They arrived on Thursday, just in time for the bar crawl. Laura hung back with the stallions and mares at their suite in the Hilton hotel, a sky bridge from the convention hall, while Brook and Tom got to get rowdy with the other twenty somethings.

Friday, hangover notwithstanding, was a blast. Tom had converted his submarine coveralls and a leather jacket into quite the stable suit cosplay. Brook, also a vet, helped carry the flasks in his old Marine Corps camo cargos, his post-service fifteen pounds on his hips.

Laura had her mind blowing fur suit as well, the contours sleek, her “coat” silky and shiny, her mane and tail of felt over rigid plastic, her hooves broad and cute. The ponies loved it. They mocked her, walking on hind legs around the hotel room, drinking this disgusting, amazing stuff called beer and having fun amongst themselves, for now. Tom took the most adventurous unicorn, Diamond Express, on a backpack ride through the entire hall. Her adorable light yellow coat matched well with her shining silver mane.

They simply couldn’t risk the exposure, and his time serving taught him the importance of minimizing the spread of privileged information: the horses had to hide away if they wanted to stay.

At the first morning of the convention, they trio hung in the back of the halls, watching talking heads and horse famous idiots play on stage. Many dragged on, teary eyed about the convention coming to an end this year. They people watched, him holding her hoof out in line for endless bronies to hoofbump, laughed at the antics and jokes. The vendor halls, with endless woefully sexy or thankfully adorable, and outright epic, prints hung like a living art gallery and bazaar mixed together. Diamond demanded with a whisper in his ear they get a body pillow. Solitaire, the only pegasus mare, had a very similar appearance to one whiny alcoholic apocalypse survivor pony, Blackjack.

Two hundred dollars later, Diamond had another bag to hang out in. She was blushing, smiling and holding back her giggles, tucking into the naughty pillowcase and staring at those extra lines most the covers didn't have by the pony’s groin. And, oh, according to Diamond, everything was quite accurate. Brook had to split from the group for a minute during the transaction, shaking his head. Tom only laughed. Shame was for the weak.

The morning passed too quickly, and it was time to make a pit stop. The troupe retreated to the cosplay lounge so Laura could sit and breathe and hide from the hundred or so begging souls who needed pictures, the thousands who candidly snapped their own.

He joined her behind the curtain. Laura hoisted her adorable helmet off, her face flushed and wet with sweat. “Hun, you alright?" Tom asked in a hush, giving her a tall bottle of water. He wiped her face with a soft towel as she drank deep. She nodded and smiled, pulling his face in for a long, tongue first kiss.

“I need to change out of this for a while," she said quietly. “You've got my Cadence outfit with you still, right?"

“Do you think it's late enough in the day, Princess Candyass?" he asked in a low, doubting tone. A laugh could be heard from his big bag.

“That's what this skirt is for! “ a tiny female voice chirped. From the bag emerged a little light yellow unicorn in a seemingly fitting pink and white skirt. “I thought it was for me."

“You climb out, too, you're heavy," Tom said quietly. “And be quiet, there's others in here with us."

Diamond climbed out and stood on the table, her skirt nearly did fit. Tom helped her take it off and held it up. A tiny, tight skirt with frills on the hem hung in his hands, the split up the side nearly reaching the other hem. “Ya sure, Candy?“ he asked, looking at the girl in the surprisingly form fitting fur suit. She nodded

Tom helped her stand and unzipped her suit. “Look away," he ordered the unicorn, who rolled her eyes. Laura giggled.

“Normally naked anyway," Diamond Express sighed, flicking her long tail against his arm, a glance showed she indeed was naked. “I'm normally just about eye level with Grizzly's sack.”

“Jesus, “ Tom groaned. Laura exploded with laughter, biting her lip.”Later, slut,“ he hissed in her ear, pushing her second furry skin forward off her shoulders. He kissed her damp neck and stroked her soft arms, so warm, and stared at her little perky breasts. The man got down and helped her hips next, those little white panties so cute, her butt looking great since he got her a gym membership. He helped her out of her shoes and the hooves, got some fresh socks, and helped her into a little pushup bra. With her skirt, pink pumps, cutoff matching top, silly little wings, horns, and ears, the little woman was transformed into the princess of the frozen kingdom, Cadence.

“Candyass?" Diamond repeated.

Laura giggled. “I think Princess Cadence is really a huge adulterous slut who goes by Candyass. Come on, princess of love? More like princess of getting cream pies. Am I right?”

Diamond blushed crimson and snickered. “You gotta come to Equestria and hang out with us more," she said.

“You guys done? I gotta piss!”

Tom groaned. "Almost, Brook. Candy?” he asked. Laura nodded, taking a moment to fix her long, shiny, silky brown hair. Diamond used magic to help comb it and straighten her pony accessories.

“Can we take Rarity back upstairs?” she asked.

Tom nodded and hefted the big fluffy suit, keeping it inside out to minimize the looks they'd get, and to let it air out. “The horror!" Diamond laughed. Helping lift the head in her magic. Tom instantly grabbed her horn

"Quit it,” he hissed. Her blue magic glow stopped, and the pony dropped the pony head mask a foot, making a little thud. “Do you want to get found out?”

The blushing mare bit her lip, and Tom, too, felt his face grow red. “No," she sighed. “I'm sorry… just wanted to help."

Laura picked up the head and spoke. “Thanks, Diamond, really, and did you like that, him grabbing your horn? “

“No!”

“Hey, I'll meet you guys at the room, I'm at code yellow!” Brook called out. Tom laughed and held open his bag, Blackjack looking out with bedroom eyes.

“Bye forever," he called out, turning to Diamond. "And we'll talk more about that on the walk. Let's go.”

Laura giggled, and let everyone think Tom was the fursuiter as they walked across the sky bridge and went to the second to top floor. As they got in the elevator, an older, eccentric looking woman joined them, pleased to see her floor was selected. Once the door was shut, in a perfect imitation of the fashionable pony, she said: “Oh Celestia! My head, decapitated! Ah!" she squeaked. "At least I look fabulous as usual, darling. Did you craft this magnifique little ensemble?”

The duo scoffed, she was the real deal. “Are you Tabitha St Germain?“ Tom asked respectfully, hauling the suit more squarely on his shoulders.

The woman flipped her hand dismissively. “Oh please, I’m just a regular pony.” Her voice was still of the fashionable little white mare, the head of which Laura was holding like a trophy. They had ten floors to go, Tom noticed. He wished it were a hundred.

They weren’t star struck, not paralysingly so, and smiled eagerly as they continued the conversation. “I love your work, obviously,” Laura said.

“How’s Mortimer?” Tom asked.

The older woman screamed with laughter, holding her gut. She leaned back, bellowing with happiness, then bent over, chuckling hard. “Oh, that!” she said. “Oh, Mort is happy in his jar!” she said, flipping her wrist happily. “I cannot believe he’s still a celebrity,” she said, smiling. “Come here, I want a quick hug before you two precious little beans go on and have your whole lives,” she said, holding out her arms. Laura eagerly sucked her body close, hugging Rarity, Luna, and whoever else close. Tom shifted his haul to the opposite arm and hugged Tabitha on the side. She hugged the couple, sighing “so adorable.”

The couple shied away as the elevator dinged, at the second to top floor. Tabitha stepped into the hall and produced a cell phone. The couple posed for a selfie, and smiled as they departed, waving and singing goodbye. Tom made a note to check twitter or whatever later. He didn’t have one, but he’d see the picture eventually if he looked hard enough.

“I can’t believe that,” Tom said to his date as they walked on the hall.

“Who was that?” a little voice whispered in his ear.

The man shifted and let Diamond look over his shoulder as they neared the room. “That was Rarity.”

“What?”

Laura opened the door and walked into a scene similar to a football team watching film. Mares and stallions from equestria, six in total, lounged and sat on a bed and at the foot, in various states of cuddle. Mares had heads in laps, stallions sprawled out, some sat alone. They trained all their wide eyes on a television with the volume up. “Here,” he said, walking over to the pile of ponies and setting his bag on the bed behind him.

“Hey Tom, hi Laura, sup Diamond?” Grizzly asked, the stallion that found Tom, or more accurately vice versa.

“Hey there. Listen, her?” he said, pointing to the white mare on screen. “Listen to her talk! We MET her!”

The ponies shut up as Laura put away her amazing cosplay. “But I thought you waaaaaaaaaanted whiiiiniiing!” Nearly every pony chuckled.

“That’s the woman we met in the elevator,” Tom said in a hush to Diamond, letting her get cozy at his side. “Her voice actress, anyway.”

“So,” Bobcat said, the taller, slimmer stallion piping up. “I don’t get it. It’s like, recorded?”

“Just the voices, idiot,” Grizzly retorted, getting his cheek hoofed. He laughed and pushed off the bed and onto the other guard, sending him and a mare on his lap to the floor. They wrestled, taking turns getting into and slipping out of headlocks, largely ignored.

“But, who made this, um, footage?” Diamond asked, looking up with her big grey eyes.

Tom put his hand on her shoulder and returned his eyes to the show as Laura sat on his other side, making him put his hand on her hip. “Drawings, in succession. Put together, they make an animation, the mouths move and people record their voices, sort of like lip synching.”

The stallions stopped fighting, and most every pony let out an “oooh” of understanding. Griz still had a confused look on his face. It was wiped off by a rear hoof pushing his head into the carpet.

“Have you ponies checked out the other room?” Laura asked. “We have two, you know.”

A few shrugged, most ignored her. They were content to absorb the show the humans knew them by. It was pretty entertaining, anyway, and they were starting to wrap up season one.

Tom gave his girlfriend a peck on her forehead and sat up. “Think you’ll be up for the of age panel tonight, hun?” he asked, drumming a tune on his coveralls.

She shrugged, her Cadence cosplay hiking up high on her thighs. “I’ll go if you’re with me,” she said, smiling.

“Well,” said Brook, slurring as he walked in through the door, “I’m gonna hang out and teach these horses how to drink.” He grinned and got up, sauntering over to the mini fridge and pulling out a liter and three quarters of rum, Mount Gay, on Tom’s recommendation. Not much beat authentic pirate grog. Also, as a military man, anything with “gay” in the name was worth its weight in gold.

Tom laughed and sat up, stroking the woman’s bare thigh and kissing her deep when she too sat up. He hopped to his feet and sent himself to the bathroom as half a dozen ponies queued up for drinks. Brook brewed up such masterpieces as rum and coke, coke and rum, and straight rum for the stallions and mares to sample. A true slice of human bartending masterpieces for the foreign cultures to digest.

They loved it regardless.

Griz, Bobcat, and the other guard pony Long Haul did shots while the rest suffered strong mixes, laughing together.

The door shut behind the sailor. Tom found himself in the hotel bathroom with Laura, locked the door, and shoved her into the wall tongue first. He groaned into her mouth and held her body close, her own hands gracing his sides and hips and face, pulling him in. He groaned deep, sighing, breathing deep with her. He stood up tall, his hard cock stiff in his low effort cosplay, against her body.

“Wait,” she panted, pushing on his face, looking away as the door handle jiggled.

“Takin’ a shit,” he shouted, laughing silently with her. They ignored a muffled “Motherfucker!”

Tom kissed her neck and hoisted her leg over his hip as she said again, “wait, Tom!” She breathed the words, but they got him to stop.

“What?”

“They’re right there! And besides, Brook’s gonna kick the fucking door down.”

“Not if he doesn’t wanna shit his pants with the effort,” he replied, starting to zip his coveralls up from the bottom, such a convenient feature. It was one of very few things the United States navy got right.

Laura pushed his face away and sighed. “No, not right now. I fucking want to,” she hissed, “but we really should wait. Besides, how hot would it be to come back after the panel, talking about horsecock all night?”

He laughed and let her down. “Ah, fine. Since I like you, I guess,” he said, nose touching hers, breath spilling into her mouth as much as hers swirled into his. He closed his eyes and kissed her deep. She moaned into his lips and held his face, knuckles white.

He pushed her away, her head thudding into the wall, her smile wide, her breath shallow. “It’ll be so fucking awkward getting out of here,” he said, laughing.

“Yeah,” she said. “We-”

“Code brown, man! Hurry up!”

Tom didn’t hesitate. He spun around and pulled the door open rapidly. “Go go, get out!” he said, pulling Laura by her hand and shoving her out the door. Some things were not meant to be taken lightly.

Author's Note

I don't usually make notes, but this information would break the flow of the story, yet would do a wonderful service to the reader.

Author’s note: In the United States submarine service, and such a veteran would suppose in every nation's underwater or supremely less capable and deadly surface navy, fewer things were more serious than a “code brown”.

This meant the caller was about to poop his pants.

Now, if one were to commit such an uncouth act, one normally could retire to the bathroom for a few precious seconds. This is not so on a warship. Manning a space was of upmost importance, yes, more important than that, and failure to do so could at best result in a critique, the lessons learned spread across the entire fleet in a hilarious anonymous report. If a casualty or other unfortunate happening were to occur during the watchstander’s absence, God only knows what would happen to the poor sailor who left their post. Thus, “code brown” was a sacred phrase, reserved for the most dire of circumstances. It was heeded with the same respect as a fire, or flooding, though one couldn’t quite make the report over the same “formal channels”. The engineroom of a submarine had no such bathroom facilities, and a watch relief was relied upon to allow a sailor the opportunity to defecate safely. Code “brown” was obviously the magic words used to call for a rapid relief.

So, when Brook called out those words, a primal part of Tom’s brian forced his hand. The reader would be pleased to know that Brook made it, though it was a photo finish.