1 — Pinkie Sense and Pinkie Sensibility
Pinkie Sense and Pinkie Sensibility
The air is cool and still in the early morning haze. Clear dew clings to green leaves and little red bugs drink that dew as their first shot of espresso. The sky to the east is reddish, but paling rapidly as the sun ascends degree by gentle degree. You, however, are already out and about, making good use of the time you have been given to walk around Ponyville without being bothered. It's not that ponies in general are all that annoying, though. Really, you're just trying to have a moment of peace before a certain happy, peppy, perky-lurky-worky pony wakes up. And you don't dislike her, but right now is quality you time. Your locally-made sneakers squelch in the wet grass as you stop in your tracks beside the bakery.
A light switches on in the window of the loft of Sugar Cube Corner. Yep, she's probably heard you. That's your cue to wrap up your stroll and wait at home until you no longer have an excuse not to be outside. It's not like you have anything particularly good to eat at your house here in Ponyville. It once took an hour-long trek into the Everfree Forest to find any meat that was remotely edible — oddly enough, a bush that grew bouillon cubes — and you're certainly not going to take that risk again when there's readily-available oatmeal and eggs to be bought here in town. You take a moment to get your bearings and figure out which direction offers the quickest route home.
As one of the few omnivores ever to be encountered by the citizens of Ponyville, it only makes sense that you eat a shit-ton of eggs. Eggs for nights, eggs for days. You would have gotten sick of them long ago if there weren't so many ways to prepare them. Fruits and vegetables are also okay, and actually much tastier here than their equivalents back on Earth, but you will never stop having to explain why you haven't even touched the flowers you were so generously served. Your stomach grumbles, its small brain thinking along the same lines as your big one.
A creaking door signals to you that you've stood in uffish thought for slightly far too long, but before you can get a move on, a dramatic gasp permeates the otherwise silent morning.
“Dammit,” you say to yourself, fists clenched at your sides, your back to the bakery. Springy hooves sound and resound on the short stretch of dirt behind you like a tennis ball thrown against a balloon. An impossible sound befitting only the most improbable of colored horses. Before long, pink pone is standing in front of you, shivering in the chill of dawn.
“Hi Anon,” Pinkie Pie practically squeals. “Wow, what are you doing up so early? It's not even half past sun-up!”
You swallow your chances at an uneventful morning and choose your words carefully. “Not much, Panky. Just taking a walk.” You begin to head in a random direction away from her, noting with some small amount of perverse pleasure the way she winces when you mispronounce her name.
“Ooh, cool, can I walk with you?”
“I don't know,” you say, mentally thanking every English teacher you ever had, “can you?” And you continue walking. This seems to stump her long enough for you to get a good five meters' start on her. When she notices, though, she rushes to catch up to you.
“Yes, yes I can!” She grins. “So where are we going, Anon?”
“I was going to head to the fountain to eat a bag of pretzels,” you say as you pat your slightly bulging jacket pocket that sounds of crinkling plastic, “and then I was going back home to read, since there's no TV here.”
Pinkie giggles. “That sounds like fun! I mean, whatever 'tee vee' is must be super fun if reading books is a backup plan, but pretzels at the fountain is fun anyway!”
You sigh. “I only brought enough for me, Penka.” She winces, but returns to smiling again almost right away. Surreptitiously, you start patting her on the head, and she hums a bit as she unconsciously leans into it.
“Mmm... Oh, that's okay,” she says as she reaches behind herself, “I always keep a spare bag of pretzels in case of pretzel emergen— huh?” Her voice drops off in confusion. “Hold on, Anon, hold on...” She reaches behind herself again, to some immeasurable place where no one can see, but she comes back empty-hoofed. You're not even looking at her, but her voice becomes a bit strained. “Why... why can't I get the pretzels? I know I had them right there!” She goes through the motions several more times, sometimes mouthing the words 'pretzel emergencies' to herself, but never managing to retrieve the aforementioned bag of pretzels.
“Something wrong, Plinkie?” You can barely hold back your smirk as you continue to pat her.
She frowns. “No, no, it's just... ugh, I can't get at the... the...” She puts her hoof down and groans, apparently defeated. You stop patting her and continue on to the fountain.
“Let me know when it's working again,” you call to her as you pace up into a light jog. Looking back, Pinkie is grinding her hoof in the dirt, clearly confused at her mysterious, momentary loss of ability. She knows that something like that can't just happen, especially to her. But what she doesn't know is that you have the touch. Nopony else seems to have figured out its full extent yet, and of course you can't confirm it's a universal effect for all humans, but what you can pretty much say for certain is this:
Humans are not magic. Or, to put it another way, humans are not-magic. This you believe to be true.
By the time she's finally tried again and successfully pulled a bag of pretzels from whatever arcane Pinkie-space she possesses, you're out of her sight, and thus undetectable. She looks around a bit, then stows the bag away and heads back to Sugar Cube Corner.
You actually have corn chips, not pretzels. Their rough, spice-laden texture is infinitely better for putting in your mouth on a cool, crisp dawn like this one. You just like hearing Pinkie say “pretzel.”
At about ten in the morning, you re-emerge from your humble abode through its enlarged front door. The air is drier and warmer now, and the sun is gleaming like a coin being polished with vegetable oil. Another perfect day. That's not to say the rainy days organized by Ponyville's weather team aren't perfect — those are perfect rainy days. So you guess you should call this a perfect sunny day.
In any case, this perfect sunny day looks to be a great opportunity to determine just how far your anti-magical abilities go. You haven't had much of a chance, what with all the getting settled into a strange society of adorable ponies. You remember your first day here. It was only hours after your arrival in Equestria that the local librarian Twilight Sparkle found she couldn't get a grip on you.
You feel cornered. These three ponies — white, purple, and blue — are advancing on you in this weird-ass library that is also a living tree. The door is right behind you, of course, and all it would take is throwing it open and running to get your freedom. So you make to do just that.
“Hold it right there, mister!” The purple unicorn shouts, flaring a burst of light around the horn on her head. A hint of the same light begins to manifest around the back of your shirt collar, but almost immediately, she yelps and the glow dies out. There is a sound of stumbling hooves. You are concerned, naturally. Have you hurt this unusual horse? Did you accidentally land a punch without feeling it? You turn to face her, and see her clutching her forehead with a hoof. The other two have rushed to her side, helping her keep steady on her hooves. As she sees your bewildered gaze, the purple pony's eyes regain their fire, and she flares her horn again, focusing somewhere on your left side. The hair along the length of your arm stands up, but just as before, the light on her horn flickers out and she grabs at her head, groaning.
“What... what are you?” She grunts out, simultaneously confused and pained. “R-Rarity, can you try...?”
The white pony, Rarity, nods to her friend and adopts a steadfast stance. With legs apart, she lowers her head and lights up her spiraling horn. This time, it's your chest that feels the faintest of electric tingles. But as with her purple friend, she yips as her horn winks out and she stumbles backward into the other unicorn.
“What did you do to them?!” The blue wing-a-ling pony flies up towards you, getting right in your face. You hold your hands up as a show of innocence. This seems to attract the purple one's attention, although you don't know how she could possibly understand the gesture.
“Dash... d-don't hurt him, okay? I don't think he's doing it on purpose,” she says, standing more easily now. Rarity has knelt down to keep herself from falling, but Dash looks at the both of them with an incredulous glare.
“But he hurt you! Didn't you,” she counters, turning to you, “you weird monster?!”
Again, you hold your hands open. “I swear, I didn't do anything. I don't even know what they were trying to do.” This is true, although you do have a few guesses.
After that awkward first encounter, and multiple rounds of “Don't hurt him,” “But he hurt you,” bordering on Frère Jacques levels of repetition, there were finally some proper introductions. You learned each others' names, and then Twilight began to hypothesize, in a scholarly manner you would later see come to define her, that for some reason your body, or the matter comprising it, is inherently non-magical. It made sense to you, of course, since Earth has no magic but CGI and charlatans. But the very idea was almost unthinkable to this little unicorn, and completely unthinkable to her dear friends, who frankly didn't seem quite as educated. In due time you met the whole circle of ponies who allied themselves with Twilight Sparkle, as well as her pet (son? brother?) dragon. Dragons, right, how cool is that? He even breathes green fire.
But there is a time and a place for dwelling on the past, and that time and place is this Friday at the hay bar. Right now, there are things to be done. Picking one of the wider, faster streets that will give a towering biped like you room to breathe, you head to Sugar Cube Corner for the second time today.
It doesn't take you long at all to get to where you're going. The place is made of gingerbread, or some more architecturally sound substance resembling it, and it stands out like a shorn fetlock among the thatched-roof cottages. You head inside, and there you see your target. Pinkie is humming loudly as she holds a broom in her mouth and a dustpan in her hooves, cleaning a massive amount of colorful confetti off the floor and into a bag labeled “recycled confetti.” She hasn't even noticed you enter. This is perfect.
As quietly as possible, you reach over to the storefront counter and grab the nearest convenient object, an empty cupcake tray left out overnight, one which pretty desperately needs to be washed. The range of your reach alone would astound most ponies, but that's not the effect you're aiming for today. You tiptoe up behind Pinkie Pie, hold your breath, and drop the cupcake tray at her right side.
As the tray clatters to the floor, her reaction is instantaneous. Pinkie screams, darts away to the left on loping legs, and clings against the stairway bannister while staring wide-eyed at the fallen tray. You find it difficult to suppress a chuckle at her expense, and as she calms down and notices you, she chuckles too, nervous as she is.
“Ohhh, hehe, uh, hi Anon! I didn't see you there, how silly of me! Gee, you got me good, heh...” She disentangles herself from the bannister and walks forward, sniffing at the cupcake tray. “Hmmm. That's weird.”
“What's weird, Ponka?” You ask in as earnest a voice as you can muster under the circumstances.
“Well,” she starts, hoofing at the tray where it lies, “I've told you about my Pinkie Sense, right?” She doesn't wait for you to answer. “Sometimes I get itchy twitches in my body when things are about to happen. A twitchy tail would have told me this tray was going to fall. Buuut...”
You smirk. “But what?”
Pinkie frowns. “But it didn't. It didn't warn me what-so-ever!” She glances back at her tail, then back to the tray. As she continues examining it, her tail bobbles back and forth. It wants you. It taunts you. Impulsively, you pick up the dustpan behind her and drop it onto the curlicue hook-end of her tail. Again, she darts away yelping. “AAAAAAACK!”
“What's the matter, Panka Pint?” Something is definitely the matter. She's grasping at her chest, breathing heavily as she braces herself for support, her back against the display counter.
“What did you do that for?! That was a terrible surprise!” She manages to get out as she nearly hyperventilates. Seeing the look on your face, she preemptively interrupts you. “A-and don't play around, Anon, because I know you did that!” Her breathing gradually slows down. “So why,” she muses huffily, “didn't I notice you doing it?” Pinkie goes back to all fours and trots right up to you, an aggravated expression smeared all over her face. “How did you evade the Pinkie Sense? It's fool-proof!”
Her unique skill at interrogation warrants only the driest of wit. You pause for a moment, greatly exaggerating the degree to which you appear to be planning a response. Eventually you hold out a hand loftily. “Dunno LOL,” you espouse eloquently.
She groans, likely only partially understanding your strange turns of phrase. More sincerely now, she pokes you in the leg with a hoof-tip for emphasis. “J-just don't do that again, okay? It really freaked me out...” She gives you her best 'kicked puppy' look; glistening eyes, floppy ears and everything.
Aw... You can't joke around to a face like that. “I'm sorry, Poinko, I'll try not to do that again.” Your apology is the genuine article, even if your promise is exactly as halfhearted as it sounds.
She seems to accept this, even while the shadow of a grimace crosses her face when you say her name wrong. It's hilarious every time. You don't smile though, since you do want to stay friends with her. In your head, you chalk one up to science. And then you order a grilled cheese sandwich, which she is only too eager to provide. She also makes one for herself, if only so she doesn't have to watch you eat all by yourself. Pink pone is nice that way.
When you leave, you walk to the door as delicately as possible. You then leave with a thunderous slam, and the clatter of dishes echoing from inside lets you know that Pinkie just didn't see it coming.
2 — The Color Out of Place
The Color Out Of Place
You've been walking through town for most of the morning. It's quite satisfying just to watch ponies on their daily routines, although you have to be careful not to smile too much. Some ponies get more than a little unnerved around a creature with such odd dentition as yours. This makes for an added bonus in your pony-watching: flash your pearly whites and a pony might trip over their own hooves or collide with another. Directed whistling also draws their attention just long enough to make them stumble. You've devised a technique called the “missile whistle” that ponies can't replicate. It's something to do with the human soft palate being different from that of ponies, blah blah blah. You may not be giving yourself the best reputation, but at least it's your reputation to ruin. Nopony is really getting hurt, anyway.
Eventually, you grow tired of "pony-sniping" and decide to find something fun to read. That means going to the Golden Oak Library, which is oddly named since it's pretty much just green on brown. It must have been named in Autumn. The library isn't far away, and soon you come to the short wooden door with a candle drawn on the front. It swings open with a slight push and you duck under the low frame.
"Hey purple smart," you call out as you enter, even before you see her, since you know she has to be in here. The library's degree of organization is hovering right around what you would consider its average. Every available surface has several books opened and lain upon it, while the floor has a few stacks that are taller than you that are thankfully pushed into the corners. There must be a research project going on. Not to be self-centered, but it probably is about you. As per usual, Twilight Sparkle is sitting on a pillow at the far end of the main room, facing a desk covered in books, sheaves of paper, and quills. Predictable, punctual, pretty purple pone.
Twilight turns to greet you. "Oh, hello Anonym— wait..." she pauses. "What was that you called me?"
"Purple smart!" you say enthusiastically. She still looks confused.
"Well I get the 'smart' part, thank you very much, but what is 'purple'?"
Is she serious? She can't be serious. "Are you serious?” She looks at you expectantly. “You know, purple, the color?"
She only raises an eyebrow. “Which color would that be?”
"Ugh, don't tell me yet another word doesn't translate. Your coat is purple, that color."
“My coat?” Twilight looks down at her hoof, and her gaze follows its length up to her chest. "...Nnnno," she starts slowly, "my coat is gray. What are you talking about?"
She cannot be serious. "Twilight, look at me. Tell me: what color is my shirt?"
She smiles, although just a tad uneasily. "Red, obviously."
"And what color are my pants?" you ask her.
"They're blue," she says, sounding a little more uncertain.
"Purple is what you get when you mix red and blue."
Now the unicorn looks quite unsure. "No... Red and blue make gray, Anonymous. Everypony knows that."
You groan. “What the hell?” You turn backward and open the door. "PINKIE," you yell out in no particular direction, "I NEED PAINT!"
Mere seconds later, pink pone is running into the library wearing a beret and carrying an artist's palette and brushes. "Sorry I'm late, Anon! Please don't drop anything on me!"
Twilight is about to question that statement in what you assume may have been a disapproving but curious tone, but you interrupt her before she has a chance. "Relaaax. Here, gimme," you say as you take the palette and brush. "Twilight, look at this. Uh, you too, Pontypool." Pinkie winces, still smiling. The two ponies come closer as you dip the brush and come up with a daub of red paint. "This is red, right?"
"Yes," Twilight affirms.
You then pick up a daub of blue paint with the brush. "And this is blue."
"Mhm?" Pinkie hums curiously.
Silently but swiftly, like the flight of a mute bumblebee, you swirl the two colors together in the center of the palette, mixing them into a lovely, deep and solid purple. The ponies beside you watch with awestruck expressions at the dexterity of your marvelous hands. You point the brush tip at the blended paint. "Purple," you indicate.
Twilight frowns. "Gray."
There's a soft yet intentionally conspicuous cough next to you. "Um, Anon," Pinkie says hesitantly, "what's purple?"
You're pretty sure they can see the steam coming out of your ears. "The paint I just mixed is colored purple," you manage to spit out from a clenched jaw.
"But... that's gray," Pinkie points out, and then immediately concedes when you glare at her. "Don't step on my tail," she squeaks, holding onto it like a favored pillow, “please!”
Yet again you exhale loosely, shaking out the stress and allowing you to think a bit more clearly. "Sorry about that, Panko. Don't worry about it." Twilight lights her magic to lift the palette away, but you pinch the end of her horn and her spell blinks out, leaving the palette steady in your hands. Twilight hisses through her teeth and starts rubbing at her horn rather tenderly. "Hold on. Twilight, name the colors of the rainbow in order."
"Red, orange, yellow, green and blue." She frowns, looking up cross-eyed at her horn. "Did you really have to do that?"
You ignore her. "Okay, I think I see what's going on here," you say. "Either this is a coordinated, improvised practical joke, or ponies cannot see the color purple. I'm inclined to go with the latter."
Twilight suddenly lets out a bark of laughter. "That's ridiculous, Anonymous!"
"What color is the sixth stripe in Rembow Dosh's mane?"
"It's gray, and her name is—"
“Don't care. That stripe is purple. Your coat is purple. And Rarity's mane is purple. You ponies literally cannot see a color I can see.” You metaphorically drop the mike, though you also make the appropriate gesture.
"But..." And now you can see the cogs turning. "Oh... oh my gosh..." She falls silent, her eyes glazing over as she runs through some mental menagerie of chaotically contained facts and figures.
Pinkie lets out a wicked gasp. “Wow, this is so cool,” she squeals, “now I have even more colors to use for parties!”
“But only I would see them,” you point out to her. She smoothly lowers her hooves and shrugs in a barely concrete attempt at nonchalance.
“I can live with that, Anon.” You know that's complete bull-honkey, but you're willing to see her actually try and deal with it.
Twilight snaps back to the land of the living. “This... this is a revolutionary discovery! There's a whole band of color we can't see!” She pushes her hooves to her cheeks, her eyes glittering. Ooh, yeah, that reminds you.
“Oh, your eyes and the second stripe in your mane are also shades of purple.” You hope that's not too big of a bombshell for her horsey little head. But she seems to be rolling with the punches now.
“Really?! Erm... what else in this room is purple?” She looks around, apparently trying to tell if she can't see certain things. You follow her gaze around the room, but nothing worth mentioning jumps out at you.
“Well, he's not here right now, but Spike is purple,” you suggest.
Twilight furrows her brow now. Have you stumped her? “Really? But... wait a minute... When I first came to Ponyville, Spike said to Fluttershy that he hatched from a purple and green egg...” Her eyes spark again. “Ohhh my gosh, Spike has been seeing this color the whole time.” She puts a hoof to her temple. “Oh wow, this is big.”
You grin cockily. “Niiice, dragonbro for the win.”
Twilight flares her horn's aura, carefully angling her head away from your dangerous hands, and levitates a big picture dictionary over from the younger readers' section. Though you speak “perfect Equestrian” according to Twilight, the Equestrian written language is still more garbled than a dyslexic Russian's photocopied shorthand notes detailing a round of Chinese whispers. “Anonymous, please point to anything in this book that's purple.” While you'd love to point out the logical flaw in thinking a printed book would contain a color invisible to its printers, you're frankly surprised when the second page has a realistic image of a vividly violet gemstone. You begin flipping through the book, again distracting Pinkie with your nimble fingers.
“Purple amethyst. Purple berries. Purple flowers. Purple grapes. Purple mountains. Purple sea serpent. Purple turnip. Purple bear, why is that under U? Purple wagon.” The book reaches its end. “An enjoyable read. Made me hungry. Four out of five stars,” you nod your head perfunctorily.
Twilight sits stock still. “...Wow...”
Meanwhile, Pinkie is making other plans. “Ooh, hey, you know who would love to hear all about this? Rainbow Dash and Rarity!” She zips off, leaving a faint pony-shaped puff of hazy air in her place.
“Oh my goodne— WAIT PINKIE NO!” Twilight calls too late, raising a hoof.
“She gone!”
A few seconds pass, during which Twilight begins to sweat nervously. You wipe off her forehead for her with the back of a hand, but she shies away from your touch, as it comes so close to her precious horn. Silly purple pony. After a brief yet lengthy wait, Pinkie returns, a bit downtrodden.
“Um... they didn't take it... so well...” she explains.
Twilight keens. “Oh dear, how bad are they?”
“To the bone.” You couldn't resist. Twilight glares at you, partially for interjecting and partially for making a reference she'll have to badger you to explain later. “Sorry.” She magically makes a note on a piece of paper a few meters behind her without looking away from you.
Pinkie taps her hoof against her chin. “Rarity started fussing over herself in the mirror, and Rainbow Dash is doing the same thing but she made me leave her alone first. They were... upset.” Pinkie trots closer. You stifle a chuckle.
“That's quite concerning,” Twilight says.
Pinkie nods energetically. “I know, right? Rainbow Dash doesn't seem like the type of pony to be worried about how she looks."
“NO! Well, yes, but more importantly we should hide Anonymous before—” She doesn't get to finish her sentence as Rainbow Dash dashes into the room with Rarity in tow. Of note is that Dash's hair looks a little more split-ended, while Rarity is wearing a bonnet and a full tail-wrap. Rainbow Dash is the first to speak.
“Alright, Anon, what's the big idea?”
You smile cordially. “Hey Rembow. Hey Rarara.”
Rarity looks nervous. “Er, hello, Anonymous. How do you do?”
“Twilight, Pinkie told us Anon can see a color in our manes that we can't. Is this some kind of prank? Because it's not funny!” Dash punctuates her sentence with minute bursts of speed towards and away from the three of you. Her eyes are a little red.
Twilight swallows loudly. “Well, no, it's not some kind of prank. Anonymous has explained that he can see a color called 'purple,' which is made by mixing red and blue. He says that the last stripe in your mane and tail is purple, Dash. And Rarity, your whole mane and tail are purple.”
“A very shiny and brilliant purple,” you add.
Rarity rubs a foreleg with the opposite hoof, half flattered and half embarrassed. “So... so my whole life, I have not been able to see myself as I actually appear?” She seems genuinely distressed by this fact.
Rainbow Dash is practically breaking the world record for most voice cracks in a sentence. “And I'll never see a full rainbow?”
You steeple your fingers, an act which again draw their attention. “Rara, yes, that's correct. Dash, no, you won't. You've both been living a lie. But look here,” you say, grabbing Twilight around the shoulders with one arm, “Twilight's coat and eyes are completely purple and she took the news like a champeen!”
Twilight shudders. Oh dear, it's finally sinking in for her. “Oh goodness... all this time...” Great, now you have to hold the champeenship again.
“Also Spike is purple and can see purple,” Pinkie chimes in. You give her a side-eyed smile.
Rarity clears her throat. “And my dresses — does this 'purple' color clash with anything I've used?” She looks as though the wrong answer will knock her out. Excellent.
You hem and haw. “I wouldn't say Twilight's gala dress was your best work...” Rarity starts grating her teeth, almost about to faint, but trying to stay calm and keep her composure.
“R-really now, darling?”
You laugh once. “Nah, I'm just messing with you, it's fine from what I've seen. I don't really see many of your dresses, though, so I wouldn't know.”
Rarity smiles more easily. “Well, first things first. You are coming with me to look through every dress I have ever made to find mismatches and mistakes.” She flares her horn and tries to grab at your hand with that tingly, ozone-smelling aura of hers, but yips, as if bit by a migraine-inducing snake, and releases her magical hold. “Nng... Oh, oh, yes, right, I had forgotten.” Her recovery time is admirable. “Anonymous, darling, would you like to accompany me to Carousel Boutique?”
You stand up in one smooth motion, startling Rainbow Dash from where she lays on the floor morosely. “Rarity, I would be delighted to go with you to the Cahrowzel Bootycue,” you say, making her eye twitch. It never gets old. You follow her outside, and Twilight hastily calls after you.
“W-we should probably try to limit the number of ponies who know about this!” Rarity hears her friend absently and responds in kind.
“Of course, darling!” She turns her head forward again. “So, Anon, does purple look nice by itself?” she asks you.
You nod. “Oh, it's great. Some humans have less than tolerant opinions on its use, but...” You head away with her.
“Hm. Well that was informative,” Twilight Sparkle says to herself in the library. She turns to her friends. “Pinkie, Rainbow, do you need — Rainbow Dash, are you okay?”
The pegasus's eyes are watery as she lies curled up on the wooden floor. “N-no, I'm not.” She sniffles.
Pinkie pats her on the back from behind, hugging her sideways. “Don't worry, it's okay, I'm here...” she says. Dash pushes away from her, but still lies on the floor.
“How can I be RAINBOW Dash if I don't even know what a rainbow looks like?”
“Um,” is all Twilight has to offer.
“Dashie, it's not like that at all!” Pinkie rubs at Rainbow Dash's nearest wing. “The rainbow is just a little wider for humans. That's all it is.” Dash shies away again, then pulls her tail up to bring it into her field of view.
“I have six stripes in my tail. Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, and gray. It's been that way since forever. And now,” she says choking up, “now I find out that that gray is actually a really cool color I can't see! It's really weird and upsetting!”
Twilight is simmering. “How do you think I feel? I'm so covered in purple that Anonymous considers it to be one of my defining traits, the other being my intelligence! And I have no idea what I really look like!” she nearly seethes.
Pinkie perks up. “Maybe we should steal Anon's eyes and look at ourselves through them!”
“Pinkie, groossss,” Dash mutters. The unicorn thinks on this.
“Well, I do know that there are scrying spells that can target the point of view of another being. But magic doesn't seem to work on humans, so it would be useless. And probably painful for me too.”
“I guess you'll never know,” Pinkie says.
“Yes, but not knowing is starting to stress me out!” A single hair pings out of place from her mane. Pinkie quiets down at the sight of that.
“Pinkie's right, though. We'll never be able to see this... this 'purple' thing that Anon sees. We just have to live with it.”
“I suppose so,” Twilight grumbles, but then her mood abruptly picks up. “I'm going to write a letter to Princess Celestia and tell her about this, since she'll definitely take the news better than we did.”
Pinkie taps her hoof against Rainbow Dash's chin, who pushes her hoof away irritably. “Do you think the Princess has any purple on her?”
“Probably not,” Twilight suggests, “I mean, no part of her body looks gray like I do. Does that sound okay to you girls?”
“It sounds like a good plan to me!” Pinkie says, giggling again. Twilight heads off, leaving Pinkie to help Rainbow Dash get herself up.
The next time you see Rainbow Dash, she has actually made an effort to comb her mane and tail to some extent. She doesn't say anything about it, but it's noticeable. Perhaps, since she expects that you're going to be hanging around all the time, she wants to make sure she presents the best possible self-image she can offer. To her, that must mean keeping her hair neat so your more sensitive vision isn't put off by a haphazard lock, a stripe the color of which she can only take your word as being purple.
You and Spike start sending hidden messages to each other by writing in purple ink on gray paper. The messages are mostly things you could talk about anyways. But it's fun to have a friend with whom you can share secrets.
