//------------------------------// // Chemistry, Part One // Story: Be Human: the All-American Girl Sidestories // by Shinzakura //------------------------------// It was an easy evening in Aberdeen, Scotland. The sky was dark, the boys were out drinking on the town and the nightlife was just as it should be: boozy and rowdy. All except for one girl. In a pub, Moira MacLeish bemoaned the pictures on the telly. Pony girls, once again. No, not that kinky shit where lads and lasses dressed up in latex and banjo’d the bab out of each other. No, it was the aliens from another dimension, the Equestrianis. Stealin’ a right good resource from hardworking women such as herself, leaving them with nothing but a ballsed-up life and battery operated boyfriends. First it was that American pony girl raised like a human, gained herself a husband, a catchy one, too. Nothing wrong with that: she lived her all her life with people, so that was to be expected and one could say she really didn’t count. Then it was the unicorn gal that was an ambassador to the States – she caffed herself a nice lawyer. Again, nothing wrong with that; she was supposedly their expert on humans, so it’d stand that she’d lean in that direction. But it could be said it started with that goofy-eyed pegasus scientist and the Aussie rock star. Then another, this time between an earth pony (what the bleedin’ hell was an “earth pony” – shouldn’t that’ve been just regular pony?) girl and a Brazilian footy player. Then another unicorn girl and a Canadian hockey player. And again. And again. And bloody flippin’ again. Hell, there was even a rumor that one of the alicorn princesses themselves got a little action, shaggin’ up with a bloke. And now this, the nightmare, the horror of any sanity lovin’ Britoness anywhere in the flippin’ world. The news presenter announced the tale, barneying up for life any single woman who fancied men: “And now in entertainment news, Welsh actor Chet Llewellyn announced his engagement to his longtime girlfriend, Equestriani pop star Midnight Moondust.” The screen switched to a scene of the happy couple waving to the cameras in some city – probably New York, since it looked like typical Yank crap. Another shot, this time of a ruggedly handsome actor in his late twenties, with a stylishly dressed pegasus mare holding onto his arm as though it was a sacred object. The midnight blue pony looked up to her fiancé and the pair kissed, quite romantically, in front of the cameras. “Llewellyn, who met the pegasus pop star on the set of the fantasy film Arddun Lleuad, spoke briefly about their affiance.” Llewellyn just looked down at his soon-to-be bride, and then turned to the cameras with a face that could melt a dozen hearts. “When Midnight and I met on the set of Arddun, the sparks we had on-set translated into real life, and now three years later, I’m glad to say we’re planning for a life together.” The news presenter briefly appeared on-screen with more images of the couple mugging for the cameras. “Moondust, who is currently on tour in the States to promote her new album At the Gala, had this to say for our reporters.” The pegasus mare looked dashing and Moira felt her skin crawl as several of the lads in the bar all made the typical comments: “Oh, Oi’d roide me that beauty, Oi would!” “Eh, yer a bleedin’ tosser, Nik. That filly needs a real man, not that Llewellyn fag. An’ I’m just the man.” “Ah, outcher arse, Roger. That gal’s just too high-class for you. Now, for me, on th’ other hand….” Moira ignored that, but couldn’t ignore what the pegasus was saying. “Oh, I just love Chet with all my heart! He’s a darling of a dear, and every day he makes me feel like I’m a princess – like I’m Princess Cadance herself!” The screen returned to the droll news presenter as he sealed the fate of every single woman in Britain with, “And the pair plan to marry right after the filming of the sequel to Arddun, Chwe Goleadau, sometime mid-next year. And now, on to sports.” Moira grunted and drained her glass, until the surviving suds held to the bottom of the glass. “Miguel, ‘nother pint. And change that crap on the telly; don’t need to hear how the world’s tits over arse right now.” “Sounds like someone’s just a little bit jealous,” Miguel said in that Spaniard’s voice of his. He’d come to study theology at King’s, but instead stayed for the heart of a pretty lady and now worked his time as a theology professor for the University and tended bar just for fun since his father-in-law insisted his daughter marry a man “with a useful talent.” “Bugger that – Miguel. Horsey girls, they ain’t got these,” she said, shaking her torso and jiggling her breasts as a result. “Yet all I hear on the telly is pony girls, pony girls, pony girls.” “You’ll find your man,” Miguel said. “Back when I was just a young, strapping lad in Cadiz, I slept with a number of the American sailor girls stationed over in Rota, who never seemed to think I was nothing more than 16,” he said with an impish grin. “But I never found a girl I could really call my own. Well, finally when my madre insisted I do something with my life, I thought I’d come here, if for no other reason than to see if redheads were really red all the way.” “You scamp,” she said, laughing. “Quite. But I made the mistake of being late one day for class, and ran into the most beautiful redhead I’d ever had the chance to meet. ¡Anda, but she was beautiful! I lost my heart that moment and I’ve been with my Colleen ever since.” He placed the mug in front of Moira, flashing a knowing grin. “This, I tell you. Someday, a man is going to look at you and say, ‘¿Mira esa mujer – how could I ever live without that piece of beauty?’” “You’re a right scoundrel, you are, know that?” “I was. No longer. Now I hear it is my brother, little Jose, who’s messing with the Norteamericanos. Problem is, with my luck, he’ll marry one of them and then I’ll have to hear all that Yankee crap,” he chuckled. “Excuse me,” a new voice said. “Are you still open?” “Of course, my friend,” Miguel said, as he wiped off the bar, before turning to face the voice. “Your accent. American or Canadia—” A pause. “Well, Equestriani it is, then.” Moira turned to look at the person walking in through the door. But it wasn’t a person, per se. A pony stallion, a unicorn came in. He had a beige coat and a slightly curly yellow-and-brown mane that was nicely cut as any man’s hair; his tail matched the mane. He wore a pair of glasses on his muzzle one that just seemed to accent his face. He wore a rugby shirt and jeans, and a pair of boots. Like all ponies who came to human-Earth, he walked upright and guessing by the difficulty and slow movement of his gait, he’d just recently started, which means he hadn’t left his home dimension all that long ago. “What’ll be your pleasure?” “You guys have cider?” “I’ve got Strongbow on tap and Scrumpy Jack’s in the bottle. I’m guessing you’ll want the tap, ‘cause of your hoof?” The stallion shook his head. “Nope, I can hold a bottle; my hooves aren’t as inflexible and hard as a horse’s. But nothing beats tap.” “A man with a wise decision. Let me get that for you. You new here?” “Yeah,” the stallion said, plopping onto the stool. “Two days ago, still getting settled in. Studying human medicine here at the University.” “Human medicine? Are you a doctor?” He nodded. “Dr. Silver Sutures, at your service. I’m already a physician back home, but with the increasing numbers of humans coming to Equestria, sooner or later someone’s going to need a doctor, so the Crown decided to send a bunch of us newly-minted doctors for another round of medical school headaches and learn human medicine, so we can take all comers if need be.” “Impressive. Here you go, one Strongbow – on the House, Doctor.” “Just call me Silver,” the unicorn said, offering a hoof. “Miguel Contreras Vargas,” he said, taking it and shaking, “but Miguel is just fine. I’m a transplant as well, so I’m sure you’ll enjoy it here.” “Looks nice enough,” Silver commented. “Think I’ll like it here.” He lifted the mug to his lips and took a taste. “Nice. Bit on the weak side – our cider’s just a bit stronger – but very nice indeed.” “Looks like the owner might need to import some,” Miguel laughed. “Well, I’ve got to get back to the other patrons. Enjoy your time here!” Moira looked at the pony sitting next to her and thought metaphorically – and literally – fuck it. “Hey,” she said, provocatively to the unicorn, “See anything you like?” “No, not really,” he said absently. Moira was about to make a nasty retort when she realized he hadn’t even looked at her at all. “The colors here are just so much drabber than at home. Maybe it’s the local weather, I guess, or maybe things are just, brighter in my world due to all the magic.” “Magic?” Moira exclaimed. “That real?” In response, Silver’s horn flickered with a shade of white energy, and Moira’s beer mug lifted off the counter and floated towards her, until she took it in her hand. “Chuffin’ ‘ell! That’s just fuckin’ amazing!” “No big deal,” Silver said. “Just everyday normal magic. If anything, everything you humans have accomplished without magic? Now that is nothing less than amazing. For example, you have these things called lasers, thin beams of light with incredible power that usually only somepony like Princesss Celestia could create. And you use them to cure cataracts, something that we ponies have never been able to figure out how to do. You’ve outright destroyed at least fifteen diseases, some of which kill my own kind: smallpox, rinderpest, ebola, Marburg, consumption, AIDS. And you’ve done it all without magic.” “You sound as though you were looking forward to this assignment.” “Oh, absolutely! The chance to be able to save lives with these incredible machines, when all we could do in the past is just make them comfortable before they die? To be able to pull someone from the brink of death’s grip with human medicines as the weapon against decay and despair? Who wouldn’t be?” “Well, more’s the same to you, I guess,” she said. “Oh, I just realized I’ve been incredibly rude, sorry – name’s Silver. And you?” “Moira. Moira MacLeish. Just a local school teacher, making sure her little delinquents are getting their Hires before they got tossed out on their ears,” she commented. “Bunch o’ hooligans I’ve got for students. Ah, but we all can’t teach at Albyn’s.” “No kidding. My oldest sister Cheerilee’s a teacher in a town southwest of Canterlot. She loves it there, but she tells me she sometimes wishes her students were as well behaved as the ones cross-town at the private school.” “Sounds like the problem of every schoolmarm since the dawn of the blackboard,” Moira said in sympathy. “So, you’re a doctor, right? I’ve got an odd one for you. Now, I realize you’re not an agony aunt or the like, but still, it’s something you could give me the clue up.” “Um, sure, I guess,” Silver stated just before he took another drink from his mug, emptying it. Miguel noted and went off to grab him another one. “Bear in mind, since I have no human medical training, I can’t advise you on anything in that regard, sorry.” “Actually, ‘ts got more to do with your kind than ours.” She paused for a second, taking another draw from her mug before setting the empty mug on the counter; Miguel came back with another one of each for both of them. “What’s with all the ponygirls chorin’ our men?” “‘Chorin’?’” “Swiping. Truffin’. You know, stealing.” “Oh.” There went a few uncomfortable second as Silver laughed; it was enough to get the attention of the whole bar. “You know,” he began, “I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone want a reason for that before – usually most just chalk it up due to love, and that’s always what it boils down to in the end. But, it’s not entirely due to Hooves and Hearts.” “Okay, then what is it?” At once, the bar seemed to move in closer, as if a great secret was being told. It was enough that Miguel caught the hint and muted the telly so everyone could hear Silver. “You know what a pheromone is, right?” When a few of them shook their heads in the negative, Silver explained. “It’s a set of chemicals that all animals produce for a number of reasons. Even sapient animals, such as humans or ponies, exude them.” “Ey! I’m not an animal, y’ damn chutney ferret!” “What’d y’ think ya were, Nik – a bleedin’ vegetable?” Silver let the small conversation die down before he continued. “We’ve known for quite some time now that at the sapient level, pheromones for the most part stop working. Sure, there’s some minor interaction between ponies and our fellow sapients on Alter-Earth, and here on your Earth, the only major pheromone that really works is what you typically call body odor.” “So, when someone’s chuffed, he’s givin’ out these fermones?” “Pheromones,” Silver kindly corrected. “Well, at first, equinologists and anthropologists alike thought that it was due to the fact that there’s nearly two mares for every stallion on my world and an almost exact parity of men to women on this one – you actually have to go out to the hundreds for the precise comparison in which case there’s 101 women for every 100 men; about thirty or so years ago it was the exact opposite, but it doesn’t change much. Simply put, the women of our world thought they stood a better chance getting human mates than pony ones, and high-profile weddings like that of the Lost Foal or one of our ambassadors only bolstered things. “But it wasn’t until a biologist in Toronto, dating a visiting mare unicorn scientist, noticed something strange that someone started to put two and two together. And so they did some studies with some known man-mare couples and found out,” he said with a smile, “I’m sorry, ladies, but mares have got a secret weapon when it comes to winning mens’ hearts.” “They do?” a woman standing at the back of the crowd called out. Silver nodded. “Yup. When aroused, women secrete acetic acid, a copulin which in lower-level primates is a sexual attractor. Unfortunately, in in higher primates, such as yourselves, the human mind – specifically the male human mind – has evolved to tune it out otherwise you would only have sex during certain times of the year, which we all know is no fun whatsoever.” He got a round of laughter for that comment. “But when mares are aroused, they secrete a pheromone known as phenethylamine, or PEA for short. Like our human counterparts and acetic acid, stallions aren’t affected by PEA. However, it has a hugely devastating effect on men, especially since men have been exposed to this pheromone their entire life.” “They have?” “Absolutely: PEA is a major chemical in chocolate.” The bar fell unnaturally quiet as both the intelligent and not-so digested this sudden revelation. “Who doesn’t feel good about eating chocolate? Ponies do just as much as humans. But humans process it in different ways than we do, and enough PEA causes euphoria in humans. And it’s from a cute mare signaling to a guy she’d like to get to know him better? Well, he sure better not be a gelding.” “So what about anything a woman does for a stallion?” Moira asked, her curiosity piqued. “Gonna have to do it the old fashioned way: love,” he said. “Acetic acid actually has been found to turn off stallions. Actually makes us somewhat nauseous. I’m sure it can be overcome should a woman and a stallion really care for each other, but at the base level, if she really likes him, she’s got an obstacle to overcome.” “Bollocks,” Moira grunted. Over the next few months, Silver had become a regular at the bar. He and Miguel palled around and Silver, just for fun had even run the bar one night when Miguel wanted to take his wife out for dinner and a movie. Oftentimes, he usually sat in a corner of the bar, table piled high with books and a half-consumed mug of Strongbow or Guinness sitting there. Eventually, Moira came to join him during those times. It gave her someone to talk to and not spend the time drinking and after two attempted dates had gone sour, she was pretty much writing off dating for the foreseeable future, said future being forever. Besides, Silver was a nice enough chap, and though she wasn’t attracted to him at all, he did make for a good friend. So it was one day she asked him, “Silver, did you hear a single thing I said or you just being a cuntybaws today?” He looked up blearily from his books. “Oh, hi, Moira. Didn’t even notice you, sorry.” “Mate, you look cuffy. You okay?” “Yeah, just been here all day reading the books.” He held up a copy of Grey’s Anatomy. “And I thought memorizing all the general practice healing spells for pony medicine was hell. Humans have so much more voluminous stuff out there. For crying out loud, just the books alone on equiniatric medicine – this Earth’s equivalent of GP healing spells – is so damn dense because it’s all done with science and machines and stuff. I mean, ensorcelled bandages can heal a pegasus’ broken wing bones in a matter of days, but human science can create outright replacement bones if they’re too splintered to heal.” “Yer kiddin’.” He put his head down in his forehooves, just rubbing them through his mane. “There was a pony from Trottingham, a filly named Humble Daisy, who had a degenerative bone disease that kept breaking bones every time she tried to learn how to fly. Apparently some American charity, the Kirkland Foundation, heard about her plight and sent her to Cedars-Sinai Medical Center in Los Angeles, where they took some of her bone marrow and created an entire set of replacement bones; they only needed to replace a few of the worst ones, but the rest were made just in case – a whole skeleton, just in case! Then after they replaced those bones in an operation, they used targeted gene therapy to completely heal her, just so it wouldn’t relapse.” “Sounds good,” Moira, not understanding the whole thing, said. “Sounds good? This was a bucking miracle! This was a filly who not only couldn’t fly at an age where she should have, but the disease was going to kill her eventually. And now, three years after the treatment? Not only will she live to be a grandmother, but she says she wants to be a fighter pilot when she grows up, maybe even try to make the Wonderbolts! On our world, nopony save for the princesses and maybe the archmagus has that kind of healing ability, and yet for humans? Just another day at the office.” He leaned back in his chair, clearly impressed. “I am surrounded by miracle workers every day, and yet to them, it’s just an everyday thing.” “That why you’re killin’ yourself every day to learn this?” He nodded mutely. “I owe it to my people to be the best damn doctor I can be, just as you owe it to your people to be the best teacher you can. Cheerilee has a student in her class whose mother has swamp fever. Here on Earth, it’s a wasting disease for equinoids. Back home? It’s a death sentence compounded with social stigma since it’s considered a sexually transmitted disease, like humans once had with AIDS. That colt’s mother could have caught it via a blood transfusion or something innocuous, and meanwhile the foal’s probably being told his mom’s a tail-lifter.” “Tail lifter?” “Promiscuous.” “A slut?” Moira offered. “Didn’t know humans had a term for it. Yeah, that’d be it. In any case, there’s a vaccine being developed by the USDA and it’s supposed to lessen the symptoms. But if we used it as part of a drug cocktail, combined with an exercise regimen and diet? That mare could potentially live a normal life, maybe see her son get married and nuzzle her grandfoals. That’s the reason I do this.” “You’re flippin’ nuts, you wanker,” she said with a smile. “Don’t ever change.” Two in the morning, someone banging on the door of his flat. Silver wished they’d just go the hell away, but the banging became more frantic. His cat hissed, then tried to crawl underneath his pillow. “Yeah, okay, okay, I’m awake, Algernon,” he muttered. Throwing on some sweatpants and a t-shirt, since he slept sans clothing like most other ponies, he called out, “I’m coming, I’m coming!” He got to the door and opened it. “Look, there’d better be a damn good reason why yo—” A blur dived into his forehooves. It was Moira. She was shaking, bruised and battered, shivering like a child. “Silver, help me….” she pled into his chest. He started rubbing her hair; he’d never seen her like this before and she looked absolutely terrified. “I’m here,” the stallion said. “You’re safe. Whatever it is, you’re safe. C’mon, let’s sit you down on the couch and I’ll get you a cuppa. Coffee or tea?” Instead, she yanked on one of his forelegs, refusing to let him go; she didn’t want to be alone, and the look in her eyes, now that he could see – something was really wrong. “Moira? What’s wrong?” She started crying, burying her face in her hands. “Silver, you’re the only one I can turn to, someone who won’t think I….” He sat down next to her. “Talk to me. What happened?” She looked at him, and in that moment, he knew she’d just been through hell before she even uttered the words. “I’ve been raped.” “And so, she can stay with you…uh, Mister, uh?” the constable asked him in the waiting room of the hospital. “Silver Suture. Dr. Silver Suture, I work here at this hospital. Moira’s a friend of mine – I’ll watch her.” “Sawbones, eh? That’ll come in handy for her,” the constable commented. “Look, I don’t know what it’s like in your world, but she’s been through hell right now. We’ve got her with another doctor right now, doin’ a rape kit. She needs someone she can trust and she came to you, because she considers you a close friend. Watch her, Doctor. Watch her or else she’ll go Dagenham. I’ve seen it happen.” “I won’t let anything happen to her,” he said as Miguel and a few of the others rushed into the emergency waiting area. “Miguel, how much do you know and what the heck did you bring the party for?” Silver asked, crossing his forelegs impatiently. “You’d be surprised how much of a small town this big city is,” Miguel said. “Will she be alright?” “Heh, Ol’ Silver’s got it. He’ll take good care of her like a woman should get, eh, y’ ol’ stally boy?” “Nik, shut the buck up before I put your head through the wall,” Silver seethed. “She’s been violated and you’re making jokes like that?” “Nik’s an arse,” Miguel said, staring at the barfly. “You should know that by now.” Nik was about to apologize, when one of Silver’s colleagues and a female constable brought a very distraught Moira out. The first thing she did was to rush over to Silver and cry into his chest, while he held her close. “C’mon, let’s go home,” he said to her gently, while Miguel went to go get his car in order to drive them back to Silver’s flat. Silver leaned back on his couch, just drained. Now that he had the whole story, he was practically bucking himself: he, indirectly and inadvertently had been responsible for Moira being raped. Two weeks ago, he’d introduced her to a fellow student in his medical class; a smart guy from down south in Cardiff named David Rhys. David was smart, all right: mind of a sociopath. He’d just told the police that he’d raped her not out of any of the typically disgusting reasons why any man would force himself on a woman, but as a clinical study so he could learn how to be ‘more empathizing’ with sexual abuse victims. Moira was probably never going to forgive him for this. It was just a fortnight ago when he and David went to the pub for a drink and watch Aberdeen FC lose yet another game, and then Moira came by. David and Moira hit it off spectacularly, and he left them be to trade phone numbers and maybe set plans for a date. The first date went okay, as did the second, she told the cops. It was the third one when he took off the mask and revealed his true persona to her. And she’d suffered for it. And it was his fault. She came out of his bedroom, where she’d been sleeping the past few days while he slept on the couch. Wordlessly she did what she’d been doing for the past few days: catatonically walk over from the bed to where he was, then curl up with him in a way that nearly made Algernon envious, just lying there silent unless she had to use the restroom or get food. The days were just pure routine for her: bed, lay down next to Silver, bathroom, lay next to Silver, food, lay next to Silver, bathroom, lay next to Silver, back to bed, wash, rinse, repeat. He knew she needed him, so he never said anything, just letting it continue. And so it could, for at least a few weeks: the school had given her a few weeks off to recover, and so did his – he’d even gotten a letter of commendation from Evening Sky, the Equestriani ambassador to the UK, for his help with Moira. It was just another one of these endless days for the two when she finally said something. “Are you mad at me?” “Mad at you? I thought you’d be mad at me – I’m the one who introduced you two.” “Why would I be mad at you? Who else has been here for me?” “It’s my flat, of course I’m going to be here,” he joked. “But Miguel and the rest are worried about you.” “Eh, they’ll manage,” she said, waving them off. “I’m just…I don’t want you to think of me as a tail-lifter.” “You don’t have a tail,” he said, gently caressing her hair, in a supportive fashion. “And even if you did, I would never think of you that way. We’re friends, right?” “Yeah. Mates,” she said, snuggling to make herself comfortable in his lap. “You do know ‘mate’ has two different meanings, right?” Her voice was soft. “I know.” “Uh….” She laughed, and it was the best sound the stallion had heard in days. “You take crap too seriously, Silver! Don’t have a dicky fit, ‘kay?” Finally, finding a comfortable spot, she just closed her eyes and went to sleep, completely at peace. Silver leaned back. He was glad to see that she was starting to finally recover. What happened to her shouldn’t have, and she didn’t hold it against him. He could breathe easier now…at least until his legs started to cramp from the weird way she was sleeping in his lap. “You getting up or what?” “Yeah, yeah,” he said, as he got off of the couch, to hear the sounds of her making breakfast – a proper English breakfast – he reminded himself. Things had certainly changed in the past half-year. David had confessed to the crime; quite excitedly, in fact, as he insisted it had helped him empathize with the sexually abused, and now that he was going to jail, with the psychologically scarred. Moira had cheered when the judge sentenced David to at least ten years in prison. She’d also moved in with Silver. It was a strange arrangement; the first couple of nights after finally returning to her apartment scared the crap out of her, she’d said, and so she moved out and shacked right up with them. Everyone at first had suspected something was going on, but he reminded them as a medical student and a standing doctor already, he had little time for a relationship and that if she needed more time to recover, he was hardly going to refuse her. So, she moved into his bedroom and he’d remained on the very uncomfortable couch. Algernon, however, adjusted to his new bedmate and had since refused to sleep in the same location as his owner. Moira did, however, help him out in a number of ways. Since he was too busy to eat breakfast on a regular basis, his dietary regimen was hell; breakfast pre-Moira was usually a coffee and scone, maybe on a rare occasion a veggie-and-cheese butty. Having her at the home, breakfast before was now less of an ordeal though he had to get used to eating meat. In fact, she was handling a lot of the domestic duties – small wonder their friends thought something was up, he had to admit. “So what’s the plan for today,” she said, as he moved to the table and levitated cream and sugar into his coffee. “Last day of regular classes. I’ll spend the rest of the week on outpatient support, and then at the end of the week, someone will pronounce me an MD and then I’ll have yet another series of letters after my name,” he said with a grin. “Then after that, I have to prepare for my move back to Canterlot an—” There was a sudden crash of cheap stoneware against cheap stoneware. “You’re…you’re leaving me?” she said in a small voice. Silver looked up and the look in her eyes was frantic. “I have to go back to Canterlot, Moira. That’s part of my job and where I belong.” “But you’re…you’re the first….I don’t want to lose you….” “You’re making it sound as though we’ll never be in touch. I’ll come visit you and you can come see me anytime in Canterlot. I can get you a portal pass for the consulate in Glasgow, since I’m technically a government employee.” “I don’t want a government pass, Silver,” she said, leaning over the table. “I want you.” And with that, she leaned forward and kissed him, whispering, “I love you.” Silver’s eyes went wide with shock as he was being kissed. How could he not have seen this? How did Miguel and the rest of them see this and he didn’t? Was he blind? Was he stupid? Letting her stay the two weeks after what happened to her was a necessity. But this…this…there was a human term for it: “Stockholm syndrome by proxy.” She was his close friend, but he’d never…. Fortunately, she misunderstood when he didn’t kiss her back and she said, “I know. I was afraid to tell you as well. I didn’t want you to think I was rebounding off you after what happened to me.” She looked at him, and the love in her eyes was as clear as day. “Funny, for a moment there you looked like you had the dreaded lurgy.” “Heh, maybe I do,” he said, awkwardly, running a hoof through his mane in an attempt to look less petrified. He quickly inhaled the food and raced to the bathroom. “I’ve got a long day today, so I’m not sure when I’ll be back,” he lied. “Okay. When you get back, then we’ll talk about the future?” “I…uh…sure.” He barely had enough time to throw himself into the shower then throw some clothing on before he raced out the door. “See you later!” he shouted, running as fast as he could to prevent being kissed on the cheek and having to explain further panic. As for Moira, it was time for her to get ready for school herself. This year’s class seemed actually willing to behave themselves, and now, finally, she had a boyfriend (stallionfriend?) she could rely on after so long. That was, until the sudden screech of a car, and what sounded like an impact, followed shortly by a scream. That caught Moira’s attention and she went to the window to look out. She heard another scream. A second went by before she realized it was her own.