We were both smiling like wolves at the sight beneath us: a drug deal in progress. A pair of fairly nervous and well-to-do mainlander stallions, both imperials, in the middle of haggling for their next hit of pink salt with some gangbangers from one of the big crime families. The one doing the deal was a lithe plains mare, acting flirtatious and aggressive as a clearly successful tactic to intimidate her marks. Flanking her were a pair of large and muscular imperial stallions serving as her protection, though she looked like she could handle herself in a fight just fine without them. The three criminals all wore the black, red, and yellow scarves of their gang—I forget which one, they’re all the same to me—patterned after a coral snake. And each of them had hoof-switchblades strapped to their fetlocks, ready to maim or kill anyzebra who dared to pick a fight with them.