In Another World with Equestria Girls

If there was something that I enjoyed about this neighbourhood, it was that it was so peaceful and friendly. Much as Night Light had said the first morning I took Spike out on my morning constitutional, nobody really gave me any grief about being in the gated community. In fact, most of them were downright friendly, and several people regularly even waved to me when they saw.

There was the guy who ran the gate checkpoint in the early morning, an older man that looked like he could have been related to Boss Foxhound by a few degrees of separation, who gave a friendly smile every time he saw me. Some mornings, there was this girl with a vibrant green mane that went down to her butt who would also be out running; she was always listening to music on her headphones, but never failed to stop to give me a friendly smile or Spike a pet on the head. He certainly enjoyed the attention, though I couldn't help but wonder if they'd crossed paths before.

In fact, I think the only person in this entire neighbourhood that wasn't friendly was this one suburban housewife. I don't know if she just had what people and ponies both called resting bitch face, or if she had a perpetual stick up her ass, but whenever that nag with the dark magenta hair and her nose in the air saw me, she got this disgusted look on her face. The way she looked at me was the way one would regard something nasty they'd just discovered on the bottom of her shoe. Even now, she was out in her front garden, staring at me as I passed.

I mentioned her once to Mrs. Velvet, and she told me, "Just ignore Spoiled Rich; that busybody's the definition of a Karen."

When Spike and I reached the community gate, we arrived just in time to meet Twilight. She was just being let through the gate when she spotted me and waved. Being the (mostly) friendly person I am, I jogged over and watched with a smile as the small dog showed surprising jumping capability and leapt into Twilight's arms. It wasn't worth hiding the snort of amusement when he immediately started licking her face.

Even though he seemed to love being taken for walks and runs, if there was something I'd noticed about the dog's behaviour, it was how he interacted with Twilight in comparison with everyone else. Although he was affectionate with Light and Velvet, the little fellow seemed to worship the very ground Twilight walked on. Even if me giving him exercise was something he liked, it was clear that Twilight Sparkle was his human.

"Hey Spike!" she said between bouts of her own laughter, even as she tried to keep him away from her glasses' lenses. "Are you taking Eventide for a walk?"

I just smirked and took out my pen and notepad. This little guy is seriously good at telling you what he wants, and interpreting things. She grinned as she saw what I'd written beneath. If he had the right structures, I bet you could teach him to speak English.

As she set him down, she gazed upon him with loving eyes. "Of course he's good at communicating his needs and reading your intentions," she commented. When I just looked at her, she explained. "He's a trained service dog. When I was younger, I used to have really bad anxiety problems, and if I had a panic attack, he was trained to help me out by comforting me, or bringing me things, or seeking help if I couldn't be calmed. They're not as bad these days thankfully."

I didn't really understand what she meant. Although ponies had a similar companionship relationship with dogs as humans, the idea of a 'service dog' was unfamiliar. What really got to me was the idea that someone's anxiety could be so bad that a panic attack could cause them to shut down. At the same time, however, it reminded me of something—of Cantata and why I fought so hard for us. I had to be strong for both of us.

With a shrug, I scratched out my follow-up. Well, dinner should be ready soon. We'll be back as soon as I finish this circuit of the perimeter street. When I returned the pen and pad to my pocket, I retrieved my goggles from the pocket and slipped them around my neck. Then I looked down at Spike and met his eyes before angling my head back toward the road. Without missing a beat, he barked once and readied himself to let me set the pace. I still think that's more than just training.

No matter what my thoughts might have been, Twilight at the least seemed amused by the sight. "I'll see you two later, then," she called after us as I began a light jog. "Don't keep her out too long, Spike." A glance over my shoulder showed an expression on her face that made it seem as though she wanted to say something else. Instead, she simply waved and began towards Golden Oaks drive.

It was a nice afternoon, although the breeze rustling through my hair as I ran was a bit chilly. Then again, the sun was pretty close to the horizon, and the season was changing. That one difference still absolutely fucked with my head. For almost three decades, I got used to Princess Celestia raising and setting the sun at exactly six o'clock. There was no concern about the tilt of the planet or the point in its orbit affecting the time of day at which the sun rose, but here it was a completely wild system. I was starting to get used to it, but it still made judging time by the position of the sun and moon difficult.

Humans don't seem to do pocket watches, though, I thought drily as I neared the house belonging to that nasty Rich woman. Some seem to do wrist watches, but I guess others just use their cellular phones as timepieces now. Maybe I should ask Mrs. Velvet about getting a wrist watch.

Whatever else I might have been thinking quickly got put to the wayside as I heard a car approaching behind me. It wasn't anything unusual, given that this was a residential area, but rather than pass me, it seemed to slow down to match my pace. Had I any hackles, they'd have likely started to rise, but feeling the hair on the back of my neck stand up was close enough. Either way, something about this didn't seem right.

Flashing red and blue lights lit up behind me, and I heard a quick yelp of a siren. When I stopped and turned around, I saw a CCPD cruiser pull up to the curb beside me. When it came to a stop, a rather portly man in a police uniform—one with a bad moustache and too little hair on his head—stepped out of the vehicle. He was looking at me with a scowl, as though I were somehow wasting his time.

There was something about the man that made me extremely uneasy. Perhaps picking up on the same thing, or at least my discomfort, Spike put himself between us. Luckily, the police officer stopped just close enough for me to read the name on his uniform. Officer Quota... Hopefully it's a quota of donuts and not beatings or arrests... I've heard some stories back in the encampment.

"Pardon me, but would you mind answering a few questions?" he asked in a voice that I could only describe as pure sleaze. "We've had complaints about someone who doesn't belong in this community—one matching your description—regularly casing houses in the area while pretending to be a dog walker."

My eyes drifted past the police officer to the house on the other side of the road. Standing in the window with a sneer on her face was that Spoiled Rich woman. Oh, I see. She thinks I don't belong, so she called the police claiming I was some would-be burglar. This ought to be fairly easy to clear up. Just gotta explain that I live here now, and that I'm legitimately just getting my cardio in.

As I reached into my jacket pocket to grab the notepad, the man whipped something bright yellow and vaguely gun-shaped from his belt. He pointed it directly at my chest and screamed, "Hands in the air!" The suddenness of the change in mood startled me so badly that I lost grip on the notepad, and dropped it alongside Spike's leash as I put my hands up. "Now, who are you, and what are you doing in this community!?"

'I can't speak,' I mouthed uselessly at the cop. Passively, it became apparent that people in the other houses nearby were also watching from their windows. 'I need that scratch pad to communicate!'

"If you don't say something, I'm gonna have you in cuffs," the cop snarled. "Your refusal to speak is interfering with my investigation!"

Memories of the images I'd stumbled across when reading up on gunshot wounds rushed to the forefront of my mind. When I gained access to the internet, one of the first things I'd been interested in looking into was what a gun did to a person; Cadance and Velvet's explanation of what it meant to be shot had told me a lot, but not enough to truly convey how bad things could get, and morbid curiosity took the reigns. It was one thing to look at pictures with an almost clinical detachment, but it was another entirely to realise I might end up with such an injury because I couldn't fucking answer.

An involuntary tremor wracked my body, and I glanced down at Spike, and then the notepad. Please, get help, Spike, I silently pleaded with the dog, even as the officer screamed some more at me. Maybe he read my mind, or maybe it was my distress, but he grabbed up the notepad in his doggy mouth and then darted off down the street, his lead trailing behind me.

I tried to pantomime to the cop that I couldn't speak, but the moment my hand reached my neck, something shot out of the weapon, and two darts punched through my t-shirt just above my right breast. All at once, my world became one of pain as electricity coursed through me and caused my muscles to lock up at once. Intellectually, I knew what electricity did to creatures without any sort of magical protection, and in basic training we were told to never deploy thunderheads against non-ponies for that reason, but I never imagined that I would ever be on the receiving end of any sort of electric discharge without magical protection.

One moment, I was standing, and then the next I was face-first on the ground. Despite having no larynx, my throat felt raw from the soundless scream that probably ripped itself from me. My entire body was in pain, but I was vaguely conscious of the fact that the police officer was roughly cuffing my hands behind my back, and also that my shorts were now soaked. Fear and shame overtook me as the man roughly picked me up and dragged me to the back seat of his cruiser.

22 Years Earlier

'Once upon a time, in the urbanised city of Manehattan, there were two sisters. The older twin, Cantata, was innocent and wore her heart on her sleeve. The younger twin, Construct, was more guarded and rational, intent on keeping her sister safe and preserving her sister's happy outlook on life. It was something of a losing battle, because for all Construct wished to protect Cantata, the eldest didn't want to be stifled by the youngest.

'Things only got worse when their father, Abstract Tempo, grew ill. Despite the poverty they lived in, he did all he could to provide for his daughters—to ensure the one parent they had was a loving one. As such, Cantata loved her father and would do anything for him, even if she knew it was wrong... Especially if Construct did her best to stop her sister... Cantata wanted to do whatever she could to help him, even if it meant lying, cheating, or stealing.'

I stared out through the bars of the jail cell as a tan earth pony stallion was led into the lock-up by an anonymous member of the Royal Guard agency. Despite his shaggy white mane hanging in front of his face, anypony could see from the bags under his eyes and his gaunt cheekbones that he was ill. When he came to stand on the other side of the bars, he regarded us both with disappointment.

"Cantata," he murmured, his voice heavy with exhaustion. I blinked a few times before he acknowledged me. "Construct... I'm so disappointed in you both. Stealing medicine, girls? Really?"

At the time, I could feel Cantata's guilt roiling off of her, but she didn't back down. "Daddy, you're not getting better!" she pleaded. "We... I don't want to lose you! I had to do something..." She let out a keening sound before she began to sob.

When I put my hoof on her withers, she didn't resist when I took over for her. "I'm sorry, Daddy," I whispered. "I tried to tell her it was a bad idea... that you wouldn't want this... but she got me to see her side and I... couldn't disagree." My ears drooped as I saw the confused look on the guard's face. "She was very per... per... suasive? Yeah. That's the word. She persuaded me to go along with it, 'cause she's right. You're not getting better, and you won't buy medicine for yourself."

I wanted to tell him that he needed to get better, because I wasn't sure I could take care of Cantata all by myself. If I'd known then what I knew now, I would have argued harder, because I was right; I couldn't take care of her all by myself. Maybe buying himself medicine wouldn't have helped him get better, but seeing him at least trying to take care of himself so that he could continue to take care of us would have made all the difference for Cantata. Maybe, looking back now, if he'd made more of an effort, we wouldn't have ended up on the street.

Maybe if he'd made more of an effort, Cantata wouldn't have given up, too.

I was jostled out of my reminiscence by the sound of someone being led into the holding cells. What was it about this place that had to dredge up that memory now of all times? When we stole that medicine for Dad, we'd at least been arrested for a good reason, and even then we were only really held in a small holding cell in a guard station. It was nothing like now, when I'd been hit with some sort of stunning spell and locked up for being a stranger in the neighbourhood and not being able to speak.

My goggles and jacket had been taken from me when I was booked and they took my fingerprints. As a result, I had no means to hide my tears or the shame of having to sit here in soiled clothing. All I could do was contort my body to slip the cuffs in front of me, and then sit huddled on the floor the furthest from the cell door. What fate awaited me, I didn't know.

At least they had the decency to put me in a cell of my own. After all, they didn't seem to give a damn that I pissed myself after being shocked, but someone had the sense to think, 'Maybe we shouldn't put the teenage girl alone in a cell with a drunk man or two hoodlum youths.' As much as I hated to think of myself as helpless, without any sort of tool, there wasn't much I could do to protect myself, especially with the limited range of motion afforded to me by the handcuffs.

Moments after I was jostled out of my memory, I saw the same officer that arrested me hauling a grey-skinned young woman—there was just something about her that felt slightly more adult than Twilight—over to the door of my cell. "Ow!" she cried as she was roughly shoved through the door. She was only wearing a loose tee, some sort of short tights, and running sneakers, so somehow, I could imagine she was also picked up while out jogging. "You're gonna regret this, asshole! You and I both know that my ID was legitimate, and when my parents find out, you're gonna lose your damn job. This is an unlawful and unconstitutional arrest." Based on the luxurious long white hair spilling down her back or the fancy braid going around the back of her head like some sort of crown, I didn't doubt that she might actually come from money. At the very least, he'd had the decency to uncuff her.

The police officer just rolled his eyes as he rolled the cage door shut and locked it back up. "Yeah, yeah, that's what you little whores all say," he spat as he walked back off out of the holding area.

With a huffed "Misogynist prick!" the young woman stomped over and sat herself down on the bench across from the corner I'd huddled up in. She was muttering angrily about lawsuits and Crystal Prep, but I was only half listening. I was trying my best to make myself look as small and nonthreatening as possible; even if the rose eyes behind those elegant glasses held the spark of intellect, she was taller than me and her muscle was more defined, indicating she probably had weight on me.

Trying not to be seen was, of course, a wasted effort. She'd been sitting there maybe a few minutes when she sniffed and then wrinkled up her nose. She looked in my direction and then seemed surprised. It almost seemed like there was even a look of recognition on her face.

"You're that girl that Starlight Glimmer was showing around CPA today," she remarked in a disbelieving tone. "How the hell did you end up here?" I just gave her the world's most obviously fake smile and waved as much as my still cuffed hands would allow it. When I didn't say anything, she put her right index finger on the side of her face near her ear, before moving it to the part of her cheek closest to her mouth and then pointing at me.

Is she trying to ask me if I'm deaf? I just shot an eyebrow up before shaking my head. With that in mind, I lifted my hands and tapped my ear before giving her a thumbs up with the other. Then my hand came down in front of my mouth to clasp it while giving a thumbs down. Finally, I sat up, tilted my chin towards the sky, and pointed at the scar on my neck before making a cutting motion.

Now that I got a better look at her, I thought I recognised her as having been in the CPA library, helping the librarian move books to the stacks. Funny enough, though, I was pretty sure she had been wearing pants and a vest at the time. Does that mean that pants were also an option for girls? Or was that a special allowance because she'd be going up a ladder with books?

The young woman regarded me with a strange look. "So you can't speak, but you don't know ASL?" she asked in an incredulous tone. When I held my palms upward in front of me and did my best to shrug, there was no stopping her own palm from meeting her face. "Notepads and tablets are good right up until you don't have them, huh?"

A glare from me got a chortle from her. "Don't look at me in that tone of voice." She slumped against the wall and stared up at the ceiling. "If you're going to be starting at CPA, I could teach you a bit if you want." I shot her a thumbs up, so she quickly added, "I'm Jinx, by the way. Jinx Charm."

I sorta just blinked at her not entirely sure how he wanted me to answer that. The next thing I knew, she was crouching in front of me with her hand extended palm up. "Duh, I can't exactly expect you to talk if you have nothing to write on, right?" she asked. "Trace out letters on my palm with your fingertips."

With that means of communication provided, I introduced myself to her. We then slipped into a short discussion—as if it could be anything else when I could only get out a few words in a reasonable time—about how we got here. I told her how I'd been homeless and then taken in as a foster, only for that Officer Quota to show up while I was walking the dog. She in turn told me how a convenience store employee refused to sell her cigarettes, despite being above the legal age required, and how that same dickhead cop showed up, decided her ID was fake, and arrested her. When I spelled out, 'Shock you too?' she seemed utterly disgusted, but shook her head.

I'm not sure how long we were there. We eventually ran out of things to talk about, so Jinx eventually returned to her own bench. It had to have been hours since I'd been brought in at this point; all that I could really be sure of was that I was getting hungry enough that I would even have accepted a bit of meat right then and there. It also didn't help that I was really starting to get sleepy, too.

The lock-up's main door opened, and I could hear two men talking, accompanied by footsteps. "Yeah, I reckon there's a girl here what matches that description," one of the men said. "Quota brought her in hours ago, but nobody has any idea who she is, and she wasn't talking."

"Did she happen to have a scar on her throat?" the other asked. He must've gotten some sort of affirmative, because there was an angry grunt. "Unbelievable. Of course she wasn't talking! And I bet none of you even thought to give her a pen and paper and trying to get her to write her name."

Hearing the voices too, Jinx perked up before shooting me a smile. "Sounds like someone's come to spring you, kid," she remarked before standing and walking over to the bars of the cell and sticking a hand out to wave. "Oi! If you're looking for a mute girl named Eventide, she's in here!"

The pace of the approaching footsteps increased, and before too long, an unremarkable police officer and a familiar looking man stepped into view. He was tall, had a leather jacket draped over his arm, and was dressed in khakis and a dress shirt with a tie. What really stood out to me, however, was the two-tone blue hair. This is Shining Armour, Twilight's brother!

I probably wasn't all that visible in my corner, obscured by the bench, but when I stood up, a look of relief crossed his face. "Yeah, this is the girl I was looking for," he told the other officer as I wandered over to the bars. "Go get the keys so we can get her out of here." His eyes probably noticed the damp stain on my running shorts because he quickly amended his statement. "Actually, go find her some clean pants in the lost and found while you're at it."

Turning his attention back to me, he gave me a weak smile. "Didn't expect this'd be how we finally met," he commented before pulling a familiar notepad and pen from his back pocket. "How are you holding up, Eventide?"

When he passed both through, I frantically wrote out an answer, starting to shake by the end. Whatever that officer says I did, I didn't do it. I was just walking Spike when he showed up, claiming I was casing houses or something. Wouldn't even let me get my notepad, and when I tried to pantomime that I couldn't speak, he shot me some kind of electricity gun. That hurt by the way. They wouldn't even let me clean up and made me sit in my own piss-soaked pants for however long I've been here!

Upon being shown my little rant, his expression darkened slightly, but he remained calm. Instead, he reached through the bars and gently patted my hand. "I know," he simply said. "The owner of the house you were arrested in front of was more than willing to show Mom and Dad the events from his security cameras. As soon as Spike showed up at the house with your notepad, they knew something was up, and he led them back there. Dunno how you got him to do that, though."

Not too long after, the other police officer that showed up with Shining returned with a bag with my belongings, pair of black track pants, and the keys to the cell. I wrote out a quick thank-you to Jinx for keeping me company when she could have easily just ignored me, and then tore it from the notepad and passed it to her before they finally let me free. I stepped out, accepted the pants and then took my bag of belongings, and then quickly followed him as he started leading me out of the holding area.

He pointed me toward a handicap bathroom and told me to get changed. Once I was in and locked the door, I set my things down and considered what to do as I stripped off my bottoms. It wasn't like I was carrying any spare underwear, but I didn't really wanna put the soiled pair back on, either. That's just too gross.

Frowning, I threw both the shorts and panties into the sink and started running the warm water. If nothing else, I need to clean myself up before I end up with some sort of UTI, I thought as I ran some paper towels under the water, soaped them, and began wiping myself down. It wasn't a proper shower, but a whore's bath would have to do.

As I cleaned myself, I heard the voice of the man who arrested me. "Hey, Detective Prettyboy, what's this I hear about you springing one of my collars?" came the man's smarmy question. "I thought you'd be happy I was keeping your folks' neighbourhood safe by keeping the scum off the street."

I could hear Shining Armour growl as I saw the shadows of his feet place themselves directly in front of the door. "That 'scum' was the girl my parents were fostering, moron," he spat, rage tinting his voice. "You effectively assaulted and kidnapped a teenage girl off the street in a part of the city you weren't assigned to, and took her to an entirely different precinct."

"Hey, she was refusing a lawful order, made threats, and then reached for her something in her jacket," Officer quota responded while I was wiping off any soapy residue with a freshly rinsed paper towel. "What was I supposed to do?"

"She's five foot three and like ninety pounds, Doughnut Quota, and I highly doubt she made any sort of threats to you," I heard Shining bellow just outside the bathroom door. "If you felt at all threatened enough to tase that little girl, you need to find a new career. God knows, Internal Affairs is gonna have a field day with you. Why don't you go call your union rep and get your story straight now, before you embarrass yourself any further." There was the sound of someone stomping away, and then I heard him quietly mutter, "Christ, we'll be lucky if she still has any interest in getting into law enforcement after this."

I took a bit longer to dry myself off, and then I put on the provided pants as they were and cinched the inside drawstring as best as I could. After that, I took my goggles and track jacket out of the evidence bag and put them both on. Because I was rather cold, I zipped the jacket up all the way. Finally, I wrung all the water out of the soiled clothing and tossed them into the bag.

I quietly wrote out something on the notepad, and then quietly opened the door. Shining evidently didn't hear, because he seemed surprised when I gently tugged on his shirt sleeve and showed him the notepad. It'll take more than a dirty beat-cop to scare me off. He's just another facet of the things I want to protect people from.

Shining Armour just smiled, ruffled my hair, and led me out of the police station. Out in the parking lot, he took me over to where a motorcycle was parked. Once he threw on his leather coat—what I suspect was supposed to be a sort of riding jacket—he walked around to the storage bin affixed to the back and produced two helmets. The one he put on his head fully enclosed his head, while the one he passed to me was slightly smaller, and open-faced.

"Here, put this on while I put your stuff in the bin," he said, popping the visor on his helmet open. I had to let down my hair so that it fit comfortably, but I did as instructed. I even took the time to fiddle with the strap so that it was snug. He climbed onto the bike, and then patted the space behind him. "Hop on, put your arms around my waist, and hold on tight, okay? It's a bit of a ride back to the Ponyville Plaza gated community."

Without further ado, he started the engine and pulled out of the parking lot. Despite how loud it all was, I found leaning against his back to be rather comforting. I wouldn't go as far as to say I could feel his heartbeat with the side of my face and helmet pressed against his back, but strangely, I felt like I could put all the trust in the world in him... and the only other pony I'd ever felt like that had been my Dad.

Maybe it was because the memory had recently been dragged to the surface, but as I began to doze against his back, I started to slip back into the memory. Before too long, I wasn't hugging my caretaker's son—Foster brother?—on the back of a motorcycle and hanging on for dear life. No, after my eyes had closed, it was me and Cantata draped across Dad's back as he carried us both back to our hovel. I could once more, as clear as day, hear my sister crying and pleading with our father.

'I'm sorry, Daddy! I didn't mean to get in trouble! I just don't want you to die!'