Sex Court: All Rise

There were college courses which argued that ultimately, the law itself was all about sapience. The capacity for true thought -- which, in the best case, would also allow determination of the differences between right and wrong. Because if you were a full sapient, then you theoretically possessed the capacity to temporarily discard emotion, push aside instinct, weigh the evidence -- and make a decision.

And if you happened to have a court date, it was potentially safe to assume that you'd made the wrong one.

The courses were meant to give those who studied the law some grounding in their future occupation, and some of the graduates would go on to become marked judges. But sapience, in the opinion of many experienced magistrates, was largely about having the skills to read the manual -- followed by not doing so, because the defendant thought they knew best. A truly talented sapient could come up with a thousand rationales for their most recent action: recognizing that they were lying to themselves was the advanced class. Because if you could think, then you were most likely thinking about why, in spite of all evidence and testimony to the contrary, you hadn't actually acted like an utter moron.

Of course, there were those who, while capable of some level of thought, were genuinely incapable of determining right from wrong -- or rather, why what was clearly so right for themselves could ever be seen as wrong by any real people, because the person who'd committed the act was the only one who could ever truly matter. The law had a special place for the ones who were caught, and they would stay there until the day came when they finally understood. Until then, it occasionally helped to tell them that the permanently-installed countermagic measures in the asylum were clearly intended to stop superior beings.

But for most of the population, sapience could be partially defined as the capacity for taking personal responsibility over your actions. Instinct ordered one reaction, and the mind could choose to overrule.

Others had no choice at all.

A tenant species was defined as one which, while possessing the capacity for thought, had no ability to override their instincts. They could reason, and some individuals might be remarkably intelligent -- but if a given situation arose which would give a true sapient the choice between unthinking reaction and thought, a tenant would simply react. There was no treatment, palliative, or cure, for the absolute requirement to follow instinct arose from the blood. And it meant the tenant species had become global protectorates, for they were truly incapable of governing themselves. Multiple attempts had been made to grant them land (as opposed to that which they leased from willing hosts) and a true nation of their own, and all had failed. Any tenant species, left fully to its own devices, would self-destruct. Every time.

But they could still think. Some of them were capable of moving among the general population for short periods, while others actually lived there. And for those ponies who came to the decision that a tenant was where their desires truly resided...

The cattle flaw was simple to describe: any given member of the species was only a true individual when they were fully away from their herd. To gather with any others would eventually find the entire group thinking, reacting, and stampeding as one. But there were cows and bulls who possessed the willpower to separate, potentially the first of their species to take the vital steps towards leaving tenancy. Such cattle could take up any profession under Sun, and one of them had claimed a bench in the international court of the Beastriality.

There were a very few ponies who found cattle attractive. And if they managed to start a relationship with one of those exceptional specimens, it was strongly advised that they never ask their new partner if they could meet the rest of the family. Because that extraordinary bull, once back with his herd, only had to hear a few of its members saying "I don't like her." And then he would be nodding along, because that was so much easier than everything else.

Still... it was possible for a pony-cattle relationship to work, albeit with significant effort. By contrast, connecting with sheep was simple. A pony simply picked one, then approached. Moving carefully, but with open confidence. And once the pony had closed the gap, they gently looked into the eyes of the most trusting, utterly gullible species in existence and informed their chosen ewe that she now loved that pony more than anything else in the world. And the ewe would agree.

It would be a very happy relationship. It was always a very happy relationship, especially because it only had to hold up for an average of forty-seven seconds. This was the typical time required for the tenant's host to close in on the intruder. The period required for kicking them into unconsciousness was more of a variable, but didn't have to worry about long-term interference from the ewe because simply telling the sheep that she didn't love the pony any more was enough for a breakup. And in any case, if the connection had somehow been a true one, then it could presumably withstand the two-decade wait for the pony to get out of prison. Because law and civilization alike were, in some ways, about responsibility, and so tended to react poorly when an adult tried to take advantage of someone who was effectively a permanent minor.

However, not much was done with the rare individuals who found their desires (somehow) satisfied by the eternal, unquenchable selfishness of pigs. It was presumed that such parties had gotten what they wanted and, better yet, what they deserved.

Impassi Heartstopper, when acting in her role as judge for Sex Court, seldom presided over tenants. The ponies who attempted to take advantage of sheep would be dealing with felony charges, while a certain class of pig was more prone to filing endless civil cases: after all, if the world didn't endlessly and constantly give the sow whatever she wanted, then she was clearly entitled to sue it away. (When it came to pigs, 'clearly entitled' was a universal truism.) And when it came to the others...

...there was a cattle attorney who occasionally led her clients into the courtroom. Impassi had presided over a very few cases where protectorates had become involved, generally as witnesses. (You couldn't really admit testimony from a ram, who would describe exactly what he'd seen -- until somepony told him he'd seen something else.) And... that was about it. Tenant law was largely its own category, the relative scarcity of those who regularly interacted with host sites limited opportunity and quite frankly, those whose tastes galloped towards alpacas had problems which the court system wasn't strictly designed to solve. Most of them involved projectile vomit.

In Sex Court, she sat in judgment over sapients, which included those who mostly claimed personal ownership of the term on technicality. Tenants, who had no say on when instinct would rule their actions, seldom became involved.

And when it came to those who shouldn't have been capable of true thought at all...

There were, at most, twelve of them, all acting under the direction of a central commander: that pegasus had positioned herself slightly above floor level -- and it was only 'slightly' because Impassi had taken note of how the mare had initially set up in a way which both allowed her to see everything which was going on and fully blocked the judge's view of proceedings, then told her to move.

The mare had shifted accordingly. But the remaining dozen only followed the orders of their officer, and so they continued to move through an active, occupied courtroom and gallery. No matter what anyone else said. Or did. Or tried in the name of making them stop poking there.

The underside of every bench had been searched. Those season ticket holders who'd brought in saddlebags were asked to open them for inspection. Anyone whose chosen snack for the day centered around cherries had seen their fruit confiscated. Anything small, unsecured, and potentially chewable was also being claimed, but had been placed in storage lockers: personal possessions could be picked up on the way out, and everypony was being given detailed receipts.

A secondary team was armed with bite-action spray canisters: the business end was attached to a foreleg and when that limb was elevated, the bite grip wound up in the mouth. And they seemed intent on soaking down anything which was wood, paper, low to the ground, near a surface, or which could theoretically be reached during an elevated high jump.

Everything.

Impassi had secured her notebook early. Several gallery attendees were attempting to redirect their snouts away from their own freshly-reeking jewelry: those who'd chosen to wear necklaces were experiencing certain issues. And another one of the pegasi had just flown up to the judge's bench.

"Spritz your mane?"

Steely eyes focused. The hover briefly faltered.

"Chewing on hair is a possibility," the stallion tried to explain. "Anyway, the smell rinses out after a few hours. Of rinsing. And we're trying not to get any in mouths or nostrils, but that still fades after a couple of weeks --"

"No," Impassi stated.

Perhaps not tentatively enough, "Are you sure --"

The steel dropped into her voice. "-- no."

The stallion, whose status as sapient was steadily coming into increasing question, visibly tried to puzzle out a one-syllable word.

"Is that 'no, I'm not sure'? Or --"

"-- leave."

"Sorry, ma'am."

"That," Impassi evenly corrected, "would be, 'Sorry, Your Honor --"

-- which was when he flew away. The air current disruption produced by wings further spread the stink of bitter apple around the courtroom.

There were parents who used bitter apple spray to protect vital items, because newborn foals loved to chew on wood and the spray turned such items into something which nopony could stand to have touching their tongue. Bitter cherry was also an option, but -- not here. Not with this defendant.

Impassi hadn't asked for security measures. Everything had just -- shown up. And once she temporarily discarded multiple questions regarding the sanity of all involved, most of what it had taught the judge was that she was considerably more territorial than she'd ever suspected. Just about every judge had at least a touch of it -- whatever courtroom they were using was theirs -- but the majority had to share. Impassi had initially only turned over control of Sex Court to substitutes when she went on vacation or fell ill. The system had eventually responded by scheduling session breaks around her time off. And replacement judges still filled in when she became sick -- but she would always have an entire court system wishing her well and hoping she could hurry back. According to the reports from her staff, even the judiciary-marked substitutes had a rather hard time maintaining a fully-straight face. Some of them encountered equal difficulties in preventing themselves from fleeing.

It was her courtroom. Everypony knew that. Everypony except the strangers who were moving through it, all behaving as if they were both searching for explosives and attempting to secure it against potential terrorist attack.

This, given the nature of the incoming case, had initially seemed somewhat unjustified.

"And -- done!" the central mare triumphantly declared.

The dozen collectively exhaled. The mare adjusted her own hover, turning as she did so until she could look directly into Impassi's eyes.

"That's all of the safety prep work," the mare said.

Impassi nodded.

"Now we just need to clear out some benches. So we can stay in here --"

"-- the right to claim a spectator bench," Impassi cut her off, "is disbursed through ticket sales. Unless you plan to issue refunds --"

"-- this is for security --" the mare pushed on.

"This," Impassi calmly declared, "is my courtroom. No."

The mare faltered. Several feathers went out of alignment.

"We'll stand in the aisles."

"Blocking movement, stalling hoof traffic, and preventing actual evacuations. No."

The hover dipped.

"We'll -- be in the hallway if you need us?"

"Do not block access to the concession stand."

"Oh, that's fine," the mare exhaled. "We already cleared out all of the risk items from there. And some other things. By the way, did you notice that we're only using bitter apple? Most ponies would try out bitter cherry at some point, but we just can't take that chance --"

"-- leave."

The pegasus vanished. Twelve more ponies followed her out. The sound of an angry argument, cut off by fast-closing doors, suggested the concessions instruction hadn't been fully honored.

Impassi carefully failed to sigh, and looked down at the day's case list again. Which included her first notes on the current matter.

Multiple Residents Of Ponyville (names attached: select, borderline class-action?) vs. --

She'd asked about the name, of course. One of the problems with living in Equestria was that a name could be just about anything, and so it had been remotely plausible that she was simply dealing with somepony whose parents had lightly fumbled on Task #1: Identification Of The Species Which The Dam Just Birthed. All she'd needed to do was pick out a Ponyville resident from her staff and ask the question.

Then she'd asked it again.

Getting further details had required multiple breaks in the questioning. It was one thing to give the staff member enough time for calming down, but presenting the next query in line just set things off all over again.

Once she recognized that all parties involved on the legal end were somehow utterly serious about the whole thing, she'd sent a messenger to the main prosecutor's office: directly asking why this case had landed on her docket. And Impassi had been fully expecting the reply to be carefully delayed until after the trial had begun and, preferably, ended -- but the office had sent something back.

A complete, comprehensive, extensively-annotated criminal record file.

She'd spent some time in reading it and, by devoting the full two hours she'd had available and channeling that time into the skills acquired over a career on the bench, had managed to get through roughly half.

The court clerk glanced up at her. Robin's dark features were twisted with concern. Something which made it easy for Impassi to hear the silent message: 'Are we actually doing this?'

The judge subtly, almost invisibly nodded.

The case had been placed on her docket. It was hers now. Impassi Heartstopper was vaguely curious to see how it all came out, which meant she was mostly waiting to see exactly how far she could get before declaring prosecutorial overcharge and kicking the whole thing out of her courtroom.

But the file...

Robin nervously cleared her throat. Based on the further twisting of her features, the scent of bitter apple had come flowing back the other way.

"District One, Ponyville," the clerk announced, "multiple residents thereof, versus..."

The main doors opened, and every head in the gallery began to rotate for a better look at the entering party. Then the first recognition of what was entering began to dawn, and three necks strained themselves in the attempt to move that much faster.

The pegasus was beautiful.

Strictly speaking, she wasn't spectacular, and that was why the interest had stopped slightly short of setting off muscle pulls. This was a gallery which was (somewhat) accustomed to dealing with Fleur Dis Lee. Just about every other mare was going to come in second and with this pegasus, on her best possible day... perhaps sixth. But when you considered the leader in the race, along with what it took to get anywhere close to first..

Her features were rather fine -- for the rough half of them which could actually be seen: the remainder was obscured by carefully-brushed coral manefall. Yellow fur had been carefully groomed, most likely by somepony else: the visible remnants of brushstrokes didn't quite line up with what bristles directed by the mare's own mouth would have been able to do. The one visible blue-green eye was exceptionally bright -- even when the eyelids were mostly scrunched with worry. But when it came to her body... the wings were noticeably more oversized than the ideal, leaving the mare attempting to fly while permanently attached to a pair of minor drag weights. And the tail...

The tail was, to be polite about it, a specialty interest. Erotica shops held books about tails like that, typically under Fiction. The stories concerning tails which would grow to that sheer length and fullness after puberty were just about all fiction, but magical accidents happened and some ponies kept the results.

There were certain unspoken rules about watching a mare's tail: one of them said that politeness meant only maintaining the sight line until the entire thing had gone by, while the more prudish irritatedly declared that a percentage was clearly enough. Either way, with this mare, it was going to take a while. Lelo Steath could have adverbed her tail for most of a page, and might have come close to running out of 'ly's.

There was also a specialized type of control freak who liked to obsessively talk about what they would do with that kind of tail. The word 'docking' inevitably became involved and, after saying it in front of the wrong pony, would follow that up with 'hospital...'

The entire gallery was watching the mare enter the courtroom, and she responded through visibly shrinking in on herself. Knees bent, the tail did its best to curl in, and the mare finished the journey to the defendant's bench in a half-slink of barely mobile embarrassment.

She took her bench. The process required more time than the usual, and she was visibly forcing herself to hold position against the weight of so many gazes.

Except that she wasn't the defendant.

The doors opened again.

Five Solar Guards grimly trotted into the courtroom.

Four of them were surrounding a metal cage, and moved when it did. The thick bars glowed -- but did so with an intermittent, extremely shaky red. Impassi, who turned up at professional conferences and spoke to judges who dealt with other categories of law, guessed that that the portable roofed prison was currently under more security spells than she'd previously known to exist. Also that some of them hadn't exactly been designed to cooperate with each other.

The fifth Guard, at the center of the formation, had the tiny penal institution balanced on her spine.

The judge carefully peered between the bars. Small, dark eyes met her own, and glared back. They were eyes which would have spoken of malice unending, if the pure loathing hadn't been tainted by a hefty dose of lingering frustration.

The mare occupying the defendant's bench briefly glanced backwards. The one visible eye flooded with both worry and shame. This was followed by threatening to add salt water into the mix.

Impassi considered her options, and then looked at the plaintiff's bench.

"Mr. Vadis?"

The stallion immediately looked up at her, squaring shoulders and hips into a posture of respect. The movement shifted his dark jacket, and several fine grey fabric-coating hairs failed to change position. "Your Honor?"

"As I understand it," the judge carefully began, because this wasn't exactly her category of law and trying to get through the criminal record had left her with very little time for anything else, "in cases which could be argued as the result of improper training -- such as, for example, an attack -- the charges are filed against the pony."

"Yes, Your Honor," was the best the prosecutor could currently do.

"But she --" a very minor head movement indicated the pegasus "-- is not on trial."

Every beautiful feature vanished behind cascading manefall.

"No, Your Honor," the attorney explained. "She's here as -- company. Along with being present for questioning." Paused. "And, if necessary, she'll serve as translator."

"So he --" this indication went towards the cage's occupant, who just kept glaring "-- is the charged party."

"Yes, Your Honor."

I am trying to let you save yourself before this starts.
It would help if you picked up on that.

"This is a courtroom for sapients," the judge reminded the (somehow) law school graduate.

"We're... not actually sure where he fits on the Hauser Scale," the attorney reluctantly said. "There's certain -- abnormalities. Especially when he's near her. The talent..."

"Regardless," Impassi made the nearly-last attempt to both verify and preemptively halt, "you are putting a rabbit on trial."

The rabbit scratched at the bars. Then he looked for the spot where the glow was weakest, and did it again.

The next "Yes," seemed a little lonely by itself.

On any other day, "You are aware that this is Sex Court," would have felt somewhat too blatant.

By contrast, "Yes, Your Honor," wasn't getting any better with repetition.

Most likely result: prosecutorial overcharge, case suspended pending dismissal. It's just a question of when.

And yet... the file...

She was a judge. The nature of the defendant mattered -- but she still had to hear the evidence.

"Very well," Judge Heartstopper decided. "District One, Ponyville, versus Angel Bunny. Proceed."

Prosecutorial overcharge. There were always those who felt that Winning was more important than Justice, and so they would kick every statute available at those seen as criminals: the hope was that something would stick. It was the legal equivalent of loading two hundred balls into a rounders pitcher's sling, launching them all at once, and declaring that a batter who'd missed at least three had obviously struck out.

Justice hadn't been meant to work on percentages, and so an Equestrian judge who sniffed out an overcharge attempt had the option to simply suspend the case until such time as the prosecutor's office could offer an explanation as to why ordering takeout constituted a murder attempt. (If a certain establishment in Ponyville was involved, this could be dropped to 'incapacitation through poisoning'.) Simply having a judge open an overcharge inquiry tended to lead into cases being dismissed, or severely cut back: the play had been spotted, and the other option was to risk lowering that supposedly-vital victory rate.

But you had to hear the evidence first. And when it came to evidence...

"To clarify," Mr. Vadis asked the rather lanky, streak-maned unicorn mare occupying the witness stall, "it was with the bowling ball."

Allie Way wearily sighed. "Yes and no," said a mare who'd been there a few too many times before.

Judge Heartstopper knew a lot about Allie, because the unicorn and her on-again, off-again (and on and off and on and off and) earth pony partner were regulars. Allie and Stile had the sort of relationship which desperately needed therapy -- but that was hard to schedule, so they settled for taking each other to court a lot. Impassi's presumption was that the makeup sex was world-class. Also that she was tired of having her courtroom used as foreplay, and so she'd sentenced both of them to counseling. Multiple times. The results usually held for about two weeks, and then... well, Allie could do all sorts of things with a ball, while Stile's mark was for the construction of the tools which allowed earth ponies and pegasi to freely manipulate their environments without the benefit of a horn. Anything sent towards him at high speed had a good chance to be Returned To Sender, especially if the initial funnel had been hidden within shadow.

"Clarify?" the attorney asked.

"It was with that bowling ball," Allie informed the gallery. "I have several. Different tournaments have varying requirements, plus I keep a couple of weighted ones around for trick shots. Clearly labeled, officially barred from real play -- but they're fun when you want to show the foals some special rolls."

"How many balls in total?"

"Twelve."

"And you said yes and no..." The attorney tried to execute what he thought was a dramatic pause, and didn't quite make it. "Let me guess. How many had he already attempted to copulate with when you found him on top of your ball rack?"

"Based on the discharge? Seven."

Mr. Vadis glanced up at the judge's bench.

Right. 'Public fornication.' Which could be added onto breaking and entering, as Allie didn't exactly invite him into her home -- but for some reason, you didn't go for that. Possibly because that would put you in the other courthouse and those who haven't been through as much would have a number of questions.

You still filed charges against a rabbit.

The attorney began to turn away -- then glanced back at the professional bowler.

"I've always wanted to ask and this may be my only chance,' he said. "Since they can't be present for the exclusive use of uninvited bucks... what are those holes for?"

"Fingers," Allie readily said.

The entire courtroom blinked. Several of the gallery members used the time to recover the half-foreign word's definition.

"Nopony has --" the attorney began.

"-- minotaur manufacture."

"Oh."

Right. Bowlers are like every other athlete. Scrabble for every advantage within the rules. And Mazein does a lot of exports. If having those little holes provides any benefit for play, the professionals are going to use that type of ball.

By contrast, the rabbit had simply been caught balling.

Impassi looked down at the cage, which was now resting on the defendant's desk. The little dark eyes glared at her. She wasn't sure the rabbit had blinked yet.

"No further questions of this witness," Mr. Vadis said.

Impassi, for her part, wasn't quite ready to summarize. There was still at least one other party to be heard from. Two if the translation came in. And she'd already had to wait through a near-parade of those who'd had their meeting with a horny lapine and decided that this was where it had to end.

District One. Canterlot and Ponyville: numerous ponies tended to forget the latter was included. The two settled areas shared a prosecutor's office.

Idly, Impassi wondered how many ponies in the Canterlot headquarters lived in Ponyville. And whether any of them were wiping bits of white fur out of their homes. Along with other unwanted pieces of white. Not that Quorum Vadis had likely been directly affected. She knew he commuted to work, but when it came to the stray strands on his jacket...

"Witness dismissed," the judge said, and continued to wonder if it was appropriate to try doing the same thing for the case. Yes, the rabbit seemed to be a -- 'menace' almost felt like the wrong term for something that small, but parasprites were even cuter and did just about as much damage --

-- parasprites acted on instinct. Something about the rabbit's ongoing stare felt actively... malicious.

"The realm," Mr. Vadis confidently stated, "calls Fluttershy Phylia to the witness stall."

It took about a minute to get the trembling pegasus onto the new bench. The one visible eye promptly focused its attentions on the floor while the rabbit, now more or less unattended, went back to testing the steel bars.

The court got the Bearer sworn in. Two attempts were required before she was able to raise her volume sufficiently to be heard.

Mr. Vadis kept it fairly light to start. Leading her into it, with questions she could readily answer. It was like watching the closing of a particularly apologetic trap.

"So he was actually your first," the stallion verified.

The typical hesitation before the mare's reply was recorded by the court stenographer as an ellipsis.

"...yes," the pegasus answered. "I... found him shortly after he lost his warren. He was just barely old enough to be on his own, and -- not for very long. There was something which spotted him just before I did, and..." Another hesitation. "...I guess that part doesn't matter. But I got him back to the cottage, and -- he's been with me ever since. Longer than anyone..."

"His breed?"

"...Equestrian White. That's... not special, not by itself. You'll see them around. More than ponies used to. They were endangered for a while, but they've mostly recovered."

And given the expressions on the dismissed witnesses who decided to stay in the gallery, most of them would have no problems with cutting the numbers by one.

"...they aren't really known for much, though," the pegasus continued. "Just -- being docile."

The extended silence in the courtroom suggested the mare had managed to locate an exception.

"And the name?" the attorney finally inquired. "That's a new term to me. I'm not even sure it's Equestrian."

"...it isn't," the mare shyly offered. "It's from a yak word for 'guardian spirit'. I just... messed up the spelling."

"So as your first companion --" the pause was probably meant to be sly "-- with the most exposure to your magic..."

The pegasus swallowed.

"...I... know that some ponies think I make animals a little smarter when I'm around them," she said. "That it's not just talking, but giving them a little more vocabulary and intellect to speak with. Sometimes I feel the same way. And yes, I've had more time with him than anyone, but... that doesn't mean it sticks. I'm -- sure he doesn't really think? Not like ponies do. At least, I'm sure that I'm sort of sure. Most of the time. Except for when he does things like he did with alerting me to the smoke from Dragon Mountain. Um. I'm not sure I'm allowed to explain that here. There's -- government clauses..."

It occurred to Impassi that a mare who worked alongside Honesty might not recognize the danger in freely volunteering extra truths.

The attorney squared shoulders and hips again. More thin grey hairs stayed exactly where they were. "And you've clearly never had him neutered --"

Fluttershy's head snapped up, and the mane was flung backwards. Both exposed blue-green eyes narrowed.

"...I wonder what it would be like," the pegasus half-snapped, "if I proposed correcting the behavior of misbehaving ponies through cutting a couple of organs off? Do you think the realm would see that as a good idea, Mr. Vadis? Maybe it wouldn't solve all the problems, but it would certainly make some money for doctors." The breath was sudden, harsh, and deep. "It's mutilation! That's almost always the only thing it ever does! Yes, there's edge cases where it's necessary, and sometimes it's a medical treatment, but most of the time, you're just about cutting off somepony's snout because you think their face is too close! Only it's not the snout, now is it? I can see the fur on your jacket, Mr. Vadis, and I know Preci, don't I?"

Impassi made a mental note of the hue change in the attorney's own exposed fur. Strands got darker when they absorbed sweat.

"Yes," the lawyer reluctantly admitted.

"...which is why I know you love her enough to not have somepony mutilate her," the mare stated. "By cutting off a whole joint of her paws, just because that's the bit which the claws are attached to! You didn't hurt Preci and I won't ever hurt Angel --"

"-- tell me about male rabbits in breeding season."

The yellow jaw froze.

"...um..." eventually drifted out on a tide of embarrassment as the mane slumped forward again. "...it's -- 'bucks'. And 'heat'. Technically."

"What do they do while they're in heat?"

"...look for a doe to breed with. Does are the girls."

"And if they can't find one?" had very little mercy to offer.

"...they... have some -- behaviors..."

The prosecutor trotted back to his desk and glanced down at the notes.

"Such as marking territory."

"...yes."

"With urine sprays."

"...it's what they do..."

"And feces."

"...I... if you let me get a veterinary textbook, I can show --"

"In fact," Mr. Vadis said, "some of them apparently like to spread their marking range through jumping, then urinating and defecating at the peak of the leap. While spinning, for maximum spread. Which would explain the behavior which Mr. Davenport witnessed. And is still trying to clean off at least five couches." Paused. "The quills are probably a loss."

Almost frantic now, "...it's his instincts, he --"

"-- seeks out bowling balls?" the attorney asked. "Appropriately-sized gaps on anything inanimate? As opposed to those moments when he's actively humping furniture. Or quill boxes. Hooves."

And there's the 'unrequested sexual interaction' charge.

"...they all do that," Fluttershy helplessly told the gallery. "All the bucks. Ponies with rabbit companions... we all make the same jokes. Nothing is safe from a buck in breeding season if he can't find a doe..."

The words reached her own ears, which went fully aloft from shock for a full second before slamming down against her skull.

Quorum Vadis smiled.

There were more questions. Impassi let them proceed until she spotted the froth of terror rising in the mare's coat, and then ordered a pause to allow hydration and cooldown.

That took half an hour. The judge briefly returned to her chambers and looked over the paperwork again, then returned to the courtroom on time. The gallery was reseated, and Mr. Vadis wrapped up.

"No further questions for Ms. Phylia at this time," he told the court. "Of course, if the defendant is asked to testify, she will be translating on his behalf."

The pegasus trembled. Impassi considered her own options.

The realm -- the prosecutor's office -- the idiot who'd started this had written down what was desired in the event of a ruling for the district. Imprisonment. Not within the non-castle which rested partway around the curve of the mountain, out of sight from the main city: that would have been pushing it. House arrest. Kept in a cage for the whole of the heat time, and never allowed off the cottage grounds afterwards.

She'd seen the criminal file. Somepony had opened a criminal file for a rabbit, possibly out of frustration. It predated Ponyville's current police chief, although the change in writing told her that the tradition of just writing it all down had reached the current day. There hadn't been any real charges -- but multiple officers had wanted a record of everything they weren't pressing.

So why haven't they taken her to court before this?

Because a pet's owner could be held responsible for the actions of the animal. And in a town which had known monsters of all sorts, Angel was still considered a menace. To have the lapine in court was patently ridiculous, but... Ms. Phylia should have been charged years ago. The only thing which suggested possible cause was a tiny note in a recent margin.

But what if we upset her 'friend'?

Which can't mean one of the other Bearers...

Judge Impassi Heartstopper had questions.

"Ms. Phylia," she instructed the just-barely-starting-to-shift witness, "remain in the stall. I have my own inquiries."

The answering tremble passed for a nod. Mr. Vadis retreated to the prosecutor's section, with ears rotated towards the witness stall.

"...what do you want to know, Your Honor?" the pegasus barely managed to voice. "I'll try to answer, really I will..."

"You are, for all intents and purposes, a veterinarian who runs an animal sanctuary. With some kennel services for those who travel and must leave their pets behind. Correct?"

The "...yes," turned up after a while. "...and grooming. And I have other duties, but... I don't know if the government wants me talking about them..."

The gallery, which had collectively memorized the privacy clauses attached to their tickets, still leaned in.

"So while Angel is your personal companion," Impassi went on, intent on maintaining the original line, "would it be safe to say he is not the only rabbit on the grounds?"

A furious thumping arose from the cage.

"...yes. I have -- if you count Angel -- nine. Right now. Two are guests, four are looking for homes -- if anypony here has ever thought about a rabbit, or any kind of pet at all, you can find me at --"

"How many of those nine are does?"

"...six."

"And this is hardly Angel's first heat. As he's been with you for several years."

"...yes."

"So why haven't you bred him with one of the cottage does?" the judge inquired. "Obviously you would have to gain permission for anypony's else's pet to become pregnant, but if it's just a lapine who lives on your property --"

"...I haven't found the right doe."

The thumping doubled. The local degree of 'fun', which had already been hovering close to zero, wound up being halved again.

"Your meaning?"

"...I want to play with his kits one day," the pegasus said. "I do. And Equestrian Whites have a reputation for being very good parents. ...oh. Rabbit newborns are 'kittens'. Officially. That confuses a lot of ponies."

"Ms. Phylia --"

"-- it has to be the right doe," the mare continued. "With the right personality traits in her blood, so they'll sort of complement each other with what they each pass on. Preserving the best of him, while... moderating the worst with the best of her. So I've been looking for a long time, and -- I just haven't found her yet. But she's out there, Your Honor. I know it. Once I meet her, and put them together... their kits will be perfect."

There was something very bright about the one exposed eye. Bright and -- perhaps just a little too focused.

"...they will be perfect," the pegasus whispered, mostly to herself. "Perfect, at long last. Perfectly obedient..."

Impassi, who'd dealt with Bearers before, silently used the period of mass stun to rearrange a few tiers on the internal Relative Sanity Chart.

The mare's left eye blinked.

"...it'll be time when I say so," finished the witness. "Not before."

"When he is in heat," Impassi checked, "what is your typical course of action?"

"...I order him not go near any cottage does," Fluttershy replied. "Or wild ones. Or the companions in town. There aren't very many of those, and they mostly came in with ponies who moved here. For some reason, Ponyville doesn't really think about adopting rabbits."

"An order?"

"...he -- isn't always very good with those," the pegasus admitted. (Mr. Vadis was trying not to smile, and utterly failing.) "But I can always ask around, Your Honor. And I have ways of finding out if he's been with a doe. For this, I would know. It's a rule he can't wriggle out of..."

So he escapes from the cottage grounds.
Goes into town. Not seeking does, because you would know.
But he's angry. Frustrated, emotionally and sexually alike.
And he does all the things a non-neutered buck in season would do, only in full view of witnesses.
Because this has been going on for his entire life, he's an adult lapine who's never had sex, may never have sex if you continue to be so fussy about his partner, and he has to take it out on something.

Which was when Impassi realized she was interpreting the rabbit's actions as if he was a full sapient.

...well, some animals could be surprisingly clever on their own. Not to mention vindictive.

"...he... actually doesn't like sex," Fluttershy volunteered. "That's the funny thing."

Impassi waited for a moment, judged her corneas needed wiping, and then blinked.

"A rabbit," she cautiously proposed, "who doesn't like sex."

"...he doesn't like it when ponies have sex," the pegasus clarified. "He always leaves the room. It's one of the best ways to get him out of an area, actually..."

It was just barely possible to hear the prosecutor's ears reach the limit of their upward mobility.

"He knows when ponies are having sex?" the stallion asked.

Impassi, given a single heartbeat in which to act, would have slammed a forehoof against her desk. Speaking out of turn: hold off. But it was a heartbeat in which her mark whispered to her.

wait

And she listened.

"...just about all companions do," Fluttershy calmly told the courtroom. "Every time."

Silence, along with several bale-tons of implications, began to execute a slow-motion crash into the gallery. And as the impact began to very, very gradually crush all those trapped beneath it, Honesty's friend continued to freely volunteer Truth.

"...of course, they don't all feel the same way," she continued. "Cats tend to worry a lot."

"Worry," the prosecutor half-choked.

"...you have to see it from their perspective, Mr. Vadis! You know how Preci likes to bring you little gifts? She's told me all about that! It's what cats do. But she's not just carrying in dead mice because she wants you to have a snack." The pause was exceptionally brief. "Some of the ponies who have cat companions say it's like having a foal. And that's ironic. Because there are cats who do see ponies as their parents -- but mostly? They think you're kittens. Really big kittens. Stupid ones. Who can't figure how to sit properly, or that they should be sleeping more, and are just too dumb to ever hunt on their own. When Preci brings you meat, Mr. Vadis, she's telling you that she loves you even though you're really, really stupid. She's trying to keep you alive. So when most cats see ponies having sex, then it's like they're watching two giant kittens with severe mental handicaps trying to make more kittens. It's hard for them to see that as a good thing."

The attorney's fur was starting to darken from absorbed sweat again. So was the jacket.

"...it does explain why they watch over foals so closely, though," Fluttershy peacefully stated. "A newborn with the disabilities of both parents. They worry."

"'Make more kittens'," the perspiring prosecutor tried. "They know what sex is for?"

"...in the reproductive sense," the pegasus explained. "They don't always have cause and effect, most of the time. But some of them certainly know that if they feel a certain way at a given time and then have sex, there's probably going to be newborns."

"Preci," Mr. Vadis tried to reconcile, "would know if I was having sex."

"...even if you locked her out of the room, because there's scents she can pick up on during. And after. And since those scents can be a little unique by individual, she'd know it was you. And if a stranger was there with you."

"And you could ask her --" a sweat-soaked quadrupedal bundle of desperation pushed out.

"...I could ask anyone," Fluttershy calmly stated. "Any companion, any time. If I wanted to." Thoughtfully, "It could take some time to work out details. I do talk to animals, but -- they don't always have the vocabulary. Not to start. So if somepony was using a lot of toys, their companion would start by saying they were having sex with the -- thing. Or the sound for that species which approximates 'thing'. But they can also talk about colors, for the ones they can see. Scents. Shapes, as I guide them along," With open pride, "And personally, after spending so many years with my talent, I think I've gotten really good at translating from the 'thing'. But I'd need a really good reason to ask. I can't think of one right now."

Froth slid away from the soaked jacket, and the white foam of fear dropped to the floor.

Impassi, recognizing that she had another pony who was potentially seconds away from a faint, prepared to call recess --

wait

The pegasus looked at the prosecutor, whose vibrations were now dislodging dozens of shed cat hairs from the jacket. And her expression was apologetic.

"...it's hard, isn't it?" she said. "Having me in the witness stall, when I know Preci. Not that I know you, really. Your spouse brings her in for grooming. She's the one who told me that Preci was with you when it all started. And I know you love her, because she's slept in your bed for years. Or just in the bedroom. Maybe it's just her with you again, since you and your spouse have been fighting. Preci's worried about that. But... this is hard for me to say, but... I promise, no matter how this comes out, Preci isn't banned from the cottage. It's like having parents fight. You can't let it hurt the kids. Preci is always welcome for grooming sessions, and I'll just keep personally checking on her health like I always have, starting by asking how she feels --"

"-- Your Honor District One is dropping all charges effectively immediately and permanently case dismissed!"

It took a little effort to calm the courtroom down: one forehoof slam for the gallery, plus an extra because most of the witnesses had slumped over and the second slam summoned the security staff from the hallway. Impassi had correctly presumed that most of them knew basic first aid.

She watched as the frantic, concerned, and outright terrified were let out of the courtroom. Quorum was the fourth to stagger away. It was possible that his spouse would meet him at the hospital. Or -- somepony would.

Scent signatures which vary by individual.
Descriptions of whatever took place.
And all she has to do is ask.

District One. A shared prosecutor's office for Canterlot and Ponyville. For that matter, when the issue arose, a shared jury pool. But most of the gallery came from Canterlot, because it was a significant commute to be making every day.

It was easy to pick out the few Ponyville residents. They, like the earlier witnesses, had yet to stop sweating. Because Canterlot was often blissfully unaware of the consequences which could arrive from living with heroines and when it came to that awareness, Ponyville was All Too.

How much of that did Ms. Phylia plan? Any? All? None?

The pegasus was a Bearer. Impassi might never be sure. She could only freely question Ms. Phylia as part of her own role, and -- the case was over.

But the judge had been thinking about an ending and, with the yellow mare still in the witness stall, offered it.

"Ms. Phylia?"

Ears perked. "...yes, Your Honor?" asked an incidentally-terrifying mare.

"A suggestion," Judge Heartstopper said. "I know you disapprove of neutering. Spaying would fall under the same category. But... there are ponies who have already acted. Some for legitimate medical reasons."

The pegasus nodded.

"When Angel is next in heat," Impassi continued, "find a spayed doe, or one who can't bear children. Let them be together. The kits won't be perfect, because -- there won't be any. But it will give him release. And the incidents might stop."

A steely gaze risked a glance at the cage, and then told its owner that she hadn't just seen dark eyes slowly close with open, fully-grateful relief.

"...yes," Fluttershy softly decided. "I can do that. It might be good for him. And when he finally does have his own kits..."

The one visible eye became misty, and the pegasus spoke of her dreams for a while. Of finding the right doe, and miniature newborn lapines hopping about. But Impassi couldn't quite manage to wish her luck.

She'd seen the criminal record file. And when it came to animals, some personality traits were, in fact, carried within the blood.

Equestrian Whites were known for being docile.

Now.

Law was, in part, about consequences. Sapience was largely the process of ignoring them.