//------------------------------// // Epilogue: Recovery // Story: Casualties // by Starscribe //------------------------------// Several months later… Preston whined as Lauren lifted her head, holding another broken feather in her mouth. She spat it to one side, then shoved the filly deeper down into the plush of the mattress. “Quit struggling! It’s harder if you don’t hold still!” Ponies were flexible, younger ones even more so. Preston turned to glare over her shoulder without difficulty. “You said you’d be gentler this time! I don’t think that last one was ready to come out yet!” Lauren glanced down, and saw there was indeed a few drops of blood clinging to the shaft of the broken feather. “Sorry!” She touched her head slightly to the top of Preston’s, then pulled away. “Looks like that was the last one, anyway. Let me just…” She lowered her head again, taking her time to return every misaligned feather on Preston’s wings to their proper place, spreading oil on each one as she went. Preening had not become less dull, but having someone to help and talk to meant she could at least pass the time without entirely losing her mind. Her own wings were already prepared, since she had gone first. Preston always wanted to go last, as though that might make the simultaneously boring and intimate process less of either. They hadn’t shared a room before, but things were different now. A single bed felt like a vast ocean, swallowing both of them with room for half a dozen more ponies if they needed it. Neither of them had felt strange to be sharing it, like it was a nest atop a seaside cliff. Of course their ability to fly couldn’t completely eliminate another frequent difficulty when it came to living in human spaces: everything was gigantic. The difficulty of erecting ramps and stepstools all over the room was part of the reason they had elected to share. The bedroom door swung open, which was easier now that it never fully shut. Like every door in the house either one of them used, handles had been replaced with long lengths of rope, which could pull the door open from either side. Mom stood in the doorway, hands on her hips. “You two are still here?” She rolled her eyes, then glanced down at her watch. “You missed the bus twenty minutes ago.” Lauren had since learned just how much sharper her eyes were. In this case, they were even sharp enough to pick out the little scar on the side of her mother’s arm, where the inoculation had been injected about a month ago. The inoculation that let a human interact closely with a pony. As it turned out, ponies only remained “contagious” for a few days after transforming. Only fluid contact could spread it after that. That was still dangerous enough to mandate the inoculation for anyone who lived in households with ponies. They would need it again in a few years, though nobody was entirely sure how many years it would take. Lauren rolled away from her sister and stood on the bed. Even so, she was at least two full feet shorter than her mother. “The bus is stupid!” She hopped down off the bed, spreading her wings as she did so. The gesture was all it took to slow her fall. She landed lightly, instead of the painful sprawl she would’ve been in if she had just tried to jump down almost three times her height. She bent down to where her saddlebags had been dropped the night before, and started to fight with the connectors. Seeing her struggle, her mother bent down to help, loosening the straps with one hand. As much as it embarrassed her not to be fully independent, Lauren enjoyed the feeling of a warm hand against her coat, so she didn’t resist. Lauren never bothered with clothes anymore, aside from the scarf and goggles for windy days. “There.” Her mother rose, looking back up towards the bed. “Hold on sweetie, you don’t have to get down.” She lifted Preston’s bag, helping her too. “There.” She stepped back. “Am I driving you?” “No!” They answered in unison, then giggled. Lauren added: “Just open the window!” The towering woman frowned, then sighed. “Do you have to?” “Well, we’re pegasus ponies now. Every machine in the world is made for humans; we can’t drive, we can’t levitate things like unicorns can. Why wouldn’t we use the powers we do have?” Her mother flipped the latch and pulled the window wide, letting in the chill of a winter breeze. There was no snow yet, but it was cold enough. Lauren twisted on her scarf, and she watched Preston do the same along with warm socks on each hoof. She needed Mom’s help with those too. “You don’t have to. I’m more than happy to take you.” “Psh.” Lauren spread her wings and fluttered up onto the dresser beside her mother. Had she been human sized, the distance might’ve been almost twenty feet away. She didn’t even hesitate, flying past her mother without bumping her and settling lightly on the wood. “We’ve got this. Flying takes like half the time it would take to drive there.” She spread her wings, stretching each one. They cracked and popped with the gesture, as though they had been knuckles on her hands. Hands she… didn’t have anymore. Her mother only watched, as one might watch an exotic bird perched beside her. And that was exactly how their mother saw her, Lauren knew. Colorful, exotic, and delicate. Still, that was better than her father, who refused to pick them up for fear he might accidentally hurt them. And Preston, well… their father wouldn’t even look at her anymore. Her sister was quite a bit more hesitant with her flight, but made it up onto the dresser without much trouble. “Lead the way?” “You know it!” Lauren gave her an encouraging nuzzle, then jumped out her second story window. The fear of flying was all gone now, vanished into months of careful practice. She didn’t frantically beat her wings as she had done her first few times, just spread them wide. Air rushed past her as loud as an open window on the highway, filling her wings and slowing her fall. As she came within a few feet she tilted herself upward and flapped, sending herself into a powerful climb. Lauren was larger than almost all birds, and faster too. Soon she was level with the second story. She passed Preston still sticking a fearful head out the window, and called towards her: “C’mon! You don’t wanna be late!” Her sister slid out of the opening a little more cautiously, like a child nervous about jumping into a deep pool. Preston was the only pegasus Lauren knew who was afraid of heights, and she made no attempt to hide that fear from her sister. Lauren had agreed to be the only pegasus who didn’t make fun of Preston for her fear. “You don’t have to fly with her.” She heard her mother’s voice from within, soothing. “I can still take you.” “No.” Preston advanced another step, her face hardening. “I’m going.” The filly hesitated a few moments more, then jumped with a whimper into the air. She didn’t plummet, as her fear might’ve suggested was about to happen, but started moving up almost immediately. Despite their resemblance to birds, much of how they flew was very unlike avians. Despite their mass and comparatively un-aerodynamic bodies, they needed no running start or vast wingspans to lift them. The desire to fly was power enough. Even so, Preston had to flap her undeveloped wings twice for each beat of Lauren’s. She didn’t seem to mind, and took up formation just behind her. “Let’s see how high we can get!” “Fly safe!” Their mother waved, leaning out the window after them. “Like we wouldn’t!” Lauren shouted back, then slowed down so she was closer to her sister. “Think you can make it all the way to the clouds this time?” Preston’s teeth clenched with determination. “I’ll make it!” They didn’t, but it wasn’t Preston’s fault. After a few minutes of flight, Lauren glimpsed a familiar group of ponies moving on the sidewalk, and she shouted “Hey, Preston!” Her sister slowed to an awkward stop in the air, hovering with hummingbird wings. “Yeah?” “I’m… I wanna talk to my friends. Can we go to the clouds on the way home?” “Sure.” Preston’s ears flattened, but she didn’t object. Her eyes were just as sharp, and by then she had seen the direction Lauren was looking. “Let’s go.” Lauren landed with a flurry of wings and hooves, scattering dust and debris with the force of the wind she made. None of her friends here had wings of their own, and so her landing was met with a collective eyeroll. A few seconds later, Preston settled down behind her, much less dramatically. Her friends didn't seem to mind; like all ponies, they were friendlier than they had been before. “Do you always have to make such an entrance?” Carol asked, flicking her mane back into place. “You could just land like Parker.” “I could just spend the whole day on a cloud, too.” She grinned. “But that's less fun than it sounds, too.” She only got another eyeroll, and Jen nudging her with one shoulder. The earth pony probably didn't mean for it to be too hard, but her fantastic strength was enough to almost knock Lauren down with a tap. “Whatever, birdpony. Just don't land on anyone.” Lauren grinned back, catching herself before she actually fell. Her friends had always liked to tease each other, and even being ponies hadn't changed that. “Haven't yet!” Carol groaned, then leaned a little closer. “Did you hear about Ohio?” She shook her head, slowing a little to make room for Preston to squeeze in beside her. Nobody minded; ponies didn't care much about personal space. “You haven't?” Neil, her only male friend who still was, grinned mischievously at the news. “You really ought to keep a closer eye on current events, Lauren. Stuff doesn't stop happening just because you close your eyes.” “I don't like watching the news.” Preston spoke up, her young voice barely a squeak. “What happened in Ohio? More attacks?” “Not even.” Neil's attention turned on her, and his expression softened a little. Her friends could be merciless, but they frequently showed the filly a little more compassion. “They're building a pony city. A whole city, just for ponies!” “Buildings the right size!” Carol gestured with her hooves. “No being mistaken for stray dogs in the dark,” Jen grunted. Neil stopped walking, right before the doors to the school. “They've already got hundreds of ponies who want to move in! It's gonna be the coolest thing ever!” All around them, ponies swarmed up the steps, saddlebags loaded with books and supplies. For every ten ponies there was one human, those few who hadn't been on-campus during the attack. Most of those were seniors, making them seem even bigger. Ponies flowed around them like water, keeping far enough away that they wouldn't be kicked. “Adults too, not just kids?” “Psh,” Carol gestured all around. “Except for your sister, we're all adults. Another year, and we'll graduate. By then, half the town will already be built. News said anypony who wants to could move. You should come!” Lauren wanted to answer, but at that point she was swept up into the crowd, and had to practically swim against it to make it to the office for her student assistant class. Life was different, and so far it didn’t seem like the transformation would ever be reversed. Ponies were just another part of western society now. What had been intended to inflict crippling casualties had instead created an entirely new type of person. Lauren didn’t really know what would happen now. She didn’t know if their parents would eventually decide to be ponies too, to take care of them better. She didn’t know if having communities made up of tiny “magical” beings was going to work. She didn’t feel like she had to know. She wasn’t living in the school anymore; she had her friends and her sister and parents who supported her. It didn’t matter that she didn’t have hands, or that she was smaller than most dogs. It was enough.