verge of a major breakthrough.”

The russet man said, “The whole group is devising a new way to generate the plates of exotic materials used in the plating. Carbon-silica was only a start, according to Hofstadter. They’re working on a magnesium composite that will be lighter and more weather resistant than our previous models. They’re already talking jump jets and gyroscopic recalibration…”

“Marshall,” the Boss said, “have they begun anything on Project Phlutdroid?”

“Just now,” the russet man confirmed, “they still don’t see a way around The Three Laws. They’re still working on it, but according to Koothrapoli, the only way around the Laws was separate the WarGolem AIs from the Offensive Weapons Control and hand that off to the driver.”

“I kinda thought so,” the Boss said, “The Asimov Laws of Robotics were made for a reason. Well, it was worth a try.”

“We seem to be doing good, sir,” the young woman says, “the latest Forbes report has us on a projected course to increase our profits well above last quarter's earning.”

“Something tells me Joe Hallenbeck is less than thrilled with this,” the Boss said, “am I right, Darian?”

“More than right, boss,” Ms. Darian replies, “he’s on the warpath, even as we speak. He wants to shut down both Project Mythril and Project Phlutdroid. He says they are a waste of resources that could be better spent on building up our ‘brand image.’”

Mr. Moexatl adds something in his native Nahuatl; neither Ms. Darian or Mr. Marshall asked for clarification. His native language was a private way to express disappointment. He pinched the bridge of his nose; Hallenbeck was a marketing major with no real talent for the sciences. His idea of innovation was making a bigger microwave for his Hungry-Man dinners. All of his proposed projects are met with stern opposition and on the off chance one was approved, the fact that he had no real discipline in mathematics or engineering made his efforts hilariously fruitless. Most of the R&D members were already tied down to official projects on the company roster. It didn’t help he was an avaricious man, with gambling debts that would drown most households in months if not days. Ana’Ra hated the man, but his lucre paid for quite a lot of the research and development his company devised.

“I’ll speak with Joe in the morning,” the Boss said, “I’ll make him see reason or I’ll tear off his bendejo cabeza. In the meantime, make sure our new geniuses are well housed and happy. Get ‘em some girls if they want him.”

“That won’t be a problem with Drs. Wolowitz and Hofstadter; they already have wives,” Ms. Darian, “I’ve seen Dr. Hofstadter's wife. She could almost be confused for a movie star. Well, a third rate porn movie star some sixty years ago, but a star nonetheless.”

“And I thought men busted each other’s ball’s,” Mr. Marshall exclaimed, “all things considered boss, we won’t have a lot of worry from this group. Well, except for Dr. Cooper.”

“Care to explain?” the Boss asked.

“Dr. Cooper is-” Mr. Marshall started before Ms. Darian interrupted, “completely insufferable. The man has a Napoleon Complex bigger than Alaska. He seems to think he can do no wrong. He may be right most of the time, but he is still a flawed human being.”

“Keep a watch on him, then,” the Boss said, “and make sure he gets a decent psych eval. I’ve looked over the other’s profiles. They seem well adjusted, for geniuses. Dr. Cooper’s profile is- incomplete. I just hope we don’t have another Luthor on our hands…”

Both executive answered him with affirmations.

“Anything else of note?” the Boss asked.

“Not at the moment, sir,” Mr. Marshall replied. Ms. Darian said similar.

“Alright, then,” Mr. Moexatl added, “have a good night you two. Sleep well, get here early, I’ll most likely kill you in the morning.”

“Yes, Boss,” they both affirmed before the hologram faded.

As the projector system folded into the floor, a door hidden in the marble paneling of the southern wall opened up. The soft patter of silken feet made it’s way to Ana’Ra’s ears. The smile that crept across his face was genuinely happy; no other being could make him eek out his most earnest side of himself. Traipsing in barefoot and wearing naught but a silk blouse was his live-in companion, the Help-Mate© named Tabitha Rutledge. She liked being called Taffy, though, and it wasn’t because of her candy floss hair or bright pink fur.

“Long day?” Taffy asked, draping her voluptuous body over his desk.

“Yes, and taxing, too,” Ana’Ra replied, “Hallenbeck is back on the warpath. He’s calling for the cancellation of our two biggest projects and trying to divert precious resources to his pet resource hog.”

“I never liked him,” Taffy replies, handing Ana’Ra a large glass of water and a bottle of Aleve, “he strikes me as a man with an empty belly.”

“I know what you mean,” Ana’Ra replied, popping a pair of pills in his mouth, swallowing a modicum of water before doing so, “nothing ever fills that void. He’s always wanting more. I’d fire him if he were an employee or buy him out if the company could afford it. I’m more than certain he’s embezzling funds, but I can’t really prove anything.”

“He’s bound to make a mistake sometime,” Taffy assured, “until then, bog him down with red tape and bureaucracy. And until then, keep doing what’s best for the company.”

“That’s the plan,” Ana’Ra replied, “I keep forgetting just how brilliant you are, Bunny.”

“An oversight, I’m sure” Taffy smirks, before removing the lone article of clothing she walked in with, “so what are going to do about that?”

Ana’Ra doesn’t answer in words; instead, he takes one of her furry breasts in one hand, cups a deliciously meaty buttocks in the other, and kisses her deeply.

Summer Grasses Are a Soldier's Dreams

A Vogonverse story featuring Fluttershy

Time: 14:45 hours (2:15 PM EDT), Friday, June, 21st, 2058

Location: 800 Poly Place, Brooklyn, New York

Place: Group Therapy Room

Session Conductor: Dr. Vanessa Ozbourne, PhD., Psychotherapy

The sights and sounds of the street below were seeping into the room, more so since the door had opened allowing Sergeant Arkady Visovic and his bride entered the room. Fluttershy seemed to have a steady, but reassuring hand on her husband’s shoulder, and from the looks of it he needed it. The expression of anger was etched into his face. Each line was a telltale sign that a fuse had been light, and then by some miracle it had been cut and destroyed. Without a word the barcalounger was brought over for the very pregnant buttery yellow mare.

“Sarge, you okay?”

The question caught his attention, and before he even sat down he looked toward the very heavens.

“There are some people, no, not people, doing what they did they are not even animals.”

Everyone looked confused.

“Sergeant Visovic, please, have a seat and talk. I believe it would be good to get whatever it is bothering you out into the open,” Dr. Ozbourne said.

“Where do I start?” he looked at Fluttershy.

She gave him a soft smile, and then looked at the others, “Did any of you watch the news, or see the paper yesterday?”

There was several shrugs, and no one seemed to indicate that they had actually watched or read anything of much importance.

She swallowed, looking nervous, but a Pegasus protected her family, it was a Pegasus’ duty to watch over those he, or she, cared for, and at the moment that meant helping Ark find the right words. Biting back her own nervousness she looked at them, “I suppose that all of you remember Ark talking about our friend Pinkie Pie, and her husband Andy?”

There was several nods, and then somepony else in the room spoke up, “Isn’t he the guy that helped get equal rights for the helpmates? I don’t mean to insult, but he was the voice that helped bring attention to it, right?”

She nodded, “Yes, he is, and yesterday he, Pinkie, and their foals were invited to speak in the nation’s capital. Somepony… They shot him. He’s alive, but…”

She sniffed, and then she felt Ark’s arms around her, “Sorry люблю.”

“The attack,” Ark began, “It was more than just a friend being shot. Some of the older people living nearby talked about how this is like what happened years ago to Dr. King.”

He breathed out, letting Fluttershy hold him, letting her trembling calm, “To know that such hate exists, that someone would be so darkly against ensuring that everyone had equal rights, I know that we’re not perfect, but I had hoped that humanity was past this bullshit!”

“It ain’t like that Sarge,” Rachel said, “We all know that. I know that you do to. There’s still a lot of bad in this world.”

Another soldier, one of the more quiet ones, in truth he’d barely said two words, and typically he was easy to overlook. He cleared his throat. When he did everyone looked toward him. He easily would have weighed two hundred - fifty pounds plus some change, but the bulk of it was muscle. His dark skin hid some of the wrinkles that adorned his face, and most everyone knew that out of all of them he was one of the few that had seem some of the earlier wars in unforgiving desert.

“Do you know Bob Marley?”

Ark looked at him like he was insane, “What does that have to do with this?”

The older soldier smiled, “Quite a bit, I followed the story you’re speaking about, and there are some similarities. See, Bob Marley was doing a free concert for Peace Aid. The night before he was to perform a man came to his brother’s house, shot him, and left him for dead,” the older soldier then smiled brighter, “The next night he walked out on that stage and gave a performance of a lifetime. When asked why he did what he did he gave the only answer that makes any sense to me. ‘The people in this world that are trying to make it a worse place are not taking a day off, how can I? Light up the Darkness.’.”

He grinned again at Ark, “Did you read this mornings paper?”

Ark shook his head. The older soldier tossed him a warm paper that had been in his back pocket. Ark unfolded it only to watch the every change ink to update the stories on it. On the front page was a picture of a Pink mare, sitting next to a man he knew from the few times they had met. He was in a hospital bed, but above it was the article title, “Wounded Spokesperson for the Equal Rights movement gives speech from hospital bed.”

“I believe your friend had the same mindset.”

Things quieted down a bit and then finally Ark nodded, “I suppose that you’re right.”

“Sarge you was telling us about you two starting to get together, why not continue?”

“Okay,” he replied

Ark’s Perspective

The clothes I had ordered for Fluttershy had arrived a few days before, and of course Fluttershy herself had helped host a small get together between myself and a few of my squadmates. She was certainly getting more used to the idea of the world she found herself in, and currently she seemed more interested in the world outside of her job, our apartment, and the streets between. I’d walked with her into some of the other parts of the city and one of those led us to an interesting situation.

“The Right Fit?” Fluttershy asked.

“Da, it’s one of those automated clothing kiosks. They are… okay, but depending on where you go the scanning booth might be a little, filthy.”

“It looks clean,” she replied before opening the door.

“Welcome to the Right Fit, where we have the Right Fit for you! Please, step into our body scanner, allow us to take your measurements, and we will ensure that we will have the clothes you want, at the size you need, every time!”

I watched as he stepped into the body scanner, the curtain closing off the sight of her nudity, and I looked away. I had made it a bit of a big deal about her being nude around the house, I really didn’t want to be attempting to oogle her while she was getting scanned.

“Measurements completed!” the annoying virtual voice said from within the booth.

Fluttershy stepped out after a moment, her clothing back on, and she walked toward the vending machines. I watched as she looked at the clothes, and after a moment she made a couple of selections, pressed her thumb against the thumbprint scanner, and then I heard the thump of two packages. I looked, for a moment, to see her holding a very lacy pair of white panties with a little red butterfly shaped bow on the front, and a similar bra with the same bow between the cups.

I saw her turn toward me, and I knew that I had been caught. I should have been the one to blush, but I wasn’t. Fluttershy’s cheeks turned a shade of pink, which was adorable, and she moved to cover herself with her wings.

“You okay?”

She nodded, “Y..Yes, I, um that is, sometimes a mare just likes to get something that looks… Oh my…”

I nodded, “It’s fine. I didn’t mean to make you embarrassed.”

“Thank you,” she slowly uncovered her face, “Although, would you mind getting me a bag, I don’t want everypony to be looking at my… unmentionables.”

“A bag?” I ask, then go looking for the shopping bag receptacle, “Oh, yeah, they’re over here.”

I coax a bag out from the slot and hand over to Fluttershy; she drops the lingerie into the bag but the embarrassed blush on her face doesn’t leave.

“Is there anything else you wanted?” I ask her, “We got all day and even though you have a ton of clothes already, you could always get something you would think to get for yerself.”

“Mmm, okay,” Fluttershy replied, “let me look…”

All told, she picked up three new blouses, a cashmere sweater (she didn’t have one before,) a few new new skirts, and six pairs of leggings. When I asked her about the leggings, she said that she didn’t want to be exposed when the wind came down. Then I remembered the November winds that blow down into Central Park and Times Square and didn’t bother asking again. I’ve seen the girls from the parochial skills in their jumpers get an unexpected draft when those Northeast breezes come to town. I’ve even seen a few silver fox grannies get their scanties a quick blow dry during the mid August gusts.

We came out of the Fit Right© and started making our way to the MetrolRail. There was one not far from The Brownstone, up on West 4th Street, but we stopped by the house to drop off her purchases (which upset Tolstoy to no end), then made our way for a quick bite to eat at Pizza Mezzaluna. Well, maybe not a quick bite, but a good one, for sure. Then we got on the D Train at West 4th and took out to Coney Island. Some of the folk on board were either very curious or very weary of Flutters when we got on. Around this time, Help-mates® weren’t as popular or well known as they are now, so we get met with awkwardness throughout the ride.

As soon as we got above ground and into the park proper, Fluttershy had never seen one of the greatest (and oldest) amusement parks in the world. Her eyes went as wide as dinner plates and her attention would drift from one attraction to another.

There was so much to see that we never got on any of the rides except for the teacups, which in hindsight was probably more her speed than mine. It was a fun time, anyway, and we left to get some of Nathan’s Famous hot dogs. I don’t think we earned any brownie points when Flutters spat out her dog after the first two bites. I did warn her what was in them, but she didn’t buy it until after she bit into it. We left in hurry, for sure. We made our way back to the Stillwell Avenue train station and headed out for a tour of the Five Boroughs. As with every tourist, the first place we stopped to see was The Statue of Liberty. Flutters saw it on Liberty Island from Ellis Ilse and had to go there. It wasn’t quite rush hour yet for the tourists, so we we took the ferry out there. She listened to the tour guide rapturously and we bought a few tochkes for the house. Shy couldn’t stop playing with her Lady Liberty bobblehead.

Next stop was Grand Central Station, as we could plan our next location. Shy was adamant about visiting Manhattan proper, but I managed to convince her to wait until the end of the day, after sundown. Times Square was a vision, I explained, when after the sun went down. So, we got back on the train and made our way to the other Boroughs, firstly, Queens. We stopped in Umi Sushi (which was kinda pricey, but Flutters had some credits to her, so that helped.) She really enjoyed the food and she said it helped get the taste of of Nathan’s Famous off her tongue. We got a few stares from that comment and left promptly after paying the bill.

We then made our way Staten Island, which was well on the far side of town. We made a quick stop at the Black Horse Pub to satisfy Shy’s curiosity, but it was too noisy, even from the middle of the afternoon. We quickly made our to the Staten Island ferry and got on the first ride to The Bronx. We weren’t going to stay there long, but Shy had heard from some of her colleagues that there were Stacks out in this part of town; she wasn’t disappointed by the appearance of the “temporary housing units” laid out there. She was horrified by the conditions she saw of the people and animals there; she a charity case beagle puppy that was severely malnourished. She would have taken to her work, but they didn’t take in strays. Also, her owner popped up and he was none too happy about Flutters being so personable with his dog. I didn’t like the way this guy came off and we evacuated from the Bronx with all haste.

Making our way to Brooklyn was better and by this hour, the sun was getting ready to set. This was a better scene by far from The Bronx even though we were both getting mighty hungry by this time. We stopped by Joloff Restaurant, which I heard was still in operation and still slinging out Senegalese food. It was more exotic than I was fond of, but good nonetheless. Shy didn’t have any problems with the menu and had a hearty meal. ANd thankfully, they had recharge stations for cyberpros, so I was able to get my legs powered back up. The new batteries lasted longer than they should have, so I had Flutters remind me to send off a thank you letter to Pseudopod for the battery pack.

Our final stop of the night was Manhattan, and Times Square. Of course, we stopped by Madison Square Garden, which to Fluttershy’s disappointment was not what she thought it was. She did get to see the Knicks practicing and I had explain the basic dynamics of basketball to her. She told me it resembled a game they played back in Equestria, then she got quiet for a while. I decided it’d be a good idea not to press too much. We then walked our way down Broadway, which was quite the revelation for poor Shy. I think she forgot just how much she missed her old home by milling through the throngs of people and window shopping. My original plans had been to stop by places like The Met, The New York Public Library, The Chrysler Building, Radio City Music Hall, and Rockefeller Center, then make our way to the Empire State building.

We did get to see Times Square and it was more beautiful than I told Flutters about. She was in awe of everything, even though I could see she was overwhelmed by it all. The e-billboards were the ones that got her attention the most; she certainly looked the part of tourist with her Statue of Liberty ball cap on and her eyes wider than saucers. After she had her fill of the Square, we made our way to Madame Toussard’s. It was closed when we got there, but there was a holo-display of all the famous wax figures inside. She was even further agog and the status within and I promised her, one day we would go inside to have a gander.

We then went to see the Empire State Building. It was a bit of a walk, and I was getting tired from being on my feet most of the day, but Shy insisted we get the exercise. She then poked me in the side, giggling as she did side. I may have gotten some slight pudge during our time together, but I wasn’t a slouch by any means. (Most New York gyms didn’t have the facilities for cybernetic prosthesis users back then.) So we went down 7th Avenue until we hit West 33rd Street and made our way to the nation’s first skyscraper. While we made our way there, we saw a veritable rush of first responders heading in the direction of ESB. Paramedics, NYPD, NYFD, every major New York City network went rushing down there.

When we arrived at 132 West 32nd, it was to a crowd of emergency response crews and onlookers. New York is one of the few places in the world were suicide by drop was a common occurrence, especially now, but usually they try for smaller buildings with less security. The ESB is as iconic as you can get and the sec-con in throughout the building is top notch; you’d have better luck jumping from your apartment building. But still, there were whispered rumors of a jumper on The Empire State Building. Being a lifelong New Yorker, that kinda surprised me. We tried to get into a position where we could find out more about was going on but as soon as we get three deep in the throng, we got ambushed by TV news camera crews, reporters on scene shouting questions our way. Well, to be accurate, Fluttershy’s way.

“Excuse me, Miss-”

“Are you an-”

“Are you any relation-”

“Do you know why a Help-mate® would-”

Needless to say, the attention was beyond overwhelming for poor Fluttershy, so I had to step in.

“HEY!” I shouted, “You jerks need to settle down some and ask one question at a time! We only just got here and you’re going off like a mini-gun! Now can someone tell me what in The Hell is going on here?!”

“Sam Coleman, News 12; Miss, are you one of the Equestrian Help-mates?”

“Um, yes?” Shy answered, “Why?”

“George Sanderson, WABC, are you aware of one your own is making an attempt at suicide tonight from the Empire State Building?”

“Wait, what?” Shy said, befuddled, “What do you mean?”

“Bunny Usamo, WNYW, one of your fellow Help-mates has stated she is going to ‘fly’ off the Empire State Building. Any comment on that?”

“I don’t-” Flutters began, before a gasp was heard among the crowd. All eyes turned to the searchlight drowned top of the ESB, where a lone figure was now descending from the railing of the observation deck. I heard Shy gasp as well, until I heard a familiar raspy screech come of the jumper. As the she fell in and out of the lights, I could see a pair of flailing wings, a rainbow mane and tail, as well as a cerulean coat.

“Oh, my fucking God, it’s Rainbow Dash!” I murmured, then the fastest Pegasus in Equestria hit 32nd street pavement. I was for sure she was dead; the building was tall enough that a normal human would be dead on impact with the street. I saw the paramedics rush in and news cameras push in for glory scenes. When I heard one of the medics declare that, indeed, Dash was alive, both Shy and I sighed in relief. But even I knew, without looking at the broken form of prismatic Pegasus, that that mare would have a long road of recovery…

Shy was crying proper tears; I couldn’t blame her. Her best friend from child/foalhood was laying in the street, broken almost beyond all hope. It was a major miracle she survived the fall at all. Watching the fall, seeing the impact, I could practically feel how much it hurt Shy, and I didn’t blame her at all as she moved the direction of her friend. I went with her, moving between the cameras, the throngs of people, and near the emergency workers.

“What’s the virtual imager saying?!” one of the paramedics shouted.

“Three broken ribs, eight bruised, two cracked! Right humerus is broken in four places, right radius is broken in eight. Left wing coracoid is snapped, Left wing Humerus is really fucked up, internal bleeding, We’ve got to book if we’re going to save her life.”

The lead paramedic shook his head, “I know, and I want to, but you know the rules. Check her thumbprint, see if she’s insured, if not… we treat with a Dr. Housecall.”

“What the hell?!” I shouted.

“Sir, I don’t know if you have any connection to this… Lady, but without insurance, or a responsible party, we are not allowed to treat the victim beyond the level of help they would receive from a Dr. Housecall. Glossman regulations.”

I looked at Fluttershy, seeing how upset she was, and I couldn’t stand and do nothing, “I’m responsible for her. Here,” I said as I pressed my thumbprint into the reader, “Thank you sir, we’ll provide the best care we can. Expect the bill in no less than five billing days.”

With that they gathered Rainbow Dash up, only to ask if we wanted to accompany her. Fluttershy was already heading toward the transport, and I knew that I couldn’t leave it simply to her. I boarded the ambulance with her, and together we headed toward the hospital. I watched as the hospital we were headed to came up.

Bellevue was the oldest hospital in the nation, one that had been privatized for years before the Catholic Church had purchased it. I breathed a sigh of relief as we neared it. Yes, the hospital would be expensive, but it also meant that there was a social worker that actually met and worked with those without insurance. Even though Obamacare was still largely a joke it was better than nothing at all. I could only hope that the Church’s attending social worker would be able to help establish Rainbow Dash with some kind of healthcare.

We were inside in less than a minute, they barely did a triage before getting her back to a room. The attending doctor walked in, looked at her, and his eyes widened.

“Call Dr. Howard Fine down here right now. I need a surgical attending to help.”

I heard the sound, and even though this wasn’t the right situation the sound of the oldest gag ever placed in comics, television, and Medical drama sounded off.

“Paging Dr. Howard, Dr. Howard, Dr, Fine, Dr. Howard Fine.”

The scream when her wing was touched was enough for the doctor to talk softly to her, “Ms. I’m Doctor Henry Watson. You’re in Bellevue Catholic Hospital, and there are some serious injuries. We’re going to do everything we can to help.”

“Let me up!”

“Ms, please calm down.”

“Don’t tie me down please! Let me up! Let me up! Lemme UP!”

“Nurse! We need versed in here now!”

The nurse came in with a small syringe full of a slightly tinted liquid. He injected it into Rainbow Dash who began to slowly relax. The doctor looked over the Pegasus, then at the both of us.

“I take it that the three of you know each other.”

“She’s… She’s my friend,” Fluttershy sniffed out.

“Has your friend ever been suicidal? Expressed a deep feeling unhappiness, hell does she suffer from some kind of mental disorder?”

I looked at him and cleared my throat, “She was trying to fly.”

He looked at me, then back at her, and then shook his head, “Okay, I know about you, well your kind. I’ve done some studying. I’m not a great fountain of knowledge, but I do know that the winged ones, Pegasi right?” he asked and Shy nodded, “Can fly, but only after they’ve been exposed to ‘our world’” he said as he made quotation marks, “for a while. She obviously hasn’t.”

A moment later a pleasantly plump older man walked into the room. He smelled of kindness and instant diabetes. He looked her over, his eyes moved up to her own, and his attention went to the attending doctor.

“Did this patent give consent to be doped?”

“Dr. Fine…”

“No, did the patient give consent? Do you have it in writing, if not in writing is there at least three nurses, one of which that doesn’t like you, that overheard her give vocal consent?”

“No, Dr. Fine, there isn’t.”

The younger doctor looked like he was preparing for a long lecture, but instead the older doctor simply smiled, “Then you need to work on that. Write the patient a formal apology, find out if she likes chocolates, if she does order a dozen of Ferrero Rocher’s best chocolates, I’d suggest the happy housewife mix.”

Dr. Fine seemed to focus on the virtual imager for a moment. He then looked at Rainbow, his hands touching her abdomen, he felt around for a second before he turned toward Fluttershy and myself.

“I’m going to assume that the both of you are responsible for her. Which is fine, we’re going to take her up to surgery, and I am going to do everything I can to ensure that she makes it past the next forty-eight hours. If she does then her chances of making a full recovery will certainly increase. Unfortunately that puts both of you in something of a bind,” he smiled sadly at us, “All too often I’ve seen folks leave their loved ones at one of the various nursing centers in the city to recover. While they can get the therapy they need there, most of those places are… well the word horrific comes to mind. Personally, I’d suggest taking her home. I don’t mean to pry, but are you catholic?”

“Is that important?”

He smiled, “Yes, it is. If you are then you’d qualify to have a physical therapist come to your home and work with your friend. If you aren’t… The church will still sit it up with you, at a discounted price, but it can become quite expensive.”

“No need. I’ve got a friend that is a physical therapist. Thank you for the offer though.”

“You are welcome, and I am exceptionally glad to know that she will be taken care of. I’ll come and let the both of you know how things went.”

With that the plump man walked out, two nurses came in and took the bed Rainbow Dash was in, and soon they were out. Fluttershy leaned against me, her entire body shaking and shivering. I understood why she was sobbing. Her best friend just took a flying leap onto 32nd Street and was now a broken mess. She hadn’t been here long enough to adjust to the world and she tried to fly when she wasn’t acclimated yet. I was sympathetic to Flutter’s tears, sure, but at the same time, I wondered why Rainbow Dash was here at all. Help-mates, like Vogon Biotech’s, were neither cheap nor plentiful. And for Dash to turn up in New York like this… Questions did abound. I just hope she lived long enough for me to ask them.

Author's Note

Trillion thanks to Ron Jeremy Pony for the prompts he wrote in this chapter to help me get this thing done.

6 Taste The Rainbow

Fluttershy had finally calmed, and together we waited in the lounge. The sounds of the hospital surrounded me, and I couldn’t help but remember my own stay in one shortly after my last tour. I wasn’t losing my shit, not yet, but I didn’t want to keep thinking about the hospital, my original stay, or anything to really do with it.

It was then that the video phone hanging on the wall of the waiting room went off. I looked up to see one of the few other occupants answer it, his face looked surprised, and then he looked around the room, “Fluttershy? Is there a Ms. Fluttershy here? There is a call for you from a person named Pinkie Pie.”

Fluttershy walked toward the phone, and I watched as she nearly went to tears as she talked to the hyperactive pink mare. The discussion, of which I only got half of, was somber and muted, but only from Shy’s end. I was still worried that Rainbow Dash might have permanent injuries, but withstanding the knowledge or skill of a seasoned surgeon, I couldn’t tell. My mind kept replaying the sickening “crack” of bones as Dash landed on the sidewalk. I thought it a pure miracle she didn’t die then and there.

Fluttershy returned to me, her face still puffy from shed tears but a small smile gracing her features.

“It’s going to be okay,” she said, “Rainbow Dash has taken worse tumbles and crashes than this. Even though I still wonder why she couldn’t fly so well…”

I wanted to reply that it was a mystery to me, but then I recalled the first few hours that Flutters and I had. She was on her hooves all that day, and even into the next. It was only after a week of staying with me that she began to float with her wings. It was such a regular occurrence in the brownstone that I hadn’t given it much thought.

“Maybe she wasn’t supposed to be here,” I muttered, which garnered Shy’s attention, “I mean, you weren’t floating around the brownstone until a week after you arrived in town. Maybe- Maybe Dash was supposed to be elsewhere, with another human, and she-”

I felt a pair of furry arms grasp me, stopping the panic attack that was inbound. Shy’s tears were still moist upon her cheeks; they joined mine as the wetworks started. We stayed in that embrace for an hour, maybe more, before Dr. Fine returned. He was haggard looking, his face a deep ruddy color, and his scrubs were far worse for wear. I had begun to fear the worst.

“Well, we did all we could” the doctor started, “the extensive damage to her spine is the worst of it. Even with all the finest medical equipment we have on hand, we could completely repair the trauma. There’s an orthopedist and a neurologist in there to see what they can do, but from everything I’ve seen, it’s likely she’ll never walk again.”

Shy gasped, and I knew why. Even in the end of the series, Dash’s one true passion was flight. Take that away, and the prism maned stunt mare was just as much an Earth pony as Applejack or Pinkie Pie. The idea of a crippled Pegasus was inconceivable but there’s no way that anything living could survive a fall from the height of the Empire State Building; Dash did live after that fall, though. So a grounded Pegasus was certainly a card on the table.

“Can we see her, Doctor?” Fluttershy asked.

“I’m afraid not,” Dr. Fine answered, “Ms. Dash is under a lot of sedation. Furthermore, the orthopedist and neurologist need time to determine the extent of her spinal injuries. It’s likely a few of her vertebrae will need to be fused to insure she heals properly. In any case, it will be a few days before anyone, or anypony, can see her.”

“I understand,” Flutters said morosely, “is- is she in any pain?”

“I don’t believe she is,” the doctor replied, “part of the surgeries she just endured were to install pain blockers on her spinal cord. On top of the sedatives and painkillers she’s under now, she shouldn’t be feeling a blessed thing. Even so, a nurse will be on watch for her round the clock.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” I said, “without you, it’s very certain she’d be dead by now.”

“Don’t thank me until after you get the bill,” Dr. Fine joked, “you might not be so thankful then.”

I gave the duty nurse my number to call if any change were to happen to Dash. Shy was subdued on the cab ride back home. This was supposed to be a fun filled day, and instead it turned into a harrowing night. I don’t think either of us got much sleep after…

Time: 14:45 hours (2:15 PM EDT), Friday, June, 24th, 2058
Location: 800 Poly Place, Brooklyn, New York
Place: Group Therapy Room
Session Conductor: Dr. Vanessa Ozbourne, PhD., Psychotherapy

“That sounds-” Dr. Ozbourne started, but she left the sentence dangling, overcome with emotion. Ark couldn’t blame her.

“Did- did Rainbow Dash die?” Another soldier in the room asked.

“She didn’t,” Ark said, “she lived. For a while after her accident, she was bed ridden and miserable. I’m getting ahead of myself, though.”

Rachel then asked, “So, what happened then?”

“Well, Shy and I spent a rather restless night at home. The next morning, both of us were sleep deprived and nervous. Neither of us were fit for company. Then again, Pinkie Pie was never one to take no for an answer…”

Pinkie Pie’s Perspective
Location: Ark and Fluttershy’s Brownstone

I smiled at my little cupcakes as we made our way up the door. Andy was still scratching his head as to why we were here, but he had learned to not ask, but instead to go with the flow. I explained that I had a doozy of a combo, and then I called Fluttershy, and she was all sad, and she told me what happened, and I said that we’d be out, and she said not to worry, but it’s not a worry, it’s a friend being a friend, so I had Andy get us tickets out here.

Luckily Paul was able to get us tickets on a bullet train, that’s such a weird name for a train, but it was really fast, and we made it practically overnight.

“Sweetheart, are you sure they’re fit for company?”

I smiled at Andy. He’s a good stallion, but he likes to think with his head more than his heart, and my heart was telling me to check on Fluttershy. I walked up to the door, which Andy looked confused about how we were able to get past the very front door of the building, but again, he accepted it. Smiling, I readied myself, knocked on the door, and waited.

I heard noises behind it, and then I saw a camera overhead turn toward us. It was glowing a soft red, and I knew that it was a thingie like Igor that was watching us.

“Hi! I’m Pinkie Pie, and I’m here to see Fluttershy, would you get her please?”

“How did you manage to get past the front door? It is unavailable to any that are not residents of this building.”

“Trust me when I say that you’re better off not trying to figure it out.”

I smiled at Andy’s answer. ‘Cause sometimes you just gotta believe in things, even if you can’t explain them.

“I… One moment please.”

A few seconds later and the door opened. I could see my friend, her face was tear stained, she looked upset, and I quickly wrapped my arms around her.

“It’s okay, Auntie Pinkie is here.”

She sniffed a little, “I’m still two years older than you.”

“I know silly, oh, I had Andy book a hotel just in case you and Ark are trying to make each other feel better.”

“Ummm… Pinkie, we’re just friends.”

I looked at her and grinned, “Silly! That’s right, that happens later! Duh!”

She looked confused, but after a moment she invited us into their home. I smiled, and I smelled something, or the lack of something.

“Fluttershy, when did you eat last?”

She shrugged her shoulders, and I shook my head, “Andy, would you take the foals to the living room, that’s okay right Fluttershy?” I asked and she nodded in approval, “Good, to the living room, and maybe read them that story about that mean old Grinch who became a big softie? Thanks! I’m going to make everypony something!”

Fluttershy’s Perspective
Location: Brownstone Kitchen

I tried to tell Pinkie that she didn’t have to do this, but she shook her head and led me to my, well Ark’s and mine, kitchen. Like everypony else that lived in Ponyville, I didn’t ask questions when it came to Pinkie Pie. I watched as she began to gather a few things, potatoes, elbow noodles, tomato sauce, garlic, some pickled herring that I didn’t even know we had, and a few sticks of butter that I know we didn’t have all together. She began humming happily as she further chopped up the pickled herring, threw it into a frying pan with the butter, and began cooking it. Then she boiled water, added the noodles, and while that was happening she cleaned the potatoes, diced them up, and put them into another pot.

I had eaten Pinkie’s cakes, cupcakes, and sweets before, but I never knew that she could actually cook.

“Pinkie, where did you learn this?”

She smiled at me, “Oh, another time, another place, when I danced at Lucky’s tavern for bits.”

That confused me beyond all understanding. Pinkie never danced at Lucky’s…. I decided not to ask, after all I knew that Pinkie seemed to know things that nopony else did, and I didn’t want to focus on that. Instead I tried to help, but instead she just wanted me to talk.

“I… Pinkie what do you want me to talk about?”

She looked at me, and it wasn’t the smiling face of the hyperactive mare that I lived around in Ponyville. Her smile was a sad one, but it was there, welcoming, understanding, and wanting me to tell her everything. I sniffed, knowing that I had barely touched on everything.

“I… Pinkie… I keep thinking that it’s my fault. I know that’s silly, but I felt like I should have been there for Rainbow. She always protected me from bullies, and always helped me, and I wasn’t there to keep her from getting hurt.”

Pinkie stopped, letting, whatever it was that she was cooking, stew for a little before she hugged me tightly.

“Silly, it’s not your fault. Rainbow just tried to fly before she was able to connect with this world. I mean I couldn’t start popping out of cupboards on my first day. Nopearooni, that was a few days later, and then after I kissed Andy everything was back!” She giggled and a bright smile reappeared on her face as she looked at me, “Rainbow didn’t know that, and she’s used to being a Wonderbolt. I felt a combo when she got here, I knew it was her, but Igor couldn’t get me in touch with anypony.”

She brought me over to the stove, showing me what she was cooking, “I couldn’t get ahold of anypony because we all have families, and we’ve got lives that take us in different places, but when Rainbow needed you, really needed you, you were there. Just like I’m here, and like how Rarity is going to call to make sure that you’re okay, and like how Twilight is going ask if you need help, and of course like how AJ is going to offer you a place to stay out at the farm if you need it while Rainbow recoops.”

She grinned, “Because when it matters the most we’re friends that are family to each other. And nothing can break that apart. Well, except for a really bad boat ride with two of your best friends that act like total jerks when actually you’re just trying to make everypony happy, but that was like a really long time ago.”

I felt better listening to her, and then I heard Tolstoy announce that I had a call from Rarity. I looked at Pinkie who was currently cooking, grinning, and nodded for me to answer it.

Ark’s Perspective
Location: Brownstone Living Room

Walking into the living room I was greeted with the sight of a man I knew only from the wedding I attended with Fluttershy, and there with him were two children that looked like satyrs. I felt a little off about having guests in the house, especially when I knew nothing about it, but I could see that he wasn’t in his element either. Taking a moment I sat down across from him. I noticed that one of the little tikes was sleeping by his side, but the other one was eyeing me from where she sat on his lap.

It was strange, but her face seemed to have several of her mother’s features, just in more human context. She didn’t look afraid, but instead she looked interested, as though she was trying to figure me out. Slowly, she got up, walked toward me, but stayed just far enough away to be out of my reach. She was a tiny thing, and I looked at the man that had to be her father.

“How old is she?”

He smiled at her, “They’re both barely a year and a half old. I’m sorry we’ve dropped in almost unannounced, but Pinkie believed that she was needed here.”

I looked toward the kitchen and I could see Fluttershy starting to smile a little. Having company in the house was a pain, but having Fluttershy smile and seemingly happy was worth it.

“How bad is she?”

I looked toward him. He looked worried, honestly worried.

“I am not sure. The doctors did not cover everything with us, but they did say it was likely she would most likely never walk again.”

He shook his head, “That’s going to hit her hard. I don’t want to sound callous about it, but it really is going to hit her hard. Do you and Fluttershy have a plan for when she’s released?”

I could tell how this was going. He was implying, gently implying, that if we wanted they would take Rainbow Dash. I glanced toward the kitchen and saw Pinkie Pie, happily making dinner. I remembered how Rainbow Dash had acted in the show, and I knew that she was often proud and arrogant. For a moment I considered the thought of telling him that if he had room it would be fine. But, I dismissed that. I knew that Fluttershy would want to help Rainbow Dash recover, and besides, I figured that having Pinkie Pie as a nursemaid would drive Rainbow up the wall.

"Nah, I think we got this" I replied, "besides, how long do you think Dash would put up with Pinkie as nurse maid?"

He nodded, looked toward the kitchen, and then relaxed, “I’m glad. Don’t get me wrong in the slightest. I wouldn’t mind having another house mate, but I don’t want to see Pinkie getting spread too thin. It’s been a little difficult since one of our newest house guests arrived.”

I looked at him a bit confused, and he carefully pulled out a rollout tablet from his pocket. He gently unrolled it, pressed the side, and it came to life. I watched as he navigated to the pictures, and there standing with himself, Pinkie Pie, and their two children, or foals, was none other than Filthy Rich.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me," I blurt, "when did he turn up?”

He looked at me, seemingly not bothered by the fact that I was surprised. Then again I thought of the mare he was married to and it occurred to me that it was likely that nothing surprised him anymore.

“He appeared about a month and a half ago. He was wandering around the neighborhood, and Pinkie recognized him before I did. We offered him a place to stay, and currently he’s working for an organic grocery store a couple of blocks from us. To be honest I’m a little surprised, but apparently he’s already made it to Department Manager. I suppose that he really was a good business stallion,” he turned off the tablet, gently re-rolled it, and placed it back into his pocket.

His daughter, who had stayed just far enough from me, crept a little closer. Finally she touched my cyberpros, gently feeling the hardened plastics and metals that made up the artificial limbs.

I smiled as the filly when her hand jumped back from the cool titanium.

"♪Hoist the flag, hold the line, lessons learned, now lost to time.
Now we sing of you, forsaken pawns of War. ♫" I sang softly.

She smiled at me, and her mouth opened. I expected to hear cute baby talk, but instead there was a sweet little singing voice coming from her.

“♫Yo ho, haul together hoist the colours high heave ho, thieves and beggars never shall we die.♪”

I watched her father grin. She hushed after a moment, and then she moved closer to me.

“I’m a little surprised. Normally Strawberry doesn’t take to new people, or ponies, so quickly. Her brother, Onyx, is a different story, and we have to be careful when we’re out shopping. Because if we take our eyes off of him he’s trying to hug everyone within a fifty foot radius,” he looked at me, “And she didn’t mean any offense. But she picks up on words and songs incredibly quickly. She heard that old song from that Pirate movie.”

“Tam net nichego plokhogo,” I admit, “I'm more a Ninja man, myself but whoever heard of a singing ninja?”

She was still looking at my cyberpros, her little eyes transfixed on them, and then she moved toward me again. This time she didn’t touch the two artificial limbs, but instead she stretched her arms toward me. It was a gesture that I’d seen a thousand times between parents and their children. I glanced toward her father, and he nodded that it was fine. I reached for her, lifted her up, and felt her little arms wrap around my neck.

She was a year and half old, but she felt stronger than that. I felt her squeeze, but not too hard, and it felt like she was trying to make things better somehow. I knew what she was trying to do, even if she couldn’t say it explicitly. She was trying to offer comfort, in the form of hugs. A sweet gesture, to be sure, but wholly unnecessary. I had long gotten over the idea that I would ever be whole again and accepted that my prosthetic legs were just as much a part of me as my hands, my eyes, or even my nose.

“Thank you, little one,” I said, returning the hug, “it’s okay though. They did their level best to kill me but they just couldn’t do it. I’ll stay alive just to spite them; my legs will be the only thing they get from me!”

The little filly’s face went from saddened to joyful upon hearing that. She never wavered though. After all that had happened in the last thirty-six hours, it was a small relief to get such a gesture, even if she wasn't of legal age. This reminded me that I needed to give Fluttershy a hug, too. The ponies, both in the series and now in real life, seem to thrive on physical tokens of affection. And judging by little Strawberry, so do their hybrid offspring.

“I wonder what it is they’re cooking in there?” Andy asked, “Smells delicious.”

“It does,” I say, taking a whiff of delectable odor, “and I think I only just now realized how hungry I am. The shock of the last while has thrown my appetite down the shitter.”

No sooner did I say that than Pinkie’s head emerged from the kitchen door, shouting, “Who’s hungry?!”
Little Strawberry let go, moved, and got off of my lap and began to head toward the kitchen where she heard, and saw, her mother. I watched as she left, and then I turned to see Andy sitting beside his son. I could see his son’s eyes opening, the crystal blue orbs looked around the room, and then a bright smile crossed his face. Much like his sister he stood up, but I knew that he hadn’t seen Pinkie.

Instead he began to head that way toward her, almost as if he just knew where she was.

“How does he know?” I asked.

Andy grinned, “So far, I’ve learned that like with his mother, it’s best not to ask.”

We made our way into the kitchen and I was greeted with the smell of goulash. It was thick, heavy, but I didn’t smell a stitch of meat. Instead I smelled roasted potatoes, a little pickled herring, which I had no idea that we even had, and then I could smell a few other things that made me think of the few pleasant memories I had of home. I made a mental note to check my stash of vodka, in the off chance that had been depleted during the cooking.

Walking toward the table I could smell the richness of the goulash. It was Hungarian Goulash, spiced just right to taste closer to traditional Russian cooking. Pinkie already began dipping it into plates, and I saw the bounty before me. Fluttershy and I had eaten at a few places, and for the most part our meals had been mostly American. When we visited Rarity… I stopped thinking about it. What had happened needed to happen. That bastard got what was coming to him.

We stayed with her, longer than either of us intended to, well until her husband returned, and we stayed that night afterward. I was worried that we might have overstayed, but the next morning I got to actually talk to her husband, to John, and for once I found someone similar to myself. A former soldier, granted John had been in the Army, Rangers granted, but still the Army, but he didn’t place blame on his wife.

He knew it wasn’t her fault, instead I felt okay about leaving. I took the first bite, and it was at that time that I realized that two sets of eyes were on me. Pinkie was looking at me, a gentle smile on her face, and her son’s was on me as well. I watched as he dug into his pocket, pulled out what looked like a tiny stuffed rabbit, and gave it to his father. Seemingly knowing what he wanted he passed the stuffed bunny toward me, and sat it down.

The little gray rabbit was designed so that it would slide onto your finger. Giving the smallest hug in the world. I looked at him, and then at Pinkie, and finally it was Pinkie put her head on her hand while she looked back at me.

“That’s my boy. The Earth Pony way is to share the burden. I feel it, my little ones feel it, and they want to help share it,” she gently nudged Fluttershy, “I’m sure that Flutters told you all about it since she’s an honorary Earth Pony.”

"Afraid not," I said, a tad mystified, "I always had it in my head that Fluttershy was a Pegasus. Though, I think some Fimfiction headcanons had Shy labeled a ‘Legasus.’ And now, I’m awful flashbacks from Teen Titans Go…”

Pinkie giggled, “She is silly, but since she lived so close to the ground all of us Earth Ponies just accepted her as an Earth Pony. And nopony bothered her shed.”

I saw Fluttershy roll her eyes.

“What about your shed?” I asked.

She sighed, looked at Pinkie, and then looked back at me.

“I don’t know how the joke got started,” she began, “But apparently somepony thought it would be funny to store their bit and bridle set in my shed. I happened to be going out there with Carrot Top to get some bird seed for the blue jays that liked to land in her yard, and there hanging from the rafters of my shed was something from 50 Shades of Neigh. Carrot Top thanked me for my time, left, and then everypony in town talked about how I had something from Flagrante Delicto’s collection out in my Shed.”

“Yeah, I never thought of you as a BDSM advocate,” I said, “I mean, it would be an interesting dynamic, what with a shy girl in the streets and dominatrix in the sheets. An intriguing juxtaposition. But, yeah, way too out of character for you.”

“Yeah, Shy is like vanilla ice cream,” Pinkie stated, “although she does have those legs for days and has a model’s figure. Maybe Cookies and Cream? Not really plain but a touch short of being really exciting-”

“Pinkie,” Andy interjected, “you better stop with the desert allusions or our foals are going to drool themselves into New Jersey.”

Sure enough, both foals were staring at their mothers, mouths agape, drool pooling on their high chairs. (And where any high chairs resided in the brownstone, I’ll never know. Like Pinkie Pie and Andy, they just- showed up out of nowhere.) Pinkie and Andy spent a few minutes dutifully cleaning up drool and wiping infant faces spotless before sitting back down again.
Then Andy asked the sixty-four thousand credit question, “So, what’s going to happen to Dash?”

“She’ll be staying here, right Ark?” Fluttershy inquired.
I nodded, adding, “the brownstone has plenty of rooms and there’s an empty one right next to Fluttershy’s that has been empty a while. I don’t think my uncle had anything in there that could be a danger, but I'll sweep it just in case. It should be big enough for the associated hospital gear that she’ll need to get along for the time being. Knowing RD, she’ll be walking again inside three months, and trying to fly the whole damn time.”

“Wait, aren’t the bedrooms for the brownstone upstairs?” Pinkie asked.

“Yeah, they are,” I replied, “what of it?”

“Don’t you think it would be easier to have a room down here for Dashie?” Pinkie stated, “I mean, big, bulky hospital beds aren’t really made for ascending flights of steps.”

“Oh,” Fluttershy breathes, “Pinkie has a point, Ark. Do you really think you and I can get Rainbow and her bed upstairs?”

“Hmm,” I wondered, “good point. I guess I set that one room aside for her when she does become mobile again. In the meantime, I think there might be a room down here that might do the trick. It may be a bit of a tight squeeze, but if I can get the door of the hinge, then might help some.”

“Will you need any help with that?” Andy asked.

“Nah, I think we got it,” I answered, “if all else fails, I can ask Katya, who lives next door and is in construction, to help me out some. Between Shy, Katya, and myself, we can manage the door and any other thing to get the room ready.”

“Well, here’s hoping,” Andy said, then put at a hand for shaking. I then shook at it and finished our meal in companionable silence. Well, except for Pinkie, who did the talking for all of us. After the meal was done, and plenty of hugs were shared, Andy and Pinie took off. I never did figure out how they arrived or how they were getting home, but knowing Pinkie, it would be a wacky adventure that would make the rounds. Eventually. Fluttershy and I cleaned up the dinner plates (and miraculously, the high chairs were gone,) then had Tolstoy replay all our messages. There were plenty for Fluttershy from Applejack, Rarity, a grainy video mail from Twilight (which, if I read the header right, was someplace just outside of Stonehedge?) and then there was one for me that came at the very end, audio only.

“Privet, kuzen! Eto ya, Dmitriy! Privet, ya zavtra priyedu v gorod, nanesu nebol'shoy vizit. Okh, ty yeshche ne razgromil dom moyego ottsa, a? Ya budu na reyse iz Moskvy okolo trekh chasov, vashe vremya. Nadeyus' uvidet' vas na JFK!”*

After the message ended, Fluttershy turned to me and asked, “Who was that, Ark? And what did they say?”
“That was my cousin, Dmitri,” I told her, “he’s coming for a visit tomorrow!”

Author's Note

*Google Translate was used to make this text block. Might not be perfect Russian… likely isn't perfect Russian. What can you do?

1 Prologue: Ark Reactor

Author's Note

So, here's my contribution to Lordfrieza's Vogonverse. This is a human-meets-anthropomorphic-pony story. There will be sex, there will be profanity, there will be blood, boozing, a fair share of drug use, and plenty of violent flashbacks. You have been warned.
By the way, the title of this fic is derived from a haiku (# 252) written by master Japanese poet, Matsuo Basho (b. 1644, d. 1694).
†возлюбленная- means "sweetheart" in Cyrillic/Russian.

1 Prologue: Ark Reactor

Summer Grasses Are a Soldier's Dreams
A Vogonverse story featuring Fluttershy

Time: 16:30 hours (4:30 PM, EDT), Tuesday, June, 11th, 2058,

Location: 800 Poly Place, Brooklyn, New York

Place: Group Therapy Room

Session Conductor: Dr. Vanessa Ozbourne, PhD., Psychotherapy

The Group Therapy room looked a lot like an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting, if you discounted the number of people wearing visible prosthesis. One young man was wearing a cybernetic prosthesis over the left half of his face, replacing his upper jaw and eye on that side. A young woman adjacent to him was wearing a cyberpros forearm. Judging by the way her synthetic limb shook, the anti-rejection drugs she was taking weren't working all that well. The good Doctor Ozbourne was seated at the part of the therapy circle facing east, across from the door. She wore a professional smile and resting on her lap was a Samsung Galaxy Tab. The stylus she was using was tapping lightly on the chassis of the device while she spoke.

"We have time for just one more member of the group to speak. I am thankful to say that the member we are hearing from is a patient I have seen through thick and thin. Sergeant, would you like to reintroduce yourself to the group?"

The sergeant in question sat crosslegged in the folding steel chair he choose. The cyberpros legs he had were a more professional grade model than some of his peers. They didn't jitter or sway, which said that the anti-rejection meds he was getting were either working very well for him or were top notch quality. He eyed the good doctor for a moment with a weary smile.

"Sure doc," the sergeant said, "well, for those who don't know me, I'm Sergeant Arkady Visovic. My few friends call me Ark. I lost my legs while running sweep ops in Damascus. I've toured in Afghanistan and Syria. I'm here because there was a time when I considered taking my M9 and blowing my forsaken brains out."

"And why didn't you," asked Dr. Ozbourne, "'blow your brains out,' I mean?"

Sergeant Visovic chuckles for a little bit before he answers, "It's kinda funny, really. I'm still here kicking back the ole oh-two because a buddy of mine got me addicted to My Little Pony."

The circle laughs, especially the young woman with the fake forearm. The young man with a prosthetic face is chortling so hard, he can barely squeak out the word, "gay." Sergeant Visovic doesn't change his demeanor; he's seen this sort of behavior from the uninformed before and it doesn't anger or surprise him anymore. Point of fact, he's laughing his head off, too.

"You laugh," he says, "because you think I'm abnormal. I laugh, because I know you guys don't get it. Hell, I ain't even mad. Listen, if it's wasn't for that show, I wouldn't be here. There was some- other stuff that happened, but I'll get into that later. Let me just say, that show saved my flank in ways you just can't fuckin' imagine!"

"Ark," calls a soft, quiet voice from the other side of the room, "your langauge!"

The other members of the circle turn to the voice, noticing a human hybrid- something seated in a comfortable Barcalounger. She has a long mane of pink, skin the color of butter, and pair of vestigial wings that flutter ever so often. Poking out form the crown of her head are a pair of equine ears that swivel in all directions; currently, they're pointed to Sergeant Visovic's direction.

"Sorry, возлюбленная†, I keep forgetting," the sergeant says.

"It's okay," the half pony says, "but I don't want to hear you saying things like that again."

"I shan't," the sergeant promised, "I have a ten spot waiting for the swear jar when we get home."

"Sarge," calls out the young woman with the fake forearm, "is that her-? From the show-?"

The Sergeant nods, "Da, Corporal, she is."

"Sarge, if you don't mind me asking," says a young man with a large portion of his torso replaced with a cybernetic apparatus, "do you get to take that piece of ass home?"

"Private Gautreaux," spoke Dr. Ozbourne sternly, "I don't think I have to remind you that speaking that way about another members significant other is wholly inappropriate."

"Yeah, Gator," calls out another young woman in the circle, "especially when you have all of this-" she points to herself, including a prosthetic right leg, "to go to tonight."

"Meh," the Private says, "you ain't all that, Rachel."

"Troopers," the Sergeant says, "let's keep this civil, huh? And to answer your question Chandler, yes, I do take her-" he points to the human/pony hybrid, "home. Thanks for askin'. Anything else you want me to share, Doc?"

"Actually, yes," Dr. Oszbourne says, trying to guide the conversation back to topic, "you were telling us about yourself?"

"Oh, yeah," Sergeant Visovic says, "so where was I? Oh, yeah, I remember. Okay, as I was saying, the show saved my life. And I gotta tell you, as a boy from the Stacks out in Queens, that's saying somethin'. Anyway, after I got my legs blown off, I got sent back home. I gotta tell ya, livin' back in the stacks, with a bunch of fundamentalist Russian Orthodox family members, ain't pretty. The only reason I got out was my Uncle Sergei."

"The dude was a major domo in the Mafioso. Poor guy kicked the bucket but I never did figure out how. Anyway, he had quite the fortune made during Putin's rule and when he bought the farm, he bequeathed quite a lot to his sons. He didn't give 'em everything, though. He had a little brownstone The Village, someplace he kept up 'for tax purposes.' He gave me that, because I was his favorite nephew, although I suspect I was the only nephew willin' to talk to him."

"So, he leaves me his place in The Village and a small fortune in credits, to the tune of a quarter mill. Before any of youse yahoos think you can mooch of me, fuggit. I used most of that to get my meds and these sweet cyberpros. There ain't much of that inheritance left, so I still gotta work for a livin'. The City, even in Lower Manhattan, is a really expensive to hang yer hat. I get by with some odd jobs in the neighborhood, and I only get the bare necessities."

"I did use some of my inheritance to get me my first haptic computer and set up some services for the place. Other bills get paid for by my handyman work. I'd spend whatever down time I had trollin' the Internet for somethin' to pass the time. By then, though, I was at my lowest. Everyday, I had to come up with a new excuse to keep livin'. I was gettin' to the point where I was gonna eat a bullet. Luckily, I got an old Army buddy who sent me a link to this show he really liked. Said it saved his life or somethin'.

So I use this Netflix link and I see some My Little Pony. I was thinkin' my buddy is some kind of gay or somethin' for likin' this- stuff. But if he swore by it, who was I to say otherwise. So I watched it and I liked it."

"Is this where I come in, Ark?" asked the pony hybrid.

"Not yet, возлюбленная, but soon. Uh, yeah, anyway, I get hooked from the get-go. The characters, the story, the locations, the villains, it was more than just some cartoon for girls. Man, it was more than any cartoon ever has been! So I started binge watchin' that, all eight seasons. Everyday, I kept tellin' myself, 'four more episodes, I need to see four more episodes.' And I did."

"But, like all good things, it had to come to an end. I laughed, I cheered, I think I even cried for a bit there. And just like that, I was startin' to think of endin' it all. The flashback's were gettin' more severe, the antipsycho medicines weren't workin'. I was losin' hope, you know?"

"That's when I trolled onto Netflix again, hopin' to rewatch the series. Before I can do so, I get this add from some ad from this company called Vogon Biotech. Anypony heard it?"

The rest of the circle shakes their heads negative while Dr. Ozbourne asks, "Anypony?"

"Yeah," Sergeant Visovic says, "'anypony.' I fully embrace my brony status. Can I continue?"

"You may," says the good doctor.

"Okay, so, this Vogon place says they can make me a- companion, I guess. They used the word 'help mate," whatever the hay means. This Vogon says they can make me a living version of any character from My Little Pony. I was neglectful in sayin' that my favorite character from MLP is Fluttershy."

"And why is that, Sergeant?" queried Dr. Ozbourne.

"Well, she's everything I've ever wanted in a woman," replied Visovic, "and certainly the antithesis of my mother. My mom was a stern, unyielding, rigid, and unfeeling- woman. She may have given birth to me, but she was as cold and cruel as Death itself. Or maybe Lord Sombra, he's just as bad. As I was sayin' before, I this was an offer I couldn't refuse, but I was skeptical. Sure, I had the credits for it, but I kept thinkin' I was gettin' scammed. Uncle Sergei would have told me, 'Племянник, вы должны помнить, что удача любит смелых.' For the solely English speakin' among us, he said, 'Nephew, you gotta 'member that fortune favors the bold.' So, after a day or two, I came back to Vogon's ad, ponied up the credits for the Fluttershy they offered and waited."

"You waited?" asked the private named Chandler, "What for?"

"Vogon said that it'd take two months for Fluttershy to get ready," answered the Sergeant, "somethin' about growing her up and implantin' memories and stuff. Still sounds shady to me, but if I was openin' Pandora's Box a crack, I was gonna open it all the way. Single best decision I ever made."

The human/pony hybrid then walks up to Sergeant Visovic and hugs him tightly, saying, "I agree," Fluttershy then kisses Ark on the mouth, "life is strange like that, isn't it?"

"That it is, возлюбленная," says Sergeant Visovic, "that it is."

"Sergeant," Dr. Ozbourne says, "would you like to recall your story at our next meeting? I'm afraid we're all out of time today."

"What the hey?" the Sergeant asks, "five o'clock already? Dang…"

The good doctor nods, "This was a good session, everyone. I'll see you all back here on Thursday, where we will continue with Sergeant Visovic's story. Right, Sergeant?"

"Yeah, Sarge," says a young man still in a wheelchair, "I wanna hear more about this."

"Same here," says Rachel.

"Sure, Doc," Visovic replies, nodding to the rest of the circle, "we ain't even scratched the surface, yet."