//------------------------------// // II – One Must Walk Before They Can Run, Lest They Fall and Scrape Their Knee // Story: To Serve and Protect // by Deyeaz //------------------------------// II – One Must Walk Before They Can Run, Lest They Fall and Scrape Their Knee 10:13 AM         After spending the better half of an hour touring the city, remembering the locations and landmarks in the vicinity with the help of both a trusty map and the professional navigation of the citizens, Midnight Oil had reached his destination. He examined the prominent gray building, “Horseattle Police Department” hanging proudly above the doors to the inside. Colorful hydrangeas sprouted in the redwood mulch patches flanking the entrances, the sprinkling of rain providing them with their daily dose of water.         Midnight pushed open the amber-stained wooden doors, the sounds of hustling and bustling ponies of the law filling his ears. The filing of police records. The shuffling of hooves on cedar hardwood. The idle chatter of ponies on break in the lunchroom, guzzling their coffee and munching on their breakfasts. The solemn voices of interrogators pressing and prodding the buttons of their culprits and suspects to get the answers they need.         Midnight’s eyes and ears swallowed it all, making note of each and every minute detail as he visually explored the facilities. He wandered up to one griffin, the navy blue police uniform clashing quite fairly with her mahogany plumage, the golden badge upon her chest glinting in the light of the fluorescent bulbs. “Excuse me,” Midnight began, clearing his throat to get the griffin’s attention. He felt his throat close up slightly as her sharp orange eyes scanned him thoroughly. “I’m here for an interview at ten-fifteen. Do you know where I go, by any chance?”         “Ah, you’re the guy!” The griffin, with a smile, promptly extended her claw, inviting Midnight for a handshake. Midnight gingerly accepted it, nodding. “Yeah, come this way.” Midnight followed her to the doors of a square office. She opened the door and showed Midnight in. It was a rather spacious office with eggshell-white walls. The desk had a standard layout—a pencil holder and sharpener, office supplies, a laptop—with the name and title “Summer Corona – Chief of Police” embedded into a gold plaque. The shelf behind the desk proudly displayed trophies from soccer, hockey, and fishing. There were high school and college diplomas in psychology and forensics. There were family photos and a drawing done by a child. Pegasus holding up a large lake trout, rearing to about three feet in length, weighing in at almost thirty to forty pounds. The stallion stood tall, chest puffed out boastfully at his catch. “Impressed, are you?” said a voice calmly. Midnight jumped at the sound. He didn’t immediately notice the speaker, the same stallion from the photograph, sitting in his chair and examining the police reports that littered his desk. His icy blue eyes scanned meticulously through the contents as he scratched at his bushy auburn goatee. “Got that bad boy two years ago. Mounted him on my wall all the while.” He stood up. He was two inches shorter than Midnight, yet he was as muscular as a bodybuilder, no doubt capable of twisting the Sarosian into a bow knot. “My name is Summer Corona, chief of police.” “Midnight Oil, a pleasure to meet you.” Midnight’s hand clasped around Corona’s, and the former regretted doing so almost instantaneously: the chief of police had a kung-fu grip capable of crushing coal into diamonds. The Sarosian could feel the little bones in his hands being reduced to dust. SWEET SCROTUM OF DISCORD, I'VE NEVER FELT SUCH PAIN! “...I trust you received my resumé and Princess Celestia’s letter of recommendation?” choked Midnight, his slightly watery eyes almost betraying his refusal to show weakness in front of his employer. “Yeah, yeah,” concurred Corona, finally breaking their greeting and not Midnight’s hand. He seemed not to give too much of a care. “Please, have a seat.” Midnight obliged, sticking his beloved extremity beneath his thigh to nurse it back to health. “Nine years of being the Princesses’ aide and scribe. I have to say it’s quite impressive. Tell me, they say here that you’re a certain subspecies of Sarosian: a Recorder. Could you, eh… elaborate on what those are?” Midnight Oil tugged at his collar, the slate-colored tie seemingly gagging him. Despite the brisk chill of the weather outside and the cool air from the A/C, he was on the verge of sweating like an obese rhinoceros running a marathon. “Of course. Recorder Sarosians have a heightened sense of seeing and hearing. Details, both obvious and subliminal, are processed far better and stored much longer for me. I absorb and retain any and all observations, both audible and visual, like a sponge in a tub of water.” Summer Corona had been writing hastily in his notepad, reiterating Midnight’s words in a hushed tone. He then looked at Midnight intensely with those piercing icy irises. Midnight tremored slightly, as though those eyes were x-raying him. He gulped as he dragged his hoof in a circle along the carpet, the tip creating swirls in the plush threads. “Are there more of them out there like you? Or are you just… special?” “No, sir. There are dozens, if not hundreds, of subclasses, or categories, of Sarosians in Equestria. My grandmother, for instance, is a Soothsayer. Meaning she witnesses prophetic visions, or vivid moments in the future.” Corona rose to his hooves. Midnight’s anxiety and… overall twitchiness subsided to make way for bemusement at his words. “I want to see this… Recording phenomenon for my own eyes. Take a good long look at the room. Take note of everything in it… now, if you could close your eyes for a moment.” He sighed exasperatedly at Midnight’s hesitance to comply. “I’m going to move some items around the room. Some of them will be obvious changes, and some of them will be almost unnoticeable. Let’s see if you’ll catch on.” Midnight rolled his eyes, and then closed them, going along with this little game. “When can I open them.” he droned, posing it like a statement from lack of enthusiasm. Summer Corona didn’t answer. Midnight could only hear hoofsteps. Objects being lifted and replaced on different surfaces. Soft thuds on hardwood and harsh drags on carpet were registered by his eardrums. “So, tell me, why is it you decided to leave your previous field of scribe for this field?” “Well… there was a bit of a fiasco that had happened in Canterlot,” said a hesitant Midnight, not sure if he should really shield the truth from his employer. It wasn’t completely a lie: he was simply omitting some sections of truth while still telling, basically, the entire story. “Even under the Princesses’ protection, I was still skeptical of my safety if I were to continue my life there.” Corona nodded, understanding the predicament to the best of his abilities. He had heard rumors that Canterlot didn’t take kindly to those who were… different than them. Different like Midnight, in the sense that they were regular, untainted ponies, whilst Sarosians were but half-breeds in their eyes. “Abominations” spawned from dragons who had the curiosity and gall to reproduce with ponies several hundreds of years ago. “So you decided to get away from it all before it went nuclear.” Midnight nodded. “Couldn’t have said it better myself.” Corona chuckled and finally announced, “Okay, now open your eyes.” Midnight flickered his eyelids ajar. “Tell me what’s different, now,” said Corona imperatively. The room, in some essence or form, seemed off, yet still bore its similar appearance. He looked around the vicinity, referring to his previous memory of it. He ruled out the obvious changes: the soccer trophy was moved on top of the desk; the notepad Corona had been writing on was moved on top of the shelf; and the spare chair that was once adjacent Midnight had been placed a foot away from him. Now for the rest. “The book on the shelf. You moved it out from its slot by about a half an inch…. The blinds behind me were open before. They’re still open, yet you closed them by about… what, two millimeters? The desk is moved back by…” He leaned in further, examining the treadmarks the desk’s legs scratched into the carpet. “...a quarter of an inch, approximately.” The chief of police’s eyebrows escalated slightly. He emitted a low whistle. “Not bad. Very good memory: I can see now you weren’t lying.” “N-no, sir.” The neurochemicals blitzing through Midnight’s brain were slowing to a sluggish chug, his rush from being right dying down to be replaced by anticipation for the results. “Well… Like I said before, your resumé is very impressive, and I trust you can handle your position here... eventually. Once you receive the right training, both intellectually and physically.” He then grinned a toothy grin, a silver implant that replaced his left canine tooth glinting in the light. “I trust that you understand. If we let you run around now, you’ll come back to us in a body bag.” “Sure, I get you. One must walk before they can run, lest they fall and scrape their knee,” finished Midnight on a nervous note. Why, why, why did I say that?! There are maize fields on Sweet Apple Acres that will never be as corny as that! Corona blinked for a second, processing such an odd phrase. “...I suppose you could say that, yeah.” He stood up and proceeded to head for the door. “In the meanwhile, you’ll be working alongside one of our own and learning the ropes.” “What, you mean I got the job?” said an excited Midnight. Just like that! It was only a matter of a few minutes! He didn’t know experience with Canterlot royalty gave him that much pull in finding a career, especially one that could be both meaningful and (hopefully) lucrative. This was great news for him: he couldn’t wait to tell Octavia and the others! The others… I never did tell them I was leaving Canterlot. Midnight was expecting Vinyl Scratch to come down to Horseattle herself just to pummel him into a mound of yuck. Frédéric would do the same, yet would first yell furiously and uncontrollably at Midnight for “stealing” Octavia from under his nose. The guilt that Midnight felt for clandestinely going steady with Octavia behind Frédéric’s back made the Sarosian nauseous. “Yeah, yeah, you got the job,” responded an irritated Corona. “Now don’t ruin it, please.” “R-right.” Midnight cleared his throat and readjusted his tie, not ready to exacerbate the moment. “Just… thank you so much. So, you said I would be assigned to a partner?” “Yes, of course.” Corona pushed in his chair, scooping up the police files, and made for the door to return them to the archives. “The griffin who brought you here? Her name is Gladys. Ask her to take you to Records to enter in your data, get you set up. Then, look for a Sarosian named Red Giant, down in the shooting range in the basement. He’ll issue you your badge and teach you how to shoot.” “Alright.” Midnight stood up and made his way for the door. He shook hands with Summer Corona once more, regretting the decision altogether as the chief of police unnecessarily crushed his hand yet again with his intense strength. HOLY MOTHER OF FAUST, WHYYYYY?!?! He mentally roared in agony as he passed the threshold, nursing his right hand yet again by stuffing it under his left armpit and squeezing like he was trying to crack a very sturdy nut. “Take care, and best of luck to you… detective.” Corona closed the door behind Midnight. ~End of Chapter II~