The Home - Unknownby PonyessChaptersEpisode: 1Breakfast - At the Sugar-cube Corner: 2To Home and Back: 3Episode: 1I had entered my room on tired, light feet the other day. Of course I closed the door to my room, before I walked up to the wardrobe. Pulling my skirt down and dropping it into the wash bin, where-after I had pulled my top up over my head and left it on top of the skirt. Now I slip my panties of the day down and drop it among the dirty clothes. I had pulled a pair of fresh white panties out of the wardrobe, once I had opened the doors. While I thought I had picked a pair of white cotton panties, I guess I made the mistake of picking the silicon white rubber panties this time. Not that it would have made any difference, if not for what came next. Sleeping in rubber garments is really problem. Why should it? Once I had changed for the night, I had closed the door to my wardrobe and turned my back on it. The day is at an end, and I step over to my bed. As I reached the bed, I had folded the quilt aside all the way to the far wall and slipped in under the quilt before I folded the quilt back over myself. I had covered myself with the quilt and laid my head to rest on my pillow, before I closed my eyes. As I closed my eyes, I was stepping into the world of dreams as I slipped away and fell asleep. I have a strange feeling, and feel slightly confused. As I wake up, it is a sensation of disconnect and limbs not what they should be. I just can’t put a hoof to what is wrong, or what it should have been like. The sun of Celestias is peaking in through the gaps in the blinders of my window. As the light is building up, I am rousing from the slumber of last night. Everything is as it should. Isn’t it? As a Pony, I am nude. While I may have been wearing a pair of rubber panties as I went to bed, now I am nude. Stark, raving nude. I have the body of a Pony, and the mind that goes with it. What had been to be expected? I still do have all my memories, but I do not dwell upon these now. As I wake up, I explore the senses as they are now. I feel the skin and the body I had so graciously been given. As I open my amethyst eyes, I see my rubbery hooves at the end of my lusciously green forelegs in place of what had been my arms. My bed is surprisingly familiar to me. The floor is a rich; dark, earthy hue. As I set my hooves down on the floor, I guess I was less than surprised to learn that it is how it feels too. The walls are a leafy green, and feels almost like it, if and when I put a hoof to the surface of the structure wallpaper. At least, it is what I think it is. On the other rubbery hoof; who am I to say, what it is? I am new here, and I know little to nothing of these things in the first place. Even before I came to this place. My new home. For a moment, I had worried about how to open the door to the room. I have a solid beech wood window door to my bed room. At least, it is what I think they are called. I have a cherry wood bed-stand to the right of the bed, at the height of my pillow. It is crafted out of solid wood. I currently have nothing on it, since I have not had the time to decorate the room and make it my own. There are two double doors to the wardrobe at the other end of the bed, or is it refereed to as the hoof side of the bed here as I am a Pony? I certainly couldn’t call it the foot side now. I know I would get strange looks of confused Ponies. What’s the point, or fun in that? The final detail in the room, is the light switch by the door. Trotting out of the bed room in the nude feels perfectly fine and normal to me, as the Pony I am now. Who would have guessed? Not that I bother considering, it’s a none issue to me as it is. Not that I would have anything that could possibly be fitting me, right now. All my old clothes are bound to be in my old home. Why do I even want to try them on; assuming they had actually followed me here and adjusted for a Pony to wear them? I am a new person, due to the changes in my situation; not to mention the transformation as such. Maybe I should see if there is any Pony around, willing and capable of crafting me new clothes, so I have something to wear and fill my new wardrobe with. Later. I am starved, famished. The expression coming to mine is; I could eat a Horse. Yet, that feels strangely inappropriate to me, as it turns out. While I am not sure which interpretation of the expression to go with. I am a Pony, which I was taught was basically just a small horse. I can’t eat meat, so that end of the stick is out the window for me anyway. As a Mare, I am not sure I am interested in the other end, either. My bed room is on the second floor, or a flight of stairs up. Which ever you are finding more appropriate. Taking the stairs down to the living room did not prove my bane, or even a challenge to be frightened by. “Clip, clop! Clip, clop!” is heard from my hooves as I trotted down, carefully. “Ooh!” I exhaled, “I make it, and without a single scratch!” I then added, as I had collected myself after the challenge of negotiating the flight of stairs. As I look back, I notice the stairs being crafted out of cherry wood. Pink cherry wood, to be precise. The floor in the living room is exactly the same as it was and still is up stairs in my bed room. I figured they had made the floor the same in every room. Maybe I shouldn’t complain, it is a good grip for my hooves so I don’t trip or slip. By the same token, the walls have a leafy green motif in each and every room. Just different hue and pattern. I have a sofa with a table before it in the living room. There is a luscious green grassy carpet under the table and the sofa as well. I currently ignore the rest, as I trotted into the kitchen. Looking around, opening every single door and pulling out every little drawer. Nothing edible is to be seen. I guess that is just as good, considering how long the building may have been here. The food would not be fresh now, had they left it for me, as they left the building. I find a single card on the dinner table. “The Sugar-cube Corner!” it reads. There is a map of the village on the back. I even find a dotted line, from my home to the building of the cafe. I had just stepped out of the kitchen and trotted into the hall, exploring what I had. Aside from the white saddle bag, I have literally nothing. I guess I will have to tend to this problem, too; after breakfast, that is. Maybe I could ask around, for where to go, and whom to ask? Strangely, I found a small side pocket for holding the cards. While I was considering it, there is a second card, directing me to what I had just been considering. The name of the Pony is; Rarity. She lives at the Carousel Boutique, according to the new card I had just found. Naturally, there is a map on the back of my card, lining out where it is and how to find this, Rarity. Who ever she may be. Thankfully, I had found a stash of the local currency; bits, in my right main pocket of the saddle bag. At least, I should be able to pay for myself, at the very least for a short while. With the immediate issues out of the way, I stepped over to the door and opened it. Now I step out and close the door. Apparently, I did not need to lock the door after myself. Curious and unsettling to me. Yet, I had to go; with that I left my home and trotted out towards the town of Ponyville, where I had found myself. Breakfast - At the Sugar-cube Corner: 2I had left my home with directions, and a fresh supply of bits. Not sure as to the actual worth of the funds I am carrying in my saddle bags, but at least I have the impression that I could pay for my breakfast. If these bits are the worth of the money I had in my wallet the other day, I should be set for a few days, at the very least. But alas, you never know. I never was the rich guy before, or gall. At least, I had enough to support myself. I could go out and have some fun, or buy that special item to give me a silver lining. I had a life. Oh, and I even had a few friends. Who am I now? What am I? A Pony, mare. Just as I never was rich, I was not all that beautiful or good looking, or popular in the first place. Just that one average guy. Nothing special in any way. Now I am a Pony, and probably not all that special as such, either. I never strived to be special in the first place. Why bother? I don’t crave the attention that came with it. Now I had followed the instructions of the back of a card I had found on the dinner table. To wherever it had promised to take me. What I found is a ginger bread house. A cafe by the name, Sugar-cube Corner. “Of course I would have to get used to referring to myself as a Pony and Mare now!” I thought, as I spotted the building I had been looking for. I haste my steps and fall into a brisk trot as I approach the cafe. I am hungry and eager to see what my new life is going to be like. The mare inside is certainly waiting for me already, isn’t she? While I had not made a reservation or booked a table, at the cafe; but my tummy had started to grumble in order to remind me, of the lack of food I had suffered since I came here. Besides, as a Pony, I am sure to have a larger appetite than I had had before I came here. Horses eat far more than Humans, do to larger body mass; even I know as much, if truth is to be told. I am not the farmer or nature guy, I never was. As I am trotting up towards the building, I slow down until I stop before the door. Pushing up the door, only to see a pink mare with darker, bright pink mane, tightly curled up. With a merry jingle of the doorbell, the door goes up as I push it. I step into the generous space of the cafe, only to spot the pink mare behind the counter. What had I been expecting? Of course she had to be there, on this very special occasion. She had already spotted me, looking overly excited as she is batting her large, expressive eyes at me. “Hiya, I am Pinkie Pie! You are new in Ponyville!” she is exclaiming, in joyous excitement, over my entrance. “Hiya, Pinkie Pie!” I responded, quietly; subdued by her over the top exuberance and rambunctious personality. “Since you are new in Ponyville, I will have to throw you a Welcome to Ponyville party!” she announced, jubilantly. “She does?” I thought. “Oh, okay; I think!” I stammered, in bewildered surprise and shock over the latest revelation. “I am a party pony, who plans and throws parties!” she exclaimed, in explanation as she tried her best to contain herself. “Sounds like fun!” I respond, trying to grasp her latest statement. “Now, what would you have?” she continues, returning to her regular daytime job. “Oh, yeah! I was hoping for breakfast!” I respond. “What can I offer, or tempt you with?” Pinkie inquires, excitedly. “Muffins, smaller miniatures? Apple, Blueberry, Strawberry, lemon and Cinnamon?” I ponder, as I look at the pastries available to me. “Coming right up, your selection of miniature muffins are ready! Anything else to go with these?” she announces, clearly indicating the set of muffins she had stacked on a small plate she had slipped onto the tray. “Since this is my breakfast, could I have a glass of milk and juice?” I inquire. “We do have regular Cow’s milk available, but which juice would you prefer? We do have Apple, Pear, Orange and Cherry!” she responds, in her excited voice. “If she does everything with the excited grin on her face, she would have knocked the feet from right under the entire market, back home!” I ponder. “The cow’s milk will be fine; it is locally produced, I take it! The Orange juice, please, but I guess I should sample your other varieties later!” I respond. “Okeley, dokeley!” she responds, as she poured up juice and milk in large glasses. "That’ll be seven bits, please!” she added. I managed to open the pocket of the saddle bags and extract the golden looking cons. I slipped the coins she had just asked for on the counter before her. “Step right in and pick a table, I’ll be right with you in an instant!” Pinkie Pie explained helpfully, beaming a wide grin at me. “What can I offer, or tempt you with?” Pinkie inquires, excitedly. “Muffins, smaller miniatures? Apple, Blueberry, Strawberry, lemon and Cinnamon?” I ponder, as I look at the pastries available to me. “Coming right up, your selection of miniature muffins are ready! Anything else to go with these?” she announces, clearly indicating the set of muffins she had stacked on a small plate she had slipped onto the tray. “Since this is my breakfast, could I have a glass of milk and juice?” I inquire. “We do have regular Cow’s milk available, but which juice would you prefer? We do have Apple, Pear, Orange and Cherry!” she responds, in her excited voice. “If she does everything with the excited grin on her face, she would have knocked the feet from right under the entire market, back home!” I ponder. “The cow’s milk will be fine; it is locally produced, I take it! The Orange juice, please, but I guess I should sample your other varieties later!” I respond. “Okay!” she responds, as I followed her latest instruction and trotted into the cafe proper. Of course I had trotted out, into the cafe proper as she told me. I had found a table in the corner with what I thought looked like comfortable chairs. As I sit down, I had found my initial impression quite correct, too. True to her word, Pinkie Pie had carried the order for me. I am quite impressed with how she had carried the plate on her hack and the glasses in her mane. “Here you go, bon appetite!” she exclaims, as she placed the glasses on the table before me, just after she slipped the plate down. “Thank you, Pinkie!” I respond. “You are quite welcome, silly!” she states. “This does look quite delicious!” I declare. “Thank you, I baked it myself!” she prompts. “Oh!” I exclaim, taking a sip of the juice. I take another sip, before I tentatively pick up a muffin and takes a bite out of it. “Apple!” I exclaim, as I experience the taste of the first muffin I had just picked up. Of course, it is new and uncertain to hold a muffin with my hoof. I still do love these tasty treats. Then I also noticed how the pastries never had been in contact with the papery wrappers one thought mandatory for baking muffins. It would have been hard to impossible to remove these pestering nuisances by hoof. At first, I had been enjoying my meal, but then I slowly slowed down in order to have the time to actually enjoy the taste of the muffins I had bought for myself. In the end, I ended up washing the last of the final muffin with a gulp of juice. I had enjoyed every last bite of my muffins, but now I do feel rather filed up. Not exactly bloated in any means, thank you. I imagine the milk and juice should do me a world of good, it is after all how I used to enjoy my mornings before I woke up in Ponyville. I may have considered to ask for a cup of tea, after breakfast; yet now I had changed my mind, not quite having the appetite for it. With the last of my breakfast out of the way, I pushed the chair back and rose to my hooves. Once on all my four hooves, I slowly and carefully trotted out of the room. Of course, Pinkie Pie just had to be at the counted as I was exiting. “Hiya, and welcome back!” she exclaimed. “Hiya, Pinkie Pie. I will be back, and soon!” I promised, as I trotted out the door and into the bustling community of Ponyvile. To Home and Back: 3I had enjoyed the meal Pinkie Pie had brought to the table at the Sugar-cube Corner. The only problem is that I ended up feeling a bit too full afterwards, which made me choose to go back home to rest for a while. Of course nothing had changed since none had there since I left. Why should I ever have imagined such a ludicrous notion in the first place? This is Ponyville, after all. Since I had the time to enjoy my breakfast, I am now noticing all the little details about my home. The first is the wooden fence lining the garden before the small cottage I had found myself living in. I choose to imagine myself owning it, not illegally occupying it as if I had the reason that was even a thing in Ponyville. Or even the surroundings of the village. Ponyvile doesn’t exactly look like the overly rich neighbourhood, but it is clearly flourishing. Just all these well kept little cottages every Pony is living in. Of course we even have the Royal castle overlooking the entire village on one side. Then we do have the large orchard; known as Sweet Apple Acres. Behind the simple wooden fence, I can clearly see a well kept garden with green grasses covering the front of my yard. Or, what is to pass for my yard. it is what I think it is. I notice the smooth stone tiles covering the path from the street, all the way up to the building. Peonies are growing to the right and left of the path. To my delight, I see the bright, cerise blossoms at the top of the still moderately small bushes. I trot past the peonies and right up to the door and pull it up, before I step right in. Just as expected, nothing had changed and nothing had been touched during my absence. None had entered my home, for any or no reason. While I move through the hall, I had considered to just sit down in the comfortable sofa and rest. Yet, as I spot the door to be backyard, I change my mind and step right out, after I had opened the door. “How long had this building been left abandoned, before I had moved in? Or, had it just been spirited into place for me to take possession of?” I ponder. Little by little, I am growing used to being a Pony. I learn that it isn’t as strange or different as I imagine I had been expecting. Of course, a Pony is not a Horse such as I knew them to be where I still think I came from. I live in a cottage, just like the home I had been living in before. I still enjoy the beauty of the flowers growing outside my home. Just that I never had put the time into actually growing them there before. What came next should have been a shock, shouldn’t it? The garden up front, before the building is just the taste of what is to come. I have a small inner face before which I have more peonies. Bright, brightly purple peonies now standing a full three feet tall. In bloom, of course, just as the once on the front of the building. As a Pony, I have little interest in a grill and barbecuing. At least, that is how it turns out for me. Maybe I had loved it before, but that is when I should have been drooling over the juicy stake as it slowly fry over the red hot coals. Only once I had trotted out past the fence did I realize, just what it is I had been all along. I have an orchard, just like the earth-pony I am. I have Maples and Rubber trees. Since it is the warm season, revealed by the Peonies in full bloom; my trees are fully covered with the green leaves. Each tree has a small tap crafted out of stainless steel. As I trot closer to the trees, I notice the small buildings, one for each part of the orchard. Lacking better words, I am distilling the sap from the trees into valuable and highly desirable Syrup and latex in these two buildings. Maybe my rubbery hooves were not an accident, as much as one may have thought? With the realization, I am made aware of a shimmer from behind. The light is emanating from my flanks, right and left. As I look back, I notice the cutie mark I had just received. I think the mark is resembling the tap and my love for the plants in my garden. I had been given a place in the community, and a purpose of my very own. I have the mark of a Pony on my very flanks to prove it. “There goes, if I can sell my products on the local market?” I ponder. It may look like an easy job, but I need to make a living. Selling the products would grant me the funds in bits for me to maintain my life, such as it is now. I guess I have everything I need, at the very least. “The question is; how do I market my products in order to make a living out of what I have?” I ponder. I had picked up a few bottles of my products as samples to be given away to a select group of Ponies I meet in town. The idea had been to market my product, by showing the wares. I don’t have many friends, and I don’t have a stand at the market. The syrup in the right main pocket of my saddle bags, and the latex in the left one. I do not know who would be appreciating the sample gifts yet, but I imagine I will know, when I meet them along the way. Of course, I feel secure in my impression of Pinkie Pie; who I imagine should enjoy the syrup. While I am starting to grow secure with my nudity as a Pony, I still do feel an urge to have something to wear. Maybe just something casual, like a vest and a skirt? But still, just to have the option to put something on is the entire point. I have the address to the local supplier, by the name of Rarity. According to the card I had found earlier, she is to live and work in the Carousel Boutique. I guess the building should be hard to miss, from the image of the building I had. If the image of the local cafe is anything to go by, a Carousel Boutique should be standing out like a sore thumb. I still do have a map and the description to go by, in case my image and impression had not been sufficient for me to go by. Yet, these Ponies have a very peculiar and special architecture. “Who doesn’t like Syrup? Unless it is very poor quality, of course!” I think. I had chosen to see Pinkie Pie first, mainly because she had been so nice and friendly to me before as she was serving my breakfast. Since I don’t know many of the Ponies yet, maybe I could afford to be extra generous towards her? My path towards the boutique had taken me past the library, located in a massive oak in the middle of town. “The Golden Oak Library!” the sign announced, for anyone who was passing by to read. “Maybe I should have a look inside later, just to see what books they may have available?” I think, as I read the sign outside the local library. I continue on my way towards the cafe, trotting slowly and with reasonable confidence. This looks like a small town, where everyone knows everyone else in town. I had seen a few towns like this, but never really taken the liking to them. As I spot the cafe, I hasten my steps, while making an effort to use a measured gate. No gallop would make due here. I am not in a haste and I don’t feel like drawing too much attention towards myself or my person right now. It isn’t the person I had been, and it isn’t the Pony I am now. I slow down and open the door to the cafe and step right in. Of course, Pinkie Pie is behind the counter. Naturally. She just had to be there, as if she had known I was coming and had been expecting me. “Hiya, Pinkie Pie!” I greet her. “I have a sample for you to try, hope you enjoy Maple Syrup!” I added, as I opened the pocket of my saddle bags and extracted three bottles and placed them before her. “Sweet!” she squealed. “I was hoping you would say that!” I responded, “but I had never expected her to express it so intense and enthusiastic!” I think. “I will just have to try it out, on my pancakes and in my baking!” she then adds. “Thanks, Pinkie!” I say. “Every Pony knows me, and I know every Pony in town! Of course, now I will have to prepare a “Welcome to Ponyville Party for you!” she exclaims. “Sounds like fun. Then I should leave you to it! I need to go to the Carousel Boutique, anyway!” I concluded, as I trotted out of the cafe, on my way to the next destination. Of course, the boutique just had to resemble a carousel. It isn’t just a name. Nothing is just a name for the ponies? It was not very far from the cafe, nothing seems to be far in Ponyville. I had stopped before the building, just taking in the site in awe. This is indeed a very peculiar architecture. This is a house and a boutique, not an attraction at some theme park.
Episode: 1I had entered my room on tired, light feet the other day. Of course I closed the door to my room, before I walked up to the wardrobe. Pulling my skirt down and dropping it into the wash bin, where-after I had pulled my top up over my head and left it on top of the skirt. Now I slip my panties of the day down and drop it among the dirty clothes. I had pulled a pair of fresh white panties out of the wardrobe, once I had opened the doors. While I thought I had picked a pair of white cotton panties, I guess I made the mistake of picking the silicon white rubber panties this time. Not that it would have made any difference, if not for what came next. Sleeping in rubber garments is really problem. Why should it? Once I had changed for the night, I had closed the door to my wardrobe and turned my back on it. The day is at an end, and I step over to my bed. As I reached the bed, I had folded the quilt aside all the way to the far wall and slipped in under the quilt before I folded the quilt back over myself. I had covered myself with the quilt and laid my head to rest on my pillow, before I closed my eyes. As I closed my eyes, I was stepping into the world of dreams as I slipped away and fell asleep. I have a strange feeling, and feel slightly confused. As I wake up, it is a sensation of disconnect and limbs not what they should be. I just can’t put a hoof to what is wrong, or what it should have been like. The sun of Celestias is peaking in through the gaps in the blinders of my window. As the light is building up, I am rousing from the slumber of last night. Everything is as it should. Isn’t it? As a Pony, I am nude. While I may have been wearing a pair of rubber panties as I went to bed, now I am nude. Stark, raving nude. I have the body of a Pony, and the mind that goes with it. What had been to be expected? I still do have all my memories, but I do not dwell upon these now. As I wake up, I explore the senses as they are now. I feel the skin and the body I had so graciously been given. As I open my amethyst eyes, I see my rubbery hooves at the end of my lusciously green forelegs in place of what had been my arms. My bed is surprisingly familiar to me. The floor is a rich; dark, earthy hue. As I set my hooves down on the floor, I guess I was less than surprised to learn that it is how it feels too. The walls are a leafy green, and feels almost like it, if and when I put a hoof to the surface of the structure wallpaper. At least, it is what I think it is. On the other rubbery hoof; who am I to say, what it is? I am new here, and I know little to nothing of these things in the first place. Even before I came to this place. My new home. For a moment, I had worried about how to open the door to the room. I have a solid beech wood window door to my bed room. At least, it is what I think they are called. I have a cherry wood bed-stand to the right of the bed, at the height of my pillow. It is crafted out of solid wood. I currently have nothing on it, since I have not had the time to decorate the room and make it my own. There are two double doors to the wardrobe at the other end of the bed, or is it refereed to as the hoof side of the bed here as I am a Pony? I certainly couldn’t call it the foot side now. I know I would get strange looks of confused Ponies. What’s the point, or fun in that? The final detail in the room, is the light switch by the door. Trotting out of the bed room in the nude feels perfectly fine and normal to me, as the Pony I am now. Who would have guessed? Not that I bother considering, it’s a none issue to me as it is. Not that I would have anything that could possibly be fitting me, right now. All my old clothes are bound to be in my old home. Why do I even want to try them on; assuming they had actually followed me here and adjusted for a Pony to wear them? I am a new person, due to the changes in my situation; not to mention the transformation as such. Maybe I should see if there is any Pony around, willing and capable of crafting me new clothes, so I have something to wear and fill my new wardrobe with. Later. I am starved, famished. The expression coming to mine is; I could eat a Horse. Yet, that feels strangely inappropriate to me, as it turns out. While I am not sure which interpretation of the expression to go with. I am a Pony, which I was taught was basically just a small horse. I can’t eat meat, so that end of the stick is out the window for me anyway. As a Mare, I am not sure I am interested in the other end, either. My bed room is on the second floor, or a flight of stairs up. Which ever you are finding more appropriate. Taking the stairs down to the living room did not prove my bane, or even a challenge to be frightened by. “Clip, clop! Clip, clop!” is heard from my hooves as I trotted down, carefully. “Ooh!” I exhaled, “I make it, and without a single scratch!” I then added, as I had collected myself after the challenge of negotiating the flight of stairs. As I look back, I notice the stairs being crafted out of cherry wood. Pink cherry wood, to be precise. The floor in the living room is exactly the same as it was and still is up stairs in my bed room. I figured they had made the floor the same in every room. Maybe I shouldn’t complain, it is a good grip for my hooves so I don’t trip or slip. By the same token, the walls have a leafy green motif in each and every room. Just different hue and pattern. I have a sofa with a table before it in the living room. There is a luscious green grassy carpet under the table and the sofa as well. I currently ignore the rest, as I trotted into the kitchen. Looking around, opening every single door and pulling out every little drawer. Nothing edible is to be seen. I guess that is just as good, considering how long the building may have been here. The food would not be fresh now, had they left it for me, as they left the building. I find a single card on the dinner table. “The Sugar-cube Corner!” it reads. There is a map of the village on the back. I even find a dotted line, from my home to the building of the cafe. I had just stepped out of the kitchen and trotted into the hall, exploring what I had. Aside from the white saddle bag, I have literally nothing. I guess I will have to tend to this problem, too; after breakfast, that is. Maybe I could ask around, for where to go, and whom to ask? Strangely, I found a small side pocket for holding the cards. While I was considering it, there is a second card, directing me to what I had just been considering. The name of the Pony is; Rarity. She lives at the Carousel Boutique, according to the new card I had just found. Naturally, there is a map on the back of my card, lining out where it is and how to find this, Rarity. Who ever she may be. Thankfully, I had found a stash of the local currency; bits, in my right main pocket of the saddle bag. At least, I should be able to pay for myself, at the very least for a short while. With the immediate issues out of the way, I stepped over to the door and opened it. Now I step out and close the door. Apparently, I did not need to lock the door after myself. Curious and unsettling to me. Yet, I had to go; with that I left my home and trotted out towards the town of Ponyville, where I had found myself.
Breakfast - At the Sugar-cube Corner: 2I had left my home with directions, and a fresh supply of bits. Not sure as to the actual worth of the funds I am carrying in my saddle bags, but at least I have the impression that I could pay for my breakfast. If these bits are the worth of the money I had in my wallet the other day, I should be set for a few days, at the very least. But alas, you never know. I never was the rich guy before, or gall. At least, I had enough to support myself. I could go out and have some fun, or buy that special item to give me a silver lining. I had a life. Oh, and I even had a few friends. Who am I now? What am I? A Pony, mare. Just as I never was rich, I was not all that beautiful or good looking, or popular in the first place. Just that one average guy. Nothing special in any way. Now I am a Pony, and probably not all that special as such, either. I never strived to be special in the first place. Why bother? I don’t crave the attention that came with it. Now I had followed the instructions of the back of a card I had found on the dinner table. To wherever it had promised to take me. What I found is a ginger bread house. A cafe by the name, Sugar-cube Corner. “Of course I would have to get used to referring to myself as a Pony and Mare now!” I thought, as I spotted the building I had been looking for. I haste my steps and fall into a brisk trot as I approach the cafe. I am hungry and eager to see what my new life is going to be like. The mare inside is certainly waiting for me already, isn’t she? While I had not made a reservation or booked a table, at the cafe; but my tummy had started to grumble in order to remind me, of the lack of food I had suffered since I came here. Besides, as a Pony, I am sure to have a larger appetite than I had had before I came here. Horses eat far more than Humans, do to larger body mass; even I know as much, if truth is to be told. I am not the farmer or nature guy, I never was. As I am trotting up towards the building, I slow down until I stop before the door. Pushing up the door, only to see a pink mare with darker, bright pink mane, tightly curled up. With a merry jingle of the doorbell, the door goes up as I push it. I step into the generous space of the cafe, only to spot the pink mare behind the counter. What had I been expecting? Of course she had to be there, on this very special occasion. She had already spotted me, looking overly excited as she is batting her large, expressive eyes at me. “Hiya, I am Pinkie Pie! You are new in Ponyville!” she is exclaiming, in joyous excitement, over my entrance. “Hiya, Pinkie Pie!” I responded, quietly; subdued by her over the top exuberance and rambunctious personality. “Since you are new in Ponyville, I will have to throw you a Welcome to Ponyville party!” she announced, jubilantly. “She does?” I thought. “Oh, okay; I think!” I stammered, in bewildered surprise and shock over the latest revelation. “I am a party pony, who plans and throws parties!” she exclaimed, in explanation as she tried her best to contain herself. “Sounds like fun!” I respond, trying to grasp her latest statement. “Now, what would you have?” she continues, returning to her regular daytime job. “Oh, yeah! I was hoping for breakfast!” I respond. “What can I offer, or tempt you with?” Pinkie inquires, excitedly. “Muffins, smaller miniatures? Apple, Blueberry, Strawberry, lemon and Cinnamon?” I ponder, as I look at the pastries available to me. “Coming right up, your selection of miniature muffins are ready! Anything else to go with these?” she announces, clearly indicating the set of muffins she had stacked on a small plate she had slipped onto the tray. “Since this is my breakfast, could I have a glass of milk and juice?” I inquire. “We do have regular Cow’s milk available, but which juice would you prefer? We do have Apple, Pear, Orange and Cherry!” she responds, in her excited voice. “If she does everything with the excited grin on her face, she would have knocked the feet from right under the entire market, back home!” I ponder. “The cow’s milk will be fine; it is locally produced, I take it! The Orange juice, please, but I guess I should sample your other varieties later!” I respond. “Okeley, dokeley!” she responds, as she poured up juice and milk in large glasses. "That’ll be seven bits, please!” she added. I managed to open the pocket of the saddle bags and extract the golden looking cons. I slipped the coins she had just asked for on the counter before her. “Step right in and pick a table, I’ll be right with you in an instant!” Pinkie Pie explained helpfully, beaming a wide grin at me. “What can I offer, or tempt you with?” Pinkie inquires, excitedly. “Muffins, smaller miniatures? Apple, Blueberry, Strawberry, lemon and Cinnamon?” I ponder, as I look at the pastries available to me. “Coming right up, your selection of miniature muffins are ready! Anything else to go with these?” she announces, clearly indicating the set of muffins she had stacked on a small plate she had slipped onto the tray. “Since this is my breakfast, could I have a glass of milk and juice?” I inquire. “We do have regular Cow’s milk available, but which juice would you prefer? We do have Apple, Pear, Orange and Cherry!” she responds, in her excited voice. “If she does everything with the excited grin on her face, she would have knocked the feet from right under the entire market, back home!” I ponder. “The cow’s milk will be fine; it is locally produced, I take it! The Orange juice, please, but I guess I should sample your other varieties later!” I respond. “Okay!” she responds, as I followed her latest instruction and trotted into the cafe proper. Of course I had trotted out, into the cafe proper as she told me. I had found a table in the corner with what I thought looked like comfortable chairs. As I sit down, I had found my initial impression quite correct, too. True to her word, Pinkie Pie had carried the order for me. I am quite impressed with how she had carried the plate on her hack and the glasses in her mane. “Here you go, bon appetite!” she exclaims, as she placed the glasses on the table before me, just after she slipped the plate down. “Thank you, Pinkie!” I respond. “You are quite welcome, silly!” she states. “This does look quite delicious!” I declare. “Thank you, I baked it myself!” she prompts. “Oh!” I exclaim, taking a sip of the juice. I take another sip, before I tentatively pick up a muffin and takes a bite out of it. “Apple!” I exclaim, as I experience the taste of the first muffin I had just picked up. Of course, it is new and uncertain to hold a muffin with my hoof. I still do love these tasty treats. Then I also noticed how the pastries never had been in contact with the papery wrappers one thought mandatory for baking muffins. It would have been hard to impossible to remove these pestering nuisances by hoof. At first, I had been enjoying my meal, but then I slowly slowed down in order to have the time to actually enjoy the taste of the muffins I had bought for myself. In the end, I ended up washing the last of the final muffin with a gulp of juice. I had enjoyed every last bite of my muffins, but now I do feel rather filed up. Not exactly bloated in any means, thank you. I imagine the milk and juice should do me a world of good, it is after all how I used to enjoy my mornings before I woke up in Ponyville. I may have considered to ask for a cup of tea, after breakfast; yet now I had changed my mind, not quite having the appetite for it. With the last of my breakfast out of the way, I pushed the chair back and rose to my hooves. Once on all my four hooves, I slowly and carefully trotted out of the room. Of course, Pinkie Pie just had to be at the counted as I was exiting. “Hiya, and welcome back!” she exclaimed. “Hiya, Pinkie Pie. I will be back, and soon!” I promised, as I trotted out the door and into the bustling community of Ponyvile.
To Home and Back: 3I had enjoyed the meal Pinkie Pie had brought to the table at the Sugar-cube Corner. The only problem is that I ended up feeling a bit too full afterwards, which made me choose to go back home to rest for a while. Of course nothing had changed since none had there since I left. Why should I ever have imagined such a ludicrous notion in the first place? This is Ponyville, after all. Since I had the time to enjoy my breakfast, I am now noticing all the little details about my home. The first is the wooden fence lining the garden before the small cottage I had found myself living in. I choose to imagine myself owning it, not illegally occupying it as if I had the reason that was even a thing in Ponyville. Or even the surroundings of the village. Ponyvile doesn’t exactly look like the overly rich neighbourhood, but it is clearly flourishing. Just all these well kept little cottages every Pony is living in. Of course we even have the Royal castle overlooking the entire village on one side. Then we do have the large orchard; known as Sweet Apple Acres. Behind the simple wooden fence, I can clearly see a well kept garden with green grasses covering the front of my yard. Or, what is to pass for my yard. it is what I think it is. I notice the smooth stone tiles covering the path from the street, all the way up to the building. Peonies are growing to the right and left of the path. To my delight, I see the bright, cerise blossoms at the top of the still moderately small bushes. I trot past the peonies and right up to the door and pull it up, before I step right in. Just as expected, nothing had changed and nothing had been touched during my absence. None had entered my home, for any or no reason. While I move through the hall, I had considered to just sit down in the comfortable sofa and rest. Yet, as I spot the door to be backyard, I change my mind and step right out, after I had opened the door. “How long had this building been left abandoned, before I had moved in? Or, had it just been spirited into place for me to take possession of?” I ponder. Little by little, I am growing used to being a Pony. I learn that it isn’t as strange or different as I imagine I had been expecting. Of course, a Pony is not a Horse such as I knew them to be where I still think I came from. I live in a cottage, just like the home I had been living in before. I still enjoy the beauty of the flowers growing outside my home. Just that I never had put the time into actually growing them there before. What came next should have been a shock, shouldn’t it? The garden up front, before the building is just the taste of what is to come. I have a small inner face before which I have more peonies. Bright, brightly purple peonies now standing a full three feet tall. In bloom, of course, just as the once on the front of the building. As a Pony, I have little interest in a grill and barbecuing. At least, that is how it turns out for me. Maybe I had loved it before, but that is when I should have been drooling over the juicy stake as it slowly fry over the red hot coals. Only once I had trotted out past the fence did I realize, just what it is I had been all along. I have an orchard, just like the earth-pony I am. I have Maples and Rubber trees. Since it is the warm season, revealed by the Peonies in full bloom; my trees are fully covered with the green leaves. Each tree has a small tap crafted out of stainless steel. As I trot closer to the trees, I notice the small buildings, one for each part of the orchard. Lacking better words, I am distilling the sap from the trees into valuable and highly desirable Syrup and latex in these two buildings. Maybe my rubbery hooves were not an accident, as much as one may have thought? With the realization, I am made aware of a shimmer from behind. The light is emanating from my flanks, right and left. As I look back, I notice the cutie mark I had just received. I think the mark is resembling the tap and my love for the plants in my garden. I had been given a place in the community, and a purpose of my very own. I have the mark of a Pony on my very flanks to prove it. “There goes, if I can sell my products on the local market?” I ponder. It may look like an easy job, but I need to make a living. Selling the products would grant me the funds in bits for me to maintain my life, such as it is now. I guess I have everything I need, at the very least. “The question is; how do I market my products in order to make a living out of what I have?” I ponder. I had picked up a few bottles of my products as samples to be given away to a select group of Ponies I meet in town. The idea had been to market my product, by showing the wares. I don’t have many friends, and I don’t have a stand at the market. The syrup in the right main pocket of my saddle bags, and the latex in the left one. I do not know who would be appreciating the sample gifts yet, but I imagine I will know, when I meet them along the way. Of course, I feel secure in my impression of Pinkie Pie; who I imagine should enjoy the syrup. While I am starting to grow secure with my nudity as a Pony, I still do feel an urge to have something to wear. Maybe just something casual, like a vest and a skirt? But still, just to have the option to put something on is the entire point. I have the address to the local supplier, by the name of Rarity. According to the card I had found earlier, she is to live and work in the Carousel Boutique. I guess the building should be hard to miss, from the image of the building I had. If the image of the local cafe is anything to go by, a Carousel Boutique should be standing out like a sore thumb. I still do have a map and the description to go by, in case my image and impression had not been sufficient for me to go by. Yet, these Ponies have a very peculiar and special architecture. “Who doesn’t like Syrup? Unless it is very poor quality, of course!” I think. I had chosen to see Pinkie Pie first, mainly because she had been so nice and friendly to me before as she was serving my breakfast. Since I don’t know many of the Ponies yet, maybe I could afford to be extra generous towards her? My path towards the boutique had taken me past the library, located in a massive oak in the middle of town. “The Golden Oak Library!” the sign announced, for anyone who was passing by to read. “Maybe I should have a look inside later, just to see what books they may have available?” I think, as I read the sign outside the local library. I continue on my way towards the cafe, trotting slowly and with reasonable confidence. This looks like a small town, where everyone knows everyone else in town. I had seen a few towns like this, but never really taken the liking to them. As I spot the cafe, I hasten my steps, while making an effort to use a measured gate. No gallop would make due here. I am not in a haste and I don’t feel like drawing too much attention towards myself or my person right now. It isn’t the person I had been, and it isn’t the Pony I am now. I slow down and open the door to the cafe and step right in. Of course, Pinkie Pie is behind the counter. Naturally. She just had to be there, as if she had known I was coming and had been expecting me. “Hiya, Pinkie Pie!” I greet her. “I have a sample for you to try, hope you enjoy Maple Syrup!” I added, as I opened the pocket of my saddle bags and extracted three bottles and placed them before her. “Sweet!” she squealed. “I was hoping you would say that!” I responded, “but I had never expected her to express it so intense and enthusiastic!” I think. “I will just have to try it out, on my pancakes and in my baking!” she then adds. “Thanks, Pinkie!” I say. “Every Pony knows me, and I know every Pony in town! Of course, now I will have to prepare a “Welcome to Ponyville Party for you!” she exclaims. “Sounds like fun. Then I should leave you to it! I need to go to the Carousel Boutique, anyway!” I concluded, as I trotted out of the cafe, on my way to the next destination. Of course, the boutique just had to resemble a carousel. It isn’t just a name. Nothing is just a name for the ponies? It was not very far from the cafe, nothing seems to be far in Ponyville. I had stopped before the building, just taking in the site in awe. This is indeed a very peculiar architecture. This is a house and a boutique, not an attraction at some theme park.
