//------------------------------//
// Muffin Legal 
// Story: Attack of the Killer Muffins! 
// by Dafaddah 
//------------------------------//


Submitted as part of the TCB Event XIII or XII or something like that: 
Muffin Legal 
( A new story in the Attack of the Killer Muffins Anthology)

By Dafaddah

(Currently unedited due to event time constraints)






In a small office in Tucson, a thin man began to type a letter on an old manual typewriter. He found computers too dry, too lightweight, too user friendly for real bad news. He liked to hit the keys with force, and hear the matching ‘shlatch!’ as the key struck the ribbon and cylinder, crushing the paper between them, indelibly marking its surface and embossing the shape of the letter into its very fabric, forever.

To Dr. Evelyn Carr,
Chief Administrator,
Tucson AZ Conversion Bureau

We, the HLF (Highly Litigious Frenchmen), do hereby issue a ‘cease and desist’ order for the further production of muffins in all Conversion Bureaus in the United States of America. This discriminatory practice, counter to the norms of decency and good taste, is not only an affront to Croissants, Brioches and to true pastries everywhere, but an imposition and encouragement of consumption counter to the principles of good nutrition and proper dietary habits. We shall no longer stand idly by and watch this injustice take its course. You have been warned.

Sincerly yours and best wishes,
Blaques Jacques Laraques
Chairman of the HLF

Jacques grinned, folded the letter, put it in an envelope, affixed a stamp, and proceeded to the only physical mailbox still in use in Tucson. He pulled the handle on the lid, and slid the letter inside. The letter fell to the bottom of the mailbox. Then he closed his eyes and listened intently as the lid of the mailbox shut with a most satisfying ‘clang’.
 



 
Some four pony-lengths away from the mailbox was the only window of the only post office in Tucson. Inside, it boasted all of three posties, one of which was a pegasus named Drop Box. The mare was a native Equestrian on loan from the Royal Equestrian Mail Service. Her job was to translate addresses into equestrian script for mail going to Equestria, and into English for mail originating from Equestria. She also delivered any packages, airmail or registered letters originating from Equestria. She was the only postie of the three that had much to actually do on a daily basis.
 
The other two, Sharmane the postmistress and Germain the letter carrier had rather infrequent call to engage in any postal activities as hardly any humans every sent physical mail anymore. The trio spent so much time together staring out of the window that local residents started calling them the ‘mane three’. And of course all three were experts at spotting any passer by that looked even remotely likely to deposit something in the mailbox or coming into the post office.
 
"I think we have a live one!" said Germain. He pressed his forehead to the glass window, cupping his hands around his upper face to cut out the glare of the post office lights.
 
"Are you sure?" asked Sharmane. There had been several false alarms of late, and truth be told, the postmistress was a sensitive soul who did not easily bear the bitter brunt of disappointment, a feeling she felt compelled to share voluably with anyone or anypony within earshot.
 
"Oh, yeah! He's got a letter in his hand, and he's making a beeline towards the mailbox." Germain kept adjusting his stance, trying to get a better view. The constant movement of his forehead left smudges on the plate glass window.
 
The other two took their places at the window, Drop Box fluttering high, and the somewhat diminutive Sharmane stepping on a footstool so she could see over the window sill. Beyond the top of the bright red and blue postbox they spied a small black bowler hat and the tips of two pale pink ears approach and come to a stop.
 
“He’s stopped in front of the box: first base!” cried Drop Box, initiating their ‘letter drop’ ritual.
 
“Yes...” Sharmane’s voice grew husky. “Yes... He’s assumed the position. Second base!” White gloved knuckles grasped the handle on top of the box. “We have contact: third base.”  A black suited elbow appeared and rose up the box’s left side. “He’s putting it in and... ” There was an audible ‘clang’ sound. “YES! Home run!” shouted the postmistress. The three rushed back behind the counter to find out where the letter was going.
 
Inside the mail box, the letter fell onto the active nanite surface at its bottom. The letter was instantly disassembled molecule by molecule and it’s pattern stored. A program analyzed the pattern on its now virtual surface, reading the intended address, and transferring the electronic packet to the post office nearest its destination for reconstitution and delivery. Behind the counter of the Tucson AZ post office Sharmane read out the destination on the mail box’s control console. “It’s going... next door?”
 
She looked at the other two of the mane three, her eyes bugging out and her jaw hanging loose. All three pairs of eyes stared at the replicator”s output chute. The device turned itself on, hummed for a moment, and spat out a molecularly identical copy of the letter that had just been desctructively scanned in the mail box outside.
 
“Next door!?” said Drop Box. “Why didn’t he just bring it there himself?”
 
Sharmane and Germain looked at each other wisely. The postmistress was happy whenever she got a chance to instruct the innocent Equestrian mare about the intricacies of human culture. She turned to Drop Box. “Droppy dear, only one type of human would deliberately send a letter via the postal office to a local address, someone who wants an official record of the letter to exist. That man over there...” she pointed at the receding back of the departing human in his dark colored suit and bowler hat, “... is a lawyer!”
 
Drop Box backed away from the replicator and sat hard on her haunches, eyes wide and ears flicking back and forth in alarm. Germain placed a comforting hand on her withers. “Don’t worry, this is human mail,” he said. “You won’t have to touch it. Delivering it’s my job.” They stared down at the letter as it lay in the aseptically clean replicator output bin. Germain’s face grew grim with resolve. “I’d better go get the rubber gloves.”
 



 
Germain walked pass the reinforced bulletproof three-inch thick glass into the bright shiny reception hall of the Conversion Bureau. He had passed it thousands of times and glimpsed the pink pony usually seated at the desk. Now he stood inside. And she’s here! he thought. His heart beat faster. His palms sweated in their rubber gloves and his mouth became dry. Slowly, he approached the preoccupied pony. He could hear her typing away at keyboard. As he peeked around the vid-screen hiding most of the pink mare, he noticed a bunch of chopsticks floating in the air above a keyboard. Each chopstick had a letter drawn by marker on its larger tip. They were glowing faintly and hitting the keys in a ghostly parody of someone typing.
 
The pink unicorn squinted at a second vid-window that popped up with a picture of Germain and some text. Then she squinted while looking up at him, her horn glowing with the same colour aura as the chopsticks. “What do you want? You’re not scheduled for conversion, er, Germy something-or-other.”
 
“Uh, that’s Germain,” he smiled shyly, “from the post office next door. I have a certified letter to deliver to Dr. Evelyn Carr.” He leaned over the counter, placing his face ever closer to the pony’s. “Er, can you bring me to her, miss...”
 
She craned her neck to take a closer look at this human, her muzzle almost touching his nose. He stared into her eyes, and she stared back into his.
 
”No,” she said perfunctorily and went back to her typing. He noticed a nameplate on her desk. It read “Rosy Rivet”. He swallowed and stood his ground. After a moment she squinted and looked at him again. “Why are you still here, Germy?”
 
“Because I have to deliver the mail, Rosy. May I call you Rosy?” he asked. She looked at him for another long moment.
 
“No,” she repeated. “And you’re not going away unless you deliver that envelop, are you?” He shook his head. She sighed and hoped off the secretary chair in which she had been sitting, all four legs on the large bottom cushion. “Okay, let’s get this over with. Follow me.” Germain followed the pink tail swaying back and forth into the conversion bureau.
 
“Dr. Carr should be in her office next to the conversion room. Please wait here while I go get her.” She indicated a spot next to what looked like the entrance to a cafeteria area. It was blocked with yellow biohazard tape held up by a chair. He decided to sit in the conveniently placed piece of furniture, as all the other chairs were located in the taped-off area. As he sat down he read a hastily scrawled sign taped to the wall. “Temporary kitchen and dining area ->”. The arrow part was done in hot pink.
 
The pink mare reappeared a moment later with an older woman holding a hair brush. She wore a white smock, perfectly coiffed hair, and a very annoyed expression. Germain looked again at the pony. “Hand it over,” said the human, noting the direction of Germain’s gaze. She leaned over and whispered in Rosy’s ear. “This boy is practically drooling over you!”
 
The pink mare whispered back into Dr. Carr’s ear. “Yeah. And he’s cute for a human to boot!”
 
“Oh. Is that so?” Dr. Carr straightened up. She examined the postman more closely.
 
Germain stood nervously and projected an authentication vid-window just below her face, where it wouldn’t block his view of Rosy. “Uh, you have to sign for it first.” He watched as the doctor frowned but then complied. He handed her the envelope, and then took off the rubber gloves. This time it was the Doctor who squinted at him.
 
“Why were you wearing glo...” she started to ask as she read the sender information, and then froze mid word. Her eyes grew wide. Her brush dropped to the floor, released by suddenly nerveless fingers.
 
“L... l... l... lawyers!” said Dr. Carr. Rosy Rivet started as if she’d seen the world’s biggest spider, and then galloped down the hall in the opposite direction, her mane and tail flying behind her. Germain watched until she was out of sight.
 
Dr. Carr expression literally stared daggers at Germain, who backed away raising his arms in a defensive position. “I don’t write the mail, I only deliver it!” he pleaded in a high-pitched voice.
 
“The Highly Litigious Frenchmen!” said Dr. Carr in a funereal tone. “If only it was the other HLF.” She turned and strode down the hall towards the ‘Temporary Kitchen and Dining Area’. On the way she began to shout. “Vladdy Mare! All muffins are to immediately be removed from the premises and you are only to bake croissants until further orders.” At the end of the hall she turned around and looked at Germain once more. Her eyes narrowed in furry. She turned again and disappeared into the kitchen.
 
Germain walked back to the entrance. When he saw no sign of Rosy Rivet he sighed. At her desk he spotted a note pad and various colored ballpoint pens. He got a sudden inspiration. On the notepad he wrote: “Dear Rosy, I really like you. Would you like to have coffee, or hay, or whatever together sometime? If so, please call me.” He signed it ‘Germy’, just for luck, and wrote down his phone number. He walked out the door and back to the Post Office whistling a happy tune.
 



 
Dr. Evelyn Carr paced backed and forth in her office. As it wasn't very big this meant walking three steps, turning around, and walking back the same three steps, rinse, repeat.
 
Rosy occupied her office chair behind the desk as the guest chairs had been stacked and moved aside to clear a path for pacing. The pink pony was no longer shivering, as she had been when Evelyn found her hiding under her bed. But every few minutes she would gasp and hyperventilate when she forgot to breath for a minute. There was a partly crumpled paper bag on the desk to deal with the episodes as they arose.
 
"Without a doubt they will come here tomorrow to check up on us," said the human. From behind the desk there was a muffled "Eep!" Followed by the sound a paper bag being applied to a pony's muzzle.
 
"We have to guarantee there are absolutely no muffins in the Conversion Bureau, anywhere." Evelyn looked at Rosy. "And I know everybody and everypony has personal muffin stashes to tide them through the rest of the week.
 
Rosy's eyes, already wide with fright grew bigger as the implications of Dr. Carr's words sunk in. She put down the paper bag. "But Doctor, we need those muffins! How else is anypony going to survive until next Muffin Day?"
 
"This is an emergency situation, Rosy. For the next weeks we'll have to go get our muffins at either of the two Starbucks across the street. I know it will be a pain, but extreme emergencies call for extreme measures. The real problem will be to get folks to give up their hidden muffins before the lawy..." Evelyn was interrupted by another "Eep!" followed by the sound of breathing into a paper bag. "Er, before those people get here tomorrow." She looked at the panicky pony sitting in her chair with steely resolve. "Rosy. Call an all staff meeting in fifteen minutes." She looked at herself in the mirror behind her closed office door. "Better make that thirty minutes. I need to go brush my hair." She strode purposefully out of the office.
 
Rosy waited until she shut the door behind her. She waited a minute to make sure her boss hadn't forgotten something and decided to return. When she felt it was safe, she concentrated with her horn and used magic to manipulate a series of wooden sliders hidden inside her boss's desk. A door popped open, revealing a large Tupperware box. She levitated it out of the hidden compartment and shut the door. Opening the box, she revealed the icing and sprinkles covered shapes of a dozen muffins.
 
With a tear in her eye she observed as the first muffin rose from the container and approached her muzzle. Teeth flashed and nothing remained but a few crumbs floating in the air. She sucked those into her mouth as well, chewing thoughtfully. She swallowed. "One down, eleven to go." She shed another tear as the next muffin flew towards its doom, and somehow screeched to a stop in mid air. She had a sudden idea. She put the cover back on her muffin stash, and looking first left then right, snuck stealthily out of Dr. Car’s office.
 



 
“So we’re supposed to get rid of all our muffins before tomorrow morning?” asked the Timmies in stereo. There was general grumbling amongst the gathered staff.
 
“Yes,” replied Dr. Carr with a confident smile. “I’m sure no staff member here wants our bureau to be placed in a compromised position via the HLF and their lawyers.” There were several ‘Eeps’ in the pony vocal range and a staccato sound of hooves on linoleum as another pony galloped from the room.
 
“And we have to go all the way across the street if we want to eat even those boring Starbucks muffins” added Vladdy Puddin with a sour expression on her face.
 
“Yes. So I am asking all staff to clear out your muffin stashes immediately. Please, either bring them home or throw them out. We have to be muffin-free by nine am tomorrow.” Almost the entire staff tried to exit the hall at the same time. The ponies, being faster, were the first to jam into the two exits. Egress came to a virtual standstill until Evelyn went to one exit to act as a traffic cop, while Rosy went to the other. Soon, the room was empty. Dr. Carr noticed a smug look on Rosy’s face.
 
“What about you, Rosy? Aren’t you going to get your stash? I know you have one.
 
Rosy’s smile grew mischievous. “Oh, I’ve already taken care of my muffins and have them safe but nearby. No trips to either Starbuck’s for me.”
 
“However did you manage that?” asked Evelyn.
 
“Oh, you’d be amazed what a little kiss can do,” said the mare. She winked and strode out of the room with an air of confidence.
 



 
In the Tucson Post Office, Germain’s eyes seemed to gaze into the distance, a vacuous smile on his face. In his hands was a white Tupperware box chock full of muffins, and kisses. He sighed and stared dreamily off into space.
 



 
It was a bright, summer morning. The sun shone, birds sang, fluffy white clouds were being herded across the sky by colorful pegasi. Another beautiful day one the island of Tuki Tuki. Dr. Carr chuckled as she entered the Conversion Bureau, glad to see Rosy at her desk on time while her good friend, the little grey Pegasus mare from Ponyville, happily chomped on a muff…
 
Evelyn stumbled to a halt. “Where. Did. You. Get. That. Muffin?” she asked, in a very, very low voice.
 
The Equestrian smiled. “G’morning doctor! I brought it with me for breakfast.” She popped the last bit into her mouth, a chewed with a blissful expression on her face.
 
“Oh.” Evelyn noticed her reflection in the plate glass window and began adjusting her hair. “Just making sure no one or nopony brings any in, would you please, Rosy?”
 
“Oh, they don’t need to, anyways,” said Derpy Hooves.
 
Evelyn felt something strange in the pit of her stomach. “And why not, Miss Hooves?” she asked.
 
“Beeeecauuuuse…” Derpy leaned in close as if she was telling Dr. Carr a big secret, “there’s forty two muffins in the bureau right now.”
 
Evelyn saw Rosy’s ears droop suddenly, and her eyes get as big as saucers.
 
“And how do you know this, Derpy dear?” asked Evelyn in her sweetest voice.
 
“I can smell them. Can’t you?” asked the grey Pegasus looking perplexed.
 
Evelyn looked sternly at Rosy behind her. The pink unicorn put both forehooves over her muzzle and shook her head back and forth. The human got the picture. She put on her best smile and turned back to the blond pegasus.
 
“Derpy, sweety, I have a very important mission for you. If you can find all those forty two muffins and take them away from the conversion bureau, not only will I let you eat them, but I will personally shampoo, dry, brush and braid your mane into the most glorious hairdo a pegasus has ever sported. Do we have a deal, sweety?”
 
Derpy nodded emphatically, saluted and flew off into the Conversion Bureau. Almost immediately cries of protest, angry shouts and miserable sobs began to come from every corner of the bureau. Evelyn smiled as if the cacophony was music to her ears. I did warn them, she thought. She again felt peace settle over her midriff.
 
“You see, Rosy. That is how we manage a big operation like the Tucson Arizona Conversion Bureau.” When there was no reply Evelyn turned back towards the desk. Rosy was gone. That mare always disappears at the first sign of trouble…
 
Evelyn’s stomach when into double-time. She turned around slowly to face the Bureau entrance. There stood a little man in a black suite, white gloves, and a Bowler hat. He bowed.
 
“Blacques Jacques Laracques, at your service. Doctor Carr, I presume?” said the head of the Highly Litigious Frenchmen.
 



 
Rosy burst into the Post Office and literally jumped into Germain’s arms. As far as humans went, Germain was not the largest specimen around, and Equestrian ponies being quite solid were heavier than they looked. As happy as he was to have the object of his affections in such intimate proximity, he knew he couldn’t keep standing for much longer. He carefully shuffled over to the staff couch and sat down with Rosy’s haunches on his lap, her forehooves around his neck and her lovely pink face mere inches from his. Naturally he misconstrued the circumstances and puckered up.
 
“Germy, this is no time for kissing!” said Rosy.
 
Germain felt his heart beat sideways in disappointment. “So what time is it then?” his voice squeaked embarrassingly.
 
“It’s time to rescue the Conversion Bureau from… lawyers,” she said with a frisson of terrible, yet  tremendously kawai, dread.
 
Germain did his best to try to think, although it was really hard in the present circumstances. “The letter from yesterday?” he asked?
 
“Yes!” she cried, and lay her lovely muzzle on his shoulder.
 
“Who is it?” he asked, placing a hand reassuringly on her supple withers.
 
“The HLF,” she said. “The one with lawyers, not the one with guns.” She heaved a sob that spoke to Germain’s very soul.
 
“Oh. That’s bad,” he said.
 
“Very bad!” she added, and wiped her tears on his shirt.
 
“Well there’s only one thing to do then,” he said with determination in his voice.
 
“And what’s that?” asked the mare, rubbing her huge eyes with her fetlocks.
 
“Call in the PER,” said Germain.
 



 
Evelyn watched in dread as the attorney approach.
 
“After my letter I presume there aren’t any offensive faux-pastries left on these premises.” His smile was that of a predator cornering its prey.
 
“Oh, no. We’ve gotten rid of them all,” said Evelyn meekly.
 
“Really now? Then you wouldn’t mind if I look around then?” he asked, his expression never wavering in the least.
 
“No. Of course not! Please make yourself at home.” The sounds of chaos in the bureau seemed to have died down. Evelyn hoped it was a good sign.
 
The solicitor walked up to the desk and lifted his briefcase onto it. He opened both clasps with a loud snap and extracted a device that looked just like a magic wand. He held it up to Evelyn with an amused grin. “This is a muffin detector. It can also find other non-flaky pastries. Isn’t it just delightful?” He cackled evilly.
 
“Yes, I… guess,” replied Evelyn as two elephants engaged in the pachydermal equivalent of Sumo wrestling in her stomach.
 
The little lawyer strode purposefully into the Conversion Bureau.
 



 
Germain spoke on the phone. “You said you know a guy, who knows a guy, who knows a guy who’s a member of the PER.” He paused a moment. “Yes, that Germain, the one who works at the post office.” He paused as he listened for a moment. “Yes it’s an emergency! Have him come the post office right now.” He hung up the phone.
 
Trying to look cool and in control he turned back to Rosy who was nibbling the tip of a hoof. “Do you think they’ll be here in time?” she asked, raising the nibbled hoof to her forehead dramatically.
 
“Sure, they’ll probably be her in… no time at all.” He actually had no idea when the PER member would arrive, as he hadn’t asked. He had a sudden inspiration and sat back done on the sofa next to Rosy, putting an arm around her reassuringly. “We can wait here together.” He smiled and the mare snuggled in close. He bent his neck to place his face nearer to hers when he heard someone come into the post office. A serious looking stallion stood at the door, carrying an egg-shaped object.
 
“Did somepony call for the PER?”
 
“Oh Germy they’re here! Quick let’s get to the Bureau,” said Rosy, jumping off the couch.
 
Germain stared at the empty spot where second previous the prettiest mare he’d ever seen had been cuddled up to him.
 
“Yes, let’s,” he said in resignation and got up to leave.
 



 
Almost home free! thought Evelyn. The lawyer had been all over the bureau, poking his stick into every little crack and recess he could find. With each failure his expression became grimmer, until it now was a veritable sneer.
 
“They’re here. I know they are. And when I find them, I will shut you down.” With an evil glare he practically ran over to the closed area of the Bureau and, ducking under the yellow biohazard tape, ran inside. Evelyn followed him in.
 
“We’re not supposed to come in here!” said Evelyn. “It’s dangerous!”
 
“Dangerous, and the ideal place to hide the evidence of your crimes,” accused Laracques.
 
From inside the kitchen, Dr. Carr heard munching, lip smacking and slurping noises, just like a pony messily eating muffins. The HLF leader smiled and pointed his stick at the recently repaired door to the kitchen. The tip of the stick glowed red. “AHA!” he shouted, and pushed the door open. Evelyn ran into the kitchen, dreading the worst. And she found it.
 
Between the furniture overturned in the recent muffin fight, a grey pegasus mare sat happily eating from a large pile of muffins stacked into a pyramid before her. Laracques poked his stick into the pile and it began to emit a piercing alarm. With a death’s head grin, he turned to Dr. Carr and pointed at the pyramid with the still wailing stick. “Muffins!” He cackled with glee, and more elephants joined the wrestling match in Evelyn’s stomach with every chortle.
 
Derpy looked up in alarm. “Does this mean I don’t get a shampoo?” She burped, and reached for another muffin.
 
“No it doesn’t!” said a new voice at the kitchen entrance. A dark colored unicorn stallion strode in, an egg shaped object floating in front of him.
 
“I’m with PER, and take this Laracques!” Telekinetically he projected the egg with force so that it shattered on the barrister’s forehead, just below his Bowler hat.
 



 
The egg cracked open, and a business card and some storage chips fell out. Laracques bent to pick them up. He squinted at the card and read aloud.
 
“Dark Eminence, leader of Pastry Emancipation and Restauration, former attorney general of the state of Arizona, Amicus Curae of the WorldGov Western AmeriZone Tribunal, and Vice President of the Tucson Better Business Bureau.”
 
“Your Muffin bashing days are over, Laracques,” said Dark Eminence. “Cease and desist in any further actions towards the Conversion Bureaus, or face the wrath of PER and our highly trained attorneys. On those chips you’ll find an infringement of business injunction, a court pre-ruling on the illegality of the HLF’s claims of nutritional insufficiency and a report from the former Surgeon General of the United States of America on the deleterious health effects of eating a croissant each day.”
 
The man and pony stared daggers at each other. Finally Laracques put his hand to his head and doffed his Bowler hat. He then proceeded out of the kitchen. He stopped at the door and squinted at Dark Eminence. “We will stop this muffin invasion. Mark my words, pony. We aren’t done yet!” He turned and tried to slam the door. As it was a kitchen door it just swung in and back out, striking him in the rump. He left the Conversion Bureau in a huff.
 
“It looks as if my work here is done.” With a smile Dark Eminence presented Evelyn a business card. Whistling an unfamiliar tune, he slowly clip-clopped away.
 
Derpy popped another muffin into her mouth and chewed happily. Evelyn exited the kitchen. In the hallway beyond the taped-off area, almost all the staff had come out anxious as to the consequences of the mysterious strangers’ visit.
 
“The muffin embargo is over!” Evelyn smiled, the staff cheered. And then most of them ran into the kitchen to rescue what muffins they could from the little grey pegasus.
 
Germain and Rosy were left standing with Dr. Carr. “Germy, I’ll want my box of muffins back,” said Rosy. The young postman looked crestfallen. When she noticed the look Rosy nuzzled his elbow. “We can eat the muffins together here at the bureau. Is that okay with you?”
 
“Sure,” said Germain, his smile returning “That would be really nice.” The two walked back out to the reception dangerously close to each other.
 
“Ah youth,” said Evelyn to no-one in particular. “I hope nobody gives these two a hard time.” With a warm feeling in her stomach she went back to her office. Her hair needed a good brushing after all this excitement.
 
After she left two identical foal heads stuck up from where they had been hiding behind stacked tables and chairs. The Timmies looked at each other and exclaimed simultaneously, “Do you think she meant us?” They grinned wickedly, and snuck off towards the bureau reception area. Pony-human pairs could be such fun!