Prequel: It's a Mare's World After All
I was working unpaid over-time again. I had just filed away several tickets. Early today, there had been a blue unicorn attempting to sell miniature figurines of herself. She didn't have a permit from the city, so I had to tell her to leave. I was going to let her off with a warning, but when she started on about how I should thankful that she even “payed any attention to a feeble minded dweeb”, I decided to “thank her” by giving her a ticket for loitering, selling merchandise without a license, and for noise violation. At the time, I felt pretty smug, but now I regretted the extra work.
The tickets went into a drawer filled with similar tickets. I had to keep careful record of all of them in case a pony contested a ticket. All of it was more work for me.
I sat back up in my chair and glanced at the paperwork that took up my entire desk. It was a mess of case files, logs, forms, and tickets. With a lethargic sigh, I grabbed my coffee cup with magic from another desk. As I brought it to my lips, I attempted to prioritize the mess. Tickets would have to come first, then forms. I didn't need the Azula files done till next week, and I couldn't work on form I-112a and I-112b without Officer Ran Off statements. It was at least 20 seconds before I realized that I was gulping down air and that the mug was empty.
I sighed and debated whether to get more. The station no longer had a break room; budget cuts and space issues had gotten rid of it. Thus, the coffee machine was located at the very back of the station. I didn't feel like taking the walk, but no coffee meant no paperwork would get done.
I lifted myself out of my chair, careful not to knock over any stacks of paper. Lately, I've been noticing that my uniform fitted a little too snugly; that I've had to expand my belt by another hole. It made me miss being in the military, with its daily physical training and horrible food, but my term at the Coltcago police department wouldn't end for a while. In till then, it was donuts, coffee and late nights behind a desk.
When I got to the coffee machine, I let out a groan. The empty coffee pot was on top of an empty donuts box but under a laminated sign that read “Last to drink, First to brew!” I picked up the coffee pot with my magic and began searching around for the things I would need. It took me almost twenty minutes to brew more coffee. Some joker had hidden the beans and the filters in different places, then I had to remember how to work the machine. It wasn't until the liquid was pouring through the filter that I began to relax.
There was no milk or sugar, but I didn't care. With my magic, I poured myself a cup and brought it back to my desk. Unfortunately, there was no room on among the stacks of paper, so I dug up a traffic ticket and placed the mug on top.
As I waited for the coffee to cool, I skimmed over the work. Not really caring enough to get started, yet too fidgety to sit still.
I had only been an police officer for a few months. Before this I was an officer-diplomat in the military. That was really a fancy way of saying that I was deployed overseas. Technically, I was still in the military, but all officer-diplomats that wanted to transfer into the Stateside Guard had to hold at least one “civilian position of authority” for a year. Something about “acquiring skills to provide leadership over civilian populations”. I didn't really care the reason why. After living overseas for so many years, I would do anything to be able to pursue my career and be close to my family.
Finally, the coffee was cool enough. The last half hour was spent achieving this moment. I needed this coffee. It was the only thing that mattered. Without it, I would get no work done. Without it, I might as well go home for the night. Thus, I picked up the mug up with my magic, and brought it to my face. I blew across the top and inhaled the last wisps of steam. I raised the mug to my lips, careful not to scald myself.
Then the door to the front of the station slammed open, a yellow colored mare in stockings blew in, being chased by another officer.
“Ma'ma, you can't be here! This is a police station!”
She kept moving, “ I know that you idiot, this certainly an't no Trotting Island,” she whirled around, glancing at the officer's lower parts. “Good thing too, cause the choices in rides stink.”
The officer, Shuffles, became flustered at her implications, “B-b-ut. You can't just burst in to a police station!”
“Well, hows else I'm suppose to get help? Celestia knows, it takes ya'll two hours to get to the strip when one of us “mares” call, yet two minutes if some rich square in the hills sneezes. Unless of course, one of ya'll down at the harbor doing “business,” the mare seeing that Shuffle was now completely flustered and riled, turned around and continued into the station...
...right towards my desk. Well, horse-apples.
“But...but you can't be in here!”
“I am and I is. Wat'cha going to do about it? Arrest me and put me in the police station?”
“Ugh...W-what?”
I put down the coffee without drinking it. Sometimes, Shuffle didn't know when to quit. I decided to step in before he choked on the hoof in his mouth, “It's okay. I know her.”
That caused Snuffles to stop short. He stared between me and the mare for a long second before hollering, “Fine then! Let's all just have a fesita in here. It an't like its a police station or anything.” as he turned around and stomped out.
“Jeeze, what's his problem?”
I turned my attention towards the yellow earth pony that was now standing in front of my desk, “Don't mind Shuffle. He's just a by-the-rules guy.” Which was why he was working night shift behind a desk instead of doing a beat. “What's you here for Blossom?”
I looked over the mare as I spoke the words, allowing my mind to absorb as many details as possible. She was middle age. Still pretty, but her face was smothered with make-up and her strawberry hair was tied into a long pony-tail, as though she was trying to make herself look half her age. I could tell the trick would only work in the dark. Her stockings were a faded black. There were a few tears where yellow fur showed through, likely intentional, but there was at least one actual cut because there was a small splotch of wet blood on her leg.
“Celestia damn it! I spent too long arguing with that jerk. You gotta come. Pastry is in trouble! It's her stallion, he trying to kill her!”
I sighed and picked myself up, “Again? Luna tits, that bastard always gets mean when he's into the cider. Come on then. Lead the way.” I began following Blossom to the door.
Before we had gotten more then a few pony lengths away, I turned towards my desk. The coffee was still there and at the perfect temperature. It would be warm, bitter, and exactly what I needed. Then, I turned back towards Blossom. I looked into her eyes and thought that they might have been beautiful once. Now they where just filled with worry and weariness. I could tell she was silently pleading that I would come with her.
I sighed, “ Come on, take me to her.”
“Sheesh, though you where about to flake. Glad there's at least one cop worth knowing in this city.”
I grimaced at her words, but didn't say anything. In my head, I said good-bye to that perfect cup of coffee.
I drove with Blossom guiding me. Pastry's place was only a few blocks away, and we got there in under a minute with the lights flashing.
We pulled up in front of a slum apartment with trash cans overflowing, windows bordered up, and homeless people sleeping on the corners. As soon as we stopped, Blossomed jumped out of the car and raced into the building. I followed after a slight delay, and the whole way I wrinkled my nose to the smell. Blossom wasn't bothered at all.
We went up two flights of stairs, jumping over a drunkard that had passed out on the stoop. As we got closer, I heard somepony cried out in pain and another pony yelling. Instantly, my training and instincts triggered. Information began to flash in my head: Female. Male. Aggression. 10 strides away.
I crossed the remain distance in a few leaps. Blossom was already there, opening the door with a key she had pulled from her stockings. As soon as the lock clicked, she threw the door open and stepped aside; letting me barge through. I knew I was breaking a dozen laws, but I doubted anypony cared.
“This is the police! Get down on the ground!”
I scanned the room. More information: Orange female, earth pony. Approximately 50 stones. Injured. 6 hooves away. Call for evac.
Blue male, peagsus. Approximately 75 stones. Intoxicated. Armed: Belt. 5 hooves away. Extremely aggressive.
“Who the Celestia's tits are you!” He slurs as he turns and faces me, the belt dangling from his mouth.
“Sir, get down on the ground! Keep your hooves above your head!”
“Screw you!” and like that he charges. He's on me in less then a second; I don't have enough time to do a defensive spell. He swings with the belt aiming for my face. I block it with my shoulder. There's no pain; my adrenaline has already kicked in.
He tries to swing again.
More information: Obstructions around me, no room to dodge. Need to lure him away from the girls. Poor stance. Poor training. Attacks have wind-up delay. Go offensive.
He pulls his head back; the belt flips away. He winds his head up, attempting to bring down the belt with as much power as possible. He snaps his head forward, the belt trailing behind him with a sonic crack. I cut the attack short; slamming my hoof into his face, allowing for his momentum to do most of the damage. He slugs off the blow; he's too intoxicated. Quickly, I lash out with my other leg making a weak sweep at his legs. He staggers backwards to avoid being tripped, and it gives me some space. I circle myself away from the girls, into the apartment. It's risky, I'm trapping myself in an enclosed space with an armed opponent, but I needed to make sure that he wouldn't go after the girls.
He moves forward, swinging the belt. I'm to far away to counter, so I side-step the attack. He swings again, this attack just as sloppy as the last. It misses again. I can tell he's getting frustrated. He's going to do something stupid soon. If I wanted to get out of this fight, I had to keep it in my terms. He attacks, and I dodge again.
More information: Table behind, 4 hooves away. couch right, 2 hooves. bedroom door left, open, 5 hooves. Girls, 7 hooves. Attacks are becoming sloppy. He's visibly frustrated. Taunt, now.
“You couldn't hit the side of the cloud, you in-bred flu feathered piece of bird manure,” an old griffin insult. Learned it in a bar fight.
It had the effect I wanted; he's enraged now. He pushes his off his rear legs and tackles me. As we go flying through the air, I slam my rear hooves into his body. When we land, I spread out the impact by slamming my front legs into the carpet and push up with with my rear hooves. His momentum flips him over me. He flies through the air for a brief second before slamming into the coffee table. The table crumples under his weight. He attempts to lift himself up, but I'm on my hooves before him. I walk over and slug him on the jaw. His head snaps back violently,then his entire body crumples into the remains of the coffee table.
Sat down, breathing hard. I watched to see if he would get up again. When it was clear he was out for good, I checked myself over. There was a bruise on my shoulder, but no serious injuries. I turned back towards the victim.
By now, Pastry was up, being supported by Blossom. With the fight over, I finally got a good look at her; I grimaced at the bruises that covered her body. There where red welts along her stomach, some of them bleeding. Obviously, the bastard had used the belt buckle end. Strangely, the beating had ended just shy of her neck. Even drunk, he had enough sense not to damage her face. She wouldn't be able to get business if her face was bruised.
“What was it this time Pastry?” I spat the words out without meaning to.
She stuttered through sobs, “It-t was my fault. I let-t a colt leave without paying. Then I couldn't f-find him.” She turned her gaze from me to the stallion on the ground. “Celestia damn it!” She screeched “Rod, honey are you O.k?” She turned back towards me stills yelling, “You didn't have to rough him up so bad. It-t was my fault he's like this. If I didn't d-derp up so much, he wouldn't have to hit me!” She began sobbing again.
I waved the objection away, but didn't respond. Nothing I could say would convince her that I had done her a favor.
Thankfully, Blossom stepped in, “Look Pastry, stuff it. You know it an't the officer's fault and it an't your fault. Now come on. We can go back to my place while Rod sobers up.”
Pastry looked reluctant at first. She kept staring at Rod, but finally nodded, “But-t I've got to be back tomorrow. It's our a-anniversary.”
“Sure honey, but tonight we got to get you cleaned up at my place. K?”
“Y-yeah. He's going to want me clean for tomorrow.”
I stared as the two turned away. Before they left, Blossom turned towards me. Her eyes had lost their worry but was just as weary as before. Now though, there was a hint of sincerity, “ I appreciate it. Did I tell you that there's at least one cop worth knowing?”
I nodded, and they left.
After a minute, I got up and left. There was no point in bringing him in. Pasty wouldn't press charges; girls like her never do. Even if she did, he would be bailed out in a day with her money. Though, I made sure to give him a kick in the ribs before leaving. He would wake up in the morning with a few nasty bruises, but Pastry would be back.
The ride back took five minutes because I left my siren off and kept getting red lights. At each one, I thought about what had transpired. I've had to break up Pastry's and Rod's disputes before. Pastry was a prostitute and Rod was her “stallion”. I didn't know much about “the life”, but I did know that stallions had a lot of control over their mares. They controlled when their mares eat, when they left the house, who they associated with. I knew that most mares had a past that made them vulnerable to predators like Rod. Most were from broken families or were abused as a kid. They grew up starving for attention, affection, and love, and only knew what dysfunctional relationships were like.
They wanted love, but instead got a stallion like Rod would become their “special somepony”. These girls had never had a healthy relationship before, and it didn't take much to win them over. A few nice dinners, a little romancing, and they would be hooked.
When it finally came time for the mares to sell their bodies, all the stallion would have to do is use a combination of abuse, force, and isolation. Soon, the mares would be force to give in and the violence and the humiliation would become normal. They became trapped in the life. Trapped by their family history. Trapped by their stallions. Trapped by force. Trapped by their need for affection. Trapped by a thousand influences outside their control.
By then, police officers usually wrote these mares off. They would make excuses like “they choose this life” or “they keep going back.” In some ways, they're right. Once the mares are in the life, they're brainwashed to stay there. It's almost impossible for them to leave. No matter how often I save mares like Pastry or beat down stallions like Rod, they will always go back to the life.
I walked into the station, and trotted past Shuffle with a nod. He didn't bother to ask me about what had happen. I went back to my desk, sat down, and stared at my paperwork. The adrenaline was wearing off and my shoulder was to throbbing with pain. My back ached from the impact with the ground, and my head buzzed. Considering I had suffered enough for one night, I decided finish the paperwork tomorrow.
Suddenly, I found myself shuffling through the papers on my desk, digging frantically through the paperwork. Eventually, I found what I wanted between a warrant and a case file. It was a framed picture, which I stared at. The picture was taken right before I had left for the academy. I stood in the middle with my cadet uniform. On either side of me where my parents. Hugging my leg was my little sister. She had been happy when she found out that I was joining the guard, but sad when she realized I would be a way. She cling to me the entire day, not wanting me to leave. I ended up having to wait till she fell asleep before putting her to bed and leaving.
This picture had been buried for months under paperwork. I don't know why I decided to pull it out today. Maybe I was just feeling bad for living a life that none of the girls would ever had. If anything had been a different, it might have been my little sister that I saved tonight.
I sighed. Months ago, I had left the Diplomatic Reserve Guard to join the State-side Guard, and because of the “civilian position of authority” requirement, I had decided to join law enforcement. Due to my record, I had been given a lot of choices in cities. I could of gone to Canterlot and been close to my family. Canterlot was calm and nearly crime free. Having a princess in the city really helped towards that end. It was where I was raised, and I could have gone through my police term without any incidents.
And I would have gone back to Canterlot, but then I heard about the things my sister had done in my absence. While I was gone, she had become a hero. She had made a difference. She had made the world a better place. It was then I knew that I had to go to Coltcago, one of the few crime heavy cites in Equestria.
Now, I had been here for months, but I haven’t made a change. I could beat up stallions and give tickets all day, but Coltcago wouldn't change. Nothing could make this city change.
I turned the picture over and read the writing on the back.
“Make a difference! I will always love my big bro!” - Your Twily.
I stared at the message for a long time.
After a while, I realized that that my coffee was still there; on top of the ticket. Using my magic, I picked up it up, and took a swig. It was cold and bitter, and there was nothing I can do about it. I swallow the gulp and took another and another...
... till there was nothing left.