//------------------------------// // Chapter Eight: Construction // Story: CRISIS: Equestria - Divergence // by GanonFLCL //------------------------------// Applejack woke up earlier than the rest of her friends did that morning, a good hour or so before even Twilight did. This meant that she didn't get to sit down for breakfast with the others, or even have a chance to really say anything to anypony; she was used to rising early and quietly so as not to disturb anypony that might be sleeping. She figured she'd let her friends get their rest for their own business today, since this was the first "real" day here in the city now that they knew they were stuck for a while. Her morning routine was also quick and quiet, even if it was a little different from what she was used to on the farm. She had to remember to put on some clothes besides her hat, for one thing. This new outfit of hers fit well enough and was pretty comfortable, but she still felt weird wearing it all the time; she was just so used to walking about with nothing more than the hat on her head unless it was for a special occasion. She still had no idea why clothes were required; it wasn't like a shirt alone covered any private bits or anything. Breakfast didn't consist of a couple cups of coffee and a hearty meal, either, just one of those little Dolor packets that their kitchen was now filled with so that the group would have food; Lockwood insisted on giving them a healthy supply to start with and claimed it was no big deal. There were nine different colors, apparently, though Lockwood had only provided the "main" six: Red, Blue, Yellow, Green, Orange, Purple; White and Black were expensive, and Brown was, in his words, "utter crap" and not worth getting. Each one tasted different based on how they were prepared and stored, or at least that was how Applejack understood it. The packet of Dolor Orange she'd grabbed out of a cabinet tasted like slightly-old oranges with a little too much pulp. After breakfast, she brushed her teeth, combed and tied up her mane and tail, and made sure that she looked her best. She was going to be meeting Flathoof's father pretty soon in the hopes of getting a job, and probably other ponies too, and even Applejack knew that first impressions were everything. She'd make Rarity proud, in a way. Once she felt she was ready, she quietly headed out the door of the apartment and made her way down the many, many stairs to the complex's ground floor. From there, it was a matter of following Flathoof's detailed instructions. There was what he'd called a "Bus Stop" just across the street from the apartment building, and there would be a bus—whatever that was—arriving soon, according to what time it had been when she'd left the apartment. There were several other ponies waiting there—no pegasi, she noticed—and as such both of the benches were already taken, so Applejack just stood and waited like so many others were. It had been Lockwood who'd said that if there was one thing in the city that could be counted on, it was how utterly random everything was in whether it was run properly or not, and he had been quite clear about how the city's various modes of public transportation operated. That is, how absolutely, positively, perfectly they operated. So while Applejack was only a little surprised that the bus arrived precisely on-time to the absolute second, she supposed that was just one more thing to consider weird about the city. How some things could be so inconvenient but others so perfect was just confusing. The bus itself was another weird thing to come to terms with. Applejack had been on a train before, naturally, and that was the best way she could describe what this vehicle was: a big train car that somehow moved without any tracks beneath it or anything pulling or pushing it along. She understood the basics of the steam engines that made a train work, but this bus either had a teeny-tiny steam engine somewhere or it ran on what could only be magic. The vehicle was tall, too, essentially two train cars on top of one another, and Applejack could see through the windows that there were ponies on three levels worth of seats. A single earth pony sat in a compartment at the front of the bus operating what looked like a big wheel, a number of levers at its side. The doors on the side of the bus opened up and dozens of ponies disembarked, while simultaneously everypony at the bus stop grabbed their things and moved towards the designated entrance. Applejack managed to make herself sixth in line, far enough ahead that she'd be able to get a good seat, hopefully—Flathoof had said that getting a good, clean seat was crucial—but far enough behind that she could watch the process of entering so that it didn't look like this was her first time. Flathoof had explained it well enough, but she still wanted to see it first-hoof so that she didn't make a mistake. The stallion at the front stepped up to the door, took a little card out of his coat pocket, and slid it through a little slot next to the door. A light above the door flashed green, then the stallion hopped inside the bus, and the next pony in line stepped up and did the same thing. The third pony in line, though, his card made the little light flash red, and Applejack had to duck when the pony was caught in some kind of magical field and literally tossed into the crowd of pedestrians behind the line. There was quite a lot of commotion back there, lots of yelling and screaming and swearing that even made Applejack blush, and she was sure a fight was about to break out. It took all of her effort not to try and do something about it, because then she'd miss the bus. Applejack only had a vague understanding of why that had happened: there weren't enough bits on the pony's card to board the bus, which Flathoof said was a flat fee to ride from one location to another. She absently fished her own card out of her shirt pocket; Lockwood had given it to her the night before and claimed it was a spare he had that was loaded with enough money to last Applejack a couple of weeks getting to and from the Mid-North District. So, when it was her turn, Applejack slid the card through the little slot and tensed up, hoping that Lockwood's confidence wasn't misplaced. Green. Phew. Applejack boarded the bus now and found that the comparison to a train was actually perfectly accurate, albeit the cheaper cars that didn't have private cabins. The seats were tightly packed together such that ten pairs of ponies could be comfortably seated on either side of the central aisle, though perhaps "comfortably" was an exaggeration. A cramped staircase at either end of the car led up to the other two floors. Naturally, there weren't any seats on the first floor, as they'd been taken up by other passengers long before Applejack had even set hoof on board. So, she headed up to the second floor instead, and was able to find a seat that was empty and, for now, not next to anypony else. A couple of ponies here and there gave her odd looks as she walked down the narrow aisle to her seat of choice; she supposed that her hat was drawing the attention, since nopony in this city wore anything like it. Once she'd taken her seat, though, Applejack settled in, set her hat gently over her eyes, and tried to relax. For the next two hours, the bus made stop after stop after stop, letting ponies off and on with such frequency that the car Applejack was in had a completely different set of passengers aside from her before the first hour was even up. Some passengers had taken the empty seat next to her, and while she tried to be polite and cordial with them, it seemed that everypony generally wanted to keep to themselves and didn't even spare her a moment of their time Well, that was fine by her. Instead Applejack occupied her time just looking out the window at the cityscape as it passed by. She'd made the comparison to Manehattan already, but she was starting to think that was unfair to Manehatten, which generally seemed to do a rather fine job of making itself look presentable, and certainly wasn't so congested. Why, even in Manehattan Square, the busiest part of the city, there weren't close to a quarter of the number of ponies that occupied the city streets here. She was just glad she didn't have a fear of crowds. She couldn't imagine what Fluttershy would be going through. ***** Eventually, Applejack reached her stop and hopped off the bus, then did what she could to get her bearings. The buildings in this part of the city were much smaller, regular-style homes rather than grand apartment complexes that stretched into the sky, more like the kinds they had in Canterlot, only smaller and packed together much, much more tightly. Apparently this was what a Mid-North residential neighborhood looked like, and sure, it was a bit run-down, but it was far less imposing. She hadn't the slightest clue where anything in this city was, so she relied entirely on Flathoof's instructions to her by this point, which she remembered as clear as day. After the stop, she walked down the street to the corner to her right, turned left, and followed that street down for three blocks before making another left, going another block, then turning right. Sure enough, just outside one of the homes on this street, she saw Flathoof waiting, already in his police uniform and everything. He's said he'd be leaving soon after she got there, but she wasn't expecting it to be so soon. Beside him was another stallion, taller than Flathoof by a few inches and quite robust, with a butter yellow coat and a strawberry red mane that he wore very, very short. He wore a plaid blue work shirt not unlike Applejack's own, with a tan jacket over that. Applejack had to blink a few times and rub her eyes just to be sure she wasn't looking at a picture in an old family photo album back home. She'd already noticed that Flathoof could easily pass for a Big Macintosh look-alike if he grew an inch and gained about twenty pounds of muscle, but then his father's resemblance to her own father was… unsettling. She was sure Twilight would have a better word for it. Still, she shook off that brief sensation—Flathoof's father wasn't as tall as hers, either, and not nearly as well-built—and approached the pair. "Mornin'!" she said, giving a brief wave. "Hey, right on time," Flathoof said with a slight grin. "How was your first bus ride? Did you manage to find a good seat?" "I handled myself okay, I think. City sure is big though, ain't it? I know ya said the ride would take two hours, but I thought y'all were exaggeratin' or somethin'. Y'all do this every day to get to your job?" "Absolutely. Speaking of which, I've got to catch the next bus in about five minutes, so I'm sorry if I have to make this quick." He gestured to his father. "Applejack, this is my dad, Stouthoof. Dad, this is Applejack." Applejack stuck out her hoof. "Howdy there! Pleasure to meet ya, sir." Stouthoof took her hoof and shook it. "Yes yes, nice to meet you. My son says you're a hard worker, Applejack. Is that true?" "Sure as shootin'. He told me y'all work at some kind of factory or somethin' and had a job openin' for me?" "Yes, in one of the Foundry's storage warehouses. You'd be a stock worker, which basically means lots of heavy lifting and sorting of materials and shipping containers. Think you can handle that?" "Absolutely!" "You'd better. If I recommend you for the position and you don't pull through with flying colors, it's my ass that looks stupid for suggesting it. Just so we're clear." Applejack nodded. "We're clear, sir." His comments made her just a little bit nervous. She was used to working hard and representing the Apple Clan when it came to making sure the farm was always in tip-top shape whether it be actual harvesting or just with sales and presentations, but she was very much unfamiliar with being responsible for somepony else's reputation. "C'mon, dad, you don't need to worry her like that—" Flathoof started. "Oh, shut up and go catch your bus," Stouthoof interrupted with a grunt. "If she can't handle me being a bit of a hardass right now, then she won't last twenty minutes with the warehouse crew." Flathoof rolled his eyes and turned to Applejack. "Don't let him get to you. He's just mad because Mom's got him on a diet." He adjusted his hat and gave the two a nod. "Alright, I'm off. Good luck, Applejack. You'll need it." Applejack nodded back and smiled. "Thanks, Flathoof. For everything." With that, Flathoof cantered off towards the bus stop, leaving Applejack and Stouthoof alone. Applejack turned to Stouthoof and adjusted her own hat. "Well, I'm ready to get goin' if y'all are, sir." "Good, you're eager. I like that. Means you're confident," Stouthoof said as he turned and started down the street, not even gesturing for her to follow, though she did so anyway. "So, new in town, huh? Flathoof said you were from the southern continent?" "Yessir, from a lil' town called Ponyville," Applejack said, keeping to the story she and her friends were going with as best she could. She hated lying about it, but knew that it was necessary and would do what she could to keep that secret intact. "Flathoof didn't give me much information on why he thought you'd be good for this position, but I trust him—even if he is a bit of a dumbass sometimes—so I'm giving you the benefit of the doubt for now. Why don't you tell me just what it is you used to do that makes him think this is a good fit?" Applejack nodded and rambled on to him as they walked through the streets, all about every last little job she did on the farm: bucking apples out of their trees—he didn't know what an apple was, either; pulling heavy carts full of crops from the field to storage or to market; hoeing soil to plant fresh seeds; watering plants day-by-day; tending to various critters that lived on the farm that provided products, like chickens and their eggs; chasing off varmints that threatened crops; the whole works. By the time she finished—and he hadn't interrupted her once except to clarify things he didn't know anything about—the pair had walked clear from Stouthoof's home all the way to the Foundry where they'd be working, at which point he finally stopped her story. "Alright, that all sounds like it might be of some help to you as far as the physical labor and such is concerned," he said with a courteous nod. "How about working under anypony else? You said you and your family own this farm of yours? So I take it you didn't have a boss while you were working there?" "A boss? No sir, ain't had no boss on the farm," she said, scratching her chin. "I mean, I guess you could say that Mother Nature was the boss, really, since we had to organize all of our duties on the farm based on things like the time of day, what part of the year it was, and how the weather was supposed to be on any particular day." Stouthoof smirked. "Well, you'll find out whether or not your new boss here is a bigger hardass than Mother Nature pretty soon, I think." He turned and gestured towards the factory. "So, this is your first time seeing a factory like this, huh?" Applejack gazed at the mind-numbingly huge structure that stood before her. "Yeah… sure is." It wasn't as tall as the apartment complex where she and her friends lived, but it was certainly wider, covering several city blocks. Dozens of tall smokestacks rose up from various parts of the structure, belching out plumes of thick, black smoke that choked the air above them even worse than the smog did. The structure was surrounded by a tall fence some thirty feet high; it'd keep out earth ponies and maybe unicorns, but definitely not a pegasus, though the smoke would probably do the job just fine in that case. The sounds of work echoed through the air: of metal pounding metal, and saw blades slicing through materials, of ponies shouting and calling out orders and warnings and such, of machinery lifting and moving throughout the area. Applejack could even see some of the latter machinery, which looked like small coaches with large forks attached to the front, driving along without rails or anypony pushing or pulling them, just like the bus. A single pony was seated in a cage atop the contraption, manipulating levers that seemed to make the fork move up and down and also made the coach move to and fro. The worst part of it all was the smell. She'd smelled the faint hints of this same scent on Flathoof just from being next to him in an elevator, and the odor was stronger on Stouthoof by far. Here at the actual location, though, the air was clogged with the stench of fire and ash, oil and soot, and even faint hints of sweat which, considering she couldn't see anypony but herself and Stouthoof—and she hadn't smelled it until now—meant that there were a lot of sweaty ponies working in that building. "Impressed?" Stouthoof asked with a little proud smile. "Well, it's certainly bigger than my lil' ol' farm, I tell ya what," Applejack said, the sort of non-answer, half-truth that she was okay with; the factory wasn't so much impressive as it was imposing and unsettling. "Ya said your family's been workin' here for generations?" "That we have. Bit of a family tradition. Flathoof's the first stallion born into the family not to take a job here, y'know?" "Yeah, he told me. Said y'all didn't quite like that." "Eh, I was mad at him at the time, sure," Stouthoof said with a shrug. "Can't stay mad at him forever, though. I mean, I can, but at some point there's no fun in arguing with him about it. He chose his path and he likes what he does, so I say let him do what he wants." He shook his head. "Well, enough gabbing out there like a couple of gossipy hens with nothing better to do. Let's get you inside so I can introduce you to your new boss," he said as he headed towards a gate that led through the fence. "Hang on, ya mean y'all ain't gonna be my boss?" she asked as she followed him, now just a little less sure of this whole thing. "No, you're working in the warehouse, like I said, so the forepony there is going to be your new boss. I'm the forepony for the smelting line, and nothing you told me on the way here makes me think you'd be qualified for that kind of work even if I did have an opening. No offense, but working with liquid metal all day isn't the same as bucking trees and hauling wagons." "Well… alright then, I guess if that's the way it's gotta be…" "Don't worry, you'll do fine. Just work hard, keep your mouth shut, listen to your boss, and I promise that nopony'll give you any real trouble. And remember," he added, putting a hoof on her shoulder and giving her a smirk, "it's my ass that gets an earful if you screw this up." Applejack gulped. "Right…" ***** Applejack was used to lugging along heavy loads back home, that was the honest truth, but she'd be lying if she said that what was expected of her here in this factory warehouse was easier than what she was used to. At home, she'd pull a wagon full of apples or other crops from the farm to the market in Ponyville, but that wagonload didn't really weigh much in the grand scheme of things. On a good day, Applejack could expect to pull a hundred or so pounds for at least a mile or so with relative ease, and the trips back were always easier. The arrangements here in the warehouse expected her to carry at least twice that, and while the distance was far less per trip she was making multiple trips and doing them constantly. At the moment she was hauling a storage container that had been set upon a wheeled platform over to a designated area; the container weighed easily two hundred pounds, but thankfully she only had to pull it a hundred feet from a loading platform to its storage space. At least the harness she wore was comfortable enough; it didn't bite into her sides or anything. Watching her at the moment was the pony that was to be her supervisor, a well-built unicorn stallion named Clay Brick. He had a brownish-red coat and a black mane that was just starting to gray, wearing an outfit very similar to what Stouthoof had been wearing as well as a yellow hard hat. Speaking of which, Applejack had had to leave her stetson in her assigned locker, because she also needed to be wearing a similar hard hat. She wanted to make a fuss, but decided against it; apparently it was a safety regulation. A few other ponies in the warehouse had been rubbernecking for the past thirty minutes or so that Applejack had been hauling these few containers about. She noticed that they were all stallions, and that they all nudged one another in the ribs and laughed as they watched her work before heading back to their own jobs. She couldn't hear anything they said to one another, but didn't assume the best of the conversations. Once Applejack had lugged this last container into place, she removed herself from the harness and grabbed the bottle of water that Clay was offering; she'd never had such a mighty thirst before. She was glad that even if the food in the city was fake, they still had real water to drink, and downing that bottle of surprisingly crisp, cool water was like a breath of fresh air after all that hard work. How the city got such clean water was beyond her; she'd have to ask somepony another time. Clay grunted once and nodded. "Alright, not bad, not bad at all. You've got pretty good hauling power there, New Girl. I'll admit that I wasn't expecting much, but you blew right past my expectations." Applejack let out a breath and wiped her mouth. "Uh, thanks, I think?" "Oh, don't think this is a compliment," he was quick to add. "I've got a scale here from one-to-ten to determine the strongest members of the crew so I can divvy things up. You're sitting somewhere around a six or seven. Which is good, yes, absolutely, but half the crew is in the same range, so don't go getting a fat head just yet." Applejack smirked. Considering the size of some of the other stallions on the crew she'd seen thus far, she'd take it as a compliment if her new boss thought she was able to keep up with them, even if he didn't intend for it to sound like one. In fact, she was sure he was just saving face by trying to tell her it wasn't a big deal. "So, do I get the job?" she asked. "Yeah, you've got the job," Clay said, making a few marks on a clipboard he had with him. "You'll start immediately. Is that alright with you?" She nodded. "Absolutely, yes. I'm lookin' forward to gettin' to work." "Good. First thing's first, though, let's get you introduced to the rest of the crew." Clay trotted over to a small device on the nearby wall and pushed a button on it, and a loud crackling noise resounded throughout the warehouse. He spoke directly into the device, and Applejack was amazed to hear his voice boom out from everywhere around her. "Listen up, Crew Seventeen! Crew meeting at the west loading platform in sixty seconds! Double time it!" In the amount of time it took Applejack to try and figure out how Clay had projected his voice without magic—she was sure it was still magic that did it, but it wasn't his own—the entire crew of Warehouse Seventeen had lined up. Applejack recognized a few of them from earlier, where they'd been gawking at her hauling containers. Even now the entire crew—all stallions, as she'd noticed before—was looking at her like she was completely out of place, which was starting to make her feel like it. "Crew Seventeen, listen up! I'm gonna make this quick so you can all get back to work," Clay announced, pacing in front of the crew like he was some sort of military sergeant. "We've got new blood on the team! I know it's been a while since we took on anypony new without somepony else leaving first, but here we are, and you all know what I expect." "So who's the new guy already?" asked a green pegasus with a white mane, his tone impatient. "Yeah, I don't see anypony new," said a hulking yellow earth pony with a green mane. Clay gestured towards Applejack, his face and tone still as serious as ever. "Our new mare is right here." Applejack gave a little wave, a nervous smile on her face. "Uh, howdy y'all. Pleased to meet ya." There was a brief moment of silence. Then, the entire crew—sans Clay Brick—erupted into raucous laughter. "That's a good one, boss!" shouted yellow-and-green, throwing his hoof around another crew member, a red-coated pegasus with a blue mane. "A mare on the warehouse floor? Pfft, hahaha!" "Yeah, is she gonna be the new cleaning lady? Mopping the floors after closing time?" asked green-and-white, slapping the floor with his hooves and faking a struggle to breathe. Applejack's ears flattened against her head, her cheeks heating up out of both anger and embarrassment. "Now hold on, guys, let's not be too hasty," said a blue-and-blond earth pony, a coy grin on his face. "We're all gentlecolts here, aren't we? We oughta be nice to New Girl. Show her a little bit of respect." Applejack breathed a sigh of relief. At least somepony was decent— "After all, I bet she's really great at handling huge loads," the stallion finished with a bow and truly mesmerizing shit-eating grin. The rest of the crew ceased their hooting and hollering to switch over to whistling and howling, the target of their japes no longer one of ridicule but of perversion. Applejack clenched her teeth. Of all the rotten— Clay cleared his throat, which seemed to quiet a few of them down enough so they could hear him. "Miss Applejack here is indeed joining our warehouse floor crew, and in fact she's going to be taking over Station Thirteen." That made the entire crew grow silent instantly. "You're joking," said green-and-white, eyes wide. Clay's expression said he wasn't, but the other stallion pressed anyway. "Naw, you can't be serious. This is a joke, right boss? You're having a little laugh with us?" "C'mon, boss, you know she can't just fill that spot just like that!" shouted yellow-and-green, incredulous. "That's Thickhoof's old position! I thought you were keeping that spot empty—" "And now I'm not, at the request of Forepony Stouthoof himself," Clay interrupted, still keeping a calm, even tone. "If you have a problem with me filling the position that I myself chose not to fill, then why don't you go find Forepony Stouthoof and tell him that you think you know better than he does about who deserves to fill it?" A few murmurs went through the crowd. Applejack was surprised, actually; now she knew what Stouthoof had meant when he said it was his reputation that was at risk here. This crew seemed to respect the stallion. No, this was more… fear? A fearful respect? "But… but boss, she's a mare," complained green-and-white, gesturing at Applejack like she was a foal. "So what if I am?!" snapped Applejack, so sick of hearing her worth put down by now that she was surprised she'd let it get this far. "I can do the job just as good as the rest of y'all can! I saw a few of ya gawkin' at me while I was haulin' containers around, so I know y'all saw that I can handle the job." Blue-and-blond's mouth curled in a little grin, and he waggled his eyebrows. "Ooh baby, you can handle me all you want, New Girl," he said with a wink. "I bet a mare like you handled all sorts of packages back in whatever mailroom ol' Stouthoof found you in." Applejack just narrowed her eyes at him; she also noticed a couple of the other stallions wince a little. "In case ya didn't notice, hotshot, I'm luggin' them big shippin' containers around just like the rest of ya. If you're lookin' for somepony to handle that little thing ya call a 'package', then maybe you oughta call the damn postal service." The crew's earlier laughter at the concept of having a mare on their team had been particularly loud, but now, their laughter now at their embarrassed crewmate was uproarious enough to completely put their previous display to shame. Clay groaned and stomped his hooves on the ground to get the group's attention back on him. "Enough, all of you! You've all wasted enough time here acting like a bunch of damned teenagers back on the schoolyard, so get your lazy asses back to work! Now!" None of the crew members argued with him, not even offering a single peep of resistance to the command. A few wandered back to their work stations shooting looks and laughs at their embarrassed fellow crew member; a few glanced back at Applejack, and she wasn't sure if they were doing so out of amusement or mockery, or if their looks meant something else; the blue-and-blond hotshot just walked back to work grumbling under his breath, shooting an indignant look back at Applejack as he went. Once they'd all cleared out, Applejack turned to Clay and gave him a small nod and a smile. "Thanks," she said. Clay scoffed. "Thanks? For what? For telling that bunch of lazy assholes to get back to work? Time is money, New Girl, and the board hates wasting either of those. So don't go thinking I did anything to get you out of trouble, because I didn't." He paused for a moment, then gestured with his hooves for Applejack to get moving when she hadn't done so. "Well? What are you still standing around here for? Get to work. You're on Station Thirteen." "Oh, right," Applejack chuckled. "But, uh… if y'all don't mind me askin' before I head out… what exactly was all of that about? The stuff about Thickhoof and Stouthoof, and me takin' his spot or whatever?" Clay shook his head and clapped Applejack on the shoulder. "Another time, New Girl. Now go on, before the rest of these jackasses think I'm going soft on you just because you're a mare or something. For the record, I'm not. So get moving." Applejack nodded, then headed off through the warehouse towards her new workstation. She wasn't sure what to think of this whole situation, but she was glad to be working at least. It sure would help to keep her mind off of everything going on, give her something to occupy her mind and time rather than worrying about whether Winter and Twilight had found anything yet, even if it had only been a few hours. ***** The clerical office at NPPD's Central Station was, as always, dead quiet. At least, it had been, until Flathoof showed up late that afternoon and noticed that a certain unicorn wasn't sitting at her desk for the second day in a row. Flathoof furrowed his brow. This was completely unlike Snapshot to just up and disappear like this. It was one thing that she'd left a note the other night saying that she was feeling ill and had not only forgotten to clock out, but wouldn't be at work yesterday. Typically, though, Snapshot was quick to notify somepony—usually him—if she'd be out for multiple days, and at the very least give a reason why. Last time she was out at all was because a bad case of Dolor Green had given her some kind of stomach flu, and she'd been out for three days because of it. He'd known about it within hours of her not feeling well; she'd called him in the middle of the night—woke the whole family because of it—to say she wouldn't be at work the next morning, and made sure he'd known that she'd be missing the next day and the day after. She was always responsible like that. But this was two days in a row that he hadn't heard anything from her whatsoever, and that was very, very unusual. "What do you mean 'nopony's heard from her'?" Flathoof asked the other clerk, Firecracker, his voice loud and angry. "She's almost never taken a day off the whole time she's worked here, especially not without notifying anypony." Firecracker barely paid any attention to him, and focused instead on filling out the myriad forms she had all over her desk. "I mean exactly what I said, big boy. No contact whatsoever. Figures that she'd leave me with all the paperwork." Flathoof pounded a hoof on the counter. "I don't care about any of that. I want to know why nopony's bothered to find out why she didn't come in today or notify anypony. Didn't anypony call her apartment when she was late this morning? That's proper protocol." "Yeah, but nopony answered, and you know as well as I do that we don't waste time on repeat calls." "This is for a fellow officer, not just random pony," Flathoof said. He immediately regretted it, because that made him sound like he placed a fellow officer's well-being over that of average citizens, which he very much didn't. "Look, give her another call and let me know what you find out—" "You're probably gonna have to clear that up with the chief, Captain," Firecracker said with a lazy sigh. She rolled her eyes and waved her pen in the air. "If you ask me, she's probably too busy shacking up with that CIA stallion that was here the other night looking for her. Either that or too busy crying her eyes out after he shot her down. I doubt she could have landed a stallion looking like him." Flathoof balked. "The CIA? They had an agent here looking for Snapshot?" He shook his head. "What in the world? Why?" "Don't know, don't care," she said, shrugging it off. "Dumb little filly got all hot and bothered the second he walked in, though, I could see it a mile away. Maybe she got lucky and the idiot fell for that 'nerd charm' of hers. I mean hey, everypony's gotta get lucky sometime." Flathoof glared at her. "And you never bothered to inform the chief about this?" "Duh, why would I? What Snapshot gets up to on her own time is her own business. She's not my friend, so I don't really care." "You should care, because it's your job." "No, honey, my job is filing paperwork, not playing detective." Firecracker flicked her mane and idly eyed one of her hooves. "It's not my business, and besides, it would be Snapshot's job to report it, not me. Read up on your protocol before you start quoting it at me, 'kay? Thanks." Flathoof could feel his blood pressure rising. If the situation was reversed and Firecracker was seen interacting with a CIA agent, Snapshot would have reported it immediately, because it was… it was just the responsible thing to do, even if it wasn't strictly-speaking "her job" to do so. "Anyway, they were still in the middle of their interview when my shift was over, and I wasn't keeping track of when they started," Firecracker continued. "I didn't really feel like sticking around to see what they were talking about, either. I barely even remember what he looked like apart from being kinda handsome." Flathoof sighed and held the bridge of his nose. "Look, I'm going to just ignore the massive breaches in protocol that not reporting the CIA being involved entails, because it still would've been your responsibility since Snapshot wasn't at work yesterday. I'll even ignore your complete disregard for Snapshot's well-being—" "Oh, is that what this is about? Caring about how she is?" Firecracker scoffed. "Look, Captain, the only pony around here that gives a crap about her is you. She's just a pencil-pushing busybody who would probably have been better suited being some fat CEO's secretary. At least then she'd be getting dick on the regular." Flathoof just stared at the other mare like she was a bug. "You know… she never liked you." "What-ever." He shook his head and walked out of the room; trying to get anything else out of Firecracker wasn't going to get him anywhere. If there had been a CIA agent here in the precinct, then hopefully somepony else had seen him. At worst, if everypony was like Firecracker and just looked the other way, then one of the station's cameras would have surely gotten a glimpse. He'd rather bank on the latter, honestly. The precinct's security office was on the second floor, so Flathoof made a beeline for the elevator, then took it straight up. Before he even got to the other end of the hall, though, he walked right past the chief's office, where the door was wide open. "Flathoof!" called Chief Smokestack. "Get in here!" Flathoof swore quietly to himself, then turned about-face and strode right into the chief's office. Unlike the open, neat courtroom across the hall, the office was compact and cluttered with files upon files, a few decorations here and there—a photo of the chief's family on the desk, for instance—and a large rotating fan to keep a nice, cool atmosphere. There was another pony in here as well besides the chief, a young earth pony stallion with an emerald green coat and an orange mane. He was wearing an NPPD uniform as well, though with a few distinct markings on it that Flathoof recognized as those belonging to officers in the Mid-East precincts. The stallion—barely more than a colt, more like—had to be fresh out of the academy if even that. "Just the pony I wanted to see," Smokestack said, gesturing for Flathoof to take a seat in the only remaining empty chair. Flathoof paused for a moment, the steeled himself. This was as good a time as any to present what he'd learned downstairs. "Chief, before you get started, I wanted to notify you of a breach in protocol down in the clerical office," he said as he took the offered seat. "Apparently there was a CIA agent spotted here two days ago, according to Officer Firecracker." Smokestack's eyebrow shot up. "Really now? What for?" "I don't know, sir, he didn't deal with her directly as far as I know. Apparently he only interviewed Officer Snapshot, who was out yesterday and didn't file a report on the incident. Firecracker doesn't remember the timing of the meeting or what the agent looked like." "Of course she doesn't, the airheaded tramp," Smokestack sighed. "If she wasn't so good at giving— Whatever, I'll look into this further, see if we can't dredge anything up. If you're right about this, I'm going to have to have some words with Director Underhoof at the next Committee meeting. Thanks for bringing this to my attention, Captain." Flathoof was glad the chief was taking this seriously, but then again he knew that he would. The chief absolutely hated when Director Underhoof's CIA got involved with NPPD cases; the jurisdiction friction between the city's law enforcement agencies was practically legendary these days. That tended to happen when the CIA Director was the Chief of Police's ex-wife. "And another thing, sir," Flathoof continued, "Officer Snapshot was out again today, and nopony's been able to get in touch with her—" Smokestack waved his hoof, a clear signal that this wasn't quite as important. "Have somepony give her a call or something, then. That's not exactly a breach in anything." "They did, Chief, this morning. Nopony answered. Shouldn't we send an officer over to check up on her? I'd do it myself, but I'm on duty and I know you have to approve of me taking on another case, first. Considering she hasn't been in contact, this might well be a missing pony investigation in the making." He didn't want to think on those terms—the idea that Snapshot was missing made his stomach turn—but it would be the best way to let the chief know this wasn't just another officer forgetting to show up to work or taking a day off to get drunk and gamble at the Inner District casinos. "Ah, that would definitely make things more complicated. You're sure she's not just feeling ill and isn't answering the phone?" "I'm not sure of anything yet, sir, expect that this is unusual behavior for her. She's never taken off sick days without notifying somepony." Smokestack stroked his chin. "Hmmm… well, you'd know best, I suppose. Aren't you two dating?" Flathoof flushed slightly. "N-no, sir. We aren't. We're just friends." "Huh. Guess I owe Commander Matchstick eighty bits," Smokestack said with a shrug. "Anyway, I'll have to put somepony else on that investigation for now, Flathoof, but I'll make sure I put somepony reliable on it. I have something else in mind for you right now." Flathoof raised an eyebrow. "Something else, Chief?" "Let me cut to the chase," Smokestack said as he took a puff from his cigar. "You're aware of the fires sweeping the eastern Outer District, right?" "Right, they still haven't put them all out," Flathoof said with a terse nod. He was glad that at least the northern fires were contained and wouldn't spread into Mid-North or the factory areas, but it still felt terrible that the rest of the fire was an ongoing issue. The last reports said the death toll had reached triple digits this morning and property damage was estimated to be in the millions of bits. "Well, if you saw this morning's news, it jumped into Mid-East, just like they were expecting," Smokestack continued. "I hear they've got it mostly contained by now so that it won't spread further west, but it got through a lot of neighborhoods in the few hours it was there, including through Station Six's territory." "Wow, I had no idea it was still spreading so far. Were any officers hurt?" "A few, but mostly minor burns and such, nothing serious. The real problem is that half the station burned down before the fires could be contained. It's gonna be a real pain in the ass adjusting budgets around for the rebuilding project, let me tell you." Flathoof coughed. "Sir, forgive me, but I thought we were cutting to the chase?" "Hmm? Right! Right." Smokestack gestured to the young officer in the other chair. "Flathoof, this is Cadet Gumshoe from Mid-East Six, where he was finishing the last month of his academy training." Flathoof gave the young cadet a small nod. "Cadet." The cadet returned the nod and gave a little salute. "Captain, a pleasure to meet you." "Since Mid-East Six is currently in a rather unfortunate circumstance," Smokestack continued, "they've been reassigning officers and detectives to other precincts around the city, mostly to those that are a little understaffed. I had the academy cadets assigned here, though, and I've already got most of them assigned to detectives to finish up their training. All except Cadet Gumshoe here." "And what does this have to do with me?" Flathoof asked, already dreading the answer. "I want to assign him to you, of course." Flathoof sighed, his hoof moving to the bridge of his nose. "With all due respect, Chief, I've got my hooves full at the moment. You put me on task as a parole officer to six different mares—" "That's precisely why I thought of you!" Smokestack said with a smile and another cigar puff. "That's the only thing our young cadet is missing from his training, actually: proper procedure when dealing with parolees." "But Chief, we have dozens of parole officers—" "And none of them are as reliable as you are, Captain. None of them will teach the cadet every single rule in the book; whether he follows them later is up to him, of course—no offense, son," he added, looking at the cadet, "but at least he'll know them. Besides, you've got yourself a rather unusual set of parolees, right? What better way to learn the ins and outs of the system than with unusual situations?" Flathoof clenched his teeth, desperately trying to think of a way out of this, but he knew he couldn't. The chief was placing his trust in him, and this cadet did need to learn proper procedures after all. Then again, with how… unusual Twilight and her friends were, there were sure to be lots of twisting of the rules to amend the situation. But maybe that was a good thing for the learning experience? Damn it. Why did I have to be so good at this job? Flathoof sighed, then nodded. "Alright, Chief, you can count on me." Smokestack grinned and put out his cigar in his ashtray. "Good! Good good good. You wouldn't believe the headache this'll save me, Flathoof. I couldn't imagine trying to foist this poor cadet on anypony else." "Of course you couldn't, sir," Flathoof said flatly. He turned to Cadet Gumshoe and put on his best grin. "Well, Cadet, looks like you're my responsibility now." Gumshoe gave a brisk salute. "It's an honor to be working with you, Captain. Chief Smokestack has been telling me all about you." Flathoof gave Smokestack a terse look. "Has he?" "Yes, sir, and you sound like the perfect pony to help me finish the last of my training. I'm looking forward to learning under your tutelage." Flathoof stood from his chair and adjusted his hat, nodding at the Chief. "If that'll be all, Chief?" Smokestack kicked back in his chair and lit up another cigar. "That'll be all, Captain. Keep up the good work and you might just make Commander soon." Flathoof gestured for Gumshoe to follow him out of the officer. "Come on, kid, let's get started on this training of yours." Gumshoe nodded, then offered a salute to Smokestack. "Chief!" Then, he followed behind Flathoof out of the office. "So, anything I should know about your training so far?" Flathoof asked as they headed for the elevator. Gumshoe offered a sheepish grin. "To be honest, sir, I've completed most of the particulars of my training already, insofar as dealing with how to arrange scheduling and the handling of paperwork. Mostly the only thing I'm missing is getting to interact with actual parolees so I can have that bit of personal face-to-face experience." Flathoof grunted as the pair entered the elevator, then pushed the button for the first floor. "Well, you're in luck," he said, "because I usually spend most of the day meeting with the ones I've currently got under my care. Though to be honest, I've already done my runs for the entire group today, and by now they're all separated and going about their business, so tracking them down would be a bit difficult. We could interrupt their dinner later, but that's not really necessary." "So… we're not meeting them, sir?" "You'll meet them all tomorrow, Cadet." Flathoof paused as an idea came to mind. "Though, I think there might be a chance for you to meet one later tonight." "Huh?" "One of them, a mare named Applejack, got a job working at the same factory my dad works at, so she'll be coming back from work with him and almost certainly joining the family for dinner, knowing my mother. And knowing my mother, she'd also be glad to set another seat at the table for you." Gumshoe balked, clearly not expecting this arrangement at all, but why would he? "Captain? Are you inviting me to dinner with your family? And one of your parolees? I mean, th-that seem highly unprofessional, and I'm not sure if—" Flathoof rolled his eyes. "Don't act weird, Cadet. When you're dealing with unusual parolees, sometimes situations get unusual. I know it's not exactly proper protocol for a parole officer to invite his charge over for dinner, but it's not against the rules and it's helping the mare adjust to life in the big city." Gumshoe seemed to consider this, then nodded. "No, you're right, Article Twenty-Three, Subsection Twelve, Paragraph Four: 'It is a parole officer's duty to ensure that their charge is able to reacclimate into society at large, including but not limited to the payment of taxes'." "You've already memorized the protocol booklet?" Flathoof asked, impressed; there were officers on the force with years of experience that didn't have it memorized yet. "Absolutely, sir. So, you have to make sure this Applejack is comfortable enough to earn a steady paycheck so that she can pay her taxes, right?" Flathoof paused, then snorted. That wasn't the reason he was doing it, but it was definitely why nopony questioned any of the decisions he'd made so far in regards to Twilight and her friends, which included so many rules being bent that they'd probably snap under the right circumstances. And it was most certainly the excuse that he'd be using if anypony did ask questions. "That's about right, Cadet," Flathoof replied. "This mare is a long way from home and got in some legal trouble when she first got here, so I'm making sure she adjusts into a good, tax-paying citizen as smoothly as I can. If that means inviting her over for dinner with my family, so be it. She's not a dangerous criminal, after all." "Well alright then, I guess if that's how this is gonna go, who am I to argue? You're the boss, sir," Gumshoe said, giving Flathoof another brisk salute. "Right. Well, for now I think we'll head over to the filing room to get you acquainted with my parolees’ paperwork, at least so I can see how well your training is in that regard. Sound good?" "Absolutely, sir!" The elevator finally arrived at the first floor, and Flathoof led his new charge out into the lobby. The cadet seemed eager to learn, at least, and even if Flathoof was bothered that he had yet another pony to keep tabs on and take care of, he figured that maybe it wouldn't be so bad. At the very least, it might give him time to look into other things. Wherever Snapshot was, Flathoof figured that since the CIA was somehow involved, it likely meant she was just being asked—forced, more appropriately—to maintain discretion about whatever it is that she was questioned over and that meant not contacting anypony for any reason. He just hoped she was staying safe. ***** Applejack was used to doing lots of back-breaking work day-in and day-out to keep her family farm running, so the concept of a hard day's work wasn't exactly alien to her by any means. Working in the factory's storage warehouse, however, was an experience utterly unlike anything she'd dealt with before. It wasn't so much that it was harder or anything like that, no; sure, hauling containers around so they could be sorted and stored wasn't easy, but it wasn't exactly more difficult than bucking half an orchard full of apples by lunch time. What made it different—unpleasant, really—was the environment that she was working in. She was used to having clear skies overhead or maybe some clouds on particularly sunny days; the worst she could expect to deal with during the regular farming seasons was a nasty heat wave, and Ponyville's weather patrol was good about getting those cleared up pretty quickly. She was used to working with family who loved her and treated her with respect and compassion, or even with friends that would always be willing to help her out of a jam even if she was too stubborn to accept it. She was used to being able to judge her own work and decide whether she was doing a good job or not, and thus whether she deserved a chance to take a break under a shady tree with a glass of lemonade. She wasn't used to working indoors all day in a stuffy old warehouse that smelled of grease and soot instead of grass and apples, or being so tightly-packed with others most of the day that the pungent stench of sweat she smelled was definitely not just her own, but of twelve hard-working stallions. She wasn't used to working with ponies that looked at her like she was simply beneath them, not fit to be working in the same field at all. Or, in a few cases—Applejack wasn't blind—like they'd enjoy having her beneath them in a distinctly bedroom-related fashion, and definitely not in the romantic sense. And even though Clay Brick certainly seemed like a decent enough stallion, he was definitely the hard-nosed and picky sort that was overly-critical of every aspect of the job and quick to press her into working to her limits. Not beyond them, thankfully, but Clay just did not let up whatsoever if she looked like she could handle it, and she was proud to say that she could. So, when the end of Applejack's shift came along and she was able to clock out—the entire concept of punching a time card was utterly bizarre to her—the first thing she did was walk outside the factory—ignoring the members of her crew that hooted or whistled in her direction—find a bench to sit on, and take the breather she knew she deserved. It didn't help that she was utterly starving by now; her lunch break had been horribly short and only consisted of a packet of that Dolor Red stuff, which tasted like overly-ripe cherries and wasn't at all satisfactory. She'd always considered herself the hardest worker in all of Equestria, but damn if this new job wasn't exhausting. "So, looks like you made it through your first day at work, huh?" asked Stouthoof as he walked over to her. He looked every bit as pooped as she did, his clothes and face covered in sweat and grease and even a few scorch marks. "Is it everything you always imagined it would be?" Applejack let out a breath, too tired to laugh at his attempt at a joke. "Let me tell ya, Mister Stouthoof, I've never gone a day in my life where I wasn't workin' hard at somethin', but I ain't never experienced anythin' like that before. When I see my family again, I'm gonna make sure I tell 'em that just 'cause folk work in the city don't mean they ain't as hard workin' as us country folk." Stouthoof grinned. "Well, it certainly sounds like this was a real learning experience for you, then. Did Clay give you any trouble?" "Naw, he worked me hard and all that but I know he weren't doin' it to be mean. He pushed me to my limits, but he knew when to pull back." Applejack then snorted and glanced at one of the other crew members—the blue-and-blonde one, actually—as they left the factory. "It's the rest of the crew that gave me trouble." "Ah, yeah, I imagine they did," Stouthoof said with a knowing smile, following her gaze discreetly. "Lots of stallions who work at this factory think that factory work is stallions' work and that mares don't have any business being here unless it's to clean up after we all go home or to work in the mailroom. That's just how it's been for years and years." Applejack tapped her hoof to her heart. "Yeah, well, this mare ain't gonna let none of that horseapples get to her, no sir. I'll work just as hard as any stallion, like I always have. Harder, even. And not 'cause I've got somethin' to prove, but 'cause that's just who I am at heart. They'll see." Stouthoof chuckled and clapped her on the shoulder. "That's the spirit. You'll show them yet, I'm sure of it. I know I was taking a risk listening to Flathoof, but if I didn't think you could handle the job I wouldn't have recommended you to Clay." Applejack paused. "That reminds me: Clay said somethin' 'bout me takin' up Thickhoof's old position, that y'all asked him specifically to let me take it. What in the hay is he talkin' about? It kinda made the rest of the crew act funny." Stouthoof's smile turned a little sad. "I won't go into any details, but shortly after my son got injured, Clay got promoted to the crew's supervisor position. He said that he wasn't going to fill Thickhoof's old position as long as he was in charge. I guess he said I asked him to let you have it?" "He did. Now, I won't pretend to understand what happened with your son 'n' all, but whatever ya said to Clay so that I could get this job, I appreciate it. I can't thank you enough for helpin' me 'n' my friends out of this here bind we're in." "Don't mention it. If you want to thank me properly, though, you can accept an invitation to dinner with the family tonight. My lovely wife would kill me if I didn't offer." Applejack grinned. "Well sure, I'd be glad to stay over for dinner. That's mighty nice of your family to have me." "Great. Well then, shall we get a move on? Shortcake's probably already got things all put together for an extra setting, knowing her, and I know better than to keep her waiting when she wants to show off." "Sounds good to me," Applejack replied. ***** Applejack hadn't been into Flathoof's family home yet, but she'd been trying all day to picture in her head what it might look like. What it actually looked like wasn't quite what she expected, but it was wonderful nonetheless. Everything was neat and cozy and decorated up with all sorts of family keepsakes to really make the place feel lived-in, like a real, honest-to-goodness home for a real, honest-to-goodness family, The place was a little cramped considering the size of the family, but then Applejack was getting used to the fact that most ponies in this city had to live in cramped conditions unless they were lucky or wealthy. If anypony in the family minded, they must not have made it obvious; only Flathoof had ever said anything about the situation and it was more that he wanted more for the entire family, not because he was dissatisfied with his lot in life. All that really mattered for tonight, though, was the dining room, which was almost entirely taken up by a dining table that was clearly designed to comfortably seat four or five but typically held six; for tonight it was seated for… eight? Applejack wasn't sure if she'd lost track somewhere—she wasn't good with numbers like her brother—but she was pretty sure that with her included the count should make seven. Maybe Flathoof was bringing Lockwood over? Or Snapshot? Yeah, that made sense; one of them would make it eight. While Shortcake—Flathoof's mother—and Pattycake—his sister—busied themselves in the kitchen with the last of the dinner preparations, only Applejack and Stouthoof were seated in the dining room. She'd only met the former of the two mares in the family briefly when she'd arrived, and felt another pang of familiarity when looking at her just like with Stouthoof and Flathoof. The older mare had a pleasant light tan coat and a long, curly orange mane that she kept tied up while cooking. If not for her more shapely figure, Applejack could forgive herself for mistaking the other mare for her own mother. But, while the mares were in the kitchen—Applejack had offered to help but been refused since she'd just come home from a hard day of work already—she and Stouthoof got a chance to spend a little more time together. The older stallion had procured a bottle of whiskey out of a cabinet in the dining room that apparently only he had a key to, and set two glasses down on the table: one for him, one for her. "You take whiskey, Applejack?" he asked as he poured himself a glass. She nodded and pushed her glass a little closer, maybe too eagerly. "Yessir, I do. What's the occasion?" He poured her a glass as well. "Celebrating your first day at work, of course. Family tradition since my great-great-great grandfather's day. We always celebrate when our family members become real adults and enter the working world. These days we do it with a little glass of whiskey like this because, well, be honest: you could use a glass, couldn't you?" "Ohhh yeah, I could use a good shot after today," she said as she took the glass in hoof. "But, uh, this ain't exactly my first day of work, what with the farm 'n' all, and I mean, I ain't exactly family—" "Applejack?" "Yeah?" "Just drink the damn whiskey." "Yup." Stouthoof raised his glass. "To you, Applejack. Welcome to the real world." He clinked it against hers and pounded it back quick. She smiled, then did the same. She'd been expecting something awful like that Dolor coffee she'd had the other day, or really any of the fake foods she'd had so far; dinner last night had been alright, but only just so, especially once she found out that it was made of more of that Dolor junk. But when that whiskey slipped past her lips and into her throat and burned just right, she knew it was the real deal. Not just the real deal, but it was a damn fine whiskey, too, better than some of the stuff back home. "Yeehaw! That's mighty fine stuff ya got there," Applejack said, licking her lips. "That's for-real whiskey?" "Of course it is," Stouthoof said with a wide grin. "You can't fake alcohol, no matter how much Dolorcorp tries. Even the cheap crap is better than anything they could put out there." "But… where do ya get it? I thought that y'all ain't got crops up here?" Stouthoof leaned over just slightly. "It's not exactly a well-kept secret that we ship this stuff in from the south, just like the moneybags do with all their authentic foods. Unlike those crops or other goods, though, alcohol is a lot easier to come by." "How come?" "Hell if I know, but thank the stars it is. Before we started getting convenient airship travel, we had to make do with less authentic stuff. Moonshine. Rotgut. Hooch. Call it whatever you want, it'd knock your horseshoes clean off. 'Course, things have been even better the last thirty years or so, once Hope's Point really got itself established." "Hope's Point, huh? I've heard that name before, from Lockwood I think. That some kind of city somewhere?" "On the southern edge of the continent, right along the ocean. Been at war with New Pandemonium for decades, but hell if I know why." "What's that got to do with alcohol?" "Hope's Point makes their own just like we do, with imported crops, right? But they also smuggle a lot of their brands up here, because then they can make money off of the same ponies that hate them." Stouthoof smiled. "I can't think of a better way to stick it to all the idiot warmongers up here, really." Applejack got a serious look on her face. "Way Lockwood says it, y'all could get in real trouble if anypony heard ya talkin' like that." Stouthoof dismissed the thought with his hoof. "Way I see it, Applejack, when my time comes, they can bury me face down so that everypony that doesn't like me can kiss my ass." That settles it, Applejack thought. Stouthoof's alright by me. "Hot soup, coming through!" called Shortcake from the kitchen. Then, Shortcake and Pattycake—each wearing matching pink blouses and white aprons—came into the dining room and started setting the table, putting plates and pots everywhere that contained all manners of food that Applejack was positive were made with the same Dolor junk she'd been dealing with all these past few days. It certainly smelled delicious, Applejack had to admit that, but would it taste the way it smelled? She could only hope. Then Applejack noticed Pattycake, who likewise noticed her for the first time since she'd come into the room, and Applejack felt like time had frozen for half an instant while her brain tried to figure out just what was going on, as if the world suddenly didn't make a lick of sense. This other mare—Flathoof's younger sister—had a rich orange coat and a short blonde mane that she kept in a neat bun, both so similar in color to Applejack that she could've sworn she was looking in a mirror for half a second if not for the clothes they were wearing. Pattycake even had green eyes, though hers had just a little bit of blue in them. Stouthoof looked between the younger mares as they just stared at one another for that long moment. "What the hell's gotten into you two?" Shortcake slapped his shoulder gently. "Oh hush, dear, don't act like you can't see it. Look at them, they're like two peas in a pod! I didn't really notice it until they were in the same room together, but sure enough. Well, this is just adorable." She pinched Pattycake's cheek and cooed. "You two could be twins!" "Gah!" Pattycake rubbed her cheek where her mom had pinched her. "Geez, Mom, get off me, would ya?" Shortcake gave Applejack a little grin. "My girl doesn't have your manners, though. I don't know where I went wrong with this one." "Pleased to meet ya, Pattycake," Applejack said after she collected her wits. "Flathoof told me ya like to bake?" "Huh? Oh, yeah. I mean, it's kind of my thing," Pattycake said, gesturing towards her cutie mark—a triple-decker chocolate cake—as she took her own seat. "All the mares in this family are just naturally really good at cooking, y'know?" "Yeah, Flathoof said as much." "I still find it really weird how you two even met. He said something about you and some friends getting arrested and now he's your parole officer or something? I mean, doesn't that sound weird to you?" Applejack smiled. "That's pretty much the long 'n' short of the story, yeah, and it sure is weird. Not exactly the best first impression we could've had, but hey, I guess it could've been worse." Pattycake rolled her eyes. "If you say 'it could've been raining', I swear." "Dinner's ready!" Shortcake called out into the house. It didn't take long for the table to be joined by the other two stallions of the family, Thickhoof and Shorthoof, Flathoof's younger brothers. The former had a cream-colored coat and a rich brown mane that he kept short and wavy, and wore a simple button-up shirt. Applejack was momentarily reminded of her cousin Hayseed Turnip Truck, only Thickhoof seemed to be more… well, she couldn't think of a word that wouldn't sound insulting to Hayseed—maybe Twilight could—so she wouldn't go down that road. She had also already heard enough about his injury that she wasn't surprised or embarrassed by the fact that he rolled in on a wheelchair and had done so without help. Shorthoof was just about Apple Bloom's age, and if he wasn't the spitting image of that little filly then Applejack would eat her hat. Their coat colors were nearly identical, as were their manes, and the only difference between the two that was really noticeable was that one was a filly and one was a colt. Well, that and Shorthoof didn't have a ribbon in his mane. "Oh, hey, you must be Miss Applejack," Thickhoof said with a smile as he rolled over to his spot at the table. "Mom said you'd be joining us. A pleasure to meet you. I'm Thickhoof." "Well thank ya kindly, Thickhoof, a pleasure to meet you too," Applejack said with a smile and a nod. The other stallion was awfully polite and had a pleasant smile that she was sure would make other mares swoon if he wanted to. This family had some good genes. "You have a weird accent, Miss," Shorthoof said nonchalantly as he eased his way into his chair. Shortcake huffed loudly. "Shorthoof! You apologize to Miss Applejack right now!" "It's alright, Miss Shortcake, he don't mean nothin' by it," Applejack said as she gave the colt a reassuring glance. "I reckon I do sound awful strange 'round these parts anyhow. I ain't met or heard anypony talkin' like me so far." "That's very kind of you, Applejack," Shortcake said, giving Shorthoof a look out of the corner of her eye. "Seems to me though that my children have forgotten how to show manners around the dinner table." "Speaking of dinner, we're just waiting on Flathoof before we get started, right?" Thickhoof asked as he leaned over and took a big whiff of the dinner that was set out. "I hope he's not late again. This smells fantastic, Mom." "You know the drill, son," said Stouthoof with a wry grin. "If your brother's not here in five minutes, we start eating without—" A noise from the den alerted the family to the front door being opened. "Hey, I'm home!" came Flathoof's voice. "Speak of the devil." "Dinner's ready, sweetie!" called Shortcake. "Come on in!" Applejack noticed that either Flathoof was walking funny or that there was a second set of hoofsteps coming in with him. Sure enough, it was the latter. Flathoof had arrived with another police officer, an earth pony stallion with a green coat and orange mane. He had to be only a few years younger than Applejack, fresh out of high school most likely. He was built fairly well—thin but athletic—and carried himself with a strange mix of confidence and curiosity that reminded Applejack of how Twilight got around a new book, or Rainbow when she was watching the Wonderbolts were showing off a new trick. Now she knew why there was an eighth place set at the table, at least. The pair had removed the hats from their uniforms as well as their badges and other accessories and equipment so that they only wore their shirts. Without all that gear on him, Flathoof didn't look quite as intimidating as usual, and if anything looked fairly approachable. Now more than ever he looked like a younger Big Macintosh, even though they had to be about the same age. "So, who's your new friend?" asked Pattycake as she eyed the stallion carefully. "He's cute." The other officer blushed slightly and coughed into his hoof before saluting like some kind of soldier. "Cadet Gumshoe, reporting—" Flathoof gently pushed the other stallion's hoof back down. "At ease, Cadet, sheesh. No need to be so formal, that's just my sister, not the Queen of Hope's Point or something." "If he wants to treat me like a queen, I won't mind," said Pattycake with a flutter of eyelashes. "R-right…" Gumshoe gulped and took his seat at the table. Shortcake cleared her throat and gently prodded Pattycake's shoulder. "No flirting at the dinner table, sweetie. Wait until after dessert." "Yes, Mom." "I didn't know you had a partner, son," Stouthoof said as he gave the newcomer a once-over. "I thought you worked alone?" Flathoof rubbed his chin and took his seat. "I'll make the long story short and just say that he's a transfer from a Mid-East precinct due to the fires, and he's been assigned to me to finish up his parole protocol training. Speaking of which." He nudged Gumshoe and gestured towards Applejack. "Cadet, meet Applejack. She's one of the parolees I'm handling." Gumshoe offered his hoof. "A pleasure to meet you, Miss Applejack." Applejack smiled and took his hoof to shake it. "Shucks, pleasure's all mine. Y'all gonna be assisting' ol' Flathoof here, then? Learnin' how to handle this whole, uh… parole business?" "That's right," Gumshoe said with a small grin. "Once I finish this up, I get my real badge and everything. I'm glad to be training under Captain Flathoof, too. I heard he's the best down at Central Station." "Well if there's anypony at that station that can do the job properly, it's my Flathoof," said Shortcake as she, too, took her seat. "But enough of that, everypony! Dig in before the food gets cold." Now that everypony was seated and had the mare of the house's blessing, everypony at the dining table immediately began serving up food to one another and digging right in. Applejack was more than just a little surprised at how legitimately good the food was, despite knowing full well that it wasn't real ingredients being used. She simply had to ask how that had been accomplished, and Shortcake was more than happy to share her secrets. According to her, depending on how one prepared the Dolor products, they could take on all sorts of different flavors, and getting the precise flavors you wanted was a matter of timing and skill, but most of all, care and passion. The soup was made of Dolor Orange that had been heated and mixed with some Dolor Red and water, making the whole thing taste like vegetable soup, down to the taste of carrots and peppers. A lump of greenish-blue had been made of a precise mix of Green and Yellow and baked at just the right temperature to make it taste like buttery steamed broccoli. Thin, soft strips of Yellow had been seared properly to taste like grilled squash. A little bowl of Red had been properly stored and blended so that it tasted like cranberry sauce. Applejack was, quite simply, stunned. But there was something wrong with the whole picture. As she looked out across the table and saw Flathoof's family sharing this meal together, chatting about their days, and laughing and smiling at jokes and stories, the only thing that really came to her mind was that they were a very close, very happy family. Worse, the fact that so many of them looked so similar to members of her own family just sent a little ache through her heart. Nevermind that if she were home right now she'd be sharing a meal just like this with her brother and sister and grandmother, no. The worst part was seeing two ponies that reminded her so much of her own parents sharing this meal all the same. There was just something about the way that Shorthoof laughed when Pattycake told a story about her day at culinary school. It was just like how Apple Bloom would laugh when Applejack told stories about the kinds of shenanigans she and her friends got up to in their zany adventures. Something about the way that he ate his food, even, and had to be chided by his mother for chewing too loudly, just like Apple Bloom would do sometimes. There was just something about how Flathoof, despite being rather talkative elsewhere, was a quiet listener while at the dining table, putting his full attention into everypony's stories like they were the most riveting things he'd ever heard, just like Big Macintosh did. He even took big, slow bites and was very neat and tidy, same as Big Mac, and just as polite and quick to pass the plates around when anypony asked because he had a bigger reach. Then there were Stouthoof and Shortcake. It had been years since Applejack had gotten to sit down for dinner with her parents. So long in fact that the memories of those days were somewhat fuzzy and faded, like an old photograph left out in the sun. But she still remembered the way her mother would serve everypony their dinner, the kindness and love in her voice when everypony complimented the meals. She still remembered the way her father, no matter how rough and tough he was out of doors, would gaze lovingly into his wife's eyes from across the table. It was enough to make a grown mare cry. And so that's exactly what she did. Stouthoof, who was sitting at the head of the table next to her, was the first to notice the change. "Applejack? Everything alright?" Applejack sniffed and did what she could to fight back tears, but it was a losing battle. "Y-yeah, I'm alright. Just got a… got a lil' somethin' in my eye." "Oh dear, the food's not bad, is it?" Shortcake said, hoof to her mouth. "No no, the food's… the food's wonderful. It's really… really good." She tried to tug her hat down a bit so that nopony would see, but then forgot she wasn't wearing it at the dinner table. "Applejack, you don't need to hide anything from us," Flathoof said with a gentle smile. "We're all friends here, aren't we? If something's wrong, you can say it." Applejack took a deep breath and nodded. "I… I miss my family. Seein' y'all here together just… it reminds me of 'em and… and I'm here, but they're someplace else and I'm worried about 'em and I just can't stop wonderin' if everythin's okay back home." She was rambling at this point and couldn't stop herself. "And they've got no idea what happened to me or anythin', and it's gettin' close to harvest time and I'm not there to help and—" She sniffed again and looked at Stouthoof briefly, then looked away again. "An' y'all remind me of 'em so much that I… I just can't stop myself—" Stouthoof set his hoof on her shoulder gently. "Hey, it's alright. It's alright." His hoof moved to her back and gave her a soft, reassuring pat. "It's perfectly natural to worry about your family. You don't need to feel embarrassed around us." "Oh, the poor dear," Shortcake said as she got up from her side of the table to come over and pull Applejack in for a hug. "It's alright, Applejack, just let it out. We won't judge you. I can't imagine what you're going through…" Applejack sniffed and nodded again as she hugged Shortcake back. The older mare's tight, warm hug felt really nice and affectionate, that kind of motherly affection that you couldn't get from just anypony. It reminded her so much of home, of things she missed now and things she'd been missing for years, of things she'd probably never have again. She didn't even notice that while she was losing herself in that hug, the rest of the family had cleared the dinner table. ***** "Sorry if I made things awkward…" Applejack said as she stood at the bus stop with Flathoof later that night. He'd agreed to make sure that she made it back to her apartment okay, for which she was grateful. Normally she'd have argued that she didn't need anypony to foalsit her, but after what happened at dinner she didn't feel right being alone. "Hey, don't worry about it, it's not your fault," Flathoof said, patting her shoulder. "You're in a tough situation here, Applejack, and I understand— we all understand that it's not easy being separated from your family like this. None of us really know what it must be like… but we understand it enough to want the best for you." Applejack gave him a little smile, then turned to Gumshoe, who'd come along and would be catching the next bus after Applejack's. "So, uh… that was pretty lousy as far as first impressions go, huh?" Gumshoe shook his head gently. "Not at all. I have family too, y'know? I know that if I was ever separated from them, I'd be worried about them and miss them all the same. It's a perfectly healthy thing, so don't feel bad about expressing how it makes you feel." "Heh… thanks. You're alright, Gumshoe." She glanced at Flathoof briefly. "Take care of this kid, yeah? He's goin' places." As the bus rounded the corner and prepared to unload its passengers and take on new ones, Flathoof turned to Gumshoe. "You gonna be alright getting home on your own, Cadet? You could come with us, and I'll make sure you get to your stop okay after dropping off Applejack." Gumshoe gave him a short salute. "Thank you, but no thank you, sir. I can take care of myself just fine. I might still be a cadet, but I went through training, same as you did." "Fair enough. In that case, I'll meet you at the precinct first thing tomorrow morning, then I can introduce you to the rest of Applejack's friends. Sound good?" "I'm looking forward to it, sir." As Applejack boarded the bus with Flathoof and they found a pair of seats that were close together—on opposite sides of the aisle, but close together—she couldn't help but think that even after what had happened, she was glad she'd joined the family for dinner. It might take some getting used to being in this other world so far from her family that she couldn't even contact them, but she was glad knowing that she had her friends with her, and that she had new friends to help get her through the experience. Maybe these few weeks wouldn't be so terrible after all.