> Filly Cheesesteaks
>  by AlwaysDressesInStyle
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> Filly Cheesesteaks
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Until recently, I’d always led a fairly boring life – my only exception to mundanity was my choice of cars.  Years ago a coworker had discovered what kind of car I owned and her immediate reaction was, ‘You have a Mustang?  I would’ve figured you for a Volvo guy.’

At the time it was the worst insult ever hurled my way.  Ironically, I would later buy a Volvo station wagon to serve as my daily driver, relegating the Mustang to garage queen status.  But she was right in one way: I’d never been the stereotypical Mustang owner.

My life only started to get exciting after ponies opened up a car wash a few towns over.  The equines also liked Mustangs, and we bonded over that.  The fact that no one had ever washed my car as well as they did kept me coming back.

That's why I found myself parked outside their car wash at 8PM on a Friday evening. Another thing I never would have believed just a few months ago, I’d been roped into foalsitting.  As the youngest in my family, I'd never babysat anyone before.

It had started innocently enough.  Toola Roola was telling me how her friend Coconut Cream had moved to the Philadelphia suburbs, and wouldn’t be working at the car wash anymore.  Selfishly, I hated to see them lose any of their team just because of how good a job they did.  And maybe, just maybe, because they’d wormed their way into my heart when I wasn’t paying attention and I considered them all friends.  Not that I’d ever admit that out loud.

Mistake number one was explaining Philadelphia wasn’t far away – less than two hours by car.  Of course fillies like her are too young to drive, and her parents had yet to get driver’s licenses.  But she looked at my car and grinned.  “You could take me, right?”

Mistake number two was looking into those big blue eyes and seeing the little tears welling up in the corners the longer I hesitated.  I didn’t have it in me to break this kid’s heart, but at the same time, I didn’t really want to spend a Saturday foalsitting some filly I barely knew.

“I suppose if your parents were okay with it.”  An easy letdown.  I didn’t have to do anything; her parents would obviously be rational and put their hooves down.  Macho façade aside, I knew deep down in my heart of hearts that if she pressed the issue my resolve would crumple faster than a Ford Focus at a monster truck rally.

Or they could call my bluff.

Much to my surprise, her parents were okay with it, despite the fact they’d never even met me until they dropped Toola off at the car wash and instructed her to be on her best behavior.  Ponies were way more trusting than humans.  That, or her parents were really desperate for some peace and quiet.  Worse, they’d arranged for Toola to have a sleepover with Coconut Cream, so I’d be stuck going for the whole weekend instead of just one day.  Me and my big mouth.  They didn’t even offer to pay for a hotel room.

How do I get myself out of this?  My normal excuse for refusing passengers was the tight confines of the rear seat.  Why Mustangs came equipped with them is a mystery, as no human over the age of seven could possibly be comfortable back there, and few parents would bother to expend the effort needed to cram a car seat in the back of a coupe.  But ponies weren’t humans, and even adult mares fit in the backseat effortlessly.  Restraining them, on the other hand…

Once Toola had hopped into the rear seat, I fussed with the safety belt for a minute.  “I don’t know if this is going to work: I can’t safely secure her in the car.  Seat belts weren’t designed with ponies in mind.  Do you guys have a car seat or something?”

Toola’s dad shook his head.  Her mom offered some pillows.  I looked in the backseat and saw the fleece blanket I kept there in case of emergencies.  Really, the only reason I’d bought it in the first place was because it was the same color blue as my car.  It’d never even been used.  Between the pillows, the blanket, and reclining the front passenger seat, I’d constructed a little nest in the back that would keep her from sliding around, also inadvertently thwarting my own plans to get out of this trip.  With Toola Roola safely secured, we bid adieu to her parents and set off on what was sure to be the least epic road trip of all time.

Once we were out on the highway, I gunned the motor, and my Mustang accelerated accordingly.  The resulting squeal of delight from the backseat proved that foals were no different than human children.  Regardless of species, kids enjoyed things that were big, fast, and loud.  My Mustang was certainly never going to dwarf a Hummer, but to a young filly, it was big enough.  The V8 ticked the other two boxes. 

Within minutes of talking to a pony for the first time, I’d been able to ascertain that being musical was part of their genetic makeup.  Most ponies liked happy, upbeat songs, and I’d discovered that many ‘80s songs fit the bill for them nicely.  Though the longer I’d known them, the more Equestrian music had crept onto my iPod’s playlist.  I might not have understood the words, but I liked the beats.

It hadn’t taken long to recognize Toola Roola’s creativity, even if she preferred to express herself through art instead of music.  But Tom’s Diner by Suzanne Vega caught her attention as soon as she heard it playing.  An earworm, she had me pull into a rest area so I could put it on repeat.  She had the song more-or-less memorized by the third play through, though I noticed she’d substituted some of her own lyrics.

“Are you sure that’s what she’s singing?”

“It’s not.  But I didn’t like the part about the actor dying, so I made up something else.  Do you think we could visit Tom’s Diner?  I’d like to paint it!”

“I can take you to a diner, but I’m afraid that we won’t be anywhere near New York City, so I can’t take you to Tom’s.”

She nodded enthusiastically.  “That’ll work.”

Thankfully, diners used to be very common in this region, and even in an era of cookie-cutter fast food drive-thrus on every corner, there were still some that had escaped demolition.  The one that immediately jumped to mind was the Downingtown Diner.  One of the most famous diners to ever exist, it had been the setting of the climactic scene of The Blob.  The original one, not the ‘80s remake.  I decided against mentioning that trivia fact to Toola any time soon.  I didn’t know how ponies felt about horror movies, and I’d rather not find out in the middle of a road trip.

I pulled into the parking lot of the Downingtown Diner and parked.  Toola had long since been lulled to sleep by the rumbling of the V8, and was sprawled out on the backseat.  I moved the passenger seat forward, but Toola looked so comfortable in the little nest I’d made for her that I hated to wake her up.  At the same time, I couldn’t resist giving her an ear scritch.  There were worse ways to wake up.

She leaned into my hand and made a nickering sound that was the pony equivalent of a cat purring.  “Five more minutes.”

“We’re here.  You wanted to see a traditional American diner, and here we are.”

Her eyes flew open as she took in the stainless steel siding and neon lights.  “Ooooh.  We don’t have anything like this back in Equestria.”

I helped her unbundle from her snuggly confines.  “You hungry?”

“Not really.”

“How about we just get dessert then?”

“Okay!”  Regardless of species, kids would always find room for dessert.  I held the door open for her and she pranced inside.

The waitress seated us in a booth and Toola wasted no time retrieving her sketchbook from her saddlebags.  She started sketching the interior of the diner as we waited for our food.  I watched her move the pencil with her mouth, and was impressed with her skill.  I wasn’t surprised, since a paintbrush adorned her flank, but I never realized she used her mouth to create her masterpieces.  I just sat there quietly, awed as I watched the young artist at work.

My slice of cheesecake didn’t last long, but Toola barely touched her ice cream.  Every once in a while, she’d look up and take a lick or two, then go right back to her drawing.  I’d never seen a child neglect ice cream before, but I was bearing witness to an inspired artist in the zone.  She kept humming Tom’s Diner to herself as she worked, and I could see her mouthing the lyrics around her pencil.

The first thing that appeared on the paper was the counter.  That was followed by the barstools and the doors to the kitchen.  The back wall was next, complete with windows that revealed a parking lot.  I recognized my Mustang, even if she couldn’t see the parking lot through that window.  First of all, it was dark, and secondly, my car was parked behind her.  I would’ve expected her to put some sort of natural backdrop there instead, maybe a tree and some bushes with a mountain range far off in the distance, but I certainly had no intention of arguing with her about including my car in the sketch.

Next came the floor and ceiling, followed by the near wall, and eventually the booth we were sitting in.  Her tongue poked out of the corner of her mouth as she started filling in the details.  The first addition was a mare waiting at the counter, with a newspaper and a half-filled cup of coffee.  A unicorn then appeared behind the counter, coffeepot floating alongside him in a magical aura.  But he wasn’t paying his customer any mind, and instead was looking at the diner’s door.  More specifically, his attention was focused on what was drawn next; a mare shaking herself off like a dog.  The rest was mostly superficial, adding some rain to set the mood, and a cathedral in the background, across the street from the parking lot.  The bells were blurred to imply motion and unheard ringing.

She flipped it around for me to examine.  “What do you think?”

Our waitress spoke up before I could respond.  “I think it’s incredible!”

I nodded.  “I knew your special talent is art, but I’ve never seen any of your work until now.  Color me impressed.”

She blushed.  “As soon as I get home I’m putting this on canvas and painting it.”  She turned her attention to her melted ice cream.  Her ears fell at the sight of the neglected dessert.  “I guess I kinda forgot about that.”

“No problem, hon.  Free refill.  On the house.”  The waitress took the dishes and returned with a fresh bowl of ice cream for Toola, and surprisingly one for me as well.  “Don’t want you to have sit and watch her eat, ya know.”

“Thank you.”

“No, thank you, hon.  This little filly’s right special.  You all come back again, ya hear?  If the owner don’t buy her painting, I will.  And you bet your bottom dollar I’ll hang it up right there by the door.”

Toola’s blush intensified.  “It’s not even done yet.  I mean, I don’t even know if it’ll turn out good.”

“It will,” our waitress and I chorused in unison.

Toola smiled and licked whipped cream off her snout.  As soon as our waitress went back to the kitchen Toola whispered, “That’s the first painting I’ve ever sold!”

“First of many, I’d imagine.”  I paid for our desserts and left our waitress a generous tip, then helped Toola back into her snuggly little nest, and then we left the vintage slice of Americana behind as we got back on the highway.  This unexpected detour had cost us more time than I’d anticipated, but it was worth it.  The writing was on the wall – Toola wouldn’t be working at the car wash much longer, even if she didn’t know it yet.  “Any reason you chose to draw ponies instead of humans?”

“I’m not too good with humans yet.  You bend in all kinds of weird places.  And don’t even get me started on hands and fingers.”

“It’ll come to you.  You just need practice.”

“I need models.”

“And practice.”

“I need models to practice.  Say, when we get back…”

“Nope.”

“Why not?”

“There are people who like having their picture taken.  I’m not one of them.  That’s why I usually keep a camera on me – so people ask me to take photos instead of being in them.  No one’s ever asked me to sit for a portrait, but I’m not interested in doing that either.”

Her silence indicated she was pouting.  It was significantly less effective with my attention on the road in front of me, and not on her quivering lip and teary blue eyes.  “On your next day off, go to a park and start sketching the people you see.”

“But…”

“No buts, little missy, or I’ll turn this car around and you can explain to your parents why you didn’t get to visit Coconut Cream this weekend.”  It was an idle threat; since we’d met up at the car wash I had no idea where they lived.  But she didn’t need to know that.

“Fine.”  She probably stuck her tongue out at me, but I didn’t bother turning around to check.

We drove on in silence, at first because she was mad at me, but eventually because it was late and she was young; the sound of the tires on the pavement once again lulled her to sleep.  Or possibly Karen Carpenter’s rich contralto voice belting out Superstar.

Half an hour later we arrived at our destination, confirmed by the name “Cream” prominently featured on the mailbox.  I knocked on the door, introduced myself, and explained Toola was asleep.  I returned to the car and hoisted the sleeping filly into my arms.  Thankfully, she’d cocooned herself in one of the blankets, making it surprisingly easy to carry her.  The Creams indicated I should put her in their daughter’s bed, and it was adorable to see the two fillies snuggled up together.  Every time I thought ponies couldn’t get any cuter, I was proven wrong, and I’d long since come to terms with the fact that I was okay with this.

I brought in Toola’s saddlebags and turned around to leave, only to find my way blocked by Mr. Cream.  “Where do you think you’re going?”

“To get a hotel for the night.  What time do you want me back tomorrow?”

“‘Hotel’ he says.”  The bulky earth pony stallion in front of me chuckled.  His coat was pale yellow, and if not for the trio of cupcakes decorating his flank, he would’ve been intimidating.  Thankfully, you could learn a lot about a pony by looking at their butt.  In his case, I could surmise he was a baker.  “You’re also our guest.  I’m Butter Cream, and this is my wife, Whipped Cream.”  I checked the blue mare’s flank, and sure enough there was a can of whipped cream there.

“Thank you.”  I followed the couple to the guest bedroom, then made myself comfortable.  I appreciated them saving me a few hundred dollars on a hotel room for two nights.  Now it made sense as to why Toola’s parents hadn’t offered to comp me for a room.





I awoke the next morning to two rambunctious fillies racing through the house and squealing in delight.  I opened my eyes to see what unholy hour of the morning it was, only to groggily realize that there was no clock where I was looking because this wasn’t my bedroom.  My brain sluggishly processed that information, as the last vestiges of whatever dream I was having faded away to nothing.  

I tried to roll over and fall back asleep, but my efforts were for naught.  The giggling and hoofbeats of the two young ponies echoed through the house and I finally conceded defeat and got ready for the day.  I trudged down to the dining room to find Mr. and Mrs. Cream waiting for me.  “What would you like for breakfast?”

“A cup of tea would be great.”  I rarely ate breakfast, though I didn’t want to explain that to my hosts.  “And judging from your cutie marks, I’m guessing the two of you have a bakery of some sort?”

“Someday,” Mr. Cream replied.  “But we always have a selection of baked goods on hoof.”

In the months I’d spent getting to know ponies, I’d learned that the fastest way for someone to ingratiate themselves to a pony was to show interest in their cutie mark, which wasn’t at all challenging when the mark was a delicious looking dessert.  I pointed to his flank.  “I don’t suppose you have one of those?”

“We don’t have any buttercream frosted cupcakes at the moment, but if that’s what you want, my wife and I will just have to do some baking this afternoon.”  He winked.  “It’s what we usually do on Saturdays even when we don’t have company.”

“In that case, I’ll just have whatever you recommend.”  A powdered sugar cream-filled doughnut appeared in front of me, and it was as fantastic as it was messy.  I licked my sugar-coated lips and sighed in contentment.  “That hit the spot.  Exquisite.  What’s on the agenda today?”

“You’ll be taking Coconut to work.  She starts at eleven and gets off at three.  After that, it’s up to you.  Just have the girls back by 9:00 tonight.”

I looked at the clock – it was already 9:30AM.  We had an hour before we needed to leave, so I decided to see what the fillies were up to.  I found them outside, chasing each other around the backyard.  I sat on the porch and watched them, vaguely remembering a time I had that much energy to burn off.

It wasn’t long before little hooves pulled on my arms and guided me out to the backyard.  “Play with us!”

“What’s the game?”

“Tag!”  Toola Roola tagged my leg.  “You’re it!”  I whirled on the filly, chasing after her.  It only took me three steps to catch her and tag her back.  I started running the other way while she whined.  “No fair!  You’ve got longer legs!”

I continued running around the backyard for a few more minutes until I found myself panting for breath.  “Tag!”  Toola had once more tagged me.

“No fair.  You have earth pony endurance.”  She giggled and galloped off.  I took two steps, then stopped, clutching my side.  Side stitches.  “Okay, I concede defeat.  You two win.”  I barely remained standing as the two fillies tackled my legs.  “Come on, it’s time to get ready for work, Cee-Cee.”

Coconut Cream gasped.  “How’d you know my nickname?”

Your parents and Toola have both used it in front of me.  “Lucky guess, since they’re your initials.”

“I only let my best friends call me that.”  She bit her lip.  “But you did bring Toola all the way here, and we used to chat all the time at the car wash.  So I guess you’re a bestie too!”  She hugged me, then dashed inside to clean up for work.

“You too, Toola.  Only clean ponies ride in my Mustang.”

“Awww, do I have to?  I just took a bath yesterday.”

“Yes, you have to.  You’re going to your friend’s place of employment.  You wouldn’t want your lack of hygiene to reflect poorly on her, would you?”

Toola grumbled, but she hopped up the porch steps and into the house.  I sat on the sofa, but I could hear the water running in the shower upstairs.  I looked around the living room, but could find no reading material other than a few baking periodicals.  My cooking skills were legendary – legendarily bad.  My local fire department took out a restraining order against me using my kitchen appliances.  Including the refrigerator…

My musing on past cooking disasters was interrupted by Whipped Cream hopping onto the couch next to me.  Even though there was plenty of room on the couch next to his wife, Butter Cream instead chose to sit on my other side.  I’d spent enough time around ponies to have a pretty good idea what they wanted.  Whipped Cream confirmed my suspicions a few seconds later.  “Would you mind scratching behind my ears?  Please?”  It’s a good thing people enjoyed scratching ponies behind the ears as much as ponies liked being scratched behind the ears.  I worked my fingers around the base of her ears, and she leaned into my side.

My other hand reached out to her husband, as I started scritching his ear too.  While he was far less vocal than his wife, I could tell he was also enjoying himself as his tail thumped against the couch.

Then the water stopped and Whipped Cream jumped off the couch.  “I need to help them get ready.  Thank you!”

My hand retreated from Butter Cream’s ears as soon as the clopping of little hooves came from the stairwell.  Toola Roola bounded over to me, her mane and tail still damp, but not dripping.  “All clean!  See?”  She twirled around to show that all the dirt had been scrubbed off.  Also, possibly, to spin dry.

Coconut Cream descended the stairs a minute later, dressed in a tutu.  I would have questioned that outfit, but we only had twenty minutes to get her to work.  “Where are we going?”

“Not far.  Normally I trot there, but I’d love a ride in your Mustang.  Toola tells me it’s fast.”

“It can be, but not in residential zones.”

I led the way to my car, and the two fillies snuggled into the nest I’d made in the backseat for Toola.  It was big enough for both of them, and we probably could’ve fit a third in with no problems.  Cee-Cee directed me through traffic, and we arrived with five minutes to spare.  A griffin let her in, but Toola and I had to wait outside in the line that had already formed for the restaurant’s opening.

It was then that I took note of the restaurant’s sign.  Filly Cheesesteaks.  The horse puns never stopped with ponies.  It’s a good thing I like puns.  It’s a better thing that I like cheesesteaks.  “Toola?”

“Yes?”

“I thought ponies were herbivores.”

She nodded.  “Yup!  But we don’t eat anything from the meat plants.  They’re poisonous to ponies, but humans and griffins can eat them.”

“Meat plants?”

She nodded.  “That’s what Mr. Cream said about Cee-Cee’s job.  She serves meat plants to the human and griffin customers, but they have pony-friendly options like carrotsteaks.”

The pieces clicked into place.  The Creams were shielding the fillies from the truth of where meat came from.  I’d just have to play along.

The doors opened and we were greeted by an older brown filly with teal hair.  “Howdy, partners, I’m Spur.  Follow me to your seat.  Coconut Cream has requested you be seated at the best table in the house.”  Her Western drawl perfectly matched her cowgirl outfit.

We followed her lead and found ourselves overlooking a giant playground.  A minute later an adorable bright pink pegasus filly with a vibrant rainbow mane and tail trotted up to our table.  For some reason she was wearing a schoolgirl outfit, though the skirt didn’t conceal her cutie mark.  She gave us menus, then whipped out a pencil and notepad that perfectly matched the ones on her flank.  “Hi!  I’m Rainbow Harmony!  Can I start you off with a drink?”

“Sweet tea, no ice.”

“Apple juice.”

Rainbow scribbled our order on her notepad and smiled at us.  “Coming right up!”

She wasn’t kidding about the ‘up’ part.  Thirty seconds later she swooped down and our drinks clinked on the table in front of us.  Then she was gone again in a rainbow blur.

“Wow!  I haven’t seen a pegasus that fast since Rainbow Dash back in Ponyville!”

While I couldn’t speak for the speed of Rainbow Dash, I could already see Rainbow Harmony would be getting a sizable tip if her service continued to be this good.  Toola, meanwhile, turned her attention to the playground below us.  “Look!  Cee-Cee’s down there!”  Toola waved to her friend, and Coconut waved back.  There were a few other fillies playing there, including our server.  How had Rainbow Harmony gotten down there so quickly?

As if reading my mind, the little pony banked and flew up to our table.  “Ready to order?”

I hadn’t even looked at the menu: I’d been too busy watching the ponies playing.  I shook my head.  “I think we’ll need a few more minutes.”

“Okie-dokie!”  She darted off to the table behind us, and the scene repeated itself.  At least I wasn’t the only one to be distracted by the cute antics of the little ponies.

I finally opened the menu to see what they had to offer.  The options were rather limited: there were cheesesteaks and carrotsteaks, and that was it.  However, the topping choices were nearly unlimited.  American, cheddar, Cheez-Whiz, mozzarella, provolone, or Swiss were the cheese selections, and I noted with appreciation that was double the options available at most restaurants that served cheesesteaks.  The next tier was condiments, and the volume of choices was staggering: A.1., honey mustard, hot sauce, ketchup, marinara, mayonnaise, mustard, ranch, and Sweet Baby Ray’s BBQ sauce.  Finally, the rest of the options were mostly vegetables: fried onions, green peppers, hot peppers, jalapenos, lettuce, mushrooms, onions (raw), pickles, sweet peppers, and tomatoes.  Underneath all of those were a series of toppings with an advisory: bacon*, pepperoni*, daffodils**, daisies**, and hay**.

*Not pony-friendly & only available on cheesesteaks
**Not human-friendly & only available on carrotsteaks

My brain was already putting together half a dozen different combinations that sounded good.  I just needed to narrow that down a bit.  Toola put down her menu and smiled.  “I know what I’m having.”

I reached a decision and snapped my menu shut.  “Me too.”

No sooner had my menu hit the table than Rainbow Harmony appeared.  “What can I get you?”

“Carrotsteak.  With fried onions, honey mustard, lettuce, daffodils, and sweet peppers.”

“Cheesesteak with BBQ sauce, fried onions, bacon, mayo, mozzarella, and cheddar.”

“Got it!”  She twirled around, and shot off towards the kitchen, skirt rippling in the sudden self-made breeze.

I once more turned my attention to the playground below us.  There was a blue filly wearing a dinosaur costume chasing after Coconut and a yellowish filly with orange hair that appeared to be wearing a Girl Scout uniform.  Flitting about over their heads were Spur, Rainbow Harmony, a gray filly with purple hair in a cheerleader outfit, and a tan filly wearing a tiara and a poodle skirt.  It was cuteness overload.

The cheerleader buzzed the tables overlooking the playground and stopped next to us.  “Your drinks are low.  What are you having?”

“Sweet tea, no ice, and apple juice.”

She dashed off and I briefly got a glimpse of her tornado cutie mark.  She returned with refills almost immediately.

“So you’re a cheerleader?” Toola asked.

She nodded, shyly.

“I was too back in Ponyville.  Can you do a cheer for us?”

“I don’t have my pom-poms, but okay!”  She hopped on her hind legs, using her wings for balance.  “C-A-N-T-E-R-LOT!  C-A-N-T-E-R-LOT!  Yes, we C-A-N!”  She hopped into the air and did a split.  “It’s better with pom-poms,” she admitted as she returned to all four hooves.

“It was good.  Thanks!”  Toola hoofbumped her.

She blushed, muttered her thanks, and glided back down to the playground.  There was a flash of light down there, and all the fillies galloped or flew toward it.  The first to reach the counter was the filly in the poodle skirt and she jabbed a hoof into the air in victory.  Then she grabbed the tray with her hooves and fluttered up towards the dining area.  She zipped around, eventually depositing the food in front of an elderly gentleman at a corner table.

Then the doors to the kitchen opened and the filly in the dinosaur costume trotted into the dining room balancing a tray with half a dozen steaks on her back.  “Roar!  I am the mighty Ceratosaurus nasicornis!”  She stopped at the table adjacent to ours and the customers grabbed their food from the tray.

“Hold up there, Ceratosaurus.”

The filly turned to look at me.

“Last I checked, Ceratosaurus was bipedal and had sharper, pointier teeth than you do.”

“You know dinosaurs!”  Her tail wagged, whipping the tail of her costume dangerously close to the other tables.

“Easy there, Seabiscuit.”

“Who’s Seabiscuit?  I’m Petunia Paleo!  I love dinosaurs.”  She half-turned, as if to show me her cutie mark, but then she realized she was wearing a costume that completely obscured it.  She growled in frustration.  “My cutie mark is a dinosaur skull and bones.  I found a dinosaur in my backyard in Ponyville.  We called it a Ponysaurus, but since I came to Earth I realized it was really a Ceratosaurus, so that’s my favorite dinosaur!  What’s yours?”

“Brontosaurus, which is once again considered a valid genus.”  I chuckled.  The herbivore likes a carnivore, and the omnivore likes a herbivore.

“Mmn, I love Bronto-burgers.”  She licked her lips, giggled, and bounded off.

Toola giggled.  “You made a new friend!”

“I did?”

Toola nodded.  “Petunia’s a good pony.  I went to school with her in Ponyville.”

Ponyville.  It’s almost always Ponyville.  “I have to ask.  Why have so many ponies from Ponyville ended up on this side of the portal?”

“Because that’s where the portal is on our side.  And Ponyville’s already a pretty diverse town from a species perspective, what with the School of Friendship being there and everything.  There are ponies, griffins, dragons, yaks, changelings, hippogriffs, zebras, cows, mules, and more.”

“Cows?  Cows are sapient in Equestria?”  Toola nodded.  Okay, then.  ‘Meat plants’ it is.  She’s never learning the truth behind where beef really comes from.

“Hi guys!”  Coconut Cream dropped our food off on the table.  “It’s super busy right now so I can’t stay and chat.  But!  I can do my pirouette!”  She twirled on one hoof, then trotted back towards the kitchen to get the next order.

I looked down at the cheesesteaks sitting in front of us.  My cheesesteak looked normal, well, as normal as a cheesesteak could look with the toppings I’d ordered.  Toola’s carrotsteak was a sight to behold.  Finely chopped carrots mixed with sautéed onions, smothered in honey mustard and topped with lettuce, peppers, and bright yellow daffodils that looked garden fresh.

We ate in silence, savoring our respective meals.  For not being a Philly native, the owner certainly made a fantastic cheesesteak.  Certainly near the top of the list as far as I was concerned.  Judging from Toola’s grin, hers was just as good.

Rainbow Harmony swooped down and deposited another round of fresh drinks for us.  With a gulp, I chugged the last of my old tea and switched the straw over to the new glass.  Toola sipped from her half-finished glass and started fidgeting.

“Bored?”

“I wanna go down there and play.”  She hadn’t even finished half of her carrotsteak.  Not surprising, considering how big the portions were.

“Employees only, kiddo.”

I’d noticed there seemed to be two main types of customer the restaurant catered to.  Those, like us, who wanted the full experience tended to hang out by the playground overlook.  Most of them had been in line with us waiting for the opening.  The others were seated along the wall, or standing off to the side waiting for takeout.  They wanted the food, and nothing more.  I couldn’t fault them for that – if I lived locally, it would quickly become one of my favorite places to eat, too.

It was one of the latter who caught my attention, and the attention of everyone else.  “I want that one, right there.”  He pointed to Petunia.

“Ze fillies are not for sale.”

“I want that one in my sandwich.  You know, like at a seafood place where you pick your lobster?  That’s the one I want.”

“My wait staff is not on ze menu.”

“Then I’ll sue you for false advertising.”

The griffin stood up to his full height to deal with the obnoxious customer.  With puffed out chest and flared wings, the angry griffin was intimidating, but this idiot refused to back down.  The man raised his arms to make himself look bigger.  Exercises in futility: trying to intimidate a griffin.  The griffin responded by opening and closing his beak a few times, the unspoken promise of pain should he not back down immediately.

There was a glint from the man’s waist as he moved into a fighting stance, and light played across a metallic surface.  I was too far away to discern if it was a cell phone or a knife.

Every eye in the place was on the two of them and I evaluated the situation.  A few customers were cautiously making their way to the door.  The griffin can probably handle him, but that glint could be a weapon.  I’m currently in charge of two kids, and I need to prioritize their safety.

“How many of the fillies in here do you know, Toola?”

“Most of them.”

“Get one of the pegasi over here, now.”

She whistled.  “Hey Zippoorwhill!”

The pony in the poodle skirt zipped over and I turned to her.  “Get Toola, and everypony else down to the playground.  The guy arguing with your boss is causing trouble.”  Most of the other customers were cowering or fleeing the longer the altercation wore on.  Every man for himself, apparently; no one else is even trying to help the little fillies.  I scooped up the terrified Petunia in my arms, while Zippoorwhill grabbed Toola and carried her down to the playground.  Petunia struggled in my grasp until I whispered, “Parasaurolophus walkeri.”

She immediately relaxed.  “You pronounced it right.”

“I’m getting you to safety.”

“Thank you.”  She nuzzled me.  “Does he really want to eat me?”

“No, of course not.”  I think.  I hope.  “I think it’s his idea of a really sick joke.  But you’re not laughing, and neither is your boss, so I figured maybe it’s time to intervene in the highly unlikely scenario he’s serious.”

“Out!” thundered the griffin.  Even in all the commotion, his voice was audible over the din.

I arrived at the overlook and calculated the distance: one story – twelve or so feet.  This is going to hurt, but it shouldn’t kill me unless I land on my head.  I clutched Petunia to my chest and jumped, aiming for the ball pit and bending my legs to cushion as much of the impact as possible.

Rather than the expected pain, I instead felt hooves bracing against me from below.  I opened my eyes to find Spur, Rainbow Harmony, Zippoorwhill, and the cheerleader all slowing our fall.  Toola, Coconut Cream, and the Girl Scout were watching our descent with wide eyes.  I untucked my legs, and found they were only a foot above the ground.  The ponies gently helped us land, and I set Petunia on the ground.  She reared up on her hind legs and wrapped her forelegs around me in a tight hug.

How do I keep them safe without scaring them?  Kids like playing games.  “Okay, time for a game of hide and seek.  I’m going to count to ten and I want all of you out of sight by the time I get there.  One… two…”  I looked around the playground once I hit ten.  No obvious little ponies sticking out, except for one very obvious prismatic tail sticking out from under the slide.  “I’m about to open my eyes.  I better not spy any rainbow-colored tails when I open them.”

Rainbow Harmony squeaked in surprise and tucked her tail into her chosen hiding place.  I could hear the other fillies shuffling as they checked their own tails.

Good.  How do I get back upstairs?  I saw the earth ponies down here earlier, so I know there’s a way to get back up there.  Aha: an elevator by the flashing light that indicated when orders were ready.

I quickly formulated a plan of action: clobber anyone who got off that elevator who wasn’t supposed to be down here.  I grabbed a metal serving tray and stood to the side of the elevator.  A few moments later the elevator hummed to life and I braced myself.  The doors opened and I swung.  I stopped before connecting when I saw the griffin standing there, and not the loudmouth.  I dropped the tray to the side.

He took one look at me and chuckled.  “It’ll take more than a serving tray to slow me down.”

“Yeah, but it would’ve knocked that moron out.  What happened?”

“Some of ze other customers called 911.  He bolted when ze police showed up.” 

“Did he get away?”

“One of ze police officers tackled him in ze parking lot.”  He stroked his handlebar mustache.  “I saw you jump down here.  Thank you for protecting my employees.  I am Gustave Le Grande, owner and operator of Filly Cheesesteaks.”

He was considerably larger than the fillies, but I had no point of reference for griffins.  Griffins were rarer on Earth than ponies, and he was the first I’d seen.  His most distinguishing – not to mention completely baffling – feature was a handlebar moustache any silent film-era villain would be proud of.  How did he grow a moustache on a beak?

“Panicking doesn’t solve problems.”  I introduced myself, then shouted, “All right, I give up.  You all win, I can’t find any of you.”  Eight fillies materialized out of thin air and galloped over to us.

“Ze loudmouthed man has chased away all our customers.  So, we are closed until second shift comes in.  You may all play until your shift is over.”  The fillies disappeared into the playground as quickly as they’d emerged from it.  He motioned to me.  “Come, we shall talk upstairs.”

We sat at the table Toola and I had been sitting at, and he tutted as he saw the cold remains of our respective lunches.  “I shall make you new sandwiches, on ze house.”  He tossed the old ones onto the table next to us, then grabbed us both drinks.  “You have brought Coconut Cream’s little friend here.  It was all she could talk about zis past week.”

I chuckled.  “I got roped into it by virtue of having a car.  But how do you turn down a happy little filly?”

“You don’t.  It is how zey have us wrapped around zeir little hooves.  Adorableness.”

I nodded.  “Sounds about right.  What’s the deal with their outfits?  I almost never see ponies wearing clothing.”

“It makes them look cuter; but is mostly because ze law says my waitresses must be clothed or zis is considered ‘adult club’.  Which is big problem considering ze age of most employees and customers.”

I shook my head.  Getting all the archaic laws changed to reflect the new normal was going to take decades.  “What other obstacles have you had to overcome?”

“So many stupid laws.”  He rolled his eyes.  “In Equestria, ponies often start working once zey acquire zeir mark.  Once pony knows her special talent, it behooves her to start working in field of interest.  Here on Earth, pointless law dictates when my employees can work, how often zey can work, or even if zey can work in first place.  All my employees have marks, zat is all zat matters in Equestria.  Here, I’m told no one under the age of seven may work.  Not problem, very few ponies that young have marks.  Law also says minors can’t work anywhere alcohol is served.  Again, not problem, because I don’t serve alcohol.  But ze paperwork?  Zat is nightmare.  Permits.  I have to sign.  Parents have to sign.  Get notarized.  Waste half ze day waiting in line.  Wait weeks for approval.  Can’t open without approval.  Grand opening delayed two months.  Have to hire lots of fillies because zey cannot work more zan four hours in a given day, and cannot work consecutive days.  Limited to twelve hours work per week, max, even if zey want to work more.  Even if zeir parents want zem to work more.  Fifteen-minute break required in the middle of shift.  Is why I built playground.  Ponies play full fifteen minutes and all customers get to watch.”

“That’s a lot of hoops to jump through.”

Gustave shrugged.  “Is worth it to live dream.”

“How’d you get mixed up with ponies?”

“Is long story.  I come from Griffinstone, a formerly great kingdom fallen on hard times.  Ze current Griffin Empire has capital in city of Merv, but ze historic capital was Griffinstone, a hard-won outpost on ze pony’s continent.  About a hundred years ago, ze leader of ze empire traded Griffinstone and surrounding area for ze Equestrian settlement of Prance on ze griffin’s home continent.  Ponies welcome ponies home with open hooves.  Griffins turn zeir back on fellow grifs.  Ponies hesitantly offer homeland to displaced grifs.  Ponies full of love, tolerance, and most of all, trust.  Griffins mostly full of themselves.”

“You seem all right.”

“I have lived amongst ponies for many years.  Fellow grifs consider me pony, think it is insult.  Is not.  Lately, things start to change for better.  Griffinstone is being restored to former glory.  Equestria and Griffin Empire working together instead of détente.  Is glorious to see.”

“Then why come here?”

“As I said, I have lived amongst ponies for many years.  To live amongst ponies is to become one, not in body, but in spirit.  Ponies are vegetarians.  Years of living in Equestria dulled my taste buds to ze savory sensation of meat.  I used to hunt for meat in my early days in Equestria – ponies love nature, and Equestria has plenty of forests teeming with delicious wildlife.  But zat is sadly illegal.  The Royal Guard who caught me didn’t turn me in, instead making me promise to never to do it again.”

“Why not move to the Griffin Empire?”

“Too pony for grifs.  Earth is, how you say, happy medium.”

I felt a sudden weight on my lap and looked down to find Petunia sitting there.  “Shouldn’t you be playing with your friends?”

“I wanted to thank you again.  And, uh… could you hold me?  Please?”

I scooped her up in my arms as Gustave chuckled.  “You see how it is.  Impossible to say ‘no’, is it not?”

I nodded as Petunia snuggled against me.

Gustave stood up and headed toward the kitchen.  “It’s almost time for second shift to come in.  I shall make you fresh sandwiches now.  You sit and continue being hero to little filly.”

I scratched her behind the ears and she melted into me.

“You saved my life.”

“Not really.  Anybody else would’ve done the same.”

“You mean like all the anybody elses who ran out of here?”

“Gustave wouldn’t have let anyone eat you,” I assured her.  “Though you really need to work on your fight or flight reflex.  Freezing up is a really poor survival trait.  You don’t want to end up like the dinosaurs.”

She nuzzled me.  “You were willing to hurt yourself to protect me.  That fall would’ve hurt.”

“Humans are built tough, kid.”

She poked me in the gut.  “You seem kinda squishy to me.”

I ignored that.  “Besides, your friends came to my rescue when we were falling.  They’re the real heroes.  You should be down there playing with them.”

“But I feel safe with you.”

So this is what it’s like to be a parent.  I changed the subject.  “So what’s the best place to see dinosaurs here in Philly?”

“Oh!  The Academy of Natural Sciences.  I go there every week!  You’ve gotta check that out!”

I nodded.  “Sounds good to me.”

Toola jumped onto the seat she’d been sitting on previously, and Coconut Cream delivered our cheesesteaks, then pulled up another chair and hopped onto it.  She’d delivered two extra sandwiches, and it quickly became apparent that one was for Petunia and the other was for her.

Petunia refused to leave my side, and insisted on eating her meal while sitting on my lap.  I was used to ponies being far more touchy-feely than humans, but this level of clinginess was new.  I put it down to her having had a rough day.  It wasn’t like she was ever in any real danger, as I’m sure Gustave could’ve torn that guy limb from limb if he’d wanted to.

The second shift fillies started arriving, but they paid us no heed and instead started playing with the remaining first shifters down in the playground.  Since it was challenging to eat my cheesesteak with Petunia balanced on my lap, I instead focused on the cute antics below us.  There were some repeat uniforms, with a schoolgirl, Filly Scout, and cheerleader all represented, but there was also a filly sporting a spandex gymnastics outfit, and another dressed up like a princess.

Petunia finished her carrotsteak and shifted herself back into my arms.  “I’d like to eat mine while it’s still warm.”

“Okay!”  Instead of hopping down from my arms, she broke off part of my sandwich and started feeding it to me.

“I’m capable of feeding myself.”

“But then you’d have to let go of me.”  She pouted at me, and so I let her continue.  Toola and Coconut were watching intently, no doubt taking notes on how to effectively manipulate people with adorableness.

Customers started streaming in, as the restaurant officially reopened.  “We should get going.  We’ve got the best seat in the house and we’ve been occupying it all day.”

Coconut Cream hopped off her seat.  “I’ll get us carryout boxes.”

While Cee-Cee was occupied, Petunia’s parents arrived to pick up their daughter, who refused to let go of me.  “Can I keep him?  Please?”

“What?” was echoed by her mother, father, and myself simultaneously.

“I’ll clean up after him and take care of him!”

“Petunia, sweetie, this isn’t like the cat that followed you home.  You can’t keep another sapient being as a pet.”

She pouted and still refused to let go of me.  I decided to trick her.  “Hey, weren’t you going to show me your cutie mark?”

“Oh!”  She hopped down and wiggled out of her dinosaur costume, displaying a dinosaur skull and bones on her flank.

“It’s very nice.”  I stood up so she couldn’t leap back into my arms.

Denied from her goal, she wrapped her little forelegs around my leg.  “You’ll come back, right?”

I looked from her, to Toola, and then to Coconut, who’d returned with cardboard boxes.  Three pairs of hopeful eyes looked back at me.  It’s not fair that they’ve weaponized cuteness.  “Yeah, I think that’s a safe bet.  This place makes the best cheesesteaks I’ve ever had.”

“Yay!”  The three fillies all pranced in circles around the rest of us.

I packed my cheesesteak in the box, wondering if it was even possible to eat a cheesesteak there while it was still hot.  No wonder so many people were taking their food to go…

Petunia hopped onto her father’s back and waved goodbye, cuddled against him as closely as possible.   Toola and Coconut, meanwhile, followed me back to my car.  As normal, I’d parked in the farthest corner of the parking lot, far away from any other cars.  Unlike most of my human passengers, the fillies didn’t complain about a little exercise.

We were in Philadelphia, home to several of the best art museums in America.  That would keep Toola’s attention, but I had no idea what Coconut Cream’s interests were.  It was probably a safe assumption that she was into baking since her cutie mark was that of her namesake pie.  I could try the natural history museum that Petunia had suggested, but there was a safer bet on what would please both of them.  “Who wants to go to a toy store?”

“Me!”

“I do!”

Since dedicated toy stores were just about extinct, I took them to the nearest Target.  Thankfully, both Filly Cheesesteaks and the Cream residence were in one of the outer suburbs, so finding big box retailers wasn’t an issue.  It was a pity I couldn’t introduce them to Toys "Я" Us – they were a few years too late.  They’d reopened one in New Jersey, but it was too far away to make it there and back in a reasonable amount of time.

We wandered up and down the aisles, and I herded them toward the My Little Pony toys, thinking that would hold the most appeal to them.  As usual with retail layouts, the expensive playsets were down at their eye level, so I had to hand the individual pony toys down to the fillies.  And of course they knew most of the ponies represented.  Rainbow Dash, Rarity, Potion Nova, Pinkie Pie… these were all toys of famous ponies they personally knew.  So of course they needed the whole set.  And of course, not split between them, they each needed the whole set.  It was still cheaper than trying to find parking in downtown Philly.

As we walked away from the pony aisle, my eyes fell upon the various card games and board games the store had on offer.  That would be a good way to wind down the evening.  Monopoly?  Sorry?  Life?  Cards Against Humanity?  Would I be that cruel and irresponsible to corrupt two sweet, adorable fillies?  I pulled a box off the shelf for a closer look.

“Whatcha got there?”

“Just a card game.”

Cards it is.  I took our selections to the counter, paid for them, and then from there, it wasn’t challenging to find a Rita’s Italian Ice.  I parked, and the two fillies twined around my feet, slipping between my legs like cats.  I made my way to the counter, carefully avoiding stepping on them.  I looked down, but I was suddenly alone.  My heart sank.  I looked around, wondering what had happened to the fillies.  They’d made a beeline back to my car and were cowering underneath it.

I wonder what spooked them?  I looked at the day’s featured flavors: apple, blue raspberry, cherry, cotton candy, juicy pear, mint chocolate chip, root beer, Sour Patch Kids, Swedish Fish, and unicorn.  Oh.  Of course, after the fiasco with Petunia back at the restaurant.  I returned to my car and grasped the two squirming fillies, one under each arm.  “It’s just a name.  It isn’t made from real unicorns, I promise.  They just call it that because it’s purple, sparkly, and popular with kids.”

I waited in line, the two fillies doing their best to wriggle free of my grasp.  Unfortunately for Toola and Coconut, they weren’t nearly as good at squirming as cats.  Thankfully, there was only one customer ahead of us.  “A quart of Swedish Fish please, and two samples of the same.”  She returned with my quart, and she gave the two fillies a spoonful each.

“Oh!  This is really good!”

“I told you.  Now, give them each a sample of the unicorn.”  I turned to my two temporary charges.  “It’s sugar and frozen water.  There are no unicorns in it, I promise.”

They each hesitantly took a lick, then devoured the rest of their spoonfuls.  They each decided to get apple, and seeing how popular it was with the two of them, I bought a quart for the Creams as a thank you for letting me stay with them.  I herded the two fillies back into the car, and loaded with toys and Italian ice, headed back to the Cream residence.

I opened the door, and the two fillies dashed into the house ahead of me.  I followed them at a more leisurely pace.  The only time I ‘dash’ anywhere is when there’s an ice cream truck involved.  I put the remainder of my Rita’s in the freezer, along with the quart I’d picked up for my hosts.

“How was work, sweetie?”

Coconut Cream was quick to explain everything that happened during her shift, with Toola interjecting at random parts of the story.  Way to give your parents heart attacks, kiddo.  The Creams looked at me, and I wasn’t sure if they were hoping to hear me confirm their daughter was telling the truth, or if they were desperate to hear she’d imagined it all.  I did my best to downplay the situation.  “The guy was probably kidding, but that’s not exactly the kind of thing you joke about.  Besides, have you met Gustave?  I bet he could‘ve handled that guy without breaking a sweat.”  With claws like his, he could’ve gutted that guy like a fish.  I tousled Coconut’s mane.  “It was exciting, but they were never really in danger.”  I could see the relief in their faces at that assurance.  I neglected to mention I’d been prepared to wallop the belligerent fool with a serving tray.

Of course, then the fillies got to the part where we went shopping, proudly showing off the toys of their local heroes to appreciative oohs and aahs from the Creams.  At that point, I brought out the quart of apple-flavored Italian ice and set it down between them.  “A little thank you for your hospitality.”

Not to be outdone, Coconut Cream’s parents presented me with a tray of baked goods, including cupcakes identical to the ones on Butter Cream’s flank, as promised.  “And this is a thank you for bringing Toola to visit Cee-Cee.”

I bit into one of the cupcakes and it was like nothing I’d ever tried before.  Whoa.  No wonder ponies are so sweet; they are what they eat.  As I savored the bite, I calculated it must have triple the sugar content of the human equivalent.  “This is incredible.”  I finished the first and reached for a second.

“You may want to stop at one.”  Butter Cream scraped at the floor with a hoof.  “Uh, our human friends have tended to have rather… adverse reactions to eating more than one.”

I waved a hand dismissively.  “Yeah, because most people can’t handle this much sugar.  I’m not most people.  My Mom’s a ‘dessert first, and often’ person, and my Grandpa counted calories at the end.  Specifically, he counted calories on his meals so he could indulge on sugary treats.  It’s going to take more than a couple of cupcakes to knock me down for the count.”  I licked my lips so as not to waste a single drop of that fantastic buttercream icing.

I opened the Target bag and broke out the cards I’d picked up.  As I started shuffling, I realized I’d forgotten they were all earth ponies.  Without fingers or magic, I wasn’t sure how well they’d do with holding cards.  I’d seen them use all manner of tools at the car wash, but cards were thin and sometimes challenging to pick up even with dexterous fingers.

I needn’t have worried.  They managed perfectly fine with their hooves.

“The name of the game is UNO.  The point is to shed all the cards in your hand – er, hooves.”  I read the rules provided in the box, and explained the most popular house rule about stacking draw cards to pass the penalty down the line.

Maybe it was beginner’s luck, or perhaps it was a case of ‘gang up on the human’, but either way I didn’t win even once.  Whipped Cream ended up the big winner, but at least there were cupcakes to console me in my loss.  Given the choice between ‘winning a game with no prize other than bragging rights’ and ‘cupcakes’, I’d take the latter every time.

As soon as we’d finished playing, Whipped Cream herded the two fillies to bed, while Butter Cream and I chatted about the local sports teams.  It turned out we had the same amount of interest in sports: almost none.  My sole exception was NASCAR, while his was buckball.  Then he shared some embarrassing stories about the girls and I chuckled at the mischief they’d gotten into over the years.  They assaulted a princess with ice cream, and they got away with it?  That’s awesome.

Once the girls were tucked in, Whipped Cream joined us.  Her husband quirked an eyebrow as she hopped onto my lap.  I cringed: adult ponies were substantially heavier than fillies.  “Uh?”

“Pet me.”

I started scratching her behind the ears.  I’m not used to ponies being this demanding.

“You don’t have kids, do you?”

I chuckled.  “Is it that obvious?”

“All the girls could talk about was how you bought them toys and sweets.”  She rolled over onto her back, exposing her soft belly, which I started rubbing.  “And you didn’t say ‘no’ to them even once.”

I shrugged.  “They didn’t ask for anything unreasonable.”

“What about me?  Don’t you think I’m being unreasonable?”  She butted her head into my fingers.  “Go ahead.  Be assertive.  Tell me to get off your lap.  Shove me on the floor.”

I blinked.  “I can’t do that.”

“I’m an earth pony, I can take it.”  There was a glint of mischief in her purple eyes.  “I’m not getting down until you tell me to get down.  If you can't tell me 'no' then you'll never be able to refuse a filly or a colt.  Once they realize it, they'll take advantage of you because what child is going to pass up a free source of toys and sweets?”

I looked to Butter Cream for assistance.  He smirked at me, and the expression on his face was clear as day: She’s your problem now.

Whipped Cream shifted positions yet again, sitting upright, perfectly redistributing all of her weight onto my left leg.  “You really need to work on your poker face.  I saw that grimace.  Do you like all that solid earth pony muscle sitting on your lap?  I suppose the better question is… do you think you’ll grow a backbone before or after your leg falls asleep?”

It was a battle of wills, but I had an ace up my sleeve.  Minty, one of the mares from the car wash, was clingy.  From what I’d gleaned from the others, she’d accidentally ruined Ponyville’s Hearth’s Warming celebration and been run out of town.  As a result, she liked being held because it made her feel valued by someone, something that was missing from her life since she’d left Equestria.  That was neither here nor there, but it meant I was used to supporting a full-grown earth pony mare on my lap.  I wrapped my arms around her, throwing her off balance and subtly distributing her weight over more surface area, relieving the pressure on my leg.  I leaned in closer to her, resting my head on her mane.  “So soft and cuddly.”  I yawned and slowed my breathing.  “Mmmm, pillow.”  I pretended to snore softly.

Butter Cream chuckled as I cuddled his wife.  Whipped Cream mumbled something I didn’t quite catch, but I heard her husband’s reply clear as day.  “You got yourself into this mess, you can get yourself out.”  Then he kissed her goodnight, whispered a few suggestions into my ear, and turned out the lights.

Butter Cream had given me some good ideas, and I waited until Whipped Cream finally fell asleep to take advantage of them.  Once I felt the rhythmic rise and fall of her barrel slow, I tickled her right between her ribs.  She jumped and landed on the floor in a crumpled heap.

“I going to kill him.”  She flicked her tail back and forth.  “He told you where I was ticklish, didn’t he?”

I nodded.  I neglected to mention that she’d gotten up without me asking her to.  Instead I sat there as she paced around the dining room to walk off her anger and frustration.

“I should make him sleep on the couch.”

“He’s already in bed.”

“Then I’ll sleep on the couch.”

I guided her towards the stairs, and she followed me up.  I nudged her to her bedroom door.  “Nopony needs to sleep on the couch.  He’s in there, you love him, and you should kiss and make up.”

She nodded and bid me good night.  I slipped into the guest room and changed into my pajamas.  I needn’t have bothered.  Their ‘make up kiss’ lasted half the night.  Darned earth pony endurance.  I should’ve just let her sleep on the couch…





It was nearly noon when Toola Roola jumped on the bed to wake me up.  “Get up!”

“No.”

She gasped.  “No?  Don’t you want to play with me and Cee-Cee?”

With my eyes closed I couldn’t see whatever pouty face she was making.  I imagined she was giving me sad puppy dog eyes, complete with a lip quiver.  Curiosity getting the better of me, I opened an eye and confirmed that.  “We need to get on the road.  As soon as I shower, we’re leaving.”

“Oh.  In that case, you should go back to sleep.”

“Nice try, kiddo, but I’m awake now.  Besides, you’ve got school tomorrow, and I’ve got work.  We need to get home.”  I pulled her in close for a hug.  “I’m sure you’ll get to come back and see Coconut Cream again soon.  Or maybe Cee-Cee will come out and see you.  Besides, distance makes the heart grow fonder.  Mr. Cream was telling me all sorts of stories after the two of you went to bed last night.  I understand the two of you sometimes clash if you spend too much time together.  Something about an epic food fight that a princess got caught up in the middle of.”

Her ears flattened as she cringed.  “Of all the stories to share, why would he pick that one?”

I tousled her hair.  “Parents love to embarrass their kids.  If you think this is bad, parents especially enjoy embarrassing their kids in front of potential love interests.  Years from now, when you’re in high school and your date shows up to escort you to the prom, your parents are going to break out the photo albums and share all their baby photos of you.  So consider this some useful life advice – never keep your date waiting.  If you’re ready to go, they won’t have the chance to embarrass you.”

She nodded, and I knew she’d file that advice away under ‘forgotten five minutes after I said it’ because that was years from now and there were more important things to think about, like playing.  If I still knew her when it became relevant, I’d mention it again, but that seemed unlikely.  I’ve seen her talent firsthand – she’s going to be a famous artist, probably sooner rather than later.  Museums were already fighting to get artwork made by ponies – there was an existing demand.  It didn’t matter that she was unknown in Equestria – she’d make a name for herself here by virtue of being one of the first ponies exhibited on Earth.  She wouldn’t be working at the car wash by this time next year.

Ponies had very little grasp on the concept of privacy, so I shooed her away so I could get dressed.  Twenty minutes later I was ready to go, and I clicked the trunk release on my key fob.  Much to my surprise, when I looked out the window to see if the trunk had opened I saw a very familiar blue filly with a dinosaur skull and bones decorating her flank standing in the yard next to my car.  I groaned.  What‘s she doing here?  At this rate we’re not going to get home until midnight.

I sat down at the table and finished off the last of my cheesesteak from the day before.  I’m not going to acknowledge that Petunia’s here.

No sooner had the thought crossed my mind than the kitchen door opened and Toola burst in.  “Look who came over to play!”

Petunia was right at her hooves.  She waved shyly at me.

I waved back.  “Oh, hey Petunia.  We’re going to be leaving in a few minutes.”

“I made somethin’ for you!”  She reached into her saddlebags and brought out a piece of paper.  On it was a drawing of some dinosaurs – specifically, a sauropod and a theropod with a pointy horn on the nose.

“Brontosaurus and Ceratosaurus.”  I grinned and thanked her.  Petunia was no Toola Roola when it came to art, but I would make sure that this drawing got a spot of honor on my refrigerator.  About time my fridge had something decorating it other than take-out menus held on by car-shaped magnets.

She rushed over and wrapped my legs in a tight hug, while I reached down and scritched her ears.  Just as quickly she darted back to Toola’s side, and then the two of them vanished outside to play with Coconut Cream while I finished eating.

That was odd.  Yesterday I couldn’t keep her away from me, but today she’s acting intimidated by me.  I finished my cheesesteak, and snagged another cupcake for dessert.  Then I went looking for my hosts to thank them for their hospitality.  I found them snuggled together on the couch, sound asleep.  They were adorable, and I couldn’t help grinning.  Even earth pony stamina has its limits.  They’d probably gotten up with the girls, and were now catching up on the sleep they’d missed.

I returned to my room and grabbed my digital camera.  One of Butter Cream’s ears flicked as I stepped into the living room.  Not wanting to disturb them, I retreated to the kitchen and zoomed in to let them nap in peace.  I snapped a couple of pics of them cuddled up, and then took a few of the trio of fillies playing in the backyard.  I’ll have to get Toola’s email address and send them to her.  I tossed the camera back into my suitcase and packed everything else up that I’d brought, then loaded my luggage into the trunk of my Mustang.  “Come on, Toola, it’s time for us to fly.”

She cocked her head.  “I thought we were driving home.”

“We are, it’s an expression.  Grab your stuff so we can hit the road.”  A few minutes later she loaded her overnight bag into the trunk.  I closed the trunk and helped her into the backseat of the car.  Coconut Cream waved from the porch as we reversed down the driveway.

We made it about halfway down the driveway before a sudden realization hit me.  “Where’s Petunia?”

“Uh, I don’t know?”  She shrugged.  “Maybe… maybe she went home?”

Somepony’s fibbing.  I stopped the car.  I knew Petunia wasn’t hiding in the nest I’d made for Toola, so I popped the trunk, but there was no sign of the blue filly.  There was, however, a very full overnight bag.  A bag that was significantly heavier than the addition of half a dozen My Little Pony toys could account for.  I poked Toola’s overnight bag and there was a squeak from inside.  I unzipped the bag to reveal the dinosaur-obsessed filly.  “What do we have here?  Looks like a stowaway.  Care to explain yourself?”

She giggled sheepishly.  “Uh, so my parents said I couldn’t take you home with me, so I thought maybe you could take me home with you instead?”

I was about to say that her parents would object to that, but then I remembered that the last time I’d counted on pony parents to do the responsible, rational thing it had resulted in this trip.  “Wouldn’t you miss your parents?  Wouldn’t they miss you?”

“I guess.”  She shrugged.  “But it’s not like it’s forever.  Just bring me home the next time you come out to visit!”

I shook my head.  “No can do.”  She pouted as I lifted her out of the car.  I set her down on the porch.  “You’re going to stay here on the porch until I’m out of the driveway, understand?  If you so much as move from this spot, I’ll never come back.”

She gasped at my idle threat.  Of course, I could always call Gustave and ask him not to schedule her to work on the days I bring Toola Roola to visit.  Assuming I ever get roped into making this trip again.  Maybe Whipped Cream was right, maybe I do need to be more assertive with the ponies instead of letting them trot all over me.  But this was the first time any of them had really crossed a line, well, aside from Whipped Cream when she was trying to make that point in the first place.

I turned to Coconut Cream.  “Thank your parents for me.  Also, you’re in charge of making sure Petunia doesn’t move.  If she moves, I’m not bringing Toola back to visit you ever again.”

Her eyes went wide in horror.  “You can’t do that!”

“I can.  Nothing says I have to give up my weekends to drive a pony taxi.  You’ll just have to wait until Toola’s parents get a car or can convince Minty to drive her out.”

“With Minty driving they could end up on the moon!”

I couldn’t help laughing at that.  Saying the mare in question was ‘directionally-challenged’ was an understatement.  “Well, then I guess you’ll just have to keep Petunia from moving.  Deal?”

She nodded resolutely.  Petunia just looked at me with big, sad, watery purple eyes.  “I’m sorry.”

I knelt down and hugged her.  “Your family is here.  Your friends are here.  Your school is here.  You belong here with them.”  I dragged Cee-Cee into the hug too.  Then I stood up and walked back to the car.  I waved as I slowly backed up the driveway.  True to their word, neither filly moved from their spot, and I backed into the street once there was a gap in traffic.

On our trip home, Toola Roola bounced back and forth between being bubbly about how much fun she’d had, and being sad because it was over.  There were random bursts of excited callbacks to events of the weekend, as she voiced the thoughts as they ran through her mind.  Growing minds needed stimulation, perhaps even more so in a creative filly like Toola.  More than once she brought up painting the diner.  She was eagerly anticipating getting that project on canvas and it was impossible not to get swept up in her enthusiasm.

Then there were the melancholy moments where I could tell she missed Coconut Cream.  From what Butter Cream had said, the two fillies had had an on-again/off again friendship.  It makes sense.  They’re very close to one another, and when things go wrong between them they take it especially hard.  But when their friendship is ‘on’ they make an unbeatable team.

But I quickly discovered there was an easy way to break her out of that mindset.  She squealed with delight every time I pressed the pedal down to pass a slower motorist or a big rig.  It was obvious that when her parents were ready to get a car she’d be talking them into a Mustang; just as had I urged my Mom to trade in her Toyota for a Mustang when I was ten.  Had she gone for the slightly older, but more expensive Mustang GT, Mom might’ve actually enjoyed her near decade of Mustang ownership.

Thankfully, Toola didn’t seem the least bit traumatized by what had happened at Gustave’s.  Poor Petunia will probably have nightmares for a while though.  Whenever her rambles brought her back around to Filly Cheesesteaks, it was always about how much fun she had playing in the playground with the waitresses.





Her parents were waiting for us at the car wash when we arrived, and Toola’s mom asked if her daughter had behaved for me.  I nodded and explained she’d been on her best behavior the whole weekend.  Then I pulled her diner sketch out of her saddlebags, and the filly blushed as her parents praised her for her work.  I handed her overnight bag to her dad and we said our goodbyes.

Of course the real payoff for me was returning the rambunctious filly to her parents… hopped up on caffeine and sugar.  I’d introduced to her my personal favorite beverage, RC Cola, and the Creams had sent us home with a dozen cupcakes each.  She should come down from the sugar rush right around bedtime, but until then she’s going to be talking a mile a minute.

I stopped at a gas station on the way home and reflected on the weekend’s events as I filled the tank.  I’d always wanted kids, but the opportunity never came up.  Maybe someday.  Sadly, that also meant I rarely spent any time around children.  I’d only be lying to myself if I tried to deny I had fun.

I pulled my Mustang into the garage and unlocked my house.  My answering machine was blinking with a new message – not surprising since I’d been gone all weekend.  Mom?  One of my friends?  One of my neighbors?  I pushed the ‘play’ button.

I was greeted by the now-familiar voice of Toola's father.  “Hey, uh Toola had a great time this weekend.  She’s even calling you a hero for saving one of her friends from being eaten.  Heh, what an imagination!  But that’s what makes her such a great artist.  Anyway, we were wondering if you could take her again next weekend?  I called the Creams and they’re up for it if you are.”

Face, meet palm.  Welcome to my new life as a pony chauffeur.  Now I know why they call Mustangs pony cars…