Mayberry's quiet hoofsteps echoed down the almost empty street. Her long, heavy cloak covered her entire body with the exception of her muzzle that stuck out of the hood, revealed her dark grey coat. As the faux-leather slid over the cobblestones, one could almost mistake it for a snake hissing for an impossibly long time.
One month ago, the drab, fake leather would've caused the high-class mares to faint at her appearance. Now, they couldn't care less. The fear of being the victim of identity theft, especially to those with long family lines, scared most into turning their mansions into fortresses and their butlers into bodyguards.
The windows of the small doughnut shop to her left was dark, a "SORRY, WE'RE CLOSED" sign with bold, red letters hung from the window. Mayberry's mouth started watering. Those doughnuts were good. Her personal favorite were the chocolate caramel ones with a healthy (Or unhealthy, if you look at it like that.) amount of sprinkles on top. The way that the caramel melted in her mouth combined with the soft, moist pastry that had the most perfect texture and the slight crunch of the sprinkles made her entire body quiver in euphoria. All ending with a sip of the best hot chocolate that warmed her soul to a comfortable haze.
Mayberry shook her head, and the daydream instantly disappeared. The bakery returned to its dark state, the faint smell of hot oil the only evidence that this small store had ever operated a business. The pony sighed and reluctantly turned away, mouth still salivating, demanding a doughnut, any doughnut.
"Halt, citizen." A firm voice said to her from behind. She turned to see the pair of unicorn Royal Guards clad in gleaming golden armor. Actually, the only gold on a Royal Guard was the foil that was hammered onto their insignias. The platemail that provided the actual protection was steel, plated with a thin layer of bronze.
It was obvious that they had put much effort into appearances, after the embarrassing infiltration of the Royal Family, every ounce of public support was needed. The least they could do was look neat. Their armor was highly polished to the point of shining and their pristine white coats were freshly brushed.
Although they had plenty of training to hide their emotions for the perfect poker face, Mayberry could tell enough from their stance. They stood tall and proud with their chest thrust out like any other day, but they stood too tall. Either they were trying to impress the pretty pretty lady with their bulging muscles, or they were trying to intimidate any potential changeling. Most likely the latter.
The larger of the two, although they were identical in every other way, stepped forwards. His low, baritone voice seemed to make the whole street rumble as he spoke. The stripes on his shoulder labeled him as a Sergeant while his partner still had on a bright red training patch.
"Miss, I apologize for the interruption, but you have been chosen for... random screening."
Mayberry looked around. Other than the elderly street sweeper in front of Pyro's Pyros, the street was completely empty. Of course she would be scanned.
It wasn't hard to shoot a specific fish in a barrel, especially if she was the only fish they could find.
She nodded, and the guard nodded to his partner to come forwards. Mayberry saw him swallow in nervousness as his horn started glowing with cyan sparks. The mare closed her eyes as she felt the wave of magic pass over her body. It was an odd tingly feeling, as if her coat was being prickled by thousands of needles. The pony shuddered, but a few seconds later the scanning spell completed its purpose.
Convinced that Mayberry was who she appeared to be, the two guards backed off after a quick apology for wasting her time, their eyes darting from dark alleyways to a suspicious-looking cloud. Armored hooves clanging on the street, they resumed their patrol of the city.
Mayberry continued walking. Two corners later, she slowed down when a large group of guards were loitering around a house. Unlike the others, the curtains were pulled back, the occupants made no effort to hide themselves, and the upstairs windows were wide open. Loud cheering came as a lucky move made by a colt resulted in a victory for the team, his small shrieks of joy contrasting greatly with the somber mood of Canterlot. Whatever they were playing, it must've been fun.
The guards were obviously tensed. It was no crime to be joyful, but the loud party could've attracted changelings that have taken advantage of the confusion following their invasion. A guard raised a hoof to stop the mare for another check. Slightly annoyed, Mayberry rolled her eyes and nodded. A minute later, she was free to go.
Mayberry quietly observed the central park in all of its glory. The branches of the large oak tree swayed in the breeze, a single leaf fluttering down, sending a ripple when it landed on the surface of the lake. It was otherwise completely still, a perfect mirror that reflected the sky and the clouds. It was truly quiet.
Quiet, but not peaceful.
A bush rustled as an unidentified pony attempted to untangle himself from a particularly clingy shrub. He was not wearing the standard armor of the guards, rather, his body was covered in clothes more fitting for a wildlife researcher. He paused as he pulled out a map from his front pocket and crossed off another grid square. Sighing, he moved on.
The mare continued to calmly sit by the lake, the breeze eventually finding its way into her heavy cloak. Mayberry shivered. Maybe it was time to go home.
As she exited the park, a highly refined voice called out in anger. Highly refined as in, rich douchebag.
"I demand you release me at once!"
Mayberry quietly watched from afar. Four guards were holding down a writhing stallion trying to escape, but no matter what the suspect did, he couldn't free himself. The guards grunted in their effort to secure him, reminding her of a rodeo she once visited with her cousins who lived down in Ponyville. Effeminate screams sounded from the stallion as she heard one of the guards break out the cuffs. Mayberry shook her head in amusement, the stallion had an uncanny similarity to Prince Blueblood. If Blueblood was a white unicorn with a blond mane... and a compass rose- Oh Celestia!
It was these rare moments that made life interesting. Have you ever saw a prince being subdued by armed guards? Neither did she.
The magic suppression ring went on quickly, followed by a set of heavy-duty cuffs. Blueblood let loose one last cry of defiance before being dragged off to Celestia-knows-where. One month ago, guard brutality like this would've been scandalous at best. But with the invasion still in their heads, it should've been reassuring to the population that the guards were doing their job.
Unfortunately, some were doing their job almost too well. Many of the guards had developed a "Changeling-phobia" a week later. Symptoms included paranoia, seclusion from others, and abnormal levels of tension. This caused the local population to sometimes fear the guards more than the changelings. Random raids into homes were made on a whim and many of the older structures were demolished shortly after the changelings were evicted from Canterlot.
A soft gust of wind sent a lone scrap of paper fluttering in the street, only to be snatched out of the air like a chameleon capturing an insect by a grey hoof moving fast enough that she couldn't see it until the paper was already secured. The elderly mule winked at the pony, then continued hummed a tune from his youth as he swept the cobblestones clean.
He was wearing an old and tattered vest, grey from dust and grime from hours of labor. His hat was in the same condition, wrinkled like his skin and just as grey. A dull gold locket hung from a string around his neck. He kept touching it, as if he would die within the minute it disappeared. After every few sweeps of his broom he would stop and pat it softly, just to check that it still existed.
As Mayberry slowly walked closer and closer to the streetsweeper, the mule turned so that he wouldn't throw any dust into her eyes. Considering how few ponies actually walked on them anymore, it was completely unnecessary. The street was void of any loose gravel or dirt. Even the cleanliness claimed by the upper class generated some form of residue to be swept up by the wind.
She made her way down the street, the rough sound of the broom softening as the distance grew, eventually disappearing. One more block and she would be home...
She turned into a secluded alleyway. Less funding went to the western sector of Canterlot. Bare brick walls, dirtier windows, and smaller homes clustered together made for somewhat claustrophobic streets, but closer relationships with the neighbors. You sort of have to when you can hear them through the walls at night. She herself was not innocent of keeping them up, but they learned quickly enough and got over it.
Her home, according to Canterlot standards, was impossibly small. It was just enough for one mare to live in, but it was all she needed. Never had she relished the sound of her door squeaking open. She cast off her cloak, slamming the door closed behind her.
And that's how Mayberry came home from work that day.
Author's Note
Alright, this has been sitting in my folder for months now, and I'm just going to push this one out.
Originally a chapter from Adventure, I thought that this one stood out as a Slice-of-Life story.
I love putting in references from my other stories.
The title and premise both came from the Red Scare in the US during the late 1940s and 50s, although I have no idea how it was since I wasn't actually there.
Just a short story.