“AHHR!” Twilight Sparkle grunted when Spike opened the door to her study. The baby dragon stopped short and looked at the alicorn with puzzled eyes.
“What’s the matter, Twi’?” he asked.
Twilight snapped the pen she was holding in her magic and threw both stubs on the ground. “I can’t do this,“ she growled. “This is just so stupid.”
Spike padded forwards to Twilight’s desk. “What are you talking about?“
Twilight buried her face against the desk. “The bl— writing contest organised by that crazy pegasus who recently bought the Quill & Sofas outlet.”
“Who?”
”Oh come on, Spike! You know, that stallion with a grey coat and black wings. He recently moved from Buckingham. Can’t remember his name right now.”
“Raven Wings?” Spike ventured.
“Yeah, thanks.” Twilight lifted her head from the desk and turned to face her assistant. “Anyways. You know the rules: in three days, you must write a story which fits into a prompt. This month’s is ‘soft hands’.”
Spike’s eyes widened. “Soft what?”
Twilight shrugged. “Hands.”
The baby dragon remained deadpan.
“Dang it!” Twilight scraped her chair backwards and stood up. “I’ve no idea what that stupid word means either. I’ve checked in every dictionary I own and didn’t find even a trace of it.”
“Then what’s the point?”
“I don’t know Spike! I’m not the organiser of the contest. I don’t know what went in his mind when he figured out that prompt. He must have eaten some sort of mushroom!”
“Can’t it be a typo? Maybe you misunderstood something?”
“No Spike, I’ve double-checked with him. It’s ‘hands’. H A N D S all right. Hundred percent confirmed.”
"Then write the first zany story you think about, and find an excuse to wedge that funny word in.”
Twilight rolled her eyes. “That won’t do Spike! The jury will not even consider it!” She began to pace around the room. “And why a story about humans in Equestria?” she exclaimed.
“What now? You man? You mean? I mean, you mean ‘you mean’, not ‘you man’?”
Twilight stopped pacing and looked at him with feral eyes. Spike made a vague gesture as of dismissal. “Never mind, you got my mean — oh, sweet Celestia!” he exclaimed, faceclawing. “My intent.”
“No, I didn’t mean ‘you mean’, Spike. I meant ‘human’: U MAN!”
Spike raised an eyebrow.
“Whatever,” said Twilight, and she sighed. “I picked up the most silly word that came to my mind. Human or… Vagnarian or Frool! Why are you so fussy about words this morning?”
“It rather seems you’re keyed up for whatever reason, Twi’,” Spike answered.
“But Spike, it’s not for whatever reason. Just consider what would happen if I failed to write an entry! Then… then I’d lose!”
“Lose what?”
“What? Why, my award of most diligent Equestrian writer!” Twilight burst out. “I never missed any round since that competition began! I can’t skip that one. My reputation would instantly collapse. A total catastrophe!”
“Of course!” Spike rolled his eyes. “A real washout.” Then, in a lighter tone: “Well, write something then!”
“Yes, but what!?” Twilight resumed her pacing. “We’re just running around in circles here.”
“Write about humans with hands!” Spike said, as if it was self-evident.
Twilight didn’t even shoot him a glance.
“I mean, imagine a human — an alien creature living in another plane of reality — arrives in Equestria using a magic portal kept secret by princess Celestia in the high castle of the Crystal Empire and—”
“That’s ludicrous,” Twilight interjected, halting once again. “There’s no such thing as an interdimensional portal. Let’s pretend that a former student of princess Celestia has already stepped into that portal and lives in that other world transformed into a ‘human’, and then comes back in Equestria to steal my Element of magic. She succeeds, after what Celestia herself sends me and you through that portal to chase that former student in that other world and bring the element back?” She rapped her hoof against her temple. “Ravings of a mad mare.”
Spike scratched his head thoughtfully. “Suppose we would arrive… in the middle of a school whose principal would be the doppelgänger of princess Celestia and—”
“Enough!” Twilight shouted. “That makes no sense. I wonder where you fish such hogwash.”
Spike shrugged. “I’m sure some other writers could make a perfectly sensible story out of this premise.”
“Maybe, but not me,” Twilight came back.
“Come on, Twilight. You’re such a spoilsport at times.”
Twilight glared at Spike. “So what do you suggest?”
“A human with hands.”
“But what would ‘hands’ be, Spike? And what would that alien look like in the first place?”
“Hmm…” Spike pondered. “It’d be quite tall by our standards, have only a very short mane, just like a tuft of hair between its ears. No tail. Its face… well it’d have a mouth, a nose, two ears and… four eyes! Two on the front and two on the rear of their head, so that it could to see everything around, even behind its back.”
“It’d have a back then?”
“Yes, of course! And it’d walk on two legs instead of four and—”
“Bipedal,” Twilight interrupted.
“What?” Spike said. “Bipedal? What have pedals to do with this?”
Twilight facehoofed. “Bipedal, Spike, doesn’t mean it has two pedals. It means: walking on two legs, like you.”
“Oh!” Spike blurted. “Okay.” Then he glowered. “Why do you always have to use the big words?”
“If such words exist, that means one has to use them.”
“Mmph,” Spike grumbled. “Bipedal with two other limbs attached right under the neck and, at the end of those limbs, instead of hooves they’d have ‘hands’ to pick up and hold things.”
“Prehensile appendages,” Twilight added.
“What now?”
Twilight shook her head. “Never mind. What about your ‘hands’? What would they look like? Hard hands? Soft hands? Small? Big?”
Spike looked at his claws. “Almost like my claws,” he said. “But made up of… six fingers! Maybe with broader nails.”
“Why six and not three or eight?”
“Because such beings would at first count using their digits. They’ve two ‘hands’. Two times six is twelve, and twelve can be exactly divided by two, three, four and six. That would be highly effective as a basis for a numeration system. Much more than, say, five fingers.”
Twilight gawped at Spike. “Wow,” she finally said. “Impressive rationale.”
“Thanks!” Spike replied, beaming. “I knew you’d appreciate it.”
“OK,” Twilight said, “let's wrap it up: two legged beings walking upright with a pair of limbs attached between chest and neck and ending in six ‘fingered-hands’, and a head with a clump of hair, a nose, a mouth, two ears and two pairs of eyes, front and rear. Is that right?”
“Correct!” Spike replied.
“So now what would happen to that creature?”
“Well, imagine one such ‘human’ would arrive in Equestria using that portal. It’d probably cause a big fuss. It’d have to adjust itself, especially if…” Spike tailed off and, after a few seconds, he snapped his fingers, “if the world it comes from has no magic and ponies are not sentient there!”
Twilight giggled. “Spike, you’re wonderful. Sometimes I wonder where do you gather such crazy ideas! But it’s a great foundation on which to build a good story on!”
“Just a pinch of imagination. Imagination… Magination… Majin! Let’s call it ‘Majin’!” Spike trumpeted. “The adventures of Majin the Human in Equestria! Doesn’t that sound like a perfect title?”
“Absolutely delightful!” Twilight confirmed. “I can even see how its impromptu arrival could lead to a romantic aventure with princess Celestia! Wooh!” she cooed and blushed slightly. “Let’s do this!” Using her magic, she picked up the stubs of the pen she had broken before, mended them and sat back at her desk. She began writing immediately.
“Soft hands… Soft hands…” Spike whispered. “And why not… Eh! That’s a good idea!”
“SPIKE!” Twilight shouted as she broke into the young dragon’s room, levitating a sheaf of sheets before her. “Listen to this: Majin the human arrives in Equestria. In his — I say ‘his’ because it’s a male — world, he has the curious habit of stroking ponies on their back with his soft hands, a habit that he carries over into our world. And it turns out this stroking with his soft, six-fingered hands causes ponies to be washed out in waves of intense, almost sensuous pleasure. Celestia decides to investigate, but she falls into complete addiction, worse than cakes, and…” She paused, blushing. “I can’t tell you the rest Spike, you’re too young. But don’t you think it’d make for a good entry?” She moved the sheets away from her nose. “Uh?! What’s that?” she exclaimed, suddenly puzzled.
Spike had put his favourite moustache, the one whose fake hair tapered to wide coils. Dressed in a white apron, a palette in one claw, a brush in the other, he was dabbing small patches of colour on a canvas set in an easel adapted to his size. After a final touch, the baby dragon took a step backward and considered his work. “That’s my personal take on the ‘soft hands’ prompt,” he said in a strange accent, using trilled Rs. “Doesn’t it look gorgeous?”
“Oozing clocks?” Twilight asked, still perplexed.
“Yeah, soft hands, like those of clocks. I think I’ll call that painting The Persistence of Memory. Rather mysterious, isn’t it?”
Twilight giggled. “Oh Spike! This is charming but so outlandish! As a story inspirer, you’re great, but I think that as a painter you’ve still a lot to learn! Anyway. Time to get to Quill & Sofas and register my story. See you in a bit!” she chirped, as she left the room with her sheets in tow.
