Do You Have A License For That Pun?
He'd taken to sleeping on top of three separate open filing cabinet drawers and every time Hitch began to wake up in the sheriff's office, with his body just starting to register the metal ridges pressing deep into his fur and skin... he would briefly wonder why.
Hitch had a home, and what was the point to owning a residence (with a fully paid-off mortgage!) if you didn't use it once in a while? But the fact was that ponies who sought him out were going to wind up looking in the offices first. The time spent in reaching his house would allow things to go wrong or, most of the time, more wrong.
There was also Sparky to consider. Hitch took Sparky home whenever possible, because he wanted the baby dragon to have a real one. But most of that took place during the day. Because at night...
Sparky was an infant. Babies didn't exactly have a regular sleep schedule, and Hitch was lucky if his charge got through three full hours before announcing to the world that he was hungry and somepony had to take care of that. Which was the best case, because there were also times when Sparky would decide to go for the food himself. Wander towards the kitchen, climb into the cabinets or, in Hitch's nightmares, curl up to get some rest in the fridge.
You couldn't really put a dragon in a crib. Hitch had tried, and so quickly learned that a species with actual hands was going to be rather good at climbing.
The next sensible idea had been to add a miniature crib roof. This had been working out spectacularly, right up to the moment when Sparky had burped in the general direction of his new ceiling. The resulting cloud of moths had quickly gotten out of the way.
Sparky's magic changed things. Anything which Hitch had cared enough about to bring into the house was an object which really shouldn't be taking on a second life as sugared hay twists, which just couldn't be what Sparky had wanted for a snack in the first place.
(He was still trying to figure out what Sparky ate. Other than 'just about everything, without discrimination or a diaper which can survive the results at the other end'.)
(He didn't know what to do if the infant got ahold of the wrong thing. Had a reaction, or got sick...)
And Hitch couldn't watch Sparky if he was asleep.
The office was a little bit safer. There weren't as many crucial possessions there: certainly nothing as personal. Hitch had just moved the evidence locker into the basement, shifted the most important documents to the minimal attic, and placed himself on top of the open drawers.
...yes, he could have slept in the cells. There was at least a proper bunk in there, plus something which had started as a mattress and, after the gravity of decades had compressed it to a tenth-hoofheight of thickness, probably qualified for elevated flooring. But Hitch felt that it would make a bad impression on the citizenry if they rushed into the office during an emergency and found the sheriff sleeping in a cell. Also, he only had so many cells and if it turned out that time spent sleeping there counted towards squatters' rights, one of them might legally belong to Sunny.
So it was the open filing cabinet drawers. And as the pony races continued their renewed interactions, with the results of those meetings properly written out and sorted... a portion of the sleeping surface was becoming softer.
(Which just meant his body weight was messing up filed paperwork.)
Really, if he was going to sleep anywhere, it might as well be the office. He certainly wasn't going to ask for residency at the Brighthouse, because that was probably just one more place for the citizenry to lose time while seeking him out. Additionally, a polite and proper stallion did not take up residence with four single mares. Ponies talked about that sort of thing.
He hadn't always slept in the office. He had a home. But things had changed.
And it wasn't as if Maretime Bay's city council was paying for a night shift.
Hitch wearily stretched: the process nearly knocked two cabinets over. Automatically, half-desperately looked around the office until he located Sparky, whose sleeping form was curled up in the main desk's storage hollow. He always had to find Sparkly immediately, because the infant thought Hide And Seek was the best game ever and didn't always bother to tell the stallion when a round was underway.
Salt air drifted into his nostrils. These days, Hitch always had to leave a high window at least slightly open. Another change.
Slowly, he got up. Slid his hooves across the floor, careful not to wake his charge. Eventually, he reached the restroom.
Hitch splashed some water into his face. It didn't seem to be doing much good.
He blinked a few drops away. Reared up slightly, and stared at his own reflection.
I used to be in such good shape...
He still was. It was just that he couldn't really show up to a calendar photo shoot with deep trenches pressed into his skin. Or that many bags under his eyes. And whatever it was that Sparky kept spitting up didn't do anywhere near as much damage as the stuff which was produced from the other end, but it still created some odd discoloration effects on fur. Those distortions didn't wash away: they simply cleared up on their own, after about a week. And by that point, Sparky would have spit up again. Several times.
Hitch's coat had always possessed a vertical light streak: it started at the base of his snout and ran up between the eyes. He just didn't know if the current reflection was still showing it, or if he'd worn that much of his fur away while rubbing his head in an effort to stay awake.
I need more sleep.
He was a single parent. He could sleep when his child was older. And, ideally, no longer prone to vanishing
Sparky's still asleep. Maybe I can lie down for a few more minutes --
-- which was when he heard talons scratching at wood, followed by a burst of frantic twittering. Or rather, everypony else would have heard the sonic explosion as mere birdcalls.
-- of course.
Hitch missed the days when he'd been 'everypony else'.
"I'm coming out, Kenneth." Giving the bird some notice, so the little body could get away from the door. "I just need a minute."
If we even have a minute...
He heard the can-wearing avian land on the desk. then exited the restroom and went directly for the saddlebags. A few seconds were used to load a sleepy infant into the left one: the right was counterbalanced with food, toys, assorted distractions, and a myriad of forms which were in no way about to cover whatever he was trotting into. And he didn't want to take Sparky along, but... it was almost impossible to get a dragonsitter on short notice. Most of Maretime Bay's residents were still trying to get used to having different kinds of ponies around, and the majority of those few who found Sparky adorable hadn't felt the same way about seeing their begonias turn into bagels.
He could flip the usual door sign into place on his way out. Dealing With Problem: Back In X. Nothing in Hitch's life was letting him solve for X.
"Ready," he told Kenneth, and the little bird flew up to the high open window. "Just lead the way."
Because something was happening. Things had changed: a status which meant something was almost always happening.
But that was all the little bird knew.
He understood critter speech now, and they could comprehend him in return -- but the animals didn't understand other ponies. Only him, because that was part of the magic. When it came to listening in on anypony else in Maretime Bay, they generally weren't capable of identifying words. There were a few exceptions -- seagulls always recognized when somepony was saying "Mine," and promptly disagreed -- but for the most part, all he could ask them to scout for was raw volume added to certain body postures. If the combination worked out to Trouble, they would come and tell him.
They didn't find everything. What they did locate wasn't necessarily spotted in time. Getting a full situation briefing on the gallop was effectively impossible. But it was better than nothing.
Kenneth did understand how to fly just ahead of a chasing stallion, leading the way through a partly cloudy, ocean-damp Maretime Bay morning. (Residents and a few of the more experienced visitors got out of the way: a galloping sheriff wasn't something to be messed with.) It didn't take long for Hitch to realize where they were going, because he'd spent his entire life in the same place --
-- very nearly his entire life --
-- and that made the paths easy to memorize.
(The streets hadn't changed. Yet.)
They were heading for the Oddtrot.
Maretime Bay had been around for... a long time. Hitch was sure he'd paid fairly close attention during his history classes, and he still couldn't seem to remember anypony ever having said exactly how long. But it had been long enough for every possible retail category to get at least one store.
Most of the major businesses had been operating on a generational basis, and that made it hard for anything truly new to break through. The usual solution for an entrepreneur was to narrow the offering range. There might be multiple produce markets, but yours was the one which specialized in berries. There was already a family who'd been running the same craft shop for centuries? Well, clearly they weren't going to devote all of their space to ceramics!
The Oddtrot was the part of the seaside walk which hosted the truly niche operations and as such, it could be seen as the heart of the newborn tourism industry. Move along the interlocking paving stones (or, for too many of the pegasi, above them), and the visitors would gain the chance to truly spot products which they'd never seen before.
As such, it was also where the rough majority of the conflicts began. And Hitch's job...
He was the sheriff. And when he'd first gained the post, being sheriff was all about maintaining the status quo and punishing whatever threatened to disrupt it. (Plus litter. There were usually some litterers to deal with.) Hitch had done exactly what the post required.
But the status quo had been fear.
He stopped when he saw the dull beige shaggy unicorn stallion, because that was the pony Kenneth was hovering over. Additionally, the big unicorn was stomping his forehooves. Over and over again, while the twisting grooves of the horn glimmered with strange patterns of light.
(Why were most of them so big? Hitch had now seen enough unicorns to recognize that on the average, they were the largest of the three branches. Maybe they needed the extra space to hold all of the superstitions.)
Today's first crisis was taking place in front of the pottery shop, at the very edge of the scent cloud created by crushed mustard seeds. The foreigner was glaring at something which was low in the street. Hitch couldn't quite spot what it was. There was a ring of locals watching the stomping: something which meant he had to try and peer through them. And even when he found a gap, there was just too much stallion in the way -- added to three earth ponies. A line of angry, snorting defense, standing between the stallion and -- something.
"What's going on?" Hitch asked as he came to a stop, making sure to stay far enough back to be out of direct striking range. His left saddlebag sleepily shifted, and two of the locals stepped aside a little. Giving him room.
"And who wants to know?" the big unicorn demanded, with the shaggy head rotating to face the unwelcome arrival.
"Law enforcement," usually sufficed. "I got an alert --"
The unicorn didn't exactly grin. A grin would have been much more polite.
"Good," the foreigner pushed through clenched teeth. "Somepony who can actually do something, then. It's a 30-8. Run her in."
A what?
"Run who --"
The defensive line parted, very slightly, and the tiny lavender filly miserably sniffed.
Hitch stared down at the weeping child. Somepony who was far less than half the unicorn's size, and at most of a tenth of the weight.
"What," he carefully began, "do you think she did?"
One of the defending mares began to step forward, and did so at the same instant when the foreigner snarled.
"Think she did? I told you! It's a 30-8! Everypony saw her, and none of them could be bothered to step in --"
"-- he was just yelling at her!" the earth pony mare cut in. "Over and over, telling her to stop, and she was crying and he wouldn't leave her alone --"
Take control. Before things get any worse. Identify the problem. Isolate. Defuse.
But Hitch didn't know what was going on. And "-- what's a 30-8?" felt like the next question.
He almost lost the sound of new hooves approaching in the force of the foreigner's stare. A more subconscious level of awareness recognized the jangle of the approaching anklet, then braced for impact.
"You don't know?" the foreigner snarled. "How can you say you're the law if you don't even --"
"It's a Bridlewood law," a slightly-too-cheery mare's voice told Hitch. "Excessive Public Happiness."
The sheriff turned his head just enough to look at the unicorn mare. Then he turned it a little more, because there was a lot of mane to get past.
"I used to get run in for it all the time," Izzy casually informed him, tilting her head just enough to make the manefall problem a little worse. "All the time."
"All the time," Hitch semi-helplessly repeated, because most of his mind was now considering exactly how much Sunny and Izzy truly had in common.
"After a while, they let me keep some of my unicycling materials in the cell. Just so I wouldn't get too far behind on work, as long as I promised to never use any of my supplies to make a key."
"...did you?" just slipped out.
"No!" the craftsmare declared in tones of pure insult. "I promised not to!"
"Oh. Good --"
"I just took the cell door off the hinges. That was much faster."
She tilted her head the other way, and gave him what she'd almost surely meant to be a reassuring smile. It wasn't.
Hitch was completely sure that Izzy had no idea of how her expressions came across. The vast majority were simply too intense. She had an I Just Finished Filleting Somepony's Pet smile, which went nicely with a near-terminal case of Resting Serial Killer Face. And Hitch knew she didn't mean it. The only mare to initially (and openly) defy Bridlewood's miasma of depression had simply never learned how to moderate herself in the other direction.
Izzy Moonbow never intended to do any harm. She didn't need to possess intentions, because Izzy overturned the world through the simple act of showing up.
She's harmless.
...mostly harmless.
She would never deliberately hurt anypony.
And yet if bodies ever started turning up, he would have a primary suspect to clear.
"She was singing!" the foreigner declared. "And skipping along! And nopony was making her stop --"
"-- she's a minor," in instant retrospect, had been the wrong interruption.
"If you don't start punishing them early," the larger stallion stated, "they'll never learn." And glared at Izzy. "Sometimes they don't learn even when you punish them over and over --"
"-- hi, Mister Cobble! I'm surprised you made the trip!"
"-- somepony told me they had new shoe styles here -- and over and over --"
The child, body low against the stones, trembled. And Hitch stepped forward. Moving around the big stallion, until his own body was interposed between foreigner and filly.
"It's a Bridlewood law," Hitch said. "This is Maretime Bay. It doesn't apply here. And you're scaring a kid."
The shaggy head lowered, and the hornlight picked up a few extra lumens.
"Get me another officer. Somepony with a rank, who knows what they're doing --"
There isn't one. "I'm the sheriff."
That got him a snort. "Must not have been much competition for the job --"
"-- you're effectively threatening a child," Hitch softly said. "I can run you in for that. And I will. Unless you drop this right now, let every other filly and colt play without interruption, and trot away."
The foreigner stared at him, as the locals shifted that much closer to their sheriff.
Hitch didn't move. The surprising weight of Izzy's mane was now resting against his left shoulder.
Be careful. Take any kick on my right. Don't risk Sparky.
"Crazy," the shaggy unicorn snorted. "Earth ponies are crazy. Completely insane..."
The foreigner turned away. Stormed off and, in search of anywhere else to be, went into the next store along the Oddtrot's line.
"Fine," Hitch muttered as the protective line began to disperse and the sniffling filly started to stand up again. "Let Connie put up with --"
The inhale which came from the interior of the recently-invaded shop severed his sentence, along with half of the atmosphere and every last decibel. Fallen into the abyss which had been opened by the onslaught of a personal horror.
It was a moment of perfect silence and unfortunately, it didn't last.
"Bing-bong! Bing-bong! Bing -- do earth ponies have NO decency?!? -- bong, bing-bong --"
Izzy peacefully looked up at the sign which denoted the offensive existence of Connie's Gourmet Condiments.
"I'm pretty sure," the craftsmare decided, "he just found the mayonnaise shelf."
"...you think?"
"-- BING-BONG --"
There was no law on the books for Having Your Compulsive Jinxie-Warding Chant Wake A Sleeping Dragon. Hitch made a weary mental note regarding that lack, and added it to all of the other things which the extant statutes refused to cover.
Hitch managed to get most of it untangled, and did so before Cobble broke the seventh jar. Getting the unicorn to pay for damages took most of an hour, and also emptied the foreigner's funds to the point where his next set of furious stomps were in the general direction of the exit road. Hitch stayed behind for a while, helping Connie to clean up most of the mess. The remainder was managed by Sparky, who ate some of the mayonnaise and rendered the rest into vanilla pudding: the main challenge was in spotting the difference.
And then, because it was Maretime Bay during the dawn of The Second Age Of Unity, something else happened.
He'd gone to Mane Melody, because he'd needed to consult an expert and Hitch generally only knew where to reliably find one. As it turned out, he got them both.
When he'd initially entered, the stylist shop had been in the middle of some downtime. Hitch had caught Pipp in tallying receipts: something which was done under Rocky's careful supervision because a princess who'd been released to make her way in the world still struggled with the concept of 'budget'. And Zipp had been more-or-less pushing her way along, belly and barrel almost flat against the floor as she peered at long, thin pieces of colorful debris through her visor.
Hitch's first act upon seeing that activity had been to ask what she was doing. And Zipp had evenly told him that she was creating a database. Mane and tail hair samples for everypony who frequented the shop. Just in case they were ever needed.
Something about the casual statement hadn't sat well with Hitch. It was gathering evidence before the crime, and doing so without permission from those to whom it had recently been attached. But she'd temporarily stopped when he'd asked for their help, and now...
Jazz and Rocky had gone on break. Sparky was playing with combs, two of which were now kumquats. The sisters were both near the main desk. Standing (perched?) next to each other. Listening, and there was an odd intensity to it.
The siblings had very little in common. Hitch had learned that Pipp needed the world to provide her with a near-constant flow of reassuring attention, while Zipp sometimes seemed to perceive ponies as things which existed to provide evidence: it was certainly easier than trying to interact with them as people. But they were both royalty. And when they came up with an idea, an inborn level of authority would usually tell them that they were RIGHT. Something they would both insist upon. Fight for.
Dealing with one self-assured princess came with an unwelcome level of intensity. On the rare occasions when the sisters found themselves on the same page, they were collectively terrifying.
They were also the only accessible experts he had.
"So they're both being looked at in the hospital," he began to wrap up. "Not that we have a doctor who knows much about those kind of injuries, but... closest facility." Which means that they're going to call in one of the vets again, because that's the only way to make sure the wings are okay. And the pegasi never take that well... "Another midair collision." New fliers, unskilled fliers, distracted fliers. And...
...what were the laws? Did the road statutes apply solely to the road itself, or was it possible to enforce them for what happened above it? What about those who didn't even come near the roads? (Hitch had been finding multiple crash-stunned pegasi on assorted rooftops.) In the days before she'd taken over the smoothie stand (and there was another change), Sunny had been a near-continuous rolling road hazard, was now occasionally spotted as a half-glowing and flying one, and there was so much more than her to deal with...
Did flight need to be licensed? Display proof of ability before takeoff? How would that even be possible? You didn't ask earth ponies to get a document which proved they knew how to trot, and those distracted by their phones went into each other at ground level all the time.
"So I wanted to ask both of you," Hitch finished. "What are the laws regarding flight in Zephyr Heights? The regulations? What are we missing here? I need you to tell me all of it, because that's how much we're going to need."
The siblings silently looked at each other. Both gazes moved back to him.
"'Don't try to fly outside the palace'," Zipp said.
As the first law cited, it was clearly the most crucial. It was also both extremely specific and too all-encompassing. At the same time.
"And?" Hitch finally tried.
"And nothing," Pipp firmly stated as her ears went back. "That's it."
"There's one law," the sheriff disbelievingly checked. "Everything which could come from flying, there's one law, and it's --"
A blue forehoof slammed into the shop floor. Stray hairs uncategorized themselves.
"That's it," Zipp angrily echoed. "Because the royal family were the only ones who could fly. And we were lying. The wires were in the palace, so we didn't try to fly outside it."
"We didn't go outside," Pipp's normally-musical voice pushed out. "Not where other pegasi could see us. Because somepony would always want to see the last fliers making it work. And we couldn't."
Hitch, in the face of mutual sibling intensity, collective pain... tried to find words.
"But you're royalty," was a bad choice. "You could just tell the pegasi here to --"
"-- we could," Pipp softly agreed. "Some of them would listen. For a while."
"But we left any real authority behind at the border," Zipp took over. "This is Maretime Bay, Hitch. 'Princess' is just a title. We can't write laws here."
"We couldn't at home, either," Pipp quietly said. "Not for real. Just suggest things to our mother. She had the power. Not us."
"And," Zipp finished, "once everypony figures that out..."
The experts had spoken.
The damp-eyed siblings also needed some time to themselves. Hitch gathered up Sparky and left.
The seventh incident of the day put him in Posey's shop.
"That's always been my policy," the angry mare said. "If I'm working on it and you touch it before it's ready, then you've bought it. I have it on the sign. The sign is right there. You can see it when you come in. So they all read the sign."
Hitch automatically looked at the painted arrangements of dried flowers. Then he heard Sparky's pre-burp inhale, and hurriedly jammed a twig into the line of fire.
"I know," he told Posey as the new slice of pie dropped to the floor. "But --"
"-- because if the paint isn't dry yet," she cut him off, "then touching it means I've got to do that section over. Plus the customers always look so surprised to have paint sticking to their hooves. Or their coats. So if they touch it, they pay for it. That's the rule." The yellow head jerked to the left, and a recently-screamed-at unicorn mare twitched. "And she touched it."
"But the paint didn't stick," the nervous unicorn said. "Not to hornlight..."
Posey visibly considered the prospects of letting automatic profit trot out of the shop.
"SO?"
Hitch took a breath.
"I don't see any damage," he observed. "Your policy is about making customers not inflict damage to unfinished pieces. There isn't any. She doesn't have to pay."
"BUT --"
"Miss," he directed at the visiting unicorn, "please follow posted store policy. No touching unfinished items."
"But..." that too-tall mare tried, "but it's not really touching..."
And that was the next twenty minutes.
Hitch had always taken the job seriously, doing so even in the days when there was very little work to be found. Trying to keep Sunny in line had been most of it. The fact that he'd continually failed had arguably provided a degree of occupational security, because somepony would have to try and make her see sense the next time around. And so a few more hours of squatters' claim would be applied to that one cell.
Keep the peace. Minimize disruptions. And also, pick up that trash, citizen. Make sure the city is clean, because it's the only one we've got.
There had been very little in the way of actual 'job'. Now there was too much. And when it came to directly dealing with the daily consequences of the Second Age, Maretime Bay's books had Hitch officially entered as 'It'.
Everypony else was presumably labeled as 'Not It'. Just for the sake of completion.
He took his lunch by one of the town fountains. Hitch fed Sparky, because that was what a father did. The little dragon fell asleep shortly after, and only a stray burst of cold water kept Hitch from joining him.
I can get some sleep at the office.
Maybe.
Or at home.
When was the last time he'd slept at home?
Hitch tried to remember and, after a few seconds, came up with a rough guess.
His inner self carefully looked at the number. Mentally trotting around its bulk took a while --
-- raw shock straightened his legs. Anger squared shoulders and hips, and then frustration picked out a path.
I'm the sheriff.
This is important.
They'll see that.
Hitch told the critters to only seek him out in an absolute crisis, then hoped they knew what that was.
He tracked down Izzy, because somepony had to look after Sparky for a while and there were places where a child should never have to go. The mare agreed to watch the infant until sunset, followed by busying herself with hiding most of her needles. It would presumably be harder to work with them after a dragon's flame rendered the group into pine.
Then he stomped towards Town Hall.
It took a mere two hours of being passed down the bureaucratic line before he reached the dim-eyed bespectacled grey stallion in the paper-flooded basement.
"Well," the senior noted with professionally dulled amazement as Hitch pushed his way through the tidal forms, "this is a surprise. I don't often get guests in Accounting. And I would never expect the sheriff to come visiting. Whatever is the occasion, Mr. Trailblazer?"
Hitch, who'd been repeating himself for a while, got right to the point.
"I need officers."
The senior squinted.
With open confusion, "Didn't we give you a deputy?"
Hitch felt his entire body go tight. "Yeah. That didn't work out. And his salary got taken out of my budget when he was sentenced. So I need funds, Mr. Actua. Hiring and training --"
"-- your current budget," the senior calmly cut in, "is set for the year. Maretime Bay can't possibly add anything right now. And when it comes to next year... why, that would be an exceptionally bad time to ask. Not with the new department being established. They'll need lots of money."
"What new department?" asked the part of Hitch's brain which both recognized new information and wasn't entirely sure it wanted to take custody.
"I think it's going to be called 'Tourism'," Mr. Actua thoughtfully said, and then added a little smile. "They had to look in the dictionary for hours before that one emerged, I can tell you! But it's all about getting ponies to visit Maretime Bay. Spend their money here. It'll be good for the economy! And of course, anything earned by tourism has to go back into that department, in order to get them fully running. Why, they're planning to have at least fifteen ponies on staff by next year alone! And that potentially might be for thousands of visitors!"
"But to police those thousands," Hitch desperately tried, "it's just me --"
"-- and we could lure even more visitors in during years to come!"
Hitch mentally estimated the populations of Bridlewood and Zephyr Heights.
"From where?"
"Oh, I don't know," was added to a dismissively-waving forehoof. "But we already found two other places. I'm sure there's more out there. And it can all come here. Mr. Trailblazer, if you want funds, then you'll have to raise them yourself." And nodded to a more familiar piece of paper, mounted on a nearby wall. "You could always sell more calendars --" The senior frowned. "-- actually... does the city own the rights to your image? I'll have to check."
"Own the --"
"-- in any case, you'll just have to wait. Law enforcement clearly isn't a priority right now. Not when compared to theft."
"To --"
With that same little laugh, "Stealing tourist traffic from the other areas -- before they steal it from us. We don't want our economy wandering, now do we? We need to show pegasi and unicorns the appeal of Maretime Bay, while keeping our ponies at home! And, now that I think about it..." The senior thoughtfully squinted at Hitch. "...wouldn't you say that lawlessness has a certain tourism appeal?"
"WHAT?"
Several waves of fine print collapsed. Mr. Actua didn't notice.
"Imagine how it would look on the posters! -- we're making posters, did I mention that? 'You can't get arrested here'! Perhaps getting the most tourists -- and money -- requires nothing more than eliminating the role of sheriff entirely!" The excited old stallion nodded to himself. "Yes! I shall absolutely bring that up at the next meeting! Imagine the potential --"
And then he seemed to remember that somepony else was in the room.
"-- oh, don't worry, Mr. Trailblazer," the senior politely offered reassurance. "There's always going to be a place for you. I promise that. After all, I've seen you at work. You'll be necessary."
Hitch, who was trying to figure out the cumulative sanity of the city council and didn't like the way the math was going, didn't say a word.
"And," Mr. Actua gently finished, "if there's one thing ponies can be sure of, it's that we'll always need somepony to pick up litter."
By the time Sunny found him, he was back on top of the open office filing cabinet drawers, and sleep had not come.
He had some time left before he had to pick up Sparky: probably more than enough for Izzy to inadvertently teach the infant about the Why Would I Ever Go Directly For Your Throat? non-calming blink. Enough time to try and rest, assuming one of the critters didn't come in with an alert and there had also been two false alarms because sometimes ponies just yelled when they were excited and animals couldn't always tell the difference...
He wanted to sleep. But it hadn't happened. The folders tickled his barrel, and the ridges sunk into his flesh.
And then sleep's greatest enemy had trotted in.
"What happened to you?" asked his oldest friend, most constant menace, and possible legal owner of whatever that cell mattress had become. "I don't know if I've ever seen you look that wiped out --"
"-- Sunny?" his half-dreaming voice checked.
"What is it, Hitch? Because if it's about anything other than getting you to bed --"
"-- how do you turn magic off?"
There was a moment of silence.
This was followed by an exceptionally dense object making an attempt to push itself through his ribs.
"OW!"
"Get up!" a frustrated voice half-ordered him.
"I --" tried a growing sense of desperate wakefulness.
Sunny's braid whipped into his flank, because the owner of Maretime Bay's softest heart and hardest head had just decided to reposition herself for the next shove. "We are not going through this again! I'm getting you outside! First, you are going to touch grass! And then you're going to grow it -- "
"Not earth pony magic!" Hitch desperately called out. "Critter magic!"
The dense skull pulled back, which incidentally meant that her ears stopped tickling his back.
"...what?"
The stallion sighed. Slowly straightened his legs, and began to shuffle himself off the drawers.
"I heard some drakes talking while I was on my way back from Town Hall."
"What are --"
"Male ducks."
"Oh. So what --"
"They were discussing their plans for the weekend."
"And --" Sunny tried.
"I can't arrest them either."
"Um --"
"You don't want the details."
"Um --"
"I spotted a corkscrew in the window of the wine shop. I nearly got sick."
"...oh."
He pushed himself back to his hooves. All four knees nearly folded.
"I don't hate magic, Sunny," Hitch said. "Not really, not after I saw the cost of blocking it. Not for the everyday things. But when it comes to the job, or just getting some rest... it would help if there was that much less to deal with." Tired eyes tried to find a clock. "I have to pick up Sparky. Soon. It's going to take me a while to get there. Maybe I should --"
"When do you need to be there?" his old friend (and, because some disasters took place in carefully-sorted levels, a former Little More) asked.
Hitch told her.
"We've got time," Sunny gently reassured him. "Hitch... what happened today?"
The weary sheriff allowed his back legs to fold, and an equally worn-out tail draped itself across the floor.
They were both sitting on the floor, facing each other. It was a fairly familiar position, even though Sunny more typically executed her end from the cell.
"...and then Mr. Actua thought about it a little more, and he said that maybe a unicorn would be better for sanitation. Since they can pick up multiple things at once. Without having to touch any of them."
Sunny sighed. The braid sympathetically swayed.
"Oh, Hitch," was the next sigh. "You know they're not going to eliminate the department..."
"But they're not giving me any more staff for at least a year," the sheriff reminded her. "Not unless something big happens. Big enough to wake them up, big enough that I can't manage it --"
"We," Sunny said.
"-- and that's also big enough to get a lot of ponies hurt. I don't want that."
"You could go on strike," the activist suggested. "Let them find out what it's like when there's nopony on duty --"
Hitch's right hip twitched. The fur of his cutie mark rippled.
"Same problem."
"...yeah," Sunny eventually admitted.
The weary stallion sighed. The activist put in some visible thought.
"I want to get the others together," Sunny finally said. "Put everypony on this."
Hitch's lips twitched.
"I checked the books. I can't temporarily deputize outside of a major crisis. The four of you aren't a police force."
"Yet!" Sunny brightly told him.
He thought about that --
"You look like somepony just stepped on your dock," Sunny noted. "Any reason?"
-- no.
Sea and sun and hay bales, no.
NEVER give Sunny the power to enforce or write laws. She will be arresting EVERYPONY. Not Speaking Out For The Cause. Not Caring Enough. Social violations, which is going to turn into a Charge Of Not Being More Involved In Changing Society For The Better. Because if you're not part of the solution, you're clearly part of the crime...
"No," Hitch lied. "No reason."
But that still left three others --
-- Pipp would get a warrant for the Nicker database, pull a list of everypony who downvoted her last video, and now we're going to need some new cells.
Zipp would have a new way of not having to talk to ponies. One at a time, for a very long time.
He tried to think of what Izzy might do, and his imagination mercifully shut down in self-defense.
"Things are changing," Hitch said. "They're still changing. I keep trying to tell myself that they haven't changed too much for me to do my job. But now there's too much job, and there's still just me. I don't have the staff, and I won't for a while. And I can't write the laws we need. I don't know if I can even make the Council see how much we're going to need them, how much we already do..."
Slowly, Sunny stood up.
"I wondered about your name," his old friend said. "A few times. Because it never made any sense."
Hitch blinked up at her.
"My father..." Green eyes briefly closed under the pressure of old pain. "...his research suggested that names used to have a lot more force. Almost... control. That you could give a foal a name which suggested a profession, and they might wind up doing exactly that. Other names might grant personality traits, or maybe even destinies. Another part of the old magic. But it's not the same now, and maybe that part shouldn't be. Too many parents would be naming their child something like..."
She stopped. The braid swayed as she tried to think of a candidate.
"Filthy Rich?" Hitch tentatively made up out of nowhere.
Sunny laughed. "Yeah! Wouldn't that be horrible! A nonsense name like that, just to try and get money. And the poor foal would have to be called 'Filthy' for their whole life..." She smiled. "But you... Hitch, you hate change. I've known that from almost the first day, and the others saw it during our first group Wishday."
"Granny --" was immediate.
"-- no," she cut him off. "That was you. Everything became a ceremony. Each action had to be just so. If you repeated yourself exactly, then nothing bad could happen because it hadn't happened before. Change isn't a crime. But for you, it's terrifying." Her volume dropped. "So how did somepony whose name is for being the first into new territory, marking the path for everypony else, wind up following the same circle track over and over --"
He was struggling for words as he looked up at her. To find the ones which would deny it all, and they wouldn't come --
"-- and yet you took in a dragon," she softly continued. "Everything about Sparky is change. He changes things just through existing. And you stayed with him..."
"He needs somepony," Hitch immediately argued. "I have to --"
"-- I know."
The blue tail twitched. Slowly swayed.
"I love him," the stallion finally said. "And it scares me."
"How?" his oldest friend gently asked. "How does it scare you?"
"That I don't know what I'm doing. That I might get it wrong. It's not as if anypony's ever raised a dragon before --"
Offhoofedly, "-- you'd be surprised."
Hitch blinked. "Sunny, if you know something --"
"-- not very much," she sadly stated. "Probably nothing you can use. And I guess you've forgotten that part from when we played as kids. But... there's a lot of little things in Dad's notes. We can talk about it tonight. Hitch -- I want us to get some food together. Go get Sparky, then assemble the group and talk for a while. If there's no emergencies, or if we have to put something together on the other side of one... can we do that?"
He forced himself to stand.
"You had me at 'food'."
They were all at the Brighthouse, at least after the third attempt. Hitch had wanted to keep it at the office, but... it was well into night now. The stores had closed and while the ponies might not know where to go if they needed him, the critters would. Hitch had left several waiting relay sentries, plus a new sign.
Sparky was resting on the upper level. There were some things you didn't subject an infant to, and one of them was Law.
"We both checked with Mom," Zipp told him, quietly regal upon one of the smaller couches. (Nopony would point that sort of thing out to her, because her first reaction was to flip onto her back and continue any speech while upside-down.) "About flight regulations, and anything in that category. There's been a few created since we left."
"The Ministry sent the files to my phone," Pipp added. "So we know what they look like."
"I can't write laws," Hitch immediately argued from the smallest seat -- then corrected himself. "I could, but I can't pass them --"
"-- code of conduct," Sunny reinterpreted. "Like posting rules for beach behavior at the entrances during the summer. It's not exactly a law -- but ponies still get rules to follow, and you can be called in if they're broken. A code of conduct for --" trying the word on for size "-- 'tourists', posted all over town and given out at the border. Maybe it'll help until we get a little more from the Council."
"It'll at least tell the unicorns to let kids be kids," Izzy softly argued. "And... maybe they'll go home and let that happen a little more in Bridlewood, too. Even the grouchy adults. After a while." With a not-at-all relaxing smile, "And I can tell you so many of the laws to work around! Since I was arrested for most of them!"
"Most," Hitch carefully checked.
"Mostly just the social stuff."
"And the rest?" asked the stallion.
Far too casually, "Jinxination."
"...which is..."
"Going to take a really long time to explain." Thoughtfully, "And I might need some mayonnaise. For the visuals."
Everypony very carefully failed to think about that.
"We can only do a little to take the pressure off you," Sunny said. "Maybe try to keep the peace if we see something starting. We do some of that already. But we'll do some more when we can."
"So what do you say, sheriff?" Zipp asked. "Code of conduct? Based on whatever we can tell you?"
Hitch considered it.
"Zipp?"
"My name doesn't sound very much like a 'yes'," the older princess dryly noted. "Or any other kind of answer."
"Stop it with the hair sample gathering, and destroy what you've got. No evidence before crimes."
She sat up a little straighter. Wings flared, and white fur stood out across her chest.
"And who are you to tell me that?"
Steadily, "The law."
Slowly, almost carefully, the wings refolded.
"...fine."
"Code of conduct," Pipp repeated, and added a soft, musical groan. "Based on every law I've got on Bestie --" she tapped her phone's screen "-- and everything we can all remember. This is probably going to take hours..."
"Then let's get started," the sheriff said.
And he blazed the trail.
