//------------------------------// // Interlude - Holmesburg Junction // Story: Night Train to New York // by jz1 //------------------------------// Holmesburg Junction was a depressing station to be at during the day. At night, it was downright miserable, with flies buzzing around the insufficient light given off by the station’s platform lighting, and traffic noise from the nearby road making the entire station feel rundown and miserable. It was especially miserable when you were waiting on the last train into town. Especially when you knew that you were going to get your ass chewed out when you got back.  Especially when the person - or rather, pony - who was going to do the ass-chewing was not only standing next to you, but had decided to get a head start on the ass-chewing. “I thought you said you were from the Philadelphia field office!” Stamped Passport seethed as he paced up and down the platform, the cake box bobbing up and down with each step. “How could you not know where the bakery was?!”  “This is the one of the largest cities in America.” Special Agent Johnson, United States Secret Service, responded in what he hoped was an even tone. “I don't have the address of every cake shop memorized.”  “Well you should! I asked for only the best to help the Princess!” “And you got the best. At protection. If you wanted a cake finder you should have asked the Health Department.” “Maybe next time I will.” “God I hope there isn’t a next time.” “What was that?”  “Nothing. At least we got the cake, right?” It had taken six hours, but they did it. Why the ponies even needed a cake was unclear - they wouldn’t allow any Earth foods to even come near their Princess - which kind of defeated the point of a cultural exchange tour in Johnson’s opinion. “With no thanks to you!”  “I found the cake shop.”  “After you got us lost! And stranded!”  “I told you not to take your frustrations out on the car.” “You didn’t say it was so fragile!” “I didn’t think I needed to.” “Well you should have! I am much stronger than you are!” “You kicked a hole through sheet metal.” “It was a sheet! Sheets are thin - hence the name! I couldn’t kick through slab metal, now could I?!” “I’ll note it for the future.” “If I have my way you won’t have a future with my government.” “You have no idea how much that would delight me.”  “What?!” “You heard me.”  “Are you suggesting that I’m not good company?!” “I’m not suggesting it.” “Why, you…!” Stamped jumped into the air, wings beating furiously as he hovered, wide eyed, in front of the agent. Amazingly, his face began to turn a bright red despite his pale blue fur. “You have been nothing but trouble all day! I’ve had just about enough of you!” He bellowed while holding up his hooves in a boxing stance. “So come on! Let’s have at it you furless -!” *POW*  He was cut off in mid-rant as Johnson punched him in the face. He staggered back in mid air, one hoof going to his muzzle, loopily trying to regain his balance and composure as blood streamed out of his nose. “YOU HIT ME!” He screeched nasally, fluttering well over the inside set of tracks as he did so. “You asked me to.” “YOU HIT ME!” He said again, rearing up in midair to make his point known, in the process causing the cake box to slide off of his back and plop onto the railroad tracks below him. “YOU DARE TO HIT A MEMBER OF THE CROWN TRAVEL OFFICE?!” “You asked me to.” Johnson repeated calmly as he noticed the cake box - now lying atop the running rails of the fast line.  “I WILL HAVE YOUR BADGE FOR THIS!” Bellowed Stamped, who hadn’t realized the cake box was gone. “THERE WILL BE-”  He stopped as a train horn blared through the empty night. As much as he despised the human world right now, he had seen enough of the steel monsters they called trains to know that being in the air as one went by would not end well for him. “We’ll continue this in a moment.” He said to Johnson as he settled down to the platform and waited for the train to go by, his anger on temporary hold. Johnson merely rolled his eyes at the Pegasus’ histrionics. Ponies had the emotional capacity of a light switch - either they were on full blast or they were off entirely.  The train horn sounded again, much longer and much louder this time. The train was getting closer and was clearly hauling serious ass. Johnson wondered if Stamped would notice the cake box, and subtly moved himself in front of the pegasus in case he did.  A headlight appeared in the middle distance, throwing just enough light onto the tracks to illuminate the white cardboard of the cake box. Stamped gasped in horror as he realized what was about to happen. He spread his wings, jumped into the air - And was immediately thrown to the ground by Agent Johnson, who grabbed him around the pits of his forelegs and body slammed him - muzzle first - onto the relative safety of the platform.  And with not a second to spare either, as the train - a black engine running by itself - roared out of the inky blackness of the night with its horn blaring, passed through the bubble of illumination given off by the station’s meager platform lights at speeds that would have shocked a racecar driver, before vanishing back into the night as quickly as it had arrived. The poor cake box never stood a chance. The train vaporized it, sending scraps of cardboard and tiny flecks of cake in every direction. Johnson took a piece of sponge cake directly to the forehead, and Stamped was peppered with tiny bits of pink frosting.  Both man and stallion took a moment to collect themselves after that. Johnson brushed himself off and thanked his lucky stars that his moron-detecting sixth sense worked on interdimensional alien horses, while Stamped just stared, wide eyed,  at where the cake had been, totally ignoring the blood streaming from his face where Johnson had first punched him, and then slammed him to the ground.  After taking a long moment to collect himself, He turned to Johnson.“Da caek shop wath closthed. And I walked into a sthign posht. Understhand?”  “Whatever you say.”