A Conversation of One.

I sat in the corner of a dimly lit cafe in downtown Los Angeles, my back to the large glass facade of the street level establishment.

Laptop open, I stared at the green text on the black background.

"Distraction free writing" they call it. They're not wrong.

Light jazz plays from the ceiling of the otherwise empty cafe. It played only for me.

The sounds of three distinct footfalls resonated through the cafe: one human, one pony, and one changeling king.

I closed the lid of my computer and look up at my guests.

Michael Frost, Twilight Sparkle, and King Metamorphosis.

Michael, in his black suit and red shirt, stared expectantly at me.

"Well?" he asked.

I let out a resigning sigh, "Yeah, fine. Sit."

As the three of them sat in the chairs on the other side of the table, I looked at them. They were my creations. Michael was the main protagonist of my first finished story, Twilight the star of my uncompleted one, and King Metamorphosis the character I portray in an ask blog. Even as I type these words, it's clear that THEY called this meeting, not me.

They stare at me. I stare at them. We're both waiting for the words to come.

Twilight was the first to speak, "Victor, we've noticed that you've stopped writing." Her words came out concerned, but also with a degree of nervousness, as if she was worried about offending me.

I ran my fingers through my hair, "I haven't stopped writing; I just haven't been writing you guys. I've been busy."

Michael chimed in, "Busy with what? School? You used to stay up until four in the morning writing 'Sidelines'. You MADE time. What happened?"

I didn't really want to respond. KM looked at me and knew.

"He's focusing on the important things in life. Just as he should.” His baritone words came and pierced me; the falsetto of my own voice.

Michael turned to the changeling king, "Oh, because you two are such buddies now?"

KM went on the defensive, "Victor and I share a closer bond than either of you. He may have written your words, but he is my voice."

Twilight held up her hooves between the two, "Guys! This isn't solving anything." She turned back to me, "So, why did you stop writing us?"

I rubbed my temples, "Alright, let’s take this one person at a time," I looked at Michael, "Mike, your story is done. I really don't know what you want from me."

"Done? How can it be done? I save the world, nearly die, and get turned into a pony. Then you do a time skip, turn me back into a human off screen, and put me on a plane with human Twilight. Where's my closure?"

"'Closure'? What do you mean 'closure'? You got your happy ending! You're human again, you got to teach again, you tied up your loose ends with what's-her-face, and you've got Twilight with you as a human. What more do you want?!"

"How about going more into my time teaching at the academy with Princess Luna?"

"I don't know enough about physics to do that part in detail! I'm getting my degree in Radio Production, not in anything sciency."

He pressed forward, "What about Twilight's time as a human? I know you can write that."

"But what's the story there? You had this nice big story arc with a solid beginning, middle, and end. There were stakes and challenges to get through that made you grow and change as a character. There's no story with Twilight as a human. Here's the story: she's human now, experiencing things as a human. But she will eventually end up as a pony again. We already know the ending. It’s a foregone conclusion. THERE'S NO STORY."

"She could NOT go back to being a pony?" he suggested gingerly.

I leaned back in my chair, "And... what? You two become the only humans left on earth after a while? Sorry, but she's changing back to being a pony and you're gonna be a pony too. There's no point in writing a boring story like that. It could, literally, go on forever."

"Okay," said Twilight, "So what about me?"

"Twilight, I... I honestly don't know if I WANT to keep writing your story."

Her face turned panicked, "What?!"

"Okay, calm down. Listen. I put you through hell and back with those first chapters. I made you see things that no one should see. And when I look at my notes about other things I planned on putting you through... I can't. It's just too mean."

"Victor, you left me crying in the fetal position at the end of the last chapter! Don't you think I deserve a little better than that?" she asked indignantly.

I sighed, "Yeah, you're right. I'm sorry. I'll figure something out."

She quickly walked around the table and gave me a hug, "Thank you."

After Twilight sat back down King Metamorphosis began.

"Victor, why have you not been updating the blog? I understand you have other commitments, but was not the reason you started it because you wanted a regular "thing", as you put it, to produce?" he asked, calm as ever in his regal tone.

I sit up, "KM, you and I have a… strange relationship."

"Do we now?"

"Yes. Your creation was, for the most part, out of my hands and yet I'm responsible for you. I recorded that damned 'This Day Aria' cover and, in truth, it's largely responsible for the number of fans I have today. In that way, I'm indebted to you. On the other hand, I'm resentful of you because all of my fans only care about my pony related work and not the works I actually put the bulk of my effort into; 'Friday Night Party Line', 'Victor Show's', etcetera."

He nods, "I can understand that, but it can't be helped. And it still doesn't explain why you stopped writing my responses."

I open the lid of my laptop and show him the inbox of his tumblr.

"Look at these questions: ‘Why you have no cheese legs?!?' 'Why are you so hot?!' And then you have the questions where people try to make their characters your long lost cousins or something. There are so few questions of actual quality that it's almost not worth the effort of producing a new episode."

KM paused to think for a moment, then continued.

"Forgive me, but were you not working on an episode explaining how Chysalis and I first met? Why do you not simply finish that?"

I was stunned. That wasn't fair.

"Because... reasons!" I blurted out.

He looked at me somewhat smugly, "Ah. I see."

I dragged my palm across my face and growled, "Ugh... FINE!" I sighed, "I regret the day I came up with you."

"And you will for some time still."

"Don't remind me."

I stared at them. My creations. My terrible, annoying creations that haunt me endlessly with their badgering ways.

"Is there anything else?" I ask them, hoping they'll go away.

The three of the rise as Michael answers, "Not from us," he points at the glass facade behind me, "But your fans might want a word."

I spin around to see a crowd of internet people holding signs featuring YouTube comments and Tumblr asks outside.

"Oh, hell."