//------------------------------// // Chapter Three // Story: Earning Wings of a Different Nature // by Strayan Phoenix //------------------------------// Earning Wings of a Different Nature By Strayan Phoenix Chapter Three [0625 Hours, May 10th, 2020] Mark slowly sat up in his bunk with a soft sigh as the memories of last night’s meeting with the Skipper flashed through his mind. Upon requesting the Skipper hear him out, he had shown off his new eye colour and the new hairstyle, which by then was not only completely saturated in monochromatic colours of Daring’s mane, but had also grown to roughly the same length, the back of it settling mid-way down the back of his shoulders, hidden from view underneath his collar and shirt. When he decided to reveal to them the cutie marks, he also inadvertently discovered (much to his eternal chagrin and embarrassment) that he had started growing a tail as well, in the same colours as his hairstyle. Captain Stevenson, for his part, was initially highly skeptical of it all, and very nearly dismissed Mark as an insane brony that’d finally cracked, right until he saw the tail, which was very much mobile and real to the touch. The Skipper shook his head in confusion and sat back in his chair, utterly befuddled as to what in the heck was happening to his pilot. The instructors certainly never told him about what to do in a situation like THIS back at Cerberus. Mark had been anxious and twitchy about what sort of response the Skipper would give, and breathed out in relief when the verdict was a mere shrug and that he would be assigned Brisbane’s Medical Officer to keep an eye on him for any further changes in physical anatomy. Unsurprisingly, the Skipper did admit however that Mark’s flying days were effectively over until further notice, leaving the other members of his team grounded until a replacement pilot could be acquired and transferred from Australia. The Skipper’s final word was that Mark would be detained on board Brisbane until an appropriate plan of action could be determined. Considering that this was a completely new phenomenon that was previously scoffed at, it was very likely that if Mark were to completely transform into a Pony, regardless of whether it was from a children’s cartoon or not, they would be the only ones with an official specimen, alive or otherwise, that was actually a human within forty eight hours prior. The implications and possibilities for this kind of scenario were staggering, and Captain Stevenson simply couldn’t comprehend it all at once. He needed more time to think on this, and that while he couldn’t think of any immediate solutions to the problem at hand, he promised Mark that if he ever needed anything to help him cope, He would personally see to it that Naval Stores would obtain the necessary supplies and equipment. Until then, all they could do was watch and wait to see what happens. Mark slowly stood up and stretched himself out, glancing over himself to check if anything else had decided to change overnight. A quick glance in the mirror had revealed that his ears now sat higher up on his head, and were more equine in shape. Moving about the cabin was made difficult by his feet now resembling hooves rather than actual feet, forcing a rather odd posture for balance while walking. While on the mental topic of physical changes, a more dire and horrifying realisation crossed his mind. ‘Daring Do is a female... and I’m turning into Daring Do, then...’ A quick grab at his crotch confirmed his new worst nightmare of the past three seconds, prompting his face to distort in sheer terror. “Ffffffuuuuuuuuu...” Martin groggily sat up with a jolt, “What? What’s going on?” “...ck!” Mark cringed as he completed his exclamation, “Uh... nothing, I just had a rather... nasty wake-up call. Don’t worry about it, though. I’ll be fine.” Martin frowned skeptically, before rolling about in his bunk to try and get a few more winks of sleep before breakfast, blissfully (and surprisingly) ignorant of his roommate’s current crisis. A sharp rap on the door caught their attention. “Shef, your presence is required in the Medical Bay as soon as possible,” a disembodied voice spoke from the other side. “Righto, I’ll be with you in a few minutes,” Mark replied in a rather sheepish tone. “What’s up, man?” Martin called out in concern, still with his face to the wall as Mark hastily dressed himself, “You coming down with something there?” “Uh... yeah, let’s call it that,” He shuddered. “Oh. It’s not contagious, is it?” “I bloody hope not,” He muttered as his mind scrambled to find a solution to the problem that his work boots barely fit his feet properly. ‘Fuck it, I’ll just have to make do as it is...’ He paused momentarily. ‘Heh heh... make do... Geddit? ‘Cause I’m turning into... actually no, that’s terrible. Your jokes are terrible, and you should feel terrible for making them.’ He carefully hid his new ears under his officer’s cap, slid on his sunnies and discretely slipped out the door. The corridors were surprisingly busy as he navigated his way to the Medical Bay, a reasonably-sized room with several bunks and numerous shelves stacked with equipment, located near the Officer’s Wardroom. Several sailors cast strange glares in his direction as he briskly jogged past, trying to limit his exposure time in public to as little as possible. Upon reaching the Med Bay, he stepped inside and hastily closed the door, locking it shut behind him. “Ah, Sheffield, good to see you,” a soft voice behind him spoke up. He turned around to face his addressor: a short-statured, red-haired Able Seaman with a Red Cross band around her upper arm, and a nametag that read ‘Harris’. “Just take a seat on the bench, the Doc’s gone to grab a few things, and he’ll be back any moment now... Ah, there he is!” Brisbane’s Medical Officer, a middle-aged bespectacled man named Lieutenant Commander Geoff Rogers sidled out of his office, located off to the side of the room. He also wore a Red Cross patch on his arm. “Righto Shef, I’ve been told by the Skipper that we have a rather... unusual case on our hands, am I right?” “That’s putting it mildly,” Mark shrugged, taking off his hat and sunnies for them to see. “Oh-ho, shit!” Rogers gawked in surprise, while Harris stared in morbid, wide-eyed fascination, “What in the blazes have we got here?!” “A fuckin’ nightmare, that’s what,” Mark muttered in reply, “Or from an alternate perspective, every rabid brony’s wet dream.” “... What?” “I’m turning into a character from MLP here!” He hissed. “... Right,” Rogers circled about, eyeing him from head-to-toe with suspicion, “Alright, well if you’re going Phar Lap on us here, we might as well make a proper assessment of your current progress. We’ll just start off with the usual round of Twenty Questions, if you don’t mind. Firstly, what changes have you noticed thus far?” “Well, I have two identical tramp-stamps on my legs; my hair is now black and white; my ears are different; my feet don’t fit my shoes; my eyes are purple; I’m growing a tail; and just ten minutes ago, I discovered that I’m now officially a sheila,” came the toneless reply. “Oh God...” Rogers’ face fell in a mixture of shock and pity as he jotted down his notes, “You poor soul... Alright, what other symptoms have you identified? Tiredness, insomnia, irritableness or anything like that?” “Not really,” Mark shrugged, “I haven’t had breakfast yet, so I’m pretty hungry right now”. “Oop, hang on a minute,” Rogers held up his hand, squinting his eyes, “Shef, could you just open yer mouth wide for a bit...?” “Erm...” a drop of sweat trickled down the side of his face as he complied. “Mate, your teeth have changed,” Rogers commented in a serious tone, “I’m no vet, so I don’t know what a horse’s choppers look like, but your teeth don’t look anything like they belong in a normal human’s mouth.” “Not surprising,” He rolled his eyes. Rogers reached his hand forward, “Do you mind...?” “Uh...” Rogers ruffled his hand through Mark’s hair, murmuring under his breath as he gave it a gentle tug, “Shit, this ain’t no wig...” He retracted his hand and continued his notes, “Right, that mane is certainly real enough. Now, you said something about a tail? Would you mind letting us have a look at that?” “Erm...” He hesitantly lowered his trousers just enough to let the new appendage hang free and swish about reflexively. “Bloo-dy-hell!” Rogers accentuated each syllable, “Now that’s something I’m not going to forget in a while... Is that controlled by voluntary movement, or what?” “I... suppose it is,” Mark shrugged, unsure of what to put it down as. It was certainly sensitive to the touch, but he couldn’t really tell how it was moving, or what he was doing to move it. “I don’t know.” “And would you also mind showing us these new feet you mentioned?” He sat down and removed his left boot, allowing them a close look at his new hooves. “My goodness...” Harris murmured, “This is the real deal...” "And, what was that about turning into a 'sheila'?" Rogers probed cautiously, "You seriously mean... you're a female now?" Mark nodded his head in shame, blushing profusely. “Well, the evidence is otherwise undisputable, Sheffield,” Rogers shrugged, “Turns out you were right in your observations. I don’t need to state the obvious and tell you what you already know, so...” Mark placed his boot back on, tucked the tail away and straightened up, “Well, if you need me for anything else, I’ll be in my cabin, riding this little shitstorm out in silence.” “It’ll be interesting to see how this develops,” Rogers raised an eyebrow, “We’ll inform the Skipper of this, and I’d like you to keep us posted on any other changes that occur, alright?” “I suppose so,” Mark shrugged in a fatalistic fashion, placed his cap back on and turned for the door. As he exited the Med Bay, he could hear his stomach growling at him. “Probably should get some brekkie first...” He murmured off-handedly, “I wonder if they do alfalfa pellets...” He blinked in shock as he caught his own words, “Fuckin’ oath, and now I’m starting to think like a pony as well! This whole ‘transformation’ deal is going to be one hell of a ride at this rate...” As he left the room, Rogers turned to Harris. "Whelp, now I've seen everything. Gonna take a while to get this little episode out of my head." "You're telling me," Harris murmured in agreement. ----- Mark sat in silence as he ate through a rather conservative portion of cornflakes, cramming himself as close to the corner and as out-of-sight as possible. The less attention he received, the better. It still didn’t stop several sailors from casting odd stares in his direction, though. Practically breathing down his meal, he dumped his bowl at the dishes rack and bolted for the door. Fortunately, no-one bothered to get in his way as he hurriedly scrambled back to the relative safety of his cabin. Martin was fully awake now, and was about to walk out the door himself. “Oh hey Shef. How’d the Medical g- Sweet Jesus, what happened to your eyes?!” “Oh erm... it turns out I’m turning into a My Little Pony,” Mark replied sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck. “You’re turning into a what?!” Martin squinted in shock, and quickly scratched the inside of his ear. Mark hurriedly ushered the confused airman back inside the room, “I said I’m turning into a character from Friendship is Magic here! Fucked if I know why, or even how, but that’s what’s happening!” Martin blinked incredulously and slowly turned about back towards his bunk, “What kind of screwed-up dream sequence is this..? I need to stop taking those vitamins before bed, I think...” “Marty, this isn’t a dream sequence!” He urged, “It really is happening!” “Dude... what the hell is going on? That sounds like something some brony with a little too much free time would write as a plot for his shitty fanfiction novel!” “Yeah, well I’m living that shitty plot right now!” Mark hissed, trying to keep his voice low, “Point is, that’s what’s going on, and right now I’m stuck on a boat with two hundred and three other people and no-where to hide! The moment I step back out that door, they’re gonna do more than just notice one of Albert Wesker’s test-tube failures prowling the decks!” “Who else knows about this?” Martin frowned. “Laura, the Skipper, the Medic and his assistant, anyone who paid more than twenty seconds of attention towards me in the hallway, and Marshall from Naval Stores,” Mark ran through the list off the top of his head. “Ugh, that guy from Naval Stores?” Martin’s shoulders drooped, “Shit, everyone on board’s gonna know within twenty four hours if he knows. That guy’s a friggin chatterbox with all the gossip...” “... And he’s probably going to be telling everyone that I’ve gone nuts,” Mark realised, “Agh shit...” He glanced across at the clock on the wall, which read 7:14 AM. “Well, if you’re going to be camping in here out of shame,” Martin breathed and turned for the door, “I’ll go have breakfast, and then maybe wander around aimlessly while at least looking like I have a job to do.” “Have fun,” Mark tilted forward and landed face-first on his bunk with a sigh. ----- [0830 Hours] [Captain’s Cabin] Captain Stevenson flipped through the notes taken by Lieutenant Commander Rogers, as the man in question stood in front of him. Also standing in the room next to him was Brisbane’s XO, Commander Cruze. “From what I can tell, Lieutenant Sheffield’s assumption is correct: He really is turning into a pony,” Rogers stated in a professional tone, “The lengths he’d have to go to in order set this up as a prank in these current circumstances are simply too great. The tattoos on his legs bear no mark of being recently inked, that hairstyle is simply too natural, and also grew at an abnormally rapid rate. Nor is it a wig of any kind, because A) no such items were brought aboard the ship, and B) we gave it a tug just to be sure. They would’ve shown up on the baggage scanner, otherwise. “The tail is as real as they come, probably with fully functioning muscles, nerve-endings and everything. Also of particularly outstanding note is the fact that Lieutenant Sheffield says he isn't even male anymore, implying he had developed a fully-functioning female reproductive system pretty much overnight”. “Wow, for real?!” the Skipper’s eyes widened. “That’s what he, or rather she said,” Rogers replied, nodding his head, “Or at least it was something to that effect, anyway”. He paused to chuckle at his own joke, “Heh, that’s what she said...” “Yeah yeah, it’s hilarious,” the Skipper rolled his eyes and waved dismissively, “Now, what do you suggest we do about this?” “My thoughts are the same as yours: that we just keep an eye on her for the moment and see what becomes of it. If something big pops up in America relating to the appearance of all these ponies, we’ll at least be able to raise our hands and say ‘We’ve got a live one over here!’” “And then what? Just dump her with the Yanks on a whim?” Stevenson snorted, “I don’t think so. Human or otherwise, she’s still a member of my ship under my care, and only God knows what those crazy morons will do if they get their hands on her. They’ll probably experiment on her until the cows come home, under the guise of ‘scientific research’ for all we know!” “So what do you propose then? We don’t have the resources to provide for a fully-grown pony’s eating habits, nor will we be able to guarantee the proper health-care for him,” Cruze spoke up. “I’ll have a chat with Naval Stores and have them ship something in,” Stevenson answered dismissively, “I promised Sheffield that he... err, she will have everything she needs, and that includes the appropriate food stock. Come on, ponies eat the same stuff as horses, don’t they? It shouldn’t be that hard. And provided that Sheffield keeps his... erm, her sapience intact, she should be able to take care of herself just fine”. “Well, I’ll take your word on it,” Rogers shrugged. “Now, the trick is... how are we going to break this to the rest of the ship?” Stevenson scratched his chin, “It’ll be pretty obvious that something’s up, so... I suppose this is what we’ll do...” ----- [1130 Hours] “I still can’t believe he actually said ‘Yes’ to this,” Cruze murmured under his breath as nearly the entirety of Brisbane’s Company of two hundred and three men and women, aviation crews included, assembled before them on the flight deck, meandering around idly while they waited for their Captain to address them on a ‘sudden issue of importance’. Only a token handful couldn’t turn up, needing to remain on station on the Bridge and in the Radar Control Room out of necessity. “He also knew that everyone would know within a matter of time,” Stevenson replied with a casual shrug, “It’s no use beating around the bush”. When it seemed everyone had assembled, Stevenson raised his voice, “Alright Brisbane, listen up!” The chattering voices all stopped within seconds of each other, as two hundred pairs of eyes turned their attention towards him. “I’m not sure how many of you are aware, but it has recently come to light that one of our Seahawk pilots is currently going through... a bit of a crisis at the moment,” He said grimly, “And I’m not going to sugar-coat this at all. I’ve assembled you all here this morning to release an official statement... that neither your eyes nor your ears are deceiving you. Pilot Leftenant Mark Sheffield, as we speak, really is gradually transforming into something out of a kid’s cartoon show.” Several voices could be heard mumbling to each other in confusion. “Out of respect to the last shred of the Leftenant’s pride and humanity, I am ordering you all to turn off any cameras, and swear an oath of silence on this matter. Leftenant Sheffield, if you could please step forward,” He stepped aside. Mark grimaced as he slowly plodded out of the hangar and into view for all to see, wearing a simple t-shirt and shorts, and drawing a wide plethora of mixed reactions from the stunned crowd. It was clearly visible that a scruff of mustard-yellow fur had started growing around his feet, and were slowly inching their way up his legs, currently sitting about a quarter of the way up his shin. For several moments, there was complete silence, which was broken by a voice up the back. “So uh, what the actual fuck is going on?” “Erm... I believe I've been hit by some kind of magical curse, and am now turning into a character out of My Little Pony. Please don’t ask why, or how, because I don’t have the slightest bloody clue myself. I do believe however that this is linked to the reports of people claiming that they saw real-life ponies in America,” Mark replied, holding his hand over his eyes to block out the sharp glare of the sun, “I think that the ‘ponies’ they claimed to have seen were all actually ex-humans, much like I’m about to be, and they all went through the exact same process I am”. “What’s up with your voice?” “I don’t know what--” Mark stopped himself and frowned. His voice had indeed raised an octave or two, sounding far more feminine in tone than it was this morning. ‘Oh God, I hope I don’t start talking in an American accent as well!’ “Brisbane, we’re not going to ask much of you here,” Stevenson spoke up again, “All we ask is for you to support Sheffield through this... situation. As far as I’m aware, he’s still a part of this team, human or not, and I expect you to treat him as such. Once his transformation is complete, we will simply find some other way to make use of him until further notice. “Leftenant Marshall, I’ll be having a chat with you later about your next supply order. Ponies don’t exactly eat the same stuff as we do, so we’re going to have to cater for a possible change in dietary needs. “Leftenant Daniels and Leftenant Fredrickson, you and your flight teams are going to have to work overtime from now on. And Leftenants Donaldson and Craig, you’ll be assigned other duties until further notice. Does everyone understand?” He was answered with a chorus of “Yes sir!” “Dismissed, and as you were”. ----- [1425 Hours] Mark sat propped up against the wall on his bunk in his cabin, staring intently at his legs. In the past hour or so, the fur around his shins had gained around three whole inches in the dash up his legs. It was a morbidly fascinating thing to watch, as genuine fur seemingly appeared out of nowhere. In his current state, a bipedal standing position was becoming increasingly difficult to hold as his hips started shifting to a more equine posture, and his fingers had started becoming rather difficult to use effectively. He could feel the tiny stubs on his back which he assumed would eventually grow into full-fledged wings. They were currently too small and underdeveloped to be able to even move. The cutie marks were still there, currently hidden behind his shorts. They were probably where this mess all started, those blasted things. He hadn’t yet experienced another ‘hunch’ sensation, and he was wondering whether that was a one-off thing, or only activated under certain circumstances. It partially explained what made Daring Do a successful explorer though. It’s kind-of handy when you have a mysterious, magical force guiding you from the back of your head. And while he sat alone, feeling rather useless, the rest of the ship continued on with life as usual, like nothing was happening. They couldn’t just postpone their duties while on deployment over one pilot. They still had a job to do here, and they would see to it that they did their job properly and professionally, with or without his help. ----- [1845 Hours] “Shef,” a knock at the door interrupted his afternoon snooze, “Shef, are you awake in there?” He groggily sat up, “Hmm?” “It's the XO. Mind if I come in?” “... Sure,” he waved a hand dismissively, “It’s open”. “Alright,” Cruze closed the door behind him and sat down on the desk chair, “Just so you know, the Skipper has had a meeting with Naval Stores, and we’re ready to send off an order for the necessary supplies to keep you in good care, specifically the correct food and medication. Since you’re technically still a member of the Navy, we’re also considering having a DPU custom-made specifically for you. All we need is to wait until you’ve completed... transforming and we’ll take your dimensions then send it off. How does that sound?” A mental image of Daring Do in a Navy Uniform flashed through his mind. “Sounds good,” He smiled softly, “I appreciate your efforts, support and concerns. I really do.” “You’re still one of us in spirit,” Cruze shook his head and stood back up, “We’d do the exact same if it were anyone else. Dinner is being served at the moment, if you’re still interested in eating your last human meal.” “I think I can wait a few extra hours for some pony food,” Mark smirked, “Roast Ham just doesn’t cut the mustard like it used to anymore...” “Suit yourself. It’s your loss,” Cruze chuckled, and stepped out the door, closing it behind him, “See you tomorrow then, Makybe Diva.” “... What is with all these racehorse references?” He frowned in confusion, “If you’re going to nickname me after famous equines, at least make them characters from MLP...!” He rolled back over and attempted to resume his afternoon nap in peace.