The first thing that hits you as you tumble out of the pin head sized hole is the ground with a loud Thump!

It knocks the wind out of you and would have been painful if the unearthly agony of being shoved through a wormhole didn’t dominate your mind. For a moment, you’re content to just lay on the floor and let the cool wood soothe the flushed skin of your forehead.

Isn’t this a fine fucking mess? Really, you wish you could sit here longer, but you know the noise probably attracted attention.

An “Eep!” tells you that exactly, actually.

With herculean effort, you jump to your feet...Or you try, and succeed in flopping over so that you stare at the wooden ceiling. What an oddly intact ceiling it is for being in Lynchburg, AKA hell on earth.

You cut your eyes to the person who made the Eep, intent on stalling until you had enough cognitive function and feeling in your arm to reach your gun.

When your gaze falls on the other person in the room, you can’t help but blink, since the person is not a person. But rather, a frightened looking purple pegasus-unicorn. The poor thing is almost shivering against the wall.

Then it opens it’s mouth. “Are… Are you okay?” she(?) asks unsurely, her voice akin to a young woman’s.

A sarcastic reply is on your tongue, but you hold it in favor of thinking and taking stock of what’s going on.

The government goons tossed you through a wormhole generator. That’s first, of course. No living being has ever actually MADE it through one of these things, if what you can infer is correct. And this is not Lynchburg, as Lynchburg has no stable buildings, never lacks uncomfortably close gunfire, and it certainly does not have purple ponies. Mission failed? Or...

Letting out a breath, your idle thoughts come to the surface. “Yeah, I’m fine. Physically at least. My day isn’t going too well, though.”

The purple pony freezes, the pupils AND iris in her large eyes shrinking to pinpricks as she looks at you. It takes a bit of effort to not flinch at the unnatural sight. If the generator killed you, then this might be the wrong afterlife. Kinda doubtful on that idea though, since your entire body is still throbbing painfully like one giant bruise.

You return your focus to the gaping purple pony.

Truly, you are out of fucks to give.

“Mind if I sit here for a moment?” You casually ask the small equine. “I really don’t want to get up.”

She nods absently, looking more past you than at you now. The purple pony slowly starts to tremble, worrying you some when it gets so bad you hear her legs knocking together. “Oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no…”

Her trembling turns into a frantic little dance as she bounces on her hooves, making her wings flap clumsily. “Oh no oh no oh no oh no!”

The pitch of her voice starts to rise as her words get faster. “Ohnoohnoohnoohnoohnoohnoohno!”

You sigh for what seems the like the thousandth time today. Looks like you’re not getting the short break you wanted.

“IJUSTFOALNAPPEDASTALLIONI’MGOINGTOJAILORWORSETHEMOONNONONONONO!”

“What-napped a who? Going where?” You ask yourself quietly, wondering if you hear the words correct.

Purple.

“Gah!”

You recoil as the little pony is suddenly in your face, babbling at an unreal speed as she tears up. It’s only your still jumbled nerves that saves her from catching a reflexive jaw-breaking punch to her cute face.

“ENOUGH!”

Now it’s her turn to recoil.

Slowly, you pull yourself into a painful sitting position and face the other occupant of the small, dim room, careful to keep a hand hovering near your holstered pistol. For a moment, you just stare at her.

She stares back, blinking periodically as her heaving chest calms.

“So,” you start, making her ears perk. “What sort of drugs am I on? This is some high grade stuff with how vivid everything is.”

“D-drugs?” the pony parrots, her voice unsure. “I don’t… Do you…” She recoils again, head whipping backwards and her back arching like a frightened cat. “You think I drugged you?!”

“Didn’t you?” you ask while looking around the glass littered area. The pain in your eyes probably means busted blood vessels. “This time, it’s impressive. Normally it’s not as… Colorful. Lynchburg has never been so vibrant, even in some creepy basement.”

“I WOULD NEVER!” Your diminutive captor roars, outrage clear in her voice. “I’m not some shameless fratmare or something like that! The very thought makes me sick!”

You wince as her echoing voice only makes your ringing ears and migraine worse. “Fine then, let’s assume I believe that,” you say, fingering the rough grip of your real-feeling Glock through your gloves. “Why are you a pony that’s fit for a cartoon then?” No reaction to you touching your gun it seems.

“Wha..?”

“You’re a pony. Why?”

She blinks and tilts her head like a confused puppy. “Because I’m a pony and I’ve always been one..?”

You cross your arms, subtly feeling the mag pouches on your plate carrier. They feel real too, and the magazines even have the knife gouge you put on all your polymer mags as an ID mark.

“You sure?”

Her confusion only grows, as evidenced by her frown. “Yes, I’m sure. One hundred percent sure.”

Now it’s your turn to frown.

This is awful consistent for a hallucination. The shitters in Lynchburg don’t have the supplies, knowledge, or equipment needed to synthesize such a powerful psychoactive drug that isn’t lethal shortly after being administered. As far as you know, there are NO hallucinogens that can spoof tactile sensation so accurately, either. Even the post-war government and their loose morals hadn’t tried to develop something like that. And you sure as hell would not have been left with your entire equipment load, let alone your very real feeling guns.

With a growl, you pin your own lip between two canine teeth and chomp down. The sharp, new pain of the flap of flesh being pierced is first, then the copper tang of blood coats your tongue, bringing your senses to a near supernatural clarity.

Your eyes dart around, taking in everything before the burst of lucidity fades. Nothing changes.

With a frown, you look down at your own fingers and count them, muttering the numbers to yourself. With a drug this powerful, it should be similar to a dream where numbers don’t remain constant, but shift with your own mind’s unconscious whim.

“Ten…” Four times do you count ten fingers, each wiggling on command.

Your focused gaze lands on the pony, who pulls her own eyes from your hands with a flinch. She fidgets under your scrutiny, but otherwise stays still.

A thin, yet plush-looking coat of uniform violet. Wings just as real looking as a birds folded on her sides, twitching occasionally. A disheveled looking mane that bobs and sways with each movement of her head. All consistent.

“Oi.”

The pony starts, probably surprised by suddenly being addressed.

“Get up and do a twirl for me real quick.”

Once again, her head tilts in what you guess is confusion “Do a twirl?”

“Humor me, please.”

For a moment, she’s unmoving with her expression still in place. After a another second, the mare stands and slowly walks in a tight circle, her hooves clopping on the wooden floor like one might expect. The sound, the sway of her mane, the twitch if her wings, even her voice are all consistent.

You feel your mouth tighten into a thin line when the purple mare doesn't change. Not even the slightest bit.

“Motherfucker…”

This isn’t Lynchburg.

The dim, dusty room falls into a tense, uncomfortable silence. The talking pony looks around, seemingly unsure with how to proceed. To be honest, you’re not really sure yourself. Just where do you go from “Fall out of wormhole into pony basement then pass self administered drug test”?

“Erm…”

You look back up to the pony, hand resting on your hip just above your gun.

She paws at the floor. “I know this is probably strange for you, but maybe we,” she looks up at you, then gasps and cuts herself off. “You’re bleeding!”

You blink, then remember your self-inflicted wound and wipe at your mouth, smearing the back of your glove with red.

She stands with purpose suddenly, making you flinch and nearly draw from the unexpected action. The pony either didn’t notice, or more worryingly, didn’t care, and strode across the room to the sole bit of furniture in the dusty room. A simple table with several unassuming items. One of the items in a plain looking box of tissues that she retrieves with her mouth and trots back with.

“Whoa, hold up!”

You stop the bewildered pony just short of arms reach of you with a wave of your arm.

“Just… Drop them there, okay?” You ask, not wanting the pony to come too close.

She looks vaguely hurt, but does what you ask and leaves the box on the ground before she backs up a few steps.

Swiping a tissue, you hold it against the hole in your lip, the pain of which is becoming more prominent as your background pains slowly fade into dull aches.

“Like I was saying earlier,” starts the pony, gazing at you with a sideways look. “I think we may have got off on the wrong hoof.”

You raise an eyebrow at the odd, if fitting phrase. “Prehaps.”

The pony smiles, a cute expression. “I think introductions are in order. My name is Twilight Sparkle. It’s nice to meet you!” The now named Twilight says with refreshing cheer.

It’s enough to make the edges of your lips twitch upwards.

“Anonymous is my name,” you say, tapping a finger on the front of your armor. “Or just Anon for short.”

Twilight nods happily, then quickly sobers when her eyes glance around. “Oh. Yeah…” She paws at the ground in what you assume is a nervous gesture. “You’re probably wondering how you got here…”

Again, you feel an eyebrow raise, but nod.

“W-well. I was working on an advanced summoning spell, you see,” she begins, making your other eyebrow rise. “I didn’t ground or put a delay macro on the catalyst, so when I used my telekinisis near it, it pulled some of my mana and well, triggered without parameters besides the prebuilt ones.”

That did nothing but raise more questions you silly horse.

Twilight looks at the floor, her whole form sagging under an invisible weight. “And worst of all, I-I didn’t make any desummon triggers. So I… Can't send you back…”

What. The. Fuck.

“Huh?” you ask more out of reflex than anything.

The pony recoils slightly, as if struck. “I c-can’t send you back,” she repeats, voice cracking with emotion and eyes looking everywhere but you. “I foalnapped you…”

For a minute, you just sit, eyes narrowed at nothing as you process what she just said. Where do you fucking go from there? Magic? Summoning? Mana? You were sent here with some totally-not-stolen government tech, right? “Magic?” You question, starting to feel a bit overwhelmed. “Okay… How does that work?”

Twilight’s ears perk up as the gloom on her face lessens. “The summoning?”

“Yeah, sure.”

The purple mare taps her chin with a hoof in a surprisingly human gesture. “Well, I made a summoning circle out of chalk filled with Fabelmin runes, an older and largely utilitarian rune set. After that, I provided the chalk circle with a potent mana infusion drawn in by absorption runes in the primary set of the sect, which-”

“OKAY! Hold up!”

Your outburst earns you a startled yelp as Twilight’s forelegs shoot to cover her mouth.

“You’re only raising more questions here,” you tell her as you rub your temples, trying to keep your resurging migraine at bay. “Just an abridged version, please.”

“Sorry, Anon” Twilight says with a sheepish smile as her wings flutter a little. “I should have guessed a stallion wasn’t interested in specifics. I just used a magic powered rune circle to summon you on accident. And I didn’t make desummon triggers...” Her gloomy attitude returns, making her hang her head.

You groan under your breath at the pitiful sight.

“Look, Twilight was it? Maybe we can talk about this more in a more fitting place?” You ask, making her look up. “I’d also like to wash out the puncture on my lip if you’d allow…”

You punctuate your statement by pulling the now near-totally red tissue away from your lip, careful to not break the slowly forming scab, and showing her. You swear you see her go white under her purple coat while looking at the large blot of red.

“Ugh. Of course, where are my manners today? Let’s go upstairs.”

You grunt and slowly rise to your legs, trying to not to let just how sore you are become apparent.

Twilight just looks up at you with wide eyes as you finally hit your full height after what seems to be forever with your head hardly six inches from the ceiling.

“You… You looked much shorter while sitting,” she says simply, craning her neck back to look in your eyes..

You look down at her, seeing that the top of her head just barely cleared your belt. “Maybe you’re just short while standing?” you ask, an amused smirk finding its way to your face.

Twilight puffs her cheeks out indignantly and briskly turns, but you can see her lips upturned.

You silently trail after her as she trots to the set of shallow stairs on the side of the room where you duck slightly as you walk up, one stride of your own for every two of hers. Right before you and Twilight come to the door between the stairs and wherever else this building goes, a sudden PRESSURE makes itself known bearing down on senses.

You tense like a coiled spring, fingers wrapping tightly around the comforting grip of your pistol as the alien sensation washes over you. Like high air pressure on someone’s sinuous you feel it, yet, it’s not that. Something foreign and unsettling pushes down on part of you that doesn't exist, leaving the feeling of ice in the pit of your stomach.

It’s unnatural.

Your eyes are drawn to a soft violet glow just ahead of you accompanied by an odd sound. If you had to describe the sound in one word, it would be “glittering”. The origin of the odd phenomena? The spiraled horn on Twilight’s head.

“The fuck..?”

You watch in utter fascination as the doorknob in front of your equine acquaintance glows in the same corona of translucent color, then turns under it’s own power, letting the door swing outward and pouring light and fresh air down the stairwell.

Is that real magic? More questions plague your mind as the glow stops, and with it, the odd pressure upon you vanishes as well. Just what the fuck is going on here? Was that a directed zero-point field she just created? From her horn? Jesus christ you are so lost.

“Anon?”

You blink yourself out of your daze when you hear Twilight call to you from the top of the stairs. Directing your gaze up, you see the unicorn-pegasus looking down at you in your spot frozen halfway up, concern coloring her expression.

“Yeah, sorry. Just thinking…”

2 steps at a time, you walk up and leave the stairwell, squinting as your eyes adjust to the sudden sunlight.

“The bathroom is just down the hall to your right, last door.” Twilight provides as a largely wooden library foyer comes into focus before your eyes. “Feel free to take as long as you like cleaning up. I need to go inform my assistant of what’s going on.”

Awful trusting, this one. “Thanks. I’ll be just a minute.”

She smiles a sweet smile at you, then turns and calls “Spike! Can you come here? We’ve got a few things to talk about.”

With that, you walk down the hall she pointed out, keeping an eye over your shoulder as she trots off, presumably to find “Spike”. Odd name for another pony, if it’s not a pet dog or something. You smile at the peculiar thought. Little magic horses owning, domesticating, and breeding wolves to make dogs. Wouldn’t that be something?

As you close the door to the too-small bathroom door to a suspiciously human looking bathroom, you bend enough to see yourself in the bathroom mirror.

And the mask covering you shatters.

“Shit shit shit SHIT!”

Your trembling hands squeeze the rim of the porcelain sink so hard that your knuckles pop out against your gloves. “Jesus fucking christ, what is going on?” you ask your equally distraught reflection, desperately hoping for an answer.

The mirror offers no response, and even seems mocking in doing so.

Your self restraint almost snaps in the face of the urge to smash the mirror. Fuck. Fuck! What are you going to do?! You hang your head over the short sink, breathing deeply and trying to keep your stomach from violently emptying itself.

The bridge was the mother of all screw-ups. Typical government goons try and use something they have no idea how to control, like literally every film and book where it’s man vs government.

You have no idea where your team is. You may not have cared much for the poor bastards, but neither did you wish death, or worse, a trip to Virginia on them. Is this truly some odd parallel world? What did it? Was it the magic nonsense, or the Bridge’s malfunction that did it? Is the air filled with bacteria sure to kill you? The food and water maybe? So many questions and not a single damn answer. Why do you and Twilight speak the same language?

Twilight.

Just the thought of the purple pony makes confused frustration bubble in your chest. How does one even process encountering such an absurd creature? She maybe a sweetheart, but she still made you uneasy, maybe even fearful.

Few human opponents can say they’ve ever bested you.

But the little winged unicorn, chock full of unknown potential, is NOT human.

And Incognito...

The groaning sink rim in your hands is given reprieve as both your grip and arms go slack, nearly letting you fall and bust your chin on the faucet had you not caught yourself. He’s still back home.

With THEM.

You crane your head back up, taking in your own bone-white visage. Your mouth moves, but over the thundering of your own heart in your ears, any words you muttered are lost.

Vanduff would keep his end of the contract and take care of Nito, right? The man was a human shaped piece of shit, but following rules should be hardwired into him from years of being a cronie. The thought is less reassuring than it should be.

Most importantly, HOW ARE YOU GOING TO GET BACK?

...

Even with your thoughts running hard enough that your recently lost migraine returns with a vengeance, you still blank out save for one solution. Get Twilight’s help.

With a shaky sigh, you turn the water on and gently clean out the bite in your lip, letting the sound of the running water and the sting in your mouth distract you. Halfway through, you shrug off your pack and dig in it with one hand, fishing some spray-on fleshknit out.

“Man, this is going to suck…” You say, eyeballing the military issue can of miracle medicine. A GI’s Best Friend! It says on the side, as if the topical medication isn’t awful to use.

Closing your eyes, you grit your teeth and spray a tiny amount of the regenerative mixture on your lip, writhing as it turns into a stabbing pain and hisses like oil in a hot skillet. After just a minute of hissing and bubbling flesh, you eyeball the pus-like ooze and destroyed scab on your lip in the mirror and wipe it away, leaving unmarred skin behind. A poke with your tongue confirms that the hole inside your mouth is gone too.

With a deep breath, you glance at your now less pale expression and toss the spraycan back in your bag before shouldering said bag. You’ve dealt with worse than a little pony. This will be fine. Just play it cool like you have be doing and remember…

“...Friendly diplomacy is the most overpowered weapon in known history,” you say to yourself with a small smile. “Fuck off, Nito. Stop being right all the time.” Feeling a bit lighter, you head back out.

Twilight isn’t there when you come out, but you can hear talking some ways down. One was Twilight, the other was a younger, male voice. Her assitant maybe? As you rounded the corner into was seems to be a modest kitchen, the talking halts.

“Anon!”

Twilight turns away from her companion to address you, but you ignore her in favor of said companion.

Staring at you with his eyes popping out of his head is a short, purple scaled biped with green eyes and fins along his head and back. The little guy is standing on a chair in front of a sizzling pan on the stove with a… heart covered apron on.

You said you were out of fucks to give earlier. Now you mean it.

Luckily before things could get awkward, Twilight steps in. “Spike,” she starts, addressing the small reptile, who finally pulls his eyes off you. “This is Anonymous,” she says, waving a foreleg at you. “Depending on circumstances, he might be…” She winces. “Staying with us for a while…” The winged unicorn lets out a sheepish and none too happy laugh. “Anon, this is Spike. He’s my number one assistant. Without him, I couldn't keep the library running.”

So this IS a library, eh?

Spike somehow blushes through his scales at the praise. “It’s nothin’ really…” He mutters, still cooking was seems to be an omelet. “I like to think I do more than just help with the library though,” he starts, tone sly. “If I didn’t cook for her, I think Twilight might have keeled over from terrible nutrition by now.”

Your lips rise into a smirk at the little lizard’s snark.

“Spike!” Twilight cries, her face red. “I’m not that bad of a cook. Really.”

Spike looks back at her, his expression saying more than words could. “Boiling water for haymon noodle cups isn’t cooking.”

“It is!”

“Mares…” mutters Spike with a shake of his head and he turned his attention back to the pan. “I thought you said you weren't summoning a coltfriend down there. What’s up with this guy?”

A snicker almost makes it past your mouth. If “Coltfriend” means what you think it means… Fuuuuuck this little guy is spitting fire.

“Spike Sparkle!” Twilight retorts sharply, making the young male flinch. “What happened here is a tragic accident. I’ve explained this already. The jokes are unwarranted.”

You stay silent, unsure if this was their dynamic or if it was even appropriate to interrupt.

Twilight turns to you, her face apologetic. “I’m sorry about that. He spoke without thinking.”

You wave away the apology and step a little closer. “It’s fine. It happens to the best of us. It was a little funny, to be honest.”

Spike shoots you a grateful look that morphs into surprise as he gets a better look at you. “You’re tall,” he says bluntly.

“I’ve been getting that a lot,” you tell him with a small smile. You turn your head to Twilight, who looks up at you curiously. “Anyway, sorry about the abrupt change in topic here, but I think we’ve got an overdue conversation.”

“Oh, right… I’ve got some explaining to do…” The little pony solemnly recalls. She moves past you to the short table as her horn lights up again, and with that, the uncomfortable pressure on a sense that you don't have returns.

Glowing purple, chairs pull out for both you and Twilight at the table of their own accord. The glow vanishes a moment later, leaving just mundane wooden furniture and relieving the phantom pressure on you.

You stare at the small chair distrustfully, as if it would transform into a monster at a moment’s notice. Really, for all you knew, it would.

“Is something wrong?” Twilight asks in a worried tone.

Your mouth thins into a straight line. “Yes. What was that you just did?”

Purple wings ruffle as Twilight shifts on her chair. “I don’t understand the question?”

“The purple aura,” you say, gesturing to the chair with a hand. “What was that?”

Large violet eyes blink at you, as if unsure. “My… Magic? Every unicorn can use it.”

Your blood turns to ice in your veins. Every unicorn can do that? Magic? Every one? As in, there is more than just her. More creatures that can just casually claim to tear space and time apart on a whim. If they can do that, then what ELSE can they do, these unicorns? Just the implications alone...

Your hands are suddenly clammy under your gloves.

You blink, not sure if the tall stallion..? Well, he’s male, so it’s not entirely inaccurate...If the tall stallions was serious. “My… Magic? Every unicorn can use it.”

Well, you’re no unicorn anymore, but your statement is still accurate.

You nearly jump out of your chair in fright when Anon’s hard eyes shoot up from the chair you pulled out for him to your own eyes, pinning you in place. Try as you might though, you can’t shrink under the intense leer.

You can stand eye to eye with Princess Celestia.

You can stand defiant in the face of real monsters.

And even full of fear, you've stared down the likes of Discord and Nightmare Moon.

But Anon’s foal-like orbs stare down at you with something you have no name for, something that made your skin crawl and set a lump of ice in your stomach. You don't even realize that you’re quaking on your seat until the chair legs start squeaking on the floor.

Even Spike, who isn’t directly looking seems affected by the heavy atmosphere. He keeps glancing back over his shoulder and his usually steady arms quiver slightly as a third omelette is slowly made.

Idly, you note Anon’s paw, hand? Hovering over the black plastic protrusion at his hip.

You gulp, trying vainly to stop the cold sweat starting to dot your coat. “A-anon?”

He doesn't respond, but you see a drop of sweat run down the side of his face and off his chin, where it hits the ground with a quiet pap!

He’s sweating?

Your muzzle twitches. He is sweating. You can smell the sharp tang of sweat, a copper smell you can't place, and another, indescribable smell that makes your nose tingle slowly filling the room. You finally tear your eyes away from his and look lower, and as you look, shame slowly supersedes your unease.

A xenobiologist you are not, but only a blindpony would not see how tense the poor biped is. It’s hard to tell under his clothing, but the bend of his knees and the slight lean towards the doorway tell you all you need to know.

He’s afraid. Afraid of you and ready to bolt. And you’re just sitting here sounding unsure and shifty, making it worse for the poor stallion. Tartarus, what would the princess say about you terrorizing some stallion that you FOALNAPPED?

Did he even have magic in his home? Could that be it? Or did you perform some sort of taboo with your magic? But the idea of a world without magic is nearly unthinkable. That’s like a world with no air, or no sun. How would it work?

You take a deep breath and feel your nerves smooth over. “Anon?” You ask, much more gently this time.

His unsettling stare breaks and the tension in the room leaves all at once like air let out of a balloon.

“Twilight?” He asks, blinking. “Sorry about that. I must have spaced out.”

“That’s fine!” you tell him sincerely. “This is probably a lot to taken in at once.”
He nods and crosses his long arms, looking at the chair you offered with a bit less venom than before. “So my biggest question…” he starts, trailing off into silence as his brows furrow. You suppress a smile. Without the unsettling look in his eyes, he looks kind of like a grumpy foal while thinking.

“Am I going to die?”

Your coat stands on end. This got dark really fast. You even see Spike’s head whirl around from his spot at the stove, his jaw dropped.

“I have no idea what gave you that impression, Anon,” you say, trying to sound as disarming as you can. “But I would NEVER even think o-”

“Not you,” the biped-you really need to ask the name of his species-said with a shake of his head. “I’m an alien here, Twilight. How do I know the very air here isn’t slowly melting my insides? For all I know, I have no defence from the microbes in the air and I’m already on borrowed time,” he says darkly.

You wince, both at the morbid vision and the surprise of the question itself.

“No, actually. I think you’ll be fine.”

“You think?” He asks, his face falling.

“I KNOW you’ll be fine,” you hastily correct yourself. “It would be careless if I just summoned any old thing. That circle came pre-programmed to pick only lifeforms that are able to survive in the environment surrounding the circle.”

“Pfft. No wonder it was the basement. You really were trying to get a coltfriend…” Spike mutters as he plates the third omelette.

“Spike!” you half admonish, half whine. You whirl around when Anon snorts and holds a hand in front of his upturned lips. “Don’t encourage him!”

“It was clever,” he says simply, not moving his hand.

You just groan and return to your explanation. “Like I was saying, you would not have been chosen only to,” you gulp. “Die, right after. I entered no parameters before I accidentally activated the circle, but the prebuilt ones ensured that only a creature that could survive on Equis would be brought here.”

You glance at the chair he still refuses to sit in. “Magic vulnerability, or lack thereof was considered too.”

He seems to understand and shrugs off the large bag on his back, setting it against the wall. Yeesh. It’s big enough to carry a pony in.

With a grumble, Anon slowly sits on the chair, as if he expected it to jump up and attack him. He has to cross his legs a bit to keep his knees under the pony sized table, however.

“And how exactly did the circle know that I would fit all of said parameters?” Anon asks, resting his head in his hand. “Obviously I’m no expert, and I’m assuming a lot here, but it would have to have some level of sensory ability and decision making skills to pick what it brought back. And let’s not forget the absurd amount of power such a thing had to use to reach across space and maybe time in the first place. This maybe fuckin’ magic, but there has to rules to it, right?”

You blink and find your mouth opening before you closed it with a click!.

“Thats… A line of questioning I didn’t expect from you,” you admit, your surprise fading in favor of a smile. “Actually, I would love to explain the intricacies of magic catalysts and how summoning with one works if you would listen.”

“Okay, hold on with the nerd talk.”

You lean back as a plate with a hot veggie omelette, a fork, and a glass of orange juice finds their home in front of you on the table courtesy of a small, scaled paw.

Another set is placed in front of a surprised Anonymous.

Finally, one final set of hot breakfast is set on an unoccupied side of the table, where Spike pulls himself into the chair and into view.

“Maybe we could eat first and save the heavy talks for later?” The young drake suggests, crushing a small emerald in his paws and sprinkling it on his food. “They say eggs are brain food, after all.”

You open your mouth the disagree, but your stomach makes your decision for you when it growls loud enough for both Spike and Anon to look at you. With a blush, you look away spear some of the egg treat on your fork after you pick it up in your telekinesis. “Well, I guess it can't hurt,” you murmur, taking a bite of the delicious omelette

Spike’s smirk tells you he already knew what you were going to say.

Smug little booger.

Anon, however is just looking at his food in surprise, not moving to have any.

Your assistant takes notice halfway to a bite of his own. “Is… Is something wrong with it, Anonymous?” he asks, worry and self-consciousness in his words.

Anon looks up at Spike, an expression you can’t name on his face. “Nothing at all, kiddo. It’s just…” He picks up his fork in his right hand, flipping it between his fingers dexterously. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had something home cooked. I guess you kinda caught me off guard,” he says, looking at the wall with a faraway look in his eyes. He then turns to Spike, a soft smile on his face. “Thank you, Spike. I mean it.”

The drake looks at the floor, his cheeks red. “Aww, don't thank me till you’ve tried it,” he half-heartedly deflects.

“If it’s half as good as it looks, then it’ll be the best thing I’ve had in years,” Anon replies airly.

For a few minutes, it’s just you, your assistant, and what you hope will be a friend who one day forgives you for your grievous wrong, all enjoying a calm meal.

“Say, Anon?” Spike asks suddenly as he finishes his last bite.

“Hmm?” The taller of the two bipeds inquires through a savored a sip of juice.

“What’s ‘Fuckin’ mean?”

You’re really glad it was only a small sip of juice Anon was drinking, or you would have been covered in it.

Author's Note

I did things
Point out mistakes fampai