//------------------------------//
// The Brony and the Mule (part 1) 
// Story: Love Letters Written on the Back of a Star Chart 
// by Dawn Stripes 
//------------------------------//

	It was, by all accounts, the most politically incorrect of all leisure sports. Not only was it especially demeaning to both species—a problem aggravated by the tenuous ability of most Earthlings to distinguish Equestrian ponies from beasts of burden—but it was dangerous. A risk of astro-turf burn, if nothing else. The predicted possibility for injury was high enough that most universities were able to claim banning it on purely medical grounds. This wasn’t to say that anyone was in the dark about the embarrassment an institution would face if it took any less lenient stance. No organization that wanted to receive Thaumaturgy students would dare allow what humans, at least, perceived as a grave insult to their new allies. On top of all this, its rule structure was hopelessly crude. The game was based more in soccer than actual polo, and suspiciously resembled the sort of idea someone might scribble onto the back of a study sheet at three in the morning.
In short, pony polo was the most perfect dormitory sport ever devised.
Tom had a spare key to the indoor soccer gym. His players ran onto the field during off hours—about a dozen mares sneaking over from the nascent tourist hostel, and roughly as many young men in track shorts and bargain-bin Queen’s Park Rangers shirts. Most of the mares were earth ponies. They were also mostly naked—since the mares talked the most trash and stretched for the most running of all the participants, they saw no sense in floor-length day dresses that might get in the way. A bit of an odd move for Equestrian visitors to Earth in the present day, but no one here was complaining. This was well known along the grapevine to be the event to beat for meeting mares who didn’t mind a little admiring—at least whenever there wasn’t a My Little Pony convention in town.
As Aloe darted to and fro simultaneously dividing and pep-talking two teams, players paired off. One pony to a rider. Humans grabbed swimming-pool noodles from a plastic crate, and then tried to balance themselves on the backs of their chosen sporting partners without letting their feet drag. It wasn’t uncommon for a human, his legs already lifted back to keep them above the floor, to roll right off a pony’s back. Even before the mares started walking, several young men managed to go flying in spectacular configurations. But a few of the more experienced pairs were already doing steady warmup laps around the field.
The game got underway without a coin flip, a bell, or any formal summons, though Aloe had brought a whistle and was disappointed not to use it. The seven-colored beach ball was battered around the field with great vigor by the contestants, who were only allowed to touch it with the foam noodles held the human players. A well-aimed kick by anyone would have sent the ball straight into the goal, but the floppy swimming implements were much less effective. They mostly managed to send the beach ball high into the air, so that contestants could run about and crash into each other while looking up.
Aloe handed off her usual role as goalkeeper to one Violet Glimmer, a new player recruited by a friend of a friend of Lyra. Despite tripping several times over a floor-length purple tail, she put up a strong game, prancing about as if the twiggy bicyclist on her back didn’t weigh a thing.
Their team pulled away a strong three-point lead in the first half, punishing the weak right flank of the opposition. Tom and Lyra were manning that flank, as well as Tom’s dorm-mate Dave, another experienced player. But most of the other players on their team were newbies who took several tumbles and avoided breaking out into an untenable canter. The attacking team was also able to take advantage of the fact that Lyra, as a unicorn, had a little trouble supporting a full-grown human’s weight, and furthermore was far more interested in making light-hearted passes at any of the players she hadn’t met before. Always in a flirtatious mood during a game of polo, and well known to be fond of males, she was especially hard-put to remain focused on her crucial defense when a comely young stallion joined the crew of spectators that often accompanied underground polo games. By the beginning of the second half, Lyra’s team was facing a stiff lead and an enemy defense who was quickly getting the hang of staying balanced.
But when Aloe’s whistle sounded, the balance began to shift. Lotus had switched to another rider and began moving in to cover the weak right flank, darting from a center-forward position to all corners of the field. Lyra’s partner started squeezing his legs to spur her away from the impromptu conversations that broke out on the turf. The losing team scored several goals, and the game came down to the wire, tied with two minutes remaining on Aloe’s bright blue oven timer.
Aloe stole the ball from Reginald and Lotus and broke past the forward line. Defense moved in for a steal, but Aloe passed to Tom and Lyra, who dribbled back to Dave and sent the ball off-sides back to Aloe. Defense attempted to counter with a dance-off. But it was to no avail. Aloe moved in to score the winning goal.
When Lyra moved to block the shot, Aloe cornered hard, swerving into the opposite corner of the goal box. However, an earth pony could turn on a dime much easier than a human could stay mounted, and her rider went sliding off like hot butter. He rolled over Lyra’s head and into the goalbox as a startled keeper pranced out of the way. Tom ruled the goal invalid on account of being scored with the wrong projectile, and the rider came to a stop with his head against the back of the net.
“Goal!” Aloe cried, hopping around the field just before her timer sounded the end of the game. Both teams lost several points due to unsportsmanlike laughter, but in retrospect the game was deemed a tie, as the only scores on the boards were endearing stick-figures drawn by Berry Punch during the first half.

As long as everyone was out by eleven, the mares could grab a quick shower in the girls’ locker room. The indoor soccer gym, a shed compared to the primary rec center, was closed much of the day during the summer months, and all the polo players had to avoid were custodians who came in to check up on the place once a week. Plus, it was much more convenient to clean up right there. Many of the mares would be getting back to wherever they were staying on hoof. And for a few of them, that place was in another dimension. Aloe and Lotus, for instance, had to return to Ponyville before they would have another chance at running water. And it was well known that Berry Punch, who came along half to keep the twins happy and half to keep an eye on them, didn’t fancy walking with the smell for an hour even if there was a spa waiting at the other end.
They pushed open the door with their noses, herding in as a giggle-headed, lightly sweating cluster. Then they took over. Ponies were everywhere in the locker, making fun of the items they found in the corners of the lockers, or pawing and gnawing at shower handles that were just a little too high. Spouts hissed. The room filled with steam.
Lyra tilted all the nozzles so that the steady cascades were closer to the center of the gang shower. There was no awkwardness about bodies here. If they had been a bit older or a bit younger, there would have been a bit more discretion over washing in front of others. But most of them were in their own post-secondary studies or just setting off on their own, and they were a universe away from their parents. Given that, they relished the opportunity to face each other as they showered so that they could chat properly.
Pleasantries turned to speculation about politics, which turned to gossip, which turned in time to everypony’s favorite game of teasing Lyra over a certain boy who took a consistent interest in being her riding partner.
“She let him on, too,” added Violet with a salacious pout to her voice. “She spent half the match in the corner with Steve. That’s why we lost.”
“Oooooh!” Lotus stamped her front hooves.
Lyra began surreptitiously tilting her own showerhead back, retreating into the corner. But the glow of her horn gave her away, and Violet pulled her back into the ring.
“So have you asked him out yet?”
Lyra wiggled uncomfortably for a moment and blushed. “Actually,” she said in an uncharacteristically soft voice, “he asked me.”
A round of congratulatory giggles. “Come on then!” somepony else added. “You have to tell us everything!”
A shrug, as she scrubbed her back and withers with a loofa. “Well, after the game a few weeks ago—”
“A few weeks?” Aloe gasped. “How long have you been holding out on us?”
“Do you want to hear the story or not?”
Aloe made a lip-zipping motion.
“He stayed behind to help me pick up the cones and stuff,” Lyra said. “And then—”
Violet leaned into her, hugging her neck with both forelegs. “And then you trapped him in the closet and started passionately—”
A not-so-gentle push back. “And then he asked if he could go out on a date with me. And I said yes. So we went to Jeni’s Ice cream, and we both got double-scoops. He had Bangkok Peanut, and I had Goat Cheese. He let me pay his way. It was very nice.”
A half-groan, half-sigh escaped from Violet. “C’mon, Lye, we want the juicy details.”
Lyra lifted her chin, scrubbing her forelegs with aloof decorum. “He was a gentleman.”
“But you aren’t!” Berry Punch interjected. A round of chuckles rippled through the shower water.
“Come on,” Violet whispered. “How many times did he get you off?”
Lyra looked away slowly. She made a show of being occupied with her loofa, which fooled nopony since they were taking a rinse without soap. As the bated gazes continued to hang on her, she turned steadily redder.
Violet’s brow rose. “Alright—what’s the most number of times—”
“Four.”
A couple mares let out appreciative whistles; a couple others looked with on quietly with wide eyes. Aloe’s hoof shot up in the air. “Lies!” she cried. “Vile lies which will not go unpunished!”
Aloe’s antics were suffered with more amusement. “I told you humans were better,” said a butter-yellow earth pony to her friend.
“You’re right!” added another voice. “I thought the whole point of this game was to get them to sit on us.”
Lyra nodded and let the laughter chime.
Then she turned to look for the speaker. It was an unfamiliar voice, so most of the ponies instinctively sought a matching face so they could remember to make friends later. They blinked upon finding the source of the joke to be the one non-pony who had been a steed in the game that night.
There was a mule with them in the shower. Floppy ears and short, coarse fur, all as soaked as the rest of them. Her tassel-tail swung with droplets. 
Not that they hadn’t noticed her before. They’d all meant to say hi, and some of them had. During the game an observer would have been hard-pressed to notice that one of the ‘ponies’ was any different, and judging from the way the ponies interacted, they weren’t terribly keen to point it out. But no one had shared a sly wink with her when she joined in the locker-room giggles.
They gossip circle went quickly and uncharacteristically quiet. It was readily apparent that several mares, in rapid succession, came close to clearing their throat and speaking up, perhaps to self-consciously proclaim that there was no reason for everyone to have gone so quiet. But they stuttered off one at a time. The mule was trying to wrap her ears in front of her eyes. 
The mule was near trying to back out of the shower from embarrassment. She might have fled just so, too, had Lyra not leapt to stand in her way.
“Hey there!” She said with forced brightness, giving an introductory nuzzle. “You’re—Greta, right?”
The mule nodded, ears flapping in relief. “Yah! We met last week, when I came into Ponyfille to visit Uncle Cranky.”
“That’s really cool. I’m flattered you liked my silly little game enough to come back another week.” Lyra laughed loudly, and then thoughtfully placed a hoof on her chin. She looked the mule up and down.
“Hey,” she added slyly. “I’ve seen you with your eye on someone too.”
She nudged her shoulder into Greta, and the latter shied frantically away. “Oh. Oh. N-no, that’s not…”
“Aww, you don’t have to be coy!” With a wink worthy of Violet, she pulled Greta right into the center of a deep huddle. A hot shower made the circle even more intimate. Not even showerheads could be seen through the steam.
“Hey. Girls.” Lyra looked them each in the eye. “I’ve got an idea for next week…”

Next week, and at the same beautiful time, Tom unlocked the back door to the gym. The scent of ammonia floor cleaner hit him with his first step onto the rubber, and after a melodramatic snap of his fingers, so did the sheen of floodlights, one by one.	
The first shape to step in behind him was Dave. They might quite a tight pair since last year, driving everywhere in Dave’s beaten pickup. Dave was quite a bit shorter and ruddier than his roommate, and a bit on the chunky side—but it was easy to forget his appearance entirely after talking to him for half a minute. The only feature strong enough to stick in memory was the bright pink ski cap he sported everywhere, and his hands, which were constantly a blur whenever he spoke. He was usually speaking. His sentences were full of finger guns, imaginary gang signs, and little waves with no meaning but their place beside his effusive smile.
Tom, meanwhile, usually stood a little to the side, looking serious by virtue of his quiet. But there was a time when these normal roles were reversed—when they were surrounded by ponies.
Speaking of ponies, Lyra was in a few minutes later. Tom didn’t see her until she was one the field, her head bowed to push the old crate of pool noodles to the center line. He greeted her with a sunny wave from across the gym.
“Hey, Tom,” she called, not lifting more than an ear to acknowledge them. “Hi, Dave.” 
Then, as if suddenly remembering something, she stopped. Her head rose from the create. “Hey—Dave. You decided who you want to ride with tonight?”
Dave was busy multitasking; he was both tying his shoes and tripping over the weights laid out for serious athletes on the far side of the facility. But he answered once he righted himself, and tilted his eyebrows skeptically at her horn. 
“Naw, filly. Not yet. And thanks for the offer, but I think I might try to win tonight. I got to get some exercise.” He grabbed his belly and attempted to jiggle it with an apologetic grin.
“Oh, no worries, no worries!” Lyra flapped a hoof at him and went back to pushing the noodles. “You know who should ride with, then? Greta! She likes to chase the corners, like you. You’ll work great together.”
“Greta?” Dave jogged through the field gate and helped Tom set out orange cones. “Greta, Greta…she new?”
“No,” Lyra sighed. “Long ears, brown coat…”
“Long ears?”
Tom snapped his fingers. “Dave, she’s that mule. You met her. Remember?”
Lyra stared openmouthed at Tom for a moment, followed by a tight nod. “…Yeah. Just like you’re ‘that human’.”
“Well, sure,” said Tom with an innocent blink. 
Her ears drooped momentarily. “Nevermind.” She went back to pushing noodles.
Tom didn’t have long to stare after her silence before more of the regulars arrived. Berry Punch was next. She helped Dave in his quest to patch the old beach ball so that it could be inflated faster than the air leaked out. After passing several customary warnings to Lyra about the placement of her horn, they fell to shooting the breeze around the bicycle pump. Dave asked if Berry wanted to ride with him tonight. 
“Er…thanksh. Maybe.” Berry’s characteristic slur came through even around the pump pin in her teeth. Her speech defect, eerily reminiscent of a tipsy pony, was the source of a great deal of teasing, but no one could really be mean to a pony who was so easy to be around. She and Dave got along famously. Tom honestly wondered why Dave hadn’t asked to ride with her sooner.
But Berry backed up a pace. “Actually…” Her face lit up only after a moment of intense thought. “Shee, I wash hoping to ride with Wolfgangh tonight. Trying to get a chance to talk to the guy. He’sh got black dreadlocksh…”
Dave lifted a hand and backed down. “Yeah, yeah, I get you. Totally fine.”
He occupied his mouth with biting off a strip of duct tape. A minute or two later, he added, “Actually, I wasn’t sure whether you were into that scene.”
“OhI’mnot!” Berry’s mouth fell open. She quickly forced it closed with her hoof. “I mean…uh, uh…even I can make an exsheption for dreads. But I don’t know if I can get him to notice me. He’sh all over Greta right now. I don’t know if I can compete with that.”
“I see.” Dave was pinching his forehead, staring at the ball between his knees.
“But I’m not shalty,” Berry shrugged. “Everypony lovesh Greta.”
A shrug from Dave. “Well, if you want…” A deep breath. “I’ll even put in a good word for you. We’re not homies or anything, but I know Wolfgang from Art History, and I think you have a chance—”
“Oh!” Blushing, Berry Punch slurred even more. “No, no…that’sh fine. Don’t do that. D-don’t worry about it…”
Dave watched her edge away with some confusion, and then seemed to give up on understanding. He tossed the ball a couple times to make sure it was ready. More players had appeared in spurts by this time, and the field was nearly full. Dave was about to rise and do some stretches when Daisy appeared, twirling near him in an oddly ballerina-like fashion and holding one foreleg to her brow.
“Oh!” she moaned sorrowfully, tipping backwards. “Oh, woe! What is become of me! I’ll never be as pretty as—”
Suddenly, Lyra appeared to chomp down on her tail and yank her out of view.
Dave was stuck in a quintessential expression of bemusement. He resumed pumping.
The game was a blur. Berry Punch rode with Dave after all, and Tom spent a slow game talking to Daisy from the saddle about her family Hearthswarming traditions. Greta was present, playing a serious defense with Wolfgang seated on her back. Competition was a bit stiffer than normal. The score finished tied at one point apiece.
And after the game, as everyone was rolling their sweat off on the astro-turf or slowly stooping to pick up pool noodles, someone trotted up to Dave.
Tom broke off conversation with his roommate. The mule crossed her font legs and swung her long ears back along the side of her head. “H-hello…Dave?”
Dave blinked. His only clue was Lyra, who stood in a row with Daisy unselfconsciously staring his way. He might have also noticed that Tom was paying close attention.
“Hey.”
“Hey…” She flashed a white smile and uncrossed her legs. “We, ah, we’ve met before. I was vondering…” 
“Oh, yeah. I do remember you. You’ve been here before.”
“Yes, and…”
“And I don’t think I ever properly said hi.”
“Thanks. So, I wanted to ask you something…”
“You bet.”
With another gulp she bolted down the words. “Are you doing anything Friday night?”
Dave’s mouth formed a small o.
Twhump.
Tom coughed on the water he’d been guzzling. Greta stumbled back, rearing in horror from Dave’s suddenly-inert body as Daisy galloped over shrieking like a siren. “Sweet Celestia! You killed him! You killed Dave!”