Waking up and discovering that she was a pony was quite possibly the coolest thing that had ever happened to Turtle and then what happens? She was to be at work. That was okay, because neither heck nor high water nor, clearly, pony-ness would keep Turtle away from fulfilling her duty, even if it was rather difficult to work the cash register with
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Jeff-- trotted into the store.
"...I need to lift things."
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She spit the bill back into the register with a slightly grossed out sound, and nosed the drawer shut again. Money tasted like death.
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"I can't reach this way," he said, troubled, tried to lean his head over the desk again and-- "I really miss thumbs, Turtle."
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"You don't have to, see?"
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The idea would have been with a pony, not as one, but let it be known that Turtle Wexler was not against a compromise.
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"And I've always just wanted to frolick," he said, still grinning, paused, considered that statement, and added, "...With you."
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And that would have been pony recoiling. It was a bit like prancing, except backwards. "I just meant..." Jeff's hooves clapped against the floor in a desperate attempt to gesture, "...Frolicking. You know." He tossed his head a little, and that seemed to work better. "...Frolicking about. In meadows. No beds. Meadows."
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