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."