A Lick of Good Sense

               Somehow, my gear managed to shrink and reshape itself so that it still fit, to which my only explanation was that it was magic.

I’ve got a feeling that’s gonna be my excuse for just about all the shit that’s gonna happen, to be honest.

                   We had made good progress along the road, an, although the clip-clopping of their hooves were annoying, I was having a great time. We made good conversation, talking late into the day, and after stopping to sleep, we had struck up our banter once again. I had spun a tale of how I was an outcast of my people, shunned for having higher moral standards than was normal for them. My backstory still needed some work and rehearsing, but it was a decent and pretty believable alibi. Running around saying you’re an alien monkey with a giant-ass bald spot wasn’t gonna get me all that far. I had told them to call me Prince, my gamertag. It was something I would respond to, and sounded good to me.

                   That night, I had cried a lot. My situation was clear; I was not in a coma, and I was stuck here for god knows how long. I had once again resorted to the “brain in a jar” mentality, and stopped panicking.

                   Well, at least a little less than before. The ponies had played a good role in distracting me, as well as learning some stuff about my body. I had shifted between several forms, that of a diamond dog, various types of ponies (I even mimicked Celestia!), and I had also learned how to change other physical aspects instead of changing the entire shape.

                   Let me tell you, rule 63ing yourself is VERY weird. It was especially weirder when I discovered that all my “parts” worked when I had to take a trip behind a tree. Needless to say, there is quite the learning curve for the act of urinating as a woman.

                   Also, take note: being buxom impairs movement.

                   Apparently, I knew how to use the swords I came in with, as if I had trained with them for all my life. The blades were a matte black, and were completely flat, apart from the silver edges.

                   My first thought when I learned of my new skills: OP much?

                   In fact I found it surprising that I could shape shift that easy from the beginning, seeing as I had never even heard of anyone doing it in real life before. I quickly found that my telepathic abilities came just as easily, and that, unlike in D&D, I could send them my OWN thoughts as well as read theirs.

                   In testing these new skills, I learned just how high a Pegasus could jump without wings. I’m pretty sure Equestria could give any Olympic gold medalist a run for their money with even the weakest of pegasi.

Currently, we were arguing about the best uses of potatoes.

“NO, no, no! Mashed potatoes don’t have a bloody THING on French fries!” I cried.

“Well, I reckon even the best a’ yer little franch fries er whatever ya call ‘em would stand up to a good ole’ baked potater!” Was the response from the tan one, whose name turned out to be Golden Plow. I smirked at him.

“Are you even serious? Baked potatoes can’t even TOUCH French fries.” I said snidely.

“Would both of ya kindly SHUT THE BUCK UP?!?!?” the other pony, named Green Hoof, screamed, turning his fiery glare at us. “Just a MOMENT of peace would be just won’erful.”

Golden and I continued to glare at each other, but were silent.

“’Sides, we’re ‘ere.” Spoke Green.

I turned my head to see Trottingham up ahead. Its skyline was no San Francisco, but, in comparison to Ponyville, it towered over everything. I grinned, shifting back into the tall Pegasus I had thought up before.

It was going to be one hell of a day.

oOo

                   “Whaddya mean I ain’t allowed to ‘ave a weapon. That’s me battleaxe, ya twit! I ain’t leavin ‘er behind!” A voice called out from in front of us, as we waited at the gate.

                   I hopped off the cart, said my farewells to Green and Golden, and headed towards the voice.

                   “Because ah’m a bloody Griffon, eh? Ye bloody racist git! Ah’m passin’ through this gate, an ah’m not payin’ nuthin’, an’ you ain’t getting mah blade neither!” I identified the accent to be somewhat Scottish, albeit the Equestrian equivalent.

                   I walked up next to the Griffon in question, right in front of the open gate. Two guards, scowls on their faces, barred passage through the doors. The half-lion, half-bird creature hulked over the two, and would probably match me in height. His build was muscular, yet lithe, and his plumage was highlighted in places with a crimson red. His face had a few nasty looking scars on it, one crossing over one of his eyes in the classic badass style. A absolutely massive double headed axe was slung over his back, along with his pack and light armor, the links of the mail shining in the sun. The blades of the monstrosity were silver, melding with a red material that covered each edge, the change starting about an inch away from the very sharp edge. Runes marked the red in an intricate pattern, all of them worked out of gold. The handle was a solid looking wood, and the grip was banded leather. The “hilt” was a ring of metal, small spikes facing outwards on all sides. The bottom was capped with another piece, similar to the “hilt,” but with a five or so inch long spike of the same red material on the blades jutting directly down.

                   Judging by the demeanor and looks of the wielder, and the visible patches of wear on the well-maintained weapon, it was used often.

                   The guards and warrior kept arguing, their squabbling growing more intense. Thinking quickly, I added a few scars along my face, and three on my chest and left side. I tried my best to make me look young, yet grizzled. I walked forward over to the three of them, and put on a smirk.

                   “Play along. I’m going to get through. Act like you’ve known me forever.” I telepathically told the griffon.

“What the… Who the bloody ‘ell you think yer doin’ in mah head?” He thought.

“Shut up.” I snapped.

                   “Heya boys! How ya doin’?” I asked, doing my best to look chipper.

                   “What is your business her, citizen?” One of the guards said.

                   “Well… Oh, hey, old timer! Remember your ole’ partner Prince, eh?” I turned to the griffon.

Don’t mess this up don’t mess this up don’t mess…

                   “How could I ferget ‘cha lad, yer ole’ uncle Skimmer ain’t that outta it yet, ya wee bastard!” He cajoled, throwing up a smile.

                   “You having any trouble with him, officers? He’ll be with me, and I’ll be damned if he does anything stupid unless I’m doing it too!” I laughed.

                   “Non-ponies aren’t permitted to carry weapons in the city, and there is a toll on their entrance. He has refused to relinquish his weapon, and won’t pay.” The other guard spoke. “He stays here until he complies.”

                   “Hey, I know the big puffball looks scary” I said, winking and elbowing Skimmer. “But Skimmer and I used to be monster huntin’ buddies way back when, right after I retired from the guard. If he tries to hurt anypony, he’ll have to deal with me. Trust me, he’ll be in some bloody good hooves, if I do say so myself.” I flashed a grin.

                   “If you you escort him the entire time he is with his weapon, he may keep it. If he uses it, he will be arrested and tossed in the nearest brig.” One guard said. “That does not cover the fine.”

                   “How much?” I asked.

                   “20 bits.” Was the reply.

                   I gave them the required amount from a pouch that I had discovered on my belt. They stepped back, and we walked through, him glaring, me trotting along cheerfully. We had made it pretty far into the city before he pulled me into an alley by the neck. Slamming me against the wall, he brought his axe to my neck. I gulped, looking down at the extremely sharp object aimed for my windpipe.

                   “Now, I do believe we can work this out in a way that doesn’t involve an-” I was cut off.

                   “Ah’ve got two bloody questions for yah, mate: How’d yah do it, an’ why’d yah help me get in this ‘ell’ole?” He snarled through his beak.

                   “I’m not quite sure about what you mean about the first question, but I gave you a hoof ‘cause I’m not really one for racism. So, if you would kindly let me down, we cou-“ I was cut off once again.

                   “Quit messin’ if ya know what’s bloody good for ya! How did’ja talk to me in mah ‘ead? Speak up, eh?” He hissed.

                   “Well, I’m not exactly a pony, you know. I could explain a little better if I didn’t have an AXE AT MY NECK!” I spoke, hissing the last part out. He dropped me after moving the blade back, and I brethed in deeply.

I guess I’ll have to do this then. Ah, fuck it all.

                   I willed my body to shift, and focused on my basic feline form. I heard him whistle loudly as the transformation completed. I was looking down at him now, and him up at me, interest in his eyes.

                   “Just what the bloody ‘ell are ya?” He whispered.

                   “Just your friendly neighborhood spiderman.”