Those who would raise their voice
When someone does something for long enough, they end up in a routine of sorts. Let’s take work for example; five days a week, every week for a year. On some days, one might try to mix it up a bit, add some new color to an old painting. It helps, but only just. Eventually, you will find yourself doing the same things over and over again, just like before.
It is suspected that everybody know this sensation. The feeling of familiarity is nice, and hard to part ways with, so many people don’t do it. Besides, they like their routine. So why change it at all?
It is in this way that people are predictable.
Frey has this routine; Everyday after work he checks the news, the weather, goes Internet window shopping, checks his bank account, etc. It’s not particularly productive, but he does it anyway. Frey sheds his work clothes, dawns an older pair of pants from the night before (it doesn’t have to be clean, no one visits him at seven in the morning), and sits upon semi comfortable black leather chair in front of his computer screen.
Nothing new in the news today. There’s nothing in the news usually anyway. If something very important had happened, he would overhear it in a conversation later that day. Still, it had often served him well to be thorough, so he checks it any way.
Today is nothing special; political debates, product placements, sprinkled with homicides. There’s a major focus on homicides. There always is. It really hits a heart string with the public. Perhaps they don’t expect them, even though they’ve been living with since the dawn of time. Comparable to germs on a door handle, but the germs can still make you sick.
In any case, there’s nothing new in the news (a common, ironic occurrence.)
How about the weather? Sunny, sunny, sunny rainy, rainy, kind of rainy, cloudy, sunny. Weather certainly wasn’t interesting when you knew what was going to happen ahead of time. It takes all the fun out of it. Can you imagine waking up one morning and the heavens let loose a barrage of snow across the ground? It would be a nice sight to open your eyes to, had you not been expecting it. Comparable to finding out about your surprise party, and pretending you’re still surprised. But Frey still has to check the weather, and make arrangements for days which he could not go outside. Weather is a necessary evil.
Window shopping takes next priority. Frey did always want that amazing video game for 20 bucks that he didn’t know existed until now. If he had the money for it, he would weigh his options heavily between purchasing and not purchasing, then not purchase it anyway ‘cause he needs money for food.
A small blip catches his eye. A very bland, black text against a white, flavorless background. Somehow, a small advertisement had weaseled its way through the ad block. Ad block was an essential tool for what it did, but the occasional nuisance has been known to slip through every now and then.
“Take part in our survey!” Frey says sarcastically to himself, as a smile snakes its way across his face.
This, among all other things in this world, is his guilty pleasure. In a survey, you could be anything. Anything. The power to be the most devil spawned human being is at his finger tips. Frey has faltered the survey results far beyond the margin of error for many a survey, and his new opponent would be no different. All will fall before his not-so-mighty penmanship.
He scrolls over it posthaste, and puts all of his being into one solid, powerful click, which was kind of pointless when you think about; it didn’t help the page load any faster. The computer interface, as it is, has no personality whatsoever. Not even a sense of urgency. That’s what he hates most about technology: the blandness of programming left nothing unexpected for the computer to do. Someone could break an arm in front of this dammed thing and it wouldn’t even ask if they were okay.
So we’ll start with the first question: Gender.
Is he a boy, or a girl? Or neither? Definitely neither. He is the worlds only unisexual human being that reproduced by budding, his entire body is a possible reproductive organ. The eleven gender swap operations had definitely paid off in the long run. Frey wishes there was a text box that would let him elaborate all of this to the poor soul who was on the receiving end, but he’ll just have to be satisfied with ‘neither.’
Next question: Race.
The drop down arrow gave him a wide assortment of choices. White, Hispanic, European, African American, African, Australian, etc… These choices suffered the fate of being boring, a fate which they would not heal from. Except one: “Other, please specify.” A text box jumps in front of Frey, his wish granted.
“I am Lord Multicserinces, owner of the country Herpderpitude. My seventeen arms and legs allow my body to-“
Damn, hit the character limit. It’s a good starting point, but it needs meat.
Question three: How often do you travel?
Never? 1-2 times a year? 3-4? Unfortunately, this question had no silly answer for him to give, so he opts for the most ludicrous one he could find. 30 times a year. From a logical standpoint, Frey is literally never home, and lives on an airplane.
Four: Do you travel out of country?
Yes or no answers suck, but Frey picks yes. It is obvious to him now that the company responsible for this survey wanted to sell him some kind travel services. Either by air or boat. Knowing takes some of the fun out it, but he decides to complete the survey anyway, As long Frey didn’t give them any legitimate contact information, (and they always request it after completion,) he could just submit the heartwarming mutilation of the poor attempt at marketing without any consequences.
After picking yes, the screen loads to next page.
Question five: Would you be willing to live out of country?
This question feels silly to him, since he apparently lives on an airplane and is almost never actually at his home. “Yes”
Frey has plans for the survey. Interesting things that the company might want to know. Ask him about his hobbies, so he can tell you about his travels through the fourth dimension. Or perhaps the time he robbed a bank? Or the time he arrested himself for robbing a bank. All he needs is a text box.
Question six: What is your occupation?
He didn’t bother reading the options for this one, scrolling straight down to ‘Other, Please specify.’
‘World class jewel thief.’ It’s short, to the point, and raises follow up questions; what places have you robbed and are you any good? Etc.
Seven: What is your birth date?
Frey clasps his hands together in an evil manner. Quite clearly, he is approximately twelve minutes old.
‘You must be at least eighteen years of age’
What a kill joy. Frey decides, instead, that he is a seventy three year old man. A unisexual man, to be exact. A new page loads. The good one.
“Please put down any additional information.”
Oh, he plans to. Their lack of specifications will be their downfall.
‘My armada of battleships will rain radiation, turning all who stand against me into cuddly rabbits. Prepare your house for a new paint job, and all your cars to be washed. Taxes will be raised so high that libraries will be placed on every street corner to educate the masses and-‘
“Hey, I wasn’t finished!” Frey shouts at no one in particular. “Why did the next page load? I was going to tell them about my plan for mandatory hip replacements.” Frey pouts. He lets out a small sigh indicating disappointment, then clicks his mouse furiously in frustration.
This survey, however, seems to be the shortest one in existence. With only seven question and two text boxes, it certainly didn’t leave much room to be creative. The last page loads; the TERMS AND CONDITIONS. Frey has to accept before the company will receive his art, as short as it is.
Even if he accepts without reading, the company can’t harass him without any contact information, but even he is not that stupid. Frey has a method of reading these phone books; read the first paragraph at the very least, and skim the headings for the other ones.
Nothing out of the usual. The company isn’t responsible for lost luggage, or so the heading would suggest. That’s at least a thousand words of reading, of which, he will take no part of. There was a paragraph about housing, so they probably aren’t responsible for hotels and the like. Spending money, the locals, injuries whilst abroad. Nothing out of place as far as he could tell, and even if there were some stipulations, they still need his contact information to trap him in anything financially and whatnot. Not much they can do without a name.
‘Accept.’
Frey can’t wait to see the face of the guy who has to look at that disfigurement. He’ll probably get a kick out of reading it. A small smile comes to his face at the thought. But it seems a tad bit strange that he was never once asked for further contact information. It is possible that it was a legitimate survey whose only job was to collect information, but those are so few and far between these days that he had only encountered them three times as far as he could recall. Those kinds of surveys are so rare, in fact, that they stand out amongst the rest.
Anyhow, Frey decides that he has derped around enough, and also that he stinks after work. He might as well go take a shower, get some sleep, maybe even-
mmmmm. Comfy. That pillow is amazing. It probably rivals the dream he just had. Chocolate dinosaurs and a purple kitty. Morning light crackles in through a window, illuminating Frey’s eyes and making it impossible for him to continue sleeping.
He lifts his head up, off the incredible pillow. That must’ve been an incredible shower if he doesn’t ever remember going to bed. He opens his eyes slightly, with blurred vision from the bright daylight outside. Frey blinks multiple times to clear his sight, revealing a purple cat at the foot of the bed. “Nope, still dreaming.” He lays his head lazily back down on the pillow. If he doesn’t remember how he got there, then he has to be dreaming. (He heard that in a movie once, Conception or something.)
He snaps up from the bed and looks down at his brown hands, er…stumps? “Ah ha! I am dreaming! This is fantastic! It’s been so long since I’ve had a nice lucid dream!” The purple cat gives him a cheery look. It looks cheery anyway, cats look weird all around. This does nothing but give Frey an ego boost. He stands up right on the bed, messing up the bed sheets, and turns around to the window, opens it wide,
“What’re you-?”
“I CAN FLY!”
THUMP
Christ that was painful. And stupid. What kind of dream is he having where is doesn’t let him fly? Malarcky, all of it.
“Are you okay?!” The kitty calls out to him.
Frey pulls his face out from the dented earth, and sits ungracefully on his rump. “Yup, just a little let down.” Pun intended. “Why can’t I fly?”
The cat doesn’t look at him like he’s stupid, even though he feels pretty stupid. “You don’t have any wings, for one thing. But more importantly, don’t jump out of a two story house. You could hurt yourself.” It says scoldingly.
Frey jumps to his stump, feet, things, and look her dead in the eyes, squinting, mouth half open. She seems taken aback by it. “Are you a horse?” Frey looks down at his leg stumps. “Am I horse?” he asks.
“Well, actually, we’re both ponies.” the apparently-a-pony elaborates.
“Brilliant! I knew my dreams wouldn’t let me down. (Pun not intended) So why can’t I fly?”
“Only Pegasus can fly. You’re an Earth Pony” it explains boringly.
“Does that mean I can move dirt with my mind?” What a dumb question. Of course that’s what it means.
Frey sits down, losing his balance a bit as he does because sitting down like a horse is awkward. He rubs his temples with his stumps, and puts all of his mental prowess into making the ground move. Just like the Matrix, but in dreamland. “HHHNNNNGGGGG. HHHHEEEEENNMMMMGGGG.”
The cat-horse watches for a minute, disturbed, before deciding to stop whatever Frey is doing. “You’re going to hurt yourself like that. Earth Ponies can’t move dirt; it just means that they don’t have a horn or a pair of wings.”
“Doesn’t mean I can’t try! HHHHMNNNNGGGGGG.” The horse-cat-pony watches embarrassingly as Frey continues to do that thing. After a minute of this, he gets up. “Well that won’t work.” He says to himself. “Hey, give me some wings so I can fly.” He demands.
“I can’t give you wings. Only Celestia can do that.”
“Then can I have yours? Just for a bit, please? Just till I wake up?”
She giggles in the most unfair manner possible. “I can’t do that, just so you know.”
Frey is less than pleased with this outcome. “This dream sucks. I can’t do anything.” Frey makes his way to the house, and stands in front of it. A tree? Her house is a tree? Ah, a tree house. Frey’s subconscious is so clever sometimes. He turns to the purple horse, and gives a look that says that she knows where the party’s at. She tilts her head in confusion. Somehow, she doesn’t understand the pun.
Frey opens the door and runs up the stairs to the second floor. The window is still open, swinging carelessly in the light breeze. If he can’t do anything in this dream, then he’s certainly not staying. The sensation of falling should be enough to wake him. Then, when he wakes up, he’ll just go back to sleep and get a different dream. It might not be lucid, but it’ll be better than this.
“Geronimo!”
THUMP
Ouch, ouch, ouch, ouch. That hurt a lot.
“Didn’t I say not to do that Lord Multicserinces?”
Isn’t that the name he used for the survey? This dream would be awesome if he could fly, AND everyone would call him ‘Lord’.
“Why didn’t I wake up? The feeling of falling is supposed to wake you up.” Frey flops over in the dirt in defeat.
“You already jumped out of the window once. Why would a second time make any difference?” She giggles again. Apparently it was funny. If someone jumped out of a two story building in his apartment, the entire street would come see if that person is okay, not giggle.
The ground is wet.
“Oh my gosh, I’m sorry! I didn’t notice! Let me get that for you” The horse comes up to Frey, and its horn emits a soft glow. The bruise on his nose heals up, and she backs away doing her best to hide her embarrassment from not taking the situation seriously. “Please don’t jump out of the window again.”
Frey doesn’t get it. Falling twice should have woken him up, but bleeding? You’re not supposed to feel pain in a dream, and bleeding is out of the question. But how could he not be dreaming?
A light bulb turns on. Yesterday, he must’ve snapped. It must’ve been bad. Frey knew one day he would’ve, but to have it so soon? He was hoping to wait until his midlife crisis at least. To make matters worse, these hallucinations are tangible. He can’t phase through the tree or the horse. The stories passed around about serious mental cases are that they see hallucinations in the real world, hallucinations that are intangible, to be exact. He’s never heard of someone going so completely insane that their mind completely re-writes physical characteristics of reality. Frey hopes he didn’t attack anyone. That would be bad.
“Are you ok? You kinda zoned out” the horse says, breaking Frey from his trance.
“I don’t know. If I’m not dreaming, then the only solution is that I’ve gone completely insane.”
“You’re not insane, you’re just in Ponyville!” she says as if that’s a normal thing to say.
“Well, I suppose I’ll just have to make the best of it.”
“That’s the spirit! Ponyville’s a good place to live.”
“No, not about Ponyville. About being insane! If there’s nothing I can do it, then I’ll just make the best of it.” Frey explains. “Why am I even telling you this? You’re a figment of my imagination, you should know what I’m thinking.”
“I’m a pony, not a hallucination. Besides, didn’t you accept the agreement?”
Do ponies eat grass? Horses eat grass, and ponies are just like horses.
Wait a second.
“What agreement?”
“The agreement from the survey...?
“That thing was a novel in length, no person in their right mind would read that!”
The horse looks at Frey with a distinguished facade of disappointment. “You didn’t read it? Any of it?”
“Well…I skimmed the headings, seemed pretty normal to me.”
“I spent a lot of time on that.” it says pouting. “But you weren’t lying right? Of course you weren’t! Libraries are nothing to joke about. So what if you didn’t read it? Nobody lies on surveys.”
“Do I look seventy three to you? Or a jewel thief? And how would battleships shoot radiation? It was so obvious I was lying.” Frey’s bluntness with the information does nothing to quell the disappointment inside purple horse.
She gets very angry at Frey, very suddenly. “Well how was I supposed to know that? I don’t exactly have experience with this kind of thing. Did you lie about everything?
Frey may have unintentionally struck a nerve. Arguing with figments of his imagination was hard enough; he did not want to get in a fight. The horse has wings and witchcraft, so any kind of physical competition would end in a small pile of what used to be Frey scattered about the landscape.
The horse takes a deep sigh, and collects her thoughts. “I’m sorry, I just got really excited when you said you would put a library everywhere. But honestly you’re not crazy, you actually came to Ponyville.”
“I hope you don’t mind if I say I don’t believe you. There’s not a lot believable about that.”
“What’s not to believe?” she asks.
As if he even had to tell her. “Why am I a horse?”
“Pony” she corrects me.
Frey sighs annoyingly. “Why am I a pony?”
“How strange would it look if a human were to walk around Ponyville? You would probably scare the locals, and you eat meat. Since you can’t do that in Ponyville, Celestia would’ve had to completely remodel your digestive track. It’s easier to simply change your physical form in to one that already exists.”
Frey only hears one thing that the pony said. It stands out like an ice cream truck in the middle of a desert. “I can’t eat meat? But meat is my bread and butter!” If bread and butter were made out of meat, that is. “Oh god, don’t tell me.” Frey looks up in fear. “Ponies are…vegetarians?”
It can’t be.
“Yup, ponies are vegetarians.” The horse says victoriously.
“NO! NO NO NO NO! Please tell me you’re lying. You don’t seriously eat just carrots and stuff?!” Frey rams his face into the dirt, beating it back and forth against the soil.
He’s a prisoner. A prisoner of his own mind. There can be no worse a fate to be bestowed upon him.
“It’s not that big a deal Lord, lots of plants taste really good!”
There has got to be some meat in here. Bacon, beef, fish, fried chicken. He’ll even take lamb if he has to, but there is no way in hell that he will suffer a meatless existence.
“You lie heathen!” Frey jumps to his stumps and points accusingly at her. “You expect me to believe that there is a world that exists without meat? There’s a greater chance fish walking on the moon!”
Frey in a landslide of confusion. How could he be insane enough to imagine an entire world without meat? Frey knows himself, at least he thinks he knows himself, well enough to know that he would imagine a world filled with ONLY meat. Frey is meat, and meat is Frey.
“Am I really this crazy?” Frey turns to the dirt, and the small patches of grass that encompass the area. he leans down and sniffs the vegetation.
What a disgusting smell.
“You’re not gonna eat that are you?” She asks, genuinely concerned, with one eyebrow raised. It’s uncertain what she could be concerned about though. Horses eat grass.
“Well if I can’t eat meat, then what can I eat?” Frey takes a nibble at the green, hesitantly and suspiciously.
“Ewe spit that out!” She demands. “You don’t know how many ponies have walked on that!”
By the gods. That. Is. Delicious. It’s like nothing he’s ever tasted before. (Probably because he’s never eaten grass before.) Frey looks at the purple horse, his mouth full of half chewed grass. “Holy everything, you have got to try this. I take back what I said about meat, this is just as good.”
She turns her head and gags, one of her front left stumps being used to keep whatever is inside, inside. “Oh, ewe, just…don’t eat the grass. It’s mortifying. If you’re hungry, I can make you a sandwich. But don’t eat the dirty floor.” Aren’t vegetables grown on the floor anyway? Without hands, you’d have to pull them out with the foot stumps, thus making even professionally picked vegetables dirty with feet. “How about a dandelion sandwich?” she offers, in a futile attempt to make him spit out the most delicious thing he’s eaten in weeks.
“Isn’t that a weed? That grows on the ground? You would eat a dirty weed, but not fresh green grass?” Frey asks, his mouth full with her front lawn.
She can’t look at him while she responds, and continues to almost throw up. “Come on, my treat,” she pleads, “just spit that out in a trash.” She begins to walk to an unknown destination refusing to look back to check if her companion if following.
“I accept!” Frey shouts, grass flying everywhere. But he is not throwing away good food, he’ll just swallow it behind her back. (How evil is he?) Frey takes a few steps towards the purple food provider-
…
What the hell?
…
Something’s off. Something’s missing. It almost seems…off center? No, a better description is that there is no center. Frey knows what animals look like, but there is no animal like this on earth.
“Where’s your butt?”
“…”
“...”
Frey doesn’t know what he just said, but he immediately regrets the decision.
“Excuse me?”
His mouth spoke before asking his mind if it was okay. Bad things were to come if Frey can’t find a way out of this. Almost out of reaction, he looks to the sky, pretending he has done nothing wrong. He then looks down at the pony. “I’m sorry, did you say something?”
“You just asked about my butt.” She’s mad.
“I did no such thing, and I am appalled that you would think that lowly of me.”
“Were you staring at my butt?” Death is near.
Unknowingly, he was giving her a stare. She has him trapped in a guilty expression. There’s only one thing left to do. Take a step back. Turn around slowly. Look behind him. The path is clear.
“Hey, get back here!”
Frey runs, runs as fast as he can without breaking a sweat, because nobody want to be sweaty. Take a left here. Make a right there. If he can get away fast enough, she can’t slap him. Make another right, left, rig-
SHWAMP
THUMP.
“Ah, oh wow that stings.” Frey says, rubbing his head for the third time. What just happened? Is that blood on the dirt? …Back at the library. How in the world? He thought he ran away from here. How did he just teleport back? Magic? Impossible, magic doesn’t…
Frey can’t turn around, he knows she’s there. She teleported him back, she must’ve. Only she can use witchcraft.
“What’s wrong with my butt?”
He knows that voice. He doesn't have to look at her face to know she’s mad. Maybe he’s wrong! Maybe it’s just her voice, and she’s actually really happy he was looking at her butt.
No, she’s mad.
“Oh hey, um… uh, yeah. Yeah! The weather’s great. I give it a 5/5. Perfect for a light run around town…and -.”
“Tell me.” She demands.
Frey grimaces. There’s no happy ending to this. “There’s a…um, well….it’s just…I mean, how come…”
“How come what?” she says lividly.
“How come….there’s something, um….missing?” There were no right words for this moment, only an entire dictionary of wrong ones.
“And just what is that supposed to mean?”
“The thingy? The thingy….is, um…not-”
Suddenly, she wasn’t mad. It’s more like threatening someone in a curious way. “Oh, for the love of… Just tell me!” She shouts.
It must be done. She isn’t going to give up, and so, Frey braces for the unholy sting of women’s leg stump slapped mercilessly against his face. “How do you poo?”
“Poo?” Oh, god, please have mercy. He didn’t mean to say it. This is the end, he’s going to die! AAHHHHHH! AAAHHHHHH! AAHHHH? aaahhhh? …She didn’t hit him? What? All that build up for nothing? “Oh…well I guess that would scare you the first time. I’m supposed to tell you about that later, so don’t worry about it for now’”
“Oh thank god, I thought you were gonna’ hit me! That’s absolutely disgusting by the way, but thank goodness you don’t want to hit me.”
“You ate grass off the floor and I’m the disgusting one?”
Ignoring whatever she said, this opens up whole new world of questions! “Does this mean I don’t have a poop chute either? Is there a mirror? Can I check? Oh I know, can you check for me? Wait, scratch that one, that’s probably a little weird.” Frey turns his head/neck/shoulder/torso region to try and look behind him. It’s a little far, but if he’s lucky he might be able to-
“GAH! What? Where did it go?” Frey frantically searches the new pony body. “Aw come on! That’s not fair!”
“What? What’s wrong?” she asks in a half concerned tone.
“My…thing, the, oh to hell with it. Where’s my dick? I make sure never to leave home without it! Don’t tell me I lost that too! It’s got to be around here somewhere. Did I drop it?”
Frey’s bluntness gets the better of the purple pony. She fumbles around with her words. “Well, ah, ponies…you…I’ll uh, tell you later.” Her eyes dart around Frey, trying their best not to make contact with his. She doesn’t want to say it, whatever it is, which means that it’s bad news. Very, very bad news.
“That’s impossible. How do you make babies then? Or go to the bathroom? How do you please a women without the key?” The knight has lost trusty stead, a heavy blow to his morale that cannot heal. It sounds like an exaggeration, but you can rest assured, it’s not.
“I’m sorry, but you couldn’t just walk around town with it. We did what had to be done.”
Static nothingness fills the air. As cold hearted, clumsy, arrogant, sarcastic, and hopeless as Frey may find myself to be, this goes beyond insanity. He refuses to believe that he would drive himself through the mental torture of forever living in world where he would cause his own pennilessness.
You can convince Frey of almost anything. You can convince him that he doesn’t have eyes, and everything he’s seen from the moment he was born is actually an illusion created subconsciously so that he won’t get bored. You can convince him that he’s never eaten even a single piece of meat, and fooled himself into eating vegetables his entire life, and he might actually believe you. You can convince him that the sky is green, he’s now a pony, and a genetic mutation of hat pigs wagered large amounts of stolen money on secret underground pig boxing arenas in an attempt to get rich, even though they can’t spend the money. After a long, tiresome, and mentally straining intellectual beat down, you can eventually convince him that he’s been living a lie his whole life.
But this is something different. Frey knows himself, and he knows when he’s taken things too far. He can live in a fake world of talking magical horses. He can live in a world without meat, as challenging as it would be. But never in his entire life has he done something as regretful and unbelievable as this to himself.
He cannot be crazy, cannot live in a world that the recesses of his mind have created, where he, the creator, has intentionally cock blocked himself.
The heartbroken child falls to his knees. “I’m not crazy am I?” he says, parting ways with his last hope.
The purple horse finally looks him in the eye. It seems she’s been waiting for this moment since he woke up. “See, I knew you’d get it eventually! I might have tried arguing with you about that crazy thing, but you would’ve probably thought it was you arguing with yourself. I thought it best to let you figure it out alone.”
“I can’t go back can I?” he asks in a low tone.
“I’m afraid not,” she replies, “it was more of a one way deal than anything. Princess Celestia can explain it better than I can. You’ll meet her after lunch.” The purple horse elaborates.
The way she responds is far too practiced. She’s had an insane amount of preparation for this specific occasion.
The horse speaks up again. “I know it’s a big change, but I think you’ll like it here. Living here won’t be as bad as you think, and a lot of the other ponies are quite nice!” It is possible that she is doing her best to console him. She’s not the right person/pony to do it though. A prisoner’s guard is to make sure the prisoner follows the rules, not to make him feel better.
“What happens to my apartment? Is there any way to send message back? A way to tell my boss that I can’t come into work? Wrap up a few loose ends at the very least.” The plea goes unanswered, as the purple pony shakes her head. “A phone call?” She shakes her head. “A text?” She shakes her head. “There’s gotta’ be something. E-mail, fax, a letter? Anything!”
The pony clears her throat. Apparently, she was also expecting this. “We were specifically looking for an older human when this was planned. A seventy three year old has lived a long life, long enough to be well into his retirement, and thus, not have as many ‘loose ends.’ In the conditions, which you accepted to, it specifically said that you would not get another chance to say goodbye, and wrap up loose ends. Without getting into technicalities, bringing you here was only ‘one way’ for a reason. On that note, you said you were okay with living out of country. Everything fit, so you were pulled you in.”
“I left some stuff back there though! Can you at least pull that in!?”
“The only stuff that could come with you is the stuff you left in your pockets” the pruple horse says, in her best attempt to keep a straight face. “But I have to say, you have some weird taste in pens.”
In that short sentence, Frey regains color in his eyes. It could be no coincidence.
“Where is it?” Frey asks trying to retain composure.
“It's at your house.”
“My house?” he asks, shaken with intense fear.
“Your new house.”
“So it's safe?”
“Yes, and I'll show you there later.”
Frey takes a deep breath to calm his nerves. He takes a moment to adjust himself back into character. “Very well. What’s your name, by the way?” he asks after a long period of silence. “My real name’s Frey.”
“My name’s Twilight Sparkle.” She says cheerily.
“I should apologize; I didn’t mean to not read that phone book of terms and conditions. But I can’t change it now, so I guess I have to go forward.” Frey gets up from his spot on the ground, and stands to meet her gaze. “So, why am I here?”
“How about we talk over lunch? You must be starving by now.”
Indeed he is, but that’s the last thing on his mind right now. However, he’s in no spot to refuse. “Sure” He says with a slight smile coming to his face, forced of course, but he doesn’t want Twilight to feel guilty about bringing him here. It’s his fault, after all.
***
“So what is this called again?”
“A dandelion sandwich.”
“And you eat these, erm, dandelions? Isn’t that the same as eating grass? These grow on the ground too.”
“Yeah…in a weird way, but nobody steps on dandelions with their dirty hooves all day.”
“Ah, is that what you call these stumps? Hooves? I guess it makes sense, since you’re all ponies.” Frey looks down at his ‘hoof’ questionably. Brown. Brown? Plain brown, incredibly bland and boring. “So…how come you’re purple, and I’m brown?”
She giggles. It’s nice to hear her laugh, and it helps to lift the mood. “I was born purple, and purples just what I’ll be!” Her enthusiasm into the subject is motivating, but a bit misplaced at best. “In your case, Celestia and I decided to find out your personality before picking a permanent color for you. So for right now you get to be brown!”
“Yay!” Frey squeals in the restaurant chair. This is a cause for excitement! Probably. Is it actually? He’s not a big fan of his fate being decided for him, but at least he won’t have to be boring brown for much longer! “So, like you were saying Twilight.”
“Right. You’re here because we need an ambassador.”
“I am, literally, the perfect guy-pony hybrid for that job.” Frey gives a hearty smile to back his words.
“You don’t know what an ambassador is do you?”
He scoffs, trying to look as nonchalantly offended as possible. “Of course I do! And I’ll be the best door-to-door salesman you’ve ever had!”
“Not quite, Frey.”
“Why, is there someone better than me already? I haven’t even started the job yet and you cast me aside as a wash-up slacker?”
“An ambassador doesn’t sell things, Frey.” Frey feels kind of stupid now. “We need a human in Equestria to act as a social connection between Equestria and the human universe. So all we need you to do is live here, let the ponies warm up to the idea of humans and ponies living peacefully together, and act like yourself!”
“I think I can do that last part pretty well, no one can act more like me than I can myself. But wouldn’t the ponies warm up faster if I was a human, and not a human in a pony body?”
“In all honesty, probably, but our goal is to integrate the two societies together. If you walked around as a human, some ponies might feel a larger barrier to you than there already is. Even worse, some might start to pick sides and avoid you. So it’s best that we take it slow and let everybody learn acceptance at their own pace.” Twilight is quite proud of her explanation, and Frey can see why. In this regard, having him disguised as just another pony completely eliminates the physical barrier for the time being. Eliminating just one barrier at a time allows people/ponies to adjust easier to the change. The smaller the change, the smaller the effect it will have. Slow and steady wins the race.
“Makes sense to me. I guess this was all on that page that I didn’t read?”
“Precisely. I’ll tell you real quick about the other parts of the contract you didn’t read.” The way she worded that makes Frey feel guilty, but it can’t be helped now. “You’ll be living in Ponyville, in one of the town houses on the east block.”
“How much is it?” Hopefully it’s cheap, considering he doesn’t have any money. Worse case scenario, the salary as an ambassador barely covers it, but Frey doesn’t think she would make him live in a house he can barely afford.
“It’s free.”
“What.”
An entire house for free? They might have a lot of empty houses around here, but an entire house for nothing? Do they just hand them out to people, or is he the exception?
“I can see that you’re confused, so let me explain” Twilight says. Frey’s confusion is plastered across his face. “You’re doing the Princess a favor by staying here, so it wouldn’t be very fair to have you pay. On the other hoof, you don’t have to pay for anything since you’re an ambassador, so you won’t get paid at all.”
“Well that’s…reassuring, but how do I afford food? No, wait, I can just eat the lawn, so I guess I don’t have to pay for food.” Frey’s lawn’s gonna’ taste so delicious.
“Oh, ewe, oh please don’t do that.” Twilight gags a bit at thought. Frey has just found something fun to tease her with. “Celestia has the costs covered. Just show this card-” Twilight teleports a card in front of him, similar to a business card but laminated “-whenever you need to buy something. It’ll get put on the Princess’ tab, so don’t overdo it and you’ll be fine.”
Interesting. He’ll never hold money again, it seems. All Frey needs is his new platinum credit card with no limit and 0% interest. “Are you sure about this? What if I lose it, or get carried away?”
“The card is bound to you. If anypony else holds it, the image fades away. Also, the limit is based on how much the average pony spends, and since you don’t have a house to pay for, you should well below any spending level of concern.”
This magic thing is quite intimidating. If they have the power to make images bound to a person-pony, what punishments could be dished out for not following her rules?
“You can take a bite of sandwich whenever you’re ready. Don’t want it getting cold now.”
Oh yeah, the sandwich. It wasn’t served hot, but she must really want to know how Frey thinks it tastes. Looking at the sandwich, it has white bread, (probably white bread anyway,) and dandelions. Two whole ingredients. Why are there no condiments on this? Frey has no right to complain, since he’s not paying for it anyway, but it might me a bit bland without mustard.
Frey takes a bite of the complicated recipe. It tastes like dandelions. That’s he can really say about it, he’s never eaten dandelions before.
“It’s okay, but a bit bland.” He says after swallowing the first chunk of it. “Better than most things I’ve tasted, but definitely not better than grass.”
Twilight looks at him, a bit disappointed. She grumbles something inaudible under her breathe, then speaks up. “So long as you don’t eat the grass again, I guess that’s okay.” Frey fights the urge to roll his eyes. That grass was delicious, and she knows it.
Frey takes another bite of his meal, and turns his head down the road that winds in-between the Ponyville houses. He looks for something interesting, but nothing down the road catches his eye for more than an instant. Except some ducks. A family of ducks, to be precise. Equipped with a mother, four waddling baby ducks, and a large yellow duck with four legs a pink hair.
Actually, that’s a pony. The pony keeps her head low, and gently nudges the back of one of the baby ducks tail with her nose. The baby duck quickens its pace to regroup with the others, and the pony raises her head off the ground.
Frey’s been dealt a devastating wound, straight through the heart, with no mercy to hinder its sharp fangs, and he lies cold and lifeless in his seat.
That was the most adorable thing he’s ever seen.
But why does she have butterflies tattooed on her butt? Equestria has no ‘naughty parts,’ so why does she need tramp stamp? Maybe it’s a girls’ kind of thing. He turns his head back to Twilight, who was watching him watch the whole thing. A bit creepy, to be honest. Why was she-
“Were you staring at Fluttershy’s butt?”
Frey’s only seen two ponies so far, and has been caught red handed doing something unintentional both times.
“Why does she have a tramp stamp on her butt?” He asks eager to change the subject.
“Frey! You’re not supposed to say things like that!” Twilight blurts out.
“What, butt? But we’ve been saying that all morning and you didn’t have a problem with-”
“No,” she interrupts, “the other word.”
“What, tramp? Why-”
“Well don’t say it again!” Twilight yells in a hushed tone.
“Is it a banned word? Or is it just common knowledge not to say it? People say words like that on Earth as if they’re the only words in the dictionary.”
“It’s not a law, but it’s not something that should be encouraged!”
“There are much worse ones out there, Twilight. But if you don’t want me saying them, then I guess I won’t. I never really like those words anyway.”
Twilight gives a sigh of relief, apparently happy that he did not put up a fight with that one. “The tattoo is called a cutie mark, and it-”
“A cutie mark?” Frey interrupts her. “That sounds like something out of a children’s book. Can’t you think of a manlier name for it?”
“A cutie mark is earned after a pony finds out their special talent. That talent is represented on their flank with a picture, called a cutie mark.” Twilight explains, completely ignoring his earlier comment. “Fluttershy’s good with animals, so her cutie mark is butterflies!”
Frey fails to make a connection between the two, but at least she’s forgotten about the butt thing.
Frey continues to dine on his sandwich. The petals of the dandelion are flimsy and stringy, making it hard to eat quickly. Twilight watches Frey eat the meal, as if finding sanctuary in it somehow. It takes Frey a while to finish the whole thing, and Twilight never seems to lose interest.
“Glad to see you’re finished. Now we have other business to attend to. I’ll show you to your house, and you’ll meet Princess Celestia.” Twilight gets up from her seat, pays for the meal, and gestures for Frey to follow.
***
Twilight and Frey arrive at the colorful town house. It’s small, probably only meant for two people maximum, and has two stories and a hay roof. The small lawn in the front compliments the house with a splash of bright green, and lines up perfectly with the other houses’ lawns beside it. A small stone path cuts through the right hand side of the lawn, leading up to the corner of the outer wall, then following the outer wall all the way up to the bright pink door, which was slightly ajar.
The house is nothing short of a little girl’s fantasy.
“Don’t keep her waiting, Frey!” Twilight shouts back to the on looking pony as she makes her way up the stone path. Frey makes a slight jog to regroup with Twilight. She gives a knock on the door, possibly out of respect, then pushes it open without so much as waiting for a reply. Frey follows Twilight in the house.
Upon entering, there is a foyer that doubles as a small lounge room. There are stairs on the left side, allowing access to the second floor. At the base of the stairs is the door that acts as the main entrance to the humble abode. On the right of the door is a window, a grandfather clock (looks like a replica), a Princess Celestia, and a brown leather-substitute chair. (Frey doubts they kill cows for leather, thus it has to be a leather substite.) Past the Princess Celestia is a hallway that stretches down to the kitchen, with a lonely door to interrupt the blandness, leading to what must be a closet.
Frey turns his attention to Princess Celestia, and he looks on with astonishment. She. Is. Massive. Do Ponies even get that tall? She is a Princess, but seriously? Her bleach white coat can blind light sensitive creatures. Her mane and tail are a combination of colors that literally defy the laws of physics as they blow in the nonexistent breeze. Her horn thingy is as big as it gets, with wings to match its size.
But on her flank is a sun. Thinking back to what Twilight said, her tramp stamp must have something to with the sun. Maybe the Princess’s job is to stare at the sun all day…and…tell time? It would help to explain her coat if she achieved such an impossibly sun bleaching tan. But butterfly butt’s tramp stamp almost didn’t resemble her talent at all, so it might be the same case for the Princess. It seems a great mystery is at Frey’s leg stumps.
Twilight gives Frey a noticeably hefty elbow equivalent into his side. Frey loses his concentration, and leers angrily at Twilight, who in turn, leers angrily back at him. Frey doesn’t keep the look for long however, because he had seen that look before. Twice in fact. Once again, he fears for his physical health.
“Not what you were expecting?” Celestia asks teasingly.
“I’m sorry Princess! He’s been doing that all day. First me, then Fluttershy, then…”
“Then me?” She asks slightly amused.
Twilight throws Frey another elbow equivalent. “Say something,” she whispers to him.
Frey stumbles around hastily for words. “D-do you stare at the sun all day? Cause’ your cutie tattoo is a sun, and it kinda’ makes sense that a Princess’s butt picture would be something important, like the sun, and I was trying to figure out what it was, but then I realized I was staring, and-”
Celestia raises a leg stump in the air, cutting Frey off mid ramble. “I suppose I can let you off the hook this time, but don’t let it happen again. That goes for you two Twilight.” Celestia is quite clearly toying with both of them, but Twilight and Frey don’t notice. They both are thinking about what they are going to say before their beheading. “So,” Celestia continues, “shall we get down to business?”
Twilight attempts to shake off the crisis situation, and resumes her mental ‘to-do’ list. “Well Princess,” she begins, “I was thinking that brown would be good color for him. It matches his blond mane. Actually, do we have anything browner than brown? Aim for the brownest color we have.”
Twilight wants revenge, and she aims to kill. Frey looks away disgusted.
“Aw gross, I thought I said I hate brown.”
“Nope, you said you love brown. Love, love, love it. Looks like your stuck that way.” Twilight smiles tauntingly at Frey, who now faces a punishment worse than beheading.
“What! Don’t I get a say in this? Being condemned to an artificial life of boring brown isn’t very fair without any input from the victim!”
“Well,” Celestia jumps in, “what color were you thinking? I think brown suits you, but if you have another idea…”
Frey has no other idea. There is absolutely no other color that might look good on him. “Is there any way I can pick from random? Like spinning a lucky color wheel?” Frey offers the idea in hopes that luck can save him from his fate.
Celestia questions the thought with a hoof on her chin, and then reaches a smiling epiphany. “I suppose we can, but realize that you will have no say in what it lands on, and that you’ll be stuck with it.”
“Wait, why-”
“I accept” Frey says.
“What wrong with-”
“Great! Twilight would you do the honors?” Celestia asks innocently.
Twilight sighs. Frey has won this battle, and he does a mental victory laugh. Twilight summons a wheel-of-fortune sized roulette on the wall, with 32 possible colors as an ending result. Frey walks up to the wheel victoriously, places both legs stumps upon it, and gives and hefty downward thrust.
The wheel spins, and spins and spins. The assortment of colors creates a rainbow imitation on the wall. As the wheel begins to slow, the merged colors begin to separate. Frey crosses his ‘fingers,’ and hopes for the best.
Celestia smirks. Twilight giggles. Frey collapses on the floor, rancid with shame.
“Brown it is.” Celestia says, unable to contain her laugh.
Thirty one choices. Literally thirty one colors that were not brown. Frey had spun brown. Twilight had won the battle.
“W-wait,” Frey scrambles, dying to change the outcome, “I-I’ve thought of a different color.”
“Oh, and what might that be?” Twilight asks, trying her best to subsidize her giggle fest.
“Are you fine with him picking a different color, Twilight? We did kind off agree that that last one would the last one.”
“I think he’s suffered enough for one day.” Twilight says in pity of the brown creature.
“Okay then, whenever you’re ready, Frey” Celestia prepares her magic, and readies herself for what ever color Frey could have possibly come up with.
“Start with a gash of blue,-”
“Okay-”
“A splash of red, seven eighths a pound of yellow,-”
“Go on.”
“A pinch of white, a handful of indigo, a tablespoon of orange, shake in ten grams of half green, half grey, stir in bit of gold, and polish it off with black.”
“Frey, you don’t know how colors work do you?” Twilight asks while shaking her head.
“What’s there to know? As long as I don’t put any brown in the mix, I can’t get brown.” Frey turns to Celestia triumphantly, who only smiles while shaking her head. “Oh don’t tell me…”
“Would you like to see it?” Without waiting for a reply, Celestia tilts the mixture to Frey.
“How!? Hoes does that even-wait, I’ve got a better color in mind!”
“Sorry, Frey,” Twilight offers as a condolence, “but you’ve picked brown twice.”
“This color seems very fond of you, would you be so heartless as to turn it away for a third time?”
Celestia seems to not understand just how terrible the color brown is. Brown is the color of a lifeless patch dirt providing an excellent juxtaposition to the lush green plains of which Frey has grown accustomed to. When the grass wilts away, the soil becomes dry and flaky at the touch, leaving only the remains of what had once been a colorful oasis of refuge for whoever stumbles upon its whereabouts.
But this isn’t always a bad thing. New life cannot be created without room for it to grow. Perhaps the emptiness and loneliness that only lifelessness can create was created for a reason. Perhaps someone, somewhere, could find the old patch of dried dirt, and make something new out of it. Something better. Perhaps brown is not the color of things left to rot, and instead, is the color for new life to begin to take its form.
But if accepts this color, Twilight will win the battle.
Frey tosses the ideas back in forth in his head. For whatever reason, driven by fate or merely by coincidence, brown is who he is meant to be, whether for better, or for worse. Frey slumps his posture, knowing he may come to regret this.
“Fine, whatever. I’ll be brown.”
“Excellent,” Celestia says, satisfied with the show. She then turns to Twilight. “Now, have you told Frey about his job?”
“Only the basics stuff” Twilight responds sheepishly. “I was sorta hoping…that you could explain it in detail.”
“Frey, you know you are an ambassador for humanity?” Frey nods his head vigilantly. “Good. As the ambassador, you have the responsibility of representing your entire world in a positive, well behaved, socially acceptable manner.” Celestia has a way of wording her sentences that makes it nearly impossible to disagree with. Not that Frey had done anything unacceptable up to this point. Except maybe the butt incident. Or eating grass. Jumping out of a house probably wasn’t helping him either. Come to think of it, Frey had done absolutely nothing this morning that could be considered acceptable, meaning that this task will be the hardest thing Frey’s ever set about doing.
“In addition to that,” Celestia continues, “you will be tasked with attending special events in Ponyville, Canterlot, and the neighboring cities.”
This responsibility has larger consequences than one might think. Every holiday, parade, and all the other silly junk that Equestria probably has, Frey is tasked with waking up, going outside, and communicating with the other attendees of the event like a normal and responsible citizen in a completely alien world. He’s already proven to Twilight that he is physically incapable of making it through the average day in Ponyville with socially acceptable behavior.
“Any questions?” Celestia asks.
For the fear of making things even harder and more complicated, Frey says “No.”
“Well I should think of one you should have.” Frey thinks about it, but refuses to ask any questions on the subject. Celestia turns to Twilight once more. “Twilight, could you please keep Frey informed about upcoming events. I wouldn’t want him to accidentally miss one.” Celestia smiles slyly at Twilight.
“Of course Princess! Don’t worry about a thing.”
Even when Frey doesn’t get involved, he still gets the sharp end of the blade. Now he has the physical embodiment of an alarm clock to harass him out of bed every day.
“I have one more piece to go over with you, Frey.” Celestia says. Hurray, Frey’s life is about to get even better. “There are places in Equestria where only certain races can lay foot upon. Cloudsdale, one of Ponyville’s neighboring cities, is one of those places. To reach it, and walk on it, you must be a pegasus.”
“This gives an interesting conundrum” Twilight jumps in. “Humans can’t fly, or walk on clouds. But for all ponies of Equestria to accept humans equally, Cloudsdale needs you to visit it occasionally. But if we make you a pegasus, ponies may just be getting warmed up to a travelling pony, as opposed to an ambassador for humanity, with the body of a pony.”
Celestia takes control of the explanation once more. “It was decided that the best course of action would be to make you a full blooded pegasus.” Frey eyes widened with excitement. He expected a spell, or a potion, or some kind of ridiculous contraption that would takes much more time to explain than an audience wanted to listen to. But a pegasus? Frey will fly? Actually fly! With wings and everything! This is fantastic! Better than fantastic, this is-
“but only on the week ends.”
“…”
“…”
“What.”
“This allows for the perfect balance of the two options” says Twilight.
Frey takes in the information, unsure of what to think. He’ll fly! But only on the weekends. Don’t holidays usually take place on the weekends? Does that mean Frey will never have time to fly, because he’ll be attending stupid events? Or are stupid events an uncommon thing for a little town like Ponyville? Or maybe you have to fly to attend the events?
Frey decides that it’s better to not look a gift horse in the mouth, because having gift horse’s wings some of the time, is better than not having gift horse’s wings at all. It could always be worse. He could’ve received magic witchcraft as a superpower.
“Twilight,” Celestia says, “that’s everything I needed to cover. Will you be fine from here?”
“Yes Princess,” She responds hastily, “Good luck with your other meetings.”
“Thank you Twilight. I hope they’re as a much fun as this one was.” Celestia makes her way to the door before turning to Twilight once more. “Oh, and make sure you tell him the thing.” Celestia than closes the door, and flies off to wherever she’s going.
“Thing?” Frey asks concerned for health.
“Uh, yeah. You might want to take a seat for this.” Frey looks around for a seat. Rather than take the one by the large clock, he takes one on the staircase. “First off, you’re being punished.”
“What?! I haven’t even done anything!”
“You were staring at Celestia’s butt. You’re lucky she didn’t fry you on the spot!”
“Oh…right. Well she wasn’t that mad about it…” Frey says, trying to make light of almost being sentenced to death.
“Never, never ever, never, never never never never do that that again!”
“OK, I won’t. I promise.” Frey feels guilty about it. Curiosity nearly killed the purple kitty.
“Thank you. You’re still gonna’ be punished by the way.”
Being punished for an accident seems like bad logic to Frey. The correction to such a mistake requires him to be perfect, and nobody is perfect at being perfect.
“So...what’s the Thing?” Frey asks trying to redirect the awkwardness.
Twilight lets leave of a large sigh, signaling that she is prepared to do this, but not at all willing. “You’re a human, raised a human, and you’ve probably done human things human parts and stuff. But you’re a pony now, so you have to know what’s what about being a pony.” The start of the speech is slightly similar to a speech Frey’s dad gave him a long time ago, a particularly disturbing and uncomfortable one. “You see Frey, there are, uh, t-two types of ponies. O-ones a mare, a-and the o-other is…a stallion.”
“Is this the birds and the bees, Twilight?”
Twilight nods. “The uh… the equivalent.”
Frey takes a moment to wipe the imaginary shame off his face. “Just get this over with.”
Twilight reaffirms her stance, mostly because she now knows that Frey is extremely uncomfortable also. “Well ponies are a lot like humans, in regards to physical features. Mares have…a thing. And stallions have…that other thing.”
“What? But I don’t. You don’t either. In fact, everybody’s been naked the entire day, and I haven’t seen a…thing.”
“They, uh…they hide.”
“…The hell? What, they just tuck it in? That doesn’t even work for girls!”
“Not quite what I meant. Don’t you think it would be a bit strange if everypony walked around…exposed.”
“I, uh, well yeah I guess, but that doesn’t explain anything.”
“Y-you could best compare it to…a shadow? Sort of? It…kinda-”
“Twilight, I know this is weird for you, but your subtlety is not only extremely confusing, but it’s also going to give me a mental breakdown. Just say it, get it out of the way as quick as possible, and then you never have to talk about it again.”
Twilight appears taken aback by Frey’s less nonsense than usual approach. As much as she hates to admit it, it’s probably a better idea than her saying something stupid.
“O-okay, well. The best comparison is when a human walks around outside, they wear pants. Ponies do the same thing, but in a more personal manner. In the case of humans, in the right place and at the right time, they take their pants off, and have…sex.”
Frey wants to be confused, he really does, but if he shows any change in emotion to Twilight, she may become awkward again and fumble around on her words. For now, Frey is stone face.
“For ponies, it’s almost exactly the same way. Only in the right place, at the right time, will the genitals reveal themselves. Then after they are no longer needed, or the job is done, ponies put their ‘pants’ back on. That is how ponies perform their mating rituals, and how babies are made, and how they go to the bathroom.”
Surprisingly, Twilight did a better job than Frey’s dad, who took the extra time to explain every, single, antagonizing detail.
“So as long as I avoid that then I can’t have kids?” Frey asks. It isn’t as much as a concern for him as Twilight seems to think it is. Not to be insulting, but ponies aren’t exactly sexually attractive, so how would he find himself in that situation anyway?
“Not quite.”
By this point, Frey is absolutely fed up with the phrase ‘not quite’.
“You can’t have kids. Celestia didn’t intend for it to happen that way, but you are a human, in a pony. Your genetic code is similar to throwing the two species into a trash compactor and picking out the remains. Ponies have 66 chromosomes, humans have 46, so you have 50 odd some. If you should know anything about inter-species breeding, it is that it is impossible without you having an even number of chromosomes, thus making you sterile.”
“So then why do I even have the option?” Frey asks while heaving lunch back down.
“Would you prefer to not have a penis at all?”
Frey opens his mouth to speak, but realizes he has nothing to say.
“Our thoughts exactly. So ends the awkward part. I’m surprised you took that so well” says Twilight. Apparently regurgitating a meal was ‘taking it well’. “So, any thoughts on what you want to do for the rest of the day?”
“Uh…yeah. I think I’ll get some sleep.” Frey answers, lifting himself off the staircase.
“It’s 1:00 and you’re already tired?” she asks.
“Yeah, I was abducted here before I could get to bed.”
“You stayed up all night?” Twilight asks
“It’s not an uncommon thing to happen when you work a night shift.”
Twilight nods her head slowly with the reveal of this new information. “Some of my friends were coming over to meet you today, but I guess it can wait until tomorrow. And I might as well tell you now, since you’re up. Tomorrow morning meet me at the library so we can go over the need-to-know stuff for Equestrian life. Then later in the evening Pinkie Pie will be throwing a party for you. ” Twilight makes her way to the door. “Have a nice sleep Frey.”
Frey waves his leg stump, and Twilight shuts the door behind her. Frey’s sleep will be anything but pleasant, but perhaps the length he has to do it will make up for it.
He makes his way up the stairs, into the hallway on the top floor. There is a door on the left that lead to a master bedroom directly over the kitchen, and a door on the right that leads to guest bedroom looming over the foyer. Frey turns left.
Inside is exactly what you’d expect; a king size bed, an end table with a lamp on it, a small study desk, and a bookshelf. On the bed lies a note.
To Lord Multicserinces- These items were left in your pants pockets.
One quarter, two dimes, two pennies, an empty wallet (empty of Frey’s personal photos as well), and his favorite pen. His pen is long and bright pink with a single purple stripe corkscrewing all the way down. The tip produces only bright pink ink. The butt has a small fuzzy cattail, also pink, attached to the inside of the pen. This is, without a doubt, the girliest thing that Frey has ever considered to be one of his prized possessions.
He is incredibly thankful that it’s managed to accompany him all the way here, but can Twilight keep it a secret?
Frey: 0
Twilight: 1