Merge - Yet Another Ponies on Earth Story

When Mr. Davison the government representative’s talk with Fancy Pants and Princess Luna was done, he found he had almost two days before he was expected back at the office. After a moment’s consideration, Davison decided he might as well pick up a little culture, being in the ponies’ capital city. Wandering around, the G-man found he wasn’t stared at like some strange bipedal curiosity nearly as much as he’d expected.

“I need a library or something,” he silently decided. He looked around to get his bearings and maybe find a sign with directions. Spotting one near a small plaza, Davison noticed that while the sign had proper writing (which he was thankful was just English with a slightly “off” font), actual places of business tended to have signs hanging from their walls with only a relevant picture. It reminded Davison of the ponies’ cutie marks, so he made note to check his little theory when he found a library.

Following the sign’s directions, he quickly made his way to what, if he read the building’s sign correctly, had to be the local library. He’d heard there was one in Canterlot Castle, but he’d just left there and didn’t feel like bothering the guards again.

“Good day to you, Mrs. Human,” an upbeat voice called out the moment Davison stepped inside. “Can I help you?”

“Yes, and if it’s all the same to you I am a man, thank you.”

“Oh! My bad, sir. I’m still a little new to humanity,” the owner of the voice apologized as he stepped out from behind a desk, a tan unicorn (as if Davison expected anything else in Canterlot) with a shiny black mane. “I haven’t had a good chance to memorize the details yet. Name’s Dusty. Dusty Shelves.”

“I’d hope not. Greg Davison. I’m with the US government.” Davison couldn’t help but flash his little badge. “Not to worry, I’m on break.”

“Ah right, right. So how can I help you?”

“Well, I was just thinking to myself that Equestrian literary history might be interesting to learn about. My grandfather was a lesser-known writer, you see?”

“Yes, yes… I think I can make this visit very much worth your while, sir. Tell me, have you heard of Flowing Script?”

“I’m afraid not,” Davison admitted. “A literary great, I presume?”

“Quite so, sir. He helped shape Modern Equestrian through his writing, introducing many new words into the lexicon. Had a thing for sonnets, too.”

“Not unlike our Shakespeare,” the G-man guessed. “He did the same thing. Expressions like, let’s see… ‘cold comfort’, ‘brevity is the soul of wit’, I recall. Wrote stories such as Hamlet, Midsummer Night’s Dream, Romeo and Juliet…”

Dusty remained silent for an awfully long time, his eyes tiny.

“Is something the matter, Mr. Shelves?”

“What was that second one again?” Dusty finally asked trembling.

“Midsummer Night’s Dream?” Davison carefully repeated.

“No, not that. The expression, please.”

“Brevity is the soul of wit?”

Dusty Shelves shook his head. “There’s no way that’s right. ‘Jealousy is the green-eyed monster’?”

“I think that’s one of his, yes, and I see what’s wrong now,” Davison admitted. “You mean to say that my Shakespeare and your Flowing Script are what? Is ‘analogues’ the right word?”

“Frightening thought, isn’t it?”

Davison took his turn to shake his head. “It actually reminds me of this one episode of a TV series I saw once. Science fiction, you probably never heard of it.”

“By now, I doubt that possibility,” Dusty joked.

“Haha, yes. It was about this parallel universe where all the good guys were bad and vice-versa, and the bad guys’ leader gains access to the good universe’s library. He then compares the two worlds’ literature and finds that most of the stories are more happy and friendly, relatively speaking.”

“Let me guess: Shakespeare was the same in both?” Dusty interrupted with a knowing grin.

“How’d you know?”

“I’m into literature, saw it coming.”

Davison finally took a seat opposite the librarian. “Do you think the same thing would apply here?”

“Well… maybe? Did your Shakespeare write about… let me think… a prince whose father is killed by his uncle?”

“He did, that’d be Hamlet,” Davison confirmed. “If I remember correctly, there’s a group of actors who act out the murder so Hamlet can check his uncle’s reaction – ‘the play’s the thing wherein I’ll catch…”

“…the conscience of the king,’ I believe?” Dusty finished.

“Does Flowing Script’s version have two guys who accompany the prince at one point?” Davison asked, hoping for a difference.

“Yes, yes, Rosebush and Golden Dawn. They had their own little spin-off play at one point; Rosebush and Golden Dawn survived.”

“There we go! That’s the kind of difference I was hoping for,” Davison exclaimed happily. “Pony Hamlet actually has a lower body count than ours! Yes!”

Dusty Shelves shrunk back in surprise. “…Yes?”

“You and I, Mister Shelves, I do believe you and I will get along just fine while I’m still here.”

“You know, Mister Davison,” Dusty started, “I’ve been wondering.”

“About…?”

“Well, you’re awfully well-read for a government worker, even if your grandfather was a writer.”

“Oh well, you see Dusty, I didn’t want to be a government worker, initially. My father thought I should and he was a very pushy sort of man.” Davison paused to wistfully breathe. “No, I wanted to be…”

“…a lumberjack!” Dusty interrupted. At Davison’s perplexedly raised eyebrow, he continued, “Leaping from tree to tree as they float down the mighty rivers of Neighagra. The larch! The fir! The mighty crystal pine!”

Davison was dumbstruck. “There is no fucking way you have Monty Python.”