Barnon doesn't know whether to dread the opening of the giant, metal doors he floats outside of, or wish they'd hurry up and open. The slow float through endless, star-speckled void back to the ship had been tense; not a hint of his expected relief from a finished job. His mind is far too busy wandering, playlists paused and forgotten.

He doesn't really know what to expect. Well, he kind of does, but... also not really.

Theories of what it is inside his ship keep coming to mind. Old wives tales, stowaways, aliens to eat his brains... anything to delay the obvious. He already knows just who is waiting inside his ship. Why, however, is what worries him.

Last time they spoke, she said she'd be telling Spike about him. From what they'd talked about, Spike was like a... Brother/Son situation? She raised him herself for most of his life, but they had a very casual 'friendship' style relationship, treating Twilight's mother as their 'Mutual' Mother. Or something. She'd often talk very sweetly about him, whenever he came up in conversation.

Barnon thinks it's closer to Son than Brother.

But... if she was here, did it go poorly? Did it go well? She'd always been worried about physically crossing the threshold. How'd she even do it? She couldn't fit through his Macrowave. Could she? Maybe she was here because it went so great, her 'Elevated Heart Rate' was from sheer excitement.

Or she'd been exiled.

The AI voice of his ship pings in his ear again; a reminder. Right. Oust the little horse to the mega-corporations? Pass.

"Uh... No, I've got this covered." He'd told the Ship. "And drop the 'Bitch' Personality Sub-Addition." It was really funny -- but not right now.

There's a soft 'Ping' as it complies.
"Very well. 'Call Me Bitch' Vocal Module will be stored for later restoration. Any awaiting Contacts to the previously listed Individuals, Companies, Organizations or Businesses will be put on hold, thanks to your 'I Value My Privacy' package. However, you lack the sufficient Security Licenses to defend the inside section of your own Vessel. Shall I purchase the 'My Ship Is My Castle' Laborer Self-Defense License for you? Only 49.99 a month, sponsored by Half-foods; your Healthiest and Only Organic Option." It informs, the Half-Foods jingle playing at the end.

"No, it's friendly. If I need it, I'll let you know." Barnon deflects.

The AI voice makes another affirmative ping, and he's left to his own thoughts.

Barnon was happy he made enough cash to afford all these dumb packages. Maybe not ALL of them, but the ones important to him. Funny enough, he had the License to defend the outside of his ship, to melt a hole in anything that floated too close, but not if they actually got on his ship. Dumb loophole, but he figured if they got inside, he was good as done anyway.

The sturdy doors silently hisses, ejecting steam into the nothingness around him as it opens; pulled from his thoughts, the soft orange glow of his Airlock greets Barnon as he enters, belt propulsors softly nudging him inside as his sturdy boots gravitize to the floor. The satisfying pulse of them connecting reverberates through his body, as the doors seal shut behind him.

The the room slowly pulses, re-pressurizing as recycled air slowly fills it. Barnon's gaze is stuck to the blinking light on the wall, idly flashing red.

Red.

Still... Red...

It dings, flicking to Green.

The moment that light switches, Barnon's got his helmet unclasped, and promptly racked on the wall. His mining pack's straps click, the pack itself secured to its charging station right beside it. He's got a mantle for his suit -- and it takes him a minute to dress and undress.

He's only just got his arms out, as the inner-Airlock doors slowly hiss open; suit half slung off of himself, empty sleeves dangling around his waist. The inside of the Ship-Post reveals its (not so) mystery occupant; he hadn't even managed to finish undressing, hair still slick with sweat, before he sees her.

Sat on his bed, hooves draped over the side side of it, butt-sparkle-mark exactly as described, was the purple pony he'd spent the last two weeks talking to. Now, there was a body to put to the face. It looked like she'd come up to his waist if they stood in front of each other.

She had that same violet wide-eyed stare she had when they'd first seen each-other, through the doors of their appliances. But now, with less shock, and more... nervousness. Behind her, the Macrowave is closed -- and nothing else looks any worse for wear. She twiddles her hooves together, staring at Barnon.

One of the reasons they got along so well makes itself prevalent again; just how socially awkward they both actually were. They stare at each-other for nearly a minute, one waiting for the other to say something, do something, make a move, anything.

Barnon's suit slides down his legs, crumpling to the floor, drawing both of their eyes. That'd do for an icebreaker.

"Uh... Hey, Twilight." Barnon tees up first, stepping out of what's left of his suit.

"...Hi, Barnon." Twilight awkwardly squeaks, glancing away and trying to subtly clear her throat.

"Did things with Spike go well?" He fields, hopeful. The quick glance-away tells him things may very well have not.

"...Barnon, could I... stay here for a few days?" She deflects; her face is tilted down, but she looks up towards him from underneath her bangs with hopeful, quivering eyes.

Barnon is thrown by the sudden question, but scratches the back of his neck, looking around his little Ship.
"I, uh... I dunno if my Ship is really geared up for multiple people..." He mumbles.

He can practically hear the breath catch in her throat, Twilight going still.

"I don't have like, girl products or whatever... but I could probably order some." His face scrunches in thought. "Yeah, sure, we can figure it out or whatever. I don't mind if you stay." Barnon shrugs. With the entire catalogue of Spamazon available, they could probably just order whatever she needed.

"OhSweetCelestiaThankYouIWasSoWorried." The Purple Pony exhales all at once, sinking into his bed like a deflated balloon. It's like every ounce of tension just seeped out of her, leaving her boneless and flopped overtop his mattress.

Barnon watches her face sink into his pillow. Was having a Pony on your bed weird? He did already share his forbidden fifteen cheese blend with her... and his bed was pretty baller. Yeah, whatever.
"You good there, Twi?"

"...I may have used the pre-existing portal as a template in order to find where to go, how much magic to use, the Cerul Gem I gave you as an anchor, and-- well, basically... the portals closed. I'm kind of stuck here." She admits, a guilty, sheepish smile slowly taking her face. "I was really, really banking on you being okay with me staying with you. For a little bit. Just a smidge. Until I figure out... what to do. Oh, and... I didn't have time to grab your stuff. Sorry." She mumbles, tensing for a scolding.

Barnon raises an eyebrow. He steps past the bed, into the kitchen section, swinging open the Macrowave door.

Look at that. It's the inside of his Macrowave. No funny portal, no funny pony. The funny pony was on this side now. It felt weird seeing the actual, proper inside again after these last few weeks.

He shuts the Macrowave, turning and leaning against the countertop.

"I mean, everything was pretty much a gift, minus the Holopad. That kind of sucks." He admits, sucking air through his teeth.
"But how about you tell me what happened, before I decide how upset I should be?"

Twilight nods, shifting to a proper sit as she retells him how things went on her side, for the last week.

Author's Note