Alright, Mego Mars thought to himself: what in the sam-hill am I doing here?
Well, he decided, I can feel all my limbs; that’s a good place to start. He gave each one a small wiggle, and decided that each one was moving at acceptable levels. They felt kinda funny, but that was understandable, after a day like yesterday. He was on his back, staring up at a remarkably blue sky, so that meant his eyes were working fine. He could hear birds chirping, and the sound of human life somewhere behind him; ears worked okay, too. He smelled grass, which meant he was probably passed out in a park somewhere, or maybe just a parking lot. He turned his head, and he saw a brilliantly-green tree, beautifully verdant. Okay … that was a little odd, because it was still winter in South Dakota. Wait, did he leave South Dakota? How far had he driven? Florida?! Oh Lord, please not Florida - his next drop was in Kentucky (or was it Kansas?), and if he had to backtrack, he’d be off schedule, he’d lose his commission for the trip, and how was he gonna pay for gas? Time to get up on his feet and figure -
Woah there.
Mego rapidly plummeted back to all fours, his legs shaking under him. Alright, so he had drunk a little too much last night, clearly. But he’d finished his biggest run of the year, he was flush with cash, and dammit, he was tired of instant ramen! It wasn’t Red Lobster money, but it was Applebee’s money, and he’d started with three appetizers and three Bahama Mamas to match. He knew at some point he’d been ushered out of the Applebee’s, and then he was on his way to a nearby bar, and then things got … real fuzzy.
But if he’d made it to Florida, he must have driven here, God help him; he threw up a quick prayer/apology for driving drunk to whoever was listening. It wasn’t his normal behavior, but, well, a man starts drinking, and he starts thinking about all of the things he’s missing out on in life… partner, kids, retirement, joints that don’t creak when you climb out of the cab at the latest gas station for a spit-bath, a home you could have an actual bath in… Well, it made a man do crazy things, apparently.
Mego huffed out a soft breath, and stared at the ground for a moment. Alright, Mego; let’s try this again. You’ll sober up the longer you’re walking around, so - alley-oop! Oop! WHOOP! Mego spun in several tight circles, arms pinwheeling, and came to two very rapid conclusions; one, his legs were no longer made to hold him upright for very long. Two, his arms were gone. Or, at least, the arms he recognized as his own.
Mego wasn’t one for theatrics, and so instead of a panicked scream, he simply dropped to his hands and knees again, or - all fours? - and huffed deep, panicked breaths for what felt like a long time. His awareness came back in pinpricks; first, he noticed the grass that he stood on, and a small dandelion that had sprouted up just to his right. Okay, so, wherever he was - whatever this was - followed some of the rules that he knew how to play by. Grass, plants, buildings - he could see those now, when he lifted his head. All things he recognized that followed the rules of the world. His world, he corrected himself, with no small amount of amazement.
You figured out how to get your rig out of a jackknife in an Alaskan winter, Mego, he thought to himself sternly. You’ll figure this out, too.
The first step, it seemed to him, was to figure out what he was. Well - he took a quick look around himself, lifted up his feet, touched the parts of his body he didn’t recognize. His ears were in the wrong place, for sure, and he couldn’t quite figure out what he was supposed to be, besides … green. Oh, hey! A lake! That’s funny, Mego thought as he fought with his limbs to amble over to it, I haven’t seen a lake that wasn’t next to a freeway in a long time.
He stood over the lake and examined his reflection for a long time, turning his head and occasionally trying to turn around and get a look at his back end. Well, he was a lot shorter now, that’s for certain. He was some kind of - small horse, or maybe a goat, if goats and horses came in green. He still had black hair, so that was a comfort; only, this one wasn’t peppered through with gray like his was, he thought with a little chuckle. It really was a little chuckle, he realized sharply, high pitched and giggly.
“Well, don’t that beat all!” Mego said out loud, and laughed again, at the novelty of it. “Well don’t that beat all!” Mego repeated, louder, and tramped in a little circle, laughing to himself. He could speak, at least! And he was getting the hang of walking on all fours, which was significantly nicer without his stiff left knee, he decided. He’d probably stay like this if he got to keep the good knee!
After a few more minutes of trotting back and forth, getting used to the feeling of not crawling around on four limbs, Mego decided that it was probably time to go see town. In all of the movies he’d ever seen, people who were dropped into an entirely new place were probably sent on some sort of quest. Whether it was Mars, or the afterlife, or an alternate dimension, Mego probably had been sent to do something, and Mego was definitely the guy when you needed something done right. So, whatever that was, Mego would figure it out, and definitely make it back home in time to finish the Arkansas run. (No, maybe it was Kentucky, Mego decided.)
That might be made more difficult, Mego realized suddenly, when he realized that he was a lot shorter than the other beings (horses?) in the town he approached.
“Aw, hello sweetie, would you like a candy?” crooned a friendly shopkeep, holding out something from her hoof for him.
No, not short; he was a child.
“Thank you, ma’am,” said Mego, in his little-girl voice, because his momma hadn’t raised him to be rude. Plus, he was still feeling some of the hangover, right between his eyes; food would help.
The shopkeep giggled, and gave her curly mane a little toss as she smiled down at him. “Aw, aren’t you sweet! I hope you enjoy that - bring your mommy back if you want some more, alright?”
“Yes’m.” Mego replied thickly around the hard candy, pocketing it in his cheek. Cherry! That was good - he’d almost forgotten how much better candy had tasted as a child. Or, maybe he just wasn’t buying the handmade (hoofmade?) stuff, and the 7-11 crap couldn’t compare. Maybe a little bit of both?
Mego kept walking, keeping a weather eye out for opportunities to save the world. So far, though, this place didn’t exactly look like a dystopia. It looked, actually, quite the opposite; more of a reverse-dystopia, Mego decided at last, annoyed he couldn’t remember the right word. That was definitely because he was transformed, Mego decided, and not because high school had been very, very long ago.
Well hey! there was a bunch of kids, Mego noted, as he walked past what was clearly some sort of playground. There were swings, and see-saws, and little spinny things, and lots of sand. Mego wondered, what would it be like to swing in this new body? Probably pretty fun, to snug his little green body into the harness, and go spinning into the air, legs kicking out like he was flying. It was a powerful urge, but Mego pushed it aside. He needed to focus on saving the world! There was probably someone in need of saving, just beyond the swings. The really fun swings. The swings that had an open seat, actually. The swings where he could pretend he was flying.
When had he turned away from the road, he wondered?
Before Mego could quite fight the impulse, he found himself on the swing, kicking himself into motion. His hind legs pumped once he got moving, swinging himself higher and higher, until he felt very nearly giddy with excitement. Swinging! Logically, his adult brain knew this wasn’t a big deal; but the overriding emotion was that of unabashed euphoria. He wasn’t aware when he started laughing, but it was definitely at the point when his feet (hooves!) went over his head.
With a sharp whoop of glee, Mego released his grip on the chains, and took off flying. He had to be hundreds of feet in the air! It was nothing but the sky and Mego! But with a grace practiced decades before on the far-away playground of his childhood, Mego landed heavily on all fours in the sand, chest heaving, airborne for seconds that felt like hours. That was incredible!
“That was incredible!”
Was there an echo?
“You got so high, I’ve only ever seen Scoots go that high!” a yellow pony was talking to him, very rapidly. The twang in her voice made him homesick, a little bit. “And Scoots has wings! And a helmet, usually. I’ve never seen you around before, partner! What’s your name? Are you new?”
“Uh - Mego?”
“Uhmego? That’s a great name!” A white unicorn (unicorn!!!) was talking this time, bright and bubbly with shared excitement.
“No, just - just Mego.” Mego clarified, coughing a little. He kept trying to unconsciously put his voice in its naturally gravelly range, and that didn’t work very well in a little girl body, even if the little girl had hooves. “Who’re you?”
“I’m Apple Bloom, and this is Sweetie Belle, and this is Scootaloo!” The yellow pony introduced two others in rapid succession, but it was clear that all eyes were focused on him. “I can’t help but notice, Mego, that you’re a blank flank!”
“A blank what?”
“Blank flank!” It was the white one’s turn to chirp.
“A blank flank?” Mego asked, again.
“Blank flank!” Now orange helped.
“Alright, you can keep repeating it, but it doesn’t make it any clearer to me, y’all.” Mego grumbled, and with surprise, he felt his ears twisting flat as his brows lowered in annoyance. Wasn’t that odd! “What’s a blank flank?”
“Oh … well, that’s weird.” Apple Bloom said, squinting at Mego. “Nopony’s ever made me explain it. But, well, a blank flank is a pony - like you - who’s never found their true purpose! So they haven’t gotten their Cutie Mark yet!”
“Alright, what’s that?” Mego asked, the frown still in place.
“What’s what?”
“What’s - the words you keep throwing in there that make no sense! Cutie Mark!” Mego felt a stab of guilt go through him, since he was basically growling at three little kids. “Sorry. I got a headache.” Mego would remember later that he was a little kid, growling at the little kids.
“What’s a Cutie Mark? Are you not from around here?” Scootaloo asked, on the edge of a sneer, but a quick elbow from Sweetie Belle made her change her tone. “Alright, maybe you call it something different - but a Cutie Mark is this! Wha-BAM!” Scootaloo dramatically presented her butt - or her hip, he supposed, since her hip had a tattoo on it.
“A tattoo? I got a couple of those - oh, well, not anymore, I guess.” Mego frowned, and looked down at the familiar greenish mermaid lady on his upper arm, only to find a blank expanse of green fur there.
“Well, that must be something different, since a Cutie Mark is for life! Once you find your life’s true purpose, your Cutie Mark appears!” Apple Bloom explained patiently, while Scootaloo and Sweetie Belle exchanged heavy glances.
“Oh.” said Mego, who was beginning to have a sinking feeling about this whole thing. Life’s true purpose? Well, that had better not be his dystopia-solving mission here, bucko, because that was not something Mego had any real success with in the other world, either. Mego was ready to go save the world by kicking a dragon in the face; he wasn’t ready to go to therapy.
“Yeah! And you’re lucky you found us, the Cutie Mark Cru - oh, what now?” Apple Bloom huffed as Sweetie Belle tapped delicately on her shoulder. The other two gestured her over, and Apple Bloom offered Mego an apologetic smile. “One moment, please.”
Mego didn’t like the looks of their deep conversation, so he figured it was about time to skedaddle on out of there, before they started asking more serious questions. Questions like, why don’t you know the local lingo, buddy?
While the dynamic trio were deep in discussion (the orange one had wings! Why didn’t Mego get any of those?), Mego made his escape, trotting on stubby legs back towards the city-looking area. More like a village, now that he got another look at it; not enough buildings and nothing was paved. But maybe nothing was paved, so as to be gentler on their feet? It sure was nice, he noted idly, the feeling of packed earth beneath his hooves. Springy, not hot or cold, and not as dusty as he’d have thought. Certainly felt better than hot asphalt did on his bare feet; smelled better, too.
It wasn’t hard to escape the other kids, and he soon found himself wandering the streets once more, watching for any obvious signs of a mystic quest, or a bandito in need of a whallopping. The last one may have been a John Wayne movie, so he was willing to skip on the bandito idea for now. There was plenty to see, and Mego wandered for a little while, drinking everything in. It was sure … something, this little village. What kind of mystic quests did little girls take? Probably something with a talking animal, but now that he thought about it, Mego was the talking animal …
“Listen, I don’t need Big Mac’s help to get this done! I’m an Apple, I can do this myself!”
That voice definitely sounded familiar, but Mego realized that it was simply the accent; it sounded like the yellow one’s accent from before, though, and Mego briefly wondered if the South remained a constant in every alternate universe. That would be nice! He followed the voice because it seemed like something interesting must be happening, to be yelling like that.
When Mego turned onto the side street, he could see up to the top of a moderate incline, where an orange pony was loading a ridiculous amount of brightly-colored cakes and confectionaries into a large wagon. She was struggling with a cake that was larger than herself, but with a final grunt, she shouldered it into the wagon.
“Are you suuuuuuuuuure you don’t need Big Mac’s help? This is the largest cake order I’ve ever had delivered!” The other voice was a pink pony, pink everywhere, half-splattered in frosting and sprinkles. She could see this was a bad idea, just like Mego could; why didn’t the orange one listen?
“Listen, Pinkie,” (there was a fitting name, Mego noted with a girlish snort) “I don’t need Big Mac! I’m an Apple, and one day I’m gonna be runnin’ the farm all by myself! I gotta be able to do this! Now, what’s the big deal, it’s just a little - a little - c’mon, you, let’s get movin’ - just a little cake!”
But Orange II was in big trouble; because while she was wrestling with the reins of the wagon, tying the harness to herself like she was some kind of plough horse, the wagon was beginning to take itself down the hill. She pulled hard to get it going, because something with a big load like that is slow to start, just like a semi; but once she got going …
“W-Woo~oaah! Slow down there, b-buckaroo!” Orange II yelled, digging her feet into the packed earth, skidding ahead of the wagon uselessly as it began to gain momentum.
“Applejack, watch out!” Pinkie yelled, but it was in vain; the wagon was gaining speed, and a quick bump sent Applejack into the air, suspended by the harness.
“Pinkie, he-eeeeeeeeeeeeelp!!” Applejack wailed, flailing her arms and legs in the air uselessly as the wagon careened down the hill, with Pinkie behind it.
“Hang on, Applejack!”
Before he could even quite consider what he was doing, Mego was running towards the screaming. How would he get high enough - there! Crates! Mego clambered on some nearby boxes, and with a well timed spring from his joyfully springy little girl legs, Mego landed on the wagon as it screamed by.
“What are you - kid, get off!” Pinkie screamed, but she was falling behind, unable to keep up with the wagon as it raced ahead.
“Kid!? What kid?! I can’t see nothin’!” Applejack protested, kicking all the harder above him.
“Hold on!” Mego barked, ignoring the fact that it came out as a girlish chirp as he tried to grab hold of the wooden bars holding Applejack up. Wagons had reins, right? But not if you were a horse! So this wagon had to have - alright, a tablecloth would do! Mego grabbed a folded tablecloth from under a pile of cupcakes, and whipped it around one of the bars, yanking the whole thing sharply to the right, mere moments before the wagon smashed into a building at the bottom of the incline.
“What in tarnation is happenin’ down there, I’m shakin’ like a Breezie in a hurricane!” Applejack protested as she leaned sharply to the right, too. The wagon’s wheels rattled over the packed earth as they raced down busy streets, and even though Mego’s teeth rattled in his head, he held tight to the tablecloth. He had a mission, now. Namely: hitting as few people as possible, and taking as many turns as he could to slow down. No small feat, when the harness and Applejack weighed quite a bit more than him, and he had to steer by planting his back hooves against the wagon while he yanked on a tablecloth with his entire weight. For all that he didn’t miss his fading hairline and his bum knee, just then he missed his three hundred pounds, which would have steered this little horse like she was made of tissue paper.
Applejack’s yelling was doing a good job of warning the ponies ahead of them, but Mego kept the wagon moving, taking turns as sharply as he dared, his heart climbing into his throat every time two wheels left the ground. Applejack could feel it too, and her yelling kicked into a higher pitch whenever they lurched too hard. The wagon was slowing, turn by turn, and Mego could feel the familiarity settling in. Every truck was different, but out-of-control speed was a familiar hazard for men who made their living on the road; but this wagon was in no way the purring monster that his Big Bertha was. Wheels and momentum, that was his thing, and he was starting to figure out the tricks to the Revolutionary War-era deathtrap he was currently astride.
Finally, gradually, they came to a rattling, wailing stop; just in time, it seemed, because they were only a few yards away from a huge gathering of horses. Horses who all turned as one to look at the rattling, screaming thing that could be heard coming from blocks away.
Mego wondered, sarcastically, if there was any louder way he could have announced himself to the entire village.
“What’s happenin’? What’s happenin’!? How’d we stop?! How’d we make - who’re YOU!” Applejack bellowed, finally able to twist around enough in her harness to look back at Mego in the driver’s seat. “What’re you doin’ down there, you coulda gotten hurt!” Applejack snapped, sliding down the harness at last, landing on shaky legs.
“You can keep that sass mouth to yourself, missy,” Mego ground out in his little girl voice, “because I’m the one who kept us from smashin’ ourselves to pieces! Now button that lip before I button it for ya, got it?”
Applejack simply gawked at a child younger than her little sister barking orders at her, but she did, in fact, button her lip.
“Applejack!! Strange Hero Baby!!! You LIVED!” Pinkie wailed as she came cantering into sight, throwing herself onto Applejack with an overdramatic sob. “Applejack, I was so afraid I’d never see you or the cakes again!”
The cakes! Mego twisted suddenly, and was astonished to see the cakes (well, most of them) still sitting in the wagon. Most of it had shifted horribly, of course; top layers had fallen off, and all in all it looked like … well …
“How clever,” came a calm, cool voice, “a wagon full of deconstructed cake for our party! How very modern, Pinkie Pie. Your creativity is truly wise beyond your years.”
As Mego turned back to look at the voice, Pinkie and Applejack dropped to their knees. “Oh! Your Majesty! I didn’t - I mean, it wasn’t on -”
The pony they spoke to didn’t look like any of the other ponies; she was blazingly white, and tall, with hair that moved like clouds as they rolled on after a storm. Her laughter was like windchimes, and Mego found himself shivering a little despite the warmth in her gaze. When it landed on him, he felt the same impulse to curtsey, which was all but impossible to do in a wagon, or with horse legs. There was a horn that spiraled out of her forehead, and despite all of the pudgy, technicolored ponies that now flocked around them, she was the one that made him suddenly understand all of the lore and myths about the fearful power of unicorns.
“I understand, Pinkie Pie. I heard the wagon approaching from some way away - it’s a miracle that nopony was harmed. Was that your doing, little one?” The white horse smiled at him, and came closer to the wagon. Criminy, even sitting in the wagon he wasn’t quite eye level with her!
“That’s Strange Hero Baby!” Pinkie Pie chirped, helpfully.
“I imagine you must have a name?” the white horse smiled, a note of amusement crinkling the edges of her eyes.
“Oh, uh … I go by Mego, ma’am. Mego Mars, Your Majesty, ma’am.” Mego stumbled, unable to pull his eyes away from hers. They were so bright, so piercing! As if she could look right through him and see every bad thing he’d ever done.
“Mego. A fine name, for a fine young filly. You’ve saved many lives today, Mego Mars; we are truly lucky that you appeared exactly when you did. I’m sure not many foals could have done what you did.” That grin again! It was almost like she knew more than she was telling, that she’d seen something when she looked right through him.
“Well, uh … thank you, ma - Your Majesty.” Mego replied, his voice softer.
“Sometimes it seems we are called upon exactly when we are needed, and not a moment too soon.” She continued, and offered Mego a wise smile. “I am glad the fates chose you to save Applejack; your skill is truly commendable. You may call me Celestia, little one.”
“Um, thank you, Celestia, ma’am.”
“Come with me, little one; let’s enjoy the deconstructed cake together.” Celestia smiled, and lifted a wing to help Mego climb down from the wagon, even her assistance carelessly graceful.
“Oh, well… Thank you, ma’am.” Mego’s voice was timid as he followed Celestia to the back of the wagon, gratefully taking a hooffull of cake when Celestia offered it. Stopping a brakeless wagon gave him a powerful hunger! He temporarily forgot himself as the cake hit his tongue, and a soft, grateful groan escaped before he could quite stop it.
“I am glad you are enjoying the fruits of your labor; you certainly earned them.” Celestia smiled down at him, her windchime-laughter sounding again as Mego pinked.
“It ain’t no 7-11 Twinkie, that’s for certain.” Mego agreed, and jolted as the pink one appeared from underneath the cake. How’d she get in there?!
“7-11, huh? What’s that?” Pinkie asked, her elbow sliding into a flower rosette as she leaned close to Mego. “Is that another bakery in another town? Huh? Huh?”
“Well … it’s a long story.” Mego began, delicately, and swallowed tightly as a ring of curious ponies leaned in, ready to listen. “Do you guys, uh … know anything about Bahama Mamas?”
THE END!
