Prologue: Fought valiantly. Lost anyway.
Raymond, currently assuming the name Recon to lesson suspicion, sat just off of the rails near the train that was supposed to take him to Vanhoofer, allowing the sun to warm him as he pondered his current dilemma. Sure it was nice to get off the train after a few hours and stretch his legs and fake-wings(stretching the real things was a good way to get himself killed). However that didn't detract from the fact that he was in a bad way. Honestly, it didn't surprise him that the steam powered engine had sprung a gasket just outside of the town before him. Nor did it come as a surprise when the engineers announced that the repairs would take four days, one more day than his dwindling reserves of currency would hold for. It was depressing in a way. He spent so much time and went so far out of his way to avoid this place. Yes, there was the possibility of answers, but with them came other possibilities. Death, War, Wrath of Gods and Demi-gods alike, invasions, imprisonment, and morning people. Recon suppressed a shudder at that last one. The first four he'd come to accept as a hazard of this world, this realm, this, whatever he happened to stumble across. 'Eat right, exercise daily, get killed by a random boss battle regardless.'
The fifth was the unfortunate downside to the species the cosmic lottery had saddled him with. While his research on changelings was mostly self-inflicted, he'd found none of the negative effects that he'd worried about harming his coworkers with. No unexplained fatigue, no depression, no headaches. Add to the fact that he was still capable of feeling emotions, even if they did nothing for him, and it wasn't so bad. Even better, there had been no major incidents lately that brought changelings to the public eye. In fact, for the common folk changelings were mythological at best and to be hunted at worst. The former he would encourage the belief of, and the latter he would avoid like Call of Duty fans. As for morning people; who in their right mind wastes such perfect sleeping hours?
That wasn't to say he was all humbug and no spirit. This world was fascinating in it's own right. Magic and technology, side by side. Creatures he'd only dreamed of seeing wandering the market as if it were an everyday occurrence. Hell, for them it was. You've heard of airships, right? Big floaty things that make an appearance in many magic fantasies? Recon can now list riding on one of those under things he's experienced. Magic spells? It was way out in the woods, and self taught, but he set a bush or four on fire. Ok, so it wasn't the awe inspiring explosion of thaumaturgical mastery he'd been aiming for, but that little pop was more than he'd ever hoped to accomplish. Freakin' hard to learn, and complicated as all get out, but still doable.
Ah yes, that too; there were also the more subtle things. It had taken a while, Recon had found his exploitation of expletives curbed. In some ways it was a boon, as it kept him out of trouble. But sometimes there just wasn't any substitute for dropping a string of curses that would make the most hardened sailors stare in shock. One merely had to employ the proper amount of willpower to overcome the filter.
Then there was that destiny crap. He had learned that the way of the world was a bit different than what he was used to. While Fate was seemingly content to leave people alone on Earth the same could not be said here. In fact, Fate went out of it's way to let you know where it wanted you. At first it was simple. Wanted adds that had easy positions and advertisements for cheap housing in certain places. Things you would dismiss as good luck.
"Sorry, Recon, we just don't need a number cruncher here anymore." His boss, a friendly fellow by the name of Game Plan, Director of Two Song's Postal services said. "I hear they had a position open up in Ponyville, though. Would be right up your ally!"
But Recon had no desire to be there, and had thusly ignored the carrot. So Fate hit him with the stick.
"I'm sorry sir, we don't need anyone of your talent set. I heard the place down the street is looking for a janitor, though. The pay's not as good, but it's all that I've seen available at the moment."
Then it got a metal rod when that didn't work.
Recon stared at the apartment. It wasn't nice, it wasn't clean, but it was all he could afford with his current job. Hell, if his food bill was normal, he wouldn't even be able to afford *this** much. At least it was his. After the nightmare that was his first day on his most recent job, sleep would be wonderful. It was then that Recon learned that the apartment was set near railroad tracks.*
Then it threw a couple of chairs, a table, and a full dish set at him.
The interviewer looked at him from across the desk with an almost bored expression. Almost, because he was apparently nearing the end of his shift if the way his eyes were glued to the clock was anything to go by.
"My apologies sir, but the position you're applying for requires 3 references we can validate, a full background check, your birth certificate, a copy of your citizenship papers, a doctorate in philosophy, and a small foal."
"Oh, oka-wait, what was that last one?"
"A copy of your citizenship papers?"
"No, uh... never mind. Thank you for your time."
"Please, don't mention it." As soon the stallion thought Recon was out of earshot, he heard the stallion mutter to himself "Blasted duster trying to steal Unicorn jobs..."
The last guy found his wife divorcing him for cheating on her with another stallion. No, Recon had nothing to do with that, why would you think that? He also wasn't the one who dropped the anonymous note detailing where the rendezvous that he did not set up wasn't going to occur. One thing he learned fairly quickly as a changeling; one's sexuality could be repressed for the good of the mission. Though he did need a long shower after his uninformed assistant tried to get a little too amorous.
Recon had his share of bad luck. Heck, he knew his bad luck tended to come in waves. Sit tight and it would wash over, and things would become somewhat normal again. Not so this time. Bad luck and more bad luck. Could it even be considered 'luck' at this point? I mean, that only happens a few times before one gets suspicious. He was well beyond that at this point. Whatever being or force was pushing him along had a location in mind. An obvious one. That didn't mean he was going to go along with Fate's plans, oh no sir-ree! He'd fight till his last breath. Like the defenders of the Alamo, like the Spartans in 300, like the Russians at Stalingrad! To the death!
Welcome to Ponyville
Population: 2460 1
We hope you enjoy your stay!
Like a rat in a science lab.
"Well, fuzz nuggets"
Staring at the subject of his ire, he could only wonder why, despite how hard he had tried to avoid this place, despite how far he went out of his way to avoid this blasted town, he still ended up here. Sometimes, Fate could be a real pain in the flank...
Ass. He wanted to think ass, not flank. Stupid passive magic field.
