> Our Girl Scootaloo 2 of 3
>  by Cozy Mark IV
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> Ch 2.1 The Bear Cub
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


Our Girl Scootaloo


Part 2 of 3


by Cozy Mark IV & Jan. McNeville


Disclaimer: This is a non-profit fan-made work of prose. My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic is the property of Hasbro. Please support the official release


Chapter Two point One: The Bear Cub

“Well, that pretty much does it for high school.” Scootaloo said as she pushed away from the computer screen. “And my compliments, Twilight, this is just the way it really happened.”

“I know you told me you had a rough time in high school on earth, but I hadn't expected anything like that!” Twilight said with a shake of her head as she set down her empty glass. “This makes the school problems I had look trivial by comparison. I had my share of issues but I can't even imagine a filly getting pregnant during school...” Her voice took on a mournful note, “let alone dropping out because of it.”

“Don't feel too bad. The only thing unusual about my time in high school is that I had a lot of really good friends who helped me make things better.”

Twilight's head snapped up. “You mean that was normal for high school in this world?!”

“Well, aside from the part where we were able to fix things. I was really lucky to have such good friends.” Scootaloo added with an oblivious smile.

Twilight opened her mouth to object, but couldn't find the words. After a moment she seemed to deflate, letting the issued drop as she refilled her Diet Coke and asked a different question that had been at the back of her mind. “And Josie Findlay... That couldn't be the same Dr. Josephine Findlay-Price who's the current American Ambassador to Equestria?”

“You got it.” Scootaloo smiled. “She excelled in political science, and managed several campaigns in her twenties so she was positioned perfectly to step in eight years after graduating from high school... I've asked her about that, but all she ever does is give me that knowing smile of hers.”

“You think she knew we were coming somehow?” Twilight asked incredulously.

“I wouldn't put it past her.”  Scootaloo smiled wryly as she shook her head. “Anyway, are you ready to start on the college years?”

Twilight looked a bit uncomfortable as she set down her glass. “Uh... yeah. About that. I know you wanted me to talk to everyone and not censor anything, but just what I've already heard is a bit...”

Scootaloo stared at her and crossed her prosthetic arms in front of her.. “A bit what? How did you think a girl falls in love?”

Twilight found herself blushing as she stammered. “Well, yes, I understand the concept, but do you really want me to put in... all the details?”

Scootaloo just laughed at the red faced pony. “I'm sure you can find a happy medium between 'fade to black' and porn. And besides, nothing I got up to comes close to what the tabloids dreamed up.”

Twilight raised an eyebrow. “You're telling me the newspapers wrote stores about your sex life?” She shifted in her seat, seeming to gain confidence. “Since we arrived here, I've read hundreds of news articles, from every kind of earth newspaper, and I simply can't imagine the New York Times running something like that.” 

Scootaloo tried to stifle her giggles as she pulled up a particularly memorable piece on her tablet and passed it to Twilight.

“The Sun? I've never heard of this paper...” She muttered as she glanced at the title and took a sip from her glass. Then, as she scrolled down the page the headline appeared and the soda she was drinking wound up sprayed all over the screen with explosive force.

'World's first pony co-ed in depraved orgy!'

The grainy and poorly photo-shopped image that followed showed Scootaloo's head emerging from a tangle of arms and legs with a few goats looking on in the background for good measure. 

“Sweet Celestia! Did-?” she asked, her eyes nearly bugging out of her skull.

Scootaloo couldn't help but laugh as Twilight gaped. “It's okay, Twilight, this is what tabloids do; they make up ridiculous stories about famous people to sell papers. The picture on the front is actually several images stuck together.”

“But... how can...?” she stuttered.

“Oh, calm down,” Scootaloo soothed “everyone knows it's just a story, and besides, with the embassy finished, I expect Equestria will soon have a tabloid or two of its own.” She smiled mischievously. “Say, you're pretty famous in Equestria aren't you?” 

Twilight's head snapped up again and as her eyes took on a far-away look, Scootaloo could have sworn she heard the sound of a needle being pulled from a record.

“Anyway, I really like what you did with the first third of this, Twilight.” Scootaloo put a hand reassuringly on her shoulder as Twilight twitched. “Just keep it up and don't worry so much. You're doing fine.” 

...

It was a summer of anticipation, hanging out with friends, and more shifts with the ambulance corps, but now move in day at the dormitories had finally arrived.  After a drive of more than two hours, the purple minivan finally crested the last big hill on the highway, and the edges of the college town came into view thought the windshield. Scootaloo had made the flight several times, both in the family’s little aircraft and on her own wings, but today they needed to haul cargo, and poor Jayne was looking pretty squeezed in the only remaining back seat with all of her stuff. As they got off the freeway, it quickly became obvious as to why all the literature had warned: ‘Do not bring a car for your student!’ It was only the first day of the three day move in weekend, and the roads were absolutely packed with vehicles of every description, most crammed to the gills with clothes, bedding and a million other indispensable things.

Helping Kevin navigating the network of winding roads that made up the town, Scootaloo was rapidly gaining a certain respect for a city where ‘up’ and ‘down’ were just as legitimate directions as ‘left’ and ‘right’. At length Kevin pulled the minivan up to the appointed dormitory. 

This was not the same as finding a parking spot. 

After circling the huge building three times Scootaloo called a halt and took to the air, using a thousand foot view to guide her dads to one of the handful of ever-shifting free parking spots over the phone. As she came in for a landing and pulled off her goggles she heard a familiar voice call her name.

“Scootaloo! You made it!” Josie shouted as she closed the distance and hugged her friend. Scootaloo unfolded her prosthetic arms that she had tucked away on her back during flight and returned the hug. 

“Hey, Josie. How did you know I was here?” She asked with a smile.

“Oh, I don’t know. I was just staring out the window and I noticed a bunch of people pointing at the sky. And the alien invasion is next Friday.”

She couldn’t help but giggle at that. “So I take it you’re already moved in?”

“Yeah, my parents and I got here this morning, finished the move, and they left after lunch. I’ve been waiting for almost two hours! What took you so long?”

Jayne couldn’t help himself and chose this moment to say simply; “Shoes.” Earning him a mix of glares and giggles. 

“Anyway! I kind of didn’t take enough time to pack yesterday, and I kind of had to finish the job this morning.” Scootaloo answered, rubbing the back of her head with her hand and looking sheepish. 

“Well, you’re the one who had to deal with the traffic. Come on, I can help you move in. Which tower are you in?” She asked, gesturing to the four ten story towers that grew up from the shared main level.    

“Uh, the form said I was in Braxton, room 3621.”

Josie actually let out a squeal. “I’m in Braxton 3605! We’re on the same floor! Come on, I’ll show you the way!” She finished as she grabbed an armload of bedding and headed back to the main doors. Kevin shrugged and hauled out one of the pre packed saddle bags allowing Scootaloo to shrug it on before chasing after her friend.

The elevator was the very best 1975 technology, and it took much longer than she expected to make it up a scant six floors, stopping on every floor to let off other students and their parents. When they finally reached their floor and stepped out, Scootaloo didn’t know quite what to make of it.

“Wow… It looks pretty industrial here…” She followed Josie down the white hallway as she pointed out the sights.

“Oh don’t be so down on it. The entire building is concrete and steel. It wouldn’t be here after this long if they had built with wood; college kids aren’t always kind to the fixtures, you know.”

While the building itself was pretty plain, the individual dorm room doors bore decorations next to the names of the girls inside. Some students had already replaced the original decorations with material of their own design, and while the result wasn’t always pretty, it did give the floor more character. The floor itself was as simple as could be; 24 rooms, each with a single window made up the outside, all connected by a square hallway. Inside the perimeter of the hall were the guys' and girls' bathrooms, the common room, elevators, and a washer/dryer room. 

“And here we have your room.” Josie announced as she knocked and opened the door.

It was obvious at a glance that the other occupant, Margaret May, if the name on the door was any guide, had already moved in and set up shop. The top bunk was already taken, and the room featured a rather bland Midwestern motif with several religious posters. Her roommate didn’t seem to be home at the moment though.

“Huh. I don’t think I met her yet… Oh well,” Josie finished, dumping the bedding on the bottom bunk, “I’m sure she’ll be fine.”
Scootaloo set down her saddle bag and took a moment to look over the room. It was smaller than her room at home; just two desks, bunk bed and a closet, but still… it was hers. Not that her dads had been too hard on her, but this was going to be her room. She could come and go whenever she wanted, do just about anything she wanted… A grin slowly spread across her face; she wasn’t sure what she wanted to do with this new freedom, but she was going enjoy it! 

Over the next two hours she helped her dads haul everything up to her room and connected her old laptop to the school network. With the important things done, she hung up what clothes she brought, made the bed, and took a moment to look over the pristine results of an afternoon’s work.

“Enjoy it while it lasts.” Kevin observed with a smirk. “It'll never look this organized again.”

“Hey, I resemble that remark!” Josie replied with feigned indignity. 

Scootaloo raised an eyebrow.

“What? Have you seen the average girl’s college dorm room?” Josie answered. “Give it a month and then tell me I’m wrong.”

“Well, that seems to be everything.” Jayne said, changing the subject. “What do you say we all grab dinner? There's supposed to be a good Mexican place right down the road… Google Maps calls it Los Mariachis. Sound good?”

…

The meal was excellent, as it usually was in any Mexican restaurant where Spanish is the dominant language. Their vegetarian selection wasn’t very big, but they seemed honored to have Scootaloo as a guest, and made up a special salad with guacamole, sour cream, the works. 
Kevin and Jayne were both feeling a little worried… Scootaloo had grown up with them and had never been this far away from home for so long. The family aircraft could chop the +2 hour drive down to under an hour’s flight, and they all knew Scootaloo could do almost as well on her own wings, but… it still took some getting used to. Josie and Scootaloo were feeling some of the same concerns, but for them it was balanced by the adventure of being on their own for the first time; the entire city felt like it was theirs for the taking, and they couldn’t wait to get out and see it all.

The sun was already setting behind the mountains by the time they paid the bill and stepped back outside. They could all see the dormitory some three blocks away to the south, and the medical complex where Scoot hoped to study loomed large to the east.

“Well… I guess we should say good-bye now…” Kevin said, his voice cracking just a little.

Jayne went to one knee and pulled Scootaloo into a tight hug as Kevin joined him. “You take care of yourself okay?” 

Scootaloo returned their hug, but was surprised to feel something drip onto her coat and run down her neck. “Hey, it’s okay, Dad. I’m almost a full grown adult now, and college still has some safety nets. I’ll be fine.”

Jayne sniffled. “I know… You’re a strong young woman, and we’re both so proud of you!”

She could feel her own eyes starting to water as she held her dads close. “Thank you so much. I think you know how much that means to me.” 

They all held each other close for a long while, each of them pretending not to cry, until finally Scootaloo pulled herself together. “Hey, you still have a long ride back, and you don’t want to do that in the dark if you don’t have to.”

Kevin reluctantly agreed, and as Josie watched, her dads got into the now very empty van and waved good-bye as they pulled off into traffic for the long ride home. Scootaloo waved until they disappeared from sight, then quietly dried her eyes on a gauze pad.

“Uh… do they just give you as many of those things as you want?” Josie asked of the medical gauze, breaking the mood.

Scootaloo smiled. “Well yeah, it’s not the kind of thing you want to stop and look for in an emergency.” She sighed, but strangely, she felt better already.

“Come on, why don’t we go see how Melissa and Demi are doing? They should be in the next tower over, and I haven’t had the chance to see if they got in today.”

“Okay… I’m still kind of disappointed that Christina and Conner didn’t come with us…” 

“We’re really pretty lucky to keep four of the gang together as it is.” Josie chided her. “And it’s not like we can’t keep in touch. Now come on, what do you say we check out the student rec center out past the dorms before we call it a night?” She added in a sing song voice, “they might have some really hot guys…”

Scootaloo gave her friend a gentle shove. “Oh, all right, but only because you sold the idea so well. Hot guys… Really, Josie?”

“Hey, don’t give me that look. We’re both single, and the place has multiple elevated walkways to stand and see the sights.”

Scootaloo couldn’t help but snicker, and as the sun set behind the mountains, she started her first weekend at college on an amusingly frivolous note. 

...

After an enjoyable evening exploring the rec center, introducing themselves and ogling some of their fellow students, Josie and Scootaloo walked back to the dorm and took the elevator up to the sixth floor. As they rounded the corner, their attention was drawn to the country music coming from Scootaloo’s open dorm room door. After an exchange of concerned glances, they knocked and entered to find a young woman wearing a house dress sitting at her computer.  

“Uh, hi. You must be Margaret?” Scootaloo spoke up over the music.

She seemed to notice them, turned, then did a double take.

“Whoa, you’re that Scootaloo Scott?” Scootaloo nodded while Josie gave her a serious look.

“Hey, nice to meet you! I’m Margaret May Forbush.” She added, standing up to shake her prosthetic hand. “I had hoped it would be you, but… I didn’t really believe it.”

“Hey, let’s keep the fan-girling to a minimum here okay?” Josie cautioned from the still open door. “We’re all just students here.”

Margaret seemed to catch herself and looked embarrassed. “Oh… Sorry, I guess you must get that a lot.”

Scootaloo smiled, hoping to make the best of this. “More than you know. Did you have a friend or family member who benefited from one of the genetic treatments?”

She thought for a moment. “Well, I know several members of our congregation have, but personally? No, no one in my family.”

Both Scootaloo and Josie seemed to relax a bit at that. “Well, I’m glad you’re all healthy. Sorry, I know it’s a weird question, but the genetic treatments derived from my DNA and have saved millions of lives, so I’ve learned to ask that first. You probably already know about me and my dads. Have you met my friend Josie?”

Margaret stepped over to shake her hand. “Nice to meet you. Did you two go to high school together?”

“Yes, actually. We were on the cheerleading squad together, though neither of us is planning to continue cheering into college.” They shared a significant look. “I think we’ve both had our fill.”

“I’m majoring in political science for the moment, and Scoot here is on a medical track. What are you majoring in?”

“Agricultural science, actually. My dad runs a farm in Kansas, and I’m hoping to help with the family business.”

Scootaloo raised an eyebrow at this. “Agricultural science?”

“Oh yes!” She replied in a perky tone. “I take it from your tone you grew up in the city, right?”

“Uh... Mostly. Josie and I did spend some time on a farm a few years back, but it’s been a while.”  

“Well then, you know that while it doesn't have the same glamor as some other fields, agricultural science is the very foundation upon which we live.” She grinned at them. “Only two hundred years ago, ninety percent of the US population were farmers. Today that number is about two percent, and its because of the huge advances we've made in agroscience.”

“Oh... I guess I never thought of it that way.” Scootaloo conceded. “What's your family like?” 

“Oh, we're just good folks. Dad runs the farm while Mom keeps the books, hires the labor, and sees to the rest. I went to school, helped around the farm, and the whole family went to church every week.”

“And you don't have any problem with gay people?” Scootaloo asked apprehensively.

Margaret noticed her expression and tried to re-assure her. “What? Oh, no. We don't have any objection, nor do I. I've heard about some of the things your dads went though, and I wouldn't wish that on anyone.”

Scootaloo and Josie took a seat on the bottom bunk as the got to know each other better, but privately, Scoot was sighing with relief, smiling as she thought. 'I think this should work out just fine.'

…

The first week of classes was every bit as exciting as Scootaloo had hoped it would be. The years of taking college credit classes over the video chat line at her old school had made her familiar with some of the bigger classrooms, but getting to the buildings by hoof proved an enjoyable challenge. 

The campus was divided into different parts with a downtown area for most of her introductory studies and the branch campus a few miles away that handled engineering, medicine, sports and some dormitories. Each morning would find her up early to hop a bus downtown after which followed a search for the right building, floor and room – not as easy as it sounded given that some buildings were four stories tall and had ground level entrances on every floor.

By the end of the first week Scootaloo had become familiar with her class schedule, and setup a sort of informal dinner meeting each evening where she would catch up with Josie, Demie and all the new friends to hear about their day. 

That evening as she took her seat at the table next to her friends, Josie introduced her to a new classmate.

“Scoot, I’d like you to meet Catherine from my political science class.”

“Pleased to meet you,” she said, extending a hand. “You can call me Cat.”

“Nice to meet you, Cat.” Scoot replied with a smile. “How did you guys meet?”

“Oh, our class is taught by a teaching assistant, and the poor guy was trying to get some asshole freshman to STFU about Ron Paul and let him finish explaining the Commerce Clause. Josie stepped in and totally pwned him, and I was able to offer a few valid points along the way.”

“She’s being modest, it was a joint effort, and the whole class applauded when he finally got up and left.”

Scootaloo smiled at her. “Wow, you must really know your US politics; Josie’s the only one I’ve ever seen do that before.”

Catherine blushed a bit. “Well, it wasn’t that hard. I must admit to having some ulterior motives for being here though; I’ve always wanted to meet the famous Scootaloo Scott.” Scoot blanched but Cat held up her hands. “Easy there, I’m not some mindless fan girl, I’ve just had a question for a long time now, and I was hoping you could answer it for me.”

Scootaloo gave her a flat look. “A question not already answered on Wikipedia or one of the many fan sites that list everything from my weight to my preferred shoe size and nail type?”

Cat looked embarrassed, but continued anyway. “Well… Not that I could find at least. I just wanted to know why you had such an easy time growing up, especially with the legal system.” 

Josie was regarding Cat with a dark expression as Scoot answered evenly. “Could you be more specific?”

Catherine was blushing red from all the attention, but she forged ahead anyway. “I’m serious. I’m majoring in political science and I can’t for the life of me figure out why the US government is going out of its way to make life easier for you. The bodyguards and such make sense, but the rest? You just got a local politician to declare you a person in the eyes of the law and it stuck. No landmark court case, no huge legal battle, just one and done. And all the usual racism and specism that should have been present; It’s obvious that someone is expending significant effort to help you lead a normal life. Don’t get me wrong, that’s kind of them, and you’ve already saved a lot of lives though your medical research, but this started way before there were any medical treatments to think about. I just don’t understand why they’re doing so much for you.”

To the surprise of everyone else at the table, Scootaloo was grinning. 

“Oh, I like her! Josie, can we keep her?”

Demi, Melissa and Josie all gave her questioning looks.

“Surely you’ve all wondered the same thing over the years, but you must have figured it out by now.” She said looking over the three of them. Josie and Melissa nodded slowly, but Demi looked confused. 

“I just thought you were kind of lucky. That maybe America really is the best country in the world…”

Josie abruptly sprayed soda out her nose as she choked and laughed at the same time. Scootaloo pounded her on the back a couple of times and waited as she recovered.

“Jesus, Demi, you really need to take a poli-sci class.” Josie finally managed. 

Scootaloo nodded then turned back to Catherine. “Look at it from their perspective. Before I was even known to the world, my DNA was published for everyone to see. Now detailed scientific information doesn’t do much for policy makers, but the broad truth was easy to convey. Someone had built something with DNA that was hundreds of years beyond the best we could do today. When I came forward a few weeks later, most of the world saw an adorable helpless little pony. The politicians saw something much darker. Are you familiar with the bear cub proposition?”

Demi and Cat looked confused, so she asked it a different way. “When you’re walking through the woods and you find an adorable bear cub playing in the forest, what do you do and why?”

“You get the hell out of there because the mama bear could be back any second and she’s going to kill anything that threatens her cub.” Demi responded. “But we’ve seen pieces of Equestria on the show. They’re peaceable and no threat to anyone. Why-”

Catherine’s face suddenly went from confusion to shock and fear. “Oh, shit!”

Scootaloo smiled. “Now you’ve got it. If you abuse a minority group, you’re only abusing another human. You know exactly what they are and where they came from. But someone or something built me. Probably built my entire species. Something with genetic engineering skills so advanced they could, in an afternoon, whip up a disease that would make the Black Death look like the fucking chicken pox. Equestria isn't necessarily the mama bear you need to worry about, but whatever built the Ponies? Yeah, that's probably not someone or something you want to piss off.”

Demi’s eyes had gone wide along with Catherine’s, but Melissa and Josie were just nodding. He turned to his sister in consternation. “You knew about this?!”

Josie just nodded. “Well, yeah, why did you think she was able to skip so many pointless legal battles and so much mindless specism? The people who run this country aren’t stupid, at least not all the time. Scoot is the proverbial bear cub, and only a complete fool would allow her to come to serious harm, but at the same time, you can see why nobody advertises the fact. The average American has an eighth grade education, and it’s just a lot simpler to let everyone think Scootaloo leads a good life because we’re a great country, or people are great, or whatever platitude floats your boat.”

“And you’re okay with this??” Demi asked, turning on Scootaloo.

She shrugged. “Well, do I have any choice in the matter? I can’t help who and what I am, and I don’t know anything more than anyone else. I’m just happy to be able to get along and fit in, to have friends like you guys.” She stood up and hugged Melissa and Demi. Demi’s concern seemed to fade as he returned the hug.

“I’m lucky to have a friend like you too, Scoot.” He looked a little sheepish. “Sorry for freaking out over this.”


> Ch 2.2 Roommates and Class Credit
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


Our Girl Scootaloo


Part 2 of 3


by Cozy Mark IV & Jan. McNeville


Disclaimer: This is a non-profit fan-made work of prose. My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic is the property of Hasbro. Please support the official release


Chapter Two point Two: Roommates and Class Credit

It was coming up on midterms during their first semester when Scootaloo stopped by Josie's room to hang out. The door was ajar, so she knocked and slowly pushed it open. Josie was working on something at her desk, and her roommate, Kim, was apparently playing an MMORPG again, judging by the thick textbook on her head.

Scootaloo walked up to Josie to look over her shoulder at the project, then gestured at her roommate. 
“You know, you really shouldn't keep doing that.”

Josie turned to see the book she had set on Kim's head three hours ago was still in the same place, and still unnoticed.  

“She doesn't seem to mind. Don't get me wrong, Kim's a great roommate; quiet, considerate... half the time I forget she's even here. But the gaming is getting a little out of hand though. This is my subtle way of reminding her that she needs to keep up with her school work.”

“Subtle?”

She had the decency to blush. “Well, more or less. Plus, I've been making a little money on the side lately.” She indicated the webcam pointed at her roommate's computer. “The betting pool to guess when she'll notice is already up to fifty dollars.”

Scootaloo fixed her with a level gaze. “Really, now.”

“Anyway!” Josie interjected, changing the subject. “What have you been up to lately?”

“Oh, just the usual. Classes, homework, friends...” She trailed off as she looked around the room, taking in the mountains of unwashed laundry and the books and things piled everywhere. Josie followed her glance and she took a defensive posture. 

“Don't you give me that look. I'll have you know I can find anything I need, anytime I want to.”

Scootaloo smiled. “Hey, your room, your rules. I was just thinking about what my dads said about the state of our rooms.”

“Hmm... You know, I've been meaning to ask you; how are you keeping your room so clean? I saw your old room back home, and you sure didn't keep it as spotless as you do your dorm room.”

Now it was Scootaloo's turn to blush. “Well, I can't take credit for that. Margaret May is really great at cleaning and organizing. I keep telling her she doesn't have to do it, but every time I leave my things scattered about, she just sweeps though and fixes it.” She looked thoughtful. “You know, since I've moved in, I don't think I've even seen a single feather on the floor.”

“Feather?” Josie asked.

“Well yeah.” Scootaloo replied spreading her wings. “I shed a few every day, and usually I'm always finding them in odd spots, but since I got to college, it hasn't been an issue.”

“Ha!” Josie teased “I bet your roommate's secretly saving them like toenail clippings.”

“Eww, gross.” Scootaloo made a face. “What would someone even do with pile of orange feathers?”

“Oh I don't know...” Josie replied mischievously. “Maybe she's selling them on eBay or something!” 

Scootaloo gave her a playful shove. “Josie! You are terrible!”

“Oh really? Lets just see, shall we?” And before Scootaloo could object she had plugged the terms into the search engine. 

The results were not what they expected.

Scootaloo and Josie both stared blankly at the listing for several seconds.
“You have got to be kidding me.”

“What??... How did my feathers wind up on...Etsy? What the eff is Etsy?!”

“It's like eBay for crafts. Doesn't have a ban on animal parts like eBay does, though.”

“Do I want to know how you know that?”

“Frankly, no.” Josie frowned as she read the listing aloud. “For auction, one genuine Pegasus feather from the person some have called the second coming of Christ. Reserve fixed at two hundred dollars. No ponies were harmed in the collection of this feather.” Then after a moments thought she turned and looked at Scootaloo. “The second coming of Christ?!”

Scootaloo shrugged. “I have wings, I like peace, and the medical treatments derived from my synthetic biology have saved millions of lives. For some people with a particularly creative interpretation of scripture, that's apparently enough. Most of them are harmless enough, but I have to admit,” she gestured to the screen, “this is new.”

The girls stared at each other.

“I think its time we have some words with May.” Scootaloo said slowly.

“Yes. I believe it is.”  

…

Margaret May unlocked her dorm room door and opened it to see Josie and Scootaloo waiting for her, arms crossed and both wearing serious expressions.

“Uh... nice day we're having?” She asked looking guilty.

Josie scowled. “Yes. Yes, it was. Until I found out you've been plucking my friend and selling her feathers for textbook money!”

“Hey, that's not what I was doing!” 

“Oh? Then how did my feathers wind up on eBay?”

“Etsy.”

“Whatever! On some freaky website right next to the handmade dolls of me that I really did NOT need to know about!”

“Because I sent them home to my church. It's not right that you should just let relics like that go to waste.” She added defensively.

“Oh, lord.” Josie replied as Scootaloo facepalmed. “Relics?”

“Well, yes! I didn't seek this out, but seeing that I'm living with a holy woman, it was-”

“Holy woman?” Josie cut her off. “You seriously believe Scootaloo here is some kind of minor God?”

Margaret looked uneasy. “Well, yeah, at least that's what I thought at first...”

Scootaloo moved her hand enough to look at her. “Seriously?” 

Josie gave her an equally flat look. “Margaret, you were here that time the cafeteria served up that asparagus casserole two days running. You share a room. You're telling me you actually think Scootaloo is  holy?”

Margaret made a face and looked determinedly at the ceiling. “I'll admit that was a test of my faith, yes.”

Josie began laughing so hard that she just laid back on the bed and gave up. Scootaloo flashed her a dark look that only made her laugh harder, before trying a different approach.
“Well, apparently there are people willing to pay for them. What are you using the money for anyway?”

Margaret brightened up immediately. “Well, some of it has been used to fix the broken plumbing and heating in our old church. It was really run down, but now we've got it back up to code.” 
She pulled up some images on her computer, but instead of the gaudy, overdone building Scootaloo had expected, the pictures were of simple plain white structure, an old church by the looks of it, that had been restored, but certainly not lavished with cash.
Margaret looked a little embarrassed as she continued. “We wouldn't have used even this amount if we could have avoided it, but collections only come up with so much, and we've needed it to accommodate the growing congregation. Most of the money has been donated to our local Children's Hospital.” She pulled up some pictures of little smiling faces from the modest hospital. “They really appreciate the support, and they've been able to make some badly needed repairs just since the start of the semester.”

Josie had settled down enough to rejoin the conversation now, so she posed the obvious question. “Okay... I admit this is not what I expected. But why feathers?”

Margaret looked uneasy again, but forged ahead anyway. “Well, they're a piece of... of you, Scootaloo. Some of them wind up in statues or altars, some people keep them as good luck charms or mementos of the woman who saved their lives, or the lives of their family or children. I didn't think it made you uncomfortable like this, but please think of it from our perspective.”

“What perspective is that? That I'm the pony messiah?”

Margaret's face was downcast now, and her tone had become very serious. “That whatever you may believe, you are a force for good in this world. Your healing touch has saved more people than any other person ever to live.” She seemed to choke up before continuing. “And that when you leave us, it will be a very long time before we see your like again.”

“Leave you?” Scootaloo asked in alarm.

“Yes, Scoot. Most people only know you as an idea, or a celebrity. Becoming your friend has actually made the truth harder for me. It's been more than a decade now since you arrived. No one has shown up looking for you, and as heartbreaking as it is to say, it's likely no one ever will. You are the first and last of your kind. You can't reproduce with anyone from earth. As much as we might want it, you will have no children of your own. And when death finally catches up with you, as it does to all of us, there will be no one else to take your place. We will be all alone again.”

That brought a sharp sobriety to the conversation as neither Scootaloo or Josie could disagree what she had said. A tear ran down May's cheek as she looked up at Scootaloo again.

“And now, because of what I've done, I may have ruined a friendship with someone I... really wanted to know better.”

Scootaloo glanced at Josie, remembering the betrayal at the protest and Agent Tyler's advice. She took a deep breath and sighed. “Margaret, I'm not going to disown you as a friend over this, I just wish you would have told me first.”

“You're not?” She looked up hopefully.

“No, I'm not. Just give me a heads up before you do something like this again all right?” Margaret nodded happily, and Scootaloo thought of another question. “Anyway, how can someone tell the difference between my feathers and ordinary bird feathers?”

“Well, because they're the same color of orange as you.” She answered simply.

“Hmm... I think I might have something for you to discuss with my doctors.”

There was a moment's pause as an evil grin crossed Scootaloo's face, and May looked concerned, but before she could ask:

“Anyway!” Josie broke in, “I think you should spend some more time with your Holy Roommate and I,” she finished with a mischievous grin. “Who's up for a couple of hours of 'Adventure Time'? I've got Pop Rocks and Kool-Aid that will turn your tongues blue.”  

“All right!” Scootaloo replied, sharing a high five with Josie before looking back to Margaret May. “You coming?”

“…Yeah!” 

And with that, Margaret joined their group.

The fact that the painting of Jesus riding on Scootaloo’s back from the Etsy search arrived exactly ten business days later was simply irrelevant. Scoot liked Jesus, and it was the most flattering picture of herself she had ever seen. Her fathers would like it.

…

One of the unexpected requirements of her first year at college turned out to be art appreciation class. Scootaloo had never really thought much about art, and while she didn't have an particular objection to learning about it, she found she did resent the credit hours consumed by the class that could not be spent elsewhere. It was the day after the midterm when her professor reminded them all of their out of class assignments. 

“As you no doubt remember, each student is required to attend at least three art related events listed on the syllabus and write a report about said event. With the mid term over, we are down to only a handful of eligible events to satisfy the requirements, and I urge anyone still needing credit to make it to them before they are all gone.”

As he listed out the remaining events Scootaloo mentally kicked herself for putting it off this long. She still needed two of the three events, and most of the remaining ones conflicted with her other classes. She sat quietly through the rest of the class, taking notes on the various painters on discussion that day, and thinking to herself that she had liked the earlier part of the class better. At least then they included some world history, and art from all over the globe. The last few weeks had been nothing but European paintings; not a sculpture or architectural building to be seen.

At length, the lecture wound to a close, and as the rest of the class filled out, Scootaloo pulled on her saddle bags and walked down to the podium, waiting her turn for a word with the professor.

“Professor? I wanted to ask if there was some other way to satisfy the out of class grade requirement?” She looked sheepish as she continued. “I know I should have made it to some of the earlier events, but now its going to be quite difficult to make two of the remaining ones because most of them conflict with other classes. Could I write you an essay or something to make up the difference?” She finished with a hopeful smile.

The professor looked her over, but didn't answer at once. Instead, he walked in a full circle around her, scrutinizing every inch of her, and quite frankly, making her feel a little uncomfortable. “Hmm... I think I may have something that could work... How do you feel about modeling?” He finished with a raised eyebrow.

Somewhat taken aback by this abrupt change of topics, she answered honestly. “Well, I have done a few commercials for charities and the odd benefit over the years. Given my body type, clothes made to fit me aren't of much use to the mass market...” She thought for a moment and smirked at the memory. “And that one guy who tried to bring saddles into fashion didn't meet with much success, though I'm told he now runs a roaring custom business for the furry community.”

Her professor inclined his head to one side before replying. “Hmm... I think you misunderstand, Ms. Scott. I teach another class that focuses exclusively on helping amateur painters improve their skills. While we do paint the occasional still life of fruit and such, the staple of the class is nudes, and quite frankly, you would present an interesting challenge.”

There was a short pause, and her expression when she responded was one of puzzlement.

“Um... I know that would probably be a big deal to a lot of people, but I don't normally wear much to begin with.” She glanced back at herself. “I mean aside from my saddle bags and prosthetic, I'm technically nude right now.” She flicked her tail meaningfully and added with a grin. “A tail covers a multitude of sins.”

“So you would not be adverse to this? You would need to hold various poses without moving for some time.”

“If it fulfills the out of class requirement, I'm fine with it, provided we can fit it into my schedule.” A thought occurred to her and she looked him in the eye. “By the way, we are using the same definition of nude right? You're not planning on shaving me or something?”

He laughed at that. “On matters of grooming and hygiene, we ask only that you arrive clean and presentable. I imagine shaving is less of a concern for you than some of our other models.”

Scootaloo blushed a bit, but replied with the honesty born from years spent fielding embarrassing questions. “Well, yes, my genitals are a bit better protected than yours.” She added with a gesture to her flank. “So my species never needed to grow a forest of barbed wire to protect them. Saves a bit on the cost of razors.”

He grinned good-naturedly. “Have you ever tried shaving your legs?” 

She grimaced. “Yes. Once, when I was a lot younger. Have you ever seen what it looks like when someone shaves a poodle? Like that, only worse. And on top of it my skin was so light I got a bad sunburn before the fur grew back in.”

“Well, you need not fear anything like that from us. We usually have class at these times.” He added fishing out his tablet. “And we already have models for these dates.”

She soon picked out two sessions that worked with her schedule, and they shook hands before parting. 'My first nude modeling session...' She pondered as she walked back to the dorms. 'I'm not sure what to make of this, but hopefully it should at least be interesting'.

…

The soft sounds of brushes on canvas and the occasional scrape of a chair were the only sounds to be heard in the modest classroom. Scootaloo's first modeling session had gone well enough from everyone else's perspective, but by the end of it she was bored out of her mind and ready to slug someone from the stiffness and pain of holding a position without anything to think about but the aches and pains that slowly built up in her outstretched wings and body. 

This second time around was going much better. Unlike the boulder she had been perched on last time, this time around she had insisted on a couch, and the red padded lounge was already proving to be far more comfortable. What's more, this time around she had asked for an extra canvas to be set up, along with a large mirror, and as she held perfectly still, only her eyes moved as she painted a (reversed) image of herself along with the other students. The result was pretty poor, but it at least gave her something else to focus on, and seemed to make the others students feel better about their own work.

“Hey, Philip,” She called out to the student next to her prosthetic. “Could you give me a refill? I've run out of orange again.” She gestured with the brush to the empty orange spot on the painting board. Philip obliged her, but before he went back to his own work, she asked one more favor. 

“Thanks. Could you hold the board and brush for a moment? The straps on my prosthetic were designed to fit me, and they just don't want to stay tight on this darn stool.” She griped as she fumbled with the straps, trying to get a tighter fit. After some more fiddling she waved her arms left, then right, and the chair tipped a bit but her prosthetic did not move on the chair. “Thanks, Philip.” She said as she took the brush and paint platter back and resumed painting.

He gave her a friendly, if bemused look. “Not a problem, though I have to admit, this is the first time I've seen one of our models do a self-portrait.”

“Well, I suppose I could have brought a video game or something, but even if I'm not much of a painter, I can still appreciate what you're doing. Where else am I going to get instruction and class credit for this all in one?” She added in warm tones, wanting to smile but unable to do so.

“Hmf. Well normally I could give better pointers than this, but the prof wasn't kidding when he said you were a challenge. After painting nothing but people and fruit, a... pony... takes some getting used to.” He finished, squinting at his canvas as he tried to get the shade of her wings right.

“Not to be blunt, but you seem a bit... different from the others in this class. Are you a theater major?”

“Mechanical engineering, actually. I've always had some skill as a draftsman, and this seemed like an opportunity to get better and fill a class requirement at the same time.” He thought for a moment. “You're pre-med right? Heavy on the biology, chemistry and science?”

“You got it. I'm not bad, but the course load here is so much heavier than back in high school. Bio-Chem isn't such a big deal if it’s one of only three classes, but when the count gets up to seven even I have to work to keep up.”

Their conversation continued for quite a while, and Scootaloo found herself gesturing with her prosthetic more than actually painting as they discussed their majors and favorite classes.

He looked her over thoughtfully. “Say, I don't ask this of every nude girl I meet, but you're pretty interesting yourself. I was planning to go to Comedy Caravan down at the student union tonight with some friends of mine. Would you like to come along?”

She blushed at having to answer in front of the class, several of whom were listening more than painting by now. “Yeah, I think I might enjoy that. Mind if I bring some friends of my own?”

He smiled as he re-filled his own orange. “The more the merrier. I'll see you there around eight?”

She agreed, and they finished out the session just talking and comparing classes. She wasn't sure how much she liked him, but as the bad memories of earlier dates had begun to fade with time, she was feeling more willing to give dating a try again.

...

At dinner that night, Scootaloo caught up with Cat, Josie and Demi, filling them in on her 'date' later that night.

“Way to go, Scoot!” Josie hugged her after hearing the news. “It's about time we got you back into the game.”

Scootaloo returned her friends hug. “You're one to talk. I was actually hoping you guys could come with me.”

“Oh, a double date?” Cat asked. “And with an engineer? Count me in.”

Scoot let go and picked up her fork as she replied with a frown. “You have a thing for engineers? MRS degree much?”

Cat just laughed. “You've never dated one have you?”

Scootaloo looked a bit confused. “No... This is only my first year at college. Heck, by rights I should still be in my last year of baby sitting – I mean high school.” She added, making the slip on purpose. “Demi, you're majoring in engineering; do you know what she's talking about?”

Demi leaned over and exchanged a few words with Catherine, and suddenly his eyes opened wide. “Oh! That.” Scootaloo fixed him with a raised eyebrow and waited.

“What she means it that engineers build things to... make life better.” He fumbled for a moment trying to find the words, but as none came, he shrugged and finished as best he could. “We train on how to build things and improve designs. Your prosthetic is one example – you needed arms, so engineers built you some.”

Scootaloo nodded, but did not lower her eyebrow, while beside her Josie seemed to have an epiphany, and had to turn away as her face began to redden.

“Well, what if you needed help with sex? Who did you think builds and manufactures all the sex toys you can find on the market?” 

Scootaloo smirked and shook her head. “Ah.”

“And besides the generic, one size fits all stuff, having a dedicated engineer, or at least engineer in training,” he added self deprecatingly, “can result in some awesome custom designs. Remember that time last year when I asked to borrow one of your anatomy text books Scoot?”

She nodded, wondering if she really wanted to hear where this was going.

“Well, that gave me a good figure for depth, and with the addition of a twelve volt battery to drive the surplus windshield wiper motor I had a working prototype in just a couple of days.” Josie's eyes had suddenly gotten very large as it was clear her absent minded brother wasn't making up a thing, just explaining a fun project to friends. 
“Well the first round of testing showed some design flaws, but you may remember that later that week I returned your book to you and asked if you could get me an empty IV bag from your job with the ambulance service?”

Scootaloo nodded, suddenly afraid of what fate had befallen it.

“Well, once I refilled it with an appropriate anti-friction solution, we had to experiment to find out how high to hang it to get the right flow rate, but that solved the main problem. It took a while longer to come up with a truly universal mounting bracket system, and then modify all the ends with a delivery system.” He smiled at Scootaloo. “Remember how I asked you to explain the 'weeping wing' de-icing system used on small aircraft? The one that coats the leading edge of the wing with de-icing fluid to protect against ice build-up in bad weather? That really helped a lot, and I copied some of the design elements directly from the design drawing you gave me.” He added with a smile as Scootaloo stared and Josie tried to pick her jaw up off the floor. 

Cat had put down her fork and was paying rapt attention as Demi continued.

“Now the attachment system proved a tougher challenge. We needed one that prevented escape but was also comfortable for several hours at-”

“DEMIJOHN!” Josie shouted at him, breaking his train of thought.

He looked at his younger sister with mild surprise. “Yeah, sis?”

“Too! Much! Information!” Her face was beet red and she actually grabbed a book from her backpack and hid behind it as she continued. “What have I told you about TMI!?”

He seemed to think over what he had been saying, and began to blush just a little as Scootaloo and Catherine tried not to giggle. “Oh...” Then apparently attempting to cover his mistake he added. “But remember when I ordered the parts you asked me what they were for and Melissa interrupted? I just thought you wanted-”

“No, no, no, no, no!” She complained from behind the safety of her textbook. “I didn't want to know!”

Scootaloo and Cat both lost it at this point and broke down in a fit of the giggles as Josie added tones of mock distress. “I hate everything. Hate the world.”

Several minutes later, after they had all managed to settle down again Scootaloo repeated her question. “Anyway. Would you guys like to come with me to Comedy Caravan at the student union building after dinner?”

“Sure thing.” Cat replied.

Josie grimaced. “Well after that sterling recommendation we just got from my brother, how could I turn down the chance to meet Scoot's new engineer?”
> Ch 2.3 Of Boys and Beers 
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


Our Girl Scootaloo


Part 2 of 3


by Cozy Mark IV & Jan. McNeville


Disclaimer: This is a non-profit fan-made work of prose. My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic is the property of Hasbro. Please support the official release


Chapter Two point Three: Of Boys and Beers

With dinner over, the group meandered around to the main doors of the dormitory to wait for the bus down town. Affectionately called the 'drunk bus', the line ran back and forth between the various campuses on a half hour schedule to ensure those who had a bit too much to drink could find their way home safely. After a ten minute wait, the bus arrived and they all piled on, arriving at the student union building at seven thirty.    

“Want to check and see what movies they have showing?” Demi asked.

“No thanks, I think I'm going to find a seat before it gets too crowded. The comedian tonight is someone I've heard of, so its going to be a packed show.” Scootaloo added.

As far as she could tell, Philip hadn't arrived yet, so she took a seat near the back and kept an eye out as more people wandered in. At length, Catherine, Demi and Josie returned and she waved them over.

“Any sign of him?”

“No, but we are still early. Hopefully he'll-” She trailed off as she caught sight of him by the door with a friend. “Oh! There he is.”

As Scootaloo waved him over, Josie looked him up and down once and whistled softly. “Damn, Scoot! You didn't mention he was hot.”

Scootaloo blushed a bit as Catherine grinned. “I... didn't think it necessary. Besides, he's already a senior. I don't really have much of a chance with him.”

“Oh ye of little faith.” Catherine chided before whispering playfully. “Besides, who says you're the most interesting girl at this table?”  

“Hey Scoot, glad to see you made it. Are these your friends?” Philip asked.

Scootaloo gave Catherine a raised eyebrow before turning back to her 'date'. “Yes. Philip, I'd like you to meet Josie, Demi and Catherine.”

They all shook hands, Josie's lingering just a bit too long, before he introduced his friend. “Everyone, I'd like you to meet David. He's a graduate student, and he just started his doctorate program.”

“Oh, doctorate of what?” Catherine asked.

“Medicine, actually.” He answered leaning in to shake hands.

Josie was still staring at Philip as Cat whispered playfully in Scootaloo's ear. “Damn, girl, you've got to show me where to sign up to model.”

Scootaloo rolled her eyes as the two joined them at their table. The conversation jumped around between favorite classes, professors to seek out or steer clear of, and the usual complaints about the public transit system in town. Soon enough the comedian took to the stage, and as he worked up the crowd they soon found themselves laughing along.

At intermission, Josie and Philip struck up a conversation of their own and soon excused themselves to go looking for food. With a table of only four left, Cat pulled Demi off to one side leaving Scootaloo and David to fend for themselves.

“I have to say, I'm a little surprised to actually meet the girl who dominated our advanced genetics class this year. You're not what I expected.”

Scootaloo sighed. “And what did you expect?”

He looked sheepish for having put her on the spot, but continued anyway. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to irritate you. I guess I thought you would be some kind of know-it-all, a genetic expert in a lab coat like so many of our professors.”

Scootaloo found she couldn't help but smile at that description. “You do know I was a cheerleader for most of high school right?” His look of befuddlement was actually kind of adorable, so she kept going. “Yeah, short skirts, pompoms and everything.”

“You're serious?”

“Yup. I'm actually on a pre-med track, probably about where you were three or four years ago. So no lab coat yet, but give it time. I'll get there.”

“Wow. I never would have suspected.”

While most people that met her for the first time had some kind of expectations, it was nice to know that at least this one wasn't a fanboy. As he sat there trying to imagine her as a cheerleader she decided to change the subject.

“You said you learned about me in your genetics class. My doctors can teach me a lot, but a new perspective is always interesting. What did your prof have to say about me?”

David blushed a bit. “That you were the greatest thing to happen to our world in a very long time. I don't know if my prof knows the first thing about you as a person, but the guy is obsessed with your biology. He's always coming in to class telling us about new thing he learned on the genetics forums.”

“It's okay. I have a few like him among my usual doctors. After all these years I've kinda gotten used to it.”

“Well, its big of you to say that. I'm just excited about some of the new work they're doing with your synthetic biology. It has the potential to really change who we are as a society.”

Scootaloo rolled her eyes. “Well they understand more every year. Eventually I suppose they're going to run out of diseases to cure, but it probably won't be within my lifetime.”

“What? No, you don't understand. I'm not talking about the cures people have cooked up from  studying your genetics, I'm talking about the important new breakthroughs happening right now. Breakthroughs like this.” He finished indicating the rib where her porstheitic control chip was implanted and nodding to her prosthetic.

“What, you mean my ability to take implants? Don't get me wrong, its handy for me,” She gestured with her left arm, “but there aren't that many people out there who need new limbs or eyes.”

This really seemed to surprise him, even more than discovering her to be an ex cheerleader. “No, you don't understand. The genetic work that's been done so far was necessary and has saved a lot of lives, but this is more important. Much more important.”

Scootaloo felt a flash of anger at that. “What the hell do you mean 'more important? There are millions of people alive today who wouldn't be if no one had developed those treatments.”

“True, and in the here and now that matters a great deal, but in the long term? Not so much.”

“What the hell? What long term??” She accused in a raised voice. Some of the people seated nearby were starting to turn and watch, and from long experience she felt their stares on her back. “Hold on, the show is going to start back up any minute now.” She grabbed him by the arm and herded him toward the door. “We can finish this somewhere quieter.” 

It had been a while since anyone had gotten to her like this, but she couldn't shake the feeling she was missing something. Most of the time idiots were easy to blow off. She would understand what they were trying to say, show the holes in their argument, and dismiss them as what they were, but spending a lot of time around doctors and experts had taught her to be wary of dismissing ideas she didn't fully understand. 
Knowing the attention a loud argument would draw, Scootaloo lead the way up the stairs to the fourth floor – an area devoted to the HVAC equipment that kept the building functional, and where she could yell if she needed to without causing a scene.  

“All right, now we can talk without making tomorrow's newspapers. So why the hell are you discounting all the work we've done so far?!”

David looked very embarrassed as he held out both hands for her to stop. “Please. Let me apologize. I had no intention of making you angry or demeaning any of the work you have done.”

“Well, it sure sounded like that's what you were doing!”

David sat down on the top step and reached into his pocket, pulling out a medical alert bracelet and handing it to her. She took the bracelet which was obviously too small for him and began reading the summery on the back.

“When I was a kid I caught something, some kind of infection that my body couldn't fight off. I was a tough kid, and I held out for a couple of days before my parents noticed and took me to the doctor. Our family doctor looked me over and prescribed some common antibiotics to fight it off. Problem was, it didn't work. I don't have to tell you that a bacteria can evolve a resistance to antibiotics. The stuff I had turned out to be resistant to almost every common antibiotic; a staph infection they called it. Evolved to survive in a hospital environment where everyone is on common antibiotics.”

“They eventually figured all that out, but by then the infection had destroyed my kidneys and caused other internal damage. They put me on dialysis to clean my blood and take over the job for my ruined kidneys, but, again, I don't have to tell you the stress dialysis puts on your liver and other organs as the level of pollutants in the blood swing wildly back and forth. They couldn't say how long I had to live, but it wasn't likely to be long, and it wasn't likely to be pleasant.”

He paused and looked up at her with a soft smile. “Then, one day, someone told my parents about this new miracle treatment. Some kind of synthetic biology derived from the famous Scootaloo Scott. That's the reason I'm still here today. It's the reason I chose to major in medicine, to be a doctor. I carry that medical alert bracelet with me as a constant reminder of where I've been, and what could have happened if you hadn't shown up when you did.” He sighed and hung his head.

“I know you probably get this all the time. Hell, I'll bet Rainbow Dash in alternate Detroit is just as sick of hearing about all the lives she saved as you are. I've seen some of the thank-you notes from the cancer kids, the crayon drawings that you and Rainbow both must get from the little children who lived, whose mothers didn't have to bury their children because of your dedication to research. Hell, I sent you one myself, though I'd be surprised if you read it among all the millions of letters you must have received over the years.” 

Scootaloo fingered the small bracelet in her hand and stared. Her anger had cooled, but she still didn't understand what he was getting at.

“I know how important the work you've done is. I wouldn't be here, and I might not be alive if it wasn't for you. But I still stand by what I said. The implants, the bio-electrical interface ability they're studying now is going to mean a great deal more in the long run.”

Scootaloo shook her head, but smiled and sat down on the concrete floor beside him, folding her hooves underneath her. Behind them the huge air handlers and compressors hummed and throbbed, and from below the murmur of the crowd floated up the stairs. 

“Okay. I shouldn't have snapped at you. But I still don't see how you can know I saved your life and still think it’s not important.”

“That's just it. I know exactly how important it is. I'm just saying that what they're working on now is more important still.”

Scootaloo scratched the back of her head with one hand before asking. “Okay. How?”

“Scootaloo, have you ever seen a series called 'Ghost in the Shell'?”

She shook her head. “No, can't say that I have.”

“Hmm... I hope I have the opportunity to see it with you sometime.” He replied with a genuine smile that gave her an interesting feeling. “Basically it boils down to this question. What does it mean to be human?”

She frowned. “That's one of the oldest BS psychology questions there is. Any idiot can sound deep and thoughtful by repeating it.”

“I don't disagree, but I'm not a psych major. Call it what you like, but we can agree on some of the main points: speech and reason, ability to get along with others and function in society, an IQ of around 100 or better, some amount of memory and intelligence as defined by whatever scale you please. You don't need all of them, but a good helping of each is enough to form a working definition. This has been basically the same for so many thousands of years that most people do regard the question as BS. It’s like asking what love is, or which football team is better. We all have our opinion, and without new data, there isn't much new that can be said on the subject. But that's where you came in.”

“What happens when we can go beyond simple prosthetics? The hard drive on your computer today has more raw storage capacity than the human brain, and it costs less than a hundred dollars. Up till now that's been useless to us because we had no way to make biology talk to electronics, but what happens now that we can?”

Scootaloo shrugged. “We have better memory?”

“Much more than that. What happens when you can suddenly 'remember' any event of your life in perfect clarity – sights, smells, sounds? When your memory gets so vast that that kind of recording is suddenly possible? And then what about processor power? We can upgrade our computers to run faster by putting in more powerful processors, adding more RAM. What happens to our world when you can order a RAM upgrade online that let us think twice or three times as fast?” 

“I guess I never thought about it... For one thing, someone with that kind of ability would be able to outstrip any competition for a job. If a few people started doing that, everyone else would look slow by comparison.”

“Right, and then employers start asking for only upgraded employees. 'Applicants with RAM less than ten gigs need not apply'. But that's just the beginning. Here's the other half of the puzzle; how many useful technologies were developed between 1300 and 1400 AD?”

The abrupt change of direction caught Scootaloo off guard, but after a moment's thought she replied. “I don't know... New breeds of crops and farm animals maybe?”

“Not a bad answer – it boils down to: not much. But how many useful technologies were developed in the 1800's?”

“Good lord, that would be a long list.”

“But not nearly as long as the list for the 1900's. The point is, the speed at which we're developing new technologies is accelerating at an exponential pace. Each new invention spawns ten more, each of which spawn ten more and so on. This has already accelerated on its own, but what happens when we start applying the exponential growth modifier to the one thing that has remained unchanged throughout all of recent history: The human brain?”

“You're saying that the next jump from horses and buggies to cars and space travel won't take a hundred years...”

“Exactly. The pace of change is going to go off the charts as this takes hold. Some people refer to this as the singularity. The idea that humanity starts upgrading itself to the point that we no longer qualify as strictly human anymore. The biggest holdup for this whole process has been the difficulty of making a biological system like our brain talk to the computers that already have more storage capacity than we do.” He tapped her gently on the rib where her own implant was. “And now you've bridged that gap for us.”

Scootaloo wasn't sure quite what to make of all this, but she was definitely interested now. “So you think that we'll all be robots or something in fifty years?”

He laughed. “That's the problem. Nobody has any real idea what we'll look like once this process starts rolling. It's anybody's guess, but it should be a wild ride.”

They both sat in contemplation for a moment, mulling this over. At length David spoke up again.

“I don't know what your schedule looks like, but would you have any interest in seeing the 'Ghost in the Shell' series with me? I can pull a couple of episodes from You Tube on my tablet here.” He looked at their industrial surroundings and grinned at her sheepishly. “I know it’s not much of a theater, but you did save my life, and... I'd like to teach you what I can... if you'll let me.”

Scootaloo couldn't help but return his smile. She glanced at her watch. “Okay, it’s only nine, and I don't have class tomorrow.” She shifted to get into a more comfortable position and leaned over his shoulder. “Let’s see what you've got.”

...

It had taken several months to isolate the gene responsible for her coloring, and another few to successfully implant it, but now it appeared that 'Operation Counterfeit' as the team jokingly referred to it, was ready to begin. Scootaloo asked Margaret May to meet her at the Ag-Sci farm a few miles off campus after dark, saying simply that she had a surprise for her.
As she circled above the farm, Scootaloo could see her pacing back and forth by the barn entrance. She came in for a landing right beside her, and presented her with the strange looking cardboard box she had carried on her back.

“What's this?” May asked, eying the box in confusion.

“It's a gift. Go on, open it!”

She did so, and as the sound of tiny cheeps filled the air she just stood looking into the box in shock as Scootaloo grinned. In the light from the barn behind her she could see the box was full of twenty average-looking chicks, all apparently happy, and hopping about. Average in all respects, but color. They were all bright orange.

“You... you're giving me chickens?” Margaret asked in shock.

“Yup. You can still keep the feathers you find when you clean our room, I mean, that's like the best maid service ever, but I also know you're using the money for something important. So I made you some counterfeits.”

A number of the bright orange chicks had by now figured out that the sight of people meant feeding time, and most of the adorable fluffy birds were bouncing up and down and cheeping as they looked at Margaret. She couldn't help but smile. 
“You are ridiculous, you know that right?”

“I try to be.” Scootaloo grinned back and hugged her, nearly upsetting the chicken box. “Just take good care of the little guys okay?”

“No problem. This should bring in enough to add a whole new wing to the hospital! Uh... no pun intended.”

Scootaloo just laughed as she let go and got ready to take off. “Just don't spend them all in one place, okay?”

Margaret waved as she launched back up into the sky, and soon disappeared into the darkness.  

...

Scootaloo sat on the bed behind Josie and Margaret May watching them gaming on the wall mounted TV. The battle royal between the furry yellow electric rodent and the tentacle faced god of the underworld had been raging for almost five minutes now, and Josie seemed to have the edge at the moment.

“Yeah, take that!”

Margaret was newer to the game than Josie, but since her induction into the strange group of friends she had learned quickly, and now could hold her own in many areas, including a certain fighting game. “Oh yeah? Lightning tornado!”

“Oh noes.” Josie complained as her character exploded. “Damn, May, you're getting good at this.”

“Well she should be considering she bought a copy of the game and has been practicing.” Scootaloo laughed.

“Hey! You never told me you'd been practicing.” Josie pouted.

“Okay, maybe a little bit.” May conceded. “But it's only because I can't go out to the clubs with all the other girls.”  

“Hey, don't look at me, I've got the same problem.” Josie answered ruefully, “Getting into college early is great for your career and your liver. Social life, not so much.”

There was a laugh from the bed behind them. “Seriously, Josie? We should just be glad they lowered the drinking age to eighteen. Can you imagine what it was like for our parents?” Scoot's voice deepened imitating a stern, manly tone. “'Well, son, it's time for you to join the army and go shoot some people. Oh, and you're not allowed to drink alcohol for another three years yet. That stuff's dangerous.'”

Josie snickered as May replied. “I know, I know. But my birthday is coming up and I've really been looking forward to this...”

“Me too.” Josie added. “I've been compiling a spreadsheet of all the candidates for local office and I'm really excited!”

They both stared at her for a moment. 

“Uh, Josie? We were talking about drinking, not voting.” 

Josie looked between them, then sighed. “Well... I guess we can't all be political science majors.”      

“Anyway, how long is it until you turn eighteen, May?” Scootaloo asked their new gaming champ.

“Its just a couple of weeks now!” she practically squeed. “What about you, Josie?”

“Nine days. I didn't realize our birthdays were so close together.”

“I know, right? How about you Scootaloo? When do you turn eighteen?”

Scootaloo looked a bit uncomfortable. “I though you of all people would know that already...”

May blushed. “Uh... Yeah, sorry about that. But no, I honestly don't know how old you are or when you're supposed to turn eighteen. You were adopted, what, twelve or thirteen years ago, but no one really knows your exact age, and I can't see them making you wait until you're half way through med school before letting you drink.”

“Well, that's about right... My dad's let me try a sip of this or that over the years, but never enough to do anything. I talked to Agent Tyler about this a few times, and she's suggested that I wait until some of my friends had come of age first; said it would cause less of a fuss that way.”

“Hmm... so no one's going to hold you to the minimum drinking age?”

“I don't think so... It's one of the drawbacks to being a different species; I seem to grow up faster than most humans, but without anyone to compare myself to, I don't really know when I'm 'old enough' for something. I just have to figure it out for myself.”   

“That doesn't sound too bad.” May thought about it for a moment. “Say, if the plan is to come of age with your friends, why don't we celebrate all our eighteenth birthdays at the same time?”

Scootaloo's startled expression melted into a grin “You girls would do that for me?” 

Josie and May looked at each other and nodded. “Sure thing, we'd be happy to celebrate with you! It would mean waiting a few more days for you though Josie. Are you okay with that?”

“Hey, it doesn't affect my ability to vote,” Josie grinned. “And I can think of a few pluses to having a bodyguard around on that first night in the club. Can you imagine what Agent Tyler would do to someone who tried to put roofies in our drinks?”

Scootaloo couldn't contain her giggles. “Did you know that most drugs are still quite effective when taken as a suppository?”

“You're not suggesting your bodyguard would...do something like that?” May gasped.

“Probably not,” Scoot sighed. “She might just flash her badge and imply that the police outside were doing strip-searches, give the criminals time to, ahem, hide their stash, and then she'd probably arrange for them to be taken to the drunk-tank at County once everything kicked in.”

“...So, basically, instead of getting to date-rape someone...” Josie trailed off, an admiring smile on her face, “well! You know, I've always admired Agent Tyler. What she lacks in subtlety she more than makes up for when it comes to style.”

“We're definitely safer with her than anyone else I can think of,” Scootaloo agreed. “I mean, we're not planning to go and just get mindlessly drunk, but having never really tried much alcohol, it's probably better to have someone professional on our side just in case we overestimate our limits.”

“And it's her or Demi,” Josie agreed. “I understand he has the hurt-her-die-painfully brother speech down to ten words, but that's still a lot more protective instinct and a lot less actual capability than I think would be best. That, and I can't promise he wouldn't pose us for pictures with inappropriate articles if we had too much...”

…

They called Agent Tyler and talked it over, and the amused agent soon helped them pick a bar and a night for their plan. As the time grew nearer, they each gathered a few friends from class and swore them to secrecy.

They chose a Monday night to avoid the worst of the crowds, but apparently, word of the event had leaked out, and a number of paparazzi had gathered at the bar in hopes of getting pictures of the famous pony as a drunk. Agent Tyler took one glance, and drove right past the bar they were expecting.

“Hey, wasn't that...?” May called from the back seat of the van.

“Our stop? Have a little faith, I used that bar as a bluff.” Tyler responded with a slight smile. “They have one of the worst records in town for serving alcohol to minors, an annoyingly high cover charge...and they were out of grenadine.”

As they looked back they could see a couple of people running out of the bar to give chase, but before more than a couple left, flashing red and blue lights suddenly lit up the main street like a Christmas tree. 

“Oh, and would you look at that,” she added as the officers swarmed out and descended on the club. “Looks like they were due for a raid.”

There was an awed silence in the van for several seconds as the scene disappeared around the corner. Several miles later they pulled to a stop at a different establishment.

“Now then, this is the right place. The cabs I arranged for your friends will have them inside by now.”

The group piled out of the van and Agent Tyler nodded to the bouncer and bartender as they walked in.

“Right this way, ladies,” one of the waitresses gestured as she pointed them to a private room that could seat twenty.  

“A private-”

“Don't worry, I'll be right here.” Agent Tyler took a seat in the padded booth next to the door of the private room. “This door's going to appear locked as soon as you're inside. Any member of the press who can match me drink for drink, I'll let inside.” The laconic Fed sighed contentedly as a waitress brought something suspiciously large and decidedly brown, with a red cast toward the bottom. It contained no ice.

“Is that a pint of ale?” Scootaloo asked. The agent simply looked at the glass, then at her four-legged friend, then sighed.

“...I'll join you inside for the first hour,” Tyler remarked laconically as she got up. The junior agent who had parked the van for them took her place at the guarding booth, and the waitress amiably followed Scootaloo and May inside the private room. Josie had stepped away for a second to ask the bartender a question, the many bottles evidently having set off a moment of ADD. 

Their friends had arrived, and in the middle of the room was a three-tiered cake complete with frosting and a couple of officially-licensed Hasbro replicas of Scootaloo in various poses ornamenting the confection. Surrounding it were a series of empty glasses, little hats, plates and napkins (also of an officially-licensed character,) and at one end of the room was a back doorway with little Western-style half doors through which a server could walk to behind the bar. Every wall of the room was decked with crepe streamers, helium balloons hung in bunches, a pin-the-tail-on-the-pony chart (of Rainbow Dash, inexplicably,) had been tastefully added over a cork board and in pride of place was a meticulously handwritten Blood Alcohol Content chart poster complete with a very capable Sharpie-marker drawing of Derpy Hooves.

“...Seriously?” Scootaloo asked, not really sure what to make of this.

“I instructed Agent Glover to prepare for a culturally appropriate birthday celebration,” Agent Tyler explained, apparently as surprised as Scoot was. “She is... new.”

“No, no...this is actually kind of awesome,” Scoot smiled. “Just wait one second...”

“Sweet Celestia's garter belt! This is the best party room ever!” Josie cried, scampering into the room like an excited puppy. “Is this a carrot cake with cream cheese icing and little orange Scootaloos? And pin-the-tail-on-the-pony?! Dude!”

“You know,” Scoot whispered in Tyler's ear, “what with Josie's birthday being February 29th, this technically is culturally appropriate. She has had exactly four technical birthdays now.”

“That... actually explains a surprising amount about Ms. Findlay. I shall inform Agent Glover that her efforts were appreciated.”

“Yes. Please don't fire her.”

“We don't fire agents, we disavow them.”

“Well, don't do that, either. I think it's adorable, and however'd you know I liked carrot cake? ...Oh, right. International woman of mystery, probably knows several world leaders' favorite cake.”

“It is part of the mystique, yes,” Agent Tyler preened. “Also, this is not a pint of ale. This is a cocktail served in a pint glass. What do you know about the basic types of beer?”

“I know that Natural Light and Bud Light are both very popular,” Scootaloo observed hopefully. “Should I start with a pint of one of those?”

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph in a minivan, no,” the waitress interjected. “We don't even sell that here.”

“This is Agent K.D. Haynes, my prize pupil,” Agent Tyler explained, giving what was, for her, a proud and indulgent smile. Her lip actually seemed to move for a second. “She has been undercover on several operations and specializes in forensically undetectable-”

“Cocktails!” Haynes interjected suddenly. “Delicious cocktails and perfect pints of crisp, fresh craft beer. For the government.”

“For the government?” May asked, a little suspiciously.

“Have you ever met a politician who didn't drink, especially in the former Eastern Bloc countries?” K.D. asked.

“Good point,” Josie agreed. “So you're like the magical FBI Booze Fairy?”

“I never implied that I work for the Federal Bureau of-”

“Is it true that Budweiser only shows the Clydesdale horses in their commercials to comply with truth-in-advertising laws by displaying the means of a key step in the manufacturing process?” Josie asked.

“...I am not in a position to confirm or deny that entirely plausible and certainly reasonable-sounding statement,” K.D. giggled, her stiff Agent demeanor devolving into mirth. “I also won't serve you or Ms. Scott anything which might, in her case, imply a closed-circuit system.”

“So...why are the ones called 'light' popular?” Scootaloo asked.

What followed was one of the most elaborate and exhaustive explanation of beers, wines and liqueurs that any of them had ever heard. Two minutes into her rant, Agent Tyler disappear to the bar, and returned with a pint for each of them.

“Uh... What is-”

“It's a nice starter beer, Yuengling Traditional Lager in this case.” Agent Tyler whispered as she passed out the glasses. “It's a good baseline beer.” 

The lecture continued as the each sipped their drinks until Agent Haynes seemed to realize the absurdity of talking about drinking, and started them all on a tasting of the bar's various offerings that, over the next several hours, worked its way through two thirds of their stock. 

While the girls worked through the inventory, Agent Tyler took a seat at the table that was set up blocking the entrance to their private room, signaled the waitress, and accepted a second pint glass of whatever the cocktail was. Within minutes, the first of the paparazzi arrived and tried to get in, only to be told that only those who could out-drink the agent at the table would be admitted. After the first few reporters ordered vodka tonics or whiskey shots and quickly became too tipsy to hold their cameras, the next two or three ordered pints of Irish red or black stout (which Agent Tyler’s cocktail certainly resembled,) but, alas, they were soon eliminated from the competition due to an overwhelming urge to use the bathroom facilities. 

By the time Margaret May realized she felt a little tipsy and switched to Shirley Temples (to avoid a hangover,) then back to the hard stuff again out of a remembered dislike of cherries, Agent Tyler had consumed three of the ominous pint-glass cocktail. By the time Scootaloo and Josie had burst into song, she had had six of them. By the time the latest, desperate reporter slid under the table with a rattle of empty glasses, Agent Tyler had eight empty glasses in front of her and the tail end of a ninth in her hand.

“Keep watch of the door, Glover,” she explained as two agents hauled the unconscious reporter away and the new agent took her place, anxiously eying a tenth pint-glass. “Oh. And you may have that one. I’ll get another when I come back.”

“Ma’am? I, er…my nickname at the Academy was ‘kid gloves.’ I’m a complete lightweight. If I drink this, I’m likely to pass out, too.”

That made Agent Tyler smile –well, what passed for a smile from her, anyway.

“Take a sip, Glover. That’s an order. I’ll be back as soon as I secure the perimeter of the Little Federal Agents’ Room.”

Nervously, the newbie agent took a tentative sip of the cocktail. Her eyes went wide, then she took a second, then happily added a straw and began slurping contentedly away.

On her way to the ladies’ room, Agent Tyler grinned to herself. Sooner or later, every female Agent with a low alcohol tolerance got to try the signature cocktail of her branch. It had been devised by a brilliant spy and propagandist who had retired from Cold War Psy-Ops and gone to work in children’s educational programming at the tail end of the Eighties. To make it, one combined a shot of grenadine, an optional splash of apple or lemon juice to cut the carbonation and then filled the pint glass with regular or diet cola, no ice allowed. It looked like the strongest and most hangover-inducing Imperial stout a beer bar could serve, and if one dropped a shot glass of vanilla-flavored Italian coffee syrup (which resembles Jack Daniel’s quite closely, once it’s poured,) into it, the overall visual effect was of a devastating boilermaker. Tyler had seen hardened alcoholics refuse so much as a sip and had once intimidated a vodka enthusiast from a former Eastern Bloc country into just giving up three glasses into their drinking contest. 

Taste-wise, it was a cherry-vanilla Diet Coke, sometimes with a slight bit of vitamin C for alertness or some lemon to cut the sweetness. The Department called it a ‘Carmen Sandiego,’ both in honor of its’ creator’s second career and to reflect the fact that while it looked like something an international supervillain would casually enjoy, it was actually perfectly appropriate to serve to a six-year-old if she’d done all her math homework and been good at ballet lessons.

Of course, drinking nine pint glasses of anything would send even the toughest of government agents straight to the ladies’ room. The things one did for national security…

The immediate goal of her mission satisfied, Tyler washed her hands and went to check on America’s first pony citizen. Somewhere in the sampling, the girls had gotten a bit tipsy and demanded K.D. make them ‘the scary drink that Agent Tyler has.’ They were too close to drunkenness already to realize it contained zero alcohol, but psychology can be a funny thing, and the Federal Agent found herself yanked into the circle where they were performing a traditional dance of Scootaloo’s people with less coordination than the hypothetical four-year-olds for which the room had been decorated.

The Pony Pokey, indeed.

Many hours, and even more trips to the restroom later, most of the paparazzi had left, either in frustration, a police cruiser or an ambulance. A raucous (and badly off key) rendition of the school’s fight song could be heard from the room behind Agent Tyler, and soon enough Agent Haynes emerged from the room to whisper something in her ear.

“Ah. Good. And their hangovers will be ones to remember?”

The other agent glanced back into the room as the song teetered to the end and devolved into cheering.
“No question. I don’t envy you the looks you’ll get when you roust them out of bed tomorrow. What will it be this time? Early classes?”

Tyler merely smirked.
“I was actually thinking a six AM fire alarm would be more appropriate.”      

Haynes cringed out of sympathy.
“Well, we all have to learn eventually, some more than others it seems. Do you know a couple of them actually knew their limits? Even with everything I had on tap, some of them drank like adults instead of fish.”

Agent Tyler raised an eyebrow behind her dark glasses.
“Then tomorrow’s dawn will not hold the same pain for all. Very well, I will have the van brought around to the back if you will herd them into it. I assume you installed fresh seat covers?” 

“Of course; we have to use that van tomorrow.” Hanes answered simply before smiling again. “Please don’t be too hard on them, they really are sweet kids.” 

Tyler’s lip twitched upward just a bit a she answered innocently,
“Why Agent Haynes, whatever do you mean?”

Apart from Josie being so wired on the sugar from four Carmen Sandiegos that she spent the entire drive home telling Agent Tyler all about the elaborate crossover fanfiction she had been secretly been writing since she was fourteen and Scootaloo insisting on singing the Cutie Mark Crusader song with an extremely blitzed Maggie May nine times or so, it was a very productive eighteenth-birthday celebration. 

In fact, it was almost entirely worth the combination sugar crash and hangover which rendered all three girls and all of their friends groggy and delicate over a late breakfast the next morning. Scootaloo didn’t know why it felt like a huge sentient cupcake had humped her head like an unneutered dog all night, and Margaret May didn’t care to remember what she had consumed the preceding evening, but knew it had been too much. Josie made herself a hat from a piece of tinfoil and a bag of frozen peas and asked her friends to “please stop thinking so loudly at me, my hurt is head.”

Drinking was not, for them, going to be such a big part of college life, after all.

‘Mission accomplished,’ Agent Tyler thought contentedly.

> Ch 2.4 Friendship, Dating and Politics
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------



Our Girl Scootaloo


Part 2 of 3


by Cozy Mark IV & Jan. McNeville


Disclaimer: This is a non-profit fan-made work of prose. My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic is the property of Hasbro. Please support the official release


Chapter Two point Four: Friendship, Dating and Politics

After their first meeting at the student union building, Scootaloo had invited David and Philip to join her friends for dinner in the cafeteria, and though it was some distance from his dorm, David had made it a habit to join Cat, May, Josie, Melissa, Scoot and Demi for dinner nearly every day of the week. Her friends got along well with him, and he fielded more than a few of their medical questions as they all got to know each other better. Demi and David hit it off particularly well, what with his engineering background and David's interest in cybernetics, and along with Philip, the three of them would often run off on technical tangents.

While Philip wasn't in attendance every night, it soon became clear that Josie and he shared more than a few interests, and it wasn't uncommon to see the two of them discussing some aspects of politics or engineering intently at one end of the table.

It was after one such dinner on the walk back to their rooms that Scootaloo pulled Josie aside.
“Josie, what do you think of David?”

The question seemed to catch her by surprise.  “You have to ask? Scoot, are you telling me you don't know?”

“Know what?”

“Scoot, David hasn't been coming to dinner with us for his health. Did you really not notice that he's into you?”

She blushed. “Okay, maybe I did notice a little. I just want your advice on this. After Conner and Christina I really don't want to mess this up. Is he as good a guy as he seems?”

Josie laughed. “I asked Demi to look into David last week, and the worst his cyber-stalking could turn up is that his Jewish parents are pushing him really hard to become a doctor.”

“Really? I didn't know he was Jewish...”

“Apparently he isn't particularly observant. But in all seriousness, he seems like a good guy. Do you really like him?”

Scootaloo's giddy grin said it all, and she actually pranced in place as she nodded.

Josie grinned and hugged her. “Oh! I'm so happy for you!”  

“You think I should ask him out tomorrow? Is that too sudden?”

Josie laughed again. “Sudden? Did you not notice how fast I fell for Philip?”

Scootaloo rolled her eyes. “Well, yeah, you two hit it off that night and have been hanging out all the time since. Are you guys dating now?”

“Scoot, I...” Josie looked stupidly happy despite a tomato blush as she tried to get her admission out. “I pounced Philip four days after I met him!”

“Josie!” Scootaloo was shocked.

The brunette gave her orange friend a sly look over the top of her glasses. “What? I was essentially celibate all through high school because I couldn't find what I wanted. I finally found who I was looking for and you expect me to take it slow? Hell, you've had more boyfriends than me so far!”

Scootaloo was blushing a bit as Josie pointed this out. “Um... so I guess I'll ask him out then. He is a bit older, but that's not necessarily a bad thing...”

“Mmm... It turns out that 'older' also means 'more experienced'.” Josie whispered in her ear with an evil grin.

“Josie!”

“And much as I hate to admit it, my brother was right.” Scootaloo tried to remember what she was talking about as Josie's grin only got wider. “About the advantages of dating engineers?”

Scootaloo had by this point taken on a distinct resemblance to the common beet. “Josie!”

Her friend just grinned as they walked off toward the elevator. “Oh, don't look so shocked. I waited years for the right guy, and I'll be damned if I'm going to doodle around with this blushing-virgin Puritan bull shit after I've found him.” All of a sudden, her expression fell a little. “He's a senior and I'm a freshman, so I know it's completely doomed, but...he's here now, and right now, I'm pretty sure I love him. So I have to enjoy that while I have it. I'm not stupid; I know he's going to graduate and get a grown-up job and sooner or later, we'll agree to see other people and I'll just be  back where I was before, except I'll have the memory. So I'm...I'm going to enjoy it while it lasts.” 

Scootaloo saw the hard, fatalistic determination she hadn't seen on Josie's face since high school and realized this was really a serious case in the second it took before her friend's smile returned. “And you should, too, pony-girl!” The doors opened and Josie called out as she stepped in: “So call him and make a date already! You can't win if you don't try!”

...

Scootlaoo took her friend's advice, and after classes the next evening she found herself at a downtown restaurant called ‘The Black Bear’. David sat across from her looking a bit excited and somewhat nervous at the same time.

“I'm really happy you let me take you out to dinner, Scoot. I think you'll like this place; it’s got a few vegetarian options, and they have live music almost every night.” 

She leaned forward and crossed her front hooves on the table while her elbows rested on the table and her chin rested in her hands. “Thank you for taking me. It’s been a long time since a nice guy asked me out.”

“It's been a while since I found a girl I wanted to ask.” He smiled back. “And I'm a little shocked to find you a freshman.”

She chuckled and cocked her head. “Hmm... In your mind the girl of your dreams was always an upperclassmen?”

“Well... I guess I never really thought about it. I've been so busy with school work, trying to get the grades to get into Med school next fall, I really haven't had much free time left to think about dating.”

Scootaloo chuckled a bit at that,
“In all the meals we’ve had together, you never thought to ask?” She couldn’t help but smile as she continued, “Well, I wouldn’t worry too much, I’ve skipped more grades than I care to remember already, and if that academic streak hold, I’ll probably be catching up to you in a couple of years.”

David shook his head with a grin,
“Well I sure can’t fault your ambition. My parents only wish I could have that kind of drive.”

Scootaloo cocked her head at that,
“What do you mean? You’re on track to get into med school in the fall, with the end goal of a PHD in medicine; what in the world do your parents have to complain about?”

He smiled disarmingly,
“Well, you know what they say about Jewish mothers? They’re not making it up. My fokes support me, hell, they’re paying most of my way through school, scholarships notwithstanding, but they’re never quite satisfied. Pleased? Sure. But satisfied?” He shook his head, “Never.”

Scootaloo raised an eyebrow at that,
“So much for stereotypes…”

“Hey, don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t be here without their support and encouragement. I have no illusions that I could have made it this far without help.” He paused to sip his drink, “But there are still some days I could really use a break.” He shook his head to clear it, “But I’m sure you didn’t come here to listen to me talk about my parents, and I’m sure you’re sick of talking about your past too. What were your classes like this week?”

The evening wore pleasantly on as the street lights came on outside, and it was well after midnight before the two of them finally called it a night… and headed back to David’s dorm room. 


…


It was a couple of weeks later when the circle of friends, which now included Margaret May, Cat, Demi and Melissa, were watching a NASCAR race together. Demi and Melissa had asked why, but Cat and Margaret had described the proceedings so excitedly that Scootaloo, with her background in helping her Dad repair the family car, started asking complex mechanical questions…to which both girls had good answers And then Demi, whose shabby Subaru continued to run only by dint of concerted effort, had quickly gotten caught up in their enthusiasm and turned the pre-show on, only to become absolutely enraptured by the variety and angle of cameras used. Melissa wasn’t interested until Cat informed her which car was a Honda like her own (at which point she became extremely interested,) and Josie, who would generally attend the opening of a can of tennis balls if it meant time with friends, pulled out her tablet and managed to look up just enough detail and trivia about the drivers, cars and the race itself to understand what was going on –even if her questions were, at times, a bit silly.

“I see why they do it in a circle now,” Josie looked critically at the screen, “but wouldn’t it be better for the cars’ suspension to do, like, every other race in the other direction, so the shocks wear out evenly against the different banks of curves?”

“The cars are specially made and tuned to drive in that direction, actually, banked curves and all,” Margaret explained. “Can I see your tablet?”

“Sure.” The farmer’s daughter tapped the device a bit, then handed it back to Josie, an exploded diagram of a stock car on the screen. The physics major tilted her head to the side a bit. “Is that…whoa, so they completely rebuilt the car.”

“Yep. See how the shocks are different from street-legal?”

“Yeah, and that roll cage, too. See, I thought ‘stock’ meant that they had to keep the car exactly the way it came from the factory, so this never made sense to me.”

“No, it just means that the race car is based on a mass-produced vehicle, like that one is at least basically similar to Melissa’s Honda. That’s distinct from Formula One, where the cars are explicitly purpose-built, and a lot of the drag-race motorsports like funny cars and rat-rods.”

“Funny cars?”

“Yeah, they’re really cool…” And with that, Margaret and Josie were eagerly tapping away at the little tablet, discussing the relative virtues of different makes, mods and similar, interspersed with cheering and explanations of what was going on with the race on the TV screen. Scootaloo smiled, happy that her roommate and her high-school friend were getting along so well. Both women had the habit of ‘talking with their hands,’ especially when the conversation dealt with something mechanical, and she knew it wouldn’t be long before one or both of them broke out the graph paper.

Sure enough, the graph paper came out about the time one of the racers took a pit stop for a shock replacement.

“That isn’t even fair!” Demi objected. “Look how fast they did that! It took Mel and me half a day to fix the shocks in her Honda!”

“Well, we don’t exactly do it for a living, dear,” Melissa looked critically at the scene. “And it’s not like we –holy shit, look at those brake rotors! I want that kind!”

“Those look like truck rotors.”

“Demi, can we modify the Honda?”

“I thought your Honda was best Honda because it hasn’t been molested by rice-rocket car modders.”

“But those brakes are so freakin’ huge! I could do stunt driving with brakes like those!”

“You could also shear the sidewalls of your tires and completely destroy your rims.”

“Then I could buy fancy NASCAR rims.”

“Mel, sweetie…are you saying you want a race car?” Demi looked concerned.

“…Yes.”

“You know, you could just buy a $500 P.O.S. and race in the LeMons,” Margaret May explained.

“The one in France?” Demi asked.

“No, that’s the LeMans, that’s for real race cars. The 24 Hours of LeMons is a hobbyist race. All the cars are worth $500 or less excluding safety gear, the race organizers insist on a roll cage, helmet and fireproof everything, and it’s a real race on a real track, just affordable.”

Josie physically placed the tablet into Margaret’s hands.

“Show us this,” she pleaded. Demi, Josie and Melissa gathered around the little screen as Margaret brought up the appropriate website. 

“See, this car here is my uncle’s entry from last year. He let my sisters and I do the paint job.”

“…Please tell me that’s Plasti-Dip or something else that’ll come off the poor car when the race is done,” Demi looked at the piteous vehicle.

“Nope. We used straight-up Rust-Oleum and hand-cut stencils, with some papier-mache for the big tomato and cucumber on the roof.”

“I didn’t know you liked Veggie Tales!” Josie perked up.

“Oh, yeah! Well, my little sisters more than me, but yeah, Veggie Tales…”

“I wrote some Veggie Tales fanfiction once when I was twelve,” the coloring-book enthusiast and former Sunday School teacher explained, “and Demi deleted it. He said it was by accident, but I think we all know better.”

“The story of Rahab did not need to be told by onions,” Demi objected.

“Veggie racist.”

“I would have said beets, myself,” Margaret remarked. She was finally comfortable enough to joke around with the others some.

“Or cucumbers,” Cat suggested. “Cucumbers have wicked souls.”

“Do not!” Josie and Margaret objected in unison.

“It’s a joke, from this web cartoon.” Cat pulled up a ridiculous little video about a talking orange, which the whole group laughed over while the commercials ran.

Josie and Margaret were just giggling over the talking orange video when the next-to-last commercial of the break ran. It was an attack ad by a candidate for governor, criticizing his opponent’s record on abortion. Apparently the opponent was for keeping such things legal, and the candidate running the ad was not.

Again, in perfect unison, the girls reacted to the ad.

Margaret said “Right!”

Josie said something abjectly unprintable.

And then they looked at each other, both surprised and a little hurt.

“…You know, we probably have really different politics,” Margaret observed hesitantly.

“Almost definitely. Very different life experiences, backgrounds, stands to reason,” Josie nodded. The awkwardness could have been cut into slices and used as a radiation shield for nuclear reactors. “So this LeMons thing-?”

“Oh, yes, it’s awesome. My Uncle John found this old Mercury Sable wagon on Craigslist for $200. The wheel-wells were rotted out and the engine mounts had sheared, but it was otherwise okay.”

“So it didn’t cost too much to get up to snuff?”

“Nope. We did the engine mounts with some JB Weld to test and then he just welded in some scrap metal from the farm. The roll cage was the really expensive bit.”

“How did he handle the wheel-wells?”

“I did them, actually. If you rivet on a bit of sheet aluminum from behind, you can just apply Bondo between the rust holes and the backing, then build up and over to cover the rivets.”

“I’ve done that, but I used a bit of metal screen left over from fixing the storm door.”

“Really? The sheet aluminum was just what I had on hand,” Margaret explained. “It came from cut-up pop cans.”

“Bondo is awesome stuff, isn’t it? I bet if we wanted to do a car for LeMons, we could put Bondo in a pastry tube and decorate the car to look like a giant 3D birthday cake.”

“Oooh, I never even thought of that!” Margaret agreed. “We could paint it pastel colors and maybe write something funny on the top!”

“Big fake candles with LEDs in them, too!”

“Or better yet, gas torches! If we used propane, it could be done reasonably safely. I’ve worked with the stuff for years on my parents’ farm!”

“Could we have a button that made the candles’ flames shoot up all big and scary on command, like ‘foom!’” Josie gestured.

“I think we could!” Margaret clapped her hands. “It’d just be a matter of valves and nozzles!”

“…This is how the world ends, you know,” Demi remarked to no one in particular. “The liberal and the conservative find something to agree on and by their powers combined, thus shall appear the abomination to end all life on this planet.”

“Hey!” both girls objected.

“The Cakemobile is not an abomination!” Josie protested.

“And it won’t end all life on this planet at all! It’ll probably be gas-powered,” Margaret May looked indignant. “We’d have to be using nuclear fission to power a car that could end the world!”

“And how the hell would we get that under the $500 limit?” Josie asked.

And then they started thinking again.

“You know, if we obtained the radioactive materials from a country with a really obscenely favorable exchange rate…”

“Yeah, and if we really wanted it to destroy the world we wouldn’t exactly need to be in perfect compliance with OSHA or NHTSA standards, so there are a lot of costs we could cut…”

“You know, it just might be feasible,” Margaret May agreed. She and Josie nodded to each other, clearly very pleased with themselves. Melissa wordlessly handed Demi a cold soda from the mini-fridge, which he held against his head as if the notion of two women who thought and acted like his little sister was just too much for a generous God to inflict on a mortal man. 

“What kind of car should we get for the Cakemobile?” Josie asked. “If we don’t want it to destroy the world, I mean.”

“I think an older Japanese make might be fairly reliable,” Margaret mused, “though if we went with a Korean one from the early to mid-oughts, we could get it cheaper.”

“Is there any advantage to choosing a car that’s already popular with race modders? I know a lot of Hondas get five-point harnesses and the like put in them.”

“Oh, there is. You could conceivably find your safety cage off-the-shelf if you chose a popular modder car. Our best bet might be one of the economy micro cars from the early oughts –I’d say the Eighties to early Nineties, but those are classics now and it’d be horrible to waste one on the LeMons.”

“Like my dad’s Honda CRX.”

“Your dad has a Rex? Dude, that’s awesome!”

“Not really. He won’t let any of us drive it,” Josie explained. 

“What’s the trim level?”

“Base. It’s also a first-gen, the ’87, so it doesn’t have the cool tint on the liftback.”

“Still! My Uncle John had an ’89 HF and he still talks about it. Those are like the classic car for you liberals.”

And then the air went icy.

“…We liberals have our own car culture?” Josie asked, looking at once a little hurt and vaguely amused.

“I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just…well, it’s a funny coincidence that all the liberals I know have these really little, efficient cars and all the conservatives have, like, trucks and stuff.”

“I like trucks, though. Trucks are good. I just don’t have one because, well, I don’t actually have any car at this point, I just kind of share Demi’s Subaru now that he’s always riding around in Melissa’s Honda.”

“And I don’t even know why Subarus are a liberal stereotype where I’m from,” Margaret shrugged.

“Actually, I’ve heard that one, too. Subaru owners are supposed to be either liberals with pets, middle-aged NPR listeners, or lesbians.”

“My car is supposed to contain lesbians?” Demi looked puzzled. 

“That might explain why those nice ladies you bought it from had matching rings, three different FM pre-sets for NPR and a special harness for each of their dogs in back,” Josie reminded him.

“…Yay! My car is lesbian-tested and dog-approved!” Demi viewed the world just a bit differently than most men.

“So I think that stereotype may be justified,” Josie agreed. “For some reason, some kinds of car really are popular among liberals.”

“Well, and small-block Chevys are kind of a justified stereotype with conservative rural types like me,” Margaret agreed. “It makes a kind of sense, too. GM parts were a lot cheaper and easier to get ahold of in some small towns before logistics and computers and stuff changed things, and if you have to have a separate toolbox for your metric car and your SAE farm equipment, it’s still kind of expensive.”

“Plus, if you have the same kind of truck as your relatives and one has a problem, you have a control or two to compare it to and hopefully figure out what the issue is,” Josie nodded.

“Exactly! I thought my Mama was going to have a fit when Daddy bought a secondhand Prius C for me to take to school. She swore up and down that I’d wind up joining a fast crowd and voting for new taxes.”

“It’s not just cars, either! My mother just about blew a gasket when she saw that cute top I have, you know, the blue gingham one with the pearl snaps on it that Scoot and I found at Tractor Supply last week when we all went to get those cool boots you said we’d like?”

“Oh, yeah! I have that one in pink and green, too. And did you like the boots?”

“They’re completely perfect, yeah!”

“Good, I’m glad!”

“But yeah, Mom saw that cute top on Facebook and said it made me look like Daisy Duke and I was sure to wind up riding a mechanical bull at some bar someplace, chewing on a piece of hay and voting to cut food stamps!”

“That’s ridiculous,” Margaret grinned. “You look nothing like Daisy Duke because your jeans are too long and your hair’s too dark. If anything, you look like Dorothy Gale from ‘The Wizard of Oz’ when you wear that top. And when my mother saw that cool peasant blouse with the beads you lent me when that girl spilled Coke on mine at the one party, she had a class-five freakout, too!”

“She did? Why? You looked like Michelle Phillips from ‘The Mamas and The Papas’ in that. It was adorable.”

“You would have thought I’d posted a Democratic National Convention t-shirt covered in dead babies instead of something my Grandma probably wore herself in the Sixties. She asked me if I was smoking pot now!”

“I think our mothers are nuts.”

“I think all mothers are nuts. Scootaloo, you lucked out having two daddies.”

“That actually raises a really good question, and please don’t be offended,” Josie looked serious for a second. “I know there are some conservatives who are okay with gay people, obviously you’re one of them, but how do you deal with the fact that some people in your same general category, politically speaking, aren’t?”

“Probably the same way you deal with there being pro-life liberals,” Margaret shrugged. “I know they exist because I worked on the campaign for one.”

“So the abortion issue is enough of a deal-breaker for you personally to back the liberal candidate?”

“Yep. It’s really important to me.”

“Wow. I’d never back a conservative just because he was pro-choice, not unless he was the kind of conservative who wants to lower taxes via efficiency improvements rather than service cuts.”

“But isn’t being pro-choice really important to you?” Margaret asked. “I mean, obviously we don’t agree on that one, but you’re kind of…well…notoriously pro-choice. I remember seeing that protest you and Scoot and Mel had in high school and wondering how on Earth Scootaloo Scott herself could be friends with a girl like that. It didn’t make any sense until I met you personally, and even now it’s weird to know we disagree on something so important.”

“I think it’s kinda weird and super-awesome that we’re still somehow friends,” Josie looked just as puzzled. “But I didn’t start that protest because I’m pro-choice. I mean, I am and all, but that didn’t mean I wanted all the pregnant girls at my school to get abortions if that wasn’t right for them. I just wanted them to have decent sex-ed and maybe access to contraception if they did decide to have sex before they were ready to be mothers.”

“My folks don’t approve of contraception for teenagers,” Margaret explained, “I think they think that if we have access to such things, we’ll be more likely to have sex. Me, I think it’s really important to tell young people how much better abstinence is, but you can’t always expect them to make the right choices, and it’s not fair to let babies be aborted just because their moms chose wrong.”

“So…you’d like to ban abortion?”

“Ideally, I’d like to keep girls from getting pregnant so they never have to consider abortion, but I probably would ban it if I could because it does kill babies. But that doesn’t mean I agreed with that awful man at your school! I mean, my church thinks the best way to prevent pregnancy and STDs is abstinence, but your cousin got pregnant because she was raped. Abstinence doesn’t somehow magically repel rapists,” Margaret looked very serious, and her hands shook a little.

Scootaloo wasn’t sure if her roommate was nervous because she thought Josie would stop being her friend, or because there was something else to this conversation.

“See, just because I’d rather keep abortion legal, doesn’t mean I want it to be all that commonplace. The whole ‘safe, legal and rare’ thing is actually the doctrine. It’s like how the people who want to legalize certain drugs know the drugs will be safer with medical oversight and that some people will choose to use them whether it’s legal or not.”

“I can understand that, but it’s still an awful thing.”

“Absolutely. We’re in perfect agreement there.” Josie sighed. “I’m looking forward to the absolute last abortion in this country ever just as much as you are.”

“But you just said you want to keep it legal.”

“Yep. Legal, safe, and hopefully someday obsolete. Iron lungs were awful, so we got rid of polio, and now we don’t need to bother with iron lungs anymore. Abortion is awful, so… why not do everything we can to get rid of unplanned and unwanted pregnancy?”

“That makes a lot of sense. In fact, that’s almost exactly how I feel…kinda.” The corner of Margaret’s lip turned up a little into the slightest ghost of a smile. “How is it that we aren’t having an argument about this, just kind of laying our beliefs out for the other to look at?”

“There’s no chance in hell I could change your mind,” Josie explained shortly. “So why try? The people our folks’ age and older have already wasted so much time and money on legal vs. banned…why should we bother?”

“Wasted…but banning abortion would save babies.”

“Yeah…some of them,” Josie nodded. “But not all of them, and you’re assuming death is the absolute worst thing that could happen to a kid. Foster care is still full of kids, it’s still super-expensive to adopt even from there, and raising a kid is a really expensive proposition that young parents or unwed moms really don’t get a heck of a lot of help with. Even with WIC and TANF and such, most babies with unprepared young parents do suffer at least some form of neglect while they’re growing up, and some of them are pretty horribly abused because their parents are completely unprepared, even incompetent, and a lot of them see the kid as the reason why they’re trapped in poverty.”

“But the kid is the reason they’re trapped in poverty,” Margaret sighed. “It’s wrong of them to take it out on the kid, but their lack of responsibility is what caused the problem, or at least contributed to it.”

“Unless it was rape.”

“Unless it was rape,” Margaret agreed. 

“Are you the kind of pro-lifer who makes an exception for rape, or not?”

“Hell, no! The baby didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Oh, good! At least you’re not the kind who’s pro-life just to punish women for having sex.”

“Is that seriously what you think some pro-life people are doing?”

“Why else would they make an exception in cases of rape or incest? If she didn’t choose to have sex irresponsibly, she doesn’t need to be punished ‘like the rest of the other sluts.’” Josie mimed the air-quotes.

“I always thought that was a holdover from eugenics, that rapist’s or incestuous DNA was bad and that the enlightened, modern pro-life movement was phasing that out…but that does actually make a bit more sense.”

“If either side has holdovers from eugenics, it’s mine,” Josie explained ruefully. “Margaret Sanger herself was openly pro-eugenics and expressed the hope that people less worthy of reproducing would use contraception to reduce their increase.”

“Well, but don’t they? A teenage girl is fairly unlikely to be a good parent, not without lots of help anyway, so if she uses contraception, she can avoid it until she’s older, better educated, married and an all-around great parent.”

“That’s true, but Margaret Sanger was also…well…a lot more racist about it.”

“That’s one of the problems my side has with abortion. More African-American babies get aborted than white ones.”

“True. There are also more minority kids languishing in foster care.”

“Aw, seriously? You mean people don’t adopt perfectly good kids because of what color they are? Like black cats at the animal shelter?”

“It looks that way, yeah,” Josie sighed. “And there’s some correlation-causality stuff in there. If African-American women are statistically more likely to live in poverty, they’re also statistically less likely not only to not be able to afford to give a child a good home with plenty of resources, but they’re also statistically less likely to have access to contraception. So that might be why there are more abortions in their demographic. Women in poverty and young women are also markedly more likely to seek abortion than women who are well-off or established in their careers.” The physics major shook her head. “Contraception’s so much cheaper than social services, I never understood why conservatives object so much to funding it.”

“I’m not against contraception by any means. You’re thinking of Roman Catholic conservatives, I think; they don’t believe in it. Me, I’d rather fund that and prenatal care than the whole pro-life vs. pro-choice battle. If anything, it’s the next best thing to abstinence, and even emergency contraception is a darn sight better than an abortion when it’s a rape victim.”

“Emergency contraception?” Josie asked.

“Oh, you know, Plan B,” Margaret tapped the tablet. “Women take it within 72 hours of unprotected sex, the sooner the better, and it prevents ovulation and/or an already released egg from implanting into the wall of the uterus? I don’t remember the medical name for it right off-hand, but they have it at Student Health and just about every hospital that isn’t run by nuns…”

“Levonorgestrel,” Josie nodded. “But you’re pro-life. How are you okay with that stuff?”

“It doesn’t abort a pregnancy, it’s just a last chance to stop one before it starts,” Margaret pulled up the manufacturer’s website. “Pregnancy doesn’t exactly happen the minute a man…well…the minute the sperm cells reach the woman’s body. It’s kind of a process, which is why you’ve sometimes got between one and 72 hours to get some Plan B as a last resort. Essentially, emergency contraception is a double dose of the same kind of hormonal stuff they use in the Pill. It tricks the ovaries into thinking you’re already pregnant so they don’t release any new eggs into your uterus, and the same hormones that do that also make the uterine lining inadequate for a fertilized egg to implant to it so the process of conception can finish taking place.”

“…I was told it was an abortion pill.” Josie looked very confused.

“Let me guess, by someone from my side?” Margaret shook her head. “It’s a common misconception, that, and one which the really anti-contraception and pro-abstinence crowd is sometimes a little too happy to spread around. They get so caught up in encouraging the idea of abstinence and damning the idea of birth control that they forget lying to girls our age really doesn’t do anything but convince us they’re damn liars. I mean, seriously, Google is right there.”

“…And I didn’t use it…” Josie had gone chalk-white. Melissa glanced away from the NASCAR race to the other girls’ conversation, then became extremely interested in the little pop-tab on the top of her soda can. Scootaloo, who had been half-following their discussion, realized exactly what was going through Josie’s mind.

“So levonorgestrel wouldn’t cause an abortion, then?” the orange pegasus asked her strangely knowledgeable roommate.

“Nope. If a pregnant woman tried to take that stuff, she’d probably just feel nauseous and maybe throw up a bit, which lots of pregnant women do anyway. It couldn’t cause an abortion if it wanted to, the amount of artificial hormones it contains simply aren’t enough, proportionally, to have any effect. I mean, long-term studies might show that a heavy dose of synthetic progestogens or estrogen substitutes might have an impact on fetal gender or maybe cause some kind of birth defect, but a drug that tricks your body into thinking its pregnant isn’t going to do anything to stop an existing pregnancy.”

“What if…what if you gave levonorgestrel pills to someone who was pregnant?”

“Well, if they took both of them at the same time, they might throw up. And while it certainly wouldn’t be good for the baby, there haven’t really been studies yet to determine if anything bad would happen. I’m inclined to think nothing whatsoever would happen.”

“But…but there is an abortion pill, RU-486.”

“Yeah, mifepristone. Totally different drug. You can’t even find that stuff in most pharmacies.”

“…How do you know all of this?” Josie finally gasped.

“My Uncle John and Aunt Becky are OB-GYNs and I was their summer receptionist whenever one of their staff went on maternity leave,” Margaret explained with a smile. “Uncle John is pro-choice and Aunt Becky’s pro-life, but it’s really kind of irrelevant because their clinic’s not really set up for surgeries anyway. He just makes referrals to Planned Parenthood or the Women’s Center if that’s the choice a woman is going to make, and they keep brochures for adoption lawyers on hand just in case anyone changes their mind. It’s really nice for women who have a preference to see the right doctor for them and have someone from the other side right in the same office should their opinions or circumstances change.”

“Circumstances? So there are times when abortion is reasonable?”

“Well…personally, I’d never choose it, and I’d really like to ban it –though I think that ‘obsolete’ thing you mentioned actually sounds a lot easier, but if something changes and the mother’s life is at risk, sometimes there’s nothing else they can do if they don’t want to lose both of them. That’s an exception I can understand. It’s a tragedy, but I can understand that one.”

“It’s always a tragedy,” Josie agreed, still white and slightly shaking. “Even if you feel relieved afterward, it’s still an awful thing and the worst possible solution to a preventable problem.” Margaret suddenly reached out and held Josie’s hand.

“…I’ve…I’ve been told that women who’ve chosen abortions are just as much victims as the children,” she explained. “Did you…”

“No. Not personally. Believe it or not, I’ve never even slept with a guy yet.”

“Really? But you’re so…cosmopolitan. You know everything about contraception and women’s rights.”

“Not everything,” Josie sniffled. “I seriously thought Plan B was an abortion pill. And now you’re telling me that it wouldn’t have done anything at all…”

“…Josie,” Margaret looked even more concerned. “When we were playing Truth or Dare at that party and everyone was saying the worst thing they’d ever done but you insisted on taking ‘dare’ …did this have something to do with that?”

“I went to a pharmacist’s assistant and bribed him to sell me abortion pills. Exact words I used. The package read ‘levonorgestrel’ and I added both pills to a bottle of prenatal vitamins, then gave them to Amelia after her parents had decided to take her for an abortion. I thought…if I could do it that way, make it look like a miscarriage, then at least her folks couldn’t hide the rape or put her through the procedure…”

“It was the hardest thing I’ve ever seen her do,” Melissa chipped in. “I had no idea at the time we did it that the pills were just Plan B, but I knew about it and helped her do it.”

“I knew, too,” Demi’s sister shot him a look of shock and he shrugged. “I didn’t realize you took it so hard, Josie. Our side of the family’s been pro-choice since forever. It’s a fetus, and one that was pretty darn close to doomed.”

“Yeah, but if the woman carrying it says it’s a baby and she wants it, that makes it a baby and no one should take it away from her until it’s born and she’s been proven an unfit mother,” Josie sighed. “The point of being pro-choice is to respect the woman’s right to choose, and I didn’t do that. I’m no better than Pastor Gray was, keeping information away from girls so they didn’t know what choices to make and got stuck with the aftermath. I literally took the choice away from Amelia…or I tried to, anyway.”

“She couldn’t have made the right choice, Josie. Amelia barely understands how traffic works and we can’t trust her to use a stove, let alone raise a kid. And much as I love my family, our aunt and uncle couldn’t have raised that baby.” Demi sighed. “Social services took Amelia away from them for a little while after the rape scandal and by the time they’d made sure her parents weren’t complicit in the attack, the two of them were in the middle of a divorce. Amelia lives in a group home for people with special needs and her parents visit her separately. Our folks would have taken her in, but she doesn’t understand safety rules beyond the most basic stuff, she can be kind of combative and she’s already taller than and at least as strong as Josie. They’re just not equipped to handle someone like her, not with our brother, too.”

“Your brother?” Margaret asked.

“Our big brother, Laurie. He has an autism-spectrum disorder, the severe kind. He takes community college classes and lives at home, but his Asperger’s is bad enough, it’ll be a while before he can live on his own, if ever.”

“I have it, too, but it’s a lot milder. Josie’s the only normal one of the three of us.”

“For a given value of normal,” Josie growled.

“This will sound really insensitive, but what kind of special needs does Amelia have?” Cat asked.

“Traumatic Brain Injury,” Demi explained. “Bicycle accident, no helmet...”

“My fault,” Josie sighed.

“No, Josie. Not your fault. It was a stupid fucking accident and her folks are the ones who spent so much on bullshit status symbols that they couldn’t afford a helmet for her. She only had a bike because Laurie gave her his old one, remember? He doesn’t blame himself! And our parents started going to St. Francis because their old church started disagreeing strongly enough with the Gospel that they wanted us to at least have the chance to decide our faith for ourselves. The fact that our uncle and aunt stayed there doesn’t mean you should’ve somehow stuck around to keep an eye on Amelia or that you failed to protect her from that asshole. You’re fifteen months older, for fuck’s sake. How the hell is that supposed to make you your cousin’s keeper? There were adults whose job it was to protect her and they failed. You tried your best, but you were still just a kid yourself. It was never your job.”

The other girls, even Melissa, gasped, and Josie had started crying somewhere around the mention of Amelia’s bike. Demi Findlay had never in his life given such a determined, serious speech to anyone.

“I still did something terrible.”

“No, you tried to do something terrible, with what sounds to me like the best intentions. If her parents were going to take her in for an abortion anyway, your method would at least get the rapist caught,” Margaret looked contemplative.

“She wanted to keep it. The mandatory pre-abortion counseling would have caught that much and stopped it.”

“Ehhh…and you’re assuming abortion clinics cannot be bribed, or that every state has mandatory counseling? Or that the parents of a minor can’t get a court order to override the law if they know a judge who agrees with them? If they could get her across state lines, they could get her across a national border if they needed, or they could have easily given her a real abortifacient themselves.” Melissa looked grim. “You’re the one who insisted that anything we gave her be FDA-approved for use in women her age. There’s nothing you could have gotten within that criteria that would have worked, as I found out when Demi and I went to Planned Parenthood for the IUD.”

“You’ve known this whole time?”

“I found out the day before the protest. She’d already had the miscarriage, and while I don’t think your little adventure in drug-dealing caused it, I have my suspicions as to what might have. Social services doesn’t normally take statutory rape victims away from their parents just because of a miscarriage, and the fact that your aunt dumped your uncle like a bad habit within the month is pretty damn telling.”

“…I still feel like a bad person.”

“Maybe you should,” Margaret replied softly, before putting up both hands as everyone but Josie glared at her. “No, seriously. Feel bad about it until you understand what was wrong with your actions, learn from them, and then feel better. Nobody’s really ever a hundred percent good or bad in this world, are they? I mean, that awful pastor who was working as your school principal wound up going overseas with that charity and helping bring vaccinations and food to all those little kids in the refugee camp.”

“Somebody even shot at him, yeah. Pastor Josh says he’s going again as soon as the money’s raised,” Josie agreed. “I sent a bit myself.”

“And yeah, you made kind of a shitty choice with the Plan B, but even though you thought you were causing a miscarriage, you were doing it for what seemed like good reasons at the time. I bet a lot of people make shitty choices for good reasons. That’s really all abortion can ever be –a shitty choice.”

“True, that.” Josie sighed, before bristling just a little. “Still want to keep it legal until it’s made obsolete.”

“And I still want to ban it, but neither of us can ever be right for everyone, so…” Margaret shrugged and let a smile spread across her face, “you think maybe we can start up a third option, work on making it obsolete like you said? I bet my aunt and uncle can get us the condoms and Plan B to hand out at a student org, and if you speak on contraception I can cover abstinence.”

“Considering you knew more about Plan B than I did, you could cover contraception.”

“Actually, wouldn’t it work better if you both spoke in favor of, well, both?” Cat pointed out. “I mean, the people who are okay with sex generally consider abstinence to be an unrealistic option, and the people who are pro-abstinence tend to ignore the stuff they’re going to need to know once they’re older and married and all. My half-sister was brought up strict Catholic and she had no idea why she and her husband didn’t get pregnant right away soon as they got married.”

“Was it infertility?” Josie asked.

“Were they keeping track of ovulation and making an effort to…well…procreate at the proper times?” Margaret asked.

“I didn’t ask for details, but it wouldn’t surprise me if they were somehow doing it wrong,” Cat shrugged. “But I have a niece now, so it’s all good. Seriously, though, if a conservative and a liberal could throw their differences under the bus to actually do something to prevent unplanned pregnancy, maybe even raise some money for adoption or helping single moms with daycare during school hours…things would be a lot better on this campus alone.”

The two girls seemed to be thinking about it.

“…We could hand out condoms in the Student Union.”

“Ooooh, and what if we dressed up in angel and devil costumes, like the ones who appear on people’s shoulders when they’re about to decide something in cartoons?”

“Dude, sweet!”

Three things happened as a direct result of this conversation. 

First, the director of Student Health wound up backing Josie and Margaret May’s initiative, unofficially nicknamed ‘No More Bad Choices.’ Their friendship in spite of their differences and easy, hilarious rapport made them popular guest speakers and together they managed to reach out to no less than 65 of the seventy-two registered student organizations on their campus, three local high schools and a local news station on what Josie referred to as “a really slow news day.” By the end of their freshman year, both girls had received activism awards from Planned Parenthood, Birthright and an anti-STD charity, as well as recognition plaques from a local adoption agency for whom they raised $2,000 and a job training program for single mothers for whom they raised $2,500. (Josie promised not to tell Margaret’s parents about the award from Planned Parenthood if Margaret would keep mum about the one from Birthright to hers.) 

Second, the school newspaper ran an investigative article just before Christmas break of their sophomore year with figures drawn from the local Planned Parenthood, Birthright chapter and Student Health. It was estimated that unplanned pregnancies had declined by 23%, and an exit poll administered by Student Health showed that more than 88% of patients using the department’s services had heard of No More Bad Choices, and of the students seeking contraception services at Student Health, 65% cited No More Bad Choices as their referral source. From Student Health’s numbers alone, contraception use had improved by 76%, and while the other two agencies hadn’t kept figures, interviews with the local directors of both revealed that unplanned pregnancy was, indeed, in decline. Cat did some complex math with the computers she used for macroeconomic simulations and informed Margaret and Josie that they had personally prevented something between 3,728 and 7,960 pregnancies with the potential to end in abortion in three semesters of work alone, that being the conservative estimate. “…And what’s the liberal one?” Margaret asked excitedly.

And third, midway through their sophomore year, both girls changed their majors. Josie decided that she was a bit too opinionated and “chaotic-aligned,” for pure science to be entirely the best fit for her after all, whereas the hands-on work with Margaret on the Cakemobile had convinced her she liked to make stuff. So on Margaret’s advice she first switched from Applied Physics to Mechanical Engineering; then applied for and declared a minor in Political Science. Margaret signed up for a few more biology classes and some chemistry above and beyond her Agricultural Science major requirements, and after Josie suggested she take a look at Scootaloo’s textbooks and see if that didn’t sound pretty cool, she wound up switching to Pre-Med with dual minors in Agriculture and Poli-Sci.

Some years later, when Congressman Josephine Findlay-Price (D) and Lieutenant Governor Margaret May Forbush Allen (R) met for a photo-op and successfully irritated the stuffings out of several photojournalists by animatedly ‘talking with their hands’ about some damn thing or another, then successfully won the 24 Hours of LeMons together as part of a joint fundraiser for foster-care adoptions, Scootaloo remembered when two of her best friends first met. 

It was really a pity more people couldn’t be sat down to talk things out over a bowl of popcorn.

But all that came much later, of course.

> Ch 2.5 Love and Classes
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


Our Girl Scootaloo


Part 2 of 3


by Cozy Mark IV & Jan. McNeville


Disclaimer: This is a non-profit fan-made work of prose. My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic is the property of Hasbro. Please support the official release


Chapter Two point Five: Love and Classes


Midway through the semester, Scootaloo’s business management class took a turn for the strange.

“All right, who can tell me what this is?”

The class stared at the wrecked industrial building for a few seconds before someone in the third row back called out. “That looks like Chernobyl...”

“Very good. Now you all know that this is class on systems design and management processes. Who here can tell me what that has to do with this photo?”

There was silence as most of the pre-meds tried to figure out what a nuclear power plant had to do with office personnel management. At length Scootaloo spoke up.

“I don't know much about the Chernobyl disaster, but I'm guessing you want us to draw parallels between this disaster and the kind we're likely to deal with as hospital physicians?”

“Close, but not quite. When you get though with your degree, when you finish your residency, people are going to be counting on you for help, and that doesn't stop at good diagnosis and good bedside manner. This isn't a department store or a pizza place you'll be running. In a medical environment it is very important to have clear lines of communication, and a good system of management, because if someone makes a mistake, or fails to communicate important information it can cost patients their lives and doctors their licenses.”

Scootaloo found it vaguely unsettling that he had to mention loss of license to get the class's attention, but they were definitely listening now.

“This is going to be a quick project, and I expect a short report from each of you on what a doctor can learn from the mistakes that caused the Chernobyl disaster. While your screw ups aren't likely to turn a city into a radioactive ghost town, the effect on the families involved can be startlingly similar.

…

This being a Tuesday, Josie caught up with Scootaloo at their usual hang out, the food court of the student union building, but as she sat down to join her friend she did a double take.

“Scootaloo, are you okay?!” The orange pony had been hiding her face in a book, but as she looked up at her friend, Josie could see her eyes were red and watering. Scootaloo registered surprise, then realized what was going on and managed a small smile.

“Sorry, Josie, I'm fine, I was just researching a project for my business management class and stumbled across something really sad.”

“In business management class?” Josie asked incredulously.

“Yeah, the prof has us studying the Chernobyl disaster as a lesson in how not to run an office. It's actually more relevant than I would have suspected. Almost everything they did to cause the meltdown could be traced back to terrible equipment design or craptastic management practices.”

“Wait... Melt down? You're talking about a nuclear power plant?”

“Well, part of one. The short story is the goobers put in charge of the power plant decided to see what would happen if they shut off the cooling water while the reactor was running.”

“Seriously? That's sounds like the sort of thing the police have to deal with from time to time. 'I swear officer, I just wanted to see how many fireworks I could fit in the stove before they lit!'”

“Something like that...” Scootaloo sighed and pulled out her tablet so Josie could watch the same video she had seen. “Here, the video comes up when you search Ghost Town. A song about Chernobyl.”

…

Scootaloo passed her friend a fresh gauze pad for her eyes as Josie tried not to cry. “This is so sad! Why would you show me this?”

“Misery loves company?”

“And why have I never heard of this? They didn't mention this at all in our high school history classes!” She sniffled and passed the tablet and ear buds back to Scootaloo.

“Seriously? You're surprised that our public school left out controversial information? Did you not notice the part where anything controversial was stripped out of the curriculum because it only got the teachers in trouble with the parents? I've had teachers who would have spent the whole class on the Romans if they could have. Nice safe material and no angry parents to deal with.”

“Oh come on Scoot, what could parents have objected to about this? The Soviets screwed up and apparently poisoned a huge number of people after melting down one of their reactors. Where's the controversy in that?”

Scootaloo just shook her head. “What about the kids who don't know what radiation is or why it’s dangerous? Do you know enough to explain it to them? And what do you say happened to all the mothers and kids who were nearby when this happened? Do you want to explain that to a class of kids, some of whom might have relatives in Europe? And what about the fact that some of the radioactive dust made it all the way across the Atlantic and rained out in the US? Think some kids might have concerns about that?”

Josie seemed to be mulling that over. “I guess I never thought of it that way...”

“Exactly. And so they cut it out of the public schools. But this is college; here you get something a lot closer to the truth, even if the truth is nasty and complicated like this.    

…

---------------- The Sixth Date 

“Okay, now on to the hand.” David continued as the digital projector showed a huge cutaway image of a human hand on the ceiling of the dorm room. A series of white lines indicated all the bones, muscles and structures that Scootaloo had to memorize for her class in introductory anatomy and physiology.

“This one?”

“Hypothenar muscles.”

“Good.” He smiled and stroked her head and she leaned into his touch, momentarily changing the pitch of the background humming that pervaded the room. “And this?”

“Adductor pllicis muscles – ohhhh…”

“Good. And this one?”

“That’s easy: Distal phalangessss ohhh! God, you are such a tease!”

“Hey, you said the tests were stressful. It wouldn’t be fair to you if I let you study without a little stress.”

“Ohhh! Just you wait until you have trouble in a class I’ve taken!”

“I am waiting. Eagerly.” He answered with that mischievous grin of his she was learning to love and hate. “Now, what is this?”

“Arggg!” There was a loud creaking of wood as Scootaloo shuddered and tried to concentrate. “From distal to proximal, the bones are labeled the distal phalanges, the intermediate phalanges, the proximal phalanges, the metacarpals and the carpels.”

“Okay, and this?” The image changed to a front and side view of a standing person. “Give me what you can remember from top to bottom; major muscle groups. Go.”

“Occipitoforontalis, temporoparientalis, orbicularis oculi…” As she struggled for the name of the blasted facial muscle group, the humming dropped in pitch by at least an octave, making her whine.

“As you said, looks like you need a bit less stress for the harder ones. Go on: Levator…?”

“Levator Labii Superior!” She almost shouted. “Masticatorii, Sternocleidonastoideus, orbicularis oris, deltoideus, ohhh!” She moaned and lost her place as the humming picked back up an octave. 

“Good. See, it’s not that hard to learn these is it? We’ve only been at it for, what? A couple of hours?” He finished in a relaxed tone, earning him a look that would have caused a lesser man to burst into flames.

“Two hours!?” Scootaloo hadn’t met to shout, but her nerves were at least as frazzled as the rest of her, her mane tangled underneath her was damp with sweat and her eyes looking somewhat wild as more beads of sweat ran down her neck.

“That’s right. Lithium batteries for the win, am I right?”

The sound of creaking wood and straining ropes were again heard as she struggled for the hundredth time to find some relief from the infernal ‘butterfly’ and panted for breath.

“Tell you what: You’ve gotten much better at this since we started, so why don’t you take us down to the elbow and we’ll see if I can’t find a use for this?” He finished, holding up a box with a picture of what looked like a tiny pink ring with an on/off switch.

“Trapexius, pectoralis major, latissimus dorsi, tricepts brachii, biceps brachiee… Ohhh!!...what was… I know this… Serratus anterior!” She finished before he could turn down the setting with the remote. “Now get over here!”

He smiled as she named the muscle groups that had mystified her only hours before. “As you wish. Now I wonder what happens if I do… this?”

…


The maintenance attendant behind the housing counter looked at him with a flat stare. He had been doing this for almost thirty seconds now, and David who had already been blushing scarlet, was starting to feel uneasy.

“So let me get this straight. You need to request a new frame for your dorm room bed? You’re joking, right? Those things are built like tanks! They can take an enormous amount of abuse, hell, most of them have been here for ten year…” He trailed off as David took the broken, splintered two by two beam that been part of the headboard out of his backpack and laid it on the counter.

“Yeah. I’m really sorry about this… Is there any chance you have something stronger?”

There was a long silence as he noted that the wood showed no signs of cuts or saw marks, just a deep gouge where something had been wrapped around the top. At length he looked up at David again.

“Okay. You know what? I don’t want to know. Really.”

David looked at his shoes sheepishly as the procurement person continued. “The new beds we got for the dorms across town have steel frames with welded joints. Damn things are a pain to move, but it’s worth it not to have to replace them. Do you think that will be strong enough for you?”

“Um… Yes… Yes, I’m sure it will. Here’s the money to pay for the one we-, I broke.” He put the money on the counter and without a backward glance, left, leaving behind a story that no one was ever going to believe.

Some two weeks later, the same maintenance manager happened to be walking into the college town's little movie theater with his wife, when he noticed David and Scootaloo walking together and had an epiphany. He was so overcome by shocked imagination that he made no objection to his wife's selecting a movie of such overwhelmingly revolting sentimentality that a local comedian had joked about heterosexual males gnawing off their own legs to escape the film. As it happened, the giggling over what David's request implied didn't kick in until a major character's tragic death and in a fit of righteous indignation that involved her purse, his wife actually managed to injure him quite badly. All he could say in his defense was 'the pony got away,' between peals of laughter, so his wife took him directly to the hospital on suspicion of a stroke. After the doctors had given him a CT scan and some Valium, he managed to explain it, at which point his wife felt simply awful for whacking him and spent several days bursting into laughter at inappropriate moments herself. Considering she worked in banking, this was somewhat alarming to several clients, but, being an accountant who had, all things considered, seen weirder in her day, she never felt the need to explain herself.

But such are the risks of living in a college town.


…


That evening at dinner Scootlaoo met Josie and some of her friends in the cafeteria to catch up after a long day. She pillaged the salad bar, thankful again for the impressive variety and selection they always seemed to have on hand. And the vegetarian offerings! At least one new one every night, and many of them shockingly good. At home her dads had always seen to it that she had something filling to eat, but she knew from traveling just how hard it could be to get enough to eat on a vegetarian diet, especially one she couldn't easily break. She also knew some of the political pundits had accused her of somehow choosing to make vegetarianism a side effect of her synthetic biology as way to improve her diet. She looked at the buffet before her and smiled to herself. 'Correlation or causality, the result is still delicious!' 

She took her full tray over to their usual table and took a seat by Josie, listening as she regaled them with a tale from her political science class. When she finished, Scootaloo saw her opportunity.

“You're not the only one who had an interesting time in class today. Remember that anthropology class I'm taking?”

The smiles and laughter were inevitable, but expected. 

“Oh, do tell us more, Ms. Heartstrings.”

“Yeah, yeah, green pony seeks rare humans of legend. Who needs hands when you've got these?”

One of their dinner party suddenly yelped as she pinched him under the table with her automotive repair tentacle, and Josie just laughed as she spooled in the long arm.

“You're carrying one of those around with you now?” She kidded.

“Well, yes.” Scootaloo replied, sticking out her tongue. “I got tired of all the 'hand' jokes. Anyway, I've got a story for everyone tonight. Our anthropology professor did his field work with nomads in Africa and while he hasn't told us much about that yet, today he told the story of his first couple weeks in Africa.”

She paused to collect her thoughts, then. “It all started when he arrived. He had spent months getting all the paperwork right so he could ride with the nomads. Yeah, apparently they require paperwork to ride with the camel nomads. At any rate, when he got there, they told him he didn't have the correct paperwork, and while I suppose he could have just gone ahead anyway, his goal was to publish the results of his work, and that meant he couldn't skimp on the paperwork.”
“So they told him he needed to get the approval of some high muckity muck in the capital a few hundred miles to the north. No big deal right? Well, they wanted actual signatures, and they didn't have access to a fax which meant he had to drive up there and get the signatures himself, then bring them back. So this trip was already off to a great start, especially given that he hadn't brought much money, at least not enough to rent a car.”
“So our enterprising professor, who is about five foot dam and lanky by the way, he hitchhikes his way to the capital and gets the paperwork straightened out. So everything is set, and he finds a ride on an 18 wheel truck that they called a lorry. The driver was transporting three or four big sections of concrete pipe for some kind of project, and each of the sections was filled with five or ten people also hitching a ride on the open flat-bed trailer. And if that doesn't sound quite like a paragon of safety, the driver is navigating hilly, almost mountainous terrain, and drinking honey wine as the sun sets. Our prof said he debated trying to say something to the driver in a language he wasn't very good with, but he decided he was just happy to be riding in the cab, so he just nodded of and fell asleep.”

Scootaloo had the attention of everyone at the table as the rambling tale continued.

“The next thing he remembers, he was laying on the ground not far from the twisted wreckage of what used to be the truck with splitting headache and blood matting his hair. Some passersby had started laying out the injured in a neat row by the side of the road, but the injured were greatly outnumbered by the dead and dying who had been riding on the open truck bed when the truck when over the embankment.”

“Holy crap! So he survived the crash and came back later to do his graduate work right?”

Scootaloo just smiled. “You don't know my prof very well. No, he was in no shape to do much more than lie there, but a passing car stopped and picked him up and drove off with him. He woke up in a small bare room with his wounds bandaged with clean rags. Problem is, this particular African country has a rule that if you stop by the side of the road to help someone, they can accuse you and collect damages for your role in the accident.” She paused to address the incredulous looks. “Hey, nobody ever said lawmakers were smart.”
“Anyway, they were good people, and they nursed him as best they could, but they wouldn't let him leave because they were afraid he would come after them for money. And of course it didn't help that they ran a whore house.”

“Wait wait wait. He was rescued by the local nurse pimp?” Josie asked.

“More or less. He didn't specify which member of the 'business' helped him, and in his state of health and with his understanding of the language he might not have known. At any rate, he was there for three days as his head healed, punctuated all the while be sounds of sex from the rooms on either side. Eventually he'd had enough, and he actually broke down the door and ran out into the street and flagged down the only car in sight. The driver pulled up and saw this short lanky professor, dirty, scraped and with bloody bandages on his head. Our prof asked him for a ride to the capital city’s hospital, the same city he just left, and the guy looks him up and down and quotes a figure that translates into six months’ pay. At this point prof just said that he 'persuaded' the gentlemen to help drive him to the capital.”
“So after he gets to the hospital he has to jump over the dead bodies that are laid out in rows in front of the hospital, but he does get in, and they keep him overnight to make sure his head is okay. During the night he said he couldn't sleep because some of the other patients kept screaming. Next day he checked out with a more or less clean bill of health and had to jump over the same dead bodies to get back out of the hospital, where upon he hitchhiked his way back to where he started. Now that he had the right paperwork they signed off on his graduate work, and he left with the camel nomads with his head still all bandaged up. He hasn't told us what happened next, but I know I'm looking forward to hearing it.” Scootaloo finished with grin as the others at the table looked on in disbelief.        

“That's... That's crazy! You're pulling my leg right?”

“No, I'm not.”

“Then he's got to be messing with you. That's just...”

“That's what parts of the third world are like Josie. My professor actually went through all that to get to ride with his chosen camel nomads.”

Josie was silent for a moment before announcing in respectful tones. “Wow... Anthropologists are hardcore.”


------- Going home for the summer ---------

Most of the other students had already left by Thursday, happy to be done with finals and ready for a summer that didn't involve math homework. The dorm had taken on a strange, abandoned feeling as the rooms emptied out, and by now Scootaloo, May and Josie were part of the only five girls left on the floor.

Josie had been more than a little emotional the last few weeks as Philip was graduating and moving on to look for work. This meant leaving her behind, but they had apparently taken the plunge and decided to go long distance, trying to keep something they had both decided was very precious. There had been tears when he packed up his own van and headed home, but they had already started exchanging emails, and Scootaloo had hope that this match might not be as doomed as Josie worried.

It was on that Thursday morning that May and Scootaloo had volunteered to help a still morose Josie clean up her room and pack. What with the stress of finals and her love life, she had been too out of it to do much cleaning, and May was soon gathering baskets of laundry and pillaging her laundry card as she gave Josie dark looks that reminded her of her mother.

Scootaloo had already helped Josie strip off the bedding and pack up most of her desk and computer gear. Looking around and seeing the immediate area clean; 'for the first time in almost a year!' she got down and started pulling things out from under the bed.

After several pairs of shoes, two outfits, a pile of underwear and two old purses her prosthetic hand closed on a suitcase handle which seemed unusually resistant. With considerable effort, she hauled the old case out and nearly pulled a muscle in her shoulder when she tried to pick it up.

“Damn, Josie! What the hell did you pack in here, bricks?”

Josie turned and saw the case Scootaloo was shifting and immediately blushed.

“Um... Not exactly...”

Scootaloo raised an eyebrow. 

“It's uh... not something I can show my parents. We'll have to load that one into the car personally so they don't ask.”

A slow grin was spreading across Scootaloo's face. “Josie Findly... did you fill this entire case with sex toys?”

Josie was turning an amusing shade of red as she answered. “Um... no...” As Scootaloo continued to grin at her she tried a different approach. “You remember the old girl scout rule about campsites?”

That took her by surprise. “Huh?” There was an almost audible grinding of mental gears as Scoot tried to switch topics and remember what Josie meant. “You mean that old line about 'leave the camp site better than you found it'?”

Josie grinned slyly. “That's the one. Well... It turns out that Philip subscribes to that ideal as well.”

“You mean that as a summer parting gift, he gave you...”

“Yup. To practice with.” Josie was still blushing, but she was wearing a silly smile now too.

There was a brief pause before Scootaloo hoisted the suitcase up on the bed and popped the latches. “Okay, this I've got to see.”

There was silence for a moment as Scootaloo took in the wealth of toys before her, and while Josie's blush didn't fade, her mischievous smile grew as she watched her friend begin to blush as well. Scootaloo pulled out the first item in the suitcase which emerged in a tangle of dangling straps and jingling buckles.

“Wow... I've never seen one of these in person.”

Josie was trying not to giggle as she responded. “Well, I’m not surprised; It wouldn't be much use on you.”

“Well that's hardly my fault.” Scootaloo shot back before continuing her inspection. “Is this a real one? It looks more complicated...”

“Well, this was made for the bedroom not the hospital, so it's more comfortable and has some... very nice features. And it was surprisingly affordable. Less than the price of two nights in a hotel.”

“How does it... I mean where does this part even...” Scootaloo looked up in confusion and as she tried to puzzle it out and her eyes settled on Josie. There was that grin again. “Hey Josie... would you like to show me how this works?”

As Scootaloo approached, Josie shook her head. “You don't know how it works? But we would need a guinea pig to-”

“All right, that's two full loads of laundry.” May called as she pushed the door open and deposited a freshly washed basket of laundry on the floor. “You two fold those while I gather up...”

…

“Okay, now we feed this strap though here and tug it snug...”

“Hey, not so tight.” May whined. 

“Feathers, May.” 

May blushed and looked away.

“And then buckle it here and that's that.”

“That wasn't as complicated as it looked.” Scootaloo conceded. “But what are these two long ones dangling from the waist for?”

“Those are to keep you from pulling it over your head and taking it off. Here, we just pull the left one between her legs and thread it into the double D rings on the back left, then pull it tight...”

May whined as the white canvas jacket became inexplicably snugger. 

“And then the front right strap goes between her legs and into the back right keeper.” She gave a modest tug to demonstrate as May complained. 

“I still don't see why I have to be the model.”

“Oh just be glad you're wearing jeans today. It's more complicated with a skirt.”

May flushed even redder as Josie spun her around for inspection before the wall mounted mirror. She gave an experimental tug but was obviously quite stuck. 

“Damn... I never realized how hot that looks.” Scootaloo added admiringly as May struggled a little harder. “And you say this fits you and Philip?”

“Well yeah. Why did you think I was so good at getting someone into it?”

Visions of sewing projects were rapidly dancing through Scootaloo's mind. “I'm going to have to have a word with David about summer parting gifts...” She reached up and flicked a D ring on the collar of the canvas jacket. “But what's this for?” 

Josie only grinned wider as she reached into the case and produced a leash which she clipped on and used to pull an increasingly compliant May over to the bed. “This is for those nights when you want to make a point to your boyfriend...” She pulled down on the leash and helped May kneel by the edge of the bed, then took out the slack and tied the other end to the bed, forcing her to wait there, kneeling.  

“Oh, damn...” Scootaloo added admiringly. “But doesn't that get uncomfortable?”

“Not unless you buckle it too tight. If I had a dollar for all the nights he would buckle me in and keep me that way till morning...”

May and Scootaloo both turned from their own distracting thoughts. “Morning?!”

Josie blushed again. “Well, it’s not that hard to sleep in it, and guys can only get off the once before they have to wait half an hour...” If possible, her blush intensified. “He sometimes calls it my Ritalin. Prevents ADD and helps me focus. Didn't you notice I made Dean's List since I met him?”

Their stares were clearly audible in the silent dorm room.

“Well, have either of you ever gone at it four times in one night, then three more in the morning?”

Their stares took on more than a hint of envy.

“And that doesn't count the times I kept him in it all night. You know that insatiable patch right after your period where you just can't get enough? Ever wonder how that would go if he can't say no?” Scootaloo looked very interested as May took on a shocked expression which Josie noticed. “Oh calm down, he has a safeword to get out if he really needs to.”

“Josie...” Scootaloo looked at her friend, and it appeared she was trying very hard not to giggle. “When... When did you surpass your poor old teacher in the annals of sex-ed?”

“Oh, we passed minimum sex-ed a while ago.” She grinned, “This is more like sex best practices.”  

“All right then, Professor Josie,” Scootaloo managed between giggles, “where does one go shopping for such Best Practices?” 

“Oh, a simple net search for straitjackets will turn up quite a selection. Here, let me show you.”

As Scootaloo looked over her Josie's shoulder there was a rustle of canvas behind her as May struggled futilely against the jacket and pulled at the leash. “Hey... I can't see from over here.” 

Scootaloo walked over and un-clipped her leash before turning back to the screen. May looked down at the jacket, then back at her friends. “Aren't you going to let me out?”

Scootaloo turned again to help but Josie put out a hand to stop her. “Of course, May, we'll let you out any time you like, but we won't put you back in. Now here, let me show you the site where Philip bought ours!”

As the girls turned back to the tablet, May pulled experimentally at the jacket.

“Okay, can you let me out, now?”

“Sure,” Josie undid the buckles and straps from her friend as Scootaloo looked at the website and mentally began puzzling out how to design an equine-compatible model. “Now the real bugger is just trying to fold the thing-”

“Oh, no.” May held out her hand and Josie, remembering that May was easily fifty times better at laundry, handed it right over.

“Okay, you fold it, then.”

“Nope!” And with a kind of running pounce, May soon had Josie’s left arm into the sleeve and was strapping her friend in, a look of maniacal glee on her face.

“Scoot! Help!”

“Can’t now, looking on Deviant Art for a pony one so I can pattern this…”

“But she’s tickling me!”

“S’your problem.”

“You know, I think I need to make one of these for my hope chest,” May remarked. “I think strappin’ my future husband down so he can’t get loose sounds like a lot of fun.”

“Oh, you enjoyed it, then?” Scootaloo asked absently.

“Not really, but I sure like strappin’ folks into ‘em!”

“Of all the people to be a natural domme!” Josie howled.

“Hush, you.”

“Yes, May.”

“…You know, I think I really will make me one of these!”

“Good, you can help me,” Scootaloo agreed, still looking at the website contemplatively.

“…I hate the world…”

...

The afternoon had faded into evening by the time the four of them had fully loaded the old minivans. Melissa, Josie, Scootaloo and Demi had managed to pack all their stuff into the two vans, leaving just barely enough room for Demi to squeeze into the driver’s seat of one, while the three of them occupied the second van which was also packed to the gills. With their dorms empty, the keys turned in and the vans sagging under the weight, they set off on the long drive home.

They talked of the summer to come, rehashed the last year and sang along to the radio, but only gradually did Scootaloo notice that Josie had gotten very quiet in the back seat. While they had been talking, the song on the radio had changed to Amy Grant's 'I will Remember You', and as Scoot glanced back in the rearview mirror she could see Josie cuddling one of Philip's shirts and silently crying.

The very idea of someone like Josie breaking down like that bothered her. Sure, her boyfriend was graduating and all, but certainly long-distance couldn't be all that hard, could it? Scootaloo realized that she'd never seen Josie cry even when someone died. What kind of love would make a person's heart break like that, just being away from the one they cared about?

And then she realized something.

She knew exactly what that felt like.

Even though she had only promised to text when she got home, and even though David would be visiting in less than a week to meet her Dads and see a movie they were both looking forward to, she got her phone out and texted him.

Because, after all, why not?


------- End of freshman year –  - Summer at home - Beginning of fall term------------


> Ch 2.6 Classes, Engagements and Loss
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


Our Girl Scootaloo


Part 2 of 3


by Cozy Mark IV & Jan. McNeville


Disclaimer: This is a non-profit fan-made work of prose. My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic is the property of Hasbro. Please support the official release


Chapter Two point Six: Classes, Engagements and Loss


------- End of freshman year –  - Summer at home - Beginning of fall term and years after------------

--------- Josie and Scootaloo discuss corn, why not --------------

“Mmmm, this is such good corn. My complements to the chef.”

Josie had paused and was holding up her half eaten corn cob thoughtfully. “It is. Of all the looted treasures of the world, this is probably the most costly and delicious.” 

Scootaloo cocked an eyebrow. “I rather doubt the corn we're eating was stolen. What are you talking about?”

“Have you ever read 'Guns, Germs and Steel' by Gared Diamond?”

Scootaloo shook her head. “I think it was recommended reading back in my bio-chem class, but if you'll recall, we had our hands full that semester.” 

“You should read it if you ever get the chance. The premise is that people are basically the same, and the reason the Europeans wound up with the technology needed to take over the world back in the seventeen and eighteen hundreds all goes back to food production.”

Scootaloo did not lower her eyebrow.

“The Europeans had a huge lead on technology and killer germs because they got their food production problems worked out way earlier. They had a lot more good plants like wheat and peas which were relatively simple to domesticate, as well as cows, pigs and chickens. The very act of living with domestic animals breeds killer germs; remember the bird flu scare back in the 2000's? We got smallpox, black death, and most of the other big killers from bugs that jumped off domestic animals to people.
“The rest of the world wasn't so lucky with wild food plants and animals, and corn is probably the best example of terrible luck. The wild plant that was domesticated into corn is pathetically small and damn near in-edible without extensive grinding, but in the Americas, that was all they had to work with. While the Egyptians were building the pyramids the native Americans were fighting to breed better corn to have enough food to build a society. While the Romans were expanding their empire, they were still trying to breed corn. While Christianity was being born they were still trying to breed corn. While Mohammad was teaching, they were still trying to breed corn. When gunpowder was invented, and knights fought wars for their kings across Europe, they were finally getting enough food value out of corn to build a up civilizations, but they were thousands of years behind because this damn plant was the best they had. When the first Europeans came, they reported a continent so crowded that you could smell the smoke from cooking fires hundreds of miles out to sea. They brought their germs, the results of thousands of years of bio-weapons research with them, and by the time the next settlers arrived, the natives were wiped out. Current estimates put the death toll in the hundreds of millions, well more than ten times the number the Nazi's would kill centuries later.”

She paused for breath and looked down at the corn on the cob. “With the land wiped of life and ninety-five percent of the natives dead, the continent was practically abandoned, and the takeover was inevitable. And it was all because of this. This corn is the life's work of generations beyond count; no gem, no crown, no kingdom took as much toil to produce as this, and we stole it after a genocide the likes of which the world has never seen before or since.”

Scootaloo found her mouth hanging open and closed it with an effort. “Jesus, Josie! Is that true??”

She cracked a small, sad smile. “Yes. But there is nothing we can do about it now.” She took another mouthful and savored the sweet flavor. “Remember that on-campus debate about whether it's ethical to use medical research done by the Nazi's? They served corn at the dinner afterward.”


---------- The morning after… 

As the two of them took the stairs down to the main level they passed a number of students going up, and Scootaloo could have sworn one of the girls winked at her.

They swiped their cards to get into the cafeteria and both attacked the salad bar with a vengeance. David looked over at her tray heaped high with greens and couldn't help but kid her. “A little hungry this morning?”

She smiled and returned a knowing look. “Well what can I say? Vigorous exercise will have that effect.”

They shared a grin as he leaned down and planted a kiss on her forehead. “Let’s go find our table. You think Melissa will be here this early?”

“Worth a shot.”

They soon found Demi and Melissa sharing their usual table and after a friendly hello they took their seats and tucked in.

“Well, it looks like you two are in a good mood.” Melissa smiled.

“Oh yeah,” Scootaloo answered between mouthfuls. “David has been tutoring me, and I just got the results back on a big test that had me worried; I passed, and then some!”

Demi smiled. “I'm glad to hear it.”   

Melissa was grinning at her with that smug expression of hers. “Tutoring? Is that what we're calling it now?”

Scootaloo and David both blushed a little, and he moved his chair closer to hold her hand. “Why, Melissa, I have no idea what you mean.” he smiled.

“Oh really?” Melissa asked, her grin spreading.

“Of course not.” Scootaloo returned with the same feigned innocence. 

Melissa leaned in and whispered mischievously; “Then would you like to explain your new fashion sense?”

Scootaloo followed her glance down under the table and nearly choked on her spinach. Each of her hooves still had one of the heavy leather cuffs buckled onto it, the D rings sticking out on both sides. Blushing furiously, she reached down and quickly unbuckled them, cramming them into pockets of her prosthetic.
Melissa couldn't quite stifle her giggle which soon dissolved into good humored laughter, and eventually, red faced or no, Scoot found herself laughing too.

“And I suppose you didn't notice either?” Melissa asked a suddenly contrite David.

He put up his hands defensively. “Hey, she let me forget them once. Nearly laughed herself sick when I came back from the men's bathroom red as a beat.” 

“Um...Does someone want to explain what we're talking about?” Demi asked in confusion. 

Melissa whispered in his ear until he turned red as well. “Oh! Like that time we forgot and-”

He was cut off abruptly by a strategically placed elbow, as Melissa found herself blushing like the other three. “Dear, I have no idea what you're talking about.”




-------A new audio-video computer chip -------

At her next monthly checkup, Betty and Mary had something new to show Scootaloo. With exaggerated ceremony, Mary took out a transparent plastic box containing another computer chip and set it on the table before her.

“Uh, you know I only have the two arms...” She replied, cocking her head to one side.

Mary only smiled wider. “Oh, this isn't for a physical prosthetic, this is a prototype computer interface, and you're not the first one to try it. After the success with your first implant, several companies are now making prosthetic driver chips, and a group of our researchers decided to push for the next level.” 

She paused dramatically. “Jimmy, would you come in here please?”

A young child of perhaps eight wearing a tee shirt, shorts and glasses opened the door and walked right up to Scootaloo, extending a hand to shake her prosthetic. “My mom let me stay up late tonight so I could meet you and say thanks in person.” 

Scootaloo shook his hand, and as she noticed the tiny camera lens in his glasses, comprehension slowly dawned. “Jimmy... you used to be blind didn't you?”

He smiled widely. “That's right, but now I can see because of your treatment and the chip! And I can do other stuff to!”

So saying, he closed his eyes, and the computer terminal behind them started up. Scootaloo watched in amazement as he searched for a funny internet video and played it, all without moving a muscle.

“How...” she managed, as her mind leapt ahead to all the things she could do with this.  

“I can see a computer screen inside my head, but only I can see the screen! Hey, watch this! Do you know what the Sin of thirty five is?” He asked excitedly. “Its zero point five seven three five seven six four three!”

The three adults in the room suppressed a giggle as Scootaloo realized the inevitable truth. Teachers were going to hate this thing.

“At any rate,” Betty continued with a smile, “The company that makes these would be thrilled if you gave it a try. Your endorsement, even by just using it, would help them a lot and as you can see there are some side benefits as well.”

Scootaloo grinned. “Sounds good to me.” 
'And I wouldn't mind being able to look up some mindless trivia on test day either.' 
“Were does this one go?” she asked, indicating her side.

“Oh, they put it right here!” Jimmy exclaimed, pointing to his temple. “You can still feel it.”

Scootaloo ran a finger over the skin where he indicated, and she could just feel the tiny oblong chip below the skin surface.
“And it doesn't hurt after it heals?”

“Well, you wouldn't want to get hit in the head there, but otherwise, no, not really.” Mary replied.

Scootaloo nodded her assent. “Then I'd be happy to have one. I'm sure I can come up with all kinds of uses for it. Is that one ready for use tonight?”

Mary pulled out a tray of surgical tools. “I thought you'd never ask.”



--------David gets his first months medical checkup ------------

At that month’s regular checkup, Scootaloo decided to invite David along for the fun, and the other specialists were happy to let him watch the proceedings. That lasted until the first blood draw when she turned to look at him and said simply. “Well? Grab a vile, you're not just here to observe you know.”

The nurses gave them an amused look as she got him a set of needles to take his own blood while Scootaloo continued to draw her own.

“You want me to participate too?” He asked in amusement. “Might I ask why?”

She smiled at him. “Well, you're spending a lot of time with me, and unless you have some very different ideas, there's a very good chance we will be together for a long time to come.” Her warm smile took on a hint of mischief. “That, and who knows what interesting effects I could have on a sexual partner?”

He blushed, but agreed, and stayed with her for the rest of the exam, putting up with the same tests she had since she was a little foal. After a particularly large needle stick that left him complaining, Scootaloo elaborated on her original teasing.

“I know it isn't easy, but I really wasn't joking David. The medical testing I do extends to family members as well, and” She indicated her engagement ring, “that means that you can look forward to this same routine each month.” She looked a bit nervous as she waited for his reaction. 

David took a moment to process that, but eventually smiled. “Okay Scoot.” He leaned in and kissed her softly. “I hadn't really thought about it, but this is part of who you are, and I'll gladly put up with a few extra pokes and prods if it means being with you.”



--------Scootaloo goes out with her fiancé several months into their engagement-----

She felt a hand run though her mane, followed by a soft kiss on her cheek. Scootaloo smiled and stretched lazily as she opened her eyes to see David in his pajamas, kneeling on the edge of the bed with a freshly prepared cup of coffee on the nightstand.

“Good morning sleepyhead.”

She yawned and tried to pull David closer with her hooves, an ineffective gesture he had always found adorable. He joined her in bed and pulled her close, her head laying on his chest as she closed her eyes and nuzzled him. 

“Five more minutes.” 

He stroked her mane and gently wafted the cup of coffee under her nose. After a few moments she inhaled deeply and pushed herself up beside him against the headboard. Her hooves lay still as she reached out for the offered cup and straw with her mouth and took a long pull on the warm coffee.

“Hmm... You are incorrigible, you know that right?” She teased as he continued to hold the cup for her.

“You wouldn't have it any other way though would you?”

She leaned in and kissed him softly. “Of course not.”

After a few more pulls at the cup she kissed him once more and reluctantly got out from under the warm covers to use the facilities. When she was done, David helped her on with her prosthetic, then leaned in to whisper in her ear; “What do you say we visit your favorite coffee shop for a proper breakfast this morning?”

Her stomach growled and she smiled as she reached out to grab him by the collar, dragging him down and kissing him passionately. “I would like that, but you might want to take this off before we get too far.” She added with a mischievous flick of her finger against the metal ring on the leather collar he had forgotten to remove after last night.

David blushed and unbuckled the collar, tossing it into the closet before turning back to Scootaloo. “Actually, I was going take the lead this morning.” 

Ten minutes later, and just before they stepped out the door, David leaned down and kissed Scootaloo again. “You sure you're ready?”

Scootaloo shivered as she felt that delightful flutter in stomach. “Yes... Sir.”

“Very well. I love you Scoot.” She tapped her back hooves together, and her arms tucked themselves away on her back. He reached up under her prosthetic, found the power cord to the battery, and disconnected it. She shivered as the feeling in her arms stopped, and looked up at David with a small smile. 

On their way out of the building, the pair looked ordinary enough, and only someone who knew Scootaloo very well might have guessed at their game. David carefully opened doors and ran the elevator for his fiancée, smiling as she blushed and fidgeted with her hooves, her arms locked uselessly away behind her back. 

They walked the few blocks to the coffee shop without incident, and David ordered a delightful fruit smoothie while Scootaloo stuck close by his side and tried not to blush. They took their usual seat in the corner, and he helped her with the straw while whispering to her in a discreet, but very... distracting fashion. She soon found herself wolfing down the treat without even bothering to taste it, just to get him back to their dormitory quicker. 

She finished in no time and had nearly resorted to kicking David under the table when she caught sight of a familiar face in the crowd. 

“Oh no!” She turned to whisper to David “That's one of my TA's! I have a study group with her! She might notice, you have to let me loose!”

David watched from across the room as the TA placed her order. He turned and then gave Scootaloo a steady look with just a hint of that mischievous smile. “Are you using your safeword already...?”

Scootaloo bit her lower lip and crossed her hooves in indecision, before finally steeling herself and returning David's smile. “Not yet... Sir.”

Without even a glance in their direction, Scootaloo's TA took her order and left the shop. It took a few moments for Scootaloo's heart to stop racing, but that didn't last long as David leaned in and whispered in her ear. “Are you ready to go home yet?”


...


Behind the counter, one of the baristas watched them leave, then  looked at his manager,  Joan, to ask; “Any idea why those two seem to be in such a hurry some days?”

Joan just smiled knowingly and shrugged. “I image they must be late for something important. You know how med students are.”




------------  To lose a friend…

It was that spring that they got the bad news. Scootaloo was used to seeing the Doctors Gregerson on her monthly hospital visits, but since January, it had only been Mrs. Doctor Gregerson. Betty had stopped in from time to time, but from what she said, her husband was having a rough time of it and with luck he would be back soon.

March brought an end to this wishful thinking.

Scootaloo and David had just finished the usual blood work and were on the way to the next scan when Betty caught up with them.

“Betty! I haven't seen you in months, how are...” Scootaloo trailed off as she registered her haggard expression. “Betty, are you okay?”

Betty had been old for as long as Scootaloo had known her, but she hadn't looked old before. Now the woman before her was using a cane, her hair haphazardly pulled back and for the first time ever she wore a shawl over her shoulders. 

“Oh my God... Is George...?” Betty was obviously trying not to cry as Scootlaoo closed the distance and took her in a hug. David soon joined her, and they embraced, her composure failed and she broke down sobbing. They both held her as she cried, and after a few minutes she was able to explain. 

“It's George, he's...” She sniffed and tried to continue. “He's been fighting for months now but...” She took a deep shuddering breath as they waited. “He's dying. He's dying and there's nothing anyone can do...”

Scootaloo held her tighter. “Betty, I'm so sorry! What happened?”

She looked down into Scootaloo's big purple eyes and leaned heavily on her cane, but no words would come.

“Here, let us help you sit.” David said, gently taking her by the arm and helping her towards a bench down the hall. Scootaloo followed and helped ease her into a seated position, and after a moment Betty tried again.

“He's old... We've been together for more than fifty years, but he's always been older than me... It was cute when we were young but now...” She hung her head and buried her face in her hands as new sobs racked her body. 

Scootaloo put an arm around her and held her close, not sure what else to do. The Doctors Gregerson were some of her oldest friends, she had known them for years. The thought of suddenly losing one of them...

“Betty, I'm so very sorry. What happened? He was up and about this time last year.”

Betty looked up and really seemed to see her for the first time. “You... you've never lost someone close to you, have you, Scoot?”

She felt that right in her chest as she slowly shook her head.

“George is old. His body is shutting down. This all started with a cold that just wouldn't get better. We started staying in more, but then he got pneumonia. He stayed in the hospital for a few weeks, and he seemed to fight it off, but then it came back. It's been a long downward slide since then and we were really hoping he would show us all... that we'd come in one morning and he'd be feeling better, but...”

Scootaloo swallowed a painful lump in her throat as her own eyes began to water. 

“But now his liver and kidneys are shutting down. He's dying and we can't pretend anymore...” Betty trailed off looking lost.

“But why can't we help? There must be something we can do!” Scootaloo asked, already knowing the answer, but not wanting to admit it.   

“Scootaloo, you're far enough along in your studies to know... He's old... His immune system is almost gone... his kidneys and liver quit first, but the rest of him isn't far behind. His body won't heal itself anymore, he hasn't had the strength to walk in weeks now...”

“But he's had the same treatment David and you had! He has my synthetic cells!”

Betty sobbed at that, but put a hand on her orange shoulder. “And I am so grateful for that. Really. You gave me several more long healthy years with him. Even now the other doctors say we have it lucky and they're right.” She sniffed. “I've seen people linger for months, years at times, but from what they tell us, people with your treatment have an easier time of it...” She trailed off as she saw the pain in Scootaloo's face. “I mean it. Those with the treatment usually make it a little longer, but almost always in good health. When the crash comes, it comes all at once. Hopefully...” She sobbed again and Scootaloo finished in a shaky tone.

“Hopefully it will be quick and painless?”

Betty nodded and leaned down to wrap her arms around Scootaloo’s neck, her tears running down her face and splashing against Scootaloo's coat as her body shook. David sat down next to Scootaloo and just held onto her as her own resolve gave way and she began to cry as well. 

Scootaloo could still remember that first introduction all those years ago... his teaching her how to play chess so she would have something to do during boring procedures, all the visits and the informal tutoring that helped her though advanced bio chem... And now she was going to lose him. 
She squeezed her eyes shut against the pain as her chest tightened. She was going to lose him and there was nothing she could do.

…

For the first time in years, Scootaloo canceled the rest of her checkup. They caught the elevator up to the eight floor and David and Scootaloo followed Betty down the hall to his room. Scootaloo's trained eye quickly took in the dialysis machine, the IV's, the readouts on the monitoring equipment and reached the same conclusion Betty had. He didn't have much time.

George was sleeping peacefully as they came in, and the pastor who had been waiting with him stood up and quietly took his leave as the three of them took seats at his bedside. Scootaoo could still vividly remember their discussions together, his animated lectures and the way his face would light up at the opportunity to teach her something new. The man before her looked very little like the animated doctor she remembered. His skin was thin and blotched, his ribs showed, and the paper hospital gown did little to conceal the bed pan, or the... wrongness of his skin color, evidence of his dying liver.

Betty reached out and took his hand in both of hers, squeezing gently as fresh tears ran down her cheeks. After a moment he stirred in his sleep and gradually opened his eyes, a smile gradually spreading as he realized who had come to see him.

“Hello, Scootaloo...” He breathed in a labored voice. “I'm glad I got to see once more you before the end.”

The lump in her throat was almost as painful the constriction in her chest, but Scootaloo managed to reply. “Dr. Gr- George, I'm so sorry. I didn't know it was this bad!”

He chuckled weakly. “I'm glad... You're a good kid Scootaloo... I didn't want you to worry about something you couldn't change.”

“Is...” She sniffed and continued in a shaky voice. “Is there anything I can do to help? Anything you want me to do?”

George just smiled. “This man of yours... Do you love him?”

Scootaloo looked up at David in confusion. “Of course. We... We were planning to invite you to the wedding...” 

“Good... Then I want you to love him... Live your life with him... and enjoy what life brings... just like Betty and I did...” Betty leaned over and kissed him on the forehead, and he gently squeezed her hand.

He seemed to doze off again, and David left to get some extra pillows and blankets. As night fell he drifted in and out of consciousness, and the three of them waited with him and the minister as time slowly past. When he was awake, they would talk of days gone by, favorite times he spent over more than fifty long years with Betty. He even told Scootaloo he was proud of her for what she had grown into, what she had chosen to do with her life... It was over before the morning sun broke the horizon. The priest said the final prayer as they both held onto Betty and she held his limp hand and cried. 
   
> Ch 2.7 To Start a Family
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


Our Girl Scootaloo


Part 2 of 3


by Cozy Mark IV & Jan. McNeville


Disclaimer: This is a non-profit fan-made work of prose. My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic is the property of Hasbro. Please support the official release


Chapter Two point Seven: To Start a Family


It was actually Mary who brought the topic up during her monthly exam. They were working together to draw the usual blood-work when she asked.

“Scootaloo, I know you and your fiancée have been together for a several years now, and I wanted to ask a... personal question.”

“Of course Mary, what's on your mind?” She replied as she set down one sample and prepared to draw another.

“Well, even that isn't quite the full truth... The other researchers and I talked and they decided I should be the one to ask. How do you feel about kids?”

Scootaloo regarded her curiously. “Kids? Mary, you know David and I would like to have kids someday, but... well obviously we would have to adopt, and that's no small undertaking. We're both still in school -we would need time and money to support a child. You know that most civilized countries provide paid time off work to raise a child, but we aren't in Europe. Hell, we aren't even in Saudi Arabia. We live in the USA, and that means we'll have very little in the way of support. Don't get me wrong, I've banked up some funding over the years, but even working as doctors, well, more than two-thirds of someone's salary would have to go for childcare, and that doesn't even touch food, clothing, and all the other expenses. That old adage about keeping the woman at home, barefoot and pregnant? There’s no exception for equines.”

Though her tone was sad and a bit wistful, Mary was actually smiling.

“I'm glad to hear you have your head on straight. You're quite right; for any normal person, taking on a child while in school would be insanity, but I may have an offer you'd be interested in.”

“What would that be? And why would anyone else care when and if David and I adopt?”

Mary’s smile had grown larger,
“I know it’s easy to forget sometimes, but you are unique, Scootaloo. The medical staff have been working on this for a while now, and we wanted to offer you the chance to have children of your own.”

Scootaloo wasn't stupid, but this had her stumped. 
“Mary, what are you talking about? As you said, I'm unique, and I certainly can't interbreed with humans, though” She added with a smirk “that doesn't stop David and I from trying.”     

Mary returned her smile. “Not what I meant. What I am asking is: how would you feel about giving birth to clones?”

That got a raised eyebrow. 
“Clones? Like Dolly the sheep?”

“You got it. Farmers have been cloning valuable animals for years now, and the techniques are safe and well established. If you went ahead with this, we would do the egg harvesting and implantation during your monthly gynecological visit, and you would become pregnant with between one and three foals, genetically identical to you.”

“That's a weird thought... So I'd be giving birth to myself?” She shook her head and set down the last blood sample, pausing to pull out the needle. 

“Well, I suppose so... But you know as well as I do that genes don't count for everything. I know the idea is strange, but consider the alternative; no one lives forever, and you are the only one of your species. It's been more than a decade now with no sign of anypony coming out to look for you. When you die, it won't be just another funeral. You’re a beacon of hope for a lot of people. The biological secrets you hold in your body will no doubt continue to puzzle scientists for decades, but beyond all that, this world would be a lot poorer without you in it.”

Scootaloo thought about this as she held pressure on the needle stick site. “It's sweet of you to say that Mary, but David and I are in no place to raise a ki-” She stopped and corrected herself. “To raise a foal. We don't have the money, the job stability, and I very much doubt the school would have much sympathy, let alone reduce the course-load.” 

Mary couldn't help but smile. “Scootaloo, you are adorable sometimes. Everything you said is perfectly true, but you are forgetting one important fact: You're not just another monkey like the rest of us. If you and David decide you want to do this, we are offering the whole deal. We will cover all the medical bills for you and your children for life. We will provide round the clock childcare, nannies, the works – one of the nurses described it as the honeymoon child arrangement because the hospital will take care of everything you or they ever needed.” 

“In exchange for the same monthly exams that I go though, right?” Scootaloo added.

“Exactly, that's how this would be financed. But would you really say all the medical work has been so bad?”

“Well... No, it's not really a big deal anymore...”

Mary paused and held Scootaloo's hand. “I know it’s not quite what you had in mind, but give it some thought okay? I, for one, would love to meet any children of yours.”


…



“They offered you what?!” David asked, his fork stopped halfway to his mouth.

“Well... us actually. They offered to help us have... a foal of our own.” 

Scootaloo slid her chair up against his and put a hand on his leg. “I know it’s a strange idea, but they would cover all the costs. We could really have a child of our own!”

David seemed to be struggling with the concept. “So these... clones of you... You would carry them to term?”

“That's the idea. Mary said they could probably find a foster animal to carry the children if I wanted, but that that would complicate things, and put our foals at unnecessary risk...”

“Our foals...” He seemed to be mulling the idea over.

“I know it’s a big decision, but... I need your help on this. I'm not doing this without you, and... I'm a little scared.” She confessed, as she looked at her hooves. “We always planned on kids, but they were going to be human kids, and it was always some distant point in the future. Now all of a sudden...”

He finally seemed to snap out of it as he recognized her fear. “Hey, hey. Come here, you.” He hugged her close and she buried her head in his shoulder. “Of course I've had dreams of raising a family with you, but if this makes you uncomfortable then we can simply tell them we're not ready yet. I love you Scoot, and I don't want you to feel like you have to do this for me, or anyone else.”

She hugged him tighter. “I love you too, David.”



---- David gets to stay…



After he broke the news to her, Scootaloo actually flew up and tackled him in a kiss that knocked them both to the floor. 

“That's great news! So you not only got accepted for your residency, but at the school hospital!? This means we don't have to split up and go long distance!”

She snogged him in a most unladylike manner which he returned in kind. After some time he pulled away. 

“Uh...” He wheezed. “Little help?”

Even though David had taken up recreational weight lifting some time ago, a 300 lb pony laying on your chest will make breathing tough for anyone. 

“Oh! Sorry.” She rolled off and they both stood up again, he taking her by the hand.

“Mind if we put dinner off for a bit?” He asked. “They had us working on some... well let's just say I really need a shower and leave it at that.”

Scootaloo nodded, and followed him to the shower as they kept talking.

“This is just such a relief. I'm lucky in that I could probably follow you wherever your residency took you, but it would have meant years of living apart...” As he pulled off his shirt she nuzzled up to him and hugged him from behind. “And I really don't want to let you go.”

He leaned down and kissed her softly. “And now you won't have to.” 

She gave him a squeeze before letting go and helping him off with his pants and shoes. He returned the favor, undoing the straps on her prosthetic and setting it on the stand beside the shower. He set the temperature and she crowded in after him, both of them enjoying the hot water soaking into their scalps and coats respectively.

“So, this brings up another tough question.”

Her prosthetic, sitting on the stand just outside the shower paused in mid scrub as she looked up. “What's that?”

“If we know that we get to stay together now, we have to ask; do we want children now?”

The scrubbing did not resume.

“I'm not asking for them now. I want to start a family with you, and this offer is more than I ever hoped for, but this is very much your body and your decision. I just want you to be happy.” He reached down and put a hand under her jaw, gently lifting her head to face him. His concerned expression became more pronounced as she pranced nervously and actually dropped the brush from her hand.

“David, please don't hate me but... I really want this!” She looked up at him with pleading eyes as his own confused expression softened into a smile. “I know it's crazy to even think about having kids before we can support them, but they're going to take care of all that. You know how hard it is to walk past the hospital daycare every day and see all those smiling faces?”

David's smile didn't falter. “I'm told the poop-larva stage can be challenging.”

“Oh, I know there will be the sleepless nights, the crying, the worrying when they get sick. My dads used to say that when you become a parent, you are effectively taking a legally binding contract that's blank and signing on the dotted line 'I agree to the following'. You’re taking responsibility for everything that follows without having any idea what that will be. Even so... I really want this.” She looked up at him as the water ran off them both. “Is that okay with you?”

He went to his knees on the hard porcelain and wrapped his arms around her, hugging her close, and outside the tub, her prosthetic wrapped around empty air as she tried to hug him back. “Of course Scoot. It's sooner than I expected, but I would love to hear the pitter-patter of little hooves throughout the apartment. I may not get to be a father biologically, but I would love to be a daddy to your children.”      

Scootaloo closed her eyes and nuzzled close to him as the warm shower continued, getting them both in the face now. “I love you David”

“I love you too Scoot.”


--------- First monthly checkup…

The implantation procedure had gone off without a hitch, and on their next monthly visit, Mary confirmed that two of the three embryos had taken and were growing. David held her hand as Mary delivered the news. 

“Congratulations, you're going to be a mother soon.” 

He hugged her close with that hopeful optimism of any new dad. “That's wonderful. Can you tell us anything else? How long it will be until they arrive for example?”

“Well, we really don't know what the average gestation is for ponies, at least of Scoot's species. Our best guess is slightly longer than the usual nine months, based just on her size and weight, though the twins may bring an end to the process sooner.”

Mary gave Scootaloo a questioning look and she smiled and nodded back, almost on the verge of tears from the look of it. “Scootaloo did make a request and we've kept it a secret until now, but... You're going to be a father too.”

David returned a blank stare. “What?”

Scootaloo gave his hand a squeeze. “I didn't want them to be just my daughters, I wanted them to be yours as well.” She sniffled a little and dabbed her eyes as she composed herself. “We used a few pieces of your DNA in the process. Not enough to make any noticeable changes, just a few token pieces, but enough that you can say they're your daughters too.”

“I'm going to be a dad too?” He replied, looking stunned.

“Yes, David, they'll be our daughters. Both of ours.”

Scootaloo watched as he actually wiped away a tear. “Thank you, Scoot! I love you so much.”

She hugged him back. “I love you too, David.”


------------ Another monthly checkup…

The experience of pregnancy can differ widely between one person and the next, but at least in Scootaloo's case, it was turning out to be something of an anticlimax. As the months had ticked by, she didn't suffer from morning sickness, what cravings she had were modest, and aside from the increased regimen of doctors’ visits and extra vitamins, life had proceeded more or less normally.

By now, she was at the eight month mark, but even so, it took a careful observer to see anything out of the ordinary in her body shape. When she asked about it, Mary had replied that she should count herself lucky.

“When I carried my children all those years ago, I was a mess. In humans, all the weight sits in front and boy does it do a number on your back.”

“But I feel fine... Should my back hurt?”

Mary smiled. “That's what I meant. In your body type, the weight of your child hangs down, just like the rest of your body, and your back is like an arch to which everything attaches. Quite frankly, it’s a better way to do things. You're two little foals already weigh more than twelve pounds together, but I can well believe you don't really notice it.”

Scootaloo smirked ruefully. “That may be, but I sure wish I only had the two nipples you do. I started dripping last month and I've had to wear clothing, every day for weeks now to conceal the absorbent padding down there.”

David and Mary both chuckled at that. “Well you better get used to it. We've worked up a formula we can use if we have to, but breast feeding is far and away the best way to feed them if you can. It helps them build up their immune systems early, and generally leads to better health.”

Scootaloo shook her head, saw David grinning at her, and punched him gently in the ribs. “Easy for you to say. You're done playing the part of the moo cow.”

“Oh, It’s not that bad. It does take some getting used to, but if you have trouble you can always use the pump we made you.”

“Oh yay.” Scootaloo deadpanned. “An automatic milker, so I can be just like all the other cows in the barn.” 



...


------------- The Big Day… 

The last few months of her pregnancy were the most stressful for her and David because no one knew for sure when she was due. At home David doted over her, and while Scootaloo enjoyed the attention, she sometimes had to remind him she wasn't helpless.

It was strange working the ER and riding in the helicopter with clothing on. Not that she thought of herself as a nudist, rather the only clothing she wore to work had always had to pull its weight in storage or other tasks. Now with this incessant leakage, Scootaloo had no choice but to wear at least simple dresses to conceal the absorbent pads under her teats. 

It happened on a night like any other. The cramps had started up a few days ago, but they still weren't very bad, and Scootaloo wasn't sure if these were the beginnings of labor or just a case of nerves. The call had come in on a bad traffic accident involving multiple tractor trailers piling up in the fog. As the helicopter cleared the last peak before the highway, the cluster of flashing lights was barely visible ahead and below, but without clear visibility of the landing zone, there was no way to land the helicopter without the risk of making things much worse for those on the ground.

“I got this.” Scootaloo grinned as she pulled open the door and dove out into the cool moist air. She caught a brief glimpse of the helicopter's downdraft suddenly made visible by the fog before she was clear and gliding toward the crash site. She couldn't see much more than fog with her eyes, but the chip displayed synthetic terrain, and with its aid she could clearly see the ground stretched out before her. When she made it to within a few hundred feet, the infrared camera in her goggles was able to pick out details on the ground, and she circled twice, looking for a suitable flat spot amongst the debris. 

“There,” she muttered as the open section of pavement came into view. She flared her wings and landed, placing the GPS marker beacons on the four corners of a square and switching them on so they burned a bright blinding white. Back on the helicopter, the pilot could now see his landing zone highlighted on the synthetic terrain display, and with little difficulty, he put the helicopter down right in the middle. Once they were down, Scootaloo and the firefighters on scene rushed the injured patients to the helicopter and helped load everyone in. They were back in the air in less than four minutes.

As the floor leveled back out, and the helicopter got under way Scootaloo felt something wet running down her back legs. “What the hell?” The rest of the team continued to work on the patients as Scootaloo looked herself over, smiled, and returned to helping her team. Once they had the patients stabilized, one of her friends on the squad looked over and noticed her grinning.

“Hey, Doc, what's got you in such a good mood?”

“Oh, nothing big, I'm just going to be a mother soon.”

His eyes followed her gaze to the wet patch on her dress and the damp fur on her legs. “Holy crap! Your water just broke?! We've got to...”

Scootaloo couldn't help but laugh as she patted the suddenly sheepish paramedic on the back. “Yup. We need to get me to a hospital as fast as possible. By helicopter would probably be best.”

“Okay, okay...” He threw up his hands with a smile to hold off the ribbing. “Congratulations.” After a thought he flipped the com to 'all' position to address everyone on board. “Hey everybody, we're about to have a new mother on the flight with us!”

A moment of shocked silence passed and then the com was overwhelmed by congratulations and shouts of approval. The team chatted for a few minutes, reveling in the moment before the first serious contraction hit, nearly doubling Scootaloo over with its intensity. 

“Oookay! Uh, could someone please call ahead an-” She gritted her teeth as another contraction followed right on the heels of the first. The intensity was definitely stronger, and it was clear this was going to be an abrupt birth. She gasped for breath as her legs nearly gave out under her. “Call ahead and let them know they're about to have two crash victims and a pony in labor?” 

…

When they landed, the two crash victims were the first ones off the helicopter, but as soon as they were clear the rest of the staff helped their flight Doctor onto a third stretcher and rushed her into the delivery room where one of her doctors was waiting.

Knowing that this would be coming soon, the hospital had trained more than ten physicians in how to deliver ponies should this happen on their shift, and though some had grumbled, the trips to the farm with the veterinarians were a necessary part of training. For her part, Scootaloo had enjoyed helping the big animals give birth. She couldn't deny it was a messy, dirty, slippery affair, but the air of motherly devotion that followed as the two snuggled afterwards always seemed to make up for it.

'Of course, this time I'm the one trying to shove a couple of bowling balls out of my crotch... ah, motherhood. At least-' Her train of though was disrupted again as another contraction hit, making her groan. '-at least they can do a C-section if this doesn't work inside of the first hour or so.' She panted at the intensity of the workout her body was putting her though. 'I just really hope they're okay...'

...  

About an hour later David was at her side, holder her hand as she bit down on a rubber bit and screamed. The two of them had learned years ago that her jaws would destroy pencils, sticks, and just about anything else she bit down on, so as the date got nearer Scootaloo had raided their toy box and started carrying around the rubber bit piece out of one of the bit and bridle sets they had. Even so, the tire like rubber was beginning to show serious bite marks as she bore down yet again as another contraction hit.

“AAAHHHHHRRRGG!!”

“You got this Scoot. You got this.” David squeezed her hand firmly, glad they had taken the time to put a force limit on her prosthetic to keep her from breaking his hand during labor.

“Remind me again” Pant “why it was” Pant “that I wanted to cram a pony through my crotch?”

He kissed her cheek and turned to the doctor on staff. “How are we doing?”

“We're nearly there. Come on Ms Scott, one more push should see her out.”

“AAAAHHHAAAHHHRRGG!!”

There was a flurry of activity at the end of the bed, and Scootaloo tried to see what was going on, a look of pain and worry on her face even as beads of sweat ran down her neck.

There was silence for a moment, then the unmistakable high pitch cry of a newborn reached her ears and she smiled and hugged David as tears ran down her cheek. 

“Congratulations Ms. Scott, your daughter seems to be healthy pony of fourteen pounds.”

“Oh thank goodness! May I- AAAHHHHRRG!”

“Don't worry honey, the second one shouldn't be as bad as the first.”

…

After another few minutes she was able to give birth to a second healthy foal of fifteen pounds, and her doctors helped clean them off and wrap them in blankets. A few minutes later the afterbirth had been dealt with, and David wiped his wife's face and body with a cool washcloth as she held her foals.

“Oh David... They're beautiful!” 

David wrapped an arm around her and looked into the peacefully sleeping faces of the newborns cuddled in her arms. One of them squirmed just a little and gave a tiny yawn, and they held each other tighter as the foals slept.

…

The next morning, Scootaloo gradually woke to a strange tickling feeling on her belly that seemed to move around. Shaking her head she half opened her eyes and looked around the plain white hospital room, slowly remembering where she was and why she felt so sore. She tried groggily to get up in search of coffee only to be stopped by the straps around her hooves and midsection holding her to the bed. That did the trick, and she came fully awake before remembering. With a chuckle she reached out with her prosthetic and removed the simple Velcro bands that kept her from rolling over on her foals in the night, and with that done she looked down to see what that tickling feeling was.

Both her tiny foals were wearing matching pajamas with little diaper flaps, and though they had only been born early that morning, a glance at the clock showed it was almost noon now and they were hungry. The bed she was laying in had been purpose-built for the job, and was wide enough for her to lay on her side and nurse her foals without danger of falling off. Her prosthetic was strapped to a little cart that ran along one side so she could reach anything she needed to. Using her hands to pull the cart along, she brought her prosthetic into reach of her belly and tried to guide her little ones. 

The feeling of nursing was... strange, though not unpleasant. As one foal began suckling away, she helped her sister to find a teat and once she seemed happy, Scootaloo took a moment to relax and really look around. 

On the table beside her bed was a note that read. “Good morning, beautiful. I've gone to fetch you some breakfast from the kitchen and should be back in a moment. Love you!”

She sighed and laid back on the pillow, splaying out her lower body and feeling a little ridiculous for needing to do so. If nursing made some women feel a bit uncomfortable, she could certainly sympathize, given that she couldn't hold her children and nurse them at the same time without help. 

This line of thought was interrupted as David came back into the room bearing a tray of delicious greens, grains and breakfast fruits.

“Hey, you're awake.” He smiled as he set down the tray, leaned in and kissed her softly. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I just tried to use a pogo stick in a very inappropriate way.” She smiled at his blush and continued. “Aside from that, I feel okay, though I have to admit that this tickles more than I expected.” She finished, gesturing to the twins.

He laughed. “Well if that's the worst of it then I'm glad.” He pulled up a chair beside her and began feeding her bits of breakfast one bite at a time. “I know we talked about names, but have we decided on who's who?”

Scootaloo thought about it. “Well, they're twins. Are we even going to be able to tell them apart?”  

“Of course we can. Right after they were born the doctors put the chips in place, so we will always know who is who.”

Scootlaoo sighed. “It does seem a little weird to be putting chips into them when they're still so little.”

David smirked back at her. “Well some of us had certain very sensitive parts of our anatomy cut off with scissors at that age. The chips they have now hurt a lot less going in, and this way we can monitor them medically around the clock. When they get a little older this will let them use prosthetics, and of course, once they can talk they'll be able to reach us anywhere, anytime.”

Scootaloo smiled. “Yes, and I suppose they'll be computer wizards too.” She indicated first one baby filly and then the other, naming them. “Let's call her Sophie Belle and she can be Chaya Jayne.”

David concentrated, linked to the chips, and typed in their names. “Done. I already took care of the hospital records. They're official now.”

“I know, isn't it wonderful?” Scootaloo sighed again. “Thank you for feeding me breakfast. Could you set the plate down here on the bed so I can take over?” Her stomach growled at this and she blushed. “I'm really hungry.”