Vacation Vocation


                                            >The smell of salt in the air.

                                            >Waves lapping against the shore.

                                            >A steady buzz of people relaxing and playing in the sand.

                                            >There’s nothing like the beach.

                                            >You look down and check your body.

                                            >Pink Coat.

                                            >Yellow mane and tail.

                                            >Good.

                                            >The spell is still intact even after a quick dip in the ocean.

                                            >After an afternoon of basking in your sun, people and pony watching, and letting the stress melt from your body, you retreat downtown to browse some of the stores.

                                            >Anon is off on his own as well and you’re not meeting up until dinner.

                                            >A saddlebag hanging on your back, you move between the tourist traps.

                                            >Delighting in the useless trinkets and clearly overpriced goods, you soon find yourself overloaded with junk and a much lighter purse.

                                            >And you couldn’t be happier.

                                            >That is, until-

                                            >”There you are you little-”

                                            >You turn just in time for a full hand to collide with your face.

                                            >Staggering on purpose so as to not give away your strength, you glare up at the person - the man - who just struck you.

                                            >Dirty.

                                            >That’s the first word that jumps out.

                                            >Dirty stained clothes.

                                            >Dirty greasy hair.

                                            >Dirty yellow teeth.

                                            >He rants about something unintelligible for a while as you examine him, and ponder how you might exact your retribution.

                                            >But as he reaches down towards you again, he finally says something interesting.

                                            >”And you’ve helped yourself to our product as well.”

                                            >He squats down to your eye level.

                                            >”That was clever - leaving your passport and the others behind. Once we get back, you know what happens to them.”

                                            “Please! Please don’t!” you feign distress with your incredible acting skills.


                                            >He snarls at you.

                                            >Lifts a hand.

                                            >And strikes you in the side of the face again.

                                            >”You mocking me? You want to make it worse for them?”

                                            >Clenching your teeth as you fake another stagger from the blow, you glare back up at him.

                                            “No, sir.”

                                            >”Good.”

                                            >He looks around the bustling street as people start to stare.

                                            >Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out a small metallic device and slaps it around your horn.

                                            >A small pressure blossoms at the base of your horn, and your hidden wings feel a bit weaker.

                                            >The act makes the people and ponies in the area look the other way and go back to their business.

                                            >Nodding towards a nearby alleyway, he waits for you to start walking.

                                            >You rub your face where he hit you.

                                            >Normally, you’d just break the nullifier and rearrange some of the man’s bones.

                                            >Though he did forbid any work while on holidays, Anon did mention that this country wasn’t exactly big on the rule of law..

                                            >But if some of your ponies are in trouble, how can you turn away?

                                            >The man barks for you to hurry up.

                                            >Hanging your head, you move down the alleyway.

                                            >As it opens out onto a new road, you look both ways.

                                            >He stays silent behind you.

                                            >Flipping a coin in your head, you turn right, only to have a hand reach out and yank you by your mane.

                                            >”Are you fucking stupid? Or are you trying to make it worse for yourself?”

                                            >He yanks you down the street to the left.

                                            >It’s a while of twisting turns and ducking through side streets before he stops outside a rundown townhouse.

                                            >With a few knocks on the front door, it swings open and another steps out.

                                            >The new arrival sporting a pistol tucked into the waist of his pants.

                                            >He congratulates the man on finding you before grabbing the saddlebags off your back and pointing inside the house.


                                            >You hang your head and tread carefully inside.

                                            >Ears swiveling and eyes darting back and forth.

                                            >The hallways are dusty with shoddy brown carpets and paint peeling from the walls.

                                            >You hear the sound of activity deeper inside and follow the noise.

                                            >Another man, this one smoking a cigarette, gives a nod to the other men and leers down at you.

                                            >”Well well. Look what the cat dragged in.”

                                            >He grins and picks up a piece of wood propped against the wall next to him.

                                            >For a moment, you brace for him to hit you, until he opens the door and steps inside.

                                            >You enter the doorway and find nine ponies stationed amongst piles of junk.

                                            >A tenth station in the corner lying painfully vacant.

                                            >Only Unicorns and Pegasi, using their horns and wings to make odd trinkets and baubles.

                                            >Your stomach drops when you see they’re making the same cheap jewelry and carvings that you just splurged on.

                                            >All three men follow you into the room.

                                            >”Stop.”

                                            >All the ponies drop what they’re holding as if they were struck.

                                            >”We told you what would happen if you tried to get away.”

                                            >Most of the ponies stay still.

                                            >But one of the smaller unicorns raises her head and whines.

                                            >”Why Daisy? Why would you do this to us?”

                                            >Hey eyes go wide though when she sees you.

                                            >”Wait, you’re not Daisy?”

                                            >She looks up at the men.

                                            >You take a few deliberate steps forward and raise your head.

                                            >Placing yourself between them and your ponies.

                                            “No. I’m not, little one.”

                                            >Brandishing the piece of wood, one of the men steps towards you.

                                            >”How many times I gotta teach you dumb fucking things to-”

                                            >In an instant, you shove a light pulse of golden magic through your horn.

                                            >Splitting at the joints with a metallic twang, the nullifier crumbles to the ground.

                                            >The wood-wielding man’s eyes go wide and he raises the weapon.


                                            >With barely a thought, you grip his wrist in your magic and twist.

                                            *Cronch*

                                            >Effortlessly rotating his hand beyond its natural limits - he screams as the sound of snapping tendons fills the room.

                                            >Wood clatters to the floor, followed by the man as he cradles his mangled hand.

                                            >Lunging at you from the doorway, up next is the one who slapped you.

                                            >He closes the distance quickly, and reaches for your neck.

                                            *Cronch*

                                            >”Jesus Christ!”

                                            >Snapping both of his wrists and leaving him to writhe on the floor with his friend, you hear a distinct click of metal.

                                            >The last man has drawn his firearm.

                                            >”Don’t fucking move you fucking demon horse.” he yells with wild eyes.

                                            “Hmmm.”

                                            >”I said don’t fucking move!”

                                            *Cronch*

                                            >The pistol clatters to the floor.

                                            >Dropping to his knees and clutching his hand, he stares in horror at his completely bent backwards trigger finger.

                                            >Disassembling the firearm with your magic in a few moments, you scatter the pieces amongst the piles of junk and turn to the poor souls behind you.

                                            >Your ponies sit stunned amongst the piles of junk.

                                            >Bewildered eyes flicking between you and their crippled tormentors.

                                            “Are you all okay?”

                                            >The ones that aren’t too stunned stutter back a yes.

                                            >Giving them a warm smile, you turn back to the men.

                                            ”Now, would you mind telling me where you’ve hidden their stolen identification?”

                                            >”Up yours, Bit-”

                                            *Cronch*

                                            >“Gah! God damn it!”

                                            “Need I remind you gentlemen that you all have ten fingers and ten toes. Unless you want to skip the foreplay and get to the really fun parts?”

                                            >You flip your currently blonde mane behind your head, and give the men a beaming smile and a wink.


                                            >”M-Miss?” one of the ponies huddling behind you blurts out.

                                            >You turn side-on and raise an eyebrow at her, keeping an eye on the injured men.

                                            >”There’s another-”

                                            >You hear the click before you see him and manifest a barrier in front of you.

                                            *Bang*

                                            >The ethereal wall flares and ripples violently against the bullet.

                                            >Pain erupts from your forehead as if a half inch nail was just lodged into the base of your horn.

                                            >A shockwave of sound from the firearm reverberating around the room, making your ears ring and the ponies drop to the ground as he pulls the trigger again.

                                            *Bang*

                                            >The second bullet hits the barrier slightly above your head.

                                            >Again, the magic feedback makes you wince and instinctively flinch away from the door as the blunted metal falls harmlessly to the floor.

                                            >A third bullet is fired - missing you and nearly hitting one of your ponies as it goes wide and hits the back wall.

                                            >Blood rushing with panic, you spot the second hand gun being held around the corner of the doorway and-

                                            *Cronch*

                                            >“AAAAAAH!”

                                            >A softer, feminine voice cries out as you ‘adjust’ the full hand worth of fingers holding the gun.

                                            >Breaking every digit at every joint in unnatural directions.

                                            >Your ears ring as the gun clatters to the floor, and you drag the woman into the room with a huff.

                                            >Heart pounding in your chest you turn and ask the ponies if there are any more.

                                            >They’re all hiding under their hooves.

                                            >Ears folded back from the noise.

                                            >One of them shakily removes her hooves and confirms that was the last of them.

                                            >Dragging the weeping woman into the room and dumping her in front of the three men, you hold up the disfigured fingers of her hand in front of them.

                                            “Now about those documents…”


                                            >You find yourself back in the hotel elevator.

                                            >Riding it up to your floor to join up with Anon for Dinner.

                                            >Ears still ringing.

                                            >Forehead throbbing obnoxiously.

                                            >A migraine building behind your horn as you take a few calming breaths.

                                            >And a small crude green hairpin in your mane.

                                            >One of the ponies gave it to you as a sort of thanks for saving them.

                                            >You had safely escorted all of the captured ponies to a local shelter along with their passports and ID.

                                            >The missing ‘Daisy’ ended up finding her way to the shelter as well, and she was hysterical once the others showed up.

                                            >A few of them begrudged her for running away, but they soon forgave her.

                                            >It’s the small unexpected wins that leave you the most satisfied..

                                            >Now, steeling yourself in the hallway, you knock at your room.

                                            >Footsteps thump around inside, and the door swings open.

                                            >”Hey there, Cutie.”

                                            >Anon grins mischievously at you from the doorway.

                                            >Wearing the nice clothes he brought on the trip.

                                            >Neatly ironed for your night out.

                                            “Hey Handsome. Care for a little company from a cute little mare?”

                                            >His smile falters.

                                            >”You know I hate it when I hear your voice coming out of a different body.”

                                            >You give him a mischievous giggle and cast the release spell.

                                            >Unfortunately; the surge of magic makes your horn spike with pain and you grunt.

                                            >The magic dissipates, and your body grows back to its normal size.

                                            >Your royal proportions filling back out nicely after being trapped in the diminutive mare’s body you often use as a disguise.

                                            >Leaning your generous hips to one side, you unfurl your cramped wings to their full length and stretch your hooves out.

                                            >Before you finish readjusting, Anon reaches down and brushes your multi-coloured mane away from your forehead.


                                            >You tilt your head up and close your eyes expecting a kiss.

                                            >Instead; you wince as he presses a finger lightly against the swollen base of your horn.

                                            >”That tender?”

                                            “... It is a bit.”

                                            >“I thought so.”

                                            >Anon crouches down in front of you.

                                            >”It’s swollen real bad.”

                                            >You try to shake his hand off, and nearly stumble when your vision suddenly starts swimming.

                                            >Firm hands reach out and steady you.

                                            >”Easy there… Were you working today Celly?”

                                            “Maybe a little bit-”

                                            >”Celestia…” he sighs and runs a hand through your hair.

                                            >You look down to the floor.

                                            >Tonight's restaurant was something Anon had organized.

                                            >And you really had been looking forward to it.

                                            >It doesn’t help that with each passing moment the headache gets worse and the throbbing intensifies.

                                            >”Are you okay, Beautiful?”

                                            >Beyond the pain, you feel a lump in your throat.

                                            >Only now does it hit you how much you were looking forward to tonight.

                                            >And the realization that it might not happen - it’s about to make you cry.

                                            >”I’m sure it was for a good reason.” his hand cups your cheek, and you look up into those kind blue eyes.

                                            “It was.”

                                            >”Do you want to cancel the reservation and have an early night?”

                                            “No.”

                                            >”Well too bad. Because I do.”

                                            >He gives you a cheeky grin before heading back into the room and beelining for the phone.

                                            >Unable to stop the smile blossoming on your face, you make your way into the bedroom and collapse onto the bed, trying to calm the migraine in your horn with sheer willpower alone.


                                            >After quickly requesting some room service, you hear Anon also call the restaurant and organize another booking for tomorrow night.

                                            >A few moments later he joins you in the bedroom and changes into his pajamas.

                                            >”Food’s on the way. You good, Sunny Buns?” he asks while gently brushing your mane out of your eyes.

                                            “I could use a little company?” you ask, raising a wing.

                                            >He obliges and crawls in by your side so that you can droop your wing over him.

                                            >A confident hand gently stroking up and down your side, he leans in and whispers in your ear..

                                            >”Get some rest, Celestia. We always have tomorrow.”

                                            >As you press your muzzle into his chest and take in his scent, you thank whoever is listening that you found each other.