//------------------------------// // Diplomatic Immunity // Story: Lyra Heartstrings v. Republic of Terra // by PegasusKlondike //------------------------------// Aaron walked down one of the many residential streets of Lazarus, thumbs jammed into his pockets, an easy swagger to his step, and an incomprehensible hum escaping his lips. He had nothing really scheduled for the day; Lyra had disappeared for the convention of her court case early that morning, his girlfriend was working on a case of her own, and all his little agar plate cultures of human and pony gastrointestinal micro-flora seemed to be getting along just fine. Just as he had hypothesized they would. How could they not, considering that most of them seemed to be related strains of bacteria! The man snapped back to mindfulness for a moment, wondering what tune he had been humming to himself. It wasn't something that he had ever really heard or learned before, yet it came so easily that he doubted that it was simply improvised by a bored mind. Thinking for a moment about that tune, the only memories he could conjure of it brought images of swaying banks of papyrus reeds, a field of delicate shoots pushing through the hard soil by the riverside, and the smile of an olive-skinned woman as she welcomed him home from a long day toiling in the fields. "Was I just humming something from ancient Egypt?" he wondered aloud. Without another thought about the subject, he shrugged it off and kept on meandering down the streets of Lazarus. It wasn't like the memories of humanity's past assaulted him every moment of the day, they only seeped in when he let his guard down. But he had to wonder what was the real cause of it all; his psionic-symbiosis with the spirit of a deity, or his magical talents of speaking with the souls of those who had passed on. Either way, he wouldn't let it overwhelm him. And he especially wouldn't let it hurt the people around him. If anything, he would use it to help people as much as he could. Which is why he had decided to check in on a friend today, to see if he needed any help or information to assist in his current endeavor. Which, by all reports, was not going according to either plan or fitting of its allotted schedule. And the powers-that-be had decided that maybe he should take a whack at trying to get the project moving along. He passed through the marketplace along his way to the industrial quarter, and almost immediately he noticed things were off, even more so than usual. The normally happy-go-lucky ponies stood in groups, holding up their signs and their banners, shouting about crimes against equality that occurred within the city. The man gave a wide berth to that group of ponies, not wanting to be seen publicly as a supporter, even as much as he was a supporter of ponies getting the same rights as human beings. He just had someplace to be right now. Walking along the sidewalk, carelessly perusing the store windows for anything that might tickle his fancy, his walk was interrupted by another display of the growing movement. And at the same time, the growing response to the pony movement. A pair of military police charged past Aaron into a small cafe, making him stumble back when they nearly knocked him over. Aaron stopped, peering into the window to see what the commotion was. Inside, a pair of earth ponies sat defiantly at a table, staring up at the Terran MPs who had been called to remove them. Over behind the counter, the shop's owner stood with her arms folded, a scowl adorning her face as she waited for the guards to remove the creatures from her premises. "We're not moving an inch until we get our drinks," the stallion of the pair said firmly to the soldier. The MP reached to his belt, whipping out a pair of handcuffs and placing his free hand on a holstered stun gun. "Sir, this establishment is humans-only. Now, you need to respect the wishes of the owner, and leave!" "I'll leave after my wife and I get our sodas," said the stallion, staring the MP right in the eye. He stayed firm, and he stared back at the MP with the determination of one who fought for what they believed. Aaron grinned to himself, knowing that the stallion and the mare had come here with quenching their thirst as the last thing on their minds. They'd come here as a challenge. They had laid down their gauntlet, and now it was the guard's turn to make his move. The MP forcefully grabbed the stallion's foreleg, slapping a cuff around his hoof and quickly spouting out his severely abridged Miranda Rights. The stallion struggled against his forceful arrest, but the guard managed to get the other shackle around his other hoof, forcing the pony down to the floor, putting his knee between the pony's shoulders. The other guard dealt just as roughly with the mare, though she complied as well as she could. A few moments after the scuffle had begun, and both of the earth ponies were bodily hauled from the cafe while the guards who had taken them grumbled and groaned about how many times they had encountered this very scene several times already. Aaron stood back, shaking his head in shame at the actions of the MPs and the store owner. Though it was their inalienable right to refuse service to whomever they pleased or it was simply their job, he couldn't help but feel that they weren't handling this like civilized people should. "It'll all pay off," he murmured to himself. "All roads have their bumps, and the road to peace and stability is a bone-jarring one." Again he paused, wondering whether that expression had been his own, or whether it had been a snippet from another time and place, spoken by a person wholly separate than himself. How could he be sure? These memory infiltrations were starting to bother him in a bad way. And for a moment, he felt like he should talk to a doctor, a psychiatrist, or maybe even a wizard. Once again, he shook off the chilling feeling of wondering what parts of his mind were actually his own. But there was always one thing that chased off these weird occurrences of deja-vu, and he slipped the ear buds of his old music player into his ear, playing a couple songs from his own lifetime. The ghosts of mankind's achievements and its sins fled before the rock and roll onslaught of Robert Plant, Gene Simmons, and Trent Reznor. And after that, the jaunt through the market seemed to melt away into a nice, music filled little sojourn. And he could hardly believe that he only got time for four songs before he almost passed by the building where he needed to be. Lazarus' industrial district loomed all around him, and even with his ear buds in, Aaron could tell that just like with the marketplace, not all was well within the center of industry. Over by the famed Slagworks, a picket-line of sign toting diamond dogs all blocked the entrance to the factory, led by a young man whose arm was in a sling. And by the loading docks of the steel factory, mountains of ore shipments piled up with nobody to smelt them. And barely visible through his office window across the street, Aaron could see Mr Mackenzie staring at the unionized hounds, lightly banging his head on the glass of the window over and over again. How the hell did he not see this coming? Aaron thought to himself. Until someone had actually had the pity to pay them, the Stoneclaws had been little more than slaves in the factory, with the only benefit of their considerable labor being a cheap, communal, government house on the edge of the city and a small stipend of food every week. "Good for them," he concluded, ending his train of thought. And finally, he came to it. The steam engine workshop, where Terra's true workhorses came for maintenance and repairs. And where a friend of his was designing and building an engine that he said would outdo all the others in terms of performance. Of course, his obsession with making the perfect engine was infringing on his actual duties. He entered the grimy machine shop through the open garage-style door, and almost immediately he ran into something that surprised and confused him. "Woah," he said as he bumped into an earth pony mare carrying a large crescent wrench in her teeth. "Sorry ma'am." "No big deal, sir," she replied, setting down her burden. "Can I help you with something?" "Yes you can, actually. I'm looking for Chief Engineer Mattson, is he around?" Aaron asked the mare as she wiped off as much grease from her face as she could with a filthy rag. She nodded heartily. "Yeah, I'll get him. HEY BOSS!" she shouted across the shop. "Someone's here to see you! I think it might be that auditor that you were warning us about!" A young man appeared atop the partially completed steam engine in the middle of the shop, dressed in a welder's mask, a flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and a healthy sheen of machine shop grime. "Damn it, Toola Roola! I said to discreetly warn me if he showed up! There goes the entire escape plan!" Rich stopped himself, taking off his welder's mask and tossing it off to the side. Spying nobody but Mr Patterson, he cracked a wide grin. "Ah, he's not for our money." Rich Mattson hopped down from the top of his huge steam engine, tossing out a hand in greeting. "How's your hammer hangin', Patterson?" Aaron clasped the engineer's hand firmly. "Alright. Seen better times, but trust me, I've seen a hell of a lot worse than this. How you been, Rich? Last time I saw you, you were headed up north with a quarter of the nation's dynamite." "Been good," the engineer replied. "So, what brings you to my neck of the woods?" "Well, I was in Lazarus for a few weeks, thought I should check in on a few friends, make sure things stay chipper around here. Besides, the brass think that I might be able to help out around the shop somehow." Rich scoffed at that, folding his arms across his chest. "Pfft, they've been on me for weeks now about finishing up my new engine." A grin crossed the engineer's face, and looked over to his almost finished steam engine. "So what do you think?" he asked the biologist, indicating his most recent project. Aaron stared at it for a moment, cocking an eyebrow and tapping his chin in thought. "I got it, it's your next big plan to catch the roadrunner!" Rich stared incredulously at Aaron. "Are you saying that this fine piece of machinery looks like it will explode into a million pieces after falling off some random cliff?" Aaron bit his lip, his eyes shifting around, looking for an escape. ".... Maybe." “Well, catching the roadrunner is NOT this thing’s job, Patterson. Pulling heavy ore trains is.” replied Richard with a twinkle in his eye. This was something he dearly enjoyed talking about. “You see, this is what I call a 90 ton mike. I built this off a pattern in a book. I have but I made changes to it that make it even better than the original. So no, it’s not built to catch the roadrunner.” “Eh,” Aaron replied. “I still say that this looks like something that the coyote built out of an Acme crate. As you were saying?” “There is a ton of stuff left to put on, but most of it is complete. The test fire of the boiler is to happen in... hey Toola! When did I set the test fire for?!” shouted the loud man. She returned fire from across the shop, “3 DAYS!” Rich turned back to Aaron. “There ya have it, in three days smoke will be shooting out of the stack and once the pressure is up I can test everything,” he said with a giant grin “That’s good,” Aaron replied, nodding his head but completely out of his league. “But the brass has been saying that you were supposed to be in Canada two weeks ago. They just want you to use the other engines and plow north.” “Ah, I see. That's not possible. If I used the engines I would need all of them. Whats gonna haul all your passenger trains then?” Aaron smiled at that, chuckling at the futility of it all. “Heh, typical politicians, wanting things that can’t be done. But I'm not really here for the technicals, I'm here to make sure things go smoothly between us and the northern nations. I know for a fact that the Crystals won’t mind our company up north, but somebody else might have something to say.” “As far as I know there aren't anymore... beings up there that we have to watch out for. Somethin’ you’re not tellin’ me?” said Rich, arching an eyebrow. Aaron sheepishly rubbed his neck. “Well, technically the whole north is basically unincorporated wilderness. Nobody owns any of it, except for the crystal ponies. It’s the people who aren't associated with any nation that are my concern. I mean, there’s gryphon bandit clans that were politically exiled by King Osgul, then there’s some of the nobles of the Crystal Empire trying to restake their claims on old holds, and then once we get far enough, then we have to start worrying about caribou and trolls! We could play it safer by skirting closer to the outer territories of the Crystal Empire, but that would add so much more length to the track. Or, if we choose to just rough it out in the sticks, we’d have to have full companies of soldiers patrolling the tracks twenty-four seven. And since there’s going to be thousands of miles of tracks, that’s a logistical nightmare!” “More track means more maintenance which means more money. Both you and me know that this country doesn't have the cash to throw at that. But, if we could somehow get some more help from the ponies with their magic acts and what not, we might be able to hold the tracks together with no work at all. But then comes the infrastructure to take care of the engines which takes time to build.” Rich took a breather after his long moment of rattling. The biologist thought for a moment, mentally crunching some numbers and wondering if it was possible. “Can your engines run on charcoal?” “They can, but not near as efficiently as good old coal. Coal burns WAY hotter than anything else out there, other than oil, which we don't have,” stated the engineer “Damn,” Aaron softly swore. “After a certain latitude, it all becomes pine trees anyways. So that’s out of the question. Shit, maybe we will have to increase the coal imports. The Senate is going to hate me for even suggesting that. Wait a second, how about peat? Once you chisel off the permafrost, most of the tundra is peat bogs. The crystal ponies on the fringes of the Empire and a lot of the northern miners cut peat in the summer to warm their homes.” Rich shrugged his shoulders. “It could work, but just like charcoal it doesn’t burn nearly as hot. Plus we’d have to stockpile so much of the stuff that it would take a whole company of workers just to cut enough. Hey, how much of the Northwest belongs to our crystal pals?” questioned the puzzled engineman. “Not much of it. Pretty much nobody owns that. Just more wilderness that a few tribal creatures live in.” Rich put a hand to his chin and gently tugged on his scruff, “Well, if I remember correctly there are coal mines stuffed into the rockies of British Columbia. If we can work our way there we just might be able to make it and gain another resource while we are at it.” “But then we run into the problem of maintaining a mine in wild territory as well as laying all the tracks just to get there, and I know the government jerks won't pay for something like that unless that have some kind of insurance. Ugh,” the other man groaned. “This is all getting too complex, how about we go get a frosty cold one while we think this over?” “I think that's a great idea! Toola, you know what needs to be done right?” shouted Richard “Install the superheater flues and the elements!” she replied as she lugged over a bundle of pipes with another pony “CORRECT! I’ll make a master steam mechanic out of you yet!” The two men exited through the door of the mechanic shop, walking down the streets of the industrial district. “So, what’s with the ponies? You leading the way as an equal opportunity employer?” “Damn right! Sure, they don’t have our dexterity, but they’re good workers and love to learn. In fact, I have noticed that they want to do this stuff more than anyone else! I think it’s because all the humans have seen the work of diesel and gas and hate the hard work of shoveling coal and tossing wood,” chuckled the young man “Tell me about it. My roommate here in Lazarus picked up on how to be her own lawyer in one night. Talk about efficient.” “The ponies continue to amaze me, Aaron. Their willingness to help is astounding.” he said with a smile, “Kinda reminds me of when I was young... well younger anyways.” Aaron rolled his eyes, shaking his head. "Don't start on the age confusion. Though it's been a while, biologically you're just a year older than when we were put under. Chronologically though, we're older than most of today's redwoods." The two men meandered through the dirty streets of the industrial district, idly chatting away the summer's heat, walking slowly despite both of their cravings for a cold beer. Their chatter wandered like their footsteps, ranging from the serious issue of begging Equestria to loan some more cash or coal to "Damn, look at that one! She deserves a passage in a Tijuana Bible." The two men wandered around the market for a little while, just talking the day away when they finally came to a place where they could wet their metaphorical whistles. But before Aaron could walk in the door of Abraham's Pub, Rich placed a hand on his shoulder to stop him from crossing the threshold. "Hey, you sure you want a drink here? I know this place down the street a ways, the beer's cheaper, and it's a pony joint to boot." Aaron shrugged, not knowing the reputation that Abraham's had for being the haunt of those people who would be more opposed to the plight of Terra's creature citizens. "Hey, we're already here, and it's on me." Rich shook his head and muttered to himself as the other man blazed the trail into possibly hostile territory. Walking into the bar proper, the odd pair of the engineer and the mage drew a few curious looks, but seeing nothing but a pair of men with sweat on their brows, they turned back to their cold glasses and their low conversations. The mage sat cheerily down at the bar, swiveling in his stool to face the hefty barkeeper. Rich reluctantly took the seat next to him, feeling the disapproving and prying eyes of the other patrons glaring at his back. Lazarus' chief engineer had a reputation for being extremely good and giving to both ponies and the diamond dogs, and more than one person in the bar might have some unjustified feeling that because he gave a job to a pony, he deprived them of a job that they didn't want or need. It was the issue with illegal immigration in the twenty-first century all over again, except this time around the people taking those jobs were citizens. And Rich couldn't help but feel some of the same concern for poor, unwitting Aaron. The extreme conservatives of the city often spoke of him as a pariah or a devil walking around in what used to be an honest man's skin. If anything, Aaron was more at risk by coming in here than he was, but at least he had the threat of magic on his side. "Barkeep! Two pints, cold as you can get 'em!" said Aaron to the bartender. Two frosty mugs of amber ale slid in front of the mage, who greedily grabbed up his pint and drained away a quarter of it in a few gulps. Rich took a more careful drink from his, his eyes flicking over his shoulder to peer at the crowd behind him. Aaron slammed down his glass, letting out a satisfied sigh. "So, Rich, you a big hunter? Back in Canterlot, that one time when you, me, and McGoff all sat down for dinner with their Royal Majesties, you talked about heading out for some fresh venison." "Hunter? Yeah, I enjoy hunting as much as the next man, if not more," the engineer replied, still distracted by watching Aaron's back as well as his own. Aaron smiled, laughing at some joke that only he knew. "Then I have a treat for you! And maybe just a little more incentive to make ol' Prometheus back there in the shop chug on up north." Aaron grabbed a bar napkin, folding it into a tiny little square and pressing it into his flat open palm. Pressing his other hand on the folded napkin, he closed his hand into a fist and closed his eyes. A tingle entered the air, and a musical chiming that was a sign of magic sang from the green aura around Aaron's hand. Opening his eyes and finishing his spell, he unfolded the bar napkin and laid out a nearly perfect map of the Frozen North. "M'kay, here's the Crystal Empire, down here next to this beer stain." He placed his finger on the tiny nation of the crystal ponies. "And up here, all this is what used to be the Yukon, Nunavut, British Columbia, even Alaska, it's all this wonderfully empty wilderness. And you know what's up here? Only a safari hunter's dream come true!" Rich cocked an eyebrow, diverting his attention from the possible threat into genuine interest. "What do you mean by that? Alaska was already a safari hunter's dream." Truly it was, with the abundant populations of bears, moose, caribou, and dozens of other game species. "Now it's even better! Tell me Rich, have you ever been to the Chicago Field Museum? Or any museum of natural history for that matter?" "Where you going with this?" Aaron folded up his map, cupping his hands around the paper napkin and blowing a stream of his breath into it. The glow and chime of magic came again, and when he opened up his hands, the napkin had morphed into a little origami sculpture. A rather animated one of a tiny elephant. The small pachyderm trumpeted squeakily, lumbering down the bar. Aaron chuckled to himself. "You ever seen a woolly mammoth before?" Rich's jaw dropped and his eyes grew wide. "You've got to be joking me. You're saying that I can hunt my very own woolly mammoth?!" "Not just that, there's sabre-toothed tigers up there too. And don't forget the giant bears! The territory they call Snowreach is like a microcosm of the Pleistocene Era! And don't get me started on the monsters. Did you know that they have some kind of a pygmy dragon up there that breathes ice?" Rich slapped his hands over his ears. "Stop it! Stop it! Stop tempting me!" "No limits, no seasons! Hell, I might have to join you!" Aaron taunted. Rich removed his hands from his head, taking a drink from his glass. "Since when did clerics of nature gods have an interest in hunting?" Aaron scoffed, taking another slug from his beer. "You kidding me? Big game hunting is in my blood. My great grandfather John Henry Patterson killed the Man Eaters of Tsavo. And who could forget my great uncle Roger Patterson, who shot that famous footage of Bigfoot. Who, by the way, is very real," the man said smugly. "Any other famous Pattersons you want to claim you're related to while you're at it?" Rich asked, his voice carrying a tone laced with skepticism. Aaron thought for a moment, then shrugged. "Nope. Though the 'six degrees of separation' rule does back my claim. Well, nowadays its more like two degrees of separation." The two men let their guard down and continued to chatter about their nonsensical exploits and their outrageous claims. But over at a table not too far away, someone with a bone to pick was having a little too much to drink. Alex Sanders slammed down another shot of whiskey, his fourth so far, and wondered why things were so crappy in his life right now. His boss had placed him on probation after the Heartstrings scandal went public, he'd been confined to a dingy desk under two hundred feet of rock, and his house payment was way past due. And lastly, the girl of his dreams, (his current dreams at least) had been stolen away by some suave jerk. A few of his friends sat in the seat around him, big men who were steelworkers, a few farmers from the outskirts of the city, and even a couple of discharged soldiers. They understood him and why he was right to say 'no' to that damn pony when the rest of the government was condemning him for doing just that. Filling up a fifth shot, Alex shakily tried to drain it down, spilling a little bit in doing so. "Hey, slow it down, light weight. Happy hour isn't for another five hours," one of his farmer buddies commented. "Shut up, Gary," he snidely replied. When one of his other buddies tried to take the bottle and pour himself a drink, Alex batted his hand away and pulled the bottle closer. "What's up your ass?" his thirsty friend inquired. "None of your business, that's what." "Hey, we're your pals, you can tell us anything. And besides, if it's good enough, we're gonna tell everybody!" That jibe got a few laughs from the table, and Alex sneered at his friend who had said it. "Laugh it up, jerk-offs, it's not gonna make it better!" he barked. "Seriously though, what bug crawled up your ass and died this time?" his farmer friend reiterated. Alex hovered over his glass, wondering if it was really worth saying. "Some jerk stole my girl," he muttered. His compatriots nodded knowingly. "Ah, lady trouble. Gotcha." The table fell silent, each man awkwardly keeping a hand on his glass and shifting his eyes around. Until his steelworker friend decided that the issue needed to be pressed. "So, what are you gonna do about it?" "Do about it? What do you mean?" Alex asked. "I said what I meant. What. Are you. Going to. Do about it. You gonna kick this guy's ass? Show him who's boss around here. Sweep the lady off her feet with a show of machismo! Or are you just gonna let it chew up your insides and make you a pitiful, whiny little pussy?" Alex swayed around in his seat, having too much whiskey in him to argue. Looking down at his whiskey, he slugged the whole shot and slammed it down on the table. "I've got an ass to kick." His buddies clapped him on the shoulder, encouraging their shrimpy friend less out of a sense of compatriotism, and more out of a sense of boredom. It would be entertaining to watch Alex stumble around the streets of Lazarus, drunkenly trying to pick fights with guys quite possibly much bigger than himself. And as his "friends" they might chip in on his bail to bust him out of the drunk tank. Or maybe his hospital bill, if it went that far. All of his buddies took this as the chance to steal the bottle back, and they each took a hearty drink while Sanders busied himself by getting pumped to wander the streets of Lazarus, looking for either that jerk, or Anita. Whichever came first. And as the fates seemed to ordain, the fogged haze of his vision barely caught the familiar trim of Patterson's short brown hair, and the modest build of his body. Frankly, Aaron Patterson matched the description of about eighty percent of the skinny white-boy population of Old World America, but there are parts of the human brain that defy even the most drunken haze, parts that do not forget the sight of a rival male so easily. "Holy shit," Alex swore under his breath. "That's him!" His drinking buddies cocked their eyebrows, wondering what he meant by that, and warily eyeing the bottle of whiskey. Few of them knew the true power of gryphon whiskey, and more than one of them hoped to god that Alex was just rambling, and not hallucinating from the drink. "What are you talking about?" his soldier friend asked, gently placing a hand on Alex's shoulder. The ginger-haired social worker jabbed a shaky finger in the general direction of the bar. "That guy, right there! He stole my woman! And he made me look like a jackass in front of the whole office!" They all peered over at the bar, seeing that the only two men even remotely close to where Alex had pointed was the engineer and his scientist friend. The soldier, taking a sip from his drink, choked on the hard whiskey when he recognized the pair. "Woah! Alex, I think you might want to just let this one go. That guy, and I pray to Jesus that you're talking about the grease-monkey, not the lab-coat, is kind of... gifted." "Ah, whaddya mean? He looks like every other pissant jerk who's ever had his whole life handed to him on a goddamned plate. And whaddya mean, "lab-coat"? He's wearin' a goddamned Pink Floyd t-shirt!" the social worker ranted, cracking his knuckles and getting ready to stand up and walk over there. "Lab-coat, it's what Greenewell soldiers call the scientists, and since you are talking about him, I'm gonna have to give you some advice on this one: run like fuck, and forget that he ever hit on your girl. And pray that he doesn't turn you into a toad or some shit like that." Aaron's reputation as a mage was well known by the soldiers of Terra. And through the various channels of the rumor mill, hero imaging, and the fact that nothing seemed to be able to kill him, his image as a simple magic user had swelled far out of proportions. The rumor mill and the overactive imaginations of the bored soldiers of Lazarus had painted him as some kind of Merlin-esque wizard or a mighty warlock. After all, he did have a group of followers that were learning the ways of the arcane, and they had nothing to say about their teacher except what wonders he had shown them. And Lazarus' most popular radio show did say he was a necromancer. "Fuck that," Sanders replied. Standing woozily from his chair, he slapped himself on the cheek, hoping that the pain might clear his mind a little bit. Stumbling over to the bar, he took one final moment to gather himself. "... and that's how I came up with that crazy idea," Aaron finished, chuckling at the end his odd little story. Rich roared in laughter, slapping his heavy hand on the bar. "Damn! Who could have thought a mare could do that with a ladder!" The engineer's laughter became too infectious to quarantine, and though it was a fairly private and embarrassing story, it spread into Aaron, who could hardly contain himself. Slapping the bar, his body wracked with gleeful laughter and reminiscence, he didn't notice the drunken man approaching from behind. Alex simply stood there, at Aaron's back, wondering what the best way to go through this would be. Settling on a straightforward approach, he jabbed a finger into his rival's shoulder. Aaron swiveled around in his stool, a smile still swept across his face. "Hey, what's up! Can I help you?" "Yeah! I mean, no! I mean... who do you think you are!" Alex said, poking his finger into Aaron's chest. Aaron shrugged. "Well, thinking and knowing are two different things. I know that I am Dr Aaron Lewis Patterson, honorary First Lieutenant in the United States and Republic of Terra's Armed Forces. I am a diplomat, Ambassador to the Realm of Equestria, liaison and courtier in the courts of Princess Celestia and Princess Mi Amore Cadenza. I am a student of Twilight Sparkle, founder and teacher of the order of the druids, forger of the Singing Crystal. I am a friend of many, and an enemy of few. And most importantly, I am a Conduit of Mother Earth, at your service." And as an afterthought, Aaron poked a thumb over in the engineer's direction. "And this is Rich. I'm led to believe that he's a fairly decent guy." Rich tipped his nonexistent hat to the drunken social worker. Alex stared blankly at the mage, his dumb expression telling Aaron that he neither understood nor cared about any of his long list of titles and achievements. "Yeah, well you know what you are, you're a damn pissant, woman-stealing, asshole!" He grinned, hearing the emboldening cheers of his comrades from back at their table. "Woman-stealing?" the mage asked in confusion. He squinted at the drunkard, trying to remember where he recognized him from. "Wait, you're that guy who was hassling my girlfriend at the TSS." Aaron took a whiff of the man's breath, and he scrunched up his nose in disgust. "Maybe you should just go sit down for a few minutes, before you make a damn fool of yourself." Alex leaned into his face. "I'll sit down when you learn to stay away from my girl." Aaron smirked. "Your girl, huh? I didn't see your name on her. Believe me, I checked very thoroughly," he said, waggling his fingers in a suggestive way. The men around the bar had long since focused on the growing squabble, and they laughed at Aaron's comment. "Anita's a free woman, and she can choose whoever she wants to be with. And if a woman like her chooses to be with a man like me, then you'd better get used to it." Alex stumbled back a step, his face red with anger. Balling up a fist, he took a wild swing towards the mage's firmly set face. And he almost connected in a hit that surely would have taken out a tooth, but he found his fist firmly held within a calloused hand only inches from Aaron's face. "Now fellas," said Rich, "Let's not do anything we're gonna regret. Let's all just simmer down, and try to keep cool." Several chairs scooted out from various tables, and Rich glanced over at all the men getting ready to come to their comrade's aid. Rich let go of Alex's fist, and the social worker stumbled back a step, rubbing his hand and swearing under his breath. "Wooh, look at the big badass here, thinks he's fucking Mahatma Gandhi trying to bring peace! Why don't you get your greasy ass back under someone's car and replace some spark plugs!" Rich's eyes narrowed, and he slowly turned in his chair. He was stopped by Aaron's hand, and he glanced over to his friend. Aaron slowly shook his head. "He's not worth it." And with his hand on Rich's shoulder, Aaron could send a message another way. And besides, he has four pretty big friends back there, he said, the message ringing clear in Rich's mind. "Did you just....?" Rich asked curiously. The mage nodded slowly, and Rich sat back down in his chair, mystified by the show of telepathy. But Alex was still on top of the world, and his inhibitions were so far lowered by the whiskey coursing through his system that he had to continue his little show. "You know what? You can keep her! Everyone in the office knows she's a damn slut anyways." Aaron's fingers clenched down on the edge of the bar, and Rich could instantly see anger burn in his eyes. A person could insult a man to his heart's content, but insult his woman, and that's asking for a broken jaw. "You know, I heard she gives it away for free, suckin' and screwin' her way through boyfriend after boyfriend til the cash dries up or until it's not fun anymore." The social worker's friends really expected this to explode at any moment, and they stood at their buddy's back. But Rich was more concerned for their health and safety. As Aaron's anger grew, curls of smoke began to rise from the indentations that his now glowing fingers dug into the bar. Aaron reached into his pocket, and for a moment Rich believed he was going to whip out a magic wand and turn them all into toads or some other kind of undesirable swamp creature. But a grin grew on Aaron's face as he brought out a small mp3 player, magically linking with it, and drawing out a few chunks of information. Spinning around in his stool, Aaron aimed a glowing finger at the crowd. And as they all recoiled in fear, he fired his little bolt of magic, straight at the jukebox. The machine hummed to life, and began to spit out a certain song from the '60s. The crowd stared at the jukebox in confusion, completely distracted from the situation. "Is that.... Fortunate Son?" Alex asked, turning back to face Aaron. And met the mage's fist as it slammed into his nose. The social worker flew back into the arms of his buddies, a stream of fresh blood coming from his nose. Alex shook himself, touching a hand to his pouring face. Seeing the fresh blood on his fingers, he snarled at the mage who stood ready with fists ready. Alex shoved himself up and threw off his buddy's hands, woozily raising his dukes and taking a swing. Aaron slipped back a step, pressing his back to the bar, and the social worker's swing fell short of his face. The mage snapped out a shot, scoring another hit on the social worker's chin, and when Alex fell back, Aaron whipped out a foot and drove it straight into his stomach. Clutching his gut, his chin and face coated in a fresh stream of blood, Alex fell back between two of his comrades. The social worker slapped a hand over his profusely bleeding nose, and he screamed to his buddies, "What the fuck are you standing around for!? Kick his ass!" The soldier and the farmer glanced at one another, and they shrugged, each of them curling up a fist and charging into the breach. Aaron thought about breaking his personal code and using a quick bolt of magic to settle this all in a second; perhaps a broad spectrum paralyzer spell, or maybe an enchantment to make the floors either as sticky as spider's web, or slicker than ice. But his troubles were cut in half when Rich barreled into the fight, crashing into the soldier and wrapping his arms around the man's chest, lifting him from the floor and smashing him into the nearest table. And as if on some mysterious cue, the rest of the bar erupted into the brawl. Anyone who got even the slightest push felt the need to give his own push back tenfold, and it spread like wildfire through the establishment that had been quiet and peaceful less than a minute past. Push came to shove, and shove came to punch. And punch came to indiscriminate kicking and flailing. And once he had him pinned to the floor, Rich pelted the soldier with a series of quick punches, but took a heavy blow to his cheek in response. Aaron launched himself into the brawl once again, throwing a punch into his gut and staggering him back wards. Tougher than old oak roots, the farmer swung his considerable fist into the mage's ribs, brushing across them, and using the momentum to bring his elbow into Aaron's chin. Snarling at the farmer, Aaron grabbed the front of his shirt and headbutted his opponent on the forehead. The man crumpled in his arms, and Aaron tossed him over the bar, shattering dozens of bottles of rather expensive alcohol on display. Taking a moment, Aaron winced as he rubbed his throbbing forehead. "Shit, why did I think that was a good idea?" His reprieve was cut short by a chair sailing past his head, and he ducked to avoid catching too many splinters in his skull. Another brawler leaped into the mage's ring from behind, and he wrapped his arms around Aaron in a tight bear-hug. Aaron twisted and writhed, wriggling one of his arms free and elbowing his attacker in the ribs. The man grunted in pain, and after a shower of blows, his tight grip released, and Aaron spun around, taking him out with a solid hit on the chin. "Hey Rich! How you holding up!" Aaron shouted through the melee. The engineer ducked a right hook from his opponent, responding with a kick to his enemy's exposed knee that took him to the floor. "Doing good! Shit, on your left!" the engineer shouted back. Aaron took his message to heart, spinning on his left foot and taking only the edge of a heavy punch as it came for his shoulder. Using the momentum from his pirouette, he smacked a light punch in the brawler's gut. The man doubled over slightly, and Aaron brought his fist up into the man's chin and sent him flying back to crash into another table. Rich was having good luck in his brawl, but the soldier from earlier was made from tougher stuff than all the other men that lay moaning on the floor around him. He grabbed Rich from the side, weaving his leg into the engineer's stance and using his considerable force to trip up the engineer and slam him into the floor. The soldier took a step closer to his downed victim, raising up a foot as if to stomp on him like he was a small nuisance. And with his bare second of opportunity, Rich lanced out with a foot and between the soldier's legs, battering and bruising the soldier's family jewels. The man seized up and slowly fell over, both hands firmly clamped over his abused groin. "Ha!" Rich laughed, leaping to his feet and brushing off his flannel shirt. "Whoever thinks I fight fair is a chump." Rich waded through the writhing mass of brawlers, throwing a punch or jabbing with an elbow if someone got in his way. More than once he ducked a flying bottle or a thrown chair, but eventually he managed to get back beside his ally in Aaron. Standing side by side, the two men gave more blows than they took, and as the only two fighters who actually seemed to not want to beat the other senseless, they held the advantage over any person who stumbled their way. They were kings of this hill, the top dogs over the pack of snarling, biting, kicking mutts. Any they were well on their way to saying that they kicked the ass of almost everyone in that establishment, until a thunderous roar from behind the bar froze every man and woman in mid-swing. The barkeeper had been hiding behind his precious bar since Aaron had thrown the first punch against Alex, and throughout the entirety of the melee, he had been looking for his bouncer. And "Bouncer" just happened to be the name of his trusty Remington 870 pump action shotgun. The hefty bartender worked the pump on his gun, ejecting his spent shell and loading a fresh one into the chamber at the same time. The telltale click-click of the shotgun's pump silenced any protests that had arisen after his initial shot to calm the riot. The mage and the engineer raised their hands in defeat, slowly turning around to see the barrel of a gun staring them down. "You two get the hell out of my bar!" he shouted to the pair. "And as for the rest of ye', get to cleanin' this place up! Joe, Frank, get these guys outta here!" Two of the bar's regulars, men who bore a few extra bruises and more than one small cut from the brawl, grabbed Aaron and Rich by the collars of their shirts and the seat of their pants, tossing them out the door. The two men bounced into the street, where they lay for a few moments to collect themselves. Aaron rubbed a hand across his sore jaw. "Damn, that's the first time I've ever been actually thrown out of someplace." Rich worked his tongue over a loosened tooth, considering how well that had actually gone for them. "Eh, that was my..." he took a moment to count it out on his fingers, mentally recalling each time he had been forcefully thrown out of an establishment. "Third, maybe my fourth time? Hell, I can't remember most of them anyways." They sat there on the sidewalk of the dusty street for a minute, gathering their thoughts and letting the soreness of the fight wear off. "Well, what do you want to do now?" said Aaron. Rich shrugged. "I dunno. I suppose now would be a bad time to say, 'We should have gone to the pony bar!' " "Hey, I saw you in there, you were having just as much fun as I was!" A shadow fell over both of the men, and a firm, authoritative voice interrupted them. "Gentlemen, arguing only makes your case worse." Aaron and Rich peeked over their shoulders, spying several black gun barrels hanging only inches from their backs. Half a dozen Military Police stood in a line behind them, responding to a few passerbys calls about a disturbance at Abraham's. And spying two beaten and bruised men on the sidewalk, they decided to just make a quick arrest and be out of the summer heat. The captain of that particular patrol swung a pair of handcuffs lazily from his finger, nodding to the men. ******************************************** President McGoff walked shamefully down the hallway of Lazarus' impromptu prison, a block of old apartments and storage rooms in the Undercity that had been re-purposed to detain whatever criminals that the MPs who patrolled the city managed to catch. It was an empty place, being that the only criminals these days were petty thieves and maybe the occasional assault case. The long hallway was marked by empty cells and flickering lights from the buzzing fluorescent lights in the ceiling. The only reason he knew where to go was the single, solitary prison guard that stood outside the door of the prison's only occupied room. The prison guard snapped out of his nap when the President approached, and snapped a quick salute. McGoff returned it, and nodded to the guard. And without the need for instructions, the guard unlocked the door and let the Commander in Chief pass. "... and at that point, we shout, 'Man down!' The guards come running, we coldcock 'em and make our escape!" one of the beaten, bruised, but surprisingly cheerful men said. McGoff rolled his eyes, slapping a hand to his face in shame. "Oh good god. You know, when a messenger came to my office today telling me that a biologist and an engineer had been thrown into the brig for causing a huge mess upstairs, I felt a chill run down my spine. Now I know why." Aaron and Rich donned huge smiles as the President entered the room. "Tyler! You finally came to bail us out! I knew you'd pull through! Tell me, what's it like on the outside? It's been so long, I've forgotten the gentle touch of the breeze, the taste of fresh air, the feel of a woman's soft breast! Do ponies still rule the world? Are there flying cars yet? Did Nickelback finally make a half-decent album?" "Yeah, and did they ever perfect human cloning? 'Cause I'd like to order a few Faith Hills, if you know what I mean," Rich said with a grin. The President of the Republic growled something under his breath, then bared a rather frightening grin. "No, the ponies all left for Happy Valley and took all the flying cars to get there, and Nickelback went with them! But it turns out that shitty Canadian rock was keeping the Disney pop bands from reproducing in plague proportions! And yes Rich, they did perfect human cloning. But instead of making supermodels for everyone or repopulating our critically endangered species, they cloned about six thousand Honey Boo Boos, who now roam the Earth gorging themselves on human brains!" "Wow," said Aaron. "You know, if that's the case, I think I'll stay here." "Yeah, prison doesn't sound so bad compared to an insatiable horde of toddler beauty queens," agreed Rich. McGoff narrowed his eyes at his prisoners. "You've been in the drunk tank for half an hour. The world hasn't changed one goddamned bit." "Really? It felt like so much longer than that. I mean, we had an escape plan and everything! Rich started on a tunnel but broke our only digging spoon-" "Digging spork," Rich corrected. "Every good engineer knows you can't properly dig out a tunnel or shank a man with a plastic spork. Crafty prison guards, the tunnel was doomed from the beginning!" Aaron nodded to that. "And it's been so long since I've seen another human being that Rich's mouth was startin' to look real purdy," he said in his most hick convict voice. "And then we each had our psychotic breakdowns, smashed some furniture, got involved in a gang, found Jesus, then we formulated another escape plan, and then you walked in." McGoff leaned back against the wall, once again covering his face in shame. "You two are like ten-year-olds. You know, it's not a pleasant afternoon when I hear that my Chief Engineer and one of my ambassadors get involved in a drunken brawl that literally knocks a building off its foundation!" "We really did that?" Rich asked. "Awesome!" He held up a hand for Aaron, who gladly slapped him a high-five. "You know what they have you booked for, right?" the President asked. "Cutting the heads off parking meters?" Aaron replied, covering up his snickering. McGoff glared at the chortling ambassador. "Wrong, smartass. Destruction of property, vandalism, assault, disturbing the peace, inciting a riot! All on multiple counts!" "Hey, they started it, I just threw the first punch," Aaron said in his own defense. "Whatever!" McGoff shouted, throwing his hands out in frustration. "The point I'm trying to make here is that you two have behaved in a manner unbefitting of your responsibilities! You can't just go around punching out every guy who calls you something nasty! We have an image to protect, one of integrity and responsibility, and you bet your ass that that image is going to get shit smeared on it when this hits the front page!" McGoff took a deep breath and let out a sigh, running a hand through his hair. "Who am I kidding? I probably would have joined in." The President put his back to the wall, sliding down to the floor. Aaron and Rich glanced at each other, raising an eyebrow in curiosity. Turning back to their leader, Aaron gently said, "You seem stressed, kemo sabe. Something up?" McGoff scoffed. "You think? I'm the pretty much unwilling leader of a newborn nation, a bunch of talking animals are demanding equal rights, a bunch of politicians are demanding that things stay the same, the judiciary went behind my back with your pony's case, and Jean's been really secretive lately, so I know he's up to something. Mr Mackenzie visited me today, told me that because of the diamond dog strike he can't fill any of the orders that our economic allies placed months ago, so now our steel buyers are getting impatient and angry. The Senate is on my ass about relieving our national debt to Equestria while simultaneously scraping together the funds to get Mayflower moving. The economy is down 6% in the last few days alone because of the strikes and boycotts, and now the two men who could help me absolve this crisis are sitting in a prison cell. So yes Aaron, I am a little stressed right now." "Pfft, what makes you think we're gonna be any help?" Rich asked the President. McGoff looked up at the engineer. "At this point, I have no goddamned clue why I thought you two would be able to help me on this one. Rich, I thought you might be able to go over to the Slagworks and talk down the diamond dogs. They seem to trust you more than anyone else, since you blew their last leader into dog meat. And Aaron, you have a way with the ponies. I mean, look at you, you're like the Horse Whisperer over there in Canterlot!" Aaron winced. "Please don't call me that." The President of the Republic cocked an eyebrow. "Why not? I can call you whatever I like." "Because the last man who called me the Horse Whisperer was General Winters. You know, the man who tried to murder me? The man that you shot twice in the back as he was trying to murder me? The man that you replaced? Ringin' any bells? And besides, my relationships with the pony race are based on trust, caring, and respect. I can't just wave my hand and suddenly have all the ponies in Lazarus drop their beliefs and sing a happy tune. Granted, I know a mare that can do that, but she's driven a few physicists and psychiatrists to insanity. The point is, if you want to get through to the ponies, you have to offer them the same things that I do; trust, care, and respect." "You mean that in order to keep the peace, make sure this civil movement doesn't erupt into some kind of violent uprising, I have to become their friend?" McGoff said in disbelief. Aaron chuckled under his breath. "Yup. Ponies react to friendly gestures far more than they do to aggressive ones. It's like friendship potlatch with them, they get something nice, and then they have to prove that they can be nicer in return. And besides, did violence work on the African American community during the Civil Rights Movement? Nope, if anything it just made them stronger people who held closer to their convictions." McGoff groaned, bumping the back of his head against the wall in frustration. "So there's no winning this." "There is a way," Aaron corrected. "You just have to play your cards right." "How?" The mage flashed a grin. "Talk to Smitts. He was an actual senator for a country hundreds of times the size of your own. If anyone has the Capitol Hill greasiness required to survive this with good standing, it's your Vice President. And besides, I know you're trying to go for the 'fair ruler' look, but it might be time to tighten your grip on the reigns. This country is on the verge of chaos, and they need a firm leader to guide them through it. But don't go overboard on it, this is the kind of situation that requires a light touch." The President of the Republic sat quietly at the other end of the cell. "Wow. That... makes sense. More sense than the advice my advisors have been giving me." "I had a feeling it would. Since you government hombres have basically forgotten to give me orders, I've taken it upon myself to offer my services as a spiritual guide. But, that's only a solution for your professional problems, there's one more problem my friend says she can help you with, a problem that is a deeper root cause of your stress. But I want full presidential pardons for both me and Rich in exchange for helping you with it." "I don't have any more problems," McGoff said defensively. "Oh yes you do. All of Lazarus knows about this one, and subconsciously, you know about it too," Aaron retorted. He leaned back, closing his eyes and relaxing his body and mind. "And I'm being told that a good and inventive solution for your problem is a simple ploy, and some flowers." ****************************************** Lyra paced in front of the large chalkboard that she had acquired from one of the other rooms of the ambassador's house, levitating a piece of chalk in her yellow, chiming aura and scribbling down what she knew about each Justice. "Brockmann, left, liberal. Sikes, right, conservative," she murmured to herself, marking down those notes beneath a rough depiction of each Justice. She thought for a moment, then underlined 'conservative' several times in her notes about Justice Sikes. Early in her legal coaching, she had learned that her salvation may lay in the natural course of the political machine and the natural division between the factions that inherently lay in the secret order of the Terran government. Her immersion into human politics had become almost complete, and it was expected that during her education on the subject that she learn about bipartisan politics. To think that a race could build a system of government where only two basic platforms of ideology and opinion existed, or one where only the two most prevalent belief systems were listened to with any regard was simply baffling to the mare. Equestria's central legislature had thrived for centuries under the concept of widely differing individual opinions, and the thought that each pony representing a different district of the kingdom had different ideas and concerns to bring to the table was the cornerstone of the legislative process. Though there were hundreds of political alliances and applications of quid pro quo, there were no political parties in Equestria. But not to the humans, no no. As the statues in the Park had told her upon her first walk through the sacred groves, one of humanity's deepest beliefs was duality, that there were two sides to every coin, and that belief was everywhere in their society. God and the Devil, good and evil, matter and energy, left and right, hamburgers and hot dogs, and most importantly in their government, liberal and conservative. Two terms that had almost no meaning in the halls and courts of Equestria, yet here in the Republic, one's declaration of holding loyalty to liberalism or conservatism could instantly identify someone as an ally, indict one as a foe, ease one's fears, or build a wall made from ideological differences and mortared with deep convictions. A quick flip through the pages of a history book had told her that the differences between the liberal parties and the conservative parties had quite commonly led to congressional wars of words, and on more than one occasion, actual wars. Though moderation was in their dictionary, to the ancient statesmen of humankind, it was not a part of their vocabulary. They were either for something, or against it. Though why they were differed. Sometimes it was small things, like a slight budget increase in some sub-committee or another, and other times it was something that defined the struggles of a generation, like her own plight with interspecies family rights and civil rights for her people. And it was this incredible willingness to divide so vehemently on a subject that Lyra would use to dominate the court room. According to observations in the court room, character profiles derived from carefully scanning each and every newspaper that the city had released, and having a few of her pony recruits talk to their new human friends about the Justices, she could now say with confidence who believed in what platform. "Justice Marcos, liberal, center left," she murmured, marking down the Justice's position on a quick chart of approximately where each Justice fell in their convictions. So far, each of the Justices she had examined leaned either towards the far left or the far right, with only a few straying closer to the center. "Justice Dailey, conservative, center right." The goal of this little exercise was to find out which Justices would be more sympathetic to her cause and more open to her arguments, and aim her petitions towards garnering their favor. So far, the liberals were her target demographic, and as luck would have it, the Justices seemed to be a fairly even split between liberals and conservatives. At least, that's what the chart was telling her. "Any progress on formulating your argument for tomorrow?" a ghostly whisper said to her. Lyra nodded absently, rubbing her chin with a hoof, focused on placing the last Justice on her list. "I've hit a little hiccup," Lyra said to her technically undead legal counselor. "Using character profiles, what I've learned in court, and just some hearsay, I've managed to pin who I have an actual chance of getting on my side, and who I can't. It's an even split, four liberal, four conservatives." "How is that even? You're forgetting one person." "I know," she replied. "Chief Justice Halliburton is a mystery. The woman hasn't shown a single sign of swinging either way, and the only sign I've seen that she's even alive up there on the stand is the fact that she starts each hearing. I can't even tell if the woman breathes or not. It's like she's made from stone. Might as well be her carved from marble out front, carrying a sword in one hand and scales in the other." "A true representative of justice, blind until all the facts are known. I'd mark her as a moderate," Mr Darrow suggested. "Now, you need to work on formulating your argument to appeal to the liberal Justices. What's your game plan for tomorrow?" Lyra nodded, levitating her notes for tomorrow's hearing and placing on a little set of reading glasses. "M'kay. First, we'll start with a rebuttal of the facts that Bennett gave at the last hearing, followed by a little rhetoric to garner some attention. Then, we bring in the secret weapon, shock and awe, stunned faces all around, yadda-yadda. Little more sophistry and rhetoric, then we close on a high note. After that, we calmly sit there while David Bennett throws a curveball and beans the batter. Sound good?" "Sounds almost like you don't even need me," Mr Darrow commented. "But are you sure Mr Whistler will make an argument that favors your case? From your description of the man, he seems to be devoutly Terran, and he might pitch a few answers to the Justice's questions that won't exactly sway them to our cause." Lyra took off her reading glasses, chuckling under her breath. "Ah, you just haven't met Johnny yet, he's a really nice guy, and I swear on my tail that he is doing this for the greater good." "The greater good, huh? Do I need to remind you of the concept of relativity? The idea that what you believe to be the greater good may only be the greater good in your mind? One Mr Einstein took the liberty of regaling every soul he came across with his theories on the relative nature of the universe, spending years arguing with several gods on their theories." The mare raised her hoof, stopping his concerned rant. "Whistler is on our side, I assure you. The only problem is getting the conservative Justices to take him seriously." From the front of the house, the sound of a heavy door opening and closing alerted the ghost to danger, and he dove into the floor for his own safety. Lyra shrugged, taking a quick moment to stretch out before trotting out to the front of the house, just to make sure it was her roommate, and they weren't being robbed or something. And for once, her odd paranoia seemed validated when a woman stood in the den instead of her familiar man. The strange woman had platinum blonde hair, and she wore a pair of tight-fitting pants, something that Mr Patterson called "jeans" that seemed to be hugging her rather ample bottom and a simple blouse. The woman inspected a curious object on the mantle, leaning towards it and lightly tapping at the crystal casing with a finger. "I wouldn't do that if I were you," Lyra said rather blandly. The woman yelped, jumping back a step and clutching her heart with a hand, whipping around to see the pony standing at the door. "What?!" she stammered. "I said I wouldn't do that," the mare reiterated. "That's a gorgon eye. If you take it out of the case, you could become stoned in a way that isn't so nice." "Who are you?" the woman asked. The mare shook her head slightly, chuckling under her breath. "I'm Lyra, nice to meet you." "Oh crap," the woman lamented. "I must have read the address wrong. I'm so sorry for walking into your...." She paused for a moment, taking in the sights of Aaron's wealth and worldly possessions. Some deep part of her could not believe that a pony could live in one of the more upscale houses in Lazarus, that like all the other creatures she would live in the projects on the outskirts of town. "Rather fine house," she finished. "Don't lose any sleep over it, it's not my house," the mare replied with a wink. "I'm gonna go out on a limb here and say that you want Aaron?" Anita bit her lip and nodded. "Yeah. Does he live here? I mean, he gave me his address, and this looks like someplace that he might live, and he didn't pick me up after work today so.... yeah. Are you...?" "A mare that was in desperate need of temporary housing, also his roommate," Lyra responded. "So, the jerk stood you up? Typical man, heck, typical male of every species, am I right or am I right? That's why I romp on the other side of the hayloft." In her attempt to engage in friendly banter, she had accidentally let loose a secret that she tried to keep low until she knew someone comfortably. It wasn't like she was ashamed of it, one just tended to make more lasting friends if they kept their rampant lesbianism to themselves. An awkward silence fell over the room, and the ticking clock and the tap of Lyra's hoof on the floor rang out like a gong. "So, you just get comfortable, he'll be around soon. Just remember not to touch anything, and that's for your safety." But before Lyra could scamper back to the safety of the study and continue working on tomorrow's argument, the front door swung open. "Honey, I'm home!" Aaron boisterously called out, stumbling towards the den. The mare cocked an eyebrow at all his bruises and his swollen lip. "What in the flaming pit of Tartarus happened to you? You look like you tried to take a nap on the train tracks." "Yeah, well you aren't exactly winning any 'Miss Equestria' awards either," the man replied venomously. Lyra scowled at the chipper man. "Bite me, ya' mangy chimp." "Am I interrupting something?" Anita asked from behind Lyra. "Babe, what happened to you!" The woman rushed past the mare, and she cupped her boyfriend's face in her palm. "Did you get mugged, do I need to call the police?" "Naw, this is nothin'. You shoulda seen the other guy," Aaron replied in his most masculine type of voice, sounding as though he couldn't care less about his various throbbing bruises. "Seriously though, I think I might have hospitalized him." "You got in a fight?! Aaron, what the hell is wrong with you! You could have seriously hurt someone, you could have been arrested!" The mage human rubbed his neck sheepishly. "About that.... I kind of was arrested. B-but I got a full pardon!" Anita was not impressed, nor was she concerned. She folded her arms under her bosom and glared hatefully at the man. "You stood me up for our date because you got in a fight." She leaned closer, sniffing his breath. "A drunken fight. You decided to get drunk and cause a scene, then you got thrown in prison until the president very nicely decided to turn you loose on the world again. I was going to introduce you to my friends tonight! And there I went, looking for you because you didn't come and pick me up from work like you said you would!" "I said I was defending your honor!" Aaron desperately wailed. "Oh, so I need to be defended now? I need a man in my life to stand up for me?" she asked scathingly. "That's not what I meant-" he said, trying to defend himself as she pushed the offensive. "Then what did you mean, hmm?" A look of consternation and confusion bedecked Aaron's face, and to any who had worked with computers for long enough, he might have been the personification of a hard-drive crashing after entering an infinite paradox loop. "I give up," he said in defeat. "That's right you do! I'm not even going to bother having you meet my friends tonight, since you look like Sylvester Stallone in one of those Rocky movies. So, you're going to be a gentleman by making dinner for me and...." She glanced over her shoulder, raising an eyebrow at the mare who had smugly sat through the entire emasculation of Mr Patterson. "Lyra," she said again. "By making dinner for Lyra and I." Having sufficiently demeaned and punished her boyfriend, she relaxed her approach a bit. "And maybe we can relax on the couch afterwards," she said. And instantly, the prospect of his punishment and the repercussions of his fight melted away, and Aaron visibly brightened. Anita turned back to the den to await her supper, and before Aaron could rush off to the kitchen to desperately search his cupboards for anything easy to make, Lyra stopped him. "You know, there's a little expression we have in Equestria." "What's that?" Lyra swung her tail quickly, snapping it through the air with a loud whip crack.