Lost in Paradiseby leeroy_gIBZChaptersArrivals: Part 1Arrivals: Part 2Banquets: Part 1Banquets: Part 2Measurements: Part 1Concerts: Part 1Breakfasts: Part 1Measurements: Part 2Concerts: Part 2Breakfasts: Part 2Explanations: Part 1Arrivals: Part 1I blinked my eyes repeatedly, trying to restore some focus and get rid of the dancing lights. If I didn’t know better, I would say that I had hit my head harder than I thought. My head didn’t actually hurt though. That was not the result I expected from accidentally bashing it against the concrete floor of the basketball court. Come to think of it, I didn’t expect the unicorns either. There were four of them standing expectantly around the room. Three of the creatures held expressions of ether shock, awe or confusion and appeared to be wrapped in what I almost mistook for labcoats. The fourth stood wore a golden crown and expressed a look of mild annoyance, as if a waiter was late with an order. The room itself was fairly large and built from stone bricks that were as white as bone. Surrounding the observers was a great assortment of scientific equipment; panels, monitors, stacks of books and paper, and the like. Nobody moved and the tension in the air became palpable as the unicorn’s bright eyes drilled holes into me. The awkwardness of the situation resembled the time I had came in casual clothes to a school prize giving – everyone was looking at me and I was not enjoying it. Eventually, the crowned unicorn spoke up. Yes, he opened his mouth and words came out. A set of particularly disgruntled words too: “Now, for 10 points and the off chance that I will let anypony else in this room survive the night, give me a good explanation as to why Mirage is still here.” The other three unicorns stared nervously at each-other, consulted their notes, shuffled nervously around and then decided to shove the unluckiest of their number forward. I briefly considered responding myself but the prospect of humiliation followed shortly by death was not one that appealed to me. Not even for the enticing offer of 10 points. The unlucky unicorn; it had a golden-blonde coat and a mousy brown mane; mumbled some incomprehensible excuse before trying to return to their group. Either that or sink into the floor. The crowned unicorn responded, “Come again, Electrum? Perhaps you should speak up a bit while you still have a tongue.” The unicorn, presumably Electrum, decided to do the sensible thing and repeat her explanation, albeit in a more audible tone, “Our sincerest apologies, Prince Imaginos. We had apparently miscalculated the angle of the teleport. I think it failed to correctly identify a destination and this resulted in a buildup of charge. As such, the battery was overloaded and it’s, well, broken. It could take years to repair.” “So what you are telling me is that our progress has been set back years all because one of you could not be bothered to proof-read your work.” Prince Imaginos huffed after stamping on the tiles, “Very well. You have three months; repair this and successfully send a pony to Horsica alive or I will have you reassigned to Asklepian’s department. As a test subject.” This threat was enough to send Electrum to tears. She trotted of back to her colleagues One actually dabbed at her face with the corner of her labcoat. Suprisingly, they managed to do this with their hooves; I didn’t think that a horse's hooves were that dexterous. Before I could continue down that path, the Prince called my name. “Well, hurry up, Mirage. I cannot allow my favorite apprentice to waste his time staring at the incompetent. Some of their work ethic or lack thereof might infect you.” It was at that point that I decided that I was dreaming. I missed that layup, hit my head and this is just some bizarre dream I’m having while unconscious. That’s it. That explains the talking unicorns, how I got here and how they all know my name. Still, I might as well humor my subconscious. I took a step forward and my hoof clopped against the cold, dark metal of the platform I stood upon. Wait. I don’t have hooves. I look down at my legs and find out that they have doubled in number. They are also a pale gold in color. That and a bit hairier than usual. “Stop admiring yourself and come along now, Mirage. We have important work to do. Work that certainly does not involve standing on extremely expensive machinery that just so happens to be broken thanks to somepony who cannot add.” Insisted the Prince, all the while glaring at the trio of what I assumed were scientists. “What am I?” I finally managed to ask. On the off chance that I’m not asleep, I’d prefer to get my bearings sooner rather than later. Not to mention the fact that I’m not sure of exactly I am supposed to walk. The Prince sighed and his horn began to glow a deep cyan as his eyes narrowed in concentration. Suddenly, pairs of hands that shimmered the same color as Imaginos’ horn grasped each of my legs and thrust me into the air. I struggled briefly but the hands were manacles of ethereal fingers. They dragged me along behind the Prince, who began to walk out of the room. “It seems that the teleporter’s malfunction was worse than I thought. And to answer your question, you are Nocturne Mirage, apprentice to Crowned Prince Imaginos of Chevallia.” This was rapidly becoming the weirdest dream I ever had. After noticing that the hands had spared me mouth, I rephrased my question, “Alright. Am I a unicorn too then?” “Mirage, you have been a unicorn your entire life. You woke up as one and you will go to sleep as one. You were born a unicorn and, at this rate anyway, you will die as one. Do you have any other foolish questions for me? I would ask them now, before your excursion next week.” “So I’m a unicorn. And your apprentice. And everyone else is also a unicorn. What is happening?” I asked again. I was began to fear that dream was going to become a nightmare. Prince Imaginos stopped walking. His horn stopped glowing and the hands stopped existing. I stopped floating in the air and crashed into the floor for the second time in as many hours. Pain shot through my jaw and my sight blurred briefly. Suddenly, a thought exploded into my brain. People cannot feel pain in dreams. That fact that my face hurts like it was dropped from a six-foot height – which it was – should be impossible right now. Yet am I hurt. This is bad. Really, really bad. I do not think that I am dreaming after all. I am really, literally a unicorn stuck in another world. Arrivals: Part 2I blinked my eyes repeatedly, trying to restore some focus and get rid of the dancing lights. If I didn’t know better, I would say that the teleporter had malfunctioned. That would be impossible though, Orichalcum had worked on it for months and we had double-checked that everything was in working order. Still, I didn’t have hands the last time I woke up. Immediately, I checked if I was dreaming. I clapped my newfound appendages together and they made a believable sound. I felt it too so obviously I am awake. Somehow. I appeared to be lying in some kind of bed; if the pillows and blankets are anything to go by. The bed is surprisingly long though; almost twice the length of the average pony. It seemed to be situated in a fairly small and spare room with walls painted that weirdly common shade of pale green that supposedly aids the healing process. I doubted it was particularly effective at said task though. I turned my head to further inspect my surroundings and a dagger of pain shot through the back of my neck and I am not ashamed to admit that I screamed. I screamed louder than I thought because I soon heard hoofsteps coming towards my room. Well, at least I can get some answers now. That and maybe some anesthetic – I feel like I have been kicked in the head. A pair of odd-looking creatures opened the door and stepped inside. They were over five feet tall, with short manes, no coats and strangely elongated limbs. Both were wearing clothes but one of the creature's outfits was unlike anything I had ever seen – Loose and decorated with some or other emblem. One of the creatures, the one with the short, pink mane, then spoke up. Yes, it actually opened its mouth and spoke. Very peculiar. “Mirage! Are you alright, dearie? We had screaming.” It asked, walking close to my bed. “Where am I?” I asked before the creature got any closer. I did not like the look of its claws. They were blood red and pointed right at me. The other creature, this one was taller and possessed a beard, answered in a tone that suggested that it was clearly used to answering such questions – calm but somewhat tired. “Mister Nocturne, you are in the school sanatorium. You fell while playing basketball and hit your head.” “Alright then.” Well, I had an answer now. Admittedly a bad one but at least these strange creatures seemed harmless. In fact, now that I look at it, they seem somewhat familiar. I think I heard a legend about them once. About a thousand years ago, a powerful unicorn had built a portal to their world in order to banish some threat that was plaguing some far off land. I reckon that was it, anyway. I did not care for Prince Imaginos’ endless lectures about Pony history. “So are you in pain or something?” The clawed one asked, derailing my train of thought. Its face – It looked like a hairless, flattened version of a pony’s – had an expression of what was probably concern plastered across it. “Yes. Yes, I am. My neck hurts a lot actually. That and I seem to have grown a pair of hands.” I respond, waving the limbs in question around for dramatic effect. The two creatures, humans if my memory is correct, break out in laughter. When the pink-haired one recovered, she said, “Well, you can’t be that hurt if you’re still cracking jokes, Mirage.” “You think that’s funny? Ponies do not just grow random appendages on accident. And how do you all know my name anyway? What’s happening?” I ask, the gravity of the situation finally getting to me: I was stranded in another dimension filled with mythical creatures. Mythical creatures with an extremely bizarre sense of humor. The bearded one managed to stop chuckling after it heard that. In fact, it looked rather worried. After whispering something to its friend, it answered my question, “Mirage, we know your name because you are a student here, at Crystal Prep. You hurt yourself and you are in the school sanitarium. Do you not remember that?” “No, of course I don’t remember that. It didn’t happen to me. The last thing I remember was standing on the teleporter after saying goodbye to Sunny. Something must have gone wrong. That’s why I am lying here with hands for hooves and a headache with the severity of an earthquake, you idiots!” I kindly explained to the humans. Suddenly, a thought crossed my mind. I am supposed to be a pony, a unicorn to be precise, and they did not acknowledge that. So either the unicorns have hands in this world – a pretty nasty thought considering that I have to walk on these things – or I am not a pony at all. That is an even worse thought actually. Before the humans could recover from the last explanation, I decided to find out, “So alright. Am I a human now? Is that why you think I am somepony else?” The pair looked worriedly at each-other again. Gulping, the blue haired one responded, “Mirage, My name's Sunny. Sunny Flare. We’re friends. And of course you’re human. Are you sure you’re alright?” “I think that you may have fallen harder than I thought, Mirage. You may have some amnesia. I ran some tests already but I think that you should stay here tonight so that we can see if it clears up. If not...” The bearded one chose to leave the last sentence to my imagination. If the asylums here are anything like those in Chevallia, I really should start to pretend to remember things. After sighing, I agree. I am to stay here tonight. Doctor Crates – that was his name, apparently – would come back in a few hours but until then, the girl claiming to be Sunny Flare would keep me company. This was going to be a long night and certainly not in a good way. Banquets: Part 1Well, after my profoundly unfortunate discovery this morning, I have done little more than stand around uselessly in what Prince Imaginos insists is my apartment. I certainly can't blame him though; the little trio of rooms is definitely to my liking. The first of them is a living room - albeit one with a rather full collection of bookshelves replacing much of the walls. It seems that this alternate version of me, I think that I that will call him Mirage Nocturne: The Pony Edition, shares my voracious appetite for "trashy romance novels", as Indigo Zap so kindly put it. I really wonder sometimes: Why am I friends with that girl? The ersatz library also contained a pair of navy blue couches and an wooden table with a map of some sort delicately carved in to it. I had a look at the cartography further but to no avail - I apparently cannot read Pony. I only figured out what the genres of the novels were by looking at the covers. The next of the rooms was to be my bedroom, it seemed. I deduced this fact by discovering that the room contained a bed. A rather nice one in fact, complete with fluffed pillows and a luxuriously soft duvet. Alas, there was an absence of mints under said pillows despite their plump and cozy nature. I also happened upon a wardrobe in the room and shortly afterwards, an avalanche of Chevallia's classics happened upon me. Annoyingly enough, some habits of mine persist throughout the universe. That is, if I still am even in the same universe. I hope so, I forgot to delete my search history in my native one. As I was clawing - hoofing maybe - my way out of the literary landslide, one of its constituents caught my eye. It was my diary and I knew this because I could actually read the title. I am not sure how The Pony Edition managed to write it, my guesses would be either by mouth or possibly magic, but he did. To make a pleasant find even more pleasant, he wrote it in my secret code alphabet. This shall certainly prove useful in orientating myself about this place. Especially if my counterpart shares my interest in maps. Perhaps he did that table himself? I would not put it past me. Just then, a swift knock on the door shattered the little pedestal I was building for myself. The knocking did not stop after a sensible time either; nor did it stop after I asked it to. Picking the diary up in my mouth, I walked back to the door and prepared myself for the next unwelcome occurrence. To my relief, the bathroom would have to wait for another time. I pushed open the door to reveal a pale blue pony with a trio of silver pigtails framing an extremely bored expression. A set of orange spectacles were perched above her nose and If I didn't know better, I would say that I had met her before. "Good evening, Mirage Nocturne. I would suggest that you buy an alarm clock; that way you would know that you are twenty minutes late for dinner; then again, knowing you, you would conveniently forget you owned it every time it was supposed to go off." Sugarcoat. This pony was definitely Sugarcoat. It could not be more obvious if she herself told me. Well, knowing her - the master of bluntness - it probably could be. Still, it was hear a familiar voice, even if that voice belonged to an individual who seems to delight in her own tactlessness. "Yes, sorry about that. I sort of woke up to discover that I am stuck in the body of a unicorn who acts exactly like I do. That and the Prince dropped me on my face. I think I might eat in tonight." I hurriedly explained, hoping for her to be replaced instantly with a more amicable acquaintance. "You really need to stop smoking mare-juana, Mirage. And no, you cannot eat in your room tonight. Prince Imaginos arranged a banquet to celebrate the latest victory of the Protection Squadron and he would not be pleased if you refused to attend. You should also comb your mane; you have split ends everywhere." Sugarcoat responded in an ennui tone, as she tended to do when responding. Or when chatting. Or when singing. Or whenever. "Alright, Sugarcoat. I get it. Can you cut me some slack though? I literally woke up in another dimension." "No." "Fine. Can you at least help me with my mane then? I can't figure out how to comb it, let alone style it into something presentable." Well, the bathroom was surprisingly normal. A bit more horizontal than I am used to but I suppose that can be excused. Sugarcoat's maliciousness with a brush however cannot be. Unfortunately, it seems that her affinity for verbal brute force also translated to an affinity for physical brute force. By the time she was done, I was surprised to see that I still had hair left at all. I was positively awestruck to note that it actually looked nice. After inspecting myself in the mirror, I discovered that much like my white-haired hairdresser, I too looked much like how I was supposed to. Pony Edition had a mane and tail of cyan that faded into a pale pink, much like my own hair. The style - or intended style, anyway - was also quite similar: A comb over to the left with the sides of the head shaved. My coat was still a golden blond and my eyes remained hazel. I would say that I looked rather presentable but Sugarcoat popped that little bubble of ego rather quickly. We arrived at the hall rather quickly after that; it was a pleasantly short distance from my apartment, an especially pleasant one when considering that I was still rather new to this quadruped business. A pair of stern-looking unicorns dressed in white leather coats opened the large wooden doors to reveal a number of large tables set up in front of a stage. Milling about the room were ponies of all shapes and sizes, though all were rather formally dressed. Well, I thought so anyway - most were wearing clothes and most of those clothes resembled formal attire. I began to feel rather under-dressed. As Sugarcoat led me to what she assured was our table, a few of the other guests greeted me. I responded uneasily; unlike my tactless guide, none of them resembled anybody I knew from my world. Were they friends, acquaintances or was everyone just really friendly here? We arrived at a table with a few other ponies already seated. I was instructed to sit at the chair with some illegible placard in front of it. The place was set with cutlery; and again I had no idea how I was intended to use any of it. Sugarcoat had picked up the comb with her mouth but I couldn't exactly do that and also eat could I? "Wow, Mirage, you really went all out for tonight. You pull off that 'I just lost a fight and didn't bother to clean up afterwards' look really well." Sniped a voice to my left in a tone that quickly morphed from sickeningly saccharine to scarily sadistic. I turned to face the grinning pony sitting next to me. She had a peach colored coat and some spots that I also most mistook for freckles on the sides of her muzzle. Of course Sugarcoat would choose to put me next to my other least favorite person: Sour Sweet. "Oh great, you again. Did we not agree not to talk to each other?" I asked the still smiling pony, who was now somehow balancing a wineglass on her hoof. And then drinking from said glass. The irritating feeling that I was dreaming came back again. Too bad that such a feeling was not true. "Why of course not, silly. Prince Imaginos commanded you to show me and my friends around and he would have your ears cut off if you disobeyed him! You are supposed to make us feel welcome, after all." Sour Sweet responded all too happily. "Wait, what? Why am I supposed to do that? I can't even remember where my own rooms are from here, let alone where anything that you would care about is." Then a thought struck me. Pony Edition was assigned to be nice to Sugarcoat and her insufferable friends. Alright, Sunny Flare was actually an agreeable person and Indigo and I did share one a few interests but I could not care less for the rest of them. I hope he did a decent job thought; I have suddenly grown quite attached to my ears. "Oh no, has poor little Mirage forgotten where he lives again? Serves the idiot right for not being accommodating enough." Sour Sweet chided. At least the drinks seem to be free. I will need more than a few if I am to get through this mess of an evening. Banquets: Part 2"So you're serious about not remembering anything?" Sunny Flare asked after returning from the somewhere she called the "vending machine". "Yes, I am serious. I can't remember anything about this place because I'm not from here." A look of confusion crossed the pink-haired girl's face as she sat down on the chair next to my bed. "What do you mean you aren't from here? You live in the school dormitory." "No, I mean that I am not from this world. Some... something went wrong and I am apparently stuck here in a human's body." I explained again, trying - and likely failing - to convince her that I was sane. That look of confusion quickly morphed into one of shock. I reached over for the cup of water on the nightstand; I figured that more explaining was clearly in order. As I did, another twinge of pain shot through my neck. "Here, let me get that for you." Sunny said as she handed me the cup, "Are you sure about all of this. Couldn't that just be a dream or something?" "Thanks and no, I wasn't dreaming. That all certainly happened; I remember that all perfectly. I am supposed to be a unicorn; not a human. Somehow I was put here in the body of what I think is my human counterpart." "Well, um alright then? So you don't know anything about Crystal Prep at all?" The girl asked as she attempted to open some brightly wrapped packet. "Crystal Prep? I know about the Crystal Empire, sure, but not the school version, no. But if you want to explain anything, go right ahead." "Alright then, Mirage." Sunny paused briefly before offering me the contents of the packet, "Do you want any?" The packet seemed to contain a multitude of small, oval disks. They were a pale yellow in colour and their delicious smell kindly reminded me that I had not eaten for about twelve hours. Trying not to move my neck, I stuck my hand into their container and extricated a handful. Crunchy, salty and highly addictive. If the rest of the food in this world is as good, I would almost consider staying here; Prince Imaginos' rule that all government employees have to eat the same food makes for extremely boring cuisine. "They're called potato chips, dearie." She explained as I ate another few of them. She thought briefly, before opening another little bag and handing it to me, "So I suppose we might as well start with questions. What would you like to know?" "Well, could I get back home?" I inquire. "Perhaps, I think. If you're correct about your... condition, then surely there exists a way to reverse it." So she doesn't know. Just perfect. Although I doubt that my world's Sunny Flare could work out how the teleporter works; I could barely understand it myself when Electrum told me. Apparently the device is intended to bend space and then pokes holes it it so ponies can get to places faster or something in that vein. Well, if a quick trip back home is off the table, I best start figuring out how to pretend to be a native of this place - that should allow me to make a proper plan in peace. "Hello, Mirage. Are you here?" Sunny said, waving her hand in front of my face. "Yes, I am just thinking of what to ask next. You said that I am a student of some kind. Could I talk to Prince Imaginos then; he should know what to do." A flash of disgust passes past her face, "You could talk to Mr Imaginos certainly. I cannot imagine why you would want to though; the people he mixes with: Eugh!" Apparently this world's Imaginos was not a Prince. That is strange; I can't imagine why he wouldn't be. "So if I'm not a student of Prince Imaginos, under whose tutelage am I?" I ask, hoping that they are at least competent. Or open minded, either work well enough. "Well, Ms Cadence is the school principal. I suppose all of us here at Crystal Prep are 'under her tutelage' as you so put it." "I see. So who is in charge of the country. I think that this qualifies as a matter of national importance." I ask after devouring another mouthful of potato crisps. I really must take a few bags of those with me when I get back to Chevallia. "This isn't really that important, Mirage. I don't think that the King would care about a case of amnesia." Apparently this place has a king. A stupid king at that. "Very well then, so why are you here?" "Because you're important to me." She quickly correct that to "Well, because doing this sort of thing is important to me. I want to be a doctor after I leave school so I help out with first aid and whatnot." "Sure. That makes sense, I think. Now what do I do all day; school I would guess." "Yes, most days we have school to attend." Sunny answered, her tone suggesting that this was some great tragedy, "Don't worry though, you're still rather new here so I think you'll be forgiven for forgetting where a few classes are." Well that seemed encouraging. I am apparently a new student here. That all I can handle. I wonder if my human counterpart is having the same problems?I hope he does not mess anything up; it took me weeks to finish my last carving and I would hate to have anything happen to it. I think I'll call that version of myself Mirage Nocturne: Human Edition. That seems like a fitting title. "Well, that is certainly convenient. Still, once I recover, would you mind showing me around this world?" "Of course, dearie. In fact, I volunteered to do just that when you arrived Crystal Prep." My apparent guide explained, a prideful smile across her face. It seems that the roles have been reversed; back in my world I was responsible for guiding Sunny Flare and her friends/gang of idiots around Chevallia. How fortunate that my hard work paid off. I think that will need all the help I can get if I am to survive in this land. Measurements: Part 1Well, that was the most bizarrely boring dinner that I have ever had the deep misfortune of attending. Yes, I have finally found an incident to trump that wretched Form 2 prize giving. Prince Imaginos was apparently rather fond of public speaking. So fond, in fact, that he decided to subject the entire population of Colteno - the city where I now live - to an hour long speech about how great the Protection Squadron is. So there we all sat, fantasising about devouring our dinners and or collapsing into bed, while our glorious leader went on and on how pathetic the enemy was and how amazing his personal army slash thought police was for annihilating them. Eventually it had got to the point in which another pony - this one bearing a pair of wings surprisingly - had to sneak up on stage and remind him that the food was getting cold. In retrospect, this was fairly mediocre decision; the food we had all be desperately praying for turned out to be nothing more than an MRE on plate. For those who did not grow up with a marine as a father, the MRE is an ingenious delicacy comprised of only the most inedible ingredients which are intended to be boiled in a bag and eaten on the go. The acronym stands for either "Meals, Ready to Eat" or "Meals, Rarely Edible" depending on your tastes. I fell in to the latter category. Sour Sweet kindly explained; by kindly I mean telling me that it "was an act of solidarity with the stallions abroad" and that I "should shut my face before [she] pins it closed with a fork". To the Prince's credit though, he actually did eat his portion. I almost think that he enjoyed too. Anyway, after the dinner was done, a mint green unicorn with a short purple mane pulled me aside and began to start yet another conversation that I doubted I wanted to participate in. "Ah, Mirage, I thought that you'd left for Horsica already." The unicorn said before trying to call one of her friends over. "What? No, I'm not going to Corsica. I just got here, actually. It's a long story." I responded. Alright, it wasn't a particularly long story but I would not explain it right now. I would rather just go about acquiring another glass of wine. "Oh, you told me last week that Prince Imaginos had assigned you to go there by the teleporter that he was working on." She said, a hint of disappointment in her voice. "The teleporter malfunctioned. Now, if you excuse me, I need another glass of wine." I said, trying to slip back into the crowd of ponies leaving the hall. "Wine? Are you sure that you're alright, dearie? I thought you said that you hated wine." The unicorn inquired after adjusting the flower in her hair. "Yeah, I'm not feeling alright, Sunny; I think that I'll turn in early." I answered, immediately hoping that my guess to this pony's identity was correct. I would rather not have to explain that faux pas. "Alright then, I had just hoped that since are staying for a few more days that you could help me with something." Sunny said, that hint from before becoming a large glowing neon sign. "Fine. I suppose I can. After all, I would like to keep my ears." A look of horror crossed Sunny Flare's face as her friend finally arrived. "Do not tell me that you actually believed Sour Sweet's ridiculous story!" "Am I interrupting anything?" Inquired Sunny's friend who most certainly was. "Yes but you cannot possibly make this day worse so go ahead." "Sure", the bespectacled unicorn chuckled slightly before he continued, "My name is Eureka Lead and I am the official tailor of the Protection Squadron but I think you know that already." I did not already know that. "It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Mirage Nocturne, my dear apprentice here has told me so much about you." Lead said before throwing a quick glare at Sunny. "Yes, well, I may slightly oversold him, Mr Lead." She said, blushing slightly. "Nonsense, one does not simply oversell the apprentice of Prince Imaginos himself. Now, I must ask you, Mirage: Are you a jersey pony or a cardigan pony?" Why can't this be a dream? It would make such a wonderful dream; it has talking animals, trippy colours, and the weirdest of situations. "I prefer cardigans." I answered, hoping that he was not going to insist on making me one then and there. "Excellent! Sunny, let's escort Mr Nocturne to the shop, I feel a flash of inspiration coming on." Damn it. "Perhaps a navy blue will work?" Sunny Flare suggested as a glowing magenta measuring tape wrapped itself around my thigh - flank? - and a pencil shimmering in the same hue scrawled something on a scrap of paper. Apparently this "magical hand" business is called levitation and luckily, it is something that all unicorns can do. Unluckily, said unicorns must be taught from childhood to do it. I wonder how Pony Edition is getting on with my hands. Hopefully he is not also getting off with them; I run through an awful lot of soap as is. "A wise choice, Miss Flare, I do believe that I have some of that here." Lead muttered as a sheet of dark blue material floated its way over to her. Personally, I thought that that particular shade of blue was more like a Paceian blue but what do I know? I am only an art student. "I think that's Paceian blue, Mr Lead." Sunny corrected before swirling the tape measure around one of my front legs. "Oh yes, of course. You must excuse me, Mirage, I have been terribly busy with the last batch of PS uniforms. Leather is such a novel medium; you know there are no guides for it so I have to do all the development on my own. Still, the results are impressive, if I do say so myself." "So what is this all for anyway? I think that I have enough clothes." At that statement, Sunny collapsed. I quickly reached out to catch her but she was enveloped in a deep silver glow before I could get to her. As she slowly bobbed up and down, I noticed a tingle on the top of my head. "And here you said that you had no talent for levitation, Mirage. Just deposit her on that couch; she should wake up in a minute or so." Lead advised as he used a pair of scissors to gesture to a couch half-buried under a multicoloured mountain of material. So this is what magic feels like. Trying not to forget that I was the one doing all of this, I thought hard about Sunny appearing on the target couch. After pushing those memories of Titanic out of my mind and concentrating of the pony edition of Sunny Flare, the glow slowly carried her to the couch and then dissipated. "Thank you, Mirage. And to answer your question, Horsica gets extremely cold during the, well, all of the months. As part of Sunny Flare's apprenticeship, she has to sew a few winter outfits. She pleaded to tailor them specifically for all of her friends, you included. So when she noticed you at the banquet, she insisted on putting one together before you had to leave." What an encouragement. It seems that I am to shipped off to another corner of this peculiar world for some reason. How encouraging for that little part of me that still wants to go home. And by little part, I mean all of it that is not enamoured by my newfound magical skills. So about half. Concerts: Part 1It was a simple request, all things considered: Go to the concert with Sunny Flare and her friends. Of course, simple did translate to easy. There existed the ever-present annoyance of said friends. And from what I have seen, four legs are certainly not any better than two. Still, this was Melody Lure we were talking about, not some school orchestra. So, the day after Eureka, Sunny and I had finished the cardigan, I swallowed my complaints - all forty-five of them - and boarded the train to Stalliongrad. "Thanks again for coming, Mirage. I know the timing isn't the best but I only found out that I had accidentally bought an extra ticket yesterday." Sunny explained as I followed her into the train compartment. "Well, I have always wanted to go a Melody Lure concert and suppose that I do also want to see what pony music sounds like." I said while examining the room I found myself in. The train compartment was surprisingly spacious, with a number of couches, chairs and tables inside. Said pieces of furniture were also incredibly comfortable - a discovery I made after tripping over one. The wallpaper of the compartment was also rather interesting; it was a repeating pattern of maps, all highly detailed. In one corner of the room was situated a small fridge, likely battery powered considering the lack of a plug or switch. "Hey, did you say you want to know what real music sounds like?" Yelled an annoyingly familiar voice from above me. Just then, an annoyingly familiar face dropped down and clamped a pair of headphones over my ears. "Try this then!" Shouted Lemon Zest; barely audible over the blaring sound - I wouldn't deign to call it music. The sound in question was loud, violent and loud. I say that twice because one adjective is not capable of covering the sheer amount of decibels Lemon Zest's headphones were somehow capable of producing. The lyrics, if you could call them that, were a combination of every expletive I could imagine; a number of words I presumed were expletives, considering Sour Sweet's earlier tirade about a particularly accurate bird; and a number of words that probably weren't words at all and were actually just things one yelled when "peeved", as Sunny so kindly described Sour Sweet's attitude after said bird hit its target. All of the above was elegantly articulated in what could probably be called a "death growl", if human terminology is anything to go by. The instruments weren't much better. "Well, at least I know that black metal is exactly the same across dimensions. Now, how about things that are actually enjoyable for the average individual?" I asked after I had defenstrated the headphones. "Hey, I'll get you for this!" The pink pegasus yelled before flying out a window and after her "music". "Wow, Mirage, that was excessive. You know that her father gave her those, right? Her dead father." Sugarcoat quipped. I almost felt guilty. Then again, this was the same Lemon Zest humiliated me in front of the entire school. Well, not the "same" Lemon Zest but this was as close as to avenging that particular series of pantsings as I was going to get. I sat back down on the chair and levitated out a book from my bag. I had taught myself to read Pony over the last few days; the abugida was simple enough to learn and it was pronounced identically to English, albeit with more bad puns. I flipped to the bookmark and began to catch up on Dusk by Stephaneigh Neigher. At least a fictional world with bizarrely charming insect shapeshifters is also inhabited by ponies that can respect personal space. The train drew into the station just as my book drew to a close. In hindsight, I could have spent the last four hours revising something important - history, culture, current events, that sort of thing - but I needed to actually relax after the events of the last two days. "We're finally here! And it only took five hours cooped up with Mirage to do it." Sour Sweet exclaimed before hopping out the train. "It took exactly three hours and fifty-eight minutes, Sour Sweet, and Mirage read quietly the entire time." Said Sugarcoat. "Well, that was very considerate of him. Too bad Lemon wouldn't shut up after our resident nerd tossed her headphones out the window!" The freckled pony argued. I followed them onto the train platform and got my first good look at Stalliongrad. Compared to the towering seaside citadel that was Colteno, this town was not that impressive. The lack of impressiveness did mostly stem from the lack of a castle but the collection of wooden buildings, stone walls and ponies in drab attire did not help much either. Everything in the town looked like it had seen better days and everypony - I'm told that's the phrase used - appeared to completely resigned to that observation. "Why would Melody Lure of all people perform in a place like this? There's basically nothing here." I thought out loud as the four shadowbolts and I made our way to the local inn. "Oh, Melody Lure's doing a tour of every town in Chevallia, dearie. We would have just gone to the one in Colteno but I think you would have already left by the time she arrived." Sunny answered. The inn, like the town it resided in, was nothing special; especially not by Chevallian standards, as Sunny mentioned. Still, I had a room to myself and said room's sheets weren't stained so I was comfortable enough. The concert was only to start in a few hours to I had some time to learn more about this world. So when I had finished updating Pony Edition's diary - apparently one can use magic to write with - I set out to explore what little of the town was worth exploring. Breakfasts: Part 1“Ding!” Dinged the cellphone, wrenching me out of a good dream and back into the reality that I had originally hoped was a bad dream. For all of Sunny Flare’s eloquence where verbal communication was concerned, her written communication was sorely lacking. Well, if she was anything like her unicorn counterpart, which she was, she would be. After staring at the bizarre code displayed proudly across the cellphone's glowing screen for what felt like far too long, I surmised that I couldn't understand it because I could not actually read human. I crawled out of bed. The bed in question was far too long for my tastes; almost as if it was designed for a far taller being than your average pony. Which, after realizing that I was still a human, I agreed was a wise choice. The bed in question also happened to be situated in a fairly small and mildly disorganized room. The walls – if they actually existed– were hidden behind a number of mismatched bookshelves; all were overflowing and none were sorted. The room’s cupboards contained more reading material. Precariously balanced reading material at that. One book in particular caught my eye as I was extracting myself from the landslide of literature: My diary. Or, rather, Human Edition's diary. Just like its counterpart, it was cunningly concealed on a bookshelf cunningly concealed inside the wardrobe of my apartment. Unfortunately, said apartment was not cunningly concealed within a magnificent castle. Human Edition's apartment, if you could even call it that, was a pair of rooms in the school dormitories. Anyway, the diary was written my secret code alphabet. And again, just like mine, it contained a whole lot of useful tips for dealing with the denizens of this world. Of course, said tips were thoroughly mixed in with explicit discussions of who I would like to have relations with. I must have a word with myself about that; some of his choices were a bit bizarre to say the least. Two things that I found especially useful were the collection of maps stuffed behind the diary’s dust-jacket; they depicted in stunning detail, as was expected since that is how I usually depict things, the grounds of the school and the layout of the surrounding suburbs. The other useful thing was a list of symbols in the secret code alphabet compared to those used in the human script. With the list in hand, I investigated the text again. “Sry Mirage cant show you around cpa today. Gtg find Indi. Pls talk 2 sunset shimmer tho. rarity said she could help u. Glhf.” I was correct. This is gibberish of the highest order. I don’t even think that one of those symbols was actually a letter. I put the phone back down and returned to investigating the apartment. It seems that Human Edition is not as neat as I am. Of course, he isn’t nearly as terrible as Lemon Zest’s; the little time I was forced to spend in her rooms assured me that, after a certain volume, her choice of music does little more than scramble one’s brain cells. Of course, that would imply that she actually possessed a modicum of intelligence to begin with. The clock on the wall read 7:10. If my memory proved correct, that meant that I had about an hour before I was supposed to appear at the school proper. After I removed the last few books from my closet and stacked them in the corner where they couldn’t ambush anypony, I set about the task of figuring out how I am intended to get dressed. The addition of hands – and the subtraction of magic—did not make the task any easier. Yes, hands can be more precise and less tiresome to use but they also take an irritating amount of practice where concepts like “buttons” and “ties” are concerned. I struggled with the latter for a good while before just deciding to forgo the glorified collar. I stuffed the fabric into my satchel and continued the battle with the shirt. I began to regret not asking Sunny about the fashions of this world when I had the chance. Of course, asking her about that would likely result me not having any time to actually try any of it out – we’d probably still be talking. Instead, we spent the last two days discussing effectively everything else; culture, history, etiquette, who to avoid around school, which teachers are not figurative megalomaniac monsters, which students were literal megalomaniac monsters and how to operate the vending machines in order to obtain more delicious snacks. Eventually I corralled the buttons into their respective holes – mostly, anyway – and, after translating the schedule tacked onto my wall, I packed my satchel as well as I could and set off for the dining hall. Like the rest of the Crystal Prep Academy, the dining hall aimed to please. The interior was filled with swooping arches, elegant murals, tasteful insignias and a pleasantly relaxing color scheme of lavender and pale green. The food, as I soon found out, was not an exception either. My breakfast consisted of a fruit salad, bowl of cereal and a multitude of angry glares when I tried to drink the latter like soup. Since neither Sunny nor her friends boarded at the school, I ate alone and got down to some reading. Unfortunately, I hadn’t the time to discover where Human Edition had left his collection of Nieghponese light novels – or even if he had any in the first place – so I was forced to make do with a textbook. Said textbook was tastefully titled “IGCSE Business Studies” and, upon further inspection, contained absolutely no harems whatsoever; comedic or otherwise. The authors had instead decided to include a fairly in-depth explanation of how the human economy works. Long story short, it doesn’t. But, come to think of it, that knowledge might actually be useful if I am to stay here for any great amount of time. And come to think of it, that knowledge will be definitely be useful considering that schools generally tend to have exams. Halfway through chapter six, Consumer Protection, a bell rang. As the other students were getting up to leave, I guessed that it was 8:10 and time to see what passed for an assembly in this world. I finished off the remained fruit salad, wrapped the purple piece of fabric around my neck as best I could, hoped for the best and prepared for the worst. Measurements: Part 2Well, I may have gotten lost. No, I have definitely gotten lost. I as much as I enjoy wandering around school buildings, the enjoyment is ruined by the fact that I'm actually supposed to be doing something productive; not admiring the architecture. The architecture is nice though, with high ceilings, graceful arches and a relaxing green and purple color scheme. Of course, it did not hold a candle to anything Alloy Falchion ever designed but it was wholly survivable. For a school, anyway. Ah, there it is! My classroom. Said classroom contained a collection of highly stressed students. It also contained a disgruntled teacher and a surprise test. Both were highly stress-inducing and I was prepared for neither of them. "How nice of you to join us, Mr Nocturne. I trust you studied well." The man - a large fellow with grayish skin and a bad toupee - proudly announced. "No, actually. I didn't." I explained, trying to ignore the fact that everyone else had already started the test and was hard at work either laughing at me and trying not to. The teacher glared at me. "Well then, Mr Nocturne, whatever were you doing then that was so important that you found it appropriate to turn up late for my test?" "Trying to find the class, sir." I replied. He held his face in his hands and the other students lost all pretense of trying to answer anything. "Take a paper, sit down and try not to fail." He commanded, retreating to his desk and a hip flask that I doubted contained fruit juice. Trying to ignore the twenty pairs of eyes driving chuckling nails of shame into my ego, I slunk into an empty seat and realized that although I had studied a remarkable amount of culture, I had also studied almost no actual schoolwork whatsoever. With shaking hands, I turned the cover page of the test and then breathed a sigh of relief. It was physics. That is one of those things; like my artistic ability, Sugarcoat's bluntness and the deliciousness of fried vegetable slices; that persists unchanged throughout time and space. I cracked my knuckles - something humans do in situations like this apparently - and got down to work. About half an hour later, I had finished the test. Admittedly, I had it to be far more difficult than I had previously presumed the field of study to be. I am an artist and, depending on Prince Imaginos' mood, occasionally a test subject. As I found out, I am definitely not a scientist and physics is definitely not what I though it was. Some of the test, like waves, was common sense. Some, such as electromagnets, seemed to come right out of a science fiction novel. Again, not my area of expertise; I prefer romance. And finally, some was factually incorrect. I thought everypony knew that the Sky Goddess rotated the sun and moon around the world; not the other way round. As I trudged out of the class, yet another familiar voice accosted me. Said voice belonged to a girl with a mess of lime green hair and a visibly pounding pair of headphones. I had a horrible feeling I knew who this was. "Hey, Mirage! How'd you find the test?" Asked Lemon Zest. "That was without a doubt one of the worst experiences in my life. Can you guess what the first is?" I asked, not bothering to make eye contact and hoping desperately that she would get the message. She didn't. "No clue, Mirage. Anyway, Sunny told me about your problem and I am here to help." She yelled proudly, spinning on the spot. "Thanks for the offer, but I am quite fine." I responded before walking off in search of the English classroom. Suddenly, a hand grabbed me by the collar and jerked me back into the conversation. The green haired girl glared at me with a look that suggested that this was a matter of life and death. "You don't get it, do you?" "I clearly don't, no. Now, if you would excuse me, I have classes to fail." She did not let go. "Dude. I know Sunny's great and all but you can't come to her for advice." "And why not, pray tell? She seems reasonable." "Yeah, I guess but only if you're talking about school stuff. If you're trying to survive in the real world, you've gotta talk somebody who knows real-world things. Like me." The real world. As far as I was concerned, the real world obeyed the laws of physics and involved me not having this conversation. But, then again, I suppose I might as well try to fit in. "Fine. What do you have in mind?" I sighed, hoping that it did not involve the dread- "Parties!" Yelled the student much to the chagrin of everyone else in the hallway. "They're the realest thing there is. You, me and Indy. Tonight at Klub Ice. I know this guy who's like, the ultimate forger. He can get you anywhere." "Can he get me home?" I wondered out loud as my hopes of getting any sleep tonight drained away. "Nah, probably not. But if you want Melody Lure tickets, he's got you covered." I reconsidered. Perhaps this world's Lemon Zest actually has decent taste in music. Perhaps "Bank Holiday" is an actually holiday and not just some prank people pull on unsuspecting foreigners. Perhaps I just really wanted to know what human music sounded like. I'm not entirely sure which was which but I agreed and a few hours later, I was standing in front of a nightclub with the person who was apparently now my best friend and a literal mythical fish demon from another dimension. The bouncers were not amused. Concerts: Part 2And because said bouncers were none too pleased with Lemon Zest’s attempt at getting into Melody Lure's concert, I ended getting thrown out of the building. Quite literally thrown. It hurt just enough to remind my neck that it was supposed to be in pain too. Luckily, before the pair of bouncers decided to exact any more violence upon my sorry hide, a man wearing the most ridiculous outfit I had ever seen appeared in their way. The suit was a pure, sparkling white and the shirt beneath was a hot pink. It hurt me just to look at it and the man inside wasn’t much better. Now, I haven’t found any of the humans I’ve met so far to be especially attractive but this fellow was a winner. Stringy blond hair, blood red highlights and a mess of nasty scars danced – or, rather, tripped over their own feet – bad news around this man. The copious amount of gold jewelry served only to further inhibit the man’s outfit. Still, he was standing between me and a beating so I might as well play along; Lemon and Sonata had already ran off and I doubted that I could handle both of these goons on my own. The one on the right on his own? Perhaps. He was big, dumb and probably blinded by the ridiculous bangs he cultivated. However, he was not alone and his partner, an extremely vicious looking carnivore of a woman in possession of a white and lavender abomination that I can only refer to a “reverse mullet” was probably going to beat the stuffing out of me if I tried to punch her coworker in the family jewels. That and I doubted that my aching everything would allow for much more than a slow limp. “Gilda, Dumbbell, let him off. He’s with me.” Commanded the man as he pointed a rhinestone-studded cane in my direction. The two bouncers groaned and slouched away; likely back to intimidating potential patrons. The man chuckled to himself and gestured for me to follow him into the imposing monument of Brutalism that was his club. He stayed conspicuously silent as we wandered past the crowds of well-dressed patrons clapping and cheering along to the popstar’s latest hits. It was repetitive – she used about three chords and her idea of the “truth” was about as far away from a good idea as you could get. That and the strobe lights nearly gave me a seizure. Honestly, from what parts of it I cared to listen to, it was a rather disappointing; Melody Lure did not sound nearly as good as what I was led to believe. Then again, I could have just used my phone to listen to the music myself instead of coming here so I suppose it does serve me right. Those phones really are a wonderful device in their own right though; a radio, a cinema, an art gallery and a whole library of books stuffed into something that fits in your hoof. Absolutely incredible and a great help to my attempts to fit in around here. If only I had known that before this morning’s disaster of a physics test. Eventually, we reached the private part of Klub Ice and to my great relief, the lighting here was actually bearable. Still bright green but at least now it stayed bright green. The area itself was rather dimly lit but, from what I could gather, the beer was plentiful and the couches looked soft enough. “Take a sit, Mirage. You and I have a lot to talk about.” Said the man, collapsing onto a leather armchair himself. “Alright, thanks for the intervention back there but how do you know my name?” I asked after sinking into one of the chairs myself. They were surprisingly comfortable. “We’ll get to that, Mirage. Now, do you see those people over there?” He asked, pointing with his garish cane at a pair of familiar faces – the bouncers from earlier. “You see, they like to hit things. Things that try and run away before I’ve finished my discussion. But feel free to try.” “Well, that settles it then. I guess I’ll hear you out.” I replied. This night was not turning out like I had planned. Of course, my planning include not having to interact with Lemon or her somehow even more obnoxious friend so not as planned was not that bad. “Fantastic. Call me Father Imaginos.” Imaginos? This guy claimed to be Imaginos? He was not Imaginos. First, he didn’t have a kingdom. Second, he was about the nastiest looking man I can imagine. Third, he spoke far too casually for a person of the status he claimed. Then again, he did look like a human version of the Prince. The had the same hair color right down to the red streaks – although I doubted the human’s was natural – and my mentor’s coat did actually look quite like the shade of the man’s skin. Black. Literally black as in an absence of light. This man had the darkest skin I had ever seen. Save for the fact that he was grinning a bit too widely, his body would have been invisible. That was especially strange considering quite a few Chevallians have dark coats but “Father Imaginos” was the only man I had seen so far with this tone of skin. He snapped his fingers in front of my face a few times, “Cat got your tongue, Mirage?” “No, you just look awfully familiar.” I answered, growing a bit uneasy at the jarring resemblance. “That’s to be expected. Indigo Zap told me great things about you.” He chuckled. He then leaned back in his chair with an arm out. A few seconds later, a scantily dressed woman deposited a glass of something that glowed a pale blue in his hand. He then happily sipped the beverage as I was left to put two and two together. Oh, that’s right. Sunny had said that Indigo had disappeared right before a sleepover that she and a few other friends had planned. The athlete had reappeared in a hospital bed a day later with more than one broken bone on her mind and more than one swear on her lips. She claimed, again relayed to me in Sunny’s textual gibberish and kindly translated by Lemon Zest, that a bunch of thugs had stolen her car and then “tooled me over in basement for a while before this masked nutjob turned up and interrogated me about some sports competition that I basically lost.” I had a horrible feeling that that nutjob was about to do the very same to me if I didn’t play my cards right. And to make matters worse, I didn’t even own a full deck, let alone know any of the rules. Breakfasts: Part 2So it turns out that Stalliongrad had basically nothing to explore. That left me with two options and one involved talking to other people so reading it was. Sunny was kind enough to lend me one of her spellbooks so I that I could practice my newfound talents. Alas, said book Magic in regard to Tailoring was not exactly relevant to my interests. Still, it was better than having to interact with Sugarcoat so I resigned myself to an afternoon lying in bed and trying to figure out how to get home. After a few minutes of being bored, somebody knocked at my door. "Is this Mirage Nocturne's room?" Asked the knocker. "It depends; are you here to piss on his rug?" I responded, not currently in the mood to put up any more of this world's antics. "What? No. We're just here to talk." Responded the voice. Truly, references are wasted upon policemen. Still, I had not yet learned any combat spells - or anything at all past levitation - so I continued, "Alright? How many are you?" "Four ponies, Mr Nocturne." "Well, in that case, why don't you just talk to yourselves?" The voices muttered among each-other for a while. I briefly considered climbing out the window but a two-story drop onto concrete did not sound appealing. That and I had no idea whether I could actually levitate myself yet. I doubted that was possible; pegasi would probably be obsolete if that were the case. Another knock. Sighing, I got up and opened the door to reveal precisely three unicorns and one pegasus. All were grumpy, surprisingly large and literally armed to the teeth. Judging by their white coats, I'd say that these were some more of Imaginos' knockoff SS goons. The pegasus smiled a smile that had far too many teeth for my liking. "How nice of you to join us, Mr Nocturne. Now, if you would kindly accompany my men back to the station." He said, gesturing with a cinnamon-brown hoof in the direction opposite the actual train station. "Why? Am in trouble?" I asked nervously, not liking the look of the daggers the unicorns held. The pegasus chuckled briefly and then his friends joined in. He seemed vaguely familiar in a way but the person he bore familiarity to was certainly not a member of state security so that idea went out the window. "Only if you don't cooperate, Mr Nocturne. Then you will be." "You do realize that I'm going to miss the concert if you arrest me, right?" "Don't worry about that. Miss Lure is a personal friend of mine." Replied the pegasus as he started down the stairs. I reluctantly followed. In hindsight, actually indulging Sunny's ideas was, as always, a bad idea. Here I was, being arrested because somebody just doesn't realize that I am not interest in her. We continued out of the inn and, to my surprise, actually to the train station. The blond-maned pegasus dismissed his minions and ordered me onto a train carriage. To my relief, he got on too and didn't lock it behind him. "Have you had breakfast yet, Mr Nocturne?" He asked before walking over to the magic bar and pulling out a few bottles of beer. "Yes, actually. I had breakfast about ten hours ago. And also, what's going on here?" The pegasus twisted the cap off with a wing and took a hearty swig before answering, "Prince Imaginos was not happy with your little outing. So he sent me, Captain Swift, to escort you back to Colteno." "Your name's Vinny Swift? Like the actor?" Swift confirmed that, "Yes. Call me Captain Swift though. I don't act anymore." By now, the train had began to start moving. Our carriage remained strangely empty though. Not that I was in any way opposed to that; I would have preferred not to be in trouble with the Prince though. Unlike Lemon, I think he actually has the power to carry through with his insane threats. "Now, normally his majesty would have simply had somepony executed for disobeying his orders like that but, since you're you, he chose to make an exception." "What a relief. I suppose I'll just have to settle for Asklepian's department then." I said. Now, that beer actually tasted pretty good. Normally, I prefer wine - specifically rose - but this was something else. It was actually enjoyable. Swift chuckled again, "Of course not, Mr Nocturne. You're far too valuable to be turned into an alicorn. Yet, anyway. Once our resident mad scientist has perfected the formula, you'll get your chance just like the rest of us?" "So what exactly is an alicorn then?" One sip of Fortress later and the Captain replied, "Ah, yes, he did warn me about this. You said that your memory was damaged by the teleport, right?" "No, my memory is fine. My brain however was teleport across time and space into this." I said, pointing at myself. "And I reckon the opposite happened for my counterpart." He was not amused. He was confused. I took another drink. Eventually, he responded, "I think that this would be best discussed over breakfast." With that, he hopped off his couch and picked up a phone built into the wall. "Room service. Two full Ponish breakfasts please. What? Yes, I know it's 18:03 but this is an official Protection Squadron order. And hold the onions on the left one." You just can't get away from it. You just can't get away. Stopped in sleepy town. Left my change and walked out. I didn't even turn around. Why is nobody sane here? You don't order breakfast for dinner. Swift turned back around after that. "Now that that is taken care of, care to explain this problem in a bit more detail?" "Only if you care to explain what's happening in Horsica." And, much to my relief, he began to do just that. Explanations: Part 1"So you kidnapped Indigo Zap. And then interrogated her about what I assume is the Friendship Games. And she told you about my condition. So when you saw me at your nightclub, you just had to take into the back for a few drinks and a quick romp in the hay?" I replied. Father Imaginos smiled and if it weren't for the fact that his teeth were a mess of yellow decay, I would have been blinded. "Excellent. You aren't as stupid as your friend. Now, what happens next?" "Well, considering that one of your 'harlots' just poured me champagne, I'd guess that romance is still on the menu. Now, I'd suppose that you, a egocentric type, are into roleplay. As such, I'd guess that we'll sit here for a while - you'll be Dr. Caballeron and I'll be Daring Do. And since we're already in your lair, I suppose that you'll have to tell me your master plan. And then you'll kill me." The man broke out into a fit of laughter. Knee-slapping, drink-spitting, snort-gurgling laughter. It was like something out of The Everfree Book; this great black panther roaring away because his captive pony told him a joke. Admittedly, I did not get it. Then again, I have no idea how this world's humor works. Eventually, he recovered. Another round of drinks was ordered and it occurred to me - while the priest was still chuckling, of course - that everyone else in the private section of Klub Ice was quite familiar. If I looked closely enough, and if the lighting was good, I could spot a few ponies that I knew. Eureka Lead, the Royal Tailor; Cumulonimbus, Royal General; Sugarcoat, the Royal Pain and Pangalactic and Gargleblaster, the Royal Brewmaster and Astronomer, respectively. "Good, I can see why the other me took you as an apprentice. If your ability is as sharp as your wit, I'm sure you'd have a great future ahead of you." Father Imaginos finally replied, "But, since you're here, you can help me instead." "With what? It looks like you have enough friends already. And why is Sugarcoat of all ponies here?" The girl must have noticed me because with in seconds her angry glare was followed up with an angry reply, "I am here because I am a friend of Father Imaginos. Oh and by the way, your attempt at getting in was spectacularly pathetic; I almost wanted Gilda to hit you. Maybe you should consider not forging-" "That's quite enough, my dear. Now go and enjoy the concert before I have Dumbbell throw you into the mosh pit." Interrupted Imaginos, his index finger placed over a rather annoyed Sugarcoat's lips. Frowning, the girl strode off and soon became just another weird outfit in a sea of fashion victims. Now, where were we? Something about you getting me in the horse world?" "No, we were talking about... yes, we were talking about that. I'm afraid I can't help you, though; I have no idea how to get back." He chuckled again and stood up, gesturing around to his club. "You will, Mirage, for you shall have all the the resources you'll ever need behind you! Just name it and you shall have it," "Well, in that case, I'd like to go home and never do this again. And also, how many resources does a nightclub have, exactly?" I asked, looking around at the room. It did not inspire me. Then again, bad lighting, bad suits, bad drinks and tacky decor never does. Seriously, every available surface must have been covered in mirrors. Most of the other surfaces weren't available because they were covered birch paneling, rhinestones, leather or modern art. The man literally had an entire wall devoted to the works of Jackson Fetlock and as distasteful as his paintings are, they aren't terrible enough to tear a hole though time and space. Yet anyway, I did hear that he had been experimenting with Zebra dung. The priest was terribly offending by my statement. I know this for he adopted that tone of voice his princely counterpart adopted whenever some bright spark had annoyed him enough to have the prince suddenly remember that "those inquisitive souls over at Camp Crow's River always needed new volunteers". It was not a tone of voice that any sane pony ever wanted to hear. Most insane ponies didn't care and most ponies went insane after a week with Asklepian anyway so I was not too keen on hearing it directed at me. It was a joyfully sadistic tone in a grim world run in part by a cadre of sadists and in part by a monarch who had no qualms in indulging them. And I had just been a very bright spark indeed. "Mirage Nocturne. I am not a man to be disrespected. You see, my holdings are an iceberg." Dammit. He's mad too. Luckily, he continued and made very clear that he did not own a large piece of ice floating somewhere in the Crystal Seas. "They are an iceberg in the way that very little of it is above water. Whether the water in this analogy represents public knowledge or the laws of the land is up to debate but do keep in mind A: The resources of the Cult of Desdinova are far greater than they seem. And B: If you insult me again, I will have you killed until you wish you were dead." I thought I heard a monotone voice shout "That isn't possible. Anyone killed is, by definition, dead" but that might just have been the music. If so, it was the most interesting set of lyrics I had heard the entire night. If not, I wonder why Sugarcoat gets a free pass on annoying this madman. "Fine. What specifically do you need me to do?" He smiled and I began to desperately hope that he realized the my Daring Do allusion was sarcastic. If it wasn't, I was in for one rough night.
Arrivals: Part 1I blinked my eyes repeatedly, trying to restore some focus and get rid of the dancing lights. If I didn’t know better, I would say that I had hit my head harder than I thought. My head didn’t actually hurt though. That was not the result I expected from accidentally bashing it against the concrete floor of the basketball court. Come to think of it, I didn’t expect the unicorns either. There were four of them standing expectantly around the room. Three of the creatures held expressions of ether shock, awe or confusion and appeared to be wrapped in what I almost mistook for labcoats. The fourth stood wore a golden crown and expressed a look of mild annoyance, as if a waiter was late with an order. The room itself was fairly large and built from stone bricks that were as white as bone. Surrounding the observers was a great assortment of scientific equipment; panels, monitors, stacks of books and paper, and the like. Nobody moved and the tension in the air became palpable as the unicorn’s bright eyes drilled holes into me. The awkwardness of the situation resembled the time I had came in casual clothes to a school prize giving – everyone was looking at me and I was not enjoying it. Eventually, the crowned unicorn spoke up. Yes, he opened his mouth and words came out. A set of particularly disgruntled words too: “Now, for 10 points and the off chance that I will let anypony else in this room survive the night, give me a good explanation as to why Mirage is still here.” The other three unicorns stared nervously at each-other, consulted their notes, shuffled nervously around and then decided to shove the unluckiest of their number forward. I briefly considered responding myself but the prospect of humiliation followed shortly by death was not one that appealed to me. Not even for the enticing offer of 10 points. The unlucky unicorn; it had a golden-blonde coat and a mousy brown mane; mumbled some incomprehensible excuse before trying to return to their group. Either that or sink into the floor. The crowned unicorn responded, “Come again, Electrum? Perhaps you should speak up a bit while you still have a tongue.” The unicorn, presumably Electrum, decided to do the sensible thing and repeat her explanation, albeit in a more audible tone, “Our sincerest apologies, Prince Imaginos. We had apparently miscalculated the angle of the teleport. I think it failed to correctly identify a destination and this resulted in a buildup of charge. As such, the battery was overloaded and it’s, well, broken. It could take years to repair.” “So what you are telling me is that our progress has been set back years all because one of you could not be bothered to proof-read your work.” Prince Imaginos huffed after stamping on the tiles, “Very well. You have three months; repair this and successfully send a pony to Horsica alive or I will have you reassigned to Asklepian’s department. As a test subject.” This threat was enough to send Electrum to tears. She trotted of back to her colleagues One actually dabbed at her face with the corner of her labcoat. Suprisingly, they managed to do this with their hooves; I didn’t think that a horse's hooves were that dexterous. Before I could continue down that path, the Prince called my name. “Well, hurry up, Mirage. I cannot allow my favorite apprentice to waste his time staring at the incompetent. Some of their work ethic or lack thereof might infect you.” It was at that point that I decided that I was dreaming. I missed that layup, hit my head and this is just some bizarre dream I’m having while unconscious. That’s it. That explains the talking unicorns, how I got here and how they all know my name. Still, I might as well humor my subconscious. I took a step forward and my hoof clopped against the cold, dark metal of the platform I stood upon. Wait. I don’t have hooves. I look down at my legs and find out that they have doubled in number. They are also a pale gold in color. That and a bit hairier than usual. “Stop admiring yourself and come along now, Mirage. We have important work to do. Work that certainly does not involve standing on extremely expensive machinery that just so happens to be broken thanks to somepony who cannot add.” Insisted the Prince, all the while glaring at the trio of what I assumed were scientists. “What am I?” I finally managed to ask. On the off chance that I’m not asleep, I’d prefer to get my bearings sooner rather than later. Not to mention the fact that I’m not sure of exactly I am supposed to walk. The Prince sighed and his horn began to glow a deep cyan as his eyes narrowed in concentration. Suddenly, pairs of hands that shimmered the same color as Imaginos’ horn grasped each of my legs and thrust me into the air. I struggled briefly but the hands were manacles of ethereal fingers. They dragged me along behind the Prince, who began to walk out of the room. “It seems that the teleporter’s malfunction was worse than I thought. And to answer your question, you are Nocturne Mirage, apprentice to Crowned Prince Imaginos of Chevallia.” This was rapidly becoming the weirdest dream I ever had. After noticing that the hands had spared me mouth, I rephrased my question, “Alright. Am I a unicorn too then?” “Mirage, you have been a unicorn your entire life. You woke up as one and you will go to sleep as one. You were born a unicorn and, at this rate anyway, you will die as one. Do you have any other foolish questions for me? I would ask them now, before your excursion next week.” “So I’m a unicorn. And your apprentice. And everyone else is also a unicorn. What is happening?” I asked again. I was began to fear that dream was going to become a nightmare. Prince Imaginos stopped walking. His horn stopped glowing and the hands stopped existing. I stopped floating in the air and crashed into the floor for the second time in as many hours. Pain shot through my jaw and my sight blurred briefly. Suddenly, a thought exploded into my brain. People cannot feel pain in dreams. That fact that my face hurts like it was dropped from a six-foot height – which it was – should be impossible right now. Yet am I hurt. This is bad. Really, really bad. I do not think that I am dreaming after all. I am really, literally a unicorn stuck in another world.
Arrivals: Part 2I blinked my eyes repeatedly, trying to restore some focus and get rid of the dancing lights. If I didn’t know better, I would say that the teleporter had malfunctioned. That would be impossible though, Orichalcum had worked on it for months and we had double-checked that everything was in working order. Still, I didn’t have hands the last time I woke up. Immediately, I checked if I was dreaming. I clapped my newfound appendages together and they made a believable sound. I felt it too so obviously I am awake. Somehow. I appeared to be lying in some kind of bed; if the pillows and blankets are anything to go by. The bed is surprisingly long though; almost twice the length of the average pony. It seemed to be situated in a fairly small and spare room with walls painted that weirdly common shade of pale green that supposedly aids the healing process. I doubted it was particularly effective at said task though. I turned my head to further inspect my surroundings and a dagger of pain shot through the back of my neck and I am not ashamed to admit that I screamed. I screamed louder than I thought because I soon heard hoofsteps coming towards my room. Well, at least I can get some answers now. That and maybe some anesthetic – I feel like I have been kicked in the head. A pair of odd-looking creatures opened the door and stepped inside. They were over five feet tall, with short manes, no coats and strangely elongated limbs. Both were wearing clothes but one of the creature's outfits was unlike anything I had ever seen – Loose and decorated with some or other emblem. One of the creatures, the one with the short, pink mane, then spoke up. Yes, it actually opened its mouth and spoke. Very peculiar. “Mirage! Are you alright, dearie? We had screaming.” It asked, walking close to my bed. “Where am I?” I asked before the creature got any closer. I did not like the look of its claws. They were blood red and pointed right at me. The other creature, this one was taller and possessed a beard, answered in a tone that suggested that it was clearly used to answering such questions – calm but somewhat tired. “Mister Nocturne, you are in the school sanatorium. You fell while playing basketball and hit your head.” “Alright then.” Well, I had an answer now. Admittedly a bad one but at least these strange creatures seemed harmless. In fact, now that I look at it, they seem somewhat familiar. I think I heard a legend about them once. About a thousand years ago, a powerful unicorn had built a portal to their world in order to banish some threat that was plaguing some far off land. I reckon that was it, anyway. I did not care for Prince Imaginos’ endless lectures about Pony history. “So are you in pain or something?” The clawed one asked, derailing my train of thought. Its face – It looked like a hairless, flattened version of a pony’s – had an expression of what was probably concern plastered across it. “Yes. Yes, I am. My neck hurts a lot actually. That and I seem to have grown a pair of hands.” I respond, waving the limbs in question around for dramatic effect. The two creatures, humans if my memory is correct, break out in laughter. When the pink-haired one recovered, she said, “Well, you can’t be that hurt if you’re still cracking jokes, Mirage.” “You think that’s funny? Ponies do not just grow random appendages on accident. And how do you all know my name anyway? What’s happening?” I ask, the gravity of the situation finally getting to me: I was stranded in another dimension filled with mythical creatures. Mythical creatures with an extremely bizarre sense of humor. The bearded one managed to stop chuckling after it heard that. In fact, it looked rather worried. After whispering something to its friend, it answered my question, “Mirage, we know your name because you are a student here, at Crystal Prep. You hurt yourself and you are in the school sanitarium. Do you not remember that?” “No, of course I don’t remember that. It didn’t happen to me. The last thing I remember was standing on the teleporter after saying goodbye to Sunny. Something must have gone wrong. That’s why I am lying here with hands for hooves and a headache with the severity of an earthquake, you idiots!” I kindly explained to the humans. Suddenly, a thought crossed my mind. I am supposed to be a pony, a unicorn to be precise, and they did not acknowledge that. So either the unicorns have hands in this world – a pretty nasty thought considering that I have to walk on these things – or I am not a pony at all. That is an even worse thought actually. Before the humans could recover from the last explanation, I decided to find out, “So alright. Am I a human now? Is that why you think I am somepony else?” The pair looked worriedly at each-other again. Gulping, the blue haired one responded, “Mirage, My name's Sunny. Sunny Flare. We’re friends. And of course you’re human. Are you sure you’re alright?” “I think that you may have fallen harder than I thought, Mirage. You may have some amnesia. I ran some tests already but I think that you should stay here tonight so that we can see if it clears up. If not...” The bearded one chose to leave the last sentence to my imagination. If the asylums here are anything like those in Chevallia, I really should start to pretend to remember things. After sighing, I agree. I am to stay here tonight. Doctor Crates – that was his name, apparently – would come back in a few hours but until then, the girl claiming to be Sunny Flare would keep me company. This was going to be a long night and certainly not in a good way.
Banquets: Part 1Well, after my profoundly unfortunate discovery this morning, I have done little more than stand around uselessly in what Prince Imaginos insists is my apartment. I certainly can't blame him though; the little trio of rooms is definitely to my liking. The first of them is a living room - albeit one with a rather full collection of bookshelves replacing much of the walls. It seems that this alternate version of me, I think that I that will call him Mirage Nocturne: The Pony Edition, shares my voracious appetite for "trashy romance novels", as Indigo Zap so kindly put it. I really wonder sometimes: Why am I friends with that girl? The ersatz library also contained a pair of navy blue couches and an wooden table with a map of some sort delicately carved in to it. I had a look at the cartography further but to no avail - I apparently cannot read Pony. I only figured out what the genres of the novels were by looking at the covers. The next of the rooms was to be my bedroom, it seemed. I deduced this fact by discovering that the room contained a bed. A rather nice one in fact, complete with fluffed pillows and a luxuriously soft duvet. Alas, there was an absence of mints under said pillows despite their plump and cozy nature. I also happened upon a wardrobe in the room and shortly afterwards, an avalanche of Chevallia's classics happened upon me. Annoyingly enough, some habits of mine persist throughout the universe. That is, if I still am even in the same universe. I hope so, I forgot to delete my search history in my native one. As I was clawing - hoofing maybe - my way out of the literary landslide, one of its constituents caught my eye. It was my diary and I knew this because I could actually read the title. I am not sure how The Pony Edition managed to write it, my guesses would be either by mouth or possibly magic, but he did. To make a pleasant find even more pleasant, he wrote it in my secret code alphabet. This shall certainly prove useful in orientating myself about this place. Especially if my counterpart shares my interest in maps. Perhaps he did that table himself? I would not put it past me. Just then, a swift knock on the door shattered the little pedestal I was building for myself. The knocking did not stop after a sensible time either; nor did it stop after I asked it to. Picking the diary up in my mouth, I walked back to the door and prepared myself for the next unwelcome occurrence. To my relief, the bathroom would have to wait for another time. I pushed open the door to reveal a pale blue pony with a trio of silver pigtails framing an extremely bored expression. A set of orange spectacles were perched above her nose and If I didn't know better, I would say that I had met her before. "Good evening, Mirage Nocturne. I would suggest that you buy an alarm clock; that way you would know that you are twenty minutes late for dinner; then again, knowing you, you would conveniently forget you owned it every time it was supposed to go off." Sugarcoat. This pony was definitely Sugarcoat. It could not be more obvious if she herself told me. Well, knowing her - the master of bluntness - it probably could be. Still, it was hear a familiar voice, even if that voice belonged to an individual who seems to delight in her own tactlessness. "Yes, sorry about that. I sort of woke up to discover that I am stuck in the body of a unicorn who acts exactly like I do. That and the Prince dropped me on my face. I think I might eat in tonight." I hurriedly explained, hoping for her to be replaced instantly with a more amicable acquaintance. "You really need to stop smoking mare-juana, Mirage. And no, you cannot eat in your room tonight. Prince Imaginos arranged a banquet to celebrate the latest victory of the Protection Squadron and he would not be pleased if you refused to attend. You should also comb your mane; you have split ends everywhere." Sugarcoat responded in an ennui tone, as she tended to do when responding. Or when chatting. Or when singing. Or whenever. "Alright, Sugarcoat. I get it. Can you cut me some slack though? I literally woke up in another dimension." "No." "Fine. Can you at least help me with my mane then? I can't figure out how to comb it, let alone style it into something presentable." Well, the bathroom was surprisingly normal. A bit more horizontal than I am used to but I suppose that can be excused. Sugarcoat's maliciousness with a brush however cannot be. Unfortunately, it seems that her affinity for verbal brute force also translated to an affinity for physical brute force. By the time she was done, I was surprised to see that I still had hair left at all. I was positively awestruck to note that it actually looked nice. After inspecting myself in the mirror, I discovered that much like my white-haired hairdresser, I too looked much like how I was supposed to. Pony Edition had a mane and tail of cyan that faded into a pale pink, much like my own hair. The style - or intended style, anyway - was also quite similar: A comb over to the left with the sides of the head shaved. My coat was still a golden blond and my eyes remained hazel. I would say that I looked rather presentable but Sugarcoat popped that little bubble of ego rather quickly. We arrived at the hall rather quickly after that; it was a pleasantly short distance from my apartment, an especially pleasant one when considering that I was still rather new to this quadruped business. A pair of stern-looking unicorns dressed in white leather coats opened the large wooden doors to reveal a number of large tables set up in front of a stage. Milling about the room were ponies of all shapes and sizes, though all were rather formally dressed. Well, I thought so anyway - most were wearing clothes and most of those clothes resembled formal attire. I began to feel rather under-dressed. As Sugarcoat led me to what she assured was our table, a few of the other guests greeted me. I responded uneasily; unlike my tactless guide, none of them resembled anybody I knew from my world. Were they friends, acquaintances or was everyone just really friendly here? We arrived at a table with a few other ponies already seated. I was instructed to sit at the chair with some illegible placard in front of it. The place was set with cutlery; and again I had no idea how I was intended to use any of it. Sugarcoat had picked up the comb with her mouth but I couldn't exactly do that and also eat could I? "Wow, Mirage, you really went all out for tonight. You pull off that 'I just lost a fight and didn't bother to clean up afterwards' look really well." Sniped a voice to my left in a tone that quickly morphed from sickeningly saccharine to scarily sadistic. I turned to face the grinning pony sitting next to me. She had a peach colored coat and some spots that I also most mistook for freckles on the sides of her muzzle. Of course Sugarcoat would choose to put me next to my other least favorite person: Sour Sweet. "Oh great, you again. Did we not agree not to talk to each other?" I asked the still smiling pony, who was now somehow balancing a wineglass on her hoof. And then drinking from said glass. The irritating feeling that I was dreaming came back again. Too bad that such a feeling was not true. "Why of course not, silly. Prince Imaginos commanded you to show me and my friends around and he would have your ears cut off if you disobeyed him! You are supposed to make us feel welcome, after all." Sour Sweet responded all too happily. "Wait, what? Why am I supposed to do that? I can't even remember where my own rooms are from here, let alone where anything that you would care about is." Then a thought struck me. Pony Edition was assigned to be nice to Sugarcoat and her insufferable friends. Alright, Sunny Flare was actually an agreeable person and Indigo and I did share one a few interests but I could not care less for the rest of them. I hope he did a decent job thought; I have suddenly grown quite attached to my ears. "Oh no, has poor little Mirage forgotten where he lives again? Serves the idiot right for not being accommodating enough." Sour Sweet chided. At least the drinks seem to be free. I will need more than a few if I am to get through this mess of an evening.
Banquets: Part 2"So you're serious about not remembering anything?" Sunny Flare asked after returning from the somewhere she called the "vending machine". "Yes, I am serious. I can't remember anything about this place because I'm not from here." A look of confusion crossed the pink-haired girl's face as she sat down on the chair next to my bed. "What do you mean you aren't from here? You live in the school dormitory." "No, I mean that I am not from this world. Some... something went wrong and I am apparently stuck here in a human's body." I explained again, trying - and likely failing - to convince her that I was sane. That look of confusion quickly morphed into one of shock. I reached over for the cup of water on the nightstand; I figured that more explaining was clearly in order. As I did, another twinge of pain shot through my neck. "Here, let me get that for you." Sunny said as she handed me the cup, "Are you sure about all of this. Couldn't that just be a dream or something?" "Thanks and no, I wasn't dreaming. That all certainly happened; I remember that all perfectly. I am supposed to be a unicorn; not a human. Somehow I was put here in the body of what I think is my human counterpart." "Well, um alright then? So you don't know anything about Crystal Prep at all?" The girl asked as she attempted to open some brightly wrapped packet. "Crystal Prep? I know about the Crystal Empire, sure, but not the school version, no. But if you want to explain anything, go right ahead." "Alright then, Mirage." Sunny paused briefly before offering me the contents of the packet, "Do you want any?" The packet seemed to contain a multitude of small, oval disks. They were a pale yellow in colour and their delicious smell kindly reminded me that I had not eaten for about twelve hours. Trying not to move my neck, I stuck my hand into their container and extricated a handful. Crunchy, salty and highly addictive. If the rest of the food in this world is as good, I would almost consider staying here; Prince Imaginos' rule that all government employees have to eat the same food makes for extremely boring cuisine. "They're called potato chips, dearie." She explained as I ate another few of them. She thought briefly, before opening another little bag and handing it to me, "So I suppose we might as well start with questions. What would you like to know?" "Well, could I get back home?" I inquire. "Perhaps, I think. If you're correct about your... condition, then surely there exists a way to reverse it." So she doesn't know. Just perfect. Although I doubt that my world's Sunny Flare could work out how the teleporter works; I could barely understand it myself when Electrum told me. Apparently the device is intended to bend space and then pokes holes it it so ponies can get to places faster or something in that vein. Well, if a quick trip back home is off the table, I best start figuring out how to pretend to be a native of this place - that should allow me to make a proper plan in peace. "Hello, Mirage. Are you here?" Sunny said, waving her hand in front of my face. "Yes, I am just thinking of what to ask next. You said that I am a student of some kind. Could I talk to Prince Imaginos then; he should know what to do." A flash of disgust passes past her face, "You could talk to Mr Imaginos certainly. I cannot imagine why you would want to though; the people he mixes with: Eugh!" Apparently this world's Imaginos was not a Prince. That is strange; I can't imagine why he wouldn't be. "So if I'm not a student of Prince Imaginos, under whose tutelage am I?" I ask, hoping that they are at least competent. Or open minded, either work well enough. "Well, Ms Cadence is the school principal. I suppose all of us here at Crystal Prep are 'under her tutelage' as you so put it." "I see. So who is in charge of the country. I think that this qualifies as a matter of national importance." I ask after devouring another mouthful of potato crisps. I really must take a few bags of those with me when I get back to Chevallia. "This isn't really that important, Mirage. I don't think that the King would care about a case of amnesia." Apparently this place has a king. A stupid king at that. "Very well then, so why are you here?" "Because you're important to me." She quickly correct that to "Well, because doing this sort of thing is important to me. I want to be a doctor after I leave school so I help out with first aid and whatnot." "Sure. That makes sense, I think. Now what do I do all day; school I would guess." "Yes, most days we have school to attend." Sunny answered, her tone suggesting that this was some great tragedy, "Don't worry though, you're still rather new here so I think you'll be forgiven for forgetting where a few classes are." Well that seemed encouraging. I am apparently a new student here. That all I can handle. I wonder if my human counterpart is having the same problems?I hope he does not mess anything up; it took me weeks to finish my last carving and I would hate to have anything happen to it. I think I'll call that version of myself Mirage Nocturne: Human Edition. That seems like a fitting title. "Well, that is certainly convenient. Still, once I recover, would you mind showing me around this world?" "Of course, dearie. In fact, I volunteered to do just that when you arrived Crystal Prep." My apparent guide explained, a prideful smile across her face. It seems that the roles have been reversed; back in my world I was responsible for guiding Sunny Flare and her friends/gang of idiots around Chevallia. How fortunate that my hard work paid off. I think that will need all the help I can get if I am to survive in this land.
Measurements: Part 1Well, that was the most bizarrely boring dinner that I have ever had the deep misfortune of attending. Yes, I have finally found an incident to trump that wretched Form 2 prize giving. Prince Imaginos was apparently rather fond of public speaking. So fond, in fact, that he decided to subject the entire population of Colteno - the city where I now live - to an hour long speech about how great the Protection Squadron is. So there we all sat, fantasising about devouring our dinners and or collapsing into bed, while our glorious leader went on and on how pathetic the enemy was and how amazing his personal army slash thought police was for annihilating them. Eventually it had got to the point in which another pony - this one bearing a pair of wings surprisingly - had to sneak up on stage and remind him that the food was getting cold. In retrospect, this was fairly mediocre decision; the food we had all be desperately praying for turned out to be nothing more than an MRE on plate. For those who did not grow up with a marine as a father, the MRE is an ingenious delicacy comprised of only the most inedible ingredients which are intended to be boiled in a bag and eaten on the go. The acronym stands for either "Meals, Ready to Eat" or "Meals, Rarely Edible" depending on your tastes. I fell in to the latter category. Sour Sweet kindly explained; by kindly I mean telling me that it "was an act of solidarity with the stallions abroad" and that I "should shut my face before [she] pins it closed with a fork". To the Prince's credit though, he actually did eat his portion. I almost think that he enjoyed too. Anyway, after the dinner was done, a mint green unicorn with a short purple mane pulled me aside and began to start yet another conversation that I doubted I wanted to participate in. "Ah, Mirage, I thought that you'd left for Horsica already." The unicorn said before trying to call one of her friends over. "What? No, I'm not going to Corsica. I just got here, actually. It's a long story." I responded. Alright, it wasn't a particularly long story but I would not explain it right now. I would rather just go about acquiring another glass of wine. "Oh, you told me last week that Prince Imaginos had assigned you to go there by the teleporter that he was working on." She said, a hint of disappointment in her voice. "The teleporter malfunctioned. Now, if you excuse me, I need another glass of wine." I said, trying to slip back into the crowd of ponies leaving the hall. "Wine? Are you sure that you're alright, dearie? I thought you said that you hated wine." The unicorn inquired after adjusting the flower in her hair. "Yeah, I'm not feeling alright, Sunny; I think that I'll turn in early." I answered, immediately hoping that my guess to this pony's identity was correct. I would rather not have to explain that faux pas. "Alright then, I had just hoped that since are staying for a few more days that you could help me with something." Sunny said, that hint from before becoming a large glowing neon sign. "Fine. I suppose I can. After all, I would like to keep my ears." A look of horror crossed Sunny Flare's face as her friend finally arrived. "Do not tell me that you actually believed Sour Sweet's ridiculous story!" "Am I interrupting anything?" Inquired Sunny's friend who most certainly was. "Yes but you cannot possibly make this day worse so go ahead." "Sure", the bespectacled unicorn chuckled slightly before he continued, "My name is Eureka Lead and I am the official tailor of the Protection Squadron but I think you know that already." I did not already know that. "It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Mirage Nocturne, my dear apprentice here has told me so much about you." Lead said before throwing a quick glare at Sunny. "Yes, well, I may slightly oversold him, Mr Lead." She said, blushing slightly. "Nonsense, one does not simply oversell the apprentice of Prince Imaginos himself. Now, I must ask you, Mirage: Are you a jersey pony or a cardigan pony?" Why can't this be a dream? It would make such a wonderful dream; it has talking animals, trippy colours, and the weirdest of situations. "I prefer cardigans." I answered, hoping that he was not going to insist on making me one then and there. "Excellent! Sunny, let's escort Mr Nocturne to the shop, I feel a flash of inspiration coming on." Damn it. "Perhaps a navy blue will work?" Sunny Flare suggested as a glowing magenta measuring tape wrapped itself around my thigh - flank? - and a pencil shimmering in the same hue scrawled something on a scrap of paper. Apparently this "magical hand" business is called levitation and luckily, it is something that all unicorns can do. Unluckily, said unicorns must be taught from childhood to do it. I wonder how Pony Edition is getting on with my hands. Hopefully he is not also getting off with them; I run through an awful lot of soap as is. "A wise choice, Miss Flare, I do believe that I have some of that here." Lead muttered as a sheet of dark blue material floated its way over to her. Personally, I thought that that particular shade of blue was more like a Paceian blue but what do I know? I am only an art student. "I think that's Paceian blue, Mr Lead." Sunny corrected before swirling the tape measure around one of my front legs. "Oh yes, of course. You must excuse me, Mirage, I have been terribly busy with the last batch of PS uniforms. Leather is such a novel medium; you know there are no guides for it so I have to do all the development on my own. Still, the results are impressive, if I do say so myself." "So what is this all for anyway? I think that I have enough clothes." At that statement, Sunny collapsed. I quickly reached out to catch her but she was enveloped in a deep silver glow before I could get to her. As she slowly bobbed up and down, I noticed a tingle on the top of my head. "And here you said that you had no talent for levitation, Mirage. Just deposit her on that couch; she should wake up in a minute or so." Lead advised as he used a pair of scissors to gesture to a couch half-buried under a multicoloured mountain of material. So this is what magic feels like. Trying not to forget that I was the one doing all of this, I thought hard about Sunny appearing on the target couch. After pushing those memories of Titanic out of my mind and concentrating of the pony edition of Sunny Flare, the glow slowly carried her to the couch and then dissipated. "Thank you, Mirage. And to answer your question, Horsica gets extremely cold during the, well, all of the months. As part of Sunny Flare's apprenticeship, she has to sew a few winter outfits. She pleaded to tailor them specifically for all of her friends, you included. So when she noticed you at the banquet, she insisted on putting one together before you had to leave." What an encouragement. It seems that I am to shipped off to another corner of this peculiar world for some reason. How encouraging for that little part of me that still wants to go home. And by little part, I mean all of it that is not enamoured by my newfound magical skills. So about half.
Concerts: Part 1It was a simple request, all things considered: Go to the concert with Sunny Flare and her friends. Of course, simple did translate to easy. There existed the ever-present annoyance of said friends. And from what I have seen, four legs are certainly not any better than two. Still, this was Melody Lure we were talking about, not some school orchestra. So, the day after Eureka, Sunny and I had finished the cardigan, I swallowed my complaints - all forty-five of them - and boarded the train to Stalliongrad. "Thanks again for coming, Mirage. I know the timing isn't the best but I only found out that I had accidentally bought an extra ticket yesterday." Sunny explained as I followed her into the train compartment. "Well, I have always wanted to go a Melody Lure concert and suppose that I do also want to see what pony music sounds like." I said while examining the room I found myself in. The train compartment was surprisingly spacious, with a number of couches, chairs and tables inside. Said pieces of furniture were also incredibly comfortable - a discovery I made after tripping over one. The wallpaper of the compartment was also rather interesting; it was a repeating pattern of maps, all highly detailed. In one corner of the room was situated a small fridge, likely battery powered considering the lack of a plug or switch. "Hey, did you say you want to know what real music sounds like?" Yelled an annoyingly familiar voice from above me. Just then, an annoyingly familiar face dropped down and clamped a pair of headphones over my ears. "Try this then!" Shouted Lemon Zest; barely audible over the blaring sound - I wouldn't deign to call it music. The sound in question was loud, violent and loud. I say that twice because one adjective is not capable of covering the sheer amount of decibels Lemon Zest's headphones were somehow capable of producing. The lyrics, if you could call them that, were a combination of every expletive I could imagine; a number of words I presumed were expletives, considering Sour Sweet's earlier tirade about a particularly accurate bird; and a number of words that probably weren't words at all and were actually just things one yelled when "peeved", as Sunny so kindly described Sour Sweet's attitude after said bird hit its target. All of the above was elegantly articulated in what could probably be called a "death growl", if human terminology is anything to go by. The instruments weren't much better. "Well, at least I know that black metal is exactly the same across dimensions. Now, how about things that are actually enjoyable for the average individual?" I asked after I had defenstrated the headphones. "Hey, I'll get you for this!" The pink pegasus yelled before flying out a window and after her "music". "Wow, Mirage, that was excessive. You know that her father gave her those, right? Her dead father." Sugarcoat quipped. I almost felt guilty. Then again, this was the same Lemon Zest humiliated me in front of the entire school. Well, not the "same" Lemon Zest but this was as close as to avenging that particular series of pantsings as I was going to get. I sat back down on the chair and levitated out a book from my bag. I had taught myself to read Pony over the last few days; the abugida was simple enough to learn and it was pronounced identically to English, albeit with more bad puns. I flipped to the bookmark and began to catch up on Dusk by Stephaneigh Neigher. At least a fictional world with bizarrely charming insect shapeshifters is also inhabited by ponies that can respect personal space. The train drew into the station just as my book drew to a close. In hindsight, I could have spent the last four hours revising something important - history, culture, current events, that sort of thing - but I needed to actually relax after the events of the last two days. "We're finally here! And it only took five hours cooped up with Mirage to do it." Sour Sweet exclaimed before hopping out the train. "It took exactly three hours and fifty-eight minutes, Sour Sweet, and Mirage read quietly the entire time." Said Sugarcoat. "Well, that was very considerate of him. Too bad Lemon wouldn't shut up after our resident nerd tossed her headphones out the window!" The freckled pony argued. I followed them onto the train platform and got my first good look at Stalliongrad. Compared to the towering seaside citadel that was Colteno, this town was not that impressive. The lack of impressiveness did mostly stem from the lack of a castle but the collection of wooden buildings, stone walls and ponies in drab attire did not help much either. Everything in the town looked like it had seen better days and everypony - I'm told that's the phrase used - appeared to completely resigned to that observation. "Why would Melody Lure of all people perform in a place like this? There's basically nothing here." I thought out loud as the four shadowbolts and I made our way to the local inn. "Oh, Melody Lure's doing a tour of every town in Chevallia, dearie. We would have just gone to the one in Colteno but I think you would have already left by the time she arrived." Sunny answered. The inn, like the town it resided in, was nothing special; especially not by Chevallian standards, as Sunny mentioned. Still, I had a room to myself and said room's sheets weren't stained so I was comfortable enough. The concert was only to start in a few hours to I had some time to learn more about this world. So when I had finished updating Pony Edition's diary - apparently one can use magic to write with - I set out to explore what little of the town was worth exploring.
Breakfasts: Part 1“Ding!” Dinged the cellphone, wrenching me out of a good dream and back into the reality that I had originally hoped was a bad dream. For all of Sunny Flare’s eloquence where verbal communication was concerned, her written communication was sorely lacking. Well, if she was anything like her unicorn counterpart, which she was, she would be. After staring at the bizarre code displayed proudly across the cellphone's glowing screen for what felt like far too long, I surmised that I couldn't understand it because I could not actually read human. I crawled out of bed. The bed in question was far too long for my tastes; almost as if it was designed for a far taller being than your average pony. Which, after realizing that I was still a human, I agreed was a wise choice. The bed in question also happened to be situated in a fairly small and mildly disorganized room. The walls – if they actually existed– were hidden behind a number of mismatched bookshelves; all were overflowing and none were sorted. The room’s cupboards contained more reading material. Precariously balanced reading material at that. One book in particular caught my eye as I was extracting myself from the landslide of literature: My diary. Or, rather, Human Edition's diary. Just like its counterpart, it was cunningly concealed on a bookshelf cunningly concealed inside the wardrobe of my apartment. Unfortunately, said apartment was not cunningly concealed within a magnificent castle. Human Edition's apartment, if you could even call it that, was a pair of rooms in the school dormitories. Anyway, the diary was written my secret code alphabet. And again, just like mine, it contained a whole lot of useful tips for dealing with the denizens of this world. Of course, said tips were thoroughly mixed in with explicit discussions of who I would like to have relations with. I must have a word with myself about that; some of his choices were a bit bizarre to say the least. Two things that I found especially useful were the collection of maps stuffed behind the diary’s dust-jacket; they depicted in stunning detail, as was expected since that is how I usually depict things, the grounds of the school and the layout of the surrounding suburbs. The other useful thing was a list of symbols in the secret code alphabet compared to those used in the human script. With the list in hand, I investigated the text again. “Sry Mirage cant show you around cpa today. Gtg find Indi. Pls talk 2 sunset shimmer tho. rarity said she could help u. Glhf.” I was correct. This is gibberish of the highest order. I don’t even think that one of those symbols was actually a letter. I put the phone back down and returned to investigating the apartment. It seems that Human Edition is not as neat as I am. Of course, he isn’t nearly as terrible as Lemon Zest’s; the little time I was forced to spend in her rooms assured me that, after a certain volume, her choice of music does little more than scramble one’s brain cells. Of course, that would imply that she actually possessed a modicum of intelligence to begin with. The clock on the wall read 7:10. If my memory proved correct, that meant that I had about an hour before I was supposed to appear at the school proper. After I removed the last few books from my closet and stacked them in the corner where they couldn’t ambush anypony, I set about the task of figuring out how I am intended to get dressed. The addition of hands – and the subtraction of magic—did not make the task any easier. Yes, hands can be more precise and less tiresome to use but they also take an irritating amount of practice where concepts like “buttons” and “ties” are concerned. I struggled with the latter for a good while before just deciding to forgo the glorified collar. I stuffed the fabric into my satchel and continued the battle with the shirt. I began to regret not asking Sunny about the fashions of this world when I had the chance. Of course, asking her about that would likely result me not having any time to actually try any of it out – we’d probably still be talking. Instead, we spent the last two days discussing effectively everything else; culture, history, etiquette, who to avoid around school, which teachers are not figurative megalomaniac monsters, which students were literal megalomaniac monsters and how to operate the vending machines in order to obtain more delicious snacks. Eventually I corralled the buttons into their respective holes – mostly, anyway – and, after translating the schedule tacked onto my wall, I packed my satchel as well as I could and set off for the dining hall. Like the rest of the Crystal Prep Academy, the dining hall aimed to please. The interior was filled with swooping arches, elegant murals, tasteful insignias and a pleasantly relaxing color scheme of lavender and pale green. The food, as I soon found out, was not an exception either. My breakfast consisted of a fruit salad, bowl of cereal and a multitude of angry glares when I tried to drink the latter like soup. Since neither Sunny nor her friends boarded at the school, I ate alone and got down to some reading. Unfortunately, I hadn’t the time to discover where Human Edition had left his collection of Nieghponese light novels – or even if he had any in the first place – so I was forced to make do with a textbook. Said textbook was tastefully titled “IGCSE Business Studies” and, upon further inspection, contained absolutely no harems whatsoever; comedic or otherwise. The authors had instead decided to include a fairly in-depth explanation of how the human economy works. Long story short, it doesn’t. But, come to think of it, that knowledge might actually be useful if I am to stay here for any great amount of time. And come to think of it, that knowledge will be definitely be useful considering that schools generally tend to have exams. Halfway through chapter six, Consumer Protection, a bell rang. As the other students were getting up to leave, I guessed that it was 8:10 and time to see what passed for an assembly in this world. I finished off the remained fruit salad, wrapped the purple piece of fabric around my neck as best I could, hoped for the best and prepared for the worst.
Measurements: Part 2Well, I may have gotten lost. No, I have definitely gotten lost. I as much as I enjoy wandering around school buildings, the enjoyment is ruined by the fact that I'm actually supposed to be doing something productive; not admiring the architecture. The architecture is nice though, with high ceilings, graceful arches and a relaxing green and purple color scheme. Of course, it did not hold a candle to anything Alloy Falchion ever designed but it was wholly survivable. For a school, anyway. Ah, there it is! My classroom. Said classroom contained a collection of highly stressed students. It also contained a disgruntled teacher and a surprise test. Both were highly stress-inducing and I was prepared for neither of them. "How nice of you to join us, Mr Nocturne. I trust you studied well." The man - a large fellow with grayish skin and a bad toupee - proudly announced. "No, actually. I didn't." I explained, trying to ignore the fact that everyone else had already started the test and was hard at work either laughing at me and trying not to. The teacher glared at me. "Well then, Mr Nocturne, whatever were you doing then that was so important that you found it appropriate to turn up late for my test?" "Trying to find the class, sir." I replied. He held his face in his hands and the other students lost all pretense of trying to answer anything. "Take a paper, sit down and try not to fail." He commanded, retreating to his desk and a hip flask that I doubted contained fruit juice. Trying to ignore the twenty pairs of eyes driving chuckling nails of shame into my ego, I slunk into an empty seat and realized that although I had studied a remarkable amount of culture, I had also studied almost no actual schoolwork whatsoever. With shaking hands, I turned the cover page of the test and then breathed a sigh of relief. It was physics. That is one of those things; like my artistic ability, Sugarcoat's bluntness and the deliciousness of fried vegetable slices; that persists unchanged throughout time and space. I cracked my knuckles - something humans do in situations like this apparently - and got down to work. About half an hour later, I had finished the test. Admittedly, I had it to be far more difficult than I had previously presumed the field of study to be. I am an artist and, depending on Prince Imaginos' mood, occasionally a test subject. As I found out, I am definitely not a scientist and physics is definitely not what I though it was. Some of the test, like waves, was common sense. Some, such as electromagnets, seemed to come right out of a science fiction novel. Again, not my area of expertise; I prefer romance. And finally, some was factually incorrect. I thought everypony knew that the Sky Goddess rotated the sun and moon around the world; not the other way round. As I trudged out of the class, yet another familiar voice accosted me. Said voice belonged to a girl with a mess of lime green hair and a visibly pounding pair of headphones. I had a horrible feeling I knew who this was. "Hey, Mirage! How'd you find the test?" Asked Lemon Zest. "That was without a doubt one of the worst experiences in my life. Can you guess what the first is?" I asked, not bothering to make eye contact and hoping desperately that she would get the message. She didn't. "No clue, Mirage. Anyway, Sunny told me about your problem and I am here to help." She yelled proudly, spinning on the spot. "Thanks for the offer, but I am quite fine." I responded before walking off in search of the English classroom. Suddenly, a hand grabbed me by the collar and jerked me back into the conversation. The green haired girl glared at me with a look that suggested that this was a matter of life and death. "You don't get it, do you?" "I clearly don't, no. Now, if you would excuse me, I have classes to fail." She did not let go. "Dude. I know Sunny's great and all but you can't come to her for advice." "And why not, pray tell? She seems reasonable." "Yeah, I guess but only if you're talking about school stuff. If you're trying to survive in the real world, you've gotta talk somebody who knows real-world things. Like me." The real world. As far as I was concerned, the real world obeyed the laws of physics and involved me not having this conversation. But, then again, I suppose I might as well try to fit in. "Fine. What do you have in mind?" I sighed, hoping that it did not involve the dread- "Parties!" Yelled the student much to the chagrin of everyone else in the hallway. "They're the realest thing there is. You, me and Indy. Tonight at Klub Ice. I know this guy who's like, the ultimate forger. He can get you anywhere." "Can he get me home?" I wondered out loud as my hopes of getting any sleep tonight drained away. "Nah, probably not. But if you want Melody Lure tickets, he's got you covered." I reconsidered. Perhaps this world's Lemon Zest actually has decent taste in music. Perhaps "Bank Holiday" is an actually holiday and not just some prank people pull on unsuspecting foreigners. Perhaps I just really wanted to know what human music sounded like. I'm not entirely sure which was which but I agreed and a few hours later, I was standing in front of a nightclub with the person who was apparently now my best friend and a literal mythical fish demon from another dimension. The bouncers were not amused.
Concerts: Part 2And because said bouncers were none too pleased with Lemon Zest’s attempt at getting into Melody Lure's concert, I ended getting thrown out of the building. Quite literally thrown. It hurt just enough to remind my neck that it was supposed to be in pain too. Luckily, before the pair of bouncers decided to exact any more violence upon my sorry hide, a man wearing the most ridiculous outfit I had ever seen appeared in their way. The suit was a pure, sparkling white and the shirt beneath was a hot pink. It hurt me just to look at it and the man inside wasn’t much better. Now, I haven’t found any of the humans I’ve met so far to be especially attractive but this fellow was a winner. Stringy blond hair, blood red highlights and a mess of nasty scars danced – or, rather, tripped over their own feet – bad news around this man. The copious amount of gold jewelry served only to further inhibit the man’s outfit. Still, he was standing between me and a beating so I might as well play along; Lemon and Sonata had already ran off and I doubted that I could handle both of these goons on my own. The one on the right on his own? Perhaps. He was big, dumb and probably blinded by the ridiculous bangs he cultivated. However, he was not alone and his partner, an extremely vicious looking carnivore of a woman in possession of a white and lavender abomination that I can only refer to a “reverse mullet” was probably going to beat the stuffing out of me if I tried to punch her coworker in the family jewels. That and I doubted that my aching everything would allow for much more than a slow limp. “Gilda, Dumbbell, let him off. He’s with me.” Commanded the man as he pointed a rhinestone-studded cane in my direction. The two bouncers groaned and slouched away; likely back to intimidating potential patrons. The man chuckled to himself and gestured for me to follow him into the imposing monument of Brutalism that was his club. He stayed conspicuously silent as we wandered past the crowds of well-dressed patrons clapping and cheering along to the popstar’s latest hits. It was repetitive – she used about three chords and her idea of the “truth” was about as far away from a good idea as you could get. That and the strobe lights nearly gave me a seizure. Honestly, from what parts of it I cared to listen to, it was a rather disappointing; Melody Lure did not sound nearly as good as what I was led to believe. Then again, I could have just used my phone to listen to the music myself instead of coming here so I suppose it does serve me right. Those phones really are a wonderful device in their own right though; a radio, a cinema, an art gallery and a whole library of books stuffed into something that fits in your hoof. Absolutely incredible and a great help to my attempts to fit in around here. If only I had known that before this morning’s disaster of a physics test. Eventually, we reached the private part of Klub Ice and to my great relief, the lighting here was actually bearable. Still bright green but at least now it stayed bright green. The area itself was rather dimly lit but, from what I could gather, the beer was plentiful and the couches looked soft enough. “Take a sit, Mirage. You and I have a lot to talk about.” Said the man, collapsing onto a leather armchair himself. “Alright, thanks for the intervention back there but how do you know my name?” I asked after sinking into one of the chairs myself. They were surprisingly comfortable. “We’ll get to that, Mirage. Now, do you see those people over there?” He asked, pointing with his garish cane at a pair of familiar faces – the bouncers from earlier. “You see, they like to hit things. Things that try and run away before I’ve finished my discussion. But feel free to try.” “Well, that settles it then. I guess I’ll hear you out.” I replied. This night was not turning out like I had planned. Of course, my planning include not having to interact with Lemon or her somehow even more obnoxious friend so not as planned was not that bad. “Fantastic. Call me Father Imaginos.” Imaginos? This guy claimed to be Imaginos? He was not Imaginos. First, he didn’t have a kingdom. Second, he was about the nastiest looking man I can imagine. Third, he spoke far too casually for a person of the status he claimed. Then again, he did look like a human version of the Prince. The had the same hair color right down to the red streaks – although I doubted the human’s was natural – and my mentor’s coat did actually look quite like the shade of the man’s skin. Black. Literally black as in an absence of light. This man had the darkest skin I had ever seen. Save for the fact that he was grinning a bit too widely, his body would have been invisible. That was especially strange considering quite a few Chevallians have dark coats but “Father Imaginos” was the only man I had seen so far with this tone of skin. He snapped his fingers in front of my face a few times, “Cat got your tongue, Mirage?” “No, you just look awfully familiar.” I answered, growing a bit uneasy at the jarring resemblance. “That’s to be expected. Indigo Zap told me great things about you.” He chuckled. He then leaned back in his chair with an arm out. A few seconds later, a scantily dressed woman deposited a glass of something that glowed a pale blue in his hand. He then happily sipped the beverage as I was left to put two and two together. Oh, that’s right. Sunny had said that Indigo had disappeared right before a sleepover that she and a few other friends had planned. The athlete had reappeared in a hospital bed a day later with more than one broken bone on her mind and more than one swear on her lips. She claimed, again relayed to me in Sunny’s textual gibberish and kindly translated by Lemon Zest, that a bunch of thugs had stolen her car and then “tooled me over in basement for a while before this masked nutjob turned up and interrogated me about some sports competition that I basically lost.” I had a horrible feeling that that nutjob was about to do the very same to me if I didn’t play my cards right. And to make matters worse, I didn’t even own a full deck, let alone know any of the rules.
Breakfasts: Part 2So it turns out that Stalliongrad had basically nothing to explore. That left me with two options and one involved talking to other people so reading it was. Sunny was kind enough to lend me one of her spellbooks so I that I could practice my newfound talents. Alas, said book Magic in regard to Tailoring was not exactly relevant to my interests. Still, it was better than having to interact with Sugarcoat so I resigned myself to an afternoon lying in bed and trying to figure out how to get home. After a few minutes of being bored, somebody knocked at my door. "Is this Mirage Nocturne's room?" Asked the knocker. "It depends; are you here to piss on his rug?" I responded, not currently in the mood to put up any more of this world's antics. "What? No. We're just here to talk." Responded the voice. Truly, references are wasted upon policemen. Still, I had not yet learned any combat spells - or anything at all past levitation - so I continued, "Alright? How many are you?" "Four ponies, Mr Nocturne." "Well, in that case, why don't you just talk to yourselves?" The voices muttered among each-other for a while. I briefly considered climbing out the window but a two-story drop onto concrete did not sound appealing. That and I had no idea whether I could actually levitate myself yet. I doubted that was possible; pegasi would probably be obsolete if that were the case. Another knock. Sighing, I got up and opened the door to reveal precisely three unicorns and one pegasus. All were grumpy, surprisingly large and literally armed to the teeth. Judging by their white coats, I'd say that these were some more of Imaginos' knockoff SS goons. The pegasus smiled a smile that had far too many teeth for my liking. "How nice of you to join us, Mr Nocturne. Now, if you would kindly accompany my men back to the station." He said, gesturing with a cinnamon-brown hoof in the direction opposite the actual train station. "Why? Am in trouble?" I asked nervously, not liking the look of the daggers the unicorns held. The pegasus chuckled briefly and then his friends joined in. He seemed vaguely familiar in a way but the person he bore familiarity to was certainly not a member of state security so that idea went out the window. "Only if you don't cooperate, Mr Nocturne. Then you will be." "You do realize that I'm going to miss the concert if you arrest me, right?" "Don't worry about that. Miss Lure is a personal friend of mine." Replied the pegasus as he started down the stairs. I reluctantly followed. In hindsight, actually indulging Sunny's ideas was, as always, a bad idea. Here I was, being arrested because somebody just doesn't realize that I am not interest in her. We continued out of the inn and, to my surprise, actually to the train station. The blond-maned pegasus dismissed his minions and ordered me onto a train carriage. To my relief, he got on too and didn't lock it behind him. "Have you had breakfast yet, Mr Nocturne?" He asked before walking over to the magic bar and pulling out a few bottles of beer. "Yes, actually. I had breakfast about ten hours ago. And also, what's going on here?" The pegasus twisted the cap off with a wing and took a hearty swig before answering, "Prince Imaginos was not happy with your little outing. So he sent me, Captain Swift, to escort you back to Colteno." "Your name's Vinny Swift? Like the actor?" Swift confirmed that, "Yes. Call me Captain Swift though. I don't act anymore." By now, the train had began to start moving. Our carriage remained strangely empty though. Not that I was in any way opposed to that; I would have preferred not to be in trouble with the Prince though. Unlike Lemon, I think he actually has the power to carry through with his insane threats. "Now, normally his majesty would have simply had somepony executed for disobeying his orders like that but, since you're you, he chose to make an exception." "What a relief. I suppose I'll just have to settle for Asklepian's department then." I said. Now, that beer actually tasted pretty good. Normally, I prefer wine - specifically rose - but this was something else. It was actually enjoyable. Swift chuckled again, "Of course not, Mr Nocturne. You're far too valuable to be turned into an alicorn. Yet, anyway. Once our resident mad scientist has perfected the formula, you'll get your chance just like the rest of us?" "So what exactly is an alicorn then?" One sip of Fortress later and the Captain replied, "Ah, yes, he did warn me about this. You said that your memory was damaged by the teleport, right?" "No, my memory is fine. My brain however was teleport across time and space into this." I said, pointing at myself. "And I reckon the opposite happened for my counterpart." He was not amused. He was confused. I took another drink. Eventually, he responded, "I think that this would be best discussed over breakfast." With that, he hopped off his couch and picked up a phone built into the wall. "Room service. Two full Ponish breakfasts please. What? Yes, I know it's 18:03 but this is an official Protection Squadron order. And hold the onions on the left one." You just can't get away from it. You just can't get away. Stopped in sleepy town. Left my change and walked out. I didn't even turn around. Why is nobody sane here? You don't order breakfast for dinner. Swift turned back around after that. "Now that that is taken care of, care to explain this problem in a bit more detail?" "Only if you care to explain what's happening in Horsica." And, much to my relief, he began to do just that.
Explanations: Part 1"So you kidnapped Indigo Zap. And then interrogated her about what I assume is the Friendship Games. And she told you about my condition. So when you saw me at your nightclub, you just had to take into the back for a few drinks and a quick romp in the hay?" I replied. Father Imaginos smiled and if it weren't for the fact that his teeth were a mess of yellow decay, I would have been blinded. "Excellent. You aren't as stupid as your friend. Now, what happens next?" "Well, considering that one of your 'harlots' just poured me champagne, I'd guess that romance is still on the menu. Now, I'd suppose that you, a egocentric type, are into roleplay. As such, I'd guess that we'll sit here for a while - you'll be Dr. Caballeron and I'll be Daring Do. And since we're already in your lair, I suppose that you'll have to tell me your master plan. And then you'll kill me." The man broke out into a fit of laughter. Knee-slapping, drink-spitting, snort-gurgling laughter. It was like something out of The Everfree Book; this great black panther roaring away because his captive pony told him a joke. Admittedly, I did not get it. Then again, I have no idea how this world's humor works. Eventually, he recovered. Another round of drinks was ordered and it occurred to me - while the priest was still chuckling, of course - that everyone else in the private section of Klub Ice was quite familiar. If I looked closely enough, and if the lighting was good, I could spot a few ponies that I knew. Eureka Lead, the Royal Tailor; Cumulonimbus, Royal General; Sugarcoat, the Royal Pain and Pangalactic and Gargleblaster, the Royal Brewmaster and Astronomer, respectively. "Good, I can see why the other me took you as an apprentice. If your ability is as sharp as your wit, I'm sure you'd have a great future ahead of you." Father Imaginos finally replied, "But, since you're here, you can help me instead." "With what? It looks like you have enough friends already. And why is Sugarcoat of all ponies here?" The girl must have noticed me because with in seconds her angry glare was followed up with an angry reply, "I am here because I am a friend of Father Imaginos. Oh and by the way, your attempt at getting in was spectacularly pathetic; I almost wanted Gilda to hit you. Maybe you should consider not forging-" "That's quite enough, my dear. Now go and enjoy the concert before I have Dumbbell throw you into the mosh pit." Interrupted Imaginos, his index finger placed over a rather annoyed Sugarcoat's lips. Frowning, the girl strode off and soon became just another weird outfit in a sea of fashion victims. Now, where were we? Something about you getting me in the horse world?" "No, we were talking about... yes, we were talking about that. I'm afraid I can't help you, though; I have no idea how to get back." He chuckled again and stood up, gesturing around to his club. "You will, Mirage, for you shall have all the the resources you'll ever need behind you! Just name it and you shall have it," "Well, in that case, I'd like to go home and never do this again. And also, how many resources does a nightclub have, exactly?" I asked, looking around at the room. It did not inspire me. Then again, bad lighting, bad suits, bad drinks and tacky decor never does. Seriously, every available surface must have been covered in mirrors. Most of the other surfaces weren't available because they were covered birch paneling, rhinestones, leather or modern art. The man literally had an entire wall devoted to the works of Jackson Fetlock and as distasteful as his paintings are, they aren't terrible enough to tear a hole though time and space. Yet anyway, I did hear that he had been experimenting with Zebra dung. The priest was terribly offending by my statement. I know this for he adopted that tone of voice his princely counterpart adopted whenever some bright spark had annoyed him enough to have the prince suddenly remember that "those inquisitive souls over at Camp Crow's River always needed new volunteers". It was not a tone of voice that any sane pony ever wanted to hear. Most insane ponies didn't care and most ponies went insane after a week with Asklepian anyway so I was not too keen on hearing it directed at me. It was a joyfully sadistic tone in a grim world run in part by a cadre of sadists and in part by a monarch who had no qualms in indulging them. And I had just been a very bright spark indeed. "Mirage Nocturne. I am not a man to be disrespected. You see, my holdings are an iceberg." Dammit. He's mad too. Luckily, he continued and made very clear that he did not own a large piece of ice floating somewhere in the Crystal Seas. "They are an iceberg in the way that very little of it is above water. Whether the water in this analogy represents public knowledge or the laws of the land is up to debate but do keep in mind A: The resources of the Cult of Desdinova are far greater than they seem. And B: If you insult me again, I will have you killed until you wish you were dead." I thought I heard a monotone voice shout "That isn't possible. Anyone killed is, by definition, dead" but that might just have been the music. If so, it was the most interesting set of lyrics I had heard the entire night. If not, I wonder why Sugarcoat gets a free pass on annoying this madman. "Fine. What specifically do you need me to do?" He smiled and I began to desperately hope that he realized the my Daring Do allusion was sarcastic. If it wasn't, I was in for one rough night.
