“How come they gave you a… a lady voice?” says Kincaid, five drinks later.

“Because I’m female, you sot.” Hoof’s tail flicks irritably, but Kincaid doesn’t know that sign. She watches his eyes move over her hard, glossy pectorals to her flat abs and anticipates the question.

“I was engineered as a brood mare,” she sighs.

“Then how… y’know, feeding?” Kincaid watches her drink; it’s weird to see her big hands tossing shots into her long equine mouth.

“The lab never intended me,” says Hoof grimly, “to nurse my offspring.”

Kincaid feels so bad about humanity that he has to barf.