Struggle Snuggle.

Civil didn't care if he'd snagged the term from some online story by MadMaxtheBlack. It still felt like straight up struggle snuggle to him.

He was currently sitting on his rear, front legs bent with his barrel halfway lowered to the matted floor of a large workout room. Various guide-ons, pennants, and random flags adorned the walls near the ceiling while below them they were padded, you know, in case you were thrown into said walls. Each candidate in the room was paired to another, male to male, female to female, based on body size. Mostly. He was somewhat mollified that he was not paired up with a chick. Not that the City of Dallas would condone such things in modern American society, but yah, that was the silver lining in this situation. His gray shirt and blue shorts should have kept him modestly covered, however the soft material did absolute zilch to restrain anything embarrassing that might...develop. He was confident wrestling with another dude would keep that from happening. Kind of confident.

The pegasus was paired with a sizeable male DT partner. The letters stood for Defense Training. The human, Eric Buchanon, hunched over Civil's back. His left hand gripped the front left foreleg, right hand on Civil's right upper leg just short of the shoulder joint. This was the starting position everyone in the room was told to assume, and here he was. In a weird game of Twister.

"Get used to it, people! And pony! Your suspect will fight like they have nothing to lose. You at least have to approach them the same way or you will lose. Now, when I yell 'switch,' you will switch positions. When I yell 'flip,' you will flip your partners. When I yell 'reset,' you will go back to your original positions. Uppers, you will attempt to flip your partners. Lowers, you will resist. I will give you several seconds each time to accomplish your task." The D.T. instructor paused to look around the room and made sure everyone was ready. He had ice blue eyes and a weathered face. His name was Mike Eviden, Senior Corporal in rank and former Coast Guard in experience, a sailor sometimes referred to as a Coasty. Stocky and built like a short tank, the man was the de facto leader in all things D.T. related in the department. That meant if any investigation involved an officer's use of force and the need for justification in that use, the department came to him before going to court.

He was a little quirky, too. Occasionally he grunted in the back of his throat and would always refer to hands as being the most dangerous things to keep an eye on when confronting a suspect. When Civil first saw him back on hazing day a few weeks ago, the man reminded him of his human grandfather. While Civil did not take to people barking orders at him, the similarities allowed the pony to take to heart what the man said. Some of the antics during these workouts even caused Eviden to chuckle like Civil's grandfather. When the pony had informed him he was prior Air Force, the man barked out a laugh and walked away, muttering "Fuck..." Civil didn't take offense. Most of the branches felt that way toward Air Force. Probably because those lesser branches got shitty hotel options.

"FLIP!"

Unfortunately, the nostalgic thinking had also allowed Eric Buchanon, Civil's partner, to flip Civil right on his back. The floor was padded, but not THAT padded. Civil groaned and got back up. He had landed on his side, his shoulder having been pile driven into the floor.

"Reset!"

Eric resumed his position when Civil was in place. "I thought you ponies are supposed to land on all fours."

Civil snorted and turned his head slightly to him. "That's cats, dingus. Cats land on all-"

"FLIP!"

This time Civil was ready and strained against his left side as Eric tried the same move again. Both held a few seconds, straining against each other.

"Reset!"

They both reset. Eric eyed the pony warily.

"FLIP!"

The same thing happened, neither one letting up. This went on a few more times as Eviden walked around the room critiquing different sparring pairs. Occasionally he would give words of advice, admonish those that were half-assing it. When he was next to Civil and Eric, he yelled, "Reset!" Once the two were in position, he lowered his voice to address Eric, "Four-legged people are harder to unbalance than two-legged. Anybody, even us humans, can hold off someone else when they have all four planted and you are using only two hands to grapple and two legs to push from the ground. You divide your strength while they double it. Find their center of balance, and unbalance it." He walked on and raised his voice, "FLIP!" He kept Eric and Civil at the edge of his peripheral vision.

Thwack!

Eviden spun around to find Eric laid out on the floor, dazed, while Civil was standing over him, both wings flared out and a surprised look on his face. The instructor narrowed his eyes and barked, "Buchanon, what the fuck just happened?!"

Civil lowered his wings and stammered, "Sir, it...it was my fault. I-"

"Shut up cadet. When I address you, you will know it." Eviden stared at Civil until the pony stiffened his posture and looked straight ahead. Satisfied, the senior corporal focused on the young man getting up off the mat. "Now, Buchanon. What happened?"

While rubbing the side of his head that was showing a nice red swath on his skin, he nodded at the pony. "We were sparring, and then he blindsided me with his wing."

The instructor barked out a short laugh. "Just like that, your guard was up and then he whiffed you with a feather duster? Bullshit. Your answer isn't worth the bilge they pumped out of last week's head." He began to articulate each word slowly, "Now. What did you do before you got your ass kicked?"

Blinking, Eric opened his mouth, closed it, then said, "I...think I grabbed his wing. You said center of balance. I figured I could heave him over, take him off all fours. So I grabbed him around the sides."

Nodding, the older man walked over to Civil and asked, "Permission to touch, cadet?" Not knowing where the man was going with this, Civil nodded slowly. The man nonchalantly planted his hand right between his withers. Civil did all he could to keep......ANY body part responding on its own. Eviden raised his voice. "Everybody, circle around, you need to see this." The rest of the class got up from their ready positions and formed a large circle around the three. Eviden turned to Eric.

"You 'think' you grabbed his wing? Right. In this job you either did something or you didn't. None of this 'think' bullshit. We live and die by what we do and what we know. Everybody, pay attention to this. Officer safety is PARAMOUNT in our job. Any person, any pony, can became an enraged animal not only when they feel like it, but also based on what you do. If you escalate a situation and it goes to shit, I promise you this department, which wouldn't know the difference between a shitbird and a pimple on a good cop's ass, is ready to fire each and every one of you. You get me!?" Everyone responded with a semi-collective yes.

"Good. Keep that shit straight and you might just have a long enough career to retire from. Now, take this pegasus. Civil, extend a wing."

"Yessir." Civil did as instructed. Eviden lifted his hand off the pony's back and extended his index finger, following the curve of the wing from the shoulder joint to the equivalent of the elbow, not quite touching the entire time. Then, unexpectedly, he gripped the elbow joint. As soon as he did that, Civil's wing twisted and reflexed so fast, all Eviden could do was shield the side of his head. A nice loud 'thwack' resounded in the room and the older man stumbled a few feet to the side.

Civil's eyes widened and he yelped, "Oh shit! Sir, I'm sorry!"

"Fuck it," Eviden responded, flexing his arm and stepping back next to the pony. "I was expecting that." He turned to Eric. "THAT is what you did, and that," he shook his arm for emphasis, "is why you ended up on the ground." He looked to Civil. "You did some kind of twist and extend move. First time, I almost didn't see it. Is that instinct or training?"

Guiltily Civil looked down. "Um, training, sir. Normal instinct is to simply pull away, which could damage it more. That's why when we're young we are taught not to pull, unless our life depends on it. The wings are more resiliant than they look...but take a while to heal if they get yanked out of socket." He furrowed his brow and admitted, "We're not exactly a predatory species, so flying is our primary means of safety. The twist and extend thing...that's a move trained into me since I was a foal. A little more advanced than basic survival." Remembering now, he looked Eviden in the eye. "My father was in the Royal Guard and was tired of me being bullied at school. We practiced that move religiously until it was second nature. I didn't even remember it until..." He glanced at Eric and muttered, "well, you know."

Eviden nodded. "So, not every pegasus will react the same."

Civil shook his head, "No, sir. It's not standard pegasus upbringing. Then again, most of my training is atypical for a pegasus since the majority of ponies are unicorns in the Guard. Still, the flying corps of the Guard has their own specialized training, which I also learned."

Eviden waved his hand, "Not interested in any of that martial arts crap. Unless we can condone it here in the academy and train you in it, we can't protect you if you get sued for using some MMA bullshit out there." He eyed the rest of the room's occupants. "So, some ponies can fight by kicking and biting while others can deliver well-placed strikes with any body part, including sharp horns on their heads and sharp hooves, yes?" He glanced at Civil who nodded. The other students began looking at Civil with a bit more respect. "But they will react similarly, given their...non-predatory nature, as you put it? They can panic easy." Eviden touched the mid joint again, this time lightly. It briefly flexed before Civil could consciously react.

The pony responded, "Definitely, sir."

Eviden flexed his own arm again and chewed his lip for a few seconds. He nodded to himself and said, "Hear that, class? Like striking the knee with a rubber hammer, certain pony parts will react in ways you are not ready for. In addition, the wingtips can manipulate items as though the feathers are large fingers. No matter what you have heard, assume they can pull your gun, your cuff key, open doors, anything. Spells too, if you can believe that shit. That is correct, Patrol?"

The pegasus nodded. "Most unicorns are taught not to use their magic offensively...yet there are always exceptions."

Eviden nodded. "Yeah. Always. Please extend your wing out again, feathers down."

Civil did as he was told. This time the instructor pointed to the limb and feathers without touching.

"As you go down the wing, the limb gets more prone to reflexive action. While near the body there are more nerve endings and sensitivity, the fragile nature further out will elicit a more violent reaction when fucked with. The bones are easy to break since they are hollow, damaged feathers can change flight profile and even render a pegasus flightless if you fuck em up too much. Mind your force continuum when handling these guys. A simple arm bar on a human could snap a pegasus wing. Then you have to explain why you just maimed a mythological creature for jay walking."

Eric leaned over and whispered, "Why would you walk when you can fly?" Civil rolled his eyes and gently kicked him in the leg with a rear hoof.

Eviden took a step backward and used both hands to lightly touch the base joints. "Also, as you move inward to the withers-" He paused and placed his hands down on Civil's back, this time pressing a little harder. Both of Civil's wings popped out to either side as the instructor deftly stepped out of the way, "-this might happen. This is not active aggression and does not warrant use of less-lethal devices. Am I correct that this is an erogenous zone for you flying types?"

Cheeks and ears glowing red, the pegasus shuddered and whispered "...yes. Less for some others...but..." He shook it out.

"Louder."

"YES, sir! It is an erogenous zone for most flying creatures."

Several of the students snickered. Eviden merely stared at them until they quieted down. He was not smiling. "Oh, this is all fun and games, grab-assing and...dare I say, horsing around?" He saw some of them looking a little squeemish. "Feeling up another man or woman's fun parts is not your thing? Get used to it. Are you not supposed to do a thorough job searching your prisoner, around the balls, and the cooch, between those titties? Don't like being around salami? I say get in there! Genoa or spicy!"

Laughter erupted from most of them. Some guys and girls were shaking their heads. Civil might have taken part in the laughter if he hadn't felt something odd settle between his shoulder blades. He looked up at the instructor.

"Never mind that crack in his crack? I like me some chocolate crack, thankyou! All melty and nasty!" Eviden kept piling on the weird verbal shit as he backed away from the pony. Civil remained still. More waves of laughter ripped through the crowd. Civil saw the twinkle in the the wily man's eye and remained silent. Once the laughter died down to a dull murmur of private jokes and jabs of toilet humor, Eviden said, "Civil, do me a favor and shake yourself like a dog."

The pony did just that. He pulled his wings back in and shook himself out. In doing so, a rubber knife flew from his back and hit the floor. There was absolute silence in the room. Eviden walked back over and picked up the knife. He pointed it around at them until everyone saw what he was holding.

"This shit will get you and your partner killed! Understand that we are not dealing with people from a normal fucked up world anymore. We are dealing with two fucked up worlds and people we never knew existed until a couple of years ago. Maybe more, who the fuck knows. Always, always, ALWAYS search. And never assume anything. I've buried too many friends because of stupid fucking mistakes in the field that could have been prevented. Now get back into position." He looked around the room and added, "SWITCH!" The students went back to their spots, now reversing the roles. Civil walked to his own place and turned to the instructor.

"Sir, how did you know about wings?"

Evidon raised an eyebrow. "I'm a DT instructor. I have to know pony anatomy now." He shrugged. "In order to testify Use of Force in court, we have to know everything there is to know about physical force, both lethal and non-lethal." He sighed and took off his cap, scratching at his balding head. "You guys brought all sorts of new shit to learn. Had me and my staff running ragged placing phone calls all over the place. Spoke to hospitals, FBI, Washington D.C., Army Public Relations...the zoo and a few ranchers. Even visited some of the new pony towns and spoke to the locals there. Can't get over the colors." He looked Civil up and down and chuckled.

"Shit son you look like one of our squad cars. Anyway, we read up on all the stuff the media didn't put out in public...some horror stories, too. My job is to train these cadets on how to survive in this new age, not like police work was already difficult enough. In a nutshell, we got interdimensional shit to deal with. No offense, Patrol."

"None, sir. Was just surprised you knew all that about ponies." Civil positioned himself over the larger human.

Eviden walked by and bumped Civil's shoulder. "Flattery doesn't do shit for me...but thanks. I won't single you out unless it is something valuable to learn. I've buried too many fucking friends to shy away from that kind of shit. And I'm serious about them learning how your body works. You guys can't afford to miss shit in the field, whatever your feelings on the matter."

Civil lowered his voice. "I don't mind, sir. If it means teaching everypony...everyone to defend ourselves, continue using me. Might also get them used to me. They're still a bit standoffish when I speak to them."

Eviden nodded down at him. "Alright, Patrol, will do." He walked to the front of the room and turned around, waited until everyone was ready, and yelled, "FLIP!" Civil struggled to use his smaller frame to flip the larger man under him. Nothing happened. "Reset!" Civil merely stood there with a frustrated look on his face. Eric grinned up at him.

"Problems?" Eric smirked. His arms and legs were at their widest to provide absolute stability on all fours. Civil hadn't budged him.

"Gee, ya think?" Civil muttered. He looked up and saw Eviden staring at him. There was a twinkle in the man's eye again. Civil shrugged and asked, "Suggestions, sir?"

"What do I look like, an Equestrian? I know how to move like a human and throw humans around. You SHOULD know how to move like a winged pony. Yes?" Civil flexed his jaw in thought, then his face lit up. Eviden grinned and asked, "Ready?" Civil nodded and braced himself. Eric's brow furrowed.

"FLIP!"

Civil extended his wings and flapped once. Both he and Eric lifted up a few inches before Civil twisted his wings over, then the rest of his body, flinging Eric over him and onto the mat with a loud bang. Civil rolled away and got up. Several of the students paused to admire the wicked impromptu WWF smackdown. Cuz screw WWE.

Eric coughed a few times while remaining on his back. Once he got the air back into his lungs he sat up. Eviden walked over, chuckling. "Guys, remember, these are your brothers and sisters. Try not to go 100%. With that said, don't go easy, either." He lowered his voice, "Nicely done. Just a little less oomf, kay?" Civil nodded and set up again. Eric now had a worried look on his face. While the guy could push against the pony and square his limbs properly against the floor, he had no defense for air lifts.

Civil noticed Eric's demeanor and said while getting into position, "I'll dial it back." Eric didn't look too convinced, but Civil was a stallion of his word and only used a little bit of vertical lift for the rest of the exercise. That day ended with all of them exhausted, a little wiser in physical preparedness, and plenty bruised from the rough handling. So yeah, another typical day at the academy.

Early on, lunches were rather lonely. It wasn't that he was ignored by the other cadets. He simply never gave them an opportunity to ignore him. He would zip off as soon as they were released from the classroom, hit some random fastfood place or barbecue joint, then either find a cloud to eat on, or hang out in a tree or atop a large building. It was kind of a shock after one day of particularly grueling death by PowerPoint that his table buddy caught him before he even had the chance to push back his chair with, "Hey, Patrol, want to have lunch with us?"

Mid-escape, Civil's ears laid back. He turned his head to the guy and said, "Uh, I don't know. I usually eat by myself. Less chances of people walking up to me and talking about being a pony while lunch time burns up."

The cadet smirked but said nothing, just watched him for a bit. His name was Brian Harris. He had that southern country boy look to him, yet was always courteous to Civil since the first day. Some others in the class were outright shits...but they were shits to everyone else anyway except their own little group.

Civil stared back at him. Seconds passed. Harris rolled his eyes and added, "Look, we'll keep people away so you can eat in peace. The seafood isn't bad there, the China Buffet. You know it?" Civil shook his head. Not exactly the best sounding place, gastrointestinally. Before he could get his polite refusal out, Harris said, "They have a really good spicy shrimp dish there."

The pegasus groaned and rolled his head a little, finally giving in. "Okay, jeez." He got out of his chair more slowly this time. "You really want me to go, don't you?"

Harris shrugged and got up. "Some of the others were wondering why you were avoiding everybody. I got elected to slap you with the olive branch. Didn't sting too much, did it?"

Civil smirked and waited by the end of the table until they both could walk out to the hallway. "Naw. I've had worse. Being dragged to a bar and forced to drink, dance, loosen up. Shit like that. They felt I needed an intervention."

Harris chuckled. "Damn, wish my friends would intervent my ass every night. Would be a blast." Civil laughed as they headed to the front doors. They met up with several others and discussed where to eat, with Harris pushing for the China Buffet. While Civil attempted to stay back, it didn't help much after Harris pointed out he used the place as incentive to get the pegasus to join them. All eyes turned to the pony trying to remain unnoticed. He stepped forward and shrugged noncommittedly.

"Sure, I guess." His equinely spaced eyes picked up the exaggerated head nod Harris was giving them from behind his back. "I can see you, ya know."

The man grunted and pulled out his cell phone. "Okay. Can you see what I am texting?" After a few seconds, the holdouts heard their phones chirp. Two guys and a girl glanced at their phones and changed their votes to the China King Buffet.

Civil twisted his head around and stared at Harris for a few seconds before shaking it and smirking, "Yer an asshole." The rest of the group laughed as they got to look at the text message. Nobody was willing to show Civil, despite is poorly hidden attempts to strain his neck and see any phones not already disappearing into pockets. The group broke up while Harris walked by, patting Civil's head in a friendly manner.

"Don't worry. I told them you were a shellfish slut and were drooling the moment I mentioned shrimp. Come on, you can ride with me." Civil would have said something scathing...had he not reached up and discovered he was in fact, still drooling. His right eye twitched before he massaged his temple and plodded along behind the guy. He clambered up into a pickup truck and Harris waited until the pony had situated the seat belt on himself.

While they pulled out of the parking lot, a slow process since all the classes were trying to leave out the same exit, Civil looked around the inside of the cab. He noted the bright orange and olive-green cap on the dash, a few knives lying around, and some empty rifle casings rattling around in the center console where you normally put loose change. The steering wheel realtree cover was downright cliche at this point. Oh, and Harris had an accent that screamed pure country. Civil glanced at the guy.

"You hunt."

He nodded back at Civil, "Yup." They finally got on the road and were silent for about a minute.

"Bow or rifle?"

"Both. Sometimes handgun, but you gotta get closer for that. I can be somewhat quiet, just not that quiet. Prefer the bow more often than not." Civil slowly nodded and stared out the window. Harris eyed him slightly while watching the road. He said slowly, "I don't hunt anything that talks, if that's what you're worried about."

"I'm not worried," Civil said after a quick snort. He tilted his head, then added, "Maybe they just don't want to talk to you." He could see Harris tense up a little. The next mile was ridden in dead silence. Once Civil was sure that the moment had steeped enough, he said, "Just fucking with you, Harris." The man laughed, though somewhat cautiously. He did appear to relax.

"I'm going to assume that was for the text thing."

Civil nodded, "The text thing." His eyes wandered and saw the man's phone sitting between them. "So what did you text them anyway?" Harris picked it up, thumb-swiped his code and put it back down. The pony peered at the screen.

Shellfish slut. See the drool? Buffet this time. Whatever you want next time.

Civil stared straight ahead, working his jaw. Harris reached down and clicked the lock button to save power.

".....you're like, two assholes."

Harris laughed.

It wasn't a long drive, only a couple of minutes. Most of the trip was spent dealing with the typical traffic of lunch time. They all met up at the front doors and walked in. An Asian hostess came around the counter and asked how many, grabbed the correct number of utensil sets and was about to seat them when she noticed the pony in their group.

"Pony! And pegasus! We are very honored to have such distinguished guest visiting us. Please, have whatever you want. Buffet is great place to start. We have Mongolian grill over there, anything you put in bowl, they stir fry for you, very good. All complimentary."

This caused Civil no end of uncomfortable embarrassment. Noticing the raised eyebrows from his classmates, he waved a wing back and forth, "Ma'am, that's not necessary. I'm just a normal pony-"

"You are very special!" She cut in, completely ignoring his attempt to refuse the offer. "Many people dream seeing mythical creature in their lifetime. Here you are, no mythical. You are very special for hopes and dreams. Your meal is free, no exception." Before he could get a word in edgewise, she had already dropped off their silverware at the long table and headed to the fountain machine area. She began piling up dark red plastic cups onto a tray, filling each with ice water.

As his group continued to eye him, mostly with approving nods, he lowered his head and muttered, "I'm just doing the buffet. This shrimp better be some hopes and dreams kind of shit," then clip-clopped over to the plates next to the rice cooker. At this point he didn't care who stared at the equine oddity in the restaurant.

Harris said to the others, "He's a bit touchy about his pony status."

"A bit?" Julie Baker noted. She was one of the scrappier women in the class. Harris shrugged and headed to the buffet.

Civil ended up grabbing some of everything he saw, minus the entrees that had beef in them. Quite a few used either chicken or seafood as the main ingredient. As for the shrimp dish, Harris wasn't kidding. It was a mixture of spices and bell pepper, including chili pepper and garlic, that made it really delicious just from the smell. All of this he piled onto a bed of rice. A single dish wasn't near enough to hold everything so he figured he would be back for more. He couldn't wait to sit down and dig in.

"So why have you been dodging us all this time, Patrol? Do you not like us or something?"

His fork, held by a wingtip, hovered so enticingly close to his mouth, the scents of greatness wafting into his mouth and nose. And yet, he was so far away from gastrochemical bliss. He lowered his fork and glanced over at Julie. "I wouldn't say I dislike people, per se. I mean, I love individuals." Her look of disbelief prompted him to add, "Seriously, I do. I just hate groups of people."

She exhaled with exasperation and replied, "Us is plural, people. You dislike people. Is it a human thing then?" He dropped his fork into his plate and sat up with indignation. Another classmate swooped into the conversation.

"Wait, I get what he's trying to say. He likes individuals but hates groups of people, hates the group think. That was a quote from a George Carlin interview. Is that who are referring to?" Justin Walsh asked. Not that Civil even remembered his name, but you know, for the audience, he supposed.

"Huh?"

"George Carlin?"

"Yeah I know who he is, one of my favorite comedians." Civil dropped his scowl and wracked his memory for any skits that had that line. He couldn't think of any. "Carlin actually said he loved individuals and hated groups?"

"Yep, it was funny. He also went on about how groups would start wearing funny hats, armbands, have fight songs....visit lists of people at 3am in the morning. He wasn't big into large groups of people moving around as a giant amoeba. I added that last part, though you get the idea."

The pegasus grinned and sat back in his chair. "Hah....no kidding? I've felt that way for years. About the groups thing, not about the 3 am visits. Wow, that is really neat."

Baker looked between the two of them and quipped, "Wow, racist much?"

"No, not racial groups." He waved a wing at Walsh to let him know he had this one. "Like....large groups of people, or groups that move and think as one. I come from a world where the herd mentality is predominant before all other considerations. Our cutie marks give us individuality, but the group gives us strength." He scratched his chin with a hoof. "It is really easy to take on the sentiment of a larger whole and lose oneself in it. I hadn't thought about it until now...our cutie-marks are almost a bulwark against that thought process."

She looked down at his side and tilted her head. "You don't have one of those cute marks."

Rolling his eyes, he replied, "Cutie...not cute. And...it's a sore subject for me. Still, just the existence of our marks in general lends to our pursuit of individuality within the context of a whole. In a way, we benefit the whole without blindly running around like drones." He paused, thinking on the changelings. Probably one of the best examples of group think he had, and he dared not to broach that topic among these humans lest he sow the seeds of discontent with any Equestrians, changelings or otherwise. "Anyway, yes I am aware I don't have a cutie-mark. I am also aware that I am the only pony applying for the police department, at least initially. So if you can understand coming from a herd social construct, being thrust into a human society and trying to enter a profession never before held by any Equestrians, let alone a pony, it's not that difficult to see...well...military didn't work out for me. So here I am. Alone among humans. I don't hate you. Just not feeling it, ya know?"

Justin said somberly, "No, you aren't alone, man." He caught what he'd said and shrugged. "I don't care, pony or not, I'm going to use that term. I don't see 'pony', if that's what you are worried about. As soon as we started the first day, we were all made brothers and sisters." He paused a few seconds and then said, "We are your herd. We all bleed blue."

Baker wasn't going to let that sit. "Wait a second. So if he sees himself as separate from humans, then won't that impact his decision making in the field?" She stared at Justin before turning to Civil, "More importantly, would YOU choose a pony over a human?"

"Choose? Choose a pony for what?"

"If it came down to either believing a pony or a human, whatever the scenario, how would you choose?"

Before Civil could respond, a high pitched voice piped up behind him, "Where is your cutie-mark Mister Pony?" He turned around to see a young boy standing there staring up at him. The boy's mother came over from the buffet island when she noticed her ward had wandered off.

"I am very sorry if he is disturbing you. Emmanuel, you know better than to speak to strangers." She scolded the child.

The cadets to Civil's left and right scooted out their chairs but he raised a wing at them. "It's alright. Children are innocent. He's not bothering me. Ma'am, it's okay."

"Kid has a point," Baker said. She leaned over, staring at his flank again. "Aren't adults supposed to have those by now?" When several of the cadets, including Civil, gave her pointed stares, she said, "I...heard. From somewhere." Her face turned red. Civil merely shook his head and turned back to the boy. After reiterating to the mother it was okay, he patted the child's head with a wing and thought for a second.

"What is your favorite food?" Civil finally asked.

"Fruit loops." The boy had the audacity to grin, like that was the greatest answer ever.

"Fruit loops. What about fish or shrimp....or lobster."

After recoiling, the boy said, "Ew that stuff is gross." His mother commented that it was difficult to get him to eat anything that didn't involve sugar. He was a bit on the scrawny side, Civil noted.

"Kid, you have no idea what you are missing....so you wouldn't try any of these things?" He waved a hoof at his plate, still waiting to be feasted upon.

"No way."

Smiling slightly, Civil sat back and tapped his flank. "Then how do you know your most favorite food isn't on that plate, right now? All these flavors just waiting to be discovered by you. So many things to try and you are turned away by them all. We learn to embrace all things untried, lest we miss getting our cutie-mark."

"That stuff looks gross."

Civil sighed. "Close your eyes. Does it look gross now?"

"Yes."

"Huh?"

"I remember what it looks like." The boy opened his eyes. "Yep, still gross."

Narrowing his eyes, Civil looked back at his plate and sighed louder this time. He could tell his food was getting cold. He needed to wrap up this stupid metaphor soon. There were so many good items still there, all sorts of great flavors this child was missing in life. Then he started to feel something, almost like notes from a synthesizer played in reverse, over and over. He nodded. "Guess we're doing this." He didn't fight it this time. Pulling out his chair, he got up and stood next to Emmanuel. "You want to know why I don't have a cutie-mark, fine. But I'm eating while we have this discussion." He reached over and grabbed his fork, deliberately staring at Baker as he shoved the food in his mouth. The child wrinkled his nose at watching the food go in, but was fascinated with the pony, because....you know, it's a pony! The other cadets had stopped eating and were watching him curiously. The sound Civil was feeling had now started reaching everyone's ears. It got louder and patrons in the restaurant started to take notice. <Notice Here>

Civil picked from his own plate and placed a small cooked octopus in his mouth. He moaned softly:

"♪ Mm mm mm mm mm...........mm mm mm mm mm......... ♪"

"♪Mm mm mm mm mm...........mm mm mm mm mm......... ♪" He swallowed. Addressing the cadets, he turned the boy to them and sang:

"♪ I messed up 'til now, I didn't hang out with you, and now you are here showing me some good food. ♪"

"♪ I sometimes fall down, I'm not a fan of this blasted ground, ♪" he stomped for emphasis, "♪ and yet there are those like you who keep me sound. ♪" Their heads were bobbing to the music. Wrapping a wing around Emmanuel's shoulders, he drew him along to the buffet islands, stopping at the stack of clean dishes near the rice warmer. Spreading both his wings he pointed at the food around them.

"♪ Ponies try new paths to explore their cutie-marks. ♪" He spun around, snapping up plates with his wings and shoving one into the boy's hands. (I know, cheesy. For the record, I absolutely hate music choreography.)

"♪ Nopony ever learned what their tastes were until they ate. ♪" Walk over to the first line of entrees and used the serving spoons to load up both their plates.

"♪ I won't give up looking for new tastes, once we reach the end, then we start again! ♪" They had reached the end of one island and moved onto the next.

"♪ I won't give up looking for my path, and that means tasting everything. ♪" With a flourish of his wings, he hooved a shrimp into the kids mouth and worked his jaws to chew it up while stepping in front of him, obscuring the mother's view. Then he prayed the boy didn't have a shellfish allergy.

"♪ I won't give up looking for new tastes, if we reach the end...? ♪" He pointed at the boy who had just swallowed what was in his mouth. Emmanuel chimed in, "♪ Then we start again! ♪" They moved to the third and final island.

"♪ I won't give up looking for my path and that is how we get our cutie-marks. ♪" Now the boy was loading up his own plate. Civil winked at the boy's mother and handed her his own plate, grabbed Emmanuel under the arms and hoisted him up into the air. He whispered, "Try the bacon wrapped chili peppers." He proceeded to hover up and slowly cruise the outer edge of the large dining area. Several patrons stood up and raised their arms and sang with Civil:

"♪ Mm mm mm mm mmmm.......Taste everything!....mm mm mm mm mmmm.....Taste everything! ♪"

"♪ Mm mm mm mm mmmm.......Taste everything!....mm mm mm mm mmmm..... ♪"

He glanced down at his passenger and saw only elation across the child's face, bringing a warm glow to Civil's heart. Later in his life he would be able to classify exactly what this feeling was, in a throne room far far away. For now, he noticed they were approaching a full circuit of the room, so he angled back to the table. He nodded at the boy's plate and clicked his tongue to get his attention.

The warm glow could have also been the Mongolian grill flaming up with the beat of the music. The flames were getting dangerously high but were setting up some great thermals to ride on.

"♪ Look at all this food, you filled your plate with fun, now it's time to return, and take a bite! ♪" They came in for a landing several feet short of the table. Emmanuel started to jet forward but Civil grabbed his shirt with his teeth gently and chided:

"♪ Don't rush ahead too fast, don't need to trip so soon, sometimes we take our time, so we can taste our food. ♪" He sat primly in his chair and motioned for Emmanuel to sit next to him. Harris vacated his chair to accommodate, because, you know, Harmony made him do it.

The boy's mother wedged in the comment, "That's what I keep telling you."

"♪ I won't give up looking for my faves, and when I run out of choices, then I search again! ♪" Both boy and pony ate the same things synchronously, shrimp, to lobster bites, to crawfish, to several kinds of chicken.

"♪ No I don't want to leave, I want to taste everything, I wanna taste everything even though I could throw up. ♪" Everyone else looked horrified at the possibility but Emmanuel laughed and continued eating.

"♪ I won't give up looking for my faves, and when I run out of choices, then I search again! ♪"

"♪ No I don't want to leave, I want to taste everything, I wanna taste everything even though I could throw up. ♪"

With a burst of energy after seeing how successful he was with getting the boy to try new things, Civil jumped onto the table and used his fork as a microphone, soloing:

"♪ I'll keep on searching for those new tastes. ♪"

"♪ I'll keep on searching for my cutie-path. ♪" He shook his ass at Baker for extra effect. She sat back, never thinking lunch was going to have this kind of show.

"♪ For my cutie path! ♪"

The percussion and accompanying music dropped away, only the reversed synth sounds played.

"♪ Mm mm mm mm mmmm ♪" He moaned to the left of the room. The patrons over there answered, "♪ Taste everything! ♪"

"♪ mm mm mm mm mmmm ♪" He moaned to the right of the room. The other half answered, "♪ Taste everything! ♪"

"♪ Mm mm mm mm mmmm ♪" He moaned, pointing hooves to both sides. The whole restaurant answered, "♪ Taste everything! ♪" He moaned one last time, settling back down to his hooves, "♪ Mm mm mm mm mmmm..... ♪" The music died away.

He stepped down off the table and gently patted the boy on his head, smiling as the kid happily ate all kinds of things and the final vocal as some guitar strings chimed in. "♪ Taaaaaste Everything. ♪"

As the guitar faded away, the Mongolian styled grill gave out one last burst of fire. Which happened to reach the sprinkler system.

Once all the patrons were fully evacuated and the chaos of the firetrucks settled down, their hostess found Civil and his fellow classmates in the crowd. They were still coming down from the effects of Harmony, so it hadn't dawned on them that he.....might....be the cause that they were dripping wet from the sprinklers.

"Mister Pony, fire system ruin all meals, so no cost. To everyone." She actually smiled. He had been dreading meeting her eyes, but once he heard what she said, he looked up, completely flummoxed.

"I am sorry for ruining your business! I didn't mean to...it just...I need to pay-"

The woman crossed her arms, frowning. "No apology. We turn off grill next time. Have you ever sing that song before?" He blinked, staring back at her. Baker slowly inched over to him and kicked him in the back leg.

He sputtered, "N...no! Not that exact one, no. It just happens sometimes, with ponies." He looked away, still feeling some guilt." The woman knelt down and drew his muzzle back to her with her hand.

"You sing anytime you want eat here. We have fire extinguisher ready and tell chefs pause grill."

She pulled out her phone and showed him a picture she had taken of everyone holding their pose, flames billowing in the background and just a hint of the water droplets in the air. It was almost a perfect moment, except he knew the next several seconds afterward meant significant damage to the establishment. She said, "World needs more of this, more of you." Then she looked past him to the boy and mother standing near by. "More for them."

There he was, still holding the plate and eating away at what was on it. Civil vaguely remembered the mother shielding the child as they fled the scene of tropic thunder raining down on them earlier. The food must have survived and was being happily devoured now. The woman standing over him mouthed the words 'thank you' while placing her hands on the boy's head. He supposed there was a silver lining to all of this.

And naturally that wasn't the end of good outcomes. Despite being delayed getting back to the academy because they had to give statements to the fire department, and despite their soaked state, they did not get punished by their instructors. His newly acquired friends even thanked him, of all things, for having the best lunch ever. The shortest, one of them quipped but he was quickly silenced with a comment having to do with him not needing so much food to begin with. In any case, they were rather glad with their vote to go there and hoped Civil could join them in future lunch events. Civil smiled at that, despite his normal desire to be alone. He supposed he could accommodate them. Afterall, Civil was a good pony.

A bulletin was posted on every classroom's information board the next day. It was a an interdepartmental memorandum. The title was For Public Awareness and the body of the directive consisted mainly this:

All employees for the City of Dallas will take any and all actions to restrain themselves from participating, or inciting, any musically coordinated dance routines until such phenomenon can be properly vetted by the city and police department. Possible repercussions could include lawsuits from restaurants that feel their business may have been impacted negatively while said singing and dancing occurred. Any complaints regarding this directive may be filed up the chain of command to the chief's office.

Civil could hear whispering and chuckling from behind him as the other class members read it, though thankfully none of it seemed spiteful in anyway. Grayson clicked his tongue a few times and made a good impression of Bugs Bunny with, "Gee Doc, we have us some music haters." Civil nodded and turned his wingtip up at the memo, his version of giving it the finger. He wasn't THAT good of a pony. He walked away and sat down in his seat, ready to deal with today's wackiness the academy had to offer.

***

Several more weeks consisted of mainly sitting in class, putting together massive binders of instructional material, and hours of reading passages out of the General Orders and Patrol Standard Operating Procedures. Instructors would read off slides that basically highlighted the same material. Very dry stuff. Occasionally they got breaks to get some coffee, but for the most part it was monotonous. During those breaks a random student from another class would walk up to Civil and ask some basic questions about Equestria or the show. Equestria, he could talk about. The show, which he hadn't seen much of, he mostly shrugged at. While his own class had been a bit cool towards him early on, they were starting to pay more attention to him, either engaging in casual conversation or simply monitoring how others outside their class would treat him.

There was sort of a friendly competition of scores across different instructional modules going on between the classes, from the obstacle course to pop quizzes or physical fitness test results. Each week the winning class would receive another pennant added to their guide-on that was hanging in the gym room, so this promoted esprit des corps within each class, and esprit des equus in Civil's class. With his class having the only resident pony to date, they were starting to feel very proud, and very protective of him. This of course felt good to him from a herd instinct point of view, so he didn't mind at all. Unless something came along to threaten that inclusive mindset.

One day their old name cards were replaced with new ones at each spot where they sat in the classroom. Normally these were used to help various instructors identify who there were calling on. Up to this point their previous cards only had their names, but apparently someone had switched them with new cards, each one sporting a unique number for each cadet. These were the numbers they would have on their badges if they graduated, assigned to them the moment the roster was filled. Civil's class was somewhere in the 12,800 series, starting with 12802 to 12835.

The disconcerting part of all this, Civil's assigned number, and future badge, was 217. Not 12,217...just 217. There was a P at the front of it, too.

"Uh, sir, I have a question about my badge number?" Civil was addressing the class advisor who was sitting at the rear of the class, a Senior Corporal Anderson.

The man nodded his head, "Yes cadet?"

"Why is it not a 12,000 badge number? And why is there a P next to it?" Some of the other cadets compared their cards to each other and Civil. Noting the differences, they voiced their opinions that he might be getting discriminated against. The P was certainly a big flag in that direction. It was heartwarming for the pony to see a vast majority of the class did not sit well with the card situation.

Harris whispered, "That's some USDA grade A bullshit." He seemed to be very angry about it. Civil was willing to get an explanation first before forming a final opinion on the matter.

The man looked around the room silently, gauging their reactions, then at the card Civil was holding up. "You know, that is a good question. Tell you what, let's go speak to the sergeant of the academy. He will want to know your concerns." Anderson stood up and waited by the door. The look on his face was odd. A mix of relief and irritation. Civil didn't know what to make of it and stepped out into the hallway. The class had hushed its individual conversations to watch the interaction. Clearly something was up.

As the two walked down the hall toward the administrative section, Civil couldn't help the sense that they were approaching something sensitive. "Sir, did I say something wrong?"

"No, son. You said the absolute right thing. You think something is wrong, you speak up. Right now it's not my place to say. However..." He slowed down and glanced both ways before muttering, "Someone should have said something long ago about this before you ever had to deal with it." They continued until they were outside a particular doorway. Anderson said, "Go in there and make your case."

Nodding slowly, Civil stepped up to the doorway and knocked on the doorframe twice with his hoof. Sergeant Peel looked up from something he was reading and said, "Come in, cadet. Something I can help you with?"

"Yes sir." Civil stepped in and stood at attention. "I noticed my badge number was different than the others. I asked why and was brought here to get that answer." The sergeant raised his eyebrows and glanced at the doorway. Anderson was leaning against it with his arms crossed. Peel sat back and clasped his hands in front of him.

"Why indeed. Anderson, you mind requesting the LT to stand in on this conference? He will be most interested to hear this." Anderson left and a few seconds later was back with the lieutenant standing next to the desk. The senior officer was dressed in class A's, a very formal uniform for the department. Civil was starting to feel the situation was taking on a life of its own.

"My esteemed cadet here wants to know why his badge number is different than the others, sir. Do we enlighten him and send him back to his class, or do we fix it?"

The lieutenant crossed his arms. He grumbled, "You know my opinion on the matter. I told them it should have been fixed as soon as his application was approved, but they went with this alternate numbering system, citing that our newest recruit would 'enjoy the status of being the first pony in the department.' Is he making an official complaint?"

Peel eyed Civil. "I don't know. Are you making it official?"

Civil blinked at both men and said, "I'm not complaining, per se. Just...why the P?"

Peel responded, "For 'pony.'" He didn't say anything else.

Civil frowned and asked slowly, "Then...if I am P-217, where are all the other 216 ponies ahead of me?"

Anderson said darkly from the doorway, "216 ponies? No. 216 canines? Yes. You see, the last canine officer to graduate the DPD obedience course was given badge number K-216. The P is to designate you as a pony."

Red flashed in Civil's head. Now he could get pissed off. He closed his eyes and breathed slowly. The last few weeks had done a remarkable job to teach him to control his emotions during physical stress. Here, standing in front of these humans, was another matter. Or was it? He doubted they would use this as a test to measure his bearing. So...it was only a test if he wanted it to be.

When he opened his eyes, he said steadily, "I am not an animal. I am a sentient being. Like the guy next to me said, this is bullshit." He realized what he had just said and added, "...s-sir."

Peel leaned forward and said carefully, "Our canines, which are considered police officers and esteemed members of our department, they cannot make a formal protest for how they are treated, unless they bite their handlers. You can. The formal protest part, not the biting. Please, we don't need that right now."

Civil wasn't sure if he wanted to laugh or growl. Maybe both.

Peel reached toward the pony with a hand, palm up, "Formal protest, yes?"

Civil nodded curtly, eyeing the hand, "Damn straight sir. I think that having a numbered badge like I am a dog is demeaning and unfair. I want to be like the other officers. The other HUMAN officers. I know I am different. I don't need to remind the whole city of it."

Peel waved his hand at the lieutenant, nodding, "There you go sir. Is that enough?"

The lieutenant nodded and started to walking out, "More than enough. It will take a while to shift everyone else to keep seniority, Mister Patrol. Some cadets are behind you in the alphabet. Might take a few weeks before your new number is generated-"

The sergeant stood up, "Actually, LT, I have a better idea. Let's make this splash a big one." He marched out of the room and down the hallway. The lieutenant stepped aside to let the determined man past, then looked to Anderson, who in turn shrugged. Civil waited until the sergeant came back. With a loud clatter, the man dropped a metal frame on the desk. Civil peered down at it and saw a shiny silver badge mounted inside. The number on it was 10,000.

"There. He can use that. Saves on paperwork and moving everybody around because the 6th floor decided to fuck around with this cadet." The sergeant stared at his supervisor, waiting to be shot down.

The other man scratched his chin in thought, eyes flitting from the frame to the pony, then to the sergeant. "His employee number will stay the same. Seniority will be based on where he sits alphabetically in class, like the others. You know this will piss off people that wanted the 10,000th badge to be commemorated. Nobody was supposed to wear it."

Peel lifted his head. "Fuck em."

The lieutenant grinned. "I shall relay our solution up the chain, with more appropriate wording. I'll handle the backlash, though I doubt they will want any of this aired out in public." He paused, looking wistfully, "Sometimes the media can be a good thing. Rare." He shook his head. "Trying to pass off our first pony as a...heh, dare I say, a dog and pony show. Yeah, that would have incited any number of advocacy groups to camp out in front of council members' yards. Command will avoid that at any cost and eat this."

He looked at Civil. "On behalf of the department, I apologize if you felt disparaged in any way because of the insensitive nature of our badge numbering process. Anything else, Eli?" The sergeant shook his head. "Then I leave you to it." The man left.

Peel sat back down. Anderson stepped into the room. As Civil reached out to the badge, the sergeant leaned forward and took it. "Not yet, cadet. You earn this on graduation. The badge number...you earned that the moment you signed up. Feel free to fix your card." He rubbed at the framed glass, wiping some dust off of it, then nudged the name card back to the pony across the desk. "Recommend you find the fattest magic marker and make it loud and proud." He chuckled to himself. "Magic. Have to rethink a shit load of things these days."

Civil had heard the department made a big ceremony of pumping out its 10,000th officer back in when it happened, which wasn't but a couple of years ago. Technically the 10,000th officer ended up as 10,001 because they intentionally held onto this badge to stick on a wall. He was set against being treated like a dog...yet, he understood tradition and cultures, a thing he picked up in Airforce and the Guard.

"Sir...I can wait for the next badge number. I don't need to be number 10,000."

"Nonsense," Peel replied. "This department screwed up, so instead of a badge hanging around collecting dust at this academy, the prestigious 10,000th badge will belong to our first ever pony." He tilted his head and continued, "IF...you graduate. Also, if you plan on quitting, I'll take it back right now. Do you plan to quit?"

Civil shook his head, "Not a chance, sir."

Peel grinned, "That's what I like to hear. Anderson, you can head back with him. OH! One more thing." Civil paused from half turning. "Your clothing size and shape. While we don't have our own pony tailor, we may have to modify some non-human articles of clothing." He winced slightly, "Canine articles. It's only temporary until we get a dedicated pony tailor or somebody trained up at the quartermaster. I ask that you be patient during this process. We are reaching out to the Army who seem to employ ponies...but, since we have our own contractors, we might have to use some unconventional means to equip you in the meantime. You might need to swallow your pride a little for officer safety, namely weapons and armor. Can you do that?"

Civil had no idea what the sergeant was talking about...unless....... He asked, "As long as it doesn't say K-9 on any of it, I'll deal with it."

The sergeant nodded, "I will personally inspect every item before you get it. Splendid."

As Civil and his advisor walked back to the classroom, Civil looked up and asked, "This was a race thing, wasn't it? You were pissed about the matter. " Civil noted that Anderson was black, as was the sergeant earlier, where the lieutenant of the academy was white. While he didn't see how any of them had individually treated him differently, Civil was starting to get a vibe that there were undercurrents in the department that he might need to start paying more attention to.

Anderson nodded. "We were briefed about how to treat you, like you are a regular officer, no animal jokes, that kind of stuff. But let's face it, you are a pony, not a human. Some things we can't control, like how you walk, your difference in eyesight ability...that you can just fly or hover in place. But I'll be damned if we are going to blatantly let something like that badge shit slide on by. Problem is, a lot of this is only disparaging if you perceive it to be. And, you are the only pony around. We can't take offense for you."

Civil walked for a little while in silence. Before they reached the classroom, which was still humming with a few conversations inside, Civil used the noise to cover his voice. "Senior Corp, is the department treating people differently?"

Anderson stopped and sighed, pondering the question. He stated, "I would like to believe that it treats all of us the same. Despite today's issue, the department generally addresses these kinds of things pretty quickly. That said...if the department likes you, it will keep you. If it does not like you, it will find every damn thing in the book to fire you with."

His voice went gravelly as he said, "Don't give them a reason, Civil. Do things by the book and there is nothing they can do to you." He smiled slightly and added, "I know, not the best answer. And as a pony, I have no idea what you will have to face, but the department is obligated to treat you as fairly as anyone else to the letter of the law and their own policies. I would suggest reading up on all things regarding your rights as an employee and citizen. You will need it if you care about all this."

Civil grumbled to himself, "Great. I hate politics. I don't care what color it comes in."

The senior corporal chuckled, "I hate politics too. Your best bet is to not promote past the rank of sergeant, then. After that, it gets messy for lieutenant on." He waved his hand to the doorway. "Go on, get back into class. The next instructor should be here in a few." Civil nodded and walked in.

***

"Civil, go to the front office. Now." It had only been a few days since the whole badge affair.

The pegasus pushed his chair back to stretch after another severely boring death by PowerPoint. This time it was...YES! More department policies. While it was only a few days later, that was a voluntary complaint. This was an involuntary summons. So, naturally the class did the whole 'oooooh' routine, typical high school garbage when somepony got called out. Sort of. The oooh's had some nervous energy behind them. His table buddy, Harris, raised an eyebrow at him. "Gee, Civil. They just love you down at the principal's office. I thought they promised to treat you the same now."

Shrugging at him, the pony pushed his chair back in. Not doing that would get their class smoked. Like, a half hour of grueling exercise outside. He muttered, "I can honestly say I have no idea what I did or didn't do, this time. At any rate, they can make a movie called 'Civil Does Dallas' and I can live off the proceeds before they ever commission me." He hitched his voice low. " 'In a world, where Civil gets screwed.......and that's about it. Civil gets screwed.' So whatever." Some of the class laughed, though it was a bit forced. Any one of them getting called out also meant the class getting smoked later.

Not that hazing in and of itself was the end all be all of training, it was not that different than when Civil had trained in the Royal Guard. Dealing with mistakes through exercise hardened the mind, and emotions. It taught cadets to put aside their emotions when getting punished and to deal with the task in front of them. He could almost agree that this would help police officers having to endure more than the average citizen on a daily basis once they were on the streets.

Almost. A lot of what went on at the academy was still asinine, in his opinion.

Stepping out in the hallway, he looked up at his coordinator. The man simply pointed and walked into the class, leaving Civil alone. Huh, he was to proceed by himself. Okay. He steeled himself for yet another lecture and slowly made his way down the long corridor.

Different office and classroom sounds drifted to his sensitive ears as he passed various doorways. Lectures, verbal beratings, soft discussions about home life problems or random politics were almost a cacophony, but he had learned to block out much of what he heard over the years as a pony back in Equestria...unless something caught his interest. The sounds of one particular conversation that drifted down the hall certainly did. It was coming from the direction he was headed, and it carried a very heavy Midwest accent.

"Hahahahah oofta, oh noooo no. There is no way I could ship these out in such a large supply! See, the gemstones alone only come into the country every two and a half years, doncha know."

Civil knew that voice, mainly from YouTube. Were they about to hire another pony? Was this a social experiment that he was suckered into, and now they went and hired somepony semi-famous?

Could the city of Dallas not only stomach him as a police officer but also endure the likes of-

"Kerfuffle!" Civil exclaimed, finally turning the corner into the front office area and spotting the daiquiri ice blue pegasus.

"ME! Spelled with two f's for a double fuh!" She tried to hold a straight face, then broke down into several raspberries of laughter.

"Seriously, Kerf?" Civil asked. It was one thing to see a named pony on youtube. Quite another to see said named pony playing it up in pony. In person. whatever :P

"Kerf!" Her voice broke as she inhaled with a high pitch whine. "I like that. Yaw, Hasbro only gave me less than an episode of air time, doncha knooow. Have to play it up." She grinned and held her hoof up to the side of her muzzle, whispering, "They pay me every time I say 'doncha know'."

Civil was about to keep his stunned look before he deadpanned at her and said, "Bullshit." She started giggling and he shook his head. "Actually I never saw that episode."

"Oofta! You need to! Anywhooo, are you the pony I am here for?"

Civil blinked and turned his head to see Sergeant Peel there. "Uh, am I? "

"Yes, you are," the man replied.

"Yes I am," Civil directed at Kerfuffle, shrugging. Why should he have a fucking clue. Nobody ever tells him shit.

"Yes you are!" Kurfuffle blurted out, then chuckled. "I should start talking about why I am here. Heh."

Her voice was screechy in the upper register, but pleasantly mid western enough to border on cute when it was nice and deep. Almost teeth rottingly cute. Civil didn't exactly do cute. That's when he noticed her rear left leg. The gilded bejeweled mechanical leg.

She glanced down at it and grinned. "Yaw there she is, ol kicker herself. Aaaand that's why I am here. To give you one."

"Huh?I" Civil exclaimed, taking a step back. "I don't exactly need one." He glanced down at his legs, hoping they weren't suggesting he...augment himself by losing limbs. There was social experimentation, and then there was screw you I'm goin home! To change the subject he said, "Actually I thought you might be joining DPD, the reason you are here."

"Spbtbttb no! I do accessories. I couldn't do law enforcement...unless it was the fashion police!" She chuckled at her own joke, then noticed she was the only one laughing. "Eeeeeeh, somepony mentioned a certain pony needed one of my special devices, so here I am! Ya know, to do special stuff with?"

Civil's eyes went wide, his ears pinking up. Noticing Civil's complete lack of self control, the sergeant cleared his throat and said slowly, "Hooves fall short where fingers are required, such as pulling the trigger." He tapped his sidearm for emphasis.

Civil snorted and shook out his feathers. "Ah, yes. Stuff." Holy shitballs, Batman, give me a heads up. Is that too much to ask, he thought to himself.

Kerfuffle added, "Fingers can't kick in a door. Or withstand burning concrete. Or manipulate materials to make specialized accessories! Trust me," she shook her back leg, "I've had to learn more about what I am capable of than what I can't do."

He felt slightly admonished for thinking...nevermind.

"Anywhooo," Kerfuffle continued, "it's all about overcoming obstacles. This should help." Her wing slid over a large flat dark brown oak box and opened the lid. In it was a black metal device that looked like a club with jewels studded here and there all over it. The gems looked to be rubies and sapphires. "A one of a kind Kerfuffle Kustom. That's what it's called. The Kerfuffle Kustom! Spelled with two k' for a double kuh." Civil looked like he was about to be ill from the overdose of sugar. She beamed at him and looked back to the sergeant. "Like I was saying, we can't mass produce these yet due to limited materials. What we can produce, we do with quality."

"Can it fit different grips?" Peel asked.

"Oh, no problem! Press this jewel while touching the object you want to hold, and the metal temporarily liquefies to mold to the new configuration. Then impulses from the muscles along the foreleg and hoof impart a...something something magic which allows the small segments at the end to move, similar to fingers. It's a unicorn thing, the gemstones. I just make sure it all goes together just right, not to mention it goes to the right pony."

Civil stared at the object. Artifice magic was more of a blacksmith or goldsmith thing, not a field he was very knowledgeable in, yet he saw the genius behind this device. It would have taken several trade craft skills, combined with gemstone magic and enchantments to merge metal and crystalline...this was a work of art.

"...Wow," Civil stammered out. "Kerfuffle, I don't know what to say."

She positively blushed from head to hoof. "Every pony deserves an accessory that screams them. Let's put this on and see how it screams your name!"

And just like that, the somber nature of the mood shattered into the realm of cringe. Civil's cheeks turned red as he realized she had no idea what she was saying while she grinned the entire time. He awkwardly walked to the desk and picked up the device. With her help, he was able to attach it to the inside of his right leg, a few straps of leather snapping into place. He moved it around to get used to the extra weight. It was surprisingly lighter than it looked.

The sergeant placed an aluminum mold of a Sig Sauer P226 in front of him. "We will be issuing duty belts and equipment this week, which is why we had her fly in with this prosthesis. Until we are certain you won't be shooting yourselves, you will all receive one of these, a dummy handgun for your holster. It will be used in all scenarios here at the academy until further notice, unless we are running R.B.T" That was reality based training, with simunitions. "Try it."

On instinct he tried to pick up the gun mold with his hoof. The prosthesis and his hoof both seemed to grasp the mold. He tried to pull it off the prosthesis with the same leg hoof, then the other hoof. This was not going well at all.

"Oh, nooo no no, not like that," Kerfuffle directed him. "Try just letting go. With your hoof."

Not really getting what she was saying, he let go. The mold clanged onto the desk. The sergeant muttered, "I assume it needs to be calibrated?"

"Yah, that's it. Just press that gemstone there as you press against the back of the object you wish to manipulate."

Civil sighed in frustration and did as he was told. He pushed the sapphire she was pointing at. The blunt end of the device then flowed forward until it curved around the gun handle and the trigger guard. Startled he let go with his hoof. The pseudo fingers opened up, releasing the mold. Tentatively he reached forward and was able to pick up the mold again. Pretending to pull the trigger, he could see a small portion of the metal move, though the fake trigger didn't budge since the aluminum was one solid piece. Aluminium. whatever. :P

The sergeant stared, transfixed at the device. "Incredible. This could work for humans, too, right?"

"Oooh, most definitely. The applications for this accessory are endless! Eh, supplies, on the other hoof...."

The man nodded, "Yes. The federal government would definitely contract these out through the V.A. if it meant getting soldiers back out into the field."

Kerfuffle chuckled nervously, looking away slightly. "I don't know if we want to supply the military just yet. I was willing to help a former Royal Guard cause...ya know...I am familiar with pony anatomy....." She was really uncomfortable where this was going.

Civil came to her rescue and said, "Regardless where you send your business, you have a VERY happy customer right here, Kerfuffle."

She absolutely glowed with the approval. "REAALLY!?! Thankyou! I am so happy I got to accessorize...uh....spbpt!" She lowered her voice and said, "I never got your name!"

He smiled and offered his hoof. "Civil Patrol, ma'am!"

She raised her hoof to his, "I'm Kerfuffle, spelled with two f's for a-"

He swiftly put his wingtip up to her muzzle. While a hoof would have been easier and safer for his wings, by pegasus standards, a hoof was considered rude while a wing was more polite, yet personal. Unicorns using magic was the opposite since magicking another pony was unfair if they were not unicorns, so the hoof was personal and polite for them, showing an investment in motion and physical energy. Earth ponies.....they did earth pony things, so he didn't give a rat's ass what they considered the opposite of blunt, rude, arduous...yeah, the earth pony way.

"I'm sorry, Kerf. I can't take another Kerf joke." She chuckled hoarsely and playfully knocked his wing away.

"Oh hey I gotcha there!"

Before they could even think of getting sidetracked on another topic, the sergeant gently reminded Civil that if he didn't wrap this up and get back to class, she would get to witness his entire class demonstrating how to run laps around the track while Miss Kerfuffle made her way back to her home town. Civil thanked her again and she left him her phone number, just in case there were any issues with the Kerfuffle Kustom. Walking back to class, he briefly thought about possibly calling for other than official business...then thought better of it. While she was very pleasant and upbeat, she was way too free spirited for his taste. On top of which...not yet. He didn't feel his so-called job was secure enough to make a phone call to a certain mare out in west Texas.

***

Lights were strobing in the dark stairwell, alarm klaxons were going off and gunshots could be heard echoing from upstairs. Civil had only seconds to reach the doors before all the noises started. He drew his sidearm, yanked open the doorway and rolled with it to the other side of the door frame, waiting. No shots came out. He pied the doorway with his flashlight attachment on and peered up. Then he went in, taking the steps two at a time until he reached upstairs.

"End EX!"

The flashing lights stayed on and the noises stopped. The redshirted instructor stepped out and nodded. "Good. Sometimes we can't form up as a squad outside and have to punch in. Seconds save lives. Ideally a few of you will arrive and can cover each other. But not always.

Civil looked around. He was the fourth one up the stairs. The other three cadets were nearby, watching. They all, Civil included, were wearing a protective soft armor chest plate, the kind someone playing paintball or airsoft would wear. They all had paintball masks on, too, though his was modified to fit his pony-shaped head. He still felt it closed in his eyesight, given the limited vision he now had. The lens tended to fog up too.

They were all on the second floor of an old rundown school in the center of Dallas. The department used this building to train in from time to time. He spotted a few spent rounds here and there, shell casings modified to fire simunitions. They were like plastic bullets filled with a chalky paint. Some of the casings looked like they were used in rifles. While he and his fellow classmates used 9mm rounds, limited to 3 rounds a magazine, the spent rifle rounds meant SWAT also frequented this place.

"Let's say you have at least four people in place, five ideally, you would then form up in a diamond pattern and proceed down the hallway. When you reach a doorway, that side will peel off two, the side and rear, to clear the room. If you find something you have to deal with, go in while the two outside post up on the doorway to cover. Then continue on. A supervisor would direct from the center, but it is doable with four, such as we have right now. Form up."

They formed into the diamond shape. Civil was on the right.

"Hey Milestone, try not to outrun us this time." Harris was a real riot. Civil smirked at him.

"Civ or Civil, please."

"Uh huh, whatever Milestone." Civil shook his head and took up position before they started moving slowly. He could hear everyone's heavy breathing in their masks, his being the loudest.

A couple more weeks had passed since he'd received his magical device...along with a new nickname. The class had gone through a brief period where they were exploring nicknames and callsigns. Because, that was the cool shit to do. Unfortunately, his Milestone nickname was the only one anybody ever bothered using afterwards. One cadet was called Flares for about two days, on account of his suggesting that flares be set up to form a perimeter around an accident where a gasoline tanker had crashed into a set of gas station pumps.

It was a session during class where the instructor was giving out scenarios and calling on the students to come up with proper response actions. The cadet in the back raise his hand, offered his brilliant idea, bam 'Flares.' For two days, because said cadet actually whined to the class coordinator about being called a derogatory name like Flares. Gee wiz, he was the assmonkey who came up with the suggestion for nicknames in the first place. Civil had seen a similar practice in Air Force, mostly among the pilots in AWACS. A callsign or nickname was never supposed to be cool and most of the time marked a major screw up in a given person's career. It was also supposed to be an aviator thing, yet the mission crew in the back were all giving each other callsigns too. What a bunch of....sigh, he had to remind himself he was done with that life. Whatever.

While the practice of nicknaming was largely quashed by Flares in their class, somehow the name Milestone still stuck. How did he end up with that name? It stuck the instant the other cadets found out Civil's badge was changed to 10,000. You know, because the department hit a milestone with the 10,000th badge.

An alternate name fielded was Binary, on account of the 1 and 0's, for binary code. Fuck that, he wasn't going to be called bi-anything. By anybody.

The approached an intersection and Civil eased up to the wall, peeked the corner, saw no movement and gestured the other cadets with his wing. He whispered, "Clear."

The other three and Civil wheeled around the corner in a tight diamond formation, each with their simunition gun pointed outward. He knew he was breathing too quickly and was causing the foggy lens issue himself, so he tried slowing his respiration. They had made it past a few doorways when there were loud bangs down at the end of the hallway. As a group they pushed into the nearest doorway for cover and observed a man with a rifle duck into a classroom.

The instructor yelled, "Alright, threat is not in sight, push the objective. GO GO GO!"

As a group they ran down the hallway. This time Civil paced with the others and did not outrun them. They signaled to each other to stack up on one side of the doorway, knowing that if any crossed the fatal funnel, the could take shots from inside the room.

The instructor jogged with them and said, "Okay, pause ex. This is the situation. You have a potential active shooter inside, along with several people. You don't know where he is inside, or anybody else for that matter. One of you will have to be the rabbit and run in to draw his fire. The rest pile in and shoot from the doorway. Be mindful of your targets. Who is the rabbit?"

As one, they all looked at Civil.

He turned his head and clenched his jaw. "Yeah, sure. I suppose I can outrun you all anyway." He glanced at the instructor. "Don't suppose I can use my wings?"

The redshirt barked a short laugh and said, "Not this time, flyboy."

Civil shook out his wings and held up his sidearm with the prosthesis, careful not to initiate the trigger pulling part of it. "Figures. Just run in and shoot, stop halfway and shoot, what?"

"Ideally you run to the far end then stop and shoot while the others come in a second after you. However, if you think you have a shot during the run, go for it."

The pegasus nodded and looked back at the others, "Ready?" The nodded.

The instructor leaned in and raised his voice, "We are unpausing the ex and going live. Action!"

Civil ran in as fast as he could, transitioning to a three-legged gallop while he raised his sidearm. Time seemed to slow down for him. In a split second, he noticed there were at least three or four rows of flat human silhouettes behind desks like a classic school classroom setting, except they were all standing. In the back he noticed a single living male human with his left arm raised and something in his hand. As he ran, the front row slid by, while the second row slid at a slow rate, and the third even slower than that. He saw a clear view once, twice, and at the third window of opportunity he fired once before making it to the end of the classroom. By that time the others behind him had piled in and fired their own shots, he had made it to the other side of the room. The man fell to the floor.

"End EX!" The instructor yelled.

The actor in the back got up and approached them. He pulled off his mask and rubbed his neck. He asked, "Did you see what I was holding in my hand?" He held up what looked like a switch. Wrapped around his chest were a bunch of red street flares and wires meant to simulate an explosive vest.

Civil shook his head, "No sir. I thought it was either a grenade or something very bad, so when I had a clear view, I shot."

The man nodded and looked at the instructor. "He got me in the neck at a full run before anybody else had come through that door. I didn't immediately go down because I wanted the others to take part in the exercise." The instructor nodded as though nothing special had happened, but clearly the actor and the now very impressed cadets thought otherwise. Civil couldn't help but enjoy the warm boost to his ego, though it was tinged with the nervous jittery energy of adrenaline still coursing through him. He described what he experienced, the slow down, the object in the man's hand, and the failure of seeing the explosive vest.

The instructor stated, "All perfectly normal. You just searched a whole school, ran to a room with a shooter and hostages, came in expecting a firearm and saw something else, all while making split-second decisions. What you will all experience in your career is tunnel vision, time dilation, laser focusing of some senses while higher level thinking goes out the window. Recognize these physiological changes for what they are now you are better experienced to deal with them in the field. We help each other, we work as a team, and we recognize our own weaknesses so that hopefully you don't miss key details when the shit hits the fan. Good shooting all, good insertion. I'd say this was a success."

The day progressed with more building search techniques, avoiding the fatal funnel in doorways, not leaning against a wall in case a skipped round catches you in the face. They broke for lunch and continued for the rest of the day.

On the last day of the week the class reported to the Dallas Firearms Training Facility, otherwise known as the DPD shooting range. This was the day they were to receive their real firearms.

***

When they walked into the classroom at the range, a large sign had four rules written in bold letters.

=Treat all guns as if they are loaded.=

=Do not point at anyone or anything unless you intend to fire.=

=Keep your finger off the trigger and outside the trigger guard at all times until you are ready to fire.=

=When on target, verify that your background is clear of unintended targets.=

They were introduced to their range instructors and were told to sit down. Each cadet had a blue case in front of them, which they were told to open. Civil found himself staring down at a Sig Sauer P226. A while back they had been given the option of either choosing a Sig or a Glock. After having done some research, he had opted for the Sig. Just something about trusting his delicate hooves to metal more so than plastic.

The class went through all the gun safety rules and then the operations of their firearms. Civil found that he could break down and manipulate each part of the gun without changing the configuration of his prosthesis, but when it came to dry firing, he was forced to press the gem and align the metal to the grip and trigger spacing. After that, it was easy to pull the trigger, rack the slide with his off-hoof and pull the trigger again. They did this countless times until the instructors were satisfied everyone had that down. Then they went up to the range. They all had their duty belts on, magazine holders, and holstered guns. They were issued ear and eye protection and told to load up their magazines but keep them outside the gun for now. Civil started to stress over this part until he found the prothesis could easily hold the magazine while his off-hoof just barely gripped the individual bullets to push into the magazines. The other cadets held handfuls while he could only work one bullet at a time, but fuckit he was doing his best.

They were instructed to stand at the ready line, guns holstered while the instructors set up their paper targets. Each target was placed in a metal frame that could turn by remote control from the tower overseeing the line behind them. Once the instructors were safely behind the cadets, the speaker from the tower called out, "Shooters, step up to the line and make ready your sidearm. Load magazines, cycle your rack once and holster up." They all did so. Once the last cadet was done, all instructors had their arms up to signal the tower.

"Alright shooters, watch your targets."

After a few seconds, the targets turned to the firing line. Most of the cadets drew their guns and fired. Some of the cadets had trouble drawing, or hitting their targets. Just about all of the issues were user error.

After the third time the targets turned away from them, Lee who was standing next to Civil continued his complaining. He had been doing it since the start of the training course. This time he had fired his last round after the target was side on. Meaning he missed. "This piece of shit gun, I swear it's messing with me." He glanced at Civil for a second. The pegasus had been very quick in his shooting. While the instructors had repeatedly told them 'Smooth is Fast', Civil's shooting had been smooth AND fast, ending nearly before everybody else on the line was halfway done. Lee had certainly noticed. He looked at his own gun in his two-handed grip.

"That's bullshit. They let you fire with one hand all the time just because you need three legs to stand on." Clearly his method of dealing with stress was to attack the innocent. Civil shrugged and kept looking forward. One of the range instructors stepped up to him.

"Son, holster your weapon." Lee holstered it as ordered, grumbling the whole time as he fiddled it back in. When the trainer stepped closer and asked if there was an issue, the cadet replied with, "Yes sir. That last shot was weird, like there was a delay or somethin. I know I'm not a perfect shot or quick, but there's something wrong with this thing."

The instructor gave out a sharp whistle and made a circular motion with his hand. All the other trainers jogged over and huddled up around the first one. He stepped forward and pressed the magazine catch to extract the magazine from Lee's gun without unholstering it. They spent several minutes taking out the remaining rounds and eyeing them, as well as asking each other if any cadets had similar issues on the line. Everyone shook their heads. Once they were sure it was a fluke, the original trainer grabbed a round from his pocket and inserted it into the magazine, then returned the mag to its home in Lee's gun on his belt.

The instructor yelled, "Going live!" He lowered his voice and said, "This is from the drawn position, so draw your weapon." Lee did as he was told. The instructor signaled the guardhouse. Another trainer in the house called out the next set of instructions over the bull horn.

"You will shoot five rounds from the drawn position. Five rounds only. Shooters, watch your targets."

Shrieks from the ungreased gears and the movement of turning targets caused the line to draw their weapons and open fire again. While everyone was attempting to improve their aim by slowly squeezing off rounds, Civil locked his foreleg and had a fairly easy time staying on target. He shot all five of his rounds quickly as each recoil absorbed into his shoulder. This was quite different from his classmates' guns lifting slightly after each shot. Lee may have had a point about Civil having an advantage due to his leg device. Then again, this was all to protect his life and the lives of his fellow officers and citizens, so he didn't let it bother him. The instructor started to walk away when Lee fired the first few shots without issue.

Civil was on his last magazine, so when the slide locked back he lowered his foreleg slightly and slowly moved it left and right to simulate the 'scan' technique that had been drilled into them earlier that day. Another click and a swear next to him alerted Civil that his neighbor once again experienced something amiss with his gun.

Amiss. Civil's right ear twitched, an odd sound reaching it through the ear protection. At the same time, the classmate on his left had also emptied his mag, released the catch as though to practice his reload sequence, then must of realized they were all on their last magazine and bent down to retrieve the magazine. That was a no-no since you were supposed to leave all dropped magazines on the ground until the line was safe.

It was Civil's eye-spacing that allowed him to witness both that and Lee's turning toward him with his gun lowered, but the slide was not in the rear position. Coupled with the faint hissing sound, something clicked in his memory, something real stupid he did back when he was a human kid. He had some old fireworks and thought it would be cool to light a firecracker and throw it. He had watched the wick fizzle at the tip for a few seconds, then it burned down very quick. He had just enough time to reach back in an attempt to throw it before it went off, deafening him for a few minutes and numbing his fingers. Thank God it was just a black cat.

He heard that same hissing, and Lee's disregard for where to point his gun had it pointing right at his classmate who was bending down made Civil act. In an instant, he yelled "NO!" dropped his gun and spun to his left, wings flaring out when Lee's gun went off. Later he couldn't explain it to the instructors other than possibly some instinct to display plumage like a bird in a show of surprise to a potential enemy. He had never done it consciously in the past, especially with how sensitive wings on a pegasus were, and his thoughts were only for the cadet that was bending down.

He also ended up smacking the cadet officer on the other side of him.

When asked which way the gun was pointed when it went off, Civil and both the cadets stated something to the effect that they thought it was pointed down range. Civil had heard the slow burn of a bullet and panicked. In reality he knew deep down he'd had an unusual desire to protect that other cadet. He felt bad because he couldn't even remember the guy's name, yet for a brief instant he had connected with him on some basic fundamental level. It wasn't even a conscious thought...more like a feeling. He couldn't explain any of this lest he openly admit that Lee had shot at the other cadet by accident. He didn't want anybody to get in trouble, especially over crap ammo from Remington.

As it was, range safety was reiterated that day ad nauseum, laps were run WITH nauseum and eventually vomiting, and many muscles were worn out before anybody was allowed to touch their gun again. While two instructors were tapped to oversee the class punishment, the rest of the redshirts were hauling out pallets of ammo they now considered bad, on account of it possibly being compromised by moisture.

Civil was so tired that he had to ask for a ride to the academy at the end of the day.

Back in the locker room, Civil was twitching his wing a lot more than usual. It got to the point of direct irritation, so he twisted his head around to muzzle at his wing and found a primary feather bent halfway down its vane. Due to its shape, it was not lining up with the other feathers and was being pushed out of alignment, which meant the root was twisting. Hence the irritation. Groaning, he nibbled at it gently until it came away, along with a bit of blood dabbed on the root.

"Fuck, are you alright?" His buddy next to him had some mild shock on his face, seeing the blood. Chris was his name. Christopher, he preferred.

Civil let the feather drop to the bench and glanced back it his wing, flexing it a little. "Yeah, just a bent primary. Normally when a feather is ready to fall out, there is not so much blood, but a damaged one will do that. Especially when it GETS SHOT OFF!" He deliberately raised his voice, looking at the top of the lockers behind him.

"I SAID I WAS SORRY! FUCK ALREADY!" Lee's voice floated over the row of lockers.

Chris said, "Is that going to mess up your flying?" Fuckit, his name was going to be Chris unless Civil had to say it out loud.

The pegasus shrugged and used a wingtip to grab the feather. He put it on the top shelf in his locker. "Not a lot. There will be some adjustment until a new one grows in. It only gets bad in high winds, then the split airflow across the wing has to be evened out with the other....wing...." He saw his friend's eyes start to glaze a little, so he stopped talking and simply said, "I'll deal with it."

Chris shook his head, "Sorry. All that flying stuff is literally over my head. But cool that you are okay. If you needed a ride somewhere, you'd be covered."

Nodding his head, Civil held out his hoof to him. "Thanks. I mean it. Flying is life to a pegasus." Chris nodded and fist bumped him.

"So...I don't suppose I could keep that-"

"No," Civil answered bluntly.

Chris stiffened a little. "Sorry. I didn't mean to offend you."

Civil sighed, "No, you didn't offend me. I guess I'm not used to people and their pony knowledge." He flexed his wings and glanced up at the feather sitting on the shelf. "We believe that our soul resides in our wings, or part of it anyway. Each feather we lose, is a piece of us. So, we save them. It's kind of a superstition more than a proven fact. Sometimes our funeral services involve gathering all the feathers together with our body. On rare occasions, we may give them away to those we are intimately familiar with." That last part had Civil's cheeks warming slightly.

Chris already had his hand up and waved it, "Yeah, that's okay. Wow, I had no idea."

Civil shook his head, "Not many people do." He paused and thought about it. "You know...maybe that's part of why they hired me. How else is anybody supposed to learn about this stuff?"

Another cadet was on his way out when he paused, regarding them both. "Hey Civil, you might want to pass that on to the instructors. If we are supposed to learn how to deal with other ponies or flying species, do all of you flying types have that practice? Or any other...stuff like it?"

Civil sat back and thought. How much did he really know about other cultures? Did he even understand his own? He sighed. As if he didn't have enough homework and studying to do.

***

Tired after being out in the sun all day at the range, he finally made it home and walked in like a zombie, staring down at his hooves as he went. So much like a zombie he nearly tripped over Liberty who was sitting in the hallway staring at him. He stopped quickly when his hooves bumped into her and he looked up slightly. "Oh, hey Libs. Watcha want?"

She slid two papers forward on the hallway tiles. They were his last two paychecks from the City of Dallas. "You are getting paid now, right?" He nodded and raised an eyebrow. "Sooooo, you are employed, right?" It took a few seconds before he groaned and tried to walk around her.

"Not this again. I've had a long exhausting week." Before he could get past she immediately hopped in front of him, sitting her rump down as if not about to budge, even if a tidal wave were coming. He idly thought about simply using his height to walk over her, but decided against it.

"Yes this again, Civ! I mean it, you need to call her. Girls don't like being ignored." This time he leaned left and then juked right, causing her to scrabble on the tiles while he clipclopped to the living room and flopped down onto the couch. Liberty followed and planted herself right next to him, glaring at his smirk. "I don't like being ignored!"

"I'm not ignoring you. I'm just not responding," he muttered tiredly.

"That's ignoring. Quit being a dick and call her already. You said once you got a job, you would. Come on, don't fuck this up."

"Liberty! Language!" Karen's voice rang out from upstairs. Their mother was using the computer on the second floor and the front foyer opened up to the second floor and the stair balcony. All noise could be heard in the house no matter where you were.

"Yes mother, I know!" Liberty responded with annoyance. Equally perturbed, she addressed Civil. "Well?"

"Well what?"

Glower. "You know what."

"Will you leave me alone?"

"Today, yes."

He stared at the filly, her grin of impending triumph probably the cause of the headache he was starting to get. He sighed. "Fine, I'll do it-"

"YES!"

"-after dinner," he finished. Liberty glowered at him again but chose not to press the issue. A win was a win until you unwon it. She pranced away and hopped up onto the easy chair where their father usually watched television.

Civil watched her for a time until she glanced at him, the controller held up in her hoof as she was about to unpause her show.

"What?"

The stallion's eyes flicked to her cutie mark briefly. The mare holding up the torch while grasping a tablet and clothed in a toga and crown. "Is this part of that 'follow-my-cutie-mark' stuff you saw on the internet?"

She sniffed once and quipped, "I'm trying to free you from your 'stick-up-you-ass' stuff. YES MOM, I KNOW!" Karen yelled down a thankyou to her daughter, more for not having to remind her than anything else. Wasn't like Liberty was actually watching her mouth in the first place. Civil's eye twitched.

Liberty un-paused what she was watching. It was the My Little Pony series. He groaned and rolled over, his back to the TV.

"Oi, this is required watching." Liberty clacked her hooves together. "Twilight Velvet said so. Remember?" Civil muttered some choice things about the cringey training videos. Liberty replied, "I'm going to choose not to hear what you just said and shame on you for using such language." He laughed sharply at the hypocrisy of it all and settled into a short nap before dinner was ready. Liberty mentioned something about them calling out for Chinese food but Civil's interest lay in the more important subject of sleeping. He'd need it if he was about to tackle a phone call to the likes of Hot Pink. Just the thought of it already made him tired.

It wasn't that he didn't like her, far from it. He just sucked at talking to girls.

And...he was a little scared. Not that she would reject him. Even a dense stallion such as he could read the signs. No, he was scared she was ready to push ahead far faster than he was willing to go. He wanted to do this right, which meant slow. Smooth is fast might work for shooting, but smooth is slow as fucking hell felt more his speed when it came to mares. Karen had never really sat down with him and explained how girls ticked when he was a human, and he certainly never had that conversation with Liberty back in Equestria. That left him with his only source of marely knowledge being a filly who was hellbent on messing with him on a good day and guilt tripping him every other day.

He swallowed and tried to get comfortable for his nap. No wonder he was dreading the phone call.

"So how was your sister's birthday party? I forgot to ask," she said quietly.

He rolled back over and stared at her blankly. "....talking in the third person now?"

"Your other sister."

"..."

"The one you promised, from the plane?"

Civil felt the blood drain out of his face. With all the stuff that happened on the trip, Liberty's transformation, Hot Pink, the visit to the pony town, the new job....

As he sat in cold silence, the words of his promise digging into him like so many Roman knives of betrayal, Liberty said, "Don't worry. It's next week." She went back to watching TV. He stared at her. Liberty's eyes slid over to him after a few minutes of his staring. "In case you wanted to know. Or go. Or both." Back to TV.

He stammered out, "You...you spoke to her?"

She shrugged. "Text. Pretty simple. Ya know, poke at the phone, send message. Let a little girl know you are still alive." So many questions ran through his mind, hampered by the embarrassment that his sister had to save his tail in yet another faux pas. She sighed in exasperation. How could her brother/son survive all this and be absolutely flummoxed by the fairer sex?

"I explained we went through a very traumatic crisis, something similar to her tragedy, and that her brave loyal new brother would write to her as soon as he could. You have been keeping up with your writing, yes?"

When he finally found his voice he said, "Sort of. I hadn't gotten a reply since...." Well, he didn't exactly know when-

"Since two months ago, I would wager. Am I right?"

....

"How did you-"

"Mom makes me get the mail. And I know the code to your phone. I noticed. That's why I reached out to her. You are welcome."

He stared at her. She went back to watching the TV. He raised a hoof, "I-"

"Oh, you can invite Hot next week. Saturday, high noon, Tex. She's on the other side of town if you would ever look at the address. Assuming she still wants to invite you. Don't forgot to promise her two ponies to make up for your lack of social skills.......big strong brave brother of ours." She threw her head back in an overly dramatic exhaustive sigh. "Aaaaaawwww, I wish my greatness had been passed onto my progeny. Oh well. Soon as I start ovulating....try try again."

"LIBERTY RENEE-!!!!"

"JUST KIDDING, MOM!" ... "Still, one can have dreams-"

"LIB-!!!"

"Still kidding! Sheesh...."

He slowly worked his mouth trying to come up with words. So many things wrong in the last two minutes.

"Yes I know, I am magnificent. Afterall, they built a statue to my magnificence."

Settling back down on the couch, he knew he was not getting a nap now. He had two phone calls to think about.

***

Later when the range instructors were policing up the spent brass and inspecting the rotating target stands, one instructor looked down, frowned, and picked up something. He twisted it around in his fingers to get a good look at it in the waning light. Then he walked over to his buddy. "Hey, Mitchell, look at this."

It was a bullet, copper jacketed solid lead core practice round. No corrosion on it, the jacket still shiny. What was odd about it was its shape. It was almost neatly sliced down the middle, from tip to back. Some of the internal lead and the back part of the copper were still holding the two halves together.

"That is the damnedest thing. Did it hit the target holder and bounce back?" Mitchell asked. Stan shrugged and walked over to the stands, peering at them.

"Maybe. The cut is sharp and clean. I found it fifteen yards from the targets."

"Eh, stick it with the other odd ones. Sarge loves collecting 'em," his buddy responded.

When they were done, they shut down the field lights, went inside and started securing the armory cage. Before they turned the inside building lights off, Stan dug the round out of his pocket and put it on the countertop along the side of the classroom, alongside the other weirdly made or damaged rounds. Some were live with the bullet pressed into the casing backwards, or merely pushed in too deep, or a jagged cut down the side of the brass casing when the machine misfed the bullet. Other bullets were simply ones that got washed back out of the berm when rainwater eroded the backdrop hill. A few were flattened rounds that had hit metal targets. He chuckled to himself, knowing their supervisor would get a kick out of this new one. Bullets, and most things made out of metal like planes and vehicles, did weird shit when traveling at high speeds and struck objects. He walked to the front door and turned off the last light before stepping out and locking it.

In the dark, the severed area of the bullet glowed the faintest blue, which would never have been noticed outside of complete darkness. After a few hours, the light dissipated and the bullet was normal, if oddly shaped.

Next Chapter: Party Now, Serious Later Estimated time remaining: 2 Hours, 41 Minutes