Shattered Worlds

by Midnightshadow

Divinity - Part 2

The
CONVERSION
►Bureau

═════════════════════════════════════
Shattered Worlds
Divinity
Part 2
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An MLP:FiM Fanfiction by Midnight Shadow

---

The noise of the diesel engine stopped and the vehicle came to a halt. Sal found his nose hitting the hay dispenser as he stumbled. He'd been dozing, lulled into a stupor by the rhythmic motion of the van. He shivered. The dead girl - now very much a live pony, but without the kind of distinguishing vibrance that marked a newfoal - had been taken hours ago. He was all alone. He shook, fearfully. Suddenly there were sounds of talking and laughter, and the distinct metallic sounds of bolts being drawn back. Orange fluorescent lighting flooded the darkened horse trailer, throwing his shadows into strange, twisted relief.

"Hey there, Sunshine, time to come on out," came a male voice. The bar which had blocked egress before was removed, noisily scraping through the holes. Sal, instead, cringed further in.

"Oh, come on, we don't got all night... for the love of... Pete! Hey Pete! Sunshine 'ere don't wanna move. Gotta help me shift 'im!" called the voice. Sal daren't open his eyes, shivering in the far corner.

"Another one!?" called a distant voice. The words were followed by the crunching of heavy, booted footsteps. "Yup, 'e's in there."

"Ha ha, help me get 'im out."

"The front way?" suggested Pete.

The first voice sighed. "If we must."

"Look, Dougie, you can fuck about with gettin' the bugger out the back way, or we can get the front side off."

"I don't suppose we can just let 'im come out on his own?" suggested Dougie.

"Fine by me, but ain't you gotta do another run?"

"Shit biscuits," Dougie swore. "I do. Fine, fine. We'll do it your way."

Sal listened as two pairs of footsteps disappeared into the distance, to return a short time later. Sal glanced worriedly at the open rear hatch. Just in case, he leaned even closer to the front. It was then that, accompanied by the sound of powertools, the whole front of the trailer swung open. Sal all but fell out, neighing loudly in shock and picking himself up on shaky legs a moment later. Scared out of his wits, the frightened newfoal attempted to run, only to be blocked by a sudden gaggle of humans with spread arms and grabbing hands. He reared up and bucked, screaming in terror, but it was no good. With an expertly-timed application of clips, a halter was attached to his head, complete with rope. In moments, he was helplessly bustled through the muddy courtyard and unceremoniously pushed into a box. the swing-doors were closed top and bottom, and Sal was plunged into darkness. Bursting into tears, the pony huddled as far away from the doors as he could, attempting to bury himself in the sweet-smelling hay. Sobbing loudly, and then quieter and quieter, the pony fell into an exhausted slumber.

***

With several loud clunks, the sound of bolts being drawn back startled Sal into wakefulness. He leaped to his hooves anxiously. The door swung open of its own accord, letting in blinding sunlight. For a good few minutes, Sal daren't move. His heart thudded in his chest and he was breathing heavily. Shaking, he took a few tentative steps towards the light. The door, pushed by the wind, swung closed again, startling him. He snorted, and pushed it open again with a hoof. Gingerly, he stuck his head out. Just on the other side of the door were two buckets, both made of heavy-duty black plastic. One was full of what appeared to be water, the other was full with a brownish, steaming mush. The mush smelled... interesting. It smelled like honey, and oats, and carrots. Tentatively, in case it was a trick, Sal dipped his head into the bucket. Used to diving into dumpsters outside rich folks' diners, the thought of a bucket of actual food just left outside struck him as an odd thing to do. Just in case it belonged to someone else, Sal took a hold of the handle in his muzzle and dragged it back inside the box. Pondering a few moments, he looked back outside. There were humans and other ponies all wandering about, some with obvious destinations in mind, others seemed to be just travelling for the heck of it. Most of the ponies were muzzle-deep in buckets of their own.

Could it be? Sal wondered. Could it be that the bucket of food... really was meant for him? He trotted back into the box and looked at it. A meal, all his own. His stomach rumbled loudly, and made his mind up for him. He buried his muzzle in the mushy porridge and shovelled it into his mouth as quickly as possible. It was hot, thick, tasty and nourishing, and he found himself licking the inside of the bucket vigorously to get the very last drop. Falling back onto his haunches when it was done, he burped. Then he licked his lips. Then he licked the bucket again, just in case. When the bucket didn't magically refill, he tentatively placed it outside the darkened box and retreated back inside, shaking again.

When nobody shouted, and nobody kicked or hit him, and nobody chased him off, something strange occured. Absolutely nothing. For all his life, from whenever he could remember, he had been chased from whatever resting place he had found. Only during sleep had he found respite. But now... he had a box all his own, and a bucket all his own. And hay, apparently all his own. Maybe the door was his, too? Sal trotted up to the door and nudged it open. He waited until the wind blew it closed again, and then once more nudged it open. Then he stuck his head out. The bucket of food was gone. He mourned it's loss, but the bucket of water was still there. He sipped it. It was cold and clear, yet... not tasteless. It tasted of the mush, and of distant springs, and the sea and the sky. The water spoke to him in ways mere liquid never had before. He found, to his surprise, that he had finished the bucket once the day-dream had left him.

He once again went back inside, turning around and around as he examined his not-prison. A window up high - small but serviceable - with an electric light which he now noticed was on the other side of bars set in the sides. There were, it became clear, boxes next to his own. The walls were quite high, made of what appeared to be blackened wood, with metal bars on top that reached to the ceiling, which was painted white. There was a thick layer of hay on the floor at the back, some sort of fluffed-up dirt nearer the door, and a large bag filled with what appeared to be more but different hay hanging in one corner. In the other corner was an odd block. The block was orange in colour, mottled and misshapen. It looked like a piece of rock. He sniffed it, then stuck a tongue out. Recoiling, he smacked his lips. Salt. He tested the block again. Still salt. A third and fourth try convinced him it was salt, but it took a few more taste-tests before he gave up. Smacking his lips some more, he realized that the salt-lick had made him thirsty again. Not only that, but he was... kind of the opposite of thirsty. He whimpered, there wasn't exactly many places to go. Eventually, bursting with need, he did what any street-rat would have done, and went. The splashing sounds of Sal relieving himself made him worry he would be discovered, but still... it wasn't like he had much choice. Shaking his hooves dry, and himself, he scrunched up on the hay as far from the pungent puddle as he could. Having done that for a few minutes, he realised he was out of options for fun and realized that the open door was calling him.

He got up. He trotted the few steps to the door. And then he trotted outside.

The sun was high, warm rays breaking through the shapeless grey masses above. Looking left and right, Sal saw boxes. More and more boxes. Across the yard was another row of boxes. The outside was painted a dull red ochre, with smart white sidings. The doors to the boxes came in two parts, an upper and a lower. In some boxes, the lower door was shut fast whilst the upper half swung wide. Some were tied back, others banged and flapped in the breeze. The boxes were identical, save for neat little squares with writing on them. Sal trotted across the yard and peered at the box opposite his own. He knew it was a word, because Mum had known words. She'd never really taught them to him, though. He knew 'men' and 'women', and he could recognize 'television' and the numbers on bills... but beyond that it was a mystery.

"Can I help you?" asked a voice above him. Sal jinked backwards as he looked up into the face of a large, black pony peering over the open door.

"I... I... I'm sorry!" squeaked Sal, and he turned tail and ran for his life. In a clatter of hooves, he found himself in the middle of a large group of humans and ponies. Ears flat against his head, he backed up until he found himself surrounded by straw. Cowering, he hunkered down close and made himself as small as possible. Pulling a stray tarpaulin over himself, Sal tried to hold his breath.

***

Wendy clapped her hands for attention. "Everybody!? Welcome everybody! Listen up please! Quieten down, quiet now. There we go." Wendy surveyed the group. There were children with parents, couples, and a few lonesome stragglers. A real mixed bag, today. "Welcome, I take it you're all here today to learn more about the newfoals you'll soon be adding to your families. Well, I want to make that clear first. You're not purchasing a slave, you're not purchasing a pet. You're purchasing a member of your family, hopefully a permanent member. Choose wisely, because relocation is incredibly stressful for newfoals. Yes, you there, what's your question?"

"Umm, can we play with the newfoals because Mummy and Daddy said I could but I've got to be careful around my little sister cos she's so small and--"

Wendy smiled, gesturing for the little girl who had spoken up to silence. "Now, first of all, the rest of you, unless you've got a burning question, save it until the end. As for you, my love, you're right, you've got to be careful around newfoals. They are quite big for the size, as my predecessor used to say. They make wonderful pets, but you need to learn their quirks. Some of them scare easily, others don't know their own strength, and still others aren't quite as dextrous with their hooves as you and I are with our fingers.

"To continue, the newfoals you'll be adopting - and I encourage you to think of it as adoption - have been through a lot. If any of you are lucky enough to have ponified grandparents, let me tell you these newfoals do require a bit more work. Some of them have been abused, some of them have received substandard care and a lack of attention. Others have been abandoned.

"They find their way to us, and we take them in, rehabilitate them, teach them new skills, and finally release them to the kind-hearted folk who wish to donate their money, or sometimes just their time, to the rescue, here."

Wendy had them now, not that she usually had to do much. The Royal Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Newfoals was well known and relatively well funded. Growing out of previous century's animal protection agencies, the RSPCN had grown to be a major country-wide force for good, and not only rescued newfoals, but set them up with families and gave those families the necessary tools to turn a good start into a great future.

Predictably, a hand went up. "Yes?" Wendy asked, pointing to the older man.

"I-I heard some of these newfoals are... criminals. Vicious, violent thugs. Can we really just accept them into... I have a wife, and kids. I don't want a murderer, or a pedophile in my house..."

Wendy sighed. She nodded. "This is the hardest thing to let go of, sir." Wendy whistled shrilly, and a few moments later a roan gelding trotted up to her. "This boy here... when he was a human, he did some very bad things. He was, by all reports, a vicious, self-centered, evil little thug."

At Wendy's words, the roan gelding visibly shook as if struck. "I'm sorry," the pony whispered, backing away, ears flat. Wendy caught him by the halter.

"No, none of that. Come here, boy." Wendy held fast to the pony, but turned to the crowd. "Look at him. He's the sweetest pony you could hope to meet. His previous owners thought they had reason to hate him. Maybe they would have, if they'd caught him when he was still human. They found him, I don't know how, and they bought him. And they tortured him."

Wendy walked as she spoke, leading the pony in a circle. At the last word, she moved aside. The crowd gasped. "They cut out his eye. They broke his tail. They broke his leg. They beat him day in and day out for close to a year. By the time we found him, he was almost dead." She glared at the crowd. "Something a lot of us forget, when a criminal pays the price for their crimes, the crime is forgiven. Not forgotten, perhaps, but forgiven. Ponification is the ultimate price, and it is forgiveness without limit. This boy belongs to me now, I keep him here as a reminder to myself and to you... but also because I cannot let him go through that again. He's the sweetest, kindest, gentlest pony I know of. I don't care who he was, because he isn't that person any more."

"Miss, they say you die, when they make you into a pony. Do you?"

Wendy grimaced. "It sounds like an easy question, but it's not. I've had my grandparents as ponies for the last couple of decades. One had cancer, the other couldn't live without the first. They have all the mannerisms, all the memories, the same voices... everything about them is the same, except the bits that are pony. Their taste in food has changed, their taste in music remains. They don't like quite the same television shows as before, and they've picked up hobbies I would never have believed they would be interested in. In short, they're everything they were before, and more. Then again, they were wonderful people before. They weren't criminals and scum. When a crook goes through ponification, out the other side comes somebody far nicer. When my grandparents went through, once I got over the shock, I honestly didn't notice much of a difference. Of course, they argue and shout and stomp their hooves, but they don't threaten and bully. It's mellowed them out, like the grandparents you remember from when you were kids instead of the crabby, bad-tempered sods your parents are, am I right?"

Wendy laughed herself at the chuckles from the adults. "Long story short, good person goes in, good pony comes out. Bad person goes in, good pony comes out. I don't really know how it works, but it works. Lucky here proves it. If, however, you are really unsure, then we can assist to ensure that only non-violent offenders are homed with you. We do not want another case like Lucky's on our hands, or their hooves. Now, if you'll follow--"

Wendy staggered back as a bright yellow pony galloped madly into her group. He whinnied in fear and backed away into the bales of hay. In front of her bemused eyes, the creature crept under a tarpaulin and lay there, shivering.

"This, ladies and gentlemen, is what happens when newfoals are abused." She spoke softly to the first pony, and fished out a brownish lump, which she fed to the gelding, before patting him on the rump. The gelding whinnied and trotted off.

"I think this may be a good lesson for you all. Stand back, he's terrified. He won't hurt you, but he doesn't know his own strength just yet."

***

Sal whimpered as the dirty, sodden tarpaulin was pulled aside.

"Are you going to come out of there, Sunshine?" asked a woman. Sal shook his head. "That's a pity, you know," the woman replied. "I've got all these sugarlumps I can't eat. They're not good for a girl like me if she wants to keep her figure. If you come out, you can have one?"

Sal shook his head.

"How about two?"

Sal hesitated a moment, but shook his head.

"Well..." the woman looked away for a moment before looking back at the pony hiding under the blanket, "I can only give you three if you promise to help me with a little demonstration. Come on out, okay? How about it?"

Sal nodded, reluctantly, and shimmied out from under the covering. He stood, shivering and wet, as a curious group of people surrounded him.

"There's a good boy! I'm Wendy, Sunshine, what's your name?"

Sal shook his head, mutely.

"Well, I'll call you Sunshine for now. Here's your first sugarlump." Wendy held out a cube, palm flat. Turning to the crowd, she addressed them all. "Times were, horses were prone to bite fingers. Ponies don't mean to, much as horses didn't, but it's better safe than sorry. Either keep your fingers tight in a fist, or keep them out flat to avoid only counting to nine."

There were chuckles of agreement.

"When you purchase a pony from us, you will get a basic, complementary grooming pack." Wendy help up a stiff brush, "This is an all-purpose brush. Use it to keep your pony's coat clean of dust and grime. We don't really recommend bathing your pony, it will likely use up a month's water ration. For those of you who intend to let your pony inside the house, you may wish to buy them boots. For a higher initial outlay, the convenience of not having to use one of these," and Wendy held up a hook-like device, "to clean the muck out of their hooves is more than worth it. They don't have to wear shoes, but we do recommend it. All our boys here do, because they're out and about almost constantly. Brush your pony in the direction of his coat, notice how the direction changes back here near the haunch?" Wendy gestured between the top of Sal's hindleg and his belly. "Do it right, they will love you for it. Do it wrong, and they'll complain. Most ponies are quite happy to spend an entire day grooming themselves if you let them. Thick, sturdy comb for mane and tail, smoother brush for a glossy finish."

"Umm, miss?" asked a woman. "Aren't newfoals able to take care of themselves? I mean--"

"Ponies are sociable animals, ma'am," replied Wendy. "They need a herd. That's why you and your family will become that herd. They respond best when they have others to groom, and when somebody grooms them. That's right, mums and dads, when you get a pony, your kids will always have somebody ready to brush their hair and clean their teeth."

Wendy laughed at the groans from the children. "It's not all bad, girls! Even the most butch of ponies will appreciate ribbons and bows, so you'll never be lost for a dolly to play dressup with again." She smiled at at least one squeal of happiness. She could see it now, some poor pony was going to be bedecked in so much glitter and gloss that if he turned to fast, he'd leave a lifesize statue.

"The normal structure of a herd is a boss mare, and an alpha stallion leading over a smaller harem of females and juvenile males. Do not be surprised if the lady of the house - and for you same-sex male couples, one of you men - becomes 'boss mare' as it were. The man of the house - and again, don't take this wrong," Wendy giggled at a few blushes around the group, "the man of the house will be looked at as the alpha stallion. For those of you with ponified grandparents, do not be surprised when grandma is boss of your newfoal and grandad becomes a bit protective of his new son. Once again, I will emphasize, you are getting a member of your family. The happiest, most productive, most well-adjusted newfoals are members of your family. Your newfoal will see your kids as his kids, and you as his natural superiors. Reward him for good behaviour, punish gently, and you will have a well-behaved newfoal. Now, we shall discuss pony care more later. Before that, can anybody tell me what's different about this chap than Lucky, that you saw earlier?"

As the group was led into a large hangar, Wendy fielded guesses about colour, size, eyes and tail-length. As she led Sal into a metallic crate-like area, which wasn't big enough for him to move around in, she fed him a second sugarlump and then fastened the pony in.

"Time's up. If you'll look at his, ahem, undercarriage, you'll see he's a stallion. Sunshine here isn't quite ready to be adopted - sorry, if any of you had plans. We do not sell stallions, only geldings. Stallions are considered to be too... independant. It wouldn't do to have a newfoal see himself as the stallion in the family, it could lead to conflicts, and a very unhappy newfoal."

Sal, half-chewing on his sugarlump in a doze, suddenly choked. He realized he was trapped and unable to escape. He was a stallion, he realized. What were they going to do?

"So, for a variety of reasons including an improved temperament, we geld all male newfoals. I know, ladies, some of you wish they offered the same service for your men." Wendy chuckled as a few faces reddened again. "It's a quick, relatively painless operation. Some places use banding, others clamping, whilst we operate. If you purchase in the future direct from another dealer, make sure you are buying a mare or a gelding, and not a stallion, as you will be required in almost all cases by law to see to his operation."

Sal whinnied for help, bumping left, right, backwards and forwards. In response, Wendy pushed a button, moving the bars a little bit closer. Unable to move, Sal merely quivered. True to her word, the woman held out a third sugarlump, and kissed him on the nose.

"Now, we'll leave our little friend here to his fate, and instead we'll go outside and meet the newfoals you'll be riding today. Pony riding is one of the most efficient and enjoyable ways to bond with your newfoal..."

Sal watched her go with wide eyes. Then he glanced around at the bustling barn. Rows upon rows of ponies confronted him. Some were lying down, obviously in pain. Others were standing around and eating, looking bored. Content, but bored. He seemed to be the only full male.

"Ah," said a bright, friendly voice, "another customer." A young man in a spotless white lab-coat walked up, smiling.

Sal's ears drooped.

***

Comments

[shutaro]

And still I hope that he will keep his balls. I know, I'm a romantic.

[Midnightshadow]

1402290
Fun facts: the device Sal's been put in is called "a hugbox". It is used to calm animals down. When they are totally unable to move, it renders them less capable or inclined to flip out. Apparently.

[Cloudhammer]

1402290 Had the same hope

Another excellent chapter midnight, looking forward to more

[Zephyr]

Dayumm. Poor Sal.
I wish he could keep his balls, losing them is just.... barbaric.
Oh well.
Good job with the story btw.

[Midnightshadow]

1402501
1402290
Hehe, well, it's the normal state of affairs in horses and ponies in the real world today. Something like between 9/10 and 99/100 males are gelded as stallions are somewhat less than useful as working animals. The old adage goes: tell a gelding, ask a mare and discuss it with a stallion.

As things go, a gelding is often preferred as a mount over a mare, as mares get "marish" when they're in heat (yes, PMS in equines. It's not pretty then, either).

In the Shattered Worlds, it's used to control the newfoal population - only exceptional male animals are left intact.

[Zephyr]

1405788
Well... you can give this more than proper explanation, but I'm still keeping my thoughts, taking the thing what makes a male male is something I will never accept, no exceptions.

[Midnightshadow]

1405848
Well if you ever buy a horse, please please do not buy a stallion. You will regret it. Forever. They're only good for one thing, and it ain't riding. Geldings get to hang around with their buddies and have fun adventures. Stallions have to wait, alone, sequestered away from everything. No wonder they get grumpy.

Totally off-topic for a pony fiction website, but I can't stand it when there are so many unwanted puppies and kittens around because the owners of the parents refused to get their animal spade or neutered. It's really tragic.

[Zephyr]

1405860
I see your point. Nevertheless, if I get a pet animal (I don't have any at the moment), I will choose wisely.

Anyway. Offtopic question: will you ever continue the other Conversion Bureau stories? And if yes, then when?

[Midnightshadow]

1405902
Maybe, possibly... but when? I don't know.

[Alerhys]

1405788
"I've had my grandparents as ponies for the last couple of decades. One had cancer, the other couldn't live without the first."

Something just struck me. Does the No Stallions rule apply to voluntary/medical ponification?

[Midnightshadow]

1419381
The rule almost always applies. The rule is supposedly there for the good of the owners (which is nominally true - a stallion is much more likely to fight for dominance, which could cause trust issues even given their sentient status), but it's really only there to a) control the newfoal population/supply and b) to prevent something approaching a full-blooded equestrian popping up in the wild.

Even in the case of voluntary ponification, they're going to make it quite clear what needs to be done. If pushed, some places may offer the equine version of a vasectomy, but think of it in terms of tax and paperwork: anything other than the status quo is going to be costly. Most can't afford the alternative.

Having ponified grandparents rather than, you know, dead ones is a wonderful thing, but the world around it isn't.

[Chatoyance]

1402317
The hug box is very effectively used on humans, too. Invented by autistic savant Temple Grandin in 1965, the 'Hug Machine' - two carpet covered panels with a hinge, comforts and constrains humans with various mental disorders, and prevents them from flipping out, too.

Because we are animals, too.

I need a hug box tonight. Sigh.

1405860

I say, spay or neuter your human. At this point, most, even all humans. It defiantly makes for a better companion.