Peach Fuzz

Big cop. Little ponies. Moderate violence.

It was another day in the Trottingham police stable, where all the police constables, special constables, reserve constables, reverse constables, first-class constables, business-class constables, economy-class constables, head constables, hoof constables, staple constables, and Her Majesty's royal mounted division were all going about their vital routine of pointless ennui- save for one pegasus.

Police constable Snowfrost Angel. Has never once made a snow angel.

Coat: pure white as untouched snow. Covered with a coat of sky-blue paint. Eggshell.

Mane: flaxen, styled neatly to regulation standards.

Favorite restaurant: the Flax Inn. Recently closed for failing to meet regulation standards.

Eyes: sunglassy.

Sunglasses: aye.

Cutie mark: the single most integral part of any successful police officer's career. Proper scroll-work, as paperwork was as yet unknown.

Talent, official: the upholding and safeguarding of equinity and righteousness. On one occasion, did hold up a safe to guard it.

Talent, word-on-the-street: making a mean casserole.

Other: Graduated with a double first in martial law and herd psychology. Displayed an impressive aptitude in both theoretical studies as well as actual studying. Excelled far beyond peers in spite of their jeers and her own (uncommon) fears, becoming an invaluable member of the police service, establishing popularity and effectiveness in a mixed-species, mixed-class, mixed-media, mixed-martial-arts community. In the last seven seasons alone, has received nine special commendations, achieved the highest arrest record for any officer in the borough and sustained several injuries in the line of duty, most recently taking a pie to the face during a botched hostage situation.

“Hello Angel. How’s the hoof?” asked Sergeant Law, his toothy smile glimmering like starlight.

“Still a bit stiff.” Angel replied, hitting together her horseshoes with a resounding metallic clang. She had put up a mental note on her mental fridge to get a larger size while the swelling was receding from when she decked that criminal scum across their muzzle, but the sticky side of the note wore off and was lying somewhere in the mental between-space where the mental vacuum doesn't reach.

"It can get awfully hairy out there, what with the Mane-iac copycats galloping amok. I'm shocked you haven't snapped up a nice desk job like me. You do like to dot the 'J's and cross the ’F’s, don't you?"

The two ponies were seated in Sergeant Antiquated Law's office. It was dark and black as good coffee, despite Celestia's rays having just been raised, as the blinds were drawn to keep ponies from going blind. In light of tight budgeting and loose spending, the department had drawn the blinds in permanent, not dry-erase. Antiquated Law hadn't seen the light of day in years.

"I prefer to think my office is out on the street," said Angel. It was a phrase she picked up from Hard Knock's school for overly enthusiastic breaching operations. It's a bit of a hole in the wall.

"Oh yeah, you do. Your arrest record is four-hundred twenty percent higher than any other officer. To put it bluntly, it's high time such a blazing saddle was put to better use. We're making you a sergeant."

"I see." Angel nodded. She smiled, on the inside. In a mental cage, where it belonged.

"Somewhere else entirely."

Angel's ears perked up. Now the smile was threatening to come out of the cage. "Where is it then? Manehattan? Baltimare? Detrot?" She was practically falling out of her chair in excitement.

"Sandford, Gloucestershire."

Angel blinked. "Sorry, where?"

The sergeant cleared his throat. "Ahem, excuse me. I misspoke," the sergeant cleared his conscience, "Ponyville, Gloucestershire," clearing the confusion.

"That's... in the country." Troubling images of hay lucks and pot rides flooded Angel's brain like triple-X moonshine. Square dancing, rectangle raves, rhomboid routines, and quadrilateral cowponies. Pitchforks and pitchspoons and pitchchopsticks. Milk bars, milk weeds, milk hotels. Towns where a pony could be born, raised, and dead without ever setting hoof into another town. Farms where livestock was born, raised, and deadstock. Pies cooling on windowsills, cowpies heating on windowsills, pies in the treetops, and there's pies in the vale, and all around the pies fill the skies...

"That's right, the country. Of Equestria. O, Equestria! Our home and native land-" Law began singing, extending his long arms.

"No," Angel said, abruptly cutting off the orchestra that began playing, "I meant, that's miles away!"

"Not kilometres away? Talking their language, my, you're ready already!"

"Is there not a sergeant's position here in Trottingham?"

"There's only me, and he's taken," the sergeant said slyly. In reality he was single. It tore him up on the inside, but he never let it show.

"Can I stay here as a P.C?"

"Nope."

"Can I stay as a M.A.C?" Angel was willing to accept a lower ranked position of Meter Attendant Constable.

"Eenope."

Scowling, Angel leaned in. It was a fat lean at that, making the sergeant sink backwards.

"I'd like to speak with the inspector." Angel said. "By that of course, I mean, go get her."

"You can speak with the inspector, but I promise you she'll say the same thing." The sergeant stood up and walked to the edge of his office. With no subtlety, he smacked the wall two times.

DUN DUN.

"Order!" Law shouted, "Order!"

“Hello Angel. How’s the hoof?” asked Inspector Order, her flashy eyes shimmering like the sunset.

“Still a bit stiff.” Angel replied, eyes darting between Law and Order. Inspector Restraining Order was one of the most powerful unicorns in the station, capable of implanting an arcane conservancy on a pony that would trigger a proximity-based response. Said response was generally a large sound and light extravaganza rivaling even the most great and powerful fireworks that could be purchased in a back alley. When the town lights up, somepony has been naughty.

"How are things at home?" The inspector asked.

"I'd rather keep that to myself, inspector."

"Right. Such a shame about the bugbear infestation. Where have you been living since then? On the street outside the station? How awful!" The inspector didn't seem to blink, nor breathe.

"I... why'd you ask if you already knew?" Angel asked.

"Well, that's my job after all. Inspecting. In any case, I could say the same for you!" Order said, a smile forming.

"I don't follow." Angel said.

"Right you don't, always the leader, you." Law said.

"You were about to ask if you could remain here in Trottingham, knowing fully well that the answer is no. But brighten up! Ponyville is a delightful little village that's home to a number of famous cultural, erm, things." Order said.

"Right, yes. And plenty of... folklore too. Those Ponyvillains do spin a good yarn. As well as a good silk, twine, cotton, wicker, and candy floss!" Law added.

"What was that about pony villains?" Angel was tensing, winding, and penting up, all at the same time. The mere mention of potential evilness gave her hooves the urge to make quick transfers of large amounts of energy.

"Not villains, you silly filly. Ponyvillains. As in, somepony who's from a village." Order said.

"Consider yourself lucky to have lived long enough to see yourself become one!" Law said.

"I wouldn't suppose they should be called ponyvillagers, then?" Angel asked.

Order blew a raspberry. "Pish-"

"Posh!" Law finished.

"I'd like to speak with the chief inspector." Angel demanded.

Law and Order shared a glance.

"You want the chief inspector to come all the way down here?" they asked in unison.

"Yes, I do."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Certain?"

"Yes."

"...positive?"

"I am sure, certain, positive, adamant, confident, convinced, vindicated, and being real with you."

The pair shared a glance, then shrugged.

"If you insist." Order's horn glowed with a golden hue.

A brilliant flash of light and the sweetly smoky smell of teleportation heralded the sudden appearance of a wrinkly old earth pony, seemingly as startled as Angel was.

"What in Whinnyapolis is going on here? Where's my oatmeal?" He asked, trembling.

"Whoops. Sorry granddad. Meant to teleport the secretary in here to fetch the chief." Order blinked. "Don't suppose you could get the chief inspector for us instead?"

"So then I said, 'Oatmeal? Are you crazy?'" Law said, laughing.

"No you didn't." Angel said.

The three had been waiting in the office for an hour now, after sending grandpa Pecking Order on a wild goose chase for the chief. As far as anypony was concerned, he may as well have been running around like a headless chicken.

"Yes, I did." Law argued. Order nodded in approval.

"It happened not an hour ago, and I was right here!" Angel said.

"You must not have been paying attention."

Angel's temper flared. Nopony would ever dare assault her ability to pay attention. "Listen here you incompetent flathoof-"

The office door opened suddenly, cutting off Angel mid-

"Ponies." The chief slowly cantered in. The three underlings stood at attention in the presence of their glorious leader.

"At ease." The chief said. Antiquated and Restraining brought out a couple small paddles and a bouncy ball.

"Ping-" Law said.

"Pong?" Order finished.

The two grinned and left the room laughing, leaving only Angel and the chief. They stared at each other in silence, lost in the sparkling twilight of each other's eyes. The whole world outside was forgotten as the two gazed longingly into the forms of the other for what seemed like hours, days even, neither wanting it to end for fear of it never happening again.

"Chief, I-"

"Save it, Angel. You and I both know what's going to happen now. The script is already out." Chief Justice was a wizened mare, with a laser glare and graying hair. It's said that she could peer into the very soul of a pony and determine on a quantitative scale from one to forty-three how much justice they were capable of. The scale used to be one to ten, until she met Angel.

"Far be it from me to clip your wings, but the fact of the matter is, you're making us all look bad." The chief said. "When one pony becomes the sole competent force of justice in a city, an equally evil pony rises up to challenge them and it creates a great big ruckus. You know the old saying, 'superheroism breeds supervillainy,' and all of that. Haven't you read Batmare?"

"Not much a fan of vampire stories, myself." Angel said. The chief seemed to have a response, but kept it to herself.

"Regardless, with all due respect, you can't just make ponies disappear." Angel said.

"Yes I can, I'm the Chief Inspector," Justice smiled wryly, "and also a well-versed unicorn," she said, as her horn crackled with a violent, violet energy.

"Wait, chief!" Angel readied herself to dodge, but it was too late. A telekinetic glow had already wrapped her up like a pig in a blanket.

"Do say hello to the Princess of Friendship when you get there." The chief said. "And send us some postcards while you're at it."

"Neverrrrrrrrrr!" Angel shouted, overdramatically.

POP!

In an instant, Angel hit the dirt, or rather, mud. It had been raining. Hardly a graceful landing.

As she wiped herself off, her badge became unfastened and fell into the mud puddle. Sighing, she reached down to grab it, when it suddenly glowed and floated into the air beside her. Angel looked up to see a ~~lavender unicorn~~ freakin' alicorn holding her badge in a telekinetic grip.

"Hey there! Looks like you dropped this, uh... Do I know you?" The alicorn asked.

"H-hello. I'm Snowfrost. Snowfrost Angel."

"Oh! You must be the new, uh, police mare?"

"Police officer, yes."

"Well, I'm Twilight Sparkle, and on behalf of Ponyville, welcome!"

The two stood there awkwardly for a minute.

Finally, Twilight let curiosity take the wheel.

"What's a police officer, anyways?"

Author's Note

This chapter is the only one that utilizes much of the skeleton of the original movie's script. The rest is far more original and deviates completely. But there will be just as many awful jokes.