DISCLAIMER: My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic is property of Hasbro. Chickenman is property of Dick Orkin and the Chicago Radio Syndicate. No infringement is intended with this unauthorized, not-for-profit fanwork.
On a chilly autumn evening in Midland City, a figure shadowed in gloom, with stooped shoulders and tired gait, walked down the streets. One might be excused for thinking that there was nothing very remarkable about him. But this man, Benton Harbor, by weekday a mild-mannered shoe salesman for a major downtown department store, carries an important secret—one that has long meant the difference between a glorious future and certain disaster for Midland City.
For Benton Harbor, unbeknownst to the average citizen (but known all too well to the office of the police commissioner) is in reality none other than the fabulous white-winged weekend warrior, Chickenman!—the scourge of the unlawful, the prodigy of pugilism, sallying forth on his only two days off to strike terrific terror into the hearts of evildoers everywhere!
“Give my regards to Broadway...” he sang softly as he walked slowly home to patrol the streets and alleyways of the city (and incidentally to save money on bus fare). “Remember me to Herald Square...”
At long last, our lonely hero arrived without incident at his humble house at 1421-1/2 Wannamakapaka Lane. Now that he was home, the dreariness of this Friday night, the weariness of his workday, all vanished with his anticipation. Once again he was about to take up the mantle of his sacred commitment, once again could he armor himself under his heroic identity, once again this weekend would the challenging cry of Chickenman strike a certain degree of apprehension into the criminals of Midland City...
“Benton? Benton Harbor?” came a cheery, cultured and matronly voice from the living room. It was Mildred Harbor, Benton’s mother, who sometimes fought crime herself under the guise of the Maternal Marauder.
Benton sighed. “Yes, mother?”
“I made a broccoli and garlic casserole for you, Benton. It’s on the counter...”
“I’ll eat it later, mother. I have an urgent project waiting for me in the Chicken Cave.” He drew himself up to his full height and declaimed in heroic tones. “For in the continuing fight against crime and/or evil, I must remain ever vigilant—”
“You also need to keep up your strength, Benton. You aren’t a growing boy anymore...”
“Later, Mother. I promise I’ll eat it later. Loveyoubye.” Before she could reply, he fled to the safety and security of his bedroom. He opened his closet, lifted the trap door, and descended to his secret sanctum, the Chicken Cave. There, Benton Harbor swiftly shed his street clothes and donned his costume and utility belt, once again becoming the Fearless Feathered Fighter, Chickenman!
“Broccoli and garlic casserole—ugh!” he said with a shudder.
Glancing nervously around him, Chickenman stepped to a portrait hanging on the wall, and lifted it to reveal a secret compartment. He then brought forth a small combination box...
Chickenman swiftly and expertly stuffed his utility belt, and his face, with handfuls of chips and candy. He then strode confidently to his workbench. It was here that Chickenman labored in secret to produce the many crimefighting gadgets which were so useful in his eternal fight against the forces of e-vil, including the Chicken Missile Ejector, the Chicken Hurler, and the potent Geshtunkina Ray Gun.
And near the workbench this evening was a new device, a contraption that strangely resembled an old refrigerator...
“Boy, was I lucky to find this old refrigerator,” exposited Chickenman. “It’s a perfect housing for my experimental Chicken Costume Refeatherator. Now to test it! First, I open the Feather Hopper like this...”
Chickenman opened the ice box with a squeak.
“Then I load it up with chicken feathers like this...”
*shuffa shuffa shuffa*
“Then I step into it like this... Close the door, and press the button!”
“It’s working, it’s working!” exclaimed Chickenman as the machine neatly glued fresh feathers onto his costume.
But then—
“Benton-n!” called out Mildred from upstairs. “Your casserole has gotten cold! I’m warming it up for you...” And the lights flickered as the microwave started!
Benton pounded his fists on the doors of the Refeatherator. “Wait! Please, mother, no!”
The fusebox, into which Chickenman had jammed an enormous penny, exploded with showers of blue sparks, and arcs of dancing electricy covered the Chicken Costume Refeatherator, with our hapless hero trapped within, a tornado of feathers swirling about him!
“Mufffm mufffbrr mffummbbbfr!” shouted Chickenman, his mouth full of gluey feathers.
The glowing energy grew within the Refeatherator. The penny finally dropped. The house went dark as, in a huge zapping noise and a great flash of light, Chickenman vanished from our mortal world!
~~~~~
Moments later, with a fountain of white feathers, a strange sound like a rubber plunger, and a gut-wrenching odor of burnt garlic and broccoli, Chickenman reappeared right in the middle of one of the multiverse’s most powerful chaos magnets, Ponyville! It was in broad daylight, right in the middle of the town square during market day, and everywhere Chickenman looked, the square was packed full of colorful ponies going about their business.
Stunned, Chickenman spat out a mouthful of feathers. “Uh... is this kid’s day at the Rodeo...?”
The ponies of Ponyville looked at him and froze, then reacted with their legendary courage, serenity and restraint in the face of unusual occurrences.
“GRIFFON INVASION! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!”
Screaming and whinnying, they charged off in all directions, but mostly right over Chickenman, knocking him down and trampling him into the dust with a stampede of adorable little hooves.
Chickenman, bruised and dazed, with many a feather awry and horseshoe imprints on his face, groaned and sat up, trying to straighten the squashed beak of his costume. A shadow fell over his face, and he looked forward to find himself staring into a pair of large stern green eyes. The pony’s fur was orange and she wore the cutest Stetson hat that Chickenman had ever seen. It was Applejack, Ponyville’s most doughty and honest farmer.
“Now, just how did you get outta the coop?” she said.
“Buh-buh-buh-buh...” babbled Chickenman, utterly flabbergasted that a pony was talking to him.
“Don’tcha give me no back-cluck. How dare you just flap down outta nowhere and spook all these nice ponies? G’wan, back to the farm with you!”
She started towards him menacingly. Chickenman scrambled to his feet, still stammering, and tried to run. Applejack whipped out a lasso and deftly snagged him, quickly wrapped him in coils of rope, and slung him over her back, to the cheers of the surrounding ponies. She then trotted off out of town, with Chickenman’s round belly resting on her back and his head and feet bonking the ground lightly at regular intervals.
“Buh-buh-buh-buh-ow-buh-buh-buh-buh-ow-buh-buh-buh-buh-ow...” said Chickenman. He shook his head. “Excuse me, ow, could you not, ow, trot so hard?”
Applejack did not reply, but she slowed down. Chickenman was now able to hold his head clear of the ground.
“Thank you. Uhm... So... You can understand me?”
“Ayep,” said Applejack.
“And you can really talk?”
“I believe you heard me the first time,” said Applejack.
“Well. Uhm... You’ll have to pardon me, Ma’am, I’m not sure what to say. I’m not very used to talking livestock...”
Applejack bridled. “Y’know what? Neither am I. So shut your beak.”
“Well, Ma’am, I don’t really have a beak. This is actually a costume. For I am in fact the wonderful White-Winged Warrior known as... Chickenman!”
Applejack responded by trotting faster.
“Wait! But-but-but-but-ow!-but-but-but-but-ow!-but-but-but-but-ow!” said the Feathered Fighter.
Soon, Applejack arrived at her farm, Sweet Apple Acres. She went directly to the chicken coop, hoofed the door open, then stood Chickenman up on his feet. She yanked at the rope’s end with her teeth, and Chickenman whirled like a top, spinning right into the coop. Applejack then slammed and locked the door.
Chickenman landed on his rear on the floor, and strained to see in the near-darkness. Some light shone in through cracks in the wall boards, showing the glinting eyes of a flock of chickens, all surrounding Chickenman.
“Hmm,” said Chickenman, “These chickens can probably talk as well. Hello! I come in peace and mean you no harm! I am the Fabulous Feathered Fighter known as...”
The chickens formed a menacing ring around Chickenman, growing closer and closer. One pecked him sharply on the ankle.
“OW! Uhm, maybe I’ve still got a can of corn in my utilty belt...”
The sounds of clucking and pecking grew louder in the little chicken coop.
Wellllll...! Chickenman seems to have made a peculiar impression upon these strange talking ponies. Will they really try to treat him like a farm animal? What if they ride him too hard?
And another thing. If they want him to crow a song at sunrise, will "Cock-a-doodle" do?
DUMM-DUM-DUMMMM!
Be listening next time for another exciting episode in the life of the most fantastic crimefighter the world has ever known...
In our last very exciting episode, Chickenman found himself propelled by a strange accident into another world. There, he met some remarkable talking ponies, one of whom captured him and locked him up in a chicken coop, where he was surrounded by a flock of suspicious and territorial chickens...
“Here’s that can of corn from my utility belt,” muttered Chickenman as the chickens squawked and flapped around him. “Now where’s my Chicken Can Opener...? Ouch! Stop that!”
Meanwhile, pony Princess Twilight Sparkle, a purple winged unicorn, had received a message from her friend Applejack, on whose farm the Winged Warrior is now imprisoned. She is now flying through the air to assess the situation, soaring in the sky over the farm called Sweet Apple Acres...
“It’s hard to see through all the apple trees... Ah, there’s Applejack now, near the chicken coop!”
Without further delay, Twilight Sparkle sailed in for a perfect three-point landing (forehooves and chin.) Applejack gently helped her friend to all four feet.
“Good ta see ya, Twi! Your landin’s are gettin’ better every day! Anyway, looks like we got another human here, wearin’ a big stupid-lookin’ chicken costume. Said he’s some kinda warrior, and called himself Chickenman...”
Twilight shook the last bits of straw from her mane. “A warrior? Was anypony hurt? Did you have any trouble when you secured him?”
“No trouble to speak of. Everypony was runnin’ around like a buncha loons as usual, shoutin’ some nonsense about griffons. To cool things down some, I made on like he was just some chicken that escaped from my farm. Then I, uh, ‘secured’ him real quick and brought him right here.”
“That was quick thinking! Sounds like you did the right thing, AJ.”
Applejack grinned. “Thank you kindly! So what now? We gotta bring him to Canterlot or somethin’?”
Twilight gave a wry smile. “Not this time. I received a letter about it last month, actually. ‘Dear Twilight, should any more humans appear in Ponyville, you have our permission to deal with it without bothering us. Have fun! -Celly’”
Applejack shook her head. “Well... I reckon she’s entitled to make you do the grunt work. It’s like when we send Applebloom to muck out the pig sty; it builds character. What are you going to do, then?”
“Well, I’ll need to investigate the means by which he came here, then figure out the best way to send him home. Sometimes it’s a matter of waiting until the stars are in the right alignment, so at worst we should need to wait... oh, about a month...”
Applejack spat on the ground and stomped her hoof. “A month? Suppose he kicks up a fuss?”
Twilight frowned thoughtfully. “If he’s really troublesome, I could ask Princess Luna to speed things up a bit... But if he behaves himself reasonably well, I’d prefer not to bother her. I’ll start by applying for CDA funds to help pay to board him.” Twilight smiled slightly at the thought of filling out such a long and neatly categorized form. She had in fact designed most of it herself. “In the meantime, perhaps you could put him to work here for a while...?”
Applejack shook her head. “Y’know, Twi, I really got no use for unskilled labor right now; it’s skilled labor we need. And speakin’ frankly, from the look of him, he ain’t never done an honest day of hard work in his life. But hey, he’s dressed like a chicken, maybe he’s got a special talent for tendin’ ’em or somethin’...”
Applejack gently kicked open the door of the coop; the smell of straw and chicken emissions wafted out and made Twilight wrinkle her nose. In the gloomy furthest corner, a white hen-and-rooster pecked shape rocked slowly in the corner as the dominant birds asserted their territory with sharp darting beaks and claws. His feathers were patchy and scattered, his haunted eyes stared vacantly ahead. “No more...” he whispered hoarsely. “I have no more corn for you. Stop. I’m out of gummy worms too. Please stop...”
“...And we can scratch that idea,” said Applejack flatly.
“True. On the other hand, he doesn’t look dangerous. I think it’s safe to set him free.” Twilight, eyes shining with compassion, reached out with her magical levitation powers and scooped up the Winged Warrior, pulling him out into the daylight as chickens scattered frantically around him. He blinked in the bright sun, then uncurled and looked up.
Twilight smiled at him. “It’s okay, human. I know you must feel very disoriented, having been transported to anther world, but we’re going to try to get you home as fast as possible.”
Chickenman stood up, brushing away bits of straw and chicken muck. “Uh, thank you. So, where am I?”
“You’re in Equestria, a magical realm ruled by sapient ponies, and here’s a pamphlet that will answer almost all of the questions you’re about to ask.” Twilight levitated a small booklet into his hand. “If you think of something I haven’t covered here, you can use the survey form on the last page to submit a comment, but I think you’ll find that I’ve been comprehensive within a 95% confidence interval; we’ve had a great deal of experience in dealing with human visitors like you.
“I’ll just emphasize a few important points: Don’t try to ride anypony. Stay away from Fluttershy’s house—actually, just stay away from Fluttershy. Do not try to scratch strangers behind their ears. If you are offering anypony a treat, hold it on your upturned palm with your fingers held flat. The big dark creepy forest full of ravenous monsters is off limits, and I’m not sure why we even need to say that, but apparently we do. I think that covers it.”
Chickenman frowned as he leafed through the pamphlet. “So how did—”
“Page one, paragraph one.” said Twilight patiently.
Paper rustled as Chickenman flipped to that page.
“I see. But what about—”
“Page two, paragraph three.”
“And how do you always know what I’m—”
“Page one, paragraph four.”
“Oh. Well. This will take some getting used to... Maybe I'd better just sit down for a while and read this. And speaking of which... you know, it’s been a long day and... uhm...” Chickenman looked embarrassed and shifted his weight from leg to leg. “I think I need to, uhm, freshen up a bit.”
Twilight looked puzzled. “You want to polish a coin?”
“No, I think I need to see a man about a... horse...”
Applejack scowled. “And just what do you mean by that?”
“Err... Uhm... Restroom. Where’s the restroom—”
Twilight and Applejack glanced at each other, then back at Chickenman. “Page two, paragraph five,” they chorused.
Chickenman consulted his pamphlet, then looked warily at the nearest bush.
“Oh.”
Wellllll...! Our hero seems to be caught between a rock and a very public place! If Chickenman needs more explicit instructions, might he find them in paragraph... number one or number two?
DUMM-DUM-DUMMMM!
Be listening next time for another exciting episode in the life of the most fantastic crimefighter the world has ever known...
In our last very exciting episode, Chickenman was stranded in Equestria, a magic realm of talking ponies, and has learned that he may be stuck here away from home for over a month. The ponies are now working out what to do with him...
“Mr. Chickenman?” said Twilight Sparkle. “If you’re ready, there are a lot of things we have to do to get you settled in—you’ll find this in your pamphlet on page four if you want to read along. We’re taking you to the Mare’s office to get you registered and fill out some immigration forms, work availability forms, declaration of Celestial allegiance forms, potentially carnivorous alien registration forms...”
Twilight’s voice was growing dreamier as Chickenman’s eyes glazed over. Applejack finally gave her friend a nudge.
“Oh! Sorry, I was miles away. Anyway, then you go to the hospital for a general examination, including a full physical, blood extraction, and vaccination against a variety of thaumaturgic ailments to which you non-magical beings are subject...”
“Oh, brother,” muttered Chickenman dolefully. “You’re not gonna poke me with any needles, are you? I hate needles!”
Applejack squinted suspiciously. “Didn’t you say you were some kinda hero? A hero wouldn’t never mind gettin’ a shot or three... Or twelve.”
Chickenman chuckled nervously. “You’d think that, wouldn’t you? Actually, it’s a bit of a sticking point with me... heh.”
“Oh, I’m sure it won’t be so bad.” said Twilight with a high-pitched laugh. “Just a little pinch and it’s over with in a minute! Or so. But one way or the other, we have to take you back to Ponyville’s town hall. I suppose that everypony has calmed down by now... Uh oh. AJ, what’ll we do if Rarity sees him like this?”
Applejack shook her head. “Oh, that poor darlin’. She’ll have another one of them fashion emergency attacks, won’t she?”
“I’m afraid so.” Twilight sighed. “Uhm, Mr. Chickenman, I don’t suppose you could take off that outft for a while? We have a friend who’s very particular about clothes, and she’s been very overworked lately, and we’re afraid that if she sees you wearing that dirty and damaged chicken costume, she’ll have a conniption. An actual, literal frothing conniption.”
“Oh. Uhm, well, I don’t really have much on under my costume—”
“That’s quite all right. You can take it all off—public nudity is the custom here. As you can see, we’re all naked ourselves.”
“Uhm, wow, I didn’t—I mean, oh no, I couldn’t possibly—”
Applejack spat into the dirt. “Trust me, mister, ya ain’t got nothing under there that’ll interest anypony in the slightest.”
“Applejack! That’s not very nice.”
“Sorry, Twi, but it’s the truth. Som’a these humans get real strange ideas...”
“Be that as it may,” said Chickenman, striking a pose and declaiming dramatically, “I do not refuse solely on the grounds of modesty. This costume conceals my secret identity. In the relentless fight against crime and/or evil, the hero’s first line of defense is his secret identity, and his costume is a bulwark that protects his life, and the lives of his loved ones, against the vicious retaliation of the unscrupulous criminal element. I cannot in good conscience compromise this precious safeguard, for other lives than mine are at stake...”
Applejack sighed. “I reckon he ain’t gonna take off the doofus-suit, Twi.”
“I think you’re right. Let’s see... Oh! Could we hide him in that hay cart, AJ?”
“Don’t see why not. Okay, Mr. Chickenman, climb in that there cart and get under that hay, and remember to keep your head down until we give you the word.”
Chickenman fluttered uncomfortably. “Actually, I also have a hay allergy...”
Applejack stomped the ground hard, sending a fearful tremor through Chickenman’s frame. “C’mon, we ain’t got all day. Either get under that hay, or lose that costume until you get it fixed up!”
“Okay, okay, I’ll get in the hay. Geez...” muttered Chickenman.
Chickenman covered himself with hay, as Applejack slipped into the cart’s harness. The two ponies then set out for Ponyville, towing the Feathered Fighter behind them.
Inside the hay cart, Chickenman pulled his beak down over his nose and mouth, breathing slowly and muttering quietly to himself.
“Boy, I bet if that guy who dresses like a bat came here, they wouldn’t make him do all this unheroic stuff...”
There was a rustling in the hay around Chickenman’s face, and, one by one, three little filly faces poked through the straw to gaze at him.
“What the hay is that?” whispered Apple Bloom.
“It could be a molting Griffin,” hissed Sweetie Belle.
“Looks like a big old chicken to me,” said Scootaloo.
“I reckon you’d know,” sniggered Apple Bloom.
“Uh, have no fear, young pony children, you are all safe. I am the wonderful White Winged Warrior known as... Chickenman! I... ah... Achooo!” Chickenman sneezed loudly into his beak.
“I think he’s one of those humans,” said Sweetie Belle.
“Aw, shucks. Can’t get no human-related cutie mark, can ya?” said Apple Bloom.
“Maybe we just didn’t try enough times...”
“Scootaloo, remember what Miss Cheerilee said?” whispered Sweetie Belle. “The Princesses had to pass a big law in Canterlot, calling the humans a protected species. We were mentioned in it by name. We can’t try again.”
“Aww. Well, maybe the human can just help us look. Hey, Mr. Chicken? Wanna help us to find our cutie marks?”
“I am always ready—Achoo!—to assist the weak and downtrodden, no matter how small, for upholding virtue and protecting the innocent is my true job as a hero.”
“Does that mean yes or no?”
“...It’s a yes. So, find your cutie marks? Did you drop them somewhere in here?”
“Uh, not exactly. We’re tryin’ to get our marks in findin’ needles in haystacks. And we put a buncha needles in this here loada hay to practice, but we hain’t found a one yet...”
“Uh, needles, did you say...?”
~~~~~
Meanwhile, Twilight Sparkle and Applejack, along with the hay cart, have arrived in Ponyville center and are now in front of the Town Hall...
Twilight hovered over the cart, scanning the town circle in all directions.
“Coast all clear, Twi?” called up Applejack.
“No sign of Rarity. I think we’re safe to bring him in to the Mare’s office...”
Suddenly, from out of Town Hall trotted a white unicorn. “Oh, Applejack, Twilight!” she trilled. “What a surprise to see you here. How are you?”
Startled, Twilight dropped from the sky as Applejack jumped a foot in the air. They both assumed broad bright smiles.
“Oh! Uh, Hi, Rarity!”
“We’re, uhm, just peachy! How ’bout yerself?”
“I’m rather frustrated, to tell you the truth,” said Rarity, walking up to them. “Filing my earnings statement with the assessor’s office has taken the better part of an hour. And that’s right after I’ve spent a very trying morning with a client from Canterlot who had the most impossible demands for a debutante gown. There simply aren’t that many different shades of chartreuse...!”
“Eeee-YOWATCHOOOO!” cried Chickenman, leaping out of the hay and pulling a shining needle from his feathery posterior as he danced in pain. His reddened eyes were watery, his feathers were twisted awry and entwined with tufts of straw, and blobs of revolting goop dripped from his beak.
Rarity stared at him in horror, hooves rooted to the ground, left eye twitching.
“Oh my—It’s—You’re—My word—Worst possible—”
Applejack gave an uneasy smile. “Now, Rares, just take it easy, he’s just a human, he’s new here and don’t know no better...”
“AIIIIGGHHHH!” Rarity levitated a grimy burlap sack from the side of the cart, jammed it over Chickenman’s head, then fled screaming back to Carousel Boutique.
“Well...” said Applejack slowly. “...That went...”
“Uhm, surprisingly well, considering the circumstances.” said Twilight. “Mr. Chickenman, are you okay there in that sack?”
“Uh, it’s dark in here and there’s a lot of... haydust... uh... ACHOOO! ACHOOO! ACHOOO!”
The Crusaders leapt out of the straw and checked their fannies, then groaned with disappointment.
“Aw, we got nothing! This chicken guy didn’t help at all!”
“You don’t suppose that he got a cutie mark instead of us?”
“Well, with how deep that there needle sank inta his butt, he’s gotta have some kinda mark. Let’s have a look!”
The Crusaders took hold of Chickenman’s tattered suit and tugged at it, pulling it off his body with a horrible tearing noise and leaving Chickenman’s tulip-decorated boxers exposed to all of Ponyville as he struggled to remove the burlap sack from his head.
“Tulips?” said Applejack, unable to look away. “Tulips?”
In our last very exciting episode, Chickenman’s costume was ripped apart by the Cutie Mark Crusaders...
“Tulips!” said Applejack. “He had tulips painted on his underdrawers! I ain’t never seen the like, Twi! T’aint decent at all...”
And, forced to make a choice between wearing a hastily-improvised grass skirt, and removing his offensive boxer shorts to go completely naked, Chickenman bravely opted for the skirt...
“Geez Louise!” snuffled Chickenman, with a rustling of dried grass. “It’s a good thing they don’t have any coconuts.”
And now, the Winged Warrior, Princess Twilight Sparkle, and the redoubtable Applejack stand together in the center of Ponyville, after an afternoon of medical exams and paperwork...
“...So, look on the bright side, Mr. Chickenman!” said Twilight Sparkle brightly. “You only fainted an average of 1.66 times per injection or extraction!”
“Vampires,” moaned Chickenman. “You cute fuzzy little ponies are nothing but vampires. I’m never going to sit down in the same way again.”
“And all of the necessary paperwork has been completed and filed in triplicate, and you only got blood on thirty-seven percent of the forms!” continued Twilight.
“I think my hand is going to fall off,” groaned Chickenman. “Writing with a quill is for the birds. Haven’t you ponies ever heard of carbon paper?”
“So next we just need to complete an employability evaluation, check the job openings, and locate some appropriate housing...”
“Hey, Twi?,” said Applejack. “Hold on a second. Our guest here is about to topple over. I think he needs a good hearty meal before we continue.”
"A meal?” said Chickenman. “That sounds great! I’m starving!”
“No worries, pardner!” said Applejack. “If there's one thing we know how to do here in Ponyville, it’s how to feed ya. Now it ain’t quite dinnertime back at the Acres, but I know a great little restaurant just around the corner. Let’s go!”
Meanwhile, back on Earth, in the office of the Police Commissioner of Midland City, Honor Helfinger, the Commissioner’s secretary, was composing an interdepartmental memo and daydreaming of an early retirement on a distant island where fools feared to tread. The sharp tapping of her antiquated typewriter filled the room.
A door opened, and Commissioner Norton stepped out of his office. His white wavy hair was slightly askew, his thick round glasses magnified his beady eyes, and he blinked rapidly like an owl that had just emerged from its tree-trunk and was surprised to not find itself in Oz or Beanworld. He spoke boldly in his usual vague and quavery manner.
“Eh, Ms. Helfinger, have you noticed a certain aura of peace, a kind of felicity, settling over the city?”
Ms. Helfinger paused to consider. “I’d say that things have been pretty quiet around here today.”
“I notice that we haven’t heard from the Feathered Fighter recently...”
“Oh no...” said Ms. Helfinger, rubbing her forehead. “You just had to go and say that, didn’t you...”
A long uncomfortable silence fell over the room.
Ms. Helfinger blinked. “...I was so sure he was going to walk through the door when you said that.”
“Ms. Helfinger,” declaimed the Commissioner, “I don’t know who he is, but I do know this: the rhyme has gotten a little less crampant without his vigilant presence. I fear that something has happened to the Winged Warrior.”
“Do you want to organize a party?”
“Eh, I think that celebrating his disappearance is just a bit much...”
“I meant a search party, Commissioner...”
“Oh, right. Quite right. A search party, to start tonight. But say, perhaps we can have a real party in the meantime, just a little one, nothing too disrespectful. We can have streamers and little sparkly hats...”
Just then, the phone rang.
“Hello, Police Commissioner's office,” said Ms. Helfinger.
“Why hello, Honor, how are you today? This is Mildred Harbor.”
“...and a banner that reads Welcome Home, Winged Warrior, in the Event That We Find You After We’re Done Attending the Regular Party and Start with the Search Party...”
“Hello, Mildred. This is about your son, isn't it?”
“Why, yes. I’m afraid that Benton has gone missing. He went down into the Chicken Cave—you know, his little basement crime lab—yesterday evening...”
“Oh, really?” said Ms. Helfinger dryly.
“...and party favors and rattles and little cardboard horns with a small plastic piece that actually makes the noise, so you can tear off the cardboard part and hide the little plastic part in your mouth and really startle people...”
“...but when I warmed up my broccoli and garlic casserole for him, all the power in the house suddenly went out...”
“Do tell.”
“...and a couple of party games, like Spin the Tail and Ping the Donkey with a Bottle...”
“...so I went down into the Chicken Cave to reset the fusebox, and there was a heavy smell of ozone, and a large refrigerator covered with sticky feathers, but no sign at all of Benton!”
“You don’t say!”
“...and a big cake that’s really a bunch of little cupcakes jammed together under huge layers of frosting. Mmmm, I love frosting...”
“..I do say! You can understand that I am most dreadfully worried! I wish that you would send someone to help...!”
The Commissioner suddenly leaned over Ms. Helfinger's desk and seized the phone. “You need say no more, Mrs. Harbor! Ms. Helfinger and I have taken notice of your plight, and I can personally promise you that we will be there to help you as soon as possible!”
“Oh, that's wonderful, Commissioner Norton! I am most relieved. Please come as soon as you can! By-ie!” Mildred Harbor hung up.
The Commissioner set down the phone. “Let us prepare to leave immediately, Ms. Helfinger!”
Ms. Helfinger blinked. “Commissioner, you are the head of the Midland City Police, which has many professional officers skilled at search and rescue. Why don’t you send them to help?”
The Commissioner winked “Oh, but none of them are invited to the party! If we help Mrs. Harbor to set things up beforehand, perhaps we can get an extra few cupcakes! Let’s see, I think I have some party ribbons and glitter in my desk...” Commissioner Norton rushed back into his office and shut the door.
Ms. Helfinger removed her glasses and massaged the bridge of her nose. The remote island of rationality in her daydreams seemed farther away than ever.
Meanwhile, back in Equestria...
“So,” said Chickenman, “any ideas on what to do about my costume? I’ve still got the mask, but the rest of it just got shredded.” The fractured beak of his mask flopped sadly over his chin as he spoke.
Twilight mused. “Well, Rarity is right out—it’s not safe for her to see you anytime soon, and this isn’t her kind of fashion emergency; she’d just do the equivalent of calling it a natural disaster and sending in a Hazmat team. But I may have some ideas on where you could get a replacement costume. In the meantime, here we are!”
The restaurant was named Hayrick’s Equestrian Café. Applejack, Twilight and Chickenman sat at a sidewalk table, with Chickenman wriggling uncomfortably as the grass skirt tickled and scratched him in strange areas.
“Now, before we order anything,” said Twilight, “There are a few things we need to discuss—page three, paragraph one in your pamphlet if you want to read along. As you may have realized, we ponies are herbivores. We know that humans are mostly omnivores, though you may be a vegetarian or vegan—are you? If so, it will make some things easier...”
“Twi? Being a vegan ain’t never easier on anyone!” said Applejack
“No, I’m not vegan or vegetarian.” said Chickenman.
“I thought so. Well, you need to know that it’s hard for us to obtain ethically-sourced meat for you, but we can arrange for you to get some fish occasionally. You’ll need to cook it yourself, and we ask that you not eat it in public.”
“Cook for myself? Uhm... Oh. Ahhm...” Chickenman shifted nervously, which rustled the grass and made him shift and squirm even more.
“In the meantime, we understand that you can’t eat hay, but we have plenty of fruits and vegetables...”
“We sure do!” said Applejack proudly. “How ’bout some farm-fresh broccoli? It'll help ya to replenish all that blood you lost earlier!”
Chickenman gulped. “B-broccoli...?”
“Yep, the broccoli in these parts is powerful nice. It’s great when it’s raw—crisp and crunchy and juicy, but steamed is just fine too... All locally grown. The Brassi clan’re good ponies, real knowledgable and they do a right nice job. A family’a’them moved here from Bitaly years back and brung some of their Stirrupean cultivars... Cauliflower and Brussels sprouts, too...”
“But... No hot dogs, no hamburgers...?” muttered Chickenman in a forlorn tone.
“I particularly like Romanesco broccoli!” said Twilight. “It’s a natural example of a three dimensional fractal! Only an approximate fractal, because it doesn’t self-replicate down to infinity, but still impressive! Each plant grows in a logarithmic spiral, and the buds are logarithmic spirals as well, so...”
“...No chicken nuggets or microwave fish sticks...?”
“Well, Twi, I’m sorry but I gotta correct ya—t’aint the whole plant that’s got a stutter. The part which you’re callin’ the broccoli is one big flower bud...”
“Oh, my mistake, AJ. I yield to the expert.”
“Heh, I ain’t no expert on broccoli, just a fan, really... Uh, you okay there, Mr. Chickenman? You’re lookin’ a little green... Tell ya what—we’ll order ya up a nice slice’a broccoli casserole, with garlic! How’s that sound?”
Chickenman fell from his stool with a rustling *whump*.
“Oh no!” exclaimed Twilight. “Is he okay?!”
“He’ll be all right,” said Applejack, sniffing at his forehead. “Just faint with hunger, I reckon. Here, Twi, let’s just get him a glass a’ broccoli juice...”
Wellllll...! It looks as if Chickenman is going to have to eat his broccoli one way or the other!
And another thing. If the Commissioner insists on keeping that plastic horn piece in his mouth while eating cupcakes, and he swallows it, will he have to go to the hospital... tout suite?
DUMM-DUM-DUMMMM!
Be listening next time for another exciting episode in the life of the most fantastic crimefighter the world has ever known...
