//------------------------------//
// ...With Restricted Liberties, And Justice For...? 
// Story: Izzy Vs. Personal Space 
// by Estee 
//------------------------------//

Eventually, Hitch came to get her.

Izzy hadn't called him, because phones almost occupied the same category as her own magic:  she just didn't think of either one as a first resort and when things started going wrong, the magic was a lot easier to turn off.  And Posey...  well, some of the screams had probably been loud enough to reach the police station, but the floral designer really hadn't wanted to summon the sheriff.  The details on that had been shouted out to everypony who'd crowded into the shop, because certain ponies would move in to investigate upon hearing a crash and Posey did her best vocal work when she had an audience.  

According to Posey, there was absolutely no point to bringing in Hitch because law enforcement was just going to come down on the unicorn's side.  Again.  She'd said that loudly, repeatedly, and not quite in time to do anything about the ponies whose first response to hearing a crash was to call the sheriff's office in the valiant hopes that somepony else would deal with it.

Izzy, who'd been head-shoved outside at the first available opportunity, didn't see him trot up.  The wind had shifted again, she was mostly looking down to start with, and it gave her a perfect view of her own mane.  Which didn't do anything to block words and murmurs and the dark syllables of those who'd decided it was all her fault (and as far as Izzy was concerned, it pretty much was), but at least she didn't have to look at any of it.

She'd been left to wait outside the shop.  Trying to figure out what was coming next, especially when all of her apologies and attempts to personally make repairs had been rejected.  

There was a special bouquet for the apology part, but she didn't know how to get it talking.  Izzy did know of multiple trees whose wood would make for a more sturdy replacement counter.  Enchanting the living treetrunk to do carpentry seemed to be somepony else's problem.

She didn't see him trot up.  But there was a certain world-weariness to the cadance of this particular four-time hoofbeat, and the unicorn was just about on the verge of recognizing it -- but then he spoke.

"Izzy?"

She raised her head.  Just enough mane fell back to give her a glimpse of tired amber eyes.

Izzy really didn't spend a lot of time thinking about how Hitch looked.  She was aware there had been calendars:  it was hard to stay near the sheriff for any real amount of time and not have the evidence of photo shoots come out.  But she was sure that she wasn't attracted to him.  

Izzy was fully in tune with her own desires.  This mostly meant that if one ever turned up, she would be able to regard it, say 'That's a desire, all right,' and strictly in theory, she might then have some chance of figuring out what to do about it.  But nothing had arisen from proximity to the sheriff, so she'd decided that she didn't desire Hitch.  And she silently swore that just trying to consider whether he was actually that handsome could make Zipp spontaneously materialize from thin, mostly-salty air.  And the older princess would not be happy about it.

When it came to the quality of his appearance, she didn't really think about how the sheriff looked.  She usually just felt that he looked exhausted.  Being a single parent did that.  Raising a dragon in a world where the total amount of written material regarding the 'how' equaled zero added more weight.  And having been rendered into the lone voice of law enforcement authority for a recently-desegregated city didn't exactly help.

Hitch usually looked as if he was at least a little worn out, even while he was sleeping.  Today, he looked worse.

"Yes," said a mare who was more than slightly tired herself.  "I'm Izzy.  A lot of ponies wouldn't have worked that out.  Especially the ones who haven't met me yet."

She briefly looked past him.  There was a ring of ponies out beyond his tail, watching the proceedings.  The boardwalk featured puppet shows and musicians, but this was clearly better.

Hitch sighed.

"I'm going in," he said.  "You stay here."

He did.  She lowered her head and let her mane slip forward again.  This let her focus on the boardwalk itself, and she wondered how often the planks were replaced.  Sea air almost had to be doing harsh things to the wood...

...time was passing...
...the phone had a timer built in and the last time she'd tried to use it, she'd somehow sent the whole of Pipp's mailing list a picture of the smaller princess sleeping with her face planted snout-deep in a pillow and buttocks presented to the air --
-- more hoofsteps.

"Let's go," the sheriff quietly told her.

To jail was her first thought.  She was intimately familiar with Bridlewood's cells.  Izzy had replaced the door several times, usually after removing it so she could get out and go home after somepony had forgotten to release her at the end of a shift.  But she wasn't quite as familiar with Maretime Bay's holding stables.  Sunny had given her some preemptive advice on getting the best bunk.

"Where?"

"Back to the Brighthouse."  She almost heard him look up.  "Clear a path, everypony.  Let us out."  And with the faintest hint of a fractional extra decibel, "Now."

She heard hooves moving on wood and, a few seconds later, her own joined them.

Izzy followed Hitch out.  Following him home.

...to her bed.  There would be a bed at the other end of it, and something in Izzy wanted to sleep.  She couldn't try to pretend the most recent stupid thing had been a dream unless she woke up first.

The Oddtrot fell away behind them.  Crowds thinned, dissipated.  He waited until they had full privacy before he spoke, and that didn't happen until the Brighthouse was almost in sight.

Steadily, "I told her that you'd pay for the damages and fix everything."

"I did too.  She didn't listen..."

"She didn't want to listen to me either," Hitch sighed.  "You've seen enough of Posey by now to know how she reacts when she's really angry.  Izzy, why did you even get that close?"  Paused.  "You're almost always that close, you know that?  And ponies don't always deal well with somepony getting so far up in their snouts that they're breathing each other's nostril hairs.  You have to back off --"

"-- I'm trying to see!"  Microexpressions.  Cultural divergence.  Surrounded by an environment she hadn't grown up in.  All things which made it so difficult to figure things out.  To anchor.

A little dryly, "I didn't think your eyesight was that bad."

She occasionally wore glasses to help with detail work, magnifiers for the finest parts.  They weren't strictly necessary, but they saved her from headaches.  "She was making things.  I make things.  I thought I could help."

Somewhat more softly, "Izzy...  we've had this talk.  You come on too strong.  Constantly.  The intensity -- you have a smile which is three muscle twitches from showing all of your teeth, and teeth can make it look like you're about to go for a throat...  I've had ponies call me just because you said hello for the first time while you were practically sharing their lungs..."

They had gone through the talk before.  She'd also had it with Sunny, and suspected there was going to be a repeat performance ahead.  "I have to make it look like I'm really happy!"  Part of her had wanted to say 'really-really', and she wasn't sure why.  "It was the only way anypony in Bridlewood would ever believe I was feeling anything which wasn't sad!"

"Izzy," tried a fresh-but-scant supply of patience, "this isn't Bridlewood --"

"-- I knew they believed me when they locked me up."  There were ways in which it almost substituted for applause.  "At least almost nopony's tried to charge me with a 30-8 here.  Except for the visitors who didn't realize it doesn't exist."

He didn't have to ask.  They'd had that talk before too.  

"Izzy," Hitch quietly said as the first hints of Brighthouse rainbow began to discolor his fur, "I've spent a lot of time trying to talk ponies out of pressing charges against you.  Telling them that you're new, you're trying to adjust, figure it all out.  And I know that's true.  But it's been a few seasons now:  we're all the way to spring.  That explanation's wearing thin.  We've been lucky, and -- that's not going to last."  

She couldn't seem to say anything.

She did wonder what the hinges on the local cell doors were like.  Bridlewood's had been poorly maintained, just like nearly everything else.

"And this is Posey," the stallion added.  "I don't know what she might do.  I do know that she might just skip over me and go straight to the prosecutor's office.  Or look for an attorney.  So I'm asking you to keep things quiet for a few days.  Stay around the Brighthouse, work on making the new countertop.  I'll go back to her shop, see if I can get a read on what she's planning.  But you shouldn't go near her for a while."

"I have work," Izzy protested.  "Stuff to make, to fix!  And I had to pick up that one piece over by --"

"-- call and tell the customer you got held up."  Hitch paused.  "I'll call.  We don't need you ringing the emergency sea monster reporting hotline by accident."  With a faint mutter, "Again.  Just give Posey some personal space.  Maybe she'll calm down.  And I'll keep you updated."

Izzy was currently prepared to give the florist most of a small galaxy.  It just wasn't hers to nose over.  "I'll just work on the counter."  Maybe it could have pull-out trays with multiple compartments.  Did the petals need to be kept at a given temperature in order to last longer?  Some of the display cases were refrigerated, so maybe...

"Do that," Hitch said as they came up to the doors.  "And I'll try to defuse the rest of this before it goes off."





The centerpiece was delivered by courier shortly before dinner, along with the additional bill because Posey wasn't going to hire a courier with her own money.  Pipp carefully placed it on the table, then decided that it needed a little extra something and acted accordingly.  The 'little extra something' ultimately had everypony floating around the kitchen while hoisted by glowing tails, which left all of their docks sore and had Zipp loudly resolving to keep her sister away from strange plant life, familiar flora, the most common woods which could ever exist, and anything which looked like it might enjoy sunlight because as far as the older sibling was concerned, this was a trend.

Izzy spent a couple of days in and around the Brighthouse.  Sunny had The Talk with her again.  The term 'Resting Serial Killer Face' was reluctantly invoked as a measure of intensity, and Izzy promptly asked a few questions about what that sort of face looked like when it wasn't at rest.  Sunny, due to a thankful total lack of personal experience, was unable to provide details.  Misty heard part of the discussion while casually walking by and responded through hiding under her blankets for two hours.

A couple of days spent in mostly isolating herself.  Doing unicycler work while not going out into a community which didn't really understand her and apparently wanted to deal with her presence through putting her in a cell.  So if it hadn't been for the other mares in the Brighthouse, it would have been exactly like home.

Two days of labor.

Hitch came by with her court date on the third.





"And thank you, Mr. --" the judge squinted at the overlong sheet of paper " -- twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty...  ah.  Mr. Beltway.  Your testimony was appreciated.  You are dismissed."  

The very last character witness trotted out of the testimony stall.  Posey silently watched from her side of the courtroom, and Izzy didn't really regard the passage at all.  She was familiar with character witnesses, because there had been more than a few of them in Bridlewood.  Every last one in her home had offered the same testimony:  she was certainly a 'character', they'd witnessed it, and somepony had to make her stop.

Hitch had talked about previous complaints in Maretime Bay.  Ponies who didn't want to deal with her -- intensity.  She hadn't thought there were thirty of them and if she had, she would have been wrong.  The court had looked at the number of other cases waiting on the docket, evaluated the size of the witness pool, and chosen thirty as a representative sample.  

The sheriff was in the gallery, watching along with the other Brighthouse residents, what seemed to be most of the dismissed witnesses and quite a few who hadn't been lucky enough to have their names drawn.  It left Izzy alone at the defendant's table.  Sunny had offered to serve as her attorney, because getting into legal trouble that many times offered a certain degree of procedural experience -- but Posey hadn't pressed criminal charges.

It was a civil case, brought by a mare for whom civility was a one-way street.  All traffic went in.  Nothing ever came back out.

Izzy watched the judge pushing papers around with his forehooves, and once again wondered if there was any real difference between a judge and a magistrate.  She didn't have a good record with magistrates.  And she'd asked Pipp to do something with her mane.  Pull it back, braid it, present a professional look.  And she'd worn her glasses.  She didn't feel as if it had helped with her supposed intensity.  She wasn't sure if anything could.

Even the courtroom smelled a little like salt.  She wondered what the table tasted like.

"Miss Moonbow," the old grey-maned stallion finally said.  "Rise and step forward."

She carefully got up from her bench, approached as close as she dared.  The courage which had taken her from Bridlewood to Maretime Bay ran out several paces away from the waiting verdict.

Her anklet felt awkward on her foreleg.  Unbalanced, unwelcome.  But she hadn't wanted to take it off.

"In terms of the damages to Ms. Bloom's store," the stallion calmly began, "the court is willing to consider that they resulted from exactly what you described during your own testimony:  an accident.  You had already offered to make full reparations, and I understand that a replacement counter is already being crafted.  So in terms of restitution alone, the only sentence is that you will finish the labor, and do so at no charge."

There was a sudden, short, semi-musical burst of sound from the gallery:  even Pipp's gasps of relief came with silent requests for a backup band and full chorus.  Izzy heard Sunny's rather loud exhale, followed by a soft impact:  the combination, added to a sharp yelp, suggested that the activist had just slumped over onto one of Zipp's wings.

"However," the judge evenly continued, "when it comes to the rest of it..."  He paused.  "The court has tried to make allowances for the Second Age, Miss Moonbow.  We recognize that there are cultural differences and drifts, with each city having its own definition of 'normal'.  We're all trying to figure each other out, and I expect that to continue for some time.  To that degree, when it comes to minor matters, the system has tended towards mercy, second chances, and strict instructions to not do that again."

She didn't move.  Waited.

"Which does not change the fact," he went on, "that you are the only unicorn who has produced this exact complaint.  Over and over and over.  Mr. Trailblazer may have kept matters from reaching this stage before, and I can respect his persuasive powers -- but there's been a rather unwelcome result.  You haven't learned anything from it.  And accordingly..."

The judge took a breath and in that moment, he was the only one who did so at all.

"I am granting Ms. Bloom's request," the older stallion said.  "Restraining order zone of twenty-five hoofwidths.  You can't come any closer to her than that-- or with anypony who uses the sign-up sheet within the next two days.  The list of names will be delivered to the Brighthouse at the end of that time, and we may issue tokens to indicate who's being protected."  Another pause.  "A small badge, perhaps.  Anypony on that list can personally rescind their choice at any time, simply by informing you before a witness.  And the court can take the whole thing back on plaintiff request -- or if we are convinced that you're showing improvement.  Dial it back, Miss Moonbow.  Learn to moderate yourself.  That time is well past due."

Sunny's gulp was audible.  Zipp stiffened, and a wing thrust pushed the earth pony upright.  Pipp was probably trying to make sure the courtroom artist got the good side of her wince.  Misty, who didn't do well in the presence of authority, could be presumed to still be halfway under her bench.  Hitch was silent.  And Izzy couldn't move.

He looked down at her, and the steely gaze softened.

"I understand that you were the first," the judge quietly told her.  "But when it comes to adjusting...  you've been the last.  Make this temporary, Miss Moonbow.  I know you can do that.  Just...  figure it all out."

She wanted to ask him how, was perhaps a single heartbeat from voicing the desperate query.  But that was when the gavel came down.