> Public Flasher
>  by Gabriel LaVedier
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> Public Flasher
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	A dark pink tongue slipped, trembling, along dry, semi-chapped lips, between snaggled teeth exposed in a perverse and disturbing grin. Ragged breaths pulled in and huffed out of the grinning maw, while bloodshot eyes cast about the darkened alley that held the owner of the crazed features. Chipped hooves maniacally gripped the stained fabric of a gray trench coat, holding it tightly closed around his trembling body.
The grizzled old stallion was a sere and wizened figure, anywhere between sixty and a hundred. What parts of his coat that were visible were a faded yellow, looking like old parchment, while his scraggly, greasy mane was an off-white color. He was tucked into the far part of it, biding his time, waiting for the signal that told him it was time.
One ear flicked up suddenly, head tilting to the side. His grin grew even more crazed as a sound reached his ear. Hoof steps on cobblestones and the sound of voices. Mare voices. Or female voices at least. He could narrow it down to something with hooves. It didn't matter. They were female and they were coming. It was the perfect cap to all the waiting and anticipating.
They came closer, closer, unsuspecting. Two of them, with cultured accents. They sounded proper, probably well-dressed society women on their way to something very fancy. That just made it all the better. They would shriek and stumble and flail their limbs around in shock and embarrassment. He was ready. So very ready.
His breathing slowed, long, deep inhalations followed by slower, shuddering exhalations carrying just the softest hint of some guttural noise. They were nearly there, talking of things that concerned women like them. He could hear them as they approached the mouth of the alley. “Well there are a number of fine sights, and I can take you all around, you deserve-”
The speaker never got to complete her thought. The crazed stallion leaped out of the concealing darkness of the alley on three legs, one carefully holding his trench coat closed for the moment. He had time to savor the pure surprise scribed on the faces of the two ladies. He had been right about them being mares. The speaker was a light blue unicorn mare, her mane tucked up under a large and elaborate hat. The other mare was a zebra mare, her mane in a loose style that flowed over both sides of her neck and faced her face a bit. She had on a collection of gold necklaces and bracelets, along with a kind of chest covering made of a sort of 'webbing' of dried and plaited veldt grass, embellished with shells and beads.
He got a good look at them, committing their looks, as well as their shock and confusion, to memory before he did the deed. He reared up suddenly, both forehooves reaching for the opening of his coat. He took hold and threw the garment open with a flourish and a sudden nicker. He bounced on his hind legs once he was fully exposed, to put things into motion and make the focus shift to where he wanted it. This was it. Time for the shock.
Silence. There was silence. Besides the surprised squeaks from his initial appearance there was no sound reacting to his reveal. It did not feel like a heavy silence, the sort associated with a mind that could not process the inconceivable sight before it. Tilting his head down the flashing stallion could not read shock, shame or fear. He saw only confusion on both mares, the zebra adding a small, possibly disappointed, shake of her head.
Another bounce on his hind legs did not improve the situation. The confusion only continued. “So does this happen often? Are we supposed to offer bits?” The zebra asked, rubbing her chin thoughtfully.
“No, this is most unusual. He does not have the look of a street performer about him, but it is hard to tell. He may be a bit salted, though they normally have balance problems,” The unicorn mused, tapping at her own chin. “If he is in need of alms he may be attempting his own, less-polished version of street performance. It is, er... avant garde? I suppose that is what others might say of it...”
While the three stood in the strange tableau a fourth figure ran into the scene, panting heavily. She was an earth pony mare, her coat a very pale orange color, her mane a darker carroty-orange, pulled up into a tight bun. She wore the paper hat of a nurse, and also had the heart-marked cross Cutie Mark of a nurse. “Mister Coat! Oh Mister Coat there you are! Goodness!”
The three others looked to the nurse, the stallion identified as Mister Coat dropping to all fours. “My goodness, nurse, you seem in a state. Do you know this unfortunate fellow?” the unicorn asked with some concern.
After pausing to catch her breath the nurse nodded. “Oh yes. My name is Nurse Warmheart from Baltimare General Hospital. This is Heavy Coat, a patient in our special ward for the mentally fragile. He's a new arrival in town, you see, and was referred to us by constables. He seems to be suffering from an unusual condition, of which we were hardly made aware before he slipped out onto the streets again.”
“What a terrible thing, and what good constables to bring him to you,” the zebra noted. “What is this condition? Some kind of acrobatic compulsion?”
“Oh no, it is far more unusual. He seems to have some sort of cultural disconnect. He honestly believes, somehow, that leaping out and exposing his body is shocking, improper, an act of depravity,” Nurse Warmheart shook her head. “Imagine, thinking that somehow exposing the naked pony form was an act that could shock or surprise.”
“The poor, confused dear,” the unicorn said, looking on Heavy Coat with a compassionate eye. Given the age range he could have been her own father or grandfather, earth pony and all. “You are quite dedicated. I hope he gets all the help he requires.”
“I don't need help!” Heavy said, with great indignity in his voice. “I know how the world works and I know what's what! I know that this is bad and exciting! You can't tell me I don't know.”
“Yes, yes, all very bad and naughty. Now come along Mister Coat,” Nurse Warmheart cooed gently, nudging Heavy along. “And please don't try to run away. We need to get you cleaned up and get a warm meal into you before we settle you into the ward.”
“I can walk! I can walk!” Heavy snorted. Though he remained looking incensed he fell into step with Nurse Warmheart, shoulders slumping a touch.
“Ahhhh! Pervert!” A shout from down the street drew the attention of everyone. A single pegasus mare was rearing up, covering her eyes as a unicorn stallion stood before her. The male had on a large, concealing mask and was dancing around in front of the startled mare. He had been in the process of magically sliding a pair of sparkling thong-type undergarments up his rear legs. There was a large pack beside him, from which he levitated a daringly short pair of shorts, which were also pulled up his legs in time to the dance.
“On the streets in broad daylight!” the unicorn mare said, with disgust.
“This would never happen in the veldt! Where is the law? Bring forth the askari!” the zebra shouted, looking up and down the street.
The unicorn stopped in mid-dance, lifting up the pack and setting it on his back, quickly turning and running. Behind him there came thundering a solid, well-groomed buffalo cow wearing the uniform of a Baltimare city constable. “Halt! Fleeing is only aggravating the severity of your crime!”
The original crowd of four looked on the scene with various degrees of shock. Heavy snorted loudly and shook his head. “Dressing up in front of a mare? There's a lotta crazy folks out there.”