An Affluent Zebra

Canterlot, Equestria | The Estate Of Local Noble 'Fat Banks', Appreciation Party For Station 37

Talk about feeling out of place. Ponies everywhere, all wearing fancy clothes, eating fancy food, being served by well-dressed, high-nosed staff while a private band plays over the entire function. All high-brow, all top-shelf. Oh, and being on an entirely different planet, to boot.

This entire function was just bleeding wealth. Stone busts and statues of ponies or notable historic events, paintings that looked like something plucked out of an earth history-book, if the topic was colorful horses in fancy, medieval getups, banners and streamers, several staff ferrying drinks and food on platters attached to their back. A trio-band of ponies, set up on a stage and equally dressed, slowly plays through some pony version of classical musical, the sounds carrying through the large hall. Gold accents on almost everything, stain glass windows, massive ceilings... felt like something out of a story book the way it all contrasts with the smoothed marble that lines everything else. Everywhere he looked just repeated the fact that this was all way out of his tax bracket. Even in his Dress Uniform he still felt underdressed for the occaision, compared to elaborate and fanciful suits all the attendees were wearing. Then again, makes sense for a society that still uses solid, actual gold for it's currency. And gems. Man, did that throw the human economy for a loop. Didn't really affect his job that much.

Ronnie quietly sips his... well, it's a tasty drink, but he'd need a barrel of the stuff to get anywhere. Something not too far off from champagne. Probably. Not like he would know.

Apparently, Pony brews tend to lack any kick, and are a little on the lighter side. Alcohol was a newer invention, or their livers weren't as trained, or their shorter size or something. He'd check on his phone, but Ponies were still figuring out trade deals on erecting cell-phone towers and the like. No service out here in the Ponylands, no matter how fancy it got.

Not to mention, Ronnie wasn't much of a party guy. Couldn't say the same for his fellows, the way they're bringing a rambunctious fun to the function. He can see a good amount of the other guys soaking up the attention and questions, regaling the other guests with stories about their job. Some of the nobles look weirded out, but others are full-send on the almost frat behavior of his fellow fire-fighters. Danger isn't very common in Canterlot, so he's heard, so stories about fighting fires and the like are lighting up their massive, twinkling eyes with wonder.

Do your job like any other day, put out a fire -- carry a coughing pony out of the building, which turns out to be the heir to a wealthy estate and business, and whose very pony-influential father wants to privately thank your entire firehouse for rescuing their child. At their personal mega-mansion. Through the portal, on their homeland.

Not something Ronnie ever saw coming. He'd heard about them of course, and seen a few while he was out on the job, or on his free time. Think the Marshal was even in discussion about bringing a pony or two onto the team as a diversity hire -- apparently they didn't have as an elaborate Fire Fighting system, since a portion of the population had wings or magic to help deal with any fires.

But going through the portal? That place was somehow both a tourist destination, and locked up tighter than any military fort he'd ever heard of. Built an entire town around that shimmering gate almost overnight, apparently.

It's all very surreal to a rather simple man.

Still, nice of Mister Banks to get them all out here. Great for international relations, too. The newspapers were eating this up.

"A toast!" A proud voice calls out -- their benefactor and host of the party cheers loudly, hovering a glass around with his magic.

Magic. Unicorns. That one sent Humanity reeling even harder than the gold did. They got used to it pretty easily, though. Rampant human consumption of fantasy genre type stuff kind of pre-prepped humanity for levitation and lasers.

"To the saviors of my beautiful daughter -- to Earth's brave fighters of fire!" He announces, waving his drink around. A cheer erupts between the ponies, the other guys grinning as they're lavished with attention. The dress-wearing daughter giggles, bowing to one of the firemen. That's Daniels, all dressed up in a suit, who returns with an exaggerated, fancy bow of his own. It earns a round of applause. Guy was probably eating this whole thing up.

Ronnie wondered why they kept wording fire-fighter so weirdly, though.

Either way, it's a sweet gesture, but also why Ronnie is glad he's on the quiet side of the room, picking his way through one of the buffet tables. Minus a few smaller, focused conversations between individuals, there's not much going on this side of the party, and he's glad for it. It's all a little much for him. He feels kind of bad, more interested in waiting for an experience like this to end than actually trying to deep-dive in and enjoy it, but it's just not his thing. Plus, his leg still hurt. Best to take it easy.

Then again, some greased hands and hooves apparently got one of their firetrucks through with them, so the local ponies could listen to the siren and be all surprised by it. Think it was in the yard, surrounded by creatures that haven't even seen a car before. They're probably doing just fine without his participation.

Ronnie misses his cat, in all honesty. And his leg still hurts. He should find a chair soon. Preferably one his size.

To alleviate said feelings and take the focus off his limb, he lets his hand wander to a near-empty tray of what looks like some kind of shrimp cupcake. Today could be a cheat day, he supposed. Not like he had a choice, the way these ponies inhaled sugar like no other.

Speaking of ponies, he can hear the soft clop of hooves on the elaborate tile floors approaching from behind.

"I've yet to see one so hesitant about such a sought-after confection." A surprisingly haughty voice suddenly speaks up from behind him, hooves clacking softly as someone joins him at the table.
"And here I was to hope I might get the last one. Oh well. A shame formed of my meandering pace."

Ronnie turns, hand pulling back as he looks to the source of the -- Wow.

Was some-pony the right word? Is she a Zebra? They have those, too? Just when he was getting used to seeing ponies and remembering their sub-species, here comes a leg-sweep to what he knows.

Damn if she isn't a sight to behold, though. Unlike the almost Renaissance-Era dresses and suits that their benefactor and his Pony guests were wearing, all decked with frills and big poofy shoulders, she was almost sensually modern. A gold-satin dress that draped over her lower half and tucks against her chest, running along her striped neck, with golden earrings that swayed softly with ever movement. This lady knew gold, and it was just as familiar with her.

Compared to the colorflush splashes and variety of colors every guest brought, the almost simple contrast of white, black and gold makes her stand out among the crowds. No wings, no horn. But definitely eyeliner, a radiant shade of purple chosen to match her eyes -- which closely watch him, despite her aloof entry.

"I haven't quite got a hold of it yet, if you'd still like it." Ronnie responds simply, retreating his hand. "More curious about it than actually hungry for it. I've had too many sweets as it is." He tries, trying to play polite.

"No, no. You got to it first. That's just how it works at these sort of things."
Her words are playful, as her gaze slowly roams over him, working from the bottom until it settles on his face. Any questions of if there's a difference between Zebra and Pony are put aside by the light, almost Afrikaans accent that traces her words, though Ronnie couldn't figure any specific dialect. She speaks clearly, but it trails her words nonetheless. "And here I am, thinking I'm used to being the only odd one out in a room. You must be one of these Heroes that Mr. Banks can't stop himself from raving about."

"Oh, I'm not..." Ronnie tries to wave away such talk, but she rests a painted hoof against her cheek, giving him a coy look as she leans against the table.

"There's no need to be so humble. Mister Banks is hosting this event for you and your fellows, after all. Have you ever been on this side of the portal before?" She assures him, before stepping closer.

"No, this is my first time, actually. It's... very interesting. Very similar to Earth, but just different enough I'm still getting thrown for a loop." Ronnie goes to start, scratching the back of his head. Unable to avoid conversation, he might as well at least be polite about it.

"Shorter doorframes?" She grins.

"...Yeah." Ronnie relents, unaware of the smile finding it's way onto his face.
"That's the worst one, so far."

Everything around here was built for creatures half his size. Good thing the affluent if this world also liked towering ceilings.

Unlike Ronnie, her eyes certainly aren't shy. Either Zebra's don't believe in maintaining eye contact during discussion, or she finds him very interesting to look at. Though Ronnie feels like even the other curious house-guests haven't quite looked him over in this particular fashion. Her eyes are keen on taking their time, and she's not even trying to hide where they roam.

"Still, I'm surprised you're not with your others, enjoying the festivities. The attention. The adoration. It's not often one gets an entire banquet hosted in their honor, and Equestria adores heroism." She muses, looking towards the crowd. They grow rowdier with each passing moment, as they break out more drinks. The Zebra woman rolls her eyes, turning her attention back to him.
"One of those nights, I see. Mister Banks isn't afraid to splurge, and I foresee most of the guest rooms being taken by the nights end."

"He's certainly a generous soul." Ronnie tries to add, skirting around the specifics of her question, but the Zebra woman stifles a laugh.

"Oh, they won't be sleeping." Is all she offers, laughing quietly as his face shows the slow thought-path of figuring what she means.

"Ah. Promiscuous." Ronnie comments quietly, setting his own drink down. Also not really his fashion. Doesn't quite seem to be in her interest either, from her tone.
"You seem very... aware as to how things play out around here. This kind of stuff a common sight?"

"Such is the way of life for the upper-brow of this city. They deeply enjoy their festivities, and certain circles enjoy dipping into... well, I won't speak of it here. I believe Canterlot alone has near triple the amount of Holidays your Earth or my own home has." She explains, though a perceptive eye watches him lower his own drink, a slow grin staying ever-present on her face.

That seems to pique her interest, and she takes a step closer. Is she approaching him because he's not with the rest? Maybe she's not big on partying, either. At least she's fun to talk to.

"As a fellow 'Odd-One-Out', I take it such activities don't interest you?" Ronnie asks, his attention fully turned to her at this point, the sounds of the rest of the celebration fading from his focus, distant.

She laughs softly, letting her heavy-lidded gaze fall to a few of the remaining confections on this nearly-cleared table, only a scarce few platters still holding anything of value beyond crumbs. She doesn't seem interested in much...

Except for the very treat that brought her over here. Wordlessly, Ronnie places the shrimp-cupcake-thing closer to her, glancing away -- though her coy side-eye doesn't let the maneuver go unnoticed.

"How kind. Are you certain?" Her head tilts down as she asks, raising a brow.

"It'd be unfair to deny a pretty lady her treat, when I'm just busy ogling at it. All yours." Ronnie nods. Was it weird to be calling a Zebra a pretty lady? He called his cat a Pretty Princess all the time. It's probably fine.

"The pretty lady, or the confection?" She goads, laughing to herself as she takes a bite.

Ronnie is fascinated as he watches, curious at how their hooves don't play by any rules he knows. Bending and holding things like hands, almost outright defying gravity. Magic creatures.

She carries on without waiting for the answer, instead dialing the conversation back a step.

"As for what you asked, no, I do not. Such... activities are far out of my field of interest, and it wouldn't be proper for a mare of my station." She explains, politely taking another bite of the cupcake. She hums softly as she chews, apparently quite keen on the treat.

"Your station? I mean, you look like the Queen of a neighboring nation, so I assume it's quite a notable one. Foreign model, maybe?" Ronnie comments, letting himself look over her outfit again. It's very... snug, in certain places. Shapely, even. Ronnie's surprised Ponies can even come in that shape.

"Ha. Charmer. I would watch that title around here, if I was you. I've heard Queens get a bad rap, with the Equestrians holding a preference for Princesses. No, I am Mister Banks primary trade partner. Are you aware of his dealings?" She corrects, rummaging the table for a napkin.

"I'm not, unfortunately. Wasn't much time for personal conversation before all this swept along. One moment, I'm just keeping a hose aimed at a fire, the next, I'm at a fancy party in my fanciest duds, because apparently we saved someone's visiting pony-daughter-heir." Ronnie explains, shifting to lean against the table, getting weight off his leg, slowly stretching his foot.

"I see. Well --" She's just about to explain when both of them flinch at a loud, boisterous sound quickly getting closer. Heavy, out of sync hooves.

"Mister Harrelson! To find you away from the festivities -- taking a moment, are you?" Mister Banks announces loudly, before he's even gotten halfway to their table, turning some heads.
"I can understand my festivities might be a little much! I do still hope you're enjoying yourself!"

Mister Banks, much like his party, practically screams affluence from appearance alone, and the image of several bags of money in front of a large building on the side of his leg isn't helping that. Short of stature but round in nature, his eccentric doublet barely fits him, the buttons straining. A fancy little powdered wig sits on his head, his horn sticking out the front of it. Despite his size, he's got quite the set of vocal cords.

"Ronnie is fine, Mister Banks. Just enjoying some lovely company." Ronnie tries to deflect, gesturing to his conversation partner, but Mister Bank's smile only grows, sliding in beside him and leaning on him.

"Ha! This one. He carries my eldest daughter, heir to my estate, out of a burning building -- a chunk of a support beam sticking out of his thigh, and acts like it's no big deal!" Mister Banks laughs, grabbing the closest part of Ronnie to pull him close and shake him around -- which just so happens to be said leg. Ronnie quietly winced, suffering through it.

"Really now?" She raises a brow, giving Ronnie a look. Well, there goes his chance of keeping things on the quieter side. She's about to lean against the table, a grin already forming on her face, before the man -- or pony -- of the hour continues, unabashed, even throwing her off.

"And might I say -- quality choice of conversation, good sir! Lovely company indeed. Miss Zharris here is second to none, for a Zebra. Truly!" He boasts proudly on her behalf, sliding right over to her before either can realize, doing the same to her. Though, being nearly her size, he's moreso shaking the entirety of her.

Ronnie and Zharris share a look at his words. Seems like she's used to that kind of word-choice, if the way she rolls her eyes is anything to go by.

"Ever so kind of you, Mister Banks..." She slowly returns, that smile looking a little faker.

Maybe he can salvage this.

"Oh -- Mister Banks. Have you shown the others the hose on the Fire-Truck?" Ronnie cuts in, leaning down.

"The... oh! I have not! We troubled your department to bring it, and we've simply left it sitting on the grass!" Mister Banks scoffs, slapping his forehead with a hoof, before shaking Ronnie back and forth.
"Thank you for the reminder, Mister Harrelson."

"Ask the Chief to break the hose out. I'm sure you'll all get a kick out of it." Ronnie offers, with Mister Banks seeming smitten at the idea.
"Certainly! Thank you, Mister Harrelson! Enjoy your evening, Miss Zharris -- wherever that may lead you!" He announces, disappearing just as quickly as he came.

He's already in the distance, nudging several of the other fire-fighters and bouncing excitedly. A lot of energy in that guy.

Rubbing his leg, Ronnie's attention is slowly pulled back to his conversation partner as she clears her throat, standing straight and leaning on the table again.

"...Holding a hose, hm?" She spells out slowly, grinning.
"A slight understatement to your participation."

"...For a Zebra?" Ronnie slowly repeats, stifling a laugh of his own. Zharris shakes her head incredulously, before a chuckle finally slips out of her.

"The ponies around here are a touch... I'm trying to find some polite words for it." She sighs, shaking her head.
"He means well, but most ponies don't think much about things beyond their own borders. Or towns. Or daily lives. Historically, they don't have the best track record of playing well with outsiders. Mister Banks is one of the better ones, but still."

"My people have plenty of history around that kind of thing. Fret not, I'm enjoying your company regardless of how many stripes you've brought with you to the function." Ronnie assures, smiling.

"Oh? Even if I left a few of them at home?" She jokes, snorting.

"Always good to keep a few spares." Ronnie returns, the two slowly settling after that burst of activity. The attention has already shifted back towards the main crowd, leaving them to their quiet table once more.
"Actually, aren't you guys supposed to be black with white stripes?"

"Oh, don't go down that road." Zharris scoffs, waving a hoof.
"Our philosphers have been debating that one for generations. I prefer not to touch the topic. I'm ambiguously striped, and that's enough for me."

"You see... where is he... ah, the guy with the dark skin. That's Jacob. He's pretty much a Zebra, if you could call us Ponies. At least, I'm assuming that's the best comparison. Just don't tell him I said that, or he'd probably kick my ass." Ronnie explains, barely stopping himself from cracking a grin as he leans down, pointing back towards the main bulk of the excitement, a few of the firefighters trying to dance with some of the guests. The lack of hands, and height difference, is yielding some amusing results.

She gives him a bemused look, following his pointing.
"Interesting. Don't worry, I think I overheard some of the other guests asking him where his stripes were, so you're not the only one to make that comparison. I don't think he's even seen me, yet, so he's probably just confused."

"There's that few Zebras out here?" Ronnie chuckles. Jacob's probably getting a kick out of that.

"There's as many Zebra in Equestria as I have hooves, I'd guess. Most don't often leave their own nations unless a reason is needed." Zharris surmises, shrugging. Or probably shrugging. That's a surprisingly human move for something that doesn't have the same kind of shoulders.

Their mutual gaze towards the group reveals another tidbit -- Mister Banks daughter, Feticious Banks, dolled up and in the midst of the group. There's a few bandages that peek out from underneath her dress, and a rather obvious one across her face. Despite these, she seems to be in a rather chipper, if bashful mood from the attention.

"Looks like she's recovering well." Ronnie comments, though his conversation partner floats him a coy look.

"You know, she's been looking in your direction most of the party. I believe young Miss Banks has a crush on her gallant hero." Zharris teases, watching his reaction.

Ronnie, however, shakes his head dismissively.
"That's sweet of her, but I'm not... into that kind of thing."

"Ah. The species barrier. An understandable hurdle, especially for a mono-species such as yourself." She nods, understanding... though there's a slight shift in her tone as she speaks.

"I was actually referencing her age." Ronnie quietly corrects.

"Oh?" She huffs, giving him a look.

"She's a fair bit younger than me, and I'm... not really looking for that kind of dynamic." Ronnie admits, scrunching his face.

That seams to pique her interest, tilting her head as she reads him.
"How... old are you, if I may ask? I'm unfamiliar with how humans define their age, though I know we share similar lifespans."

"Ah, I'm thirty-two." Ronnie easily offers.
"I assume there's still a taboo about asking a woman her age, even over here?"

"So you do know your manners." She chides, grinning.
"Yes, a Mare tends to keep her age a little close to her barrel."

"Barrel?" Ronnie asks, confused.

"Ah. Her chest, I believe is the correlation." Zharris adds, placing a hoof to her own, right where the dress swoops into its straps.
"Though, it's nice to know we aren't too far off from one another..." She says quietly, mostly to herself.

Ronnie surprises himself with how he has to force himself to look away. That's a new one.

"Well, with the playful mysteries of our identities ever so softly trampled... as Mister Banks said, I'm Zharris. Owner of Stof Fabrics, based in Farasi." She raises a hoof to him, for a... hoofshake?

"Zair-ise?" Ronnie repeats -- she pronounces her name differently than Mister Banks did.

"Zharr-Iss." She clarifies, though doesn't seem bothered by it.

He can feel... her hoof grip his hand? It's a very odd sensation, like there's some outside force, rather than the hoof itself moving. She's amused at the face he makes, watching him stare at her hoof curiously.

"Ronnie Harrelson. Firefighter. United... States? Or would I say Earth?" He finally offers, though he's unsure. He wasn't up to date on interplanetary geography.

She seems as weirded out by his fingers as he did by her hoof, pausing mid-shake to look at his wiggly little appendages.

"That's America, correct?" Zharris asks after a pause.

"Sure is. The U S of A."

"That would be correct, then. Earth would be the equivalent to Equus, and America to Equestria, or Farasi. Nations, to planets." Zharris explains, but still continues -- it seems a topic of interest for her.
"United States, America, U S... of A. I'm still learning about your kinds world. A difficult task, since Equestria holds a monopoly on most Alien information, and whatever is available tends to get eaten up by the locals."

"Right, you guys don't have Internet." Ronnie comments. Ha, he's an Alien. Funny thought. Doesn't surprise him information is a premium in this world, considering most of it has to be passed around from books and parchment, physically. Letters. Crazy, considering their other levels of technology and species ability.

"The internet? I'm not familiar with that one." Zharris tilts her head.

"That... might take a while to explain." Ronnie winced. It's a loaded topic.

"Do you have anywhere to be?" Zharris asks, smiling.

Ronnie glances back to the crowd. A few of the Unicorn guests are trying to levitate one of the Firefighters, to varying degrees of success.

Then he looks back to Zharris, looking up at him. Her head is tilted to the side, and she brushes a hoof through her side-swept hair, watching him with a soft smile.

"...You know, I think I've got nothing but time."