In Los Angeles, South Sepulveda Boulevard was quite the busy road this sunny orange morning. Cars and SUVs drove on a leisurely pace, passing by stores and offices no taller than five stories—not much in the way of beeps and honks. A parking lot on the right would blind the unwary tourist with its vast array of cars and their sun-reflecting windshields, though his pegasus friend sheltered those eyes with an open wing. Another pegasus moved a cloud overhead, pulling it with a rope tied around it.
A minute’s walk later, one would find a black Uber car dropping off a flustered Sam. He hastily waved at the driver as he swung his briefcase around in a staggered gait, suffering under the heat of his button shirt and his thick hair.
He pushed the glass doors inside, sighing at the blast of cool, conditioned air.
It took Sam some time to get his mind untangled from the early hours’ rush, but when he did, he finally saw the inside of the bureau for himself. The brochure had somewhat prepared him for the job, but pictures couldn’t exactly convey sounds, smells, atmosphere….
The lobby was rather bright and happy with its yellow-green color scheme, complete with cartoon hearts painted on the walls, presumably to soothe whoever’s inside and reduce tension. Plants proliferated the room, giving off a mixed concoction of floral scents; no need for air fresheners when the flowers were just as strong as them.
At the lounge, both humans and...well, not humans were resting by chairs placed specifically to foster warm conversations, resting and relaxing by a coffee bar that also served some sandwiches—vegetarian options included for some of the converts and their native Equestrian counterparts.
He’d seen the odd pony or griffon before, but it’d staggered him to behold such a huge diversity of creatures after he’d flown into the city...even before that—in the airplane, he had counted in his mind somewhere over forty magical creatures ranging from cute equines to menacing bipedal dragons to somewhat normal enough Abyssinians sipping coffee.
He’d stayed quiet before. It wasn’t helping him now.
The lounge had all these creatures, unrestricted by airplane seats or narrow aisles. Being so close to each other had led to the death of awkward silence, making for some interesting interactions: a colorful changeling was hawking his flashlights for sale, his human prospects wielding newspapers as their shields; a hippogriff tapped a pencil on her beak as she re-read the list of appointments today, slumped on her comfy chair as a teenage rebel peeked at the list while eating a juicy, meaty burrito; a woman earnestly grilling a yak on the process of conversion, receiving an eloquent response from his lips and, supposedly, calming her down.
“Uh, hello?”
Sam snapped out of it, shaking his head in confusion. “Wh-What?”
The cute pink unicorn by his side was levitating a clipboard, standing at half his height. “I said ‘hello’!” as she managed to keep up that perky smile. She squinted at something on her paper. “Are you Mr. Sam Henry?”
“Yeah,” Sam said, scratching the back of his itchy head, observing the lime glow surrounding the floating clipboard. He noticed the cutie mark she had: a bunch of stars. “You’re Canter Crowhop, right?”
“Sure am!” she said with a smile, bobbing her striped mane of yellow and cyan. “I’m pleased to help you start your three-day internship here!” She cocked her head to the side, taking in the sight of the tall man. “I’m quite surprised you were willing to travel this far!”
Sam made a gentle chuckle, stalling for time to recollect his words. “Well, it’s nice to visit the Big Orange for the first time.”
Crowhop giggled, coming off as cuter in sound, too. “They have lots of oranges here, yeah!” and levitated an orange into view. “Follow me and this orange, Mr. Henry!”
And so he did, walking past the reception counters with their smiling ponies and hippogriffs. The din of lounge talk faded away as he entered the hallway.
They entered a small room fit for two, one for both sides of the table. It was cozy albeit cramped, brimming with photos and lists while it smelled like a hospital. On the table itself were dozens of documents beside a quill and inkwell.
The unicorn sat down on her chair at the far end of the table. The human took the seat closer to the door.
Crowhop made another sweet giggle as she floated out two cups of hot cocoa. “So, how are you? I trust that everything went splendid, hm?”
Sam glanced at his watch. “Uh, fine. Very fine.”
“I assume you had no hiccups on the way here, right?”
Less than ten seconds in and Sam was already getting nervous about talking to a pink magical horse. He mindlessly took the cup on offer and put it down on the table. “Yes, it went well. Not much else to say, really, ma’am.”
“Oh, you don’t have to call me ‘ma’am’!” She threw a playful hoof about. “Just call me ‘Canter’ or ‘Crowhop’...but, call me ‘Crowhop’ because some of us call Canterlot ‘Canter’. Got it?”
Sam pursed his lips. “...yeah,” and glanced at his watch again, scrutinizing his ticking second hand.
Crowhop tilted her head again, slouching on her chair. “How’s Los Angeles so far? Pretty cool, right?”
He made a silent note about how this pony was treating the city like she’d lived there her whole life. “Better than I expected. Wasn’t able to do much with my midnight check-in at the Holiday Inn, but I got a feel for it.”
“You didn’t take the time to go to the beach?” she asked, incredulous and inching her head towards the man. “Or any of the theaters in Hollywood? Or Griffith Park?” She drew in lots of breath, taken aback. “You should’ve been there at sunrise! There’s a troupe of pegasi that go there twice a week; they change up the clouds and—ooh! It’s breath-taking, and….”
Tuning her out while smiling at her innocent wonder, Sam looked at his watch.
“Oh! Sorry, sorry!” Crowhop blushed, straightened up on her chair. “It’s almost time for you to do your thing! First order of business, as they say!” and swung a hoof across the air, almost punching the documents away and almost dooming herself to picking them up.
“Which is accompanying people to the conversion room,” Sam said out of rote. “Then I get more involved from there, correct?”
The pony nodded with her eyes closed. “That’s correct!”
Sam wanted to shake his head at this perennially joyful pony, but politeness took over. “Anything else you need to brief me on like where should I go?”
“The interview you’ve had with Off Record is more than enough,” she said, patting the table and then standing up. “Now, you want me to accompany you there or you’ll handle it on your own?”
“I can do it myself, thank you very much.” Sam stood up from his chair, brushing the dust off of his clothes.
Crowhop clapped her forehooves. “Alrighty, then!”
Sam chuckled, still astounded by how chipper this pony was.
He headed for the door. He placed his hand on the knob.
“One last thing, Sam.”
The man turned around, seeing Crowhop without her smile.
Sam flinched. Did he do something wrong? Stepped over some line of pony courtesy? Yes, it was certainly his lack of saying goodbye, wasn’t it?
“Do a good job out there,” Crowhop encouraged, her voice now a strange low whisper. She gulped, searching for the right words to say. “It’s hard to get used to a new body, a new culture, a new lifestyle...a new everything." Paused, avoiding his eyes for a moment. "I was born a pony, so, despite bonding with so many people here before and after conversion…” sighed, staring at the floor, “I don’t really really know what it’s like to lose everything you’ve loved because you’ll die if you don’t.”
Sam took a step back, having second thoughts. Was he actually qualified for the job? Maybe Off Record had been a bit under the weather and he hadn't known it.
“You’re here, Sam,” the pony went on, the smile returning to her face as she levitated a clip-on ID to him. “I know you can do it.”
He wanted to check his watch, wanted to leave and not offend anyone with his being late. It took him a bit of additional strength to calmly say, “Sure, ma’am.”
Crowhop didn’t correct him that time.
The two exchanged goodbyes. The unicorn said something about leaving her office anyway in ten minutes, and that effectively ended the conversation. Sam left and re-entered the hallway, having put on his ID.
Five minutes later, Sam found himself inside an anteroom decorated with ribbons and more cartoon hearts, smelling like flowers just like the lounge and lobby. There was a line of chairs before the next door, though there was an unusually big space behind it. Perhaps it’s for the city’s last few months before becoming engulfed by the Veil; surely, there had to be space for more chairs as a slew of troubled people would rush to the bureau for last-minute rescue.
He also found himself with a particularly young black-haired woman casually dressed. She was sitting at the chair closest to the door, expecting someone to come out of it.
The man noticed that he himself wasn’t noticed by her yet.
He coughed.
She looked her way.
Silence as they looked at each other.
“You must be new here,” she said, eyes on the ID.
“Yes, I am, ma’am,” Sam replied, content with his rather nice rhyme there. “The name’s Sam Henry. Here to help you with any last words you may have before you step through that door.”
The woman stood up, walking over to him and offering a handshake. “Laura Crowley.”
“Nice name,” Sam said. Then, glancing at the door, “Will you be going by ‘Laura Crowley’ or some new name once you step out?”
She laughed nervously, putting a hand to her cheek. “Technically, I’ll be ‘Colea’, but I still prefer ‘Crowley’ over that.”
“‘Colea’?” Sam placed a finger on his chin. “That doesn’t sound like a pony name. Or a dragon name for that matter….”
Silence reigned again as the both of them stood there, waiting for the door to open, for the knob to jangle.
Uncomfortable with the returning awkwardness, he coughed again, leading to more small talk: “What did you choose anyway?”
Laura looked to the side, crossed her arms. “Changeling.”
That made Sam do a double take, eyes blinking rapidly as she thought of her as a little insane. “Did you say ‘changeling’?”
She narrowed her eyebrows at him. “You got a problem with that, sir?”
“N-No, Mrs. Crowley,” as he held up both hands, trying to defuse the situation and trying to not ruin his first day at the job. “You’re free to be whoever you want to be, and if you’d like to be a changeling, that’s fine with us...yeah, fine with us....”
She cracked a sly cackle. “Got you curious, no?”
Dropping the facade, Sam shrugged. “Yeah, you got me.” He scratched his head, making clear his bewilderment. “Why do you want to be a changeling anyway?”
Laura clasped her hands. “Take a seat and I’ll tell you.”
So the both of them took a seat, Sam making sure to keep his distance by being one seat apart from her. “Is this a long one?”
She shook her head. “Not really.”
Sam glanced at his ID, willing to pass the time. “Alright. Shoot away.”
With a hand through her long hair, she began: “I don’t know if you know Rogie, but he’s a wacky guy. Local comedian, heart of his family...newly weds.” She rocked her head to the side.
It’s only then that Sam spotted the wedding ring on her finger.
“When he was given the choice to pick what he wanted to be,” she continued, “he chose to be a changeling.”
“Because it’s funny?” Sam cut in, confused by this train of thought.
“Close,” she said, rotating her hand around. “He said, ‘Why not?’ and that's all. Staff here weren’t sure if he’s a hundred-percent OK, but he passed all the evaluation and psych tests.”
“Did you think about taking it together?” Sam prodded, trying to force the butterflies out of his stomach by asking anyway.
“I had cold feet,” Laura admitted, smiling to hide the shame—and the irritation at this interrupting volunteer. “But, it hasn’t been too long.”
Sam placed an elbow on his knee. This way, he looked more interested in her story, even as he asked, “So you want to become a changeling because your spouse did the same?”
“Hmm,” scratching her chin. “It was always my second or third choice, but seeing him take the plunge sealed the deal. Besides, he can become a little too crazy—acts like a child sometimes, so it’d be fun to see him get in line or let him starve.”
Intrigued by the fear of starvation, he gave her a strange look. “What do you mean by that?”
A smile broke out on her lips. “By threatening divorce.”
Sam rolled a tongue in his cheek. “Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
Now he was somewhat weirded out by this pragmatic Laura. Starving a love-dependent changeling via divorce sounded like an effective, if cruel, idea. “But you love him?”
“Pretty much,” she said, looking at the floor as she thought about her relationship. “The honeymoon’s young, though, so I don’t know.”
Sam nodded, letting that sink in along with the Plan B of separation’s hunger. Then, sparked by an interesting thought, he said, “Are you going to eat after this?”
“You mean eat regular food?” Laura looked at the door, growing restless. “Love’s gonna keep us alive, but I still like my salad and sushi.”
“I said it because you’re married, and if you’re both changelings and want to stay faithful...you know, you won’t go hungry.”
Laura rolled her eyes. “That depends. I’m not sure if I can live a hundred years with a mediocre jokester.”
Creak!
They turned their heads to the opening door, seeing a blue changeling’s head pop out. “Laura Crowley? We’ve got everything ready for you!”
The both of them stood up, both shaking hands as the time came for them to part.
However, Sam felt her hand tremble. “It’s been nice meeting you, Laura. You’re sure you got everything in order?”
“Yeah, I’m sure,” her voice a bit quieter this time.
Sam saw her enter that mysterious room, the changeling opening the door a bit more for her to fit through. Sam leaned his head to the side; he could make out a huge soft carpet, a few other changelings, an emergency exit, and a table.
With a vial of sparkly, purple potion on the table, labeled with a changeling symbol.
The door was shut and locked.
That was the last Sam saw her as a human.
A volunteer usually had fun when they’re actually volunteering. When there’s no pertinent work to be done despite incessant questions about anything to clean up or something, being told to relax was both a relief and a burden.
It was a rather slow morning for Sam. His second conversation with Crowhop ended with her saying in an uplifting voice, “Don’t stress out! It’s a slow day, but that makes it easy to get the swing of things!”
What he did after was to walk back to the lobby and lounge, get a newspaper from the rack, and start some old-fashioned catching-up with the world around him. While there were broadsheets and magazines such as the Los Angeles Times and, well, Time, he’d gotten an Equestrian news outlet: The Ponyville Express.
The first thing that hit him was the colors. The vibrant, vivid colors of the photos. Lots of saturation.
The banner headline proclaimed, Manehattanites: Housing Atrocious. Underneath was a clogged street of the metropolis, taxi carriages going bumper-to-bumper—or, rather, horse-to-carriage. Some of the lesser headlines were, Princess Twilight: Again, No Minotaur Option!, Chrysalis Trail Getting Cold, Celestia Slams PER Pre-Rally on Earth, and Another Great Cake by the Cakes.
That last one caught his attention, but it wasn’t enough to make him flip the pages and see what kind of cake it was. He wasn’t looking for a cookbook.
After an hour’s perusal of the rather whimsical news and opinions made and formed by magic ponies, stubbornly refusing to see what cake it was against rising boredom, he returned the Express and got for himself today's issue of The Canterlot Chronicle.
Desiring to get a fresh look outside before seeing another view of another world’s happenings and what not, he raised his head and stared past the glass walls.
Across the street, under the clear blue sky, was Airplane Landing View Point, a park less than a hundred meters away from the Los Angeles International Airport. There, a few people took pictures of arriving and departing planes, sitting under the shade of trees. Joining them were a smorgasbord of Equestrians. He couldn't tell if this or that one was a convert—a so-called New Foal, as several might say—or a natural-born citizen of Equus.
Turned out there were fewer people than he’d expected. Wasn’t this La-la-land, supposed to be teeming with tourists like him?
Turning his mind away from that, he looked at the rest of the lounge. He now saw a deer, an Earth pony, and a normal-sized dragon laughing, hooves and claw on their shoulders as they noisily planned where to drink tonight. The dragon suggested the relatively low-end Power House—he wasn’t willing to foot the whole bill at a ridiculously high-scale club.
Sam let out a little “Hm”. Thoughts swirled in his head. If he had to choose out of the three creatures presented before him, what would it be? As he thought of horrendous images of escape and panic from his town with the Veil coming in, as a voice berated him for being lazy, complacent, too late—
“Uh, hi?”
Sam panicked, half-folding and half-crumpling his newspaper. He whirled around to see if it was Crowhop checking on him.
It wasn’t a pink unicorn but a green changeling wearing a sheepish smile, waving awkwardly at him.
Some moments passed before he recognized who it was. He had to be as light-hearted as possible for this new changeling, so he greeted her with, “Laura Crowley, I presume?”
The changeling grinned. “Certainly am!”
Sam breathed easy, knowing that his guess was correct.
Laura then hopped up to the seat beside him.
There was no time for newspaper reading. Sam put the newspaper aside, shifted his eyes here and there to make sure no one was looking, and then turned to her. “You’re OK?”
“Could be worse,” Laura replied.
Sam blinked, unsure of what to say next. “Sure. Finally got the hang of walking?”
So human and changeling turned away and simply watched the lounge unfold before them with spontaneous conversations between species about anything. Meanwhile, a short line was forming by the counter for appointments; a unicorn complained that he was missing his papers. Finally, Canter Crowhop trotted down from the hallway and into the lobby, gracing the bureau with her cute smile and her not-as-cute authority.