Stranger in a Strange Land

by Candela

Rating: everyone
Tags: Slice of Life, Human
Length: 7638

Piper and her human dad, Dad, move to Ponyville.

Never let it be said that moving is easy. It's the start of a brand new life, a new chapter full of untapped possibility, but nobody is adequately prepared for it. They're too attached to what they already have to want anything new. Plus, they wait until the last minute to get everything packed, which means that something is inevitably going to get left behind.
Sorry, I didn't mean to ramble at you. My name's Piper, and my dad is a human. Before you ask; no, he's not my real dad. I'm adopted. Anyway, I spent the last sixteen years doing human things in a human world – quite a feat for a unicorn like me. I would even say that life was good; I had survived freshman year, I made a whole bunch of new friends, and I even hooked back up with my BFF from kindergarten.
Then one day, like a bolt from the blue, we have to move. No explanation, no reason, and only two weeks to say our good-byes. We crammed ourselves and our luggage onto a second-class train, and set off for a new life in a new town.

I have no idea what Ponyville will be like. Dad says to keep an open mind, but I already know it's going to be way different from Anthropolis.

Story takes place while the CMC are in high-school. No "Alternate Universe" tag; everything that's canon is still canon. I'll add it when/if Hasbro touches on high-school in the MLP:FiM universe.

I'll add character tags as they become relevant.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2014-09-02 14:10:03 UTC

Chapter 1 - First Day, Second Diary

Piper's eyes shot open and, much to her relief, she wasn't standing in an eerie field. There were no monsters, no black skies, no cackling. She could feel the gentle pulse of unseen mechanisms, hear the dull clack of metal cogs and the occasional groan as the train sped down the track. Her face fell; part of her hoped that she'd wake up in her bedroom. Instead, she'd fallen from the frying pan into the fire.

Her amber eyes scanned the train car, trying to pick apart the behemoth of cardboard and bubble-wrap. Some of the boxes were unlabeled, but a lot of them bore hand-written scrawlings or horn-written cursive. One box in particular stood out from the rest. On its surface was written “Piper's stuff: DO NOT TOUCH”, along with a few exclamation marks for emphasis. There were a few boxes labeled “BOOKS”; idly, she wondered how many boxes their library actually took up. There were more than a few books in the house, and she'd long-hence memorized them all. There were classics like Moby Dick, A Tale of Two Cities and Treasure Island sharing space with the likes of Star Wars: Shatterpoint and The Hobbit. There were even a few unpublished books that Dad wrote, like Shadow War and Space Vampires: Part 1.

She looked over the rest of the boxes. There was one full of old movies. Her dad called them “classics”, which used to be a joke on their antiquity. Now, though, she could remember more than the year they were produced and how old the actors would be. Another box would be full of art stuff, and another yet had all of Dad's collectible figurines. One box lay opened at the foot of her bed, full of magazines she'd been collecting over the years. She'd never really read them before; they weren't overly interesting, and she'd always had something else to do.

A dim amber light flashed up around her horn as she lifted an issue from the box. By the light of her horn, she could just barely see enough to read. She picked a passage at random, and started to murmur to herself.

“Critics claim Batmare Rising is the summer blockbuster to end all blockbusters,” she scoffed. Piper remembered that movie all too well. She hefted the magazine back into the box, and stared idly out the window. The moon was out in full tonight, covering the rolling hills in a soft, milky glow. She thought back on her life in Anthropolis. Its grey skies, its grey buildings and its grey people. The city had no color, but at least it was familiar. She'd get up of a morning, ready to tackle the day head-on, and know what to expect. Sure, it wasn't the friendliest of places – there was a reason you never saw any ponies in Anthropolis – but it's what made her who she was today: a street-smart mare with a sharp wit and a sharper tongue. She wouldn't have changed her foal-hood for the world.

Still, she mused. Piper left the thought unfinished as she continued to stare out into unfamiliar countryside. She had a sense of pending doom, and no matter how she tried, she couldn't shake it. She had no idea what kind of place Ponyville was going to be, but she could already tell it wasn't going to be like Anthropolis. She felt herself sink into the mattress, let the gentle rocking of the train car lull her to sleep.

Even if everything changed tomorrow, she'd still be the same.

The sun was high in the eastern sky when the train came screeching to a halt at the Ponyville station. Piper had been up for a few hours already, reading through some of the loose books Dad had left unpacked. She snapped shut her copy of Daring Do and looked at the wall-mounted clock to the left of the door. Seven'o'clock isn't what most normal people would call mid-morning, and unless the clock was a couple hours slow – what are the odds? – she knew she was going to hate Equestria more than she already did.

A quick glance out the window showed her a bustling little burg which was, above all, homey. Even though she knew this place like she knew the Rosetta Stone or the dark side of the moon, she could already feel the tension melting our of her shoulders. Ponyville felt safe, it felt welcoming. It felt downright friendly.

“Can't wait to get out amongst them, eh Piper?” She swiveled to look at Dad's gargantuan figure. Even after fifteen years, he could be a little intimidating. Dad was well-built, if not buff, and stood well over twice her height. He'd had to squeeze into the train car, and even now he stood hunched over like a bulky Igor. His normally-pressed cotton shirt was rumpled, his green eyes were bloodshot and sleepy-looking, his shoulder-length mane was a frizzled mess, and his striped tie was only half-tied around his neck. All-in-all, he looked every bit how she felt.

She gave him a smile that was equally sardonic and sincere.

“You know it. It's not every day I get a new stomping ground.” Dad chuckled.

“You'll have them running in fear before the day's out, I'm sure,” he paused to stare out the window. It was so hard to read his emotions; she couldn't tell if he was smiling because he was happy, or smiling for some other reason. Eventually, the smile slipped away completely, leaving behind a blank and derpish face. “Listen, Piper,” he began. His eyes never left the window. “I know you're upset, and maybe a little confused. You're probably already plotting to burn our new house down with the toaster and a few matches.”

“That only happened the one time,” interjected Piper, “And I told you, it was an accident.”

“Accident or not, it can't happen again. Anyway, I'm just going to tell you the same thing I was told when I was a kid. It's okay if you really do hate Ponyville; just don't hate it because it's not Anthropolis. Okay?” Piper nodded. “Good. Now c'mon, these boxes aren't going to unload themselves.”

They spent the better part of ten minutes unloading boxes, Piper using her magic and Dad with his arms. By the time they were done, the station was home to a small crowd of onlookers. Some of them were looking at the boxes in confusion, which wasn't at all surprising. Most normal ponies hired movers to move their stuff, then came by train later. Dad figured he'd save a few bits and do all the heavy lifting himself.

While the boxes were out-of-place, many more were staring slack-jawed at Dad. One of them, a unicorn with a minty-green coat and white mane, was practically drooling as we walked by.

“Hands,” the pony whispered. “Those are hands!”

The whispers carried, as they do in all small towns, and the crowd seemed to have doubled in size when they finally reached town hall. Piper stared nervously at the expectant faces. For the most part, the ponies didn't look threatening or malicious. There had been a few angry growls as Piper and Dad strolled along, but they were gone when she thought to look for them. Really, a lot of them were just curious, and a little excited. Apparently, there weren't too many humans in Equestria.

Town Hall was what Piper had expected it to be. Due in no small part to its size: you could see it from anywhere in Ponyville. Structure notwithstanding, it was a place for the rich and famous to levy the attention of the politicians, and use their influence to bully the system into behaving the way they wanted it to. Piper sighed. Even Ponyville was subject to petty politics, though she had to admit, it was very subtle.

When they saw Mayor Mare, dressed in a casual business tie and sporting a brand-new wristwatch, it only served to reaffirm Piper's suspicions. Though she had to admit, Mayor Mare looked and felt very much in charge. She reached out a hoof, and gave Dad's hand a hearty shake.

“Welcome, welcome! As you might imagine, we're very excited for you to be here. It's not every day a human moves into Ponyville.”

“I've noticed,” deadpans Dad. He broke their handshake, and motioned to the crowd outside. “I'm not sure if you can do anything about that, but we'd appreciate it if you could.” Mayor Mare gave him a thoughtful look, before shaking her head.

“Sometimes, I assign visiting celebrities a personal watch – to keep their privacy, you understand – but I don't think it'd be prudent to extend you the same courtesy. They,” she nodded towards the door, and the crowd beyond, “might think I'm playing favorites, seeing as how you're moving to Ponyville.”

“Oh well. It didn't hurt to ask.”

“It certainly didn't,” chirped the mayor. She turned to look squarely at Piper, who couldn't help but cringe a little at the mare's scrutiny. “And this must be Piper. You're…different than what I expected.”

“And what were you expecting?” queried Piper. Mayor Mare tsked, and rolled her eyes.

“Well, when I heard that a human and his daughter were moving to Ponyville, I was under the impression that the daughter was also human. Imagine my surprise when he walks in with a unicorn behind him!”

“She's my adopted daughter,” clarifies Dad, “It was never that big of a secret. Even Piper knew I wasn't her real dad – but that's what makes being called Dad feel so special.”

“I imagine so,” says the mayor. Everyone stood quiet for a few seconds. “Well, then. If you're moving to Ponyville – which, you are, right?” Dad nodded. “Good. Then I have a few last-minute pieces of paperwork that need to be filled out. Er, Piper, why don't you use this time to go for a walk? Familiarize yourself with the town, meet new ponies and what have you. Or, if you don't feel up to it, the receptionist has a selection of colouring pages available. Either way, we should be done at about lunch-time, so aim to be here at twelve'o'clock, okay?”

Piper only grunted. The mayor gave an emphatic chuckle.

“Teenagers,” she said. Dad merely nodded as they walked off, Mayor Mare chatting with him until her voice faded away entirely. Piper sighed, caught somewhere between vexation and anxiety. Suddenly, her stomach gave a loud rumble.

A walk sounds like a very good idea, actually, she thought. But how am I going to get past– her train of thought crashed when she noticed there was nobody outside. The crowd has completely dissipated, and the square around town hall was completely barren. Her stomach growled again.

“Shut up, tummy. I'm trying to figure out how hundreds of ponies vanished in the span of a minute.” Grrurrrul was her only reply. “Fine, you win. I'll think about it over brunch.”

She shoved open the doors dramatically and stepped out into the mid-morning sunshine. It was only still only seven-thirty.

“Let's see,” mused Piper, “What can a mare have to eat around here for fifteen bits?”

“How about a cupcake?” Squeaked a voice behind her. Piper felt her heart claw its way up her throat. “Ooh, or you could have three cupcakes! That's three times as good as having one cupcake.”

Piper turned to glare at her audial assailant. A pink mare, with neither horn nor wings, and a perpetual smile gracing her face. Piper gawked at the ridiculously fluffy mane and its matching tail, idly wondering how many combs might have gotten lost in the tangled growth. The mare continued to stare at her, her bright blue eyes boring into Piper's very soul. Piper shook her head, and made a note to avoid future eye contact.

“W–Who are you?” she stammered.

“I'm Pinkie Pie, and I'm your new best friend!” chirped Pinkie. Piper stared dumbfoundedly at her new best friend, but Pinkie was too busy prattling to notice.

“…Or you could have two éclairs, and still have two bits left over. You know, because seven multiplied by two is fourteen. But who am I kidding, you're old enough to know how multiplications work! Silly me! Ooh, wait! You could have a milkshake! They're only ten bits – twelve if you want whipped cream and a cherry. Oh, but what if you're allergic to cherries? That wouldn't be good, no sirree. We'll just forget the…”

Does it ever stop? wondered Piper. Pinkie's face turned a deep shade of red before she realized she hadn't breathed in over a minute. Pinkie's lungs flared as she gulped down air, only to launch head-on into more babbling.

“…But you know, since we're talking about cherries, why don't I tell you about my latest, greatest, most-scrumptious –est creation of all time? It's crispy like a taco shell, juicy like a watermelon, and more tasty than Ay-Jay's blue-ribbon apple pie. I call it the chimi-cherry…”

“That,” snapped Piper. Pinkie stopped mid-word, like she'd been frozen. Even her mouth was open – if she looked closely, Piper might be able to see the words on her tongue. “Whatever you were just talking about. The choome-cherry –“

“The chimi-cherry-changa?”

“Yeah. That thing.” Pinkie stared at her expectantly. Piper cleared her throat; Ponyville was dustier than Anthropolis, and her lungs didn't like it.

“Okie-dokey-lokie!” chirped Pinkie Pie. She turned and bounded down the street, calling over her shoulder as she beckoned Piper on, “Come on! I'm taking you to Sugarcube Corner!”

Shrugging mentally, Piper followed her new, bouncing best friend down the block. She wasn't overly fond of cherries – she'd only had them once before, and the memory was a bit fuzzy – but at least Pinkie wasn't yacking her ear off now. Which was good. Pinkie Pie stopped half-way up the next block, and waved back at her. Smiling, Piper couldn't help but wave back.

Like a little kid on a perpetual sugar high, she marveled as they took off again. She didn't know what kind of frosting-covered wonders awaited her at Sugarcube Corner, but even at the expense of cavities, it was probably going to be better than eating grass.

The place was empty when Piper walked through the door. A small ting sounded; the place had a door bell. Cute, she thought. Pinkie hollered from somewhere behind the counter, and the smell of fresh-baked cupcakes hit her like a frying pan to the face. Her stomach didn't just rumble; it flat-out roared. She scurried up to the counter, enviously ogling the many baked goods on display. There were cupcakes and croissants, donuts and dinner rolls, pies and pastries and all sorts of yummy-looking things. There was a small puddle near the register when Pinkie sauntered out of the kitchen, holding a fireproof slab between her teeth. She spat it out on the counter before flashing Piper a smile.

“Hiya, Piper! Didn't expect you to drop in like this,” teased Pinkie. She giggled at her own joke before going into full-cashier mode, “Okay, you can order whenever you're ready.”

Piper's eyes glazed over the menu, looking for the “chimi-cherry-changa” to be listed somewhere. A lot of the items were in her budget, which was fantastic. If fifteen bits could buy her a few treats at Sugarcube Corner, what else could it do? After reading through for the fifth time, she noticed the products were arranged by price instead of alphabetically.

Of course they are, she chastised herself. She looked at the menu again, this time limiting herself to everything under fifteen bits. She deeply regretted not wearing her glasses today, but something told her it wouldn't have helped anyway. Even if she squinted, she couldn't see “chimi-cherry-changa” listed anywhere.

Pinkie's cough snapped her concentration. “I'm sorry, ma'am, but could you please order? I'm sure the others would like to be served.”

Startled, Piper turned to look at the store. Behind her was a line that stretched the length of the store, out the door, and around the side of the building. Open-mouthed, she turned to Pinkie, who simply shrugged.

“Mid-morning rush,” she explained, “A lot of ponies work second shift around here, so this is breakfast to them.”

“Oh,” said Piper. She could hear a few grumbles behind her, but nothing too serious. “Uhm, well, I was going to get a chimi-cherry-changa, but I don't see it on the menu.”

“The chimi-cherry-changa?” queried Pinkie, “That's a specialty item. You have to ask for it by name – which you did. Let's see; that's one chimi-cherry-changa, correct?” Piper nodded. “That will be twelve bits, please.”

Piper counted out exactly twelve bits, and laid them flat on the counter. In mere seconds, Pinkie Pie had scooped up the bits, deposited them into the register, handed Piper her receipt and dinged the little silver bell on the counter-top, signaling the next customer. Piper scurried over to the dining area, receipt in hoof, and picked out a random seat. The chair wasn't overtly comfortable, but it was worn enough to be bearable. She wriggled in her seat as she watched the parade of ponies walk up to the register, order, then seat themselves for the wait. Pretty soon, the place was packed floor-to-ceiling with hungry ponies.

Piper spared a glance at the wall-mounted clock, and was surprised to see that it was already eleven-thirty. Oh no; what if Dad's already finished the paperwork? I don't want to get tied up here! Her thoughts descended into a flurry of what-ifs and angry Dad's. This is the first time I've really gotten to do my own thing. If I'm late getting back, Dad's going to flip! Okay Piper, calm down. Everything's going to be fine. You still have a half-hour. If you can get your whatever-it-is to go, you can still–

“Hey, Piper,” interjected Pinkie. Piper fell backwards out of her chair, landing in a heap on the floor. Pinkie, hefting a rather large platter, was smiling down at her. Piper's face felt red. “Just wanted to let you know it's done. I'll set it up here; it tastes better if you eat it from the table. Trust me, I've tried.” With a practiced flip of her head, Pinkie deposited the platter onto the table. Piper inched her head up until she could see over the rim, and was shocked to discover a dessert beyond compare. She didn't really know how to describe it. It looked like a crepe, but thicker, and covered in a thick looking cherry sauce. At its crown was a mountain of whipped cream, with yet another cherry on top of it. Shreds of chocolate littered the monstrosity, adding yet another two pounds to its already-gargantuan weight.

She smiled up at Pinkie, and thanked her for her service.

“Oh, no problem-o. Just, ah, this thing is kind of my baby,” she pointed to the platter, “It's the first thing I really thought up all on my own. Before you leave – and, you don't have to do this if you don't want to – but let me know if it's any good, 'kay?”

“You mean, I'm the first pony to order this?” Pinkie nodded.

“Yeah. I don't know why, but nopony else thinks it's fun to say 'chimi-cherry-changa'. And because it's not on the menu, they can't just point and say 'that; I want that'. So, yeah…nopony orders it.”

With that, Pinkie plodded back to her spot at the register, leaving Piper to ogle her mile-high treat. She groaned inwardly; there's no way she could finish this in a half-hour. With a sigh, she started poking disinterestedly at the mound, occasionally scooping a bite to eat. It was surprisingly good. You could certainly taste the cherries, but there were a few twangs of other tastes thrown in there. A bit of pineapple, a dash of mandarin, and when combined with the chocolate shavings and whipped toping…

Piper's taste buds rejoiced the second coming of the pony-messiah. To make matters better, her stomach's growling had subsided, and there was definitely going to be enough left of the chimi-cherry-changa to take home. She took another bite, savoring it like a half-starved pony in the desert. A moan escaped her lips. At this, her eyes shot open. She started surveying the store, and wasn't surprised to find more than a few customers giving her odd glances. She felt her face growing hot, and she could feel herself blushing. She flashed them a tiny smile, motioning to the plate with her spoon.

“It's really good,” she confessed. Everypony nodded in tandem; apparently, they also knew what it was like to be under the influence of Pinkie's cooking. Everyone resumed eating their own breakfast, occasionally stealing glances at Piper's platter. She made sure to keep her head down until she was ready to leave.

When the last customer was served, Pinkie walked over to Piper's table, and flung herself into a chair.

“So,” she began, noting how red Piper's cheeks were, “It's really good, huh?” Piper nodded, and continued eating. Pinkie worked hard to stifle a giggle, but to no avail.

“I guess it's not everyday I get to try this… What did you call it again?”

“The 'chimi-cherry-changa',” scoffed Pinkie, “Geez. It's not like you haven't said it in front of a crowd before. Why so bashful now?”

“It's… It's still a pretty funny name,” admitted Piper. Pinkie's face fell, “I'm sorry. The food's awesome, but it needs a better name, or nobody's going to spread it around.”

“Yeah, I guess it's a bit silly-sounding,” said Pinkie, “but you know, it is fun to say. Once you get over your insecurities.”

“What insecurities? I don't–“

“Yeah-huh. You're like Dash; well, not really. You're a unicorn and she's a pegasus. But you both think you're above sounding dorky now and again. Kinda like when she wouldn't admit to liking Daring Do, even though Twilight totally had her pegged as a fan. Dash would go on and on about how 'reading is for eggheads'–“

“Eggheads!?” interjected Piper. Pinkie didn't seem to register Piper's outburst, steamrolling over Piper's rage.

“–but then she broke into a hospital to read more Daring Do. Sounds crazy, I know, but it happened! I swear! Anyway, that's what happens if you take yourself too seriously. You end up breaking into Sugarcube corner to concoct chimi-cherry-changa's, because you're too insecure to order them in broad daylight,” Pinkie paused, and her frown became more thoughtful.

“Still, you're probably right. Lots of ponies are like you and Dash, now that I think about it. I'd probably sell more if I changed the name. Or,” she gasped “I could put it on the menu!”

“You could,” fessed Piper.

“Yeah, I could. I'm surprised nopony suggested this sooner. This way, it can keep it's fun name, and ponies can order it without feeling embarrassed!” Pinkie leapt onto Piper, scooping her up in a big hug. She felt like Pinkie was going to crush her ribs.

“Pinkie… can't breathe…”

“This is the third-best day of my life! I mean, the first is obviously when I met Twilight Sparkle – you know Twilight, right? – and we became bestest buds! B-M-F-F-W-T-K-B-G-B's, of 'best mare friends forever who totally kibk bad-guy butt'. Like this one time, we had to face down Nightmare Moon, only we didn't have the Elements of Harmony anymore, because–“

“Pinkie… can't… feel my ribs…”

“–but it turns out that we were the Elements of Harmony! I mean, I totally saw it coming from a mile away, but it was still pretty emotional. And there were eight ponies there, which is four more than the time I got my cutie-mark, which makes it the better memory–“

“Pinkie!”

“Yeah?” Chirped Pinkie. They stood there, silently. Pinkie was still crushing Piper's ribs in her giant bear hug.

“Let me down.”

“Okie!” Piper fell to the floor in a heap. Her head swam, and for a minute, everything was in double-vision. Pinkie stared concernedly down at her.

“Hey, Piper. You alright?”

“Yeah,” said Piper, “just a little… sleepy now.”

“No, Piper! Don't go to sleep! I've heard that when mountain climbers go to sleep, they don't wake up! Ever!” Pinkie paused. “I know! Let's play a game. How many hooves am I holding up?”

Piper squinted, trying to force her eyes to focus on Pinkie's hoof.

“Uh… two. It's two.”

Just then, the door chimed. Piper and Pinkie turned to see Mayor Mare waltz into the dining area, followed by a very bored-looking Dad. Both parties stopped still when they saw each-other. Nobody breathed a word, until Mayor Mare spoke.

“Piper? What are you doing here?”

“I was hungry,” explained Piper. She continued to recount her tale, up until the moment that Dad and the mayor walked into the store. Mayor Mare snorted, leveling Pinkie with a friendly look.

“That sounds like something our friend would do,” remarked Mayor Mare. She turned to Pinkie, “Pinkie Pie, I'll have my usual. And I'll be paying for this fellow's lunch as well.”

“You don't have to do that,” opposed Dad. Mayor Mare shrugged, before telling Pinkie that he insisted on paying his own bill.

“Piper,” said Dad, “the Mayor and I are working out a few things over lunch. Don't worry; it's not going to take too long. Since you're not interested in boring grown-up stuff, I thought you might walk down to the library.”

“The library?” squealed Piper. “This town has a library?”

“Yep,” remarked Dad, “and I'll bet the books aren't even vandalized. You can read it cover to cover, without worrying about missing pages and inappropriate doodles.”

“Thanks Dad; I'll go check it out.”

“Alright. I'll meet you there when everything's done, okay?”

“Sure thing,” chirped Piper. She waved bye to Dad, the mayor and Pinkie before setting off for the library.

“This looks more like a palace than a library,” remarked Piper. Idly, she wondered if the librarian also lived here, which didn't seem too far-fetched now that she'd seen a little of Ponyville. Pinkie apparently lived in the cellar of Sugarcube Corner – so she'd admitted on the way there – so was it so hard to believe that the librarian might live in the library?

Piper looked the building over, and was equally impressed and put-off by its display of grandeur. It looked like some kind of crystal tree-palace, with sapphire bark and purple willow leaves. There was one symbol that repeated over the length of the tree; a six-pointed star. Probably some kind of cultural thing, mused Piper. Maybe six-pointed stars were lucky, or symbolized wisdom and learning? Fitting, for a library.

She bounded up the path to the library, eager to be back in somewhat-familiar territory. As she got closer, the sun was shrouded in a veil of purple leaves. She felt the hair on her back raise up; the shade felt eerie, unnatural. Almost magical. She pushed the idea away before climbing the library's rough-hewn steps. The tree shimmered and glistened in the not-light of mid-day. Piper could see her reflection in the door; a smallish mare, whose fiery mane stood stark against her grey coat. She raised a hoof to knock when she was struck with an odd question. Instead of a violent knock, she dinged her hoof against the door-frame. Sure enough, a crystal-clear tinkling sound was heard.

So it is made of crystal, gasped Piper. This opened the floodgates to a whole new set of questions: was the tree natural, or pony-made; did it lose its leaves in the fall like the other trees; if one hit it hard enough, would it shatter like ordinary crystal? Her thoughts were moving a hundred miles per hour, fast enough that she didn't notice the door swing open.

Twilight's day had been pretty average insofar. She'd gotten up with the sunrise, bidding her erstwhile mentor good-morning before going about her routine. She'd ate a meager breakfast, brushed her mane, and even had time to do a bit of house-cleaning. She worked top-down and inward, like was described in Housecleaning for Eggheads. She had cringed as she went through the library, dusting off the nearly-empty shelves.

If only Tirek hadn't destroyed the library, she thought. There had been many fond memories made under the boughs of Golden Oak library. She sighed, then sneezed as the dust flew up her nose. It's a shame, really. That place was so full of history; losing it feels like an entire chapter of Equestrian history just…went up in flames.

She was just finishing up her foyer when she heard a strange noise. Like glasses clinking, she mused. Maybe I accidentally set something off-balance while I was cleaning? Celestia knows that this place's acoustics are terrible; and the house is made of crystal, which means that everything will make the same noise if it hits the floor. She was heading off when she noticed an orange and grey blur outside the window. Her curiosity anchored her to the spot as she squinted at the figure outside. It was a pony – a mare, she thought – staring up at her house with a dazed look on her face.

Without thinking, Twilight plodded over to the door, and was about to fling it open when she noticed her reflection. Her eyes snapped open; did her mane always look this messy after she cleaned? She shook out the bun, which helped her look a little more presentable. Maybe she'll think I just have a case of bed-head, thought Twilight. She gripped the door-handle firmly with her magic, and gave it a firm tug. Light flowed in from outside, and she was now standing face-to-face with a complete stranger.

Piper's thoughts came grinding to a halt as she noticed the mare in the doorway. She had a sense of humble regality to her – oxymoronic as it sounds – and Piper had to admit that the two-tone purple was very becoming on her. They sized each-other up for a little bit, before the mare cleared her throat.

“Uh…” she started, “Can I help you?”

“Is this the library?” asked Piper. The mare nodded, and explained at length why it was closed.

“Daaang, that sucks. This Tirek guy has zero respect for classic literature… I'll bet he reads comic books.”

“If he reads at all,” agreed the mare. Piper noticed the distant look her eyes, like she was staring at the very fabric of the universe. Idly, she wondered what the mare could be thinking about, and was nearly about to ask when she thought better of it. Suddenly, the mare's eyes regained focus, and she gave her head a quick shake.

“Sorry about that. I guess I'm still not fully awake. Anyway, my name's Twilight Sparkle,” she smiled as she put out her hoof, “and you must be–“

“Piper,” she replied. She eyed Twilight's hoof with mild confusion and, after a bit of hesitation, bumped hooves. Twilight continued talking. Piper was merely glad that she hadn't performed some kind of faux-pas.

“Piper, huh? I thought you'd be more… human-looking.”

Why do I have the feeling that I'll be hearing that a lot? Twilight noticed the vexed appearance of Piper's face, and was quick to correct her wording.

“N–Not that I'm upset or anything. I was just… I mean, I wouldn't be more or less upset if you were or were not a human. I think.”

“That was very… political of you, Twilight. I get it; I'm not the person or pony you were expecting, and because my dad's a human, you're going to dance around the issue like it's a bonfire,” fumed Piper. She took a deep breath, counted to ten, and looked Twilight in the eyes, “It's okay. Really. I've had to deal with the same thing for over fourteen years. I'm kind of over it.” As she stopped, she could practically see the tension wash out of Twilight's shoulders.

“Well, I'm glad for that,” said Twilight, “for a second there, I thought I struck a nerve.”

“I said it's fine. I only get angry when people think there is an issue.”

“Now Piper, is that any way to make friends?” Piper turned to see Dad trundling up the pathway, holding something shiny in his hand.

“Hey Dad.”

“Hello, mister…” cued Twilight. Dad flashed her a winning smile as he shook her hoof.

“I go by 'Dad', 'Mr. Dad', 'Piper's Dad' or 'Hey, you'. Just don't call me late for supper.”

“Right… okay then, Mr. Dad,” muttered Twilight, “I was just having a chat with your dau– Piper.”

“She sure is something, isn't she?”

“Dad!” sputtered Piper. She felt Twilight's scrutiny in the ensuing silence.

“Well, something is right, but I have a feeling about you, Piper. Something tells me that all we've been missing in Ponyville was a little slice of Anthropolis.” Piper's face turned hot at the compliment. Dad wrapped his arm around her neck, and grinned at Twilight.

“Yeah… I hope so,” He tightened his grip into a headlock, and playfully mussed with Piper's mane – very much against her will. “If not, we're going to have a long, serious talk, missy.”

“Dad! C'mon; not in front of my new friend.” Dad looked inquisitively at Twilight, who only giggled and nodded. He loosened his grip, letting her spin her way out of the headlock.

“Well, alright. I'll let you off this time,” he started walking away, when he suddenly stopped in his tracks and raced back up the path. “Ah, I almost forgot! Piper, you're gonna need this.” His palm opened to display a house key. Piper picked it up, studying the key and the slip of paper attached to the keyring.

”207 W. Mane Dr.” Is this…

“…the house key?”

“A copy of it,” clarified Dad, “I had one of the local locksmiths make another key for you. Just in case I'm not home and it's locked.” Piper only nodded. This is the first time she'd ever had a key of her own. She clutched it to her chest, a faint grin on her face.

“I still expect you to be home by nine, and no going out after ten without my permission, okay?” Piper's grin faded. Behind her, Twilight cleared her throat.

“If I can interrupt, I don't think you'll need to worry about Piper. Ponyville is relatively crime-free; the worst that'll happen is the occasional vandalism, and that's only because Scootaloo has too much free time on her hooves.”

“I wasn't worried about Piper,” quipped Dad. Twilight's eyes grew wide, and she nodded slowly in understanding.

“I see…”

“Dad! Knock it off. You know that wasn't me, and I have the jurisdiction papers to prove it.” Twilight's gaze shifted to Dad.

“Anthropolis abides by rule of law,” he shrugged, “which usually means that you're guilty until proven innocent. To tell you the truth, Piper's a pretty good kid–”

“Thank you.”

“– but you're still not going out after ten, 'kay?” Piper nodded.

“Good. Well, I'm gonna head home and unpack. You do whatever else you need to – just be home by nine,” he winked as he walked away, “Wouldn't want to ground you on your first day in Ponyville.” They watched in silence as Dad plodded back into town, around a corner and out of sight.

“Your dad seems pretty cool,” murmured Twilight, “My dad never let me stay out late – then again, I never had a reason.”

“Yeah, I guess he is,” Piper flashed Twilight a smarmy grin, “It's kind of hard to remember that, though. All I can think about are the times when he's less-than awesome.”

“But aren't you being a bit unfair? Surely there have been times when you've gotten on his nerves, too.”

“You're probably right,” acceded Piper, “and don't call me Shirley.” They both grinned at Piper's not-so-witty remark. They spent a few more minutes making small talk; how Ponyville compared to Anthropolis, the weather, upcoming events and even a few insightful anecdotes. It was one-thirty when Piper stretched her stiff muscles, cuing a cascade of poping noises from her back.

“Well, it's been fun,” said Piper. She heaved an enormous yawn, “whoa, I didn't know I was this tired. I think I'll head home and hit the hay.”

“Okay; see you later then,” chirped Twilight. She watched Piper saunter down the pathway, but there was something about what she said that was bugging her, “…hay. Hay… Ah, hay! I nearly forgot; I was going to meet up with the girls at two!” she jumped up from where she lay, and dashed madly down the hill, hoping she wasn't late.

“…cant' …sleep.” Piper lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling, as she had for over an hour. A quick glance at her digital clock said it was quarter-till-ten. She shut her eyes. In her mind's eye, she pictured a pasture. It was full of sheep, the sheep were standing to one side of a segment of white fencing. A part of her wondered where the rest of the fence went, but the rest of her told it to shut up. She imagined the sheep jumping the fence, one by one, until they were all over.

One …two …three …four …five …six …seven… She had counted one-hundred-eighty sheep, and was nearly asleep when she heard a clap of thunder outside her window. Her eyelids slid open, half-expecting her room to be full of sheep. Instead, the room flashed a bright white before another roar of thunder hit her ears.

“What in the world…” she stammered. Piper had heard a lot about how Equestrian weather was controlled by the pegasi, but she hadn't really understood what they meant until just now. She looked out the rain-streaked window into the darkened street beyond. Occasionally, a flash of lightning would illuminate the world for a fraction of a second. It soon faded to darkness, though, and Piper was left staring at a black windowpane.

She groaned when she saw what time it was. Her digital clock read one-sixteen. In the morning. Briefly, she pondered her options. She had always been anxious of bad weather. Knowing about its pony-controlled origins softened the blow a little, but the thunder still made it impossible to sleep. She glanced over to her television, but quickly shook her head. The cable guy hadn't shown up yet, and if Dad caught her playing video games at one-o-clock in the morning…

Suddenly, her eyes fell on something of possibility. She levitated it to her, and discovered that it was a notebook. The word “Jurnel” was emblazoned on the cover in crimson crayon. Her heart skipped a beat; she thought she'd tossed this thing out when she was in the third grade.

So how in the world…? Her eyes scanned the room, looking for …she didn't know. A man; a pony? The garbage-fairy? Something that explained her old journal appearing in the middle of her floor in the middle of a thunderstorm.Maybe Dad kept it, she pondered, It seems like something he'd do. But then, how'd it end up in my room, in the middle of the floor?

Another crack of lightning brought her pondering to a screeching halt. She cursed the weather under her breath, before taking a closer look at the journal. It had been so long; did she dare? She took a deep breath, and began to pore through the journal.

“…So that's why I threw it away.” The journal was filled to the brim with typos, grammatical errors, and sentence structure that would make a middle-school grammar teacher cry. She had never thought to write in order, just deciding to open the book to a random, empty page and start writing. To make matters worse, her younger self apparently couldn't have picked a favorite color to write in. There was red crayon, blue crayon, purple crayon and – Celestia above – yellow crayon markings from cover to cover.

She held the thing at arm's length like a filthy sock, cringing at even touching it, before callously flinging it into an empty garbage bin. The thunder had subsided now, yet no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't “tune out” like she did to sleep. Something about the journal bugged her. Suddenly she jumped up, and began rummaging through the myriad of arts and crafts things she had collected over the years. Pencils, fabric, glue-sticks*, scissors and plenty of lace found its way to her impromptu desk: a slab of wood, tenuously balanced atop two stacks of cardboard boxes. She rifled through her “desk”, and found a dull, three-ring binder and two reams of college-ruled paper to match. She clicked on her lamp-light, watching as its sixty-Watt bulb flickered to life

“Let's get to work.”

By the time she was done, Piper was sweating. Fifteen minutes had gone by, and her creation–

“This is garbage!” she piped. “Why did I think using fabric was a good idea! This thing looks like a Scotsman hooked up with a nun, and made a book-baby! I… I…” The veil was lifted, and what she was was the most beautiful journal she'd ever had. It was the same three-ring binder, but she'd outfitted it with a black argyle-print jacket. A lot of the lace lay unused on her desk. She had only used a little of it when she sewed the “Journal” plaque onto the binder. She was a little proud of that, actually; she'd sewn some of the fabric around an old picture frame, and used a bit of hot glue to keep it held in place. In the middle of the frame, she'd glued a few shiny little baubles to spell “Journal”.

All in all, it wasn't the best work, but it was her best work. She giggled as she rifled through the blank, clean pages of her new journal. She toyed with the binder, clasping and unclasping the rings over and over. Every time they snapped shut, they sharp noise made her cringe. She started to think up ways that she could dampen it, but decided to put that off for tomorrow.

“Now all that's left is to do a little writing.” She took a fine-tip pen from her pen-cup, and put it to the paper. She felt the smooth glide as she wrote, and soon, words were just spilling onto the paper.

Piper's journal – Day one

Today, I moved to Ponyville. It's a far cry from what I used to know, but I'm starting to think it's not so bad out here. It's definitely more quiet, and I don't get made fun of for being a pony. In fact, this whole town is full of ponies. (I'll bet Dad feels a bit out of his depth.)

I met a few new friends, and a few new… others. First is Pinkie Pie. I ran into her on the street, and she solved my food dilemma, which earns her tons of good karma in my book. I tried to hold a conversation with her on the way to Sugarcube Corner – where she works – but she spent more time rattling off numeric equations than listening to me. Which is alright, I guess. I've always had trouble learning math. (Maybe hanging out with Pinkie could help me?)

Then there's Twilight Sparkle, the town's resident princess-librarian. (Yeah; can you believe it!? She's a bona-fide princess, with a crown and everything!) We had a nice chat today, and from what I can guess, she's a geek like me. We both love books, we both like learning, and we're both into high-fantasy. Like one time, for Nightmare Night (I guess it's a pony-fied “Halloween”), she dressed up like a warlock, and Spike was her dragon familiar. I asked her about the library, but apparently, she won't be getting any new books until the school year starts. Hardcore suckage.

Last but not least is Mayor Mare. I don't know what her problem is, but I've got a hunch that she doesn't like me very well. Then again, I've only spoken to her a few times in total. But during both of those times, she's stricken me as a strictly-business pony, with no time to goof around or have fun. I dunno; maybe it's old age? She acts like she's old as the dirt under her hoof. Kinda sounds like it too, now that I think about it. I know that old folk don't have too high an opinion of teenagers, but this is down-right discriminatory!

That's my first day in Ponyville. Pretty much the only other thing I did was make the journal I'm writing in. (A glorious feat that took all of fifteen minutes.) You know, it's ironic. I found my old “Jurnel” on the bedroom floor, and for all its terrible, terrible mistakes, it prompted me to write another journal. Life works in funny ways: something tells me I'm going to start saying that a lot more.

Here's to the future. ~Piper

“…Here's to the future; what kind of closer is that?” grumbled Piper as she crawled into bed. The storm had died down quite a lot, becoming a steady rainfall over the course of a half-hour. It was two-o-clock when Piper's head hit the pillow, and she immediately felt herself drifting to sleep.

“Maybe–” she yawned a heavy yawn before settling into her bed. “–Maybe I ought to find a proof-reader… Or a proof-thinker. I wonder… I wonder if there's such thing as psychics in Ponyville,” she yawned again, quieter this time. She rolled to face the window, letting the sound of rain striking glass lull her to sleep.

“They probably do… Hehehe– Pony psychics.”