2 - Always Read (and Believe) the Fine Print
Carter Arvil - 4/25/2018
Crosstown Realty - Long Island City, Queens
The sun hung low in the sky as Carter locked his office door for the day.
It’s insane how much time three clients can suck out of your day. I’ve been in mission briefings for counterterrorism operations half as long as that last guy’s pitch.
The weary real estate agent tested the doorknob. The door rattled, the knob remained in place. Satisfied everything had been properly locked he turned and left the building. Passing through the labyrinth of identical gray corridors was a simple matter. Making it through without being spotted by a co-worker and subsequently paralyzed by an inane conversation about work was much more difficult.
Carter moved through the halls like a ghost. He made every step heel first, taking care to watch for stray objects on the floor. Pencils, pens, balls of paper, they were all potential landmines. One false move and a slight crunch could draw the attention of up to three gossip hungry coworkers.
Carter’s silent footfalls brought him closer and closer to glorious freedom. But there were other obstacles. Windows, each offering a view into an office as easily as they offered a view out into the hallway. Carter ducked, dipped, and quick-stepped under each window he could. Each small dip downwards threatening to cause his duffle bag to scrape against the carpet.
A black business suit may not be the stealthiest clothing in existence, but it’s good enough for me.
At last the elevator was in sight. The second to last gateway to freedom, guarded by a T-intersection perfect for ambushing weary people just trying to go home. Carter reached into his jacket pocket and retrieved a small dentist's mirror attached to a telescoping rod. The perfect tool for checking corners.
He extended the rod with a flick of his wrist, lay flat against the wall and checked the corners expertly. Left then right. Two small flashes of glass under fluorescent lights. Not enough to give away his position. Nothing.
Thank goodness, Carter sighed to himself. Most day’s I’d need a few fentanyl grenades and an M203 to get out of this place on time.
Carter quickly crossed the open floor and quietly pressed the elevator call button. His fantasy of firing a pair of knock-out grenades into the hallways to either side played out vividly in his mind as the aging elevator whirred to life.
It’s not that I hate them. I simply want to leave at seven p.m. as scheduled. I’m not getting paid to talk to them after seven and nothing they have to say will be interesting.
“Oh, Carter. Did you hear that Jason landed the Hershey's contract?” “Hey, I accidentally jammed the copier on the third floor. Think they’ll know it was me?” “Carter, I need help with a presentation on Thursday.”
It’s as if working here for a decade kills off every part of your brain leaving save for what is needed to sell property. I need to find a new job before my next birthday. I do not want to become 8 of 12, Tertiary Realtor of Office Five.
Carter’s brow furrowed as the elevator’s hum stopped. It had arrived at his floor. Sheer reflex allowed Carter to throw himself flat against the wall before the elevator opened.
The elevator doors dinged open.
Carter closed his eyes and listened. No shoes scraping against tacky elevator tile from the 70s. No breathing. No sound of someone tapping the close door button. It was safe.
Or is it? Miss Young is notable for being a god-damn paperwork ninja…
Carter swept his mirror up, twisting it to quickly check the elevator. Empty. Good.
Closing the mirror with one swift motion, Carter stepped into the elevator. The mirror went back into his pocket, and a small silver key came out.
It’s amazing just how easily you can get your hands on things like this. Carter smiled as he slid a key into the Elevator’s Fire Service Mode toggle.
The key clicked into place. Carter turned it to Bypass Mode and hit the button for the basement. No one would be able to call the elevator until he was done with it.
Normally this was more than enough for him to escape unscathed. Unfortunately, with his car in the shop, Carter’s usual escape plan had to fit in an emergency operation.
Thirty-two seconds. Carter nodded to himself as the elevator began to descend. Operation Tom Cruise Escape is go!
Carter dropped his duffle bag on the floor. It had been pre-unzipped for the mission. A dark blur and the clanking of a dozen buckles filled the elevator as Carter went to work. His suit jacket came off. A black leather motorcycle jacket went on. Suit pants came off. Leather business shoes were exchanged for full length riding boots. His suit pants were swiftly replaced by Kevlar reinforced riding pants.
The elevator began to slow as it approached the basement. Almost there… Carter took his helmet from his bag, jammed it on his head, fastened the strap, and zipped up the bag just in time for the doors to ding open.
A sea of cardboard boxes, abandoned filing cabinets, half-resupplied janitor’s carts, and old pizza boxes was unveiled as the elevator’s doors slid open. Faintly, in the distance, Carter could hear the plunk plunk plunk of the janitor playing Minecraft.
Carter retrieved his key and stepped into the mess.
“Watch out, Carter,” The Janitor called from somewhere within the mess. “Young’s looking for you.”
“Thanks for not giving away my escape route.” Carter slipped his bag over his shoulders diagonally.
“Just keep the bribes coming, my friend!”
Carter closed his helmet’s visor. The reflective silver layer on the outside made the perfect projection surface on the inside. He tapped the side of his helmet with a finger. The helmet switched on, projecting his phone’s home screen into a small spot in the lower left of his field of view.
Carter began to jog towards the side door. He tapped his helmet button twice. “Hey, Siri. Where is The Boss?”
“Let me check…” The digital assistant opened Carter’s phone tracker app instantly fetching the location of Miss Young’s phone.
She’s on the third floor. Carter smiled. Victory! I knew it was worth it to slip the app into her phone. If only she would run to the bathroom and forget her purse again. I didn’t know there were apps which would give me an automatic perimeter warning on top of tracking.
Carter reached the stairs and ran up them. A moment later and the side door opened. The almost-but-not-quite fresh air of New York City filled Carter’s nostrils. Sweet freedom was almost his. Carter only had to reach his bike.
He had parked in the alley rather than the parking garage. A dubious legal action, but one necessary for the mission. Carter ran to the inconspicuous filthy tarp which appeared to conceal a pile of old pallets. He yanked the filth-encrusted plastic-fabric off. Beneath it was a pristine underside, the top side's filth being in fact painted on. Beneath the tarp was his motorcycle.
She was a beauty, a vintage 1969 Indian Chief, wine red tank and fenders, chrome and black frame, black leather. All perfectly restored to factory new condition, and then upgraded from that state into something more. Which is why he had hidden her in addition to chaining her to a handy dumpster.
Okay, Baby. You need to start on the first kick. If she sees me out a window and yells for me to wait…
Carter bent down and entered the combination to remove the chain. Something in the dumpster rustled. Carter’s eyes widened.
Please be a cat, please be a cat, please be a—
“Ahem!” A twenty-something-year-old woman’s voice eliminated from above Carter’s head.
“No…” Carter moaned, closing his eyes as tightly as he could.
“I’m afraid so,” Miss Young set her arms on the edge of the dumpster and levered herself out, landing on the ground with a wet squelch.
Carter couldn’t help but notice his boss was wearing a disposable clean suit. One which was now so thoroughly covered in unspeakable filth its original color couldn’t be determined. Miss Young unzipped the suit and stepped out of it carefully, so as not to soil her cream-colored pant-suit.
“I’m afraid your spy shenanigans won't get you out of trouble this time, Mister Arvil.” Miss young balled up the clean suit and tossed it back into the dumpster. “After nine years I’ve learned too many of your tricks.”
Carter smiled behind his helmet. Oh, honey… I’m not allowed to injure, kill, or incapacitate you. You’ve learned one percent of my tricks.
Carter raised his visor. “I have an appointment to keep. Can you please make it quick?”
Miss Young nodded. “Of course. We have sort of a problem here. You apparently didn’t put one of the new cover sheets on your sales report.”
Carter frowned and thought back to his last report. “Oh. I guess I did. I’m sorry.”
Miss Young nodded. “Yes. You see, we’re putting the new sheets on all sales reports before they go out. You did get the memo about this, right?”
“Yes. I got the memo,” Carter nodded, not to confirm he had gotten the memo but rather to try to blind his boss with his helmet HUD projector. Damn! It’s not bright enough. My kingdom for a flashbang! “I forgot. It won't happen again. Reports don’t go upstairs until Monday evening. I’ll have it fixed first thing Monday.”
Miss Young nodded twice. “If you could just go ahead and do that from now on, that would be great. Oh, and I’ll make sure you get another copy of that memo. Wait here, I’ll be back with it.”
Miss Young turned around and began to walk briskly out of the ally.
“No! I have the memo. We’re fine!” Carter held up his hands.
“I have other paperwork for you, Carter,” she glared at Carter over her shoulder. “If you would prefer a police free evening, you’ll get all of it done and have it on my desk first thing Monday morning.”
Ah. She left her phone on her desk intentionally rather than forgetting it accidentally.
“If you kept business to business hours, I wouldn’t have had to track your phone,” Carter crossed his arms over his chest.
“If you understood that the hours on your timesheet are there for legal reasons only, I wouldn’t have had to bribe someone to tell me how you leave daily.” Miss Young shot back as she turned the corner and vanished.
Carter’s eyes narrowed as a flame of pure hatred began to burn within his chest. His mind focused entirely on a particular janitor. If his years of training hadn’t conditioned Carter to obey a superior’s orders to the letter, he would have gone back into the basement to deliver some choice words. As it stood now…
Carter’s eyes burned a hole in the basement door. “Traitor!”
Carter turned to mount his bike. Not to leave, but to wait for his boss to return without worrying it would be stolen behind his back. As he turned his eyes fell on some trash Miss Young had knocked out of the dumpster.
A non-dairy creamer bottle. The powder kind. Paul loves his coffee… Carter’s eyes sparkled as an idea took form within his mind. Begin Operation Montezuma!
Carter reached down, picked up the bottle, and secured it in his duffle bag’s side pouch. Carter flicked his head to drop his visor in front of his eyes. His HUD was visible once more.
“Hey, Siri, go to Amazon.”
“Okay.”
The storefront loaded after a few seconds of pure agony which reminded Carter of 1993 far too much. I’m so happy mobile users can use Alexa on their phone now.
“Alexa, search for powdered laxatives. Max strength.”
By the time Miss Young returned, Operation Montezuma's logistics had been handled and Carter was more than happy to come in a little early on Monday.
Carter’s townhouse in Scarsdale was only a half hour’s drive from Queens. Carter pulled into his driveway an hour later, his duffle bag weighed down by several hundred sheets of paper. All of which needed to be processed into various spreadsheets.
Intern work, not agent work. Young would have made me do it even if she wasn’t angry at me. She must know how I feel about her forcing extra work on me. Carter drove his bike into his garage and dismounted.
He shook his head slowly and hit the button to close the garage door. The motor’s hum filled the room as Carter took off his helmet and set it on his messy workbench.
Whatever. I still have some time to be myself this weekend. He opened the inner door and stepped into his house. Carla’s house.
The garage door led directly into the kitchen. Many people would have killed for those white oak cabinets, spacious breakfast bar, stainless steel countertops, and deluxe appliances. Carter would have killed for the door which made unloading groceries easier.
Carter dropped the duffle bag on the counter top as he walked by. He moved on auto-pilot, shrugging out of his jacket and boots. Placing them on and under the coat rack respectively. Heading directly for the bathroom. Just like every other time he walked through the door.
Work is over. My time is mine again. I can be me. Carter thought as he headed for the bathroom.
The clock radio on the kitchen counter crackled as Carter passed by.
Carter stopped mid step, his eyes narrowed. Wait…
He turned and looked at the radio. It was a cheap one he had bought at Walmart years ago. The normal black radio with a red LED display one could find in any home.
Its radio was off. Carter never listened to the radio. He used it exclusively as a clock.
Did someone bug my house? Carter frowned and stepped over to the radio. It's still switched off...
Retrieving the multi-tool he kept in his bike-pants Carter unfolded a screwdriver bit and went to pick up the radio. A small mote of yellow light arced between his fingertips and the radio, producing a much louder crackle.
SHIT! Carter jumped back, his heart skipping a beat as visions of electrocuted corpses flashed before his eyes.
Several seconds passed. The wrath of Thor did not come for Carter. He closed his eyes and let out a breath he didn’t remember holding.
I guess I had a lot of static build up. Was I dragging my feet on the carp— Carter frowned and looked down at the birch floorboards. “I don’t have carpet.”
He turned to look at the radio once more and raised an eyebrow. Is it just me or is that radio tinted pink?
Carter tapped the clock radio with his multi-tool. No sparks flew this time. He reached out with one hand and timidly picked it up, bringing the clock up to his face. The black plastic had a distinctly pink tint to it. It was as if someone had taken a shade of pink in a coloring program and turned the darkness slider almost all the way up.
“What the hell?” Carter frowned. “This… Isn’t mine.”
Or is it… Carter frowned even more. It feels like mine. Not that I could say how my clock feels off the top of my head… But… This is mine. I know it. But just in case...
Carter put the clock down, unplugged it, flipped it over, removed the battery, and opened the case. A quick inspection revealed no bugs (electronic or otherwise) nor other foreign objects installed in the clock.
Carter debated reassembling the clock but elected not too. Leaving the parts on the countertop he began a full bug sweep of his house.
The sweep didn’t take long. While he had not been allowed to take equipment home with him, Carter did know how to source equipment in the field. Over the years he had built up an “Essentials Kit”, which included bug sniffing equipment.
Twenty minutes later Carter was in his living room, returning the sniffer to its case. Nothing. Not a single thing. Weird… Either someone broke in and replaced my radio with a slightly pink one or the plastic recolored over the years. Which means the kitchen windows are not opaque to UV. Meaning I have a contractor to yell at.
Carter shook his head and stood up to return his kit to its hiding place. He took two steps, passing his TV. The large flat panel displays speakers hissed, crackling in the same way the radio had.
Carter froze again. I swept everything… Including my clothing. A human body shouldn’t contain enough static electricity to make speakers crackle.Am I going insane?
Carter reached out to touch the TV, expecting a spark to fly. Nothing.
He paused and looked at his hand for several seconds, then closed his eyes. Maybe I am. Mom said she started hearing things for a while after Grandma died. Grief can do funny things to you.
Carter took a deep breath and centered himself. Let’s get out of this monkey suit.
Carter left the living room, walking upstairs to his bedroom. It was not the sort of room one would expect a forty-year-old retired Agent to have.
The wall behind the bed was painted a deep purple, as was the ceiling. The other walls were black. Not that you could see much of the walls behind posters of classic cars, motorcycles, and guns. The pictures covered the gauntlet from photographs to paintings, to cutaway diagrams. They marked the walls as the den of a gearhead.
The furniture was all colored the same shade of ice-blue. Each piece had a slightly futuristic feel to it, with hidden LED strips giving them a light pink glow. The same shade of pink was found in the bedding. Sheets, comforter, quilt, all pink. A distinctly girly color scheme, with a dash of Star Trek fangirl.
The knickknacks decorating the room only reinforced the feel. A realistic sculpture of a robotic horse atop the dresser. A model Ford Mach 1 Mustang on the desk. A wall mounted rack holding up seven non-functioning prop rifles including: A M-60 with a red bandanna tied around it, an Armat M41A Pulse Rifle, a Mark IV Phaser Rifle circa 2373, and an M-79 Grenade Launcher.
There was also a “taxidermy” xenomorph head above the bedroom fireplace. There could be no mistake. This was the room of a little girl who had decided to grow up to be Ellen Ripley and succeeded.
Carter walked over to the bed and pushed the headboard inwards, then slid it up. The headboard opened with a click, revealing a hidden compartment where a few real weapons and espionage equipment was stored. He hung the Essentials kit back on its pegs, and closed the compartment back up. Then Carter crossed the floor to the closest to retrieve a gym bag, then resumed course for the bathroom.
Okay. Bit of a diversion but that’s okay. You should always check things out when electronics behave oddly. Carter thought as he walked into the bathroom and flicked on the lights.
The bathroom was unremarkable. It’s only notable features were the large vanity mirror, studio-grade lighting, and a large makeup kit. The Hollywood kind, not the normal cosmetics variety.
Carter set the gym bag down on the counter next to the sink. Alright. Let’s get comfortable.
Carter disrobed. Everything came off. Including the name Carter and the professional demeanor attached to it. It was time to be Carla now.
Carla took her phone out of Carter’s pants and set it on the countertop. She cued up her favorite playlist with a few taps, and the bathroom shook with the electric tones of AC/DC.
The Gym bag was opened, revealing the specialized clothing and prosthetics a person like Carla needed to exist. Step one, hide the bulge.
A few moment's work and Carla’s unwanted male organs were tucked away, hidden behind a layer of tape and gaff panties. Step two, fill out the hips.
Carla reached into her bag and retrieved the silicone hip pads she wore to fill out her female figure. She moved the left pad into position and paused, her lips pursing slightly.
“That looks larger than normal,” She mumbled to herself.
Carla looked into the mirror and wiggled her hips back and forth. Huh… They are a bit thicker. I must be gaining weight. I’ll have to keep an eye on that before I show it in the belly.
I have a feeling I’ll be called into work… I’d really like to be all set up for a few days, but I’ll play it safe and go with the quick method. She slipped the pads into her panties padding pockets, not wanting to glue them on as she usually did.
Now for step three. With her lower body handled Carla turned her attention to her waist. Her exercise routine kept her skinny, but without surgery, she would never have the proper curvature. Fortunately, that problem was quickly and easily fixed with a corset.
Four… Actually, I should check my chest. Carla gently cupped her chest. While she had no natural breasts to speak of she did feel a little bit of a bump under each hand. Yep. Gaining a little weight. I’ll go jogging twice as long tomorrow.
Carla quickly slipped on a simple black pocket-bra from her gym bag. Next, she removed her breast-forms from their case. Normally the silicone prosthetics were used by women who had a mastectomy. Fortunately for Carla, some doctor had decided to start selling them to transgender women as well.
The forms were inserted into the bra’s pockets and adjusted to sit in their proper shape. With the c-cup silicone prosthetics in place, Carla finally smiled. Her reflection no longer caused her discomfort.
I always like this part. She turned to admire herself in the mirror and frowned as she caught sight of her butt.
It was much more round and full than it should have been. Even with the padding filling out her boy-short like panties. A few quick pokes, prods, and wiggles confirmed the shape came from her and not the silicone pads.
That’s not how a guy gains weight… Carla’s eyes widened in terror. Oh god! Is Jake slipping me estrogen treatments? Nonononono! Doctors prescribe those for a good reason! You need testosterone blockers and the right dosage for our specific blood chemistry. I need to call him right now!
Carla snatched up her phone and hit the speed dial for her friend. The phone rang, and rang, and rang. With each passing Moment, Carla became more and more worried her friend was beyond reach. Then the phone clicked.
“Hey, Carla! What’s up?” Jake’s voice sounded especially happy through the phone.
Carla cleared her throat and adjusted her voice to her preferred female state. “I have a serious question. Are you slipping me estrogen treatments when you bring me lunch?”
“Nah, I just got the local sun goddess cast a transformation spell on the jacket I gave you. It was rigged to transfer to you when you touched it,” Jake said so conversationally it had to be a joke.
Carla rolled her eyes. “I’m serious, Jake. Please answer me.”
“Of course not. Why would you think I’d do that? I know it’s dangerous to self-dose that stuff.”
Carla closed her eyes and sighed in relief. “Thank god. I’m putting on weight and parts of me have filled out in a feminine way. I got spooked, that’s all.”
“Hey! That’s great!” Jake said with an audible smile. “Your body is finally listening to your mind and not being a jerk.”
“Heh. That would be nice,” Carla said shaking her head. “Anyways, I’m going to finish changing now. Goodbye.”
Carla took her phone away from her ear to hang up.
“Wait!” Jake called loudly enough to get her to press her phone back against her head.
“Yes?”
“That woman you asked me to check out? She’s legitimate.”
Carla’s eyebrow rose. “She is?”
“Yep! She’s a little eccentric, but the offer is completely real. I spoke to the lawyer who wrote up the contracts, talked to her, even got to see the park’s location. It’s a real offer, and it sucks so hard that the place is a ruin right now.”
“A ruin?” Carla sighed. “I knew there was a catch.”
“It’s not unfixable. But someone would need to invest time and money. It’s a real shame because even like this the place is amazing. There are houses made of solid crystal!”
“You mean plastic?”
“It sounds like crystal when you tap on it.”
Carla hummed. “Interesting. Well, I’ll look over the papers after I finish up then.”
“Cool! Let me know if you buy it. I want to help. You really feel like you’re in a whole other world there. It’s magic!”
Carla snorted. “Don’t drink any more Koolaid, Jake. I’ll check it out. Talk to you soon.”
“I’m not drinking the Koolaid. It really does feel like a mag̵i҉cal ҉ki—crrrrrr—o͟m. B̕y̕e!”
Carla jumped as her phone spat the same static from before into her ear. The smartphone tumbled, hit the tile floor and bounced.
“Shit!” she swore, stooping down to pick up the phone.
Another yellow spark leaped from her fingertips, striking the phone and shooting across its edges. The phone’s silver case visibly warped, then snapped back to its normal shape before darkening slightly, becoming a very pale pink.
Carla froze. She stared at her phone for several minutes, her eyes wide, her heart beating rapidly. What the fuck is going on?!
The panic faded after a few minutes. Carla, tomorrow you’re going to a therapist for an evaluation. Mom’s death hit harder than you thought.
She took a deep breath and picked up her phone, turning it in her hands. The screen isn't cracked. It still seemed to work. But it was most definitely now pink.
I’ve developed some type of shitty Midas touch. I can turn things pink! Carla giggled to herself, the joke going a long way to preserve her sanity.
She set her phone down on the counter and returned to her transformation routine. Step five, makeup.
Ten minutes passed as Carla applied spirit gum to tweak her facial shape. She also applied makeup to create the illusion of fuller cheeks, thick lips, and larger eyes. Years of practice made this step go by quickly and when she was finished those same years showed their expertise.
If she ran into someone on the street who had no idea who she was, they would not assume Carla had been born male. Her practiced hands made her appear to be a slightly butch tomboy. Which was perfect for Carla because that’s who she was on the inside.
Disguise was always my strongest suit. Carla said with a happy smile as she admired herself in the mirror.
Her eyes narrowed as she noticed her face was more pink than usual. Hmm, I went too heavy on the blush. Oh well. Sometimes a bit of extra makeup is ok— Wait is my chin less square?!
Carla started into the mirror at her chin. It certainly seemed to be rounder than makeup alone would achieve.
“Nope!” She said shaking her head. “Not dealing with this. I’m having a minor breakdown. Wishing I was a girl so hard we see it. Mom wished I’d told her years ago when I came out, so we could do mother-daughter things. I’m hallucinating this because we never got to since I came out other on her deathbed. It’s guilt. This isn’t real.”
Despite Carla’s firm insistence, her chin continued to look rounder, and now that she thought about it her brow was more arched as well.
“On the off chance, this is real… Uh, thank you, whatever supernatural being is responsible for this. Please leave your holy book on my nightstand. I will convert immediately,” Carla smiled shakily. It never hurts to be careful...
Last step. She opened her bag for the last time and removed a long curly brunette wig and a glasses case. Her cat-eye glasses went on followed by the wig, and the transformation was complete.
Carla was fully home.
Carla picked up her male clothing, put it into her bag, and walked back into her room. The gym bag was slung uncaringly into the closet as Carla quickly picked out an outfit to wear around the house.
She got dressed quickly, donning a pair of bell bottom blue jeans, a pale pink v-neck t-shirt, and with just a little hesitation, the jacket Jake had given her. Carla stepped over to her bedroom mirror and struck a few poses, admiring the way the jacket sat on her.
Is it weird for a guy to have this good of taste? Carla asked herself as she admired the way the jacket hugged her curves perfectly. Despite being pink, I still look like a proper badass in this. It says “I’m a chick, but I bike, so I can kick your ass.” I think it’s the purple and yellow accents.
Carla hummed happily as she walked downstairs, finally feeling alive for the first time this week. She walked into her kitchen and opened her duffle bag. Completely ignoring the paperwork her boss had dumped on Carter she retrieved the briefcase Miss Sol Invictus had given her.
Briefcase in hand Carla opened her fridge, retrieved a beer, then walked into her living room and flopped down on her overstuffed green couch. Taking her phone out of her pocket, she slipped it into the docking station and cued up her playlist once more.
The glorious music of her youth shook the house as her surround sound system brought the 80s to life once more. Then crackled again.
Carla glared at her speakers, which fell back into their normal working state instantly. Almost as if they feared invoking their mistress’s wrath.
“This is getting old,” Carla muttered under her breath. It’s like in the early aughts when you left a phone too close to speakers and got a text. Wait… Maybe that’s happening again? I did just get a new 5G phone.
Yeah that seems right. Time to read, Carla decided with a nod.
The briefcase was opened. Carla grabbed her beer by the bottle’s neck, rammed her thumb into the cap hard enough to bend it into a taco and flicked the cap away. Her Haywards 5000 now liberated from its prison, Carla took a swing and began to read through the papers.
She couldn’t help but smile as she looked over the papers she had seen before. Definitely eccentric. I trust Jake’s read of her. He’s great at understanding who people are. It's so cute how everything is so in character. “The Crystal Empire was ruined when the evil King Sombra took the nation over to wage war upon Equestria.” Hehe, she even made up a story for how the park got “ruined”.
You know what? I think we can be friends. Take her professional face off and she’s clearly a very fun and creative person.
Three beers later, Carla had worked her way through the papers. What’s more, she felt a slight buzz from her drinking, and an odd tightness in her chest as if her bra were too small. Fortunately, Carla remembered her basic medical training from the Academy. She wasn’t worried about her mild chest discomfort.
More importantly, the pile of papers had been read. Including a damage report.
It’s a lot of work, fixing this place up. Carla thought as she stared out her window. Medieval style walls in ruin. Big central tower for the park’s main offices and employee areas needs massive safety work and TLC. We’re looking at about twenty million bucks to get the place up and running.
Carla turned her head to look at her living room. It was a nice place. Warm greens, browns, and reds. Craftsman furniture. A comfortable place.
I’d hate to lose this… But I could put my house up as collateral for a loan. Not that I’d need to at first. I have eight hundred thousand in liquid assets. That’s half of Miss Sol Invictus’ asking price. Enough for a major down payment, and the paper works says I can pay the rest back with profit once the park is operational.
If I did buy it and redid this paperwork to professional terminology I could easily get a business loan to start rebuilding the park. I could maybe swing seven million from a bank, and using that I could find investors and fund repairs to the outside and around the entrance. Get some minimal revenue flowing in. It really is a unique business opportunity…
Carla sighed and stared up at her ceiling. But I can't make this decision on a whim. Can I?
She shook her head and looked at the briefcase on the end table next to her. No I can’t. I need to at the very least see the facilities for myself and talk to Miss Sol again.
Carla’s eyes narrowed as the crackle interrupted her music again. The static crunch drew her attention to the music as it cleared, filling her ears with one of her favorite songs.
“I never meant to be so bad to you. / One thing I said that I would never do. / A look from you and I would fall from grace. / And that would wipe this smile right from my face...”
Carla smiled and leaned back to listen, unable to resist singing along as the chorus hit. “It was the heat of the moment. / Telling me what your heart meant. / The heat of the moment shone in your eyes!”
Unable to resist the combined forces of good beer and music, Carla hopped up from the couch to air guitar like no one was watching. Thirty seconds later she was glad no one had been watching. Embarrassed but happy Carla flopped down on her couch, laughing.
“Ah, what the hell… I don’t want to be a real estate agent anymore. The job’s hell.” Carla bent over and rummaged through the briefcase for the deed transfer papers.
I’m going to take this opportunity seriously. If it’s on the up and up I’ll go for it. This could take all my savings, and maybe my house… But if I lose everything, Jake will help me get back on my feet. These papers won’t be valid till she signs them so as proof of my commitment to myself, I’ll sign them now. I can always rip them up if the deal goes south.
Carla found the paper and looked around for a pen. A glint of gold in the case caught her eye. Laying at the bottom of the case was a gold pen engraved with a stylized sun she hadn’t noticed before.
Carla smiled and picked up the pen, immediately looking at it incredulously as its weight pulled down on her hand Woah! This is an expensive pen. This must be real gold! Like, solid gold.
The pen felt unusually warm in Carla’s hand as she uncapped it and spun the paperwork around to sign it. She lowered the pen to the page and paused.
What name do I use? Carla frowned and stared at the line for a long moment. It’s not valid if I don’t use my legal name, but that’s not my real name. Not to me.
“Eh, she can print another one,” Carla shrugged. This is a promise to me. I’ll use my name.
Carla pressed the pen to the page and signed it “Carla Arvil”, dotting the eye in her last name with a heart.
Carla smiled to herself. A gold light shimmered across the page. Carla’ smile twisted into a frown. Not aga—
A pinprick of golden light formed on the other signature line. The pinprick moved, leaving a bright glowing mark behind. Carla sat bolt upright as the light burned a name onto the line. The flowing light wrote a signature in the most formal, elegant, beautiful handwriting Carla had ever seen in her life.
Princess Celestia Sol Invictus
Carla swept her left arm across her lap, knocking the paper to the floor as she scrambled up onto the couch, her back pressed against the wall. “What the fuck is happening!?”
Her playlist jumped, the track changing unbidden. “Ho, ho, ho / It's magic, you know… / Never believe it's not so!”
Golden light blossomed from within Carla’s heart. It radiated across her body, glowing as brightly as the sun. Shadows spun, pointing away from Carla as the light engulfed her. The poor woman let out a terrified scream, unaware of what was to come.
A wave of light pink color rippled across her body as her skin changed color. A dull itching erupted everywhere at once as matching colored fur burst from her skin. Her scalp burned, her hair growing long enough to push off her wig. Pink, purple and golden locks of hair fall across her eyes, the ends curling slightly.
“No! Whatever is happening, no!” Carla yelped, sprinting across the back of the couch to try to escape the living room.
Her feet hit the floor. She raised her left leg to begin a full sprint. Her right foot twisted, and Carla fell to the floor. She looked back and screamed again as her feet warped and twisted, her boots splitting open as her toenails warped and fused, growing into hooves.
Bone popped and cracked. Carla braced herself for pain, but none came. Not even as her legs stretched, shrank, and reshaped themselves into a digitigrade state.
“Please! NO!” Carla sobbed, raising her hands to cover her face, only to shriek.
Her hands warped and twisted before her eyes, forming into a pair of dainty hooves.
The speakers crackled once more. A golden shimmer of light rippled across them as the song playing changed. A familiar, soothing guitar melody began to play.
Carla rolled over, tried to stand, fell to the floor, and felt two things rip free from duct tape and pull inside her groin. Carla screamed in pain for the first time since the spell had taken hold.
The track skipped to midway through the first verse. “Though I tried not to hurt you, / Though I tried… / But I guess that's why they say, / every rose has its thorn. / Just like every night has its dawn.”
It was as if someone were trying to sooth the terrified woman. It was not working.
“Fuck… you! Those… were... testicles… on… Gorilla… Tape!” Carla whimpered, her eyes full of pained tears.
Then the other part of her unwanted sex pulled away from the tape, reshaping into proper woman’s parts. Or rather a mare’s parts.
Carla’s neighbors began to call the police as the second pained scream reached their house.
Cloth ripped as Carla’s swelling hips reshaped into flanks, and a long soft tail burst from the base of her spine. Two long lines of pressure began to form behind her shoulder blades.
Carla began to to fall into a delirious panic. Oh sweet god no, I’ll ruin my jacket! Jake will be so sad!
A pair of large feathered wings slid from her back, and her jacket reshaped to accommodate them. The rear panel pushed outwards. Two slits forming along the rear seams with her wings fit through perfectly.
I’m a pink pegasus. Why am I a pink Pegasus? Was my beer tainted with mushrooms? This can’t be real, Carla sobbed.
A splitting pressure enveloped Carla’s head as her skull reshaped. Her nose and lips pushed outwards, forming a short, cute muzzle. Her ears pointed and oozed up to the top of her head where they stood pert and expressive. Then her forehead burned and a long spiral grooved horn burst from her skull.
Carla caught sight of the final stage of her transformation in the cold black mirror of her television screen. Her now lavender eyes widened in pure horror
“AAAAA! I’m a frou-frou girl’s high school doodle! NO-HO-HO-HO! WHY?!” Carla screamed at the top of her lungs.
The floor beneath Carla became a pool of white light as if someone had poured glowing paint out from a bucket. As she sank into the light, a comforting warmth washing over her as she became submerged.
“I’m sorry I frightened you,” A familiar woman’s voice said, echoing as if it came from across a great expanse. “But the papers did say you would need to become a pony princess.”
“W-what?” Carla whimpered.
“Oh, one last thing. Carla isn’t really a pony name. Many ponies will have a problem pronouncing it. Let’s call you “Cadenza Mi Amore”. It has a nice melody to it.”
As the light consumed her, Carla fainted.
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Magic Kingdom for Sale? SOLD!
Yes, love that reference! And your 80's playlist.
Featured!
8957133
That was the inspiration for the setup, nice catch.
8957616
One of my favorite and one of the more awesome 'travel to another world' genre there is.
8957616 It was a delightful story. I'm glad 8957616 commissioned this or I'd have never heard of it.
Well Trollestia is a thing.
This looks interesting! An ex-CIA in charge of a magical Empire? I want to see her meet Shining Armor in the future - maybe she can teach the future prince a thing or two.
8957978
Something tells me that they already know each other.
This promises to be delightfully cute and awesome. I can barely wait for more
I looked at the cover and instantly felt the compulsion to post this:
I fell in love with the picture. The story has some big shoes to fill, if it wants to match so much awesome.
Well that didn't take long!
And yeah, Magic Kingdom for Sale is a classic. I'm surprised there's not more people that knows it.
Ok...at work now, but this is definately worth a second look latter due to the cover art alone. Who was the artist?
This chapter really needs Pinkie Pie at the end.
"And that's how 'prince'sses are made!"
8957133
That was my first thought as soon as I read the title.
8958012
I highly doubt it since Shining is supposed to be Twilight's older brother. Although that conversation hinted why Cadance like stallion with blue mane. I kinda looking forward to the conversation such as followed.
Cadance: It's OK, I used to be stallion. I know what stallion would appeal in mare.
Shining: ... (mind explode)
Ah! Magic Kingdom for Sale–Sold! I haven't thought about that book in so long I forgot it even existed! I quite like that series. And I immediately thought if it seeing the description of this story.
This had a fun first couple chapters! I quite like how the new main character is set up. A fair bit of references to the source idea. But still very very different.
How long is this planned to be? I certainly would be invested in reading a whole novel with this theme. Heck. I might just go back and read Magic Kingdom for Sale–Sold! to scratch the itch.
8958316 This will be as long as Canarie is willing to pay for. So far it's about 60k words.
I'll be honest thats perhaps one of the best cover arts ives seen of cadence in a very long time.
Well, I guess that the character choice makes sense for a target of a magical transformation.
Bit much of the comedy of errors so far. I feel bad for the both of them.
Once it takes off, the ex-CIA bit should be interesting...
The correct term here is unguligrade.
8958337
Hey, if you want to go over that amount, I'll pay for it.
8958557 Either term is correct for describing the terminal portion of an equine's limb (see the below info). But I wasn't talking about her hooves, I was talking about the shape of her legs. Digitigrade locomotion is responsible for the distinctive hooked shape of quadrapeds legs. This includes horses. Unguligrade is a specific subset of digitigrade locomotion wherein the creatures walks on the tip of its toes rather than all of its toes. But it's still walking on its toes, making it a digitigrade creature.
Also unguligrade is such an uncommon word that most dictionaries don't even recognize it as a word, including google's dictionary and all 5 of my spellchecking programs. It appears to be a term coined very recently, too recently to be a real word yet. In the end, unguligrade is really just a way to say "a digitigrade creatures with hooves". We all ready know that ponies have hooves so saying "the unguligrade pony" is massively redundant. Like calling an ATM an ATM Machine. The word unguligrade is really only useful when describing fantasy creatures, aliens, or chimaeras. ANd even then it's only useful if your audience is likely to know what it means already because unlike the word digitigrade they cant just google "define digitigrade" and get an answer.
3.bp.blogspot.com/_IcMoWTgbiZA/SwZSr7aPBAI/AAAAAAAAAEQ/OEpobVOQE_E/s1600/FrontlegSkeleton.jpg
As you can see here, a horse indeed walks on its toes. Therefore it is digitigrade. As for unguligrade...
See? Unguligrade is just a specific type of digitigrade locomotion.
8958587 The story concept can probably handle about twice that max before requiring a fresh idea for plot stuff. I'm happy to write what you like for this.
Holy mother-of-Faust it's reached the top of the Featured list!
EDIT: Minus the NSFW clopfic at the top.
This is really well done thank you for writing this!
Still up there an hour later? Dusk Vitae, Meep, that's pretty impressive!
I keep coming back to these comments hoping that someone will have named all of the references for me:
A wall mounted rack holding up seven non-functioning prop rifles including:
8958625
Now I'm curious about SFW clopfic.
8958703
That's how I feel with every single chapter of everything I ever do XD Only two people got my Last Unicorn Refrence in another story, for example. Anyhow, since the audience isn't playing....
A realistic sculpture of a robotic horse atop the dresser. Fallout's Gittyup Buttercup (and forshadowing of pony stuff in story)
A model Ford Mach 1 Mustang on the desk. The SERRAted Edge series (Urban fantasy with car racing and murdering child abusers)
A wall mounted rack holding up seven non-functioning prop rifles including:
A M-60 with a red bandanna tied around it, Rambo https://youtu.be/YJEbQwHGygA?t=40s
an Armat M41A Pulse Rifle, Aliens https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OtFHWE_alQQ
a Mark IV Phaser Rifle circa 2373, Star Trek Elite Force II: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zE_BGilXiA8
and an M-79 Grenade Launcher. Terminator 2 https://youtu.be/nrahTQfHP_o?t=1m2s
I'm loving the story but I have ask were you where you found the picture of cadence riding the motorcycles?
8958817 The person who commissioned the story provided the image. All I did was remove a text balloon and add the "book" frame to it. The orgional unmodified version can be found here.
https://derpibooru.org/8460
I almost expected to see something like [Draconequusverse ξ].
8958855
After rereading my comment, i realized that that it sounded sarcastic. I meant that whole heartlessly, as I thought reading through at transgender character's perspective would be interesting, as I haven't really seen that before. I apologize to any that were offended.
8958954 As a transgender female, anyone who was offended by your comment was looking to be offended and don't deserve your apology. Carry on :3
That's the second time she's unexpectedly slipped into the plural when referring to herself. Just a quirk of the author, or is it significant?
8960667 That's a quirk of my proofreader bot :P I don't have a human editor for this one. Although... It might make for an interesting character quirk.
THIS is now my favorite backstory for cadence
8960682
But Luna already has that quirk
oh wowee, he's a trap
No you're becoming charged with magic
Ahhh, makes sense
YOU WERE SERIOUSLY THERE
.... wait he/she called you "shining armor", you want to have blue hair and you want to help him/her when she agrees to take over the place... huh... guess Jake will become Shining Armor 
Well, she is know as Trollestia for a reason
What's with the massive tone shift from the first chapter?
I was down with the kind of silliness in the first chapter of how seriously the idea of being given a magical kingdom was taken, but this is just zany and doesn't really fit with me.
I like tone shifts when they make sense, but this just seems weird. Not sure why I'm the only one commenting on it.
And somewhere out there, the first and second choice are having an unexplained feeling of thankfulness towards their thumbs.
8964119
Its a fanfic. But yeah, a little crazy.
It'll probably get better.
Probably...
Swig not swing
As for carla's freakout...heh heh heh.
That plus a time travel spell equals a whole new interesting origin story for Pinkie Pie!
ceiling, not cieling.
8958602
I was going to comment on this as soon as I saw it too. I believe the distinction is that digitigrades walk on the pads of their toes while ungulates walk on the tips/nails. Similar to the difference between "standing on tiptoes" and a ballet dancer going en pointe. Also, google gives a lot of links to definitions of unguligrade.
9016446 That's what I think as well, but it doesn't seem to be an official term yet. From what I can see unguligrade is a yet-to-be-word that's slowly catching on annnddd... I don't like it. It dosnt seem like a necessary word to have at all.
In "ally" you're missing an "e" between the "l" and the "y".
The "n" should be "in".