//------------------------------// // 1: Full Moon // Story: Loony // by totallynotabrony //------------------------------// It was another of those glorious days that made San Palomino such a great place to live, with its southern Equestrian sun and heat tempered by a mild breeze off the ocean.  It was perfect for driving with the windows down.  Arc glanced to the side, watching buildings and traffic go by as the breeze ruffled his short maroon mane.  The weather, however was not what was on his mind.   Arc sat in the back of a sedan with government plates.  He turned his head, looking past the front seats at the two stallions up front.  They hadn’t said much since picking him up.  After showing up at his office and asking him to get in the car, they’d whisked him away to an apartment near the waterfront to investigate a crime scene.  All in all, it was not a usual start to a new job. The two escorting Arc were Proficient Efficient and Harvest Peach.  Proficient had an immaculate horn and navy blue coat with a wavy blonde mane, plus a constant smile.  His coloring was accented with a grey suit jacket, although even then he gave the impression that he was dressing down.  His cutie mark was a suave-looking alligator wearing a polo shirt.  Harv looked a little rougher around the edges and wore his green mane in a low maintenance style over his peachy coat.  He gave the impression of a country pony, right down to the peach cutie mark. Proficient stopped the car outside an apartment building and the three of them got out.  Arc paused to take a look around.  Except for being their destination, the building was not particularly interesting: a white ten story tenement with small touches of adornment, but nearly indistinguishable from the ones to its left and to its right.  Nearby were the city cruise ship docks and some algae boats tied up at secondary piers.  A few seagulls drifted in the wind. The trio went into the apartment building and took the elevator up to the fifth floor.  Down the hallway they stopped at an apartment door.  Proficient unlocked it with a key from his jacket pocket and they went inside. The place was small and sparsely furnished.  The walls were plain with no evidence of ever having pictures hung on them.  There was just enough decoration to make it evident that somepony lived there, and that they were probably a dull and uninteresting pony.  It was clean, though, seeming to be perfectly sterilized.  A heavy smell of bleach permeated the air. Harv glanced at Arc and gestured to a door.  “Have a look in the bedroom, rookie.” Arc nodded and crossed the front room, concealing his distaste at being referred to as the new guy, even if it was true.  He pushed open the door and stepped in. The bedroom was windowless.  It had a simple bed with plain sheets.  A few feminine items were in view on top of the dresser.  What drew Arc’s attention was a green tube about a meter and a half long that rested on the mattress.  It had a few instructions and warnings stenciled on it with yellow letters in another language. Arc turned around and marched back out.  Pointing a hoof, he demanded, “Why is there a HU-7 surface-to-air missile launcher in here?” “It wouldn’t fit in the closet?” Harv offered, one eyebrow raised. More seriously, Proficient answered, “This apartment belongs to Ms. Buttercup, a weapons smuggler.  She turned herself in last night.” Arc frowned.  “This arms dealer–she–went to the trouble of sneaking a missile launcher from the Hooviet Union and through Equestria’s border security just to give herself up?” “A missile launcher among other things,” said Harv.  “Buttercup is a Loony, which means her personality fluctuates between moral and immoral based on the phases of the moon.  Half of every month, she’s an evil international weapons supplier.  The other half she’s like an angel.” “That’s oversimplifying things, but you get the idea,” added Proficient.  “With your wife’s situation, Arc, I’m sure you understand how these moon curses can go.” Arc’s eyebrows lifted with interest.  “So this is based on the moon.  How does a pony get it?” “It’s a family affliction,” Proficient replied.  “One might call it hereditary, passed down through the generations.” “We asked your wife to take a look at that aspect of it,” Harv added before Arc could ask. Arc chuckled.  “I just started working for the Shades and it seems like Roxy and I are already a good fit with the organization.  You guys didn’t secretly hook us up, did you?” Proficient politely laughed with him.  “We certainly didn’t, although your wife being a lycan and you holding a security clearance certainly made the two of you ideal candidates.” “Speaking of qualifications, I was meaning to ask,” said Arc.  “This is the first case the Shades have put me on.  Where do I go from here?” “Why don’t we grab that missile launcher and talk on the way?” suggested Harv. Arc nodded and went back to the bedroom.  He hesitated for a moment before stripping the top sheet from the bed and wrapping up the tube with it. It seemed odd and somehow wrong to come into a stranger’s apartment and unmake their bed, although what made Arc even more uncomfortable was encountering foreign weapons inside Equestria.  He figured he would get used to it, just like he got used to his wife turning into a wolf once a month. Which reminded him—tonight was the full moon. Arc hefted the thirty pound missile launcher onto his back.  Proficient held the apartment’s front door for him and locked it after the three of them had exited. After leaving the building, they got into the car, Arc putting the HU-7 in the trunk.   Proficient took a moment to check his reflection in the rear-view mirror before starting the car and pulling away from the curb. “Anyway,” said Harv, continuing the conversation from earlier, “there’s a lot of options working for the Shades.  You’re still officially employed by the Military Weapons Branch, but once we get the administrative stuff done and your exit choreographed, you can come to our office full time.” Arc frowned.  “Why do I have to choreograph quitting my job at MWB?” “It has to be set up so it looks believable,” Proficient said.  “A sudden transfer would draw attention we don’t want.  It’s not easy to just join a secret group like the Shades.  Plus we’ll have to clear a desk for you.  It’ll all be a lot of paperwork to do; you’re a government employee, you know how paperwork goes.  In the meantime, just keep working with MWB and moonlighting with us.” Holding two jobs at once—one legitimate and one covert—did not sound like Arc’s idea of fun.  “How long do I have to keep up the charade?” “Probably no more than a couple of months,” Proficient said.  “Although you knew when you accepted the job that the real charade was never going to end.” That was true, Arc thought.  Once you knew about lycans and everything else that went bump in the night, it became a constant effort to keep the knowledge under wraps. “But you should be good at keeping things under wraps,” said Harv.  “You were in the military, right?” “What are you, a mind reader or something?” Arc asked.  “That’s pretty much exactly what I was thinking.” Harv turned his head to look at him.  “Yes, actually.” That was not the kind of thing one heard every day, and Arc did not reply immediately. “It takes a little getting used to,” Proficient said to fill the gap in conversation. “And what are you?” Arc asked him. “No special abilities for me,” Proficient said.  “I’m just good at keeping secrets.  And I might add, it’s considered impolite to go around asking Shades what they are.” Arc was reminded of the old saying you learn more by listening than by talking.  At least there might be a little bit of leniency because he was the new guy and didn’t know better.  However, that might depend on how many telepaths he encountered. “I heard that,” said Harv. Arc grinned.  “Good.” Harv favored Arc with the first genuine grin he'd shown since they'd met.  Proficient chuckled. “So I noticed that your cutie mark didn’t have anything to do with mind reading,” Arc said. Harv shrugged.  “My special talent actually involves fruit.  The telepathy thing is just more useful.” “There are a lot of us in this business who are out of our element,” Proficient added, glancing in the rearview mirror at Arc.  “I can tell that you’re one of them.  But don’t worry, you’ll find your place eventually.” The rest of the drive into central San Palomino was quiet.  Proficient steered the car towards an unmarked high rise office building that was primarily colored beige.  It was in heavy contrast to the sleek glass and steel skyscrapers that decorated much of the skyline.  They entered a garage below the building, Proficient waving at a bored-looking security guard. After finding a parking spot and collecting the missile launcher, the three of them went inside.  The lobby was plain, with bland tile floors and more beige on the walls.  A mare and a stallion sat at a reception desk.  They both looked intently at the visitors. “He’s with us,” said Harv, pointing a hoof in Arc’s direction. “He still has to do the blood test,” said the stallion.  As he stood up from behind the desk, Arc got the impression that he might have been a linebacker in a former career. This was not the first time Arc had visited the Shade office, and he shifted the missile launcher to a better balance as he gingerly held out a foreleg.  The security guard—for that was what he was—placed a small device on Arc’s fetlock.  Even though Arc had braced for it, he winced at the stab of a small needle taking a blood sample. Shade offices had ways of recognizing who belonged and who didn’t.  Arc had once overheard a conversation about spells, although he wasn’t yet sure if the security was entirely magic-based.  Until he was officially granted access to the building, he would have to endure a painful stick every time. The large stallion consulted the device as it processed Arc’s blood.  In a matter of seconds it came back with a positive result and the stallion nodded.  “You can go.” Arc took a moment to lick down the spot of red on his white coat.  Being light-colored was a constant battle to stay clean. Proficient and Harv led him away from the desk and down a hallway that was as dull and beige as the lobby.  They turned a corner and stopped at a door marked IT.  Proficient turned the handle and went inside. The room was darker than the outside hallway.  The walls were lined with banks of computers and the air conditioning vents provided a steady background thrum.  A desk in the center of the room did little to conceal a hulking minotaur behind two flat screen computer monitors.  She looked up as the door opened, her face and brown coat illuminated in the glow of the screens. Proficient said, “Tammy, could we please get a copy of Buttercup’s case file?” “Sure.”  Tammy nodded, turning away from the paper and pencil she had been using to instead begin typing at her computer.  She spared a glance for Arc.  “Who’s this?” “Arc,” he introduced himself.  He shifted slightly, thinking about offering a hoof to shake, but Tammy seemed busy.  She didn’t comment on the missile launcher. The light reflected on her face flickered.  Tammy said, “The case file isn’t in the system yet.  You’ll have to go down to the archive and get the hard copy.” “Thank you very much.”  Proficient nodded and smiled.  He led Arc and Harv out of the room.  Arc frowned as he exited, wondering why a case file would be put to paper before being electronic.  Did they write with old typewriters? He glanced at Harv expectantly, but the stallion didn’t seem to have heard.  Arc repeated his question out loud.  “Why are we going after a file in the archive?” “The electronic systems are part of a national network, but only so much can go out,” Proficient replied.  “Not only would it be impossible to transmit everything we collect, but in the day and age of advanced cyber espionage, we have to stay low profile with our bandwith.  I doubt they could break our encryption, but the key is not being noticed at all.  As you’re probably beginning to learn, that’s the whole theme of this separate, secret world that’s jammed in alongside the regular one.” “Okay.”  Arc nodded.  “But I was trying to ask Harv.” “Were you?” Harv asked.  “Sorry.  As part of the barrier spell on the front door, I asked the wizard building it to put in a telepathy blocker for me.  Inside this building is the only time I get any peace and quiet.” “The wizard?” Arc asked. “Yeah, he works for us doing freelance jobs.  I’m sure you’ll meet him eventually.” Arc decided not to ask anything further.  He already had enough to learn. The three of them took a set of stairs down two levels, Arc pausing to move the HU-7 from against his withers to lower on his back.  Down a long hallway, they were met with a high security door.  There was an electronic combination lock on which Proficient spent several seconds dialing in the combination. The lock opened with a click and Proficient hauled the heavy door open.  Beyond was a dim room filled floor to ceiling with records.  Beyond the stacks, it was hard to see how far the room extended.  The smell of old paper came wafting out the door. “We keep everything the San Palomino office has ever done right here,” Proficient explained as the three of them entered.  “We’ll send out topical reports online, so if somepony elsewhere needs more information we can do the research and get back to them.” “Yes, it is inefficient,” Harv said. Arc looked at him.  “I thought you couldn’t tell what I was thinking inside this building.” “I don’t have to.  Everypony thinks the archive system is inefficient,” Harv replied. “We’re the government; what’s efficiency?” Proficient chuckled.  “But the paper archives are also the best security system we’ve got.  You can’t hack in and quickly download things.” There was a shuffle of steps from back in the Archive shelves and a stallion stepped into view.  He was thin with thinner ginger hair and wore a sweater vest. Proficient stepped forward to shake his hoof.  “Hello Staple.” Staple nodded.  “Good day.  What can I do for you gentlecolts?” “Could we get Buttercup’s file?” Proficient asked. “Of course.”  Staple started to turn, but paused, looking at Arc.  “Is that an EPE you’re holding?” “An HU-7, actually,” Arc corrected. Staple shrugged.  “I’ve never been good with hardware.”  He shuffled away. In a moment, he was back with a thick folder.  Buttercup’s name was written on the front with black marker. Proficient accepted it from him with a word of thanks.  Staple waved goodbye as the three of them departed the Archive. “Let’s find somewhere quiet to review this,” Proficient suggested, leading the group back up a few flights of stairs.  They found an unused conference room and took seats around the table.  Arc set the missile launcher down in the chair beside him. Despite the thickness of the file, there was surprisingly little information that Arc could use.  Most of it detailed Buttercup herself, and had very little about her smuggling activities or the weapons she dealt in.  He looked up from the paperwork.  “Where’s the rest of her stash?  Nopony deals in just missiles.” “What we found in her apartment was the extent of the things we recovered,” Proficient explained.  “There’s more out there, but not even Buttercup knows where.  However, she did tell us who might.” Harv helpfully added, “It’s the Hooviet mob.” Arc leaned back, pushing the files on the table away from him.  “So who handles the case now that we’re dealing with organized crime?  The Royal Guard, maybe?” Harv pushed the files back to him.  “No, you take care of it.  It’s your first case, after all.” “Really?”  Arc gave him an incredulous look.  “I don’t know anything about the Hooviet mob, and MWB sure as Tartarus doesn’t give me jurisdiction to deal with civil crimes.” “Good thing MWB doesn’t own you anymore,” said Proficient.  “Now that you’re a Shade, you operate anywhere in Equestrian territory.” “What if this criminal group has foreign links, like in the Hooviet Union?” Arc asked. “Then we’ll contact our Hooviet counterparts,” Proficient provided. Arc paused, thinking about what the Hooviet version of Shades might be called, but instead decided to focus on something more important.  “I still don’t know anything about how to handle criminals.” “We wouldn’t want to throw you to the sharks all alone, even if the Shades do typically give the individual more freedom to operate than your typical law enforcement agency,” said Harv.  “We’ll set up a meeting and send you with a few others.” “Not you guys?” Arc asked.  He gestured to Harv.  “Mind reading strikes me as a useful tool for interrogation.” Harv shrugged modestly.  “I can’t be everywhere at once.  Besides, there are plenty of quality ponies working here.  Odds are good you’ll get what you need.” Proficient checked the time.  “Speaking of getting what you need, Arc, I believe you’ll want to be home early tonight?” Arc checked his own watch.  “Definitely.  Full moon.” “I suppose we’ll continue tomorrow, then.”  Proficient stood up.  “Come on, we’ll escort you out of the building.” “Hang on,” said Arc.  “What am I supposed to do with this missile launcher?” At the same time, but on the other side of San Palomino in a different government facility, Arc’s wife Roxy was asking a related question.  “Why did you leave a missile launcher in your bed?” Buttercup sat on the other side of the table, looking frail and overwhelmed.  Being locked up had not been good to her, and she’d only been there for a few days. The light in the room was good, and both mares had no trouble seeing each other.  As it happened, they were both yellow pegasi, although Buttercup’s shade was lighter.  Roxy’s blue mane was also more recently groomed.  Even after only one day of incarceration, Buttercup appeared disheveled.  Her cutie mark was a simple flower, while Roxy had a test tube crossed with a crescent moon. “Putting that weapon there was the proof I needed to convince everypony that I was guilty.”  Buttercup’s eyes didn’t meet Roxy’s, or those of the other mare sitting in the room. A mare named Market Outlook sat at the corner of the table between the other two.  She was slight, with a pale orange coat and a blue mane in a precise braid.  The mark on her hip was a graph plot.  Market was also happened to be the jailor, with Buttercup as her charge and Roxy as her guest.  Around Market’s barrel was a utility belt with cuffs, bridle, and keys. “We would have just taken your word that you were selling illegal weapons.”  Market’s hooves were folded, her brows concerned. “I wanted something that would keep me here,” Buttercup replied quietly.  “I’ve decided that I need to be locked away.  Tonight’s the full moon, and I can’t be free until the new moon.” Roxy’s eyes dropped for a moment to a report about Loonies on the table in front of her.  It was remarkable how the seemingly innocent mare could turn into a criminal mastermind when the moon was waning.  It was the opposite of what lycans went through.  The full moon was when Roxy was at her worst. “What you have isn’t well understood, but you can help us.  Maybe we can find a way to help you,” Roxy said.  Buttercup nodded, although she wouldn’t meet Roxy’s eyes. The conversation lulled and drew to an end.  Market pushed her chair back from the table and stood.  “I think that’s enough for today.” She helped Buttercup to get up.  There was a tinkle of chain from the hobbles and wing wraps she wore.  Market walked with her, leading her out of the room and down the hallway. The building’s décor was best described as functional, although for a facility that was, for all intents and purposes, a prison, it wasn’t particularly harsh.  In fact, it was outfitted more like a maximum security dormitory rather than a jail. Roxy followed as Market escorted Buttercup back to her cell.  After the cuffs came off, Buttercup sat down on her bed and stared blankly at her lap, forelegs folded. Market backed out of the room and closed the door securely.  She turned towards the other end of the hallway and gestured for Roxy to follow. The two of them shortly arrived in Market’s office.  It was sparsely furnished, although more colorful than any of the cells.  The desk was made of particle board but had a reasonable quality veneer on the surface.  The only personal touch was a battered pewter tankard, which sat at the corner of the desk, half full of lukewarm water. “Thank you for helping me out,” Roxy said as Market gestured her to a chair. “It’s what I’m here for,” said Market.  “Although if you want specific information about Loonies, I’m afraid I haven’t encountered many before.” There weren’t enough lines on Market’s face for her to have had too many previous jobs.  Roxy asked, “What did you do before?” “I was a valkyrie, punching the clock in Valhalla. I decided to retire a few years ago.”  Market gestured to the office.  “This has been a change of pace.” Even in her brief employment with the Shades so far, Roxy had heard more surprising things.  Not many, though.  She opened her notebook and returned to the subject at hoof.  “I’ll ask you if I think of anything else about Buttercup’s case.  She was very cooperative and answered most of my questions.” “There was one thing that seemed strange to me,” Market commented.  “Odin has this saying: ‘Don't leave your weapons lying around; you never know when you may suddenly need them.’  If Buttercup wanted to do something to get herself arrested, why did she only put one weapon on display?  Why not just direct the Shades to where the entire stash was being kept?” Roxy paused.  “That’s an interesting question.  Maybe my husband, Arc, will know something about that.” Market nodded.  “If you want to know about illicit weapons, we’ve got some Hooviets around that sometimes cooperate with us.” “They sell arms and you haven’t busted them?”  Roxy frowned. Market waved a hoof.  “No, they’ve always been careful to just be a go between, a friend of a friend.  I first met this particular group when I was in Minos.  I’ve seen them in action and they’re very slippery.” “What were you doing in Minos?” Roxy asked. “Well, with only three valkyries on duty at any given time to cover the whole planet, you go where they send you.”  Market shrugged.  “It was a weird time, what with the Moose Island incident and everything else that was going on.  It’s part of why I retired.” Market put on a sheepish smile.  “Sorry, I try not to think about the past, especially in front of other ponies.” “It’s okay.”  Roxy closed her notebook and stood up.  “Thank you for the visit.” Market said goodbye and Roxy let herself out of the office.  She took the elevator down to the lobby, which isolated the cells from the outside world.  Passing the security desk where she had given a blood sample to be let into the building, she walked outside. The afternoon was still warm, and Roxy spread her wings.  Her car was parked nearby, but her next destination wasn’t far at all. This part of the city was older, but still full of thriving small businesses.  The jail was inconspicuously situated between a movie theater and a deli.  Roxy’s aerial perspective gave her an overview of the area. A few blocks away stood a weathered library.  The front doors were sturdy with brass hardware, the metal polished from countless hooves over the years.  Roxy landed on the sidewalk and entered. The interior was dark compared to the sun.  Crossing the large hall filled with shelves of books, Roxy stopped at the librarian desk that spanned the back wall. A young pegasus stallion with a raincloud cutie mark, glasses, and an unkempt blonde mane over his silver coat greeted her.  “Hello, Mrs. Deoxyribonucleic.” “Good afternoon, Gray.  You know you can just call me Roxy.” “Sure, I just thought it would be nice to take the extra effort.”  Gray smiled. Roxy nodded.  “I came to see Spike.” “Yeah, he’s upstairs.”  Gray tossed his head towards the ceiling.  “When I brought him lunch, he said he’d found the book you wanted.” “I’ll just get it from him and be on my way,” Roxy said. Gray hadn’t moved from where he had been talking to her.  “Busy day, huh?  What with the full moon and all.” “Yes, it is.” “What’s it like?” he asked. “Excuse me?” Roxy raised an eyebrow. “What’s it like to be a wolf?  Does if feel different from being a pony?” She considered for a moment. “Well... having paws with toes makes walking feel very different, I guess.  I don’t actually remember very much, because at the full moon I basically lose my mind.” The answer seemed to disappoint Gray.  He tried another question.  “How about eating? What's it taste like to eat flesh?” Roxy’s jaw clenched as stared at the young stallion. He shifted nervously under her glare.  “Er, I mean, when I ask the gryphons they just laugh and say it tastes like chicken, whatever that means.” His nervous chuckle died when he saw she wasn't laughing along with him. Gray’s face flushed and he muttered an apology.  He quickly unhooked a velvet rope and ushered Roxy behind the desk.  She stalked past him and opened an unmarked door that led to a dim staircase. Closing the door, she took a deep breath.  Putting the matter with Gray behind her, she started up the stairs.  At the top, there was a dusty room with bare lightbulbs hanging from the rafters and shelves of old books all across the floor.  Roxy paused.  “Hello?” From behind a set of shelves at the other end of the room, a dragon emerged.  “Hi there!  I was wondering when you’d show up.  I told Gray Cloud to be on the lookout.  Come in.”   He was taller than a stallion, yet appeared somewhat stunted.  His body was purple and green, colors that separated easily from the faded books. At his invitation, Roxy approached.  Up close, she could see the individual details of Spike’s scales and the fangs that pushed past his lips.  A diamond bracelet hung from around his wrist. He gave her his full attention.  “It was an interesting topic you asked me to look up.” “I hope so,” Roxy replied.  “I don’t know very much about Loonies.” “Then it’s good that I have exactly what you need.  Now where…oh, there it is.”  A few tiny breezies appeared beside Spike, lifting a faded leather-bound book. Spike took the book in his claws.  The breezies fluttered away gently.  Roxy saw a few more of them idly watching from nooks and crannies around the room. Spike peered at the cover of the book for a moment and then handed it over.  Roxy glanced at the book, seeing what might at one time have been an embossed title.  She stowed it in her purse.  “Thank you.” “You are most welcome.”  Spike smiled.  “Remember that the library has a two-week checkout policy, even for books from the Super Special Section.” Roxy grinned.  “I’ll keep that in mind.  Thanks again.” She went back down the stairs and traded nods with Gray before heading back outside.  A short flight later, she was back at her car and heading home. Arc was there in their suburban one-bedroom house when she arrived.  He met her at the door between the garage and the kitchen with a smile. They kissed briefly and Roxy dropped her purse on the kitchen counter.  Arc put a hoof around her withers and the two of them stood close, just enjoying being together. “How was your day?” Roxy asked. “A little strange,” Arc replied.  “You?” “Same.” They kissed and nuzzled again, enjoying each other’s touch a little longer this time.  Both pulled back, and for a moment there was an uncertain pause where the encounter could either conclude or intensify. “Everypony will be here in half an hour,” Arc gently reminded her. Roxy nodded and leaned forward for another quick peck on the cheek before disengaging.  She headed for the bedroom. Arc opened the refrigerator to inspect the selection of leftovers.  Even cold, he had a hard time deciding between Tofu Marsala and Lemon-Dill Watercress.  Roxy was, to put it rather bluntly, a heck of a cook.  Arc for his part was pretty good at washing dishes. He selected the container of tofu and put it into the microwave to warm.  From the hallway, he heard Roxy go into the bathroom. Roxy had put down her purse and mane ties, moving to the bathroom to remove her makeup.  She stopped in front of the mirror and took a breath to steady her hooves before picking up a tissue.  Now that she was home, her mind had turned from work to more personal matters, like the impending full moon night. Emerging from the bathroom a few minutes later, she returned to the kitchen to find Arc sitting down to dinner.  Roxy wasn’t hungry, although she did sit down at the table across from him.  Her forelegs crossed and uncrossed, hooves moving to have something to do. Arc gave her a smile and did not draw attention to her fidgeting.  The full moon, although more stressful for her, still gave him plenty of worries. Finished eating, Arc got up and went to the sink, rinsing his dishes.  Over the sound of the flowing water, Roxy heard a vehicle pull into the driveway.  It was one she had heard before. Her ears tipped that direction. “They’re here,” she said. Arc shut off the water and listened for a moment.  After a second, he shrugged and took her word for it. The two of them exited the front door, Arc locking it.  A minivan was parked in the driveway.  The mare in the driver’s seat waved as they approached.  Arc and Roxy got in the back. There were already four ponies in the van: Sketch, Tracy, Nita, and Argyle. Sketch and Tracy sat in the front; it was their van.  They were older than the rest, although only by about a decade.  They both were artists and had no foals. Nita and Argyle were about as unlike as could be, but that didn’t stop them from dating.  From what Arc had heard, they had met in the woods under a full moon. Tall and heavily built, Argyle had to contort himself to let Roxy and Arc into the van.  Waiflike Nita had no such trouble.  She grinned and poked Argyle’s shoulder.  “Aren’t you glad you came to Equestria, the country of huge cars?” “Ya, ya,” Argyle muttered.  “Back home ve did not drive, ve drank.  Quality Germane beer.” “Not my favorite, to be honest,” said Arc as he and Roxy got into the middle seats. Nita giggled and put a hoof on her coltfriend’s chest.  “Don’t offend him.” “No offense intended,” Arc replied.  “After getting back from a year-long tour in Camelstan, I would have drank anything–maybe even Germane beer.” “Hey now, no fighting!” called Tracy from the front seat as she pulled back out onto the street. “Yes, Den Mom,” replied Roxy with faux condescension. “And don’t you forget it,” Tracy ordered.  “Somepony has to keep this wolfpack in check.” Sketch grinned.  “You’re doing a fine job of it, dear.” The six of them drove east, heading towards mountains for forests.  Roxy and Nita made small talk to pass the time. “I’m thinking about switching colors,” Nita said.  “If my mane needs to be redyed every time I change, now is a good time to try something new.” “But if you went with another color, you’d need something besides black outfits to match it,” Roxy pointed out. “You’re lucky you look good natural.  Anyway, it’s my shtick,” Nita explained.  “Working at my secretary job, I can’t just suddenly be normal.  Ponies who came in would be confused and think my boss hired somepony new.” “Goth problems,” Argyle quipped. Nita hit his shoulder.  “I told you; I had nothing to do with the fall of the Roamane Empire!” Argyle shrugged.  “Vell, ponies keep saying that I look like a local.” “The accent doesn’t tip them off?” asked Nita with raised eyebrows. “Accents don’t mean anything,” Roxy put in.  “After I learned to hide mine, nobody has suspected me of being from Appleoosa since.” “I always thought it was sexy,” said Arc, turning to her with a grin. Roxy paused.  “Isn’t that the first thing you said to me when we met?” “Does it still work?” “Oh, you,” she laughed, eyes rolling. The conversation was good for everypony’s mood.  Arc made sure his wife’s hoof was never far from his own.  He saw her relax, and that put a smile on his face. The trip away from the city took nearly an hour and ended on a narrow dirt road that was thick on either side with trees.  The evening sun, if it could have been seen through the forest, hung low and nearly at the horizon. As the van came to a stop, the casual chatter faded away.  Arc opened the sliding door and everypony got out.  Sketch, Argyle, Nita, and Roxy stepped away from the van, all four of them looking to the forest with a mixture of resignation and some underlying eagerness. Roxy took a few steps back towards Arc.  The two of them leaned closer for a kiss.  Her wings came forward to brush his neck. She lingered close to him, her nostrils flaring as she inhaled his scent.  Their eyes met.  She smiled.  “See you in the morning.” Turning, Roxy joined the others and they disappeared into the forest. Arc turned, moving back to the van.  He and Tracy got in.  The two of them shared a bond of common hardship, stoically attending to their respective spouses.  Arc saw his own anxious face reflected in the rear-view mirror.  Leaving their spouses behind this one evening per month left them both feeling useless. However, there was something Arc could do this evening, something productive.  He could go meet the Hooviets.