A Mare Walks Into a Chicken Tendie Restaurant...by bignastyshrekChapters1: Who is She?2: Just Friends3: Getting SeriousAuthor Update1: Who is She?The midday sun shone across the sky, illuminating the active Raising Cane’s where Anon, a man with short brown hair, light mustache and beard, and a black t-shirt and camo cargo pants sat at one of the bar stools across from the cash register, eating his 4-piece tendie combo (complete with Cane’s sauce, no slaw/extra fries, a piece of buttered toast, and a Hi C fruit punch with no ice). With little else going on today, his plan was naught more than “go out, grab some lunch, go back home, browse the chan until it’s time to work my graveyard shift security job, where I get paid to sit down at a desk and browse the chan for 8 hours”. Taking one bite out of his toast, half the slice is gone, and he closes his eyes in bliss enjoying his meal. “Hey,” he hears a strong female voice behind him, no doubt calling to him, causing him to open his eyes quickly in shock. Confused, startled, and certainly not used to being approached, he turns around to see his greeter, and is met by a 4’6” (on all fours) beautiful unicorn with an off-white coat and horn, black saddlebags, an aquamarine mane and tail, a cutie mark he couldn’t see well (of course it’s bad manners to ogle flanks for too long), and what he would later describe as “resting mare face”. “Umm… hello?” he responds, looking her over and giving a pathetic wave, encouraging her to go on (which she doesn’t). A couple moments later he responds, “do you need something?” “Is this seat taken?” she raises a hoof as if to point to the stool next to his: Not surprising, as it’s just shortly after lunch rush and all the seats are full unless you want to sit outside. “Go right ahead,” he responds to the mare, who nods wordlessly and hops on her haunches to sit down next to him human-style, while he finishes up his piece of toast awkwardly. “Is that Hi C?” she asks, signaling to the cup near his right hand, causing him to nod his head, pick up his cup, and show her through the see-through lid. “Yeah, with no ice,” he continues to the mare, who nods as well. A thick, palpable silence penetrates their conversation for a few more moments, as Anon focuses his attention back to his combo, tackling the fries. “Fresh hot chicken for Stella!” a busy female chicken wagie calls out. Anon lifts his head and notices his acquaintance nod hers, as her horn sparkles and levitates the tray to her side of the counter. His eyes widen: not only has he never seen a unicorn before today, he’s certainly never seen one use magic like that. “Stella,” Anon quickly chews and swallows the portion of fries in his mouth, thinking out loud and focusing his attention on her, “is that your name?” “Yes,” she responds coldly, looking not-exactly at him, but in his general area. Her magic then levitates her cup of iced lemonade, taking a long sip. “Anon,” he raises an open palm to her to offer a hand/hoofshake, causing her to do likewise as he tries to find the right part of her hoof to grab, hoping he did a good job on short notice. After all, “faux pas when dealing with mare species” is not a topic he’s particularly versed in. “What’s that shirt?” she points another hoof at him, causing him to look down at his top apparel: A black t-shirt with the McDonald’s golden arches logo, with the text underneath it reading “MkUltra”. “Oh, haha…” he lets out an uncertain laugh, having never thought about explaining the joke to a girl before. “Well, it’s just like the McDonald’s logo, but the text says MkUltra.” “I know what both of those are,” she emotionlessly adds, before they share the unspoken consensus to return to their meals. The two Oblivion NPCs share the silence for a few minutes until Anon musters the courage to speak again to the first non-family woman who approached him all year, thinking extra carefully about his choice of words. “So…” he begins, as the mare moves her eyes in his direction without turning her head. “Do you come here often?” “Yes,” another concise response. “I was at the grand opening,” she adds, referring to a month ago. “Really? I’ve been coming pretty often as well, hadn’t seen you before,” he takes a deep breath in, deciding better than to allude to the fact that she’s a unicorn. Surely he would have remembered seeing a unicorn before? “I was there too. You know how they had the raffle where twenty randomly drawn names win free Cane’s for a year?” “You won.” “You remember me?” he responds in shock. “Yeah, they called your name, you started screaming, and you ran down the line with your arms flailing.” His eyes widen unconsciously, startled by her recollection of events. Of course, every ounce of what she’s saying is true. He just didn’t expect her (or anyone, really) to remember either his face, name, or put those together with obviously the most excited raffle winner. It’s a couple more moments before he responds. “You’ve got a great memory,” he chuckles and smiles nervously, her face remaining as stone as ever. “Thanks.” “I mean, of course I was excited. I think that was the first raffle I ever won.” Another awkward, minute-long silence between them ensues. A new customer comes in, the wagies call out names, people at nearby tables talk and laugh, and Stella finally speaks up: “Your hair is pretty bad.” “Huh?” Yet again he turns to her, his mouth half-full of chicken tendie, trying to chew before she finishes her train of thought. “Isn’t that what humans call their manes?” “Yeah, but you said my hair is bad?” “It’s thinning.” He turns away from her and looks at the soda dispenser, checking his reflection. She was correct; his hair is disheveled and quite obviously thinning at parts. “Oh geez, you’re right,” the dumbstruck Anon says after running his hand through his hair in an on-the-spot attempt to look ever so slightly more presentable. “I’m sorry, I don’t really take good care of it.” A couple more seconds of no response transpire, leaving him to add “Your hair-I mean mane looks great though.” “Thanks.” It’s after another silent period that Anon has his meal finished, with Stella slowly behind him. Taking his meal basket in one hand and his empty cup of corn syrup in the other, he empties his trash by the nearby soda machine- only stopping when he feels a wadded-up napkin hit his shoulder. “Please get me a lemonade,” he turns around to find that Stella is hovering her cup full of ice to him, who stands still for another moment, slowly raising his hand to grab the cup from her magic pull. It didn’t really seem like much, they barely even touched, but some tangible emotion was present as the soda cup passed from her magic grasp to his human hand. “Sometime today would be nice.” Yeah, he zoned out again, didn’t he? With all the elegance of a balding ape with Parkinsons, he pivots, removes the lids from both drinks, and fills his iceless cup with the artificially red-dyed ambrosia of the money gods, and hers with the clearer yellowish liquid (as much as he could without the ice spilling over) of colts and fillies looking to make a few quarters, and seconds later joins her at the stool, holding her lemonade out to her- and there that feeling is again. Her magic brushes against his hand as she levitates the drink to her mouth. “Umm… Well, it was good to meet you, but I was just about to go home.” He can barely get the words out of his mouth. So many unexpected things have happened in the span of less than ten minutes. “Same.” She responds, thinking nothing of the world-shattering she’s just caused this unsuspecting human. “Thanks for keeping me company.” “Y-yeah, likewise. Nice to meet you, Stella.” Technically true. Up to this point, he was planning on just going back to regular life, maybe tell his friends what happened. Like they’d believe him. Go back home, vidya, text all two of his friends “lol guess what happened at Raising Cane’s today-” “Do you want to come here again?” His heart stopped. If he thought he was thunderstruck before, this dropped the whole storm on him. “What, you mean, with you?” “Yes.” “Uh, yeah, I should be free at 1PM this time next week.” “Can I put your number in my phone?” When Anon first saw the unicorn, his meter hit 3. When she spoke curtly to him repeatedly, it was at 7. When she asked him out at a specific time, she turned it up to 11. Now? Now it was at least 20. Reflecting on this moment Anon could only hope he didn’t drop too much spaghetti on the pristinely mopped Cane’s floor as he concluded his first conversation with the mare, who took the first step and asked him out- the MARE asked HIM out. He only hoped his next few spaghetti-laced sentences were coherent enough (and not utterly reeking of “never in my life been 5 feet from a girl”) to make a good first impression on the mare who obviously expressed interest in him. His memory was a blank slate for who knows how long, really, checking back into reality as he hears a “see you then” from the mare and waves goodbye to her as she nods and trots out. “That was no doubt the strangest experience in my entire life,” Anon thinks to himself, positively melting with emotion, but (ever so slightly) more sane and in his right mind. “I could count on one hand the amount of times a girl approached me, and just like that a unicorn mare out of nowhere greeted me. Obviously she had her eye on me for a while, she knew I was at the grand opening, she knew I won the prize, and she made comments about my hair? I can’t put my finger on what it is about her, but… there’s something about her that just makes me want to know her better. Not just the fact that she’s a unicorn. I can’t mess this up. I need to play my cards right. At least it’s somewhat of a relief that she seems into me, but-” And so his thoughts went for several uninterrupted minutes, before exhausting himself and snapping back into reality. An opportunity has been handed to him, like the head of a prophet on a silver platter, and he would be a fool not to hammer the iron while it glows red hot. Author's Note If you've gotten this far down my autism-fueled story, thank you so much for reading this far! As stated in descriptions, yes, this is inspired by a dream I had. Now granted, plenty of the information written here came from myself "filling in the gaps" as it were, but the overall framework (of the first chapter at least) is quite literally ripped from the dream world. Thank you Princess Luna for bestowing this knowledge (and responsibility) upon me. Also, this particular anon is literally just me. I understand this is literally just me writing about my life, with some fanciful details, but what the heck? By the particular we can know the universal. Finally, this is indeed my attempt to return to the foray of writing after years of inactivity. I hope this can become a regular thing and I expect to have some updates... I won't promise when, but sometime eventually! 2: Just FriendsIt had been almost a week since he first met her, and since then his thoughts were occupied with little else than “white-furred unicorn”, “white-furred unicorn who likes me”, “white-furred unicorn, black saddlebags, aquamarine mane, beautiful” and so on. The day they first met she promised to meet with him again on… well, the date would be today. God no doubt threw him a very generous bone by doing 99.999% of the work, having a girl not only approach him, but be interested in him. As such, Anon has never been more excited for anything in his entire life, and took every opportunity to not only look the best he can, but mentally prepare as well. His thoughts and current line rehearsals are interrupted by receiving a text from her number (thankfully, he remembered to bookmark it): “Cya at 1. Btw thanks for offering to get me a combo” …Did he offer to get her a combo? Maybe he did, but just forgot when he went full spaghetti. Doesn’t matter, really, he had already planned to buy her a meal like a true gentleman, to offer her one of his free combos for the month was no extra effort. He also elected to wear, instead of his prior unfashionable combo of the ironic punny t-shirt and camo cargo pants, a flannel long-sleeved shirt he had and blue jeans, perfect for the approaching winter. Not too formal, not too casual. It’ll just be a charming, sweet meal between friends. The time finally comes, and Anon pulls into the Raising Cane’s parking lot at 12:55 PM: it always helps showing up early, and as Anon didn’t have much on his plate besides posting on the chan, there was no reason he couldn’t respect the mare’s time and show how much he cared. Putting himself out there, so to speak. Fortunately for both, barely a minute after parking his car (and still before 1PM), Stella trots up around the corner of the building, her face stoic as ever. “Hello Anon,” she greets, waving a white hoof and looking the human over. “Hello Stella,” Anon responds, opening the door for her. She gives a light smile and enters the establishment, before her face shifts back to her usual deadpan. Less than a minute in line and both orders have been put in, using up all of Anon’s free meals for the month. No big deal, he can always choose to invite her somewhere else next time. Anon goes to the drink dispenser to receive his artificially colored red nectar with no ice, seating at a table for two before Stella enters shortly thereafter, seated at the table human-styled again, her cup filled not with her previous choice, but… “You also got Hi C with no ice?” Anon asks his friend, who nods affirmatively, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I was inspired by your example,” she responds. “Being willing to partake in your friends’ favorite things is a great friendship lesson.” Anon, though utterly confused by this seemingly absurd outburst, overlooks it, still in awe that anyone (much less of the opposite sex) is willing to confide in him, speak openly about such random topics, and break barriers. He was not upset in the slightest over her being… a literal unicorn. In fact, that made it much more exciting. Of course, the familiarity of her specific appearance causes him to raise some questions that he decided would be better left unasked. “I’m honored that you see it that way,” he awkwardly chuckles out, before thinking of a devious trick. He tears a tiny bit off his straw wrapper, leaving it about 3/4ths wrapped, before putting the opened part on his mouth and blowing it, shooting the wrapper right at the bullseye: It hit Stella square in the horn. Got ‘em! She blinks and jumps slightly at the hit. It’s a good thing she wasn’t using magic then, an interruption to her horn like that would have caused her to lose her focus. “Very funny, Anon. I’ll have to get you back next time,” she says with a light smirk, having already unwrapped her straw and drinking her own Hi C. “Anyway, I wanted to ask you some questions,” Anon says, “starting with, where are you from?” “Ponyville.” “Never heard of it,” he continues, playing into her questions and making a great deal to show off how interested he is, “is that somewhere in Tennessee?” “It’s in Equestria.” “You must have traveled an awful long way to get here, in that case.” “…you could say that,” she says, refraining from bringing up exactly how she got there. “What’s it like in Equestria- I mean, Ponyville?” She raises a hoof to her muzzle and presses, in an exaggerated thinking pose. “Well, for starters, there’s far less noise. Way better than this old place. Also, everypony’s rude here for no reason.” “I can see where you’re coming from, Stella,” he grunts apologetically, doing a double-take at her mention “everypony”. Must be regional dialect, no biggie. If the single upstate New York town of Albany uses the phrase “steamed hams” to refer to hamburgers, there’s no reason why any other place would use “-pony” as a word finisher instead of saying “everybody” or “everyone”. “Do they have Cane’s in Ponyville?” Anon asks, showing his interest and seeing where she paused for a moment. “No, and I have to say the food is one thing this town does right,” she lightly smiles again as she magically raises her drink to her lips. From there the unicorn mare spent some time talking about the ins and outs of life in Ponyville, from the average daily life of a citizen (he was especially pleased to hear that most ponies work only a few hours a day, and some don’t even work every day), to hearing her speak of her fellow countryponies (dropping a handful of names of some she interacts with regularly, such as Roseluck, Golden Harvest, and Berry Punch) to the multitude of great festivals and feasts the entire town participates in, such as Hearth’s Warming Eve, Nightmare Night, the Winter Wrap-Up, the Summer Sun Celebration, and more. “It sounds like a wonderful place,” Anon says with a smile on his face, “everyone living together in the liturgical seasons of the year! It reminds me of a couple celebrations they held nearly a thousand years ago in Europe, but just imagine trying to get people together for that now,” he adds with a scoff. “I’ve always wanted to know what it feels like participating in such an event.” “If you ever come to visit, I bet Ponyville would love to have you,” Stella continues in her typical deadpan voice, barely a hint of expression on her face. “Well geez, as much as I like traveling, I’m not entirely sure about planning a whole trip right now,” he shifts an arm behind his head in discomfort. He’s absolutely correct, though. International flight? Grab a plane ticket for upwards of a thousand dollars, and that’s not even factoring paying for a hotel or hostel, finding out what to eat, what to do, and so forth. Far too often it gets too convoluted and painful that Anon would rather not think about travel at all and resign himself to the simple pleasures, like a box of Cheez Its and a video game. After all, what in the world is out there that he’s really missing, and that would justify hundreds of hours of planning for a fraction of that time in reward? Now if such an opportunity was handed to him, of course he’d think differently. “Haha, we’ll see about that,” she responds, causing Anon to squint in confusion, before the chicken wagie calls their names, causing the gentleman to stand up and chivalrously collect the meals, both his and the lady’s, to their table: Stella’s 4-piece combo exactly the way it comes, while Anon swapped his coleslaw for extra fries. So went their conversation for about an hour over their combos. Anon miraculously managed to keep the spaghetti inside his pockets for long enough to avoid weirding out his new friend, though part of him can’t help but feel she’s got a decent portion in her pockets too. He’ll test it another time, but not today. Anon would have considered the topics discussed “normie”, but he also read somewhere that normie interests are the best way to test the waters, so to speak. Ask people about their job, where they’re from, what they like to do, their family, and so on. As far as Anon could gleam, those answers were that Stella is an official on the payroll of the royalty, as already mentioned she lives in Ponyville (but does a substantial amount of work both there and in some place called Canterlot, which he assumed was the capital city), she prefers sedentary hobbies such as reading, but Anon was pleasantly surprised to hear her mention “stuff not everypony likes”, in her own words. She seemed quite bashful to bring up the fact that she likes books written by a “Lyra Heartstrings”. By her own pony standard, she appeared to be a contrarian in terms of her tastes in literature and television, but he knew better than to immediately make up his mind based on that decision alone. Since Ponyville is worlds apart from him, he could only guess as to what the shows are like there. What he considers normie in his hometown just as well may be the small cult hit media there, and the mainstream stuff from Ponyville just as easily could translate to esoteric fiction in his world, enjoyed only by the chosen few who “really get it”. Regardless, he made sure to treasure that in his mind, wondering if it would come in handy later. The machinations in his mind are already turning as to how he could introduce her to Evangelion. No way Equestria has THAT. His spaghetti overpowered him once again just as she was finishing, “I don’t really like her.” “Oh, I didn’t mean to overstep,” Anon chokes out, barely slipping back into reality, “we don’t have to talk about your family.” “It’s okay.” And there again the two of them sat together, their silence now one of much less awkwardness. Rather than feeling pressured to say something but being unable to, they began to enjoy each other’s company, almost as if fate’s hands parted the metaphorical Red Sea and brought the two misplaced wanderers together. …Or so he thought. “Thanks for coming out to meet me again,” she says, breaking Anon out of another one of his trances. “Oh? Yeah, no biggie, just uhh…” he chokes up, unable to find the words. “Just doing the right thing”? That sounds totally fake, she wouldn’t buy it. “Anything for you”? Coming on too hard. “Well, you asked, and I offered.” BOOM! Speech has increased to 37. “Let’s do this again next week,” she says with another very slight smile. “Oh, wait!” Anon pipes up, causing her to drop her face back to stoic, “why don’t next time we meet at a different chicken restaurant?” “Is it as good as this one?” “Personally, I prefer it to Raising Cane’s. But just like this time it’ll be on me. Have you ever been to Zaxby’s?” he asks, proposing the change of venue not just because his Raising Cane’s free meals have run out for the month, but this may be a good way to push his boundaries and show her he’s not just all talk. “No.” “Then I’m happy to be the first one to take you!” she nods again as he continues, “I’ll text you the address.” A formal message exchange later, and a second date was planned. “Well, I had a great time, but I’ll be going for real. Bye, Stella!” he waves her goodbye (and she does likewise), walking back to his car and checking his phone messages one last time before driving home. Thanks again for the meal. I liked hanging out with you. <3 … 3: Getting SeriousIt had been another week since the last time the two of them met in person (and pony), and now Anon was following through on his plan to do something he never did before: He asked her out to a chicken tendie restaurant that wasn’t Raising Cane’s. To be fair, it wasn’t that out of the blue. Anon and Stella had already talked at length about how much they both love chicken tenders specifically, and it was only a matter of coincidence that Cane’s was the only one she’d been to. At least, so he thinks. He took enough of an effort to ask her about herself, which she was very happy to do so (and he was very happy to listen to). At the same time, in an effort to not provoke her, he refrained from asking her the most important question: “What are you doing in this world to begin with?” The words from the unsociable human hung in the stagnant air of the Zaxby’s like a man at the gallows. Sitting across from her at a booth at the new chicken tender restaurant they chose to meet at, her jaw dropped slightly as she did little besides stare blankly at the human, causing the goosebumps to rise up his skin again. He knew he was taking a gamble by mentioning “this world” as opposed to “this town”, “this state”, or any other descriptor to describe where he lives and where she lives, and how they’re not the same. Did he make a mistake? Did he ask the wrong question? Should he have broken the ice with a little more small talk before going into such a topic? At the same time, her face starts to shift in discomfort, in expressions Anon had never seen from her before. She grimaces, as if thinking long and hard on what to say. “Of course you would know I’m from another world. I promise I’ll tell you, just… please don’t freak out.” “You know, I meant to bring this up sooner, but unicorns aren’t exactly a common sight in this world,” he says, smirking a little, as if his statement was obvious. “If seeing a literal unicorn wouldn’t freak me out, nothing will.” “...I know that your world has nearly zero unicorns. That has to do with why I came here to begin with. Princess Celestia sent me on a mission. She believes your world holds the key to stopping the Demiurge’s corruption.” He struggled to keep his expression neutral, but the mention of this “mission” sent his heart racing. “So, I know last week you said you were in Princess Celestia’s employ, but the mission?” “Yes,” Stella replied, her tone calm and matter-of-fact. “The Demiurge’s influence is spreading to our realm, twisting ponies’ minds, stripping away their free will. She thought someone in your world could help us understand it.” “Okay, first off,” Anon asked. “I’ve heard of the Demiurge, but what’s that have to do with me?” “If you’ve heard of him, then you already know,” the unicorn responded. “It’s not really like that, Stella,” he says, somewhat uncomfortably. “I mean, I know that in gnostic cosmology they say the Demiurge is the “jailor of souls”. Some evil god with a snake body and lion head who created the material world, but I don’t really believe in all that. If you knew the Demiurge, chances are you’re quite familiar with our world’s religions, but I’m a Roman Catholic.” “Look around yourself,” she raises a hoof and points around the restaurant, as if to signal to Anon the clientele present. “Background dwellers, every single one of them. None of them have a drop of autonomy. They didn’t even pay attention to the fact that I’m a unicorn.” “You know,” he thinks out loud, remembering the vast array of videos and memes he’s seen of what he would call the “NPC phenomenon”, insulting individuals (who can barely be called such) that live a pre-programmed life. “I’d believe it. I’m taking it with a very big grain of salt, but I heard that gnosticism has a concept of people they call hylics, who basically are exactly as you say. Crazy how writers in the first century predicted that… That aside,” Anon continued, shuffling his hands and adjusting himself in the seat. “You think that I’m that “someone” who can help defeat the Demiurge?” Stella’s teal eyes studied him with an intensity that made him squirm. “Perhaps,” she said after a pause. “When I first arrived, I wasn’t sure who I was looking for. The Demiurge’s power makes this world... difficult to navigate. But then I met you.” Anon let out an awkward laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “You got all that from… seeing me scream and run down at Raising Cane’s?” “I sure am glad I happened to be there at the time. Things really have a tendency to happen out of nowhere when I’m around.” “What do you mean? Nothing ever happens.” A faint smile crossed Stella’s lips, another hint of warmth breaking through her usual stoicism, ignoring his comment. “Also, you underestimate my abilities,” she said with a hint of pride. “Did you never stop and ask how a unicorn like me was able to make it in this world? Find food, shelter, water, anything?” “No, to be completely honest I never did.” “That was obvious,” she smirks at his expense. “My magic isn’t just for tricks. You have no idea how easy it is to manipulate the minds of these hylics. All it takes is one mind spell, and their possessions are mine. Mind reading, mind manipulation, all in my grasp.” “Well geez, all the same, I’d hate to be on the receiving end of such a spell.” “It was either that or go hungry. Regardless, you also underestimate yourself,” she said, her voice softening. “Without a great deal of added focus, the spell wouldn’t work on you. You notice things others don’t. You’re not like the rest of the... background characters in this world.” “I’ll give it to you straight, Stella,” he raises his hands in humility, showing his vulnerability. “I’m not particularly much of anything. I live with my parents, my job is nowhere near as glamorous as yours, I don’t have any skills, and you said it yourself the day we met. I don’t even look great. You knew I was balding,” he says with a sigh, motioning to his receding hairline. “Where do you work?” “I’m a night shift security guard making fifteen bucks an hour to sit at a desk and do jack shit. Not the most glamorous job, but hey,” he smirks. “At least they pay me to do literally nothing.” “And that right there is why I knew it was you. You don’t let anypony put you in a box. You’ve got will. You don’t let yourself conform to what they desire. You’re not… him.” Anon knows exactly what she means when she raises a hoof, pointing to the cashier standing at the Zaxby’s counter, speaking with a fat, angry customer taking his order. “You know what both of them are going to do when they get home from their 9-5? They’re going to go home and buy Cheetos and MSG, watch sportsball and whatever trash is on Netflix or Disney+, drink corn syrup, masturbate and cry, and do the same thing tomorrow.” “Just like everypony else,” she says, looking in Anon’s eyes as if to say “you get it”. Finally, Anon let out a long sigh, deciding to rip the metaphorical bandage off. “Okay, one last thing. You’re going to think I’m crazy, but at this point anything is possible. I know about you. About Equestria. Your friends. Everything.” She raised an eyebrow but said nothing, waiting for him to elaborate. “There’s this TV show in this world,” he continued, his voice quieter now. “It’s called My Little Pony. It’s... about you. Well, not you specifically, but your world. Celestia, Ponyville, everything.” Stella’s reaction wasn’t what he expected. No wide-eyed shock, no denial or demands for proof. Instead, she simply sat back, her expression thoughtful. “Interesting,” she said at last. “So this world has knowledge of Equestria, but only in a fictional sense.” Anon blinked, thrown by her calm demeanor. “Wait—you’re not freaking out? Most people would lose it if they found out they were characters in a cartoon.” “Actually, I’ve heard of this before,” Stella responded calmly. “Princess Celestia was very clear in telling me about an accident we had where Rainbow Dash, one of our own ponies, was thought to be lost in your world after a spell went wrong. When they spoke to her, she said she saw this exact program and it gave her quite a stir. Suffice it to say, we proposed our own magical theories to explain the matter and have drawn convincing conclusions.” He stared at her, struggling to reconcile her nonchalance with the monumental bombshell he’d just dropped. “Huh,” he finally said, leaning back in his seat. “That’s... surprisingly grounded. You’re handling this way better than I thought. You know, I also meant to ask, what drew an otherworldly creature like you to Raising Cane’s? I can’t imagine it’s the healthiest option out there, and I also thought ponies are all vegetarian.” “Everypony loves comfort food a little more than is good for them,” she giggles. “Princess Twilight has a particular weakness for hayburgers.” “Yeah, you know I didn’t think it was possible for humans to eat that stuff, literal hay. But I also didn’t know ponies ate meat.” “Not every kind of meat,” she corrects him. “Just chicken, fish, and pork for the most part. Anyway, now that you know why I’m here, I’d better run my battle plan over with you.” “I thought you said-” “It’s tentative, Anon,” she says, raising a hoof up to his face in faux anger. “Subject to change. This is the most Celestia and I could come up with on short notice, and we’ll write the rest of the plan when you come with me to Equestria.” Author's Note I apologize for how long it took this chapter to come out, the reason for its delay was the fact that I was working on another story here on Fimfiction (linked here) as well as a handful of other stories that aren’t MLP related. I also hate to say it, but upon major reflection and pondering on the nature of creativity, I believe whatever secret it is that the ancient storytelling masters had is unfortunately lost in our time, and this creative stifling is hitting me. Ever since artificial intelligence hit all creative communities like crack, the only solace I can take is that 1. it's not my fault and 2. it's happening to everyone. On the one hand I will not lie, meme pictures of minions with "never goon" shirts is funny, but it can get to be a little overpowering at times, especially when now there are literally "PDF to Brainrot ai generators" it gets to be a little much. Why bother creating anything at all? All I can do is hope and pray that Dostoyevsky will be vindicated when he said "Beauty will save the world", but I’m not hopeful. My outlook on the world is admittedly very cynical, and I take no issues with that. But once again, if you got this far, thanks! I wasn’t expecting to be debating the nature of creativity here on my soapbox but I am curious as to your thoughts. Author UpdateHello guys, Titus here. I know I tried to keep this as a regular thing and I initially planned to have some crazy gnosticism shit (that's what the demiurge is from) but I realize it wasn't the direction I meant to go in. I originally just wrote this as an excuse to write some slice of life where Anon meets a tendie-loving mare, so I'm probably gonna cancel this story (leaving it up) and revamp it later where Anon already knows the mare. Thoughts?
1: Who is She?The midday sun shone across the sky, illuminating the active Raising Cane’s where Anon, a man with short brown hair, light mustache and beard, and a black t-shirt and camo cargo pants sat at one of the bar stools across from the cash register, eating his 4-piece tendie combo (complete with Cane’s sauce, no slaw/extra fries, a piece of buttered toast, and a Hi C fruit punch with no ice). With little else going on today, his plan was naught more than “go out, grab some lunch, go back home, browse the chan until it’s time to work my graveyard shift security job, where I get paid to sit down at a desk and browse the chan for 8 hours”. Taking one bite out of his toast, half the slice is gone, and he closes his eyes in bliss enjoying his meal. “Hey,” he hears a strong female voice behind him, no doubt calling to him, causing him to open his eyes quickly in shock. Confused, startled, and certainly not used to being approached, he turns around to see his greeter, and is met by a 4’6” (on all fours) beautiful unicorn with an off-white coat and horn, black saddlebags, an aquamarine mane and tail, a cutie mark he couldn’t see well (of course it’s bad manners to ogle flanks for too long), and what he would later describe as “resting mare face”. “Umm… hello?” he responds, looking her over and giving a pathetic wave, encouraging her to go on (which she doesn’t). A couple moments later he responds, “do you need something?” “Is this seat taken?” she raises a hoof as if to point to the stool next to his: Not surprising, as it’s just shortly after lunch rush and all the seats are full unless you want to sit outside. “Go right ahead,” he responds to the mare, who nods wordlessly and hops on her haunches to sit down next to him human-style, while he finishes up his piece of toast awkwardly. “Is that Hi C?” she asks, signaling to the cup near his right hand, causing him to nod his head, pick up his cup, and show her through the see-through lid. “Yeah, with no ice,” he continues to the mare, who nods as well. A thick, palpable silence penetrates their conversation for a few more moments, as Anon focuses his attention back to his combo, tackling the fries. “Fresh hot chicken for Stella!” a busy female chicken wagie calls out. Anon lifts his head and notices his acquaintance nod hers, as her horn sparkles and levitates the tray to her side of the counter. His eyes widen: not only has he never seen a unicorn before today, he’s certainly never seen one use magic like that. “Stella,” Anon quickly chews and swallows the portion of fries in his mouth, thinking out loud and focusing his attention on her, “is that your name?” “Yes,” she responds coldly, looking not-exactly at him, but in his general area. Her magic then levitates her cup of iced lemonade, taking a long sip. “Anon,” he raises an open palm to her to offer a hand/hoofshake, causing her to do likewise as he tries to find the right part of her hoof to grab, hoping he did a good job on short notice. After all, “faux pas when dealing with mare species” is not a topic he’s particularly versed in. “What’s that shirt?” she points another hoof at him, causing him to look down at his top apparel: A black t-shirt with the McDonald’s golden arches logo, with the text underneath it reading “MkUltra”. “Oh, haha…” he lets out an uncertain laugh, having never thought about explaining the joke to a girl before. “Well, it’s just like the McDonald’s logo, but the text says MkUltra.” “I know what both of those are,” she emotionlessly adds, before they share the unspoken consensus to return to their meals. The two Oblivion NPCs share the silence for a few minutes until Anon musters the courage to speak again to the first non-family woman who approached him all year, thinking extra carefully about his choice of words. “So…” he begins, as the mare moves her eyes in his direction without turning her head. “Do you come here often?” “Yes,” another concise response. “I was at the grand opening,” she adds, referring to a month ago. “Really? I’ve been coming pretty often as well, hadn’t seen you before,” he takes a deep breath in, deciding better than to allude to the fact that she’s a unicorn. Surely he would have remembered seeing a unicorn before? “I was there too. You know how they had the raffle where twenty randomly drawn names win free Cane’s for a year?” “You won.” “You remember me?” he responds in shock. “Yeah, they called your name, you started screaming, and you ran down the line with your arms flailing.” His eyes widen unconsciously, startled by her recollection of events. Of course, every ounce of what she’s saying is true. He just didn’t expect her (or anyone, really) to remember either his face, name, or put those together with obviously the most excited raffle winner. It’s a couple more moments before he responds. “You’ve got a great memory,” he chuckles and smiles nervously, her face remaining as stone as ever. “Thanks.” “I mean, of course I was excited. I think that was the first raffle I ever won.” Another awkward, minute-long silence between them ensues. A new customer comes in, the wagies call out names, people at nearby tables talk and laugh, and Stella finally speaks up: “Your hair is pretty bad.” “Huh?” Yet again he turns to her, his mouth half-full of chicken tendie, trying to chew before she finishes her train of thought. “Isn’t that what humans call their manes?” “Yeah, but you said my hair is bad?” “It’s thinning.” He turns away from her and looks at the soda dispenser, checking his reflection. She was correct; his hair is disheveled and quite obviously thinning at parts. “Oh geez, you’re right,” the dumbstruck Anon says after running his hand through his hair in an on-the-spot attempt to look ever so slightly more presentable. “I’m sorry, I don’t really take good care of it.” A couple more seconds of no response transpire, leaving him to add “Your hair-I mean mane looks great though.” “Thanks.” It’s after another silent period that Anon has his meal finished, with Stella slowly behind him. Taking his meal basket in one hand and his empty cup of corn syrup in the other, he empties his trash by the nearby soda machine- only stopping when he feels a wadded-up napkin hit his shoulder. “Please get me a lemonade,” he turns around to find that Stella is hovering her cup full of ice to him, who stands still for another moment, slowly raising his hand to grab the cup from her magic pull. It didn’t really seem like much, they barely even touched, but some tangible emotion was present as the soda cup passed from her magic grasp to his human hand. “Sometime today would be nice.” Yeah, he zoned out again, didn’t he? With all the elegance of a balding ape with Parkinsons, he pivots, removes the lids from both drinks, and fills his iceless cup with the artificially red-dyed ambrosia of the money gods, and hers with the clearer yellowish liquid (as much as he could without the ice spilling over) of colts and fillies looking to make a few quarters, and seconds later joins her at the stool, holding her lemonade out to her- and there that feeling is again. Her magic brushes against his hand as she levitates the drink to her mouth. “Umm… Well, it was good to meet you, but I was just about to go home.” He can barely get the words out of his mouth. So many unexpected things have happened in the span of less than ten minutes. “Same.” She responds, thinking nothing of the world-shattering she’s just caused this unsuspecting human. “Thanks for keeping me company.” “Y-yeah, likewise. Nice to meet you, Stella.” Technically true. Up to this point, he was planning on just going back to regular life, maybe tell his friends what happened. Like they’d believe him. Go back home, vidya, text all two of his friends “lol guess what happened at Raising Cane’s today-” “Do you want to come here again?” His heart stopped. If he thought he was thunderstruck before, this dropped the whole storm on him. “What, you mean, with you?” “Yes.” “Uh, yeah, I should be free at 1PM this time next week.” “Can I put your number in my phone?” When Anon first saw the unicorn, his meter hit 3. When she spoke curtly to him repeatedly, it was at 7. When she asked him out at a specific time, she turned it up to 11. Now? Now it was at least 20. Reflecting on this moment Anon could only hope he didn’t drop too much spaghetti on the pristinely mopped Cane’s floor as he concluded his first conversation with the mare, who took the first step and asked him out- the MARE asked HIM out. He only hoped his next few spaghetti-laced sentences were coherent enough (and not utterly reeking of “never in my life been 5 feet from a girl”) to make a good first impression on the mare who obviously expressed interest in him. His memory was a blank slate for who knows how long, really, checking back into reality as he hears a “see you then” from the mare and waves goodbye to her as she nods and trots out. “That was no doubt the strangest experience in my entire life,” Anon thinks to himself, positively melting with emotion, but (ever so slightly) more sane and in his right mind. “I could count on one hand the amount of times a girl approached me, and just like that a unicorn mare out of nowhere greeted me. Obviously she had her eye on me for a while, she knew I was at the grand opening, she knew I won the prize, and she made comments about my hair? I can’t put my finger on what it is about her, but… there’s something about her that just makes me want to know her better. Not just the fact that she’s a unicorn. I can’t mess this up. I need to play my cards right. At least it’s somewhat of a relief that she seems into me, but-” And so his thoughts went for several uninterrupted minutes, before exhausting himself and snapping back into reality. An opportunity has been handed to him, like the head of a prophet on a silver platter, and he would be a fool not to hammer the iron while it glows red hot. Author's Note If you've gotten this far down my autism-fueled story, thank you so much for reading this far! As stated in descriptions, yes, this is inspired by a dream I had. Now granted, plenty of the information written here came from myself "filling in the gaps" as it were, but the overall framework (of the first chapter at least) is quite literally ripped from the dream world. Thank you Princess Luna for bestowing this knowledge (and responsibility) upon me. Also, this particular anon is literally just me. I understand this is literally just me writing about my life, with some fanciful details, but what the heck? By the particular we can know the universal. Finally, this is indeed my attempt to return to the foray of writing after years of inactivity. I hope this can become a regular thing and I expect to have some updates... I won't promise when, but sometime eventually!
2: Just FriendsIt had been almost a week since he first met her, and since then his thoughts were occupied with little else than “white-furred unicorn”, “white-furred unicorn who likes me”, “white-furred unicorn, black saddlebags, aquamarine mane, beautiful” and so on. The day they first met she promised to meet with him again on… well, the date would be today. God no doubt threw him a very generous bone by doing 99.999% of the work, having a girl not only approach him, but be interested in him. As such, Anon has never been more excited for anything in his entire life, and took every opportunity to not only look the best he can, but mentally prepare as well. His thoughts and current line rehearsals are interrupted by receiving a text from her number (thankfully, he remembered to bookmark it): “Cya at 1. Btw thanks for offering to get me a combo” …Did he offer to get her a combo? Maybe he did, but just forgot when he went full spaghetti. Doesn’t matter, really, he had already planned to buy her a meal like a true gentleman, to offer her one of his free combos for the month was no extra effort. He also elected to wear, instead of his prior unfashionable combo of the ironic punny t-shirt and camo cargo pants, a flannel long-sleeved shirt he had and blue jeans, perfect for the approaching winter. Not too formal, not too casual. It’ll just be a charming, sweet meal between friends. The time finally comes, and Anon pulls into the Raising Cane’s parking lot at 12:55 PM: it always helps showing up early, and as Anon didn’t have much on his plate besides posting on the chan, there was no reason he couldn’t respect the mare’s time and show how much he cared. Putting himself out there, so to speak. Fortunately for both, barely a minute after parking his car (and still before 1PM), Stella trots up around the corner of the building, her face stoic as ever. “Hello Anon,” she greets, waving a white hoof and looking the human over. “Hello Stella,” Anon responds, opening the door for her. She gives a light smile and enters the establishment, before her face shifts back to her usual deadpan. Less than a minute in line and both orders have been put in, using up all of Anon’s free meals for the month. No big deal, he can always choose to invite her somewhere else next time. Anon goes to the drink dispenser to receive his artificially colored red nectar with no ice, seating at a table for two before Stella enters shortly thereafter, seated at the table human-styled again, her cup filled not with her previous choice, but… “You also got Hi C with no ice?” Anon asks his friend, who nods affirmatively, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I was inspired by your example,” she responds. “Being willing to partake in your friends’ favorite things is a great friendship lesson.” Anon, though utterly confused by this seemingly absurd outburst, overlooks it, still in awe that anyone (much less of the opposite sex) is willing to confide in him, speak openly about such random topics, and break barriers. He was not upset in the slightest over her being… a literal unicorn. In fact, that made it much more exciting. Of course, the familiarity of her specific appearance causes him to raise some questions that he decided would be better left unasked. “I’m honored that you see it that way,” he awkwardly chuckles out, before thinking of a devious trick. He tears a tiny bit off his straw wrapper, leaving it about 3/4ths wrapped, before putting the opened part on his mouth and blowing it, shooting the wrapper right at the bullseye: It hit Stella square in the horn. Got ‘em! She blinks and jumps slightly at the hit. It’s a good thing she wasn’t using magic then, an interruption to her horn like that would have caused her to lose her focus. “Very funny, Anon. I’ll have to get you back next time,” she says with a light smirk, having already unwrapped her straw and drinking her own Hi C. “Anyway, I wanted to ask you some questions,” Anon says, “starting with, where are you from?” “Ponyville.” “Never heard of it,” he continues, playing into her questions and making a great deal to show off how interested he is, “is that somewhere in Tennessee?” “It’s in Equestria.” “You must have traveled an awful long way to get here, in that case.” “…you could say that,” she says, refraining from bringing up exactly how she got there. “What’s it like in Equestria- I mean, Ponyville?” She raises a hoof to her muzzle and presses, in an exaggerated thinking pose. “Well, for starters, there’s far less noise. Way better than this old place. Also, everypony’s rude here for no reason.” “I can see where you’re coming from, Stella,” he grunts apologetically, doing a double-take at her mention “everypony”. Must be regional dialect, no biggie. If the single upstate New York town of Albany uses the phrase “steamed hams” to refer to hamburgers, there’s no reason why any other place would use “-pony” as a word finisher instead of saying “everybody” or “everyone”. “Do they have Cane’s in Ponyville?” Anon asks, showing his interest and seeing where she paused for a moment. “No, and I have to say the food is one thing this town does right,” she lightly smiles again as she magically raises her drink to her lips. From there the unicorn mare spent some time talking about the ins and outs of life in Ponyville, from the average daily life of a citizen (he was especially pleased to hear that most ponies work only a few hours a day, and some don’t even work every day), to hearing her speak of her fellow countryponies (dropping a handful of names of some she interacts with regularly, such as Roseluck, Golden Harvest, and Berry Punch) to the multitude of great festivals and feasts the entire town participates in, such as Hearth’s Warming Eve, Nightmare Night, the Winter Wrap-Up, the Summer Sun Celebration, and more. “It sounds like a wonderful place,” Anon says with a smile on his face, “everyone living together in the liturgical seasons of the year! It reminds me of a couple celebrations they held nearly a thousand years ago in Europe, but just imagine trying to get people together for that now,” he adds with a scoff. “I’ve always wanted to know what it feels like participating in such an event.” “If you ever come to visit, I bet Ponyville would love to have you,” Stella continues in her typical deadpan voice, barely a hint of expression on her face. “Well geez, as much as I like traveling, I’m not entirely sure about planning a whole trip right now,” he shifts an arm behind his head in discomfort. He’s absolutely correct, though. International flight? Grab a plane ticket for upwards of a thousand dollars, and that’s not even factoring paying for a hotel or hostel, finding out what to eat, what to do, and so forth. Far too often it gets too convoluted and painful that Anon would rather not think about travel at all and resign himself to the simple pleasures, like a box of Cheez Its and a video game. After all, what in the world is out there that he’s really missing, and that would justify hundreds of hours of planning for a fraction of that time in reward? Now if such an opportunity was handed to him, of course he’d think differently. “Haha, we’ll see about that,” she responds, causing Anon to squint in confusion, before the chicken wagie calls their names, causing the gentleman to stand up and chivalrously collect the meals, both his and the lady’s, to their table: Stella’s 4-piece combo exactly the way it comes, while Anon swapped his coleslaw for extra fries. So went their conversation for about an hour over their combos. Anon miraculously managed to keep the spaghetti inside his pockets for long enough to avoid weirding out his new friend, though part of him can’t help but feel she’s got a decent portion in her pockets too. He’ll test it another time, but not today. Anon would have considered the topics discussed “normie”, but he also read somewhere that normie interests are the best way to test the waters, so to speak. Ask people about their job, where they’re from, what they like to do, their family, and so on. As far as Anon could gleam, those answers were that Stella is an official on the payroll of the royalty, as already mentioned she lives in Ponyville (but does a substantial amount of work both there and in some place called Canterlot, which he assumed was the capital city), she prefers sedentary hobbies such as reading, but Anon was pleasantly surprised to hear her mention “stuff not everypony likes”, in her own words. She seemed quite bashful to bring up the fact that she likes books written by a “Lyra Heartstrings”. By her own pony standard, she appeared to be a contrarian in terms of her tastes in literature and television, but he knew better than to immediately make up his mind based on that decision alone. Since Ponyville is worlds apart from him, he could only guess as to what the shows are like there. What he considers normie in his hometown just as well may be the small cult hit media there, and the mainstream stuff from Ponyville just as easily could translate to esoteric fiction in his world, enjoyed only by the chosen few who “really get it”. Regardless, he made sure to treasure that in his mind, wondering if it would come in handy later. The machinations in his mind are already turning as to how he could introduce her to Evangelion. No way Equestria has THAT. His spaghetti overpowered him once again just as she was finishing, “I don’t really like her.” “Oh, I didn’t mean to overstep,” Anon chokes out, barely slipping back into reality, “we don’t have to talk about your family.” “It’s okay.” And there again the two of them sat together, their silence now one of much less awkwardness. Rather than feeling pressured to say something but being unable to, they began to enjoy each other’s company, almost as if fate’s hands parted the metaphorical Red Sea and brought the two misplaced wanderers together. …Or so he thought. “Thanks for coming out to meet me again,” she says, breaking Anon out of another one of his trances. “Oh? Yeah, no biggie, just uhh…” he chokes up, unable to find the words. “Just doing the right thing”? That sounds totally fake, she wouldn’t buy it. “Anything for you”? Coming on too hard. “Well, you asked, and I offered.” BOOM! Speech has increased to 37. “Let’s do this again next week,” she says with another very slight smile. “Oh, wait!” Anon pipes up, causing her to drop her face back to stoic, “why don’t next time we meet at a different chicken restaurant?” “Is it as good as this one?” “Personally, I prefer it to Raising Cane’s. But just like this time it’ll be on me. Have you ever been to Zaxby’s?” he asks, proposing the change of venue not just because his Raising Cane’s free meals have run out for the month, but this may be a good way to push his boundaries and show her he’s not just all talk. “No.” “Then I’m happy to be the first one to take you!” she nods again as he continues, “I’ll text you the address.” A formal message exchange later, and a second date was planned. “Well, I had a great time, but I’ll be going for real. Bye, Stella!” he waves her goodbye (and she does likewise), walking back to his car and checking his phone messages one last time before driving home. Thanks again for the meal. I liked hanging out with you. <3 …
3: Getting SeriousIt had been another week since the last time the two of them met in person (and pony), and now Anon was following through on his plan to do something he never did before: He asked her out to a chicken tendie restaurant that wasn’t Raising Cane’s. To be fair, it wasn’t that out of the blue. Anon and Stella had already talked at length about how much they both love chicken tenders specifically, and it was only a matter of coincidence that Cane’s was the only one she’d been to. At least, so he thinks. He took enough of an effort to ask her about herself, which she was very happy to do so (and he was very happy to listen to). At the same time, in an effort to not provoke her, he refrained from asking her the most important question: “What are you doing in this world to begin with?” The words from the unsociable human hung in the stagnant air of the Zaxby’s like a man at the gallows. Sitting across from her at a booth at the new chicken tender restaurant they chose to meet at, her jaw dropped slightly as she did little besides stare blankly at the human, causing the goosebumps to rise up his skin again. He knew he was taking a gamble by mentioning “this world” as opposed to “this town”, “this state”, or any other descriptor to describe where he lives and where she lives, and how they’re not the same. Did he make a mistake? Did he ask the wrong question? Should he have broken the ice with a little more small talk before going into such a topic? At the same time, her face starts to shift in discomfort, in expressions Anon had never seen from her before. She grimaces, as if thinking long and hard on what to say. “Of course you would know I’m from another world. I promise I’ll tell you, just… please don’t freak out.” “You know, I meant to bring this up sooner, but unicorns aren’t exactly a common sight in this world,” he says, smirking a little, as if his statement was obvious. “If seeing a literal unicorn wouldn’t freak me out, nothing will.” “...I know that your world has nearly zero unicorns. That has to do with why I came here to begin with. Princess Celestia sent me on a mission. She believes your world holds the key to stopping the Demiurge’s corruption.” He struggled to keep his expression neutral, but the mention of this “mission” sent his heart racing. “So, I know last week you said you were in Princess Celestia’s employ, but the mission?” “Yes,” Stella replied, her tone calm and matter-of-fact. “The Demiurge’s influence is spreading to our realm, twisting ponies’ minds, stripping away their free will. She thought someone in your world could help us understand it.” “Okay, first off,” Anon asked. “I’ve heard of the Demiurge, but what’s that have to do with me?” “If you’ve heard of him, then you already know,” the unicorn responded. “It’s not really like that, Stella,” he says, somewhat uncomfortably. “I mean, I know that in gnostic cosmology they say the Demiurge is the “jailor of souls”. Some evil god with a snake body and lion head who created the material world, but I don’t really believe in all that. If you knew the Demiurge, chances are you’re quite familiar with our world’s religions, but I’m a Roman Catholic.” “Look around yourself,” she raises a hoof and points around the restaurant, as if to signal to Anon the clientele present. “Background dwellers, every single one of them. None of them have a drop of autonomy. They didn’t even pay attention to the fact that I’m a unicorn.” “You know,” he thinks out loud, remembering the vast array of videos and memes he’s seen of what he would call the “NPC phenomenon”, insulting individuals (who can barely be called such) that live a pre-programmed life. “I’d believe it. I’m taking it with a very big grain of salt, but I heard that gnosticism has a concept of people they call hylics, who basically are exactly as you say. Crazy how writers in the first century predicted that… That aside,” Anon continued, shuffling his hands and adjusting himself in the seat. “You think that I’m that “someone” who can help defeat the Demiurge?” Stella’s teal eyes studied him with an intensity that made him squirm. “Perhaps,” she said after a pause. “When I first arrived, I wasn’t sure who I was looking for. The Demiurge’s power makes this world... difficult to navigate. But then I met you.” Anon let out an awkward laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “You got all that from… seeing me scream and run down at Raising Cane’s?” “I sure am glad I happened to be there at the time. Things really have a tendency to happen out of nowhere when I’m around.” “What do you mean? Nothing ever happens.” A faint smile crossed Stella’s lips, another hint of warmth breaking through her usual stoicism, ignoring his comment. “Also, you underestimate my abilities,” she said with a hint of pride. “Did you never stop and ask how a unicorn like me was able to make it in this world? Find food, shelter, water, anything?” “No, to be completely honest I never did.” “That was obvious,” she smirks at his expense. “My magic isn’t just for tricks. You have no idea how easy it is to manipulate the minds of these hylics. All it takes is one mind spell, and their possessions are mine. Mind reading, mind manipulation, all in my grasp.” “Well geez, all the same, I’d hate to be on the receiving end of such a spell.” “It was either that or go hungry. Regardless, you also underestimate yourself,” she said, her voice softening. “Without a great deal of added focus, the spell wouldn’t work on you. You notice things others don’t. You’re not like the rest of the... background characters in this world.” “I’ll give it to you straight, Stella,” he raises his hands in humility, showing his vulnerability. “I’m not particularly much of anything. I live with my parents, my job is nowhere near as glamorous as yours, I don’t have any skills, and you said it yourself the day we met. I don’t even look great. You knew I was balding,” he says with a sigh, motioning to his receding hairline. “Where do you work?” “I’m a night shift security guard making fifteen bucks an hour to sit at a desk and do jack shit. Not the most glamorous job, but hey,” he smirks. “At least they pay me to do literally nothing.” “And that right there is why I knew it was you. You don’t let anypony put you in a box. You’ve got will. You don’t let yourself conform to what they desire. You’re not… him.” Anon knows exactly what she means when she raises a hoof, pointing to the cashier standing at the Zaxby’s counter, speaking with a fat, angry customer taking his order. “You know what both of them are going to do when they get home from their 9-5? They’re going to go home and buy Cheetos and MSG, watch sportsball and whatever trash is on Netflix or Disney+, drink corn syrup, masturbate and cry, and do the same thing tomorrow.” “Just like everypony else,” she says, looking in Anon’s eyes as if to say “you get it”. Finally, Anon let out a long sigh, deciding to rip the metaphorical bandage off. “Okay, one last thing. You’re going to think I’m crazy, but at this point anything is possible. I know about you. About Equestria. Your friends. Everything.” She raised an eyebrow but said nothing, waiting for him to elaborate. “There’s this TV show in this world,” he continued, his voice quieter now. “It’s called My Little Pony. It’s... about you. Well, not you specifically, but your world. Celestia, Ponyville, everything.” Stella’s reaction wasn’t what he expected. No wide-eyed shock, no denial or demands for proof. Instead, she simply sat back, her expression thoughtful. “Interesting,” she said at last. “So this world has knowledge of Equestria, but only in a fictional sense.” Anon blinked, thrown by her calm demeanor. “Wait—you’re not freaking out? Most people would lose it if they found out they were characters in a cartoon.” “Actually, I’ve heard of this before,” Stella responded calmly. “Princess Celestia was very clear in telling me about an accident we had where Rainbow Dash, one of our own ponies, was thought to be lost in your world after a spell went wrong. When they spoke to her, she said she saw this exact program and it gave her quite a stir. Suffice it to say, we proposed our own magical theories to explain the matter and have drawn convincing conclusions.” He stared at her, struggling to reconcile her nonchalance with the monumental bombshell he’d just dropped. “Huh,” he finally said, leaning back in his seat. “That’s... surprisingly grounded. You’re handling this way better than I thought. You know, I also meant to ask, what drew an otherworldly creature like you to Raising Cane’s? I can’t imagine it’s the healthiest option out there, and I also thought ponies are all vegetarian.” “Everypony loves comfort food a little more than is good for them,” she giggles. “Princess Twilight has a particular weakness for hayburgers.” “Yeah, you know I didn’t think it was possible for humans to eat that stuff, literal hay. But I also didn’t know ponies ate meat.” “Not every kind of meat,” she corrects him. “Just chicken, fish, and pork for the most part. Anyway, now that you know why I’m here, I’d better run my battle plan over with you.” “I thought you said-” “It’s tentative, Anon,” she says, raising a hoof up to his face in faux anger. “Subject to change. This is the most Celestia and I could come up with on short notice, and we’ll write the rest of the plan when you come with me to Equestria.” Author's Note I apologize for how long it took this chapter to come out, the reason for its delay was the fact that I was working on another story here on Fimfiction (linked here) as well as a handful of other stories that aren’t MLP related. I also hate to say it, but upon major reflection and pondering on the nature of creativity, I believe whatever secret it is that the ancient storytelling masters had is unfortunately lost in our time, and this creative stifling is hitting me. Ever since artificial intelligence hit all creative communities like crack, the only solace I can take is that 1. it's not my fault and 2. it's happening to everyone. On the one hand I will not lie, meme pictures of minions with "never goon" shirts is funny, but it can get to be a little overpowering at times, especially when now there are literally "PDF to Brainrot ai generators" it gets to be a little much. Why bother creating anything at all? All I can do is hope and pray that Dostoyevsky will be vindicated when he said "Beauty will save the world", but I’m not hopeful. My outlook on the world is admittedly very cynical, and I take no issues with that. But once again, if you got this far, thanks! I wasn’t expecting to be debating the nature of creativity here on my soapbox but I am curious as to your thoughts.
Author UpdateHello guys, Titus here. I know I tried to keep this as a regular thing and I initially planned to have some crazy gnosticism shit (that's what the demiurge is from) but I realize it wasn't the direction I meant to go in. I originally just wrote this as an excuse to write some slice of life where Anon meets a tendie-loving mare, so I'm probably gonna cancel this story (leaving it up) and revamp it later where Anon already knows the mare. Thoughts?
