No Motor Vehicles or Equestrians
No Motor Vehicles or Equestrians
By Alaborn
Standard disclaimer: This is a not for profit fan work. My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic is copyright Hasbro, Inc. I make no claim to any copyrighted material mentioned herein.
Consider the city of Spring Hill.
Those looking to move into the area might have seen the town’s appearance on several Best Places to Live lists. They might be influenced by the highly regarded public schools and low crime rates, or the town’s excellent parks and trails. Others might be attracted to the town’s revitalized downtown, with its unique restaurants, boutiques, and art galleries.
Fans of local history would highlight the town’s Quaker heritage and place on the Underground Railroad. They might note the town’s firsts, like having one of the first electric stoplights, or recommend the history museum in the old courthouse building. The old railroad station that once carried passengers around the region may be no more, but the redeveloped mixed residential/commercial area was one of the city’s hottest neighborhoods.
One could say a lot about Spring Hill. And as Spring Hill’s three term mayor, Alice Harper could talk about any of these points. But she would be the first to admit that Spring Hill was primarily a bedroom community, a quiet suburb of a moderately-sized American city that itself would hardly be anyone’s choice to visit on one’s first visit to the country.
Let alone the world.
Therefore, she asked her assistant, Matthew Stewart, to repeat what he said. “You said my next appointment is with a pony?”
“Yes. I was as surprised as you to see a pony walk in and request an appointment,” Stewart said.
“What is it about?”
Stewart passed her a single sheet of paper, his normal approach for summarizing the meeting details. He could have used a Post-It note, for all that was written there. “He didn’t say much. ‘Official business’ or the like. He said he was a lawyer, though he used the term barrister. But he was as earnest as a little pony could be.”
The announcement of the existence of another world, inhabited primarily by colorful magical ponies, had seemed surreal to the mayor when it had first happened, seven years ago. After the shock wore off, humans and ponies decided they wanted to learn from each other and extend a hand, or hoof, in friendship. Ponies dominated the news for about a year, but after that, the worlds settled into a relationship characterized by a limited exchange, primarily focused on scientists and students. So there were ponies working on Earth, but they were few and far between.
Which made Mayor Harper wonder just what official business this pony had.
“If he’s a lawyer, shouldn’t he want to meet with the city’s lawyer? And how could he possibly have jurisdiction here?”
“He said he wanted to avoid a formal case, in the interest of friendship and harmony. And as for the second question, there’s an agreement of understanding between the Royal Equestrian Society of Barristers and the bar associations of the various states to allow ponies to represent in legal cases affecting ponies in our world, and vice versa.”
“Seriously?”
Stewart nodded and passed her his tablet computer. There, on the screen, was just that announcement from her state’s bar association.
Harper shook her head and returned the tablet. “Well, send him in,” she said.
Stewart left the office, returning with a little pony following him. He was an earth pony, dressed in a conservative suit, and he was carrying a briefcase in his mouth. The pony’s big, expressive eyes made him appear young, and Harper immediately thought of a little boy dressing up in Dad’s clothes. But she mentally corrected herself; this pony was clearly an adult.
The pony set the briefcase down on the floor, took off his hat, and looked around the room, his hat somehow staying attached to his hoof.
Harper figured out what the pony was looking for. “I’m sorry, but we don’t have a hat rack. Hats have been out of fashion for gentlemen for fifty years now.”
“Let me take that,” Stewart volunteered. He picked up the pony’s hat, and placed it atop a nearby bookshelf.
The pony picked up his briefcase and took a seat opposite the mayor, setting his briefcase on his lap. The pony sat in that weird doglike manner, but his briefcase balanced perfectly on his hind legs.
Harper checked the notes her assistant gave her. “Mr. Scales?”
“It’s Crooked Scales, Madame Mayor. Most ponies don’t have family names in the manner you humans are used to.”
Well, that name isn’t worrisome at all, thought the mayor. She looked at him again, and noticed the pony’s suit didn’t include pants. That left his cutie mark on display, an image of the scales of justice, with a hoof pushing down one of the pans.
“And what did you want to meet with me about?” she asked.
“I am here to issue a formal complaint on behalf of all creatures of Equestria for unconscionable discrimination perpetrated by this city.”
“I’m sorry? As far as I know, you’re the only Equestrian citizen to have ever visited this town.”
“And it’s a good thing I came here first, to spare my fellow countryponies the indignation of this discrimination, which is not only unbecoming for a civilized people but illegal under the treaty of mutual understanding signed by Princess Twilight Sparkle on behalf of the nations of Equus and your United Nations.”
“I still have no idea what you’re talking about,” Harper said flatly.
The pony popped open his briefcase, poked his muzzle inside, and came out with a photograph in his mouth. “It’s this,” he said. He sounded remarkably like one of those television lawyers dropping the surprise piece of evidence on a shocked jury, though the effect would have been better if he didn’t have to mumble around the photograph stuck between his teeth.
Alice Harper took the photograph and examined it. It was probably the first time she had handled an actual photograph in twenty years. It was thick, something like an old Polaroid photo, though without the white border that she remembered. As a girl, she had thought Polaroid cameras were the coolest thing. But this photo was probably made with magic, not with chemicals.
She then looked at what the photograph actually portrayed. It was a picture of one of the city’s trails, probably the one running through the residential neighborhoods south of downtown. She had no idea what was offensive about the picture, until she noticed the sign in the picture.
Right there, in big black letters, was a standard road sign, stating a rule regarding use of the trails:
NO MOTOR VEHICLES OR EQUESTRIANS
“Mr. Crooked Scales, equestrian in this case refers to horseback riding. Spring Hill is well known for its horse ranches, which have been in our town for generations,” Harper said. “Plenty of people still ride. The sign is to indicate that the trails are meant for walkers, joggers, bicyclists, and roller bladers. People riding either horses or motorized vehicles are prohibited.”
“But that’s not how a visitor from Equestria will read the sign,” Crooked Scales stated.
Mayor Harper shook her head. “Shouldn’t the portal have granted that understanding?” It was supposed to be some magic inherent in the portal that made ponies come out speaking English, although with some strange quirks that made them say anypony instead of anybody, or substitute the word hoof for hand in any of a number of phrases. And apparently, it mapped their word for themselves into an existing English word.
“There exists no equivalent concept for your horseback riding in our language,” Crooked Scales said. “But even if there were, a pony’s first thought would be the meaning of Equestrian that they were most familiar with. Granted, if your sign presented the word starting with a lower case letter, they might understand otherwise. But you render your signs using only capital letters.”
“This is a legal matter,” Harper said. “Shouldn’t you be meeting with our lawyer?”
“In the interest of friendship and harmony, I would prefer not to make this a legal matter. I’m sure your city does not want to be known as the first one to be sued over a matter of interspecies civil rights,” Crooked Scales said.
Harper nodded. She didn’t see how any human could win. All those ponies would need to do was turn their big eyes to the jury box or judge, and it wouldn’t matter what the facts of the case were.
“I know you have a good heart, and you did not intentionally keep up these signs in order to insult Equestrian citizens. All I’m asking is for your promise to update all of your offensive signage in a timely manner,” Crooked Scales explained. “And pay the fee for my legal services.”
Well, there it is, thought Harper. The pony poked his muzzle into his briefcase, and came up with a manila envelope. Harper opened it, and saw a settlement agreement. As she scanned it, she thought back to a line from that historic speech by Princess Twilight Sparkle. “I think that, despite our obvious physical differences, humans and ponies are more alike than different.” And the document in the mayor’s hand showed that was certainly true, at least as far as their legal systems were concerned.
The pony barrister had done his homework. The city’s legal budget included provisions for these kinds of nuisance suits, and the pony’s bill was right in line with those expectations. It wasn’t an amount to break the budget, and it certainly wasn’t worth creating an interdimensional incident over.
“You’ll have your response within a week,” Mayor Harper said.
“Very good,” Crooked Scales said. “Please send your notarized letter to the address indicated.”
“Matt, would you please see our guest out?” Harper asked.
Stewart nodded stood up. He retrieved the pony’s hat. At the same time, Crooked Scales stood up in the chair, took his briefcase in mouth, and hopped to the ground, landing with a surprisingly loud thud. He took his hat back, placed it on his head, and followed Stewart out of the office.
Harper took the brief reprieve to fully read the settlement agreement. Fortunately, it was short, just two pages long. For her first personal contact with a magical species, it was amazing how mundane it all was. And just like any appointment, she came out of it with another agenda item for the next staff meeting.
Stewart returned to the office. “Our little pony friend is on his way,” he said.
“Out of curiosity, how is he traveling?” Harper asked.
“He’s being driven around. Nice car, too. Definitely not an Über.”
“The address on this letter is a post office box in a town two states over. Just how many towns has this guy hit? I thought Equestria was a land of sunshine and rainbows.”
“I believe the term they use is friendship and magic,” Stewart said. “Or friendship and harmony. Although I’m not sure if that’s the same thing for them.”
“Regardless, how does a land of sunshine and rainbows and friendship and magic generate scummy lawyers?”
“I remember Princess Twilight Sparkle say that ‘Friendship is universal’”, Stewart said. “I guess it’s not the only thing that’s universal.”
“We’ll be bringing this issue up at tomorrow’s staff meeting,” Harper said. “We want to act quickly and write a check to make him go away.”
“You don’t think our lawyer can figure something out?”
“I’d rather not have Crooked Scales return to our city,” Harper said. “I mean, can you imagine what he would do if he saw the antique carousel in Founders’ Park?”
Author's Note
That's an actual sign within walking distance of my home.
The fictitious Spring Hill combines facts about several of the cities around me. And kudos to anyone who can name them.
I had this story idea since first seeing the sign. And when Admiral Biscuit commented that there should be more slice of life stories about ponies working on Earth, I decided to finally write it.
Admiral Biscuit didn't specify that the ponies working on Earth had to be honest and good little ponies.
