Look on the bright side--at least it isn't another Godawful anthro masturbatory fic.
It was another sunny day at Sesame street. There wasn't a cloud in the sky, and the air was sweet. A squinty-eyed man with a friendly smile was walking down the street with a golf bag in hand.
“Boy! I sure am glad that Big Bird invited me to play a round of golf today!” He looked around the road, putting a hand over his eyes. “But, I wonder where. He. Is?”
Suddenly, the man spotted another person with piercing blue eyes and a pretty-boy pout. He carried a set of golf clubs of his own and adjusted the checkered shirt he wore.
“Why, it's Nicolas Cage!” the man said, smiling broadly. “Mr. Cage! Are you here to play golf with Big Bird too?”
Nick Cage said nothing, rather, he chewed his lip in deep, meditative thought.
“Cut,” the director's voice groaned out from beyond the set.
“Come on!” Gilbert Gottfried bellowed. “How? How can you fuck up two lines?!” He gestured to the sides, as if he was picking up and moving a block. “'Why, yes I am, Gilbert Motherfucking Gottfried. I am here to play with Big FUCKING Bird!'”
The actor paused for just a moment. “That's, eh, minus the 'fucking.' We have to keep it classy for the kids.”
“I just don't feel it,” Nick Cage said to himself. “I mean, what's my character's motivation?”
Gilbert ran his hands through his close cut hair. “You're playing yourself! This is fucking masturbation in the acting form! Your motivation is to get paid!”
“Can we not say 'masturbation' on Sesame Street, please?” the director asked. He put a hand to his face. “Ok. How about this? Big Bird's already at the golf course set. We'll get that shot done—neither of you really even have to say much that scene, how's that?”
“Sure!” Gottfried answered with a surprising amount of pep. “It's not like my entire career is based around me talking or nothing!”
“Career?” Cage pondered out loud. “Weren't you a bird in all your big hits?”
“Weren't you the same character in every Goddamn movie you've been in?”
“Touche.”
000
The set was surprisingly dark when the recording group arrived. The director scratched at his head as he scanned over the small man-made golf course. “Hmm. I wonder where Big Bird is?”
“Haven't seen him, boss,” a cameraman said.
“Me neither,” a man holding a mic boom affirmed.
“He's probably porking Ms. Piggy!” Gilbert said, triumphantly crossing his arms.
“There's a difference between these guys and the Muppets,” Cage sternly argued. “Though using 'porking' as a sexual term while talking about mating with a pig? Respectable wordplay.”
“Every once in a while, I can do ok.”
“Well, if you two want to hang out for a second while me and my boys look for Big Bird, I'm ok with that,” the director said, departing with his men. Gilbert and Nic shared an awkward glance.
“So, uh, how much you getting paid for this?” Mr. Cage inquired.
Gilbert shrugged, playing with the large pin implanted on the golf course's hole. “A grand and a coupon for a buy-one-get-one chicken sandwich from Burger King. You?”
“Ten.”
Gilbert paused, his face showing obvious disdain. “Ten dollars? I've taken more expensive shits! That's an outrage!”
“No. Ten g's.”
“Ten motherfucking g's?!” Gilbert screeched in indignation. “I've never seen that much money, even when I was playing Iago on every cocksucking Aladdin movie and show! Jesus Christ! Are you fisting the director during takes or something?!”
Nicolas rocked on the balls of his feet, pensively staring at the squinty-eyed man. “Uh, no. That was just their initial offer. I normally take twenty-five thousand dollars for a guest appearance, but I figured I'd lowball.” He sniffed. “You know, for the kids.”
“What a saint. What a saint!” Gilbert said, throwing his hands to the side and knocking the golf pin out of the hole it was in. Neither noticed the faint lavender glow the hole began to shine with.
“Some of us have to eat.”
“Eat what?! Cocaine-fried caviar?! It's a fucking disgrace! I can't even buy any good blow in my neighborhood with the cash they're giving me!”
“Well, maybe you should have invested better. Then you wouldn't have to live paycheck to paycheck.”
“Says the guy who's had to sell more houses than Joan River's has given blowjobs!”
Cage's face briefly quirked in irritation. “You're starting to irk me, little man.”
Gilbert threw his hands to the side. “Oh no! I'm annoying Nic Cage! What are you going to do—spaz out like you do in all your movies?”
“I DO NOT SPAZ O--” Nic took a breath and ran a hand over his frazzled hair. “Out.”
Gottfried threw back his head and laughed a loud, shrill laugh. “Waddya call that, then?”
“I call that you being annoying and I wish-” Mr. Cage clenched his hand tight as raw, primal emotion stewed inside his magnificent head. “I wish you'd think before you speak, sir.”
“And I wish you'd play your part in this schlock then get the hell off this set! I mean, Jesus, how many takes are we going to have to do for this scene when you couldn't even do the other one? I've got a fucking Hotpocket waiting for me in the break room, for crying out loud!”
Before Nic could retort, the lavender glow coming from the hole expanded into a blinding, overwhelming sheen. A loud whine similar to radio static erupted, deafening Gilbert's startled expletives and Nic Cage's cool, collected quip.
A burst of pure light. Then they were gone. Moments later, the director returned, Big Bird in tow. The feathered beast looked at the empty lot, then back to the director. He scowled as well as he could—having a beak made it hard to convey facial emotion sometimes.
“For fuck's sake, you made me ditch Miss Piggy for this?!”
000
Gilbert opened his squinted eyes. He was lying in a sea of grass. He weakly rose to a sitting position and took stock of his surroundings as he adjusted his crinkled suit.
He sat in the middle of a modestly large field. Clover danced and swayed in the wind. To his right, about ten feet off, was a wide and tall tree stump and a collection of rounded stones about chest high. At the end of the rounded clearing was nothing but a sea of green trees, some healthy, a few deeper in showing signs of sickness.
“Hmm. I have a feeling I'm not in Kansas anymore.” He scratched his chin in deep thought.
“I don't think we're in America anymore, actually,” Cage observed, appearing behind the large tree stump. Gilbert shrieked, toppling over in surprise.
“Don't fucking do that!”
“Do what?”
“The thing with the popping out from behind stuff! Dick move!”
“Oh.” He gave a small shake of his head. “My apologies.”
Gilbert rose, brushing off his suit. “So, what makes you think this isn't America, wise guy?”
Cage dainty put a hand to his mouth. “It's natural progression.”
“C-come again?”
He casually shrugged his shoulders. “Well, I mean, why would you go half-assed on teleporting someone? I'm thinking this might be Sweden.”
“Sweden? Why Sweden?”
“Well, I think it's a nice cou--”
“Oh sure. It's a nice country, but why did we get transported to Sweden?”
Cage shrugged once more, his physique making the motion far more sexier than it needed to be. “Just a hypothesis. If it's true, though, maybe they just thought of me first when it came to exploring new technology.”
Gilbert gave an overextended bow. “Of course, your magistrate. Why in the world would you pick anyone but Nic Cage for this?!”
“Yes.” Cage nodded in serious agreement. Mr. Gottfried was briefly stunned by Nic's unwavering conviction, but quickly regained his footing.
“Well, wherever it is, I want out. Let's see if we can find a town an--” Gilbert froze, his mouth halfway open.
“What?” Nic asked, already dreading the answer.
“Oh man! If this is one of those 'free love' countries, I can pick up a hooker!” the Gottfather squawked. With a bold pose and a raised finger, he pointed west. “Let's go and find us a town!”
000
Their travels led them through a dark and frightening forest. Every step they took through the underbrush seemed ominous, haunting. As if eyes watched their every step. Several times, they heard the growling of a beast. Gilbert threw off the potential predators by talking. His shrill, whiny voice acted similarly to a dog whistle or rape to their well-tuned ears, driving the beasts away. It wasn't long before they came to a modestly large field. Clover danced and swayed in the wind. To their right, about fifteen feet ahead, was a wide and tall tree stump and a collection of rounded stones about chest high. At the end of the rounded clearing was nothing but a sea of green trees, some healthy, a few deeper in showing signs of sickness.
“Huh.” Gilbert said, scratching his short-cropped hair. “We appear to be right back where we--”
“I fucking know we're right back where we started from!” Cage snapped back, scowling intently as he threw his hands up in the air. “This isn't even possible and yet here we are!” He looked back towards Gilbert, puffing his cheeks out in frustration. “Fucking fucking fuck!”
“Wow.” Gilbert opened his eyes slightly, just a hair past their trademark squint. “I was wondering when you'd lose your shit.”
“Now seems like a pretty fucking good time!” Cage roared, kicking the ground as he paced frantically back and forth. “We're stuck in the middle of Goddamn nowhere, with no cell phones or ways of contacting people--”
“But at least we're in Sweden, we thi--”
“Fuck Sweden!” Cage snapped back, picking up a rock and throwing it squarely against the tree trunk. The sound echoed for miles, sending birds scattering from their tree-limbs. In the distance, Gilbert was pretty sure he heard a child crying.
“Ok, ok. You're right. Fuck Sweden,” Gilbert agreed, trying to calm down the enraged man before him. “I mean, it might not be so bad if we find a brothel, but-”
“A brothel in Equestria? Wouldn't that be a sight? Is indeed a lovely thing that would make the boys alight.” An odd, rhyming voice said, Gilbert and Nicolas glanced at one-another as a black and white striped, waist-high pony came shuffling out from behind one of the rocks in the clearing. She gave a small smirk at the men.
Nic looked over at Gilbert. “Are you thinking what I'm thinking?”
Gottfried nodded briskly. “I never thought I'd see a nigger pony!”
Mr. Cage bit his lower lip disapprovingly. “No,” he said. “Gilbert, you can't just say the N-word like that. It's racist.”
“I can't be racist, I'm Jewish!” the other announced, crossing his arms over his chest.
“What does that... never mind.” He pointed discreetly towards their company. “It's a talking hor--”
“A talking horse?!” Gilbert screeched, squinting in confusion towards the mohawked creature.
“I'd ask you both to tone it down. Your voices both produce shrill sounds,” the small pony said, rubbing at her ears with both her hooves. “And a pony is not what I am. I am a zebra—from the zebra lands.”
“I'm just going to get this out there.” Nic swallowed, nervously extending his hand towards the creature. “C-can I pat your head?”
“Of course you can, my tall dear,” the zebra replied, smiling tranquilly, “Just don't be afraid—come near.”
Cage smiled, slowly walking over with his hands at his side. “You know,” he started, glancing towards Gilbert. “I always wanted a horse when I was a kid.” He touched the zebra's bushy mane, and she stared up into his eyes gently. “What's your name, lil' buddy?”
She moaned as his hands gently caressed her skull, planting her hooves squarely into the ground and slightly swishing her tail in pleasure at his tender patting.
“Zecora is my name he-with-hand. Your talent at petting is quite grand.” She closed her eyes, groaning once more in pleasure at his touch upon her skull. Her tail swished even more earnestly at his vigorous caress.
Gilbert, in a surprising show of character, cleared his throat, stopping the moment before it could escalate into something weird. “Now, can I ask what a talking horse is doing here? I mean, the idea is funny, in a whimsical sort of way, but I'm starting to think we're not in Sweden.” He glanced his tiny, squinted eyes towards Zecora. “Do you know where Sweden is?”
The zebra tilted her head, briefly breaking the trance Nic's magic hands put on her. “Sweden is land I do not know. Perhaps Twilight in Ponyville will, though.”
“Is she another pony? Have we stumbled into some fuckzare planet of the apes shit?” Gilbert threw his hands to the side in agitation.
“Planet of the apes is the future, my friend,” Nicolas calmly said, still petting the small zebra.
“So we're in the future instead of an alternative universe? Is that what you're implying?”
“Perhaps...” Cage mysteriously agreed. He suddenly gave a hard and dramatic stare towards Gilbert. “Or perhaps we're... in the past.”
“Holy fuck!” Gilbert shouted, putting his hands to his face in a raw panic.
That potential truth sank in for several long, agonizing moments, before Nic casually shrugged, the wind whipping through his perfect hair. “Or we're on an alien planet that has ponies instead of people—it's... it's kinda a moot point at the moment.”
The squinty-eyed man blinked, processing Cage's words. “Holy fuck!” Gilbert shouted, putting his hands to his face in a raw panic.
000
Zecora offered to escort them to Ponyville after that—she lead the march through the misty jungle, occasionally turning to raise a suggestive brow at Nicolas and swinging her flank far more than she needed to.
“So... you going to put the moves on the black pony?” Gilbert whispered over to Nic as they marched shoulder to shoulder.
“W-what?” Cage incredulously whispered back, revulsion evident on his face. “Are you saying what I think you are?”
“That Zecora wants your St. Dickolas ? Totally,” Gilbert nodded with a smug smile. “Are you gonna give her the D?”
Nic scrunched his face and grimaced. “You mean--”
“Of course, Nic!” He made a jerking motion with this hand. “When you gonna put your goo cannon inside her pleasure cave?”
“She's a zebra, Gilbert. I mean, I know you're used to taking home hambeasts because they're the only ones willing to do the shit you're interested in, but come on! Have some class.”
“Laugh all you want,” Gilbert sneered, “But hambeasts are at least desperate enough for a touch that they're willing to do Cleveland steamers and boy, when you find a girl willing to drop logs on your chest—but I'm getting off track here.” He ducked under a low-hanging branch. “Back to my original statement: What are you, some kinda faggot?” the Gottfather asked, confused at Cage's reservations. “Why wouldn't you want to put your weenier in a talking female pony? That's just... that's just unAmerican. It's plain old wrong, not sticking it into her horse womb.”
“Well...” Cage trailed off, sarcasm obvious in his tone. “I'm not a first date sex kinda guy—I'd like to know her first and she's a fucking horse what is wrong with you?!” he snapped in one hard breath.
“Please lower your volume when you leer. I can hear still hear your talking up here,” Zecora warned, her words chill even in the hot breeze.
“Oh, right. Horse ears,” Gilbert replied. They walked for a bit in oppressive silence, save for Gilbert's off-beat humming, until they reached the end of the treeline. Gilbert and Nic stepped through and were greated with fields upon fields of apple trees in bloom, all ripe and ready for harvest.
“Wow. That was surprisingly... uneventful,” Nic said, turning to glance behind him at the gloomy and ominous forest. “I'm used to places like that having all kinds of things, from the movies I've done.”
“Like what?” Gilbert questioned, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out a piece of gum.
“Well...” Cage stared straight ahead. “Ghosts... uh, women. Bees. Rodents of unusual size.”
“I don't think those exist.”
Cage offered a knowing smile. “You'd be surprised. Vicious bastards—glad we didn't see any in that forest.”
“A scene like that would never stick--it's a bit too violent for a slice of life fic,” Zecora cryptically said, the deep, life-changing metaphor all but lost on the two men as she turned and started to slowly walk back from whence she came. “To find Twilight in the Ponyville town, simply call on an Apple, he'll show you around!”
Before either could reply, she vanished into the thick mist.
“Talk to an Apple...” Cage put a thumb to his stubbled chin and took to lightly chewing it as he gazed over the fields. “But which one?”
“Probably that pony over there.” Gilbert pointed to a tall stallion hauling a cart on a nearby hill. Sweat rolled down his flank and shoulders as he chewed methodically on a piece of wheat. On his haunches was a tattoo of a large, sparkling apple.
“At least, call it an educated guess.”
“Brilliantly played, sir.” Nic nodded in a way that suggested acceptance of Gilbert's eccentricities as they booth took off for the horse.
“Hey!” Gilbert called once they got within about twenty feet of the red stallion. The beast turned, offering a surprisingly placid, indifferent gaze at the strangers in a stranger land.
“Eyup?” he asked, his voice a deep baritone drawl.
“Do you know how to get to a Poonyvill--”
“Ponyville,” Nic quickly corrected.
“--A fuckin' Ponyville?”
The red stallion gave another slow meandering nod. “Eyup.”
“Can you take us there?” Cage asked.
The waist-high stallion seemed to mull it over, moving his wheat stalk to the left and right of his mouth. Finally, he nodded. “Eyup.” He unhooked himself and started to walk off, before turning and beckoning the men towards him.
“Guess we solved the riddle,” Nicolas quipped.
“How long were you waiting to quip something?” Gilbert asked.
Nic gave it a moment of thought. “Well, I suppose two, three A.M—when I woke up to eat a piece of chocolate cake. Decided then that I'd quip at least something today.”
“Three A.M? That sounds late for cake.”
“Well I got nauseated after eating a pre-cooked mini-mall rotisserie chicken.”
The red stallion cleared his throat, breaking the two from their conversation.
“Guess that's our cue,” Cage muttered.
“Shame. I felt like we were settling into the rhythm of a fucking banter joke,” Gottfried sighed.
“Totally.” Cage offered his hand. “Friends for life?”
Gilbert nodded and shook. “But only if you don't make another Godfucking awful Ghost Rider movie.”
000
They traveled with the pony, each turning to observe how beautiful the countryside was in the bright day. Grass grew, birds flew, the sun shone, and the flowers were open, their bloom as spread and open as any Taiwanese hooker worth her salt.
After about an hour of meandering down a dirt path, it slowly changed underfoot, becoming a worn cobblestone. They climbed a hill and once they hit the apex, the red stallion guiding them pointed down the path, showcasing a small, quaint village with wooden frames and hay roofs.
“Ponyville,” he stated. The beast turned, slowly trotting the way he came from.
“Wait. One second,” Cage quietly spoke. “Do you know where a, uh, Twilight lives?”
“Check the treehouse,” the blond maned creature rumbled, vaguely gesturing towards the town. He left them, quietly humming to himself.
“You know...” Gilbert started. “We've been transported here like half a day and I'm already sick of this horseshit.”
Cage snorted. “Horseshit in a land of ponies.”
Gottfried paused, opening his eyes. “Holy fuck! I didn't even mean that play on words! But I guess I'll roll with it—a joke is a joke, after all! And a good joke works no matter what the context. It's like when I was listening to 50-cent, and he told me to kill the niggas and rape the whites.” He gestured around. “It's perfect, sound advice for a guy like me! It's a lesson you can take heart in!”
Cage rubbed his face, unsure how to answer that in any right way. He decided to change the subject. “L-lets just get down to the village, see what treehouse he's talking about.”
They went down the path, noticing the wary, fearful looks the citizens of the town were giving them. Shutters slammed shut, doors locked, and several ponies made the mark of the evil eye at them.
“I feel welcome here, like a Nazi entering Poland.”
Nicolas paused, giving a small smile. “Huh, was expecting you to say something about a black man in a white suburb.”
“What kinda cock sucking racist do you think I am?” Gilbert snapped back, then returned to glancing around. “Where's the fucking bathroom, I gotta pee so bad I can taste it...” he muttered.
They came to the center of the town, where a tall and healthy tree stood. A sign next to them said the building was a library, and a small pathway lead towards a door in the side of the trunk. Gilbert and Nic exchanged glances, then Mr. Cage stepped forward, taking the lead and approaching the door. Lowering himself slightly to the doorframe, he reached forward and knocked.
“Spike!” They heard a young woman's voice call out from inside. “Would you care to answer the door?”
A heavy sigh. “Fine...” a tired boy's voice replied. There were light footsteps, and then the door opened, revealing a knee-high purple lizard-like creature. He blinked a few times in surprise, then glanced behind him.
“Hey, Twilight?” the small animal yelled, cupping a clawed hand to his mouth to call louder. “There's some hairless gorilla monkey... things at the door!”
Gilbert's eyes briefly snapped fully open, and he broke in to a wide smile. “Gorillas!? What do we look like, ni-”
“No,” Nicolas dismissed.
“But it was a great setup!” Gilbert whined.
000
“Hmm, I see...” a lavender mare mused as she sat on the ground by a small desk. She glanced up at the horn in the center of her head in thought at their words. “So, you just appeared here through a portal of some kind?”
“Yeah,” Gilbert agreed, adjusting his weight on the lumpy pillow he sat on nearby. “It reminded me of a shitty, low-budget sci-fi special. You know—the ones on at like two in the morning with the astronauts that discover planets with big-titted caveladies? We got caught in a purple aura, and then we ended up in a field inside a forest.”
“A purple aura...” the mare trailed off, tapping her chin with a hoof. “Hmm... what, exactly, were you doing before this purple aura enveloped you?”
“Talking to the fucking bookworm over there!” Gilbert gave a gesture towards Nic, who had his head buried in a wiccan spell-book. Cage grunted in agreement, never taking his eyes away from the pages.
“Do you remember exactly what you said?” Twilight put her hooves together and glanced pensively away.
“Well, I think I told him a joke!” Gilbert announced.
Twilight brightened at that, looking visibly revealed as a handkerchief nearby became enveloped in lavender magic. It levitated over to the unicorn, and she wiped at her sweating brow. “Oh. T-that's great! What was the joke?”
Gilbert smiled a toothy grin. “Two guys get in a car wreck. First guy comes out and calls out to the other to see if he's alright. A faggot comes out of the other car and says 'My neck! My car! I'm going to sue you for ten-thousand dollars!' Other guy says: 'Ten-thousand dollars?! Fuck you! You can suck my dick!' and the faggot says 'Well, if you want to settle this out of court...'
Twilight blinked. “Faggot? Why was a bundle of sticks driving? And... what's a dollar?”
“Oh for the love of...” Gilbert groaned.
“Besides,” Cage coolly interrupted, tucking the pagan book under his arm. “That's not even close to what you said before we ended up here—you wished I would leave the set.”
“Something like that,” Gilbert agreed.
“That would explain why you're here in Equestria,” the unicorn said, deflating.
Nic compassionately moved over to the mare, gently resting one of his angelic hands on Twilight's shoulder. “Please, tell us what you mean.”
Gilbert rose. “Tell him. I need to take a shit. Is there a powder room in here?”
Twilight looked behind her, past her wings, and towards the back door. “N-no...”
“Oh. Guess I'll just do as the Romans.” Gilbert turned, heading towards the front. He paused. “Wait... did you always have wings?”
'O-of course!” she stammered out.
“I mean... I just didn't notice them until now. It's almost like they just sudden--”
“They've been here the whole time! You're speaking nonsense!” Twilight defensively snarled.
“Ok, ok. Wow.” Gilbert left with a defiant tilt of his nose.
As soon as the door slammed shut behind the man, Nic glanced to Twilight. “Failed magic spell?” he guessed.
“Failed magic spell,” she agreed. “Wanted to make a wish-granting one. You know—for the kids. I thought it had simply shorted out. Instead, I guess it must have been redirected to an area with a weak magical barrier, and you just fell right through.”
“I'm just surprised the magical influx that battered our bodies in transit didn't alter our bodies to adapt to your world.” Cage gave a thoughtful rub of his chin, pondering that.
“Why would a human change into a pony from coming here? It's not like this place isn't suited for you—hay, we're even speaking the same language!”
“Huh. How about that.”
“Weird.”
“Totally.” He nodded.
They sat in silence for a moment, before Cage cleared his throat. “Now, do you have an idea on how to get us back? I was hoping to have a high-class dinner with a hired escort later tonight, so I kinda need to...”
“Hmm? Oh, yeah. Yeah.” Twilight rose with a shrug. “In fact, it should be in that spell book you have tucked in your arms, all you have to do is--”
“Find a ley-line and form twelve round alchemical symbols dedicated to Ouroboros—each one placed approximately half an inch from the other, then covered with sea salt—but I need the blood of a virgin on top of that.”
The pony stood, her mouth agape. “How did you...?”
“I study my roles.” He wryly smiled. “Some say that thanks to my expressive and pure acting, I become my roles. I'm a fully ordained knight thanks to Season Of The Witch, a licensed magic user due to the Sorcerer's Apprentice, and I'm able to take off my face every weekend and battle injustice because of Ghost Rider.”
“Oh come on!”
“Ok,” Cage smiled, raising his hands in defeat. “You got me. It only happens every full moon.”
Twilight snorted as Nic's face turned to stone.
“I wasn't joking.”
Before Twilight could break the silence, a girlish shriek from outside pierced the room—Twilight and Nicolas rose instantly, making a run for the front door, Cage twisted the handle and stood, his head tilted to his side.
Gilbert was suspended in the air by an aura of orange hue—his pants at his ankles and a confused look on his face. Standing beside him with a glowing orange horn was a stallion with a badge mark on his flank.
“Is this man yours?” the stallion asked Nic, tilting his head towards Gilbert.
Cage seemed to briefly debate on that. “Sort of,” he decided. “Why?”
“Because he was defecating on the road.”
“I was just trying to fit in!” Gilbert loudly replied, trying to stretch through the membrane of magic surrounding him.
“We have outhouses for a reason, Gilbert!” Twilight snapped.
“Oh,” he plainly replied. “Musta missed those...”
“It's either a court appearance, or eighty bits,” the officer concluded.
Twilight's face fell. “Eighty bits?! That's insane! I've never heard of an indecent exposure charge being that high!”
“To be fair, Equestria's hero or not, you've had several large disasters tie directly into your own meddling. Eighty bits is as best an offer we can give.”
Twilight grimaced. “Fine. We'll--”
“We'll see you in court!” Gilbert cheerfully proclaimed.
“What?!” Twilight exclaimed as the aura dissipated around him and he landed painfully on his stomach. He rose, brushing himself off.
“Very well,” the police pony said, using his magic to levitate a notepad and quill. He jotted out a note and handed it over to Gilbert. “Ten 'o' clock tomorrow.”
“I'll be there with bells on! And maybe a fucking sundress too.”
“And for Celestia's sake, pull up your pants.”
“Forgot about that part,” Gilbert admitted, hoisting up his pants.
The stallion departed, and Gottfried and his companions returned inside.
“Why didn't you just pay the fine?” Twilight asked. “I would have covered it.”
“Because we're going to skip town! I've had practice skipping dinner tabs—this should be the same thing.”
Twilight seemed ready to reject the idea vehemently, then paused. She put a debating hoof to her chin. “You know, that's not a bad idea...”
“I doubt you'll get far,” Cage mused. The two looked over at him. As soon as he had their attention, he carried on. “Did you not see what he did to your cheek?”
Gilbert felt along his pants.
“No,” Nic said. “Your actual cheek.”
Gilbert felt along his jawline and frowned. “He made some kinda indention on my right cheek.”
“A tracking sigil, bitch! What'chu know 'bout occult symbols!?” Cage proclaimed, nodding vigorously.
The other two stared awkwardly at him. Twilight shuffled her hooves. Finally, she spoke again.
“W-we should probably prepare a case tomorrow.”
“Right,” Gilbert quickly agreed.
“Y-yeah.” Nic swallowed.
