If 'Ikea Erotica' Had Moving Components (Case Transcript 1 of 2)

A significant number of the cases which arrived at Sex Court were courtesy of the New, and thus a degree of blame could be placed (or, for those who enjoyed repressing snickers, laid) at the hooves belonging to the two percent of the population which considered itself to be the innovators. Those who were always looking for discoveries in magic and, for those with exceptionally flexible mindsets, technology. In both cases, that need for flexibility might wind up extending out to the body and if something reached Judge Heartstopper's domain, it could typically be assumed that joints hadn't been meant to bend that way.

The Innovator portion of the population shared that effective, unbreakable addiction to the New -- but they had a few other things in common. For starters, those with the capacity to act on their constant desire for Staying Ahead Of The Herd would typically have a surprising amount of disposable income. (This was just about a necessity, as the New hadn't sold enough pieces yet to even remotely approach mass production standards, much less qualify for bulk discounts.) When it came to puzzling out how something might work, they could potentially demonstrate a surprising degree of foresight: this tended to fall apart at the moment they tried to consider how the New might work on them.

And they all needed a place to shop.

This was part of the problem.

For those in District One who regularly crossed the stile which united the pastures of Startling New Invention and Sexual Pleasure, the most sensible way to begin would have been through approaching Lelo Steath and asking for a copy of his travel schedule. The owner of Canterlot's most trusted erotica shop made sure to stay on the cutting edge of his industry -- or rather, the penetrating one because outside of emergency exit methods designed for depressingly-amateur BDSM attempts, nothing which sliced was ever going to be a good idea. And he tested everything.

But that still required finding ways to see the New in action, long before taking the risk on potentially bringing it to the Emporium. It meant needing somewhere to go.

The self-appointed Moral Guardians of Equestrian society possessed rather firm opinions on where such displays should not be allowed to take place. This typically started with In My Backyard and, after the court system had finally managed to explain that the definition didn't extend to the whole of a nation, would quickly move to All Locations Which Currently Exist -- Plus All The Ones Which Don't, Just In Case. Curious countersuits would occasionally inquire as to whether this included Tartarus, and always got back the same answer: yes, because when it came to those who acknowledged that sex existed for purposes other than reluctantly creating the next generation of interfering hormone-locked busybodies, Tartarus was just too good for them.

Moral Guardians always knew that they had the law on their side, and carefully maintained that belief through reading as little of it as possible. The way things actually worked was clearly subservient to the means by which they were meant to. And besides, any true Princess would demonstrate their qualifications for the job by agreeing with them about everything at all times. The movement had currently located no less than six hundred True Princesses, all of whom had rather surprisingly been found among their own ranks. Discovering the one who would also be capable of moving Sun and Moon was proving to be somewhat more of a problem, but a few of the more radical Guardians didn't feel that was an actual issue. After all, the only reason they ever produced a next generation was to make sure nopony else ever enjoyed the process and if the world became completely incapable of supporting life? Problem solved.

And yet there were still places to go. They just didn't do a lot of advertising -- although you did get the usual notices in the adult trade magazines. And that was still a problem because when it came to the subscriber lists, nopony purchased more of those issues than the Guardians. After all, how could they possibly proceed without knowing every last disgusting sweaty detail of what they were trying to shut down? And, to make sure they had all such details right, they would closely study the most minute aspects of the smallest illustrations. In the middle of the night. While completely alone.

But when it came to scouting out the New... for those who were willing to risk passing through lines of back-mounted picket signs while getting spit on, or just happened to enjoy the spit...

The Innovation Exposition was a traveling show which featured inventions of all kinds, and it was a traveling one because collecting hundreds of new, dubiously-tested spells under the perimeter of a very large tent usually meant sending somepony out to find where the actual canopy had landed. Even so, most settled zones looked at the potential profits from an InEx visit and decided they were eager to host. (Once enough time had passed for the lingering trauma to have officially become a generational thing, some of them would even consider doing it again.) And there was usually a small Adult section tucked away towards the back. This would normally be somewhere in the rough vicinity of the High Thaums section,simply because most of the required protective gear overlapped.

Of course, there were times when the actual display categories managed to overlap. Or... combined. That latter didn't always happen on purpose, and the recommended strategy was to simply clear the area at speed. While hoping some brave soul had stayed back to take notes, just in case the results actually worked.

The Adult section of InEx was kept behind an extra layer of inner fabric walls, featured a magic-verified age check for all potential entrants, and was rather careful not to heavily advertise its presence. By contrast, the Las Pegasus convention was proudly in the open, and just about nothing offended the Guardians so much as those who not only insisted that sex was supposed to be fun, but did so while smiling directly into a Guardian's sputtering face. Especially when that smile was a pretty one, because the convention also featured the best-known names from Equestria's newest segment of the cinema trade: those who had sex on camera. For pay.

It was a rather young industry, and that lack of age meant the Equestrian government was still trying to figure out how to deal with it. Escorts were licensed: actors, despite their potential to do considerably more damage, somehow weren't. The Night Court was frantically trying to create a set of regulations which worked: age restrictions had been copied from the escort laws, frequent health checkups were mandatory, and trying to legislate actual training was still a work in progress.

(Moral Guardians loathed the adult film industry and, during any diatribe on the subject of why everypony within it needed to be imprisoned for life (along with 'everyone', because interspecies films were a thing), would carefully fail to mention how its existence was entirely their fault. They had gotten one of their own into a studio during the first days. She'd then successfully banned all physical contact between two ponies who had been told by the scene to share a bed, informed them that it was because doing so made even the implication of sexual activity impossible -- and then both performers, having decided it was their last day on the job, mutually ignited their horns. Doing so while the cameras continued to roll, and that was why the foulest curses known to any Guardian were the names of Ms. Hays and her stupid Code.)

Las Pegasus was happy to host them. The settled zone was happy to host anypony, including those who turned up to protest. Because Las Pegasus had been built on the tourism trade and as such, didn't so much have a reputation as Sin City as it possessed one for Look: We Charge The Same Admission To Everypony And Since We've Already Got Your Money, Maybe Consider Trying To Have A Good Time? Besides, two-thirds of the population couldn't access the vast majority of the city without also paying for some fairly expensive cloudwalking spells and if the only thing you were going to do with that was scream directly in somepony's face, then it was probably best to make sure there was no actual contact made. Ponies who'd had their personal space fully violated tended to kick towards the nearest billowing edge.

Places to go, things to see... but you wouldn't always know what you were looking at. Or, for that matter, whom, because one very real problem being encountered by the new film category was venue. Very few standard cinemas wanted to host the resulting reels, even during 'off' hours: picket lines were annoying, hygiene rules needed to be enforced, and the universal nightmare was 'somepony underage falls asleep during one show and wakes up during the next one'. Only a very few dedicated adults-only screens had begun to appear: most of them kept going under Sun and Moon, with the protest lines during their best to match. And with limited areas of display (as opposed to what was on the screen, where cinematographers were still being taught not to go in for extreme closeups on what would, in fact, turn into an industrial film covered in fur)... when not among their truest fans, a stud stallion or brood mare could vanish into a crowd via a light adjustment to their manestyle, some minor makeup and, for those who'd started out as exotic dressers, by adding a strategic display of near-universal nudity.

And while there were host sites for the inventors, they weren't free. There was the space rental fee. Travel costs. With Las Pegasus, cloudwalking spells just about always became involved and even if the creator personally didn't need the standardized enchantment, any venue which had to deal with experimental magic was going to insist on a VERY LARGE SECURITY DEPOSIT. The research and development costs for an invention frequently paled next to the costs involved in officially asking somepony "So I can unload here?"

The typical inventor, operating without sponsorships or backers, who frequently had to put the rest of their lives on hold while working on a project, didn't always have funds coming in from previous innovations and hadn't exactly made any sales on the new product yet -- couldn't always afford a spot at an expo. Street fairs were easier, but even those who remembered to have privacy tents up would encounter multiple issues and with craft shows, eventually, somepony would want to know exactly what you'd made.

And that was part of why those poorly-rendered print ads at the backs of the magazines survived. Because for those who'd spent just about everything they'd had in the creation phase, it was seen as their last chance to get the word out. To introduce the New. And as Lelo Steath would have told anypony who asked, it made a legitimate-but-struggling startup rather difficult to distinguish from a con job. Or to quote him with full precision, "Rather difficultly."

Of course, there was one surefire way to find out. Because if Mr. Steath hadn't found the ad first, some Innovator would always take the risk on Education Through Experience.

You ordered the product.
You tried it out.
And you learned whether it worked.

Failures, once sufficient jaw control had returned for the filling out of forms, tended to wind up in Sex Court.
Some of the successes...

There were rules about how plaintiffs and defendants were supposed to enter the courtroom, and the primary read as OH DEAR SUN NOT AT THE SAME TIME. Some of the participants in such cases could be presumed to have reached the point where they didn't like each other very much, and to allow anything close to simultaneous admittance could be a very good way to find out just how quickly the equine form could lunge into full charge.

Typically, the plaintiff would be the first to arrive. This particular saddlebag-wearing specimen was already getting some attention as her hooves repeatedly performed the four-time hoof slam of high aggravation all the way down the rosewood-bordered aisle: an earth pony young adult with a respectably sturdy build, featuring sharp red eyes and the sort of greyish fur which suggested somepony had taken a polishing cloth to slate and hoped for the best. In this case, they'd more or less managed to find it. The sheen on her coat was textbook, the strong features were well-balanced, and the main thing keeping the quality of her appearance down was the light snarl which kept twisting itself across her lips. It was a snarl which seemed to be trying for an existence independent of the host, and had a good chance to go for somepony's throat all by itself.

"Final case of the day is Ms. Ricti Scale," Robin announced from the court clerk's box, timing her words to get through the minor tremors of keratin impact: a brief pause was then required to make sure the mare both reached the bench and wasn't five heartbeats away from using it as an improvised weapon. "Versus..."

Judge Impassi Heartstopper already had the name in front of her. She also possessed the scant recorded details of the complaint, most of which were now awaiting review through testimony. Fine stoic features showed no reaction to the fact that, in a case which was essentially about the performance of a sex toy which had been purchased through a magazine ad, the defendant had actually shown up of his own free will.

Being a judge meant keeping full control over her own reactions at all times and so when the door opened again, allowing beams of dingy auric light to bounce into the eyes of multiple stunned spectators, she simply watched in fully-open neutrality. Bearing witness, as one of the rarest sights in Equestria carefully began to trot in.

Metallic.

It was the least-common fur trait known: less than one in every five thousand ponies, and that number potentially involved some rather generous rounding up. Magazines existed for those who needed to chase that level of scarcity. Most of the pictures were faked.

For an Equestrian to possess a coat which interacted with illumination in the same manner as highly-polished metal... you hardly ever saw it. And Impassi wasn't seeing it here, because 'highly polished' didn't apply.

The unicorn stallion was about five years older than the plaintiff, and there was one way in which his metallic status was the least unusual part of his appearance.

Facially... he wasn't handsome, but there was a certain base geniality to his features: this was currently being warped by multiple layers of concern. The ears were noticeably larger than the usual, existing in a halfway state between pony and donkey. The snout had some extra width on it, suggesting a pony whose dedication to sniff tests had produced some actual muscle development in that area. The eyes were dark blue, and visibly worried.

When it came to the fur... gold or rather, what should have been. (There were also some strands of silver-grey, with others of tan -- but those sat on the surface of the main coat: the natural guess was shedding pets.) He possessed the singe marks and low-level lingering discolored strands of the dedicated engineer. Awkwardly-placed grooming brush lines running through his coat suggested he'd tried to clean himself up for court while having very little idea of how that was supposed to work. It meant any light which tried to bounce off him had to get through that last molecular layer of bonded oils first. Both ways.

It was possible to say, at least as an estimate, that one in every five thousand ponies was a metallic. You could also say that every living adult pony bore a pair of identical manifested marks and if you ever ran into a situation where you couldn't say that, there were probably some other issues to deal with.

Impassi had never seen a markless adult, and the stallion wasn't creating the exception. It was possible to be thankful for that, because some rules really didn't need to be tested.

She'd also never seen a mark with numbered components, and briefly considered that it would have been rather nice to maintain that.

The mark was... complex. It was possible for the eyes to get lost in it, especially when every image within it had been shrunken down to fit within what was pretty much a standard icon display area. All the numbers really did was indicate exactly which portion the viewer was currently failing to work out. It was possible to locate gears, pulleys, inclined planes -- if it was one of the Six Basic Machines Of Physics, it was somewhere in the mark. And connected to another machine. Some of those links were direct, while others had to pass through each other. Nothing about the mark moved, as no icon was ever animated. Helpful miniaturized directional arrows still pointed out exactly how all of the rotations were meant to go.

Multiple gallery members were currently trying to work out exactly how the rubber duck was involved, mostly while trying to fight off the first signs of migraine. The most popular guess was that it was just there to listen. Nopony had a workable theory for why it was on a gramophone turntable. The location of the needle was being treated as the advanced course.

Marks didn't move, and that was a good thing. The pony mind occasionally had trouble with certain categories of moving object. Some particularly-nervous Equestrians were prone to spooking: catch a glimpse of the wrong thing out of the absolute corner of an eye, decide it was a threat, and then gallop to the nearest place where it wasn't: anything in the way between Pony and Safety had a new problem. Somewhat more universal was the reaction to anything scuttling along the ground: just about any pony who felt they'd spotted a spider was going to stomp. And then some of them would spend the next hour in washing the hoof.

The defendant's mark was creating headaches all over the courtroom. To have it move would have broken multiple brains. Some of those parties likely would have tried to stomp on the mark. While avoiding the few fur strands which represented the needle, because those looked like they would jab right into the vulnerable frog and never, ever come out.

"...Widget Goldberg," the court clerk finished, and the defendant reluctantly claimed his bench. The tail protectively curled in: something often seen with tense ponies and in this case, it was also hiding Impassi's view for the closer of the two marks.

The invisible clamps began to unscrew themselves from her temples.

"The claim is regarding deceptive advertising," Impassi told the courtroom.

In shaky (if near-instant) tones, from the defendant's bench, "Your Honor, I swear that everything I wrote for the ad copy was absolutely --"

"-- there's such a thing," the plaintiff snarled, "as lying by omission. I wonder what the virtues would think of that one? Maybe you meant every word you said, but you sure didn't say everything -- !"

The echoes produced by the judge's dense hoof dropping onto the desk lingered for a while. That was what the special amplification spot was for.

Both parties stopped talking.

"I recognize that for both of you," Judge Heartstopper calmly began, "this is your first time in a courtroom. Additionally, neither party has retained counsel." Steely, subtly-inquiring eyes carefully moved from mare to stallion: the former snarled, while the latter swallowed. "Would you each care to state why?"

"The case is so obvious," Ricti declared, "that there's no reason for an attorney to get involved."

"I... didn't think a lawyer would understand," Widget Goldberg tentatively offered. "Not when it got down to the mechanical realities of how it all works. I... thought it was best if I just -- explained it myself..."

The older earth pony mare nodded. "Regardless," Impassi said, "it means you have nopony to advise you on proper courtroom procedure and etiquette." And if either of you bothered to study, they lost the lessons just now. Temper or nerves: the cause didn't matter. Just the result. "As such, that falls to me. Speak in turn, as directed. The testimony will emerge in due course."

The testimony did.

The evidence did not.

Eventually, the older earth pony mare closed the notebook. The click of magnets didn't quite reach the same level of echo, and yet nopony dared to interrupt.

"To review," Impassi began. "Ms. Scale, who describes herself as 'a natural risk-taker' and 'somepony who enjoys new experiences', found an advertisement in the back of Quarterhorse Quarterly. One which described a 'startling new innovation in vibrator technology'."

The plaintiff nodded. The mare's eyes, which were less committed to the illusion of total self-control, fiercely narrowed.

"Mr. Goldberg," the judge added, "I have two queries for you at this time. First: is this your first venture into sexual aid sales?" Because it was his initial appearance before the court, and most of the con artists enjoyed repeating the same mistake from new mailing addresses. They also had a distinct tendency to not enter the courtroom -- or rather, they seldom did so under their own power. Very few of them kicked and screamed during the drag in, but cries of protest against an unjust universe during sentencing seemed to be treated as mandatory.

The stallion hesitated, and then offered up the least likely possible answer.

"...I'm not completely sure."

"You are," Impassi carefully checked, "uncertain as to whether you are in the sex aid business."

"I am now," the unicorn tried. "It's just that... Your Honor, this is -- kind of awkward to explain..."

"Explaining things does seem to be your weak point --" Ricti snidely began --

"-- Ms. Scale."

The plaintiff shut up. The defendant waited for a few reassuring heartbeats to pass, then went with the ones which were actually keeping him alive.

"I'm an inventor," Goldberg finally said. "I don't really have a specialty. If I notice a problem, I try to think of something which solves it. And my creations work, Your Honor. Every time."

That's -- interesting.
The plaintiff looked like she was getting ready to protest. And then she stopped herself.
Why?

"A couple of years ago," the inventor reluctantly continued, "shortly after I moved to Ponyville, there was this thing with -- diaper changing." Light languidly pushed its way through the wince. "It's a long story. But I made something which solved it. An automatic diaper-changer. No mouth contact or corona work required. And in order to demonstrate it properly, without having to ask anypony for the --" another wince "-- loan of their foal... I scaled it up to work on adults. And used myself as the test subject, in a public demonstration. It worked perfectly."

Multiple parents in the gallery, in spite of all passed-along experience, were starting to look intrigued.

"And is that your current main line of business?" Impassi inquired.

"...sort of..." was the best he could do. "Or -- maybe it was a springboard?"

"Explain, Mr. Goldberg," Impassi said, and did so with no cruelty. "Your own words, in your own time."

"Nopony purchased a model for their foals," the stallion said (and more than a dozen spectating dams and sires were instantly confused). "But I was approached by -- I want to keep their names private..."

"Are they any part of this case?" the judge asked.

"No."

"Then do so."

Relief briefly saturated golden features, and then vanished.

"Several ponies," the inventor said, "wanted -- the model which was scaled to work on adults."

Ah.

"I only got two sales," Goldberg went on. "Most of them didn't understand the setup, or said their neighbors might -- well, it makes some degree of noise..."

Ricti snorted. Impassi let it go.

"...so a little isolation helped," the stallion continued. "And the sales helped me. But I wasn't sure why they'd wanted it, so I did some... um..." He swallowed again. "...research..."

And the entire gallery already knows what you found.

Impassi was familiar with just about every fetish which existed, and any exception was presumed to be so harmless as to avoid all court time simply through existing. She judged them all -- as they appeared in her caseload, in full neutrality.

Her private feelings on adult diaper wear mostly centered around the sheer quantity of rash treatment cream involved, to the point where she occasionally wondered if that was somepony's idea of the actual appeal. Otherwise, it was an interest which seldom appeared in her courtroom. Issues could arise with pin placement, yes. Adhesive trouble, absolutely -- and neither tended to lead into litigation. As for the results from bouts of extended viewer nausea should a user decide to go out in public and fully reenact the untrained foal experience -- well, those wound up in the other courthouse. So did most of the air freshener.

"And I found problems which weren't being solved," Goldberg finished. "Or things which worked, but could be made to perform better. Like vibrators." And with the offense which could only emerge when an inventor had found something which just didn't function properly, "Because 'standard' vibrators are clumsy, Your Honor. And they needed to be fixed. To be remade into something which gives a mare what she was truly seeking." In softer tones, "The gift of pleasure."

The judge expertly failed to blink.

Another moment where she could have broken in. Protested, called him a liar.
And she stopped herself.
Again.

"In your opinion," Impassi asked, "why is a 'standard' vibrator clumsy?"

"It's clockwork compressed into an extremely compact package," the stallion promptly stated. "You're storing a lot of springs and gears within a confined space. There's just about no room in a vibrator. Once the springs start to unwind, all of the released energy is practically fighting itself. Some of it goes to the mare, where it's needed -- but a lot more is just jostling around inside." The offense was back. "Accelerating natural wear. Accumulating damage, as pieces shake out of their original alignments and start to work against each other. And --" he apologetically glanced back at the gallery "-- I'm sorry for bringing this up, but -- I thought about it. When all of that bad engineering finally reaches the point where it goes critical, when something could really go wrong -- then it'll probably break down while the vibrator is in use. So..." Just barely above a whisper, as golden features twisted with the pain of empathy. "...at the moment of most likely breakage... where's the vibrator?"

Impassi's dock, fully concealed by the twin barriers of elevated desk and robes, twitched.

Within the gallery, several dozen tails slammed into defensive positions. It didn't help.

"And of course," he off-hoofedly added, "even while it's working, there's very little fine control. Limited options for speed of energy release and vibratory rates."

But what about the magic-powered --
-- inventor. Not what he made.
I think.
...why hasn't either of them admitted anything into...?
Or he'll say something about how they just need recharging all the time and it's a pain for non-unicorns to keep getting fresh thaums.
And if he says that, he's going to have a major point. Especially with the price of self-charging devices.

"So I solved it," the inventor casually stated. "And when it comes to how a vibrator should work -- I solved it perfectly."

And all she did there was look -- mildly depressed?

In Impassi's opinion, "How?" was now a perfectly natural question.

"Offloading," Goldberg promptly said. "The vibrator became the terminus instead of the source. The actual power is generated outside the unit and funneled into the cylinder." He briefly paused. "There's also a jaw-mounted control panel available. You can adjust things by flipping switches with your tongue. It's arranged so that you can't hit anything accidentally, even if you're talking. Or..." Much more awkwardly, "...making -- other sounds."

Really.

"So the solution for the problems which you saw as being inherent in a self-contained unit," Judge Heartstopper summarized, "was to break containment." Which is an unusual approach, but when I think about how he's been looking at this...

...when I further think about some of the 'defective vibrator' cases which have come through my courtroom before...

If they worked, then they vibrated. That was the idea.
Some of them shook.
A few shook themselves apart.
Recovering all of the pieces was something of a medical necessity. Reassembly attempts, however, were scant.

"Yes," a small surge of stallion confidence said. "So I've been trying to sell the perfected ones, because the problem was solved. Which means I might be officially in the sex aid business now. But that means finding the sales to make it into a business. And when it comes to getting out of the starting gate... I... just didn't have a lot of money left, and the expos..." Blue eyes briefly closed. "...rental spaces costs are -- high. Really high. Way past anything I could afford."

Did the prices go up again? I'll have to ask Mr. Steath. Or try to reach an expo. It had been a few years since her last, and she maintained a strictly professional interest.

"So I tried some magazine ads," Goldberg finished. "Hoping anypony would notice. Ms. Scale was... the first pony who wrote me."

The judge turned to the plaintiff. Raised one eyebrow.

"The cost was high," Ricti stated. "Very high."

"There's base prices for the components," the unicorn quickly said. "I keep things at seven percent over margin during any introductory phase --"

"-- Mr. Goldberg," Impassi broke in.

Silence fell and in doing so, slammed the stallion's jaw shut upon impact. The judge nodded towards the plaintiff.

"But I try new things," the mare went on. "And I've always been interested in vibrations to start with, so..."

"At this time," Impassi calmly decided, "I would like to see the ad."

Both parties had a copy. The court clerk compared them, made sure the text was identical, and then the evidence was admitted. The judge read over the text.

...seven percent? Math ensued. What's he using? This is magic-powered and he's installed stabilized platinum to make it self-recharging? Because even if that's the case...

Costwise, it wasn't a vibrator. It was a new barn. Materials were obviously built into the total. Labor, however...

"'Installation included in price'," Impassi quoted.

"Yes," the stallion promptly said. "Full service --"

-- Ricti laughed.

It was a short burst: sharp, bitter, frustrated. But it had been a laugh.

"Easy setup," the mare said. "Did you notice that part?"

"Ms. Scale --" the judge began.

"Easy setup, my ass."

"It's easy if you know what you're doing!" Goldberg argued. "I'm just the only pony who does!"

"I left you my housekey!" the mare snarled. "For the front gate and the main door! Full access to my property! So it would all be ready when I got home from work!"

In a doomed attempt at gratitude, "I appreciated that."

No filings on theft or property damage.

"But I did have it ready --" Goldberg started.

"-- I thought you were just going to nail a clip mount to one end of my bed!"

A dense forehoof slammed. The entire courtroom shut up.

"The court," Impassi announced, "wishes to examine the invention. Produce the vibrator, please. And the control panel."

The judge would like to know why it's taken this long.
An inventor who won't show off his creation?
A plaintiff who doesn't want to display what went wrong?

"I have one outside!" Goldberg quickly offered.

"Evidence," the judge said, "should be brought into the courtroom --"

"It's in the nearest parking stable. Unassembled. I thought there was a chance that I'd have to demonstrate --"

"-- and I would prefer to see the pieces which are currently at the center of the dispute."

The mare rummaged through her saddlebags. Two items were eventually extracted and admitted into evidence. Impassi inspected the results.

Finely made.

He did some major research. The housing cylinder is smooth where it should be, flared exactly where it should be, and the bumps and ridges... yes, he put in the work. Including the metalwork. These are subjects which typically take a Steath to investigate with this level of dedication. For the housing alone, Lelo would be proud to have this in his shop. And most mares would be more than happy to have this. Especially if it works. The shaping alone...

Except that...

...where's the rest of it?

There was a housing cylinder, and a control panel. Both were cunningly designed, the panel had additional safeguards against accidental activation, and the vibrator's far end was so well-crafted that it was possible to feel a tingle just from looking at it. But to inspect the base was to find -- wires. Not even the platinum ones which would have been required to draw stray bits of magical power from the air and keep everything going. Just fine, thin wires trailing off from the housings, stretching out for nearly a full body length before ending in -- nothing.

"It's all I could bring," Ricti wearily stated. "The rest is back at my place."

Goldberg's expression was that of seeing an infant who'd had a cracked hoof treated through amputation of the limb. For her part, Impassi precisely failed to sigh.

"Was the dismantling process supervised?" Knowing what the answer was going to be.

"No. That would have meant bringing him back onto the property."

"By an officer of the court," Impassi clarified. "With photographic documentation of all stages. Any degree of Before and After imagery."

"Why would I do that? I don't even have a camera. And I didn't finish --"

"Ms. Scale," the judge said, "you have filed your suit based on a claim of misleading advertising. Regarding how the purchase exists, as opposed to how it was described."

"You have the ad copy right there!" the younger earth pony mare furiously declared. "Once you understand what he did --"

"-- and Mr. Goldberg has already testified that the power source was -- offloaded."

"That's the problem!"

"In order to properly determine fault," Impassi pushed on, "it is necessary to see the unit in use. A unit which you have, to some degree, disassembled. Separating it from that source."

"It was the only way --"

"-- which fully invalidates it as evidence, as any flaw can now be potentially blamed on your treatment of the product."

Ricti Scale stopped talking. It didn't last.

"...you have to understand," the mare weakly tried. "If I can just --"

"In the wake of open, visible, and confessed evidence tampering," Impassi began, "I rule for the defe --"

"-- NO!"

An entire courtroom, minus one judge, blinked. And then every gaze focused on golden fur, which had just shifted against its own grain as its owner leapt to his hooves.

"I refuse!" Goldberg declared. "My invention is perfect! I know it is! I don't want a default judgment, Your Honor! I want my invention to be found innocent on merit! I -- um... what's the word? Continuance! I request continuance! Let the case proceed!"

...so you did try to read a book before you came in.
Possibly part of a book.
A lot less research than you did for vibrators, because in the legal lexicon, 'continuance' means you're asking for the trial to be postponed and resume at a later date.

The back half of the angry posture collapsed, and light pooled in the fresh hollow over the inventor's spine.

"...if that's okay with you?" the stallion awkwardly ventured. "Because I do have the other model out in the parking stable. I swear it's functionally identical to the one I installed for her. If I can just show you how it performs in use..."

Impassi felt herself to be familiar with just about every fetish in existence. This included all of the ones which began with 'Whip me, beat me,' and, up until now, had fully failed to end the chain of requests with 'Help me lose my court case!' It was mildly intriguing.

It was also her courtroom, and the law -- subject to a touch of judicial discretion -- typically held full sway. The official result was going to be a tamper-based forfeit.

But a marked judge wanted to have all of the evidence.

He claims to have perfected the vibrator. That implies the functional end would work flawlessly. And she hasn't tried to dispute that once.

Exactly what's going on here?

Curiosity wasn't one of the pony virtues. (Two species had incorporated it into their own sets.) But it was hardly a sin -- although it was very easy to tilt it into 'vice'.

She wanted to know.

"A demonstration can be arranged," Impassi ruled. "Especially as you do have the components with you."

Dark blue eyes instantly lit up from within, as the inventor's soul was suffused with the potent mix of Defend My Work and Free Advertising. Multiple gallery mares, all of whom had been trying to inspect the vibrator's business end with varying levels of non-discretion, leaned in all the more.

"Yes!" the unicorn enthused. "I can absolutely do that!"

"I'm all for it," Ricti announced. "Seeing is believing." With a snort which confiscated half of the dropped-out decibels, "And for me, it'll be winning..."

And then the stallion's entire body locked, as a deep level of fundamental awkwardness reflected from every strand of fur.

"Is there an issue, Mr. Goldberg?" Impassi calmly asked.

"A few," he reluctantly admitted. "Do we have enough time? It does take a while to set up."

'Offloaded'. The motive power is in a separate housing. She was expecting something clipped to the bed, and she got a large box which displaced some of her furniture. Not that it mattered for the ruling, but she was still curious. And the fact that the plaintiff had already lost didn't mean Impassi couldn't get the defendant to make any necessary corrections to the ad copy. Something which would mean seeing the full construct.

"Yours is the final case of the day." And it wasn't as if she always got home on time anyway. Rather seldom. Or, if she wanted to be self-depressing about it, hardly ever. "I can extend our time somewhat." With a subtle head tilt towards Robin, followed by acknowledging the bailiff, "With the usual overtime pay beginning at the moment normal hours end, and anypony with an unbreakable commitment should notify me." Besides, I'll just confuse him if I grant actual continuance right now. Back to the defendant. "The rest?"

Strange things happened to metallic fur when its owner blushed. It was like watching gold beginning to melt. "I... can't exactly use myself for a live demonstration," the inventor forced out. "Not for this. And I don't think I should be asking for a volunteer. Not in court. Not in -- public..."

And from the plaintiff's station wafted up the faintest breath of "At least she'd have a great time..."

...really.
This is a misleading advertising suit and you just endorsed the product.

"Due to the nature of this court," Impassi calmly said, "demonstrations are often necessary. We have a standard procedure and our own test equipment. No mares need to become involved."

"...oh," the inventor eventually reconciled. "Good. And there's one more thing."

"Which would be?"