Watch! Watch!
by horizon
First published
A crime wave is gripping the sleepy town of Apple-Morepone. Then "Rainbow" Dash of the City Watch meets a batpony (adopted) named Carrot. The town will never be the same. (An homage to the City Watch of Terry Pratchett's Discworld novels!)
There's a crime wave gripping the sleepy town of Apple-Morepone, and nopony on the City Watch seems to care. Corporal "Rainbow" M. Dash naps through her patrols, her partner Dobby is an infamous kleptomaniac, Captain Rhymes is a drunkard, and the entire Watch is a group of burnt-out misfits.
They're about to meet a batpony (adopted) by the name of Carrot, visiting town to return an overdue library book.
And none of their lives will ever be the same.
A crossover/homage to the "City Watch" books of Terry Pratchett's Discworld, written to be readable without any familiarity with the series (though they're excellent, and if you do read them you'll catch my Pratchett in-jokes).
Winner of Aragon's "Comedy Is Serious Business" Contest! "I was quoting this offline for days, forgetting where I was remembering the lines from. … This story made me legitimately jealous, both of its cleverness and of its funniness." –Contest judge MrNumbers
Rated ★★★★★ by Louder Yay! "The best comedy I've read in a long time."
"Highly Recommended" by Super Trampoline! (Video review here @ 09:17) "It's 13,000 words long, but it doesn't feel long, because so much fun stuff is happening."
Other reviews: Present Perfect | City of Doors
Thank you to Themaskedferret and Caliaponia for prereading, and GaPJaxie for motivation/inspiration!
1. In Which Cuttlefish And Apes Are Mortal Enemies
It was a damp, grey morning in the sleepy town of Apple-Morepone, and it was an earth pony's fault.
Corporal Dash of the Apple-Morepone City Watch sprawled a little flatter in her napping cloud, staring at the hazy sky above Town Square contemplatively. It was supposed to be sunny. She'd moved her cloud to prime basking territory to take full advantage of it. And while she knew that normally she'd blame the lazy, overpaid, useless, no-good weather pegasi who kept rejecting her resume, right now she kept feeling an inexplicable stirring-up of resentment against…
"Dobby?" she said as Watch Sergeant Dobbin [1] wandered back into Town Square from the direction of the weather factory.
The walking pile of dirt and stink below her—who, once in a while, purely by accident, got correctly identified as an earth pony rather than a wandering beast from the nearby Everfree Forest—sniffled and wiped his nose on his leg.
"It were sitting on the ground," Dobby said automatically.
Dash looked up at the layer of pregnant rainclouds. Then down at her friend, who she knew with a fiery certainty had ruined the sky, despite A) his lack of wings and B) his utter incompetence at everything that didn't involve being Equestria's pettiest thief.
"Dobby," Dash said slowly, "you didn't steal a job at the weather factory just now, did you?"
"Can't prove nothin'," he said, but the affronted look he gave her was "no" enough. Both of them knew better than to come in contact with actual work.
"Hm," Dash said, then back at the clouds. She tapped a hoof to her chin in thought, trying to ignore the way that tugged uncomfortably against the strap of her snazzy Watch helmet. Which, come to think of it, was Dobby's fault too.
Dash glanced down at her napping cloud. Its normally cheery-white surface was looking a little drab today. Also Dobby's fault.
She glanced in the vague direction of distant Canterlot, where a princess was probably having tea or something. Still, somehow, Dobby's fault.
An idea began to percolate its slow way through the sludgy coffee filter of Dash's brain.
"Excuse me?" a cheerful non-Dobby voice said from the ground. "You in the cloud? I'm, ah, new in Apple-Morepone, and while this map has been rather useful in orienting myself to the roads, I'm having rather some difficulty in finding the library—"
"Quiet," Dash snapped. "I've nearly figured out how Dobby ruined everything."
The voice fell silent for a blissful moment. Then intruded again with a "I'm sorry, what?", followed by a "Who's ruaaAAH SWEET MERCIFUL CELESTIA," and a loud CRUNK of hoof hitting metal.
Her deductions interrupted, Dash rolled over and looked down at the street. A square-jawed, gold-colored earth pony mare with a bundle-of-carrots mark was sitting wide-eyed on the street, breathing hard, staring at a perturbed-looking pile of Dobby. The two locked eyes for several seconds. Then Dobby slowly stood back up, picked Dash's helmet up from the ground nearby, and resettled it back on top of his head, where it sat somewhat lopsided due to its new, deep dent.
"It's not running away," the golden mare hissed at Dash out of the corner of her mouth. "I'll distract it. You get backup—"
Dash landed next to the stranger and crossed her forelegs. "Dobby, give me my helmet back."
"Thought you was done with it," Dobby grumbled as he hoofed it over. "On account of the dent."
The golden mare slowly blinked, then glanced back and forth between the two Watch members as her expression paled. "Oh. Ah," she said, ears folding down. "Oohhh." She turned to Dobby. "I'm so sorry, ma'am. Sir? Sir. My name's Carrot Top-perchers-dottir, and I promise I don't normally walk into new towns and assault stallion-like objects on the street, I, I just…"
"Psh. That was Dobby's fault too," Dash said.
Carrot shuffled her hooves. "…Okay, I wasn't going to say it, but it does kind of feel like it was."
Dobby looked briefly wounded. "Weren't never."
"C'mon, Dobby, you dobbied at her," Dash said. "Like, that would have been your fault even if everything weren't your fault right now. Speaking of which." She leveled a hoof at her partner. "Did you steal blame from the weather factory?"
Dobby's face curled up in what might, in other ponies, have been mistaken for guilt. "They was just throwin' it all around," he mumbled. "It were clear they didn't want it none."
Dash facehoofed. "You don't steal blame, Dobby. It's nothing but trouble. Go put it back."
"I'm sorry," Carrot said. "Did you say steal blame?"
"Weren't stealing," Dobby muttered as he slunk out of Town Square.
Dash watched him leave, then turned to Carrot. "Yeah. That's just Dobby. So, uh, welcome to Apple-Morepone, Equestria's oldest, apple-est, and monster-infested-est mudpit of a rural pony-burg. Pony-ville. Something like that. Anyway, enjoy your stay, and all that other stuff I'm supposed to have memorized for when visitors arrive."
"Steal. Blame."
Dash raised an eyebrow. "Uhh, so do you normally walk into new towns looking like you're trying to pass a cuttlefish-sized kidney stone?"
"I'm sorry. I'm just trying to figure out whether to ask, A, how one steals a metaphysical construct, or B, why a City Watch member is doing something blatantly illegal."
"It wasn't illegal," Dash quickly said. "If it was, I'd have to do my job."
"Celestial Code 93,714, section 11, paragraph 1."
Dash stared. Carrot stared back expectantly.
"Oh, come on. You're just making that up."
Carrot twisted around to extract an enormous tome from her saddlebags, and dropped it in front of Dash with a thump that rattled windows in Manehattan. The Complete Equestrian Legal Code, Updated 27th Edition, 812 CE.
"Wait, seriously?" Dash said. "You've got a law book. You're serious. Being Dobby is illegal?"
Carrot shoved the book open and pointed. "No, but stealing is. 'Thievery, comma, don't do it', right there, in between the regulations on 'theremin playing, comma, acceptable hours', and 'thigh measurements, comma, Royal Guard'."
"Let me see that." Dash read, sweat beading on her brow in the special way that only impending work could inspire.
As her eyes flicked down the page, though, her muzzle curled into a smirk of triumph. "Hah!"
"What?" Carrot leaned in to read over Dash's shoulder.
"Blah blah whosoever takes 'objects' not belonging to them et cetera," Dash smugged. "Objects. See, stealing things that aren't objects isn't a crime. No paperwork to fill out." She hopped back up to her napping cloud and settled back in.
"Huh." Carrot stared down at the book. "I guess we learned something today."
"Buck, no. Learning's too much like work," Dash said. Then she paused, rolled over, and stared down through narrowed eyes. "Speaking of which, why are you lugging around a book of laws?"
"It's why I'm in Apple-Morepone, actually. Do you know where the library is?"
Dash gave her a blank look.
"I suppose that was overly optimistic. Do you know someone who would know where the library is?"
"…Probably the pony in charge?"
Carrot pulled a notebook from her saddlebags and flipped through it. "Mayor Mare?"
"Pfft!" Dash's muzzle scrunched up with poorly restrained laughter.
Carrot's face fell. "Oh, dear. I was worried that my research materials would be out of date."
"Not out of date. Just 100 percent wrong."
Carrot stared up blankly. "I don't understand. Didn't she win re-election in CE 994? Has there been some cake-based scandal that didn't make the news back home?"
Dash hopped back out of her cloud, landed next to Carrot, and circled a wing around her shoulders, grinning. "Tell you what, Carrot. I could use a snack. Let me take you to the pony who really runs this town."
From a shadowy room on the top floor of Sugarcube Corner, The Partician stared down at her ponies and brooded.
Strictly speaking, Apple-Morepone wasn't her city—not in any way that mattered to ponies with pretensions. She hadn't founded it (and hadn't even been born there). She'd never won an election. She didn't drive its economy or build its orphanages. Her face wasn't on any statues, and her name wasn't even on the Adopt-A-Highway signs advertising who volunteered for litter removal.
But she wielded a far more important sort of power in Apple-Morepone than all of those things put together. When she stared into the average pony's eyes, they immediately wanted to make her happy.
And in return, she made them happy—which, when it came to the town's livelihood, was only slightly more important than oxygen. It required unthinkable levels of behind-the-scenes effort to keep ponies' morale high in the face of cider shortages, weekly monster rampages, Dobby, and the equine tendency to scream and stampede over anything as threatening as an unannounced menu change. She'd first saved the city from itself the day she arrived—amid the Great Menu Panic of February 995—and didn't even make it to the end of the month before she'd lost count of the number of times the city would have been a smoking ruin without her.
So when The Partician brooded, the situation was dire indeed.
Across the room, a nondescript earth pony named Chum cleared his throat. "You wanted to see me, milady?"
With a flash of pink, The Partician swiveled her wheely chair away from the window to face him. In the ominous shadows, he could see a hoof stroking the head of a tiny alligator.
"There is a rot in my city, Mister Chum," she said softly.
He stiffened for a moment, eyes locked on the alligator, then flashed her a shaky smile. "That's what me and the other real estate developers have been saying, milady. Unsavory elements. Which is why we've begun our campaign of gentrification—"
"You promised not to raise rents," The Partician said, and though her voice remained near a whisper, it was as though her words sucked away all other noise in the room. "You promised."
Chum's face fell for a second, but he forced the smile back on. "Yes, of course, but I had to reassess that commitment in light of the service I could do the city by attracting more capital."
The Partician stroked the alligator in silence.
A bead of sweat rolled down Chum's forehead as his eyes strayed back to the alligator. He swallowed.
The alligator slowly blinked. His knees quivered.
"P-profits w-were down t-two percent," he said faintly. "I n-nearly was late on a p-payment on my third yacht."
The shadows shifted. An equine shape with an alligator on its shoulder stalked forward toward Chum.
"Do you know what my business is, Mister Chum?" The Partician said.
His eyes remained locked onto the alligator. "I-I, uh, well, you—"
"Happiness, Mister Chum. Happiness. And when ponies don't keep their promises, business goes down a great deal more than two percent."
Chum quailed.[2] "I-I'm certain w-we can f-find some c-compromise—"
[2] The alligator alligatored.
"Do you know what happens when my business is bad, Mister Chum?" The Partician took a step forward. Chum took a step back, his hindquarters bumping against the wall. "Let us take the example, of, say, Carousel Boutique. A young filly with fiery ambition and untested talent moved in a year ago, hoping to make a name for herself in the world of fashion. Ever since then, she has been desperately clawing for sales one by one, her savings dwindling away bit by bit—and for the first time this month, she was about to turn a profit. Then she got your new rent statement. For the past week straight, she has been eating every ounce of ice cream in Apple-Morepone, and even now you can hear her cries of 'Worst possible thing' all the way from here."
The Partician paused. Loud sobbing was audible in the far distance.
Chum gulped. "Pitiable, I agree, but that's her reaction for everything from leg cramps to the Adopt-A-Highway commission losing her application, so I really don't see how that's my fault."
The Partician stepped forward again. "That? Perhaps not. But when the owner of Ice Cream And Chaise Longues heard the young filly's news that she would be abandoning her business and moving back to Whinnyapolis, he immediately hired a bankruptcy lawyer and announced a going-out-of-business sale. Then the other establishments on Shops Selling Two Things Avenue saw the sale sign, and they stampeded to Apertures and Signs, thinking that it was the beginning of a new trend. That resulted in a rush order for ink to Huggy's Cuttlefish Emporium. Somepony at Huggy's warehouse misread the invoice and shipped a 200-ton cuttlefish instead of 200 pounds of cuttle ink. Are you proud of causing the Great Cuttlefish Attack Of May 998, Mister Chum?"
Chum froze.
"Oh," he squeaked.
"How about this year's Thirty-Seventh Ice Cream Riots?"
Chum's face blanched even further.
"The Great Plague of Gryphon Mimes?"
He paused, then blinked several times, and his expression contorted. "…What plague?"
"If you don't recognize it," The Partician said, "that would be because you rolled back your rent increases."
"Yes, milady," he groveled, and bolted out of the room, slamming the door shut behind him.
The Partician sighed, brushed back her mane, and plodded back to her chair, setting the tiny alligator down on her desk. Making ponies happy was so grueling—
The door slammed open again, and an egregiously pink head poked through. "Hey, Fluttershy!" Pinkie Pie chirped, thrusting a tray of fresh baked goods through the doorway. "My ear was twitching in a broody-Partician kind of way, so I brought you thirdsy-breakfasts!"
—which was why she hired the best.
The Partician—aka Lady Fluttershy Veterinarian, or "F. Vet_inari_, P_ofessi_nal Partician" as the aging doorplate outside her rented attic space would have it—dropped her "game face" and gave Pinkie a shy smile. "Oh, Pinkie, you're the best," she murmured.
"Not at everything! I'm just really good at knowing what baked goods ponies like! And how to throw all the parties that you're supposed to give despite hating everything about your job and I've never understood why you don't just retire and do something you like more!" Pinkie's leg twitched. "Ooh, and when ponies are gonna arrive, like Dashie about to walk in for her daily free lunch muffins! I'm not sure what to get her new friend yet, though. She's new."
Fluttershy nodded gravely. Downstairs, the front-door bell of Sugarcube Corner dinged.
"Why don't you, um, send the new mare upstairs," she mumbled. "I'd be happy to leave it to you if all she needed was a party, but I think maybe we've got some business I should handle myself." Fluttershy lifted the alligator from her desk, rubbed her nose to his head, and set him on Pinkie's back. "By the way, you'll be happy to know that Sir Gummikins Von Bartlesby is the picture of perfect dental health. Thank you for letting me give him a check-up."
"No problem!" Pinkie said. "I'm just glad that he's okay. He seems to get a toothache every time Mister Chum visits."
"Gosh, that's quite a coincidence."
"Sure is strange." Pinkie giggled, hoofed Fluttershy an apple torte, and bounced downstairs. "Dashie! I baked you your favorite!"
Fluttershy allowed herself the luxury of a langorous bite of pastry before retreating to her desk. She picked up one of the dossiers, flipping through to refresh her memory, and then sank back into the shadows, steepling her forehooves together.
She took a deep breath and put her game face back on.
There were hoofsteps on the attic stairs, and then Carrot wandered into the room, blinking as her eyes adjusted to the dim light.
"Miss Carrot Top," The Partician said. "Welcome to Apple-Morepone."
Carrot's head swiveled toward the desk. She nodded appreciatively. "Thank you, Lady Vetinari," she said. "And in return, might I compliment you on your marvelous use of ominous lighting? I know it's only listed as 'recommended' in CC 89,822 Sec. 3 p. 41, 'Shadow Governments—Accoutrements,' but attention to detail is a mark of true character."
The Partician returned the nod. "It's good to meet somepony who appreciates it. Though I must say you're being quite kind in omitting my lack of compliance with 32,911 Sec. 6 p. 2."
Confusion flitted across Carrot's muzzle. "Elm trees, comma, branch length?"
The Partician's mouth curled into an appraising smile. "My mistake. I get that one confused with 32,119 all the time."
"Oh! Yes. Eerie music, comma, foreboding." Carrot scuffed a hoof on the carpet. "I wasn't going to say anything. It's only 'Optional', and everypony has their off days."
"I must say, you've got quite an encyclopedic knowledge of the law, Miss Carrot."
"Oh, you know how it is. For an orthodox Chiropteran, there's nothing more relaxing than a quiet night of arguing about legal code."
The Partician paused, looking at Carrot's smooth wingless back, then raised one eyebrow. "You're a batpony?"
"By both adoption and conversion." Carrot smiled. "One of my fondest memories is the night of my bat mitzvah—they let me stay up past sunrise to debate whether it was legal to cook shellfish for gryphons."
The Partician made a note in the open dossier on the desk. "Mmm. Well, that certainly fills in some gaps in your background. The records show you grew up in Apple-Morepone until age eight, when your parents were tragically lost to the 1305th Apple Panic, at which point all I could find was an emigration pass to the Old Country. What brings you back to Equestria?"
Carrot's face instantly fell. "It's not a happy story, milady. Growing up, I had always hoped to make my name in the world by buying and running my own carrot farm. I saved up 700 bits from my foalhood odd jobs—enough for a down payment at a lovely place just outside the caves. But while I was going through my old possessions to decide what to bring to the farm with me, I noticed this." Guilt creased her muzzle as she pulled out her copy of the legal code and flipped to the frontispiece, revealing a library card date-stamped CE 985. "My birth parents checked it out for me from the Apple-Morepone Library the day before they died. As their sole heir, I'm legally obligated to return it to the library and pay off the fine. My savings will just barely cover it—if the late fee of a tenth-bit per day hasn't been raised, I mean."
The Partician stood up and walked over to the window, a contemplative expression on her muzzle.
"But I don't mean to burden you with my problems, milady. I'm not one to give up on dreams—I'll figure out a way to buy the farm. Really, I just wanted to get this returned and head back home. Would you mind terribly pointing me in the library's direction?"
The Partician stared out the window. "Destroyed in the cuttlefish attack last week, I'm sorry to say."
"Oh." Worry shaded into Carrot's voice. "I can't go back until I check this back in. I'm in quite a pickle."
"That makes two of us," The Partician said, sweeping a hoof toward the town outside. "Apple-Morepone is a troubled town, Miss Carrot. I dream of a day when its ponies are happy, but my efforts in that direction are frustrated by a growing epidemic of broken laws and broken promises. Fortunately, I believe I have a proposition that will help both of us achieve our dreams."
Carrot's ears perked up. "Oh?"
"While you're waiting for the library to be rebuilt," The Partician said, "how would you like a job?"
2. In Which Daring Do Is Still 4 Credits Short Of Graduation
Apple-Morepone was, if nothing else, a place of contradictions. Tamed gardens and orchards lay alongside the sprawling chaos of the Everfree. Life was sleepy and peaceful, with panics so regular you could set your pocketwatch by them. It was an unimportant rural outpost and the inexplicably frequent target of Princess Celestia's holiday celebrations. It was an earth pony town with earth pony traditions, full of thousands of drifters of all tribes and races who found themselves settling into the languid gravity well of central Equestria.
If one were to dissect Equestria, Apple-Morepone wouldn't be its heart. Like every living creature, its heart was slightly off-center, in this case clinging to the ribs of the Canter Mountains. Apple-Morepone was right squat in the middle of the beast, and generally a great deal less dignified than its heart. More like an esophagus.
The City Watch headquarters was the squat, ugly starfish at the far end of that.
Built shortly after the city's founding by erstwhile architect Bloody Stupid Apple, it was to normal buildings what Dobby was to ponies. It had what could be charitably described as an entrance, walls, and possibly even a roof if one squinted and looked at it from the right angle. Connoisseurs of buildings generally praised its stairs to nowhere, on account of being raised to always find at least one nice thing to say.
It sat—as it had since its construction—at the edge of the Everfree, directly in the path of virtually every monster rampage the city faced. The town's oldest betting pool was for the date of its destruction, and you could tell how long a pony had lived in Apple-Morepone by which stage of gambling they had progressed to: Betting On "This Week" (denial); Betting On "This Year" (bargaining); Leading The Monster Toward The Building (anger); Realizing Why The Pool Was So Big (depression); Betting On "Never" (acceptance).
Carrot lowered the directions that The Partician had given her, double-checked the address, stared at the building some more, and finally let out a breath.
"Here goes nothing," she said.
Carrot pushed open the building's front door, only to hear a dull thunk as it swung into a second closed door a yard behind it. She blinked, stared at the second door, glanced around at the alleged architecture, then shrugged and stepped halfway into the cramped antechamber. She pushed at the second door, which didn't open it but did flex it just enough to let the first door swing fully open. Carrot pulled the inner door open to reveal a room, and started to step through triumphantly—then heard the doors grind against each other as they both tried to swing closed and hit each other halfway.
She set her jaw, finagled the two doors apart, wedged herself into the antechamber and braced a leg against the outer door. She swung the inner door shut, pushed it to flex it, stood up on hind legs so she had the room to swing the outer door shut, opened the inner door just enough to wedge through, and entered.
"Cor blimey," said a cream-colored earth pony with a puffy blue-and-pink mane, who was staring wide-eyed at her from behind a desk-shaped pile of paper just to her right. A nametag pinned to her collar read "CPL B. BONGUA". "We got a genius on our hooves, lasses. Got the door first try, she did."
A sea of heads poked out from around corners and behind desks, and Carrot got her first glimpse of the true diversity of Apple-Morepone.
The collection of beings in the building was such a motley that the word had transcended adjective status and was infringing on noun. Aside from the earth pony in front of her and a familiar rainbow-haired pegasus, the room had a sea-green unicorn, a Diamond Dog, two bug-pony things, a wossname[3], a large rock, and Dobby. Carrot politely nodded at each of the beings in turn, gave Bongua a little bow, and said, "Good afternoon, Corporal. Might I speak to your captain?"
[3] A legendary fourth tribe of ponies, considered legendary due to their tribal gift being "the ability to be seen once, and then completely forgotten about thereafter".
As one, every being in the room broke out into a grin. There was a great rustling, fumbling, and opening of drawers.
"Yo! Captain!" Dash shouted toward the back of the building. "Company!"
Carrot waited, confused, as an older zebra mare wearing flagrant gold jewelry staggered out from a back office that looked like a converted jail cell. Her eyes were bloodshot, her mohawk-style mane bent to one side as if it had been slept on, and the few potted plants brave enough to endure the premises were shrinking back from her aura of alcohol.
The zebra swept a dagger-like glare around the room, then assessed the new arrival and sighed. "Yes, I am the commandant," she slurred. "Who're you?" She paused, traced a hoof in the air while muttering to herself, and added, "Something something want."
Even more lost, Carrot fell back on the shiny "CAPT Z. RHYMES" nametag glued crookedly to the zebra's chest fur. "Ah," Carrot hazarded, "Captain Rhymes?"
"Yes!" the room shouted as one. "She does!"
From a dozen desks simultaneously, thrown bits rained toward a half-full jar in the corner. "Captain's Retirement Fund," its label read. "1 bit per racist joke."
"Thank you for your contributions," Rhymes muttered through gritted teeth. "You'll die first in the revolution."
"I. Ah." Carrot stepped forward into the captain's antiseptic radius, stuck out a hoof, and put on a cautious smile. "My name is Carrot Top-perchers-dottir, and The Partician said to tell you she was asking pretty please to give me a job?"
"Of course," Captain Rhymes said acidly, then sighed. "I, um, something, beware…" Her eyes crossed for a moment as she thought, lips slowly moving.
Carrot politely waited, feeling her blood alcohol content rise by osmosis. A few suppressed snickers, however, spurred her to clear her throat. "Beware what, Capt—"
"Sssh. Almost got it."
Carrot waited some more.
Finally, Rhymes nodded, drawing herself up to an approximation of dignity. "When that one plots, I should beware. But right now I'm too drunk to care. Not only drunk but also tired. Your desk's there, go away, you're hired."
Captain Rhymes stomped back to her jail-office and slammed the bars shut.
"Dibs on the hazing run," Dash said into the sudden silence.
Bongua slammed a hoof on her desk. "Bloody hell!"
Carrot lowered her still-outstretched limb. "I must admit I was expecting a slightly more rigorous interview."
Bongua trotted over. "Carrot me lass, you'll learn right quick not to expect any-bloody-thing out of this place but a paycheque." She shouldered Carrot with a lopsided grin. "An' while Dash called dibs on your first kip, I'll be swoggled if it ain't me right to do introductions."
Carrot stuck out her hoof again, and this time, got a warm shake in response. "I'd be honored, Corporal Bongua."
"Bonnie, an' I'll thank ye." Bongua raised her voice and shot the sea-green unicorn a glare. "Or 'Bon Bon' if yer trying to get into me pants."
The unicorn rolled her eyes. "I've told you a thousand times, I'm not interested in freaks."
"Sure an' tosh, Corporal Heartstrings."
Heartstrings stiffened. "Excuse you," she said icily.
Carrot glanced uncertainly back and forth between the two. "Ah," she hazarded, "Corporal, I certainly don't mean to be rude in my ignorance, but isn't that exactly what it says on your badge?"
Heartstrings' muzzle flushed. "Yes, well, I'm getting my name legally changed so ponies will take me more seriously." She stepped up to Carrot and shook her hoof. "Pleased to meet you. I'm Humans-Are-Real-One-Lives-In-The-Everfree-Ask-Me-For-Pictures."
"Ye can't keep going on about that, Heartstrings," Bongua said. "Ye know Canterlot's rejected that bloody petition six times now."
"All part of the conspiracy," Heartstrings hissed.
Carrot grimaced. "Perhaps so, Corporal, but the name is illegal under 'Hyphenation, excessive,' CC 46,447, Sec. 3 p. 2."
The unicorn pouted. "Well, I'm not answering to Heartstrings, and that's final."
"Heart Heart, then," Bongua said with a smirk.
Carrot eyed her dubiously, then turned to Dash, who had wandered over after putting on her "CPL M. DASH" badge and her dented helmet. "Corporal Dash," Carrot said, "given that the corporal's desired name is illegal and she dislikes her original one, perhaps it's time to fall back on nicknames. What do her other coworkers call her?"
Dash raised an eyebrow. "When they're not calling her a liar? Uh…"
"Corporal Lyra," Carrot said with some relief, grabbing the unicorn's hoof and shaking it. "Pleased to meet you."
Lyra scowled at Dash as Bongua erupted into giggles. "I hate you so much, Miriam," she muttered.
Dash stared at her for a moment, mind once again passing through its slow drip cycle, before glancing at Carrot. "Hey, if she gets an awesome nickname like Lyra, can I be Rainbow?"
"Certainly, Corporal Rainbow."
"Don't you start with—" Lyra snapped, then paused mid-thought. "What do you mean, Lyra is awesome?"
"Isn't it the name of a constellation?" Dash said. "And not one of the lame ones like Cancer."
—It's The Name Of A Star, Actually, the rock rumbled from its chair behind a nearby desk.
Carrot jumped. Only a little.
"Huh," Lyra said. "Okay. A stellar name. I dig it."
—Pleased To Meet You, Miss Carrot, the rock grated. Welcome To The Watch.
Carrot tentatively reached out a hoof to touch the rock, hoping she wasn't poking it in the unmentionables. "It's a pleasure, Corporal Tom. Though, if I might ask…are you entirely well? I've heard rocks before, and you sound like death warmed over."
—Just A Spot Of The Metamorphic Flu. It's Why I'm On Desk Duty Today.
"So that's Tom then," Bongua said, leading Carrot through the office. "And this is Scrappy who's a good boy yes you are, an' it's so brill when he wags his tail like that. And this is Scrapp…" Bongua glanced back and forth between the two Diamond Dogs, the first one of which was wearing a guilty expression. "Bloody stockpots, Reginald."
The first diamond dog burst into a haze of cool green fire, and when the fire cleared away, it left behind one of the bug ponies.
"I was hungry," Reginald mumbled.
"Go be me at Lyra then, mate."
"I heard that!"
Carrot hoof-bumped the bug-pony and the Diamond Dog as she walked past. "Corporal Reginald, Corporal-Accountant Scrappy, a pleasure to meet you both."
"Yo, Carrot," Dash said, falling in alongside them. "What's with you calling everyone 'Corporal' all the time?"
"Because you're supposed to use the titles of ponies who outrank you, Corporal," Carrot said. "I just got hired, which makes me a constable."
"Pfft, are you kidding?" Dash said. "They don't want us to feel unappreciated. Everypony's a corporal here, including you."
"…Oh."
"I'm not," the second bugpony muttered.
"Yes an' well, Sally, you was demoted," Bongua said. "An' what lesson did we learn from that?"
Sally hung her head. "Not to shapeshift into a bottle of scrump around the Captain, no matter how starving I am."
Dash shuddered. "Now that was a sight I'll never unsee."
"That's most all everyone, it is," Bongua said. "An' the bugger who just nicked all our name badges is Dobby."
"I were keepin' em warm for you," Dobby mumbled. "Nuffin worse'n a cold badge."
"We've met," Carrot said as Dobby returned her badge, then did a double-take. "Dobby? How did you get this?"
"It were on the ground."
"No, I meant, I got hired literally a minute ago. You stole something that doesn't actually exist."
"Ain't stealin then."
Carrot opened her mouth, then paused. "…That's actually a good point."
Dobby shrugged.
"But I'll need my law book back."
"Ain't yours." Dobby pointed to the "Property of Apple-Morepone Library" bookplate on the spine.
Carrot thought. "Also a good point. So I suppose if you're willing to assume responsibility for the 687-bit fine, then how did you even fit it into my pocket, it barely wedges into my saddlebags."
Dobby shrugged again and wandered off.
"I think he fancies you," Bongua said, elbowing Carrot. "He didn't nick nothin' as he scarpered."
"First, ew." Carrot shuddered. "Second, how in the Princess' name did the Watch ever hire an individual so passionately dedicated to the art of larceny?"
Bongua shrugged. "He poshed up all proper for the interview."
"What, did some respectability, air-quote, 'fall off the back of a wagon'?"
Dash's eyebrows raised. "How'd you know?"
Carrot rubbed a hoof to her suddenly aching temple. "I get the feeling he will be the source of quite a great deal of paperwork."
"Depends how often you look in his direction." Dash rubbed her hooves together and grinned. "But speaking of paperwork! Time for your haz—uhh, your first patrol."
In a neighborhood on the wrong side of Apple-Morepone's tracks [4], Corporal Dash plodded along after a smiling, strutting Corporal Carrot.
[4] The side with mean streets. Which is to say, disturbingly average.
"Sheesh, Carrot," Dash grumbled. "You sure know how to take all the fun out of hazing."
"I'm not sure what you mean," Carrot said. "We've found plenty of evidence of crime, just like you wanted."
"Yes, and somehow I'm the one writing it all down." Dash's eyes suddenly widened. "No, don't—"
But Carrot was already smiling and waving at some mares with flower cutie marks lounging on a street corner. "Greetings, ladies! Any crimes to report this fine afternoon?"
Dash whimpered.
The mares looked at each other. "Come to think of it," one said, "I paid Mister Cut-Me-Own-Throat Apple to deliver me some apples on Friday, but he never brought me anything."
Carrot nodded gravely. "I promise you the Watch will look into this miscarriage of justice. Let's get their statements down, Rainbow."
"No," Dash said, flinging her notebook to the ground. "This is stupid."
Carrot frowned, picked the notebook up, and hoofed it back at her. "It's our sacred charge as members of the Guard, Miss Dash, and if you're not going to take pride in demonstrating proper incident documentation to new recruits—which I've already established that CC 8,244 requires—then at least take some pride in yourself."
Dash sighed. "Look. Nopony can say I don't earn an honest paycheck, okay? But this one is stupid because Cut-Me-Own-Throat died on Friday morning."
"What?" Carrot blinked rapidly. "That timing sounds awfully suspicious. Was there any evidence of foul play?"
"He cut his own throat shaving."
"Oh." Carrot winced.
"Yeah. Mac's taken over the apple stall and AJ's been at Coffins and Cake [5] all weekend. So can we please move on and—" Dash made a strangled noise in the back of her throat and flung herself in Carrot's path. "Not that way!"
[5] "Putting the fun in funeral!"
"But there's a group of ne'er-do-wells and rapscallions there on Ruffians' Corner, and Miss Hooves said that she saw some shady ponies matching their description when her muffin was stolen off her kitchen windowsill this morning."
"Exactly my point!"
Carrot tilted her head. "They're potential lawbreakers. I thought you said you earned an honest paycheck."
Dash opened and closed her mouth. "…Can you please explain what you think our job is?"
"Well, admittedly all my prior experience with law enforcement is from the Old Country, but according to CC 8,241, local City Watches, while fiduciarily independent, are organized under the strictures and regulations of the Equestrian Royal Guard, and are granted all the rights and privileges thereto—"
"Little. Words."
"We arrest criminals."
Dash stared.
"We. Um. Put bad ponies in jail place?"
"C'mon, I know what you meant. What I don't know is how you got that impression. Is your law book, like, a hundred years old?"
Carrot rubbed the back of her head. "A hundred and eighty-six, if we're counting. Why?"
Dash facehooved. "Carrot. For generations now Equestria's been protected by Princess-sanctioned plucky bands of heroes roaming the land to learn friendship lessons. The entire point of the City Watch is to watch crimes. Then we take notes on what we see, so that when a hero comes to town they can use the power of their friendship to confront the villains and foil their plots."
Carrot blinked.
"I mean, yeah, I guess we're technically Royal Guard since they do give us Guard uniforms, but we don't get any of the training. We're literally forbidden to approach criminals—let alone make arrests."
Carrot wilted a little bit. "That's…oh. Well." She put on a shaky smile. "It's important to follow rules, right? We wouldn't want to deprive heroes of valuable friendship lessons."
"That's the other thing," Dash said bitterly. "Sunset Shimmer disappeared a few years back, Cadance got pulled from the program when she grew wings, and Shining Armor got stuck in Canterlot when he was promoted. So there aren't any plucky roaming heroes, and there haven't been for years." She kicked a pebble at a nearby building. "Celestia keeps promising she's got one in the works or something, but the smart betting-pool money says that's at least two years out."
"What?!" Carrot's smile vanished. "Then who keeps greater Equestria crime-free?"
Dash shrugged.
"That can't be right. That can't—where's the rules? What, specifically, says we can't make arrests?"
Dash rummaged through her saddlebags. "I, uh, think I've got a pamphlet…where'd it go…whoah!" she said as Carrot snatched the rumpled ball of paper out of her hooves, eyes flicking desperately through the text.
Carrot's face slowly fell.
An uncomfortable flutter passed through Dash's heart. Her junior partner looked like a kicked puppy.
Dash sighed and put a hoof out to Carrot's shoulder. "Listen, kid. I know what you're feeling, okay? All my life I dreamed of a job where I could make a difference. Like making clouds, except those weather jerks keep sending back my resumes unread no matter how many colors of crayon I use." She lowered her head and turned away. "Then the Watch said they'd give me an interview, and I thought, hey, fighting crime sounds pretty awesome. What filly doesn't dream of growing up, putting on a snazzy uniform, and flying through the air punching dragons or something? Then my first day on the job was exactly like yours." She smiled ruefully at the ground. "But look at how well I turned out. A cynical, jaded, washed-up failure—but a failure with a fat, comfortable paycheck from a job I can't lose, short of a monster destroying HQ. That's kind of like a dream job, right? It's gotta be somepony's dream job. Heck, I know some ponies who would give their left pinfeather for that sort of security. So cheer up, okay? Make the best of things. All you've gotta do is give up on the idea that you matter, and then you'll find clever ways to dodge paperwork like the rest of us."
Silence was the only response.
"…Carrot?"
Dash turned back around. Carrot wasn't there.
In the distance, at Ruffian's Corner, a golden square-jawed pony was surrounded by burly forms.
"DAMMIT, Carrot!" Dash yelled, squaring off her dented helmet and zipping into action. In a flash, she'd covered the intervening distance, and was preparing to bull-rush one of the ne'er-do-wells out of the way so she could grab her partner and bolt. Only to hear…raucous laughter?
"My word!" Carrot said, gasping for breath. "What happened to the chicken?"
"Eeeh, ya know," said one of the ne'er-do-wells, a chunky brown pegasus with a weightlifting Mark. "There's a stonking great BUCK-AWK!, and Bob's yer uncle, an' next thing ya know it's the Great Poultry Stampede of 997."
"Ohohohoh!" Carrot said, wiping a tear from her eye. "Oh, Corporal Rainbow, come join us. These lads were just telling me about how their friends failed their henchmare exams. Hilarious stuff, I'll tell you what."
Dash stared. "What."
A dark brown rapscallion with five-o'-clock shadow and a skull-key Mark raised his eyebrow at Dash, then turned to Carrot. "I theenk your friend has eet backward."
"It's alright, Mister Caballeron," Carrot said. "She's a little tired—she's been writing reports all afternoon. Speaking of, we should take your accounts."
Caballeron turned to Dash. "We deed not steal that muffin, Mees Rainbow. Thees petty crime, eet is beneath us." He stomped the ground. "But I have many evil deeds to confess! I am getting a degree in reprehension! I want to be a villain someday, and I must prepare my CV! So we weel help you soil our names."
"YEEEEAAAHHH!" the pile of muscle alongside him roared.
"Oh, shut up, Bulk," the chunky ne'er-do-well said. "You ain't never committed no crimes. You're a disgrace to ruffians everywhere."
Bulk hung his head. "Yeeeeaaaaaaah," he said sadly.
What followed was the most laborious hour of crime reports that Corporal Dash had ever taken. Three full notebooks later, she rubbed her eyes. "C'mon, Carrot," she pleaded. "Our shift's almost over and we've done, like, a month's worth of work at once."
Carrot—who had long since returned to her chipper, bright-eyed self—nodded and shook Caballeron's hoof. "True. We ought to be getting back to headquarters. Thank you for your cooperation."
Caballeron let out a long breath, his ears drooping. "Do you theenk eet will be enough? Eet ees so discouraging, investing so many beets een higher education and being blamed for muffin theft. Ees there really any demand for an evil archaeologist?"
"Mister Caballeron," Carrot said solemnly, "never give up on your dreams. Our destinies were given to us for a reason. I know it's hard to keep the faith sometimes, but I just know that your heroine is out there somewhere, and someday she'll find you and defeat you."
Caballeron lunged in to hug her, tears brimming in his eyes. "Thank you, Mees Carrot. Thank you for believing een me."
The watchmares walked away—Dash in numb silence, Carrot smiling and waving over her shoulder.
"Well," Dash finally said, "that was the most demoralizing experience I've ever had on the force."
"On the contrary, Miss Rainbow," Carrot said cheerfully, "we're doing the Princess' own work. That's exactly the sort of villain we're here to document. Without us, he'd be committing crimes nopony ever noticed. Imagine putting so much effort into his Cutie Mark and not even being a footnote in the criminal histories."
"Yeah," Dash said bitterly. "Or imagine being me, dreaming of making a difference someday, and finding out that the rest of my life is writing down the little details of cuttlefish-insurance pyramid schemes."
Carrot chewed her lip.
"Miss Rainbow," she said softly, "never give up on your dreams. I'm here to earn money so I can buy a farm, and I can't say that I expected crime documentation to be my route to that, but while I'm here I'm going to do the best darn job at it that I can. Likewise, think of this as just a stepping-stone for you. We'll get you that weather position."
Dash vaguely waved a hoof. "That's not it. I want the weather job, but I don't want want the job, y'know? I want to prove to myself I can be good enough for them to hire me. But my dream is making a difference, and if I can't do that here, how's that ever going to change?"
"We just did make a difference," Carrot said hesitantly.
"Yeah, well, not a cool one." Dash leapt ahead of Carrot, whirling around to face her. "What ever happened to keeping Equestria free of crime? Weren't you the one that said we're technically guards and where's the rule about not making arrests? Don't tell me you like this!"
Carrot squirmed. "Miss Rainbow, we have to follow the rules, as uncomfortable as they are."
Dash scoffed. "You walked up to a criminal, in direct violation of the thingumie that says we're supposed to leave that to the heroes!"
"Well, you did say that there were no active heroes," Carrot said. "That's an obvious chain-of-command disruption as defined in CC 12,730. And CC 4,144 clearly delineates additional responsibilities given to the Royal Guard when unable to establish a full chain of command. While Watch constables are explicitly restricted from Guard privileges except as delineated in pamphlet page 3 paragraph 8, we're not constables, we're corporals, and per CC 56,298, us being officers allows us to invoke 4,144 and waive at our discretion all unit restrictions not specified to be unwaivable, such as the prohibition against approaching criminals."
Dash's jaw dropped.
"That, right there?" she said slowly. "Why aren't you doing that to find a loophole that lets us arrest ponies?"
"Hunh," Carrot said, and put her hoof to her chin in thought.
Dash did an antsy hooftip dance.
"I just can't get us to arrests," Carrot said after an interminable period of thinking. "There's a whole subsection of CC 56,292 specifically granting those powers, which the Watch charter never invokes. But." Her lips curled into a smile. "The entire Guard is, and I quote, 'authorized to use all friendly means, up to and including gently phrased requests, to keep the peace and protect the Equestrian populace'."
Dash's dance slowed. Her expression tried to contort in three different ways at once.
"C'mon, Carrot," she whined. "You're busting my wings here."
"Your dream isn't arrests, Miss Rainbow. It's making a difference."
"How are we going to stop crime with gently phrased requests?"
"You'll never know," Carrot said brightly, "until you try."
3. In Which The Limits Of Gently Phrased Requests Are Discovered
Apple-Morepone Town Square was, by Apple-Morepone standards, rather beautiful. It had some rather comely bushes and a large fountain. Carrot and Dash crouched in the former and stared at the dun-colored earth pony next to the latter.
"Are you sure he's doing something illegal?" Carrot whispered. "I don't recall anything like that in the regulations."
"Yeah," Dash whispered back. "That's Dubious Scheme, and he's loan sharking. Celestia banned that a few years back."
"I'll take your word for it." Carrot stood up. "Let's do this. Remember, Miss Rainbow, gently phrased requests."
The two of them marched up to Scheme. He was fiddling with a crank attached to a rope, which threaded through the gigantic wooden frame he'd constructed over the fountain.
"Good evening, Mister Scheme," Carrot said.
He glanced over his shoulder, then turned the crank another quarter turn, spooling the rope out. "Good evening."
"Good evening, ladies," Chum said from up above them, where he was hanging from the other end of the rope.
"Graaagh," said the shark in the fountain below him.
Chum went very still. "I don't suppose," he squeaked, "that you'd consider releasing me now that we've got company?"
"I don't suppose," Scheme said, "you're going to give me that embarrassingly large loan at negative interest rates?"
"As persuasive as your business partner is, that still doesn't strike me as a sound financial proposition."
"Then please allow my partner another opportunity to change your mind." Scheme spooled out another few inches of rope.
"Graaagh," the shark said, swimming back and forth.
"Here goes nothing," Dash said under her breath, then took a languid step forward, wearing a rather too-large smile. "Schemie. Old buddy. Old pal."
Scheme glared at her. "We aren't friends, watchie."
Dash put a hoof to her chest. "You wound me, Scheme. After all the times I've coincidentally wandered the opposite direction while you worked?"
Scheme snorted. "Saving yourself paperwork, you mean?"
Dash's expression wavered, and she redoubled her smile. "You do know that loan sharking is illegal, right?"
"Yeah, and?" He stood up and faced her, grinning. "Whatcha going to do about it, take notes?"
"Not today," Dash said, then leaned forward nose to nose with him. "I've been authorized to gently ask, please, because we like each other so much, if you would let Mister Chum go."
He paused.
"What, really?"
"Yep," Dash said. "All by the book and stuff."
"Huh," Scheme said. "Alright."
Dash blinked. "What, really?"
Scheme's face contorted with laughter. "Pfft, no," he said. He scuffed some dirt at her boot, whirled abruptly around, and crouched over the device again. "Go do useful Watch things."
Dash's eye twitched.
"Thank you regardless, Corporal Dash," Chum said politely. "I do appreciate the attempt."
"Well, Carrot," Dash said, struggling to keep her voice level, "now what's the plaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand you're gone again."
Dash glanced around. Yep. Nowhere in Town Square.
"You do realize," she shouted, "the one getting hazed is supposed to be you?"
No response. Dash facehoofed.
"Are you quite done?" Scheme said irately. "You're spoiling the mood of villainous foreboding."
The sludgy coffee filter of Dash's brain tried to wring the last drops of inspiration out of the old set of metaphorical grounds.
"Nothing says I can't gently phrase requests more than once," Dash said slowly. "Let him go, please?"
"No."
"Pretty please?"
"No."
"Extra pretty rainbow-sprinkles please?"
"Tell you what," Scheme said. "Tie yourself to the end of this rope, and I'll think about it."
"Scheme, loan sharking won't work on me, I'm a pegasus."
"And I'm creative. I'll think of something."
Dash felt sweat prickle at her brow, and took a step back. "Seriously, Scheme. Do you know how much paperwork is involved if a Watchmare is a crime victim?"
"Yes, indeed." Scheme grinned wickedly, and began to advance on her with the rope.
A throat cleared behind him.
Dash and Scheme turned to look. Carrot was leaning calmly against the wooden contraption.
"Pardon me, Mister Scheme," Carrot said cheerfully. "Before you do anything rash, will you take a moment to hear out my apology?"
"Apology?" Scheme turned to Carrot, instantly suspicious. "For what?"
"I'm afraid that I might have been gossiping with some ne'er-do-wells at Ruffian's Corner, and accidentally mentioned that there was, in my professional opinion as a crime observer, an easily muggable individual here. One who apparently was about to come into possession of a significant number of bits."
"What."
Carrot smiled extra sweetly. "Might I gently ask for you to consider an abrupt departure, in the name of keeping the peace and protecting the Equestrian populace—which is to say, at the current moment, you?"
Scheme felt warm breath on the back of his neck. He slowly turned around.
A wall of white muscle was looming over him.
"Yeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaah," Bulk said.
WHAM! The door to Watch Headquarters dramatically slammed open right at the start of Night Shift.
Then there was some scuffling in the entryway, and the inner door flexed inward, and the outer door closed, and WHAM! The inner door dramatically slammed open as Corporal Dash burst through.
"GALS," Dash shouted. "CARROT STOPPED A CRIME."
The room went silent. Dubious faces peeked from around piles of paperwork. Even Captain Rhymes leaned out from her cell.
"I'm totally serious this isn't a prank the newbie and I went to Town Square and Scheme was loan sharking and—" the madly grinning Dash grabbed Bongua and pulled her in nose to nose—"she was all hello please stop sir and then yeeeeaaaaahhh and pshzow and he ran. HE RAN. Do you have any idea what this means—"
WHAM-WHAM! The doors to Watch Headquarters exploded into fragments as Bulk Biceps walked through them, Corporal Carrot trailing behind and wincing.
And the room, too, exploded into motion.
Once Carrot had run the gauntlet of eager Watch corporals begging for the whole story—a story which she told, over and over, modestly and with sparse detail—she tried to sidestep over to her desk, only to run into a wall of unamused zebra. "What manner of fresh pony hell," Captain Rhymes said, "now brings to us this ne'er-do-well?"
"Captain," Carrot said politely. "I've discovered that Mister Biceps is an upstanding citizen whose talents were being wasted on the wrong side of the law. He was a valuable asset in my last mission. Accordingly—and in accordance with the broken-chain-of-command rules of CC 4,144—as a Watch officer in good standing I've deputized him as an Acting Constable."
"Yeeeeeaaaaahhhh!" Bulk shouted.
Rhymes slowly lowered her face to her hoof. "I should have known I'd soon regret the moment in which we first met. The paperwork will be a chore. At least, I guess, he fixed the door."
Carrot nodded thoughtfully. "You sound sober, if you don't mind my saying so."
"A certain equine reprobate discovered how to liberate the combo to the number lock which held my private liquor stock." Rhymes shot a glare at the comatose pile of Dobby sprawled in a corner of the office.
"And she's been rhyming up a storm since!" Bongua said, with a gentle Applelachian accent. "It's been crazy! It only took us an hour to fill up her retirement jar."
Rhymes sighed aggressively. "Even more than scrump or beer, I'll savor when I leave from here. But truly, simply leaving soon would not be a sufficient boon. Till memories can be erased, this place will leave a bitter taste."
"Yeah, whatever," Dash said, bouncing in a manner far more often associated with pinkness. "We can fight crime now, gals." Her voice rose to a squeak as she squished her cheeks in her hooves. "This is so awesome!"
Bongua raised her eyebrows. "Hunh," she said. "I suppose it would be nice to make a difference."
"I know, right?!"
"Miss Bonnie?" Carrot cut in. "Not to interrupt, but…you sound different?"
Bongua pouted. "Is this really the time to talk about my condition?"
"Condition?"
"She's a freak," Lyra said loudly.
"I'm a ponpony," Bongua shot back. "That's nothing to be ashamed of."
Carrot blinked. "A what?"
"Did I stutter?" Bongua said, voice cold.
"That's what I'm trying to figure out."
—She Is A Pony Who, Owing To An Ancient Magical Curse, Turns Into A Pony Under The Light Of The Moon, Tom said, his voice sounding much closer to his normal gravelly pitch.
"Which, despite all my protestations, is actually really hot," Lyra whispered.
The room went silent. Bongua's face went beet red.
Lyra froze. She glanced around, then blushed. "Oh, plot. Was that my outside voice?"
Bongua whirled and grabbed her. "You," she growled throatily. "Me. The bushes outside. Now."
The door to the restroom swung open as they were leaving, and a sea-green unicorn stepped out. "OH MY BUCKING ALICORN, REGINALD," Lyra shouted, lunging at the pair with murder in her eyes.
Dash grabbed her halfway, still vibrating with excitement. "Lyra. Lyra. Forget them. Did you hear? Carrot stopped a crime."
"Wait, what? Really?"
"Really."
Lyra's eyes went wide. "Holy fingertips. Does this mean that we can actually fight back against The Cult now?"
Dash rolled her eyes. "For the last time, Lyra, nopony is hiding any so-called 'evidence' that an evil Sunset Shimmer is leading an invasion force of 'humans' against Celest—" She blinked. "Oh. The Cult, not The Conspiracy. Yeah, we should do something about them."
"Apple-Morepone has a cult?" Carrot asked.
—Yes. The I-Dislike-How-Zoning-Regulations-Force-Me-To-Trim-My-Hedges-Back-From-The-Sidewalks Society. They Meet Every Night In The Basement Of Criminal Mastermind, A Nefarious Unicorn Who Has Written Several Grossly Unpleasant Letters To The Editor Of The School Paper.
"That fiend," Dash hissed.
"Oh, sure," Lyra muttered. "They get fourteen hyphens."
Carrot pressed one hoof to her forehead, and raised the other one.
"What is it, Carrot?"
"I think I've heard of their plot," Carrot said. "Are they behind some sort of crazy scheme involving casting a spell on a dragon which then goes on a rampage, causing panic that forces the current ruler onto a path of direct intervention, ultimately leading to a new royal being crowned?"
"Of course not," Dash scoffed. "What sort of unoriginal hack would do that?"
Everyone looked at Dash.
"…What?"
—They Are Certainly Up To Something, Though, Tom said. Their Meetings Are Now Being Protected By A Pack Of Hired Ruffians. And I Do Not Believe It Is Coincidence That Rates Of Vandalism, Theft, And Aggravated Skulduggery Have Recently Skyrocketed.
"Well, you know what?" Dash smacked one forehoof into the other, grinning. "We've got law, muscle, and gently phrased requests on our side. Let's crash their party."
"Can we please crash your party?" Dash asked.
Caballeron—standing in front of Criminal Mastermind's basement door—crossed his legs. "No."
"Come oooooonnnnnn," Dash whined.
"Mees Dash. Meester Biceps. Mees Carrot." Caballeron nodded politely to each in turn. "I owe you a debt, but thees ees no longer a matter of muffins. Thees is a matter of pride. We are henching now, and our job ees to keep out everyponee except cultists, henchponees, and untrustworthy ponees seeking employment as henches."
"Yeeeaaaaaahhh," Constable Bulk grunted.
"Sadly no, Meester Bulk." Caballeron pointed to the crayon-on-tape name badge that Dash had hastily assembled for him. "You have gone leegit."
Dash pouted. Then her muzzle slowly spread into a smile. "Okay, Carrot. We tried it the easy way. Now work your magic."
Carrot shook her head. "I'm afraid we're stuck, Miss Rainbow."
Dash croggled. "Wait, what?"
"Short of a search warrant—which is equally as out of reach as arrest powers are—they're well within their rights to keep us off of private property. Similarly, there is neither ambiguity nor illegality in their orders." Carrot turned around. "It was a lovely thought, but this is a dead end."
Dash zipped in front of Carrot. "Whoah, hoss. Where do you think you're going?"
"Back to headquarters, to get started on today's paperwork."
"Yes you are, and no you're not." Dash leaned in, fire in her eyes. "You told me not to give up on my dreams, Carrot. You know what not giving up looks like?" Dash straightened her helmet, narrowed her eyes, and hoofed at the ground. "Me telling you that you won't know how to get through that door until you try."
Carrot looked at Dash, then gave a slow, almost imperceptible nod, a smile spreading across her muzzle.
"Then I think, Miss Rainbow," she said, "it's time to do some reading."
4. In Which Royal Luggage Lock Codes Are Briefly Relevant
"I think she's actually serious about this," Bongua said, leaning back in her chair and staring at the hunched-over form of the blue pegasus.
Dash licked her lips, wiped some sweat from her forehead, and flipped another page.
"I dare say you're right," Carrot said. "She hasn't moved from the Captain's copy of the Celestial Code since we got back to Headquarters."
Lyra nuzzled into Bongua's neck, leaving a trail of little nips that caused Bongua to giggle. "How come you're—ooh—not reading your own copy?" Bongua asked, caressing Lyra's head with a hoof. "Shouldn't you be helping?"
Carrot tapped her head. "It's all up here." She stood and began to pace, frowning. "Besides, the law is entirely clear. I've analyzed what it says from every possible angle, and I'm still afraid there's just no bending it."
Lyra lifted her head from Bongua for a moment. "Then analyze what it doesn't say."
Carrot opened her mouth to respond. Then Lyra wandered in from outside and walked by, rolling her eyes at her duplicate. "Sheesh, Reginald, get a room."
Bongua blushed. "Sorry."
Walking Lyra stopped mid-stride. She slowly turned her head.
Nibbling Lyra blinked, then pulled back. "Reginald?"
Bongua disappeared in a flash of fire, leaving Reginald behind. "Sally?"
Nibbling Lyra similarly decloaked. "Wait," a flustered-looking Sally said. "If you're here, then who was Lyra boinking in the bushes?"
"NOT THINKING ABOUT THAT VERY HARD NOW," Lyra shouted, face beet red as she scooted away.
"Sally," Carrot gently interrupted, "what was that you said? About what the law doesn't say?"
Sally scooted away from Reginald and licked her hoof like a cat caught falling off a counter. "Well. You're looking at what the law permits. But the law doesn't permit what you want to do. So you have to look at what the law doesn't prohibit."
"I didn't think of it that way," Carrot said slowly.
"That's cause you're thinking like a lawmare. Only newbies do that. You work as a lawmare long enough, you start to think like a criminal."
"That's rather scary," Carrot said. "It implies Dobby's been here the longest of any of us."
"Not no more," Dobby muttered as he shuffled by, tossing his badge on Bongua's desk.
The rest of them blinked. Then stared at the gradually receding pony-like pile. Then down at the badge.
Carrot was the first to react, hustling to catch up with him and walking out with him into the night. "Mister Dobbin," she said. "Let's not be hasty. What's this about?"
He didn't answer for a while, and Carrot began to wonder if perhaps some new layer of grime had caked closed what passed for his ears. Then he said, softly, "I heard whats you said about dreams."
"I don't understand," Carrot said gently.
Dobby walked over to where the edge of the moonlight brushed up against the shadows of the surrounding trees, and sat down. Carrot sat alongside him.
"Never had no dreams," he said. "Picked this job off the ground cause I were bored. Kept finding fings falling off the backs of wagons cors I had nothin' better to do." He shifted to bring his flank into the moonlight, showing off an image of a hand grabbing a coin. "It always came natural. But I never thunk about it too hard."
Carrot blinked, certain her eyes were playing tricks on her. "Dobby. How is that even a pony Mark."
"It weren't. I stole it." He hesitated. "I can says that, right? On account of it weren't really illegal since it weren't a fing."
"Yes," Carrot said, inspiration slowly dawning. "You stole something which wasn't a thing, so it wasn't illegal."
"And now I gots dreams," Dobby said. "I wants to do legit non-fing stealing. But I wants to do it big. The biggest."
"Dobby," Carrot said, "what can you steal?"
"Anyfing," Dobby said modestly.
Carrot rested a hoof on his shoulder, trying not to think too much about what she was touching. "Listen to me, Dobby. Your dream is beautiful, and not actually illegal—presumably because sane ponies don't bother to ban the impossible. And you should chase that dream at a full gallop with…however many hooves you actually have. Which is why I tell you: I believe I have a proposition that will help both of us achieve our dreams."
He cocked his head.
"While the Captain is processing your resignation," she said, "how would you like one last job?"
It was late night at Criminal Mastermind's basement when three strange equines strolled up to the door: a Mysterious Gold Pony With A Carrot Mark, a Mysterious Blue Pegasus With A Rainbow Mane, and a Hulking White Figure.
Caballeron yawned, stood up straight, then squinted. "Mees Carrot? Mees Dash? Meester Biceps?"
"Yeeeeeaaaaaaahhhh," Hulking White Figure said.
"My apologees," Caballeron said. "You're right, that's reedeeculous. I just thought you looked fameeliar."
"Well, that's certainly not because we're Watchmares who were recently the victims of voluntary identity theft," Mysterious Rainbow-Haired Mare announced loudly.
Caballeron squinted. Then shrugged. "Well, your storee checks out. I know all the ponees in the Watch. I don't know you. What ees eet you want?"
"We've heard you let in untrustworthy ponies for henchpony interviews," Mysterious Carrot-Marked Pony said.
"Alright. Have you got your Untrustwortheeness Certeefications?"
"What?" Rainbow-Mane stage-whispered to Carrot-Mark. "They do that?"
Caballeron shrugged. "Well, if you're untrustworthee, I certainlee can't take your own word for eet."
Carrot-Mark pondered.
"So that's a no, then?" Caballeron said.
"Mister Caballeron," Carrot-Mark said, stepping forward. "we're all strangers. Didn't your mother ever tell you not to talk to strangers?"
"Well," Caballeron admitted, "yes."
"Why is that?"
"Beecause you can't trust…oh." Caballeron bowed and opened the door. "Well played, meestery mare."
When the Watchmares entered the dark and ominous basement [6], the cult's blasphemous ritual was quickly approaching its accursed, loathsome conclusion.
[6] And retrieved their identities from where Dobby had dropped them through the open hopper window.
"Motion to proceed to voice vote on the final amendments of the motion to adjourn," a hooded figure droned.
"Seconded," another said.
"All in favor."
"Aye," the cultists chanted in dark supplication.
Then Criminal Mastermind—a lavender unicorn with a streak of light blue running through her tall, swooshy purple hair—threw back her hood and stepped forward. "My fellow Societarians. I have something to say."
"Debate was closed," a hooded figure droned. "This is out of order."
A devilish grin spread across Mastermind's muzzle. Her horn shimmered, and a copy of Rodebert's Rules of Order floated above her.
Then, slowly, lasciviously, she tore it in half.
As one, the cultists threw their heads back, stomped their hooves, and let out an ecstatic ululation.
"Dang, Carrot, that's pretty hardcore," Dash whispered. "…Carrot?" She glanced around, then down at the fainted figure at her hooves. "Uh-oh."
"Yeeeeeaaahhh," Bulk whispered, gently slapping Carrot's face.
"My sisters," Mastermind shouted above the noise, "tonight I speak to you on the eve of our triumph. From our humble beginnings in disliking zoning regulations, you have remained faithful to our nefarious cause."
"Yeah!" A cultist shouted. "Why is it always the sidewalk-walkers who benefit, never the hedge-owners!"
"This has been bigger than our hedges for a while now, Barry." Mastermind cackled and rubbed her hooves together. "We have learned that laws in general are sometimes inconvenient!"
"Keep it together, Carrot," Dash whispered, hugging the pale, trembling mare.
"And now our moment of triumph is soon at hoof!"
The crowd drew in a breath.
"For what are heroes and their friendship lessons but yet another law?" Mastermind shouted. "Tomorrow morning we shall transcend even that! For we shall visit the Canterlot Castle throne room during Open Court Session, loudly interrupt it, and be defeated by Celestia herself!"
Wild cheers erupted.
"She might even be inconvenienced!"
The cheering redoubled.
"And nopony will learn anything from it!"
Carrot breathed into a paper bag, sweat stippling her brow, as the cultists gyrated and ululated with wild abandon.
"Yeeeeaaaaahhhhhh," Bulk muttered, looking grim.
"You're right," Dash whispered. "Ominous looming and gently phrased requests aren't gonna be up to the job here." She smiled and patted his shoulder. "But don't worry. We got this."
"Miss Rainbow," Carrot whispered, her voice faint, "you're right. But I'm not sure I like how."
Worry briefly flitted across Dash's face. "…What are you saying, Carrot?"
Carrot stood up on shaky hooves. "I think we can solve this…but not as Watchmares, or even Guardsmares. This is a moment for a hero." Carrot's voice seized for a moment. "And even though w-we're n-not. Wwwh. We're not legally allowed to field-promote ourselves—" Carrot swallowed through a suddenly dry throat and closed her eyes—"we're all that Apple-Morepone has, and I believe that's worth something." Her voice firmed, and she straightened up, staring forward in quiet determination. "I believe that we do have this, yes. Because I believe in us, and I believe in the power of our friendship."
"YEEEEEEEAAAAAAAHHHHH!" Bulk roared, resting a supportive wing on her back and stomping the floor.
The room went quiet.
As one, the hooded heads turned to them.
Carrot licked her lips. Smiled shakily. Rolled up her sleeves [7], and stepped forward—
[7] This was exactly the purpose—per CC 85,858 S. 2 p. 11, "Uniforms, comma, Dramatic Embellishments"—for which sleeves had been added to Guard armor in the first place.
—only to run into Dash's outstretched hoof.
"Hey," Dash said with a confident grin. "Did I, or did I not, say we got this? I listened to you when you talked about dreams, Carrot. You helped me realize, for the first time in my life, I can make a difference—no matter what I am. And then you motivated me to read a book, for the first and last time in my life." She strutted in front of her partners, wings flaring out. "You know what I learned from it? We don't need to be heroes here. We got this." Her grin widened. "As Watchmares."
Mastermind stalked forward, nose to nose with Dash. "What," she said, "is going on here?"
"My name is Corporal Rainbow Dash of the Apple-Morepone City Watch," Dash said. "I'm here to do my job. Which is to say—" she pulled out her notebook—"properly documenting your evil misdeeds, so that in five to seven months they'll go on your permanent record."
Mastermind raised an eyebrow. "So you're not here to stop us from confronting Celestia tomorrow?"
"Pfft, no," Dash said. "Do you know how much paperwork that would involve?"
"Dash what are you doing," Carrot hissed.
Dash ignored her, turning to the crowd and raising her voice. "I'll just put you all down for six counts of Nefarious Scheming, okay? I can write you in as 'Crowd Member', or you can swing by the office next week to give me names if you want credit. As for you." She turned to face Mastermind, crayon poised. "Archvillainy, Comma, Nonspecific seems like a good start. Rabble Rousing, Ruffian Hiring, Conspiracy Comma Non-Human-Related…which ones do you want ponies whispering about? The newspapers eat our reports up—you can't buy publicity this good."
Mastermind stared, unamused. "We have an attack to plan. Stop wasting my time."
"Ooh, Obstruction of Justice, that's a good one too. Say, did you happen to break CC 12,345 before we arrived?"
Carrot raised one eyebrow. "Royal Luggage, comma, Lock Codes?"
Dash whirled on her. "Excuse me, Carrot‽" she thundered. "Did I just hear somepony comment on the revised code she hasn't read yet? Or are you going to let the officer demonstrating proper incident documentation to new recruits do the talking?"
And she gave Carrot a slow wink.
Carrot stifled a grin, standing up a little straighter and saluting. She still didn't know the plan, but now she knew her part in it.
"Sorry, Corporal, ma'am," Carrot shouted back. "To my eternal shame, I am not familiar with the new CC 12,345, if you could refresh my memory, Corporal, ma'am!"
"Celestial Bothering, comma, Aggravated?" Dash shouted. "Eternal shame is right! How are you not familiar with the law the Princess is the most desperately obsessed with keeping unbroken?"
The eyes of every pony in the room widened.
Mastermind grabbed Dash by the shoulders, staring into her eyes. "Tell me more," she hissed.
"Calm down, ma'am," Dash said, brushing Mastermind's hooves away and turning back toward Carrot. "You're definitely going to need to memorize Sections 2 through 28, where the criminal moves to a remote desert and sets up their own town that's just like ours but better in every way, and then never talks to anyone in Equestria again. I guess it really burns her flanks when somepony beats her at her own game and then doesn't even bother to rub it in her face." She tapped a hoof to her chin, then slowly looked back at Mastermind. "But clearly, since you're still here, you haven't gotten that far yet. Really, I was asking more about Sec. 1 p. 2, where you change your name to something evocative of the night sky to show how much you hate solar rule."
"Star—Starlight!" Mastermind blurted. "Starlight Glimmer! Yes! The name change petition, uh, is in the mail! Tell me more about the desert!"
"Oooh," Dash said, scribbling rapidly as she broke into a fiendish grin. "She's going to hate that. What about p. 4, where you come up with a villain motivation that nopony in their right mind would believe?"
"My friend got his Cutie Mark before I did! Tell me more about the desert!"
Carrot watched—a beatific smile plastered across her muzzle, a lone tear trickling down her cheek—as Dash continued to cite regulation after regulation. Oh, and also save the town or something.
It was the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen.
Long after the meeting was supposed to have ended—and long after the red-eye train to Canterlot had left, empty—the three Watchmares stepped out into the morning sun, waving goodbye to Starlight Glimmer's cultists as they galloped eastward into oblivion.
"Miss Rainbow," Carrot said, "I could kiss you."
Dash grinned and leaned in. "Yeah," she said, "I'm kissable like that."
"But not on duty," Carrot said. "CC 8,422, S. 14 p. 1."
Dash paused. Then backed away, cheeks reddening, coughing into a hoof. "Of course."
"Still, that was glorious! I can't believe you found such an obscure and specific law, and figured out how to apply it in the exact way it was meant to be used!" Carrot started tearing up again. "You've learned so well from my example."
"…Yeah. About that."
Carrot tilted her head inquisitively.
"You know the most important thing I learned from reading through the entire Equestrian legal code?"
"What?"
A smirk slowly spread across Dash's face.
"That there's no law," she said, "against lying to villains about what's in it."
Carrot stared. Then blinked rapidly.
Dash stared back.
Then they both broke into uproarious laughter, leaning against each other and clinging as if they'd never let go.
.
Author's Notes:
At publication time, this story was an entry into Aragon's Comedy Contest — and to be a valid entry, it had to be complete and under 12,000 words. The story which ends here was my contest submission.
However, now that the contest is over, I've added an epilogue to end it the way I always meant to end it. Read on!
Epilogue: In Which The Source Of Fluttershy's Financial Support Is Vaguely Implied
One Week Later
It was a beautiful morning in …
… um. The town.
With the ponies.
Above Town Square, Dash leaned back in her napping cloud, and stared at the beautiful sky with a big ol' beautiful grin. The sky that she would soon be managing, according to the offer letter she was hugging to her chest. [8] Granted, a weather gig wouldn't be half as cool as chasing off villains, but it was a pretty sweet consolation prize for suddenly no longer having a job with the … uh … the town's City Watch.
[8] "P.S.: Please pass along our gratitude to whoever finally bought you that pencil."
"Carrot," she said, loading some fresher (metaphorical) coffee grounds into her (mental) filter, "why does it feel like I'm forgetting something?"
Carrot shrugged. "Can't rightly say, Rainbow. After all, there's a lot of … um … this place … to forget."
"Yeah. This place." Dash worked its name around her mouth like a dislodged tooth she was trying not to swallow. "The town ... with the ponies."
Carrot thought for a moment. "Are we forgetting the town's name?"
Dash snorted. "You, forget something basic like that?"
"Point," Carrot said. "But otherwise, I should be able to tell you, since ... this place ... has to have a name. Everything does."
"Not the —"
"Aglets."
"Come on, you didn't even know what I was going to say."
Carrot cleared her throat and imitated Dash's rough, high voice. " 'Not the solid bits at the end of your hoof-laces.' "
Dash glanced away and pouted. "Not necessarily."
Carrot tapped her chin, her mind already elsewhere. "Many towns are named after nearby geographic features. Orchardburg? Edge-of-Everfree?"
Dash sighed and flopped back on her cloud. "Those don't sound right." She shrugged. "Maybe the town's name was stolen?"
"Don't be silly, Rainbow. Even by … this place's … admittedly ridiculous standards —"
"Weren't my fault," an oddly ugly stranger muttered, a blissful smile on his face as he walked past them.
Carrot glanced at the stranger as he passed, then returned her dubious stare to Dash. "As I was saying, stealing an entire town's name is the sort of insanity best saved for Miss Lyra's corkboard."
"I know it sounds crazy, but hear me out — if someone could steal names, maybe they could also steal memories of being able to steal names, and they're walking among us right now."
Carrot slowly raised one eyebrow.
Rainbow sighed. "Okay, yeah, that sounds crazier than I thought it would."
"Right. Monster Valley? Canterlot's Asterisk?" Carrot frowned. "Or perhaps I'm thinking of this the wrong way. Modern Equestrian settlements' names are preferentially geographical and/or pun-related per CC 1 Sec. 1 p. 1, but early Equestrian settlements often were named by and for their founding Earthers, so it might be 'Apples, And More Ponies' or something equally profoundly uncreative —"
Dash lunged in and clamped her hooves over Carrot's mouth.
"Tartarus, Carrot, you don't have to be racist about it," Dash hissed. "Look, let's just call it 'Ponyville' or something."
Carrot's muzzle flushed a deep red, and she glanced around the fortuitously empty Town Square. "On further consideration," she said with a note of relief, "I am perfectly willing to accept 'Ponyville' to avoid the possibility of sticking my hoof in my mouth in mixed company."
"Works for me!" a voice of elemental cheerfulness said from directly behind her ear. "And since I'm the Ponyville shadow government now that makes it all official!"
Carrot jumped. Then whirled around into a bouncing pink face, a "First Annual Happy-So-Many-Things-That-This-Banner's-In-Danger-Of-Violating-Both-The-Length-And-Hyphenatio" banner with a little cardboard "n-Rules Party!" taped onto the end, a table of fresh baked goods, and a cheering crowd.
Dash blinked slowly — not at the instant celebration, but at Pinkie herself. "You're the what now?"
"I'm the Partician!" If Pinkie's pronking could have been hooked up to a generator, it would have melted the metal. "I'm the Partician, I'm the Partician!"
Carrot laughed, extracting herself from a very energetic hug. "Congratulations on the promotion! … Ah, but if I might ask, Miss Pie, what happened to Lady Vetinari?"
"Oh, Fluttershy?" Pinkie said. "She always hated the job. So she retired, just like she always said she would once the crime problem got brought under control! And she's building a Home for Wayward Animals where the City Watch building used to be!"
Carrot took off her Watch helmet and bowed her head for a moment of silence. "At least," she said afterward, "we can be grateful that Headquarters was the only casualty of the Tiny Alligator Attack of 998."
"And you can be grateful that you cashed out your 'This Week' bet at a tidy profit," Dash grumbled. "I lost my shirt on 'Never.' I'm gonna have to get a job with, like, the Wonderbolts to pay off my gambling debts."
"Actually, most of my proceeds are spoken for," Carrot said. "Lady Vetinari suggested to me that I fund the growth of a new library tree with my windfall. It would be a useful and indisputably permanent piece of philanthropy for a town still educating its foals in a one-room schoolhouse. Not to mention, that way I can return the book that's keeping me here."
Dash gave her the full lost-kitten treatment. Quivering jaw. Huge eyes.
Carrot laughed and nuzzled her friend. "But, you know, I don't have to leave just because that's over with. Ponyville is rather growing on me."
"Eeeeeeee," Dash vibrated, happily nuzzling back.
"Get a room, Reginald!" Lyra reflexively shouted as she and Bongua passed by, leaning against each other and grinning stupidly.
"Reggie an' Sally scarpered, luvvie," Bongua said. "If'n 'ey weren't a figment of our imaginations to begin with. That's really Carrot, it is."
"You and your 'figments'." Lyra rolled her eyes. "C'mon, Bon Bon, you know I can't add these alleged 'changelings' to the corkboard. I've run out of room."
"Mmm," Bongua murmured, nuzzling Lyra's neck. "Call me 'Bon Bon' again."
Meanwhile, in the shadows nearby, Dobby quietly slunk up to a smiling ex-Partician and a quiet, sober striped figure.
"They did just what you planned they'd do," the zebra murmured. "A pity that your work is through."
Fluttershy smiled enigmatically. "I retired from party planning, just as you retired from leading the Watch. But one such as I will never stop helping the town from the background — not while I continue drawing breath. And I know your heart, Rhymes. Despite the constant abuse you took, you can't tell me you don't feel the same."
Rhymes slowly nodded, then let a wry smile grow on her lips. "It may be true that disrespect can't stop me playing civic architect. But on one point, I must inject, your claim is wholly incorrect."
Fluttershy tilted her head. "What do you mean, old friend?"
The zebra tsked. "Zecora's script is yet unread. But Captain Rhymes? Unmourned and dead." She turned toward Dobby and gave him a solemn nod.
Dobby winked. "Yer welcome, cap," he said, and gave her one final salute before everypony's memories of Captain Rhymes fell off the back of the wagon.
And all was right with the town of …
… "Ponyville".
Ugh. Yeah. Ponyville, I guess.