There was a time when ‘magic’ was either plain fiction, or just smoke and mirrors. You would see it in shows, read about it in books, pay good money to watch a man make a plane disappear or significantly less to have someone come to your kid’s birthday party and pull a rabbit out of his hat. Of course, all that is still around. I mean, just because guns were real didn’t mean people still didn’t write about lasers that blew up planets or make Nerf toys. Magic can still be all that, but it’s also what keeps that pegasus in the air, powers the beacons the princess’ use for emergencies and gives that earth pony her finesse.
It’s also the force that would kill a human like me.
To be honest, even now, all this time later, it still strikes me like a cruel joke. So much of our history and creative work was spent trying to explain everything away with magic, with our dreams reaching for that special ‘spark’ of magic life always seemed to keep just out of reach. And yet, when humanity largely turned its back on the fantasy, and was well on the way to explaining away all the mysteries with good ol’science, fate drops a continent of magic filled with magical creatures in our backyard, and magic that was more fatal radiation than mystical wonder.
The real kicker? The universe, you know, the one we loved so much, the one we spent so much time studying and learning about? It doesn’t like magic either, and it’s winding up to kick us out. ‘Us’ being the entire planet. Smack dab into magic-verse, as far as all the physicists can figure. So far, all they’ve been able to figure out as a solution, they being most governments in the world including the ones from the magic continent Equestria, is go native or go broke.
Considering the natives were largely adorable looking ponies, it’s been a strange few years.
That’s the kind of world I ended up growing up in. I was around thirteen when Equestria first started emerging from the pacific. I’ll admit I don’t have the most accurate recollections of the preteen years, but I know it didn’t have brightly coloured equines trotting around and talking. But people adapted. I adapted. My family and I didn’t leap on the initial ponification rush bandwagon, though a lot did. My best friend and his family were among them. I didn’t find out until I went over to his house to hang out and a unicorn answered the door.
I tapped my finger on the notebook’s shell, out of sync with the cursor flashing on the screen, a large swath of white below the small cluster of words I had managed to produce. I couldn’t help but feel as if they were mocking me. My eyes wandered over the words again. “Maybe I shouldn’t make the tone so casual?”
“Hey, what’cha up to, Kitten?” a cheerful voice asked, invading the sanctity of the small and cozy room I called my Private Cabinet. I had originally called it the stud-brary, because it wasn’t quite a library, study and more than just my home office. After the fourth comment about my ‘secret male fetish chamber’, I started using cabinet. It was only eight feet by ten, barely within a decent size for an office, and I really didn’t know what the original intentions of the room were. So I repurposed it with a desk, more than a few shelves and cubbies, and filled it with books, electronics and odds and ends.
I sighed and leveled a look that I really couldn’t bother upgrading into a glare at the intruder. The sandy coated earth pony trotted in, his disposition as cheerful as his lemon yellow mane and tail, his flanks marked with a box like shape that invoked thoughts of a screen, a folded newspaper displayed on it. The carpeted floor did well to muffle his hoof steps. Kirk had been my best friend for over a decade, and a good portion of that time as a pony. Decent carpeting had been on the ‘must have’ list when I went looking for a place of my own, not in the ‘optional perks’ column.
Thankfully; the place I had, somewhat more high end than you would expect from a bachelor, came well equipped. And I acquired it for a bargain when the previous owners emigrated to Equestria. They hadn’t need for lot of bits, so they were willing to part with it for cheap and leave it with an idealist like myself.
Reminiscing was put aside as he stuck his head over my shoulder, forehooves on the back of my chair, and started reading what I typed, making me itch slightly. Someone reading over my shoulders was always extremely irritating to me.
“Love letter, Troy?” he asked teasingly.
“I’m working on a… memoir, I suppose you can call it,” I said, pushing his muzzle away with a finger, scowling slightly.
“A memoir? For who? For what, actually. No offense, Troy, but you aren’t all that spectacular,” Kirk said bluntly.
“That’s what you think,” I grumbled, saving the file before something happened to it. “In the very least my kids would have something to read about when their dad was still human on the outside.”
“You’d need a date first,” Kirk chuckled, dropping back to the ground. “A real one; not just your typical ‘nice guy’ act that doesn’t get you anywhere with anyone or anypony. I can set you up with a nice pony, you know. Seashell from sales might be up for it. She thinks you’re sweet.”
“She shel, no, she she- she sells slee, crap,” I tried, giving up when it became obvious the tongue twister was beyond my skills.
“Funny,” Kirk said, bopping my shoulder. “Anyway, you’re wasting time. You’re supposed to be at the Bureau in an hour.” He grinned before pouncing on and enveloping me in a rough hug.
“Hey, hey! Watch it!” I said, shifting quickly to keep the laptop from slipping off my lap and potentially spilling to the ground or crashing into the desk as Kirk’s weight bore down on me, his hooves wrapping around me. “What’s this for?”
“Ten years, Troy!” Kirk said happily, maintaining his grip, one quickly shifting into death territory, on me. “Ten years I’ve wanted to see you as a pony. And now you’re finally going through with it!”
“Kirk… you promised me you wouldn’t make this weird,” I groaned at him, trying to loosen his hold in vain. “You’re making it weird.”
“But this is special!” he protested.
“You’re making it weird,” I repeated firmly. Okay, pinching him wasn’t working. Darn earth pony traits. I resorted to foul play; tickling the sole of his hoof. He yelped and skittered away with a shudder.
“Not cool!”
“Neither is being choked to death,” I grumbled, massaging my collar bone. “I can still back out, you know. No Bureau forces you to go through with it.”
“True, but you won’t,” he said in a chipper tone, trotting merrily out the door. Honestly. He was like a child. I’d blame the fact that he was a pony, expect that he was always like that as far as I could remember, and his dad wasn’t, despite being an earth pony too. It was weird to consider that he had been a pony for half my life.
Still, he was right. I’d invested too much into it. I was a man of simple needs, despite my impressive bachelor pad. Honestly, it was lonely in a house that size, though it came in handy when my folks visited for holidays. Besides, how many twenty six year olds did you know that owned their own house with most of the payments already gone?
I’d rather you not answer that, since I’d never actually checked into those statistics, so it could be more common than I thought. Still; three bedrooms, two bathrooms, another bedroom and bathroom in the finished basement, a two car garage and a modest lawn made for a wonderful home. It was more of a steal than a bargain that I got it for.
My work with the city paid well and after dealing with my basic bills and living expenses, about half my paycheck went into a savings account. One I’d been tapping over the past year to ‘ponify’ my home; changing out door knobs to levers, putting rolling step ladders in the kitchen and a sliding ladder in the Cabinet, changing out the handles in the washrooms, getting some of the newer pony-marketed appliances, furniture and electronics. They were still working on the latter, and most still couldn’t handle direct exposure to magic, but hoof-optimized keyboards were a Celestia-send, according to Kirk.
With a final obligatory grumble, I followed him from the room. Thirteen years. It wouldn’t be chickening out, it would be simply delaying for a bit longer. This was... a pretty big change. I mean... seriously big... I had done all the research, and compared all the facts. I knew it was inevitable. I worked in the city offices going over stats and proposals most of the year. I’d been watching the city’s demographics shift for years now, and I kept a lazy eye on the statistics of a couple other countries as well. Equine-Canadians were on a steady curve. So were the Diamond Dog demographics and the other small populations of equestrian kind. Canada did have their trademark ‘Open Doors yet Stubborn Thoughts’ mindset that kept the local curves gentler than those from other nations, but it was still rising.
And all projections said it was going to kick into high gear in the next half decade or so. Plus, I didn’t want to be that 30 year old guy... Call me a coward, but Kirk was right; I’d never really dated, not because I was a recluse or anything, I just wasn’t up for committing to a relationship. Casual? Sure. Committed? Not so much. But even Kirk had been going fairly steady with someone. Well, somepony. Still; I’d rather not have ‘to convert or not’ be a complication in a relationship.
Kirk grabbed my sleeve and decided to manhandle me. His mouth full, he complained in Equestrian, which actually had allowances for that. “Would you stop gathering wool and get those feet moving, already?”
“Gimmie a break,” I yanked my hand back. With thoughtful motions, I grabbed my bag, already packed with clothes, identification and a few odds and ends, slipping my computer in. “I’m going. It’s not like it’s the end of the world as I know it yet.”
I said goodbye to my house one last time as a human. I’d already fed the nostalgia the day before, calling over a few friends and throwing a small going away party the night before, taking a couple dozen pictures with my human face doing human things the human way. If this all went to plan, I’d be trying to learn the tricks Kirk picked up years ago this time the next week.
Even my car was being driven one last time by her human owner. Yes, my car was a girl. Not a muscle car; an electric one with a silver blue body. I called her Sophie.
“Did you call the mechanic?” Kirk asked suddenly after pulling his head back in so it didn’t get caught in the window as I rolled it up.
“You can stick your head out the bus window, the train window or the tram window, but not my window,” I repeated to him for the God-alone-knew-how-many time.
“I love the feel of the wind through my mane,” Kirk whined, aiming his pony eyes at me. I had thirteen years and four coworkers to build up immunity to them. So long as it wasn’t a foal or a mare, I could deal. “And the mechanic. Did you call them?”
“Yes, Kirk. I called them. They’ll be picking up Sophie from the Bureau lot and giving her the standard ponykind retrofitting.” I rolled my eyes. “As if you’re the responsible one in this friendship.”
“Whatever. I’m just excited! You’re gonna go pony!” He started bouncing in the seat like a four year old.
“I could go diamond dog, just to spite you,” I pointed out.
“You won’t,” he grinned with smugness of knowing me all too well. “At worse you’d go griffon, and you already said you don’t want to bother with all those feathers and would hate having a beak.”
I’d rather not have to deal with a keratinous growth sprouting out from my face. And I would pass on having gems as part of my required diet. Rock farms were slow in development so that market was rather sparse. I sighed. Those were the options with digits. I was rather attached to my fingers. It was one of the factors that kept me from going through with it when my parents did.
Um… long story. Dad had chronic pains that no doctor could diagnose. We had heard everything from a nerve being pinched to a slipped and/or improperly healed disk from an otherwise minor spinal injury. When the latest test’s bill was projected at near ten thousand dollars, he decided to take the ponification option and mom did with him. He and mom both came out as unicorns. Regarded Guide and Rosy Belle.
Actually… I glanced over at Kirk, still looking like a kid in a candy shop. Why hadn’t Kirk taken on a more pony like name? From everything I’d read on pony mentality and instinct, they naturally favoured a more conceptual name than just the pleasant sounding brandings we used. Mom kept her name mostly; Annabelle Rose Shaw to Rosy Belle. Dad took his from his career as a counsellor and church minister.
Kirk… it meant Church, if you dug into the meaning. He wasn’t a church person. My thoughts idled back to the only time I could remember asking him about it, back when we were still kids.
“Hey, Kirk,” I had asked one day around the lunch table in the school cafeteria, a plate of potato fries and chicken fingers before me, one of hay fries, potato fries and a daisy and spinach sandwich for him. I had still been taking Equestrian Language lessons around that time, and used moments like those to get practical experience in. It was already hard for a human to speak it, since we lacked the muzzle length for all the sounds the language entailed, and didn’t have the expressive ears, but it was manageable. “How come you never change name?”
“Hey! What’s wrong with my name? Are you saying something’s wrong with my name!” He looked pretty pissed.
“No, no!” I had said quickly, waving my fork in the air. “It is… not very…” I grumbled and fished for the words I needed, then gave up and switched back to English. “It’s just not a regular pony name. Even converted tend to take them.”
“Oh… sorry,” Kirk had responded, settling down with an unreadable expression. “It’s just that some ponies in class were giving me a hard time. Anyway, I just didn’t want to.”
“You didn’t want to?”
“Yep. Nothing wrong with Kirk.”
“Not because you suck at coming up with names?” I gave him a smirk at that one, half hiding it behind the rim of my cup.
“Shut up, Kitten.”
“What? I’m just saying…”
“Okay, wise guy. Maybe I’m waiting for you to go pony and change your name. Ever thought of that?”
A small smile came to my face at the memory. It was a couple weeks before my parents underwent the conversion, and they had me researching it as one of the possible solutions to Dad’s health issues. It had been a long time since I thought about it.
“Okay, wise guy. Maybe I’m waiting for you to go pony and change your name. Ever thought of that?” I blinked as his comment rolled across my mind. Was he holding out for my sake? Keeping one last bit of his humanity so my closest friend didn’t seem to totally fade away? He was bobbing his head in time with the drums of the rock song coming over the radio, miming playing along.
“Hey, pup..? Did you… do you miss having fingers?” Wait… that wasn’t what I was supposed to ask!
“Hmm?” Kirk’s ear twitched in my direction. “What’s that?”
“Nevermind,” I sighed. It was probably for the best anyway. “It was a stupid question.”
He rolled his eyes but didn’t press the issue, and I did raise the subject again. The rest of the drive went by in relative silence, the rest of the conversation sporadic, inane and pointless.
It was rather unassuming, the Bureau. Well, it was actually pretty impressive, somewhat imposing, but made so that taken on a whole, it was relatively unassuming. The building was two and a half stories high, but each floor was oversized compared to most buildings, to give pegasi room to stretch their wings. The lobby spanned the full two stories; a gently arching wall of large tinted glass windows, deceptive frailty set between the smooth and decorated concrete columns. The tinted glass segment was the tip of the arrowhead shaped building plan, two wings sweeping back from it. Nestled between the wings were the trademark sampling of trees and the greenhouse that most all Bureaus came equipped with, the parking lot surrounded by a more modest and typical lawn and garden space.
The Equestrians had been initially ambitious in setting up the Bureaus, large buildings in every major city, staffed by born and raised Equestrian natives. I’m pretty sure they didn’t really grasp how large our world was compared to their own. In any case, something changed their outlook as the ambition was tempered and they started building Bureaus in other areas with more local staff.
That was mostly in the US though.
Canada still suffered from its rather chronic case of population scattering, so they took a somewhat different approach. They tried to make sure there was a Bureau available within an hour of most modest population zones, and provided a rebate for those who had to travel to reach one. On the other hand, Canada didn’t do the drop in services as often as they used to. There were still those who stood against the bureaus and non-humans in general.
So they operated mostly on schedules. It meant there could be dedicated security and preparations made. On the down side, it also meant those opposed to it could prepare as well. Case in point; about three dozen people were gathered around the main entrance to the Bureau’s property, armed with placards and raised voices, with a bullhorn on top of all that. Two squad cars were parked on the street, four police officers minding the crowd on the outside while two ponies and two humans stood just inside the gates, dressed in the uniform of the Equestrian Guard.
When they had started accepting unconverted humans, it had been among the top news stories for days. Some were posted as a ‘loaning of troops’ deal, others were doing service before they took the plunge, as it were. Most all of them served in the embassies and bureaus since they couldn’t visit Equestria itself.
“Is that sign saying ‘four legs good, two legs better’?” I asked as we crawled down the street, happy that Sophie had tinted windows. “It sounds familiar for some reason...”
“Animal Farm,” Kirk said, peering out the window at the group. “That old political satire. It was one of the optional books for literature. Pretty sure you have it in your library. Hey! It’s our news van!”
“Right... been ages since I read that,” I said listlessly. “And what’s a KCNS van doing here when you’re around?”
“Protest, silly kitty! I’m here for the exclusive ongoing report on the largest transformation in our region. They are here for the primetime worthy story of the protests,” Kirk explained as he looked around. He whined slightly. “Aw... I don’t see the camera. I was hoping we’d be on tonight’s news.”
“I’d rather we not,” I muttered. Neither the police nor the guards moved to block me as I turned into the driveway, though the heckling from the protesters did kick up.
“Don’t turn your back on humanity!”
“What does pony have to offer!”
“The equestrians lie!”
“Stay true to who you are, don’t change for anyone!”
“Only fools go pony!”
“Brainwashing!”
“Ponies are Phonies!”
I ignored them. I got enough of the anti-pony spam in the mail. I didn’t need a live rendition of it. Leave it to Canadians to be nice about their discrimination. The stereotypes of the typical Equestrian and the typical Canadian weren’t that far apart, actually. Replace the maple syrup with sugar and beavers with bunnies (keep the bears though), and you’ve got it. Both polite, both have lots of wilderness and weird weather, and, most importantly; both preach harmony and acceptance on the surface but are discriminatory as hell, just very subtle about it.
Actually, I was meaning to check up on that wind farm project they started using both human and Equestrian science. Last I heard it had been going pretty well and passed all the magic stress tests they put it through. I shut off the engine and grabbed my bag from the backseat, Kirk slipping on his own saddlebags on the other side. Velcro and plastic buckles were very popular with ponies. My own backpack was one of the convertibles. A bit of playing around with the zips and straps and it switched between back- and saddle- packs easily.
I toyed with the buckles contemplatively. I actually had shares in the company. It was one of those legitimate internet start-up success story. Some guy in Vancouver saw the way the wind was blowing and turned his costuming experience from working on plays and stage shows into something more practical; making outfits and personal effects that could work for both Equestrians and Earth natives. Primarily ponies, but he had expanded to account for diamond dogs and griffons use as well, the former paying off big time when the canification serum was revealed to the public.
“Hey! Kitty!” Kirk yelled, sticking a hoof tip covered with his slobber in my ear.
“Dude!” I yelped, jerking away from him and falling over. I rubbed at my ear and glared at him as he grinned at me. “What. The. Hay?”
“You were standing there staring at either your bag or the window for a couple minutes,” Kirk said, offering me a hoof to help me back up. “Either you finally became narcissistic enough be caught by your own reflection, or your bag had the meaning of life in it. I didn’t see 42 written on it, so…”
“So you stuck your nasty pony spit in my ear?” I shuddered and ducked back into the car to grab a few tissues from the box in the back window. “I’m going to sue you if I get an ear infection. God knows what nasty crap is in your spit.”
“That’s low,” Kirk said, rolling his eyes. “Consider it a wet willy then.”
“You can get ear infections from those,” I muttered.
“Just come on!” Kirk insisted, planting his forehead in the small of my back and forcing me into motion.
“I’m going, I’m going!” I complained. Kirk started pushing me across the parking lot with his blasted earth pony strength. He didn’t ease off until we were at the double doors. The heavily tinted double doors.
“Door. Open. Go!” Kirk commanded me, his tone leaving no margin for hesitation.
So of course I dicked around.
“Open sesame!” I intoned grandly, waving my hands at doors. Kirk was less than amused.
“Hello!” the pony behind the desk called out cheerfully as we entered the lobby. It was a nice lobby, with a generous amount of plants and flowers, several of those low chairs that served humans and ponies and a few couple tables. “Welcome to the Conversion Bureau. I’m Joy Dancer. Er... what happened to your leg? Are you okay?”
I limped up to the desk, my smirk still going strong, despite the throbbing pain from where Kirk kicked me. The desk was a balance between human-centric and pony-centric. It was set at a convenient height for a human, but blocks a pony could stand on to make up for the difference were worked into the overall design. “No, perfectly fine. It will pass in a moment.”
Kirk snorted beside me and introduced himself after perching on a one of the block stands, forehooves on the counter. “Hi Joy Dancer. I’m Kirk Cunningham. I’m from KCNS, doing the report for them on this conversion event.”
“Oh! Of course! We were expecting you.” Joy exclaimed. She quickly started flipping through a stack of folders that the overhang of the desk had previously hidden. “It was surprising when the news van turned up and you weren’t with them.”
“Well, since I’m supposed to be experiencing the process alongside the potential convertees, I was told to make it here on my own, for a more authentic report. Emotions and feelings en route and stuff like that.” Kirk admitted. He bobbed his head in my direction. “This is my best friend. He’s here to actually take part in it.”
“Hi, I’m Troy,” I said with a little wave.
Joy was very good at customer service. Her smile was genuine and almost literally radiated warmth and a welcoming aura. She quickly laid two folders on the counter, mine noticeably thicker than his. I picked it up and idly flipped through it. “I’ll have you both fill these out for me while I set up your records.”
Kirk took his and a pen and trotted off to one of the tables. Lots of paperwork. And they wanted to know a lot. Driver’s License. Passport information. Do you rent or own your own home? Health Card. Medical records. Social Insurance Number. Current place of employment? Jeeze, and I heard these things were supposed to be quick and short…
“Don’t mind the length,” Joy said, seeing my dismay and giving me a slight smile. “Pretty much everything after the second page is optional.”
“It is?” I flipped back to the first few pages, which only wanted name, address and a few basic health questions. “Huh... so what’s with all the rest of the sheets then?” I asked, skimming through them again.
“A large part of it is the paperwork for changing your identifications. Health card, insurance, licenses, passport and so on.” Joy said, holding her pen in the corner of her mouth. Ah, another trick I’d have to learn, even if I became a unicorn. “You can apply for them on your own at a later date, but they get processed faster if you have it done through the Bureaus, since we can provide all the little qualification details. Generally, it takes a two week processing time.”
I grinned and got my ID’s out so I could copy the information down. Two weeks was far better than the six it would take if I did it myself. I tossed her a few more questions as I wrote. “What about that one about apartments? And employment history.”
Her grin faltered slightly. “Unfortunately... some ponies found that their living conditions became... less than ideal after their conversion. It’s a form of insurance and security. We can help arrange for new housing if they have to move, and also get the landlords and or employers properly reprimanded.”
Ah, the subtlety of society. It was actually some of the things my department saw. Well, there went my enthusiasm for the conversation. I quickly refocused on my forms, and was pretty grateful when Kirk came back which his own completed, filling what had become an uncomfortable silence with a few initial questions to Joy to set up his report. By the time I got all they asked for done, Joy already had rooms picked for us and everything.
“You’ll be in room 15. They are three to four individuals each, but we try to keep it at three if we can,” Joy said, hoofing over keys. “You still have another two hours before the official opening session. Why don’t you go put your stuff in your room before having a look around? We have the gardens in the back; there’s also the library, though some of the books are only in Equestrian.”
“I’m trilingual. English, Equestrian and French,” I grinned at her. I was proud of that accomplishment. Even if it meant I sometimes got more tasks at work because of it.
“His pronunciation is horrible,” Kirk added.
“Admittedly, I still trip up over the spoken part at times,” I glowered at Kirk, “but I understand it and can read it no problem.”
Joy beamed, an expression of admiration mingling with her smile. “Not many humans bother with learning Equestrian to the point of fluency.” There was a slight questioning tone to her phrase, so I nodded with a slight smile of my own. “You can enjoy the library even more in that case. Aside from that, there is the cafeteria, Hall and lounge you can explore.”
“Thanks, Joy, we’ll be sure to poke around,” Kirk said, hopping down and trotting off to the stair. I waved my own goodbyes and followed him.
“You just couldn’t let me have that, could you?” I muttered at him once we were out of earshot, taking the lead and guiding him up the sweeping stairs that led to the second floor.
“Nope,” Kirk hummed happily, practically skipping up the stairs. “Would you?”
“Most definitely not,” I agreed with a shrug. Room 15 was about halfway down the hall. The room was sparse. Closet space, two bunk beds, a table by the window, a few cubbies in the wall. I tossed my bag on one of the top bunks. “Dibs.”
“There are two of them,” Kirk rolled his eyes.
“Well... I wanted that one. It’s...” I looked at the two identical bunks and groped for something, “more left like than the other. That one is all right and ugh.”
“Sure it is kitty,” he huffed, climbing onto the lower bunk across from me. He started sorting through his saddlebags, pulling out a few things. In retrospect; tossing my back up there when I’d only have to drag it back down to unpack was a dumb move. I shrugged and climbed up after it.
“Why do you want the top bunk anyway?” Kirk asked as he busied himself sorting his writing implements.
“So I can dangle my legs of course,” I said. With the unusual height of these floors, the head clearance was good, even for the top bunk. Feeling lazy, I just pocketed a few things and left the bag towards the wall to sort out later. As I worked, Kirk busied himself jotting down what I assumed were his initial observations and feelings for his article.
“Hall or cafeteria first?” Kirk asked suddenly around his pen, looking up at me as he chewed lightly on the end.
“What? Not the library?” I teased, hopping down. “But the café, I figure that’s where most people will be lurking.”
