//------------------------------//
// Smile Through It, Part 1 
// Story: Mare Do Well: Rebirth 
// by MagnetBolt 
//------------------------------//

Beeswax fumbled with the keys to the holding cell. The Seasaddle Police Department was well-funded, but the Captain didn’t trust a lot of technology, which meant getting anything fancy or new was slow in coming. The cells could have come right out of a dungeon, all wrought-iron bars and stone walls. The locks were purely manual, which meant they were immune to the usual attempts of the local crowd to bypass security. They couldn’t be demagnetized or hacked or short-circuited. They could only be picked, and there weren’t a lot of ponies with the actual skills to do it in the city.
“You know, I envy her a little bit,” Officer Beeswax said. “Mare Do Well might be a loose cannon, but there’s something attractive about that, you know? Doing what you want and not having to answer to policy-- I SAID KEEP YOUR HOOVES WHERE I CAN SEE THEM, SCUMBAG!”
She was escorting three ponies wearing hoofcuffs and bruises. They all flinched at the yell. Arabica couldn’t blame them. It was the kind of yell that made ponies jump from across the street and got attention even when spells were flying and lives were at risk.
“But--” one of them tried to say, probably about to complain about his bruises.
“But nothing!” Beeswax shouted. “You held a train full of kids hostage! You should be happy all Mare Do Well did was knock you around!”
“Come on, Beeswax,” Arabica said. He pulled the holding cell door open and shoved the criminals inside. “The last thing you need is another write-up. These gentlestallions aren’t worth it, right?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Beeswax sighed, slamming the door shut and locking it behind them. They walked out of the holding cell area, and its dungeonesque air, and into the cubicle maze that was the main floor of the department. “I just don’t like ponies that go around hurting kids. It’s something that bothers me personally.”
“It was resolved without any of the kids getting hurt,” Arabica said. “That’s about all we can ask for.”
“If that’s your standard of success, you need to start aiming higher.” A pony stood up from behind a low divider. “Detective Arabica. Officer Beeswax. I’d say it’s a pleasure to see you but I don’t like lying to the police.”
“What do you want, Amicus Brief?” Beeswax growled.
“The same thing any good lawyer wants,” he said, adjusting his expensive pinstripe suit and stepping around to shake Arabica’s hoof and very deliberately not shake Officer Beeswax’s. “I want to protect the legal rights and interests of my clients. I just picked up a few new clients, as a matter of fact.”
“New clients?” Arabica asked.
“I was asked to take on the stallions you just finished escorting to your holding cells,” he said. “Pro bono, of course.”
“I’m sure they’ll get what they paid for. I assume you’re going to tell them to plea guilty and throw themselves on the mercy of the court.”
Amicus Brief smiled crookedly. “A guilty plea is for quitters. If there was a decent plea bargain I might bring it to my clients, but no. I was going to take the case in another direction. Their civil rights have been violated, and I plan on fighting for them.”
“Their civil rights to rob a train?” Beeswax asked.
“They were summarily arrested by a vigilante who used what I’m sure an impartial physician will call excessive force,” Brief explained. “I’ve seen the results of Mare Do Well fighting crime, and it’s marked in broken bodies and ponies scared of their own shadows.”
“She’s a licensed government employee,” Arabica shrugged. “She has a badge and files her paperwork in a timely manner. If you want to take this on, you need to be aware that her arrests are made within the law, and the three stallions sitting in our holding cell were posing a clear and present danger to others. Even if she was purely a civilian she would have been in her rights to stop and restrain them.”
“We’ll see what a judge says,” Amicus said. “I know the judges here in Seasaddle pretty well, and none of them like police brutality. You’re held to a higher standard. I think most of you do extremely well at holding to that standard, but Mare Do Well is a blind spot. There’s no direct oversight. She doesn’t answer to anypony. Who reviews her actions? How can a concerned citizen show that they don’t want to worry about being brutalized for jaywalking? We can’t vote her out. We can’t ask her superiors to take action.”
“Actually, I know what you can do,” Beeswax said. “See what you can do is, you take your concerns and write them down in detail. We don’t have a form for it, but I think a general statement or complaint form would be fine. Then you fold it in half, and you shove it right up your--”
“Officer Beeswax,” Arabica interrupted. “That’s enough. I’m sure Amicus has to go talk to his new clients and find out all about how he’s going to defend them in court when they tried to derail a train full of foals on a field trip. I don’t envy him.”
“That’s why you’re a detective and I’m a lawyer,” Amicus smiled. “You try and find guilty ponies, and I try to find innocent ones. Keep up the good work.”
He trotted off, grabbing a briefcase on the way.
“Those three never made a phone call,” Beeswax whispered, when the lawyer was out of earshot. “They didn’t hire him.”
“No, they didn’t,” Arabica agreed. “I don’t think it’s anything sinister. Brief wants to make a big name for himself. He’s been trying to angle himself into every case involving Mare Do Well for the last month.”
“Why?” Beeswax asked.
“Because it’s good advertising, I suppose.” Arabica shrugged. “I’ll let you get to your job. It looks like Mason Plate wants you for something.” He pointed behind her.
Beeswax turned to see the Sergeant waving her down.
“Figures,” Beeswax sighed. “I was supposed to be off duty an hour ago.”
“Just think of all that great overtime pay,” Arabica said, smiling and patting her shoulder before walking away.
Beeswax shook her head and grumbled, walking up to Sergeant Plate and preparing herself for several hours of paperwork or a surprise call halfway across the city.
“What’s up?” she asked.
“I’ve got some bad news,” Mason said. “You remember last year when you helped bust that ring that was selling pills?”
“How could I forget? They used factory seconds and ran production lines off-the-books while they were hopped up on their own product. A couple kids died because they screwed up the manufacture.”
“You remember the pony in charge? The one you personally took down?”
Beeswax smiled a little at the memory. “Course I do. Rubber Croc. He almost got away but I was watching the back door on a hunch and got him before he even made it through the doorway. I think I broke his jaw in two places. He looked real pretty when he went to court and couldn’t even talk properly.”
“Yeah. And he’s back out on the streets.”
Beeswax sputtered with rage. “What?! How?! He pled guilty! He was sentenced to twenty years, and even if he got time off for pretending to be a good little pony--”
“His lawyer was able to convince a judge that excessive force was used, and that no paperwork for the arrest was ever filed.”
“Bucking impossible. I filled out the forms myself! What slimy little urchin-- it was that bucking Amicus Brief, wasn’t it? That’s why he wouldn’t shake my hoof!”
“Look, just watch your back, okay?” Mason said quietly. “You know Croc holds a grudge, and I heard the prison dental work he got after you broke his jaw didn’t improve his attitude none.”
“I’ll watch my back, and I’ll watch his bucking front. I should go arrest him right now -- I bet he’s already knees-deep in something!”
“You’re not doing anything for the next week at least,” Sergeant Plate said. “The Captain told me to tell you you’re taking a week of vacation. No badge, no bothering Rubber Croc, just until everything can be checked out on our end.”
“I am not--”
“And he told me if you argue too much, that vacation is gonna be a lot longer and it won’t be paid.”
“But--”
“Your shift ended an hour ago,” Mason said, smiling sadly. “Get out of here and go get yourself a decent meal. Get your mind off things.”





“I can’t remember the last time I came down here,” Detective Arabica sighed. “It must have been a while, because I haven’t had to buy the special shampoo to get the fish smell out of my mane.”
“The docks aren’t that bad, Detective,” Officer Boudin laughed. “It’s a quiet part of town to patrol. No domestic disturbances, you know? Mostly Jambon and I spend the night chasing strays away from garbage cans.”
“And leading drunken sailors back to their captains,” Officer Jambon added. “Remember the one who thought you were an escort?”
“Hey, I told you we weren’t talking about that ever again!” Boudin warned.
“It’ll be more exciting tonight,” Arabica promised. “You get to help me serve a search warrant. You two haven’t spent so much time with strays that you forgot how warrants work, right?”
“Come on, Detective, we do our part,” Jambon said. “We know this place, and these ponies. Why don’t you let us take care of things? A lot of ponies around here, they get scared by new faces. If we’re alone, maybe we’ll find something you wouldn’t.”
“Thanks, but I’d rather take care of this myself,” Arabica said. “You two are just backup, no offense.”
“I’d love to say ‘none taken’,” Boudin sighed.
“Captain Blanc wants me to get to the bottom of the Black Khat smuggling that’s been going on. You two know what that is?”
“It’s, uh…” Jambon thought for a second. “Some kind of plant, right?”
“Khat leaves are a stimulant, like coffee but more addictive. Black Khat is three times stronger and much more dangerous.” Arabica pulled the warrant from his coat and knocked on the warehouse door. “We’re going to take a look around and see if things here are on the level.”
The intercom next to the door buzzed.
“What do you want?” came the tinny voice.
“This is Detective Arabica of the Seasaddle PD. Could you please open the door? We’d like to come inside, ask you a few questions, and take a look around.”
“And I’d like you to go pound sand, so tough luck.”
“Only one of us is going to get what they want and my warrant says that person is me,” Arabica said. “You can open the door, or I can open it, and you won’t like what happens if I’m the pony that has to crack it open.”
There was a long pause. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” the voice mumbled. There was an electric tone as the door buzzed open.
“Thanks for your cooperation,” Arabica said sarcastically.





“Paid vacation,” Beeswax mumbled into her glass. “Taking my badge away and telling me to go drown my sorrows while scumbags like Rubber Croc are out on the street. It ain’t fair!” She slammed her empty glass down.
“Careful,” the bartender rumbled. “I don’t want to pick broken glass out of anypony’s hoof.”
“Yeah well I’d have to cut the hoof off with how dirty your glasses are,” Beeswax countered. “Give me another.”
“You sure about that? With how dirty my glasses are maybe you’ll end up on sick leave instead of being suspended for whatever it was you did,” the bartender said. He was already pouring her drink, pink gin and shaved ice with grenadine. When he set it in front of Beeswax she took it and glared at him while she took a long drag.
“I didn’t do anything wrong,” Beeswax said, firmly. “Somepony in records must have bucked up.” She took a second long sip, finishing the rest of her drink. “You know what they told me when I went down to yell at them? They told me the warrant to arrest Croc never got filed, and that’s bucking impossible.”
“Slow down on the gin,” the bartender warned. “You’re drinking like you’re trying to win a contest.”
“Even if it wasn’t filed, what about everything else? We had his financial records, all the factories he was scamming, the pushers he was dealing to…” She huffed. “Gone like it never existed. I could get a dozen ponies to swear they’d seen ‘em but apparently that’s not good enough! Bucking appeals court my flank!”
“Okay, that’s it, I’m cutting you off,” the bartender said. “You’re angry, and the gin is making it worse. Go for a walk. Cool down. You can come back tomorrow when you’re thinking a little more clearly.”
“Eh, buck you too,” Beeswax said, getting to her hooves and pushing away from the bar, wobbling a little bit with each step.
“And when you come back, bring bits to pay your tab!”





“Thank you for talking to me while my officers take a look around,” Arabica said, sitting down across from the warehouse manager. The pony seemed nervous, which was only natural when the police showed up with a warrant.
“We’re always happy to cooperate with the SPD,” the manager said. He was a mild-looking pony that seemed entirely made of sweat and balding spots. “I’m not sure what you’re hoping to find, unless you really want fresh mangos. Some of the locals go crazy for them!”
“I do like mango,” Arabica admitted. “When we’ve got all this sorted out I’d be happy to buy a few.”
The manager laughed. “If you don’t mind the ones we’d have to throw out for being oddly-shaped, I’ll give you a bag for free. It saves us from having to throw them away. The grocery stores don’t like it when they’re not perfect looking.”
“I hope you’re not trying to bribe me,” Arabica teased. He stood up. “You don’t have a pot of coffee on somewhere, do you? If not, it’s fine, I don’t want to be here long enough for you to brew anything fresh.”
“Oh sure, let me just get you a cup,” the manager said. He got up and practically ran into the next room. Arabica waited a moment, then stepped over to the vacated desk, flipping quickly through the paperwork on it.
He froze when he saw it. A leaf, between the pages. A khet leaf. He pocketed it.
“I hope you don’t mind black coffee,” the manager said, walking back into the room. “We don’t have any creamer left.”
“No, it’s fine that way,” Arabica said, trying to look like he’d just been pacing. “Thank you.”
The door to the office opened, and Jambon and Boudin stepped in from the factory floor.
“Anything?” Arabica asked.
“Nothing strange,” Boudin shrugged. “Except for big spiders. Apparently, they hide in the mangos during shipping. They got a bunch in jars if you wanna see them.”
“I’ll pass. Thank you again for your time,” Arabica said, keeping his voice level. “Officer Jambon, Officer Boudin, I think we’re done here.”
The manager got back behind his desk and looked at the shuffled papers. He looked past Arabica at Jambon and Boudin, and the two uniformed officers sighed.
“You found something, huh?” Boudin asked.
“Just some bad coffee,” Arabica lied.
“I had a sample on my desk. It’s gone,” the manager said.
Jambon stepped up to Arabica and reached into the Detective’s jacket, maintaining eye contact with him and pulling the leaf free.
“I think he got curious,” Jambon said. He held the leaf up.
“You should have let us take care of things on our own,” Boudin said. “You could have gone home early and nopony would have had a problem. Now we’ve gotta figure out what to do with you.”
“Let’s bring him to the boss,” Jambon said.
“So, no free mangos, then?” Arabica asked.





Beeswax leaned against the brick wall, which probably wasn’t the smartest thing considering how filthy the masonry looked, but she needed some kind of support and the wall wasn’t going to complain if she threw up on it.
“Maybe I had a little too much gin after all,” she muttered.
“Hey there, hot stuff,” a pony behind her said. “You look like somepony who wants to go dancing.”
“The last thing I want to do right now is jump around and listen to dubstep,” Beeswax groaned. “Go find somepony else.”
“No, I don’t think so,” the pony said.
The pony grabbed her fetlock and pulled her away from the wall. Beeswax stumbled into him.
“Hey! What the buck do you think you’re doing?!” she yelled, glaring up at him. The stallion smiled down at her.
“Rubber Croc sends his regards,” the stallion said. “He wanted to come and take you out for a dance himself, but he’s busy and had to send us instead.”
“Rubber Croc?” Beeswax asked, understanding slowly dawning. “Aw, buck.” She looked behind the stallion and saw a couple more stallions, all of them with various interesting clubs and bludgeons and looking eager to use them.
“Yeah,” the stallion smirked. “Don’t worry. He doesn’t want you dead. You won’t enjoy this much, though.”
Beeswax struck first, kicking the stallion in the chest. He lost his grip on her hoof, and she used the impact of the kick to push forwards, bolting away and trying to escape the crowd. She made it a few steps and immediately slammed into a garbage can, knocking it over and taking a fall, head over hooves, landing in a heap.
“Where’s a hero when I really need one?” Beeswax asked, picking herself up. “Mare Do Well, I’ve never asked for anything, but if you show up right now I’ll plant a big wet kiss on your mask…”