//------------------------------// // From the Horse's Mouth // Story: A Volunteer at the Bureau // by Comma Typer //------------------------------// Sam blanked out, holding his waffle and chicken combo in his hand as unfeeling cars sped by, as passers-by who didn’t know any better trudged by under the cold night. His thoughts swirled about, wondering what this mare had possibly gone through...and, come to think of it, he didn’t even know her old human name yet. She was all Spaghetti Tree, Spaghetti Tree…. Spaghetti gobbled up the last of her food, crumpled the paper bag and chucked it into a nearby garbage pin. She landed on the hard asphalt. Back on her four hooves. A sigh escaped her lips. She looked up at Sam, mouth trembling to tell her story: “Back at my place, in New Washoe City, a couple Equestrian ponies built up their own conversion bureau. It was barebones and run-down, and it was all done inside a revamped house, but they somehow got Celestia’s stamp of approval. “I signed up to become a merpony. I was an average real estate broker who loved swimming in the water so much, and I lived by a big lake. It was a no-brainer for me: I could live in the lake, relax in the lake, do business with buyers of new houses in the lake so they could live in the lake as well….It would’ve been a dream come true.” She opened her wings. “I mean, flying around is a lot like swimming in the deep...but I’m getting ahead of myself, a-and….” While engrossed by her story so far, Sam thought to ask her about— “And if the lake became too crowded,” she added with a twirling hoof, “I could always move to the Bay and live right in front of San Francisco,” and looked up to the sky, looked at her fond unfulfilled hopes in the Western Paris. “We had the appointment set, I had my papers done.” She bobbed her short mane, brushing her hair with her hoof and then her wing out of anxiety. “All I needed to do was show up four days later since they just ran out of merpony potion. I was OK with it. I could wait for four days.” Spaghetti’s ears drooped down. She studied the gray pavement before her, unable to see her reflection there. “I could wait. It was interesting to slowly see my hometown become magicland.” Raised her head to see Sam who’d stopped eating his food a minutes ago. Now, he was just chewing on his previous bite. “My old classmates who stayed loyal to our town...they were local activists who clamored for a more self-sufficient Washoe, so they became Earth ponies and made their own farms. My survivalist Dad became a changeling so he could increase his chances at surviving if it ever came to it.” Then, she smiled, thinking of her next person to mention. “My fiancé had already signed up to become a merpony with me. We had a little argument about it before that, because he was dead set on being an Earth pony, too. Later on, he changed his mind about it...told me that he’ll have the ‘landlubbers’ take care of surface farms.” Spaghetti rubbed her throat. “Then came the day. I and Renard went to the ‘bureau’. Already, we were thinking up the little everyday things we’d do after we married: Swimming to the open water market where we’d buy fish together, or wowing the visitors with our dolphin acrobatics, or helping out with harvesting Equestrian seaweed...and holding each other’s fin, too, because why not?” She afforded herself a giggle, such a little diversion from the weight in her mind. “Then, we were there. They had everything ready—Mall Light even told us that we’d celebrate with a ‘Happy Merpony Party’ later that evening at the lake.” Happy what-if’s about her and Renard enjoying themselves with udnerwater balloons and confetti—these flew away from her…. “I heard a car,” voice tenser now. "I turned around, saw it fast approaching the bureau on the road. Stopped right before the group of people just waiting outside, and….” Shuddered, closed her eyes. Cowered, almost raised her hooves to her head. Sam wanted to get down on her level and pat her on the head, to tell her that everything will be alright. He wasn’t sure if she’d be receptive to that in her terror-stricken state. “The...the guards said they’re the PER. Ponies and staff got out of the way. But...the...ponifiers…” looked at her hooves, looked fast at Sam, twitching at the road—“they got their Molotov pony cocktails, t-told us w-we were too slow to decide, a-and they aimed at m-me—” Covered her eyes with her hooves. That lonely mare. Choking, sniffling by the avenue, in front of a gas station and a food truck—yet still close to crying. Sam bended his knees, truly got down to her level. He raised a hand. Did pat her on the head, and all he needed to was whispe— A black car came up to the side of the road and stopped right there. Sam turned his head to it. Spaghetti didn’t. The passenger-side window lowered down. It was sunglasses-wearing Arthur at the wheel once again, though he had his mouth wide open in surprise at Sam’s presence. “Let her sleep, Sam.” And Sam got his hand away from the sleeping mare’s head, Spaghetti dozing off beside him on the back seats. She had a pillow and a blanket, though that did not take his eyes away from her tear-stained cheeks being slowly dried up by pine-scented air coming her way. Arthur slapped his thighs as his left turn brought him up close with a freeway in partial reconstruction, one lane closed due to a broken divider. That hidden fury prompted Sam to stay silent in this already quiet trip on the interstate. He was thinking that, maybe, this driver didn’t want to talk about anything at al— “You know I know people on both sides, correct?” Arthur quipped, gesturing with his right hand while steering with the left. Giving Sam no time to respond, he continued: “Guess what? If you check Spaghetti Tree’s Facebook profile—” and handed him his phone which was already on the pony’s profile page “—you’ll see something quite interesting.” Sam received the phone and looked at what was displayed. There, she had a smiling profile picture of herself in front of a beachside tea shop. She, too, was wearing a pair of sunglasses. Underneath was her blurb: Los Angelan. Pegasus. “OK,” Sam remarked, “I don’t see anything much. What am I missing h—” “Check her posts,” Arthur said without looking back. He took a second to digest that command. Sam then swiped up to see her posts. The first one he saw was a photo from yesterday showing a group of around ten people. They were holding up picket signs in front of the Equestrian Consulate General in Los Angeles. Above it was her text: To those brave enough to stand up for their fellow humans: Thank you. Let the princesses know that, if we truly work together, we can find a way of preserving us as humans. We do not need to strip away our humanity, what makes us unique. My human friends: Preserve whatever piece of humanity we can retain if they decide to not pursue this path. Swiped up again. This time, he saw an advertisement for HLF merchandise: hats and shirts embellished with the the Front’s logo which was a stylized yellow fist. Her text above that: Will be buying some of these over the weekend! Can you believe they got pony sizes now? If you are a ponified victim of the PER, show your support for humanity by buying these online! Good thing I live near a branch. Sam swiped up for the last time. Here. he saw that this post was made within the Human Liberation Front (Los Angeles County) online group. Spaghetti’s words there went as follows: While I’m not human anymore and while I remain not to be a member, I still sympathize with your cause. With last Saturday’s news about the American government making its push with the bureaus, we’ve suffered a setback. Our voices have been made known, but they’re quite ignored. With this, shall I propose a peaceful protest in front of the bureau come this Monday?.... The comments below were mostly HLF members offering their support and saying that they were OK with having a pony on board, reminding her that a couple high-ranking members of the group were also victims of PER ponification. Sam yoinked his head back up to face the faceless driver—the shades did make him look generic. “Is she…?” “Not officially,” he said fast, “but she might as well be. She’s basically a sponsor for the Liberation.” He glanced at the mirror to check up on Spaghetti. Still sleeping. “She told you about her boyfriend, right?” Sam checked up on her, too. “Yes, she did,” all while trying to imagine what Spaghetti must be feeling right now—no, what she was dreaming right now. Or was it a nightmare? Arthur tapped his steering wheel. “It’s much more personal because they got him. Turned him into any old pony and dragged him.” Pointed both thumbs at the snoozing and blanketed Spaghetti, “She’s the one who lived to tell the tale. I tried to pull the strings on my stretched Ponification connections, but I only found dead ends. For all we know, he’s been brainwashed to serve their cause—or in a grave.” Sam almost lashed out at him for such rudeness, but then calmed himself down. Spaghetti was sleeping, after all. She didn’t hear it, nor did she need to...or, that’s what he kept telling himself. So they drove on, riding the unobstructed freeway as cars sped ahead or slowed down. Looking beyond the windows, he saw ordinary-looking houses and the occasional palm trees rising above them. The dark sky sat above him as a few pegasi shooed some clouds away, fulfilling this morning’s prediction that, yes, there’d be clear skies tonight. The trip lasted a good thirty minutes, at the end of which Sam got off the car, and waved a shades-wearing Arthur and a sleeping Spaghetti goodbye. He began heading his way to the Holiday Inn’s entrance. But, curiosity nagging his brain yet another time, he turned around to see if there was anything notable...well, outside of the already notable Equestrians everywhere. He saw the same old McDonald’s, now ignited with copious amounts of light to attract hungry commuters, homesick tourists, and cheap tightwads alike. Then, Sam remembered that Equestrians, both old and new, did often fit into one if not all of those categories; he saw the evidence for it in how many Equestrians filled up the tables and chairs inside—and outside on the parking lot, too, as ponies, zebras, and kirin leaned on strangers’ cars and laughed once in a while at some joke. The human customers, meanwhile, appeared few and far between. Sam noticed that the Uber car hadn’t left yet. Trying to be as cautious as possible, he squinted at Arthur’s car windows. He got through the strong tint and saw Arthur speak to Spaghetti who’s slowly waking up. The driver was becoming quite animated with his gestures, moving his hands about and pointing at multiple directions, all the while getting nods and headshakes from Spaghetti while she removed the pillow from her head. Arthur smacked the steering wheel and drove away. Sam wasn’t sure if it was to get her home or if it’s to bring in another passenger. Gotta pay to stay, perhaps. After the walk through the lobby and the elevator ride up, Sam strode into his room. He changed his clothes to a pair of shorts and an airy t-shirt. Settled on a chair, turned on the TV, and started easing away from work and travel with that minty pine tree smell prepared for him by the hotel. The news didn’t interest him that much—something to do with that Oregon senator from last night plus a car crash in Downtown where everyone survived thanks to quick Earth ponies who’d gotten them out of the rubble in record time. Bystanders were interviewed by reporters; among them were impassioned ponies and humans who argued about those rescuers doing their job only to curry humanity’s favor, how they’d set up the car crash in the first place to look good—”No, the survivors didn’t thank us!” “Didn’t thank you?! You weren’t even there! You’re too scared to—” “What makes you think I’m scared? You’re the one who’s scared to change and survive something much bigger—” “No, you, you’re scared of us! You’re OK with being stuck in the past, while we still got things like spaceships, lasers...and the Veil is gonna wipe them—” “You’re deliberately ignoring the the work of magic-proofers, scum!” “You’re the scaredy-pony, scum!” “Hey!” and the reporter barged in, cameraman being a little shaky with his equipment. “We don’t want this to escalate into—” He switched channels, trying to get his mind off Spaghetti and her posts, off that scheduled protest. Then, Sam stumbled upon a talk show with a pony and a dragon as co-hosts. They were busy interviewing a new Abyssinian or “new kitten” as she called herself. “—just find it interesting, you know?” she said, opening her paw to prove a point. “What do you find interesting?” the dragon asked, holding out a microphone to her. He probably wasn’t confident enough to use strap-in microphones. “Some ponies, especially the new foals, call me a loser for missing out on ‘the good stuff’,” with paw air quotes to boot. “The spells, the flight, the Earth magic….So they call me a silly cat.” Adjusting herself on the interviewee’s chair, “I didn’t go to the bureau with romantic ideas about fulfilling childhood dreams from my lullabies. I came here with the will to get through what’s coming next, and—” Turned it off. Sam groaned, rubbing his hurting forehead as he stood up. He paced around in his room, walking around the chair, to his table, then to his bed, back to the chair. So the cycle repeated. Then, he looked at the window. The blinds were closed. To refresh himself with something new, he opened them up. There it was: a nighttime view of the city, sparkling with an abundance of yellow and white glows glimmering over there. A few airplanes in the sky, identified by their blinking lights. This backdrop set, his mind turned to other things. Or they tried to. His feeble attempts to distract himself proved futile: as he rested his weight by the window, his finally turned back to his big decision. Sam could buy more time. He could always move East, always walk East, always drive or fly East. Yet, eventually, he’d run out of options. New York would still be alive and running twenty-four seven, but after that, there wasn’t much left. Providence, Boston...maybe Nova Scotia if he was really that indecisive and he’d somehow decided that he’d skip across the pond and permanently move to Europe. But he knew the Veil would come for him. That callous, unkind, inaminate barrier of magical energy. It didn’t care about his feelings. Just inched forward. Soon, there’d be no escape and it’s either a high-strung and random potion or death. That sense of urgency harkened to him the time when he turned down the offer to a free trip to the New York bureau. He’d expected the excited salespony-of-sorts to brush that off and have a good day ahead, but she’d frowned and sounded almost like another pony—sorrowed, pained, and wholly hurt by his courteous “No, thanks”. That’d been before he’d gotten a taste of the average pony’s personality: frank and sincere to a fault. Still, the words from her conversation echoed in his mind. Don’t wait until it’s too late. I don’t want to see you screaming for help with the Veil about to get you. I could even do some of the talking here. That sigh, too….Sam, I care for you too much to let it happen. Please reconsider! In a choking voice, too. Sam reached his hand out to open the window, to get a breath of somewhat fresh air and clear up his mind with it. However, he flinched. It wasn’t unlikely that a more sinister prankster could pop up and take him away to the sky. Probably to ask for money or to face the consequences of falling five hundred meters above the ground. Yet, unlike what a real estate broker might say, it wasn’t really about location, location, location, was it? He tapped the window, wondering what to do if—no when his time would come and take the potion. At least he had more time than Los Angeles—a few more days, and he’d go back home to one of the Mountain States. Come to think of it, Los Angeles also had more time than San Francisco which had already started “conversion drives”: incentivizing transformation, in a nutshell. From what he could remember from the radio news Arthur had put up during the trip, the City by the Bay started rewarding people who’d taken bureau appointments right there, right then. Money was a big winner, although discounted housing in Equestria’s equivalent, San Franiscolt, was a good runner-up...also, wasn’t there a concert tour where the tickets were free if one could prove they just took the potion that day? Sam tried to reason himself out of the hole he’d dug into. He couldn’t just rush into things; he’d be stuck with his choice for life, so a dice roll or a coin flip wouldn’t do the trick for him. Nor would a weak mind after being constantly pressured to decide now, not later. Not even a second later, but now. He forced himself to think about the choice anyway. A glance at the room, his comfy cold room and his inviting bed, and then back outside, his window protecting him from flying home invaders. He’d already considered the pegasus, the unicorn, and the Earth pony. Flight and magic were obvious lures to him, but there was something humbly simple and trite about being an Earth pony. Super strong, super resilient, and super good with plants, not to mention an uncanny acumen on managing their relationships well, both personal and business-related. Of course, Sam liked being able to walk around on two feet and use his hands. He’d been taught that that was the reason humans were the salient species of Earth—being able to move about while also being able to do complex operations with their hands and their fingers, especially with their opposable thumbs. Then again, that was an excuse for his dislike towards such a massive change. He didn’t like too much change, and having to go on all fours and losing one’s hands was becoming a hard sell. Abyssinian and Ornithian parrot sounded like nice, if not better, alternatives. Being a wingless bipedal bird might defeat the purpose of being a bird in the first place, but Sam didn’t ca— Bvvvt! Bvvvt! Spun around. Saw his phone on the table, lighting up and vibrating. He got to it and picked it up without looking who the caller was. “Yeah, hello?” “Oh!” came Crowhop’s cheery and familiar voice. “Were you about to sleep? I’m very, very so—” “You don’t have to apologize!” he said, trying to match her upbeatness. “It’s fine. Now, what is it you want to tell me?” “Well,” and Crowhop hummed a tune while thinking up the right words, “I’ll be up and about earlier than usual. I mean, it’s not like I’ll be missing when you arrive because I’m always there...but, just a heads-up ‘cause I have to accommodate Hitch and Hop Repairs! Gotta make sure the air con units are all fixed before opening hours, or at least before lunch.” Then, a chuckle. “You got all that?” Sam chuckled, too, without knowing it. “Yeah, got you.” “Greaty-great great! Sorry to disturb you—oh, I’m really sorry about it! That was so bad of me—” “It’s OK, Crowhop,” Sam reassured holding up a hand as if she were there. “I sleep long. One less hour wouldn’t do me harm.” “Alrighty!” she replied fast, making Sam stagger a bit. “Until the morning, friend!” Before Sam could recover all of his balance, the call ended. He took a good ten seconds to get his bearings. The pony’s speed of speech was a bit much for him...wait, what was that last word? “Friend”? “First ‘buddy’, now ‘friend’. Heh.” Put his phone down on the table. “Next thing I know, she’ll start hugging me and call me ‘best friend’.” After that short musing, he closed the blinds, laid on his bed, prepared his blanket and pillow, and slept. That minty smell returned him to dreamland.