Have you ever visited Trottingham in the summertime? It's a perfectly nice city in any other season, but the summer is when it really shines, with its magnificent fountains, its colorful flower gardens, and its plethora of local cuisine options. I know Manehattan and Canterlot are the culture centers of Equestria, but you can't beat a summer day in Trottingham when the weather is nice. It will always have a special place in my heart, which might sound odd considering I landed in jail the first time I was there.
It happened during my very first trip through Equestria. I had already plied my trade across the Zebra Nation for several years, but after hearing tales of Equestria's wealth and prosperity, I decided to chase my fortune across the sea. My family was dead set against the idea, especially my mother. She kept saying that my trip would end up like my uncle's journey to Equestria years before, from which he returned broke and world-weary after a long stint in a Manehattan jail. "Ponies do not respect our ways," she said. "You will not last but three or four days." My visions of gold won out in the end, however, and I made the journey without a second thought.
During my first few months in Equestria, I experienced both the highs and lows of being a stranger in a wealthy land. On one hoof, while most ponies were not outwardly uncomfortable with my presence, I generated my fair share of suspicious looks and nervous glances. I also seemed to wait an awfully long time for any sort of service, especially when I dined out. On the other hoof, while the streets weren't exactly paved with gold, they had a lot fewer potholes than the roads at home, and I managed to surpass my previous year's earnings in a mere two months. I decided that while respect might be out of reach, if the gravy train kept rolling, I could live with mere tolerance.
One night, while working on the midway of the Canterlot clover festival, I overheard the ponies running the cart next to mine say that they were heading to Trottingham next to work the city's annual flower fair. I had been traveling haphazardly across Equestria up to that point, so I decided to go to the Trottingham festival myself. Everything had been going well so far; why would this be any different?
My first afternoon in town started the same as they always did: I rolled my cart into the park, set up my booth before the four o'clock start, and went into my usual routine: a few flashy pyrotechnics to draw a crowd, a few classic tricks—disappearing objects, endless hoofkerchiefs, and the like—to entertain the audience, and a few special gifts for the youngest members of the audience. I recall being particularly proud of the balloon unicorn I gave one little filly—I'd spent four days practicing the proper way to tie off the horn, and it came out perfectly.
Life was good for the first few hours: the youths were amazed, the aged were amused, and my donation cup was overflowing with the generosity of my audience. Then, without warning, disaster struck: After finishing my act with a flowery flourish, I turned to find myself nose-to-nose to a smug-looking unicorn wearing a red-and-white-striped shirt and a serious expression. "May I see your performer license, please?" he asked.
"Performer license?" I knew I was in trouble the moment he asked the question. "I, uh, I don't have one."
"You don't have a license?" For a moment, I swore a saw the hint of a smile flash across the pony's face. "Oh dear, this is a problem. I'm afraid you're in violation of city ordinance #461 regarding street performers."
I sighed. "I'm sorry, sir. I didn't know. I've never needed a license before."
The unicorn sneered at me. "Well," he huffed, "here in Trottingham, all street performers are subject to a rigorous evaluation procedure to ensure they are of suitable character. We don't want just anypony—or any zebra—interacting with our children, do we?" He pulled out a quill and a pad of paper, scribbled down a few details, then tore off the top sheet of the pad and gave it to me. "You have ten minutes to vacate the premises, and twenty-four hours to pay the fine."
"Fine, I'll—" I stopped as I read the paper the unicorn had given me. My eyes nearly popped out of my head when I saw the number written at the bottom. "One hundred and fifty bits?!" I exclaimed. "Are you kidding? This is outrageous!"
"Well, had you paid attention to our rules and regulations," the unicorn replied as he gave me another smug smirk, "you would have only paid a thirty bit fee."
"Why didn't someone say something when I got here?" I demanded, my temper rising with every syllable. "Why did you wait until after the festival started to check licenses?"
"Well, we assume that festival participants are smart enough to know and follow the rules," the unicorn replied. "We aren't paid to be your mother around here."
I sighed, and turned back to my cart. "Forget it. I'll go."
"I'm afraid it's not that simple," the pony said. "You're not from around here, are you?"
"No, I'm not even from Equestria."
"I suspected as much." The unicorn looked past me and gestured with his hoof for someone to step forward.
Suddenly, I found myself flanked by two large police ponies wearing shiny badges. "What's all this about?" I asked.
"Seeing that you're not a resident of Equestria, much less Trottingham," the unicorn continued, "I believe you are far too much of a flight risk to just let you leave." He nodded to the police ponies. "Officers, take this lawbreaker away."
"Away? As in, to jail?" I broke out in a cold sweat at the realization. Images of dank, dark cells with cement floors and rusty bars flashed through my mind, along with the unhelpful soundtrack of my uncle describing his past prison stay. A bolt of fear shot through me as I heard him say, 'Zebras aren't welcome in pony prisons. When they go in, they don't always come out.' I panicked, started looking for a place to run, and—
The next thing I knew, I found myself lying on my back with an ice pack on my head and fresh ink stains on all four hooves. Looking around, I discovered that I was alone inside a small jail cell, which was unfurnished save for the bench I was lying on. The room itself was surprisingly clean, with shiny cell bars and whitewashed walls, but that didn't make me any happier to be there.
My stirring caught the attention of an orange-coated earth pony sitting at a desk on the opposite side of the room. "Oh good, you're awake," she said in a thick Manehattan accent. "The boys didn't want to toss you in the holding cell until you were conscious."
"Why was I unconscious?" I demanded. "I wasn't threatening anyone. That was excessive force!"
The orange pony lifted her glasses and looked down her nose at me. "The Taser spell is universally approved as a restraining force by the Supreme Court of Equestria. You were trying to escape, so they zapped you. Nothing excessive about it." She turned and shouted towards a nearby doorway. "Yo, Bobby! The zebra's awake!"
Bobby, a big bruiser of a pegasus wearing a badge and a funny-looking helmet, showed up a few seconds later and dragged me over to a larger holding cell in another room. "In you go, pal," he said as he tossed me into the cell.
I picked myself up off the floor and looked around at all my new roommates. I don't remember exactly how many ponies were there, but I quickly realized that I was the only non-pony in the crowd.
The reaction to my appearance was mixed: Half the room was giving me the evil eye, and half the room had the same nervous, wide-eyed look that I did. Apparently the bad rap zebras had around here worked both ways: While everyone probably hated me, a good portion of them seemed to fear me too. Regardless of their reasons, the other ponies stayed along the back side of the cell, ceding the side closest to the cell door to me. I swallowed hard and backed myself into one of the corners, wondering how long I would be stuck in here, and how long I would last.
As I pondered my next move, a few more of my uncle's words of wisdom popped into my head: 'Prison ponies are like lions: They prey on the weak and helpless. The only to way to survive is to make them think you're the the meanest, toughest, most ornery creature around.' Given my precarious position, I decided it was worth a shot.
I gritted my teeth, put on my best scowl, and glared back at my cellmates. "Keep thy distance, all of you," I growled, "or I'll cook you up into a stew!" I didn't know a lick of real magic, of course, and I couldn't rhyme like a true zebra shaman, but they didn't have to know that. Thankfully, zebras don't have obvious magical tells like unicorns do.
A couple of ponies flinched at my words, but an earth pony stallion sitting in the opposite corner of the room stood up, shrugged off my warning, and started walking towards me. His light-brown coat was spotted with patches of dried mud, and his gold-colored mane and tail were long, unkempt, and badly matted. He wasn't the scariest-looking pony of the bunch—the dirtiest, maybe—but he still gave me cold chills as he approached. "Um, uh, foolish pony, can't you hear?" I stammered. "I shall beat you, er, most severe!"
The scruffy pony stopped about six hooves away from me and rolled his eyes. "Let me guess," he said, "no license at the flower fair, huh?"
"No!" I objected loudly. "I mean, um, do not be silly! I'm here for assault and battery!"
The scruffy pony stifled a laugh. "You lie about as well as you rhyme, Stripes," he chuckled. "Besides, everypony heard Bobby talking about you hours ago. Your tough act ain't gonna fly."
"You... You know?" My resolve crumbled, and I retreated further into the corner. "Please don't hurt me."
The scruffy pony just laughed. "You don't understand, Stripes," he said. "I want to help you."
"Help me?" Now I was confused. "What do you mean?"
"Well," the scruffy pony began, "an enterprising zebra yourself is bound to have a few bits tucked up your sleeve, right?"
"Well, I—"
"And these guys over here," the pony continued as he swept a hoof towards the others, "they don't look really happy that you're here, do they?"
"No, I—"
"So you should make them happy!" the pony concluded. "And I happen to know the perfect way to do it."
I was genuinely intrigued by this point. "And that would be?"
"Apple cider!" the scruffy pony declared, throwing a hoof around me. "Nopony can hate a pony—or zebra, in your case—who's willing to buy them a round."
I gave the scruffy pony a puzzled look. "You want me to buy these guys cider? Really?"
"I know what you're thinking!" the scruffy pony said. "You're thinking 'How are we supposed to get cider in here?'" He walked over to the cell door. "Observe."
The scruffy pony starting banging his hooves on the bars for all he was worth. "Hey, Bobby! Bobby!" he shouted. "Get your flank in here!"
Bobby emerged from the hallway after about ten seconds of clamor. "What do you want, Roady?"
Roady—what was that short for?—pointed at me. "Stripes here wants to ask you about something."
Bobby sighed as he looked over at me. "Roady wants you to buy him a drink, doesn't he?"
"Not just me," Roady insisted. "Everypony!"
"Everypony?" Bobby gave me a funny look. "How did he—you know what, I don't even care. You want cider, it'll be thirty-five bits."
"Thirty-five?" I exclaimed. "How can—"
"Because I make the rules, that's why." Bobby turned and walked away. "I'll get the bits out of your cart thing outside."
My cart! I had completely forgotten about it in the chaos of my incarceration. "Where is it?" I asked. "Can I see it? Is it okay?"
"Keep your stripes on, pal," Bobby replied. "It's down in the impound lot right now. You'll get it back when we process you."
"And that will happen..."
"Monday, when the judge comes back."
Monday? As in, I was going to be stuck here for the rest of the weekend? The revelation hit me like a sledgehammer. I dropped to my knees and smacked my head against the bars as a few tears escaped my eyes. I had been incarcerated and conscious for all of ten minutes, and I was already falling apart. How was I going to last the whole weekend?
"Cheer up, Stripes," I heard Roady say. "The first night's always the hardest. It gets easier."
I turned and looked up at Roady, a bit suspicious of his motives. "Did you convince me to buy cider for everyone in here just so you could get one?"
"Nope," Roady said with a straight face. "It's just a nice fringe benefit. Don't think of it as buying cider, though. Think of it as making a peace offering."
"Really?"
Roady nodded. "Half these guys have probably never even seen a real zebra before, let alone gotten to interact with one. A good first impression goes a long way."
Roady's logic made sense, but a question lingered into my mind: Why did he care about the first impression of a random zebra he'd just met? Was it all just a plot to get a decent drink, or was there something else at play? At the time, I was still reeling from the whole getting-stuck-in-jail thing, and was just happy to find someone who was concerned about me, regardless of their motives. Still, I couldn't help but wonder about my newfound friend.
Bobby soon returned with a large box of cider mugs balanced on his back. "Looks like drinks are on the house tonight, boys," he said as he set the tray down and slid it through a small opening at the bottom of the cell door.
"Hallelujah!" Roady reached down and grabbed one of the mugs, then turned to the other ponies in the cell. "Well, don't just stand there!" he said. "Dig in!"
A few ponies stepped forward tentatively, but none made the full trip across the cell. "Come on, you scaredy-ponies!" Roady chided the others. "What are you afraid of?"
A large unicorn stepped forward, spat on the floor, and started glaring at Roady. This guy certainly looked like the scariest pony in the cell, with his full beard, muscular legs, black toque, and matching pants. "You idiot," he snarled. "You can't trust a zebra as far as you can throw him. He's probably poisoned those drinks with his weird magic so he can have this cell to himself!"
A few of the ponies gasped at the thought, but Roady just laughed. "What a way to go!" he declared. He swung the mug up to his lips with a flourish and drained the entire thing in one swig. "Not bad," he offered as he wiped his mouth. "A bit stale, though. Tell Bobby to get some fresher stuff next time."
A few tense seconds passed as everyone stared at Roady. "H-H-How do you feel?" one pony asked.
"Like I'm king of the world!" Roady said, flexing a hoof for the crowd. "Now get over here and grab a mug before I drink this whole tray!"
One by one, the other ponies slowly made their way over to claim their refreshments. I got a few nervous glances at the start, but as they started drinking, they all seemed to loosen up, and even smile a little. Pretty soon, only the mean-looking pony was left on the far side of the cell. "Come on, Bruiser," Roady said, offering a mug to the scary pony. "There's a mug with your name on it."
Bruiser took the mug from Roady and scowled down at it. "Seeing that you wanted a drink so bad," he grumbled, "you can have mine!" He swung the mug back towards Roady, splattering cider all over Roady's face.
"Hey!" I shouted. "What'd you do that for?" I immediately regretted saying anything as everyone else turned and looked at me.
"Stay out of this, zebra!" Bruiser growled.
Roady wiped the cider from his eyes, but amazingly, he never lost his grip on his own mug. He gasped as he looked down at the cider dripping onto the floor. "Look what you've done!" he said. "How can you waste perfectly good cider like that?"
Bruiser grinned evilly at Roady. "What's the difference between spilling it and giving it to a waste of a zebra lover like you?"
Roady's expression flipped from shock to anger in an instant, and he suddenly lunged at Bruiser. Everyone else froze while the two ponies traded blows, as the fight was an obvious mismatch—Roady was smaller, lighter, slower, and generally weaker than Bruiser—and no one dared get in the way of Bruiser's punches.
Mercifully, the fracas drew Bobby and two other officers to the cell, and within seconds they were inside and restraining both fighters. "All right, you two," Bobby said, "it's solitary confinement for you if you're going to cause trouble!"
Roady, now sporting a black eye and bunch of new bruises, wasn't really in position to disagree, but it took all three officers to drag Bruiser out of the cell. As he struggled to break free, Bruiser looked over and spat in my direction, though he missed me by a good ten hooves. "You better watch yourself, zebra," he threatened. "I'm the boss around here, and I don't take kindly to tricky scum like you hanging around."
Bobby reached over and slapped Bruiser across the face. "I'm the boss around here," he said, "and don't you forget that!" He turned to the rest of us. "As for you all," he declared, "pub night is over. Lights out in five!"
As the other ponies grumbled about the order, I watched as Roady was hauled away by the officers. His eyes were open, but whether there was any activity behind them was anybody's guess, and it was all my fault. I tried to say I was sorry, but instead I just looked away, too ashamed to even face him.
Pretty soon, the lights went out, and the other ponies yawned and laid down on the floor. I walked over to the one small window that the cell had, and looked up at the moon and stars. I had never been a spiritual pony, but I folded my hooves and said a good long prayer to the zebra spirits that night. I was suddenly a marked zebra, and if I was going to get out of here alive, I was going to need all the help I could get.