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."