The rules were different for minors.

Those who worked within the white structure on the left would have freely traded their marks to never have had another case involving a minor and, with that swap effectively impossible, took great pride in punishing the monsters who had decided innocence was just a particularly enticing form of prey. Judge Heartstopper understood and, if it would have meant seeing that portion of the system rendered obsolete, would have offered up her own icons in an instant. Children were simply that important.

But the other structure was for felonies. Sex Court dealt with misdemeanors. Civil cases. And, inevitably, it was going to see its share of minors. Because adolescence was a time of sexual awakening.

It also happened to coincidence with a years-long period where the minor had very little concept regarding what was happening to them. They usually didn't want to actually go and ask anypony, because they had just realized that they needed to establish their place in the world and requiring help with any given topic was clearly going to lessen them. Somehow. Very few adolescents could make any kind of start at explaining the particulars on that and once vocabulary inevitably expired, turning to anypony else for assistance was obviously right out. Several had simply put all thinking on hold until adulthood, or offloaded that function to something which didn't work with actual neurons.

Too many tended to tell themselves that they already knew everything. And therefore, whatever they came up with on their own officially qualified for more than anything. When it came to information, a number of adolescents believed themselves to be in possession of roughly 102% of all which could ever exist: oddly, none of it ever seemed to apply to the particulars of cleaning a bedroom or, for those who'd been experimenting, doing something with the sheets.

They were confused, lost, felt as if the world was spinning out of control, their own bodies were becoming foreign entities, and the only way for so many to deal with any of it was a constant stream of inner lies, all of which were offered up to a target longing for belief. That they were in control, because that was far easier than asking for advice or -- horrors! -- having to look something up.

They told themselves that they were in control, and did so when their world was in upheaval. While they were still trying to figure everything out -- and 'everything' very much included 'sex'. Even basic masturbation, applied to the pony form, was something of a challenge -- and it took a very good friend to take somepony aside and explain what they were probably doing wrong. Add that to the fact that emerging magic often expressed itself during certain moments of intensity, and...

There was a tendency for unicorns of a certain age to wind up in the emergency room. None of them could walk properly. Not a soul among them had mastered the concept of 'aim', while every last one had forgotten that a corona lost some degree of fine control when it was moving an item which could no longer clearly be seen. Just about none wanted their old toys back.

Adults who experimented could wind up in Sex Court. Adolescents existed in a state where truly talking to each other could potentially push the limits of personal capacity. And the court, staffed by adults who'd all been there, did its best to understand.

When it was adults... mares and stallions arguably should have known better, or at least been willing to learn. Adults got the gallery, because the gallery was Abject Humiliation arranged on plush benches, with optional popcorn. It was supposed to be a reminder. If there's going to be a next time? Stop, remember, blush, and then think.

But adolescence already existed as abject humiliation on the installment plan. Any earned memories were then locked away in a vault, where they proceeded to earn embarrassment interest for the whole of the account's lifetime. And nothing was worse than having a parent crack the door open so they could pull a story out.

For minors, the spectator benches would be empty.

In terms of court occupancy, it was frequently just the children and Judge Heartstopper. Attorneys could be involved in such cases, but -- the judge always asked for a little private time. The bailiff would leave, and the stenographer understood that anything said was going to be off the record. The fate of all minor files was to eventually be sealed and destroyed: allowing the isolated conferences just meant that much less paper to burn.

The rules were different for minors, because they had to be. And with the truly young...

The judge calmly looked down at the three fillies, so tightly clustered along the defendant's bench. White, yellow, and orange bodies were pressed against each other for security -- or, given this particular trio, to allow the option of a coordinated group break.

She could see the shivering. Little vibrations jumping from body to body, intermeshed fur strands substituting for transmitting nerves. By contrast, everything along their backs had been pressed flat. Weighed down by the sheer gravity of the situation.

Impassi carefully closed her notebook, and made sure not to let the magnets click too loudly.

"I want to review," she softly told them. (Her voice still echoed in a little in the empty courtroom, bounced off the walls and embedded itself in the commemorative plaque.) "And then I think we can wrap this up."

All three managed tiny nods.

"How did it start?" the judge asked. And waited.

The yellow filly was the first to speak. She usually was. There was a futile hope in play, and it said that the adults might go easier on the trio if they were listening to a cute accent.

"We've sorta been lookin' for our marks," Apple Bloom carefully began. "Y'probably ain't got the particulars. Ah'm guessin' most of that wound up next door --"

"Which has no bearing on the current case!" Scootaloo abruptly snapped, because a filly who wasn't on track for a legal mark had still spent enough time in Small Claims to pick up a few details by osmosis. "Priors shouldn't count --"

"-- girls," the judge quietly said.

Orange wings slowly refolded.

"...we..." The smallest and most timid cleared her throat. "...we've tried a lot. And we heard... well, there's a new pony in town. Miss Fleur. She's -- really pretty --" Sweetie's skin began to flush fire-red, all too easy to see through white fur "-- and... we heard that... she used to be an escort."

"Yes," Judge Heartstopper peacefully confirmed. "Recently retired to pursue a new line of work, but -- yes."

Nopony said anything for a few seconds. Silence filled the courtroom, then got in line at the concessions stand.

"We hadn't tried that yet," Scootaloo finally said. "I keep track. Of all the things we've tried, so we don't do any twice. 'Escort' wasn't on the list. So we tried it."

"An' they sent us here," Apple Bloom miserably noted. "When we hadn't done hardly anythin' at'tall. Nothin' real. Nothin' more than goin' up to the adults an' offerin' escort services."

Judge Impassi Heartstopper, who'd read the full police report, very carefully said nothing at all.

"It's not as if we even got marks out of it," Sweetie dejectedly declared. "I don't even know what we did wrong..."

The lone adult in the room carefully pushed her notebook to one side.

She didn't laugh, because so much of being in charge of Sex Court was about not laughing. And when it came to adults, she never smiled. It was part of what was required, just to keep control at all.

Seeking marks? Ponies had been doing that for the whole of recorded history, and it had proven some categories of icon to be impossible. For starters, despite the sheer numbers who'd longed for it and a few who'd at least made a direct attempt, nopony had ever manifested a mark for having sex. But when you reached the subcategories...

"I'm going to ask you a question," the judge said. "All three of you. It's all right if you talk to each other about the answer before you tell me what it is. Or you can take turns. But I want to hear it from you."

They waited.

"What do you think 'escorting' means?"

They told her.

The judge shook her head. Lavender-tinged ringlets very nearly bounced.

"...that ain't it?" Apple Bloom disbelievingly checked. "Then what d'you have t' do?"

She told them.

There was one more shiver. And then the miniherd came apart, as three young bodies began to laugh in relief.

"Boring!" Scootaloo instantly declared. "That is so boring! I think it's worse than what we were actually doing!"

"Goin' t' parties with ponies y'don't even know?" Apple Bloom tried to reconcile. "An' then y'have t' stay with 'em after? Seriously?"

"I've never been so happy to fail!" Sweetie giggled. "Imagine spending all of those nights in the wrong beds! You wouldn't even know which parts of the mattress were the best spots, and the other pony would probably just take them first!" The two-tone tail twitched with amusement, and stilled itself just before the hasty "Which doesn't mean it wasn't right for Miss Fleur! Since she's so pretty. But now I know why she wanted to stop!"

The adult waited for them to laugh themselves out, and didn't speak again until six eyes had looked up towards her bench.

"There's no sentence," she told the little group. "No fines or community service. This isn't even going into the juvenile record. It's a misunderstanding, and it's been cleared up. You can leave whenever you're ready."

And then they were staring at her.

"...really?" Sweetie half-whispered. "No punishment at all?"

"None."

The weight lifted. Three fillies began to get up, with fourteen limbs flexing in abrupt relief.

"There's still one part Ah don't get," Apple Bloom risked as her forehooves touched the floor. "If'fin we got it that far wrong, then... why did ponies turn us in t' start with?"

The other two nodded, and three confused gazes sought the only possible source of wisdom.

Impassi had spent years within the courtroom, all without laughing. And when it came to adults, she would never smile.

But the rules were a little different for minors.

"To be fair, girls," she told them, "they had every right to wonder why you were charging two hundred bits to walk them across the street."

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