Strangers to the Plain


                                            >Tired, alert.

                                            >Awake, asleep.

                                            >Empty, unlimited.

                                            >The meds...

                                            >You look down at your... not hands really

                                            >It's something like a fist, kinda reminds you of that kid you knew with the club foot at swim lessons

                                            >Your phone inches from your face

                                            >Your anxiety is tempered, like eggs in custard. Your mind is a few ticks away from scrambling.

                                            >Your face is covered in little hairs.

                                            >You're soft, vulnerable.

                                            >You've got powerful legs. You can kick.

                                            >You're a poet. You're a moron.

                                            "Are the two supposed to be mutually exclusive?"

                                            >You took one, it's nice. Even alone the feeling of being a pony is comfortable. The place is a bit of a mess, but you'll clean tomorrow.

                                            >Just like you always say

                                            >Nobody really knows where the drug comes from

                                            >It operates tangent to a physical...

                                            >It's...

                                            >People agree on strands, so named for the way the internals of the pills spool outward when researchers cut the magical mystery cures open

                                            >To try to understand them

                                            >You always get the cheapest with a guarantee...

                                            >A lot of people take Clarified

                                            >That's how you probably should do it

                                            >Clarified is for functional ponies, even in a bad mental state it reaches deep into your brain and retrieves a form it knows you'll love

                                            >Faggots get stallions, trannies get cute mares, straight dudes...

                                            >Who are you kidding, straight people don't take this kind of drug

                                            >Regardless, Clarified is more expensive

                                            >You've been two-hundred-thirty-three different ponies at this point, that's the beauty of Flatrock

                                            >You don't have to pin down a form, and at this point you immediately blow any money you earn on just enough food to live as a human and as many pills as the remainder will get you from your contact by the docks

                                            >It's more than enough, the frequency at which you get low means you're not really living as a human

                                            >You try to go in with a good mindset, but most of the time it just sort of happens

                                            >You kick off your shoes, put a beer in the squeeze bottle, leave yourself a PB&J, and pop a pill

                                            >Someday, you'll find the right form for you

                                            >Maybe a nerdy mare with glaucoma

                                            >Or a stallion only distinguishable from a mare by your eyebrows

                                            >Or a silky lady of the night, the sort of mare that you might find sleeping in a cage under a strip club floor until it's time for her show

                                            >Why would full-time ponies have rights anyways? It's much hotter when they don't

                                            >You look yourself over in the full-length mirror as you finish shifting into place

                                            >No dick, but your color scheme gives vibes of what annoying people would call hsts

                                            >You won't pop the second pill tonight, but you will be using the dildo on your tailhole

                                            End of line?

                                            >

                                            >

                                            >

                                            >You groan in frustration as you pull yourself out of a pleasant dream

                                            >Need to prepare for work. If you hurry, you can just make it

                                            >You brush aside the silicone toy, letting it fall to the ground where you'll deal with it when you're back

                                            >You do something you've done many times before.

                                            >Pick up a nearby pack of dry ramen noodles and fill your mouth with it, chewing as you put your pants on

                                            >This'll give you just enough calories to get to lunch, as you chew you catch the crumbs that break off in the sheets, scooping them up as you finish and eating them too.

                                            >You got most of them, good enough

                                            >You swallow and grumble to yourself as you pull on your beat up polo and grab your car keys and wallet on your way out the door.

                                            >Your phone is dead, and it's not as if you have anyone to call regardless

                                            >You're not sure that you would've even woken up if it weren't for the couple arguing nextdoor, heard through the thin walls.

                                            >You don't have the luxury of online games anymore because of them, or at least not those that require voice chat

                                            >Apparently it's more societally acceptable to beat your wife than to call someone a faggot over the internet, you were written up for that shit

                                            >Got a nasty letter placed in your mailbox from the landlord (technically illegal since she didn't stamp it, but you're way too tired to care)

                                            >You comb your short, patchy brown hair into somewhat of an agreeable form as you take the stairs down to the street three at a time

                                            >You almost considered ODing on the mare you rolled last night just because her mane and tail were good

                                            >Not silky, but almost minky. Like a nice plush with that faux mane

                                            >So strange to think that that shit is actually a plastic product... you never would've thought

                                            >You practically slam into your car door, fumbling with the keys (your crappy, early 2000s era fob broke half a decade ago) and narrowly avoiding keying your own vehicle in your haste to jam it in

                                            >As you crank the engine, you tune into your favorite morning radio station

                                            >You like hard rock in the evening normally, but this is very suitable for morning drives

                                            >After a few minutes of ads, an Oasis song you know by heart comes on the radio

                                            "I'm free to be whatever I... whatever I choose and I'll sing the blues if I want!"

                                            >You bob your head along with the music as you turn into an arterial

                                            "I'm free to say whatever I... whatever I like If it's wrong or right, it's alright."

                                            >You drive past a head-on collision, a woman is hanging through the windshield, there's a lot of blood.

                                            >There are already paramedics nearby, so you continue driving, but the sight has killed your enthusiasm for singing along.

                                            >You look down at the light to make sure your seatbelt is properly secured, can never be too safe.

                                            >You bet she'll wish she'd done the same, if she gets through this.

                                            >You speed off, traveling 8 miles above the speed limit, over speedbumps and potholes

                                            >'Here in my mind, you know you might find, something that you'

                                            >'You thought you once knew but now it's all gone.'

                                            >It's commercials again on after Whatever, the drawbacks of a station that doesn't use radio edits of tracks

                                            >You flick off the radio, it's less than a block

                                            >Find an unoccupied parking spot outside (always a challenge even at this hour)

                                            >Pull in and straighten up the parking job as best you can without scratching anyone's else's car, without a rear cam, with shit piled up in the back of your station wagon...

                                            >You get the idea

                                            >You run inside and manage to clock in only three minutes late

                                            >Which is actually fine, since the system follows a 7-8 rounding scheme

                                            >You pull on your apron from the rack, put on the logo cap, and stride out to your till.

                                            >About five minutes into your shift, you get a bagger. The bagger comes with baggage.

                                            >"Anon, this is... Jennifer. He- er, she will be training on the till and bagging for you today."

                                            >You look into the dead eyes of the unsightly tranny before you

                                            >Hold out a hand, shake.

                                            >It's what a boomer would consider a good handshake. Firm, and long.

                                            >You detail the logon procedure for the till, show her the different submenus for pay by weight, coupons and what to do if someone comes in with a paycheck

                                            >Before you can show her how to reprint receipts or how to refresh the printer thermal head you have customers

                                            >She struggles with some of the bagging fundamentals, you watch

                                            >It's nothing really stupid like putting a watermelon or a jug of milk on top of eggs, but she nearly stacks a big box of crackers on top of a loaf of bread.

                                            >Everywhere there are tells about what sort of person anyone is, that's absolutely one of them.

                                            >She's a bit of a slob.

                                            >You don't blame her, but she won't last long if she doesn't correct that sort of behavior. As depressing as it is, this is actually a position that's in high demand.

                                            >You gently correct the error before it happens. You don't blame her, you used to be somewhat the same.

                                            >You've become a pro at it, zoning out just enough to get a read on everything but not so much to torque your brain gears fully.

                                            >You can jerk right back to attention at a moment's notice if need be, but this job is not mentally demanding

                                            >Before you know it, it's noon. One of the managers takes the first break at noon, and the two of you are relieved half an hour later

                                            >Normally the rule is one employee break at a time, but you've seen this happen many times before.

                                            >They can't legally have you work on your break, but you are /expected/ to continue running Jenny through the ropes while you two eat.

                                            >"What's good here? I didn't pack a box lunch."

                                            >Her voice training is okay, at least. Come to think of it, her stubble might also be the result of a worn razor.

                                            "I didn't either. Everything, really; but that's with the caveat that it's all expensive. Were you keeping an eye on the prices of groceries?"

                                            >She nods.

                                            "The deli items are twice as expensive. At least."

                                            >"Fuck."

                                            "Yeah. I know a decently priced place, it's just a block down the road. You can ride shotgun if you want."

                                            >"You think we can be back in thirty?"

                                            "No, but I think we can be back in thirty-seven."

                                            >You say that as you two exit the building, you're not really supposed to tell the new hires about the rounding.

                                            >"Then please, part of the reason I left my job at bestbuy is that this place pays better and my car is on the mend. Took the bus here."

                                            "No prob then."

                                            >You clear your CDs out of the passenger seat and unlock it for her, getting on the road towards your favorite lunch joint

                                            >You never really see anyone new there.

                                            >Obviously a mob joint, but with prices and food this good? None of the 5-6 regulars are going to complain.

                                            >You stride in, Jenny awkwardly following you.

                                            >"Anon, good to see you. I thought you'd finally left us behind. Got another customer today?"

                                            "Ha, no. And yeah. Training her at the grocer."

                                            >Carmelo tells her how the place works, it's essentially a small buffet of Italian food.

                                            >You can get pizza or the day's fresh pasta, both with as many variations as you can dream of.

                                            >Freshly cooked, never any line, never any fuss.

                                            >It's worth noting that the place is literally situated inside of a neighborhood, way the hell out of the way. Has like 1-3 online reviews, all of them complaining up a storm

                                            >Likely all paid off so the place stays pleasant for the few who do show up, and under the radar for whatever shady activity the place launders money for.

                                            >You get the tortellini alfredo and Jenny gets the meatlover's pizza, the two of you seat at an empty booth

                                            "Swear this is one of the only good things left in the area."

                                            >"I know what you mean. It's all so expensive, feels like everything exists purely to cater to the tech workers, the trust fund babies, and the all of the above."

                                            "And then there's us."

                                            >"Ha... don't lump me in with you so quickly... I'd have been a trust fund baby if not for..."

                                            >She gestures at herself and you nod. It's fairly clear what happened.

                                            >"Got a nice car at least, for what it's worth. Not much, the taxes are steep and the repairs are too. Anyways, I got the sense they wanted you to train me more over lunch?"

                                            "Yeah... it sucks, but you guessed correctly. There are a few things they'll have you do in addition to the till operations, and you'll be expected to bag..."

                                            >You check your phone clock, still good on time

                                            >You go into the trash bags, the compactor in the employee area, the box crusher

                                            >As you're just starting to get into the nuances of bathroom assignments (especially when you're doing it alone and have to do both of them) when she brushes her left bang away and you freeze.

                                            >"Yeah, I know. I'm fucking unsightly. Thanks."

                                            "No... um. Lift your bang again."

                                            >She groans as she does so, good mood clearly spoiled. You lean in and whisper the following:


                                            "You've been a pony recently."

                                            >Before she can say something stupid, you discretely pull up your hat a bit and show her the same telltale scar that she has on her forehead.

                                            >Where her horn retracted one too many times back into her skull and the skin didn't quite heal for god knows what reason. Everything else could be perfect, but go pony too often? You'll get scars on your back if you're a pegasus, and a single point on your forehead if you're a unicorn.

                                            >You have all three scars, of course. A fool's alicorn, if you will, spread across a bicentennial and a quarter different bodies.

                                            "Do you have them on your back...?"

                                            >"I- yes."

                                            >You take a moment to compose yourself, think about how to carry this. Don't want to freak her out, don't want to come off as weird.

                                            "I haven't found anybody else who really likes Flatrock. Would you like to come over tonight? Pony down, maybe watch a movie together?"

                                            >The speed at which she replies is somewhat surprising, the offer has hardly left your mouth before she nods vigorously

                                            >As by some form of unspoken agreement, the two of you shift directly back into the discussion of grocery store work.

                                            >When you both return from lunch and clock back in, she's called to learn about cart retrieval from one of the staff members who's mostly janitorial

                                            >But you'll get off at the same time, you checked her schedule

                                            >You're finally going to get low with someone else tonight.

                                            >

                                            >

                                            >

                                            >"Which do you prefer?"

                                            >You and Jenny are on the beat-up couch next to each other in your apartment, the both of you holding on to drinks and avoiding eye contact.

                                            "Hm?"

                                            >You're fine with screwdrivers, but your new friend is more of a sweet tooth. You stopped by a cheaper grocery store on the way and she picked up a pack of seltzer

                                            >"Stallions or mares?"

                                            "To be, or not to be?"

                                            >"Ha. To be, obviously."

                                            "Mares. You're not going to shill hormones to me, are you?"

                                            >She looks down

                                            >"I don't think you'd detest it, but you seem to have your shit more together than I do. No comment, generally speaking"

                                            "If I do, it's a facade."

                                            >You take in a large sip from the glass, watch the screwdriver curtains flow back down

                                            >"I think everyone feels that way, it's the illusory outer shell... are you sure you're okay with me taking your meds?"

                                            "Yeah, of course. Anyone who likes hooftripping can't be that bad."

                                            >"Not so sure about that, but I promise I'll try to be good. Between making ends meet and the car repairs I've had to cut back a lot, just want you to know this is really cool of you to do."

                                            >Rambling. Maybe you're being an asshole, but you can tell she's nervous. Used to be something you'd do when stressed.

                                            >You throw back the screwdriver, make another one real quick, and start sipping at it

                                            >Then you wash out last night's squeeze bottle, and fill it with two seltzers

                                            >You sit back down and hand it to her

                                            "Don't take this the wrong way, but you're nervous. Any good ways you have to sort that out?"

                                            >The importance of mindset is understood, she nods.

                                            >"Generally, I drink a bit, put on some comfortable clothes, and try to pretend that I'm somewhere else."

                                            "Hmm. Well, I don't have many comfortable clothes, but I do have a throw blanket and some old stuffed animals. Any of that sound good?"

                                            >"Blanket sounds great, stuffed animals only if they're sort of huggable"

                                            >You drape it over her and she starts to take her clothes off

                                            >You pretend not to notice/care

                                            "Want to watch the evening news for a few minutes while we unwind a bit?"

                                            >"Sure, but I'm not positive that'll help us unwind"

                                            >You do it regardless, catching snippets of the news

                                            >'Two more found dead with connections to Picnic Collective...'

                                            >'Paralympics to be delayed after athlete found to have self-mutilated spine fifteen years prior...'

                                            >After 5 minutes there's an ad break and you flip the channel to adult swim, which is showing a new episode of rick and morty

                                            >You turn the television off immediately

                                            >Jenny looks more chilled out now, at least.

                                            >You take two pills from the old fluoxetine bottle you keep hidden in the cushions

                                            >It's funny to think about, this is only the second time you've withdrawn two Flatrock at once

                                            >You will not be thinking about the last time, and so it's bottoms up for your share

                                            >As it travels down your esophagus you hand the other one to Jenny, which she takes and swallows without liquid

                                            >"So, now we wait."

                                            >You snort

                                            "I can't believe you just said that. We're both practically pros"

                                            >"Yeah, we earned our horns and everything"

                                            >She rolls her eyes at you

                                            "It's impressive in a pathetic sort of way. We're the two most fucked-up people in the room."

                                            >You flip on the TV, tune in to one of those late-night channels that shows PG edits of good movies.

                                            >Right now, it's Robocop. You're distinctly a little ticked off, they keep panning away from all the gore and all the cussing is replaced in a badly cheesy way that doesn't match the intentional tone of the film.

                                            >"It's fucked-up in a fucked-up sort of way. Anyways, do you normally get mares?"

                                            "Yeah. I haven't settled on an exact formula for it, but most of the time I end up a mare or a rather mare-like stallion. You?"

                                            >"I barely remember the only time I didn't get a mare, I think I had a panic attack and then dropped acid"

                                            >She laughs, you chuckle a little hesitantly

                                            >"It's okay to laugh, it's funny. Stupid. Shouldn't have bothered me so much..."

                                            "It's understandable. You... it's starting."

                                            >"I'll probably be along in a minute. You took yours first"

                                            >You watch as your fingers start to congeal into what superficially appears to be a putty-esque mass.

                                            >This illusion is perpetrated by your bad habit of moving your fingers about while they merge

                                            >Doing so almost always guarantees that an ordeal of mild discomfort and mild pain that your familiarity with the process would usually mitigate takes place

                                            >You wince as your fingers feel as if they are being /crushed/ into each other, it's sort of like a horrible cramp

                                            >and as soon as it has begun, it's over. Your left hand is now a diminuitive hoof in tan, your coat not yet having grown in yet

                                            >You're a little bit awkward about watching a naked person go pony, but you do glance over at Jenny every 30 seconds or so to ensure that she's handling it well

                                            >She looks relaxed enough as a pair of wings sprout from the side of the blanket

                                            >You make out a sigh

                                            >Her eyes are closed, so you feel less weird about observing further

                                            >Beneath the blanket, you can see her gradually shrinking, turning into a little pegasus

                                            >Merlot red, hm. She sprouts the coat much earlier than you do.

                                            >Her mane comes in around the time yours does, your vision becoming obscured by a mess of greens and blacks and hers coming out almost white... grey?

                                            >It almost looks translucent, but it's illusory. You can't see her scalp.

                                            >Is it like a morpho wing? You remember reading something about them getting their color from microscopic structures that reflect light in a weird way.

                                            >"Oh my god. Your coat..."

                                            "Yeah. Jesus, it's ugly."

                                            >"Your body is nice at least."

                                            "The coat makes me think of ben 10"

                                            >She snorts

                                            >"It started when an alien device-"

                                            "Don't you fucking start"

                                            >You smile at her, you two teasing each other...

                                            >It reminds you of when you used to have friends

                                            >God, how long has it been? College before you dropped out?

                                            >High school?

                                            >Her voice is pleasant, all the strain and edge that generally come with the territory are gone.

                                            >Complete conversion

                                            >She walks across the couch cushions towards you with ease, dodging the random springs that are poking out from the ancient thing

                                            >There are a bunch of videos online of normies trying Flatrock and then making complete asses of themselves, tripping all over the pavement and having an awful time

                                            >The drug has gotten a weird reputation because of that, people don't realize it's not a party drug. Not really

                                            >It's meant for small social gatherings, among close friends...

                                            >And whatever this is, fucking... taking someone you barely know into your house and doing a controlled substance together

                                            >You know you've made the right choice when she touches you

                                            >It's a small thing, just a brush of her hoof against the side of your muzzle, but it kicks neurotransmitters you didn't even know you still had the capabilities to produce into immediate overdrive

                                            >The two of you speak in unison, it's almost creepy, but feels anything but

                                            >"Soo ssofft..."

                                            >She collapses on top of you and you wrap your forehooves around her

                                            >The two of you sigh as your coats make contact, all tension and anxiety immediately evaporating

                                            >She landed a little bit awkwardly and something hard is pressed into your left foreleg, but she adjusts a second later and that too is gone

                                            >"You're kinda pretty up close, your facial structure is nice"

                                            "Y-you too"

                                            >She dropped your bottle on the couch when she collapsed on you, she picks it up now and swings her head back, fluid audibly flowing into her muzzle

                                            >"Wanna sip?"

                                            "Sure, in a minute. Right now I'm just..."

                                            >"Yeah."

                                            >She rests her head next to yours and you wrap your forehooves around her to a happy sound that almost comes out like a purr

                                            >"This is nice."

                                            "Mmm..."


                                            >Be ???????

                                            "This sucks."

                                            >"I told you to bring glowsticks."

                                            >You let out an audible groan and free your middle finger to the cold bitch

                                            >She just gives you that smile, the one you hate

                                            >"Unless you want to leave behind your Lantern to check the distance down..."

                                            >You take the leap of faith to shut her up.

                                            >Your thick boots scramble at the straight but rough wall as you catch yourself by only your arms

                                            >As you try to gather your footing, scrabbling and slipping fast, Faia catches you

                                            >"A thank you would be nice."

                                            "Firstly, fuck your mother. Secondly..."

                                            >She swats at you playfully, then straightens her face

                                            >"Can you put down your Lantern? I think the EM field levels just spiked."

                                            >You walk across the small maintenance suite and squat like a stereotypical slav. You aren't far off.

                                            >"False alarm, dropped back down to ambiant."

                                            "I swear, you with that thing. Twice we've gone hunting an artifact now and it's just been the cook-end of a fucking cell tower. You know how deadly radio is, don't you?"

                                            >"Which one of us has the amateur license again?"

                                            >Strikes more of a nerve than it should

                                            "My qualifications are why you brought me here."

                                            >"Do you want to go back to donating plasma for petty cash, or are you going to scale that ladder for me? Got another spike."

                                            >You grumble more as you do so, cursing Faia under your breath.

                                            >It's rusted near through, but you're tiny. Rail-thin, barely 100 american pounds.

                                            >Roughly 45 kilo.

                                            >The Lantern casts ominous shadows on the walls as you go, the helical shape of the electric-seeming source inside creating the strange patterns

                                            >Right now it's around a red. Highest you've seen it was a blue, when a Picnicker was nearby.

                                            >When you went back to the same site in the light of day not only were all the artifacts gone, but three federal agents were butchered and strung up on the wall

                                            "Found it."

                                            >"Any hazard?"

                                            "Red-orange. We can go home after I harvest, it's a Clarified cluster."

                                            >You produce an empty prescription bottle and begin to pick the little gelatin capsules off of the tree.

                                            >More would grow back if you were careful, but new sites are always being discovered and old sites are almost always booby-trapped, picked clean by urbex teenagers and people of a job description similar to yours.

                                            >Not worth taking the 'plant' itself, the gamma leaks slow but is still a problem and doesn't extend to the pills of the "fruiting body".

                                            >You wipe each pill carefully with a glass cleaning cloth before dropping it in the bottle, your hands are filthy from the exploration.

                                            >When you and Faia get back, you'll bathe them in UV. Kill anything that remains on the surface so they can be sold.

                                            >

                                            >

                                            >

                                            >You rub your thumbs against the tax stamp machined into the metal surface of your Lantern as Jamie serializes everything Faia is willing to give up.

                                            >It's illegal to conceal artifacts when turning in, but it's also non-admissable for federals to check V/m^2 while collecting.

                                            >Some still do, but it's never more than an argument; you are not paid enough for the serials alone.

                                            >So as long as the two of you don't get caught shipping out Clarified and Flatrock...

                                            >"Everything seems to be in order. Faia, Gena, good work."

                                            >You narrow your eyes. You don't like Jamie's nicknames.

                                            "Gennadi."

                                            >He ignores you

                                            >"Here's the pay, lump-sum as requested. When are you two lovebirds getting married?"

                                            >"When are you going to stop fucking your dog and get a real girlfriend?"

                                            >Jamie, betraying his normally stoney demeanor when insulted, exhales out of his nostrils as his mouth turns up in a smile.

                                            >"Been finding a lot of empty stems lately. Want to drop it, or explain what that's all about?"

                                            >Faia laughs it off with a borrowed:

                                            >"Fuck your mother."

                                            >and then the two of you are off. You drive while your girlfriend counts the cash the NEA agent handed over.

                                            >It's an old acronym.

                                            >An outdated one, from back when humanity thought the artifacts were a footnote

                                            >You expect that if the United States survives the next 10 years, it'll get the 'OSS' treatment and be dissolved, liquidated, and brought back up under a more updated name.

                                            >'National Classical Mechanics Administration' is a name you've heard thrown around.

                                            >It would fit better than the "Non-Euclid Authority"

                                            >Especially as the agency's authority evaporates.

                                            >As you pack up the Lantern Faia packs away the Clarified, Flatrock, and Cubic you found tonight into separate drawers. Each is filled with no less than 12 packs of Silicon Dioxide gel, ensuring the pills stay nice and dry

                                            >She leaves one on the counter for you while she pops a clarified.

                                            >You wash your face, remove your clothes, and press into her.

                                            >These are the only times you truly see Faia as a vulnerable creature. Shifting into one of the ponies while your growing horsecock pierces her nethers.

                                            >Even so, she never moans. Just stares at you in silent ecstacy as the two of you become animals in each other's embrace.


                                            >Be Anonymous.

                                            >That's what they told you to be. Keep it quiet and you won't be a freak.

                                            >Won't be...

                                            >You stare down at Jenny. She's still sleeping peacefully, the two of your now very human bodies wrapped around each other.

                                            >It's kinda weird because your dicks are resting close to each other.

                                            >and because she hasn't shaved her body recently, other than the face.

                                            >Last night was Friday.

                                            >It is the weekend

                                            >and yet, you both have work in less than an hour.

                                            >You pull yourself up from the couch, waking your new friend in the process

                                            >"Whuh... huh?"

                                            "We have work this morning, sorry."

                                            >"Oh fuck... I forgot."

                                            "You're pretty clean right now."

                                            >Flatrock normally freezes the state of cleanliness your body was in before using

                                            >"Yeah... but I feel weird if I don't have a morning shower even after using. Do you mind?"

                                            "Go ahead. Can't miss the bathroom."

                                            >She's too sleepy to laugh at your 'joke' but stumbles down the length of the apartment to the restroom

                                            >It's a little bit of a mess in there with your toiletries, but it's not dirty or anything.

                                            >You look away out of respect as she walks in and shuts the door, the sound of flowing water filling the room soon after

                                            >You wash your face in the kitchen sink and pull your uniform back on from the couch. You also go ahead and fold Jenny's uniform so it's ready for her when she gets out.

                                            >The former mare you cuddled with emerges a few minutes later, this time wearing your towel.

                                            >The pretense of pony innocence found after sleep is gone, it's all business now.

                                            >"Since you were kind enough to let me sleep over and share your meds, I'll get breakfast?"

                                            "You sure? I don't want you to feel like you owe me for that. I had a nice time too."

                                            >She smiles warmly at you

                                            >"I'll pay three quarters then?"

                                            "Sounds good"

                                            >You and Jenny find yourselves seated in the booth of a waffle house a block or two from work, dressed in grocery attire

                                            >You both elect to order coffee, neither fully awake just yet

                                            >There was nothing inherently sexual about what happened last night, but there's still the slight tinge of awkwardness. The waitress fills up both of your coffees

                                            >You take yours with sugar, no cream. A holdover from your fluctuating ability to process dairy

                                            >Jenny goes heavy on the cream.

                                            >She didn't ask to use your razor but you're fine that she did, she looks a lot prettier without the slight scruffiness here and there on her body

                                            >Human hair isn't as kind as pony fluff

                                            >"So..."

                                            "I had a good time."

                                            >"I did too, it's just..."

                                            >You let her take a hurried sip, the coffee is still probably too hot but you learn to deal with it

                                            >"I don't know, this is all new for me. I know barely anything about you."

                                            "Honestly? I'm pretty fucking boring."

                                            >"Hm? How so?"

                                            "My music tastes are fringe, but most people you'll meet online these days are the same and you could argue my taste is algorithmically spoon-fed."

                                            >"I like Taylor Swift."

                                            "Some of her songs are alright, yeah. You've heard she used to be a /b/tard, right?"

                                            >"Damn, that's crazy. Do you... use that site?"

                                            "Yeah."

                                            >"Me too..."

                                            >The two of you sit awkwardly for a few minutes. It's long enough for the food to arrive, and then of course you both dig in.

                                            >Uncharacteristic to the standard 'polite' meal practice, the conversation picks back up again over the food

                                            >"So, normie. What's the weirdest thing you've ever done?"

                                            "On or off the pills?"

                                            >"Let's say your whole life."

                                            "Do pony lives count as different lives?"

                                            >"No! This isn't a philosophical discussion. Well, maybe it kinda is. Not in that way."

                                            "It's pretty obviously something I did while I was a pony. It was actually the night before we met, I was um..."

                                            >"Do I really want to know, actually?"

                                            "Good point."

                                            >The table goes silent again until Jenny starts infodumping about a recreation of space paranoids, that game from the original tron movie

                                            >Apparently she's got a particular interest in replicating the filter as authentically as possible, down to the grainy backlit glow on everything

                                            >Which involves a lot of shader work, it's something you don't really know much about and generally you're happy to have someone who shares key interests with you excitedly yapping your ear off

                                            >The two of you are having such a good time you're nearly late for work

                                            >The agreement from this morning is forgotten as you hurry to pay the bill and get back on the road

                                            >You park on the edge of the lot, it's still dark outside. There are the scattered employee cars here and there, but generally it's just the two of you

                                            >Jenny surprises you with a peck on the cheek

                                            >"You have the day off tomorrow too?"

                                            "No... but I could burn a vacation day if I brought it up like... right after clocking in"

                                            >"I want to repay you, tomorrow. You and me at my place. Old video games. Snacks. Then getting low."

                                            "Are you serious?"

                                            >"Yeah."

                                            >She eyes you over, seeing the look in your eyes and grinning

                                            >"See you then, then!"

                                            >and just like that she gets out of the car and start walking

                                            >This anticipation... today is gonna suck.

                                            >Be Jenny

                                            >How do you even go back to work after something like that?

                                            >The dopamine high hit you so fucking hard that you /kissed/ him.

                                            >and there's no fucking way he'll ever invite you back to his place after that but...

                                            >No, you've built up this momentum. You either carry it to your destination, or you crash and burn on the side of the highway.

                                            >Anon is a few minutes behind you as you clock in, just barely making the cutoff he told you about yesterday.

                                            >You won't see him again until lunch, the two of you are scheduled together again thank Celestia

                                            >No, you're on morning restocking duty.

                                            >Since you don't know where half the shit is yet, you're paired with a nice enough girl of the biological variety named Sarah

                                            >Like most retail work, it's the sort of thing that leaves your mind free to wander and ponder while your hands focus on the monotonous labor of placing chips and formula containers in their designated, corporate-mandated areas

                                            >They told you you could be anything

                                            >You suspect they did not mean a cartoon horse by that.

                                            >Sarah seems to be somewhat familiar with the provocations of your particular sort and dances around them with ease

                                            >You wouldn't particularly care if she referred to you as male, it would hurt, but it's a pain you've grown numb enough to that it's tolerable

                                            >She doesn't, but she also seems unable to come up with a conversational topic that you two have any sort of common-ground on.

                                            >The work is done in near complete silence other than occasional minor corrections about shelf placements of certain items

                                            >God he was a cute mare.

                                            >You're tired and thirsty already, props to drinking the night before work you suppose

                                            >After excusing yourself, you find yourself locked in the men's restroom

                                            >Many such cases

                                            >You rinse your face off a little, drink cold water from the sink, and try to find the strength within you to return to this shit

                                            >After stuffing your inner pony deep down once more you trudge back out to the shelves

                                            >

                                            >

                                            >

                                            >"What's up?"

                                            "How do you do it? How do you get back up and just... go at it after getting low?"

                                            >"Oh, yeah... good question. Mostly I think about how all the fun shit in life costs money."

                                            "That's one way to motivate I suppose."

                                            >You take a bite of your mushroom ravioli, this place really must be a mob front.

                                            >It's quite good, you feel your mood improving

                                            >If only mildly

                                            "Sorry if I was a bit forward this morning, I-"

                                            >"No, no. Don't worry about it."

                                            >He pauses for a second

                                            >"It was very pony-like. I suppose the distinction is somewhat obvious between us, but I feel as if you carry more pony energy with you on the day-to-day."

                                            "What, because I look like this? I guess I do kinda look like somebody drained all the color out of a pride parade"

                                            >"Nah, not really. I just mean the way you carry yourself, your mannerisms, like... you aren't crushed quite like the rest of us."

                                            "I'm not so sure that's a good thing... being crushed is what sort of lets you... just zone into the rat race and 'function' as a member of society."

                                            >"Yeah, but think! What if you ever get to go full-time? You'll be absolutely perfect. I know for damn sure I'll take some adjustment if I ever do"

                                            "Ugh, but that in and of itself is a pipe dream!"

                                            >You lower your voice a little bit

                                            "This isn't a greentext Anon, it's reality. We really have to get up in the morning and go to work. Masters are a nice fantasy but what... are we really going to expect one to come along and save us from reality?"

                                            >"I've not given up hope."

                                            >You sigh

                                            "You're just as delusional as me are, yeah..?"

                                            >"The sky is orange and everything is okay."

                                            "Real. Anyways uh... about tomorrow"

                                            >"If you need to cancel-"

                                            "No, no. Nothing like that, just... what kind of snacks do you like? I want to make sure we're stocked."

                                            >"Chips kinda suck as a pony because they're greasy as hell. I like to prepare a bowl of peanut butter pretzels sometimes"

                                            "Cool beans. I'll get like two bags"

                                            >"I think they usually come in containers, sometimes I have trouble finding them"

                                            "Don't even worry about it."

                                            >You tap your forehead and grin

                                            "I've been restocking crap all morning, I shalved like 10 bags half an hour ago."

                                            >"Damn. Well, I don't mean at our store. Like I said, we're prety expensive and like... for everything but the stuff we make in-house it's kinda sorta not worth the price"

                                            "Pff, how much could a thing of peanut butter pretzels be?"

                                            >"You'll get a feel for the exorbitant prices pretty soon. Seven. Dollars."

                                            "For peanut butter pretzels? That's like... what an entire week's worth of lunch meat costs at a high-end store"

                                            >"Yeah, but the weirdo Richie Riches in the nearby neighborhood won't feel satisfied if they aren't pissing away their husband's hard-earned money while he's at the combination embezzlement and nepotism factory."

                                            "So, where do you get your groceries? I go to food lion most of the time."

                                            >"Yeah, me too. Swing by after work?"

                                            "Sounds good. Thanks for driving me around while my car's screwed up"

                                            >"Not a problem. Say, what's with those guys on the street?"

                                            "Fucking hell, get down. Now!"

                                            >You hit the deck as the lights go out in the restaurant

                                            >A single gunshot rings out and a woman can be heard screaming in pain outside.

                                            >Another shot rings out and the screaming stops

                                            >You awkwardly clutch Anon's hand on the dirty floor, you really don't want to die here

                                            >The sound of someone jiggling the doorknob loudly eminates

                                            >Then the sound of glass breaking and a bolt turning

                                            >A rough voice brings the tension to a crescendo:

                                            >"Carmelo. If you cough it up quick, I won't liquidate your customers."


                                            >Be Anon

                                            >"I don't know what you're talking about."

                                            >You look up from the floor.

                                            >There's some guy wearing a balaclava and-

                                            >Oh. It's a Picnicker.

                                            >Without speaking, he raises the device and fires it into the kitchen.

                                            >There's an earshattering crash immediately after the room fills with light. Something has exploded

                                            >"Next one won't be an oven. Fork it over, chef."

                                            >Jenny laughs at the stupid joke and the Picnicker stares daggers into her

                                            >"What's so funny you're willing to die for it, faggot?"

                                            >Jenny sits up, oh god. She's going to get herself killed.

                                            >You say nothing and watch as she lazily points to one portion of the mechanism on the device

                                            >"I bet there's an artifact in there that acts like a capacitor. You're interested in energy artifacts."

                                            >He slowly nods, and to your shock actually lowers the death ray.

                                            >"To direct energy along the channel, you need long strands of wire. Easy enough to acquire, easy enough to implement in a mechanical sense. Somewhat trickier to fire, do you use compressed air?"

                                            >"Compressed N-2-O. Really easy to get ahold of these days and decent oomph. I recharge it every day with like 8 whip-its"

                                            >"Siiick. You built it yourself, right?"

                                            >"Yep, custom machined. Custom CAD modeled. Assembled by me."

                                            >"I like the way you did the texturing on the pistol grip, heh. Were they extruded cut patterned or imprint patterned?"

                                            >"Imprint. I find imprint patterning is a good way to reduce load times. I use kind of an old laptop for my design rig"

                                            >"Yeah, I getcha. You lose a little bit of dimensional accuracy when you treat CAD/CAM as the same thing, but it really doesn't matter for texturing."

                                            >The Picnicker nods, still just as fucking big and imposing of a dude.

                                            >"But dude? Mild critique."

                                            >"Let's hear it."

                                            >"When you next siege a public place, the lightning gun is awesome! It hits like a truck. It blows shit up. Hell, I bet it even has a similar effect to a grenade launcher's kill radius just due to high-voltage arcing!"

                                            >"It does!"

                                            >There's excitement in the man's voice

                                            >"But just one critique... from a military fan to an engineering fan... bro, your weapon befits a specialist role."

                                            >"How do you mean?"

                                            >"I'll explain how. Despite how you've made a show of firing your weapon, is it ready to fire again right now?"

                                            >"Yes."

                                            >"No."

                                            >"You dare?"

                                            >"I do. You haven't reloaded your charge cart. What is it... small TIG weld electrode?"

                                            >"and how would you know that?"

                                            >"Because the wire is still hanging out of the kitchen. Next time, bring an AK. Slap Whatever optics you like on it. If you get into an altercation with that thing, you're going to eventually get yourself killed"

                                            >He looks deep in thought for a solid minute at that.

                                            >The line drops to the ground as a shrill sound rings out, still smoldering as the man walks over to Jenny

                                            >He drops a business card in front of her and then leaves the restaurant.

                                            >Carmelo just looks at you two like you're from outer space

                                            >"You both eat here free from now on. Go back to work, this never happened."

                                            >

                                            >

                                            >

                                            >You give Jenny a ride back to her apartment, mostly in silent thought yourself.

                                            >You nearly died earlier today, after all

                                            >You'd expect her to be either silent and contemplative or giddy with excitement, but she just seems chilled out. She's discussing plans as you swing into the food lion on the way.

                                            >What snacks to get tomorrow, movies she knows that seem like they'll hit good while low, mixed drinks...

                                            >You snap.

                                            "How can you act like everything is normal? I don't mean to kill the vibes, but if that went any poorer we would have died."

                                            >"We would have. Thankfully, I happen to know what I'm doing."

                                            "Okay. Can you explain?"

                                            >"Are you familiar with autism?"

                                            "Are you..."

                                            >You trail off into kind of an exasperated sigh.

                                            "The fuck do you mean am I familiar with autism? I know YOU."

                                            >She looks a little bit genuinely hurt by that

                                            "Sorry, it's..."

                                            >"No, it's okay. That did hurt but I suppose I should've explained myself earlier."

                                            >You're parked at the store by now, but the two of you sit in the car for a minute.

                                            >This hardly seems the sort of thing to discuss in public

                                            >"Different disorders mean different mental structures. Different mental structures mean different interests. Different dreams, desires, difficulties... you know all of this I'm sure but it helps to set the stage."

                                            >You nod

                                            >"There is no greater hit of natural ecstacy to an autistic than to have their passion recognized. The Picnickers... all of the lower-level grunts at least, are almost all autistics. They're all different types of autistics, but you don't join a group with a name like that without being a bit of a weirdo"

                                            "How can you be so sure?"

                                            >"The sense of pride. The general hackneyed nature of it all."

                                            "/How can you be so sure?/"

                                            >"Because I have five more of those fucking business cards back at my place. They never hit the same place twice, but they tend to raid places that either sell electronics or are hiding an artifact. I've worked at like three different electronics stores over the past few years"

                                            "and how did you know they wouldn't /kill/ you this time?"

                                            >"I guess I didn't, but they seem to have a code of some sort. NEA agents die because they shoot first and ask questions later. I live because I ask questions and don't carry a gun"

                                            >You sigh

                                            "Okay. Want to get some snack foods?"

                                            >"You bet. Want to start the party tonight instead of tomorrow?"

                                            "Yeah... okay. I probably won't be sleeping tonight otherwise..."