A Volunteer at the Bureau

by Comma Typer

Food Truck

Back in the cold car, Sam brought his splashed pants right in front of a built-in fan, letting the stain dry up.

“Saw you had some kind of accident back there,” Arthur said, eyes still on the road in the middle of this standstill. He readied his hand over the steering wheel, more than willing to honk. “What happened?”

Sam looked up and only saw half of the rear view mirror and none of Arthur’s reflection. “Oh, nothing. Took care of a few seaponies and merponies, that’s all.”

“Cleaning up the shores, eh?” Arthur quipped, leaning his head to the right so he could see Sam. “Getting the trash out in no time. Good thing we have them. I’m sure they’ve saved tons of whales by now.”

Sam furrowed his brows, bringing his memory to a news article about yet another whale saved by merponies. “Never saw estimates or anything, but they must have saved some. Good for them, good for us.”

Arthur broke out a smile, his shades reflecting back on Sam’s eyes with the glare of headlights.

Sam moaned as he closed his eyes shut.

“Sorry!” and Arthur took off his shades, revealing a pair of reddened eyes through the mirror. Holding his sunglasses with one hand, “Had to have these on. Graveyard shift last night. Don’t want people to think I’m under the influence.”

That didn’t help Sam look away from the hand so close to the wheel. “Why the graveyard shift?”

“You know the drill,” and he whipped his head back to the front, watching out for the green light. “Really gruesome, but you gotta pay to stay.”

It took a while for Sam to catch his drift. When he did, he made a wry smile. “You’re having a hard time living here, too?”

Arthur let his hand fly and gesture out in the air, shaking his head in self-disdain. He refocused his eyes on the gas truck in front of him, blocking much the view. “I live in an apartment at South Central. West Florence Avenue.”

Sam got up on his seat. “You want to have an upstate villa?” Then, having gotten no response from the driver, he asked, “What about acting? Ever tried that? This is the land of Hollywood, after all. Don’t they get lots of money here?”

Arthur chuckled, laughing it off. “I tried. Only cameoed in a cheesy C-movie nobody wanted to watch.”

“That’s not acting!” he shouted, about to burst into his own laughter.

Arthur rolled his red eyes, still weary and aching from the night before. “Hey, I had to look the part, right? If that isn’t acting, then I don’t know what is.”

With that, traffic began to free up. The truck’s rear lights turned off, and Arthur inched his way through the boulevard, hoping to get past the intersection before the green light switched.

“So, you’re not going straight home, huh?” Arthur asked, trying to strike up another conversation.

“Not really,” Sam said, looking outside and seeing a Ralphs supermarket farther down on his left. Cars filled up the parking lot as staff helped push the shopping cart of an Abyssinian whose paws were full with grocery bags.

“I want to try out some of the local soul food,” Sam said.

“At Peas on the Cob?” asked Arthur, almost scoffing at the notion of going there. “The food’s good, but why not go a little off the edge? This is your first time in LA!” Moving his head about like a giddy child, “Take my advice: Go to a food truck. Any food truck. They’re everywhere. There’s Leo’s Tacos for the tacos, Nom Nom for the Vietnamese sandwiches—”

“I’ll do it when I’m done with my time at the bureau,” Sam replied, raising a polite hand. “Nothing wrong with it, I suppose. It won’t be long.”

Arthur nodded, taking the decline with pride. “Sure. I’ll just get you to the Cob in no time.”

He then regretted his promise, for the red light turned on right before he reached the junction.

---

Central-Alameda was officially in South Los Angeles yet was farther north than both the bureau and the airport. Sam, being the curious tourist he was, became a little interested about the naming of the regions and boroughs and districts. He thought they were little packs of condensed history just waiting to be perused.

He reached 5403 South Central Avenue, was dropped off at a tiny informal parking lot, and waved goodbye to Arthur who then drove off to find another passenger.

Sam saw him put his shades back on despite the nighttime hour.

Far away from the glitz and glamor of a Hollywood portrayal, Los Angeles proved to be quite modest. Not much activity whirred about, with few pedestrians of all kinds walking or trotting or flying around. Over there, a griffon and a pony were arguing about the only burrito they had left in hoof or claw while a human tried to mediate and mend the situation.

Beyond that, the eventide atmosphere soothed Sam, making him feel somewhat at home. Sparse streetlights shone over the stream of passers-by minding their own business.

It wasn’t a completely pretty sight. Two posters lay side-by-side on the wall of an abandoned dollar store across the street. One spouted out an HLF motto: Humanity will never die. The other proposed a PER slogan: Ponies. Better than our evil selves. With such tension, however, they were mostly ignored by pedestrians who weren’t up for another fight.

Sam looked behind him and saw Peas on the Cob sandwiched between a fried chicken store and a laundromat. He could see its bright interior and the several customers dining there, chowing down on neck bones, pork chop, turkey wings, mashed potato, collard green, rice and gravy….

Sam entered and was treated with a strong and savory whiff and the ring of a bell. He didn’t expect much from the yellow exterior, given that its storefront was cramped, but he took in that smell that only soul food could generate. The homeliness, the friendliness of being huddled together with other people at the small tables as they ate guilty pleasures that’d make healthy dietitians fume with fury.

A great variety of creatures had banded together to form this scene: Griffons, deer, changelings, yaks, and dragons hanging out with humans as they easily devoured their hearty dinners under white lights amidst the clanks of utensils and the chomps of mouths and beaks. Cooks, also serving as waiters and cashiers, prepared batches of meats and sides to be exhibited under the cafeteria display with a yellowish tint. Sheets of metal lay at the counter and at the open air kitchen behind it, giving off a retro diner feel which was topped with salt shakers, ketchup bottles, and rolls of tissue on each table.

Some turned their heads to Sam, mentally inquiring who he was. He withstood that and browsed the massive menu hanging under the display.

“Good evening!” a cheerful voice greeted.

Sam raised his eyes to see an aproned woman, her short hair bunned. Saw her name tag. Edna.

“Welcome to the Cob!” she said, spreading an arm open as if to welcome Sam also into the kitchen and volunteer as a cook. “How may I help you?”

Sam tapped his chin with an indecisive finger. “Um, what would you recommend?”

Edna laid an open palm towards the hot food before her. “You can always try our classic fried chicken with mash potatoes! Comes with gravy and a side of greens!”

Sam paused a bit, taking in the bestseller selection and the semblance of normalcy before him. He didn’t want to turn around, to see the fantasy creatures gabbing and gesturing and sitting and eating right there in the same room he was standing in. He wanted to block the madness out of his mind, no matter how real it’d become.

Now, he wished for a few minutes’ grace from hectic news of Equestria, conversion, and magic. Now, he wanted to relish this normal moment between himself and Edna.

“...could also try our fried fish and mac and cheese!” as her voice phased in to his ears.

Sam salivated his lips, thinking of creamy fish with creamy cheese. However, he suppressed himself and said, “I’ll just have the fried chicken one.”

And then, he was a spectator of a something typical, something beautifully typical and ordinary: He saw Edna grab a plate and put it on top of the display. She scooped up the fried chicken, the mashed potatoes, and the greens—all these went to the plate. After a generous serving of gravy, she handed the plate over to Sam.

He didn’t care about the griffons and kirins going around and cooking up stuff. Sam just focused on his food and the woman serving said food.

Once that was done, he got his plate and soda, traveled to an empty table, and began eating his dinner. He didn’t want to chat with anyone for the moment, having just talked to many different creatures less than an hour ago. Still, it was fun to peoplewatch—or, now, creaturewatch.

Every so often, he’d catch an interesting sight or soundbite from the other diners there. While sipping some of his soda, he heard the table’s topic shift to that of ponies. In the center of the eatery, the deer proposed that he and his partners should start up a business on vegetarian meat. Half of the table agreed with the idea; the other, disagreed. Ideas were bandied back and forth, ranging from pony sensibilities being too sensitive to handle even a nibble of fish to imagining a pony devouring good steak in a protein rush.

A good fifteen minutes passed, Sam being the silent observer to this freeform chat on everything from politics to favorite colors...and before he knew it, he was down to the last few bites of his food.

As he finished up his meal, he heard the bell ring.

Sam turned to the newcomer and recognized this fresh face. The middle table hushed down at this visitor, their eyes on her—this pegasus mare, trotting in and biting her lip under her short green-brown mane.

She looked at her left and saw Sam.

Spaghetti Tree gulped, bit her lip even more. “Uh, h-hi?”

He just sat there, knife and fork firmly in his grasp. He wanted to be nice to this pony despite her reputation as a prankster and now a criminal. Sam decided to return the greeting: “Well, hi. You must be…?”

“Spaghetti Tree,” she said with hesitation.

That confirmed his suspicion, not that he needed much confirming. Still, beating around the bush sounded viable now. “You go here often?”

She shook her head. “No. Didn’t know this was a thing. I actually had to catch up on my Uber friend about it.”

“Your Uber friend?” Sam asked, raising his eyebrows and his own interest. “Arthur?”

“That’s him,” she said, putting up a shaky smile.

Sam smiled back, trying to be as genial as possible to his rude awakener. “Huh. Small world. He drove me here and he’s also my commute to the bureau this morning.”

“I know,” looking outside and seeing a couple cars by that little parking lot, and more cars moving on the road under the dazzling streetlights.

Sam thought she was in a contemplative mood: her sullen lips and her half-open eyes of pondering. He took a while before he asked, “Why did you come here, though?”

Spaghetti sighed and took a seat across the table. She didn’t rest her eyes on the delicious almost-done dinner before her. Instead, she laid her saggy eyes on Sam. “I came here to apologize.”

Sam had stuck a fork on some greens, but let it lie there on his plate as put his brain to thought. Despite the mare’s laughter from earlier this morning, the prank wasn’t funny—he even got hurt from it, what with falling out of the bed at her roar to wake up. Though, he did wake up then and there….

Sam didn’t want to prolong whatever internal agony she could be experiencing right now. So, he nodded and offered a handshake for her hoof. “Apology accepted, miss.”

Spaghetti examined the outstretched hand, open and ready to grip her hoof in forgiveness and, perhaps, friendship.

Then, Sam looked at his hand again, stretching his fingers out at a realization. “Oh, right. I...I got to start.”

Spaghetti breathed a chortle.. “Heh-heh! Hooves and all, am I right?”

She was right.

Sam shook her fingerless hoof, still feeling that invisible grip on the pony appendage. He saw her grinning wide, dimples showing on that violet face...and, were those freckles on her cheeks?

The polite gesture over, Sam rested his back on the chair, his shirt beginning to get creases. “So, you want me to order for you?”

“Actually,” and, here, Spaghetti gulped—”uh, Sam? I...I was thinking we could go outside and order from the chicken waffle truck.”

“The chicken waffle truck?” Sam repeated. Then, he pursed his lips. “Oh. Arthur. Right.”

Spaghetti snorted, almost sounding out a nicker. “He told me you were stubborn for not eating at a food truck. Really, this place is full of different food trucks for you to try out!”

Sam took one last gulp of his soda before putting it down. “I’m here for work first, vacation second. I’ll enjoy it when I have the time—don’t you worry about that.”

This affirmation of his food truck stubbornness made Spaghetti take out a bulky wallet teeming with money and credit cards.

Sam was silenced by this display of wealth on the go.

“I insist!” she said as kindly as she could.

At first, Sam looked like he was considering his options. Then, he let the silence drag on with a few more bites to finish his dinner. After wiping his mouth with the table’s tissue, he smiled.

“So, you’re going with me?” Spaghetti asked, eyes widening like adorable puppy ones.

Sam couldn’t help but smile. “OK, why not?”As he stood up, pulling his chair away while Spaghetti got out as well, he added, “You’re serious about this whole pony friendship thing, aren’t you?”

Her response was a shy cackle, her cheeks blushing. “Y-You could say that.”

After Sam paid the bill and poured a tip, he and Spaghetti left the restaurant and re-entered the night outside.

---

Sam could tell that Spaghetti badly wanted to fly. He could tell that she was restraining holding herself back since she kept looking up at the limitless sky.

As they walked along this long stretch of South Central Avenue, smelling the hint of smog once in a while, they passed by a slew of establishments that caught Sam’s sightseeing eye. There was a laundryhouse which bore similarities to a brick farm. Over here lay a car wash service where pegasi flew around dirty cars to wash them clean. There, a bakery advertised as The only place with authentic LA orange pies! Right beside that was a clothes shop and several Equestrians sporting Dodgers baseball caps, bracing themselves for tonight’s game at the Dodger Stadium. Finally, there resided a barber shop where the barbers dealt with cutting and trimming manes, feathers and fur alongside the usual hair.

They’d also passed by many amusing personalities.

In front of a mechanic’s, a unicorn busker sang songs while playing his guitar—Sam wanted to ask this pony how he was able to play a guitar without fingers, but Sam kept it to himself.

An abandoned and unused lot was being renovated by a few Earth ponies and some helpful breezies. Here, trees and flowers were planted, bringing life back to this lackluster spot.

Farther down the road, several griffon guards flew around in the sky on their patrols. Some perched themselves on certain roofs, getting a literal bird’s eye view of everyone down on the ground and making their presence known to any would-be lawbreakers.

Sam took in this mundane picture of Los Angeles. So far, he’d seen no celebrities, no famous people walk around save for the odd glimpse of a retired or washed-up actor no one paid attention to—and he wasn’t sure how many of them he’d encountered.

Had it been any ample time before, it would’ve just been a normal and contemplative walk in the night; a time to think about his station in life, a walk where vague plans about the future build their foundations. Now, with all kinds of creatures roaming around and the end of humanity looming overhead….

Then, Sam noticed that he hadn’t talked to Spaghetti during the whole trip.

What surprised him was that she hadn’t talked to him, either. Here was this supposedly friendship-loving pony, and she was silent, maybe even reclusive? Not even small talk about the weather that she could control if she wanted to?

He glanced at her and saw the mare looking up at the sky, trotting at a slow pace in nighttime South Central.

---

Five or ten minutes later, the human and pony duo entered the gas station where the food truck held its business on the asphalt.

Its name was The Chicken and Waffles Truck. Despite its rather dull name, a little line of willing patrons led up to it as gas-deprived cars rolled into the pumps. Most of the customers were humans, though a zebra and a dragon were up for the delicious combo of chicken and waffles.

Speaking of chicken: Sam looked down at the mare beside him and said, “Sorry to ask, but aren’t you not allowed to eat stuff like this?” while jerking a thumb at the truck.

She hid a wince, doing her best to keep her face in Sam’s sight. “I get by with the hay waffles. They compensate with lots of syrup, and I mean lots.”

Sam clasped his hands, ready to eat with another amiable pony.

It took a bit for the both of them to get to the end of the line and then state their orders. The owner-chef of the food truck went straight to work, ensuring that the chicken was fried to a golden crisp and the batter was squished into waffle squares.

After about two to three minutes of waiting amid wafting savories, Sam and Spaghetti left the truck with waffles in their hands and hooves. Because Spaghetti didn’t have any fingers to grasp her food with, she opened her wings and hovered, letting her two forehooves control it right.

Sam followed her ambling flight, leading himself right to the fence signaling the end of the gas station’s property.

There, Sam leaned on the fence and enjoyed his waffle and chicken, relishing the chewy and crunchy delight as he looked upon the avenue, seeing the storelights and the headlights illuminating the different faces of diverse pedestrians.

Spaghetti enjoyed her food, too, though it was enjoyment of the more lowly kind.

Then, wanting to cheer her up with small talk, he asked with the standard, “So, what’s up?”

Spaghetti looked down at her half-eaten waffle chicken combo. “Well....”

And Sam jumped ship on that line of conversation. “Let’s talk about something else like your cutie mark,” seeing her own, that of a spaghetti. “Any story behind it? You’re a pasta chef or…?”

Spaghetti blushed again, having a hard time getting the words out. “Well, I wasn’t supposed to have a cutie mark.”

Sam gave her a strange look. “You didn’t plan on being a pony?”

Spaghetti turned her face away, holding her food close to her mouth. “That’s the thing. I didn’t.”

He pursed his lips. Now he certainly knew that she was a former human. Still, she didn’t want to be a pony, yet she was one now.

That made him ask, “What happened?” and then nibbled on his waffle so that she couldn’t count on his mouth not being full.

Spaghetti sniffed, wiping her wet eyes with a wing. A lump swelled inside her throat, and she swallowed it. “I-I...I was planning to be...something else,” and shifted her eyes, hoping no one caught her quiet words. “A merpony a-and live in the ocean…so much to see, so much to do—”

“Then what happened?” Sam insisted, growing impatient at her stammeri—

Spaghetti beckoned him closer with a hoof.

First taken aback, Sam then slowly brought an ear right up to her face. His interest was piqued now: what secret could she be hiding that warranted such a discreet arrangement?

So, she whispered:

“Someone...th-they...those ponifiers...they splashed potion on me!"

Comments

[Alex Warlorn]

One spouted out an HLF motto: Humanity will never die. The other proposed a PER slogan: Ponies. Better than our evil selves.

That's freaky, how'd they end up right next to each other? You think whoever put up the second one would trash the other one.

He wanted to be nice to this pony despite her reputation as a prankster and now a criminal.

Why isn't anyone calling the police? Why the hell isn't he calling the police? Why the hell is she going around in public undisguised?

“Your Uber friend?” Sam asked, raising his eyebrows and his own interest. “Arthur?”

How the hell did he leap to that connection?

She apologizes for giving a random guy a rude awakening while she's wanted for causing a panic?!

Farther down the road, several griffon guards flew around in the sky on their patrols.

I doubt they're literally griffin guards since one, Griffinstone is a mess without much of anything, and two, having police operate in another country with the right to enforce the law is considered giving up your sovereignty.

"2,977**8@^\( ..)
1. Sam visits, maybe catches a glimpse and goes around town.
2. Food truck, sees Arthur and Spaghetti Tree talk after dropping Spaghetti off at Cob after Sam’s dinner. Wants to see him to apologize.
3. Discrepancy? Paid the fine? Where did the money come from?
4. They walk to a food truck and Sam hears of her sympahthies with the HLF because of the PER turning her into a pony."

I think you included this by accident.

"“Someone...th-they...those ponifiers...they splashed potion on me!”"

GEEZE! Didn't think SPLASHING the potion would be enough, and geeze, this really does show the insanity of some groups, she ALREADY wanted to be a pony, (and I don't see why merponies wouldn't have cutie marks IMHO), and they just didn't want to wait.

[Comma Typer]

9250313
Sorry for not thoroughly replying to your comments. I need to find the time to do that, because your constructive feedback is always nice to read and write about.

As for 2,977**8@^\( ..): What I did was inexcusable. Very much so. I should really check for that to make sure my story notes don't slip through the cracks.

[Canary In The Coal Mine]

9245954

I'm still really enjoying this story, thank you for still updating it with new and interesting chapters.

I always felt the setting of TCB had potential for interesting stories that unfortunately were hi-jacked for cheap drama (usually between the HLF and PER) or deliberately misinterpreted to imagine it towards a sinister end. Or the human setting was made a dystopian to make becoming a pony more than a choice or necessary for survival, but a rebirth into a better world, and how that rubbed others the wrong way.

The personal choice of transforming, of having a time limit to make up one's mind, and understanding what would be lost in the process, is the correct angle to really tackle the subject and this setting is doing it very well. All the different choices really opens up the thing to not seem pony-centric or pony-forced, and for that it is much more relaxed in scope. Even though I wonder if those conversion bureaus shouldn't be getting significantly more traffic if everyone is to be transformed by the time the barrier arrives. It's almost like the barrier isn't a valid worry yet, despite being months, not years, away.

[Mix-up]

Interesting chapter to see how the communality work with the different species around interacting with each other.

[JDunk1971]

Just as an aside, but wasn't the Nom-Nom truck on an episode of "The Great Food Truck Road Race"?