Tempest Shadow: Mooby Road

Chapters

Prologue: Murder Pony
Chapter 1: The Horse that Fell to Earth
Chapter 2: It's a Hell of a Town
Chapter 3: Pony Driver
Chapter 4: Dark Cat; Pale Cat
Epilogue: The Harmonious World

Prologue: Murder Pony

Canterlot Prime, Saddle Buckle District, October 6th, Era of Harmony year 7

Tempest leaned over the railing and scowled down at the narrow pedestrian walkway along the banks of the Canter River. A squad of raiju infantry hid there, clutching their spears and staring at the sky. “Soldiers!” she barked. “Why are you cowering under this bridge? You were supposed to have cleared this neighborhood two hours ago!”

“We’re afraid of the pony!” said one of the raiju, pointing at the sky.

Tempest ground her teeth and narrowed her eyes. Magical energy crackled around the stump of her horn. “You cowards! I’ll make you afraid of the pony if you don’t get out here and fight!” Something flickered through her peripheral vision. Without thinking, she stepped sideways. The hurled rock slammed into the bridge where she’d been standing, throwing up chunks of pavement.

“Yeah!” shouted a light blue stallion in a bright blue uniform, flapping in place over the river. “That’s what you get when you mess with the Wonderbolts!”

“Really?” growled Tempest.

The Wonderbolt flung another three rocks at her. He was a good enough shot for a stationary target, but he didn’t lead enough. She danced across the blacktop bridge, deftly avoiding the first two projectiles. She spun and kicked, hitting the third rock straight back at the Wonderbolt. It hit him in the nose, drawing a spray of blood.

“Ow!” he yelped. “Why I oughta…”

“Are those pieces of your princesses?” shouted Tempest. Then she turned to run. She didn’t go far, just to the first row of houses along the bank of the river. She glanced back. He was following. The Wonderbolt had fallen for a false retreat, the oldest trick in the tactician’s book. He was closing fast. She paused, as if for breath, and leaped for the side of the building a fraction of a second before he would have hit her. She kicked off against a drain pipe, broken brick and rusty metal spraying from the impact, and landed on the Wonderbolt’s back.

“Hey!” he said, craning his neck to look back at her. “I didn’t offer you a…”

Tempest wrapped her forelegs around his neck and twisted. There was a sickening snap. The pegasus’s body went limp, and the two of them plummeted twenty feet to the street below. His body cushioned her landing nicely.

She stood, and looked down at him. He’d been a strong, handsome pony. Cocky and not very bright, but brave. So brave. “Kill the brave ones, and the cowards will run,” She muttered.

What a waste.

She stepped away and headed back for the front.

Author's Note

Yes, the Storm King's people are called raiju. Don't @ me.

Chapter 1: The Horse that Fell to Earth

PonyvilleH, July 17th, Era of Harmony year 8

Tempest closed her eyes and stepped through the mirror. She felt a lurching sensation, then the cool air of a summer night hit her. She was through. She rose to two legs, swaying a little. Standing upright was disorienting at first, but in a few steps she had the hang of it. This wasn’t so hard.

Moonlight shone down on the courtyard of Canterlot High. She didn’t intend to spend any time here. After the third attempt on Tempest’s life, Twilight Sparkle had decided that, in spite of ponies’ generally forgiving nature, it was best if Tempest took some time away to give memories a chance to fade. Her army had killed a lot of ponies. Many of them she’d killed personally. That took a lot of forgiving. Still didn’t mean she was going to go back to school.

Her transport was supposed to be here by now. Where was it?

She got out of direct view of the road and took a moment to examine how the mirror had decided to dress her. Civilian clothes. Heavy black boots, tight blue twill leggings, an even tighter short sleeved black tunic, and a jacket made out of some kind of animal hide. She patted down the pockets, checking to see if the mirror had seen fit to give her any money or weapons. At least in the human world, she wouldn’t be held back by the disability of a broken horn, and she could…

Hold on.

Something wasn’t right.

She’d read Twilight’s briefing on hands thoroughly, and she was certain that humans were supposed to have two of them.

“Oh mother all of vermin,” she hissed, holding her arms out in front of her. The left ended in a slim, calloused, dark purple hand with five long fingers with blunt-cut, unpainted nails. The right one ended in a scarred stump.

Well. It was one more hand than she was used to.

Somewhere, a horn sounded twice. Tempest flattened herself against the wall of the school. She’d been spotted.

“Yoohoo! Fizzlepop Berry Twist!” said aloud, high pitched voice. That would be human world Pinkie Pie.

“Darling, not so loud. You’ll wake the whole neighborhood.” And that would be Rarity. Tempest swore internally. Of all of Twilight’s friends…

They came into view around the corner. There they were. It was just the two of them, waltzing along as if they weren’t two unescorted, untrained females wandering near an empty building at night.

Tempest stepped away from the wall onto the walkway in front of them. Both of them screamed. Pinkie dived behind Rarity. Rarity hopped into the air and dropped the thermos she was holding.

“F-fizzlepop?” stammered Rarity, her hand flashing into her handbag, probably for a weapon.

“I prefer Tempest.”

“Oh my gosh, you appeared out of nowhere!” Said Pinkie, still clinging to Rarity. Rarity, thin as a wisp above the waist, didn’t provide much cover for the short, curvy Pinkie. “That was so cool! Did you use magic? Does the mirror come out of the school wall now?”

“No, and no,” said Tempest. If they were only going to send two, why couldn’t it be Applejack and Rainbow? She’d have things to talk to them about. Fluttershy at least knew when to keep her mouth shut, and Twilight… well. Maybe this world’s Twilight would also be…

Never mind. These two were what she had to deal with, at least for now. “What’s the plan?”

Rarity reached down to pick up her thermos and its lid, which had come off when she dropped it. “Well, I was going to offer you coffee, but…”

“Oh, we do need coffee,” said Pinkie Pie, “And I can get you coffee!” She took off her backpack and pulled out a ring of keys. “Come on girlfriends. You’re not going to need to sleep for a week.”

†

The bakery’s sign said ‘Sugar Cube Corner’. Pinkie let them in, then locked the door behind them. The windows had metal barriers on them that blocked the view inside from the street.

“Do they really need those dreadful blinds, Pinkie?” said Rarity, sitting down at a booth. “Who would try to rob a bakery?”

“Um, literally anybody?” said Pinkie, going behind the counter and turning on the coffee machine. “Who wouldn’t want to rob this place? We have muffins! Speaking of which, Tempest, are you hungry?”

“Extremely. Bring me all the bacon and egg’s you’ve got,” said Tempest. She knew there was no stigma against meat in the human world, and she intended to take full advantage of that.

“Got it!” said Pinkie Pie.

Tempest sat down across from Rarity and began patting her jacket’s pockets with her left hand to see what the mirror had done to the paperwork and the purse full of bits Twilight had sent her through with. The pants had pockets as well, but they were clearly for decoration — she could barely fit her fingers halfway into the hip pocket, and the ones on the back seemed to be sewn shut. She found a black wallet in the right inside breast pocket of the jacket She fished it out and fumbled with it until disgorged a slim stack of paper money and a few small cards. There was another card under a plastic film that she couldn’t easily get out with one hand. She set the wallet and the cards aside and began to count the money.

“The others send their regrets,” said Rarity. “It is summertime, but Applejack has to help on the farm, and Rainbow is volunteering overseas. Fluttershy is mad to get to veterinary school, so she’d taking corses summer term. And Sunset and Sci Twi are working on…” Rarity hesitated. “A project. A project whose nature they will not specify. I’m concerned, but for the moment it is out of my hands.”

“Do you still go to the high school?” Tempest said, sorting the money into stacks by denomination. She’d noticed a date of birth on the card stuck in her wallet; she seemed to be much younger here than she was in Equestria. Perhaps the years were longer on this side of the mirror? Or it was magic. Magic was irritatingly unpredictable.

“Oh heavens no,” said Rarity, pulling a napkin out of the rack by the wall and folding it in half. “We’re all in college, now.”

“Hand me a menu, please,” said Tempest.

Rarity blinked. “I don’t think Pinkie is going to make you pay, darling. And if you need anything I can cover you. Or…” she smiled, and flicked a small card like one of the ones in Tempest’s wallet out of her purse, “Daddy will.”

“Daddy’s rich?” said Tempest, raising an eyebrow.

“A retired football player. Though a great deal of his money does come from a line of sportswear that I consulted him on as a young lady, so it’s only right that he share. I’d prefer to pay my own way, but the fashion industry is very competitive.”

“That’s good, but I still need the menu. I’m calculating.”

Tempest flipped the menu open and scanned it quickly. The numbers after the menu items must be the prices. Assuming similar quality ingredients could be had in a market for a quarter what they cost at a restaurant, her cash would last her sixty days at half rations. And that was only counting food, not lodging and other expenses. That wasn’t good. Twilight and she had discussed the fact that she’d need to find employment in the human world.

“Soup’s up,” said Pinkie, placing a coffee cup and a large metal mixing bowl full of scrambled eggs and chunks of bacon in front of Tempest.

“Pinkie, I think Tempest meant ‘a large serving of bacon and eggs’, not literally ‘all the bacon and eggs you have,” said Rarity.

“No, Pinkie got it right,” said Tempest, bracing the bowl with her right arm and reaching for a fork with her left hand.

“It’s not actually all the bacon and eggs we have? We have a lot,” said Pinkie, serving Rarity a poached egg with a little sprig of parsley for garnish, and herself a massive chocolate chip muffin. “But it’s all I could fit on the griddle at one time. I hope it’s okay?”

“Ith… amathin,” said Tempest, shoveling food into her face. The trip through the mirror had apparently taken a lot out of her — she was starving. The eggs were fluffy and savory, the bacon very salty and just at the exact perfect point between too chewy and too crispy. The only condiment besides salt and pepper was some sort of red sauce called ‘ketchup’. She tried it on the eggs and it elevated them from ‘very good’ to ‘sublime’.

Tempest's mouth was dry from the bacon. She glanced over at the coffee. It was black and steaming, it’s dark surface gleaming invitingly in the dim light. She reached for it with her right arm instinctively, whacked it and sent the cup flying over the edge of the table.

“Oh! I’ll get that!” said Pinkie standing up.

Tempest cursed under her breath. Her cheeks felt hot. How could she be so clumsy? Her ruined arm looked a little like a hoof but was nowhere near so useful. Hands seemed at first glance to be superior to Equestrian hooves, and after using a hand for a little while, she did find them superior in fine motor control. But it had nowhere near the strength or flexibility of an Equestrian pony’s leathery hooves. And you couldn’t walk on them, restricting humans to bipedal locomotion only.

The stump though? She had no idea what to do with that.

She didn’t doubt she’d be able to manage most day to day tasks with one hand after a little practice. But her skills were all military in nature. She’d expected to find work in whatever the human world needed for military or law enforcement — conflict was a constant throughout all universes. But having such an obvious disability meant that was now out of the question. What was she going to do now? The last thing she wanted to be was Rarity’s permanent houseguest.

Rarity placed the napkin she’d been fiddling with in front of her. She’d folded it into a little white crane. “How did you lose your… if you don’t mind my asking?”

“I didn’t,” growled Tempest as Pinkie deftly cleaned up the spilled coffee. “I’m a unicorn in the pony world. I lost my horn when I was a little filly. I was mauled by an ursa major. Do you have those here?”

“No, we do not,” said Rarity, cutting a tiny portion of her poached egg with her knife and fork.

“It means ‘big bear’!” shouted Pinkie from the kitchen.

Pinkie pranced back in and set a fresh cup down in front of Tempest, who reached for it with her left hand this time. Pinkie had guessed correctly that Tempest took hers black. She took a sip. It was rich and nutty and hot and she loved it. “Yes. A very big magical bear. I assume the mirror thought I wouldn’t really be ‘me’ if I wasn’t missing something. I disagree.”

“Oh,” said Pinkie, putting a consoling hand on her stump, “I’m so sorry! If you need any…”

Tempest’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t you dare pity me,” she growled.

“Um, right,” said Pinkie, jerking back her hand from Tempest as if she’d touched a hot pan. “Hey, so, what do you want to do while you’re here? Twilight told us what you'd been through, and I think you could use Rarity and I were thinking road trip.”

Tempest raised an eyebrow. “What I’ve been through? You know who I am, right?”

Rarity batted her eyelashes. “Yes. Ruthless warlord.”

“Warlady,” said Pinkie.

“Hands stained red with blood,” said Rarity.

“Hooves,” said Pinkie.

“But all of that is by Equestrian standards. You’ll find military leaders in the human world do things do ponies wouldn’t even contemplate. Did you execute civilians? Torture prisoners? Use weapons of mass destruction?”

Tempest felt vaguely offended. “I turned princesses to stone.”

“They got better,” said Pinkie.

Rarity patted Tempest’s hand. “Yes, you’ve been a very bad pony. And it does, I must confess, give you a certain mystique. But Twilight forgave you, then we forgive you.”

Tempest was sure it wasn’t that easy. “Fine. A road trip sounds interesting. Keep talking,” she said, setting down her coffee and returning her attention to her eggs.

“We’ve been to Equestrian Ponyville a time or two. It is a wonderful place,” said Rarity. “Arts! Culture! Wine! So friendly! So tolerant! Human world Ponyville is… how do I put this kindly…”

“It’s a one-horse town,” said Pinkie, elbowing Rarity in the ribs. “Though two, I guess, now that Tempest’s here. Her and Sunset.”

“Anyhow,” said Rarity, waving Pinkie away. “Are you interested? I have an itinerary planned, and a hotel in the city reserved for tomorrow night.”

Tempest set her fork in the empty metal bowl. “I’m in.”

Chapter 2: It's a Hell of a Town

New Ponk City left Tempest in a constant state of agitation. It was inconceivably enormous. Canterlot was the biggest city she’d ever seen before, and three Canterlots would fit into this place with room to spare. Far overhead, video billboards anchored to the sides of towers flashed seizure-inducing advertisements. The streets swarmed with cars, half of them bright yellow taxis that never stopped for anything. The crowds on the street were shoulder to shoulder. People constantly bumped into Tempest from behind or lunged past her peripheral vision. None of them knew it took a conscious act of will on her part to keep from reflexively crushing their trachea.

Her lack of sleep didn’t help. Pinkie and Rarity had driven through the small hours of the morning, two of them taking turns at the wheel and passing a thermos of Sugar Cube’s super strong coffee back and forth while Tempest half-dozen in the back seat. They’d parked their car in a garage where the attendants stacked the vehicles on elevators like a box of children’s toys and had eaten breakfast in a snooty café that served espresso that could take paint of walls.

Tempest was wide awake, but at the cost of frayed nerves and a sour stomach.

“Why are we here?” said Tempest.

“Because New Ponk City is one of the most sophisticated places on earth!” said Rarity.

“It smells like a sewer,” said Tempest.

“It’s really fun, here!”Said Pinkie. “There’s a toy museum and sex museum, and there are people in costumes, and… Oh, can we go to the M&M store?”.

“We may stop at the M&M store after we get Tempest something decent to wear,” said Rarity,

Tempest frowned. “We already got me clothes.” They’d been shopping from the moment the stores opened. Exercise clothes, tunics, soft canvas shoes, more of the tight but surprisingly comfortable twill leggings, all to supplement the one outfit the mirror had given her. One of her new tunics had a cartoon version of alicorn Twilight Sparkle printed on the front, which was confusing.

“We got you street clothes,” said Rarity. “We are going to the Ponypolitan this afternoon. You cannot go in there dressed like a ragamuffin.”

“Mmmm, muffins,” purred Pinkie as Rarity lead them off the street into a little boutique.

“It’s full of pretty dresses,” grumbled Tempest, slouching.

“Yes,” said Rarity. “We’ll need something that will compliment your skin tone. Now, what goes well with purple?”

Pinkie fell asleep in a chair in a back corner while Tempest, Rarity, and the shop girl wore a path between the racks and the changing room. Tempest had never before been unhappy to disrobe in front of two attractive females. Even Rarity was at a loss. Nothing looked quite right on Tempest’s tall, narrow, muscular frame, and of course Tempest hated all of it.

“I’m so sorry,” said Rarity after an hour of this, putting her hands on Tempest’s shoulders. “I’m sure I can design something for you when we get home, but off-the-shelf dresses are just not working.”

Tempest was about to assure Rarity that it was really all right and not to worry about it when she glanced out the window and saw a vision of everything she wanted to be walking past. “That,” she said, grabbing Rarity by the shoulder and pointing. “I want that.”

“You want an angry businessman yelling in into a cell phone,” said Rarity, knitting her brows.

“No. The suit. I want the suit.” Tempest preferred to yell at people in person.

A sour little look flashed across Rarity’s face, but it was quickly replaced by a dawning look of joy. “Oh!” she said, stamping and clapping her hands. “It’s perfect!”

They sent Pinkie to play at the M&M store, and an hour and a half later Tempest stepped out of a tailor’s shop wearing a light blue-gray suit, with Rarity draped off her arm.

“I find there is always a solution to these problems,” purred Rarity, straightening Tempest’s tie. “How do you feel, dearest heart?”

Tempest smirked down at her. “Like a million bits.” She’d better. The suit hadn’t cost quite that much, but Tempest was sure there had been at least four digits on the receipt Rarity had signed. She hoped Rarity’s father really was as loaded as she’d implied. “So what’s the Ponypilitan?”

†
The Ponypolitan was an art museum, and there were plenty of tourists dressed like ‘ragamuffins’ there, so Tempest didn’t know what Rarity had been so worried about.

It didn’t matter; Tempest felt good in her suit. She also felt good in the museum; it was calm here; so different from the frantic rushing city outside. She hadn’t had time to explore Canterlot — She’d been there for the battle and had spent most of her time there in the palace dungeons. But this felt like a Canterlot place. Quiet, open, beautiful spaces full of wonderful things.

Art wasn’t something she’d had much time to think about — what education she’d had was martial, and largely self-administered. But art was an excellent source of intelligence about a civilization, it turned out. Here in one building was a wealth of information about this world’s major cultures. Far more than she had time to interpret. But she could see from the weapons on display that the humans were more violent than ponies. They kept slaves, hoarded wealth, rode… horses? Rarity assured her the ones in her world didn’t talk.

She especially liked the stern grandeur of the Egyptian artifacts and the idealized perfection of the Greeks and Romans. They apparently had been similar to the ancient Pegasopolans, whose culture she had always admired.

She was so caught up in the exhibits that she didn’t immediately notice Pinkie’s increasing agitation. As they moved from room to room, Pinkie sat down at every opportunity and was constantly looking at her phone. She looked flushed, tired, bored and annoyed.

And Tempest didn’t know what to do about it. She went through what she knew about Pinkie Pie, both human and Equestrian. There wasn’t much to go on, but nothing of her brief acquaintance with either suggested a long attention span or an interest in high culture. Tempest taped Rarity on the shoulder.

“Pinkie seems…” said Tempest.

“Look at these brush strokes. So meticulous!” said Rarity, stroking her chin and gesturing at a painting of a man with a pencil thin mustache standing arm in arm with an overweight crossdresser. Tempest was surprised at Rarity’s mention of brush strokes; she’d assumed the painting was a photograph.

Tempest tried again. “But Pinkie…” Rarity had already moved on, a trancelike expression on her face.

Pinkie and Rarity were tired and full of caffeine. All three of them had been eating from Pinkie’s massive bag of M&Ms all afternoon, and they hadn’t really stopped for lunch. A friendship problem was coming, and Twilight hadn’t prepared her enough for it. And she was exhausted, too. Rarity was walking close to the bench where Pinkie Pie was sprawled like a martyr awaiting execution. Battle was imminent. She was trying to work up the nerve to intervene when a painting caught her eye.

Brutal strokes of paint depicted a battle. Rifles were little more than sideways slashes. Red and white flags thrust forward at aggressive angles. Gore stained the field of battle red beneath an autumn sky. Everything in between — soldiers, a horse, even the flags — was torn as though fed through the blades of a thresher. It was like a window back to Canterlot — Raiju shamans felling whole waves of royal guards with lightning bolts. Lt. Grubber’s head lying on the pavement, severed by a pirate’s cutlass. And her, always at the front of her forces, her hooves soaked in pony blood.

Why had Twilight pardoned her? Turning traitor on the Storm King didn’t seem like enough — in Tempest’s mind, a traitor once might be a traitor again. If she were Twilight, she wouldn’t trust her. The thought of her own treason made her stomach churn. Had the Storm King deserved her loyalty? He had not. But that wasn’t how a warrior should live. Warriors lived in a world of ‘ought’, not of ‘is’. They lived by a code of honor.

The sound of young women shouting pulled Tempest’s head out of her own navel.

“We’ve done nothing but what you want to do all day!” said Pinkie, waving her arms in the air. “Nothing! Just boutique after boutique after boutique and then this… huge… echoy… house of boredom!”

Rarity glared at Pinkie, arms crossed over her chest. “There’s no need to make a scene. We discussed our itinerary this morning. If you had any objections, you should have voiced them then.”

The other museum-goers were staring at them. The security guard was staring at them. Tempest strode towards them as quickly as her long legs could take her without breaking into a run. She wrapped an arm around each of their shoulders and herded them out of the gallery. This could have gone any number of ways, most of them bad, but Rarity and Pinkie were apparently both so startled by the gesture that they went along with it. Tempest heard twin intakes of breath as of two young women about to protest. She spoke as quickly and firmly as she could.

“Rarity. You’re more tired than you think you are. You need to sit down and have a couple of glasses of wine and something to eat. Pinkie. We can’t always do what we want to do. Rarity promises that we will do something you want to do tomorrow.”

“But…” said Rarity.

“You do,” said Tempest.

Rarity scowled. “Fine. I accept that I may have gotten carried away today. Pinkie Pie, we may go to any restaurant you like for dinner, as long as they serve wine.”
†
The pizza wasn’t bad, though the animatronics were a bit unsettling.

“Are there people in those?” said Tempest, handing Pinkie’s phone back to her after taking her picture with one of the characters.

“This place has an appalling safety record,” slurred Rarity, swishing her wine in her glass. “But a surprisingly acceptable wine list.” Her and Tempest were on their third bottle. Pinkie was just drinking soda.

“Oh, those are just urban legends,” said Pinkie, sitting down and folding a slice of olive and anchovy in half. “Some places are way worse. I heard about this one pizza parlor that has a whole satanic cult thingy in its basement. Tunnels and everything!” She stuffed the entire piece into her mouth at once.

“That is… a conspiracy theory, darling. It is made up. The incidents here are a matter of… public… thingy.”

“Mpgh mmmm!” said Pinkie.

“I’m wondering something,” said Tempest.

“About the satanic cult?” said Pinkie.

“This world is really different from what I’m used to,” said Tempest, sailing on past Pinkie’s non-sequitur like it wasn’t there. “This body is really different from what I’m used to. This city? I’ve been from one side of Equus to the other; there’s nothing like this in the pony world. And it’s an adjustment, but it feels like too easy of an adjustment. Like those things.” She jabbed a finger at a huge metallic teddy bear covered with squealing children. “If I saw something like that in Equestria, I’d lose my mind. And yet I’m only mildly creeped out by it.”

“Oooooh!” said Pinkie. “That’s a mirror thing. It makes your brain different, so you don’t go crazy from the change of context.”

“Twilight told me…” said Rarity, attempting to pour herself another glass of wine. She frowned when nothing came out of the bottle.

“Which Twilight?” said Pinkie.

Rarity rolled her eyes. “The Twilight who knows about magic, obviously. If I were talking about quantum physics, I would mean the other Twilight. And if I were talking about something ambiguous, I would specify ‘Twilight’ or ‘Sci Twi’.”

Pinkie nodded sagely. “Right. That makes sense. So…”

“So what, dearest heart?” said Rarity.

Pinkie waved her hands in circles. “So Magic Twilight told you…”

“Oh! Right!” Rarity waved at someone over Tempest’s shoulder. “She says the mirror could easily send someone through as their own species, and that she wondered why it didn’t. At first, she thought it was to keep magic secret, but we’ve seen what the word gets out nothing really changes. People just… forget they saw magic. And of course, they usually don’t believe the stories. If I were to tell someone… hold on.”

The waitress came over to their table. “Can I get you anything?”

Rarity cleared her throat. “My friends and I used to be in a magical girl rock band, you know. I dare say we’ve vanquished more demons than you’ve had hot breakfasts.”

“That’s nice,” said the waitress. “Would you like another bottle of wine?”

“Yes please,” said Rarity. “I suspect if I’d have been lying, she might’ve believed me. But when the human — or pony — mind encounters fact it can’t correlate with its normal existence, it just discounts them. Or accepts them as normal if it can’t do that. Certainly, no one bats an eyelash at our Spikey Wikey talking. But if you take a human or pony and put them in a totally alien world, it would be unspeakably traumatic. Putting them into the opposite body as close to their original body as possible eases the transition. It makes them feel as though they belong in the world they’re in.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” said Tempest.

Pinkie rolled her eyes. “So like I said, the mirror makes your brain different, so you don’t go crazy from the change of context.”

“All right, I have another question,” said Tempest. “Why are you helping me?”

They both stared at her like she’d asked what color grass was.

“Um, because you need help?” said Pinkie. “We passed the pony power mantle over to the young six a while back, but we still like to help out.”

The waitress plonked an open bottle of wine on the table next to them. Rarity poured herself and Tempest another glass.

“I’m dangerous,” said Tempest, then sipped her wine.

“Oh, did you hear that, Pinkie, darling. Tempest is dangerous. I had no idea.”

“Oh my gosh! What if she suddenly raises an army and conquers New Ponk City!”

“Whatever would we do,” drawled Rarity.

Tempest scowled at them. Rarity leaned over to pat her on the arm. “Don’t be cross, darling. We are very impressed with your capacity for violence. But you’re a mercenary, not a sociopath. You display empathy, a code of honor, and a capacity for remorse. There’s no reason you’d cause Pinkie or I any harm unless someone was paying you to. In fact,” she said, fishing her credit card out of her purse, “Why don’t we say I am paying you to protect us. I’ll give you some spending money the next time we’re near an ATM.”

“Sure. However you want to handle it. I wasn’t threatening you,” said Tempest. “I’m just trying to understand why you’d choose to associate with someone like me. Not that I’m ungrateful. Bodyguard is a fine profession.”

Pinkie shrugged. “If Twilight’s willing to take a chance on you, then so are we.”
†
They staggered back to their hotel, Tempest in the middle, with a ridiculously caffeinated Pinkie clinging to one arm, and a shit-faced Rarity hanging off the other.

The plan was to turn in early, but ridiculous caffeinated Pinkie and pillows weren’t a good combination. She snuck up on Rarity while the was getting ready for bed, and poked her in the small of her back.

“Not now, Pinkie, I am moisturizing,” said Rarity.

“Nope. I’m calling you out. I demand satisfaction!”

“Mmmm. Is that what you’re looking for? I thought you were looking for a pillow fight.”

Tempest lay on the two of the beds closer to the window, watching the two young woman. She’d never guessed from looking at the pictures in Twilight’s briefing materials that she’d find human women so enticing. She blamed the mirror. She watched as Pinkie gave up on trying to start a pillow fight with Rarity, and instead hopped on the bed and began bouncing on it.

Tempest covered her face. “Pinkie. Pinkie. You know I’m a bisexual, right?”

“Of course you are. You’re Equestrian!” said Pinkie. “I don’t mind if you look!”

Tempest poked at the TV remote until she figured out how to use it to turn on the TV.

“Pinkie,” said Rarity, her arms held behind her back, “I have something for you.”

“Yeah?” said Pinkie, still bouncing on the bed.

Rarity, holding her pillow in a two-handed grip, whacked Pinkie across the midriff.

“It’s over, Anakin! I have the high ground!” shouted Pinkie, scooping up a pillow.

“Owf! Owf!” cried Rarity, pillow held over her head against Pinkie’s rain of blows. “Tempest for God’s sake, did I not just hire you as a bodyguard?”

“If I hit one of you two with a pillow I’d knock you across the room,” said Tempest, flipping through the channels.

Pinkie stopped bouncing. “You know what that means, right Rarity?”

“Yes, darling. In the face of a greater threat, I propose a temporary alliance.”

Tempest blinked. “What?” The next thing she knew, Pinkie and Rarity were on either side of her bed, pummeling her with pillows.

Author's Note

The painting of John Waters and Divine does not, as far as I know, exist. It should though.

The war painting is Barnaby Furnas's Antietam.

Chapter 3: Pony Driver

Tempest woke early in the morning. The other two were still asleep, lying on either side of the other bed, Rarity with her sleep mask and earplugs in, and Pinkie lying backward in the bed with her head and one arm hanging off the edge of the bed. The corner of Tempest’s mouth twitched up. Innocents.

In the bathroom, she rolled up the edge of her nightshirt and poked her belly. Her finger sank in a fraction of an inch. All that time under arrest in Canterlot had made her soft. She needed to exercise, but she didn’t know what kind of exercise was best for this body.

She decided running was pretty safe. Humans looked like running creatures. She’d give that a try.

She dressed in her new exercise clothes, improvised some stretches, and headed out to the elevator and the street. Yesterday had been cool, but it had rained during the night, and the day was shaping up to be oppressive. Her skin quickly became soaked with sweat, but that sweat didn’t do anything but make her feel unclean. Her new sneakers, still stiff and uncomfortable, pounded against the sidewalk. Her legs, accustomed to idleness, burned. Her lungs felt tight. Her heart thudded. Pain, the drill sergeant cliche went, was weakness leaving the body.

She kept telling herself that. It was a hard world. She couldn’t afford to be weak.

Seven blocks downtown, she decided she’d had enough and she should cross the street and turn around. Waiting for the walk signal, she heard someone walk up behind her.

“You’re a tall drink of water.”

She looked over her shoulder. A man, well dressed, not bad looking, a little taller than her. Heavy in a sturdy, strong sort of way. “I don’t know what that means,” she said. She was very thirsty, but she doubted that was what he meant.

“You’ve got a funny accent. Where are you from?” the man said.

“No place you’ve heard of,” she said, trying not to sound hostile. She couldn't smell lust on him, but the human nose was useless. She suspected he was making advances towards her. She wasn’t prone to picking up random strangers, and his approach was crass. But she was lonely, and he was attractive. Thick, strong hands. She was interested in some of the possibilities of hands.

“No need to be rude,” huffed the man with a smirk suggesting this was within the range of what he considered flirting.

“I wasn’t trying to be rude,” she said, turning to face him and crossing her arms over her chest. “I’m from an extremely long way away.”

His eyes flicked toward her stump, and his expression changed. The corners of his mouth turned down, and he paled. Rage, Tempest’s old friend, rose up her chest and into her throat like boiling oil. “What, you don’t like this? Does this bother you?” she growled, thrusting her right arm into his face.

He threw up his arms and backed away from her. He was a little taller than Tempest and much heavier, but he was still intimidated by her. As he should be. She knew she could break him in half, and right now she wanted to. “Hey, hey, lady, I’m sorry, I just…”

Tempest waved her arm at him, making him step back. “You were making advances towards me. And then you saw this and you look at me like I’m something you found on the bottom of your hoof!”

“Hoof?” The man looked like he was about to say something else, but his heel caught on a vent grate and he went down. His breath went out of him as he hit the pavement, and Tempest cocked her arm back, ready for a quick blow to the neck.

No. This wasn’t a battlefield. She turned on her heel and pounded back towards the hotel at a sprint, cursing herself.

The instincts of a lifetime were just as useless here as they were in Equestria.

†

“Oh my gosh, no!” protested Pinkie. “You didn’t do anything wrong! That guy was a c-r-e-e-e-e-p! He had it coming! You should have actually punched him!”

“Pinkie is right, darling. You did nothing wrong except encouraging the advances of a rather crude stranger.”

Tempest lay on her back on the hotel bed and pressed the heel of her good hand between her eyes. “The point is that I was prepared to murder him. I’m not safe out here. I need to go back to Equestria, and into a cell.”

“Murder him,” said Pinkie, sitting on the edge of the other bed. “With your stump.”

“Pinkie!” gasped Rarity. “Please!” She was packing as they talked, walking between the closet and their one suitcase.

“No, it’s a stump,” growled Tempest. “And yes. I could snap any one of you weak babies in half with it without thinking.”

“The point,” said Rarity, carefully folding a t-shirt, “is that you didn’t. You were tested, and you prevailed.”

“You should’ve given him a black eye,” said Pinkie, punching the air with her plump little fists. “Guys like that burn my biscuit.”

Tempest sighed. They didn’t understand. “I don’t like this city.”

“Well, we never planned to spend more than one day here,” said Rarity. “Where shall we go next?”

“Mooby world! Mooby world!” said Pinkie, bouncing up on the bed without seeming to cross the intervening space.

Rarity laughed. “We may go to Mooby World if Tempest is interested. It’s two days’ drive away though. A bit of a long-range goal.”

“What’s Mooby World?” asked Tempest, sitting up in bed.

“Only the happiest place on earth!” said Pinkie, clapping her hands.

Tempest smirked. “Happiness. I could use some of that. Fine. Let’s go.” She hopped off the bed. “Dibs on the shower.”

†

The next day’s travels were uneventful.

They stopped at a bouncy house gym for a couple of hours to keep Pinkie’s morale up. The children handled Tempest’s missing hand better than that horny New Ponk City rando had. Early on in the visit, one of them asked: “What happened to your hand?”

“A bear ate it,” Tempest replied.

“Oh,” said the little boy. “Did it hurt?”

“Yes. A lot,” said Tempest. And that settled things.

Conversation over lunch centered around the idea that Tempest needed a phone.

“No,” said Tempest. “I’ve seen you people with those things. You stare at them all day and you don’t see anything happening around you. It’s horrifying.”

“But what if you get in trouble?” said Pinkie. “What if you need to call us.”

“Ah ah ah!” said Rarity, holding up a hand. “And don’t start with us about how strong you are darling. I mean the kind of trouble you can’t punch your way out of. Which is most kinds of trouble.”

Tempest fought them every inch of the way, but by the time they were on the highway again, she’d been equipped with her own little pink distraction box. It was kind of cool. She even looked at the internet for a few minutes — or she meant to. Pinkie suggested she search for ‘cute cat pictures’. Several hours later it had gotten dark, and she was only able to look away because she’d just gotten her first text.

Sunset: Hi. Sunset Shimmer here. Assuming Magic Twi told you about me? Let me know if you want to set up an Equestrian Expats society. Or a Reformed Twilight Sparkle Rivals Society if you want to be exclusive.

Tempest laboriously pecked out a reply with one thumb. Nut sure I count as reformed. She swore. Not, duck it.

Sunset: I got what you meant. Re: being reformed. It’s a process. Just try not to conquer and/or despoil anything today. Let tomorrow take care of itself.

Tempest: Wise advice.

Sunset: I do my best.

Tempest: Done talking. Thumb tired.

Sunset: TTYL!

Tempest craned her head over into the front seat. Pinkie was driving, and Rarity was snoring with her cheek smooshed against the passenger side window. “Pinkie, what does ‘TTLY’ mean?”

“It means talk to you laaattter!” said Pinkie, waving her hand dramatically.

Tempest nodded. “Thank you.”

Tempest: TTYL u 2.

†

“I need to learn to drive,” said Tempest as they walked to the car early the next morning.

“You need to what now?” said Rarity, grip on her iced skinny caramel macchiato tightening.

“Prreeeetttyy sure Tempest said she wants to learn to drive,” said Pinkie, fishing out her keys and tossing them to Tempest. Tempest deftly transferred her iced coffee to the crook of her right arm and caught the keys in midair.

“Pinkie darling do you really think now is the right time?” said Rarity, her voice wavering.

Tempest unlocked the car door, sat down, turned the keys in the ignition and gripped the wheel with her good hand. The car’s engine purred like a tiger.

“See,” said Pinkie, hopping into the passenger seat. “She’s a natural.”

Rarity bucked herself the back behind Pinkie and gripped her seat. “For all of our sakes, I hope she is.”

“I’ve been watching what you two do. I think I figured out the basics.” Tempest took a deep breath and pressed down on the right pedal. The wheels squealed and the engine roared and the car jumped, but went nowhere.”

“You, um, need to put it in gear,” said Pinkie looking at Tempest over the tops of her sunglasses.

“The one that says ‘D’, right?” said Tempest.

“Yeah. It’s an automatic,” said Pinkie.

“I don’t know what that means.”

“It means you don’t need to change gears while you’re driving. The car does it for you. When the engine thingy starts going too fast, it goes up a gear and you can go faster. Or something? I don’t understand it.”

Tempest hooked her right arm in the steering wheel and pushed the gear shift down to D. It wasn’t hard to move; she could probably use it with her bad arm if she needed to. She pressed on the gas again and the car jerked forward. Rarity yelped. Pinkie whooped. Tempest growled.

“Can you two keep the feedback to a minimum? I’m trying to concentrate.” She pressed on the gas pedal with a gentler, more even motion, and the car rolled gracefully out of its spot. The hotel parking lot was mostly empty, so Tempest drove around it in slow circles, getting used to how the vehicle handled.

“Oh, good heavens, watch out for that car!” yelped Rarity, ducking her head and bracing herself behind Pinkie’s seat.

“I’m nowhere near that car. I’m fine,” said Tempest.

“You’re right, you’re totally not,” said Pinkie, gesturing ahead of them with her coffee cup. “But you’re heading straight from that lamp post.”

Ignoring Rarity’s panicked screams, Tempest swung the wheel one way, then realized it was the wrong direction and whirled the wheel back the other way. The car skidded sideways and stopped inches from the lamp post. Tempest gripped the wheel breathing heavily.

Pinkie leaned over to hug her. “You didn’t wreck the car! Yay! You’re doing great!”

Tempest smirked. “Thank you.”

“Are we done yet?” said Rarity.

“Do you feel up to the highway, Tempest?” said Pinkie.

“Oh no no no no no,” said Rarity.

“Hell yeah,” said Tempest, and pressed down on the gas. “Hey, there have got to be rules and laws about this kind of thing,” said Tempest, jerkily trundling towards the parking lot exit.

Pinkie tapped her chin. “Um… let’s see. Use your turn signals. Don’t go so fast the police chase you, or so slow we get bored. Try not to run into the other cars. Red means stop, green means go, yellow means go very fast. Pull over one lane for emergency vehicles. Those are the big ones.”

“Pinkamina Diane Pie you know there is more to it than that!” said Rarity, pounding on the back of Pinkie’s seat.

“Oh yeah, signs! Be careful about signs! Policemen take those pretty seriously!”

“Speaking of signs which road do I want,” said Tempest, ignoring the horns blaring behind her as she wove between lanes.

“Ninety-five south all the way!” hooted Pinkie.

Tempest frowned at the sign near the end of the on-ramp. “Yield? I never yield! It is part of my code of honor!”

“Then don’t!” said Pinkie, pulling out the CD booklet as more honking broke out behind them.

Rarity folded her hands and put her head between her knees. “Dear Lord, if you let me survive this, I promise I will donate all of my clothes to charity and devote my life to helping the poor.”

“Don’t lie to God, Rarity!” Pinkie pushed a CD into the player. The speakers boomed out something about being on a highway to hell.

Tempest pushed her foot down until the pedal touched the floorboards. Pinkie’s little pink sedan growled like a racing hound being let off the leash. The lines on the highway flashed by on either side of the car. She smiled. She felt such power. Such control. Control had always been an issue in her life. The ursa major had taken control from her. The Storm King had taken control from her. Twilight had taken control from her. The mirror had taken control from her. But on some level, she also knew that she’d given up control, at every one of those points. Surrendered to her disability and her anger. Surrendered to a fool of a king in exchange for a promise that, on some level, she always knew he wouldn’t keep. Surrendered to Twilight Sparkle because… well, because Twilight Sparkle saw something good in her, and had offered to help her find it.

But surrender was surrender. Tempest was tired of surrender. She wiggled her fingers, adjusting her grip on the wheel. It wasn’t much, but right now this vehicle was hers to control. And it felt oh so very good.

Chapter 4: Dark Cat; Pale Cat

Tempest hadn’t been willing to give up the wheel until they stopped for lunch. Then Pinkie had taken over for a few hours, and Rarity fell asleep in the back seat. Tempest, curious about how Pinkie’s car worked, fished the owner’s manual out of the glove box. By the time it got dark, she had read the whole thing cover to cover twice. She still had no idea what made the thing go, but she had a pretty good idea of how to check the oil or change a tire.

Pinkie pulled off the highway at around nine o’clock at night. A few twists and turns later they were rolling through the center of a very small town. “Rarity! Rarity wake up!”

“Wha mah mah are we at Mooby World yet?” mumbled Rarity, sitting up and pushing at her hair. Her distinctive coiffure, which usually evoked a cresting wave, was now pressed into the shape of the back seat of a 1997 Ford Crown Victoria.

“Nope. I wanted you to look up on your phone if there any good bars around here.”

“I think you mean ‘hotels’," said Rarity, pulling out her phone and poking at it anyway.

“Nope. Not sleepy,” said Pinkie, pulling over into a fast food drive through line. “I need burgers and beer! Burgers and beer!”

“I was thinking of asking if they had bars in this universe,” said Tempest, leaning over to look at the drive-through menu. “I want one of those. The big one on the bottom right.”

“Right. Double Bacon Heart Attack. Do you want the combo meal?” said Pinkie.

“We could go to a hotel,” said Rarity. “Which typically have bars. We could drink in our room.”

“No, just the sandwich,” said Tempest. In the photo, the burger’s ample bun had been carelessly pushed aside, revealing the lush toppings and glistening patties beneath. She needed that burger.

“You know what drinking in hotel rooms leads to?” shouted Pinkie. “Lesbianism!”

“We don’t have that, ma'am,” said the tinny voice coming out of the intercom. “Even on the secret menu.” The voice sounded sad.

They drove around to the pickup window. “Do you need to come with us?” said Pinkie, taking the bag from the tired looking woman leaning out of the window. “We’re all queer.”

“Naw, I’ve gotta take care of my Grandma. Thanks for offering, though,” said the pickup window woman.

Tempest fumbled her burger out of its wrapper and took a massive bite. It was greasy and salty and gooey with cheese and crunchy with bacon and she loved eating in the human world.

“Ooooh!” said Rarity. “I found a place that has karaoke!”

†

Tempest liked the music here. It sounded a little like the ‘rock’ music Pinkie’d been playing in the car, but twangier and generally a little slower. She couldn’t say much about the singing since it was all done by drunk people who didn’t know the words. But the tunes were nice.

The eyes on them when they’d entered had been cold and hostile. This was a local bar, and Pinkie and Rarity stood out. The waitress had been snippy at first, but Rarity’s endless capacity for wine soon warmed her heart. Pinkie kept putting away whiskey sours.

But Tempest didn’t feel safe here. Hostile eyes were on them. She couldn’t tell from where, yet, but the back of her neck prickled with a soldiers’ instinct for ambush. She kept to the weakest piss-water beer on the menu. She could drink this trash all day and not even get tipsy.

“Why the.. why the long face, dearest heart,” slurred Rarity, stroking Tempest’s right forearm.

“Hey, that reminds me of a joke,” said Pinkie.

Tempest held up her hand. “Wait.” She nodded over at the karaoke stage. A man was stumbling drunkenly through a song about stealing a car from the factory one part at a time. “I like this song.”

Rarity leaned on Tempest’s shoulder and wrapped her hand around Tempest’s stump. “Tempest likes cars,” she purred.

“And Rarity likes butch girls,” said Pinkie, pushing on Rarity’s shoulder.

“I do not!” said Rarity.

The stage was empty. Tempest gently unentangled Rarity from her arm and stood up. “I’m going to sing.”

Pinkie cheered. Rarity cooed and clapped.

She felt strangers eyes on her as she climbed up and went through the songs. She wished she’d had more to drink — she couldn’t sing, and she knew it. Luckily, no one else here could, either, and almost all of them were drunk. She didn’t want to reprise the one about the car so soon, but there was one by the same artist about being in prison. She could relate.

The crowd in the bar cheered as the first bouncy, jangly chords pounded out of the speakers. They liked this song. Tempest felt her chest tighten. She’d better not mess this up.

She decided to make up for what she lacked in vocal range and the ability to tell one note from another with passion and volume. The simple, rhythmic nature of the song helped. She belted it out like a marching cadence. She faltered a little when she got to the line about killing a man just to watch him die — she could relate to this song a little too well — but she steeled herself and sang on. When she was done, she realized she’d had her eyes squinted shut the whole time.

She’d rather face a wall of cannons than put herself on display like this. But she’d done it. Rarity and Pinkie were bouncing in front of the stage. People were clapping.

“Do another one!” shouted one of the women. Several other people took up the refrain. Tempest took off her jacket, tossed it to Rarity, and picked the one about the car from the menu.

She’d come up on stage to try and win over the locals, but she’d had another reason. The elevated stage allowed her a better view of the bar. From here, she could see if the prickling at the back of her neck was just paranoia or if there really was a threat here.

A group of men and one pale woman sat at the bar, watching her performance coldly. The men in polo shirts and khakis, the woman in a little red dress. Something about them felt dangerous. Tempest had learned to trust her instincts — a lot of times it took her mind a little while to catch up with things her body sensed immediately. And she sensed trouble from them.

The woman's eyes met hers. A spark passed between them — a flicker of recognition. The pale woman was like her, and that was bad news. She smiled, and Tempest scowled. She didn't need this kind of bullshit right now.

The men got up and moved in to dance near Rarity and Pinkie for the rest of the second song. Tempest had a bad feeling about this. “All right,” she said into the mic as the last chords faded out. “Somebody else’s turn.”

The next song was a mournful ballad about adultery. A lot of these songs were mournful ballads about adultery. Tempest pushed through the crowd over to her friends. As she reached them, things started to move in slow motion. One of the men, looking Tempest full in the eye, reached over behind Rarity. Rarity squawked and hurried away from him.

Tempest was smart enough to know when she was being baited, but she didn’t care. Vision red-tinted with rage, she lunged towards the man. He brought up his fists in a stereotypical guard position. She feinted towards his face with her left hand twice. When he raised his fists to block, she drove the end of her right arm into his belly. He doubled over. The solder in Tempest knew he’d be out for a few moments, but that he’d recover from the blow soon. She wanted him neutralized permanently. She grabbed him by the hair and tugged his head back. The nose and the larynx. Both incapacitating blows. Potentially lethal.

She remembered Soarin’s broken body lying in the streets of Canterlot.

While she hesitated, the two other men came in on her flanks. The grabbed her arms and pinned her back. The gut punched one snarled, and came at her, hammering her ribs and belly with his fists. Pain pulsed through Tempest’s human body — its upright posture left all the most vulnerable areas exposed. She tried to concentrate, to look for an opening, but her aching gut and creaking ribs kept her distracted. This was the problem with mercy. With compassion. They made you weak. Vulnerable. How could she live like this?

The Rarity hit the man punching her across the back of the head with an empty wine bottle. Tempest used the momentary distraction to knee him in the groin, and he went down.

“Rarity! Stay back!” she shouted, ripping her right arm free. She swept that man’s legs out from under him with a kick and he went down clutching his knee. She punched the man holding her arm in the eye with her stump and yanked her hand free. Grabbing him by the hair, she slammed his forehead against the forehead of the man still clutching his groin. Their skulls made a hollow thump, and they both fell to the floor.

That left the woman. She stepped over the groaning forms of her fallen lackeys, red dress swirling about her thighs. “I think you're freaky,” she purred in a high-pitched little girl's voice. She had paper white skin, long yellow hair, and a skull tattooed on the curve of one breast, right over her heart. “I like you.”

“Clean them up and go home,” said Tempest, nodding at the fallen men. She did her best to stand straight even though her whole front ached. She’d had much worse.

The woman didn’t answer. Her hand darted to her exposed cleavage and came away clutching a sharp little knife. She lunged for Tempest, tearing open her Twilight Sparkle t-shirt and leaving a burning line just beneath Tempest’s collar bones.

Tempest very much regretted removing her jacket and the slight protection its heavy animal hide offered. Unprotected, she could only try to stay clear of the sharp little blade and wait for an opening this woman wasn’t about to give her. Worse, Rarity and Pinkie were coming around behind the pale woman. Did they think because they’d banished a few demons they could survive a knife fight? If they got stabbed, it would all be Tempest’s fault. She had to win this battle quickly before her friends did anything stupid.

The only plan she could think of was a bad plan, but a bad plan was better than no plan. "This is getting boring," she said tossing her head contemptuously.

Then Tempest turned to walk away. She counted the half second the woman would need to close with her, and dodged right. The knife nicked her left side, but the woman’s arm shot past her, in between her arm and her body.

“Oldest trick in the book,” said Tempest, grabbing the woman’s wrist and jamming her thumb down on the tendons. The pale woman yelped with pain, and the knife clattered to the floor.

“Battle isn’t a game,” Tempest growled in the woman’s ear. She braced her stump under the woman’s upper arm and pulled down on her wrist, starting her elbow bending the wrong direction.

“Please stop,” the woman said, tears of pain shooting down her cheeks.

“If I break your elbow, you’re never going to fight again,” said Tempest. “Or you can promise me to find a new hobby. It’s all the same to me. I know which way will hurt more, though.” She wrenched the woman’s forearm down, and she screamed.

“I promise! I promise!” gasped the woman. “Please let me go.”

Tempest hesitated. She knew which way was safer for the world at large. Could a killer change?

There was only one way to find out. She let go and let the woman fall to her knees, clutching her elbow, cheeks soaked with tears.

Tempest bent down to scoop up the knife. “Pinkie. Rarity. We need to go.”

†

Tempest was the only one sober enough to drive. She drove until she found the kind of motel that didn’t mind checking in a blood-covered woman and her two drunk friends at three in the morning. Soon Pinkie sprawled across the only bed, snoring and drooling. Tempest was in the bathroom with her shirt off, cleaning her wounds in the sink.

“Here,” said Rarity, coming into the bathroom and sliding Tempest a white, translucent bottle. “I packed for any eventuality.” Tempest opened the bottle and sniffed it. Astringent. The healing potion stung when she dabbed it on her cuts, but the wounds felt cleaner afterward.

“Are you hurt badly?” said Rarity, leaning one hip on the sink counter.

“They’ve mostly stopped bleeding,” said Tempest. “I don’t think I’ll need stitches.”

“You saved us,” said Rarity, stroking Tempest’s bare shoulder. Tempest glanced sideways at her. She was dressed only in her nightshirt, long pale thighs bare. Something about the way the shirt lay on her body suggested that she had nothing on underneath.

“Do you know why they came after us?” said Tempest.

Rarity opened her mouth, the closed it when it because clear Tempest’s question was rhetorical.

“It wasn’t because we’re queers. And it wasn’t because we were strangers. That woman wanted to fight me. They used you to get at me.”

Rarity bit her lower lip. Her cheeks were flushed, her breath still smelled of wine, and she sounded like she was willing herself to keep her voice from slurring. “I don’t understand. They just wanted a fight?”

“For some people, fighting is fun.” Some people. She flexed her good hand into a fist.

“Well, it’s a complicated world. I’m still glad you were there,” said Rarity. She slid closer to Tempest until their bodies were touching, separated only by the thin fabric of Rarity’s nightshirt. “And I think you deserve a reward.”

Tempest sighed. “You’re drunk. And I miss Twilight.” She also had no idea what the relationships in this world looked like. Love, like war, needed to be approached strategically or you could lose before you even started fighting.

Rarity sighed. “I see. That’s how it is.” She turned Tempest’s head towards her and kissed her long and deep. She bit Tempest’s lower lip before she pulled away. “In the morning, I will be sober, and you will still be fabulous. I shan’t mention this matter again. But if you change your mind…” she squeezed Tempest’s arm. “I should get to bed. Good night.”

Author's Note

Johnny Cash songs referenced are One Piece at a Time and Folsom Prison Blues.

Epilogue: The Harmonious World

Rarity’s hand kept winding up in Tempest’s. It felt nice there, slim and delicate fingers intertwined with Tempest’s strong, rough ones. But Rarity and Pinkie liked to load Tempest down with their shopping. With her only hand spoken for, she had to hold the bags awkwardly in the crook of her right arm.

It was all right. Tempest liked to feel needed.

Mooby World was good. The rides were fun. The food varied in quality, according to Rarity, but Tempest wolfed all of it down with equal gusto, from fried counter service crap to perfectly grilled ribeye steaks as big as her head. There were people from all over the world to look at. It made Tempest consistently, continuously happy.

Being happy all the time felt very strange.

The characters took some getting used to, though. Pinkie had taken revenge on Rarity for the Ponypolitan by making them stand in line for two hours to meet Surly Duck. It was just a person in a costume, but Pinkie acted like she was actually meeting a cartoon character. Tempest didn’t understand.

The ponies were more unsettling still — after the first contact incident, Mooby Entertainment Ltd. had somehow acquired the likeness rights to actual ponies from the actual pony world. It explained Tempest’s Twilight Sparkle tunic (she’d bought a new one the first day at the park), but it made her feel strange. There was no sign of any brave light blue pegasus stallions, but she had nightmares of one stalking her through the park and snapping her neck when it caught her.

It was their third and final day there when Pinke said they had to go on The Harmonious World before they left.

“Pinkie no!” gasped Rarity. “Surly Duck was bad enough. That ride is the most tedious, most infantile…”

Tempest held up her right arm. “Is that it?” The ride facade was a technicolor bas-relief showing a cavalcade of equestrian ponies, capped off with a spread-winged Princess Twilight in full regalia.

Rarity rolled her eyes. “Yes.”

“You can stay here, Rarity. I have to ride it.”

Rarity came with them.

It was a slow boat ride through a series of dimly lit chambers, where black-light enhanced ponies, dragons, gryphons, and yaks sang in loving harmony. It was an offensively exaggerated misinterpretation of Equestrian culture. Ponies were silly and threw pies, yaks were big and gruff and lived in primitive yurts in the snow, gryphons were fierce and rude, and dragons were worse.

It was ridiculous and it made Tempest laugh.

There was something achingly familiar about the song. Tempest was sure she’d hear it somewhere before, but she couldn’t place it. Maybe on the radio.

Open up your eyes
See the world the way it stands
You live only in this moment
Your choices yours to plan!

Open up your eyes,
Enter our sweet and happy land
It’s time to grow up and be wise
Come on sad one
Open up your eyes.

Tempest knew she didn’t deserve to be forgiven. Maybe nobody did. But Twilight had forgiven her, and knowing that… well, it made it possible to try to live as if she deserved it.

The ride boat drifted out into the light.