Taming Strange. Or: How I learned to stop worrying and make love in public

Grasping Hoof, Dean of Royal Canterlot University, sat at his large, expensive, ornately carved desk head held in his hooves. His entire world had been shattered. After a life spent drawing in anything he wanted to himself, the one thing he actually cared about had been stolen from him. His dear darling daughter Picturesque.

He knew that after what she had done he could never look at her again. He turned her picture on his desk down and sat in shocked silence for several hours. She was still his little filly and he was still her father, but he couldn't ever stand to look upon her again. He had to provide for Picturesque and her. . . He couldn't bring himself to finish the thought. Slowly several pieces of paper started levitating and quills scratched solemnly on them.

He wrote two letters, signed an official looking scroll, took a key off of his ring, and sighed. He couldn't stand to be here anymore not with HIM here he couldn't. He resigned as Dean of RCU effective immediately. He summoned a runner and departed the college he'd ruled with an iron hoof for the last time. He would never see RCU again. He boarded a train for Trottingham and never returned.

But more on that later.

Picturesque had spent the night in her cell alternatively crying and worrying. Suddenly a guard appeared at her door and wordlessly handed her a large letter and stood aside. She exited the jail in a daze not remembering the letter. It was the first night she had spent away from home and now she had no idea where to go.

Could she go home? How would she face her father? Where was her lover? Still in his jail cell? How would she get him out? Who had bailed her out? Surely not her father. She sat down on the pavement, and the letter held in her foreleg finally registered in her mind. She broke the wax seal and a large brass key dropped onto the pavement. She picked it up and registered what it was. She sank into tears. The weight of what was written crushed her. "Merci mon pére. Merci"

Haycartes wasn't particularly concerned about his incarceration. He'd broken the law and now he was paying for it. There was nothing he could do about his situation from inside a jail cell so he didn't bother worrying about it. For now, the cell was comfortably climate controlled, the jail food was good, and the other ponies in the large holding cell didn't want to bother him. A pony covered in scars and bandages, no thanks.

The guard called out "HAY CARTS!" Roané rolled his eyes at the classic mispronunciation. "YOU BEEN BAILED. 'ERE." He handed a letter to the jailbird. He snapped it open and read quickly as he walked out of the jail. His face grew in shock and anger as what was written sank into his mind. He finished reading as the door closed behind him and his voice echoed off the front of the jail. "THAT SON OF A BITCH!"

Picturesque heard his shout and flew over to him wrapping her hooves around him and crying deeply. He stroked her mane comfortingly. "Mon amour look!" She presented him her letter and he read quickly.

He sighed heavily at what the letter meant. He held her tight. "I'm so sorry my love, but you made your decision, and he.-" Roané sighed again. "He's made his." He looked again and thought. "I suppose you should see this." He presented his letter, and she read slowly. After a while she looked at him in confusion. "Oh mon pére." She cried again and Haycartes held her close, they crumbled their letters against each other's backs.

Picturesque crumbled a letter congratulating Haycartes in achieving the coveted position of head of the fillysophy department at Royal Canterlot University. Haycartes crumpled the deed to the Dean's country house. It was Grasping Hoof who had bailed them both out. He had provided her with a permanent home, and him with a job to provide for her.

They stopped by the University to pick up Haycartes only possessions, his saddlebags and the pipe he'd been given by his dear friend Wordsmith. He looked about for the poet on the way to his dorm hoping to apologize for striking him, even though he had deserved it, but neither him nor Sawbones were to be found.

They then went to the Dean's penthouse suite and saw the movers already taking Picturesque's things to her new home. The two walked slowly to the train and rode in silence to her new country house. Picturesque clung to her lover. Haycartes stewed thinking of how to act. They arrived at the pegasus childhood home that had taken on a whole new and terrible air in light of what had happened. Picturesque led Haycartes to the large foyer. She went to the large bar, got herself a glass of wine and sprawled out on the large window seat.

He was terribly pleased to find a large keg of Apple family cider. He poured himself a mug and joined her on the large bench. They sat in silence for a long while letting the situation sink in. Picturesque laid her head on his lap and Haycartes sipped his cider. Eventually Picturesque fell asleep and Haycartes gently removed himself from under her.

He paced the halls lost in thought. His wanderings led him to the Dean's study. He sat down unthinkingly in the large chair and stared at the empty fireplace. Suddenly the thought struck him of how many times he'd argued an issue with Wordsmith over a pint and a good smoke. He ran through the halls having to stop every time he hit a dead end. "Why would a pony build a house so large you get lost in it?"

He tiphoofed into the foyer where Picturesque was still sleeping where he'd left her and retrieved his pipe. He silently refilled his cider and after another few turn arounds made it back to the study. It was dark by the time he got back so he decided to start a fire in the large fireplace. He lit his pipe and noticed just how little the smoke moved in the still air of the study.

The words of his friends suddenly came to him. "I do so love cider. It slows the mental faculties so that one may truly ponder a thought." He looked again at the puff of smoke that had barely moved. "To observe it from all sides like a puff of smoke in still air." He sat and pondered the issue. He drank his cider and puffed on his pipe, just thinking about the issue all through the night until the first rays of dawn came through the large windows.

He walked to the window and watched the sunrise still lost in thought when suddenly the answer became clear. He found his mare still asleep on the window seat where he'd left her. He stood and stared at the pony he loved sleeping peacefully in the golden light of dawn. Her name was well suited to her as she was perpetually photogenic, even when asleep.

He gently roused her and explained what he had to do. She sank visibly at his conviction. "But my love, can't we just let sleeping dogs lie? He did it because he loves me."

Haycartes' hard look was tempered with affection. Instead of the scowl such an idea warranted, he only looked at her with firm determination. "My love, such injustice, cannot be allowed to stand." He kissed the top of her head. "I'm going. I don't know when I'll be back but I cannot let this happen. And now." He crumpled the congratulatory letter in his hoof. His voice was hard and cold and deep with conviction.

"Now I have evidence."