Episode 18: Dr. Whooves on the Daily Show

As well as being the city that never sleeps New York is renowned as the entertainment capital of the world; these two titles being quite complementary. To residents of New York the time of day virtually meant nothing, with any given hour something new and exciting was happening. One needed to have the energy and stamina to enjoy all the wonders of The Big Apple, some of which were blatantly situational, only occurring during certain times of the day.

If there ever was one subset of people who truly embodied this urban mentality it was those who worked in the entertainment industry. From early morning photo shoots on the scenic shores of Coney Island to late night recordings of crime drama shows in Central park, there was always something going on for the sake of someone's artistic endeavors.

And even when there wasn’t anything official being performed for someone’s intellectual properties, you can be sure that the mind of an artist was one that was as restless as the city itself. Performers in the entertainment medium are well accustomed to waking up in the middle of the night in a panicked state of cold sweat and short breath, brought back to life by their minds playing tricks on them.

For someone like Jon Stewart, even at his advanced age, his profession made him very indicative of the New York lifestyle. His body was well accustomed to staying up late and getting up early for the sake of his profession, which later could come in handy for traversing the world of Equestria since their solar calendars weren’t the same.

He could recall countless times where he would wake up at three in the morning with an idea for a new topic to discuss on his show that he had to write down in the notepad he kept next to his bed. Or having to stay up late thinking of new ways to improve his show, which is coincidentally how he met Celestia in the first place.

After Rarity’s interview was all set and done, Jon found himself not in bed with his wife as he should have been but locked up in his study, sprawled across his desk. Usually he’d be in deep thought about anything that his mind sought fit for him to dwell on which to him felt like everything. State of the world, his show, his family, his friends, everything was worth stressing out over.

However all of these things were uncharacteristically absent from Jon’s mind in favor of one overshadowing dilemma that had been eating away at him for quite some time now. He tried not to think about it but it was literally the thing that was keeping him up at night.

Even with the attack on The Daily Show, at the hands of Queen Chrysalis, now being months old Jon still felt the effects of her trying to steal his show. Physically he was never better but mentally he was still scared. This was mostly due to his friend and family member Trixie being quite literally caught in the crossfire. Days went by and Jon still wondered if his Unicorn friend would ever return home to him. It was something he definitely didn’t like thinking about but couldn’t stop doing regardless.

His parental instincts wouldn't let him rest, not with the knowledge that Trixie was still hospital bound and potentially in danger. What was worse was the lack of knowledge as to how she was doing, he knew that calling Celestia for an update would be pointless as well, after his countless failed attempts the night before he learned that doing so now would result the same way.

Instead, after it was clear that his late night ponderings would get him nowhere, he decided to get up from his desk to try and retreat to his bedroom, perhaps there he would have a better time wrestling with his soon to come vivid dreams rather than the hell that was his own thoughts. He knew that even before he could go to sleep and face the nightmares that came with it he would need something to knock him out, otherwise he would just count ceiling tiles in deep thought, redundantly doing what he was trying to run away from.

Cliché as it was Jon was standing in the archway to his office, with one arm propping him up, and was now looking back over at his desk. If this were a movie a secondary camera would’ve zoomed out to show the second drawer to his desk, which contained a bottle of scotch.

Lately, with all that had transpired, he found it somewhat difficult to get a good night’s rest. A quick nip of dutch courage was enough to get him to pass out. Backtracking his way to the other side of his work station, Jon pulled out the bottle of alcohol with one hand and in the other a small glass with a wide base, to allow for ice, but short in height, usually used for whisky but Jon cared not for proper drinking etiquette at this point.

Quickly, though delicately, he poured himself a small helping while at the same time making sure to not spill any of its content on his authentically expensive rug. Hesitantly he lifted the drink to his mouth, as if some unseen force was simultaneously trying to get him to put it down. His drink was so close to his face that he could smell its strong aroma, which to him smelled just like it tasted, giving him a preview of what was to come. But before he could bring himself to throw his head back in consumption he stopped; the unseen force had won and had now pushed him back into his seat.

“I don’t need this.” Jon sighed as he extended his arm to the side to distance himself from the drink. His hand was now holding onto the drink by its upper rim, like a claw machine grabbing a stuffed animal, as his arm hung over the side of his chair. He no longer had the will to drink its content so instead he arched himself to the side so his head would balance on the flat of his other hand.

Back when Jon’s children were newborns he would rock them back and forth on his grandma's rocking chair whenever he wanted them to sleep, a family pastime that equally worked when he was their age. Similarly, Jon found himself doing the same as he arched himself back and forth on his adjustable chair, which made an annoying squeaking sound every time he did. All in all it was enough to get him to start nodding off.

With every swaying motion Jon found it increasingly difficult to keep his eyes open. He was pitching in and out of consciousness at such regular intervals that at any given moment he was unsure if what he was seeing was a dream or actuality. When he opened his eyes he saw his desk, his office, and the door the led to the hallways; he still wasn’t sure as to where he was. In fact, he was so out of touch with reality that he didn’t notice the familiar buzzing sound coming from atop his desk.

With a quick shake of his head Jon leaned forward and quickly brought the glass of alcohol closer to him, tightening his grip on it so it wouldn't fall. His vision adjusted as his eyes traced the sound to his phone which was being charged at the edge of his desk. It was on vibrate and based on how it had almost inched its way over the edge he had an incoming call for quite some time.

With his mind and body being so unresponsive he didn’t notice it going off at first, nor did he notice a letter had materialized on his desk.

In New York, the only people who call at this hour are drug dealers and mistresses, and sometimes the two were one in the same. Jon had neither so he felt confident with indulging his curiosity and throwing caution to the wind. Disregarding his better judgement, Jon quickly yanked the phone from its leash and without looking to see who it was slid his finger across its surface to answer.

“Who is this?” Jon asked in deadpan voice.

“Hello Jon,” a familiar voice said. Immediately Jon recognized the voice, a voice as smooth and pure as the glass of scotch he had now dropped on the floor.

“Ce... Celestia!?” a surprised Jon barked frantically.

“Yes, it’s me, Celestia,” she said and she paused for a moment to sigh. “Listen, I think you need to come to the castle.”

So many things rushed through Jon’s mind, like why she was calling him when it was usually the other way around, why now of all times, and why was she requesting his presence. So many questions, and yet Jon asked the most obvious one.

“W-why?” he asked, which resulted in another uncomfortable pause.

“... it’s about Trixie,” Celestia answered.