Lyra and the White Maresby publiqChaptersPacking List & Waivers2023-12-22 Arrival2023-12-25 Let the Blue Grass Roll2023-12-27 Central Park in the Dark2024-01-01 Starvation2024-01-02 Denial2024-01-11 Message in a Bottle2024-01-23 Reunion2024-02-03 Point of No ReturnPacking List & Waivers Welcome to the Intercultural Winter Tour, the premiere interplanetary portal experience. You will certainly gain an appreciation of strange species and their customs throughout your journey. This immersion tour will take you through Earth and its resident Humans as they celebrate their winter holidays. Winter, no matter the world, is the premier time to explore other cultures and learn what makes them unique. “I knew this already when I signed up,” snorted Lyra before flipping several pages farther in the welcome packet to a page that was clearly a form letter from a different template. Given your departure station of 23 days past SSC in some pond near Ponyville in the Everfree , we hope you have been taking the supplements and staying in air-conditioned rooms or deep caves to grow an off-season winter coat. If not, we strongly urge you to buy some blankets to augment your natural weatherproofing. Bon-Bon glanced at the shaggy green unicorn as if to telepathically communicate “CHECK!” but instead blew a kiss to her roommare turned lover. “Bon,” Lyra said with an awkward smile, “You know I still find you attractive in your winter coat.” Bon Bon stepped close to nuzzle Lyra’s shoulder. Several breaths passed in silence before Bon Bon reminded Lyra of the untenable travel logistics. Certainly, Bon Bon could easily secure half a moon of away time. What she could not do is also schedule a full moon of light duty office work in preparation—nor would she want to: action mares had no patience for being trapped in the paperwork stalls, even if it was strictly necessary to avoid heatstroke. “We still kept loving each other even when we were apart for years trying to fall in love with somepony else.” Bon Bon ended her reassurance, “Just because we’re married mares doesn’t mean we won’t suddenly tolerate a half moon apart. Take lots of pictures for me.” Lyra licked the side of Bon Bon’s muzzle to initiate a kiss before reviewing the packing list. “Long winter coat? Check. Knickers, trousers, raincoat? Check, check, check. Monogrammed feedbag? Check. Ivermectin? Check.” She continued the litany for some time while Bon Bon patiently zoned out to the dulcet tones of her nickers. Supplemental Warning for Human Interaction To ensure your secure return to Equestria after your cultural immersion tour, it is imperative that certain conversations with the humans be avoided. Namely, do not discuss Equestria’s past. If the topic naturally arises before you can preclude such conversation, remember that humans are prone to misremembering and flights of fancy. We hope you have a safe and secure return and look forward to your stories when you call your local booking agent for your next immersion experience. Lyra turned to share breaths with her constant companion. “What the hay was that about?” she finally asked. Bon Bon snorted softly as she reread the supplement with attention before nibbling at Lyra’s shoulder as she collected her thoughts. “Didn’t you have a classmate who was even more formalist and less intuitive in her understanding of magic than Twilight?” “Oh, Moondancer. I bet she’s now a G&T professor out in Fillydelphia or something.” “She’d know the details, but I believe it has something to do with thermodynamics and forbidden information transfer. Shanon complexity? Stuff way outside my—what’s a fancy word for it?—bailiwick.” “Or maybe that was Vinyl Scratch—she at least kept to herself as much as Moondancer in the year before she quit CSGU to earn a living making fat beats.” “Isn’t she joining you? Go earn some human bits making music together.” Lyra continued to review the packing list with Bon Bon gently nibbling her overgrown coat. Occasionally, the two mares shared a carrot swiftly followed by a kiss once no carrot was left. Nostril-to-nostril breath sharing was their horsey love language while their prehensile lips rubbed each other to release happiness neurotransmitters. Bon Bon’s robust fjord build provided physical and emotional sturdiness for Lyra; Lyra’s winter coat obscured her summer shimmer. 2023-12-22 Arrival“WELCOME TO AKRON,” blared the bold block letters above Vinyl and Lyra, the unicorns’ eyes slowly constricting into rectangles from the surprising brightness of the overcast sky. Vinyl glanced down at the brochure she carried through the portal. For as scary as it looked on the Equestria side, neither unicorn felt the expected tingle of magical transport. Instead, it was a smooth step through, followed by brief disorientation to the new gravity. After their eyes finally adjusted to the light, Lyra found herself standing in a run-down train station with her occasional musical collaborator checking their itinerary by her side. The grey skies were decidedly not those pictured in the brochures. The weather must have been one of those “forty-degree days” that documentaries about the human civilization of Baltimore discussed. Absolutely not a day where she had needed to have grown out her full winter coat to enjoy. Nonetheless, she shook as if to liberate a snowpack from her back. All that travel had taken its toll, and her spine welcomed the release. Page 1 of the schedule made their next decisions easy. The station clock read 3:00. Lyra tilted her head in confusion at the incongruence between clock and solar times until Vinyl poked her horn at a hoofnote at the bottom of the first page. “There’s an orchestra visiting from Siberia in about four hours. The brochure says Siberia is the kind of place where its ponies wear these heavy coats year-round.” Vinyl rubbed her horn against Lyra. “You know I find orchestra concerts to be boring as shit unless Octy first handed me an annotated score. Music’s too quiet. Strains the ears.” “Remember, they told us to avoid using horn rubs. Can’t you feel how dry the ambient magic is?” Lyra nickered as if a mother correcting her foal. “I-I-I know. Let’s-let’s go. Y-you-you’re an ancient of mu-mu—ancient musician,” stammered a defeated Vinyl with her physical voice. Lyra pointed at the brochure, “Look at these lights! It’s exactly the kind of show you and Pinkie collaborate on. Do humans have party canons for their Hearthswarming traditions? We have four hours to gallop if we miss the next train north.” Two unicorns sat amidst the sea of humanity in the middle concourse. Human concert halls clearly pulled double duty as sporting arenas. Zero consideration of sound quality. A mare may be so inclined as to believe she was in an enclosed coliseum temporarily turned into a musical stage. What an uncivilized and unsubtle species. “AND THEN A SOUND FILLED THE NIGHT IN THE COLD WINTER’S AIR.” Sound from the line arrays filled the hall as the audience fell into a trance from the light show borrowed straight from a gig with full Canterlot funding. 2023-12-25 Let the Blue Grass Roll My beloved Bon Bon, I want to assure you that the Kentucky Blue Grass shown in the brochure indeed was blue. I was not scammed. I hope the enclosed picture captures its essence, even though we ate in the dark. After watching the Orchestra of Pan-Siberia, I think they’re called, in Cleveland, we took a bus down the road humans know as Aye-71. A human named Rick pointed out the sights—there weren’t many he thought worthy of highlighting to horses. The highlights he pointed out were the fallow headquarters and grounds for the annual Congress of the Quarter Horses (we would need to book another visit to catch the Congress while in session), saying “somewhere across town is the best emergency equine clinic in a five-hour radius,” and reminding us that Tartarus is real. Once we crossed a worryingly high bridge over a river and exited that city and Aye-71, his horse-human interaction facts became far more frequent. We spent human Hearthswarming Eve and most of Hearthswarming Day with a herd of racehorses on absolutely luxurious pastures. Humans love fireworks—even building sticks to light firecrackers that deliver all of the sounds with none of the light. The cultural differences have so far proven too great for us to fully immerse—at least not when there are other equines to share our company. Here’s a not-so-fun fact: racehorses and draft ponies pretty much only become friends here once one (if not both) of them are retired. Otherwise, their schedules don’t work. Racehorses are home training over the winters while most drafts work overtime between the human analogs to Nightmare Night and Hearts & Hooves Day to earn their yearly salary. I am so blessed to live in Equestria. We may never have met if we kept a schedule like this. Lighter mood: humans have a genre of plucked string music named after this grass. I don’t know how they connected if they never ate the stuff. It’s positively divine. Once our host’s human landlords retired for their obscenely loud merriment, we equines (and three goats) gathered near the far corner of the pasture atop a small snowy hill. Cindy, the chestnut boss mare, ordered, “Time to roll.” After that bus ride, crunching snow on my spine made all the coat growth hassle worthwhile. I never noticed this about her over all the winters we’ve been in Ponyville, but Vinyl likes to shake three or four times after a proper snow roll because she can’t see if she’s still covered or not. Finally, we stood in our respective clearings to enjoy our Christmas (that’s what the humans call Hearthswarming) feast of blue grass. That’s when I snapped the enclosed pictures. ~~Missing your travel companionship,~~ Yours forever, Lyra P.S. Burn this part after you read it, but I now know how Vinyl fills her beats with such crazy syncopation. It’s from her natural stammer. P.P.S. I am Visiting a large human-only city tomorrow. Currently being pulled in a two-pony trailer. They have an expansive definition of pony here. This cart could easily fit four of us. 2023-12-27 Central Park in the DarkHorseless carriages and carriage-less horses rarely commingled outside Equestria. Tonight proved no exception. Just as their new Lexington friends had told them, all the one-horse-open sleighs were found neither on the rolling foothills of Kentucky nor on the pavement of New York City. Sleigh-pullers labored busily bilking humans looking to reenact their favorite Christmas carols up in Canada and New England. Instead, Lyra and Vinyl sat in their one-horse open carriage (painted to look like a sleigh), less cuddled than one would expect ponies to cuddle given the urban wind tunnels and the late hour. Only the clip-clop of their chauffeur’s trot prevented the urban facsimile of silence from descending. Neither mare needed to remark on the other’s fastidious adherence to the coat growth pills. Unbeknownst to the ponies, a pale bird tracked their progress overhead. “As you requested,” Lyra felt the momentum slow with the announcement, “the city’s finest nighttime grazing.” Their carriage now at a stop, the pair of ponies stepped onto the snow-covered grass beside the path in a large respite from pavement and concrete. They tipped their driver before ambling in search of the best grass far from human desire paths. “Over-overhead!” Stammered Vinyl. Lyra looked up to see an enormous, slow snowflake make its descent and stuck her tongue out in hopeful anticipation. What would it be like to wish upon a snowflake instead of a shooting star or comet? She closed her eyes in contemplation and in appreciation of the waning gibbous around which the snowflake spiraled. Would the wish only hold if you caught it on your tongue? Hooves left the ground in shock when both mares had a nonconsensual wing draped as a blanket. “Come back,” cried an unknown voice to the scattered pair of mares. At least one pony slowed her gallop to a trot and flicked an ear back. As the voice said something about being another pony, Vinyl called out to Lyra in a wordless whinny. Lyra slowed her gallop to circle to her travel roommare. Indeed, the snowflake was equine. She had wished upon a gliding pegasus. “I wish you were pegasi like me. Jumping off the roof of 432 Park Street is an absolute joy for a pretty sneaky pegasus such as yours truly. Glide circles between the buildings and ride an updraft from the radiant asphalt to prolong the air. It’s the best life.” “Where in Equestria are you from? We’re from Ponyville,” asked Lyra. “Zephyr Heights,” answered the pegasus. “Mom sent me for diplomatic studies for, well for I take over, her face fell, “all too soon, probably.” “I’ve never heard of Zephyr Heights. Where is it?” “On top of a well-defended mesa. Surrounded by fields in all directions, whether between us and Maretime Bay or on the way to Bridlewood.” It was Zipp’s turn for confusion at Lyra’s continued perturbation. “You said Ponyville, right? Where is that?” Lyra explained how Ponyville is a comfortable overnight train from Canterlot, or a dangerous three-day journey through the Everfree, before pausing to reconsider that a pegasus would understand the location of Cloudsdale typically being docked about a third of the way to Canterlot from Ponyville. “…and you said you grew up in Canterlot?” Zipp asked with enthusiasm. “The Canterlot? How long ago was it rebuilt?” Both Vinyl and Lyra gave Zipp a blank stare. “You must be from so far in the future that Canterlot is rebuilt and Zephyr Heights is all but forgotten.” “Celestia taught us that Canterlot has pretty much always existed as long as unicorn records and oral tradition exist. It was one of her few guest lectures at the school supposedly named for her.” “Let me get this straight: you were a student when THE Celestia was alive?” Zipp’s eyes would have been lit even in a forest on a new moon. “Yes. Her sister returned from exile a few years after I graduated. I think it was shortly after I made my final move to Ponyville. Rumor has it that they’re currently getting ready to retire. Something about losing connection to the Elements.” “Woah, you’re, like, a living legend. One of the ponies who once made the city a myriad moons ago. Can you explain why Princess Flurry Heart is so inconsistently present in the history books?” Without thinking of the consequences, Lyra whispered in Zipp’s ear, “She was supposed to be a body double replacement, but we think Celestia is losing the immortality effects from the Element of Magic faster than Flurry can grow into a full-height alicorn.” “Anyway,” Lyra asked, now at her usual volume, “What’s your name? It sounds like your family is mighty important in Zephyr Heights.” “Full title is Her Royal Horse Crown Princess Zephyrina Storm. Please call me Zipp. Princess Zipp if you must be formal.” “Neat. When I was at CSGU, we were taught names in the style of ‘HRH P’ were a unicorn tradition. How long have your pegasi adopted it?” “THE Princess Zipp? Did I just hear that you are the Zipp written in the legends?” A half-crazed carthorse interrupted the mutual exchange of history. “Let me get this straight: you are Zipp Storm, Sunny’s prime disciple to the pegasi?” “I wouldn’t call myself that.” Zipp blushed. “Besides, my sister would be the evangelist.” “S-Sunny?” Chimed in Vinyl. “You don’t know? How can you not?” Asked the rhetorically flamboyant brown stallion. “She is the mare who restored Equestria and revitalized the lineage of Clover, Starswirl, Celestia, and Twilight. Back home, we’d chant a song in her honor every half moon.” Zipp backed away from such an insane fortune teller. He continued, “We even have some songs dedicated to you, princess,” before losing himself singing an untranslatable melody. The mares backed away before saying their goodbyes. Lyra and Vinyl headed off to their hotel. Tomorrow would be the day to see the Times Square preparations and absorb the bustle of a human megacity. 2024-01-01 Starvation Octavia, Glad you’re not here for your sake. Not much time to write: tired after that party. Do have musical collaboration ideas aplenty. What do you think about using your D string to pound out some fat beats in E? Would those sound better on the C string? Had a terrible gig. The music itself was fine; it was everything else on this so-called “Paradise Island.” We got free airfare to celebrate the new year in Paradise for being a pair of unicorns under 10 hh. Our being musicians earned us an accommodations rider, including unlimited oats. When we arrived, it was a shock to learn that the Bahamas district was undergoing one of its annual oat shortages. Lyra has been begging nonstop to return to the land of blue grass and bountiful oats ever since, free stay be damned. Our tour must have been scheduled before Atlantis became a lost city. The children were the worst part! Always pulling or tugging at my mane. What a relief to be called for mane & makeup and sit quietly backstage in our freshly trimmed coats to enjoy the festivities. No heatstroke for us, nor did we enjoy oats. At least I recommend humans as competent for mane & makeup detail work. The star DJ was some human named Timbaland. I should pitch a human-horse musical collaboration once back at my studio. Apparently, their announcer was also a big deal, but I don’t remember his name or why humans like him so much. As it turns out, we were the last-minute substitution as the secret surprise guest: real live unicorns on stage. Lyra playing a human harp was a sight to see—Tartarus to mic. Celestia bless the sound mare (or man, in this case, Lyra insists I add). Human DJ equipment is quite intuitive for a mare of experience, though ill-suited for hooves. We didn’t even get oats to thank us. They attempted to make up for this with carrots and beets, but that much sugar is terrible for unicorn digestion. I don’t know how you earth ponies handle it. It’s not like you can fly it off. We trotted toward the lighthouse and found a quiet refuge in which to much the vegetation. Some humans even set out delicious bouquets of flowers in planted pots. I know you prefer the D and A strings, but I still feel you should have an adventure in E. Your experiments on the G string were a major1 success, remember? Can’t wait to jam some covers of human music, DJ-PON3 Get it? 2024-01-02 Denial“Point my horn to the sun, then chop my head off! That will get me home.” Angry whinnies generally reserved for stallions contesting for mares attempted to echo on the foam ceiling and shag carpet. Four burly men held Lyra’s legs to keep them anchored and not kicking while a fifth attempted to fit her with a bridle and grazing mask. “Miss Heartstrings,” the man at her front left instructed yet again, “we can’t stop you from making unfortunate decisions forever, but at least review and amend your living will so other ponies have closure. We’ll keep you here until you collapse from natural exhaustion,” he bluffed. “I’m telling you, we need equine backup,” said some human far too near her hind right. Static followed. “Are you all really that afraid her knowledge is contagious? She’s uncooperative, even refusing a sugar cube.” “Look at your friend,” came a voice from her hind left. With the green unicorn distracted, the head man slipped on the grazing muzzle, his focus briefly faltering with pity at the panic in her eyes. Indeed, a white unicorn sat in silence on the other side of the room with one human. In front of her lay three boxes labeled “affirmative,” “apathetic,” and “no, change that.” Every few seconds, her head nodded in depletion as she attempted to grab tissues with her magic. An iron boot replaced human hands in all the wrong places on her rear right as the walkie-talkie clicked off. “So go on and eat me, you carnivorous gluttons,” screeched a defeated Lyra. The man who slipped her hoof into the floor lock shook himself, then gently paced to sit beside the other unicorn. Seeing minimal, if any, reaction, he reached his hands along her neck and worked their way up toward her mane. If he were a more sensitive man, he would have felt her slow and ragged breaths become ever so slightly smoother. Instead, he contemplated curling her into his arms to carry her to her uncontrollable companion. “Can you do that cute thing horses do to calm each other?” He pointed at the unicorn running out of energy to continue her fight. “You know, give her a shoulder bite.” He lifted Vinyl’s barrel until she stood, then guided her nearer Lyra. Vinyl, for her part, was too in shock to resist. Soon, instinct took over. Vinyl opened her mouth and clamped down. Lyra screamed in anticipation of pain, then whinnied and whinnied again until her vocalizations softened to the nickers that always accompany shoulder grooming. In the portal’s back office, ponies hurriedly reviewed their notes and readouts: two tourist ponies, no known contact with dangerously knowledgeable humans. Yet the portal didn’t work. Even lightly modified timelines failed. If the graphs were to be believed, a successful return could work with a far future destination. Still, none of the return conditions would be acceptable—especially if constrained by the lifespans of their friends. They may as well live out their lives on Earth. Cindy, the office headmare, consulted with the head of the burly human men. “We can’t hold them until they’re stable—especially that green one—, not with that damn goat around.” “But you’re at least keeping them until they both have document packets to return to Equestria, right?” He had a habit of answering with more questions. “By the princess’ power, if only,” Cindy’s defeated voice and flopped ears revealed her surrender to fate. She still had to put on a good show even when faced with likely failure. They would be given the tools to track down messengers to return their final requests for handling unfinished business in their former home. 2024-01-11 Message in a BottleChampagne, Illinois: an utterly absurd spot for a unicorn to visit. Nonetheless, Vinyl checked Lyra’s calculations while Lyra focused on fumbling fine maneuvering to park a vehicle not designed for hoofed drivers. Once the sun set, it would be a dark, moonless night. Equestria’s loss recovery department informed them that at least two Ponyville residents, also both unicorns, would be in Champagne on the next new moon. Vinyl shifted uncomfortably at the thought that calculations held. If the conversation went wrong, the trapped unicorn population would increase from at least two to a minimum of four. Why did loss recovery not send mediators from the local species for such sensitive operations? As instructed, Lyra soon parked at the nearest non-reserved parking past the sushi restaurant. Two white unicorns soon appeared as Vinyl and Lyra walked away from the humans downtown toward the empty park. “Lyra, my darling!” Called a familiar voice, “How lovely to see you.” Rarity’s sister stepped back to let the “adults” talk out of habit, her cutie mark and flowing mane be damned. “Rar-Rarity!” It was Lyra’s turn to stutter. “And Sweetie, too!” Her thoughts remained too scattered to say much more. Too risky. “What’s wrong, dear? You look like you’ve seen a timberwolf. Why is Vinyl shifting her weight like that?” Rarity’s emotional generosity continued to exceed her physical giving. Vinyl grabbed a triply-sealed oversized envelope with her lips and pushed it toward Sweetie Belle’s locked saddlebag. Lyra reviewed the rehearsed lines, the ordering becoming fuzzy now their delivery was imminent. “Can you please deliver the smaller envelopes inside to Bon Bon and Octavia when you return?” Lyra, thankfully, grew too nervous to continue. “Certainly, darling,” Rarity said with a cocked ear. “Tell P-P-Pinkie I say hell-o, emphasis on Hell,” interjected Vinyl Scratch. “Ok,” squeaked Sweetie Belle with a confused smile. “Let me treat you to dinner, then we can chat—why are you running off?” Vinyl froze, torn between following her friend and conversing with Rarity, hoping to learn any scrap of liberating information. “DJ,” Rarity apparently only knew her stage name, “the sushi restaurant has bountiful vegetarian options. I insist. Let Lyra gallop her anxiety away and return to her senses.” Dashboard lights made the mares glad for the headlights in the dim starlight. Galloping under their own horse power, they would sail through the night unaided. However, the glowing interior running lights dazzled their ungulate night vision. Lyra chuckled at Vinyl’s insistence on driving at 88 mph as they raced north on I-39 to reach the Department of Recovery pastures by daylight. Perhaps that magic would work in a different human history. Marimbas bounced on interlocking chords over the car stereo, the canvas roof firmly secured in the closed position as a trickle of ambient engine heat vented in to warm what would otherwise be the freezing interior. Lyra sat shotgun, eyes half-closed in conflicting thoughts. If she had known the condition of the road, one faction of her mind would have rejoiced at the likelihood of a sudden return of their magic to Equestria. An allied faction wondered if Vinyl was ignorant, reckless, or shared the goal. The self-preserving faction had its satisfaction from their speed being too great to care about the frequent minor bumps. The dominant faction, however, was the one that needed a mare. Whether it was Bon Bon on Earth, a ghostly return to Ponyville to accompany Bon Bon in Equestria, or right—No, not that—Lyra interrupted her own rumination. Not the mare next to her. Pulsing strings and bass clarinet subsumed all mental activity as their volume crescendoed and the cello dropped its customary D to a C-sharp. The music intensified like the nonexistent snowstorm outside. Pianos slithered across the stereophonic marimba alternations while the guitar crawled its way into a complete melody. Outside, a red star apparated into being, soon followed by a second star and its friend. No mere constellation, but an entire star field of red lights augmented the fixed white stars. As suddenly as the first star appeared, they all snuffed out of existence. The music remained a calm and unaffected seabed. Then the first star popped on, again followed by two others before lighting the whole sky in crimson pinpricks. The lights kept their independent tempo as they danced themselves into creation and dissolved back into the night. Then the maracas appeared. Despite proceeding at the same tempo, the red stars danced ever more vigorously. Vinyl instinctively floored it to match the metric modulation, causing the speedometer to read 101. Lyra grunted for no particular reason—at least no reason that crossed her awareness. As she looked at the speed reading, Lyra appreciated the unicorn dyed blue and green from the dashboard lights. Her self-preserving thoughts won tonight’s battle—even if those thoughts did not, at least Vinyl possibly shared the same splattered desire for immediate return or perhaps a reckless apathy to all options. She shifted comfortably in her seat, leather clearly not being designed for species that don’t typically wear clothes. Suddenly, it was no longer an annoyance, at least for that night. Her breath deepened even as her heart raced to match the new tempo. ZAP! Residual magic sparked as horns touched. Lyra craned her head down to match her muzzle to Vinyl’s. “Stop,” commanded Vinyl. Lyra snorted as she bolted upright. Perhaps she would be better taking a fast nonphysical return to Equestria. “Let me stop, need to stop.” Vinyl continued. Lyra nickered in confusion as she felt the car slow. “Dee, dis—Can’t focus like that,” Vinyl attempted to explain. “Don’t want dead in ditch. No bump, fly, and crunch.” At last, the coupe came to stillness on the shoulder of the empty highway. Vinyl stepped onto the sad grass on the roadside as she walked to open Lyra’s door to lean in and rub horns. Each breath of Lyra’s became a soft snort as she leaned in to intensify the rubbing, their spirals occasionally interlocking to seal their affection. Was that Vinyl’s tongue trying to make itself her bit? Lyra relaxed her lips to find if Vinyl would slide it in sideways. Indeed, her hypothesis was correct. Something broad, warm, and wet nudged her lips apart, first pushing the upper lip up, then pressing down her lower lip, finally repeating the process until their tongues touched inside Lyra’s mouth as the velvet middle of Vinyl’s muzzle blocked Lyra’s right nostril. The mares found stillness in this position as their breathing arrived at its natural synchronization until Vinyl gently pulled away. “S-s,”—before she could get over her stutter, she was interrupted by Lyra starting to cry. “Ok, I’ll stop,” uttered Lyra as she unsuccessfully fought back a minor trail of tears. “Not stop, no, not that—stand, stallion, spinner,” Vinyl said in her unintentionally cryptic manner. Lyra saw Vinyl turn away and step closer to the slope of the ditch before stopping. Her tail swished in indecisive agitation between clamped firmly down and hiked to the side. “Stand with me,” Vinyl’s verbal mannerism coming to sudden uncharacteristic focus. Lyra unsteadily stepped onto the grass and gravel, her attention distracted by Vinyl’s undulating tail. Eventually, she stood nose-to-nose with her new forever roommare. “Spin.” The hardest possible gentle bite pinched her shoulder before Lyra was steady in her new orientation. Unthinkingly, she returned a normal gentle bite to Vinyl’s withers and didn’t let go. Vinyl eased the pressure before nipping two inches away with less force. Their instinctive massage continued silently for at least a minute, but nopony tracked time beyond that. Eventually, Vinyl’s bite strength dropped to near zero. “Stallion.” Lyra nickered in confusion. “I like stallion. Lots of stallion.” It was too dark to see Lyra blink. “I can’t let you be my first mare—” Realization began to penetrate the night’s incessant emotional whiplash. “—but you, you can be the first with experience.” Lyra finally had a coherent attempt at responding, “With Octavia your cellist?” “Yes. We mutually agreed that was idiotic and it’s best to stick to stallions.” “That’s the big difference between Bon and me: after our first few times, we were sad we had to go find somepony else. Let’s find you a stallion.” Vinyl stamped her hoof, “You need this.” She pressed her horn lengthwise along Lyra’s cutie mark. “Keep going. Even if I hate it, for tonight, keep going as long as you need.” She paused briefly. “I want to like it. Liking it means I won’t have to look.” Perhaps Vinyl had slipped into communication both nonverbal and nonmagical. Neither mare particularly cared about such details. 2024-01-23 Reunion To whoever finds this letter, I’ve left Equestria in search of my long-time lover, Lyra. Do not try to find me. If anypony tracks me down to return me to Equestria, I will tell them whatever knowledge it was that got Lyra stuck on Earth in the first place. My plan is to search for Lyra until my body gives out. By Celestia’s light, I will find her alive, and then we can live out our lives together. Earth or Equestria, we promised each other. Bon Bon paused while reviewing her letter. Considering who she called in a favor from to set up the appropriate spells, it was likely superfluous—especially since that mare almost certainly enlisted her daughter to have the magical strength to ensure the spells worked. She glanced down to the important knowledge that anypony searching her house in a well-being check would need to know. Do whatever you’d like with my remaining stuff. I’ve taken what I can carry and have converted my bits to a basket of human monies. I no longer need anything I leave behind. As said above, I do not plan to return while still inside this body. You all will know what to do with it all better than I do. Hesitation paused Bon Bon before sealing the letter. The thought was one she considered many times. It’s one of those obnoxiously obvious questions any dullard pony asks as a follow-up. She snorted as she unfolded the page to add. P.S. In the tragic event that I find that Lyra is dead upon my arrival on Earth, I’ll either die of a broken heart or live among Earth’s equines. Both options would be acceptable at that point. Perhaps that is the condition under which I accept an offer from a return team. With her addendum complete, Bon Bon folded the envelope with her usual exactitude. Her calm under long duress earned her the job she finally retired from. Now was not the time for mistakes, not with the fate of her relationship on the line. She checked the tight clasps on her saddlebags, grabbed the rucksack with its obscenely bright flashlight in the stick, and then trotted out the door. Instinctively, she gave a kick to the lock. Objectively, it would have been better to leave the door unlocked, if she had the spare brain cells to care. However, her focus was on reunion with Lyra. Her benefactors would know how to break and enter without wanton property destruction. Bon Bon continued to trot gingerly into the moonlit dark of the Everfree, thankful for her flashlight illuminating any dangers that would snap her leg before she ever left the greater Ponyville area. She gave thanks to Luna for all those nights her beautiful moon illuminated while far from Ponyville; tonight’s waxing crescent, a universal beacon to all beings. Her determined hoofbeats were further powered by gratitude to her former employer. Preparations made long ago at the start of her career freed her to write her goodbye documents without distracting anguish. Such documents were never meant to be used. Tonight, documents for critical mission failure would be used on a mission whose only outcome is success. Standing at the rim of the pond, she anxiously gazed in. Reminding herself to be patient for the proper lunar alignment did not calm her nerves from the fear that she would be just some mare who jumped into an overly deep pond and drowned. “Puis j’aller aux toilettes?” A human filly exclaimed to her dam. In a flash, the lunar lock turned the mirror pond into a prism, then a silver screen. Bon Bon now found herself bumped by the strange bipedal creatures found in Lyra’s brochures. 23 Janvier 2024 A day late and somewhere the local nuance differed from her expected language. A sign provided what she hoped were translations of all the different human modes of writing. Welcome to Reunion Island Bon Bon snorted as she pulled out a big bag of mixed human currencies. It would be expensive to get off this island, even if only to visit its neighboring lemurs. She reviewed her notes. No matter how hard she looked to exfiltrate knowledge, Lyra’s trail always went cold near the end of the first moon of the human year 2024. Only half a moon remained to reunite with her lover before she was lost to history—or perhaps only half the moon remained until she would need to track her down using only Earth knowledge, her Equestrian notes becoming stale. She looked at the world map on the wall. Reunion Island was none too far from zebras. The historical scraps she managed to collect ran out shortly after Lyra turned North from the zebras toward the sandy donkey lands. “One equine transit ticket to Tanzania. I have the bits,” she told the gate agent, flashing her bag and bits. Ponies, donkeys, mules, zebras, and horses of every breed stood shoulder-to-shoulder in their containment boxes. The padded shoulder harness should not have provided such security and comfort, yet she was unalarmed at being so close to her fellow ungulates. She reached back to rustle through her saddlebags to pull out the entry paperwork. As a recent arrival from Equestria—recent even without resorting to forged documents—, her fellow travelers grumbled at how comparatively light her forms were. Bon Bon contemplated her plan. Zebras are easiest to communicate with, but buffalo and antelope are vastly more numerous. Years had passed since her foreign language training. She imagined herself resorting to common artiodactyl phrases instead of a targeted and concise message for buffalo and an unnaturally rapid speech cadence to fake communicating with antelope. She reread the final instructions from Lyra and felt deep shame at the defamation lawsuits Rarity, in retrospect, rightly launched in defense of the Carousel Boutique. Why must she have taken it out like that? If Derpy or her colleagues had delivered it, she would not disparage the postal service for delivering bad news. Why go to such lengths to accuse Rarity of designing for the foreigner’s camera? Shame would not help her on her quest. She had already failed one mission due to calling it off for being too low a reward; she would not waste this opportunity for success. The instructions for the failed quest permitted previously unthinkable actions as an end goal. Bon Bon resolved that they would be fine as tools for obtaining the greater goal. If possible, she could use her bits to call in those favors and save on bribery bits in her quest to find the location and bearing of a green unicorn, the leftover bribes saved in the hope they would be a gift for her target. 2024-02-03 Point of No ReturnDust clouds eddied in the savanna air as Vinyl galloped away from the greyed-out fjord horse chasing her, Lyra closely following. For the past three days, Lyra had been on edge that someone was tracking them down. The way the zebras tried to hide their natural water-digging habits spooked Lyra in the way only false nicety can. This afternoon, they finally encountered their stalker. A fjord horse with shocking remaining agility, considering the state of her mane. A strange horse who knew their names. When she commanded them not to run, they made the only smart decision and sprinted into the distance. Wherever they turned to shake off their pursuer, zebras revealed their true stripes and blocked their way, allowing the strange horse to gain ground from her straight path each time. “She wants you. You can jump the blockades that I cannot,” Vinyl said between gaping breaths. Four zebras gathered between two trees dead ahead. Vinyl Scratch and Lyra kept up the gallop, yet they did not yield to avoid collision, Vinyl ignoring the sudden sting in her quarters. Mere feet away from creating a pile of broken bones and interlocked limbs, Lyra soared into the sky as Vinyl put all her weight into an oblique blow between the right two zebras. Lyra tumbled hard along the packed ground. The blunt end of a halberd interrupted her jump to freedom. Vinyl galloped to save herself until she collapsed mere meters from her successful charge. Vinyl was too weak to stand, fight, or flee; her muscles were on union break. She could only watch in anguish as the mystery mare—or at least she had a mare’s voice—leaned over Lyra while shaking something from her saddlebags. Wraps, gauze, and needles spread across the floor as the mare emptied her fully stocked med kit. “Lyra, why do you keep running?” asked the off-white mare. Before Lyra got over the shock of her tumble, she continued, “If you kept that up, you’d be dead of heatstroke. Or at least collapsed into free lion food.” Vinyl tried to shout, only to find her mouth refusing to cooperate. “Ma’am,” one of the zebras near Vinyl called, “shall I remove the dart? Unicorns seem too sensitive to its drugs.” “I don’t pay for dead ponies. If she runs, she runs. My primary can no longer gallop herself into being leopard snacks, so that goal is close to fulfilled.” The fjord mare turned her attention to the jagged breathing of her primary while the zebra reached uncomfortably close to Vinyl’s groove to yank the mostly empty dart from her quarters. “What made you want to run as if from the cats?” Lyra dared not speak the truth, let the changeling disguised as an elderly mockery of her lost lover drop her affable pretense and drain her completely. The waivers lied about Earth’s natural antipathy toward changelings. “It should only have been two moons. Do you not remember me? Did the grief at being unable to return really wipe your Ponyville past?” Vinyl’s voice shocked the three Equestrian mares in its clarity. “Only two moons, then why so old?” Only after her mouth shut did she realize that she would now be the changeling’s next feeding, not Lyra. “It’s been twenty years,” answered the changeling. “Bon Bon? I told you to find somepony else.” Lyra took several breaths made painful from the tumble. “You can still go back to be happy in Equestria.” “I wasted the first ten years after that letter following those instructions. When things inevitably ended, there was no Lyra for me to return to.” Four striped ponies recessed themselves behind the tree, attempting not to hear the intimate conversation between the mares. It was Bon Bon’s turn to be hesitant. “Are you two…?” Her voice trailed off in uncertainty of her next word. Silence answered in the affirmative. “Traveling companions,” somepony clarified, the shock of flight and fight being replaced by the shock of the news. Nopony paid attention to who spoke. A nod signaled the zebras to grab the waiting jeep. “If you no longer wish to be with me, I can think of a reason or three,” Bon Bon sighed to Lyra with a gesture toward her lowest ribs. “I stumbled into being a pirate queen of the zebras and can live out my life that way. Please do join my camp for at least a week while you heal. We will help you onto the jeep.” In the camp, Bon Bon opened a trunk of trinkets. Spread before the gathered ponies were many shiny discs. One arc contained DJ P0N3’s posthumous collection, all the unfinished projects completed by her favorite peers. The second larger arc, as Bon Bon explained, contained all of Octavia’s releases from the past two decades. “She was alive when I departed; it will probably be an incomplete collection. Assembling this was the trickiest part of my preparation. I know it’s about a moon late by the human calendar. Consider it a Hearthswarming present from Octavia and me.” Lyra gazed absently at the shiny memorabilia. Could she accept Bon Bon back? Not if it meant cutting Vinyl loose. Might Vinyl find a stallion to solve the dilemma? Did either of their situations count as “’til death do us part?” “I’m willing to share if you remain indecisive.” Bon Bon’s ability to read Lyra’s quiet moments remained as sharp as ever. “Can you cuddle my other—my good—side? That may help sort my thoughts,” Lyra said without considering the implication of offering close personal contact. Bon Bon, now cuddled to feel where Lyra’s breath hesitated, grew ever more grateful that so much less time had passed for her and Vinyl. If nothing else, that would have been curtains for her if she had taken the same fall as Lyra. Her younger (late?) wife could at least walk with support and the six other ponies to pull her to standing within an hour. “Vinyl,” nickered Bon Bon, “can you please cuddle me? I need to test something to make Lyra’s life have one fewer decision. It’s the least I can do to help her mind recover. Lyra, even if you can’t stay, tell me everything.”
Packing List & Waivers Welcome to the Intercultural Winter Tour, the premiere interplanetary portal experience. You will certainly gain an appreciation of strange species and their customs throughout your journey. This immersion tour will take you through Earth and its resident Humans as they celebrate their winter holidays. Winter, no matter the world, is the premier time to explore other cultures and learn what makes them unique. “I knew this already when I signed up,” snorted Lyra before flipping several pages farther in the welcome packet to a page that was clearly a form letter from a different template. Given your departure station of 23 days past SSC in some pond near Ponyville in the Everfree , we hope you have been taking the supplements and staying in air-conditioned rooms or deep caves to grow an off-season winter coat. If not, we strongly urge you to buy some blankets to augment your natural weatherproofing. Bon-Bon glanced at the shaggy green unicorn as if to telepathically communicate “CHECK!” but instead blew a kiss to her roommare turned lover. “Bon,” Lyra said with an awkward smile, “You know I still find you attractive in your winter coat.” Bon Bon stepped close to nuzzle Lyra’s shoulder. Several breaths passed in silence before Bon Bon reminded Lyra of the untenable travel logistics. Certainly, Bon Bon could easily secure half a moon of away time. What she could not do is also schedule a full moon of light duty office work in preparation—nor would she want to: action mares had no patience for being trapped in the paperwork stalls, even if it was strictly necessary to avoid heatstroke. “We still kept loving each other even when we were apart for years trying to fall in love with somepony else.” Bon Bon ended her reassurance, “Just because we’re married mares doesn’t mean we won’t suddenly tolerate a half moon apart. Take lots of pictures for me.” Lyra licked the side of Bon Bon’s muzzle to initiate a kiss before reviewing the packing list. “Long winter coat? Check. Knickers, trousers, raincoat? Check, check, check. Monogrammed feedbag? Check. Ivermectin? Check.” She continued the litany for some time while Bon Bon patiently zoned out to the dulcet tones of her nickers. Supplemental Warning for Human Interaction To ensure your secure return to Equestria after your cultural immersion tour, it is imperative that certain conversations with the humans be avoided. Namely, do not discuss Equestria’s past. If the topic naturally arises before you can preclude such conversation, remember that humans are prone to misremembering and flights of fancy. We hope you have a safe and secure return and look forward to your stories when you call your local booking agent for your next immersion experience. Lyra turned to share breaths with her constant companion. “What the hay was that about?” she finally asked. Bon Bon snorted softly as she reread the supplement with attention before nibbling at Lyra’s shoulder as she collected her thoughts. “Didn’t you have a classmate who was even more formalist and less intuitive in her understanding of magic than Twilight?” “Oh, Moondancer. I bet she’s now a G&T professor out in Fillydelphia or something.” “She’d know the details, but I believe it has something to do with thermodynamics and forbidden information transfer. Shanon complexity? Stuff way outside my—what’s a fancy word for it?—bailiwick.” “Or maybe that was Vinyl Scratch—she at least kept to herself as much as Moondancer in the year before she quit CSGU to earn a living making fat beats.” “Isn’t she joining you? Go earn some human bits making music together.” Lyra continued to review the packing list with Bon Bon gently nibbling her overgrown coat. Occasionally, the two mares shared a carrot swiftly followed by a kiss once no carrot was left. Nostril-to-nostril breath sharing was their horsey love language while their prehensile lips rubbed each other to release happiness neurotransmitters. Bon Bon’s robust fjord build provided physical and emotional sturdiness for Lyra; Lyra’s winter coat obscured her summer shimmer.
2023-12-22 Arrival“WELCOME TO AKRON,” blared the bold block letters above Vinyl and Lyra, the unicorns’ eyes slowly constricting into rectangles from the surprising brightness of the overcast sky. Vinyl glanced down at the brochure she carried through the portal. For as scary as it looked on the Equestria side, neither unicorn felt the expected tingle of magical transport. Instead, it was a smooth step through, followed by brief disorientation to the new gravity. After their eyes finally adjusted to the light, Lyra found herself standing in a run-down train station with her occasional musical collaborator checking their itinerary by her side. The grey skies were decidedly not those pictured in the brochures. The weather must have been one of those “forty-degree days” that documentaries about the human civilization of Baltimore discussed. Absolutely not a day where she had needed to have grown out her full winter coat to enjoy. Nonetheless, she shook as if to liberate a snowpack from her back. All that travel had taken its toll, and her spine welcomed the release. Page 1 of the schedule made their next decisions easy. The station clock read 3:00. Lyra tilted her head in confusion at the incongruence between clock and solar times until Vinyl poked her horn at a hoofnote at the bottom of the first page. “There’s an orchestra visiting from Siberia in about four hours. The brochure says Siberia is the kind of place where its ponies wear these heavy coats year-round.” Vinyl rubbed her horn against Lyra. “You know I find orchestra concerts to be boring as shit unless Octy first handed me an annotated score. Music’s too quiet. Strains the ears.” “Remember, they told us to avoid using horn rubs. Can’t you feel how dry the ambient magic is?” Lyra nickered as if a mother correcting her foal. “I-I-I know. Let’s-let’s go. Y-you-you’re an ancient of mu-mu—ancient musician,” stammered a defeated Vinyl with her physical voice. Lyra pointed at the brochure, “Look at these lights! It’s exactly the kind of show you and Pinkie collaborate on. Do humans have party canons for their Hearthswarming traditions? We have four hours to gallop if we miss the next train north.” Two unicorns sat amidst the sea of humanity in the middle concourse. Human concert halls clearly pulled double duty as sporting arenas. Zero consideration of sound quality. A mare may be so inclined as to believe she was in an enclosed coliseum temporarily turned into a musical stage. What an uncivilized and unsubtle species. “AND THEN A SOUND FILLED THE NIGHT IN THE COLD WINTER’S AIR.” Sound from the line arrays filled the hall as the audience fell into a trance from the light show borrowed straight from a gig with full Canterlot funding.
2023-12-25 Let the Blue Grass Roll My beloved Bon Bon, I want to assure you that the Kentucky Blue Grass shown in the brochure indeed was blue. I was not scammed. I hope the enclosed picture captures its essence, even though we ate in the dark. After watching the Orchestra of Pan-Siberia, I think they’re called, in Cleveland, we took a bus down the road humans know as Aye-71. A human named Rick pointed out the sights—there weren’t many he thought worthy of highlighting to horses. The highlights he pointed out were the fallow headquarters and grounds for the annual Congress of the Quarter Horses (we would need to book another visit to catch the Congress while in session), saying “somewhere across town is the best emergency equine clinic in a five-hour radius,” and reminding us that Tartarus is real. Once we crossed a worryingly high bridge over a river and exited that city and Aye-71, his horse-human interaction facts became far more frequent. We spent human Hearthswarming Eve and most of Hearthswarming Day with a herd of racehorses on absolutely luxurious pastures. Humans love fireworks—even building sticks to light firecrackers that deliver all of the sounds with none of the light. The cultural differences have so far proven too great for us to fully immerse—at least not when there are other equines to share our company. Here’s a not-so-fun fact: racehorses and draft ponies pretty much only become friends here once one (if not both) of them are retired. Otherwise, their schedules don’t work. Racehorses are home training over the winters while most drafts work overtime between the human analogs to Nightmare Night and Hearts & Hooves Day to earn their yearly salary. I am so blessed to live in Equestria. We may never have met if we kept a schedule like this. Lighter mood: humans have a genre of plucked string music named after this grass. I don’t know how they connected if they never ate the stuff. It’s positively divine. Once our host’s human landlords retired for their obscenely loud merriment, we equines (and three goats) gathered near the far corner of the pasture atop a small snowy hill. Cindy, the chestnut boss mare, ordered, “Time to roll.” After that bus ride, crunching snow on my spine made all the coat growth hassle worthwhile. I never noticed this about her over all the winters we’ve been in Ponyville, but Vinyl likes to shake three or four times after a proper snow roll because she can’t see if she’s still covered or not. Finally, we stood in our respective clearings to enjoy our Christmas (that’s what the humans call Hearthswarming) feast of blue grass. That’s when I snapped the enclosed pictures. ~~Missing your travel companionship,~~ Yours forever, Lyra P.S. Burn this part after you read it, but I now know how Vinyl fills her beats with such crazy syncopation. It’s from her natural stammer. P.P.S. I am Visiting a large human-only city tomorrow. Currently being pulled in a two-pony trailer. They have an expansive definition of pony here. This cart could easily fit four of us.
2023-12-27 Central Park in the DarkHorseless carriages and carriage-less horses rarely commingled outside Equestria. Tonight proved no exception. Just as their new Lexington friends had told them, all the one-horse-open sleighs were found neither on the rolling foothills of Kentucky nor on the pavement of New York City. Sleigh-pullers labored busily bilking humans looking to reenact their favorite Christmas carols up in Canada and New England. Instead, Lyra and Vinyl sat in their one-horse open carriage (painted to look like a sleigh), less cuddled than one would expect ponies to cuddle given the urban wind tunnels and the late hour. Only the clip-clop of their chauffeur’s trot prevented the urban facsimile of silence from descending. Neither mare needed to remark on the other’s fastidious adherence to the coat growth pills. Unbeknownst to the ponies, a pale bird tracked their progress overhead. “As you requested,” Lyra felt the momentum slow with the announcement, “the city’s finest nighttime grazing.” Their carriage now at a stop, the pair of ponies stepped onto the snow-covered grass beside the path in a large respite from pavement and concrete. They tipped their driver before ambling in search of the best grass far from human desire paths. “Over-overhead!” Stammered Vinyl. Lyra looked up to see an enormous, slow snowflake make its descent and stuck her tongue out in hopeful anticipation. What would it be like to wish upon a snowflake instead of a shooting star or comet? She closed her eyes in contemplation and in appreciation of the waning gibbous around which the snowflake spiraled. Would the wish only hold if you caught it on your tongue? Hooves left the ground in shock when both mares had a nonconsensual wing draped as a blanket. “Come back,” cried an unknown voice to the scattered pair of mares. At least one pony slowed her gallop to a trot and flicked an ear back. As the voice said something about being another pony, Vinyl called out to Lyra in a wordless whinny. Lyra slowed her gallop to circle to her travel roommare. Indeed, the snowflake was equine. She had wished upon a gliding pegasus. “I wish you were pegasi like me. Jumping off the roof of 432 Park Street is an absolute joy for a pretty sneaky pegasus such as yours truly. Glide circles between the buildings and ride an updraft from the radiant asphalt to prolong the air. It’s the best life.” “Where in Equestria are you from? We’re from Ponyville,” asked Lyra. “Zephyr Heights,” answered the pegasus. “Mom sent me for diplomatic studies for, well for I take over, her face fell, “all too soon, probably.” “I’ve never heard of Zephyr Heights. Where is it?” “On top of a well-defended mesa. Surrounded by fields in all directions, whether between us and Maretime Bay or on the way to Bridlewood.” It was Zipp’s turn for confusion at Lyra’s continued perturbation. “You said Ponyville, right? Where is that?” Lyra explained how Ponyville is a comfortable overnight train from Canterlot, or a dangerous three-day journey through the Everfree, before pausing to reconsider that a pegasus would understand the location of Cloudsdale typically being docked about a third of the way to Canterlot from Ponyville. “…and you said you grew up in Canterlot?” Zipp asked with enthusiasm. “The Canterlot? How long ago was it rebuilt?” Both Vinyl and Lyra gave Zipp a blank stare. “You must be from so far in the future that Canterlot is rebuilt and Zephyr Heights is all but forgotten.” “Celestia taught us that Canterlot has pretty much always existed as long as unicorn records and oral tradition exist. It was one of her few guest lectures at the school supposedly named for her.” “Let me get this straight: you were a student when THE Celestia was alive?” Zipp’s eyes would have been lit even in a forest on a new moon. “Yes. Her sister returned from exile a few years after I graduated. I think it was shortly after I made my final move to Ponyville. Rumor has it that they’re currently getting ready to retire. Something about losing connection to the Elements.” “Woah, you’re, like, a living legend. One of the ponies who once made the city a myriad moons ago. Can you explain why Princess Flurry Heart is so inconsistently present in the history books?” Without thinking of the consequences, Lyra whispered in Zipp’s ear, “She was supposed to be a body double replacement, but we think Celestia is losing the immortality effects from the Element of Magic faster than Flurry can grow into a full-height alicorn.” “Anyway,” Lyra asked, now at her usual volume, “What’s your name? It sounds like your family is mighty important in Zephyr Heights.” “Full title is Her Royal Horse Crown Princess Zephyrina Storm. Please call me Zipp. Princess Zipp if you must be formal.” “Neat. When I was at CSGU, we were taught names in the style of ‘HRH P’ were a unicorn tradition. How long have your pegasi adopted it?” “THE Princess Zipp? Did I just hear that you are the Zipp written in the legends?” A half-crazed carthorse interrupted the mutual exchange of history. “Let me get this straight: you are Zipp Storm, Sunny’s prime disciple to the pegasi?” “I wouldn’t call myself that.” Zipp blushed. “Besides, my sister would be the evangelist.” “S-Sunny?” Chimed in Vinyl. “You don’t know? How can you not?” Asked the rhetorically flamboyant brown stallion. “She is the mare who restored Equestria and revitalized the lineage of Clover, Starswirl, Celestia, and Twilight. Back home, we’d chant a song in her honor every half moon.” Zipp backed away from such an insane fortune teller. He continued, “We even have some songs dedicated to you, princess,” before losing himself singing an untranslatable melody. The mares backed away before saying their goodbyes. Lyra and Vinyl headed off to their hotel. Tomorrow would be the day to see the Times Square preparations and absorb the bustle of a human megacity.
2024-01-01 Starvation Octavia, Glad you’re not here for your sake. Not much time to write: tired after that party. Do have musical collaboration ideas aplenty. What do you think about using your D string to pound out some fat beats in E? Would those sound better on the C string? Had a terrible gig. The music itself was fine; it was everything else on this so-called “Paradise Island.” We got free airfare to celebrate the new year in Paradise for being a pair of unicorns under 10 hh. Our being musicians earned us an accommodations rider, including unlimited oats. When we arrived, it was a shock to learn that the Bahamas district was undergoing one of its annual oat shortages. Lyra has been begging nonstop to return to the land of blue grass and bountiful oats ever since, free stay be damned. Our tour must have been scheduled before Atlantis became a lost city. The children were the worst part! Always pulling or tugging at my mane. What a relief to be called for mane & makeup and sit quietly backstage in our freshly trimmed coats to enjoy the festivities. No heatstroke for us, nor did we enjoy oats. At least I recommend humans as competent for mane & makeup detail work. The star DJ was some human named Timbaland. I should pitch a human-horse musical collaboration once back at my studio. Apparently, their announcer was also a big deal, but I don’t remember his name or why humans like him so much. As it turns out, we were the last-minute substitution as the secret surprise guest: real live unicorns on stage. Lyra playing a human harp was a sight to see—Tartarus to mic. Celestia bless the sound mare (or man, in this case, Lyra insists I add). Human DJ equipment is quite intuitive for a mare of experience, though ill-suited for hooves. We didn’t even get oats to thank us. They attempted to make up for this with carrots and beets, but that much sugar is terrible for unicorn digestion. I don’t know how you earth ponies handle it. It’s not like you can fly it off. We trotted toward the lighthouse and found a quiet refuge in which to much the vegetation. Some humans even set out delicious bouquets of flowers in planted pots. I know you prefer the D and A strings, but I still feel you should have an adventure in E. Your experiments on the G string were a major1 success, remember? Can’t wait to jam some covers of human music, DJ-PON3 Get it?
2024-01-02 Denial“Point my horn to the sun, then chop my head off! That will get me home.” Angry whinnies generally reserved for stallions contesting for mares attempted to echo on the foam ceiling and shag carpet. Four burly men held Lyra’s legs to keep them anchored and not kicking while a fifth attempted to fit her with a bridle and grazing mask. “Miss Heartstrings,” the man at her front left instructed yet again, “we can’t stop you from making unfortunate decisions forever, but at least review and amend your living will so other ponies have closure. We’ll keep you here until you collapse from natural exhaustion,” he bluffed. “I’m telling you, we need equine backup,” said some human far too near her hind right. Static followed. “Are you all really that afraid her knowledge is contagious? She’s uncooperative, even refusing a sugar cube.” “Look at your friend,” came a voice from her hind left. With the green unicorn distracted, the head man slipped on the grazing muzzle, his focus briefly faltering with pity at the panic in her eyes. Indeed, a white unicorn sat in silence on the other side of the room with one human. In front of her lay three boxes labeled “affirmative,” “apathetic,” and “no, change that.” Every few seconds, her head nodded in depletion as she attempted to grab tissues with her magic. An iron boot replaced human hands in all the wrong places on her rear right as the walkie-talkie clicked off. “So go on and eat me, you carnivorous gluttons,” screeched a defeated Lyra. The man who slipped her hoof into the floor lock shook himself, then gently paced to sit beside the other unicorn. Seeing minimal, if any, reaction, he reached his hands along her neck and worked their way up toward her mane. If he were a more sensitive man, he would have felt her slow and ragged breaths become ever so slightly smoother. Instead, he contemplated curling her into his arms to carry her to her uncontrollable companion. “Can you do that cute thing horses do to calm each other?” He pointed at the unicorn running out of energy to continue her fight. “You know, give her a shoulder bite.” He lifted Vinyl’s barrel until she stood, then guided her nearer Lyra. Vinyl, for her part, was too in shock to resist. Soon, instinct took over. Vinyl opened her mouth and clamped down. Lyra screamed in anticipation of pain, then whinnied and whinnied again until her vocalizations softened to the nickers that always accompany shoulder grooming. In the portal’s back office, ponies hurriedly reviewed their notes and readouts: two tourist ponies, no known contact with dangerously knowledgeable humans. Yet the portal didn’t work. Even lightly modified timelines failed. If the graphs were to be believed, a successful return could work with a far future destination. Still, none of the return conditions would be acceptable—especially if constrained by the lifespans of their friends. They may as well live out their lives on Earth. Cindy, the office headmare, consulted with the head of the burly human men. “We can’t hold them until they’re stable—especially that green one—, not with that damn goat around.” “But you’re at least keeping them until they both have document packets to return to Equestria, right?” He had a habit of answering with more questions. “By the princess’ power, if only,” Cindy’s defeated voice and flopped ears revealed her surrender to fate. She still had to put on a good show even when faced with likely failure. They would be given the tools to track down messengers to return their final requests for handling unfinished business in their former home.
2024-01-11 Message in a BottleChampagne, Illinois: an utterly absurd spot for a unicorn to visit. Nonetheless, Vinyl checked Lyra’s calculations while Lyra focused on fumbling fine maneuvering to park a vehicle not designed for hoofed drivers. Once the sun set, it would be a dark, moonless night. Equestria’s loss recovery department informed them that at least two Ponyville residents, also both unicorns, would be in Champagne on the next new moon. Vinyl shifted uncomfortably at the thought that calculations held. If the conversation went wrong, the trapped unicorn population would increase from at least two to a minimum of four. Why did loss recovery not send mediators from the local species for such sensitive operations? As instructed, Lyra soon parked at the nearest non-reserved parking past the sushi restaurant. Two white unicorns soon appeared as Vinyl and Lyra walked away from the humans downtown toward the empty park. “Lyra, my darling!” Called a familiar voice, “How lovely to see you.” Rarity’s sister stepped back to let the “adults” talk out of habit, her cutie mark and flowing mane be damned. “Rar-Rarity!” It was Lyra’s turn to stutter. “And Sweetie, too!” Her thoughts remained too scattered to say much more. Too risky. “What’s wrong, dear? You look like you’ve seen a timberwolf. Why is Vinyl shifting her weight like that?” Rarity’s emotional generosity continued to exceed her physical giving. Vinyl grabbed a triply-sealed oversized envelope with her lips and pushed it toward Sweetie Belle’s locked saddlebag. Lyra reviewed the rehearsed lines, the ordering becoming fuzzy now their delivery was imminent. “Can you please deliver the smaller envelopes inside to Bon Bon and Octavia when you return?” Lyra, thankfully, grew too nervous to continue. “Certainly, darling,” Rarity said with a cocked ear. “Tell P-P-Pinkie I say hell-o, emphasis on Hell,” interjected Vinyl Scratch. “Ok,” squeaked Sweetie Belle with a confused smile. “Let me treat you to dinner, then we can chat—why are you running off?” Vinyl froze, torn between following her friend and conversing with Rarity, hoping to learn any scrap of liberating information. “DJ,” Rarity apparently only knew her stage name, “the sushi restaurant has bountiful vegetarian options. I insist. Let Lyra gallop her anxiety away and return to her senses.” Dashboard lights made the mares glad for the headlights in the dim starlight. Galloping under their own horse power, they would sail through the night unaided. However, the glowing interior running lights dazzled their ungulate night vision. Lyra chuckled at Vinyl’s insistence on driving at 88 mph as they raced north on I-39 to reach the Department of Recovery pastures by daylight. Perhaps that magic would work in a different human history. Marimbas bounced on interlocking chords over the car stereo, the canvas roof firmly secured in the closed position as a trickle of ambient engine heat vented in to warm what would otherwise be the freezing interior. Lyra sat shotgun, eyes half-closed in conflicting thoughts. If she had known the condition of the road, one faction of her mind would have rejoiced at the likelihood of a sudden return of their magic to Equestria. An allied faction wondered if Vinyl was ignorant, reckless, or shared the goal. The self-preserving faction had its satisfaction from their speed being too great to care about the frequent minor bumps. The dominant faction, however, was the one that needed a mare. Whether it was Bon Bon on Earth, a ghostly return to Ponyville to accompany Bon Bon in Equestria, or right—No, not that—Lyra interrupted her own rumination. Not the mare next to her. Pulsing strings and bass clarinet subsumed all mental activity as their volume crescendoed and the cello dropped its customary D to a C-sharp. The music intensified like the nonexistent snowstorm outside. Pianos slithered across the stereophonic marimba alternations while the guitar crawled its way into a complete melody. Outside, a red star apparated into being, soon followed by a second star and its friend. No mere constellation, but an entire star field of red lights augmented the fixed white stars. As suddenly as the first star appeared, they all snuffed out of existence. The music remained a calm and unaffected seabed. Then the first star popped on, again followed by two others before lighting the whole sky in crimson pinpricks. The lights kept their independent tempo as they danced themselves into creation and dissolved back into the night. Then the maracas appeared. Despite proceeding at the same tempo, the red stars danced ever more vigorously. Vinyl instinctively floored it to match the metric modulation, causing the speedometer to read 101. Lyra grunted for no particular reason—at least no reason that crossed her awareness. As she looked at the speed reading, Lyra appreciated the unicorn dyed blue and green from the dashboard lights. Her self-preserving thoughts won tonight’s battle—even if those thoughts did not, at least Vinyl possibly shared the same splattered desire for immediate return or perhaps a reckless apathy to all options. She shifted comfortably in her seat, leather clearly not being designed for species that don’t typically wear clothes. Suddenly, it was no longer an annoyance, at least for that night. Her breath deepened even as her heart raced to match the new tempo. ZAP! Residual magic sparked as horns touched. Lyra craned her head down to match her muzzle to Vinyl’s. “Stop,” commanded Vinyl. Lyra snorted as she bolted upright. Perhaps she would be better taking a fast nonphysical return to Equestria. “Let me stop, need to stop.” Vinyl continued. Lyra nickered in confusion as she felt the car slow. “Dee, dis—Can’t focus like that,” Vinyl attempted to explain. “Don’t want dead in ditch. No bump, fly, and crunch.” At last, the coupe came to stillness on the shoulder of the empty highway. Vinyl stepped onto the sad grass on the roadside as she walked to open Lyra’s door to lean in and rub horns. Each breath of Lyra’s became a soft snort as she leaned in to intensify the rubbing, their spirals occasionally interlocking to seal their affection. Was that Vinyl’s tongue trying to make itself her bit? Lyra relaxed her lips to find if Vinyl would slide it in sideways. Indeed, her hypothesis was correct. Something broad, warm, and wet nudged her lips apart, first pushing the upper lip up, then pressing down her lower lip, finally repeating the process until their tongues touched inside Lyra’s mouth as the velvet middle of Vinyl’s muzzle blocked Lyra’s right nostril. The mares found stillness in this position as their breathing arrived at its natural synchronization until Vinyl gently pulled away. “S-s,”—before she could get over her stutter, she was interrupted by Lyra starting to cry. “Ok, I’ll stop,” uttered Lyra as she unsuccessfully fought back a minor trail of tears. “Not stop, no, not that—stand, stallion, spinner,” Vinyl said in her unintentionally cryptic manner. Lyra saw Vinyl turn away and step closer to the slope of the ditch before stopping. Her tail swished in indecisive agitation between clamped firmly down and hiked to the side. “Stand with me,” Vinyl’s verbal mannerism coming to sudden uncharacteristic focus. Lyra unsteadily stepped onto the grass and gravel, her attention distracted by Vinyl’s undulating tail. Eventually, she stood nose-to-nose with her new forever roommare. “Spin.” The hardest possible gentle bite pinched her shoulder before Lyra was steady in her new orientation. Unthinkingly, she returned a normal gentle bite to Vinyl’s withers and didn’t let go. Vinyl eased the pressure before nipping two inches away with less force. Their instinctive massage continued silently for at least a minute, but nopony tracked time beyond that. Eventually, Vinyl’s bite strength dropped to near zero. “Stallion.” Lyra nickered in confusion. “I like stallion. Lots of stallion.” It was too dark to see Lyra blink. “I can’t let you be my first mare—” Realization began to penetrate the night’s incessant emotional whiplash. “—but you, you can be the first with experience.” Lyra finally had a coherent attempt at responding, “With Octavia your cellist?” “Yes. We mutually agreed that was idiotic and it’s best to stick to stallions.” “That’s the big difference between Bon and me: after our first few times, we were sad we had to go find somepony else. Let’s find you a stallion.” Vinyl stamped her hoof, “You need this.” She pressed her horn lengthwise along Lyra’s cutie mark. “Keep going. Even if I hate it, for tonight, keep going as long as you need.” She paused briefly. “I want to like it. Liking it means I won’t have to look.” Perhaps Vinyl had slipped into communication both nonverbal and nonmagical. Neither mare particularly cared about such details.
2024-01-23 Reunion To whoever finds this letter, I’ve left Equestria in search of my long-time lover, Lyra. Do not try to find me. If anypony tracks me down to return me to Equestria, I will tell them whatever knowledge it was that got Lyra stuck on Earth in the first place. My plan is to search for Lyra until my body gives out. By Celestia’s light, I will find her alive, and then we can live out our lives together. Earth or Equestria, we promised each other. Bon Bon paused while reviewing her letter. Considering who she called in a favor from to set up the appropriate spells, it was likely superfluous—especially since that mare almost certainly enlisted her daughter to have the magical strength to ensure the spells worked. She glanced down to the important knowledge that anypony searching her house in a well-being check would need to know. Do whatever you’d like with my remaining stuff. I’ve taken what I can carry and have converted my bits to a basket of human monies. I no longer need anything I leave behind. As said above, I do not plan to return while still inside this body. You all will know what to do with it all better than I do. Hesitation paused Bon Bon before sealing the letter. The thought was one she considered many times. It’s one of those obnoxiously obvious questions any dullard pony asks as a follow-up. She snorted as she unfolded the page to add. P.S. In the tragic event that I find that Lyra is dead upon my arrival on Earth, I’ll either die of a broken heart or live among Earth’s equines. Both options would be acceptable at that point. Perhaps that is the condition under which I accept an offer from a return team. With her addendum complete, Bon Bon folded the envelope with her usual exactitude. Her calm under long duress earned her the job she finally retired from. Now was not the time for mistakes, not with the fate of her relationship on the line. She checked the tight clasps on her saddlebags, grabbed the rucksack with its obscenely bright flashlight in the stick, and then trotted out the door. Instinctively, she gave a kick to the lock. Objectively, it would have been better to leave the door unlocked, if she had the spare brain cells to care. However, her focus was on reunion with Lyra. Her benefactors would know how to break and enter without wanton property destruction. Bon Bon continued to trot gingerly into the moonlit dark of the Everfree, thankful for her flashlight illuminating any dangers that would snap her leg before she ever left the greater Ponyville area. She gave thanks to Luna for all those nights her beautiful moon illuminated while far from Ponyville; tonight’s waxing crescent, a universal beacon to all beings. Her determined hoofbeats were further powered by gratitude to her former employer. Preparations made long ago at the start of her career freed her to write her goodbye documents without distracting anguish. Such documents were never meant to be used. Tonight, documents for critical mission failure would be used on a mission whose only outcome is success. Standing at the rim of the pond, she anxiously gazed in. Reminding herself to be patient for the proper lunar alignment did not calm her nerves from the fear that she would be just some mare who jumped into an overly deep pond and drowned. “Puis j’aller aux toilettes?” A human filly exclaimed to her dam. In a flash, the lunar lock turned the mirror pond into a prism, then a silver screen. Bon Bon now found herself bumped by the strange bipedal creatures found in Lyra’s brochures. 23 Janvier 2024 A day late and somewhere the local nuance differed from her expected language. A sign provided what she hoped were translations of all the different human modes of writing. Welcome to Reunion Island Bon Bon snorted as she pulled out a big bag of mixed human currencies. It would be expensive to get off this island, even if only to visit its neighboring lemurs. She reviewed her notes. No matter how hard she looked to exfiltrate knowledge, Lyra’s trail always went cold near the end of the first moon of the human year 2024. Only half a moon remained to reunite with her lover before she was lost to history—or perhaps only half the moon remained until she would need to track her down using only Earth knowledge, her Equestrian notes becoming stale. She looked at the world map on the wall. Reunion Island was none too far from zebras. The historical scraps she managed to collect ran out shortly after Lyra turned North from the zebras toward the sandy donkey lands. “One equine transit ticket to Tanzania. I have the bits,” she told the gate agent, flashing her bag and bits. Ponies, donkeys, mules, zebras, and horses of every breed stood shoulder-to-shoulder in their containment boxes. The padded shoulder harness should not have provided such security and comfort, yet she was unalarmed at being so close to her fellow ungulates. She reached back to rustle through her saddlebags to pull out the entry paperwork. As a recent arrival from Equestria—recent even without resorting to forged documents—, her fellow travelers grumbled at how comparatively light her forms were. Bon Bon contemplated her plan. Zebras are easiest to communicate with, but buffalo and antelope are vastly more numerous. Years had passed since her foreign language training. She imagined herself resorting to common artiodactyl phrases instead of a targeted and concise message for buffalo and an unnaturally rapid speech cadence to fake communicating with antelope. She reread the final instructions from Lyra and felt deep shame at the defamation lawsuits Rarity, in retrospect, rightly launched in defense of the Carousel Boutique. Why must she have taken it out like that? If Derpy or her colleagues had delivered it, she would not disparage the postal service for delivering bad news. Why go to such lengths to accuse Rarity of designing for the foreigner’s camera? Shame would not help her on her quest. She had already failed one mission due to calling it off for being too low a reward; she would not waste this opportunity for success. The instructions for the failed quest permitted previously unthinkable actions as an end goal. Bon Bon resolved that they would be fine as tools for obtaining the greater goal. If possible, she could use her bits to call in those favors and save on bribery bits in her quest to find the location and bearing of a green unicorn, the leftover bribes saved in the hope they would be a gift for her target.
2024-02-03 Point of No ReturnDust clouds eddied in the savanna air as Vinyl galloped away from the greyed-out fjord horse chasing her, Lyra closely following. For the past three days, Lyra had been on edge that someone was tracking them down. The way the zebras tried to hide their natural water-digging habits spooked Lyra in the way only false nicety can. This afternoon, they finally encountered their stalker. A fjord horse with shocking remaining agility, considering the state of her mane. A strange horse who knew their names. When she commanded them not to run, they made the only smart decision and sprinted into the distance. Wherever they turned to shake off their pursuer, zebras revealed their true stripes and blocked their way, allowing the strange horse to gain ground from her straight path each time. “She wants you. You can jump the blockades that I cannot,” Vinyl said between gaping breaths. Four zebras gathered between two trees dead ahead. Vinyl Scratch and Lyra kept up the gallop, yet they did not yield to avoid collision, Vinyl ignoring the sudden sting in her quarters. Mere feet away from creating a pile of broken bones and interlocked limbs, Lyra soared into the sky as Vinyl put all her weight into an oblique blow between the right two zebras. Lyra tumbled hard along the packed ground. The blunt end of a halberd interrupted her jump to freedom. Vinyl galloped to save herself until she collapsed mere meters from her successful charge. Vinyl was too weak to stand, fight, or flee; her muscles were on union break. She could only watch in anguish as the mystery mare—or at least she had a mare’s voice—leaned over Lyra while shaking something from her saddlebags. Wraps, gauze, and needles spread across the floor as the mare emptied her fully stocked med kit. “Lyra, why do you keep running?” asked the off-white mare. Before Lyra got over the shock of her tumble, she continued, “If you kept that up, you’d be dead of heatstroke. Or at least collapsed into free lion food.” Vinyl tried to shout, only to find her mouth refusing to cooperate. “Ma’am,” one of the zebras near Vinyl called, “shall I remove the dart? Unicorns seem too sensitive to its drugs.” “I don’t pay for dead ponies. If she runs, she runs. My primary can no longer gallop herself into being leopard snacks, so that goal is close to fulfilled.” The fjord mare turned her attention to the jagged breathing of her primary while the zebra reached uncomfortably close to Vinyl’s groove to yank the mostly empty dart from her quarters. “What made you want to run as if from the cats?” Lyra dared not speak the truth, let the changeling disguised as an elderly mockery of her lost lover drop her affable pretense and drain her completely. The waivers lied about Earth’s natural antipathy toward changelings. “It should only have been two moons. Do you not remember me? Did the grief at being unable to return really wipe your Ponyville past?” Vinyl’s voice shocked the three Equestrian mares in its clarity. “Only two moons, then why so old?” Only after her mouth shut did she realize that she would now be the changeling’s next feeding, not Lyra. “It’s been twenty years,” answered the changeling. “Bon Bon? I told you to find somepony else.” Lyra took several breaths made painful from the tumble. “You can still go back to be happy in Equestria.” “I wasted the first ten years after that letter following those instructions. When things inevitably ended, there was no Lyra for me to return to.” Four striped ponies recessed themselves behind the tree, attempting not to hear the intimate conversation between the mares. It was Bon Bon’s turn to be hesitant. “Are you two…?” Her voice trailed off in uncertainty of her next word. Silence answered in the affirmative. “Traveling companions,” somepony clarified, the shock of flight and fight being replaced by the shock of the news. Nopony paid attention to who spoke. A nod signaled the zebras to grab the waiting jeep. “If you no longer wish to be with me, I can think of a reason or three,” Bon Bon sighed to Lyra with a gesture toward her lowest ribs. “I stumbled into being a pirate queen of the zebras and can live out my life that way. Please do join my camp for at least a week while you heal. We will help you onto the jeep.” In the camp, Bon Bon opened a trunk of trinkets. Spread before the gathered ponies were many shiny discs. One arc contained DJ P0N3’s posthumous collection, all the unfinished projects completed by her favorite peers. The second larger arc, as Bon Bon explained, contained all of Octavia’s releases from the past two decades. “She was alive when I departed; it will probably be an incomplete collection. Assembling this was the trickiest part of my preparation. I know it’s about a moon late by the human calendar. Consider it a Hearthswarming present from Octavia and me.” Lyra gazed absently at the shiny memorabilia. Could she accept Bon Bon back? Not if it meant cutting Vinyl loose. Might Vinyl find a stallion to solve the dilemma? Did either of their situations count as “’til death do us part?” “I’m willing to share if you remain indecisive.” Bon Bon’s ability to read Lyra’s quiet moments remained as sharp as ever. “Can you cuddle my other—my good—side? That may help sort my thoughts,” Lyra said without considering the implication of offering close personal contact. Bon Bon, now cuddled to feel where Lyra’s breath hesitated, grew ever more grateful that so much less time had passed for her and Vinyl. If nothing else, that would have been curtains for her if she had taken the same fall as Lyra. Her younger (late?) wife could at least walk with support and the six other ponies to pull her to standing within an hour. “Vinyl,” nickered Bon Bon, “can you please cuddle me? I need to test something to make Lyra’s life have one fewer decision. It’s the least I can do to help her mind recover. Lyra, even if you can’t stay, tell me everything.”
