"Excerpt from the diary of [name redacted], date [redacted]"
Твою ж мать за ногу, что б этого урода приподняло, перевернуло и об стенку шваркнуло. К слову говоря, откуда этот козёл вообще нарисовался? Не припомню ни кто такой, ни кто пригласил... Впрочем, хер с ним - увижу, поквитаемся. Костями просрётся, торгаш ебаный.
К сути дела - пишу в пещере. Ляд его знает, что за место. Час назад, была на вечеринке. Анимка, типа. Ну... почти. С одной стороны, с этого всё и начиналось... А с другой, виабу повыветрилось. Кто вообще завязал, кто расширил кругозор (ага, скорее уж вернулась к корням, ну да не будем о смешном), пара в поняшей конвертировалась. В общем, такой себе сабантуй человек на дцать. Ну и этот хлыщ откуда-то приблудился. В общем, слово за слово, и задвигает он такую тему - типа он рукодельной ювелиркой торгует. Заказывайте, типа. Вот токмо образцов творчества у него нету. Или впрочем... есть один кулончик на кармане - заказали и отказались. Готов буквально по себестоимости отдать. Типа, вам как раз к образу пойдет, девушка.
В общем... Я это купила. Вообще так неплохо себе смотрится - кулон медный, шестеренкой, цепка под стать. В центре шарик малахита. Наверно. Зеленый такой, с прожилками. За полтинник нормально будет. Знала бы, чем закончится, в глотку бы ему эту хренотень затолкала. В общем, только надела, как кувалдой по голове - в глазах темно, в ушах звенит, ноги ватные. Села где стояла. Думала, давление скакнуло, сейчас буду [name redacted] напрягать на тему папазола, вот только пусть в глазах чуть прояснится. Как прояснилось... Лучше бы не прояснялось. Сижу в пещере, непонятно где, непонятно как.
И самая жесть... Я теперь мышь. И зовут меня Гайка.
[TS annotation: This exerpt is written in a heavily distorted dialect of Sibearian. Skipping the profanity and tautology, it describes our guest attending the costumed party, purchasing a pendant from a person whom she has troubles identifying and subsequently coming to her senses in the cave somewhere to the south of Appleloosa. As a huge mouse... person. Truth to tell, she compares to average mouse as minotaur compares to an average cow... if minotaur were eighty bodylengths tall. Ive suggested a moniker "mousetaur", but our guest vehemently objected to such a nomenclature. Id pursue the topic of proper name for her species further, but as far as we were able to ascertain, she is not naturally such, and furthermore, is one of a kind in her transformed state. So unless her new shape permits partenogenesis, we`re not likely to actually need the name of her species.
Throughout this report, the chapters, for the lack of better word, will be prefaced by such exerpts. I have to apologise in advance for the content if any of you readers are fluent in bear language. Our guest turned out to be... quite fluently profane with it. It is my belief that its native for her. Luckily, she exhibited a good grasp of modern Equestrian as well, although in her parlance, its commonly referred to as English.
The rest of the chapter will be a transcript produced by memory reading spell. Due to certain constraints of the spell and... less then perfect understanding of our guest`s mental processes, the transcript will typically be in third person view, sometimes interrupted with first person musings. Unless otherwise specified, please consider first person exerpts to be narrated by our guest and third person transcripts as narrated by a completely uninvolved and disconnected observer that does not influence the continuity of events in any measurable way.]
Chapter 1: Taking the stock of situation.
"Excerpt from the diary of [name redacted], date [redacted]+4"
Я тут уже четвертый день. И всё ещё не знаю где это "тут" вообще находится. Какие-то горы, какая-то степь под горами. Ручейков пара. Голодная как чёрт - ничего удобоваримого надыбать не удалось. Завтра соберу всё полезное и пойду вдоль ручья пока не найду реку. Там уже и поглядим, как оно. Рыболов из меня хреновый, если честно, так что больше всё надежда найти кого-то. Или хотя бы корней посочнее найти. Блин, пол-царства за сковороду картошки!
Надо на дорогу надергать всё, что найду. Эти белые корешки голод слегка забивают, хотя на вкус - как свечка с прогорклым маслом. Альтернатива хуже, однако. Ещё раз так проблеваться как от тех зеленых ну аж никак не охота. Может, повезет - найду еще желтых. Эти были на морковку похожи... Ааа, в жопу это всё, жрать хочу ещё больше!
Есть один моментик, надо отметить. Я тащемта в деревне жить не жила и к походам всегда относилась прохладно. Но вдруг с какого-то перепуга я вроде знаю что делать, хотя раньше никогда не делала. Может, я на самом деле херней маюсь и всё перепортила, но... У мя получилось из этой травы сплести веревку. А затем, из веревки - сетку. А из сетки - сумку. Т.е. налицо результаты. И настроение. Как-то странно в такой ситуации чуствовать себя оптимистично, но это именно то, что я сейчас чуствую. Откуда я всё это знаю? Я что, реально превратилась в Гайку?
Поставлю эксперимент. Если найду подходящего мусора, попробую смастерить что-то полезное. Поглядим, как оно выйдет.
[TS Annotation: This exerpt complains in detail about the lack of appropriate food around the cave and summarises the intent to follow the discovered brook to the river in hopes of locating either a settlement or more palatable sustenance. Of interest are the remarks about being a lousy fisher and about unfamiliar prowess at making things in spite of having no background involving such competence.]
Appleloosa have had seen a lot. Buffalo, stampedes, elements of harmony bungling and unbungling diplomatic relationships... But the monster that came into town in the afternoon was quite a new sight even for the jaded and most unimpressionable frontierponies. The fact that monster have had some ability to holler in some strange language did not endear him to the pioneers. Nor did the fact that on closer inspection, common consensus have had decided that monster would be more appropriately referred to as her.
Silverstar nibbled on a haystalk flegmatically as he considered his options. As a sheriff, it was up to him to confront the monster. He wasnt keen on that, but a job is a job is a job. So, with a heavy sign, he had opened the safe and pulled out his state-issued crossbow. He firmly loathed the necessity - that ghastly piece of machinery havent been pulled out of safe even during the buffalo war last year, and he was of an opinion that the darn thing should`ve never left the safe while he was in the office, but... Monster. If it came to worst of it, it would be his goshdarn duty to put a bolt in it.. her, whatever.
Giving his prise-winning moustache a tug, he hefted the accursed mechanism gingerly and pulled the lever back. With a sinister CLANG the wire slid onto trigger hook, locking in place. Holding his breath nervously, Silverstar retrieved the satchel of bolts out of the safe and slung it over his trusty jacket. Grimacing, he bit on the tail of one of the bolts firmly and pulled it out, sliding it into the monstrous contraption gingerly. Light gleamed sinisterly on the sharp end.
"Awrite. Ready for action." - he muttered to himself, hefting the weapon and trotting towards the door, and his meeting with destiny. "Whats goin on here!?" - he proclaimed dramatically, carefully keeping the crossbow pointed skywards, lest he accidentally shot somepony. Monster have heard him just fine. And what a monster it was, by golly! A giant mouse, by the looks of it. Mouse in clothes, why. That gave him a glimmer of hope. Clothes meant sentient beings. Discussions. Diplomacy. Possibly sorting the mess out without any unfortunate weapon discharges.
"...English?... Pony?... Fine. Alright. Nevermind. Totally normal." - well, it seemed that monster in question was actually capable of speech?! How fortunate. Silverstar twisted his moustache with free hoof and struck a pose, leaning against doorsill of his office, ready to negotiate and prepared to defend his town with lethal power if needs be.
"Ahm sheriff Silverstar, maam. Now would you be so kind as ta innerduce yerself? No offense, but yer lookinmighty strange and we aint seen yer kind `round those parts. What might yer business in the town be?" - he proffered, blanching as the monster bestowed a smile upon him. Those incisors, oh my goddess. Big enough to chop off a hoof in one bite and not even notice.
"Right. OK. So... Sheriff, was it? My name is Gadget Hackwrench, and BY GOLLY DO YOU HAVE ANY FOOD AROUND HERE!? Im starving... Sorry, kind of really hungry here. So, uh... food? I dont have anything to pay, Im sorry to say, but Im willing to work for it... You know, fixing fences, fitting plumbing, whatever you people need. Im handy with spanner, Ive been told." - creature proffered, her smile both awkward and apologetic in the same time.
"...We might have some grub, yeah. Dependinon what yer eatin." - he proffered cautiously, as he stepped back to lay the crossbow off. Now, if memory served him right, mice were not particularly meat-eating critters... Cheese? He didnt have any in the office, but there was a bowl of apples right in the middle of his table. He didnt think he`d miss one too much, if it meant peaceful solutions. And "willing to work" comment? Maybe that... Gadget, right? Some kinda minotaur, maybe? She looked the part.
Silverstar trotted out, and cautiously lobbed an apple in the general direction of the monster in question. Whom, with startling speed and nimbleness caught the fruit in the air and DEVOURED it with a zeal he... probably should have been expecting from someone hungry.
"Thank you!... Do you, uh... have anymore?" - was the sheepish question, as she tried to hide the hungry gleam in her eyes. Silverstar looked around. Ponies were showing out from their homes little by little, now that sheriff established contact with apparently merely a hungry traveller, rather then bloodthirsty monster.
"We mighta." - he proffered laconically - "Now, do ah unnarstand right yer good with them apples and whatnot? Not planninon eatin any ponies or summat?"
Visitors face cringed slightly, as she took a cautious step towards sheriff. "Well... I wouldnt mind some veggies, if you can spare any, but yeah. Im definitely not eating anyone who can talk back to me." - she proffered - "Really, sheriff, as trite as it might sound, I dont want any trouble, and don`t mean none."
He chuckled. "Well, thas settled them. Welcome to Appleloosa, miss Hackwrench. Ahm assuminyer good with all them machines, judgin by yer name? Ahm confident we can work somethang out fer ya. But first, lemme treat ya to some dinner." - Silverstar proffered confidently, as he trotted up to the monster and stood by her - "Speakin of which, what kinda critter... no, sorry, beinyare?"
She shook her shoulders lightly, falling in step with the sheriff as he trotted towards the saloon. "You know, Im not even certain. A mouse? A supersized mouse?" - she mused - "Sheriff, Ill be honest. Im stranded. I dont know how I got here. Ive woken up in the cave waaay over there in the hills up the brook about four days ago, and Im still not sure how I got there. I`m definitely not from around here, as you probably guessed by now."
He let out a short guffaw. "Ah kin tell. Yer speachinlike them city slickers do. Aint exactly a country gal, are ya?" - sheriff suggested, as he pushed open the saloon door - "Ladies first... Ah, yer a lady, right?"
She let out a strange chuffing sound at that. "Lady, huh... Well, I am female, if thats what youre asking." - she mused, stepping into saloon, her nostrils flaring hungrily at the smell of food wafting from the kitchen - "But lady? Not officially, Im afraid. I mean, I probably could have claimed a nobility title if I wanted to, but its not like I`d get anything out of it other then fancy letterhead."
"Oi, Big Ladle! Gitcher big bowl an` serve mah guest here some of yer prize-winnin gumbo!" - Silverstar hollered into the shady depths of a saloon, gesturing towards the empty table. Much to his surprise, his, ah... unusually proportioned guest took a surprisingly graceful seat. It was almost like the chairs were made for her kind more then for ponies here.
"Ahd be glad ta, as soon as we git the darn stove workin." - came a cry from the kitchen. Silverstar nickered contently - "Well, theres yer big chance, maam. Go see if yer can help out Big Ladle with his stove, will ya? Ahm confident hell re... huh." He was speaking to empty chair, his guest already making her way to the kitchen. "Holy cripes! Ladle, ahm sendinya some help there, so dont ya worry."
___
A few exclamations and mildly blasphemous invocations of Celestia by kitchen ponies later, his guest was at the table again, making good use of the big olbowl of vegetable gumbo. His hunch was right - the guest with her weird bendy limbs got the clog in the pipe dislodged faster then most ponies could say "cast-iron stove". He gauged the mood around and found it satisfactory. His ponies werent wary anymore. So the newscomer ain`t a pony, big deal. Being helpful and polite was always two big assets for fitting in any pony society.
"Awrite. So lets git down ta business." - he proffered after making sure guest had enough of time to satisfy her hunger. Much to his amusement, she licked the first bowl clean. Big Ladle took one glance on that, took the bowl and came back with seconds. While the new resident was getting some food into her empty belly, he conferred with the ponies around and came to an agreement with Braeburn. One of Braeburns farm hands went down with a case of triplets, and was far too busy babysitting her litter to work on the farm. So while she was so occupied, Braeburn was not opposed to an idea of hiring a temporary worker for lodgings and food. He`s been a little dubious about getting a non-pony worker, until Silverstar pointed out that there were plenty of ponies inclined to farming, but a bit of a shortage in those who were more, ah... technically inclined.
"Miss Hackwrench, this is Braeburn. Iffen yer agreeable, Braeburn needs somepony to help out on a farm, as hes recently a pony on maternity leave. Now ahm guessin yer not much of a farmer, but theres plenty of things needin fixings on tha farms around. So Braeburn here will give ye lodgings and meals fer yer help." - he began, gesturting to slightly exuberant pony across the table.
Mouse peered on the pony in question inquisitively. "Right. Would you mind answering a few questions first?" - she inquired patiently - "I am not opposed to temporary employment here, but I don`t really see myself as a farmer. Or rural blacksmith, for that matter. I mean, I can fill out for both in a pinch..."
At this, the saloon exploded. Everypony started talking at once. Sheriff groaned, as the table was suddenly surrounded by ponies talking over each other, each eager and mighty curious. Finally, he brought his hoof on the table with a loud bang. "Right. Any other highly sought professions you might be proficient at, maam?" - he inquired sardonically - "Cause if you really can smith us some metal, youll be a rich mouse by the autumn. After ol jack Caliper gave up the ghost last year, we aint had nopony tendin the smithy, an were hurtin summat bad fer good un right now."
Guest shrunk down on herself slightly. Then straightened up. "I make no promises, your smithy might be too different from what Im thinking of, but if you can show me what you have, Ill show you what I can do." - she proffered softly - "And mister Braeburn? If your offer of lodgings and food is still good, Id like to take you up on it. I dont think I can swing hammer at the forge all day, fixing some fences sounds rather relaxing at the moment."
___
"Great horney toads, sheriff. Yer struck gold with that that mouse, that ya did." - widow Crockery gushed, admiring a pair of knitting needles - "Mighty peculiar critter, that she is, all mild and polite, but smacks that thar forge like the old Minos
Silverstar grinned. "Well darn tootin, widow Crockery." - he replied proudly, smacking his new horseshoes together - "Sbeen what, a month? Anshes gitten whole guldarn town fitted witshoes, fixed brothers Fields ploughs and now that thar big olpileoscrap all sorted out an beaten inta nails an needles? Braeburns also been gushin how she got his barn retiled angitten all tha beds fixed up. Now all we need is fer some foal ta get tha forgin cutie mark anwere set fer years with goodies."
Third participant in conversation was not so jubilant, however. "Ah donno, shariff. Shes alright gal, ah guess, but... She aint stayin, ah kin tell. She aint no frontier mare, no siree. She aint got no heart here. Shes gonna be leavin. Now ah know she did done promised ta get things done first, but shes leavin, aint no question about it." - deputy Lockup complained - "Darn shame, that. Shes been a right blessin fer the town, odd habits nonwithstandin`."
"Odd how? Wuzzat all about?" - inquired Silverstar curiously - "What appened?" His deputy smoothed his mane sheepishly, gethering words together, - "Beggin yer pardon, sheriff, but whole towns wonderin what possessed her ta dig out all of them manure heaps. Aint like we aint grateful fer putting all that dung inta proper fertilizer heap, but who would wanna offer ta do that? An summa ponies said she done dug up some white stuff from the bottom of those heaps."
Sheriff laughed. "That all? She toleme allbout that. Turns out that stuffs called saltpeter, and if yer clean and dry it, ye can git good bits fer it from tha petard makers. Thas what goes inta things that go boom." - he explained, - "So dont ya wonder none. It aint fer weirdness, it`s fer bits."
