Equus Treaties

Chapters

Oct 1st - MareDonalds Mare
Oct 12th - Addict Mare
Oct 2nd - Military Mare
Oct 3rd - IT Department Intern Mare
Oct 4th - Police Officer Mare
Oct 5th - Receptionist Mare
Oct 6th - Barista Mare
Oct 7th - Snowpony Mare
Oct 8th - Breadwinner Mare
Oct 9th - Bodyguard Mare - Saucy
Oct 10th - Merpony Mare
Oct 11th - Mechanic Mare
Oct 13th - Nun Mare
Oct 14th - Milf Mare - Saucy
Oct 15th - Changeling Mare
Oct 16th - Griffon Mare
Oct 17th - Breezie Mare
Oct 18th - Saddle Arabian Mare

Oct 1st - MareDonalds Mare

New Dornhover, U.S.A | A MareDonalds 3 Blocks From Travail University

"Next, please." A voice that perpetually hovers on the cusp of depression calls out.

There she is. Glowing in the radiant backlight of the flickering machines, beeping with every new order. Eyes as vividly green as the flickering lights on the machines behind her, with hair as gold as the freshest fried fries.

Andrew, a local student at the nearby university, can feel his heart quicken and stomach bristle with butterflies. She's actually working today. Today, he'd do it.

Maredonalds, the Capitalist merger of Ponies adapting to Human fast-food, and the first pony-ran establishment for such services on Earth. Part of a Labor act that offered guaranteed employment for Pony immigrants, with profits returned to Equestria to ensure no degradation of their economy.

Yeah, he had no idea how it worked either. But that didn't matter. Ever since he moved to this area, a hasty decision to skip packing a lunch one morning, and instead opting for fast food, lead Andrew to a road unlike any he'd driven before.

Love.

It's been about a week and some since he first saw her. It's a careful balance, trying to figure out when a complete stranger works without coming off as a stalker.

"Next, please." She repeats.

Oh, right. That's him! With a deep breath, he steadies himself and steps forward.

"Welcome to Maredonalds, the first Earth-Equestrian Business Venture, here to bring you the best meal, the best way. What can I get started for you today, sir?" She slowly prattles off with the enthusiasm of a father who just spent his family's Christmas money on the slots, and lost; it's a phrase she probably says a hundred times a day, with the singsong tone of someone whose dreams died when they saw their student loans, and who needed a cup of water three hours ago.

To Andrew, the voice of an angel.

The only thing he knew about her, other than her radiant, down to not-earth-because-she's-a-pony beauty, was her name.

Because it was on her name tag, sat pinned on her uniform, right below the title 'Cashier'.

Gleaming Glare.

"Uhm..." Andrew mumbles, eyes fervently glancing between the menu, and the mare. There's a lump in his throat, and swallowing doesn't get rid of it. Does he order, then ask? Does he play it cool and ask first, then still order? Man, it's warm in here. He tugs at his shirt collar, sweating. Does he order at all? Should he have stood in line if he didn't plan to order, and should have asked from the side? Was it weird to try and get a number, and then just get a meal right after?

"...Sir?" Her droll tone snaps him out of it, as she watches him with a bored, disinterested stare.

"I, er..." Andrew tries to clear his throat, mentally bracing himself. Screw the meal, man. Just ask for her number. Hang on, that's old school. You're supposed to offer your own number now, right? Wait. But would that bother the people behind him, waiting in line to not even order? No, don't worry about it, just --

"...Sir." She asks again, slower this time. She's tilting her head, her ears flicking ever so slightly in professionally-muted annoyance.

God, she's adorable.

He can't do this.

He can do this.

Fuck it, Andrew. Go for it. Be a man!

"Could I, uh... order... your number?" Andrew manages to stutter out, leaning on the countertop, smiling like a dumbass.

"My number isn't on the menu, sir." She promptly replies without skipping a beat. She doesn't even blink.

There's an awkward cough somewhere behind him.

"Oh, no, I meant... like, uh..." Andrew tries to recover, but he's on the doomed path now.
"W-When I said order, I-I meant-- " The opportunity has been missed, and the judgement of the line has all but shattered his remaining confidence.

"The Number Twelve is a popular choice that I can recommend." She explains flatly, pointing at the menu with a hoof. Double-Patty burger with a fry and a drink, bacon and cheese. Staple.

"No -- well, maybe, but I --" Andrew fumbles, desperately trying to recover his method, his rhythm, anything.

"Also, our ice cream machine is broken." She adds.

Like the final crack to a breaking dam, Andrew's will breaks, visibly deflating. Slouching. Defeated.

"...A number twelve would be great, thanks." Andrew mumbles, dejected.

"To stay or to go?" She asks without looking, tapping out his order on the screen.

"To stay." He answers too quickly.

He meant to go.

Whatever. He'd just curl up in a corner, and waste away to the sands of time. Maybe they'd sweep him up and put him in the dumpster, for added measure.

...

The pony stationed at the fryer settles the rack to hang over the bubbling oil, letting the fries cool. She almost burnt them, distracted while witnessing that absolute spectacle. Hope they liked crunchy fries.

Gleaming Glare is already helping the next customer, not a skip in her hoof-step as she lists the same greeting. It's like her brain is shut off.

Once there's a gap in the conversation, the fryer mare calls over, snapping Gleaming Glare out of her customer-service stupor.

"Ouch, Glare!" She giggles.

Glare slowly blinks, looking to her coworker.
"...What? Did you burn yourself?"

Bubble Barn, a much more colorful splash of pink and red compared to Glare's colors, awkwardly shoves the oversized cap back up her face, looking over her shoulder.
"That guy was trying to ask you out, you dense mare!" She snort-laughs, shaking her head as she rustled the feyer.

"...Oh. Oh?." Gleaming slowly works out, brow furrowed as her brain re-activates from just repeating store-brand dribble.
"Oh."

"A human and a pony. Could you imagine? Mare, what a way to shoot him down, though. Not on the menu... Ha!" Barn continues to laugh, starting to wrap a fresh burger. It takes her a few tries. Like Gleaming, she's an Earth Pony.

For some reason, Earth Ponies seem to take Retail and Customer Service jobs more often than the other tribes. A species pre-destined for miserable work, perhaps.

"..." Gleaming Glare is silent, staring at Bubbling Barn. Then the floor. Then, her eyes widen.

"Gleaming Glare. You're not imagining it right now, are you?" Bubbling Barn hisses in a hushed tone, stepping closer. She couldn't actually be considering this, could she?

"...Maybe a little." Glare quietly admits, tsking softly as she considers the ramifications.

"Glare. He's a human." Bubbling enunciates, setting the burger aside. She flips open a to-go bag to help make her point.

Glare knows what Barn means. Sure, they got along with the other as species, but there's an entire underlayer of oddity between their kinds. Not to mention the existence of Horses, something that threw the Ponies for a loop when they first heard about them, and makes some interactions between them feel more like the Human's almost want to view them as pets.

Getting asked for her number, though? That was a new one. Wonder if he was some kind of weirdo.

... The way he asked was pretty funny, though, now that she actually thought about it. Her gaze can't help but shift from the teeming, ever-growing lunchtime rush line to the back of the building, in the corner. The guy is hunched over his meal, staring at the wall and eating his food so slowly it might have a chance to go through the evolutionary chain and turn into something they could hire. He's not bad looking, as humans go. Probably. She had no idea what made a human attractive, really. He looks like he washes, at the least. That's a basic one.

Her and a Human. Could she really? What would that even be like? Not that she was ever even looking for love in the first place. Glare always thought she'd start looking once she actually landed a career, saved up enough money to cover her loans. A law degree wasn't cheap.

And what would her parents think?

... Actually, that would be pretty funny to see. Come back from Earth with a Law Degree and a Human Boyfriend. That'd throw her mom for a loop. A little get-back for that stunt she tried to pull with that one colt... what was his name, Shaken Bake? Not everypony wants to be a housewife, Mom.

"Hands." A third voice chimes in. The customer, a middle aged woman whose patiently waiting at the cash register, thumbing through her purse for an outdated coupon, offers aloud.

That catches both ponies attention, Glare from her thoughts, and Bubbling Barn from watching Glare actually consider this after such an egregious display.

"Hands?" Barn asks, confused. Glare follows her look, equally curious.

"You know. Fingers. Hands." The lady repeats, wiggling her own.

Glare and Bubble share a quiet look, before both purse their lips, letting their minds wander.

They don't quite get it at first, but the customer is master-class in holding up the line, giving them plenty of time to think about it.

And slowly...

...Their minds wander to certain places. Crass places. Particularly Barn's.

He's more than twice her size, most Ponies being waist-height to humans. A lot of looking up.

"...I may have judged too harshly." Bubbling Barn comments suddenly.

Glare doesn't even say anything. Though her mind may not have meandered down certain paths like Barn's did, who was now sporting a healthy glow of blush on her cheeks as her mind continues to roam, Glare was more interested in the man attached to the hands.

He was cute, admittedly, the longer she stares. A little bit of a mess, but the effort was there. Not like she exactly had a sparkling love-life to compare the attempt to, anyway.

"Cover the register for a second, would you?" Glaring Gleam suddenly says, stepping around the counter.

"W-wuhey! I'm still frying over here!" Barn objects, midway through placing another basket of fries into the oil. She grumbles as Gleaming doesn't stop, quickly wiping her hooves on her apron.
"Dense mare..."

...

Maybe he could move to another town. See if his school did transfers. If they didn't, he could sell everything he owns and just go live in the woods. Maybe after a decade of solitude, he could show his face in public again without being embarrassed.

Andrew groans, holding his head in his hands, slumped against the table, burger with a single bite in it. Hard to keep an appetite after a stunt like that.

Order her number. Smooth.

"Hey."

Seriously, what was he thinking? There were fifteen better ways to handle that, which he thought of all in the span of his shameful walk to his table.

"Hey."

Smooth recovery, too, Andrew. She's probably staring at you from the counter like everybody else. Actually, no, she's probably already forgotten all about you. Forgettable, and laughable.

"Dude. You got bad hearing or something?"

Andrew feels something nudge his side. He slowly lifts his dour face from his hands in surprise.

It's Gleaming Glare, staring up at him from beside his table. Did she--

"You forgot your drink." She says bluntly, scooting a McSproot closer towards him.

Oh.

"...Thanks." He mumbles, staring forward.

"So... order my number, huh?" She goads after a short pause, grinning as he visibly flinches.

He freezes completely still. Oh, god. Here it comes.

"Haven't heard that one before. Funny. A Pony? You a weirdo or something?" She asks, watching him with a raised brow.

"N-no..." Andrew quietly mutters.

"Then why me? Hm?" She continues to press, watching Andrew tug at his collar.

"I... thought you were really pretty." Is about all he can muster between a hard gulp.

"...Huh. Finding a Pony pretty? Yeah, weirdo." She snorts, smiling.

"No, I'm--"

She pokes at the drink she brought him, slowly turning it.

There's a number written on it.

"I get off at seven. Where you taking me?" Gleaming prompts expectantly, ear flicking as she stares.

Andrew only blinks, wide-eyed. Gleaming Glare watches him for a short moment, before hiding a snort-laugh behind her hoof.

"Alright. I'll give you some time to figure it out...?" She trails out, looking him over.

"O-oh, Andrew. I'm Andrew." He quickly stutters, holding out his hand.

For a handshake.

This fucking guy. Gleaming huffs, meeting it with her hoof.

"Alright, Andrew. Text me where we're going, when you figure it out. I'll be here. Seven." Gleaming says over her shoulder already turning to head back towards the counters.

She pauses mid walk-away, looking over her shoulder.
"P.M." She clarifies, just in case.

Andrew can only stare slackjawed as she leaves, most of his brain functions shattered after that.

She actually gave him her number.

Seven.

P.M.

Oh, fuck. He's only got a few hours to prepare. What the fuck is he going to do? He doesn't even have a car. Shit. Fuck. He scrambles up from his table, roughly grabbing his food as he heads for the door.

Gleaming only stares as he doubles back, nearly forgetting the drink with her number on it.

Barn can be heard snickering from behind the counter.

"Bubbling... Creamery. Come look at this." Gleaming calls from the counter. Barn, and Gleaming's shift replacement, Crumble Creamery, slowly emerge from the kitchens. It's been a few hours since Gleaming got back from her little jaunt, and Barn kept watching as Gleaming checked her phone far more times than she ever has while on a shift.

Now, they were gathering at the edge of the counter, to look outside the windows. The sun was starting to set, with Seven PM only minutes away. Most of the rush had died down, leaving a fairly quiet Maredonalds.

"Is that a bicycle?" Bubbling asks, brows raising.

"Yeah." Gleaming nods.

"No way. This is the guy you texted me about, Barn?" Creamery blinks several times, in the midst of putting on her apron.

"With... one of those human foal-holder trailer things strapped to the back of it?" Barn continues, eyes widening as she takes in more of the scene.

"It sure is." Creamery notes, barely stifling a laugh.

"There's no way he's actually picking you up in that." Barn objects, looking at Gleam.

They all watch as Andrew, glancing around nervously outside, quickly adjusts his tie, fumbling several times. He's wearing a suit. On a bicycle. With a trailer for towing kids attached to the back.

"Mare, when I said you'd be dense to give him your number..." Barn mumbles.

"Well, it's kind of novel, isn't it?" Gleaming comments aloud.

Silence falls over the Maredonalds.

Both Barn and Creamery's heads slowly turn to stare at Gleaming, like she just grew a second head. And then a third.

"Girl. Mare." Barn can hardly believe Gleaming is even considering this.
"This is like... I don't even have a joke for this, Gleaming."

Creamery on the other hand, is finding this nothing but amusing to the tenth degree.
"Look, it's even got a little shaded thing on the top." Creamery adds, pointing at the trailer. Compared to the bike, it looks brand new.
"He totally bought that for you like an hour ago."

"Glare. The bar. He's digging under it. Please." Barn tries to spare her friend from one of the biggest warning flags she's ever seen.

"...Buck it." Gleaming Glare starts untying her apron, pulling at the string with her teeth. Barn and Creamery's jaws drop.

"There's no way. Glare. Girl." Barn tries to object, Creamery dead silent and wide-eyed.

"I just pulled a double, Barn. I'd climb in the dumpster just to get out of this place any faster." Gleaming mutters. "At least I won't have to walk anywhere."

"Where's he taking you? A triathlon? The park? The woods? The Maredonalds just down the street?" Creamery guesses, Barn shaking her head.

"Olive Garden." Gleaming glances at her phone, reading their prior texts.

Barn face-hoofs, while Creamery shrugs.
"Hey, breadsticks."

"Just... text me so I know you guys didn't get hit by a car or something." Bubbling Barn finally sighs, rubbing her face with her hooves in defeat.

"Sure, sure. See you Mares." Gleaming gives a short wave as she rounds the counter, heading outside.

Barn and Creamery share a slow stare.

"... Is it a human thing?" Creamery asks.

"I have no idea, Creamery."

"...I could go for some breadsticks. Where's my weird human?"

"Keep working this job, and I'm sure you'll get one."

...

Oh, shit, here she comes. Andrew quickly double-checks himself, adjusting his collar, his tie.

He got the suit and tie at a thrift store, and got the bike-trailer from one of the nearby sport stores, spending the last hour figuring out how to attach it to his bike. By the time he got all that set, he forgot about where he was actually taking her.

Managed to squeeze in a reservation at the fanciest place he could afford. Italian, to boot.

Somehow, she looks even more beautiful. Seeing her with her apron slung over herself, her saddlebag of belongings peeking out from under it as she approaches.

"...Fancy." She comments as she pauses a foot away from him, smirking at the trailer.

"Well, you can't really fit on my bike, and I thought..." Andrew mumbles, scratching his head.

"It's... creative, I'll give you that." Gleaming snorts. The jarring difference between the way they were dressed only added to her amusement. Him in an oversized suit that didn't fit him, and her in a Maredonalds uniform.
"So... how do I get on it?"

"Oh--here." Andrew quickly steps beside it, holding a hand out.

Like a modern-day noble lifting his lady to a carriage, Gleaning tentatively steps up and into the trailer, getting comfortable. Surprisingly spacious, even if she had to sit a little strangely to get settled.

"Sweet Celestia, I'm glad to be off my hooves." Gleaming Glare groans, sinking into her little chariot.

Andrew can't help but sheepishly smile. She looks adorable.
"Ready to go?"

"Sure. I hope you can stomach watching a mare absolutely demolish a basket of breadsticks."

"...Honestly, I was planning on doing the same." Andrew smiles, laughing.

Gleaming Glare hums, watching the human climb onto the bike, peek around, and start peddling.

Might not be so bad after all, silly man and all.

...

Gleaming is absolutely belly-laughing as they stumble out of the restaurant. Andrew is scrunching up his apron, a sour frown on his face, tossing it at the closest bin. To say the date went terribly was an understatement.

"Dude -- they -- h-how did you get roped into working as a server for the evening?!" Gleaming barely manages, holding her own stomach. At one point, she even snorts, which only sends her further spiraling int of fit of giggles.

Andrew's outfit didn't proclaim fancy-date, it proclaimed late busboy to his shift. Without being able to get a word in, he spent their entire date working a shift at a store he didn't even work at, trying his best to pitstop near Gleaming whenever he could -- much to her amusement.

She hadn't stopped smiling since, even if Andrew felt like an absolute goober. He's sore, tired, cranky, and feeling like the entire thing was a bust. She'd probably never want to talk to him again after that stunt.

A hoof taps his leg, catching his attention.
"You've, uh... got something on your cheek." She snickers, motioning for him to lower himself down.

"Oh. Thanks." Andrew goes to wipe it with a sleeve, but she smacks his leg, urging him down again.

"Let me get it, dumbass. I'm trying to do something to cheer you up, here." She rolls her eyes.

"O-oh." Andrew mumbles, leaning against his knees.

Gleaming plants a quick peck against his cheek, grinning at him as she trots back to her 'carriage', still locked up on the closest bike rack, climbing into the trailer. She seems pretty comfy at this point.

"Well? Going to take me home?" She leers, watching him.

"Y-yeah. Sorry about all this." Andrew sighs.

"You're sorry? For the funniest date I think I've ever been on? Psh. When's the next?" She asks.

Andrew stops mid-leg-swing over his bike, frozen solid, eyes wide.
"The... next?"

"Mhm." Gleaming grins at him, head leant on her hoof.

...

The back door is already unlocked, Barn in early for the morning shift she shares with Gleaming. As it shuts behind her, hooves clacking on the tiles, Barn sprints around the corner the moment she starts making noise.

"Gleaming!" Barn exclaims, quickly hugging her fellow mare -- before pulling them apart, holding by the shoulders.
"Details. How terrible was it?"

"I think that was the best date I've ever been on, honestly." Gleaming says bluntly, still smiling. She steps around Barn, revving up the fryers.

Barn blinks several times. She works in a stupor the rest of the day, trying to process...

Andrew visits at some point during Gleaming's shift, bringing her lunch. It's a bag of fast food from a neighboring franchise. Gleaming loves it, glad she doesn't have to snack on MareDonalds again for lunch, the two eating at one of the tables during her break.

... That.

Oct 12th - Addict Mare

VanHoover, Equestria | Southside Suburbs, A Rainy Evening

In the quaint late-afternoon, a light rain peppers the sky on the east-coast city of Vanhoover, suffering yet another of it's numerous storms that drift inland from the Lunar Ocean. With most of the cities occupants tucking away for the rest of the evening, or hurrying home after a long day of work, the residential streets that line the outer edges of the Vanhoover downtown district are especially quiet. The far-off high rises are still ever-present as they loom beyond the roofs of the variously-colored, single-floor houses that densely populate this sector of the city. Pools of rainwater trickle and puddle in the crevices between the sidewalk and the streets, a soggy pony dog-walker trying to hurry their pet into pooping on a patch of grass, inevitably getting soaked as they wait.

Brent squints through the windows curtains, frowning before letting them fall. He forgot to check his weather schedule, and now he couldn't go and grab any snacks. Great. Well, that's what he gets or whatever. Groaning as he sticks an arm up and behind his head with a big stretch, he meanders back into the depths of his dimly-lit living room, and one of the only places with functional electricity. Cords from an out-back generator slowly run into the room, powering a couple of things. Ponies had some technology that was just better to use out of location all convenience, like one of their gem-powered ice boxes rather than a traditional fridge, but for things like his television, he kept it old-school.

"Still weird, ponies owning pets." Brent scoffs aloud to himself, staving off the boredom thrust so readily upon him.

As one of the few Humans that didn't stay around Canterlot, or moved Eastward, which was typically considered a much more Human-accepting and accessible region. Every second month or so there was a general shipment of requested items for the Humans that made the lackluster choice to move out West instead of East, like trying to tide them over until the developmental promises were actually made. Like what flickered on his TV right now.

Beckoning of Obligation 6, another dry and stale import from Earth quietly chirps it's main-menu trills in the background. Another soulless mid-tier, too many gigabytes game where a gruff military man stands beside a dated popstar, looping through their idle animations while upcoming DLC flickers in the corner. Speaking of flickering... Brent sighs loudly as the lights in his house weakly pulse, threatening to plunge his abode into darkness. The TV clicks shut on it's own, though Brent only rolls his eyes.

Campaign was alright, but he'd beaten it three times. The Multi-player button sat there, taunting him with the fact he couldn't touch it. All the so-promised infrastructure that Earth had promised was refocused to go out East, trying to meet the bulk of the demand. No internet, no properly consistent grid of power. No cell service. Brent's handwriting was getting better at least, with the amount of letters he had to keep scribbling up for things instead of just texting or calling.

Brent kicks his feet up, falling back on the couch with a loud and heavy thud, resting his legs on the coffee table. The couch creaks under his weight, the largest of the pony-style couches he could afford. Wasn't that great, but at least he had something to sit on. He fumbles around for his charger, and a few dry pokes prove he's not getting a consistent charge. Whatever.

Internet and a basic power-line was promised to finally route out his way... two months ago? But just like everything else out here, Fillydelphia and Baltimare took priority. So much for that. Brent doesn't even know of any other humans in the area, though that might be more his fault. He's not particularly social, as evident by his job. Or lack thereof. The shipments they send out are usually pretty generous with that they jam in there, and odd jobs help recoup any bits he needs for shit like food or whatever junk he wants from the stores. The last shipment just came in days ago, so he wasn't due for another for a good while now. Fine by him, they usually didn't skimp on the requested items at least. Like coffee.

He's considering just going out back killing the generator for a few hours, maybe even taking a nap to get through this garbage weather faster, when he swears he hears a noise past the dull pitter-patter of rain on his roof.

He squints, trying to piece out the sound through the white noise.

...

Knock knock-knock.

The winding grunt that escapes him as he sits up voices his disgruntlement with the disturbance. Who the hell would be knocking in this weather, at this time?

Pushing up and off his knees, Brent scratches the rough stubble on his face, pushing aside thoughts of needing to shave as he reaches the front door.

"Yeah, yeah... what'd'ya want?" The lock clicks, Brent pulling the door open fully. Crime was so negligible around here, he didn't even have a chain on his door or anything of the sort. Ponies in ski masks and crowbar just weren't really a thing around here, and the last time Brent heard of a crime in the area, some pony had just forgotten to give back something they borrowed. Well, excluding the large-scale crime like a robbery from the local museum, but that hardly affected him. When the Ponies pulled shit, they always went big. He wasn't getting mugged anytime soon.

He blinks slowly, staring down at the hooded, very blue intruder stood shivering in the rain on his no-solicitors doormat. Deep-blue, damp fur peered out from under the equally soaked black-and-white hoodie that does it's damndest to try and keep this dumb Pony dry. It's not doing very good. Her blueish-greenish-cyanish-whateverish mane is practically drooping over her face, either styled that way... no, there's the water drops. Also soaked.

"H-hey Brent." The Pony meakly manages to mutter, scratching one of their forelimbs with a hoof and scrunching their hoodie sleeve.

"Blueberry Brisket."
He leans to the side, taking account of the shivering, folded wings that are tucked tightly against their body.
"You responsible for this weather?" He tsks, resting on the doorframe and crossing his arms.

"Y-you know I don't w-work in weather, B-Brent!" It's a dry, but weak retort. She can't exactly be very spicy when he's got something she wants.

Brent tsks loudly, tongue in cheek as he looks past her, glancing around for signs of anyone else. The rain had chased everyone else away from the drizzling streets, leaving just a needy mare on his steps. He knows exactly why she's here, and why she winds up at his front door every week. It's always for the exact same thing. She's even got that same, nervously expectant look as she fidgets, her unapologetic stare practically burning a hole through him. And he was just looking forward to that nap, too.

"Anyone follow you?" He steps aside, making room for her.
"And wipe your hooves."

She practically launches inside, quickly screeching to a stop just a touch too late, overshooting his entryway and getting wet hooves on his carpet. She quickly backpedals, trying to undo the damage already done. Brent just shakes his head, shutting and locking the door.

"Nope! I d-double, and e-even triple checked, just like you asked! I... I d-did good, right?" She announces proudly spinning around to stare up at him. Brent almost swears her tail is starting to wag.

Seriously?

"D-does that mean I...?" She asks, leaning her head down.

Brent rolls his eyes, squats down, and pats the top of her head through her hood.
"Not while you're still soaked. You know where the towels are, get dried off. I'll prepare it."

Even through the damp cloth barrier of her hoodie that wards his hand from directly touching mane nor fur, Blueberry Brisket practically melts at even the most miniscule contact, nearly losing her footing as she buckles. It's an action that lasts only a mere moment, before Brent pulls away, standing and drying his hand off on his shirt.

"Mm...oh, mare, t-that's..."
Blueberry's eyes flash wide open as she realizes it's already over, looking up in a sudden, needy panic.

The fleeting moment that it was slips away, and Blueberry's voice raises.
"W-why did you--?!"

"Go dry off, and hang the hoodie over the side of the bathtub." Brent sternly nods down the hallway, cutting her off. His tone quickly crumbles whatever surge of resistance she felt, her gaze falling back down in a sign of obedience. She's quick to nod, Brent watching her dissappear around the corner and into his bathroom.

Brent muses to himself as he hears the distant rustling of Blueberry getting undressed. It wasn't easy to put on one of those Pegasus brand hoodies with the wing-holes, so he had some time to prepare.

An older, comfortable blanket pulled from the closet to be draped across the floor, to be laid on and to protect his floor from any... messes. Meanwhile, an unlabeled orange candle is set on the middle of the coffee table, lit with an old, half-empty lighter that takes one too many strikes to get going, just enough to be annoying. Brent wasn't much for candles himself but with Ponies being so sensitive to smell... it was a sensation his little sidejob couldn't afford to ignore. Every sensory advantage he could get, he would take. Taking out his phone, he checks the battery. Fourty percent... should be enough. He flips through it until he gets to his music app, opening a specific Playlist that some might call 'sensual', setting it on the table to add some ambience to the rain.

Then, the second to last step. Checking that she's still in the bathroom, he reaches upward and digs into one of his higher kitchen cabinets, pulling a bag of something that had been tucked behind a few nondescript snacks. Some serious pony contraband.

Sugarcubes.

Ponies had to show ID when purchasing them, same with salt licks and other amusingly horse-like treats. He knew a guy who knew a pony who knew a pony that could get him a bag of sugar. They weren't cheap, but they kept quiet. It was easy enough to make the stuff at home, just using an ice tray he messed with. Sugarcubes that didn't add to the 'watched' amount. No judgement, no no repercussions. Just hard, crunchy sugar.

At one point, Brent even tried getting into making Salt Licks, but he couldn't get them to stick together without crumbling, and the lack of internet didn't help him figure things out. Not that he should go searching that kind of stuff up, anyway. Probably monitored.

He sets a shallow bowl of the forbidden cubes close to the candle, along with the final few touches, unrolled from a velcro kit that held some tools. Namely, grooming brushes.

Blueberry Brisket slowly and quietly steps out from the hallway, hair sticking out in matted and bemusing directions from an awkward drying -- but that would be taken care of soon. Her almost meek expression is quick to change to a blushing, nervous excitement when she sees the state of the living room.
"T-thank you. Are... are we...?"

"The usual?" Brent asks, nodding at the assortment.

"Y-yes! Please!" She quickly stammers, stamping her hooves.

"Fine. Usual price, you can pay when it's done. Get settled." He pats the spot on the floor with his foot, to which she excitedly joins him. The couch would probably be more comfortable for her size, but the floor gives him a deeper range. A mare with more self respect wouldn't so readily lay herself out on a man's floor, but Brent can easily see that's the last thing on her mind, the fervent bright-blue blush contrasting her dark-blue furred face a clear indication of the embarrassment she's burying down. All for the sake of desperate, taboo cravings that leave her shivering in anticipation, repeatedly looking back and up at Brent, though she glances away any time their eyes meet.

He can see it written plain as day across her face. She's so close. She needs it. Wringing her front hooves as she's laid on her stomach, forced to do nothing but wait under his scrutinizing gaze.

"Now... where do I start?" Brent's voice drops an octave, turning husky as he slowly circles her, rolling his sleeves. Every time he speaks, each pause, she flinches. Her wings are loosely draped open, barely stopping themselves from touching the ground. No part of her now bare body is spared from his view, Blueberry Brisket is well aware what she's subjecting herself to out of a pitiable desperation.

"M...my..." Blueberry mumbles.

"Hm? Speak up."

"M-my fur. Please. My fur." She manages to stutter out, raising her voice a little too loud. She shrinks down, realizing her mistake.

"Alright. Look forward." He instructs coldly, Blueberry taking sharp breath as she hears the clatter of something being picked up behind her, his shadow casting over her as he nears.

It'd excruciating, the tense wait. He's right there, standing over her. Looking her over. Watching her. Waiting. Teasing.

Then he kneels beside her, still clearly looming over her even when he lowers himself.

"Open." It's a short, firm command that sends a shiver of excitement up her spine. She swallows hard, bracing herself as she listens obediently, holding her mouth agape, eyes closed.

Almost.

Any moment now.

Brent pops one of the sugarcubes in her mouth, before holding out the brush he picked up from his kit. He settles himself beside her, one hand on her back for support, the other carefully raking through the fur that had become quite the mess from the mixture of rain, clothes and a rough drying.

"Mm!~"
A long, happy sigh escapes Blueberry Brisket as she chews on the delectable treat, practically going limp on the floor from the dual barrage. The ultimate, forbidden treat, and something she couldn't get anywhere else.

Brent's hand settles on her head, right between the ears, scratching firmly.

"Oh, Mare..." She hums, leaning into it as hard as she can, the prickly brush working out the knots on her back, carefully weaving between her wings.

"None of my other customers ask for anything like this, Blueberry." Brent feels like he should at least comment about it, shaking his head. The other neighborhood ponies just buy his sugarcubes, or at most, ask for a quick brush or a braid, on the account of how deftly he can manage with his hands.

Blueberry Brisket on the other hand... she has little to say about the peculiar specifics of what she'd like out of this exchange. Lonely, maybe. Whatever. She always pays good, anyway.

Oct 2nd - Military Mare

American International Military Base, Western Australia | Fort Quaker

Lieutenant Mimosa Brunch, or typically just Lieutenant Mimosa. Or Lieutenant. Or most commonly, Ma'am.

Even with her lip quivering, he's proud of her for holding such a stern face while keeping it together.

Well, mostly. The furniture she clambered onto wasn't helping her visage much, the way she's teetering around trying not to fall off of it. These kind of things always seemed to happen when she was alone.

She can't even bear to look at it. He doesn't blame her, the bugs around here are nasty. Big-ass things with too much hair, too many legs and too much audacity, with a proclivity for the inside of one's boots.

The spider scuttles around angrily in the upturned cup, locked against the paper that forms the impenetrable combo-shield of it's inescapable containment. She flinches as he walks around her with the captured critter, but stares forward, staying strong with a scrunched face. But no matter how tough she plays it, her ears betray her real feelings, pressed flat against her head.

Trying not to torment her any longer, he tosses the bug out the front flap of the tent to be someone else's problem. The moment the miniscule menace is removed, she visibly relaxes, exhaling quietly and letting the tension droop out of her shoulders.

"Enemy operative removed, Lieutenant. Anything else?" He asks, snapping to attention the moment he's put the cup and paper back down on the wartable, spinning around to face her.

"Negative. Thank you for your assistance, Private McCrowski. You're dismissed. And... not a word." She quickly adds, hopping down off the stool she'd clambered onto in the corner, trying to regain some semblance of her composure. She clears her throat, straightens her posture, and looks down her snout at him. As best she can, being half his height.

He salutes, "Of course, Ma'am," promptly exiting the tent to return to his guard duty, taking a light jog across the base.

It wasn't unusual for McCrowski to have to ask somebody, or somepony, to cover for him. Ever since that first initial incident where McCrowski just happened to be in the right place to help the Lieutenant wriggle out of a uniform that had a scorpion in it, he's wound up becoming the go-to for whenever she had a personal task needed dealing with. Usually removing whatever insect or small creature tread into her personal space, but she'd begun handing him other, simpler duties that kept him around. Sworn to secrecy, the position wasn't without benefits. Usually an extra treat from the mess tent when no-one else was looking.

Essentially, whenever one of the outback's innumerable insectoids of uncomfortably large stature reared one of their chitinous heads in her general vicinity, McCrowski would find himself dragged across camp to deal with it, no matter where he was or what he was doing. Which, considering they were two hours from the nearest town, nestled in the boonies at a training encampment, meant things stayed plenty buggy around here.

Passing a few other guys cleaning their guns and chatting in the shade, and a pony running packages between the soldiers, McCrowski finally reaches his post again, tucked behind a few of the tents and buildings.

"All done?" Harris calls down as he finds McCrowski climbing up the tower ladder, sat on the north-eastern corner of the walls. The illustrious 'get used to staring at nothing from the comfort of a hotbox, complete with views of wide open fuck-all and sweltering swass.

Harris reaches to pull McCrowski back up beside him, handing him his gun once he's gotten settled again. Harris was a fairly relaxed guy with a perpetual smug grin, who considered himself something of an artist. Primarily drawing dicks in the sand, but he considered in art nonetheless. A bit on the short side, his unbridled and often unwarranted confidence typically got him into some kind of trouble. Still, one of the few that knew McCrowski's predicament, and would cover for him when needed in exchange for his snacks.

"Yup. The usual." McCrowski leans back into his foldout chair, laying his rifle across his lap, fiddling with the strap.

"Still wild to me that she ever got posted here." He shakes his head, laughing.

"How come?" McCrowski glances over, surprised. Harris wasn't usually one for shittalking command.
"Because she's a Pony?"

"Huh?" Harris raises a brow, punching McCrowski's shoulder. He looks almost offended at the idea.
"Course not. Shit, you read anything about their homeland, they've been up to as much dark shit as we have. I've got no doubt they earn their stars and stripes here or there. Nah, I'm talking about her deployment history. Ain't you heard?"

Rubbing the now sore spot, McCrowski regrets making the assumption.
"I don't know jack about her, minus her rank, and her... bug thing." He glances around, like it's a big, hush secret.

It kind of was, with not too many on base knowing about it. Her fear of things with more legs than her. Harris was one of the few, mostly because they got shackled together for so many tasks, and Harris had to cover for McCrowski so many times, it became inevitable that it would slip out.

And also she threatened to kick his ass if he ever told anybody. Or anypony. So McCrowski was pretty tight lipped about it. Harris, on the other hand, was a touch too loud about it, McCrowski only spared by their usual assignments being away from other people. Or Ponies.

Still, beyond the initial threats, she was pretty nice to him. It's why he didn't mind the whole thing so much.

"She doesn't chat you up when she's got you all alone like that?"

"No. Well, sometimes, but I think she's embarrassed, actually."

"She still slipping you treats when nobodies looking?"

"Mmhm."

"Whatd you get last time?"

"Warm pudding."

"Pudding? Lucky fuck. She likes you." Harris scoffs, leaning back in his own make-shift seating. A combination of extra blankets, an empty crate, and a sack of something that had its logo rubbed off months ago gave Harris a much comfier seat than McCrowski.
"But seriously, she's seen active combat over there, man. Something called the Changeling Wars."

"...Aren't those the shape-shifting bugs-pony things?" McCrowski points out. Harris leans forward, nodding.

"Exactly. And yet she's scared of little bugs, when she's a decorate over-portal veteran of actual wartime? Something isn't adding up." Harris muses, scratching his chin.

"Maybe the small bugs are more unnerving than the big ones." McCrowski shrugs.
"What's war in Equestria like, anyway?"

"A lot more medieval, apparently. Whatever she's gotten up to, she's done it up close and personal." Harris explains, tensing his hands with a grin.

"Explains the scars." McCrowski nods, ruminating. The Lieutenant was covered in them, and he never really questioned it. They just kind of fit her. She had a strong tone, a stern glare, one of her ears were clipped, and several scars peeked out wherever she had fur showing. She looked weirdly tough, for a pony. Probably helped she wasn't as colorful as some of the other members of her species, though more muted colors were more common in those that actually enlisted.

"Right? But not the bug thing." Harris wiggles a finger, sneering before peeking through the scope again, adjusting it.

"I dunno, man. I don't think I'd wanna face down me-size bug shapeshifters, either." McCrowski shrugs.

"...Actually, yeah. Fuck that. Imagine? Some shit the size of fucking Jenkins running at you, all buggy and shit?" Harris shivers, leaning his rifle against the handrail of the tower, peering through the scope at the distance.

McCrowski just shivers. Hard pass. Jenkins was a fucking mass of muscle. All he did was lift. If that's the case, he does not blame her for not liking bugs.

"McCrowski!"

"Anything interesting out there?" McCrowski asks, scratching under his sock.

"Nah. Not even a hyena or a kangaroo fuckin' or whatever." Harris sighs, tapping his foot loudly on the tower's boarded floor.

"McCrowski!"

"Why the fuck would you want to see that?" McCrowski laughs despite his disguist, giving Harris a look.

"Shit, man. Anything is better then another day of staring at dirt. At least I'd have something to joke about at the mess tab--" Harris goes to start rambling about just what particular category of bored he is, before the distant voice comes booming from directly underneath their ladder, quite loudly. And quite a bit irritated at being ignored.

"McCrowski!"

Both startle, nearly leaping out of their chairs as they shuffle to peer down the tower.

"Jenkins!" Harris grins.

"Shut up, Harris, you fuckin' knobhead. You got my twenty bucks yet?" Jenkins jabs a finger up towards them. Despite being a good dozen-plus feet below them, Jenkins' sheer size somehow makes that intimidating. Cornfed or whatever you want to call him, guys a monster.

"...Not quite yet." Harris shrinks out of sight.

"You're staying in that fucking tower until I see it. McCrowski! Lieutenant wants you."

"Again?" McCrowski clarifies, leaning lower.

"Did I fucking stutter? Yeah, again." Jenkins retorts, angling the pointed finger to McCrowski instead.

"Hey, I don't owe you money, man. You don't gotta be mean to me." McCrowski tries to wave it off.

For a moment, Jenkins looks like he actually considers it, before frowning.
"Nah, if I'm mean to you, Harris might pay up faster. Sorry. And get going!" Jenkins waves a hand vaugely, before departing deeper into the camp.

Harris is peering through a crack in the towers half-wall.

"When the fuck did you owe Jenkins money?" McCrowski questions, handing over his rifle. It's so routine at this point that Harris takes it without even looking, slinging it over his shoulder.

"Two days ago. Borrowed some cash for poker with Tucker."

"You know Tucker cheats. Horrifically. At everything possible."

"I thought I had him." Harris offers weakly -- though McCrowski can tell by the look on his face. He didn't learn his lesson.

"Even after he thrifted you of your own cash and you had to start borrowing? I'm not lending you anything, by the way." McCrowski shakes his head.

"Was this close." Harris pinches his fingers together.

"Riiiight."
No fucking way he was.
"Back in a minute." McCrowski startles mantling the ladder, boots to rungs.

"No problem. I don't think I'm leaving this tower anytime soon... get me something to snack on, yeah?" Harris mutters, still ducked away from Jenkins.

"No promises." McCrowski considers just bringing whatever bug is bothering the Lieutenant, but the joke wouldn't be funny long enough to bring it up the ladder. Plus, Harris might actually eat it. Guys' weird. Probably had half a granola bar or something somewhere in his bunk, he'd get that if he remembered.

Another quick jog the way he'd came just moments prior, giving vague waves to the servicemen he passed just a moment prior. Did the spider he just toss out go right back in the tent? Might have to take it outside the perimeter this time. McCrowski wasn't much of a bug squisher.

Since she's almost always alone whenever she calls him, and she hates when he stands around waiting for her to 'Just Celestia-Damn get in here', McCrowski ducks into the command tent, pushing the flap aside before snapping to attention and announcing himself as it sweeps shut behind him.

"Ma'am!" He calls out --

-- She's exactly where he expected her to be, right back up on that stool, jammed in the corner, glaring at the intruder.
"Private! Insurgents! G-get them!" She quickly stutters, jabbing at the war table with a hoof.

McCrowski walks over, leaning against it's side as he ducks down, looking at the floor.

Same spider. It raises it's forelimbs at him in challenge. Unfortunately, it proves no match for the boundless human intellect.

Within a few minutes, he's got it back in the cup. This time, he upturns it, and stuffs the top with the paper before briskly exiting. He heads a few tents over, before dumping it behind one of the neighboring ones. Maybe it'll bother them instead, and keep itself out of the Lieutenant's tent.

By the time he gets back to the Lieutenant, she's sat on the ground taking deep breaths, steadying herself. Her usually tightly-bound bun is a mess, more of a suggestion at this point, half of it apart of hanging in her face. McCrowski doesn't think he's ever seen her with her hair down, honestly. It's pretty cute, which is a surprising thought. Despite being a pony, cute isn't a word that's typically ascribed to her. She put her hoof down hard when she first got stationed here to any ideas some of the guys or stallions might have about having a female leader. She's got this off-cream fur that looks oddly soft, so that doesn't help her visage much.

He quietly stands at attention just inside, waiting. It's only when she's breathing normally again, hoof on her chest, that he speaks up.

"Enemy insurgency counteracted, Ma'am." McCrowski dutifully reports. He does his best to not let the crease of his lips twist into a smirk, but it's hard. For the record, he's not laughing at her, just how they always treat the situation. McCrowski doesn't think he's ever even uttered the word Bug or Spider in her presence. It's always insurgents, hostiles or so on, like her tent was under invasion.

Her eyes widen slightly as she remembers he's still here -- she looks like she's about to snap back to her presentational, stanced-up pose of command, but... she just doesn't. A long sigh escapes her as she slumps back into one of the pony-sized chairs of her command tent. Two times in the span of less than ten minutes must've been hard on her.

She brushes her hoof through her mane, tsking to herself at it's state. She usually wears her hair up, either in a ponytail or a bun depending on the day, but now it's a mess that looks surprisingly good on her.
"Having fun, Private McCrowski?" She notes dryly, catching him staring.

"Not at all, Ma'am. Insurgent infiltration of this degree is of the utmost seriousness." He barely manages, holding back a snicker.

"I'm glad you agree, McCrowski. In that case... you'll remain here to ensure no repeat invasive attempts, since there seem to be multiple combatants." She states, giving him a look.

He's... not quite sure what kind of look, though. But he's also not about to clarify that it's the same spider that keeps coming back. She doesn't need to hear that.

"Certainly, Ma'am. Should I post up outside, or --" McCrowski goes to respond, but she cuts in.

"In here is fine. Before you cover the door, however, could you..." She trails off, glancing to the floor. She hesitates for a second, nose scrunching as she considers something.
"...Private, do you know how to tie a bun?"

McCrowski purses his lips. Technically, he did, but the reason was a bit embarrassing. He could just say no... but she's got hooves. He doesn't even have any clue how she gets her hair up like that in the morning, and this was the first time she'd asked him anything like this.

"The Private may have some unconfirmed experience with long hair from misspent formative years believing he could 'rock a manbun', Ma'am." McCrowski explains after a short pause, trying not to let the awkwardness creep up his throat after he admitted it.

But rather than reacting poorly like he expected, her eyes widen in surprise.
"You can? Oh, thank Celestia -- come here and tie my mane up, would you? It's going to take me half an hour if I do it myself." She quickly says, shuffling herself around in her fold-out chair so her back is to him.

"How... do you do it yourself, if I can ask, Ma'am?" McCrowski let's his curiosity take lead a bit as he tentatively approaches her. They've been friendly, but putting his hands in her hair? That's a new one.

"Magic, but it's still a pain." She explains rather simply, glancing behind herself and side-eyeing him. Right, her horn. Magic. You'd think she'd just use it to deal with the bugs or something.

"Right. So, do I just...?" McCrowski holds is hands in the air, not quite sure the protocol forward with this. Until a hairband floats it's way over to him, covered in a shifting, hazy orange glow, depositing itself right into his palm.

Seeing how the other ponies handled their weapons and tasks was always interesting, but this was the first time he'd gotten to interact directly with it.

"...Neat." He mumbles, stretching the hairball over his fingers.

"Nice and tight, Private." She instructs simply, looking forward again, wriggling in her chair expectantly. She seems almost excited to have someone else do this for her.

Cautiously, McCrowski slowly sinks his fingers into her waiting, auburn mess of a mane. Well, blonde-ish in certain lights. He's actually startled by just how soft it is, despite their locale. Was that a pony thing, or did she just have a good shampoo?

It's a little weird, doing up the hair of a commanding officer, but McCrowski works through it as he pulls her hair taut, twisting it back into her bun. Her ears are flicking about as he works, techniques from shameful, forgotten highschool years emerging so he can do a proper job. Man, he's glad he grew out of that phase.

"You can pull harder than that, Private. I'm not fragile." She notes dryly.

"Oh, I know you aren't, Ma'am. Toughest living thing in this encampment. I've just weak little hands." McCrowski counters, realizing a little too late he probably shouldn't be joking around like this.

To his relief, she stifles a snort, chuckling to herself.

Phew.

She seems content enough with how it turns out, glancing herself over in her phones camera.

The rest of the day is much more uneventful, McCrowski posted up inside the tent, stood by the flap at attention. Out of the sun, and with the rare air conditioning, it's honestly not too bad of a post. He gets to watch the Lieutenant rifle through her paperwork, receiving orders and running supply numbers in preparation for their next training session. At a few points, she even asks for his help to stack papers or run orders.

And the spider is, without her any the wiser, kept at bay a few more times. It's a persistent little thing.

What was weirder was this didn't end up being a once-off post, even after Harris found him, returned his rifle to him, and asked him why he was gone so long. Harris was, for the most part, only a little shocked at McCrowski's new posting, though that surprise soon faded as that post was repeated the next day. And the next. And the next.

...

"Hurry up, McCrowski! You got stumps for legs?" The older, wizened Captain leans out the back of the jeep, bugle to his lips as he shouts.

"No Captain!" McCrowski yells back, just as the command jeep drives off to bother the rest of the guys up ahead.

Ugh. He could handle the heat when he wasn't running around like this, but this shit was miserable. Thank fuck today was just a few laps around the camps fields.

"Falling behind, McCrowski?" A familiar voice suddenly jeers, catching his attention as it pulls up beside him. It's the Lieutenant, casually trotting after the jeep that passed him moments prior. Compared to the humans in the camp, the Ponies handled this kind of thing a lot better. While a human might be able to push it hard over the long term, Ponies took to running like a fly to shit.

"I've seen foals with more stamina, McCrowski. You look like you're about to drop." She teases, grinning at him. She's just casually keeping up with him, speaking like she always does, completely unbothered by this five mile run. Thank fuck it wasn't a ruck, and just a run.

"Might... drop any moment... Ma'am. Wishing I was... a foal right about now, then." McCrowski huffs out, wiping the sweat off the sleeve of his bdu. He's trailing a bit from the rest of the pack, though normally he'd be smack in the middle of them. While he'd rather be in shorts and a t-shirt then his battle dress, at least it kept the ticks and bramble from scraping him up as he got further and further behind.

Admittedly, he'd had some trouble sleeping. He kept checking on Harris, who refused to come out of the guard tower, and got roped into his squabble with command over not forking over the tower to the next shift. Got himself a few free laps around the camp, late-night. That was fun. Thanks Harris.

"Well we can't have that, Private." She tsks, shaking her head before sliding herself in beside him, keeping pace right beside him.
"Suppose I'll have to keep you company to ensure we don't have any medical emergencies."

"Ma'am?" McCrowski manages, looking down at her with confusion. Distracted, he nearly stumbles over a dip in the dirt -- the only reason he doesn't tumble right over himself is a sudden orange, glowing push of force against his chest that rights him back into the upright position.

"Or would you rather keep running by yourself?" The Lieutenant raises a brow, the glow around her horn dissipating into sparks that filter out behind them.

"...Company." McCrowski wheeze.

"Good choice, Private." She smiles, before her tone turns stern.
"Now pickup the pace. It'll be dark out by the time you're done, if you keep this up."

"...Y'esm." McCrowski groans, trying to push himself a little harder.

For some reason, it's not as hard. Maybe it's that coy smile on her face that he keeps catching out the corner of his eye. Or just her presence. But it doesn't take too long for McCrowski to catch up to the back of the pack.

...

In the shared bunk-room that McCrowski and Harris shared, a loud creak elicits an equally loud, annoyed groan.

"What are you doing up so early?" Harris groans from his bunk, glaring at McCrowski. They didn't have to be up early, yet here McCrowski was, rubbing his eyes and slipping out of his bunk.

"Sorry. Tried to get up quietly." McCrowski winces. Damn.

"Bit fucking late for that. Go to the shitter not at..." Harris clamps around for his phone, squinting at the bright light as he reads the clock.
"...Fuck my ass, dude, five in the morning? I'm up in two hours for --"

"I know, I know, I'm sorry. I'm still trying to figure it out. It's when she gets up, and her routine in hardly normal..."

Harris' phone slowly sets on the ground beside him, his bed creaking as he sits up slowly, eyes squinting.
"...Her?"

McCrowski bites his lip, groaning to himself as he gets dressed.
"Not a fucking word to anyone, right?"

Harris might be a lot of things, but he took secrets to the grave. It was the only reason McCrowski actually even considered, for a second, risking such a secret.

"Is this about the fucking Lieutenant?!" Harris hisses loudly, throwing his sheets off himself.

McCrowski doesn't even get a chance to talk back, Harris leaping out of his bunk.
"You're kidding me. She's got you crawling out of bed at five in the morning?! The fuck for?"

"To... help her tie her mane back." McCrowski mumbles.

"Her hair?" Harris repeats, blinking several times.

"She asked me to help her get ready in the mornings. Said I do it much faster then she can with her horn."

"You're up at five in the morning to tie her fucking hair?"

"Yeah."

"...Dude, if you're fucking the Lieutenant just say so. Jesus christ..." Harris throws his hands up in defeat, stumbling back to back and burying himself under his blanket.

"Hey. Woah. I'm not --" McCrowski tries to deflect, but a tired Harris is having none of it.

"One, congrats. Two, whatever, dude. Just go and stop keeping me up." Harris waves him away, before shoving his head under his pillow.

Whatever, he'd correct him later. For now, a just-dressed McCrowski creeps out of the bunk, quickly walking towards the Lieutenant's bunks through the early-early morning of the camp. He doesn't get very many looks, McCrowski unsure how sneaky he should even be about this as he knocks on her door.

"Ma'am?" He asks softly, only for the door to be flung open.

"There you are!" A half-dressed, messy looking Lieutenant Mimosa announces, before an orange glow tightly grabs his collar and yanks him inside, slamming the door behind him.

Her room is about as spartan as McCrowski's, and she's only wearing a loose t-shirt that's definitely for a human, not a pony, the way it drapes over her body. With her out of uniform, McCrowski can see the scars on the limbs a lot easier. It's surprising, just how many of them she has.

Yet she eagerly hops onto her chair, her desk lightly littered with the smallest assortment of beauty products. A thing of chapstick, a few hairbands... she's really not working with much.

"Thanks for coming, I've got a meeting with the Captain in twenty-five minutes and my mane does not want to cooperate." She rambles, leaning closer to the mirror sat center-stage on her desk, squinting at herself. Her hair is a complete mess, refusing to bend.

Her magic floats a little spray bottle, starting to spritz herself to dampen her hair.

"Of course, Lieutenant." McCrowski offers simply, crossing over the room to her, standing beside her.

"I'm not asking for your help as your Lieutenant, McCrowski. Could you?" She looks up to him -- even seated, he's still looking down.
"I owe you for this. Seriously." She tsks, fussing with her hair more, and only growing more irritated by the second.

A hairband plucked from a pack of them floats it's way over to him, landing in his hand when he holds it out. McCrowski can't help but notice the trash can filled numerous, snapped bands. A bit of a frustrating experience, apparently.

"Uh... yeah, no problem..."
...Fuck it, worst that could happen is she kills him in front of the other guys.
"...Mimosa." He says quietly. Definitely loud enough to hear.

She doesn't say anything about it. A quiet, relieved sigh escapes McCrowski as his hands press into her hair, rounding up the unruly and recently dampened mane.

From the corner of his eye, he can see her watching his movements in the mirror and the little smile sat on her face as her eyes start to close, leaning into it as he tugs and preps her hair. Sweeping between her ears, gathering up her bangs and tucking it all back.
"Oh, bun or ponytail?"

"Oh, ponytail with the way my hair is behaving today. Unless you think you could get it in a bun in time...?" She wonders, one of her ears twitching.

"I'll get it done with minutes to spare."

"Lifesaver." Mimosa sighs, watching him work.

It's a few long moments of Lieutenant Mimosa nervously watching him, but his cringe past proved useful as it rears it's ugly head again, the Lieutenant's hair neatly tied back in a well-tucked bun, for form.

Mimosa practically leaps from the chair, quickly throwing on her uniform and checking her phone for the time. It's surprising how good she is at multitasking, but her hair was just one task too many. Maybe too detail-orientated for her magic. Honestly, explains why most of the Ponies just brushed their manes or kept it short, if styling it like this was such a hassle to do oneself.

"Just enough time to get there -- perfect. Thank you, McCrowski." She sighs, relieved.

"Not a problem. But if you need me to keep coming by in the morning, Harris is gonna kill me. He's a light sleeper, and I'm pretty shit at sneaking, Ma'am."

"Understood. I'll look into getting you a closer, personal bunk. And... thanks."

Oh. Not the answer he expected.
"You already thanked me, Ma'am."

She glares at him.

"...M-Mimosa."

"Not for the hair. For the... bug thing." She mutters, physically recoiling even at the word.

"Not a problem. I get it. They're yucky."

There's a glow around his collar, and he's suddenly yanked downward, right as Mimosa kisses his cheek. The word red doesn't sum up the intensity of how brightly McCrowski's face blushes in surprise, as Mimosa is already shoving him out the door, and locking it behind them.

"Now get going, I expect you at your usual post in a few hours." She instructs, her tone harsher now that they're outside again.

"Uh..."

She smiles at him, before her stern frown resumes as her cap slides onto her head, ears peeking out the sides, trotting towards her due meeting.

McCrowski stumbles back to his tent, eyes wide as he slumps back into his bed. Sleep was the last thing he could get.

Where the hell did that come from?

...

"Alright, son. Sit down." The Captain instructs, tapping the table. It's one of the spare rooms, with only a projector facing a sheet on the wall, and a spot for him to sit.

"Uh... yes sir. Can I ask what this is about?" McCrowski questions, sitting down. He hadn't even made it to his post this morning before the Captain had pulled him away. He was worried he'd be in trouble, not even sure what he'd be in trouble for.

"You have inadvertently begun a path of due diligence, son." He warns, leaning close as he clicks the remote.
"And you are to be prepared for it. Here."

A slide pops up, illuminating the dark room.

'Dating a Pony and You -- Enlisted Edition.'

McCrowski blinks several times.

What the fuck?

"...Sir?" McCrowski manages after a long pause, looking for some explanation. The Captain struts over beside the projector, tapping his foot.

"Dont give me that look, son. They're a naturally affectionate species who seek social bonds. How the hell do you think I met my wife?" He chuffs, clicking the remote again.

The next slide is a picture of the Captain and his wife, who happens to be a fairly colorful Pegasus mare.

That... gives as many answers as it does questions.

"All inter-species companies are equipped with these educational documents. Now, Lieutenant Mimosa is a commissioned officer, unlike you. That's going to add a few terms, compared to dating a civilian..." The Captain starts explaining moving to the next slide. It's a checklist of things one needs to keep in mind while in relations with a pony, and their difference of priorities.

The fact they even had this prepared has McCrowski's head in his hands. At least he wasn't going to get in trouble for it, but damn of this wasn't embarrassing. Or confusing. The kiss already caught him the fuck off guard. Now they're dating? Not that he wasn't into her, but... what the fuck was going on?

In his peripheral view, he can see Lieutenant Mimosa watching from the outside window. She smiles at him when he notices, before quickly turning and yelling at some of the guys passing the building, something about their uniforms.

"Now, see here, that most Equestrian's..." The Captain's voice draws his attention away from the outside.

He rubs his eyes, letting his gaze wander back to the slideshow. Might as well learn what he can, if he was going to measure up.

The idea of getting to spend more time with her does get a smile on his face.

Oct 3rd - IT Department Intern Mare

South Arizona, U.S.A | UpDoot Tech Industries, IT Department

"Okay... now what?"

"You press the power button."

She squints, leaning forward towards the dark monitor.
"Ah... don't see it."

"On the tower case." He points down, below the desk.

"Tower? Like th' one the Princesses live in?" She perks her head up, ears tilted, exuding confusion.

"Ohmyfuckinggod." He mutters, head in hands.

She perks up, head tilted.

Frankie. Just breathe. Sure, you took this job because you know computers. The customer service side of it has always sucked, yes, but that's alright. You know computers. It's good money.

But you don't know these little tiny horses that don't know shit about technology. But they kind of do? They have such a weird footnote of technology. She has no clue about computers, internet, cable management, phones, but she knows what a DJ is. They have such weirdly specific tech that it's just so confusing to navigate. Like, this thing doesn't know at ALL what a computer is. But mention tower case or a firewall one time, and she starts rambling about her favorite tower back in her psuedo-medieval city she calls home.

These things are so fucking dumb.

And Frankie wants to be so angry.

But he can't be. Because they're not dumb, they're just... innocent. Naive. He takes a long, slow breath to try and calm the bulging vein in his forehead. It's not her fault. This pony, Citrus County. Some country hick plucked right from the fields, and thrown into the city because work slowed down where she lived. Rural to Urban. It's not her fault, and she's the sweetest thing he's ever spoken to in this life, and probably the next. There's not a single mean bone in her entire body.

That's the worst part.

He can't even argue with her. Citrus just takes everything at face value, in the kindest way, like every mistake is her own. Which, it is, but she doesn't even offer excuses. Even the insults, she just apologizes and stares back with these big, twinkling auburn eyes.

God this fucking sucks.

Slowly, Frankie lifts up a single finger, making sure it's very visible. Citrus stares at him with these big, sparkling eyes, watching it carefully.

"The... button, here. On the case. This is a tower case. Just... press the button on top, and it will start the entire system." He slowly words out, as he carefully, very obviously, moves his hand towards the computer, pressing the power button with an extremely exaggerated, even flourished, movement.

The computer slowly begins to start booting on, before Frankie kills it, resetting it for her to try.

She makes the most adorable little 'Ooh' face, and presses her hoof flat against the top of the case with resounding, newfound confidence.

Nothing happens, because her hoof is bigger than the button. She just covers the entire thing.

She frowns slightly, tapping it again. And again. And again.

Her hoof is too big to press the inlaid button, even at the multiple angles she's trying.

Frankie can almost feel another aneurysm forming.

To her credit, she keeps trying, stubborn as she is. At least she... doesn't give up? Positives, Frankie.

"Try... a pen." He offers, leaning in his chair after a pause.

"How would a pen turn on a computer? Ah thought y' said it was the tower case." Citrus questions, stopping her efforts and looking up at him.

Frankie's teeth find their way to start biting his fist, knuckles turning white as they leave indents in his skin. He'd jump out the window, but they're only on the second floor. Since he'd probably just live, and then have to listen to her ask how to do first aid on his mangled legs. Probably ask why he doesn't have hooves or something.

At least she had this soft, Southern Belle drawl to her voice. Like someone misplaced a cowgirls resume and got them into an office downtown. Actually, that might be exactly what happened. Maybe she applied for the wrong job by accident or something.

"Poke the button. With the pen." Frankie finally clarifies, Citrus making another wide-eyed 'Ohh!' face. She quickly leans on one of the adjacent desks, knocking over a cup of several pens, grabbing one with her teeth. It takes her a moment to find the angle, but eventually... the button clicks down under the pinpoint pressure. The computer slowly starts to boot to life, whirring and lighting up. The little jingle to announce it's start-up plays, like a triumphant announcement of her achievement.

She looks at him expectantly, smiling, pen still between her teeth. Sure, mess all over his desk now... but whatever. She did it. That's all that matters.

She's got this one dimple, in the corner of her cheek when she smiles. It's cute. She, as a whole, is pretty cute honestly. When she isn't driving him up the wall. There's this little look she gives him when she's listening intently, where her mouth opens ever so slightly, her eyes glued to him with an almost unnerving amount of eye contact.

Citrus at least catches on quickly, when it finally all clicks. That's nice. Maybe she'll figure out how to staunch the bleeding when Frankie bursts a blood vessel quick enough that he won't bleed out when they move on to the next step.

"There you go, you've got it." Frankie affirms, his anguish proven worthwhile. For the moment. Would clapping be rude? It felt like a hurdle worth applause, but he resorts to a thumbs up instead.

"So when ah've got a button or somethin' that needs pressin', an' my hooves are too big, ah should use a pen?" She manages through her teeth.

"Sounds like a plan, Citrus." Frankie pushes off the floor with his feet, wheeling his chair over to his pen-strewn messy desk for a sip of his coffee.

Of which, Citrus goes to deposit the pen back, but Frankie stops her with a hand.
"Keep it." He offers, taking it from her mouth and politely tucking it into the front-pocket of her pony sized dress shirt. Mostly because he doesn't want to wipe the saliva off of it. He's got another dozen of bulk-bought ones, anyway. He doesn't even care about the mess she made to get that one, either. Whatever gets him through this faster.

"Y'mean it?" She asks, surprised. She seems so caught off guard by the gesture, staring at him. It's a pen. Has nobody ever given her something before or something?

"...Yeah, sure. If you need anything else, you can take it from my desk until you've got your own stuff. Just let me know." Frankie finds himself offering, leaning back in his seat.

He hates when people touch his stuff. Why is he offering them to...

... That's why. The smile that takes her face is practically radiant, the way it creases her cheeks. There's almost a sparkle in her eye, as she suddenly leaps up, wrapping her hooves around his midsection, startling Frankie. He nearly spills his coffee, and is about to scold her for suddenly throwing herself on top of him... but the face she's making, the glee of that smile. The way her face is smooshing head-on into his chest as she wraps herself around him, squeezing him tightly.

All Frankie can do is roll his eyes, setting his coffee down and patting her on the back. The moment his hand makes contact, her eyes flash open, and she quickly stumbles back, smoothing the front of her shirt.
"Oh, ah, sorry. Didn't mean t' get all huggy without uh, checkin' with... you... sorry. My bad. Shucks." She curses herself out confusing Frankie. Sure, hugging coworkers wasn't exactly... the norm, but that was a bit of an averse reaction.

"Normally, work environments don't really facilitate hugging..." Frankie goes to explain, but she just nods, sighing to herself.

"Ah, know, ah'm sorry. I forgot that humans, while social, aren't as physically affectionate as ponies are with each other, and tend to reserve such actions fer' the ones they consider themselves closest with." Citrus rambles out, almost like she's parroting something she's heard somewhere.

"That sounded like you had that written down somewhere." Frankie comments, honestly a little glad for the tangent of topics. Give himself some time to simmer before he blows a gasket trying to teach her how to use a mouse, or navigate a computer. Or take tech calls. Or use a phone. Ugh.

"Oh, that's from my Humans 101 Orientation, when ah' came over from 'Questria." She explains, sitting on the floor. Not like the chairs were any better for her, most of them being too tall or big for her to comfortably climb.

"You had to sit through a course about Humans?"

"Mmhm." She nods. "It talked 'bout human habits, behaviors, feelin's and so on. That's why ah'm wearing this shirt, actually. It said Humans are more comfortable 'round ponies that dress like 'em."

"Huh." That's a new one.

"Did you ever have an orientation 'bout Ponies?" She asks in turn, her hooves idly pressing into the carpet.

"Nope, but when I heard I'd be training one, I did some research online." Frankie shrugs, reaching for his coffee. Mostly because he hadn't actually interacted with too many of them in his career sphere. Most Ponies weren't pining for office jobs.

"Oh!" She almost seemed disappointed at his initial answer, but perked up considerably when he continued explaining.
"You did?!"

"Uh... yeah. Some Equestrian history and some other basics. You're an..earth pony, right?"

"Yep! Oh, that's swell!" She hums.

She looks weirdly content, now. It almost looks like her tail is wagging, with how excited she looks, bobbing back and forth in place ever so slightly.

"Well," Frankie starts after another sip, setting his drink down. "You ready to keep going?"

"Oh! Yes!" She hops up, excitedly trotting in place.
"And, uh... sorry for takin' so long t' figure things out. Ah 'ppreciate you bein' all patient with me. And, uh... sorry fer' the hug." Citrus admits, offering a sheepish smile.

Frankie is having a hard time finding that bubbling frustration that was plaguing him a few moments prior. In fact... he's not even dreading trying to teach her things.

Just what was in that hug?

"Don't worry about it. Now, uh... you ever use a keyboard and mouse before?"

"Truthfully, I ain't even seen a computer til' this mornin'."

"...How did you even get this job?" Frankie asks, giving her a look.

"They said something about hiring diversity... you know what that means?" She questions back, tilting her head. Her ears do this little flop thing to the side, before righting themselves.

Well, that explains a few things.

"Not a clue. Anyway, this is the start menu..." Frankie wheels over, starting to explain the basics of a computer. He has to pause for a moment as Citrus County starts pushing over one of the nearby chairs so she can properly watch, taking a moment to climb up it, before getting settled. She scooted her chair right up against his, even leaning on his arm rest as she stares at him expectantly. Big, warbling eyes locked to his face, almost sparkling with curiosity.

"The... monitor." Frankie points, and she snaps out of it, nodding and watching his demonstration.

He ignores how many times she looks over at him during his explanations. Somehow, he doesn't even get irritated when he has to cover the same topic for the third time.

...

It's been a couple weeks since Citrus County started working, and she's slowly learning everything, picking up all the little hiccups and quirks of the job.

Emphasis on slowly. Still, her natural enthusiasm and peppy, outright optimistic outlook helps Frankie not put his fist through a wall. Technology was still a pretty big hurdle for her, but she had a knack for dealing with people, and made taking their complaints look like nothing at all.

Maybe he needs anger management classes.

...Nah.

The lunchroom is thankfully empty. It's why he takes his lunch late, so he doesn't have to talk to anyone. Tossing his third day of leftover spaghetti into the microwave and slamming it shut, he's about to get settled on his phone while he waits for it.

Until he hears footsteps, and the lunchroom open.

Oh, God. It's Tom. The resident won't-shut-the-fuck-upper, who chats more than he works. Which is miserable, because when he does work, he does so poorly and tends to call IT for the dumbest shit. He also can't read other people worth a damn, and is more then happy to carry on an entire conversation by himself.

"Well hey! If it isn't the Frankster!" He announces, shooting finger-guns at Frankie.

Frankie only groans in response.

"How's that pony faring? What's her name... Orange?"

"Citrus. County." Frankie corrects, shutting the microwave door with a heavy thud, dialing in the numbers with far more force than needed.
"She's doing good. Should ask her yourself."

Tom shrugs it off.
"How can she type or anything? I mean, she doesn't have hands."

"Dunno."

"I watched her try to get a cup of water from the water machine earlier --"

"Fascinating."

"--and she couldn't even reach it! Just spilt it on herself!" Tom snorts, and starts talking about yesterday's game or something. Frankie isn't paying attention, staring at the microwave buttons.

Normally, he couldn't care less for anything that dribbled out of Tom's mouth. This time, though, his absent staring was born of another thought.

She can't reach the water station. How much of this office is even built around her? Citrus can't reach the microwave. Does she pack her lunches in a way that they don't need to be? Is she even aware of what a microwave is?

The most adaptation the office did for her was getting her a cubicle that somewhat fit her. As in, they ordered a child-sized desk and a chair for her.

"Now, when I heard they were two and nil, hoo boy I wasn't happy, but --" Tom is still going, gesticulating a hand through the air as he rambles, before Frankie suddenly yanks his lunch from the microwave, slamming the door shut and startling Tom into a rare silence.

"Sorry Tom, lots of work, you know how it is, seeya." Frankie quickly spits out, spinning in place and walking off, leaving Tom to shrug and seek out another open ear.

Margaret, the ancient woman who has no reason having this job, tries to stop him to complain about her mouse not working. Her cries for IT help fall on deaf ears as Frankie just tells her to submit a ticket, before he's already gone around a corner.

He gets back to the IT section of the office pretty quickly, where it's far more quiet.
Frankie doesn't even stop at his own desk first, lunch still in hand as he leans into her section. As expected, she's sat at her half-sized little cubicle.

That's one sad looking pony, sat on an awkwardly colorful child's chair that kind of suits her. She's staring down at her food, slowly picking at it. It's clearly still cold, the way it's all clumped together in the container. Some kind of... processed dish he doesn't recognize, though half of it looks like grass. There's a big wet spot that's partway through drying on her shirt, and her face looks... uneven? Oh. It's her makeup. Half of it got rubbed off. She doesn't even notice him standing there, silently poking at her 'food'. She's even taken her earrings off --somehow-- and they're sitting on the desk beside her computer, which sits idle on the desktop.

The fact she's even managing to hold a fork with a single hoof doesn't really take Frankie's attention, for the moment, as weird as it is.

Frankie clears his throat, and she nearly leaps out of her seat. Wide, surprised eyes whipping around until they lock onto him, visibly relieved when she notices it's him.

"O-oh! Frankie! H-hi!" She manages, quickly looking herself over, trying to smooth her shirt out with her hooves, shifting in the chair so the still-makeup'd side of her face is the only part facing him.
"D-did somepony submit a ticket?"

"Nope, you're all good, Citrus. Just... checking on you." He slowly responds, leaning on the cubicle wall.
"So, uh... that looks yummy." He says dryly, pointing at her lunch.

"Yeah, it's... great." She manages, smiling awkwardly, trying to remain upbeat.
"Processed hay, a mixture of vegetables and supplements. Everything a... working pony needs."

She sounds more depressed then when he was eating microwave meals every day, instead of starting to cook for himself. Frankie's brow furrows as he reads her face. No matter how sweet she tries to make her voice sound, there's no dimple in her cheek when she smiles this time. Hm.

"Seems like a block of grass." Frankie points out, not bothering with dancing around the topic.

"It's..." She goes to defend it, but her shoulders just slump.
"Yeah. Pretty much."

"Here."

She watches as a container of leftover spaghetti is dropped in front of her, steam still sizzling off the top of it. Citrus looks up at him, confused.

"Shouldn't be anything you can't eat. I'll email you some easy recipes you can make at home. Get into bringing leftovers, frozen meals just bring misery. I've been there." Frankie explains, tapping the wall of her cubicle as he walks back to his.

"Huh?! W-wait!" She exclaims, hopping out of her desk and trailing after him. By the time she catches up to him, he's already leant back in his own chair.
"Ah can't just take your lunch, Frankie. That ain't right."

Frankie leans down, opening the bottom drawer of his desk.

It is loaded with snacks. Ever since someone in the office thought it'd be funny to start eating lunches some months back, Frankie made sure he'd never go without food. Even after the problem got resolved, he always had something to eat on hand.

"What, my cooking too good for you?" Frankie counters, frowning.

"What? No, that's not what ah--"

"I better get an empty container back, then." Frankie states, resoundly ending the conversation as he bites into a granola bar.
"I'd hurry up, I think Margaret said she's got something wrong with her mouse. That's all you."

She glances down, then away -- she's clearly awkward about taking the food, but, eventually caves and quickly scrambles back to her own cubicle to eat. Not much he could do about her makeup or her shirt, but, she could at least have something to eat.

He did drop off a roll of paper towels at her cubicle later, though. He slipped the janitor a couple bucks for some of the office's supply.

...

Been a few months. Citrus is pretty much operating on her own, finally confident with both working the systems and the computers, minus the odd question, which frees Frankie up to try and avoid doing his job as much as possible. Unfortunately, some of the people in this office are an unstoppable force of inept, bumbling nature, and their name is Margaret.

Another day, another problem Margaret is having with her computer, entirely of her own design. Frankie is doing his best to block out her droning about why it's not her fault she's got fifteen popups, before he notices a distant commotion out of the corner of his eye. A couple of the other office workers are gathered around the water station, chatting. And Citrus is there, chatting with them.

Good, she's getting along with people. With how Tom spoke about her, he was worried she was getting outlier-ed.

Then again, they're doing a lot of... pointing. Yet, Citrus is still smiling and laughing as they talk. She seems to be getting on fine, even if they're being a bit overbearing. He'll leave her to it then.

He frowns, looking closer as she laughs with one of the coworker's leaning down to pet her back.

No dimple. Her ears are pointing downward, glancing awkwardly at his touch.

"One second, Margaret." Frankie grunts, pushing off her desk and walking across the office. She gives him an odd look and huffs to herself. He closes the gap quickly, a frown sat on his face.

"Man, you're soft!" Dale chuckles, petting down her back.

"Ha, uh... yeah. Ah use, uh... conditioner." Citrus recoils a bit, but tries to maintain a smile. Martha and Bill just seem amused about the whole thing, Bill starting to step forward and reaching a hand out.

"Ooh, me next!" Frankie cuts in, rustling his hand into Dale's unsuspecting hair, messing it up.

"W-hey! Frankie! The hell?" Dale startles, stepping back and pushing his arm away. Martha and Bill stop laughing, Citrus looking up at Frankie with surprise.

"Huh? Thought we were touching each other's hair?" Frankie raises a brow, feigning shock. "You know, since it's appropriate to put your hands on coworkers now."

"Well, she's a pony, Frankie. It's different." Dale goes to argue, looking to Martha and Bill for support. Both nod, sharing his opinion on the matter and mumbling assurances, despite Citrus glancing away.

"Like the difference between your personal and work laptop? Or do I need to remind you what you can and cannot look up during work hours?" Frankie notes dryly, the smile dropping.

Dale purses his lips.
"...No, we're all good here." He quickly mutters, mumbling an unheard apology in Citrus' direction before leaving.

Try winning an argument with the IT guy when he had to un-brick your computer for googling boobs at work. Frankie's glare floats to Martha and Bill, who don't stick around for much longer either, leaving just a confused Citrus and Frankie, who leans down for some water.

"...Thanks." Citrus quietly notes. "You didn't have t' do that, though."

"That's harassment, by the way. Speak to HR if he tries that again. Or just let me know. I've got dirt on half this office." Frankie informs bluntly.

Citrus squints, until a cup of water is held out to her.
"Oh! Thanks." She says quietly, sitting on her rear to hold it with her hooves. She's extra careful not to spill it.
"And, uh... thanks. Ah' 'ppreciate it." Citrus adds quietly.

"No problem." Frankie sighs, quickly downing his own cup, crumpling it up. "If you'll excuse me, Margaret duty calls."

Citrus watches him strut back towards Margaret, who starts tsking at him for wandering off in the middle of helping him. She looks down in the warbling water in the cup, smiling to herself.

...

Lunch again. Not the only time they talk, but, it's one of the quieter times to actually get a word in to each-other without having to worry about someone wandering in with a mundane question. Any tickets that were waiting could just be ignored. Thankfully, with most of the office population being older, younger folks like Frankie and Citrus had a little more wiggle room when it came to actually getting around to fixing things.

"So... your, uhm..." Frankie starts between bites of his food, vaguely pointing at her with his fork, waving it around.

"My what?" She glances up from her own meal. Citrus' quit with those yucky, processed hay-whatever bricks that she'd been bringing and actually followed a few of the recipes that Frankie sent her. As evident by the fact she actually seems to enjoy lunch now, the step-stool she uses to get up to the microwave tucked between her desk and cubicle wall.

He traded the janitor twenty bucks for it, since he never used it.

"The picture you've got on your side." Frankie decides after a pause, deciding probably better then calling it a butt mark. He forgot the proper term.
"It's a... drink?"

"Yep!" She proudly notes, twisting around to stick her rump out a little more in her chair, giving Frankie a better view. He'd seen it in passing, but he hadn't properly looked at it. You know, on account of it being on her ass. He wasn't trying to find himself a trip to HR. It looks like a glass of something fizzy, with leaves sticking out of it, alongside a few ice cubes. He'd guess those were mint leaves, but her name wasn't Mint. If that's how pony naming conventions worked anyway.
"Ah' make a mean fizzy drink. It's kinda my thing, but none of th' bars in th' area are hirin' earth ponies. Y'know, on account of no hands n' such. An' on account of I've no clue how t' mix anythin' alcoholic." She admits, a little bashful, but still plenty proud.

"I've seen you hold a fork, though. And a phone. Can you hold a mixer?" Frankie presses, leaning back.

"Sure can! I'm not as clumsy as I might seem, y'know. Just... a lil' moreso with stuff ah'm still learnin'." Citrus shrugs, getting comfortable in her seat again.

"Nice. I'll have to bug you for a drink sometime." Frankie comments, taking another bite.

Her ears point straight up, Citrus glancing away. She bites at her lip, stealing a side-glance at him before brushing her hair behind her ear.
"Would, uh... y'like t' come over t'night?" She mutters, barely loud enough for him to hear.

"Huh? Tonight?" Frankie repeats. He considered checking his phone to pretend he had a social life, but Citrus was well aware the only things he had planned when he got home was eating, tv, and sleeping. Free carbonated drinks didn't sound too bad, though. Might be worth destabilizing his typically antisocial routine.
"Yeah, sure." He shrugs, not thinking too much of it.

Her hooves tap together in excitement, smiling to herself.

The rest of the day, she's got this pep in her step, and keeps glancing at the clock every few moments.

Frankie doesn't pay it too much attention, even when they meet up as the office is getting locked up for the night, walking her home.

...

Frankie blinks, eyes wide open, staring at Citrus' ceiling. Late in the night, tucked deep in the bedroom of her quaint apartment, the clock by the bedside ticks to one in the morning. She was definitely good at making drinks, with how many she whipped up for the both of them. She had a cute, little apartment not too far from the office. Looked about what you'd expect from some southern-sounding pony, like someone from Texas.

She's nuzzled in against his chest, fur soft against his sweaty bare skin, tucked under the nook of his arm, snoring softly. Ever few moments, she stirs a little, pressing in closer against him. Her hair is a mess, as is his, and he is sore.

It was not just drinks.

Oct 4th - Police Officer Mare

Littlebrook, U.S.A | A Quiet Early Morning At A Bustling Skybinks Coffee Shop

"There's no way you still find it this funny." Officer Horseradish groans, uttering a loud 'ughhh' and rubbing her face with her hooves, knocking the colorful sunglasses on her face around. The spunky little green pegasus had ordered a limited-time green macha latte, and for some reason, it's absolutely killing her human partner, the chuckling wheeze escaping him every few moments as he knocks on the table.

The rest of the customers, all either sat at their various tables around the pair or walking to and from, keep to their usual bustle as distant orders and mis-pronounced names are called, all united through their mix of species, career and interests in one unanimous need. A morning coffee. A cup of the divine liquid of eye-awakening, and later, the blessed bathroom break on company time.

"I mean, come on. Are you sure it's the taste, or do you just like that it's green -- like you?" Officer Barnes barely snorts out trying to hide his grin behind his arm. It's really not working, and is only driving his partner even further up the wall.

She stares blankly at his scrunched, giggly face, muttering to herself.
"I still cannot believe I ever got you as my partner. I remember asking specifically for somepony serious. No nonsense." She grumbles loudly, scooting her fur-colored drink closer to herself.
"Now can I drink my bucking coffee? I'm allowed to like macha, asshole."

"What, and I'm not serious? I'm like, the most serious guy you've ever met."" He snorts incredulously, waving away her accusations and pointing to himself, like it absolves him of all accusations.

It does not. Barnes looks more like your neighbour's dad than a proper, serious cop. Which is somewhat fitting for a small-town PD.

"You're drinking hot chocolate, for Celestia's sake. You've never been serious in your life." Horseradish points out, poking his cup with some added venom.

"I told you, I'm on a caffeine detox. Doctor's orders." Barnes excuses, sticking his tongue out at her. He wasn't. He just likes his sweet treats.

"You only ever order hot chocolate, liar. And if I catch that tongue, you're losing it." She threatens, though whether she's being playful is a matter up for debate.

"I'm allowed to like what I like, Officer Wasabi." Barnes leers, earning a glare from Horseradish. The tongue, however, goes away very quickly.

"I told you I was gonna kick your ass if you called me that again. Want me to start kicking?" She warns, a hoof aggressively tapping the table in front of him.

"You Ponies do have hazing where you come from, right? I'm not just bullying a four-legged children's crayon, am I?"

"Yes, we have hazing, you..." Horseradish stutters, her face contorting into a scrunched frown, ears flat.

"Mmhm?" Barnes prods, barely able to contain himself.

Horseradish is silent, glaring in pure, unfiltered despisement.

"Oh, this is gonna be a good one. She's really cooking on it." Barnes prodding at her, snickers sneaking out of him.

"Celestia, I'm going to kick your shit in." She folds, smacking the table with a hoof as Barnes starts chuckling to himself, letting the laughter escape.

"Mmhm, sure, sure. And, speaking of... how are you going to catch my tongue? Like you did yesterday, with your teeth?" He leers, leaning closer to her to tease.

A blush bursts across her cheeks at his last dig, and she quickly hides behind her sunglasses. Before Barnes can laugh, a hoof slams into his shoulder with a loud thud, leaving him rubbing the new, sore love-tap.

He's laughing it off, as Horseradish lets the blush simmer off her snout, keeping the smirk that creeps up on her lips hidden.

Officer Barnes and Officer Horseradish. Partners of the Littlebrook Police Department, but also... partners of two years, six months. Years ago, Horseradish was a spunky new hire to the PD, with dreams of going big-city with the right promotion. Then she got partnered up with Barnes, and she hasn't thought about leaving the city since, his appreciation for the small-town quiet rubbing off on her. Every morning, they'd stop at this Skybinks and help themselves to a morning liquid starter before heading out on patrol. As Officers of a town with a population that could fit in a football stadium, almost every morning was as quiet as this.

Littlebrook as a small town, nestled along quaint-ish river that the locals love to use for fishing, a few hours from the nearest proper city. With a heavily mixed population of human and pony thanks to its idyllic, almost Equestrian level of rural comfort, it's a relatively peaceful place that doesn't have to deal with too much trouble beyond young hooligans and bad drivers, and is one of the few locations that has begun integrating a pegasus-based weather system, though the lack of magic to resonate with has left this moreso being trial-runs than actual controlled weather, leading to Littlebrook having some... odd weather now and then.

Rain with no clouds. Snow in the middle of summer. High winds on Littlebrook's official kite-flying day. Half the town getting one weather, the other half getting another. And so on. The trials of weather control were a long, slow process, and the town had long grown used to the shenanigans. It was the most interesting thing to happen, most weeks.

Which this pair of bickering, half-caffeinetted lovebirds subtlety appreciate. Most of their job can be diluted down to being a presence, handling bad drivers, and keeping the local youth in check. Not much happens around Littlebrook, and that's just the way they like it.

"What's our route again?" Barnes asks once his arm stops tingling, sipping his drink and scooting his chair closer to Horseradish.

Horseradish rolls her eyes, rummaging into her chest pocket with her teeth for her phone, setting it on the table and using her wing to swipe in her passcode. She checks her notes for the day, squinting.
"... Mellow Hill Park, all the way up to the Highschool." She double-checks, before reaching for her own drink.

She slaps Barnes finger away from the whipped cream that tops her beverage of choice, glaring at him. He only grins, feigning pain in his hand.

"Twenty bucks the Ghullighans' kids are up to something again." Barnes taps the table, illicing a groans from Horseradish.

"You make, and lose, that bet every time we've got the school in our route. You just want to get them back for embarrassing you." She turns the teasing around, nudging him in the side. Now it's her turn to bear the shit-eating grin, Barnes physically recoiling under the newfound emotional duress.

"What? No. They're just never up to any good." Barnes tries to deflect, but now that she's got the upper-hoof, she's not letting him squiggle his way out of it.

"They mingle, Barnes. Sometimes, I dare say, they might even solicit the local park." She says, starting to get up from her chair.

"Like I said, up to no good." Barnes holds firm, huffing and pushing his chair in.

"You're just upset about that fence you couldn't jump and you know it." She comments as she passes him, sipping her drink loudly to enunciate her point.

"Says the lady with wings." Barnes tries to get-back, but she's already closing in on the door, leaving him to huff and mutter to himself as he trails after her.

...

Other than the little apartment they shared together that was a short jaunt from the park, their squad car was essentially their home away from home with how much time they spent in it. Barnes was driving -- not that ponies couldn't drive, but the pair didn't feel like setting up the attachments to the vehicle to allow for her to actually reach the gas pedal. It worked out well enough for them, with Horseradishes' natural proclivity to keeping her head on a swivel, like a little green radar dish, while Barnes casually drove the smalltown streets.

"So what'd you wanna do for dinner tonight?" Barnes prompts, flicking the turn signal. Their car sits idle in the junction, waiting for the chance to turn once traffic slows.

"Can you focus?" Horseradish glances over from her window, giving him a look. She tries to keep serious on-shift, a leftover behavior from her earlier days of trying to gun it for a promotion, before getting bogged down by Barnes' far more casual approach.

"Don't really feel like cooking tonight, so I was thinking of ordering out. You got any cravings?" He continues, the ever-pressing thoughts of the meal that follows lunch undeterred, crossing the lights and slowly drifting into the next lane. They cruise slowly, watching the sidewalks as absolutely nothing goes on. Small shops, some walking people, dog walkers...

Horseradish squints at him for a long moment.
"...Chinese." She eventually mutters, her hoof smooshing her cheek as she leans against the door.

"Yeah, Chinese would be good. Orange chicken and that?"

"Mmhm. You know my usual." She nods quietly.

"You all good?" Barnes reaches over, prodding her shoulder once they reach a red light.

"Huh?" She perks up, blinking.

"You've been a bit..." Barnes hums, tapping his chin. "... In the dumps since this morning. Was I too much?"

"No, no. It's... not you." She sighs, head thumping against the back of her seat. "Just stuck thinking."

"That opening over in New Beetlejak got you stuck in your thoughts again?" Barnes questions, surprising Horseradish with how pointedly blunt it was.

Pedestrians cross in front of their car as she shifts in her seat, looking over to face him.
"Yeah. It has been." She admits, fidgeting in her seat.

"Still thinking about moving to the city?" Barnes asks. Green light, the car softly lurches forward across the uncontested crossway. The question seems to bother her, despite Barnes casual questioning.

There's a sad look that plagues her face, staring down at the floor of the car as they slowly coast the quiet streets.
"I don't know."

She doesn't say much more for a few moments, but Barnes doesn't cut in, only glancing over a few times while he drives, giving her time to formulate. It's hard to see her face, with the way her ponytail got a bit messy against her chair and droops over her face, but he can see she's doing that one thing she does. Tapping her hooves against her seat in a rhythm, back hooves twitching in the air. Her version of jiggling her foot while she lets her thoughts wriggle around themselves.

His patience pays off, as she glances back up to him again.
"I like what we have here, but I'm... it feels like I'm missing out."

"On what?" Barnes presses.

"I'm... young, and it feels like I've already retired. Like I've got this energy, this... drive, but every time I go to push further, go harder... I just get looks for it. Like I'm the odd one out for wanting something more than just comfy, quiet days."

"You feel... unfulfilled." Barnes guesses, and she nods, looking up at him.

"But I don't dislike what we have here, I don't want you thinking that. It's... it feels weird to talk about it. Some days, I'm happy where I am. Other days, I can't stop thinking what if, you know? Is it a grass is greener thing?" She asks.

"Wouldn't know, unfortunately. I've always been comfortable where I am, but I'm guessing you and I were raised pretty differently."

"Pff, can't get any more obvious there." She shakes her head, stifling a sigh. These thoughts bothered her now and then, but Barnes never shot down her feelings. Still... she wasn't quite sure what she wanted. Could it be better?

Horseradishes' inner turmoil is broken off by the car suddenly lurching to a crawl, throwing both her and Barnes against their seatbelts. Her glare snaps to him, but softens when she realizes he's leant forward, squinting at something in the distance.

"Is that...?" Barnes mumbles, leaning forward and squinting. Off the road, across the street of the local Highscool, there's a trio of hooded individuals spraying one of the walls of the neighboring buildings with some garish colors in an attempt at a tag. They clearly don't have much experience, the way the paint is dribbling down the brick.
"Seriously? In the middle of the day?" He mumbles.

"Three individuals, two human, one pony. On it." Horseradish practically launches from the car, door swinging open as her wings pummel the air around her for height. Barnes covers himself with his arm as feathers flutter all around him, the front passenger door slowly swinging back and forth as he blinks.

Blowing a raspberry, he reaches down and flicks the sirens on, checking his shoulder before taking the time to cross over the lanes, backing in to park against the sidewalk. Grabbing the radio on his check, Barnes clears his throat while he unbuckles his seatbelt.

"Uh... Dispatch, Car Thirteen in pursuit of a trio of vandals."

After a long pause, he can hear a crackly raspberry get blown through the receiver.

"Well, shit, I feel bad for 'em. You need backup, or does 'The Bullet' got it?" The wizened voice on the other end of the radio asks.

Barnes opens the car door, stepping out to survey the distant scene. She's already got one on the ground.
"...She's got it."

"Ten-Four, see you when I see you." His radio crackles.

Barnes shuts the door, hands tucked in his vest as he meanders over to join her.

"Quit...resisting!"
"I wasn't doing anything, promise!"
"Bullshit and you know it!"

Barnes listens to their chattering as he closes in, nodding at the other two who still seem stuck in the internal debate on running.

"Pony on pony violence. Really, what has the world come to?" Barnes jokes, stopping a couple feet away. "You two run, that's evading arrest. Face the wall." He warns. The threat of getting hawked down by Horseradish was enough to keep them from trying anything. They huff, kicking the ground as they take off their hoods.

Just local kids, skipping school. Fairly compliant when parents get mentioned, and they're eventually wrestled into the back of the car without too much issue.

While Barnes slips back into the drivers seat, Horseradish looks absolutely raring to go. Her mane has gotten even messier, and her sunglasses sit awkwardly skewed on her face. He reaches over, nudging them back into position, but she slaps at his hand with a hoof, hissing at him about acting lovey in front of arrestees.

"We need to get you a gym membership or into some kind of physical hobby. You are biting at the bit."

"Barnes, enough."

"I'm serious, Horseradish. You've got energy to burn."

Her next snip is cut off by the collective, agreed mutterings from the trio in the back seat -- who quickly clam up when she twists around in her chair, glaring at them.

Barnes pulls off from the curb, merging over a lane to start back towards the precinct. Silence would normally be their companion, but Barnes glances over his shoulder, looking the trio over.

"... You're Brians' boys, aren't you two?" Barnes clocks, the two humans glancing away. Horseradish glances at him, wondering what he's up to.

"...Mhm."
"Yeah. What about it? You gonna tell him?"

"Depends. Any of you know anything about New Beetlejak?" He prompts. Horseradish gives him a 'really?' look, frowning.

Surprisingly enough, one of them does.
"You know, I've got a cousin in New Beetlejak." The pony of the trio speaks up.

"Quiet back--" Horseradish goes to snip, but Barnes surprised turn-around interrupts her.

"Really?" Barnes prompts, arm over the shoulder of his seat, looking through the hardened plastic that separates the front and back.
"I've got a sister there, too. What's your cousin do?"

Horseradish rolls her eyes, clocking out of the conversation. While her approach to these things might mirror that of the harder, tougher city-cop, Barnes smalltown approach typically won through with him chatting up whoever they had in the back. It was inevitable, really, when there was a coinflip's chance that you knew somebodies brother, mother, cousin, spouse, or what have you.

Admittedly, it did help their willingness when they actually got to the station, though nobody was really interested in running when the green bullet that was Officer Horseradish came soaring at them from above, shouting over the wind. It was a surprisingly effective combo that left them with a rather high capture rate.

Most of the drive back is spent with Barnes chatting about the city, not-so-subtlety getting information about the city for Horseradish. She only rolls her eyes, watching out the window until they reach the station. Considering they're all youths, it's just slaps on the wrists and community service in their future for their actions. The rest of their shift is only as exciting as their repeat visits to Skybinks for another coffee.

...

"Huh, lookit that. Snow."

Barnes scoots closer to the edge of the bed, pointing at the window. It's not even frosting around the edges, just beholding wet snow that sticks to the panes as it begins melting.

"I can see that." Horseradish shivers, pressing up closer beside Barnes, trying to mooch his warmth.
"In bucking July."

"How the hell did that happen?"

"Pegasi, probably. I heard they were doing some trial runs today." Her wings stretches in retort to her own wings, a slow groan escaping her.

"Good thing we've got the day off." He reaches over, poking at her extending feathers with a finger.

"Mmhm." She hums simply, slapping it away with a wing.

The pair sit on the edge of their bed, enjoying a quiet appreciation for life as they look out their bedroom window, watching several pegasi panic in the air as snow begins to clump and form, already in the process of melting under the heat.

"How do they even do that? The whole cloud touching thing?" He wiggles his fingers, grabbing air.

"Magic." Is all she says, giving him a coy look.

"Can I get a better explanation then that?"

"Nope."

He tsks at her playfully, poking her thigh.
"By the way. What we were talking about in the car, before the spray-painting thing."

"Yeah?" She perks up, looking at him. Her ears fold down a bit in tensing worry.

"If you want to go, I've got your back." Is all he says, smiling at her.

Horseradish stares at his face, smiling softly as her ears flip up.
"I got my kick from chasing somepony down. I'm alright for now." She snorts, leaning against him, cheek against his arm.

"Well, if you ever want to in the future... I've still got a few years of my prime left. I could probably handle some city living. You know, bust a few bank robberies, catch some murderers. I'm like a sleeper agent waiting to activate." He jokes, getting a giggle out of the mare.

"You're sweet, Barnes. I appreciate you being willing to give up your cozy little days for me." She says, hoof resting on his leg.

"Wouldn't give them up for anything else, so it must mean you're... special to me or something. Who knows." He hums, leaning to kiss her forehead, brushing aside some of her messy mane.

"I'd better be, the things you ask me to do with my wings." She notes dryly, Barnes sputtering and looking forward.

"But seriously, we need to get you into rock climbing, or judo or something. My hips can't keep being your outlet." He mutters through purses lips.

She raises a brow, scoffing.

"...Think I could go for some waffles. Want some?" Barnes quickly grunts, shifting up and out of the bed, bare feet slapping on the floor as he crosses their little abode.

"Of course you..." She goes to groan, to roll her eyes like their usual bickering mornings. But after a short pause, her lips purse. Horseradish just doesn't have it in her today.
"...Yeah, if you don't mind." She slowly slumps off the bed, landing on her hooves and trailing after him, stifling a long, intrusive yawn with her wing.

She stops at the bedroom doorway, leaning against it as she watches him reach into the fridge, the smile still stuck on her face. Maybe she'd wait a little longer. Nopony else in the precinct was jumping for that transfer, anyway.

Oct 5th - Receptionist Mare

New Beetlejak, U.S.A | Out-2-In Immigration Services, 3rd Floor Offices

"You sure you're busy tomorrow?" Sandy Shoals suddenly cuts in front of him, trotting directly into his path and folding one hoof over the other, blocking his way. She even shakes her head a little, trying to give her meticulously cared for, voluminous mane some bounce as she stares up at him, batting her lashes.

"You know I am, Sandy, Cassie's got her piano lessons." Pete lifts his bag over her, slinging it onto his shoulder while carefully stepping around her self-imposed, waist-high roadblock. The feigned pout only lasts until the moment he's gotten around her before she's trailing right after him, hooves to his heels. It's a weak excuse, and Sandy knows it, but it gets a momentary pass.

"Well, what about Sunday then?" Sandy keeps pressing, slipping around beside him, expertly avoiding tripping him despite how closely she sticks to him. She's far too used to sticking to him at this point, and she's equally unrelenting as they slowly work through the office, making their passing goodbye's as everyone starts to head out for the weekend, spirits relatively high at chatter and weekend plans surround their ears.

"I..." Pete goes, almost instinctively to deny her, but... nothing comes to mind. He doesn't have any plans on Sunday, and Sandy realizes that he's hesitated for too long. Her eyes practically light up the room with how they sparkle, capitalizing on his pause. She swings around in front of him, screeching to a halt, hooves out in a braced, excited position.

"Sunday?" Is all she says, a wide smile sat on her face knowing she's won.

Pete sighs, nodding.
"Yes, Sunday."

The moment he relents, Sandy is practically hopping around in place, before bolting towards the elevator, squeezing past coworkers in excitement.
"See you Sunday!" She shouts, disappearing around the corner, completely forgetting that Pete is her ride.

Pete shakes his head, chuckling to himself while trailing after her. He takes his time, double-checking he's got everything, even adding a little meander to his pace, all just to add to the inevitable bashful face she's making as she's waiting for him, stood beside his car just outside the office in the parking lot.

"Oh, hey Sandy. Must be Sunday alr--" Pete starts to tease, but Sandy just cuts him off, rolling her eyes.

"Yeah, yeah. Very funny."

His grin persists as the car unlocks, both piling in. She's gotten quick with the door handle, already sitting shotgun by the time Pete tosses his bag in the backseat.

He's been her ride back home for the last few months now. She lives in just the right place to have an awkward level of transit for herself, needing to take an awkwardly long, out of the way route that'd leave her late every morning. So, Pete drives her home each day. It's not too far from his usual way to and from work, so it's not much of an issue, turning down her attempts to pay him for it.

As they pull out of the parking lot, Pete glances over, looking at that excited smile that sits on her face as she leans on the window, watching the buildings pass by. Sandy looks a lot happier then she did back when she started.

Back when Sandy got hired, Beetlejak hadn't quite adapted to having Ponies on their side of the portal just yet, especially for long-term living. Everything was still built around humans, human height, and human limbs, leaving most Ponies who lived on Earth full-time to have a fairly difficult time adapting. Nudity was frowned upon, but nobody sold clothes scaled for Ponies, was just one of the many issues that Pete remembers in the news headlines for that time.

Sandy was a diversity hire to work as a receptionist for a newly-merged Immigration office that Pete got involved in when his previous office got absorbed into it, a result of part of a guaranteed workforce pact to ensure that no Ponies coming over from Equestria would go without work or the means to provide for themselves. This was... received in a few different ways by a few different people. Despite all these hurdles, Pete still clearly remembers Sandy's first day.

He can't think of a single person as beaming, bubbly and peppy as this pony was when she started. She found nothing but obstacles waiting for her, yet, she never let it stop her. Sandy wasn't even in his department when he started, and he only got to know her when she wandered into the wrong unit, trying to find the printer.

Pete never thought just showing some... colorful, Halloween-costume looking creature how to use a printer would result in such a heavy life-shift. Ever since then, she's found his way over towards his desk, greeting him with a smile. Apparently, whoever she got tagged with to train her was a bit of a slacker, and didn't really teach her much, leaving her confused and trying to figure out strange, foreign technologies. Without knowing too many other people in the office, she kept coming back to the one person who was actually willing to show her how things worked. Which was Pete. He'd start seeing Sandy waiting for him at the printer, the water station, the lunch room... usually with questions about things, but once she figured out how things around the office worked, the questions turned to things outside the office.

Turns out, yeah, being an interspecies interplanetary immigrant really wasn't that easy, even when working at an immigration office.

Still, having an actual Pony in-office helped lean the place towards hiring more, making a few changes, and shifting resources around to cater towards incentivizing Ponies to immigrate to Earth. Took a while, though, and the place had it's fair share of hurdles.

Like office lunches. The first time they catered something out to celebrate some... team morale building or something that Sandy was actually there for, the issue wasn't that there wasn't anything that she couldn't eat... it's that nothing was left for her to eat. By the time she finished up her paperwork and got around to the lunchroom, they only thing left was paper plates and napkins. Pete hadn't had anything to eat yet, getting in late from a meeting, so he made a simple offer. Go get some lunch with him.

To Pete, the intention was just being nice. To Sandy... this invitation was a bit of a shift in their dynamic, because 'just lunch' isn't what happened. Pete got a call while they were out, in the middle of eating at a fast-food parking lot. His kid got into trouble at school and he had to swing by to pick them up. The school was in the complete opposite direction of his work, a massive detour that would dent both of their work schedules, or leave his kid stewing in the principles office as he dropped Sandy off, then went back for her, and had an entire extra day of work on his lap.

So, Sandy offered to go with, assuring him it was fine, despite some apparent disappointment about something she wouldn't clarify. While Pete wasn't entirely comfortable revealing so much of his personal life to a coworker, he relented.

And then Cassie, his young girl with an adoration for horses and dress up, saw a colorful, wide-eyed, smiling pony wearing people clothes walk in with her dad. He doesn't even remember what Cassie got in trouble for. All he remembers is how Cassie practically exploded with glee, hugging Sandy suddenly. He didn't even get a chance to try and get Cassie off of her, Sandy hugging her back, both of them looking at Pete with wide, excited, sparkling eyes.

"You have a PONY?!" Cassie squeals.
"You have a DAUGHTER?!" Sandy also squeals.
Completely surprised by the others existence, they devolved into an excited babble about the other while firmly clamped to the other, absolutely smitten. Complimenting each-others hair, asking every possible question under the sun... if it wasn't for the principle staring at Pete without a trace of amusement, it would have been a pretty cute scene.

And ever since, Sandy wants to visit and see Cassie whenever she can, and Cassie asks each day if Sandy is coming over.

Cassie's mother is... out of the picture, and hasn't been in it for a long while. Sandy seemed surprised to hear that, and ever since, Sandy coming over at some part of the week, every week, has practically become routine for them. It's... sweet, but it comes with a few awkward hurdles.

It's also weird having two different people so excited to see him two times in a day. When he gets home, his daughter rushes to bother him to play with her dolls, ecstatic that he's home again. But when he gets to work, the way that mare smiles at him, slipping out from around her desk to chat and walk him to his...

"Daaaad! Where's the Pony?!" Cassie would harumph and tantrum, crossing her arms in rebellious, childish disbelief when it turns out he arrives home alone. The terms and conditions of being conditionally loved by your child. Did you bring her favorite pony home? No? Too bad, Daddio, no love for you.

Ever since they met, no matter how hard Pete tried to return his situation to the norm with excuses, either Sandy would ask him relentlessly about hanging out, or Cassie would pester him with childlike persistence that bore no end until he agreed to bring Sandy over, or go out to do something with Sandy and her. The two absolutely adore each-other, which was... nice, since Cassie had been lacking a female role-model for some time now.

Though, as of late, Sandy had been asking Pete about going out after work more often... with just the two of them. He's not entirely sure what that's about, but she's hardly bad company, so he rarely says no. Nor can he say no, the way she navigates his excuses and attempts to segway the conversation until she catches him in a lapse of hesitation that he can't say no to. Like this coming Sunday.

"What did you have in mind this Sunday, anyway?" Pete asks, drawing back from his thoughts and back to the present.

"Well, everypony is going drinking this Saturday... except a certain somepony." She mentions, turning her attention away from the passing scenery, poking an accusatory hoof towards him.

Pete rolls his eyes.
"Every second Saturday, Cassie goes to her piano lessons, remember? You're the one that got her into them, showing off at that one restaurant we went to." Pete brings up, eliciting a nose-scrunching frown from Sandy.

"I rememberrrrr." Sandy huffs. Hard to forget. Sandy took years of piano in her youth, or her 'fillyhood' as she called it, and couldn't help but spring on the open, empty one sitting in the middle of the cafe they stopped at, accidentally inspiring his daughter with a new hobby. Her whiny tone reminds him why her and Cassie get along so well. "Even it is for a good reason, I suppose a young, vulnerable mare will have to partake in drinks... alone... without her usual chaperone." She drolls on, lifting a hoof to her forehead.

"Yup. Sucks for you, inspiring Cassie and all." Pete snorts, Sandy breaking character at his lack of guilt.

"Yeah, yeah. But you'll go the next time there's an office-wide outing, right? No wiggling out of it. No excuses. No appointments." She says pointedly, hardly asking.

"If it doesn't fall on a Sunday, taking what little free time I've got left... sure." Pete groans, forced to relent. He was getting too old for that shit, but Sandy wasn't going to give it up until he caved.

"Yes! Good. Okay." She stokes the flames of her own triumph with a hoof-pump, though it proves short lived as she speaks up again right after.
"But, uh... small question. Minor one, really. Itty bitty."

Couldn't be anything worse than dragging him out to a party.
"Shoot." Pete prods, glancing over.

"Could I... actually, nevermind."

"Hmm?" Pete frowns.

"Don't worry about it." She waves a hoof, looking out the window.

"Don't do that, Sandy. Just ask it." Pete tsks, already expecting the worst.

"You sure?" She peeks over, as if nervous.

"You asking me for my kidney or something?"

"No! Nothing like that. Wait, would you give me it? Really?"

"Sandy, focus."

"Sorry. Uh... what time is Cassie's piano lessons again?"

"Middle of the day. No, that doesn't mean I have time after. I've got other errands to run."

"Okay, okay. But... I'm trying to word this right. Could... I call you? If I need to?" She asks quietly.

Doesn't take Pete very long to figure out what she's asking really. Young women or young mare, their world's a little different, especially when going out or drinking is involved. He doesn't expect much to come of it though.

"Yeah, don't see why not." Pete nods. "Just text me where you're all going beforehand."

She fidgets until he pulls up the next red light, Pete blinking in surprise as she leans across the seat, wrapping her hooves around his arm.
"Thanks, Pete." She says warmly, humming softly.

"Sandy. Driving." Pete reminds, nodding forward as the light flicks back to green.

"Oop--right, sorry." She quickly clambers back to her seat. "But still. Thanks."

"Sure, sure."

It doesn't take much longer to reach a familiar street, Pete pulling in to park in front of Sandy's apartment complex. Giving him another, not-middle-of-driving hug, she shuts the door behind her, Pete waiting until she's inside before pulling off again.

...

Admittedly, she's only been at it for a couple weeks, but... yeesh. The clangs, bangs and loud thumps of off-tune piano are only warded from Pete's ears by his earbuds, playing his much-preferred, classic rock tunes. Head tilted back, his foot jostles along with the beat, eyes roaming the ceiling as he waits. The waiting room outside the studio Cassie goes to for her lessons was cozy, if a touch small. Another parent sits across at another chair, reading a book, though she looks... a lot snootier, probably here to teach her kid some high-brow, fancy piano, the way she throws snide looks towards Pete. Not like he really cares.

Two hours, every second Saturday. Not enough time to go do something, he'd prefer to just wait it out rather than drive back again or something. He debates on catching a nap, until his pocket vibrates. Brow raised, he rifles it out of his pants, squinting at the screen.

Notification. Text notification. Sandy. Why is she...?

Ah. Riiiiight, the office outing. The little blurb-bubble pops up as Pete opens it, scrolling past their previous conversations, mostly pertaining to meeting times and how-are-you's.

...Now that Pete looks at it, she uses the heart emoji a lot. Hm.

Hey!! Going to Bunko's Bar & Grille! The one off 58th Ave. You sure you're not coming? Won't be as fun without you! Tyler, Miranda, Sprinkle-Berry and Charles are coming too! - Sandy

She won't be the only Pony there, so that's good. Charles and Miranda are pretty good folks too, so he doesn't have much to worry about. Doesn't know this Tyler though. Pete starts typing back, holding his phone at a distance and squinting at it. He needs to do that font-size-increase thing when he remembers to.

At first when they started texting, Pete wondered how a creature with hooves figured out proper grammar when texting. When prompted, she explained she found out about the voice option, and uses it for as absolutely everything that she can. So for the last Christmas, outside of their company's little Secret-Santa, Pete may have gotten her a bluetooth ear-clip thingy that he saw in a commercial to connect with her phone, so she didn't have to worry about rummaging it out first when she wanted to use the voice software-stuff. He hasn't seen her at work without it ever since. Half the time, she brings it with her on their out-of-work outings, too. Pete was pretty proud of that one.

I know the one. Be safe, have fun.

A simple enough reply, but Pete's never been too wordy over text. Nor does he really get into the hyphenations and short-variations of words for speed-texting, but that's --

His phone vibrates again.

Won't have as much fun as I could be having without you! Enjoy piano lessons, and tell Cassie I said hi! <3

Will do.

With that, Pete checks the time, and how much sitting around he's got left to do. It's... Twelve-Thirty, which means another hour and a half. Fun.

What games did he have on this thing... ooh, Tontris.

...

Vrr. Vrr.

Pete snorts awake, squinting at the source of his sudden, rude interruption to his slumber.

What the...? Ugh. What time was it?

Piano lessons, MareDonalds, dinner... put Cassie to bed despite her whining about the lack of Sandy... right. Sandy. Sandy?
His crusty-eyed, still-adjusting bedbound gaze wanders to his end table to the source of his rude awakening. His phone is an unwelcome, harsh beacon of light and nuisance, vibrating loudly against the tabletop.

Pushing himself up and out, he swings his feet over his bed, fumbling for it.

One thirty in the morning. Jesus, Sandy. He squints at the bright light, trying to read.

Two much to spink, need. No phone, to. Too. There we go. Wait, S
Spink. Ha. Need visit. Hi. Forgot to say hi. Hi Pete. Heart. No, the emoticon. Heart. No. Heart. Whatever. Pete is smart, he'll know. Hi Pete.

A long, winding groan slowly wheezes it's way out of Pete's tired, understanding lungs as his hand drags across his face, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

Everything okay, Sandy?

He waits a moment, sighing to himself. He signed up for this.

Yeah! Wait, no. We had fun and I had lots and lots and lots to drink. Oh, only one lots. Wait... too late. Back. Back up. Bungalow.

Pete blinks. After a pause, it keeps doing.

Pete. Nopony left. No. Everypony left, just Sandy now. Can't find my purse. They're closing. Can get me?

Of course.

Please, pretty. Wait, pretty please. Not that you're not pretty. You are. But also please. Bungalow. Heart. The emoticon. Heart. No, the little picture. Stupid phone. Heart. I'm just gonna use... hooves.

With a grunt, Pete pushes himself off the bed, looking for his pants.

■3

That was certainly an attempt.

Before he goes, dressed in something casual and quickly thrown on, he peeks in on Cassie. She's dead asleep in her bed, snuggling one of her fifteen four-legged plushes. Be right back, kiddo.

...

Bunko's... Bunko's... he keeps it slow as he turns into the side-street. Maps said it was somewhere around here, but it's hard to see with only streetlights, glowing signs and his headlights to go by.

Hang on, there's a sign starting with a B and ending with an O's. And just in front of it, there's a familiar looking pony sitting on the curb, waving at him. He stops just beside her, stepping out and around his car.

Yep, Sandy. Her wide smile is accented by a hefty warmth across her cheeks, some of her mascara smeared.

"Petey!" She announces as he nears, lifting her hooves up towards him. The only thing she's got with her, besides the cute sweater-and-skirt outfit she chose to wear for the night, is the phone sat beside her.
"Found me!"

"Sure did, Sandy. Where's the others?"

"Went... to another bar. Asked me to come, but I couldn't. Gotta see you tomorrow! So I'd... call a cab. But I can't find my purse. Then... when I looked for them, can't find others either. Jusssssss me." She rambles, sighing loudly and awkwardly brushing her mane out of her face. Again, and again. It's just not tucking behind her ear, probably because they're laying flat, before remembering he's here, wobbling up to smile at him again.
"And Petey!"

"And Petey. Come on, let's get you home." He leans down, arms out.
"Can you walk?"

"Ha! Nope. No trotting, either! Thassss why I'm sit here!" She announces proudly, raising her hooves out in the universal sign for uppies.

He groans, thankful she only weighs as much as Cassie, hefting her up in his arms while she shouts 'whee!'.

"We'll find your purse tomorrow, for now let's at least get you... home." Pete's words fail him as he realizes.

She just smiles at him.

"Your keys were in your purse, weren't they?"

Her smile widens, before she starts giggling.

...

"Sleeeeeepover!" She half-whispers, finally being quiet after Pete shushed her for the fourth time, carrying her through his front door over his shoulder.

"Better. But be quieter, Cassie is sleeping, and if she finds out you're here, she's never gonna go back to bed." Pete warns, locking up behind himself, awkwardly kicking off his shoes.

She nods vehemently, just excited to be at his house, all souped up on fun-having liquids of the percentile form.

"Now, you'll get my bed, and I'll take the couch. In the morning, we'll go and find your purse." He explains, quietly stepping through the house, master of the sock-stepping.
"And I'll need to get you a barf bowl..."

The moment he manages to lay her in the bed, however, her hooves grab and smush his cheeks together, holding him in place with her weird foot-hoof-holdy magic.
"Mmmm... why's Petey gotta go on the couch?"

"Because you're in my bed, Sandy." He tries prying her hooves off. Damn, strong grip.

"But... we could share." She offers.

That's not that fun, silly-drunk smile she had moments prior.

"Sandy. We're not..."

"I like you, Petey." She blurts suddenly, before stifling a bubbly giggle.

His eyes widen.
"That's... you're drunk, Sandy. Come on, let's get you to sleep."

Instead of that, however, Pete finds a surprisingly soft pair of messy lips pressing against his, as she pulls herself up. It's over as quick as it startled him, Pete left blinking at a mischevious-looking Sandy.
"Nuh-uh. Not yet."

"Sandy... I'm not doing anything with you while you're like this." Pete tries to explain, but Sandy isn't having any of it.

"You. Me. Now, Pete."

"Sandy, not while you've been drinking. It feels... weird." He tries to take the morale road, but Sandy isn't having any of it.

"Are you gonna keep talking, or... can I just suck your dick already?" She leers, pulling him closer, breath hot on his face.

"..."

...

"How's the..." Pete taps his temple with a finger, grinning at the sight of her. Sandy is still among the living, but you wouldn't know it by looking at her. The bags under her eyes could hold groceries, her mane is an absolute mess that Cassie is currently combing through, with the dedication and sheer focus of a career professional. The cost, of course, is numerous bows and random braids tied into her almost platinum hair.

"Horrid. Throbbing. Pain." She mumbles, taking a long sip of her cup of OJ, tugging at the oversized t-shirt that Pete leant her.

"Still want to do something today?" He teases, leaning on the table.

"...Can I just stay here? And not go out? That'd be nice." She mumbles, rubbing her head.

Cassie nods vehemently, very approving of this idea.

"Yeah, why not. By the way... you should check your phone. Think you missed a few texts. And calls." He explains, sliding her phone over to her.

"Oh, nooooo...." Sandy whines in dread, slowly reaching across for it, dragging it back towards her with worry written across her face.

"Cassie, mind getting the toast?" Pete nods towards the kitchen. Cassie nods, hopping up and skipping out if sight.

But when Sandy bumps her phone open with a hoof, there's only a single text sitting in her notifications.

It's from Pete. There's an image attached.

Her eyes widen, revealing a picture of her and Pete, sprawled on the bed, in a very compromising position. A lot of sweat, and a lot of mess. And not a lot of clothes. And a very messed up bed.

And she's the one that took the picture, a red-faced, giggly smile proving her the culprit.

"I did triple-check with you, but you were very persistent." Pete explains, sipping his morning drink. He's dreading this conversation...

Until Sandy practically leaps out of her seat, hopping around, cheering.
"YES! FINALLY!" She shouts.

"...Huh?"

"Pete, petey. Pete. I've been trying to ride you for months, but you do not pick up on flirting. Who knew all I had to do to get in your bed was get drunk?! I should've tried that SO long ago!"

Pete blinks, a blank stare taking him as Sandy kisses his cheek, grinning.
"So, I guess Sunday's are gonna be for our dates now, right?"

"...Yeah, sure. Sounds good to me." Pete shakes his head, smiling.

Oct 6th - Barista Mare

Fillydelphia, Equestria | Hoofborn Brew, A Coffee Shop Across The Street From His Personal Hell

"You are too good to me." He sighs wistfully as she rounds the counter, approaching with his tray.

"Marcus, please -- It's just coffee!" Lavender Springs tries to retort his compliments with laughter, waving him away with a manicured hoof.

"I really ought to take you away from all this, and treat you as you deserve, you angel in disguise." He continues, catching and tenderly holding her raised limb. He'd even kiss it with what she does for him.

"You're buttering me up more than your bagel, Marcus. Hush up and eat, will you? I can't be blushing while I take orders, and it's not going to stop until that mouth of yours has done so too!" She digresses, setting his plate down in front of him, the light-purple wisp tinging the air around it dissipating at plate meets table.

"Life would not be worth living without you, Lavvy." He relents, turning his attention to his meal, though his eyes still yet wish to linger. It may yet be a simple creation, but it means the world to him.

"Snnrrk--Lavvy." She snorts, rolling her eyes as she trots back behind the counter. While she might ham up her reactions, the way she keeps glancing at him tells him she doesn't mind.

Even as Marcus finally relents and digs into the delectbable, simple dish that she's brought forth to him, his eyes can hardly leave her. Nor hers to his, glancing his way even as she leans against the counter again, a customer pony stepping forward, tapping their chin and humming as they try to decide.

Gods, Alicorns, Spirits or whatever floats your fucking boat, look at her. Like an angel given blue-furred form, here to bless his miserable day with a caffeinated ambrosia. It was the only thing that spared him from the considerations of throwing himself off the highest building in the city.

Marcus came from a prestigious line of French culinary chefs. A real thoroughbred, a chef like his foremothers and forefathers. His entire family only knew cooking, at a supreme and absolute quality. Gourmet. Prestige. So, obviously, Marcus would follow in their footsteps. And he did, attending some seriously top-brow schooling and courses, facing apprenticeship under harsh tutors, and striving through the adversity to arise an equal among his ancestors.

But ambition would not stop him there. When Equestria and Earth found enough of a common pathway, the idea of astounding an alien world with the culinary delights of Earth sung to him. He was one of the first to spring on a recently-established work program that would interchange Humans to Equus, and Ponies to Earth, to supply the job force and step towards creating natural immigration. While he had to move from France, this would hardly prove an obstacle for one of his determination. Of course, Marcus swept himself into a spot without any issue, securing a career that would launch himself forward into the annals of history. One of the first interplanetary chefs, ready to wow the pony with Earthen dishes, and curate new ones borne of Equine ingredients.

There was only one singular, small, insignificant hurdle that had the very slight effect of catastrophically sending his health, life and mental state utterly spiraling into the proverbial shitter.

Marcus had expected to be hired on as a personal chef. After all, a world where royalty and nobility still exists, where yet even magical creatures stood above even them? It was an absolute assurance he would land himself in the highest echelon, the top of the top. He had so much confidence in this, that he spent every penny to his name investing into this future. And where did he wind up getting hired, with a lifetime of investment?

Hayburger.

Wearing an apron. Holding a spatula. Standing in the back of a fast-food kitchen. Listening to a teenage pony with a squeaky voice explain to him how to make a 'burger' out of a processed hay-patty, while deep-frying potatoes slices, all sprinkled with an even more egregious amount of salt than anything he'd seen back on Earth.

He was a fucking frycook. It didn't even make sense.

It's hay. It's not even a meat-patty, it's just their usual meals dressed up to feel like a disassociated fast-food experience. They have regular restaurants, even fancy places. He listed EVERYTHING in his resume and left absolutely nothing out, yet he wound up here of all places. He was expecting some lucrative position in Canterlot, not working out the back of some greasy highschool-job smack in the middle of some rip-off of Philadelphia. Marcus can't even get out of it, the contract that he signed to even get over to Equus on this program locking him to this job for another five years.

Five years of this demeaning, gut-wrenching work.

His ambitions dashed, his goals crushed, dreams smashed, Marcus was at risk of absolutely spiraling into an absolute descent of depression. Only one thing kept him from spinning out of control as his entire life shifted for the worse.

A little coffee-shop directly across the street that he found in his fervent, dissociative lunch-break wandering in the area, unable to spend another moment behind those stoves than he had to. The coffee wasn't anything special. The food was everything you'd expect from a place like it.

But thanks to a single, beautiful soul, it became his beacon of hope in this grim, miserable city that harrowed against his very being. He sighs, watching her work so dutifully at her station. He'd been swept away by her when she first approached him, sweeping him out of his funk. A beacon of optimism and the most enrapturing laughter that felt like his very soul was lifting away. How could he not visit each day, the way she smiles, the way she looks at him.

He sighs wistfully, half a bagel in hand, watching her as she works.

Truly, an angel.

...

The Hayburger, quiet in the late night as it prepares to close, hosts only a pair of souls in the back. The silence is broken by one of it's constant arguments, as creative differences are confronted. Mostly between the fry cook, Marcus, and the manager, Periwinkle Posture.

"Marcus, we can't order gold flakes. Or caviar. What even is caviar?" Periwinkle blinks slowly, looking up from the list that he was handed.

"Then get me a shredder, and a handful of bits, and I'll make it myself!" He objects, rummaging through one of the drawers.

"We're not putting bits in the burgers, Marcus. That's not hygienic, no matter how fancy it is. And what's caviar?" Periwinkle taps the list, still confused.

"This place is mundane! There's no exploration, no trying, no experimentation!" Marcus throws his arms up, frustrated.

"Of course not, Marcus. We're a Hayburger. Ponies come here for Hayburgers. Seriously, though, what is caviar?!" Periwinkle's tone raises as Marcus' does, still just entirely confused. Marcus does this now and then, and while he's good enough at making the food, his little outbursts had gotten old weeks ago.

"It's --" Marcus spins around, pointing a spatula, right as the door opens, distracting them both.

The door jingles open. Marcus' eye-roll is stopped partway as he recognizes the figure that steps through the front doors.

"Apologies, Ma'am, but we're about to -" Periwinkle starts, but Marcus slips right past him.

"Lavvy!" Marcus tosses his spatula aside, nearly leaping the counter to meet her. "An angelic vision has come to greet me!"

"Ah. Her." Perwinkle tsks, shaking his head.

"Oh, stop it, Marcus. You ready to go?" Lavender laughs, shifting the saddlebag slung over her back, still in her uniform.

"Of course." He states simply, tugging a string on his apron. In a deft pull, it slips right off him, getting folded around his arm.

"Marcus, have you cleaned--" Perwinkle goes to call out, but the answer already flies back.

"Obviously! Goodnight, Periwinkle. We will resume the conversation tomorrow!" Marcus announces, before leaning down to Lavender Springs.
"I would take your hoof in my arm, if it might not be uncomfortable for you. I'm afraid we must settle for me offering to take your bag, and my company. Will that suffice?"

"Yes, yes it will suffice, Marcus. You do this every time. You know it suffices." She scoffs, already turning away.

"Perhaps I simply enjoy hearing your response? Your voice is a song I shall never grow tired of hearing." He continues, unrelenting in his adoration.

"Oh my-- okay." Lavender snorts behind her hoof, opening the door. "I'm going to start walking, so we don't subject your boss to your ballads."

By the time Perwinkle glances out of the back, they're already gone, the door shut. He sighs, wiping a hoof across the counter. Spotless. At least for all his whining, he actually did a decent job. But seriously, what was caviar?

...

"Thanks for walking me home, by way." Lavvy glances up, bumping his leg with her hip. The Fillydelphian streets are quiet, with street-lamps offering candlelit light to guide the late-nighters home, lit only moments earlier by the lamplighters. The city was almost eerily human, odd in that it's streets were only wide enough for pony and wagon, no cars or such to be seen. But truly, Marcus had acclimatized to such an environment. Walking was a good daily exercise for the body.

"As you thank me every time, Lavvy, I'm more than happy to do so." He half-bows, smiling.

"Perhaps I enjoy hearing your voice, Marcus. Have you ever thought of that?" She turns it around on him, raising a brow.

"The thought had never crossed my mind. Truly?" He gasps, exaggerating his reaction only a touch. The hand to his chest really sells it.

"Pff. Seriously though, Marcus. You seem to be doing a lot better recently. How are things at the Hayburger?"

"As dreadful as ever, I'm afraid. My ideas remain spurned, and I find myself trapped for yet another two years. If you were not here to ease my burden... I fear without you, I may have regressed to a primitive mental state long ago." He explains, embellishing with a long-winded sigh, hand to his head.

She barely stifles a laugh at his dramatics, smiling as she looks up at him.
"And what will you do when your two years are up? Go back to Earth?"

"Why ever would you suggest such a course? I'd remain here, of course." He states, as if he didn't decry how terrible the city was at each possible opportunity.

"You really don't like it around here, Marcus. You've made that pretty clear. Why would you stay?" She slows, glancing up at him with confusion.

"True, but I'm certain there is maneuverability in the region. Though not obvious, this city still holds those with a desire for fine dining. Plus, how ever could I leave behind your encapsulating visage? I scoff at the thought." And he does scoff, to further prove the point.

"You can't just stick around a place you don't like just for me, Marcus." She rolls her eyes, though the way she hides her face to veil the blush on her face makes her true belief a little more clear.

"Of course I can. How could I not? You're the best thing to exist within this city, and I'll accept no other opinions on the matter." He proclaims, waving a finger in the air with conniption.
"And what of you? You still yet dream of higher education?"

"College, when I can afford it. Until then, things aren't too bad around here. I have you to thank for that, I suppose. My mornings are a lot cheerier when you're barging in to wish me a good day." She admits, humming softly as she looks up at him.

"I'll gladly host you, as I've offered before. You know I've got far more Bits then I need at this point." Marcus adds, but Lavender declines with another pointed, but amused laugh.

"Yes, you've told me how your program showers you in far more than you need, but I'm alright. If you insist, I'll remain content with those treats you bring me every odd day."

"Very well... but the offer is always standing." He assures, the pair sharing a warm smile as they reach the outside of a small above, nestled along a few others to form a little mid-city suburb block. Lavender Spring's home, and their stop for the late evening. It's a cute place, afforded through hard work and a mixture of well-timed looking that matches her optimistic ideals, with how batches of flowers pepper any open step. Admittedly, a few are missing some with some suspiciously bite-shaped marks, but such is the risk you run when you grow flowers within reach of the sidewalk.

"So..." Lavender slows, pausing by her door.

"I wish you--" Marcus goes to flourish, but a loud cough interrupts him.

"...Coming in for a quick cup before you go? I can't have you getting cold on your way home." She offers, her eyes betraying the true meaning of her statement.

"Absolutely." Marcus immediately folds, Lavender smiling as she leads him inside.

Author's Note

Quick one today, taking it easy as week 2 swings in

Oct 7th - Snowpony Mare

Somewhere deep in the Crystal Kingdom's Snowlands, or Even Further North | A Short Distance From The Frozen Lake

Bundled up head to toe in every single fuzzy layer that he brought with him, Saemus slowly trudges out of his tent, swearing under his breath as the wind nips at his eyes, having forgotten to slip his goggles down off his forehead. It's quickly remedied, but still, he squints through the unwelcome slip of frigid morning air. The snow all around was fresh and fluffy, a reminder of the heavy blanket that was laid during the night. He hoped a storm wasn't on the rise, with just how much it'd been snowing as of late.

Nestled between a fallen tree and a ditch that he spent an hour digging last week, his current little encampment was probably where he'd be spending the next two weeks or so. Thickly gloved hands rub together for warmth, Saemus trudging in a vague circle to double-check his temporary setup. Lines were secured and hammered deep into the ground, now buried under last night's heavy snowfall, all keeping his sizable and multi-lined camping tent secured and rigid against the elements. Wind rolled up and over it's tree-hugged shape, so he shouldn't worry about it getting knocked over or blown away while he's gone, and his survival gear inside should remain untouched.

Wild animals wouldn't be much of an issue out here, if he recalls what the Crystal Ponies told him before he left. Well, between them calling him crazy.

Saemus has always had a tendency towards the wilds, the quiet wastes that exist outside the leylines of society, spending years as an ecologist back on Earth. So, when a portal to another world cracks open, and they start allowing people to go through? Of course he's going to spring on a chance to catalogue foreign ecologies. While the ponies had their own collections and writings about these kind of things, their culture, taboo fear of the unusual and technological state lead those accounts to being more rumor, gossip and old stories than any actually well-documentated findings.

So, Saemus set out to do what he does best, which is fuck a mile off from civilization for a few weeks, take records and samples, go home to log them, and repeat. But he wouldn't settle for just any old environment.

The Crystal Empire, an adjacent and friendly nation to the Equestria that he traveled unto, was surrounded by vast expanses, sheer swathes, of long unexplored wilderness. What was considered inhospitable to a pony, even one that seemed to sparkle and be made of glass, was no match for human invention and drive. With little competition, Saemus' promise to catalogue the wilds they feared for so long drew some level of interest, which may have included a research grant from the crown. Not what he expected, but he'd hardly say no to funding.

Never met said crown, but their dignitary was nice enough.

But enough reminiscing. Saemus pats himself down, doucle-checking himself for all the tools he'd need for the day. Since most of his food was pre-packed and stored for long-term consumption, what he kept in his insulated bag was a variety of scientific measurement tools and means of recording findings. Today's route would take him by the frozen lake for another testing of it's waters, and a quick loop around his capture traps that he's laid through the forest that encircles the lake. He's even got a few set up in a hole in the ice he cut out himself, his hands still sore from hand-drilling it out days prior. The ice was more than a foot thick, which made sense, considering the entire region was buried in an eternal, perpetual winter. But damn if it didn't take forever to get through.

He'd already gotten samples of the trees, bark, their eerily slimy sap, so his focus now lay on the waters and what may live within said forest. Assured in that he hadn't forgotten anything, Saemus adjusts his goggles, and starts trudging through the knee-deep snow with heavy steps, keeping his breathing at a steady pace.

...

"And with that..." Saemus tightens the lid to a small, plastic tube, shaking it around. Water sample for the day collected, and he can scour it for micro-organisms and the like when he gets back to the Empire. They should've delivered the tools he ordered by then, if they didn't get held up by portal customs. He had plans to make himself a little laboratory that he could pour over his findings, perhaps even get a sterile environment. Now, for the other task.

Rummaging through his pack, Saemus finds an aluminum pole. Like he'll he was getting his hands in there to find them. Poking the button and flicking it out, it rapidly extends, clacking yo a stop after stretching out by several feet. With a few twists, it's secured.

The frigid water slowly swishes and schlops around, the top of it more like a slurry than a proper liquid surface. All that work, and he barely had a hole large enough to squeeze a trap or two into it, pinned topside by a few anchors he hammered in.

Knees against the ice, Shaemus is knelt over the hole in the large, sweeping lake he's in the near center of. The snow-blanketed forest that surrounds the entire landscape feels distant and empty, only the drifting wind for company. Well, that and the earbuds keeping him from becoming subsumed by the monotony of his task. He loved his work, sure, but sitting huddled over an ice-hole with an extending hook-pole, fishing around blindly for one of his two collapsible cages was hardly stimulating. While Saemus might not look it, he's got a weakness for the genre known as 'white girl music', leaving him to rely on the odd glance around himself to ensure he properly remains alone, catchy pop songs from years prior playing in his ears. Not like there was much activity from anything but the hardiest plants rustling about in the wind, caution would still prove his friend. He didn't know anything that was properly out here, nor did he want to miss the chance to be the first to capture proof of existence.

His rod bumps something, catching his attention. There it is. While he's not trying to build up his own excitement, he can't help but let curiosity tickle the mind, the wonders of what creature, tinged with magic, might rest below this frozen barrier. With a tug, the half-broken chunks of slush part, Saemus slowly heft out a foot-length, half-a-foot wide trap, made for catching aquatic species, where unlike his surface traps, sturdy plastic walls offered full containment alongside visibility. They weren't cheap, but they were invaluable. He sets it on the ice behind himself, peering inside.

There's a fish.

He's actually got a fucking fish.

"YES!" Saemus shouts, leaping to his feet -- he nearly slips on the ice, quickly wobbling with his arms splayed out, legs wide to rebalance himself until he's steady. But he's still smiling. That's the first living fauna he's actually managed to bag while he's been here. But better than just that, it's veritable proof that fauna does reside within these plains of snow and ice. That there's an ecosystem beyond just the sturdiest flora.

Of course, he has no way to measure the magical side of these creatures yet, but that's fine. This isn't the kind of thing you solve in a single trip. This kind of thing? Saemus could make a lifelong career out of it, cataloging the lands past the Crystal Empire that none of the ponies dared venture. Like the Earth explorers of old.

He almost entirely lays down on the ice, stomach to the cold ground buffered only by his bulky clothes, hands gripping the side of the trap as he stares inside, watching his sole captee.

He'd made a guess on the bait, taking a portion from his own rations and tucking it inside, but it looks like even Equestrian -- no, Equus fish have similar dietary habits. Still laid out on the ice, he rustled out his phone from his jacket pocket. It's a cumbersome effort, and the phone serves little purpose now beyond recording his findings with it's complete lack of service. A few battery packs tucked back at camp ensures he still has access to his notes, and a little stylus he plucks from it's side ensures he can still type with his thick gloves.

He had a pen and notepad if things took a turn for the worst, but still. Convenience. Well, and his music of course. Can't work without tunes, now can he?

"Subject has... very pronounced scales." Saemus slowly taps out, watching the curious creature slowly bump into the plastic walls. It looked almost like something from earth, perhaps a salmon, though it's size was closer to half a foot in length. The scales that ridged it's body were far larger and pronounced, almost the size of his nails. It was a deep, muddy brown, with almost translucent fins. If it was beheld to any magic that allowed it to survive out here, it was subtle. Other than a few oddities, it just looked like a fish. Not terribly surprising, but still.

"I'll have to check if its description matches anything previously recorded, before I go naming things and trying to claim myself as first finder..." Saemus mumbles to himself, slowly tapping out his findings into his notes document. It's a slow process, but he's got time.

The moment he finishes his last thought, he quickly glances up, making a half-assed glance at his surroundings to ensure he was still... alone.

Saemus drops his phone and stylus, slowly pushing himself up with his arms, back to his knees.

He's not alone.

There's a... pony, far, far on the other side of the lake, standing between the trees. A pony wouldn't be cause for alarm, it's their planet after all... if it was anywhere but here.

He was told that nopony lives out this far, that the Crystal Empire was the furthest Northern bastion of pony civilization. And yet, impossibly, there one stands.

How?

Pushing himself up to his feet, Saemus steadies himself on the ice, raising and waving an arm. Their people's expressions typically aligned culturally, even between hooves and hands. They might not wave back, sure, but he could at least say hello. Maybe they were one of those Crystal ponies and had gotten lost?

Even this far from the other, spanning near the full lake, he can see the silhouette shift as their ears flicking. They've acknowledged his greeting.

But they don't wave back.

Instead, they look around...

... And begin trotting towards him.

Saemus remains still, quickly looking himself over and brushing the mixture of chipped ice and packed snow from his jacket, trying to look at least a little more presentable. Oh, right, his music. He quickly crouches down, awkwardly pawing at the ice to scrape his phone and stylus off the flat, frozen sheet, a task made comically difficult by the sheer size of the gloves protecting his hands.

By the time he manages to tap his music to pause, he can already hear the soft clop of hooves on the ice, reverberating ever so softly. The moment Saemus looks up, they're... no, according to the anatomy he's come to recognize from their species, she is already pausing a few feet away from him, opposite his ice-hole and occupied trap.

Certainly not a Crystal Pony, lacking in their iconic, and often eye-bothering sparkle and glint. This one had fur, like most. Unlike most, she had... a lot of fur. Thickly-coated, more than he'd ever seen in his travels northward. The existence of a species properly acclimated for colder weather made sense, but the actual idea had slipped from him when he found that said Ponies were made of Crystal, instead. Or at least shined like it. The distinction was still lost on him.

A stark, black mane sweeps over a surprising amount of herself, likely not cut in some time. Perhaps another means of keeping warm, amidst the sheer abundance of sandy, or more likely tan colored fur. It looked particularly thick around the edges of her hooves, and her chest, though she seemed a larger appearance from sheer fur-percentage alone. Brilliant blue eyes meet his stare, a slightly-parted set of lips looking like they're on the verge of uttering something, though they never do.

Her expression is guarded, though a curiosity undoubtedly peers through her furrowed, suspicious expression. She even seems confused, looking the whole of him over several times. Though she says nothing, her ears speak the volumes that her words do not. Flicking, twitching, tilting, all while she makes minute head-motions, as curious of him as he is to her.

"Didn't expect to see any ponies out here. Saemus." He goes to offer, outstretching a hand to the stranger.

She flinches back at his sudden extension, nose twitching. She glances between him, and his hand, before inching forward, stretching her neck to sniff his glove.

Other ponies had shaken his hand with their hoof before. Was this... he didn't want to assume simple, but perhaps a more feral species of pony, borne of a wilder civilization? He, of course, allows whatever approach of investigation she deems worthwhile to herself, though it ends shortly, seemingly content following taking in his scent.

She glances down at the trap, tilting her head curiously.

"Ah. Do you know what species of fish this is?" Saemus quickly follows, kneeling down beside it, gesturing to it's occupant, who floats around primarily unbothered. No answer, but while he's not expecting one, it would still do well to retain some mutual respect. If offered, it is more likely to be returned.

Her hoof paws at the cage, glancing up at him.

Perhaps she can't see it that well, or she's curious as to the contraption itself? There is a lid on the top, for easier access to the creature within. It takes a bit of fiddling with his glove on, but after a moment, the clasp pops open, revealing the inside of the trap to the open air.
"This is a trap. Non-lethal, only meant for capture, so that I can study..."

And the moment he does, her face is suddenly submerged in the water, face inside the trap.

Saemus blinks, at a loss for words.

After a short, splashing pause, her head pulls free, entirely unbothered by the frigid water of the trap she just dunked her face into -- with the fish firmly held between her teeth. She shakes her head, flicking water from her mane. The fish slaps in her maw, but isn't going anywhere, anytime soon.

She blinks back at him, turning in place, trotting back the way she came. Saemus can only stare at the stranegr who just came along, took his catch, and is now happily exiting with the fish he intended to tag and return to the lake. He tsks, watching as she effortlessly crosses the ice without a single issue, nary a single slip.

... Well, he'll still consider it a win. He just found out that at the least, these wilds are inhabited by a sole individual who doesn't share a genome with the other species that he's seen. At the most? There might be an entire, unknown, forgotten society out here. Ponies who aren't bothered by the frigid cold.

Time to check his other traps. Can't go skimping on his other research just because of a single discovery, no matter quite how jarring it might be.

...

"Not very vocal, are ya?" Saemus greets her again, knelt in front of his ice-hole. Part of it had frozen over during the night, so he's chipping away at it, sweating himself into a swampy mess under all his layers. Still, needed to be done. Water to swab, traps to check, and so on.

It's been three days since their initial meeting, and she's apparently gone ahead and learned his routine. Trailing after him as he makes his rounds, watching him with a mixture of curiosity and expectation. Especially whenever it gets to the lake. Not as interested in his other, above-ground traps for small game to tag (which have, unfortunately, still gone dry) her eyes widen whenever he fishes out one of his cages. He hasn't had any luck in catching any fish, and she usually wanders off by the time his trench-hidden tent comes into view.

Most surprising was the ease that she followed him around. Ice nor snow seemed to slow her, no matter how slippery or how deep the snow got, easily cresting atop it. Saemus' curiosity was getting the better of him, wanting to know more about this odd creature.

"That's alright, I appreciate the company." Saemus grunts, rummaging around the water with his hooked rod the moment he's gotten enough of the hole clear again. He's getting better at finding the traps as they float below the surface, hefting up another one.

She steps forward.

"Ah-ah. Hold on." Saemus holds up a hand, blocking her approach. She tilts her head, confused. There's a fish inside, and Saemus wants dibs. It's nothing special, looking like the first one he caught that she paraded off with, but he's got to check it either way.

To her credit, she takes a seat on the icy ground, watching him as he produces his phone. Mumbling to himself, tapping in an entry about it's features, details, and trying to find any dimorphism to prove a gender at a glance. No luck. It looks like an almost carbon-copy of the one he'd first found.

He really wants to tag it. But, a glance at the patiently waiting pony relents his plans. There's more fish, likely, but there's not many ponies running around, nor staying so close.

"You want this one too?" He asks, gesturing to the cage, and the lone fishing swimming in circles on it's inside.

She nods, glancing down at it in anticipation.

His eyes widen.
"You understand me?" He points to his own chest. The question confuses her, raising a brow.

"...Yes?" She states simply, like the question was ridiculous. Honestly, she seems more disinterested in continuing the conversation, and would much prefer the fish as soon as possible.

That was like a flashbang to his mental capacities. An overload to his expectations.

"So you can speak!" Saemus announces, nearly jumping upwards. She flinches back at his sudden loudness.

"... Not unless I have to." Her tone is dry, and unenthused.

"Sorry. I'm Saemus." He offers again.

"Yes, I remember." She nods.

"And... you are?" Saemus tries to lead, gesturing towards her.

Her lips purse, looking at the fish, weighing answers to the worth of the creature within it's holds. Apparently, the fish is worth a surprising amount of tolerance.

"... Deepest Drifts." She eventually relents.

Now she's staring at the fish, only side-eyeing him every few moments, deeming her answer worthy of the prize within the metal and plastic container.

And you know what? Fair enough. The moment he pops the lid of it again, her face is in the trap, teeth deftly grabbing the fish from it's confines.

Cheek-fur dripping with water and mouth holding her prize, she blinks at him again, before trotting off the way she always goes, into the distance past the lake. Maybe he'll follow her one day, though he can't just leave all of his gear sitting around like this, and he's only packed for a short excursion.

Part of him is getting a little worried, pushing himself to his feet. The weather is getting worse, indicative of a coming storm, though he's no clue when. Soon for sure. Though maybe she's more acclimated to surviving them then he ever will be. Saemus shrugs, returning to his task of rummaging out the second cage, hoping she's left him with something he can actually tag and return to the waters.

...

"Hold on, hold on," He blocks her again. Nearly a full week of this now, and it's practically routine. She's not terribly keen on answering his questions, mostly just following him out of curiosity, or shrugging when he asks things. While Saemus has had much better luck in actually catching fish in his traps, the only downside is Deepest Drifts penchant for wanting every single one. And while he's alright with handing off the treat, Saemus is getting a little tired of doing so for free.
"I have conditions with this one."

That seems to catch her off guard, looking at him curiously.
"What would they be?"

"Knowledge. I'm catching these for research, and I'm missing out by giving these catches to you. I'm alright with doing so, but I'd like something in return. I would like... to research you."

"Research me? How?" Her hooves knead the ice, impatient.

"I'd like to ask you questions, and to record your physical traits. In exchange, you can have the fish I catch." Saemus explains.

"...Fine. What does this entail?" Deepest Drifts folds, surprisingly quickly.

"Well..." Saemus tsks, glancing back towards his camp.

...

She was startled when he 'took off his fur' as she described it, but he wasn't about to sit out in the cold when they had the opportunity to take their time. She'd never gotten this close to his camp, but his tent had enough room for the both of them. It helped her understand how he was surviving out here, the two sat across from the other, sheltered from the elements. Hesitant to climb inside, she eventually warmed up to how warm it actually was, Saemus setting his stove on to add some heat to their meeting. Beside them and Saemus' pile of clothes, was not only one fish, but two. A milestone in his catching rate, and he would capitalize on it.

Deepest Drifts clearly wants the fish, glancing at them repeatedly, but she's willing to uphold the deal, waiting patiently.
"So? Now what?"

Phone and stylus ready, Saemus clears his throat.
"May I see your hoof?"

"My hoof? Alright..." She offers her front limb forward, watching as he reaches for it.

"...This is strange." She mumbles quietly, watching the movements of his hand with suspicion. Slowly, his fingers trace around her hoof, checking the state of it the toughness, the odd tingle it seems to emanate when he holds it. Tilting it upwards ever so slightly, his fingers splay out across the bottom of it, feeling the stark difference in the 'frog' compared to the rest of the hoof, and how it feels so strangely... soft? One wouldn't expect that from something designed to protect them from the ground as they travel, but Saemus has read accounts of hoof-manipulation, and her tendency to walk overtop snow might play into the design of it as well.

"...Mm..." She hums softly, leaning closer to inspect his touch.

"I'm not hurting you, am I?" Saemus asks, confused, although relieved when she shakes her head.

"No. It feels... odd. What are you touching my hooves with?" She asks, Saemus more than delighted to return her own interest and questions.

"My hands. Fingers. They're my 'hooves' I suppose." He tries to explain, but she seems only more curious still.

"And what are you?"

"Human. Have you not seen any of us before?"

She shakes her head.
"We see very little. Few tread this far north. How can you handle the cold. This... fake fur you wear?"

"Yes. My species doesn't have fur, and we lose body heat easily, so we bundle up in clothing. Layers."

"Then why are you here, if you're not made for this weather?" She seems concerned, like he's a fool for treading to such a clearly dangerous region.

"Research, like I said. The ponies of neighboring regions know very little of these areas, so I'm learning as much as I can about them. Which, at this time, includes you." He pats her hoof, letting her go.

"Me?" She questions, still holding her hoof in the air for a few more seconds, before setting it down.

He nods.
"The Ponies I know don't like to eat animals. Yet you seem quite content with fish. Why is that?"

"They're... good food?" She responds, confused by the answer.

Well, before he tries to ask anything else, Saemus finally offers one of the fish, which she readily and excitedly takes. Considering their position, and with another fish on the line, she decides to eat it here, in front of him. It's an interesting method, holding it with her hooves as she lays down, using her hoof to scrape the scapes, her teeth to rend the head, and just... eats it. Raw.

The smell of fish might permeate his tent for the foreseeable future, but everything is written down, and considered worthwhile. By the time she finishes eating, she's about to clean herself of the blood, before Saemus cuts in.

"May I?" He gestures towards her, his curiosity abound.

"....Okay?" She responds with confusion, unsure of his intentions as his hands get closer. This time, to her face, still marred with the meal she ate only a second prior.

Lifting her lip, his thumb traces along her teeth, tracing her gums as her jaw holds open, tongue unsure where it should go as his fingers invade her mouth. Fresh flesh and blood still stains her cheeks, fur and teeth, but Saemus could hardly care, so deeply curious about the formation of her mouth. Deepest Drifts seems surprised and wordless at the sudden approach, remaining surprisingly still as he explores overtop her tongue, tenderly pulling on it slightly, leaning to look at the roof of her mouth.
"You are a fascinating creature. What else do you eat?"

"Umh... fith, mith... berrieth." She tries to explain, even with Saemus' fingers in her mouth.

"Ah, sorry. Shouldn'y be asking you questions while I'm..." He quickly removes himself, Deepest Drifts smacking her lips, squinting. She begins licking at her own fur, wetting her hooves to rub at her face and cheeks, cleaning herself. Saemus takes the moment to allow her some privacy, focusing on his notes and updating his findings on her omnivorous patterns.

Outside the tent, the wind begins to pick up, the walls of the camp rustling as the force increases. Deepest Drift's ears perk up, frowning, distracting her from her cleaning. They both shuffle towards the flap of the tent, Saemus unzipping it to look outside. Or, trying to, before the wind that whips into the small opening he creates incites him to instead quickly zip it back shut, Deepest Drift frowning at the snow that manages to slip it's way inside.

"It picked up faster than I anticipated. Or I stayed longer then I expected." Deepest Drifts sighs, fur starting to fluff as she braces herself for the harsh winds.

"You should probably stay here then, and wait out the storm. Here, I've got a sleeping bag we can share... do your kind huddle for warmth?" Saemus cuts in, rustling out his supplies from the corner.

"Uh... we do, but..." Deepest Drift mumbles, watching him. She looks down at the floor, fidgeting with a hoof.

"As do mine, with our lack of fur, we'll often share a sleeping area in harsher climates. If you want to leave, I won't hold you, obviously, but you're more than welcome here." Saemus continues, prepping for a few long, cold hours.

And to his surprise, it seems he'll do so with company. Despite her earlier flightiness, she tentatively steps towards the bedding he's laying out, looking at him for instruction. Before long, they're both slipped into a partially unzipped sleeping bag, buried under his jackets, spare blankets, and whatever else as they remain huddled away. Tucked in the dug-out snow, with a tree to block wind, they've whistling winds to listen to, and only the others company, slightly damp fur to his skin.

She takes an interest in his phone when he sets it up for music, giving them some peace from the winds and snow that assail the tent walls, though none gets through.

Despite her earlier hesitation, she's practically glued to his chest, apparently very surprised by just how warm he actually was, expressing some level of concern for just how much heat he exudes without fur, busy fearing for his safety in the storm despite his attempts to assure her.

After some time, her head lifts from his chest.
"...You said you wish to learn more about us? About... me?"

"I would, yes. Though I'll need to head back soon, I'm running low on supplies. But this storm... I doubt returning will be easy." Saemus sighs, not looking forward to ending this excursion. Both on giving up such a surprising bounty of discovery, and the misery involved in trying to get back during this kind of weather.

"I could take you to my tribe, then." Deepest Drift offers, shifting to look at him. "It would only be right, after your proposal."

"Your tribe? That would be... wait. Proposal?" Saemus blinks, the excitement of hearing such a revelation instantly side-lined by the rest of her words.

"We are a simple pony-kind, Saemus." She starts, saying his name for the first time.
"You've invited me to your home, fed me, sheltered me from the elements, and we've... embraced, so to say. By all accounts, these actions are proof that one might express an interest in me. So you should meet my family, at the least. When the storm lulls, I will guide you to my tribes current encampment, and we will wait out the rest of the storm there. There, it will be my turn to return the favor, and the care. Do you like fish?" Deepest Drifts explains, pressing a hoof to his chest. She's very... blunt, about such a statement, before turning it into a question, blinking at him. Compared to how she used to look at him, her expression has seriously softened, blinking slowly at him, though no smile finds it's way on her face. Doesn't seem like much of a smiler, or very expressive.

... It would be a prime opportunity to research an entire tribe of her kind. And a relationship with one of her kind would be a huge step forward in numerous fields.

Very well. For science, or... something.

Or maybe just for this tan-furred pony, who seems deeply intent on wrapping as much of herself around his torso as she can manage.

Oct 8th - Breadwinner Mare

Brunklesbourge, U.S.A | Reedhouse Complex, 6th Floor, Apartment 623

The paced, rhythmic sounds of a knife thudding down on a cutting board are drowned out by the television loudly playing in the background, some daily show serving as white noise while Lyonel focused on the task at hand. Dinner, in the form of pony-friendly vegetable spring rolls, getting the last of ingredients ready before it's time to bundle them up, and send them to the oven. Her diet wasn't too hard to work around, mostly just making sure she's getting a varied pack of whatever she needs, and... hay. Hay was the only weird one. Fresh bundles of the stuff weren't often readily available, and he wasn't even that sure of what to do with it. They sold processed bricks of the stuff you could cook with, but for the most part, it really wasn't that complex.

Lyonel sighs loudly, wiping his forehead with his sleeve as he pauses for a quick break. He's making good time, and since she usually doesn't like to eat quite right away, it should be ready once she's had time to shower and get comfortable. Thanks to her, they can comfortably afford this place, nestled deep in the city nice and close to her work.

The door slams shut with a heaping hoof-full of kicky back-hoof, her hooves on the wood flooring announcing her arrival. Well, the door already did, but God he loved those little clicks on the floor and how they'd slowly get closer.

"Honey, you will not believe this asshole at work!" He hears, her jacket getting slung onto the couch, her purse joining it a moment later before she slips into the kitchen with him, watching from the doorway. Her raven mane is a barely contained mess, the tight, well-handled ponytail he set up for her this morning now completely undone as it sweeps down past her neck, several bangs obtrusive in their facial presence.
"Guy starts asking about our premium packages, right? Like I didn't just spend the last hour talking to him about the other fourteen that we offer. And --" She stops, leaning through the kitchen doorway.
"Are those spring rolls? Oh, buck yes! You're too good to me, Lynnie." She hums in contentment, pressing up against his leg as she looks up at him. A little on the shorter side for a pony, she presses against his thigh, cheek smushing against his pants.

He reaches down, palm to her cheek as he smiles down at her, meeting her loving gaze. Words don't even find their way out of him, simply enjoying taking in her visage. It didn't feel like home until she got back.

"You... didn't happen to get sugarcubes too, did you?" She asks slowly, a playful smile slipping onto her face, creasing her pale-furred cheeks.

"Maybe. Those are for after dinner, though. I'll have these in the oven soon... and maybe I'll get a cube or two for you while you wait." Lyonel gives her cheek a squish, squatting down to kiss her forehead before resuming his cutting. She pouts about it, but the giddiness of the promise of a treat still has her excitedly hoof-tap out of the kitchen, off to the room to get undressed and into something more comfortable. Namely, her fur.
"What were you saying before?" He calls after her, wrapping the last few of the rolls, setting them out piece by piece on the tray.

"Oh, this guy, just kept going in circles!" Lyonel hears her call back, as he settles into listening to her recount the days efforts and bullshits. She worked in retail as part of the managerial branch of one of the local grocery stores. Also where Lyonel shops thanks to the family discount, but her position often put her directly into the path of conflict, meaning she always had some kind of story to tell. Like Lyonel could ever get tired of hearing her voice. Today's particular flavor was some guy being a dishing about an old deal they didn't offer anymore, and the string of pony-based slurs he tried throwing her way.

While she's gone, Lyonel quietly reaches up into one of the top shelves, taking a tucked away jar, and plucking a few errant cubes of grainy sugar from it's contents for later.

By the time he's got the tray slid into the oven, set to slowly cook over the next half an hour, a much more natural looking mare comes strutting out of the bedroom, sighing loudly as she continues the story. Gone is the skirt and dress-shirt of her uniform, her nose and tongue piercing back in place now that she's not corporately conformed. She's wearing an oversized t-shirt with some kind of Equestrian band logo as it's graphic across the front, most of the shirt already slipping off her shoulder.
"...Some shit about not bringing his business around here anymore. Like we want it." She scoffs, saddling right up beside him again the moment he's away from the oven. One of her hooves curls around his leg, holding him tightly.
"...I missed you, Lyonel."

He kneels down, wrapping his arms around the most important creature in his whole word, holding her close.
"I missed you, Rockette Road."

Not quite like the ice-cream. She was a little odd, but he loved her for it. Twenty years of working at a records store in Equestria while being in a punk-rock-metal multi-genre band, only to start working a nine to five retail job when she got here. The place she used to work at closed down a couple years ago, and her best bet for work was the inter-portal work program. That's how Lyonel met her, actually, while shopping for groceries. Despite the numerous piercings that sit in her ears, she wears a lot fewer of them than she did when they started dating. She used to dress like something right out of a mosh pit the moment she didn't have to obey a uniform, the memory of her in fishnets and the like still quite vivid. Probably because she wore them for him last night, but whatever.

From the punky, new-age and opinionated cool-mare working at the low-rules record shop, to the upstanding managerial mare of their local mart.

It wasn't a smooth transition, and still isn't. Rockette has spent a lot of time trying to re-find herself, and has gone through a few different phases that some might call hipster-ish. Dyeing her hair, varying her piercings, trying to push the dress code at work...

She even had a goth phase. Lyonel doesn't complain about that one.

There's a little bit of an age gap between them, with Rockette having a few years on him. Though Lyonel isn't exactly bothered by that little part of their relationship. She's also the one who brings in most of the income to the household, Lyonel handling the housework and such while he pursues his own hobbies on the side. They don't bring in as much money, but 3d printing has taken off recently, and some people are just clamoring for things to get printed for them. It brings in some pocket change for the pair.

"What about your day? Anything exciting?"
She prompts, the pair taking to the living room while dinner prepares itself.

"Nothing more than the usual, besides printing a few more knock-off models for Reggie."

"That sounds like take-out tomorrow." She leers, back-stepping towards the coffee table, grabbing the remote.
"Do you mind if I put on one of my records? Were you watching.." She trails off, looking at the program. Some new-age all-age friendly show that tries to incorporate both pony and human actors.

"I was using it for white noise. Go for it." He slowly sinks into the couch, making sure he's positioned to see the timer on the stove, craning his neck.

Rockette, under Lyonel's entirely pure and innocent gaze, flicks off the TV and heads to the corner of the living room, where a record player, and an entire bookcase full of records lay. True to her dated interests, she refused to listen to anything that wasn't scratched into a disc, and played with a needle, despite absolutely adoring music. Something about the vintage aspect of it or something. Still, an elaborate speaker-system nudged into the corner underneath the table holding the player offered some good quality sound, as she slowly perused the various discs she's collected. That collection is nearly as old as she is, a mixture of both Equestrian and Earth artists.

She eventually decides on an old favorite, something Lyonel sees her produce ever now and again. Something from Equestria, from a band called Sharpened Crystals, which was supposedly composed entirely of ponies from it's northern neighbor.
"I remember when we did covers of these guys... it's been some time." She hums, carefully settling the disc into place, closing the lid, and clicking play.

The slow, dull thrumb of guitar begins to eminate throughout their house. It's almost comical, how she treats her collection with the reverence one might approach classical or classic music, but metal or rock pervades their shared abode instead. They've had a few noise complaints before, and they're probably going to get a few again, though Lyonel keeps the piece with tactically-gifted baked goods.

As she turns, humming to herself and bobbing her head with the music, she pauses, staring at him.

A single sugarcube sits between Lyonel's teeth, waiting and on a display. He raises a brow, smiling as it's presented. In a single leap, she nearly clears the table, landing roughly on his lap as her hooves dig into her chest, ever-exuding her youthful energy despite her senority.

And her weight. Heoufh, his hips hurt.

"That wouldn't happen to be for me, would it be?" She hums playfully, trying to play off her sub-par landing as she adjusts herself, sitting on him and using him for support.

"Mebbe." He mumbles, the pair cracking a smile at his attempt.

Tentative hooves work their way up to his shoulders, gaining confidence as she begins to straddle him, nose to nose, staring at the other. Then slowly, carefully, she leans in to press her own lips to his, softly encapsulating her prize.

She quickly pulls away, grinning as she chews on her fairly-taken treat. Until Lyonel produces a second, placing it right back between his teeth, awaiting another lip-borne assault.

"...How many of those do you have?" Rockette gives him a playful look, still chewing.

"Wabba fide oud?"

She grins, one hoof looping behind his neck as she closes in again, eager for the bait.

Author's Note

Another short one, been playing rogue trader

Oct 9th - Bodyguard Mare - Saucy

Manehatten, Equestria | The Hoarse Horse Hotel

"Location secured, Sir. You're clear to proceed, I'll be right outside if you need anything." There's a firm, decisive tone to her voice as her hoof thrusts forward, stood at attention with her head raised high. She's right beside the doorframe, ready to stand perpetual guard.

"...Thanks, Rose. Don't know what I'd do without you." He's trying so hard not to make it sound sarcastic, or exasperated, after being made to wait. He really does appreciate everything she does, just...

He rubs the bridge of his nose as she points towards the bathroom. Of his hotel room. That they've already been in for the last two hours. At least her dedication never wavers, and Garrett knows he's about to have the safest piss anyone's ever had in this city.

"Please Sir, White Rose. It's not appropriate to hyphenate or utilize nicknames while on the job." She's quick to correct him, the previously outstretched hoof slamming down with a firm clack, head held high. Which, fair enough. Rose was a pretty common name for a lot of Ponies, true distinction only arising when you spoke their full namesake. It's just a little hard to take how seriously she takes everything, considering the nature of their...

'Professional' Relationship.

As one of the several Representatives of the United States, 'Ambassador' Garrett was tasked with numerous meetings with a variety of species. He's been through the portal more times than he can count, and he's almost always on the move. Though he tries to remain impartial, all of these trips have started to form a few biases. Ponies typically have the best lodgings, by far. Proper hotels and rooms, often even guest beds at estates. Dragons, arguably the worst. They once shoved him into a cave, and told him to get comfortable on the floor. He's not terribly partial to visits to the Dragonlands, mostly from past experiences.

And for his safety, considering half the species he'd be interacting with naturally came with claws, teeth or magic that could shred him to pieces accidentally, or purposefully, he'd been assigned a bodyguard that was 'hoof-trained' to protect him. A Unicorn by the name of White Rose. Apparently from a line of purebred Unicorn, she's sourced of out Canterlot, a graduate of a prestigious school of magic. Usually, according to White Rose, those who score high enough typically become scholars in their respective category of magic or the like, but her brand of very physically-focused magic meant she didn't quite have that path for life set for herself. As per her own description, White Rose's magic leans on mastered basics. She can't manage some of the more complex spells, but she's ridiculously talented when it comes to supercharging the more fundamental forms of magic, like manipulation.

And just as Garrett expected, she's in the exact same place. Hasn't budged an inch since he went in, even when he comes out of the bathroom several minutes later. She looks him over, before frowning, her horn glowing a bright white.

There's a sudden, firm upward tug on the crotch of his pants, startling him as he's nearly pulled up and off his feet.
"W-woah! Hey!"

Zzziiip.

"Your fly was down." She responds to his confusion, the magic around her horn dissipating.

Garrett covers himself, feeling rather naked at the moment despite being fully dressed. Her tone is dry and simple, already trotting past him into the main room. Her attention shifts as she peers out the window into the bustling Manehatten streets below.

Garrett awkwardly clears his throat, smoothing out his clothes once he's done covering
"Uh... thanks." He manages, eye contact not on the list for a hot minute.

That's what he means by their 'Professional' Relationship. White Rose has been his guard for some time now, and the two have gotten... extremely comfortable with each other, though there's probably a better way to put it.

Or in more simple, extremely blunt terms, White Rose holds no regard whatsoever for Garrett's privacy, personal space, nor his opinion on the matter. If he's in the shower and she deems it worthwhile to check on him, she'll let herself in to survey the area for threats.

She's seen him naked numerous times, and it's never been by Garrett's own volition. Well, that's hardly the worst of it, but still. She's incredibly hard to read, permeating this almost emotionless expression at nearly all times. The only time he ever sees her are any kind of expression is when she's sleeping. Sometimes, he'll see a little smile crack onto her face, though him being awake while she's asleep is incredibly rare, with how she'll watch him until he falls asleep first.

Any attempts from Garrett to ask 'What are we?' as one might reasonably do when confronted by such situations only resulted in simple, deflective answers. She's his bodyguard, of course. Then she'd give him a look like the question was strange for even being thought of. Yet any time he thinks she might just be flirting, she does... something that pushes the boundaries of their relationship. At first, she actually wore some proper clothing that looked more akin to human dressing, like dress shirts or vests. Now, she wears simple body-clinging garment's that are meant only for strapping on light armor, otherwise giving a typically naked species a very... odd, almost lingerie appeal, like what she wears right now. A sleeveless, half-body turtleneck that only clung to her curves, and the eyeliner she began applying after a night of grilling him about his preferences towards makeup. Or the cuddling.

Especially the cuddling.

Garrett tries to calm himself somewhat, a bit of a nervous man at heart, sitting in the hotels chair. White Rose's ears flicker the moment the seat creaks under his weight, the mare slowly crossing the room to stand beside him, looking him over with her piercing blue eyes. She doesn't exactly fit the visage of a tough bodyguard, but her usually flat glare helps outweigh that. This time, however, her eyes soften as she looks him over.

"You look a touch stressed, Sir." She notes, the slightest hint of concern in her voice as she sits in front his chair, watching his face.

"I... suppose I am." The main reason, aside from being ambushed by a sudden zipper-grab, was the course of their current destination. Equestria was only a pitstop, as they had goals across the water in the distant nation of Griffonia, where a meeting was to occur to discuss establishing a direct line of communication that didn't require Equestrian interference. The Griffons weren't exactly the most peaceful of the Equus species, but most of Garrett's interactions with them previously had gone somewhat... poorly. Thankfully for the sake of his career, rarely of his own mistakes. They often tend to rile themselves up, meaning some degree of upset was likely inevitable. Volatile was just one of the numerous descriptors one could use, and he often had to choose his words carefully.

"I see." Her stare never leaves him, though it does begin to wander... lower.
"Perhaps I could assist you, Sir?"

"Assist me?" Garret parrots, confused by what she means -- up until the familiar, white-tinted glow of her magic grabs a place it had grabbed just moments prior. His zipper.

"I believe I know a method to ease your nerves, if you'd allow me. It's quite simple." White Rose continues, unabated by Garrett's slack jaw at her excessively blunt insinuation.

"Y-you know, W-white Rose, that's alright, y-you don't need to--"

"A stammer has crept it's way into your tone. I can hardly rest knowing my charge remains agitated, Sir. Please, allow me." Her words slip through without a single stutter, as his zipper finds itself tugged downward quite roughly. She lifts herself from the floor, bracing against the arms of the chair with her forehooves as she gets closer.

White Rose's horn maintains it's soft glow, her focus shifting towards his belt now as the clasp starts to undo.

Forceful was an understatement, Garrett's knuckles turning white as he clings to his seat, frozen under her amorously deadpan assault. She's incredibly focused, hardly blinking as his belt is forced aside.

"I... thought that would t-take you longer." Garrett swallows, trying to inject some degree of conversation to lighten the mood as tension rapidly builds.

"I practice when you're asleep, usually."

Her admission nearly forces a sputter out of him, yet her face remains entirely unenthused as she unbuttons his pants.

"Y-you know, I'm doing... uh...."

"Sir." She pauses, only his underwear serving as the final obstacle between him, and...
"I'm not causing you further upset, am I?"

"I, uh..."

"It's my duty, one I take immense pride in, to ensure your safety and well-being, mentally and physically. If you are... agitated, nervous, stressed, or even pent-up, it's my task to ensure these feelings do not assail you."

"Rose --"

"White Rose."

"You're my bodyguard. Not my... concubine, or consort, or whatever is going on here."

She tilts her head, no visible change in her expression.
"Of course, such roles do not play a part in your physical protection, merely your physical satisfaction. Do I not physically satisfy you?"

"That's... not quite what I meant."

She suddenly pushes up onto the chair, pressing her barrel against his crotch, rubbing against it with her warm body, tickling his skin with her fur, his shirt lifting from her motions to reveal his stomach. Behind herself, her tail is flicking back and forth in the air, revealing her quiet excitement even as her face does little more than blink.
"Do you not enjoy the care I provide?"

"I-I do, just... it's very... intimate."

She nods, like he's stating the obvious.

"It is, Sir. Is that a problem?"

Garrett swallows hard, his body answering the question before his words do, even White Rose noticing the growing tension in his underwear, poking at her underbelly. She glances down, humming in recognition to herself, shuffling backwards to bring her face closer to his hips.

Before she does anything, however, she stares up at him expectantly.

Garrett bites his lip.
"W-well... no..."

That's all she needed to hear, as her snout hovers dangerously close to the band of his underwear, her magic slowly enveloping it as she begins to slide it down. It catches on his growing member, before the friction holds it no longer, springing it from it's confines and smacking against her nose. To her credit, she doesn't even react to the impact, only tilting her head as her gaze shifts to the new, throbbing focus in front of her.

"One moment..." White Rose mutters, her tongue wetting her lips as she tenderly places them against the underside of his shaft, leaving a slick trail of saliva as her maw traces his member, working up towards the tip.

Garrett can hardly stop himself from tilting his head back, grunting as White Rose's tongue works along the lips that softly kiss him, teasing his head with slow, forceful encirclings of her tongue. A rather long tongue, that draws out to lick him, wetting him with her mouth as she works him over.

What starts as a simple, attentive form of careful, tender contact quickly starts to ramp up as her snout presses against him, White Rose helping herself to dick, while Garrett clings to the chair for life as he's worked freely by the controlling mare. Kisses against his tip slowly get more impactful, more forceful, and deeper as she begins to take him into her awaiting mouth, opening her jaw wide, saliva strands stretching as she envelops over half of him into her ensnouted mouth. Well, she's trying to, but her mane is starting to fall down in front of her face and is proving to be a bother, the way her gaze finally breaks from him.

Garrett's head snaps up as he feels a hoof tapping his lap, to a White Rose with half of his sopping wet member in her mouth, trying to wordlessly demonstrate the new nuisance with only her eyes. It only takes him a moment to understand, Garrett nervously reaching to take a hold of her well-cared mane to keep it out of the way.

The sight of her staring up at him while focused on his lower half certainly does something for him, White Rose making a muffled noise as he twitches several time in her warm, mouthy grasp.

"Goodneth..." He hears her quietly mumble, shifting the placement of her hooves as she prepares.

And in one, slow, tantalizingly drawn out movement, White Rose pushes herself down on his member, Garrett grimacing as he can feel himself push into her throat as she takes him fully, her snout squishing as she pushes her node hard against his pelvis. And she holds herself there, her tongue working the underside of him out of sight, the tightness and movements of her throat ushering another groan out of Garrett.

After a long pause, and just as slowly as she went down, White Rose lifts herself upwards as the warmth of her throat departs, exposing his slobbered meat to the rooms air, now feeling far colder than moments prior. Her lips make a resounding 'pop' as she releases him, spittle and drool trailing from her mouth as she licks her lips.

"Satisfactory?" She questions, looking up to him and asking like it was any old question, as if she didn't just hilt him in her throat effortlessly.

"F-fuck." Garrett barely manages.

"I'm glad you approve, Sir. It shows my practice has been worthwhile."

"...Practice?" Garrett barely utters, though no answer comes his way, White Rose letting her long, warm tongue drag up from the base of his member to the tip, before she deftly retakes it in her mouth again, already working her way to swallow him back up.

...

Griffonstone, Griffonia | The Council Chambers

"T-this is ridiculous! Gentle-Birds, please!" Garrett flails and shouts to no avail, before being tugged backwards by his collar just in time to avoid getting a streak of claws put right through his face, falling back onto his rear. Good thing for the smoothed tile, as he's dragged behind a flipped table serving as cover, where White Rose is already bunkered down. The off-white glow that had scrunched his suit dissipates, as a bubble-style barrier suddenly erupts around them, encapsulating both of them and the furniture they hide behind, her horn glowing brilliantly. Despite the effort, her face is calm and stern, peering around the council room as it remains it complete chaos.

He did everything right, in hindsight. He'd researched the different Griffon houses, their almost might-is-right approach to nobility, the works. Garrett truly thought he was prepared, and he mostly was. The only thing he didn't account for was just how much Griffons do not get along with other Griffons. A simple question about trade logistics spiraled into an argument about who could manage a trade route better, and whose lands were best for moving them through. Which them absolutely plummeted into them trying to claw and peck the others eyes out.

"You are unharmed, Sir." It's not a question, but a statement as she protectively stands over his legs, maintaining herself as a physical bulwark, a secondary layer underneath the first, magical ward that protects them from...

Multiple Griffons are throwing themselves, and their others, around the room. The once-fancy, stone-carved mountaintop room for ceremonial purposes and negotiations has devolved into broken furniture, shattered busts, torn tapestries and flipped tables as screeches, caws and yelps of pain take the air, squabbling amongst themselves to settle the scores of the meeting.

"S-should we get out of here?!" Garret flinches as something thuds loudly against the barrier, a feather-ruffled Griffon scrambling off it's surface to lunge back into the absolute cacophony of chaotic combat occurring all around them.

"Negative. Nothing will be getting through my barrier, Sir, and I believe the Griffons will be in a better position for negotiations once they have worked their tensions out between themselves." She explains, head on a swivel to each battling bird that nears them.

"So... we stay here?" It's hardly a question, more a pitiable whine of upset as he realizes he'll need to continue to put up with whatever is going on here, and with Griffon's penchant for aggression and battle, this may be a long ordeal.

So consider him surprised when White Rose lowers herself unto his lap, pressing up against him to offer some level of comfort while maintaining a remarkable amount of alertness.
"You're free to hold me closely if it will bring you comfort, Sir."

Garrett only hesitates a moment, as another loud BANG whams against the barrier, before his arms and legs around practically enwrapped around the mare, clinging to her tightly.

"You can hold tighter, Sir." She comments quietly, the barrier growing brighter, and the squabbling sounds growing more distant.

In all the carnage, one can hardly notice the way her tail is excitedly swishing back and forth, content in her ever protective role.

...

Garrett lays in the middle feathery, downy bed, staring up at the ceiling. It took about an hour, but after that long suffering, and surprisingly minimal casualties, the Griffon's were in a much more amicable position to decide who should spearhead the logistical leyline to the portal. Once things got settled, and Garrett nearly had a heart attack shaking hands with one of their still-bloody claws, they retreated to the housing that had been offered for their duration of their stay.

Still, it was an overall traumatizing experience for poor Garrett, who now lay quietly, splayed on his back. His only source of comfort, despite how comfortable the bed was, and the only thing keeping him from spiraling into a nervous breakdown, was the familiarly brown-furred, white-maned mare laid in his bed beside him, slowly stroking through his hair with a hoof.

"You did well today, Sir." She quietly coos, despite her face still being completely flat, hardly visible in the dim candlelight of their guest room for the night.

"...Sometimes, it feels more like you're my ass-kicking wife than my bodyguard, White Rose." Garrett mumbles quietly. It was originally intend to be a thought left only to himself, but he finds his lips speaking his mind for him.

She slowly leans over his face, her piercing blue eyes that stood out in the dark trailing over his features, looking from his own eyes, to his lips, lingering there for a long time, before returning to his gaze.

It's a long silence, yet she never stops petting him.
"Would it bring you comfort if I was, Sir?"

Garrett blinks, finding himself with a lack of words. In the silence he leaves, White Rose only leans closer, her snout's breath hot on his face, as her other hoof gently cradles his cheek with surprising softness.

"I wouldn't be opposed."

It's simple words, but it brings back an old question that Garrett has yet to find an answer for.
"...Seriously, White Rose, what are we? Are we something?"

"I am your Bodyguard, Sir."

"Yes, I know..."

"As for being your wife... perhaps when these assignments are over, and we choose to settle on either side of the portal, we can discuss your proposal. Until then, I believe myself content in my duties, as long as you find yourself content in my performance, Sir." Her tone only gets softer, as a plush set of lips gently kiss his cheek. Then his ear. Then, his neck...

... And it continues to go lower, the warm touch of her affection against his chest, then lowering to his stomach. Then, she pauses, raising back up to enjoy a look at Garrett's flustered face.

And she smiles, though it's a little one, a crack in her steely gaze.
"Apologies, Sir, for the contradictory actions of trying to simultaneously appease you, but also ensure your wellbeing. I enjoy when you're flustered. It's cute." She hums quietly.

The thought of needing a bodyguard from his bodyguard is one Garrett properly considers, up until her lips press against his, kissing him deeply and pressing him into the bed.

"Does... this..." She slowly paces out between deep, firm imprints against his face, holding herself over him.
"...Ease...the...nerves?"

"Not... really..." He barely manages, grunting in surprise as White Rose shifts in the bed, lifting herself up, and over, and onto him, sitting on his lap and straddling him with her hind hooves, her forelegs leant against the bed, each beside his head, for support.

"Then perhaps we should do this kind of thing more often, Sir... to help you acclimate to such activities." She slowly explains, her hooves trailing down his chest, teasing his skin as they go lower. It's yet another shockingly erotic display from his usually reserved bodyguard, her own desires slipping forth as she bites her lip, an action nearly entirely hidden by the fluffy, messy mane that drapes over her face as she looks down.

With some slight hesitation, Garrett pushes through his own trepidations and grasps her thighs, surprising White Rose as her attention snaps back upward.

"...Okay." Is all he can manage, feeling like his heart is about to burst out of his chest.

"And would you hold a preference towards me leading these engagements?"

"I... would like that."

"At my own discretion?"

"U-uh... yes."

"Whenever and wherever I deem you in need of... relief from what ails you?"

Garrett swallows hard, part of him feeling like he's signing off on a deal with the devil. But, he relents, nodding.

"Good boy." She suddenly leans down, her wavy mane sweeping down to cover part of his face as she holds her nose inches from his, softly kissing his cheek.

Another small grin cracks her expression.
"Apologies, Sir. I only wished to see your reaction."

Full mast was an understatement.

Author's Note

extra pic

this one is late because I like White Rose, emotionless and controlling women, and decided to make this chapter saucy

will probably oc her later

Oct 10th - Merpony Mare

Eastern Coast, Equestria | The Celestial Sea

Splashing out of the water, Oscar gasps for fresh breath as he pulls the mask off his face, several rough hands and hooves reaching out and pulling him up and onto the deck. Some help unclasp and take off the oxygen pack slung to his back, while others take the bag of samples he'd carefully carved from the reef below.

"All good, Oscar?" The grizzled, older captain leans down, patting his shoulder as Oscar wobbles, steadying himself against the railing of the small, refurbished fishing ship.

Oscar gives his lungs a moment, throwing up a thumbs up instead, still panting heavily.

As part of a reconstruction effort dispatched by the U.S, it's allies, and licensed by Equestria, a mixed-population sea vessel was assembled and released off the eastern Equestrian coast. The intent was to take local, healthy samples of the various coral reefs that lined the Celestial Sea, the eastern body of water to Equestria. Whatever they collect would be sent back to mixed-effort labs in Canterlot to research the magical effects, if any, and to potentially transplant large donor parts of the reef to Earth's damaged reef systems in an attempt to rebound them following significant environmental damage. The vessel for this task was The Kristonsen, dubbed after the owner and Captain of said vessel following it's rapid construction at the Fillypelphia dock houses. Hosting a crew of roughly two-dozen, it's a sizable multi-floor vessel that boasts a mixture of Earth engines and Equestrian sails.

Said vessel now floats gently atop thankfully calm waters, the warm midday offering few clouds and plenty of sun. Distant, sparkling ocean was abound in all directions that stretched far unto the horizons, with the odd speckling of an island adjoining their view.

While each Human and Pony had their own tasks aboard the ship Oscar was brought on as a professional diver, having worked as an offshore welder for several years. Not quite a one-to-one translation of his skills with his lacking history in the ecologies, that was the job of several of the scientists that remained stationed aboard. Oscar's job was to physically dive and collect the samples of whatever the egg heads requested.

He had a lengthy briefing about the kinds of things he could find in the Celestial Sea in comparison to one of Earth's oceans, and was soon jumping overboard to dive down and report his findings. Usually a good few couple hours of peaceful swimming, with the odd check-in from the vessel waiting above while he did his rounds, marking the reefs they'd visit, trying not to disturb the local ecosystems too much.

To solve the problem of treading the unfamiliar depths, Equestria had reached out to a neighboring nation to join in the efforts and to assist with the underwater efforts.

There's another loud splash behind Oscar, as his diving buddy crests the water, her hooves hooking over the side of the ship as she wiggles her head about. Once she's done shaking her still-wet bubblegum mane out of her face. She was always pretty easy to see thanks to her colors, a stark contrast of pink against the blue waters, leaning her head towards Oscar.

"You mind?" She nudges him -- Oscar leaning over to carefully run his hands through her mane, tucking it back and behind her ears, out of the way. Grabbing the hairband that's half fallen out of her mane, he quickly re-adjusts her hair, getting it back and up again. Kind of a quick and shitty tuck job, but it works for now.

"Pfeuh. Thanks, Oscar." She spits a stray strand of hair out of her mouth, smacking her lips and settling her head against the top of her hooves. Watching the typical bustle that ensued whenever they returned. Her tail slaps against the wall of the ship as she settles, eyes closing as she starts humming to herself. It was a good dive, so she's in one hell of a good mood. She usually is, but whenever they see as many fish as they just saw, she goes from cheery to downright excitable.

Bubbling Bay, or affectionately referred to as B.B, is his dive partner and Merpony guide, and has been for the last few months. As a Merpony, she was about as close as a mermaid as any sailor might properly see, even if she still had the top half of a pony. With an almost all-pink color palette, on her very short hydrophobic fur, sparkling scales, numerous fins and perpetually wet mane, she was readily and easily visible during their dives, making his job of following after her a lot easier. Though sometimes he loses her in the coral, the Celestial Sea's reefs being particularly colorful. Communication tends to be a little one-sided, based on how she's the only one that can actually speak underwater, but she's taken some time to learn some of the basics of sign language. She does pretty good for a creature without hands, though she can't quite reciprocate the gestures. Not for a lack of effort, though.

"Didn't expect such big-ass groupers, even with your warning." Oscar grumbles, peeling the hood of his wetsuit back with a loud, wet slap.

"Right?! This area is teeming with them, it's great to see. The whole region is looking really healthy."

"You coming up?"

"Uh... hey! Jim! When are we leaving again?" She calls out to one of the passing crew, who pause and check their watch.

"About an hour, we're drifting south to another reef. Should be there tomorrow." Jim adds, before already walking off.

"Well?" Oscar glances to B.B, expectantly, watching the beads of water trail down her scales.

"Think ill soak for a bit, these are some nice waters. Don't let them leave without me, yeah? I don't wanna have to swim and play catch-up again." She asks, leaning off the side, hooves extended, waiting for confirmation. Her wings twitch in anticipation. Unlike a Pegasus, they boast no feathers, more akin to an insects wings than anything.

Oscar offers a simple thumbs up of acknowledgement -- and there she goes, diving off the side and back into the depths. The way her fins part the water effortlessly, as she rockets downward with a few short strikes of her powerful tail. In moments, she goes from a warbling image of herself to a distant, hazy pink blur in the deep.

'God, what a beautiful creature.'

Another passing crewmate nudges Oscar with an elbow, catching his attention and tearing him from his thoughts.
"You're thinking out loud again, Oscar." He jeers, chuckling at Oscar as he groans. Bad habit of mumbling what was on his mind. It's a miracle B.B hasn't heard him yet.

"Yeah, yeah..." He sighs, head resting on his hand.

"Better you say something sooner than later, man." He warns, patting Oscar's back and leaving him be.

Most of said hour, is spent leant against the railing of the ship, watching the glimmer of a pink form far below the calm waves. Well, once he got out of the sopping wet wet-suit that was sticking to his skin, and back into something both more dry, and more comfortable.

When it's time to go, a few minutes of leaning off the side of the ship rhythmically slapping the surface of the water with one of the emergency rafts oars is enough to alert her. After a few moments, she breaches the surface again, smiling excitedly.

The method they use to get her onto the ship is comically similar to pulling up fish, minus the wet, frantic slapping on deck.

...

Merpony, obviously, were made for living in the water. But short of tying a rope around her waist and dragging her behind them, there wasn't much of a chance of her keeping up with the ship, so B.B rides aboard. Walking might not be her strong suit, so the way she moves across the ship requires a bit of desensitization for new crew members. Seeing a seal-like pony galumph across the deck isn't for the faint of heart.

As long as she retains some basic access to water so she doesn't dry out, it's really not much of an issue beyond her limited mobility.

In the bowels of the vessel, Bubbling Bay lets out a long, content hum, wriggling playfully in place. She's laid out on her stomach across her bunk, the mattress of which has been thoroughly wrapped with a waterproof sheet. Oscar sits on a stool beside her, flashlight in mouth as he leans over her, a pair of tweezers in hand. He's slowly working his way down her back, inspecting her for irritant scales.

"Thanks for agreeing to this, Oscar. It's a pain to do myself." B.B's eyes are closed, clearly enjoying the attention as his fingers trace her scales, waiting for her say-so.

"No problem, B.B. Doesn't take that long." Oscar replies as he takes the flashlight from his teeth, leaning closer to get a better look. And, you know... a chance to look at a creature that was right out of a fantasy novel up close, in a way that wasn't weird.

"Ah--that one!" She suddenly announces, Oscar's hand freezing over part of her tail, just adjacent to the largest fin. His fingers carefully brush the numerous, minute scales, looking for the culprit. It's pretty easy to find the one scale that wiggles just a little too much, Oscar shifting his seating to get a good grip on it with his tweezers.

"Apparently Pegasi do something like this too? Preening or something?" Oscar asks, more looking for confirmation than actually trying to state something.

"A fair amount of Pony species have some kind of upkeep, typically related to their magic, as far as I'm aware. Unicorns and horncare, Pegasi and their wings like you said, Earth Ponies and their hooves... and Merpony and their everything." She laughs, getting settled again.
"Our scales, our fins, our wings, our tail... I'm afraid we're a liiiittle high maintenance. That's why I appreciate the help so much."

"Sure, you just gotta ask. Oh, by the way, B.B, another question born of general curiosity for you." Oscar asks, sticking his tongue out as he focuses, trying to grab the little bugger with a few quick snaps.

"Sure, Oscar. What?" She opens her eyes, looking over her shoulder.

"How do you breathe? You've got the upper half of a pony, so I assume you've got lungs, but you've got gills on your neck too. Do they feed into each-other, or...?"

"Our gills, as long as they're sufficiently hydrated, can process the oxygen from both water and air without issue. The key there is just making sure I keep wet." She readily explains, excited he's taken an interest.
"I don't actually breathe from my mouth! It's pretty much just for talking and eating. Neat, huh?"

Oscar keeps his thoughts to himself, instead responding with another question.

"Is there a difference between salt water and fresh water for you, then? Do you handle one better?" Oscar manages to pluck the little wriggler, tossing the loose scale onto the small pile.

"Uh..." The question actually confuses her, tapping her chin with a hoof in thought. It takes her several contemplative moments, of which Oscar has plenty of time to work further down her tail, before she simply shrugs.
"I... don't think it does?"

"Probably another bonus of your fish magic."

"Merpony magic, Osc--Youch!!" She suddenly flinches, staring down herself and the scale Oscar has in his tweezers.
"I don't think that one was ready, Oscar."

"Oop. Sorry."

...

Evening, golden light splashes across the beach they'd stopped at, some of the more science-types taking a few samples of the local area. In the meantime, with nothing to dive for, Oscar had wandered off to the beach, rounding unto B.B as she sat in the sand, tail swishing back and forth. Beads of water still dribble down herself despite the sand clinging to her scales, evident that she just emerged from the waters a moment prior. He's quickly noticed, and she waves him over, excitedly patting the sand beside herself.

Oscar slowly approaches, sighing wistfully as he sits down with her.

'...Beautiful.'

"It really is, isn't it? I love doing this kind if stuff. I could lounge on a beach like this for... hours..." She's excitedly pointing outward with her hoof, glancing at him as she speaks. Then her words slow as she double-takes, seeing just how focused his attention is on her, and not the waves lapping at the beach.

'Maybe one day I'll tell her,' Oscar muses quietly to himself, sighing wistfully as his gaze floats across her lightly wet, sparkling scales. 'The way her fins catch and refract the sunlight. The way she gets so excited about every little thing, the way that soft smile never leaves her face.'

"Uh... Oscar."

"Mm?" He sighs, tearing his wistful gaze from her tail, to her face.

"You're, uh... talking out loud again. And staring." There's a ferocious blush across B.B's snout that's managing to compete with her pink fur, ears flat against her head.

"Oh, uh..."

"...You really think so?" She asks quietly.

Oscar slowly offers his hand, which B.B tentatively takes with her hoof, laying it on his palm.

"I do." He affirms.

"...But you're a Human. And I'm a Merpony. That's kind of weird, isn't it?"

Oscar stifles a laugh.
"I guess so, yeah. Is weird bad?"

She seems pensive for the moment, watching the water draw back from the sandy ground they sit on.

"Is you helping me with my scales a thing for you?" She suddenly lunges forward, poking his stomach.

"Uh..." Oscar stammers, and his hesitation only furthers the shock that takes B.B's face.

"Is it really?!" She gasps.

"W-well..." Oscar grimaces.

...

One of the crewmates, watching the pair bicker on the beach, passes the binoculars they'd been observing with to another crewmember. B.B is waving her hooves around erratically, while Oscar holds his hands up, scooting back.

"Told ya, Jim." He sneers, graciously accepting a huffy, crisp five dollar bill in his hands.

"Thought he'd still take another week, at the least. Whatever. You know you can't use that until we get home, right?"

"Yeah, but it's the principle of it."

Jim rolls his eyes, leaving his fellow crewmate to snoop.

Author's Note

Apparently hypogriffs turn into merpony and vice versa or something, don't care that's stupid they're two separate species now

Also I don't give a shit about the logistics of it every merpony is a throatgoat

Oct 11th - Mechanic Mare

New Dornhover, U.S.A | Sprocket's Autobody Shop

"You sure you even know what you're doing down there?" Spunky Sprocket leans her head down, squinting at the Human that's half-buried underneath half of a lifted Family Van, in the midst of an oil change, trying to look under the vehicle.
"You've been down there a while. Doesnt usually take you this long."

"Don't usually hear you complain about that, Miss Sprocket." Comes the half-expected muffled cheeky retort, earning a swift kick to his boot from a hoof, Miss Sprocket tsking loudly.

"Oh, shut up, Brendon." She grumbles, glaring at what little of him is actually sticking out from underneath the vehicle.

The squeaky wheels of the dolly he's laying on reveal the rest of him as he pulls himself out from the undercarriage, reaching for the oil tray. Instead, he finds a yellow-furred hoof, attached to a spirited, red-haired mare giving him the stink eye. Despite the glare, there's an underlying playful smirk on the edge of her lips.

Spunky Sprocket, or typically just Miss Sprocket, looks down at him expectantly as she returns his stare. Some days, she'd wear a greasy jumpsuit and call it a day. She actually had a meeting with the bank earlier today, so overalls currently covered the nicer clothes she typically doesn't wear. Goggles still firmly sit on her head, helping keep her mane out of her face.
"Well?"

Sliding the oil tray in place, Brendon glances around. The cap just isn't budging. Needs some leverage.
"Wrench?"

"Hm." She raises a brow, her smirk slowly turning to a shit-eating grin.

Brendon sighs.
"Wrench, pretty please?"

"Look at you, remembering your manners."
A sudden, quick peck against his forehead, and she's already trotting over to the tool try to rummage for it. Her vibrantly red ponytail bobs about as she rummaged for a very specific, typically oil-gunked tool that had long been sacrificed for this one specific purpose. Brendon leans against his knees, watching her rummage through their tools.

Miss Sprocket was one of the few Ponies who took such a serious interest in the drastically different technology of the Humans, that she actually moved to Earth, swapped her shiny gold bits for cold hard american cash, and enrolled in enough mechanics classes to eventually open her own autobody shop. Very entrepreneurial, very demure.

As she had explained it to him before, there was just something about the smell of oil, the sound of a firing engine, the feel of sitting in a machine that was raring to go. Despite being an Earth pony, she had a pretty good handle on tools and actually handling things herself. But, still, it's a little difficult to run a mechanic shop on your own.

Brendon was her first and currently only employee. He had no idea she was even a pony until he walked in after seeing the Help Wanted sign stuck in the window, catching him by surprise. Three years of high school shop class was enough to get her to even consider him, and the lack of other applications sealed the deal.

Having hands definitely made Brendon the go-to for a few of the tasks Miss Sprocket simply was not a fan of, and consistent days of being the only two working in the shop, day after day, month after month, got them on pretty friendly terms. Keeping a decent work ethic, and trying his best not to call out, got that to very friendly terms. The line between boss and employee was slowly blurred, until it felt more like a pair of buddies running a shop together. Still, he called her Miss Sprocket. It only felt right.

Well, it was buddy-buddy, until a very particular New Years following a rather successful year, where they closed up in the evening, and went out for drinks to celebrate their good fortune. They hit a nearby bar, raising a glass to a good upcoming year. And then another. And then another. A few too many drinks were had. So, they took a cab home.

To Miss Sprocket's home, which was back at her autobody shop, where she lived in an apartment directly above its reachable from an outside set of stairs around the back.

They can't quite remember if they had more drinks, but they both remember one thing very clearly. They woke up in the same bed. Naked. Holding each other. Very hungover.

Following a long, embarrassing conversation about differences in role, their positions and boss and employee, their species, and numerous other topics, they agreed not to talk about it, and to try to maintain a professional relationship going forward, so as not to ruin the good thing they had going. She's a tough, take no shit kind of mare, so it was a bit of a hurdle for them to work through.

That lasted about half a month, before they found themselves in the exact same situation again, just this time without the drinks.

They tried one more conversation, but it was much less impactful.

And then it happened again about a week later. This has been ongoing for the better part of a year now. They don't even bother with the conversations.

Is it strange being in a relationship with ones boss? Probably. Did Brendon care? Not really.

The only rule they maintain is that the autobody shop is a place for work, so no shenanigans happen that would impede the company. This works for the most part, though the tension can run pretty high some days. Not to mention the constant, often dirty jokes, some flirtatious touching that bends the rule a little, and continuous staring at the other.

This is one of those days. It's Friday evening, with the weekend nigh, and they've been relentless in teasing each-other the entire shift.

She brings the requested tool, dropping it in his palms before letting her gaze linger, trotting over towards her desk to finish the days paperwork in her little side-office.

Even now, halfway underneath the customer's car, Brendon can feel her eyes on him as he tries to wrap up the last job of the day. An oil change, simple enough. Or it would be, if he could focus. If he leans the right way, he can see her from underneath the car through the open office door, hooves repeatedly fidgeting with the sleeve sof her overalls.

She looked good in those. Not that she didn't look good in her coveralls, but overalls gave the unique option of... handles.

"By the way, uh... I might need you to come in tomorrow." Brendon hears, catching his attention.

"Hold on..." He grunts, giving the edge of the wrench a whack. Finally, the cap pops off, an almost clear liquid pouring into the oil pan. Yikes.

Using his heels to drag himself out, Brendon slowly scoots out from underneath the car, leaving the pan to fill in the meantime. He grabs one of the bunched up cloths laid around him, wiping the errant oil that spilled on him as he peeks out. She's stood in the office doorway, leaning against the frame as he wriggles free of the undercarriage.

"Coming in tomorrow?" Brendon prompts, sitting up on the dolly.
"I don't know any tomorrows. The last thing I was coming in was --"

She picks up on it far too quick, cutting him off.

"Alright, that's enough of that." Miss Sprocket rolls her eyes. Fair enough, he's been making those jokes all day.

"Too much?"

"Too much."

"Sorry. What'd you have in mind?" Brendon relents, taking a second to check on the oil as it still freely pours out, making sure he grabbed a big enough pan.

"I just got the new brake pads, and I wanted to use this weekend to install them." She starts, slowly meandering towards him.

"That's what you went out to pick up yesterday, right?"

"Yep. Still got the boxes in the trunk, and wouldn't mind a pair of big, strong arms to help get them inside." She teases, getting much closer. With Brendon sat on the dolly, they're about eye level. A fact that Miss Sprocket is pretty interested in exploiting. She might not bat her eyelashes, on account she doesn't really get into makeup that isn't just oily or greasy fur. Nor does she really flirt with coy words, innuendos or other playful banter.

Miss Sprocket is all about proximity. She likes to get close, to get physical. Little kisses when she can reach him, standing close. Like now, she's only inches from his face, and she smells like... well, a mechanics shop. Oil, parts and sweat. When the Mare you're interested in smells like your work...

"Dunno how big and strong I can be, but I can probably drop those boxes on the floor on accident for you. What time would you need me in?"

"How sweet. Could you come by in the morning? I'd like to get an early start on this."

"Sure, I don't have any plans. This for your car, or that project car you've got sitting in the back?" Brendon nods back towards the corner of the shop. Half hidden under a sheet and partially blocked off by a few piles of boxes, spare parts and tools, sat an older car. Brendon didn't remember the model, since Miss Sprocket doesn't talk about it very often.

"I wish it was for that baby. No, my personal car is squeaking whenever I brake. Pain in my flank." She groans, before looking back to Brendon, smiling.
"Thanks. Glad I can count on you. And before you ask..."

Her words slow as she turns away, walking back towards the office. Her tail lifts, brushing against his face, flicking in the air.
"Yes, you'll be compensated for your time." A sly back-glance accompanies her words, before she's climbing back into her chair, leaving Brendon alone on the shop floor.

Miss Sprocket was pretty good about making sure Brendon was taken care of in when he came in outside his usual hours. But that?

He'd need to freshen up before he came in tomorrow. With a grunt, he shimmies back underneath the car, pleased to find nothing overflowed out of the tray in the meantime.

...

She never really specified a time, Brendon realizes, stood outside the autoshop at seven in the morning. Brendon didn't really get up to much, so it's not like he had anywhere to be this weekend anyway. A life of working hard and saving now, to relax later. Not like he suffered at work or anything, the way his job usually went.

Well, her car was still parked behind the building. A peek into her window confirms his curiosity -- there's some kind of booster seat on the drivers side, with extensions on the pedals. It's a funny visual, and she probably made them herself, knowing Miss Sprocket.

Since he's the only other employee, Brendon rustles out the hidden key tucked underneath one of the rocks just to the side of the lot. The in-case-anything-happens key.

Letting himself inside, the familiar, darkly lit shop floor welcomes him as he slings his pack aside, wandering over for the lights to bring some life to the place. For her own peace of mind, Miss Sprocket operated off appointments only, so the only car inside was her project vehicle, tucked away.

Can't exactly get the boxes from her personal car for her when she's not here, so Brendon has some time to kill.

He prepares one of the lifts, double checking the station and bringing one of the stocked toolboxes nearby for use. Rags, some cleaning supplies... and it's set.

He rings his hands, glancing around. Still quiet. He checks his phone. Seven fifteen. He's... gonna be here a minute.

Curiosity drives him towards the car half-covered. As far as he knows about it , it's a model she likes, but rarely has time to work on. Some kind of two door sports car. Brendon can see crimson stripes peering out from underneath the tarp, contrasting the yellow body. Interesting choices for color, but Brendon wasn't going to judge.

Kind of dusty though. He's about to draw a smile face on the window, when the door into the shop rattles open, startling him.

Miss Sprocket is standing there in a messy tank top, her mane competing for the title of mess, the way it's splayed out in complete bedhair. She stifles a yawn, blinking at him several times. She looks like she just woke up, her fur uneven and sticking out in places. She looks like she could use a heavy brushing.

"...Brendon? What time is it?" She mutters loudly, rubbing at one of her eyes.

"Morning, Miss Sprocket. Seven... about seven thirty." Brendon offers after another quick peek at his phone.
"Got here at seven."

The door clicks shut behind her as she crosses the shop floor towards him, glancing around at the bright lights, squinting.
"...You are too spry for your age. Did you even have breakfast?"

He purses his lips, and that's all Miss Sprocket needs to see. She rolls her eyes, nodding for him to follow.
"Come on. I'll make you something. I'm starving."

"Oh, uh... thanks." Brendon quickly jogs after her, following her into the side-hall that leads upstairs and into her apartment. Compared to the shop, it's pretty small, but cozy is definitely a word to describe it. Probably because it was all built around the scale of a pony, everything looking half the size of the standard furniture. With a large window that overlooks the entire inside of the building hidden behind thick curtains, it helps the little upstairs home feel a bit roomier. She's got a couch, table... she used to have one chair, but after a few kids Brendon's visits, she picked up a second one. Her TV is crackling with chatter about the morning weather, and she's already got a pot of coffee going in her little kitchenette. There's another side door just past it that leads to the bathroom, and it's currently ajar.

Setting his jacket and shoes aside, Miss Sprocket shuts the door behind him.
"Hope you're alright with hash browns and eggs. Have a seat, it shouldn't be long."

"I could get a head start on the brakes, and... set them up or something. Get your car in the bay." Brendon tries to offer.

Miss Sprocket stops, giving him a stink eye. Her tone is firm, dry, and unamused.
"I'm making you breakfast, Brendon. Sit your flank down."

"Yess'm." Brendon nods, promptly sinking into the pony-sized couch. He takes up most of it. It's older, worn, and has a few patches where Miss Sprocket has repaired it herself, but it's not uncomfortable.

"Should've expected you to be here ridiculously early. You're always here even before we open whenever I ask you to come in." She starts talking aloud, the loud clatter of a pan being dragged out of a cupboard cluttering some of her words.

"You asked me to." He shrugs, idly tapping his legs as he waits. He won't mention the extra motivation of the rather sultry form of her request, still reminiscing the tail brushing his face.

"Well, I appreciate it, Brendon. Doubt I could run this place without you, honestly." She glances up at him, offering a rare, if tired, smile.

"You'd just have to hire another employee. You're a savvy business mare, you'd manage." He's dismissive, waving her away with a hand.

"Manage, sure. But then who will I incessantly flirt with all day?" She counters, raising a brow.

"You do have my number." A not so subtle offer, that gets a coy scoff out if the mare.

And an equally coy look from across the countertop, before she digs out a frozen bag of hashbrown from the fridge.
"I'm just supposed to bother you any time I want attention?"

"I am pretty fond of it." Brendon hums, crossing one leg over the other.
"...You want any help cooking?"

"Let a mare treat a guy, will you? Just sit there and keep looking pretty." She snips playfully, the frown on her face barely able to contain the tired grin. "Comes over early on the weekend and everything. I need to have a word with your mother, you're too damn polite."

"Wanting to meet my parents? We going official?" Brendon teases back, using the arm of the couch for support.

"Probably give your parents a heart attack knowing you're messing around with a pony of all things. And of my age?"

"A successful business owner that keeps me on the straight and narrow? They'd love you."

"One or two?" She asks, breaking off their teasing flirting to check how many eggs he'd like.

"Two would be great."

"You really don't have anything better to do on the weekends? I always feel bad for pulling you away with extra work."

"Nah, I don't get up to much. There's just one thing I like doing on the weekends."

"Oh? And what would..." She frowns as she realizes he's just staring at her with a dumb smile.
"Ha. Funny. You're in a mood today, aren't you?"

"I was invited under certain pretenses." Brendon leers, watching her.

Miss Sprocket sets the lid on the pan, trotting out from around the kitchen and towards Brendon, getting very close into his personal space. Half-closed eyes stare at his face, unamused.

"...Am I being too much?" He asks quietly.

She shakes her head, sighing loudly and dramatically, patting his leg with a hoof. As if consoling him.
"You have too much energy. Wait until after breakfast. Once I've got some coffee in me, we'll rid you of all that excess excitement you've got going on."

"Uh... okay." Brendon purses his lips. They'd flirt pretty bluntly, but even this was... a lot more on the nose.

"In fact..." She muses aloud, trotting back over to the kitchen.
"I'll need to wash up. If you're still feeling so generous, I wouldn't mind some extra hands to get my back."

Brendon is slowly losing the flirt war, Miss Sprocket gaining momentum as she continues to lay it on heavy. The final nail in the coffin for Brendon's lead is the slow, sauntering steps she takes as she walks away from the couch, her tail hiked up higher than usual.

They didn't get around to the brakes until well after lunch.

Oct 13th - Nun Mare

The Abbey Of Dual Dawns, Equestria | Nestled Against The Forest At The Base Of Foal Mountain, Between Canterlot and Fillydelphia

A man by the name of Jacob Browns sits in a quiet, dimly-lit room. It's quaint, almost spartan, with how little actually resides within. Hoof-made wooden planks form the floor, while a similar material provides privacy in the form of wooden shutters on the windows. A single candle on the desk offers him light as he writes with a quill, occasionally dabbing it into a half-empty ink pot. The room is almost entirely quiet, mind for the odd scraping sound of quill on parchment. Mind for the desk he writes on, and the undersized stool he awkwardly sits upon, the only other furniture is a bed bearing a single pillow, a single sheet, and a small chest to contain personal items. Ascetic is certainly one of the words that comes to mind when one might view room such as this, and asceticism is a common theme throughout the entire Abbey. Though, his height didn't quite help the scale of the room, considering it was never built for one of his species. That's why, outside of writing, Jacob preferred being outdoors.

Jacob takes a moment, adjusting the simple, monk-like robes that adorn his body, tugging at the sleeve and re-folding it as it slips from it's tucked position to keep out of the ink. Forsaking the technology and conveniences of his old life hasn't been easy, his first few months within these walls not being the easiest for him. But, through persistence and assistance from the kind souls he shared the grounds with, there was a small smile that simply could not be removed from his face, no matter the hour.

Content with his robes no longer being in the way, he resumes his writing, ink scratching into the awaiting page. One of several, that he has dutifully taken to contributing to every day, without fail, to record his time as a guest within these walls.

A firm, polite knock at the door distracts him, Jacob failing to lift the quill in time, a blob of ink staining his page. He tsks, raising his arms as not to get it on himself.
"Nh... dang it. One moment!"

There's not much he can do in the case of cleanup, but a single stain wasn't worth discarding the paper. Carefully dabbing at it with a well-used rag, he recovers as much as he can before leaving his work out to dry, quenching the candlelight and slowly unfurling his sleeves as he reaches the door, light peering through the cracks and underneath it's frame. The bright morning light causes him to squint, eyes yet to adjust to anything more than a single candle.

"I hope I haven't disturbed you, Jacob?" A familiar, worried voice speaks up the moment that it's revealed. The Matron of this Abbey, and a kind soul who has remained a close friendship with him since he was graced an opportunity to live amongst them.

"No, it's alright Mother Marigold. Just spilt some ink." Jacob quickly replies, clearing his throat.

Mother Marigold was the current Matron of the Dual Dawn Abbey, and the benefactor that permitted his extended stay within their grounds. On the younger side for a Matron, her robes are nearly indistinguishable from the other Sisters that populate the place. Despite this, very few could ever mistake her for anything else. A Unicorn, her almost eggshell fur radiated in a sharp contrast to the dark habit and robes that adorned her body, her uniform and look effortlessly and beautifully kept each day without fail. Jacob had no idea what color her nor tail was, as she kept the former neatly tucked away underneath the band that wrapped around her horn and kept her habit in place. The latter, by her own admission, was cut and kept quite short, hidden underneath the skirt of her lengthy robe. Despite this, she was easily the most breathtaking creature in these grounds. Thick eyelashes that might put a model to shame, gorgeous emerald eyes that sparkled with a keen intellect, and a mindset of kindness and an enjoyment for life made her one of the most enjoyable ponies to converse with, always willing to discuss whatever was on the mind.

"My sincerest apologies if I was the cause, Jacob. I forget that you enjoy adding to your journal each morning by candlelight, and thought you were yet asleep."

"Not at all. I still have my slips, unfortunately." Jacob is quick to deny with raised hands, revealing the ink that yet stains them no matter how much he scrubs. Not wanting the kindest soul he's spoken to in the last half a year to feel guilt, he pushes the topic aside as quick as he can.
"The feather is a weird utensil, even after using it for my stay. Still used to pens. But nevertheless, how are you this morning?"

It works, Mother Marigold smiling.
"Ah, I see. I am well, thank you Jacob." She sighs quietly to herself, relieved, before continuing.

"While I am always glad to enjoy a conversation with you each morning,I believe you tasked me with reminding you about something?" She offers, tilting her head.
"Something about your... camera?"

"Ah! Yes, one moment." Jacob quickly ducks back into the room, cracking open the simple chest that sits at the edge of the bed. From between hard drives filled with photos of the Abbey and the surrounding region, and a few empty power-banks that had served their purpose, Jacob produces a rather contrasting object to the simple surroundings, holding a rather advanced, modern Earth camera for personal photography. He squints at the little screen as it boots up, checking the battery.

Thirty-eight percent. He was running low on spare power, but that should be enough for now. And if she agreed, it shouldn't take too much more. He got far more than he ever thought he did, and anything now was a plentiful boon.

"It's been some time since I last saw you use it. I still remember how excited you were, I had trouble trailing after you your first few weeks here, taking pictures of absolutely everything you could. Though the crowd of curious Sisters was often harder to push through than actually keeping up with you." Mother Marigold laughs to herself, before politely hiding behind a hoof.

Slinging it's strap over his shoulder, Jacob rejoins the Mother.
"Yes, I remember the excitement. You said it wasn't often that outsiders visited, but I'm glad they're used to me now. I got all the pictures I thought I needed some time ago... but I had a proposition I wanted to run past you."

"Oh? Would you care to join me on my morning rounds of the grounds, then? We can walk and discuss this idea of yours. Perhaps we can even rekindle our prior conversation?"

"That sounds wonderful."

Ducking through the doorframe and shutting the door, no lock is required. A polite word had been put around the Abbey to respect Jacob's belongings and privacy, and the Abbey held little tolerance for selfish or criminal behaviors.

The Abbey itself was quite large, a half-rectangle of stone walls constructed quite some time ago that stood well over the average Ponies, and even Human, in height, nearly a story tall. Well-trodden dirt paths carve through the kept grass that sparkles with a fresh dew, as the morning sun peers over the eastward mountains and forests that surround the Abbey, bathing it in a fresh, almost pink-tinted light. Already, the Abbey is abuzz with activity from the Sisters dutifully partaking in their morning duties, all dressed similarly to Mother Marigold. Several buildings, not including the sizeable chapel that sits center-stage, tucked in the back of the Abbey, are connected with these paths, with the space between them all decorated by a variety of bushes and flowers, with the space tree when the grounds were particularly open.

Not that it was never truly not quietly thrumbing with the signs of life, thanks to the rotational hours that the Sisters would partake in. Every week, they would shift their time of schedule forward by two hours. So a Sister going to bed at ten, would then go to bed at twelve the next week. Then at two in the morning. Then at four, and so on. This was one of the many alterations to live for those that chose to embrace this way of life, to the means of perpetuating an appreciation of both the Day, and the Night, brought about by the two Princesses of their nation. Then, once every six months, or twice a year, each Sister would be given stark new hours that they had to adapt to, entirely changing their sleep schedule and duties, as part of a challenge of self.

When he first arrived, Jacob hadn't participated in the rotating schedule, mostly so that he could meet each face that lay within the walls. But after a few months, and a coincidental lineup of hours with Mother Marigold, she convinced him to participate in their rhythmic changes alongside her.

The building the pair leaves behind is quite small in comparison, a small storage building for goods, foods and supplies that had one of it's spare rooms cleared out and refitted for Jacob to stay in, as the Abbey was beheld to some particular protocols regarding how the differing genders were to be bunked.

A pair of Sisters carefully slinging sacks of oats onto the others backs from one of the rooms adjacent to Jacob's place of stay, pause their morning task of preparing breakfast to greet Mother Marigold and Jacob.

"Good morning, Mother! Hello Brother Jacob!" The bright-pink furred one pipes up excitedly.
"Mother, Brother. Morning." The other, more muted yellow-furred Sister nods politely.

"Sister Dives, Sister Profits." Mother Marigold nods her head in turn, greeting each with a smile.
"Hello, Sisters." Jacob adds, before the pair carry onward.

"Oats." Jacob hums, fiddling with his camera. "Oatmeal."

"You'll survive, I expect?" Their more simplistic approach to meals was somewhat permanently altered by Jacob's stay, with some diversity added to their meals to assist in his health, and a general appreciation for more foodstuffs by the Sisters. However, these relief on uncommon shipments from Canterlot, which only came every few months. So every arrival, the first few weeks enjoyed fresher goods, before things slowed down until the next shipment. The Sisters still grow their own vegetables and fruits on the grounds, visible to their side in the wide open field that sits surrounded by the various buildings, a few Sisters already toiling the field who stop and wave to the passing Matron.

"I appreciate the efforts you take to ensure my diet isn't neglected. I'll survive Oats." Jacob assures, smiling as he waves alongside.

"Of course it does, Jacob. You know how some of the Sisters enjoy having you around."

"How has your picture-taking been going, by the way?" Mother Marigold asks, turning her attention back to him, tilting her head. The two slowly following the dirt path past the Chapel, headed towards the longer, bunkhouse structure of where the Sisters stay.
"I haven't seen you with your camera around the grounds recently. Have you gotten all you've needed?"

"Uh... yes, but also, that directly relates to the proposition I wanted to talk to you about. I've gotten all the pictures I need of places around the Abbey, the buildings itself, the mountain, the forest..."

"Mmhm. I never thought this place would be so thoroughly documented, but you were quite intense in your approach, though your choice of camera still confuses me. As far as I remember, cameras produce a little picture out the bottom, do they not? That you... wave around and such?"

"We use digital cameras, which have a lot more convenience and utility than those styles... the only problem is, they're often somewhat dependent on the rest of the technologies that Earth has created. I've been working through the images on my laptop, altering them, improving them, removing the extras... but I only brought so many powerbanks with me, and without electricity, I'm starting to reach the limit of what else I can do here."

"So to say, you may need to go back on Earth to continue your work, yes?"

"Correct." Jacob notes, catching the somber look that takes Mother Marigold's face as she looks forward.

"I see. That is... unfortunate. I was looking forward to seeing the results of your toiling, as were the girls." She notes, nodding at another Sister who passes by them.

"Well, that's one part of the thing I wanted to talk to you about."

"And what might...oh, one moment, Jacob." Mother Marigold cuts herself off, trotting a few steps off the path towards the Sister's bunkhouse, where a small gathering of the Sisters are chatting in a circle close to the entrance.

"Ladies? Do we have things to be doing this morning?" She calls, a light but stern tone ringing out. The moment it's heard, several of the Sisters flinch or freeze up, their gazes snapping over.

"O-of course Mother! Sorry, Mother!" One quickly yips, grabbing a bucket with her teeth and taking off towards the well in the far corner of the Abbey.
"Yes Mother!" Another, shorter Sister quickly bolts back inside.
Another three offer no words, quickly escaping in various directions to tackle their various tasks. The final two that remain, however, only slowly turn and politely nod to the Mother, likely in their relaxation hours of their day, and meaning to go to bed soon.

"Good morning, Mother. Brother Jacob." A deep-purple mare with a single strand of mane peering out of her habit says, looking to her other.
"Out for your rounds, Mother Marigold? Oh -- your camera, Brother Jacob? Are you taking pictures again?" A mare with soft, orange fur perks up excitedly.

"Sister Gambles, Sister Yarn. Try not to distract the early-waking Sisters too much, will you?" Mother Marigold 'scolds', though there's no real venom to her words. Both readily nod, looking down.
"Apologies, Mother."
"Sorry!"

"I may be, Sister. I've an idea that I'm going to discuss with Mother Marigold, before I return home." Jacob explains, jostling the camera hanging around his neck.

Both visibly sadden at the news, though Sister Yarn frowns considerably.
"You're leaving us, Brother Jacob? Why?"

"We knew when he arrived that he would not be staying, Sister. He has been a guest -- a kind, polite one that shall be missed -- but a guest nonetheless." Mother Marigold explains, though her gaze floats up to him as she speaks his praises, even her own usually stoic face taking a saddened expression.

"It's been good having you, Br--... Jacob." Sister Gambles politely bows, before nudging Sister Yarn.
"It has. Be well." Sister Yarn adds, though her sad down-look keeps with her even as the pair wander off.

As they watch the two depart, Mother Marigold looks at Jacob, nodding for him to follow as they resume their previous course, returning to the path.

"I do hope you're not offended by my words, or my interruption, Jacob." She comments, watching him.

"Not at all, Mother Marigold. I was going to ask, actually, "Why have they started calling me Brother?"

Mother Marigold purses her lips, taking a moment to think over her words, though Jacob notices how she still watches the various windows to the Sister's bunkhouse as they pass, even as they converse.
"There was tentative, even apprehensive feelings towards you when you first arrived, Jacob. I'm glad to say most, if not all of the Sisters have come around to you being in the Abbey, and some have chosen to express that by offering you an equal title. That's quite rare, considering."

"What do you mean?" Jacob asks. That's very sweet of them, but he doesn't quite understand everything she's saying.

Mother Marigold slows, tapping her chin with a hoof, sighing loudly.

"Well... if I must say it bluntly Jacob, you're the only male that lives within the Abbey. Or has lived within the Abbey, and may likely be the only one to. The Sisters have grown quite fond of you, and I'm sure you've seen the odd... gossiping gaze that tends to linger wherever throughout the Abbey you wander."

"Wait, really?" Jacob asks, more than a little surprised. The Sisters had always been friendly to him, following the expected roughness of the first month or so, but the reasoning was a little unexpected considering the location. Or maybe Jacob just wasn't aware of the reality of his surroundings.

"They're young girls, Jacob. Of course they gossip about the only male they see." Mother Marigold enjoys a soft laugh at his expense, before continuing to lead him further, towards the study. Just beyond the Sisters bunkhouse, a sturdy, sizable square building home to a large amount of historical knowledge lay. Within, the Sisters transcribed older scrolls and texts, copied existing ones, and would often employ themselves as scribes to write or duplicate books upon commission, all to fund the Abbey. After the books were approved by Mother Marigold, of course.

"Forgive me if this is a poorly worded question, but you're young for a Matron, are you not?" Jacob asks, intrigued by the discussion at hand. When he had heard he'd be taken care of by the Mother of the Abbey, he'd expected someone... well, a fair amount older, and far more wrinkled. In comparison to his expectations, Mother Marigold was startingly young. Not that he was complaining.

She casts him a playful look, smirking. An acknowledgement of his irregular, if reasonably traced choice of topic, but one she seems willing enough to play along with.

"You are correct, Jacob. I took over Matronship this convent following the late Mother Juvial's passing. As she was unable to procure another, I, as the Sister holding the second-most senority at the time, was chosen by my peers to lead them. And so I have, for the last three years.

"Ah. I see. That's... quite respectable." Jacob adds, before looking forward. "There was really no other Sister older than you?"

Her brow raises, giving him a look.

"Oh. Sorry." He offers quietly, scratching his neck. "I meant, you're... so young for a Matriarch. We have similar covens on Earth, but the leadership is usually... much older than... I think you are."

"It's fine, Jacob." She giggles, almost uncharacteristically so, before continuing.
"No, amusing as you may find it, there wasn't. When Mother Juvial passed, the other Sisters looked to me, and I rose to take her place as the Matriarch."

When Jacob doesn't say anything else and allows an unusual silence between them, her gaze, ever still coy, finds it's way to his face.
"...You're trying to find the right way to ask about my age, aren't you?"

The sheepish look he makes only proves her guess right, eye contact a thing of the past now, even as they pass by the Study with little issue, ending closer to the edge of the fields as they're tended.

"...Very well." She hums, shaking her head. "Colts. Always the same, be it two legs or four. Thirty-one, Jacob."

"That's..."

Her brow raises.

"... I swear you don't look a day over twenty."

She scoffs, giving him a look that could only say 'really?'.
"Mhm. Alright, Jacob. What might your proposal indicate? Or is it related to my age?"

"No, no, not at all. Uh..." He stutters as he tries to find the words, fumbling for the camera around his neck.

...

Sitting on the quiet bench a short distance from the path, Mother Marigold contemplates his words. Jacob tentatively joins in beside her, fingers fidgeting against his knees as he waits for her answer.

"An individual photo of each Sister?" Mother Marigold finally repeats, eyes widening with a surprising interest in the idea.
"Princesses know the Sisters will certainly enjoy the idea. I can see why you wanted to say it away from the others."

"My plan was to have each Sister display or show something they enjoy within the Abbey, to give some life to the pictures beyond simple stills of buildings or distant, mid-task shots. Something that shows they're human. Or, uh... pony." Jacob continues to explain.
"To add to my article about the place. I know it's not really a gift or anything, but it's something I wanted to do as a thanks, before I headed back home."

"Hm. You know Jacob, I quite like the idea. It's rather sweet of you, and I think it will be well received. How should we handle it? Will it take long?"

"If you permit me a chance to bother a Sister at a time, it might only take me a few days to ensure no-one is missed." Jacob guesses, holding up his camera and checking the lens.
"And I thought... who better to start with than you, Mother Marigold?"

"Me?" She asks, giving him a once-over.

"None of this would have gone as well without you. You've not only been instrumental, but absolutely wonderful to work with. I thought I'd reserve the honor of first for you." His explanation is short, sweet, but the smile on his face is genuine. His stay was only as great as it was thanks to Mother Marigold, and he was more than happy to consider her a friend.

Mother Marigold seems touched by the comment, offering a sad smile and a hoof to her own covered chest.
"It will be sad to see you go, Jacob, as both I and the Sisters wish you could stay, but I'm ever so glad you were here. That's very sweet of you. So... how should we do this?"

"Well, how would you like your picture taken? Where, doing what? If you need some time to think about it, I can wait."

"Hm... her lips purse, her gaze drifting over a few of the buildings. He can see the contemplation on her face as she considers each. The Study, the Chapel, the entire open grounds of the Abbey... her gaze doesn't linger long over the bunkhouse, though he sees that she stares for a long moment at the little storage building he's called home for nearly a year now.

Finally, she looks to him. He's not sure if that's her coy or playful face, but it seems she has an idea.
"I think I've figured out what I'd like for you to remember me by, Jacob. Come with me."

...

Leading him behind the Chapel, there's a quaint garden that rounds it's out of sight edges, away from any paths and out of sight from the other Sisters, through a combination of locational convenience, and numerous hedges and trees that impair outside visuals. Though, the path she took him to reach this place was a little irregular, keeping to the walls and avoiding the other Sisters until they were out of sight, but Jacob didn't think too much of it. She might just be embarrassed.

"Perfect spot, Mother Marigold. I remember seeing you tend these flowers a good number of times... I can't think of a better place." Truthfully, for the Matriarch, he expected something in front of or inside the Chapel, to display her status and her leadership. This was... it felt very personal.

Mother Marigold centers herself in the middle of this little outcropping, tentatively standing, albeit a little awkwardly, as Jacob takes a knee and starts flicking through his camera's options.

"I'm... afraid I'm not familiar with posing for such things. Is this alright?" She asks, just kind of... standing there.

"Sure, but you don't have to be afraid of it. I'm going to take more than one, so it's not some big scary singular picture. Relax, get comfortable and have some fun with it." Jacob instructs, bringing the camera up to his face, adjusting the lens and popping the cap off.

"Oh, you're taking several?" She asks, if a little startled, tilting her head.

"Yes. The camera takes many pictures very quickly, and later I'll go through and pick out the best on my laptop." He explains, giving her a thumbs up from behind the camera.

"Ah, I see. Okay..." She clears her throat, looking over herself as she tries to decide. Quietly, her embarrassment seems to grow as she looks herself, and her chosen position over, trying to decide. She goes from merely standing to raising her head and puffing her chest, but decides that's not quite it. Then, she sits, partially hidden behind the draping edge of her habit, though this one gets a giggle out of her.
"I feel like a schoolfilly again, this is... silly." She sighs.

"Did you want to stop?" Jacob prompts, peeking out from behind the camera.

"No, no, I... hm. Perhaps I do have an idea." Mother Marigold tsks, taking another glance around.

Jacob follows her gaze, as she ensures they're alone. Then...

Jacob's jaw drops when he looks back to Mother Marigold. There's a fierce blush taking her face, but she's... posing. One hoof over her chest, sat on the ground, one of her back hooves is stretches outward as she arches her pack, a pout taking her lips as a half-lidded, dangerous stare meets Jacob.

His jaw is still open when Jacob hits the capture button, the camera shuttering quietly as it takes several pictures at once. Recognizing the sound, Mother Marigold then switches her stance.

She leans down on all fours, resting her head against the top of her forehooves as her rear lifts slightly, widening her rear hooves. A tilted, coy expression meets Jacob's continually shocked look, but the camera shutters with a rampant clicking as it captures more. Somehow, the way her robes cover everything, but the creases in them highlight the curvature that lays underneath... it's an entirely new sphere of eroticism through imagination.

She's getting emboldened by his reaction, despite the flush that's clear on both of their cheeks. She slowly stands, dragging her hooves across the grass in an almost sensual motion, before borderline strutting towards him, one hoof crossing over the other, her downcast face still staring right at him through half-closed eyes. She walks right up to him, the camera shuttering and catching an egregiously flirtatious expression, until she's so close that she pushes the camera aside herself. The barrier between them removed, a slow smile creeps across her lips as they close even further.

"Remember, Jacob... I said these were for you to remember me by. It's best none of these end up in your article, I think we can agree? And... of course, don't tell the Sisters. They don't need to hear of their Matriarch getting up to such things." She slowly explains, almost teasingly, as her hoof slowly trails his leg.

Words are the last thing Jacob could find at the moment, resorting to quickly nodding. He swallows hard, managing to stutter something out.
"I uh... I thought Sisters couldn't get into, u-uh..."

"You know... I actually haven't taken any vows against such a thing. Beyond consummation, I am not bound by celibacy or any such rules." Mother Marigold educates him, enjoying his flustered expression.

"O-oh."

"You seem flustered in discovering this, Jacob. Did you happen to feel a certain way about me? I notice you've gone quite red." She comments, teasing. It'd be funny to point out how she's just as red in the face as he is, yet she's the one pushing through it to tease him, while he's a melting mess. Nine months of reserved living and minimal flirting, only to be assailed by an egregiously, aggressively sensual woman at the top of a forbidden chain. Or... not so forbidden, apparently, if he was to consider marriage.

Was he? Forgetting Earth and returning to a quiet life of asceticism? Well, a life with...

"Perhaps when you return to us, there will be a better spot waiting for you. One not in a storage room, but one closer to my chambers, so we may resume these..." Mother Marigold knows her exact choice of words, as if an agenda plagues her actions.

She leans forward, hoof against his chest, as she inches ever closer. Her lips, almost trembling in anticipation, gently press against his as she leans into him. Marigold's stance of nearly standing on him, using his legs as supports for his hooves gives her height extra height over him, practically kissing downward and forcing his head up.

It's a sensation he never expected in his time here, nor from Mother Marigold, with Jacob being at a loss for words as she slowly pulls away, the plush warmth of her presence hover just so tantalizingly close. Over just as quickly as it arrived.

"So, when do you think you'll be back?" Mother Marigold asks, that playful, coy smile returning to her face. A single strand of surprisingly ruby-red hair is peeking through a slip in her hair-band.

"I... didn't know you had such red hair." He mumbles.

"Try not to avoid the question, will you?" She prods him, though her smile only gets wider.

"Sorry. Uh... a month or two. Maybe one, if you're vouching for me on this side of the portal."

"Of course. I'm looking forward to welcoming you back, Brother Jacob." She pecks his cheek, slowly stepping off of him as she tucks her stray strand of mane away, staring at him expectantly.
"Shall we inform the Sisters of your proposal with the pictures, and your plans to return soon?"

Jacob's heart is thundering on his chest, weighing the consequences of what just occurred.

... He could probably finish his article and be back in three weeks or so. Yeah. She was worth it.

Oct 14th - Milf Mare - Saucy

Ponyville, Equestria | A Quiet Side-Street A Short Distance From Rambi's House

It's hard to get better weather than this, though that's thanks to the tireless efforts of the local weather brigade rather than luck. That's something Rambi is quick to remind Rick any time the topic comes up, no matter how much he rolls his eyes. The pair slowly cruise the quiet small-town streets, Rambi reminiscing about how much quieter the place was before all the attention to that big, shiny school sitting up on the hill, nearly visible at all times thanks to how most buildings around here never got taller than two stories. Something more like a Village+ than a town, but the activity around Ponyville had increased heavily in recent years, especially with the Portal being nearby. With the ease of access from Canterlot to Ponyville, it'd become a semi-popular destination to visit for outsiders Equus and Earth alike.

"Personally, I think you guys are just lucky you didn't get the Portal anytime earlier. Chinese tourists before their whole backlash thing? Hoo, terrible." Rick blows a raspberry, hands tucked in his jacket pocket as he kicks a rock, sending it tumbling down the path.

"I don't even know what a Chinese is, Rick, and I know that you're just being a racist shit again." Rambi scoffs, debating on punching him in the thigh. Watching him flinch as she lifts her foot is enough for her, and she lowers her hoof again, adjusting the collar on her own coat.

"Yeah, a little bit." Rick admits with a shrug, giving the pebble another punt forward, watching it tumble forward.

Rambi was a friend Rick had made when she came through the portal early into his college years, sharing a desk in one of the classes. Rick's incessantly annoying questions and bothering, as Rambi put it eventually lead her to tolerate his presence enough that they hung out outside of the school hours, too.

Or as normal people put it, they're friends of several years, having met in college and known the other for some time now.

"Seriously, though. As far as the whole tourism thing goes, this place already seems built for it." Rick comments.
"Not much in the way of downtown big-buildings or the like, but there's plenty to look at."

"Yeah, I guess. The School of Friendship kind of draws ponies and other species from all across Equus, which brings their families, which brings interest, combined with tourism... this place used to be a village when I was a filly." Rambi explains, the pair turning a side-street. It only goes on for a little bit, surrounded by small suburbian houses on each end before stopping entirely, the houses forming a vague U shape in this little residential corner, just one of many in the awkwardly-planned infrastructure of Ponyville. They cut between one of the houses, a familiar shortcut as they continue further towards the edge of town.

"Already seems bigger since the last time I was here... what was it, for Christmas?" Rick tries to remember, tsking loudly. Without much family to visit himself during the holidays, he'd typically go along with Rambi to visit hers instead.

"Yeah, seriously. Wonder if this place counts as a town or something, the way it keeps growing." Rambi glances behind them, though her face is growing more and more stern as they close in on their destination. This far out from the Ponyville center, the houses and homes stopped following proper zoning procedures, and were kind of just placed out wherever, a side effect of it's founding as Ponies took whatever land they could for themselves, until the expansion of the town caught up to them. It had yet to catch up here, though that might change in the coming years.

Nestled squarely in a little field, parted by a few trees, sat the pinnacle of what a cottage could be described eyes. Cozy cream-colored walls, a small wooden fence surrounding a garden growing numerous veggies and fruits, with a hay roof sputtering smoke from a chimney. Most of the outlying houses kept this kind of look, while the inner-town were beginning to shift to more city-style constructs.

Rambi's home, and their destination for this summer break. A familiar sight for both, and a home away from home for Rick, who could already smell the home cooking wafting from one of the half-closed window shutters.

Just as they reach the fence, Rick is torn from his day-dreaming of what food might be awaiting them. His jacket is roughly grabbed by a hoof, and Rick is pulled down face-level to Rambi, who sports furrowed, threatening glare.

"And REMEMBER." Rambunctious Rhetoric, or just Rambi as she prefers, pokes at him roughly. Her face almost comically contorted as her eyes try their best to burn a hole right through him, frowning so heavily that the creases on her face have creases. He's pretty used to seeing her like this, though he already knows why she's about ready to knock his shit in this time.

"Do. Not. Hit. On. My. Mom." She slowly spits, heavily enunciating every single word, to the point Rick could swear he saw venom drip from her teeth. Might just be spit, actually. Despite the threat, she's trying her best to stifle the muted blush creeping across her face. It's a weird topic.

Rick raises his hands in surrender, weakly trying to laugh it off.
"C'mon dude, I don't hit on your mom."

No dice. Rambi's frown doesn't even budge.
"Yes, you do. Seriously. I'm going to kick your shit in if you even look at her weirdly, Rick. I'm not kidding."

"Look, Rambi, I'm not trying to --"

"Don't care. Do not hit on my mom. Got it? Understood? Capishe?" Every question, another hard poke against Rick's chest, causing him to sway weirdly at the awkward angle Rambi is holding him at.

"...Yeah, got it." Rick relents, trying to seat Rambi's hoof away.

"Good." It sounds more like a threat than the rest of her words, but the frown finally falters. She finally releases him, letting him stumble back and smoothen out his jacket with a few pats. Rick takes a relieved breath, trying to make himself look at least a little more proper again.

The first time Rick came over for the holidays, Rambi hadn't even invited him. Rather, Rambi's mother had learned about her making a friend, something she apparently didn't have very many of growing up, so she made Rambi invite Rick over. Now, it's basically tradition for Rick to come over any time there's a gap in the school year. Or if Rambi heads home for any reason, Rambi drags Rick along just to avoid the torrent of questions about "Oh, where's your friend? I thought Rick was coming?" And so forth.

Rambi knocks several times, taking a step back.
"Mom? It's me." She calls out lazily. "...And Rick."

Rambi was the kind of mare who never grew out of her rebellious phase. Always wearing a big, thick jacket with her mane cut quite short, a disdainful look never quite left her face. Still, she was a solid friend when Rick needed her.

It's just... as of recent, a small schism has been forming between them. Something that had been growing with each recent visit. Rambi's pointed threats weren't exactly unfounded, though it wasn't Rick's intention.

"The door is unlocked! Come in!" They both hear from deeper inside the cottage. Rambi pops the door, trotting inside without waiting for Rick, who trails in after her.

...

While the apartment Rick stays in back on Earth might technically be home, this was the place he felt the most welcome. A place that actually felt lived in, like he was returning to something more than microwaved dinners and boring nights. Warm, soft colors decorated the little abode and it's high-density, but carefully organized clutter. All to Pony scale, of course, so Rick ducks his head low as he steps inside. The ceilings are tall enough that he doesn't have to duck, thankfully, but doorways were another thing entirely.

He always expected them to have those little barn stable doors, or like, saloon doors. But nope, proper doors with hooves to handle the door handles. Funny thing, that.

He can hardly hear the door click shut behind himself over the clopping of hooves on hardwood, Rambi tossing her jacket over the back of a living room chair. The place practically screamed cozy, with soft carpets covering everywhere that isn't the main entryway, cream-colors and soft greens on the chairs and couches, all styled like something right out of the nineteen-hundreds. Various paintings of distant places pepper the walls, with soft curtains covering each and every visible window. The place screams cottage core with every fiber of it's being, with shelves of doohickies and doodads that all liven the place up, with embroidered coasters topping every surface you might ever place a drink on.

"Hey, mom." Rambi peers through the distant doorway at the end of the hall, where the sound bowls clattering can be heard, all while Rick still fusses with his shoes. He tucks them in the corner, something that was viewed oddly when he first started staying over (taking off ones hooves was a novel concept), was still a habit he kept.

There's a quiet exchange that he can't quite make out, until Rambi looks back towards Rick, frowning.
"...Yeah, he's here too." She mutters, rolling her eyes and entering the kitchen.

Following after her, it only takes a moment to cross the quaint house, before he's ducking inside the kitchen after Rambi, where the tantalizing smell of something baked and delicious is it's strongest. A well-used, equally well stocked kitchen rounds the walls, almost one to one with kitchens back on Earth. Though, without electricity, things were either manual or cleverly powered with some kind of crystal, like the fridge. Most of that stuff went over his head, but that wasn't his focus right now.

Rambi is sat at the little table that tables up the corner, away from the counters, stove and other cooking goodies, head leant on her hoof in boredom. Meanwhile, the kitchens other occupant spins around from the stove, deftly kicking it shut with a back hoof.
"Oh, Ricky! You're here!"

Rigorous Cheer, or simply Ms Cheer as Rick politely calls her -- a compromise of still adding a little respect, despite her preference for not using her full name, and his refusal to simply call her Cheer -- greets him cheerfully, if a touch bashfully. A bit of an odd name, but their family had a history of having some interesting naming conventions. In Ms Cherry's case, though he hadn't quite heard the story himself, apparently her name is a bit of a amalgamation from her youth, and her birth name. But even as a fully grown mare, she's hardly taller than his waist, requiring that she looks up towards Rick. One of her hooves fidgets with the front of her apron, trying to clean it off. A pure, enthused smile sprinkled by a soft flush permeating her snout. Rick knows she doesn't mean to, considering by her own admission she rarely wears any makeup, but her eyelashes bat softly at him as she trots towards him.

He couldn't tell if the cutie-mark that displayed a small assortment of baked goods, or the well-used and flour-stained apron better showed just how much of a baking fiend that Rambi's mom really was. Much like Rambi, she had a penchant for wearing and enjoying clothes. Unlike Rambi, they didn't tend to be jackets or thick coats, but rather aprons, sweaters, and blouses were all things that Rick had seen her wearing. Today was no different, a gentle combination of green tying together the bow in her auburn, sun-glinting braided mane, the green apron that sat overtop her light undershirt, and the subtle green of her eyes. She looked like an older, more mature Rambi, with the same color hair, and the same color fur. They're almost identical outside of choice of style, even sharing the same eye color. You know, that difference in style where she didn't feel the urge to tell the world to fuck itself each morning, unlike Rambi. Even her tail was meticulously braided, something Rick knows would've taken her quite some time.

"Hey, Miss Cheer. Thanks for having me over again." Ricky can't help but smile, arms outstretched. He's already well aware of her intentions, and it'd be rude not to meet them.

"Oh, you don't need to thank me, Ricky. You know you're always welcome here. And please! Enough with the Miss, you're making me feel old." She giggles, lifting herself up onto her hind legs, and practically falling into his embrace as she wraps her hooves over his shoulders, pulling him in tightly and closely. A long, content sigh escapes her as their bodies meet, holding the other tightly.

Her snout hovers close to his ear, her tone soft and quiet.
"Just call me Cheer, will you? You'd make this mare quite happy if you did." She hums, pulling away just enough to look him in the eyes, smiling.

"Um..." Rick swallows hard, having great difficulty meeting her startingly expectant gaze. Her head tilts ever so slightly, ears flickering as she maintains a silent, subtle pressure.
"Sure thing... Cheer." He manages.

Rambi coughs loudly from the table, interrupting the pair. She's already trying to bore a hole right through Rick, glaring from her spot at the table. Ms Cheer hops back down, the smile never leaving her face.
"What, did you want a hug too, Rambi?"

"Mom." She groans, hoof to face.

"Am I not allowed to be excited, having my daughter and her friend home?" Ms Cheer playfully counters, slipping back over to the stove to check on the tray she'd taken out moments prior.
"Have a seat, Ricky. Let me make you a plate, I'm sure you and Rambi are starving!"

"Yeah, sure. Thanks, Ms--uh. Thanks, Cheer?" Rick tries after a quick stutter. The choice of using her first name practically has Ms. Cheer beaming, tail excitedly swishing back and forth in the air as she hums. But as Rick sits at the table, he can feel the radiating, malicious presence sitting beside him that leaves his hair on end.

"Rick." He hears a hissing whisper, but tries to ignore it, scratching his cheek.

He starts to whistle.

"Rick." He hears again, through the grinding of teeth. Swallowing hard, he slowly glances over, already squinting.

"Hey, what'sup Rambi?" He tries to play off. No dice, she's pissed with a capital P. "Smells good, don't it?"

"I thought I told you something very specific, Rick. Something at the door, that you agreed to." She whispers, a hoof pressing firmly to the top of the table.

"Dude, I swear to you, I'm not trying to. I'm just trying to be polite." Rick insists, tapping the table like it helps his insistence.

"Since when do you call my mother by her first name?" She's heavily suspicious, and unlikely to let any little thing go unnoticed or unquestioned.

"She asked me to. I swear it." Rick claims, hoping his i'm-very-innocent expression assists in his defense.

Rambi stares at him for a long, quiet moment, only her brow furrowed over so slightly more than it already is. Which, considering how hard she's already frowning, is kind of impressive.

"... Remember." Is all she mutters, crossing her hooves and sitting back.

Right on time, as two piping-hot plates of brownie are placed in front of them, still steaming. How she carried two plates at once, Rick has no clue.
"Here you two are, I hope this can tide you over before I get something proper in your stomachs."

"...Dessert before lunch?" Rambi questions suspiciously, poking at the plate with her fork. "Since when have you ever done that?"

"Well, I can hardly leave you and Ricky smelling it the entire time while I work on something else, now can I?" Ms. Cheer smiles sweetly, heading over to the fridge.
"Milk with that?"

The promise of a tasty treat seems to satisfy her curiosity enough, Rambi settling in to help her fill. Still, even as words don't make their way out of her, Rick can still feel the glare to the side of his face, ever judging his every action while in their home.

Inversely, a rather content Ms. Cheer happily takes the seat directly beside Rick once she's served a glass of milk to each of her visitors, partaking in a little plate of brownie for herself.

While Rambi stares at Rick, watching his every reaction to Ms. Cheer and her unusual proximity with a careful and suspicious eye, she's entirely unaware of the unsupervised hoof that Rick feels slowly caress his leg under table. It takes every ounce of Rick's being to play it off, trying to distract himself with pleasant conversation, all while Ms. Cheer only smiles, side-eyeing Rick and enjoying his muted reactions.

"So, Rambi! What have you been up to on Earth? How's your schooling going?" Cheer excitedly asks, leaning forward on one hoof.

While the other slowly traces up Rick's thigh, in teasingly slow circles. He swallows hard. The entire conversation, she doesn't stop, tracing his teasing just out of sight.

...

After an enjoyable, if painfully distracting dessert, Ms. Cheer whipped up a quick lunch of a few varieties of sandwich. Stacked on a plate, the trio took to the living room, rather than the kitchen table for comfort. Rambi happily sunk into one of the chairs, while Ms. Cheer took another, giving Rick the couch to himself, considering how he was sized to the furniture. Even without being sat beside her, Rick could still see the suggestive stare that permeats from the older mare.

"Yeah. Overall, school is lame." Rambi huffs loudly, wrapping up a long rant about how boring her courses are despite her high grades, and her desire to do something more exciting, like sports.

"That's what jobs are for, honey. You work something you can tolerate, so you can spend the money you make on the things you enjoy. Just don't let your work consume all your free time." Ms. Cheer offers without skipping a beat, finally pulling her eyes from Rick, in the form of surprisingly sage advice as she drinks from a fresh cup of tea. Seriously, this mare was a whiz at producing food. He never even saw her set up, or pour the kettle. All Rick knew is he helped carry the platter of sandwiches to the coffee table, and a cup of tea was already placed out for them.

"Yeah? Like your hobbies, mom?" Rambi tries to zing back, but Rick has never seen one of Rambi's comments bother her mother. Effortlessly, she's already reminiscing, thinking of days of old.

"Ah, yes. What was it... hoofball, I believe?" Ms. Cheer hums in thought behind her cup, sipping quietly.

"Seriously?" Rick raises a brow.

"Sure! I was in the mare's team for my school. I had my fun, but other opportunities opened themselves up. But, that's enough about this mare... Ricky, how's your schooling been going? If I remember correctly, you're working on a Biology degree, correct?" She shifts topics, setting her cup down on the table and resting her front-hooves... on her back hoof, which she slowly crosses one over the other. He's got no idea how she's sitting like that, but the apron tucks in against her curves, providing little for the imagination.

"Well..." Rick coughs, averting his gaze -- he can already feel Rambi's glare shifting towards him just for looking in her mother's direction. "For my thesis, I am studying foreign bacteria and including a lofty recount of similarities to local species. I'm trying to work out what career I'd like to pursue, but I'm still not certain. There's a lot of options. I might just get my degree and start putting myself out there."

Both Rambi and Ms. Cheer's attention snaps at him, for two very different reasons. Rambi looks like she's about to witness an inevitable car crash, while a smile of pure opportunity slips onto Ms. Cheer's face.

"Ri--" Rambi goes to start, but a moment to late, as Ms. Cheer leans forward, eagerly engaging.
"Foreign bacteria? Like... inter-portal foreign?" She eggs on, side-eyeing her daughter as Rambi fumes, failing in her attempt to stow her mothers interest.

"Yes, actually. The idea was started by a Professor Schtutes, who realized that if so much of our worlds are similar, 'so should be the building blocks', as he put it. I wanted to test his theory and take some samples from this side, though I'm still working out the logistics with the college." Ricky continues. This is all stuff that Rambi has heard before, but Ms. Cheer excitedly sits forward, hanging on to every word. He can't tell if it's because she's genuinely interested in the topic, or if something else has caught her interest.

"Well, if you ever need a place to stay while you handle your research on this side of things, you've always got a place here, Ricky. You don't always have to come along with Rambi to say hello." She hums cheerfully, smiling.

"That... is very kind of you, Ms. Cheer. I'll let you know how things go with the grant. Having a host family should be an advantage to help push it forward." Rick nods, appreciative. It would certainly make things a lot easier.

"My only rule is that you're dropping the Ms, Ricky. I've told you, just Cheer is fine." The playful smile widens, one if her back hooves slowly jostling in the air.

Rambi rolls her eyes, returning to her drink with a tentative interest, sticking her tongue out at the taste. Tea wasn't quite her speed. Rambi preferred things that were carbonated. Something Ms. Cheer is quick to pick up on, a rare expression taking her face as she sits up.

"You know... Rambi, you're old enough for this kind of thing now, and I want to give you something that shows I... respect your autonomy." Cheer explains, glancing over as she slides off the chair, trotting over to the cabinet in the corner, and opens one of the lower drawers.
"And, helps celebrate your progress. I think you deserve it. Oh, and Ricky can have some too!"

"Huh?" Rambi glances over, curious. She sets the tea down, her mother's odd behavior catching her interest once more. And, thankfully, distracting Rambi from how Rick is treated to an ample rear-view of a tail-swishing strut from Ms. Cheer as she crosses the living room.

Ms. Cheer produces something Rick was not expecting. A bottle of wine.

Rambi's eyes widen in excitement, practically hanging off the edge of her chair.
"Seriously?!" She exclaims, absolutely stoked at the idea. What better validation for a rebellious spirit than the taboo spirits?

Rick remains silent as he quietly sips his tea, trying to put as much of any other liquid that he can in his system. The side-eye that Ms. Cheer slips him as she presents the bottle has Rick suspicious of the real reason she's breaking something like that out.

...

Rambi, to her credit, did her best. But alcohol was never really in her usual list of tasty treats that she took to enjoying, so after a glass and some, the rosy-nosed Pony was passed out in the chair, curled up in a half-circle, snoring against the armrest.

Which left only Rick, and Ms. Cheer. Who, following her daughters sudden slumber, shifted over to join Rick on the only furniture that properly let him sit comfortably. The couch. If Rick didn't know better, he'd say this was an extremely tactical choice by Ms. Cheer to isolate the situation, and to cleverly remove Rambi from the situation in a way she'd never disapprove of.

On her second glass, Ms. Cheer carefully balances the half-full drink between her hooves, leaning heavily against Rick's arm. A long, wistful sigh escapes her as she rests her head on his shoulder, humming with content. Rick clutches his own, barely touched glass. Not for a lack of effort, but wine just had a certain punch to it that he wasn't looking for, though he took a few polite sips as not to waste.

... No, that was totally her plan. The look she keeps slipping him, while Rambi softly snores in the background, is anything but innocent despite her attempts to appear so. This is one devious mare.

"Thank you for being friends with Rambi. I know she has... difficulties when it comes to dealing with Ponies. Or people, even, and she can be rough to get along with. But I know she's a lot happier when you're around." It's a quiet, appreciative thanks that Rick can only nod to.

"Sure. She's been there for me, and she wears her heart on her sleeve. She cares for you quite a lot." Rick nods along. Rambi is definitely... an acquired taste when it came to friendship, but she's undoubtedly been there for him. That's why this part always feels so... odd.

"She has trouble showing it, but she's sweet. Rambi's always been so protective of me after her fathers passing... she was so young when it happened. It's good that she has such a respectable male figure in her life, now." Another compliment paid his way, and another inch of his personal space intruded upon by a tipsy, shapely mare whose only intent is to have as much of her fur, touching his skin as possible.

Quiet silence takes the living room, Cheer simply enjoying Rick's warmth as she nuzzles against his arm. Other than Rambi's occasional odd noise, and the muted sounds of nature outside the window as birds peruse the spilt seed in the yard, it's just Rick, Cheer, and their differently paced breathing. Until she takes a sharp inhale, catching Rick's attention.

"I used to be in the Canterlot Guard, before I had Rambi. Have I ever told you that?" She suddenly states, staring into the rippling surface of the crimson liquid of her glass.
"Don't know if I've kept my form since then... best shape of my life. Adorned in steel, bearing the shield. Now I'm... hm." She hums, and Rick can't quite tell what kind it is. She's pensive, contemplating something quietly, but he can't quite figure out what.

"You're 'hm'?" Rick questions. He's pretty sure Rambi told him once or twice that Ms. Cheer had a pretty drastic rebellious phase in her youth, as if inspiration for Rambi's perpetual phase she hasn't quite kicked yet. To spite her cutie mark, she took up a heavy interest in sports, which lead to a stint working in the Canterlot Guard. Imagining Ms. Cheer in a full set of armor, well-muscled and stern-faced certainly isn't helping when she's already sitting so close to him.

She purses her lips, glancing herself over before offering an answer he wasn't expecting.
"How do I look, Ricky? I don't think I've let myself go too much, have I?"

She scoots over slightly in her seating almost presenting herself and her underbelly as she leans back against the couch. Again, she's dressed in an undershirt and an apron, so there's hardly anything to perversely gleam. Just a self-conscious, older mare with curves she's got no idea she has.

"I..." Rick's mouth purses, looking to the sleeping Rambi. He's really not trying to, he promises. But it's kind of hard not to.
"...Think you're beautiful, Cheer. Nothing wrong with letting yourself get comfortable after keeping up what I'm sure is some pretty hefty workout regimes." He tries to word. It's hard to tell a mare he's perfectly attracted to her plumping up, especially since Ms. Cheer happens to have done so around the hips, without sounding demeaning.

Lucky for him, she seems more focused on the first half of his sentence, looking up to him and smiling softly. She's definitely tipsy, but she holds her alcohol far better than Rambi does.
"Beautiful, huh?"

It's not really a question, as Cheer sets her glass down. Then, she surprises him as she reaches for his, setting it down beside hers.
"...Sweet Celestia, I've missed you Rick. You really need to visit more often." She suddenly states, turning around and lifting herself over him. His eyes widen as she uses the couch for support, before promptly sitting directly on his lap, keeping herself in place with her hips, legs clamping tight against his.

"Oop-- Cheer..."

"So..." Her hoof slowly traces circles on his chest, her back-legs tightening against his waist as she straddles his lap.
"Since Rambi, poor thing, is fast asleep, I think we can leave her to rest. Nothing wrong with a midday nap, and I'm sure traversing the portal and traveling all the way here from Canterlot is quite is tiring. But, that means you've probably got some strain you're under yourself hm? Perhaps I can help ease your aches with... something, or... other activities."
Each word is practically dripping with barely-restrained sensuality, her half-lidded stare having grown relatively lethal now that Rick's only form of a safety net, Rambi's watchful gaze, had been challenged into a self-driven tipsy slumber.

That's the not-so-unfortunate truth of the matter that Rick had difficulty telling Rambi. He wasn't the one hitting on Rambi's mom. Ms. Cheer was the one that had taken a keen interest in Rick some time ago, and the two had been... participating in particular, private events for a while. Sorry Rambi, he tried resisting for as long as he could, but the straining member in his pants could only resist the carnal call of a lonely, motherly mare that desired him for so long. Ms. Cheer knew what she wanted, and she wasn't exactly subtle in her approach.

"Where can I have you this time?" She purrs, pressing her nose to his. She's never exactly been quiet about her interests, and while she was bashful during their first, more carnal interactions, Rick's returned interest only inspired the lonely mare to grasp him firmly, and never quite let him go. Cheer is more than aware of the effect she's having on him, slowly grinding her hips against him, rubbing herself against the tenting member in his pants, the nature of the action politely hidden behind her apron as it drapes itself over his waist.
"Keeping me waiting since Hearth's Warming... a mare gets lonely, don't you know?"

She's using him as support, gyrating herself against him with firm, long rotations that grind her hips firmly against his, both of their breathing growing more labored as she works both herself and Rick up.

"Sorry... I do try to visit more often, but college has been keeping me busy." Ricky admits, expecting a poor response. Instead, her hoof gently cups his cheek, smiling at him.

"I admire how dedicated you are to your studies, Ricky... proper dedication is a rare thing in a colt." She says, offering gentle, kind affirmations. "I'm proud of you. And, my prior offer does still... mnh, buck. Hold on." She mutters, pausing for a moment and re-adjusting herself, pressing his growing bulge directly against herself.
"Nnh... there we go. My... offer." She continues, grinding harder as her words become strained, and intermingled with soft gasps. "It still stands. If you want to research your subject around here, I'd gladly host you. Celestia knows I wouldn't mind having a certain somepony to help warm my bed each night... though I do promise not to distract you from your studying..."
She smiles softly.
"Too often." She quietly adds, leaning forward. Her lips hover just over his, tantalizing as they share a tea-flavored breath, held in a suspended tease.

"That..." Rick starts to respond, his lips brushing against hers as she wobbles slightly in place. They're ungodly soft, and ever so slightly glossed as her bottom lip pouts, practically begging for it, tempting him to make the first move like she isn't already working him through his pants.
"I might have to take you up on that." He barely manages, before he trails a hand up Cheer's back, urging her forward and closer. The long-desired contact is finally made, as wet lips meet in a furious kiss that has her pushing him back against the couch, hooves firmly pressed to his shoulders. He can feel the bangs of her mane brush his face, her tongue already pressing pas the ever-shifting barrier of his lips, seeking his in desperation.

He can tell by the way she whimpers quietly into his mouth between ragged gasps, just how patiently she's been while waiting for him. How difficult it's been, and how badly she needs him now.

"Say... mmn... Ricky." She manages between heavy breaths, barely pulling away.
"Why don't you just stay with me when college is over?"

"Cheer..." Rick huffs, catching his breath.

"I know it's sudden, but I miss having you around Rick. You and Rambi make this place actually feel like home." She continues leaning against him as her hoofs fumble down to his pants, awkwardly trying to unclasp the buttons.
"And I'd love to have any excuse to keep you closer."

Kind of hard to properly weigh the pros and cons of such a thing when there's a needy mare trying to get into your pants. He places his hands over her hooves, stopping her.

"Hold on, Cheer. Let's go upstairs, yeah?" He whispers, glancing at Rambi.

She nods, looking behind herself to get down off of him. Instead, Rick leans forward, using his arms to scoop her up and pin her against his chest, carrying her. Cheer's eyes widen in a barely-stifled surprise as she's lifted off the ground, a light giggle escaping her.

"I figured you were strong Ricky, but you didn't need to show off..." She mutters, casting him a playful look as he creeps around the coffee table. She's clinging tightly to him, definitely enjoying the princess treatment.

The second floor of Cheer's home is smaller, consisting only of a pair of bedrooms, and a hallway closet. Quietly and carefully climbing the steps, all while trying to ignore the needy mare that's enjoying the close proximity, Cheer gets the door for him as they step into her bedroom, shutting the door.

It's a cute little room, primarily taken up by the bed and the standing dresser. Green is definitely her favorite color, going by the sheets that cover the bed, and the curtains that barely let any light in. Slowly, Rick settles Cheer down on the mattress -- but before he can fully let her go, she grabs his jacket by the collar giggling to herself as she rolls backwards, flat on her back. The motion pulls Rick with her forcing his to prop himself up with his arms as he's dragged overtop of her, holding himself just above her excitedly wriggling form. There's a mischievous smile beneath the fervent flush on her face.

"Goodness... look at you, Ricky." Her back legs rub against each-other in anticipation, neck craving back, as if inviting him.

Wordlessly, Rick leans down, lips meeting the soft fur of her neck as he buries himself, tenderly kissing what he can. A content hum escapes Cheer as her hooves wrap up and over his shoulders, keeping him pulled closely.

While she might have been wearing an undershirt and an apron, Ms. Cheer had little beyond the frilly apron itself to cover her lower regions. Something she was hardly subtle about.

"Are you going to get those pants off and rut me already, or what?" She whispers in his ear, before nibbling his lobe. Rick couldn't decide between needy or impatient, though she might just be both. Either way, Rick props himself up with one arm, fiddling with the button of his pants with the other until he's managed to tug them just enough out of the way. Cheer watches eagerly, peering underneath Rick as his half-hard member is flopped out from the confines of his underwear, firmly slapping against her stomach. A shiver runs up her spine, biting her lip.

"Are you, uh..."

Before Rick can even say anything, he can feel her back-hooves brace against his legs, her face leveling out to stare at his. Her breathing is faster as her excitement grows, her confidence soaring as she keeps firm eye-contact.
"Ricky, dear. I'm soaked. I've been thinking about you the moment I heard you were coming to visit. Try not to keep me waiting any longer?"

His cock slides down her stomach, pressing against her slicked entrance. To her credit, she wasn't lying. On the first testing thrust, Rick nearly slips right in. Cheer makes an adorable noise as his tip bumps against her, clearly growing more excited.

So as not to disappoint, Rick shuffles himself around to line himself up, before slowly working his hips forward. An awaiting, wet grip meets his member as she pushes himself inside, grunting as Cheer trembles underneath him, the mare letting out a stuttered gasp as he pushes inside.

"B-buck!" She grunts, latching around him firmly. His hips meet against the soft, plush fur of Ms. Cheer's as she takes him in fully.

"You okay?" Rick asks softly.

"J-just... I forget how big you are." She manages, smiling.
"Let me just... feel you for a moment."

She let's out a surprised giggle as she feels him twitching inside her, skin to fur, hips to hips. Giving themselves time to adjust, holding the other in a tight embrace.

"Okay... I think I'm good. Just take it slow." Cheer finally says, patting his back softly.

"You sure?"

"Ricky, dear. It's very sweet that you keep checking on me. But if I say buck me so hard that we ruin the mattress, I want you to do exactly that. Understood?" She teases, kissing his face.

Rick swallows hard, nodding. He pushes his mouth firmly against Cheer's, surprising her. In the same motion, he slowly draws himself out of her, enjoying the quiet moan she makes into his mouth as pauses just short of fully exiting her. Then, just as slow, he pushes himself back into her folds, until their hips bump against each other, lips still firmly locked. Or, as much as they can be, between their grunts, moans and gasps for breath.

She's warm, and her fur smells like the treats she's spent all afternoon baking. Her grip around him is sturdy, urging him with each twitch to keep going as he starts to pick up the pace.

It's getting harder for Cheer to keep kissing him, her mouth agape as she gasps each time he plunges fully inside her, a wet smack dulled by her fur every time they connect.

Rick tries to restrain himself to keep it slowly, but the way that Cheer keeps looking at him, desperately trying to meet his lips with sloppy, poorly aimed kisses that often just reduce to gasping for breath only furthers his desire. It doesn't take long before he's roughly pistoning in and out of her, the bed creaking with every hard thrust that pushes him into her welcoming, warm depths.

Track of time is lost as they focus on each-other, hands and hooves doing their best to awkwardly explore the others body despite the rough fucking that's making an absolute mess of the bed, several pillows already on the floor, Cheer's braid starting to come undone.

"M-my legs..." She mutters, catching his attention. Rick slows, looking to her with concern.
"Sorry. They're just... this is a lot, Ricky. My hips are getting sore." She half-laughs, half whispers, taking the slow of their pace to catch her breath.

"Do you want to stop?" Rick asks, but she vehemently shakes her head.
"...Flip over?" Rick instead offers.

Judging by the way she bites her lip, the idea of having Rick mount her from behind in the same rugged fashion is certainly appealing.

"I... yeah, okay. Just give me a moment..." Cheer goes to try and untangle herself, but squeaks in surprise as Rick's hands grab her waist. Slowly, he pulls himself out of her, eliciting a gasp -- before grabbing one of her back hooves, picking her up, and flipping her over for her.

"H-holy..." Cheer gasps.

"Too much?" Rick asks softly, kissing behind her ear as Cheer tries to settle, now on her stomach. Her legs are pressed together, front hooves curved against her barrel, back hooves extended and giving Rick an ample view of the thick hips rump he'd been burying himself in moments prior.

"Hot as buck... keep going." She urges, craving her neck forward and gasping, mouth agape. In the same breath, Rick grabs her rear, sinking his fingers deep into the jiggly flesh as he toys with her, teasing as he starts to line himself up again.

One hand holding himself off the bed, knees to brace, Rick's other hand gently courses through the scalp of Cheer's mane, grabbing a handful of her hair carefully, but tightly.

"O-oh~OoUugh!" Cheer's loudly moans, Rick pressing his eager member back inside the moment he can. This time, his deep thrust elicits a much louder slap, his hips now meeting a thick and ample rear that jiggles with every thrust.

Rather than start slow, he picks up exactly at the same pace they had just stopped on, loud claps as Rick practically buries Cheer into the bed with each deep insertion, bottoming out every time. Cheer is a slobbering mess, face only held up by Rick's firm grasp on her mane. Pounding deep into her, each of Rick's grunts match each of Cheer's garbled moans, both cheeks well red from the rough treatment.

He can feel her grip on him tighten as he continues without pause, eager to feel every warm inch of her that he can take, to feel the loud, wet slap of his hips meeting her thick rump. Especially in this position, with the noises she's making, Rick can feel himself getting closer.

He leans down, pressing himself against Cheer's back, practically covering her as he starts to piston at an all too fast, unsustainable speed.

"Cheer, I-I'm getting close." He grunts in her ear. The moment he does, they fold back, her grip on him tightening even further as she partially snaps out of her stupor.

"B-buck. Inside. Now." She demands, awkwardly twisting to meet his lips. He wraps an arm around here holding her face in place so their tongues can awkwardly try to intertwine, in the best attempt of kissing that either are capable in this moment of swelling, carnal passion.

Rick grunts, gasping loudly as he hits his limit. He plunges himself as deep inside of Cheer as he can, startling her as hick cock twitches, erupting inside of her. Her legs clamp shut, hooves pawing at the bed as she bites the sheets, moaning loudly through shut teeth as her holy body starts twitching.

Rick keels over, gasping heavily as he tries not to just lay directly on top of Ms. Cheer and crush her, though the wobblyness of his arms certainly isn't helping.

"O-oh...Ricky, that was..." Cheer slowly gasps out, her barrel rising and falling heavily, trying to twist around to look at him from over her shoulder.

A creaking door has both their eyes flash wide open, tearing them from the sweaty afterglow of their moment.

"Hey, Mom... have you seen... What? Mom? RICK?!" A wide-eyed Rambi stammers, already at a loss for words as she stands in the open doorway.

Startled, Rick flinches back, his member slipping wetly out of Cheer and twitching in the cold air, tip still dribbling -- as not-so-ladylike moan slips out of Cheer, before she quickly clamps her mouth shut with her hooves.

Rambi dry-heaves at the sight breaking eye-contact immediately.

Rambi blinks several times, before rubbing her face, groaning loudly. She's still not looking, facing the wall.
"...How long?"

"...A while." Rick quietly admits.

"Seriously? Mom?"

"Rambi, dear" Cheer tries to position herself in a less than demeaning pose, but considering the circumstance, it's an impossible task.
"... You know that... as a mare, I have... certain needs." Cheer tries to explain, but that only gets another noise uttered from Rambi.

"Mom, gross. Do not give me that shit when you've got Rick's cock-- ugh, ew. Nope. Talk downstairs later. I need a minute." Bambi stomps out of sight, leaving the embarrassed pair amidst their sweat and fluids on the messy bed.

Cheer let's out a heavy sigh, face thumping down on the mattress.
"...Buck." She mumbles, muffled in the sheets.

"Well, she could have taken it a lot worse." Rick carefully maneuvers himself around Cheer, laying down on his back beside her.
"It was kind of inevitable, either way."

"Sorry if I was a bit much, Ricky. I get a little lonely in this empty house is all. Rambi rarely visits beyond holidays, and..." Ms. Cheer sighs, brushing her mane out of her face as she looks away, embarrassed. "I shouldn't really be acting out like that at my age. I shouldn't be pushing things onto you like that. Now things with Rambi are going to be..."

"When you asked if I'd stay with you when I finished my courses... did you mean it?" Rick asks quietly.

It takes her a moment, but quietly, Cheer nods.

Rick carefully takes her chin, guiding her face up towards his. He leans down, cupping her cheek as he softly kisses her startled lips, pulling her against himself and holding her tightly. Her eyes widen at the contact, and she almost seems ashamed by it, but she eagerly presses against him, hooves folded in against his chest.

It's only when Rick pulls away that he smiles, stroking the fur of her face tenderly.
"Okay then, Cheer. Give me time to finish, and I will. I'm not too sure about how moving over here works, but we'll figure it out."

The answer seems to surprise her, Cheer only staring at him, at his face, for a long moment. Then a sniffle escapes her, the edges of her eyes starting to water.
"Ricky... you don't have to..." Sister tries to offer him an out, even after all this, but he only smiles.

"Just wait for me, alright? You won't be lonely for long." Rick reassures her, and that crumbles the insecure walls that Cheer had been building around herself. She wraps herself around him, nodding as she buries her face into his shoulder.

"And, uh... let's clean up before we talk to Rambi." Rick pats her rump, getting a giggle out of Cheer.

"Good idea." She tries to move, legs clamped together. It's kind of funny.
"Goodness, Rick, you filled me up. I'm trying not to drip everywhere..." She mumbles, awkwardly lowering herself from the bed, legs wobbling as she stands.

"I do alright?"

"Ricky, I didn't recognize half the noises I made. Yes, you dumb colt, you did good."

"Nice."

...

Later, Rick and Cheer sat Rambi down to explain to her the full length of their relationship. She didn't seem happy about it... but she didn't seem surprised by it either, mostly just holding her face in her hooves, groaning loudly. She had her suspicions, but the worst part of it was just walking in on it. She demanded that they don't get up to anything like that when she's in the house, asleep or not.

The smile that Cheer had whenever she was close to Rick seemed like the most impactful thing to Rambi, as she eventually sits back, rolling her eyes. Despite how fucking weird it was for her, she knew Rick wasn't a bad guy, and her mom being happy seemed to make tolerating this whole thing a little bit easier. Only a little. She made sure to let Rick know it was fucking weird, though, and that he could tell absolutely NO-ONE that he was intimate with Rambi's mother.

"Fine, whatever. Just don't make this weird. I'm not calling you Dad or some shit so don't even fucking ask." Rambi relents, before shutting down the rest of the conversation. She needed some time, but Rick was happy their friendship hadn't been damaged.

She never quite put it into nicer words after that, but Cheer would tell Rick how she noticed Rambi would come home more often once the two had actually moved into together at Cheer's comfortable little home.

Waking up each morning to her smiling face, helping her tie up her mane and helping her around the kitchen before taking off for another day of procuring and studying local samples, as chipping towards his eventual thesis... Rick found himself surprised. He wasn't as excited for wrapping up school or what kind of future he might make for himself with his research. He found himself more excited at the prospect that he was ever closer to moving in with Cheer, her kind, bashful smile his phone background, a quiet motivator through his days.

Author's Note

enraged by the motherfucker

another potential mom render

My ass trying not to fall too far behind the challenge I'm already behind on and then I feel like writing a fat porn chapter, oops, Sorry I just like single moms

Oct 15th - Changeling Mare

New Beetlejak, U.S.A | Earth-Arrival Processing Center

"Alright... Jack Doughty, yes?" The woman behind the counter taps into a computer, pushing the glasses down the bridge of her nose as she squints at it.

"One and only." Jack mocks the same face in his ID, holding it up beside his head.

"Unlikely, but acceptable." She mutters, clacking away, her focus shifting the moment she's got the confirmation she needs.

Jack scratches his cheek, tucking his ID back in his wallet, and then shoving it into the luggage that leans against his leg as he waits, ignoring the bothered 'snrrk'ing sound from inside, zipping it back up. Another line to another computer-clacking seat-bound attendant makes their way to his side, all recently having shuffled out of the portal. Big, sterile environment with minimal chatter, most people disinterested in anything but anxiously waiting their turn.

"Length of return and reason?" Her eyes flick to him again. She's dressed snappily, in a matching crimson uniform the other attendants share. Gold lapels, a little logo of Earth on her shoulder, the works.

"Uh... for good? Done with my vacation?" Jack shrugs. He wasn't exactly planning his return trip already. The way they handled this was definitely a lot different than most of his experiences at the airport, and that was probably thanks to Pony influence. Their questions were weirder, but made sense in an odd way.

"Is that meant to imply that you have no interest in returning to Equus?" She suddenly leans forward, clicking a pen she pulled from... he's got no idea, holding up a little notepad.

"...No? Maybe?" Is all he can offer.

She tsks, scribbling something down and returning to the computer. Feels like she didn't like that answer, but whatever. Jack sticks his hands in his pockets, glancing around the Processing Center. Like customs at the airport, but no plane. Just your feet, and the big, shimmering portal to another world. Tickets were cheap enough, considering.

He wanted to try going there at least once. He had fun. Checked out Canterlot, swung by Ponyville. Got a souvenir. Saw the Ponies. Got another, unintended souvenir. Neat trip overall.

His gaze lands on a poster, one of the edges flopping in the air as it's come loose from it's pin.

Only You can help us stem the Changeling Infestation. Report any Suspicious, or Chitinous, behavior!
A man and a pony both point towards the reader, with a warning sign around one of those bug things he kept hearing about, being sprayed with a can of bug repellant and swatted with a fly swatter. It looked a lot creepier and seemed a bit much, but alright then. She couldn't be that bad.

"Alright, Mr. Jack Doughty... anything to declare?" She finally hums, leaning forward and staring at him.

"Huh?"

"Any foreign milk products, unintended or intended flora or fauna, bits, precious Equestrian metals, magically charged crystals, etcetera?" She lists off, counting them off on her fingers.

Jack feels the occupant of his wheeled luggage rustle at the words. He glances down, at the little hole the zipper has left that reveals the beady little pair of eyes staring up at him.

He glances back at the poster.

Back at the eyes. He should probably say something about that, right?

The woman coughs expectantly.

"Uh..." He looks back up to the attendant.
"...No."

New Dornhover, U.S.A | Jack's Apartment, Unit 309, Garner Gates Apartments

"I still have no idea how you got through security, but welcome home." Jack huffs, shutting his apartment door, kicking his shoes off and sending them tumbling into the corner. Freed of his burdens of travel, he wheels his cargo into the living room, tilting the luggage down so it lays flat on the floor. He leaves it there, groaning and stretching loudly as he meanders for the kitchen.

It's a long pause, but the little red eye looks out the unzipped hole. Then, a quiet, hushed voice that sounded like if someone gave a beetle a voice box.
"Where?"

Could hardly say it spoke. More like it chittered. Chattered? Surprisingly effeminate though.

"My apartment. Just you and me." Jack explains, leaning against the counter as he washes his hands, debating on what to make. He was hungry, but just kind of snacky, no no big proper meal.

"...No-buggy else?" He hears from his back again.

"Nope." Jack affirms.

Another quiet pause. Then, a rustling, Jack watching his bag shift and shake around.

And then it stops.

"...Stuck." It announces grimly.

Drying his hands off on himself, Jack squats beside the luggage, about to unzip it -- but the little swiss-cheese hoof sticks out again, swatting at him.

"You're gonna stay stuck in there if you keep that up." Jack warns. The hoof pauses midair, slowly slinking back inside.

"Apologies. Habit." It mutters quietly.

The moment he does, a little head pops right out, greedily breathing in the fresh air. Awkwardly shoving a warped horn through first, the rest of it slowly crawls out, wobbling as it tries to get steady. There's no way that was comfortable staying cramped up like that for hours on end, and his guess is proven true as it tries stretching.

It's one of those... Changelings, he thinks the word was. Little smaller than the Ponies he got used to seeing, though they look remarkably similar. Minus the obvious... bug-like inspirations to their body. Chitin instead of fur, and legs that didn't look particularly stable to stand on. This one is mostly red, with a little bob of 'hair' on her head, though it doesn't look like any normal material that would typically be hair, same with the tail. Her face is scrunched up in this mixture of discomfort and disdain, taking a slow look at her surroundings.

Not much in the way of things to look at. Single guys apartment. It's a miracle he's even got all the furniture to make this place actually look like a home, though the big television is obviously the centerpiece.

At first, he was wondering why his luggage got so heavy on his way back to the Portal. When he went to check, a little, weirdly holey hoof swatted at his fingers, refusing to let him open his bag. Jack didn't care enough to do anything about it, so he just kept going. Someone at some point would solve that problem, surely. Especially with all the posters and warnings around.

But then he got processed on the Pony side, no issues. Then he went through the portal. Then he got processed on the Human side. His luggage got checked twice. And each time he got his bag back, he'd lean down, trying to unzip it and check it himself.

And then a little pair of fangs would snap at him, before beady red eyes stared at him through the little unzipped portion of his bags lining. He's got no idea how she pulled it off, but at that point, Jack felt like she deserved it, honestly. Like those ridiculous restrictions on flights. If you can take over the plane with a thumbtack, at that point, you deserve to have the plane. She made it through, so... Jack was just curious to see what kind of problem these guys caused.

Because looking at it, it didn't seem like much. She's curiously checking out his living room, crouching down to peek under the couch, poking at the cushions with a hoof. Kind of feels like he just picked up a pet. Like a insecty-cat... thing.

With a horn.

Jack leaves her to explore, assuming she can't get up to much in the way of damage or trouble, sitting at his desk. His computer whirls alive with a little jingle, screen lighting up.

"What are you doing?" He hears beside himself. Glancing down, the Changeling is staring up at him, eyes squinted.

"Looking up stuff that bugs eat." Jack gestures to the screen, before realizing she's probably not seen a computer before.

"We are not bugs." She huffs loudly, squinting at the flashing lights.

"You literally said any-buggy when you first got here." Jack points out, her... those are probably ears, going flat against her head as she's called out.

"T-that is our form of speech. Do not turn my words on me." She chitters, roughly poking at the leg of his chair in some sort of retaliation. She pushes herself back further than she does anything to the chair. It's kind of funny.

"Mmhm. Well, do you want to tell me what you eat, so we can get that sorted then? Or you just going to help yourself to my fridge?" Leaning back on the edge of the chair, Jack watches her. Odd little thing.

"...Love." She mutters after a pause, tensing. Like she's waiting for his reaction.

... Fuck was Love? Some kind of Equestrian food brand?
"Come again?"

"Love." She states again, louder, as if prouder, before bracing herself.

"Is that an Equus thing? Can I even order that?" Jack questions, starting to type it up on his computer.

She blinks several times, apparently not getting the reaction she expected.
"...No. The emotion, Love."

Jack pauses, giving her a look.
"How the hell do you eat that?"

"Changelings absorb it."

"...Okay." Jack shrugs, checking what Sneedipedia has on these weird bug-not-bug things.

Definitely bugs. Grubs and hives and the whole works.

Emotivores. So they do actually eat Love, however they pull that off. Alright.

... And apparently, very aggressive. Kidnapping and using food sources against their will.

Jack glances down to his stowaway. She's standing there, padding the ground with her holey little hooves, glancing around the room with that same squint.

Yeah, he was probably fine.

"...Why are you always squinting?" He asks, scooting the chair back and startling her.

After giving the chair a tentative sniff after it's rude noise, she sits down, looking up at him.
"I have difficulty seeing things. It is one of the reasons I was a burden to my hive, and why I sought such a drastic measure as penetrating the Portal to prove myself.

"One of?"

"My kind can change our form."

"Ah, Changeling. I get the name now."

She tilts her head, ears flickering.
"You truly know nothing of us?"

"I saw a poster, and your Sneedipedia page, but I haven't gotten through it yet. That's about it." Jack shrugs. She doesn't quite seem to understand everything he's saying, but she takes it in stride well enough.

"I, however... cannot. They titled me a runt. I am not as strong, nor as fast as my kin. The Hatchmother said I was... stunted at birth. Dropped, as an egg." She explains, almost deadpan.

"Ouch."

"And again, as a grubling." She dutifully adds, showing no hint of bother at the fact of being double-dipped in the disability pool.

"Ouc--"

"Also, my wings did not grow properly. I cannot fly."

Jack stops himself from saying Ouch a third time, feigning scratching his cheek to hold his mouth shut.
"...Well, we can say you're resilient." Jack skirts the idea of properly approaching the topic, well aware he's not the right person to deep dive on those issues. That's for something after a few days of googling therapist questions.

"...I am?" She seems almost surprised to have that word applied to herself.

"You look pretty functional to me. Haven't heard of a Changeling getting through the Portal processing thing yet. You're probably the first. Must be doing something right." Jack shrugs, turning back to the computer and scrolling the page. The author of this article, a... Princess Twilight, was very in depth about just how much of a pest these guys were. There was numerous warnings to their warlike nature, and links to their 'Nuuling' cousin-kin, which seem to have been a few hives that... rehabilitated or evolved, being all colorful and having a different food source.

Jack glances back down to his little intruder.

Her opaque eyes widen at the prospect, chest sticking out, little wings buzzing. She certainly doesn't get any lift, but it's cute seeing her be all proud of herself.

...Yeah, probably fine to keep just one or something. She seemed harmless enough.

Jack reaches down, tussling the mess of... it feels like seaweed, that sits on her head. Instantly, she flinches back, growling, scuttling back several feet.

"Huh?"

"Deceiver. Why do you lower my guard only to attack me?!" She spits, her horn sputtering a few errant, orange sparks.

"I... was petting your head." Jack states bluntly, wiggling his fingers.

She frowns.

"Just... come here." Jack waves her over.

"Do you intend to attack me again?" She glares. She almost looks like a puffed up cat, the way she's all... well, she doesn't have fur to fluff out, but she's hopping around all the same.

"It's not an attack. You can bite me all you want if it hurts, just... let me show you." Jack motions for her to come close again.

She's guarded, watching him with that squinted, suspicious look. But after a long moment, she slowly creeps over, glaring at his hand.

Jack slowly lowers it back onto her head, carefully patting her.

"...Is that it?" She mutters, still watching his hand as it squishes her red-tinted... hair stuff, Jack avoiding touching the pointy looking horn.

"Mmhm." He nods simply. She doesn't seem to buy it, as if there was a sneaky reason for him to be doing this. For a creature that feeds on Love, it doesn't really seem like she knows what Love is.

"What is the point of this?" She chirps, as if she's never been given affection before. Honestly, considering she's a bug and there's posters out for her kind, she might not have. Not asking about that yet, though. That's traumatic backstory delving that he isn't cleared to cover yet.

"Affection." Is all Jack says -- yet her eyes widen at the very word.

"I have heard of this. This is one of the things that leads to Love, is it not?!" She announces quite loudly, much louder than the almost monotonous tone she's been keeping this entire time.

"Uh... could be viewed as a form of it, sure." Jack shrugs. "What kind of Love do you guys need, anyway?"

"Any kind. There is numerous, from what one might feel to a sibling, to a friend, to a pet, to a loved one. Love is vast, as are it's flavors." She explains.

"Huh. Well, yeah, this is probably close to one of those or something." Jack admits. Probably pet.

This seems to pacify her, and she settles in, accepting the act for as long as Jack is willing to give it, even leaning into it at some point. Jack wonders if this is her own interpretation of taking his Love or something. His hand kind of tingles the longer he pets her, but it doesn't really feel bad or anything.

"What do I call you, anyway?" He asks, lifting his hand away and looking at his palm. There's a little discoloration, but within a moment it's gone.

She blinks, wondering where his hand went.
"...Abdomen."

"Seriously?"

"My kind are named after the numerous parts of... insects, to remind us we are but parts of a whole. I was named Abdomen, a name whose rank is reserved for --"

Jack snorts.
"They named you butt?"

Her lips purse, staring down at the floor. That kind of confirms it, and makes Jack feel a touch bad.

"Well... Abbi, I'm Jack."

"Who is Abbi?"

"You, now."

"And who is Jack?"

"...Me."

"But I am Abdomen."

"I'm not calling you butt. You're Abbi, now. A better name for the bug, who got through the Portal first, right?"

This perks her up considerably, seeming to considering it for a only a moment before nodding. She got so excited, she didn't even deny the bug-cusations.

"Now... we'll need to get you a few things. Like a collar." Jack hums in thought, stroking his chin.

Abbi blinks several times, taking a cautious step back.
"A what?"

...

"Must I wear this... object of restraint?" She tugs at the colorful little collar around her neck with disdain, shuffling her way up from the backseat to lean on the drivers chair, balancing on the glove box to complain. "It is embarrassing. I feel like the canines that the Ponies keep as pets."

Jack tsks, setting the car to park.
"Yep, our best bet of getting you to fly under the radar. Probably should've gotten a water bowl too..."

"I am no pet." She shirks the idea, roughly poking his shoulder.

This one was a poker. Any time he said something she wasn't a fan of, one of those hole-riddled hooves would jut out to try and jab him, no matter if he was in reach or not.

"Kidding, kidding. But do you want to be able to see or not?" He gestures out the front windshield, towards the optometrist they're parked in front of. Probably going to be an odd experience, but should be interesting.

"These promises of vision sound lofty and fake, but... yes. I do." She's tentative, and has no idea what he's pointing at.

"Then come on." Jack steps out of the car, waiting for her to hop down. She trots in a circle around him as the door shuts, squinting around herself.

Jack starts walking... and within moments, she's lost him, squinting around and trying to find him in the parking lot. Rather than call his name, she starts buzzing her wings like it's going to return him to her.

Well, it kinda works, considering. He scoops her up under his arm, despite her sudden protests.

"Unhoof me!" She chirps, wriggling until he speaks up.

"It's me."

"Jack?" She stops, perking up.

"Mhm."

"...Do not escape from me again." She huffs, hiding her relief behind a quick scolding. It's hard not to laugh at the absurdity of the whole situation.

"Sure thing, Abbi."

Author's Note

extra render, forehead horn

Oct 16th - Griffon Mare

Manehatten, Equestria | Feathered Skies Apartments, Unit 636

Tender, careful claws slowly work over his back, though the words Tender and Careful don't quite translate between the boundaries of their species.

"Ugh." Mick protests to the amount of force being used, wriggling in place.

"..."
No response, as she continues to trail a single talon along his skin ever-so-slowly, checking his skin.

"Ow." Mick tries a little more vocally, pouting.

"..."
No words, but she makes a quiet 'tsk' noise, lifting her claw. It doesn't last long before another rag is roughly pushed into his back, directly on one of the wounds.

"Oowwwwww." Mick loudly groans, playing it up a fair amount for attention. It finally breaks her stern silence.

"You are free to stop moving at any point, Mick. Might make your experience a little better." The crimson-feathered Griffon sneers, poking at his bare side with a talon, watching him flinch with muted amusement.

"You're not exactly being gentle, Gaul." Milk whines, burying his face in the mattress.
"Be nicer. I'm squishy and fragile, like a boiled egg."

Evening light accompanies Mick's tactical complaining, as the pair occupy the bedroom they just finished defiling a few moments prior. Faces still flush and bodies still sweaty, Mick is laid on his stomach on the edge of the bed, while Gaul slowly works over his exposed back with the first aid kit from the bathroom. This is probably the third time it's had to be refilled, considering that Gaul isn't exactly gentle with her talons when she's on the receiving end of particular activities, and tends to claw whatever is in reach. Sometimes pillows, sometimes blankets, sometime Mick's back. Usually Mick's back. Almost always Mick, honestly. Most couples like to cuddle as aftercare. Mick and Gaul need to deal with Mick's injuries do he doesn't bleed all over the place.

Such are the consequences of dating a Griffon.

"Yeah, yeah. Sorry. You know I don't exactly have soft hands like you do." She tsks, dabbing at some of the blood as she firmly presses down another bandaid, eliciting a long groan from Mick. He swears she finds this shit funny.

Until she pushes a little too hard, Mick slipping off the edge of the bed and landing on the floor with a loud thud. Gaul winces, taking a moment for peeking out of one eye and looking over the edge of the mattress.

Mick is laid flat out on the floor, moaning from the impact.

She sighs, staring down at him from above, closing up the first aid box. He'll be fine. Probably.
"Sometimes I think you need wings more than I do. I didn't even push you that hard."

"Probably..." He grunts, not budging.

"You all right down there?"

"Yeah. Just gonna... lay here for a minute."

There's a much lighter thump, caused by a far more graceful landing, as Gaul gops off the side of the bed to join him, curling up against his side. As she settles, her feathers fluff out, and a wing slowly reaches overtop of him.

...

"Hey, Gaul?" Mick calls out, working his arm through the sleeve of his jacket. Leaning down in front of the fridge, Mick squints at the shopping list tacked to the front of it, the hum of the cold-charged crystal jammed somewhere behind the entire thing audible from this close.

The hair dryer clicks off, the sounds of talons clacking on tile floor.
"Yup?" She peeks out of the bathroom doorway, halfthrough getting ready to go. Her feathers are all fluffed up and ready to be styled, making her look all puffed out and nearly twice the size, even with how short she kept her feathers. It takes some effort not to laugh, even though he's seen her look like that so many times before.

"Why is meat on the list three different times?"

"Uhm..." Mick can hear her talon clacking the floor in thought, fidgeting.
"That's for... dinner tonight, that jerky kit you bought me, I'll need some strips to start on that... and I can't remember the third one. I might have just written the first one twice."

"Gotcha." Mick hides a wince, his jacket touching the still freshly bandaged injuries on his back. Gaul has already ducked back into the bathroom, the loud sound of processed air whooshing from it's open door.

"Hm." He hums, reading the rest of the list.

... No eggs.

"Gaul?"

...

"Gaul?!"

A loud click, and a huffy, half-brushed Griffon head sticks through the doorway again, beak snapping.
"YES?"

"Eggs." Mick helpfully reminds.

Gaul rolls her eyes, disappearing back into the bathroom, slamming the door shut. He writes them down on the list just in case she forgets.

...

A yawning, groggy Mick who pulled one far too late shift the day prior stumbles out of the bedroom, barely dressed in anything that isn't underwear and numerous bandages that could probably use a changing. Drawn from his slumber by the promising, wafting smells and sounds of a kitchen being used, the familiar sight of a crimson-feathered Griffon stood on her back legs, apron drawn over her front, works a pan as she cooks...

Eggs.

"Are those...?" Mick dry heaves, leaning on the doorway.

"Not again." Gaul rolls her eyes, claw to hip as she waits for him to be done with his theatrics.
"No, they're not my eggs, asshole. We covered this already. Not happening."
Her tail swishes about in irritation, talons roughly clawing a spatula that gets waved around for emphasis.
"Or, you know what? Maybe they are. Not like we can fertilize the damn things anyway. Probably a better use for them than what we do with them now."

They both glance to the shelf that stands as a decorational centerpiece in the middle of their dining room, where various eggs sit in small displays, all hand-painted like some elaborate easter shrine. It's a little comical, the way it so harshly clashes with her otherwise gruff and tough demeanor and attitude. A cute little corner for her eggs, complete with some crochet padding she whipped up herself.

"Not that." Mick waves his hand, trying to breathe.

"...Oh." Gaul rolls her eyes, turning back to the stove.
"No, they're not scrambled. I still don't get why that bothers you so much. They're how you like them." She comments, scraping the pan with the spatula, flipping one of the eggs.

"Phew." Mick sighs in relief, taking a rough seat at the table.

"Back still hurts?"

"Kinda. Just dull pain now."

"Good. I'll change them after breakfast. You work at nine, right?"

"Mmhm." Mick slumps against the table, cradling his head and stifling a yawn, listening to the sounds of an inevitable and imminent breakfast.

The only thing that stirs him from nearly falling asleep again is the plate that chatters down in front of him, holding the bounty of a morning meal. Gaul sits roughly across from him, setting down her own plate. No claws, no ripping right into it with her beak.

What a woman.

Before Mick starts eating, however, a question plagues his mind.

"Hey, Gaul?"

"Mm?!" She pauses mid-bite, foodstuffs dangling from her beak.

"You said we can't have kids, right? The whole interspecies thing."

She swallows, wiping her face with a napkin. It took a while to teach her not to just use her arm.
"Yeah. Why?"

"...Did you want kids?" He tries asking, not quite sure of her stance on the subject. They've had a conversation or two about the topic, but nothing ever concrete has come of it.

The question doesn't catch her as off guard as Mick was expecting, Gaul squinting at looking over to the cabinet of decorated eggs.

"...Not right now. We've got time to figure something out." She shrugs, and simply goes back to eating.

"So, you do?" Mick tries to guess, not quite catching her meaning.

"Mick, you're not getting away without giving me Hatchlings, but you're not going to survive the process with how easily you bruise now. Let's focus on toughening you up a little bit before that, huh?" She pokes a pointy talon-claw at him, and goes right back to eating.

Mick swallows hard, trying to focus on his own plate.

Author's Note

Short one, just had an idea I thought was cute but nothing more complex this time

Oct 17th - Breezie Mare

Canterlot, Equestria | The Morning Flower Reserve

Blowing a raspberry, Graham grunts as he leans down into the flowerbed, rummaging around for his scoop. Replanting these Pemerillions were proving to be an annoyance, but they were certainly pretty. Another one of those weird plant-mix-breeds that wormed it's way out of an errant Unicorn's laboratory. Or was it an Earth Pony? The only time those two species actually looked like the other was the odd individual with the audacity to try and ay pony-god with the local flora, usually by combining different types. Graham never thought he'd be managing Pony gene-projects, but here he was. At least the Pemerillions were pretty, with their purple petals and long, winding stems.

Couldn't remember where they came from, but not his problem. Beyond planting and watering these things, his realm of knowledge and general responsibilities lay in the next greenhouse over. Hired as the resident expert for all plants imported from Earth, Graham worked alongside other Ponies to upkeep and maintain a cute little corner of the Equestrian capital. Pay was pretty good, considering it was in solid gold coins, though bringing that kind of stuff back to Earth was pretty difficult. Lot's of embargoes and stipulations to make sure nobody nuked the others economy or anything, and those rules were something Graham was very familiar with, given his station. While he managed as many Earth plants as he could, both for Pony interest in the pretty flowers, and the scientific and magical approaches to foreign flora, he had to be very picky about what kind of plants could be permitted to grow on this side. Nothing that would cause a hassle by growing out of proportion or being a nuisance to handle, so only simple, easily controllable options for now. There were talks of sectioning off another part of Canterlot's hills for a dedicated, more in-depth garden, but that was all future talk. For now, Graham had the garden, and the full run of the human side of it.

He's enjoying the quiet day and the smell of wet dirt, as something thumps against the brim of his sizable sun hat, alerting him that he's not alone. He already knows exactly who the culprit is, tossing his tool aside and leaning back against his heels as he stays knelt, a smile forming on his lips.

"You again, huh?" Graham holds his palm up to the brim of his hat, feeling a little form hop down onto it. He lowers his hand down to get a better look, finding exactly what he expected.

A little, almost entirely green, Breezy. Her antenna twitchbwith her nose as she looks at him, smiling.

He'd call her the resident stowaway of his little garden, but she's made herself pretty at home in one of his old hanging plsnt baskets that he's got strung up around the place, and she's been crashing here for so long, it wouldn't quite feel the same without her buzzing about the flowers. That, and her presence was generally harmless, if not actually beneficial to the garden. After observing her for some time, originally worried that she might be causing a problem, Graham found that Bean Sprout kind of had the same effect as a bee might have. Probably some kind of Breezy magic, promoting good health and leaving the flowers looking quite... well, at the risk of sounding redundant, healthy.

"If it isn't my favorite little intruder. How are you, Bean Sprout?" Graham asks, setting her down on one of the larger flowers.

She giggles, hiding her face behind her hooves, back legs kicking as she's unable to contain her excitement. The other ponies that work in the garden have assumed she was one of the other workers, and Graham just doesn't have the heart to oust her. By this point, he honestly looks forward to her little visits.

"Graham!" Sprout seems almost unable to sit still, brimming with an excitement that can't be contained. Her adorable little face is outright beaming with cheer, patting his palm with her itty-bitty hooves.
"Found you!"

At first, he thought she was a little Fairy or something, or a consequence of smelling too many flowers. Nope, turns out there's an entire species of tiny little horses that could fit in his palm, though Bean Sprout was the only one he knew.

"Not exactly hiding here, Bean Sprout." Graham tries to argue, but Sprout's endless optimism is unmatched in facing down any objections.

"Quit being such a pooper of parties, Graham!" She objects loudly, throwing her hooves up in the air.
"What plants are you taking care of today?!"

The correct answer is 'All of them', but that's not the fun answer. Graham learned the hard way that when dealing with Bean Sprout, you want to pick the fun answer.

"Those bell-shape ones that try to eat you."

"Those ones?! But they smell so gooooood." She pouts, crossing her hooves in a huff. Bean Sprout knows she isn't allowed in the carnivorous plants section... then again, almost nobody else is on account of their unique care requirements.
"Do those ones last! Spend time with me!"

"Whu--hey. Come on." Graham mock-groans, as her little green form bounds up his arm, scrambles up the front of his overalls, awkwardly scrambles up his face, and wriggles in underneath his hat, disappearing out of view. He can feel her little hooves tap on his head as she buries herself in his hair, giggling all the way. When she got in there, she wasn't coming out.

Relenting to his fate of the giggling stowaway, Graham ties the dangling straps of his big hat under his chin, ensuring that she can't slip out from underneath and become the gardens first casualty. That'd be quite the incident.

...

"Graham?" Green Hoof perks up as he passes, holding a receipt in their mouth. He's ninety percent sure their name is supposed to be some ploy about having a Green Thumb, but it doesn't exactly translate for a species with no fingers.

"Yeah, what's up?" He pauses, setting his bucket and the various tools inside it down for the moment, jostling loudly.

Green Hoof leans forward, urging him to take the receipt, which is promptly plucked from their teeth.

Probably doesn't taste very good, the way Green Hoof is smacking their lips, but better than getting it all dirty with the hooves that have been digging through the dirt for the last hour.
"Got an order for a flower arrangement, and half of them are in your section. Meant to serve as a centerpiece for one of the nobles parties, they're starting a little garden around their fountain. You mind handling it?"

"Consider it done." Graham tucks thw receipt into his overalls front pocket, giving a short wave as he scoops his bucket up again, leaving Green Hoof to their own devices.

There's a notable lack of giggling or shuffling underneath his hat, and plucking it off his heat, peering inside affirms his suspicions. No Bean Sprout. He's already got a feeling where she might be, and it doesn't take long for him to find her again when he gets back to the Human section of the gardens.

She's protectively posted up in front of the various shrubbery, puffed up and buzzing her wings like a weary little kitten. It'd be endearing, if she wasn't in the way.

"No! Not these ones." She shakes her head vehemently, antennae flailing around as she splays herself out, laying across the top of the flower.

"Bean Sprout, a Pony bought these for their garden. They're going somewhere new, and we'll plant more seeds so more can grow. But you've gotta let me do my job." Graham tries to reason with the little pixie-sized pony, but no dice. She's as stubborn as she is mischievous for such a little thing.

She sticks her tongue out at him, refusing to budge, even as he pokes at her a few times. He doesn't want to hurt her by just scooping her up without warning, so that leaves Graham with only one option left.

"Well... if you're gonna stay here and guard the flowers, I guess I'll just have to go take..." He speaks slower, letting the tension build towards the final statement.

One of her eyes squints open, watching him.

"...Lunch."

"W-Without me?!" She sputters. The revelation nearly shatters her will, but she shakes her head, holding firm.

"Yep. Guess I'll have nobody to help me eat my... delectable, mouth-watering peanut butter and jelly sandwich... oh, I even made one with hazelnut spread instead..." Graham helps himself to a loud, exaggerated sigh, resting a sad face on a sad hand, bottom lip wobbling.

Her face scrunches as her pious self is challenged by the temptation of food, but her frown can only manage for so long before it breaks, distracted from her self-chosen guard duty. She flutters up to his face, hugging his nose.
"Fine! I will help you then, since silly Graham always overpacks food."

Sacrificial sandwiches were a good way to let Graham keep getting his work done. He always packed a spare.

"Banks." Graham nasally honks, having difficulty speaking with a Breezie squishing his nose shut.

...

"...And there. That should be everything for the day." Graham locks the shed door, wiping his hands on his pantlegs and tucking the keys away.
"Now, where did..."

Graham sighs, looking down into his overalls pocket, holding it open with a finger. A snoring, leg-twitching Bean Sprout has made herself quite comfortable, and his attempts to poke her awake are met with disgruntled noises and a little hoof that pushes his finger away.

Oh well, not like she hasn't done this before.

By the time he gets home, she's still out cold, still quietly snoring in her little voice. He scoops her carefully out of his pocket, walking over to the dresser at the end of his bed. There's a blanket, and the smallest pet-bed he could purchase, all tucked up underneath a little makeshift tent from a stick he found, and a hand towel. She passes out under his hat or in one of his pockets often enough that this kind of became a necessity. He got tired of walking back to the gardens to deposit her.

He tucks her inside, wrapping her up in the little bedding as she snuggles in, sighing contently and sinking further in. Cute thing.

Graham enjoys the rest of his evening for about fifteen more minutes, before she's awake and full of energy again.

Oct 18th - Saddle Arabian Mare

Al Jutail, Saddle Arabia | A Quiet Gazebo Across From The Public Speaking House

Quinton sits comfortably reclined on the wicker bench that supports him, the sounds of leaves rustling the only thing that accompanies the quiet scrawling of his pen on the stack of parchment held on his lap, braced by a thick wooden cover. The closest he could get to a sketchbook, a half-complete trace of his view from the little wooden structure sits on the page, fresh ink still drying. Part of the fence, with an ornate stone-carved pot that hosts a vibrantly colored assortment of flowers, though he could hardly impress upon it's colors with just his pen. Perhaps he'd try to match them properly when he got home.

He sighs, letting his gaze wander past the bounds of the little gazebo, to the Ponies that were strutting past on this mlwarm midday. Saddle Arabia certainly differed from the Equestria that he had first entered, as did it's denizens. Their effortless use of the clay and sand that formed their lands was incredibly reminiscent of the constructive talents of the middle-eastern nations of Earth, if dated some centuries before modern times. Compared to Equestria's heavily mixed technologies that seemed to jump around, living in Saddle Arabia almost felt like a jump back in time rather than a step into an alternate, shifted timeline.

Colored sheets of cloth, often decorated, hung from the roof of most buildings, stretching across the walkways and alleys that cut between them to provide shade. Elaborate and decorative designs were carved into almost every surface and every object in sight, as a testament to the skill of the craftsponies who poured their efforts into them. And vases. Lot's of vases.

Of course, the major and bluntly obvious difference was the denizens that called this breadth of land their home. Ponies, unlike the waist-height Equestrian who had to look up at the average human, that were the Saddle Arabians. And they were tall. Face to face with the average human, offering a far more horse-like anatomy compared to the rather descriptive titling of Pony. Still, not quite as large as the horses of Earth, it was quite the experience actually speaking to most things face to face.

Or, it would be, if Quinton wasn't rather short for his build. In a rather amusing realization, most Saddle Arabians had to look down to converse with him. That included the one hosting him during his time in this foreign nation, and the one he was most looking forward to seeing, pleasantly surprised when her voice rings out from the steps of the gazebo, hooves softly tapping on the stone floor of this tucked-away little patio.

"There you are, my sun-kissed radiance." Her tone is warm, always peppered by the compliments she adored to pepper him with. Her approach is slow but purposeful, almost deceiving in how quickly she manages to close the distance, her barrel pressing to his torso, head tilted as it ever so slightly hangs over him. It's a familiar position she enjoys, the pleasure of proximity with the cheek of being able to kiss his forehead.

His darling lover, Alessia, and one of the many Saddle Arabians who stood over him. With shortly-kept fur that matched her preference for shorter mane styles, a mixture of fanciful purple-tinted blue cloth and a saddlebag strapped to her back decorated her body with it's elaborate designs, like much of the styling of this land. A gold band sits at the base of her contrastingly long tail, yet isn't the only golden decoration that fit her, with such being a very popular metal for accessories among the locals, visible on the band that holds the front of her dress together, and the mixture of embroidery and jewelry that add well-crafted details. With her fur and mane being the surprisingly simple, muted colors of a brunette with orange fur, she didnt quite stand in comparison to the multitude of brighter tones that one might see -- though Saddle Arabians were hardly as colorful as the Equestrians, offering a much smaller, more recognizable collection of coat colorings.

Or so Quinton had heard. Quinton had never actually been to Equestria, nor had he ever seen the portal that had apparently connected their worlds. On the same day that this rift between planets, dimensions or who knows what formed, Quinton found himself sprawled across the sand of an endless dune, in the middle of the desert. Saved by some passing merchants who explained the luck of his position, being close to one of the trade routes and not deeper into the wild barren lands, Quinton had to try and recover his life while questions hung on his lips, and curious stares followed him.

Until he met Alessia, who had just returned from an extended trip to Equestria, and just so happened to be the only horse that could explain to him what might have happened. Apparently, his account wasn't the only one, and whatever event that created the portal could hardly be considered calm or contained. In the coming months, they would hear stories of Humans who had been dumped all across Equus, and Ponies dumped all across Earth. These stranded individuals and what might occur to them as they remained lost in an alien world seem to be what really motivated the leaders of each side, making a heavy and rushed push for negotiations and basic rights for their protection. It was kind of funny, when Alessia opened her door to find an oit of breath Equestrian representative, worried about Quinton's state after hearing about a Human in the region. Thankfully, by that point, Quinton and Alessia had taken to enjoying each-others company.

And yet, despite all he had heard and seen in his time here, Alessia was the most radiant thing on this side of the ocean. Sparkling under the beaming light of the sun as it glittered and danced across the jewelry she wore, her smile greeting him with more warmth than any sunny day. His fascination of her had been made quite clear, with Alessia often the subject of his drawings. She found it cute, though she was still a little bashful about being asked to pose for his paintings.

Quinton sets his parchment and pen aside himself, rising from the bench to greet her. His arms wrap around her sides, as one of her hooves rise up to do the same in turn, though his eyes wander to his forearms as he ponders her words. Was he really?
"Sun-kissed?"

"Was I not clear enough, my love? You are... significantly more tanned than when you first arrived scant few months ago." She carefully explains, planting a small, firm kiss behind his ear, a smile sat comfortably on her face. She is teasing, but not exactly wrong. He's gotten a lot more sun lately than he has in years.

"Would rather be you-kissed, but I suppose even love can hardly stop the sun in it's perpetual purpose." Quinton jokes, the pair settling on the bench together once they shuffle Quinton's supplies to the side, taking great care not to damage his work. She takes a moment to look over his most recent drawing, humming to herself in surprise before turning back to him, and continuing their conversation.

"Mm... there are a few ways, but beyond an invasion of Equestria, it's one of the things we must simply put up with. Perhaps stick to the shade? I know you don't tan quite well, though you seem to be doing a fair amount better than when you first arrived." She playfully offers. Quinton half expects her to lean against him, but finds a hoof pulling against his shoulder, instead pulling him to rest against her, enjoying the well-cared for softness of her fur. She was usually subtle about it, but he's fairly certain Alessia enjoys being the taller of the pair of them.

"Well, you know who I've to thank for that. Speaking of the Sun... any of those esteemed philosophy horses listening yet?" Quinton asks, glancing up at her.

"I'm afraid not. The concept of understanding the controversial idea that our neighbors across the water are responsible for the shifting of our night and day, and not our own dieties... are a little beyond their willingness at this time." Alessia sighs, planting a quiet kiss on the top of Quinton's head.

Alessia was one of the few traveled Saddle Arabian's who had learned, understood, and accepted the seemingly radical idea that the Equestrian royalty were responsible for such a vital factoid of their life, and not the local dieties that had long been described in Saddle Arabian histories. It wasn't an easy thing for most non-Equestrian nations nor individuals to understand, but Alessia claims that their very world being opened to another, that didn't operate by such rules and beheld itself to no magic, meant there was hardly time to remain divided and ignorant. A prolific public speaker, Saddle Arabia encourages the discussion of many topics in their public debate houses, which double as courthouses when dealing with law, and a platform for the citizenry to speak their minds when they were not.

Unfortunately, her idea was considered a touch radical despite the looming changes the Portal promised to bring, and was often met with vehement disagreement and accusations of trying to empower a foreign nation.

"Must be a pretty hard piece of information to come to terms with without seeing it for yourself, huh?" Quinton asks, feeling another quiet peck on his head.

"Indeed, though it is unfortunate. Are you aware of the general Saddle Arabian beliefs, my love?" She speaks into his hair, words muffled. To say Alessia was affectionate was a bit of an understatement.

"I think I've read some of the basics, but..." Quinton sheepishly admits, looking away and avoiding Alessia's expectant stare.

She chuckles to herself, leaning down to speak into his ear.
"You haven't gotten through all the books I got you, have you?"

"Not... quite yet."

"How come? They don't bore you, do they?" She leans back, concerned.

"No, no, it's not that. I just... haven't really been reading. I've been a little distracted." Quinton admits, rubbing his arm. And glancing repeatedly at his sketchbook as it lays beside them both on the bench.

Alessia raises a brow, curious. Without a word, she leans over to page through Quinton's self-made assortment of parchments with a hoof, finding exactly what she was expecting after a few page flips.

More drawings of herself, all lovingly scrawled by a lightly obsessed Quinton. In various poses, almost always smiling, as well as studies of the anatomical forms of the Saddle Arabian breed of pony.

And one pose she quickly covers with the previous page, finding it to be a touch suggestive for a look at in public.

"Well." She hums quietly, shifting back over to look at Quinton's guilty expression.
"I suppose I can forgive your... excitement being directed in other avenues of expression."

"Sorry. You're a... captivating muse." Quinton tries to hide behind a compliment, and to his luck, the coy smile that creeps across Alessia's ever-close face tells him it works.

"Apparently so." She turns away for but a moment, and flips back to that particular parchment, taking another glance.
"...Though you may be a touch generous when it comes to certain aspects of my form."

Quinton coughs, glancing away as his cheeks flush. Hooves slowly reach around him, pulling him against her chest and holding him tightly.
"Still. Flattering, if a touch exaggerated. Perhaps tonight you could use a reminder?"

Alessia had such a way with words that always left Quinton blushing. Like lightly-veiled implications towards things that would leave him sore in the morning. She slowly slips off the bench, nodding for him to follow.
"Still, today's debate left me feeling quite hungry. Shall we find something to eat?"

"Sure, just uh... no hay." Quinton scoops up his supplies, keeping them close to his chest as he joins her side. There was an odd comfort in the way she hovered close, yet seemed to protectively loom over him, never standing too far away.

"Yes, yes. No hay. I've been remembering that since the very first month of you living with me, love. Was your first time eating it truly that traumatic?" She asks, leaning down to press their noses together.

"Yes." Quinton quickly affirms.

"I see. Then yes, I will ensure that no hay touches your plate. More for me, anyhow." She laughs softly, planting yet another one many kisses atop his head to come.

Author's Note

This is gonna be the last one I do for the October challenge, I had my fun with it but i'm missing working on my larger stories and want to try and get the zebra story out by the end of the month

Thank for reading