Ballpen

I sipped the cool drink. I listened to the hissing foam and felt the tart apple flavor on my tongue.

"They say," Philip remarked, leaning back in his wicker chair, "that this cider is donkey's piss compared to the one from that farm. I don't know, my friend, but I think this one is good, too."

“That farm?” I asked again.

We were sitting in a small street cafe on Meadow Street, not far from the theater. The owners and regulars of the cafe had already gotten used to our company, and only passersby glanced at us sideways. There was about an hour left before sunset.

The wind was cool, despite the clear weather. Far on the horizon, just above the rooftops, clouds were piling up, but not approaching the city, although the breeze should have been pushing them in our direction. If you had a good pair of binoculars, you could see multi-colored dots flickering under the clouds. The Manehattan weather crew was performing another meteorological wizardry, keeping the bad weather away from the city.

Another reminder that you are in a strange world.

• "Sweet Apple Acres," said Michael, the third member of the group. In general, the Americanized Pole or Slovak was called something else, but Philip stubbornly called his friend Michael, and I had managed to forget how he introduced himself - either Michal or Mikael. So I called him Michael to myself. He worked as a loader in the Manhattan port, was broad-shouldered, dark-haired and taciturn. Limiting his conversation to such short remarks. As far as I knew, our three represented the entire small human diaspora of Manhattan.

“Oh yeah, you didn't know,” Philip slapped his forehead. “The famous apple farm from the series. The Apples still make their signature cider there, but humans will never get to try it. Even those who were released from the camp. It's good if you don't get a hoof over the head.

Michael just sighed heavily.

“So, you’re firing?” Philip changed the subject.

I nodded.

“I've had enough of the Grand Drape. And what about you, aren't you thinking of going away?”

Philip shook his hair.

“Nah, dude. I'm a man of art. The spotlights, the applause of the audience - that's what makes life worth living. For the sake of my calling, I can tolerate one asshole from the entire troupe.”

In my opinion, it was not applause that fell to our lot, but calluses from the scenery and shouts from the assistant. However, I kept quiet. If Philip liked this kind of work, who was I to dissuade him?

I took another sip of cider and glanced out the window at the ponies hurrying along the sidewalk.

“This farm. It's in, what's it called, Ponyville?”

Both drinking buddies nodded.

"Applejack was really pissed off after that incident with Fluttershy," Philip muttered. "They say she and Big Mac promised that if they saw a human in their fields, they'd kick first and talk later."

“And Twilight ?” Michael asked.

“As if you didn't know. Twilight washed her hooves, dude. Just like the last time.”

I glanced around at my interlocutors.

“Guys. Tell me what's going on there, in this camp.”

Philip's face darkened.

“It's shitty there, man. It's really shitty there.”

He took a sip too.

“You know, at first it wasn't like that. Everybody are bronies, friendship magic and all that stuff,” he grinned darkly. “Oh, I remember, at school they made us cram some book, I forgot what it was called. In short, a bunch of kids get stranded on a desert island. And at first they were all boys from good families, would you like some coconuts, Mister Jack, oh, where's Miss Governess to wipe my ass. And then they started bullying the weaklings, kicking each other's asses, and a month later there were the first deads. And there, too, it was the same. Someone pushed someone else in line at the sink, someone was rude to someone else in the cafeteria, someone had a fight over a girl... That was a whole other nightmare. One girl for fifty guys, that's crazy, you know.”

He paused for another sip of cider.

“The real shit started two years ago, when they killed that guitarist. My God, what was his name... Either Nagisa or Nomura ... Remember, the chubby one? Or did you get into it later?”

Michael shook his head silently.

“Japanese?” I asked again for some reason.

“No, just a weeaboo. He and Cody got kinda fight over a woman...”

“Over a woman?” Michael drawled, surprised. “Cody is a sort of out of this line.”

“Well, maybe it was because of guy, who knows. I wasn't there. Anyway, he started bold talking to Cody, and Cody punched his bridge in his brain.”

“And the pony?” I muttered.

“What about the ponies?” Philip smiled wryly. “The ponies managed to interfere while Armata and Semonov in the Russian barracks were pissing in each other's boots at night. And when the real shit came out...”

He lowered his voice.

“There are no witnesses, and even if there were, who would want to give his neck? Besides, what can you do with a person who is already in prison? The ponies haven't thought of whips or brig, and these scumbags are not the kind of people to be afraid of. And the princess didn't have the guts to preemptively throw the whole gang into Tartarus.”

A very professional VHS followed.

“That's when Twilight broke. She handed over the camp management to Stone Wall , and left the scientific part to Lyra. Well, Stone Wall is Neighsay's protégé with understandable views. He decided that since Cody and his gang maintain at least some order in the camp, then let it be. Since then, it's been like that - ponies don't come inside until the shit doesn’t come out. The friendship magic is so magic, dude.”

Michael nodded, looking no less gloomy.

“As soon as this crap started,” continued Philip, “I immediately realized what it smelled like. I jumped up and asked to see the princess before they shut down. I have weasel around, but I convinced her that I was all friendly magic and practically recited her diary by heart. And what? The right things were written there. It even works with ponies .

“Did you talk to the princess?”

“Well, what means “talk”? I sat in on lectures. Half of the isekaied sat in them until the freebies ran out. In general, thanks to Lira.”

“Lira?” Phil and Michael sometimes forgot that I didn’t know all these names and titles.

Philip looked at me with bewilderment.

“Equestria to Evgen, come in! That pony, you said, she examined you herself in Committee! Observation and Universal Testings!”

“A-a-a, who is Professor Heartstrings?”

“She is the one. Well, Twilight gave her the title honoris causa, but she really did a lot for us, man. Look, Mikey is one of those who got out thanks to her. And me too. She personally pressured Twilight and assured us that she thoroughly checked us out. And we are not as crazy as many isekaied. Until Stone Wall caught on and complained about her to Neighsay.”

I shook my head. Again I glanced sideways at the clouds above the horizon.

It will start getting cold soon. I need to think of something with winter footwear. I can't walk around in flip-flops on winter streets, can wI?

“Crazy?”

Both of my interlocutors exchanged glances.

“There were a lot of crazy,” Phil grimaced as if he had tasted lemon.

“You know, buddy. Just imagine some autistic vegan or schizophrenic with cerebral palsy, whose only joy in life is jerking off to a Luna’s dakimakura. And suddenly he gets shoved here, into the dream of his life. And two seconds later he's told that he's a nobody here and his place is prison. What will happen to his mind from such somersaults?”

Michael silently stared at his own clasped hands.

“There were a lot of crazy. Well, if in percentages, then a handful, but you know... Someone, like the Fifth, started yelling "Pony!" and chasing the mares. Someone got it into his head that this was a very bright drug trip, and it would be a lot of fun to run with axe and scare the ponies. One guy built a homemade altar to the Luna and burned letters to the princess on it every evening. Not paying attention to the fact that the ponies themselves looked at him like he was crazy.

And then - down the chain. The isekaieds do crazy things, ponies run a mile away from new isekaied. The guards bust the isekaied without sorting things out. Someone tries to run or fight back, shit happens. In the end... in the end it got what it got, dude. To prison instead of the School of Friendship.”

He moved his cheeks as if he wanted to spit.

“What are you interested in?”

I threw up my hands.

“Well, it's just... It's kind of strange. I've been in this world for half a year now, and I still haven't tried to find out personally how other people live. The majority, I mean. Only from rumors and stories.”

Philip narrowed his eyes.

“Hello, buddy! Are you by any chance planning to move there voluntarily?”

Michael didn't say a word. He just shook his head vigorously, as if I had actually blurted out that I intended to move to such a colorfully painted concentration camp.

“No. No, of course not, especially after all the things you've told me... I just had thoughts that I should at least understand for myself what's going on there. They tell all sorts of things, but few people around have seen him with their own eyes.”

“Don’t even think about it,” Philip said decisively. “There’s nothing to do there. Lately, even visiting is prohibited. Not to mention that in Ponyville over the years, pony have begun to look at humans worse than timber wolves.”

He drained the mug.

“That's how it is. I ran away from there almost two years ago, and I don't regret it. It's better to carry scenery behind the curtain than to be a lackey for Cody and his suckers. The only downside is that it's hard to find women, but it's hard to find them in the camp, too, that's all.”

He grinned greasily.

“And in general, the issue is solvable. Especially if your have any hands.”

It was hard to hold back a chuckle. Even Michael smiled slightly.

Phil glanced sideways at the waitress who was serving mugs of cider. Catching his eye, she approached the table.

“More cider?” she asked. Not reacting to the human appearance, fortunately we had already become familiar faces in the café.

“Yes, miss, another pint,” Phil nodded. He watched the filly go with a thoughtful look.

“The issue is solvable,” he repeated. He turned his gaze to me.

“And how it’s going with that filly you brought to the show?”

My jaw dropped somewhere.

“What?!”

“Well, that unicorn, the blue-green one. Did something work out? Because if not, I'd be happy to hit on her, since she's into bipeds.”

Blood started pounding in my ears. I didn't understand how I jumped my feet. I just suddenly realized that I was standing and the chair was lying a meter away from me.

And I lean forward, hanging over Philip.

“What. Did. You. Say?!”

“Hello!” he recoiled. “Dude, stop! What's wrong with you? I was just asking! I'm not some kind of pervert like the Fifth, no means no, I would have told that you've got it covered!”

I shook my head in bewilderment.

“What do you mean “got it covered”?!”

“Well, in that very sense,” Phil was still looking at me with apprehension. “Le grand l'amour toujours, and all that.”

I took a step back, picked up the seat and, catching my breath, sat down on it.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“I thought you knew. Well, when a boy loves a girl, or a colt loves a filly...”

“Yes, I get it, damn it! That's not what I meant! She's a pony!”

Philip grinned.

“So what? It doesn't hinder the process, you know. The main thing is desire of the parties, and then it's a matter of technique. And the right little pimple in the right little pipey.”

There was a polite snort. Turning around, I saw the pony with a tray of mugs clenched in her teeth, one foot holding it over the edge.

“Excuse me,” she said, setting the tray down on the table. “Are you all right, gentlecolts?”

I nodded slowly.

“Sorry, filly. My friends and I had argued for a bit. Everything is fine. Thanks for the cider.”

“Oh, you’re welcome,” the waitress collected the empty mugs and left, still glancing over her shoulder at me. I looked at Philip.

“You're talking crazy. This is some kind of perversion.”

He shrugged.

“What is natural and pleasing to both is not a perversion.”

“That's exactly what's unnatural!”

“Yes? So you have nothing to her?”

“Of course!”

“Well, then why are you so angry at me?”

And here I didn’t have an answer.

Really, why did I react like that? No, this really seems like some kind of complete perversion like zoophilia ... But if everything is voluntary and by mutual consent, then what do I care about other people's perversions?

No, it's just that Alyatara is my friend. And I don't like hearing people talk about her... like that. I don't like it, surely.

“You’re talking crazy,” I said firmly and convincingly.

Philip was already smiling openly.

“Okay, okay, dude, whatever you say, the matter is closed. We won't discuss your unicorn anymore, and your private life, either.”

“She’s not ‘mine,’” I muttered, barely holding back.

“Whatever you say, mate,” Phil clicked his tongue. “Okay, I'll hit on Stage. Maybe one day she'll turn her attention to the humble stagehand.”

I had already regained enough control of myself to manage a grin.

“I'm afraid she looks at you like you're an alien monkey.”

He shrugged.

“A woman’s heart is as fickle as the spring wind.”

“So you’re planning on opening a shop?” Michael changed the subject.

I nodded.

“Well, good luck in business,” Phil said.

“Thank you,” to be honest, before this conversation I had a thought of inviting him as a partner. A second person behind the counter would useful, warming up the public's interest due to his exotic appearance. But now I have completely discarded this idea.

I finished the mug in one gulp and put it down on the table. I also left four silver bits there.

“Okay, guys, I'm going. Business doesn't wait.”

“Well, au revoir.”

“All the best to everyone. Sometime we'll get together again.”

The door to the shop creaked.

“Hi! I'm ready to replace you.”

“Evgeniy!” Alyatara smiled warmly. “Well, I can handle it myself. There was a small influx of ponies this morning, but now they've all gone.”

“How many pieces were sold?”

The unicorn hesitated.

“Three. And two more ponies ordered personalized stylomechs. I drew the marks and colors, promised that everything would be ready the day after tomorrow.”

“Well, great. Then I'll do it now, and then I'll replace you.”

Alyatara shook her head.

“Sorry, but you're not very good at drawing. Just don't be angry, but I'll do them better.”

“What offense?” I spread my hands. “I already know that as an artist you are a hundred times cooler. You draw, and then I will varnish it.”

“Or Remy,” the unicorn nodded. She handed me the key to the cash register and disappeared behind the door of the utility room.

I climbed onto the chair, placing an empty box under the legs – the pony furniture I had bought at a sale was not very well designed for the dimensions of other species. I glanced at the neat rows of pens on the counter and in the display cases.

Of course, with such a payback we won't even pay off the loan. Three pens in half a day is nothing (I didn't tell Alyatara, but the unicorn knew how to count). However, it's a work day now. Towards evening, the ponies returning from work will definitely drop by the shop and the cashier will start filling up.

Well, finally! The enterprise is working for the fourth day, it’s too early to sum up the results and count the chickens. Rumors about us will soon spread around the city…

The door opened.

“Welcome to Stylomechs of Stargaze, gentlecolt!”

A grey earth pony with a mark of three white stars stared at me.

“Hmm? Mister, are you... a minotaur?”

“Not really. I'm a human. Human goods for the pony of Manehattan, best selection and best prices!” I tried to give my most charming smile.

The pony looked around thoughtfully.

“Human goods?”

“Yes, mister. In our world of people, we call this device…” I corrected myself in time “a stylomech. Look,” I got a pen from under the counter and left a few beautiful curls on a sheet of paper. “This is an automatic stylus with a built-in inkwell. It does not need to be cleaned or sharpened, or dipped in ink, all you need to do is replace the refill once a week or so! Imagine how convenient it is!”

The pony tilted his head curiously.

“Interesting, interesting. And how much does it cost?”

“A measly fifty-six bits, mister! And for a modest twenty bits extra, we'll repaint it to match your colors and write your name on it!”

“How much?!”

“Gentlecolt,” I added a little indignant pride to my voice. “Just imagine that you will never have to buy quills and pencils again. That you will physically can’t to make a blot or smear a line with blotting paper. And have you ever spilled an inkwell? Now you will not have to waste time and energy on wiping ink off the table and wool! Isn't it worth the money?

"Sounds reasonable," the pony picked up the demonstration stylomech from the table and left a few pony curlicues. I mentally added a chain to attach the sample to the table to my to-do list... then told myself that in the pastoral world of ponies, I hoped, it was not accepted to profit from shoplifting. Okay, let's not get distracted, we'll pressure the client while he's still warm...

“Look,” I snatched the stylomech from his hooves. “To replace the inkwell, unscrew the cap here. It's very simple, just take out the old refill and insert the new one,” I screwed the cap on. “When you're not using the stylomech, put the second cap here so the ink doesn't dry out. Although even if it dries out, you can still scribble it with a couple of strokes!

"Yes, it's a tricky thing," the pony muttered thoughtfully. "So you're saying I don't need to buy any more quills? Well, it's not like it's such a big deal... But okay, I'll take it as a souvenir to show my friends."

I gave another signature smile.

“Your friends will probably say that you are at the forefront of progress!”

"Yes, progress is galloping these days," the pony agreed. "All these new-fangled radio shows and intelligents from across the borders of the state... Okay, how much did you say? Fifty?"

“Fifty six.”

“Do you take stones?”

“Of course. Just one second,” I pulled the string of the bell.

Alyatara's head appeared in the doorway .

“Evgeniy?”

I leaned towards her ear.

“Help me count out the change.”

The unicorn looked thoughtfully at the rather large ruby.

"Eighty bits," she said. "Here's your money, mister. Welcome back for more refills!"

“That’s if I’ll actively use this thing,” the pony said doubtfully. “Okay, dear ones, all the best.”

Tail swooped down from above, dragged the ruby into the cash register drawer and, squeezing the stylomech with both paws, scribbled on a piece of paper. He handed the customer a receipt.

I bowed, watching the pony's tail disappear through the doorway.

“Fourth sale of the day.”

Alyatara sighed.

“We have to do something about this,” she said decisively. “And I know what. Can you handle it by yourself until the evening?”

“Easy. In extreme cases, I'll call Steel or Remy. Where are you going?”

“I'll drop by "World of Manehattan". First, I'll try to negotiate a discount on advertising.”

“And secondly, would you offer the stylomechs?”

“Spot on!”

“Well, go ahead. It's a good idea.”

“Of course! What discount do you think we should offer on the first batch?”

“I winced. What the hell kind of discount? We've already taken a price that's on the verge of breakeven!”

“Three bits maximum,” I finally said. “That's for regular ones. For personal ones... Well, you can put in ten there. And that's only for the first delivery.”

Alyatara also grimaced, but did not argue. As I said, she knew how to count.

“Then see you in the evening,” she smiled encouragingly and disappeared behind the door.

I watched her go.

Damn, I should have kick Phil’s ass so he wouldn’t blab too much... Okay, Zhenyok, calm down!

Don't lose your temper. It's not worth it. Especially because of a few carelessly thrown words.

By evening, the shop became crowded as I expected. There was even a small queue outside the door. True, many customers came in mainly to gawk at the strange things on display.

But I didn't give up, I used all my natural and learned charm, I honestly tried to "mirror" clients, no matter how difficult it was with a four-legged clientele, and to cover their needs. And sometimes it even worked. At least one pony who agreed to buy was enough for a couple of doubters to follow his example. My crooked sketches for orders of personalized stylomechs accumulated on a separate sheet of paper - the customer's name, color, a sketch of the mark (I belatedly thought that it would be too difficult for Alyatara to decipher my scribbles. Should I buy a camera? I think I saw a shop with them somewhere, and Alyatara mentioned that photography is quite well known in Equestria ...).

And by evening, when night had fallen on the city and firefly and electric lights were blazing outside the window, an impressive handful of bits, received from the sale of fifteen items, proudly rested in the cash register. Another eight lines were waiting for their turn on the order sheet.

It was getting dark in the shop, but I chose to turn off the overhead light. There were no more customers expected, and I was too stifled to burn electricity just for the sake of my eyesight. Only the firefly lamp on the table burned softly, snatching the display case and counter from the shadows.

And I was sitting on a chair, leaning against the wall of the store. Feeling squeezed out like a lemon.

In fact, the shirt was so soaked with sweat that it really could be wrung out.

Okay. It's okay. I'll get used to it.

This is only the first day in active mode.

It will get easier later.

There was a knock at the door.

“Hello again,” I smiled at the unicorn .

“I thought you had already closed the store,” she replied, puzzled.

“I decided to take a little rest before leaving. Steel and Remy are already home,” I said. “What surprise do you have?”

Alyatara broke into a smile.

“We have a contract for the first fifty pieces in our pocket! And another one for Flash News , the head of the reporting department. And we'll also get a ten percent discount on the ad!”

“Well done!” I gathered my strength and peeled myself off the wall. Groaning, I rose to my feet. “I wasn't so successful. Fifteen regular ones, eight personalized ones, counting yours.”

Alyatara shrugged very gracefully.

“Well, that's great! Considering what we sell to the editorial office, that's even more than our daily quota!”

I shook my head.

"Thanks for the consolation, of course, but the contract is a one-time deal. Without it, we would have to sell twice as much as today just to stay afloat."

Alyatara rounded the counter with determination. She rose up on her hind legs, so that her huge eyes were almost level with mine. She placed her hooves on my shoulders, maintaining her balance.

“Eugeniy,” she said firmly. “We’ll succeed.”

I smiled back.

“I know. Thank you.”

And suddenly I realized that her muzzle was too close to my face. And we were standing practically in an embrace.

And I quickly took a tiny step back, freeing himself from the hug.

“Phew,” I theatrically wiped the sweat from my forehead. To tell the truth, I didn't really have to pretend. “Yes, it's a troublesome work, my legs are already giving way. Shall we go home?”

“Of course,” Alyatara smiled so tenderly that something warm flared up inside me in response to this smile. She stepped toward the door. I suddenly noticed how smoothly she glided among the shadows cast by the lamp… How the muscles glided under the fur, how the blue wave of the mane fell on her back…

“Wait a minute, okay?” I asked in a dry voice.

“What is it... Oh, you want to close the entrance?”

“Aha,” I clicked the locks of the main entrance. I dimmed the lamp.

And I resolutely stepped into the tiny room to the right of the entrance to the utility room.

Turned the bronze valve and decisively splashed icy water on my face.

Come to your senses, Zhenyok! Just seven months without women - and you're already starting to look at the alien creature in a completely wrong way! In a completely unfriendly way!

It's wrong. It's perverted. It's unnatural, even if someone in this world, like Phil, has had his balls screwed enough from lack of sex...

And it looks like not just Phil.

No, no. It's not me being a fucking pervert. It was just an unfortunate coincidence of Philip's words that prompted bad thoughts, a long abstinence, and the excessively close proximity there, in the shop. Literally within arm's reach, so that it was worth slightly tilting my head...

Oh fuck!

Another portion of cold water in the face.

Thank all the gods, earthly and local, that Alyatara didn't seem to notice my reaction.

The last thing I need to reinforce her idea that all humans are complete maniacs and perverts.

“I’d love to take a dip too,” the unicorn’s melodic voice rang out. “But I don’t want to walk down the street with a wet mane. I’ll wait until I get home.”

“Yes... and I, you know, decided to freshen up a bit after a day at work,” I lied. “Well, are we moving?

“Let’s go,” smiled Alyatara.