To Take A Pie Across The World...

The cold winter morning sky shines brightly across the snow-covered city of Seattle, Washington. Several cars litter the streets with people filling most of them up, either speaking on the phone, angrily or eagerly honking their horns at the drivers in front of them, either to complain about their speed or just to say "hi", or speaking to their passengers riding with them, either about the snowy weather that they're having, the day ahead of them, or miscellaneous subjects specific to each and every family or group of friends... and sometimes, even mixtures of more than one take place.

Walking alongside East Boston Street is a man wearing an olive green hooded winter coat, dark brown cargo jeans, black leather boots, and a pair of black leather gloves. On his back is a large hiking bag, filled to the brim with miscellaneous goods, with a pair of large bedrolls barely hanging out of the left and right corners of its largest pouch; one blue, and the other, pink.

Holstered on his belt loop, slightly behind his right hip, is a hunting knife with a jagged stainless steel blade, with a black coating on the back end of it. The holster, however, is the same shade of brown as his pants are, making the blade seem almost invisible whenever it's sheathed.

His pale white skin is barely visible as he walks through the snow, which continues falling from the sky, slowly but surely filling the roads and the grass of his neighbors' yards. His eyes are covered with thick black goggles, and his mouth is covered in a scarf as green as his jacket; only a little of the dark brown hairs of his beard could be seen below the scarf, lowering down to the bottom of his neck, and his mustache below his nose, puffed outwards by almost two centimeters. Small strands of his medium-length hair could be seen over the goggles, but most of it is covered by his hood.

He continues walking until he reaches the mailbox with the number pattern "1193" written on it. He turns to the small, light blue house atop a secluded hill, where two dead trees looms over it by twice its height on both of its side corners in the far back. The worn black shingles of the roof appear to have many signs of age on them, as a few patches of slate and wood, where many shingles once lay, are shown scattered across the roof.

Another notable feature is the carport, which lacks in both paint and texture. The planks used to build it range from oak to mahogany, to even small patches of plywood laid out to cover what lies within, and the garage door is just as makeshift as the walls, opening only from the inside, which is connected to the right corner of the house (or the left side when facing the house's front entrance).

Though his mouth is tightly covered in the scarf, he still manages a sigh and crosses the white picket fence, closing the gate behind him, and looking around the environment before him, seemingly out of caution.

Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, he silently walks to the front door and kneels down, until he sees the crack below the doorway. He then lifts his left sleeve slightly, revealing a digital watch with a small antennae and a small minicam protruding from the side. Slowly, he pulls on the minicam to extend it and slips it below the doorway, while the screen on his watch reveals the inside of the place.

To his relief, he sees the inside of the place is just like how he left it, and pulls the minicam from the living room, and covers his watch once again. Then he pulls his key out of his coat pocket and unlocks the door and the deadbolt, then puts it back in, and slips a card out of his wallet. Finally, he slips the card through the crack just above the doorknob and lifts it up, where the card pushes the deadbolt inside up, and allows him to push the door inside all the way.

After stepping inside, he looks around once more before closing the door behind him.

After he takes his coat and gloves off, he stuffs the gloves in his coat's pockets and hangs the coat on the rack beside the front door, then steps into the living room, where a desk rests beside an old television. He flicks the light on, revealing his checkered blue button-up shirt and his olive green eyes, which sag slightly, giving him the appearance that he barely has any sleep in his schedule... and in reality, he doesn't... not with the amount of planning and work that he has done throughout the course of three months.

On the first month, as revealed on a sheet of paper with the word "October" written on the top, he was busy building the carport and gathering supplies to keep it from blowing over with the winter storms that occurred. During this time, he also had a few scratched out items with green checks and red exes scribbled over them, ranging from meats to vegetables... though the meats were mostly the ones that had exes written on them. The only exceptions were fish and imitations of meat, such as crab meat, veggie burgers, and vegan hot dogs.

On the second month, he spent most of his time buying horse feed, hay, and canned vegetables, all while working a part-time job as a dishwasher at a local diner. During November, he also had lists of names of people to avoid, and far less names of people who he could observe... and what's more, most of the names he could observe were scratched out, and placed over on the other section. Then there were only two names below the line that revealed who he could trust: "Daniel Jackson" and "Pinkie Pie", with the former having the word "myself" written beside it, seemingly emboldened with several lines below it, almost indicating that it's something important that he needs to familiarize himself with.

Finally, on the third month, or the current one, he spent most of his time filling up on gas, and packing everything up.

He looks around and lightly chuckles as he sees that the only things inside the living room are literally his desk, his schedule, his chair, and his television.

He flicks the television on again, and watches the reporter speaking from outside the boundaries of the Lewiston Metropolitan Area between Idaho and Washington, near the tall red bridge that connects both places together. He speaks to the camera about an incoming snowstorm, but the static on the television makes it difficult for his words to be heard; only the subtitles of the screen is what allows the viewer, Daniel, to gather the information, which he writes on another sheet of paper in a journal.

He lifts his head up from his focusing when he hears the sound of a large thump in the other room. Letting out a long, drawn-out sigh, he stands from his seat and walks to the hallway that leads to the room where the thump came from... his bedroom.

"What fell this time?" he asks in a bemused tone as he stands near the other side of the doorway.

From inside the room, a high-pitched female's voice replies, "Uh... n-nothing!"

Daniel crosses his arms over his chest and rolls his eyes, but remains silent.

Then the female nervously giggles before adding, "W-well... except for the big black box thingy that you told me not to mess with!"

Daniel sighs and shakes his head in disappointment. "Pinkie," he opens the door and steps inside, "you need to be more careful when around these kinds of things! What if whatever is inside it is a dangerous weapon? Or an irreplaceable family heirloom?"

He looks down at the source of the female's voice... a pink equine-like creature with a hot pink coat, a dark pink mane and tail; both styled in a strange fluffy way to make each look like cotton candy, and two big, bright, sky blue colored eyes. She stands up about halfway up his thighs, but with her mane puffed out, she appears to stand up to his waistline, almost where his belly is, but slightly above it. On her flanks are patterns of three balloons floating up.

According to her, the pattern is what is referred to as a "cutie mark", which defines an Equestrian's special talent.

Ever since she appeared in his house three months ago, he immediately got to work on hiding her from the public eyes. As such, her coat has slight hints of dirt on it, due to the lack of Equine-quality soap. That, plus the soap that he has tends to have strange side-effects with her nostrils, forcing her to avoid using it and immediately search for a toilet. His shampoo, however, doesn't appear to have any negative results, but she openly admitted to him one day that she doesn't really use shampoo, since her mane and tail "naturally clean themselves", as she put it.

And similar effects tend to take place for Daniel, as well... or humans, for that matter. To Pinkie's friends from Equestria, her home world, she smells like cotton candy... but with the fur that Daniel sometimes finds on his clothing, he was given complaints that he smells like a horse who hasn't bathed in months.

Of course it wouldn't bother him, though, since he no longer has a sense of smell... though he also took care to disregard his soap, and stick to using shampoo as an alternative to both for her sake.

Her ears droop down and she looks at the floor with a saddened expression. Her mane and tail deflate as she draws invisible circles on the floor with her right forehoof.

"Sorry, Dannie... I didn't mean to, honest! I was just trying to grab a pillow!"

He sighs and rubs his forehead. Then he waves his free hand dismissively and replies, "Don't worry, Pinkie. I'm not mad, or anything... just worried about your safety, that's all."

She seems to bright up at that. Her mane and tail regain their curls and she bounces up in the air, landing on the mattress. She then picks up the pillow she was after, and starts to trot over towards the doorway, when she pauses and looks back at Daniel, who picks the box back up and places it on the night stand.

"Um... if you don't mind me asking..." she pauses when he looks her way, then sighs. "Um... n-never mind."

He shakes his head and looks back at the box. "Don't worry about it, Pinkie... I'll tell you when the time is right."

She nods her head and smiles warmly at him. "Okay... um... if you need me, I'll be in the kitchen!"

He nods his head and replies, "Okay... I'll be there soon. Just need to take care of a few things in here, first."

With a playful salute, she bounces outside of the room, leaving Daniel to his own personal space.

He walks over to his dresser, and examines himself through the mirror on top of it. With a frown, he reaches onto the top of said dresser, and grabs a hairbrush. He then proceeds to brush his hair to the side, allowing the curls and the barely visible specks of snow to disappear completely from his body. Then he places the brush into a small suitcase, and starts pulling neatly folded clothes from the dresser, into the same suitcase.

He continues to do this for some time, when he hears the sound of glass breaking. Curious, he turns towards the bedroom door and raises an eyebrow. "You alright in there?" he asks.

To his surprise, he doesn't hear a response.

He places the suitcase on the dresser again, and scratches the back of his hair. Then he walks over to the door and hovers his hand over the knob, when another sound plays across the house.

A series of loud beeping noises fills the entire area. The temperature of the house starts to build up even more.

Then the window of his bedroom shatters open, as a glass bottle flies inside, lit with a flaming piece of cloth on top. He manages to dodge it, but once it lands, the glass shatters, and a huge chunk of his room bursts into flame.

At this, Daniel quickly runs up to the box and picks it up. Then he opens the drawer of the bedside table and pulls out a small pistol... a "Glock 17". Sliding the magazine from the handle, he checks the bullets inside, then latches the magazine back into place. He then pulls the slide back, rushes over to the door, and takes a deep breath.

Finally, without delay, he kicks the door down, and rushes into the hallway.