Wings of Adventureby MileauChaptersPrologue- The Dream1: Press-ganged2. Outfitting (Part 1)Prologue- The DreamI was having that dream again. How many times did this make? Three? Five? I wasn't sure. It must have been a year since I'd last had the same dream, and every time most of the details faded before I was even fully awake. What little I did remember was always the same. Until this time. It started out like always. I found myself walking down a dirt path with rows of old-fashioned canvas tents on either side. Then again, everything as far as the eye could see was just that. Dirt. Not quite desert, but not the most hospitable climate either. The makeshift camp was buzzing with activity, people feverishly shouting to each other as they ran back and forth. A few men sat quietly outside their respective temporary abodes, cleaning a rifle or strapping on a holster belt and loading revolvers. Most everyone wore a trenchcoat I could only describe as Fallout-esque, the kind that would keep away the dust yet still breathe so you wouldn't roast in the sun. Now and then someone would wave me down as I passed by, shouting and giving me a worried look. Judging from the tone of my responses and the way the person usually ran off afterward, I was someone of importance in this setting. Yet, even with all this staying clear in my mind each time I woke, I could never remember the words that were spoken or the faces of those around me. It's funny, the little details you remember from your dreams. It was after the last of these heralds left to go about his business that I realized something was different this time. Every other time I'd had this dream, I was just an observer, watching myself walk along and shout what I assumed to be orders. This time, though, I was seeing everything through my own eyes. That, and for some reason, I was barely at eye level with everyone else's knees. Thankfully this dream was always semi-lucid, and my realization did not immediately shatter the illusion. I was about to take that risk either way, though: next came the part where I always woke up. I decided to keep letting the dream take its own course, suddenly curious if it would play out differently this time. As I neared the end of the row, I spotted a man sitting outside the last tent on the right, using a small barrel as a sort of stool. He stuck out like a sore thumb amid all the hustle and bustle. Silent and unmoving, he simply stared out toward the horizon, shoulders slumped, oblivious to the commotion behind him. I paused only for a moment before moving toward him. Now I knew it was indeed playing out differently. Each time I'd had the dream, I had stopped in my tracks before being jolted fully awake just after noticing this man. And yet, before I knew it, I found myself standing next to him. For a full minute we said nothing and looked nowhere but straght ahead. Then, sighing, he finally spoke first, and I remember his words clear as day. "How do you do it?" Now I turned to look up at him, raising an eyebrow but saying nothing. It was enough of a response for him. "Why do you keep fighting so hard?" he breathed, eyes still locked forward. I suddenly felt myself lift off the ground and float around so that I was directly in front of him. He was forced to look me in the eye now. I stayed quiet for a moment, studying his features intently for some reason I didn't fully understand. Dream logic somehow told me he wasn't a day over thirty, but his face looked so tired and ragged, his scruffy hair and beard so unkempt, that I might have thought him ten years older had I not been looking so closely. Words suddenly leapt unbidden to my lips. "Same reason you and everyone else is here, whether you know it or not," I replied, in a voice not my own. "Because no one else will. Because if I don't take the chance while it's there in front of me... I may not live to regret it." I never did get to see or hear his reaction. It was as if my cryptic response tripped some alarm in my sleeping brain. Alas, my subconscious had finally caught up with me, and, discovering that I had wandered outside this dream's usual bounds, hit the eject button. And I woke up. "Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things you didn't do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover. ~ H. Jackson Brown Jr., P.S. I Love You 1: Press-gangedWings of Adventure Chapter 1- Press-ganged Day 10: Thorsday, 7:12 A.M. Yes, you read that correctly. No, it is not a typo. But more on that later. I never was a morning person. Today, however, I was especially unhappy with my forced return to the waking world. So, I decided to be stubborn, refusing to move or open my eyes until- "Milo, I'm leaving for work! You should get moving, too! Love you, bye!" The front door slammed. ...until I was forced to get up and ready to leave for class, which wasn't 'til eleven today, thank you very much, mom. Why did I pay money to sign up for a German class, anyway? I'd spent most of high school trying to learn it in my free time. Oh, right. Keyword 'trying'. After several minutes of trying and failing to fall asleep again, enough brain cells finally came online for me to remember why I wanted to return to dreamland in the first place. What the heck was up with that dream this time? Why the weird perspective? Trying to retrace my my steps served only to confuse me further, as I quickly found that any other details had already faded, as ever. It had always been the same, why the changes this time? The knee-high viewpoint was odd, but... that was it. Just odd. That guy at the end, on the other hand, had always been the part that drove me crazy. This time I'd actually seen his face. Spoken to him, even. What the heck did any of that mean, anyway? And just when I was about to get some damn closure... My head jerked to one side involuntarily, eyes squeezing shut tighter as the sunbeam creeping up my bed finally reached my face. Ah, forget it. I'm not getting anywhere with this, I surrendered, lifting a hand to my face to rub the sleep from my eyes. And instead was hit right between said eyes with something feeling rather more like a brick than my own hand. "Ow! What the..." I shot bolt upright, hissing in annoyance as I brought the offending limb more gingerly to my now-maimed face. Albert Einstein once said that the definition of insanity is to repeat the same action and expect a different result. I suppose it shouldn’t have come as a surprise that the not-hand still felt like a brick. But it couldn’t be a brick, either. Bricks didn’t feel... well, they didn’t feel. And whatever this not-hand, not-brick was, it quickly became clear that it had nerves which were sending impulses to my increasingly confused brain, which in turn indicated that not only was the lump held to my face not a brick, but somehow it was doing just that- feeling my face. Somehow... it was me. Now, I’d imagine this is about the point where any rational mind would start to get at least a bit freaked out. Granted, there’s a fine line between my kind of ‘freaked out’ and ‘full-blown panic’. I’m honestly not sure I’m capable of the latter. My friends and family always said I was the calm and collected one, and now did not seem like the time to go changing that. More like the time to prove just how calm I could be... hopefully. O-kaaaaaayyy... that doesn’t feel like my hand. Easing the foreign limb away from my forehead, I finally opened my eyes to see for myself what my brain was telling me. Again, I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised. To this day I have difficulty making sense of the thoughts which ran through my mind in the following seconds. You know that part of the story where the hero sees or hears something that seems familiar? Something that feels like it should be important, and ends up being very important to the story later on? This is not that part of the story. This wasn’t one of those times when you get that nagging feeling that just sticks in the back of your mind. This was one of those times when the nagging feeling jumps out front and center, grabs you by the shoulders and shakes, screaming, “Dude! I know why it’s familiar!” Fitting, that it was so blunt on this occasion. No wonder the appendage before me had felt like a brick. I was now staring at a sickeningly familiar, sandy brown... hoof. The past week-plus of news broadcasts, Youtube videos, and Equestria Daily posts flashed through my head; Lauren Faust’s press conference. Her and Tara Strong stepping onstage in the bodies of Equestria’s own alicorn Princesses. Her warning that each day, more and more people would find themselves in her position- waking up as a pony. And, most importantly, my own thoughts of ‘What if it happens to me?’ There was no room left for “What if” now. It had happened. “...Oh.” One word. So simple. Given the circumstances, though, it had been the most coherent response my rather overwhelmed brain was capable of producing at the time. This morning seemed to be full of not-surprises. It had already been established that I’d woken up in a body not my own, and, go figure, the voice didn’t belong to me either. Thankfully, now that I recognized exactly what I was looking at, I didn’t need another throttling from my subconscious to realize who it did belong to. It was unmistakable. Rough, yet clearly feminine. And, I had to admit, kinda se- No. Bad Milo. Don’t even go there. Anyway, paired with the particular hue of fur sported by my new forelimb... “Yeah, I don’t even need to check the cutie mark, do I?” I deadpanned. “So.. Daring Do, huh?” I observed as a stray lock of grayscale mane fell into my... her... eyes. Man, this was already getting confusing. At least it explains why the dream was... off. I think. “Well then,” I continued, throwing off my sheets, “I guess the first order of business is to... wha?” Now, I realize that losing your favorite pajamas is, by comparison, a minor complaint when you’ve just turned into a pony who had been, until that moment, little more than a fictional storybook character within a supposedly fictional television show. But they were my favorite pj’s, darn it. Another, though admittedly less critical, bit of familiarity gone- replaced by Daring’s signature green khaki shirt. And for one moment, I lost my cool. The feeling jumped at me again and my eyes went wide, darting to the armchair beside my bed and the keepsake that, to my relief, still sat on one arm, as usual- my fedora. Indiana Jones style, mind you. Which is why I’d been terrified for a split second that it had been replaced with Daring’s headgear of choice. Don’t get me wrong, pith helmets are cool too... I’m just very attached to that hat. Crisis averted, my brief panic was replaced with quiet perplexity. “Huh... why the shirt, but not the hat?” I mused. I continued to gaze at it for the next few seconds, hoping in vain to divine some kind of answer to my only somewhat-rhetorical question. With none forthcoming, I gave an annoyed sigh and returned my attention to the previously-mentioned first item on the list for the day. Learning to walk with four legs. And here’s your first not-surprise, reader. How do you think my first attempt worked out? That’s right. Fell flat on my face. How I managed to get my now much shorter legs tangled in the sheets, I’ll never know. Regardless, I soon found myself with chin on the floor and hind legs still in the clutches of said sheets on the bed above. As I’m sure you can guess, this left me in an overall rather compromising position. “Well, that didn’t take long,” I sighed. The feeling of something brushing the top of my head served only to remind me just how... exposed I now was. “Oh, right. Tail. I have one of those now.” I allowed myself a halfhearted grin. “...Cool.” While my short fall hadn’t exactly left any body parts in pain, somehow ‘comfortable’ felt like an even less fitting term. Particularly so for the two new appendages sprouting from my upper back. *...And wings.* That’s when it really sank in. You know the feeling; when something so huge happens to you, your brain just can’t process it all right away, and it isn’t until a minute or two later that it fully registers and you stop and think, ‘That actually just happened.’ ...Wings. Pegasus. A Pony. Not only am I one of thePrincess Celestia’s ‘little ponies’, I’m Daring freaking Do. “...I’m a girl.” 2. Outfitting (Part 1)Wings of Adventure Chapter 2- Outfitting Fifteen minutes later Having extirpated myself from the clutches of my traitorous bedsheets, and meeting with minimal success in experimenting with my new wings, I now found myself sat on the floor in the middle of my room, said limbs... were they even classified as limbs?... still awkwardly half-extended, wondering what to do next. “Okay... recap. Assess the situation,” I chided myself. Do what Twilight would do- make a list. ...actually, maybe she’d just skip to panic here. I shook my head, banishing the thought from my mind. But that’s one thing the two of you don’thave in common. “Anyway...” I continued, tapping my forehooves together as I gathered my thoughts. “Let’s see. Day one. Lauren Faust and Tara Strong turn into the Princesses, call press conference. Warn that more people will turn into ponies each day, and those that end up as the Mane 6 need to meet them in New York. Calendar suddenly and inexplicably changes to have three hundred sixty-five days in each week... and people seem to just go along with it.” Gee, I wonder who was responsible for that one... I paused with an eyeroll and a huff. “What else... anti-pony group with predictably uncreative name forms, one of said goons tries to shoot Fluttershy, ends up giving her the Element of Kindness instead...” “...and now I get dragged into this can of worms. So... now what?” In retrospect, maybe it was a silly question. Even as I asked it, I knew the answer. Yet, in the same moment, so too did the full magnitude of the task ahead begin to make itself clear as well. My limbs felt like lead (especially the wings) and my heart seemed to drop into my stomach as dread washed over me. Discord. Nothing else makes sense. And he’s not messing around this time. Lauren was calling the Elements together for some epic final showdown. Meanwhile, the world as we know it is unravelling, and by the time the six of them get there all Tartarus is going to break loose. She may have asked for them specifically, but they’re going to need all the help they can get. And I’m in way over my head. With a greater sigh than my human lungs had ever mustered, my eyes drifted once again to the fedora, still untouched since my mini panic attack. Sounds like business as usual for Daring though. It took the better part of a minute for that last line to sink in. As I slowly realized just what I’d been thinking, the nausea and the weight in my bones burned away, dread replaced by righteous indignation. “Listen to yourself,” I fumed, jumping up and snatching the hat from its resting place, turning it over in my hooves a few times before continuing. “You ended up with Daring Do, the Equestrian Indiana Jones. She’s practically made a living of ruining Ahuizotl’s plans. Maybe Discord can actually give her a challenge.” You can do this. You have to. That grin of hers finally found its way to my face as the hat found its way atop my head. “Hey, still fits.” So, they needed my help. The only question now was how best to provide it. It seemed a waste to go straight to New York and wait for all the Elements to get there, as they wouldn’t be able to do much of anything until they had all six. I’d probably get there in an hour anyway with these wings. Then again, at the very least they might know where else I could be useful. Oh yeah... flying. Gotta work on that before I can get out of here. ...that and explain why Milo’s been ‘replaced’ by a sentient winged equine. Right. Greeeat.Thankfully, the facehoof that followed that thought failed to bruise my face any more than my rude awakening had. The last thing I needed this morning was more head trauma. I’d been a Brony for roughly a year by this point. My parents had no idea. I knew they wouldn’t understand. Even if they didn’t get mad or anything, I’d just get weird looks forever, and mom might try sending me to a shrink. Either way, they definitely wouldn’t cope well with their only son suddenly changing species... and gender. Yeeeeaahhh, let’s try not to think about that bit for now, I added, shifting uncomfortably. “Then again,” I admitted, failing to hold back another unenthusiastic smirk,” And I can’t believe I’m saying this... but it looks like waking up as the opposite sex isn’t the biggest of my worries right now... and it’s only going to drop further down the list until this whole mess gets cleaned up.” My new body chose that moment to inform me that its reconstitution had left its stomach rather empty. Finally I laughed. Daring had a beautiful laugh. Not the ‘in the face of danger’ laugh I was sure she’d elevated to an art form. An honest, happy laugh that she would seldom if ever find room for on the job. A full, hearty laugh that filled the room and your heart, melting away your worries and leaving you sure that all was right with the world. It might have been infectious had it not come from my own throat. I barely realized it had. But, I had little time to wax poetic just then, as my stomach continued to voice its displeasure. “Well,” I finally managed, trailing off into a fit of chuckles, “Strike one. Dang, I am hungry. Guess I’ll be getting a decent breakfast for once.” Despite my brief practice session, I was still a bit unsteady on four legs. I’d taken to it right away after getting untangled from my sheets, walking halfway across the room without realizing what I was doing. Thus I came to the conclusion that the less I thought about the action itself, the better. The muscle memory just wasn’t there yet, though, leaving me slightly wobbly for the moment. Minor handicap notwithstanding, soon enough I reached the door. Thankfully I had left it open just a crack the night before, so my first epic fingerless struggle with a doorknob could wait. Silently thanking whatever providence had prevented me from creating one more obstacle for myself that morning, I nudged it open and took a first step onto the bare concrete of the basement floor with a clear, resounding... Clop. ...quickly followed by the sound of rustling fabric from the alcove under the stairs, just ten feet ahead. I froze. Oh Scheiße. Vik. Viktor, my German Shepherd. My dog, not the family’s. I’d bought him as a puppy with what had been my life’s savings at the time, his papers were in my name, and from day one I’d paid all his expenses. And my dad hated him. Now, I know what you’re thinking. Don’t get me wrong, the big guy was likely the friendliest member of his breed alive... but he was still protective of his master’s house and might not take so kindly to a strange creature appearing therein. And in my current state he would almost certainly place me in that category. I’d jumped the first pitfall and waltzed right into the dart trap. Now I just had to dodge. Heck, even Daring didn’t have to brave the hallway of death before breakfast. At least I hoped she didn’t. Otherwise I might be in for a lot of unpleasant karma in the coming days. Figures Strike Two would be the doozy. Precious few moments passed before my ill-timed musings were once again interrupted, though this time by a far more sinister growling, as an all-too-familiar dark brown canine face poked around the corner, inquisitive as ever yet clearly on guard. Just as quickly, he made his move. With a single, terse bark, he leapt at me. Next thing I knew, I had already flung my forelegs up to shield my face, and he... was still barking? From... below me? Slowly, hesitantly, I allowed one eye to open and hazard a downward glance. Sure enough, I found Viktor directly beneath me, paws firmly on the floor, yapping away, now in his typical playful tone. Instantly my fear evaporated in favor of reflexive annoyance. Now my hooves were thrown over my head in disgust. “Ugh! Oh for... Viktor! Nein! Verschließen!” Yeah, I give my German Shepherd commands in German. Don’t judge me. Anyway, that one, loosely translated? ‘Shut yer trap’. My usual response when he’d suddenly start barking at seemingly nothing. Apparently I caught him off-guard; in spite of, or possibly because of, the fact that the familiar command had come from an unfamiliar creature with an unfamiliar voice, he quickly did as he was told and sat back on his haunches, staring up at me with his head tilted to one side in confusion. It was at that point that all these facts caught up with me. “Wait... why did you... how am I- buh,” I blubbered, my irises likely shrinking to their former human size as realization dawned. My head whipped around to find I’d just been given a crash course in Daring’s honed (if you’ll pardon the pun,) fight-or-flight response. I was currently doing the latter. I suppose I should be grateful that my brain shut down for a minute there. I probably would have dropped on Viktor if I were to inadvertently sabotage my temporary autopilot by giving it any conscious thought. Thankfully, I was able to keep ignoring it and let my flight muscles do their thing once I rebooted. Having calmed down, I turned back to Vik, finding him unmoved and sniffing in my direction. For a moment I just stared at him, not understanding. “Oh! Wait,” I chuckled at last, taking off my hat and holding it down from him to get a good whiff of my human scent which undoubtedly still clung to it. One quick sniff and a happy bark later, his tail was wagging and his tongue lolling out of his panting mouth as he gazed up at me once again. I sighed, at once exasperated and relieved as I hovered down just enough to reach a hoof between his ears and start scratching. “Why did I get so worked up over you, ya big softie?” I smiled. So maybe Daring had to face some crazy odds in her line of work. Maybe whatever curses were involved in all the ancient temples and artifacts she had to deal with had rubbed off on her and she had some bad juju to burn off. But none of it ever seemed to slow her down. She got through it all the same. And this adventure was bound to be especially interesting. ...Bring it on, Mr. Chaos.
Prologue- The DreamI was having that dream again. How many times did this make? Three? Five? I wasn't sure. It must have been a year since I'd last had the same dream, and every time most of the details faded before I was even fully awake. What little I did remember was always the same. Until this time. It started out like always. I found myself walking down a dirt path with rows of old-fashioned canvas tents on either side. Then again, everything as far as the eye could see was just that. Dirt. Not quite desert, but not the most hospitable climate either. The makeshift camp was buzzing with activity, people feverishly shouting to each other as they ran back and forth. A few men sat quietly outside their respective temporary abodes, cleaning a rifle or strapping on a holster belt and loading revolvers. Most everyone wore a trenchcoat I could only describe as Fallout-esque, the kind that would keep away the dust yet still breathe so you wouldn't roast in the sun. Now and then someone would wave me down as I passed by, shouting and giving me a worried look. Judging from the tone of my responses and the way the person usually ran off afterward, I was someone of importance in this setting. Yet, even with all this staying clear in my mind each time I woke, I could never remember the words that were spoken or the faces of those around me. It's funny, the little details you remember from your dreams. It was after the last of these heralds left to go about his business that I realized something was different this time. Every other time I'd had this dream, I was just an observer, watching myself walk along and shout what I assumed to be orders. This time, though, I was seeing everything through my own eyes. That, and for some reason, I was barely at eye level with everyone else's knees. Thankfully this dream was always semi-lucid, and my realization did not immediately shatter the illusion. I was about to take that risk either way, though: next came the part where I always woke up. I decided to keep letting the dream take its own course, suddenly curious if it would play out differently this time. As I neared the end of the row, I spotted a man sitting outside the last tent on the right, using a small barrel as a sort of stool. He stuck out like a sore thumb amid all the hustle and bustle. Silent and unmoving, he simply stared out toward the horizon, shoulders slumped, oblivious to the commotion behind him. I paused only for a moment before moving toward him. Now I knew it was indeed playing out differently. Each time I'd had the dream, I had stopped in my tracks before being jolted fully awake just after noticing this man. And yet, before I knew it, I found myself standing next to him. For a full minute we said nothing and looked nowhere but straght ahead. Then, sighing, he finally spoke first, and I remember his words clear as day. "How do you do it?" Now I turned to look up at him, raising an eyebrow but saying nothing. It was enough of a response for him. "Why do you keep fighting so hard?" he breathed, eyes still locked forward. I suddenly felt myself lift off the ground and float around so that I was directly in front of him. He was forced to look me in the eye now. I stayed quiet for a moment, studying his features intently for some reason I didn't fully understand. Dream logic somehow told me he wasn't a day over thirty, but his face looked so tired and ragged, his scruffy hair and beard so unkempt, that I might have thought him ten years older had I not been looking so closely. Words suddenly leapt unbidden to my lips. "Same reason you and everyone else is here, whether you know it or not," I replied, in a voice not my own. "Because no one else will. Because if I don't take the chance while it's there in front of me... I may not live to regret it." I never did get to see or hear his reaction. It was as if my cryptic response tripped some alarm in my sleeping brain. Alas, my subconscious had finally caught up with me, and, discovering that I had wandered outside this dream's usual bounds, hit the eject button. And I woke up. "Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things you didn't do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover. ~ H. Jackson Brown Jr., P.S. I Love You
1: Press-gangedWings of Adventure Chapter 1- Press-ganged Day 10: Thorsday, 7:12 A.M. Yes, you read that correctly. No, it is not a typo. But more on that later. I never was a morning person. Today, however, I was especially unhappy with my forced return to the waking world. So, I decided to be stubborn, refusing to move or open my eyes until- "Milo, I'm leaving for work! You should get moving, too! Love you, bye!" The front door slammed. ...until I was forced to get up and ready to leave for class, which wasn't 'til eleven today, thank you very much, mom. Why did I pay money to sign up for a German class, anyway? I'd spent most of high school trying to learn it in my free time. Oh, right. Keyword 'trying'. After several minutes of trying and failing to fall asleep again, enough brain cells finally came online for me to remember why I wanted to return to dreamland in the first place. What the heck was up with that dream this time? Why the weird perspective? Trying to retrace my my steps served only to confuse me further, as I quickly found that any other details had already faded, as ever. It had always been the same, why the changes this time? The knee-high viewpoint was odd, but... that was it. Just odd. That guy at the end, on the other hand, had always been the part that drove me crazy. This time I'd actually seen his face. Spoken to him, even. What the heck did any of that mean, anyway? And just when I was about to get some damn closure... My head jerked to one side involuntarily, eyes squeezing shut tighter as the sunbeam creeping up my bed finally reached my face. Ah, forget it. I'm not getting anywhere with this, I surrendered, lifting a hand to my face to rub the sleep from my eyes. And instead was hit right between said eyes with something feeling rather more like a brick than my own hand. "Ow! What the..." I shot bolt upright, hissing in annoyance as I brought the offending limb more gingerly to my now-maimed face. Albert Einstein once said that the definition of insanity is to repeat the same action and expect a different result. I suppose it shouldn’t have come as a surprise that the not-hand still felt like a brick. But it couldn’t be a brick, either. Bricks didn’t feel... well, they didn’t feel. And whatever this not-hand, not-brick was, it quickly became clear that it had nerves which were sending impulses to my increasingly confused brain, which in turn indicated that not only was the lump held to my face not a brick, but somehow it was doing just that- feeling my face. Somehow... it was me. Now, I’d imagine this is about the point where any rational mind would start to get at least a bit freaked out. Granted, there’s a fine line between my kind of ‘freaked out’ and ‘full-blown panic’. I’m honestly not sure I’m capable of the latter. My friends and family always said I was the calm and collected one, and now did not seem like the time to go changing that. More like the time to prove just how calm I could be... hopefully. O-kaaaaaayyy... that doesn’t feel like my hand. Easing the foreign limb away from my forehead, I finally opened my eyes to see for myself what my brain was telling me. Again, I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised. To this day I have difficulty making sense of the thoughts which ran through my mind in the following seconds. You know that part of the story where the hero sees or hears something that seems familiar? Something that feels like it should be important, and ends up being very important to the story later on? This is not that part of the story. This wasn’t one of those times when you get that nagging feeling that just sticks in the back of your mind. This was one of those times when the nagging feeling jumps out front and center, grabs you by the shoulders and shakes, screaming, “Dude! I know why it’s familiar!” Fitting, that it was so blunt on this occasion. No wonder the appendage before me had felt like a brick. I was now staring at a sickeningly familiar, sandy brown... hoof. The past week-plus of news broadcasts, Youtube videos, and Equestria Daily posts flashed through my head; Lauren Faust’s press conference. Her and Tara Strong stepping onstage in the bodies of Equestria’s own alicorn Princesses. Her warning that each day, more and more people would find themselves in her position- waking up as a pony. And, most importantly, my own thoughts of ‘What if it happens to me?’ There was no room left for “What if” now. It had happened. “...Oh.” One word. So simple. Given the circumstances, though, it had been the most coherent response my rather overwhelmed brain was capable of producing at the time. This morning seemed to be full of not-surprises. It had already been established that I’d woken up in a body not my own, and, go figure, the voice didn’t belong to me either. Thankfully, now that I recognized exactly what I was looking at, I didn’t need another throttling from my subconscious to realize who it did belong to. It was unmistakable. Rough, yet clearly feminine. And, I had to admit, kinda se- No. Bad Milo. Don’t even go there. Anyway, paired with the particular hue of fur sported by my new forelimb... “Yeah, I don’t even need to check the cutie mark, do I?” I deadpanned. “So.. Daring Do, huh?” I observed as a stray lock of grayscale mane fell into my... her... eyes. Man, this was already getting confusing. At least it explains why the dream was... off. I think. “Well then,” I continued, throwing off my sheets, “I guess the first order of business is to... wha?” Now, I realize that losing your favorite pajamas is, by comparison, a minor complaint when you’ve just turned into a pony who had been, until that moment, little more than a fictional storybook character within a supposedly fictional television show. But they were my favorite pj’s, darn it. Another, though admittedly less critical, bit of familiarity gone- replaced by Daring’s signature green khaki shirt. And for one moment, I lost my cool. The feeling jumped at me again and my eyes went wide, darting to the armchair beside my bed and the keepsake that, to my relief, still sat on one arm, as usual- my fedora. Indiana Jones style, mind you. Which is why I’d been terrified for a split second that it had been replaced with Daring’s headgear of choice. Don’t get me wrong, pith helmets are cool too... I’m just very attached to that hat. Crisis averted, my brief panic was replaced with quiet perplexity. “Huh... why the shirt, but not the hat?” I mused. I continued to gaze at it for the next few seconds, hoping in vain to divine some kind of answer to my only somewhat-rhetorical question. With none forthcoming, I gave an annoyed sigh and returned my attention to the previously-mentioned first item on the list for the day. Learning to walk with four legs. And here’s your first not-surprise, reader. How do you think my first attempt worked out? That’s right. Fell flat on my face. How I managed to get my now much shorter legs tangled in the sheets, I’ll never know. Regardless, I soon found myself with chin on the floor and hind legs still in the clutches of said sheets on the bed above. As I’m sure you can guess, this left me in an overall rather compromising position. “Well, that didn’t take long,” I sighed. The feeling of something brushing the top of my head served only to remind me just how... exposed I now was. “Oh, right. Tail. I have one of those now.” I allowed myself a halfhearted grin. “...Cool.” While my short fall hadn’t exactly left any body parts in pain, somehow ‘comfortable’ felt like an even less fitting term. Particularly so for the two new appendages sprouting from my upper back. *...And wings.* That’s when it really sank in. You know the feeling; when something so huge happens to you, your brain just can’t process it all right away, and it isn’t until a minute or two later that it fully registers and you stop and think, ‘That actually just happened.’ ...Wings. Pegasus. A Pony. Not only am I one of thePrincess Celestia’s ‘little ponies’, I’m Daring freaking Do. “...I’m a girl.”
2. Outfitting (Part 1)Wings of Adventure Chapter 2- Outfitting Fifteen minutes later Having extirpated myself from the clutches of my traitorous bedsheets, and meeting with minimal success in experimenting with my new wings, I now found myself sat on the floor in the middle of my room, said limbs... were they even classified as limbs?... still awkwardly half-extended, wondering what to do next. “Okay... recap. Assess the situation,” I chided myself. Do what Twilight would do- make a list. ...actually, maybe she’d just skip to panic here. I shook my head, banishing the thought from my mind. But that’s one thing the two of you don’thave in common. “Anyway...” I continued, tapping my forehooves together as I gathered my thoughts. “Let’s see. Day one. Lauren Faust and Tara Strong turn into the Princesses, call press conference. Warn that more people will turn into ponies each day, and those that end up as the Mane 6 need to meet them in New York. Calendar suddenly and inexplicably changes to have three hundred sixty-five days in each week... and people seem to just go along with it.” Gee, I wonder who was responsible for that one... I paused with an eyeroll and a huff. “What else... anti-pony group with predictably uncreative name forms, one of said goons tries to shoot Fluttershy, ends up giving her the Element of Kindness instead...” “...and now I get dragged into this can of worms. So... now what?” In retrospect, maybe it was a silly question. Even as I asked it, I knew the answer. Yet, in the same moment, so too did the full magnitude of the task ahead begin to make itself clear as well. My limbs felt like lead (especially the wings) and my heart seemed to drop into my stomach as dread washed over me. Discord. Nothing else makes sense. And he’s not messing around this time. Lauren was calling the Elements together for some epic final showdown. Meanwhile, the world as we know it is unravelling, and by the time the six of them get there all Tartarus is going to break loose. She may have asked for them specifically, but they’re going to need all the help they can get. And I’m in way over my head. With a greater sigh than my human lungs had ever mustered, my eyes drifted once again to the fedora, still untouched since my mini panic attack. Sounds like business as usual for Daring though. It took the better part of a minute for that last line to sink in. As I slowly realized just what I’d been thinking, the nausea and the weight in my bones burned away, dread replaced by righteous indignation. “Listen to yourself,” I fumed, jumping up and snatching the hat from its resting place, turning it over in my hooves a few times before continuing. “You ended up with Daring Do, the Equestrian Indiana Jones. She’s practically made a living of ruining Ahuizotl’s plans. Maybe Discord can actually give her a challenge.” You can do this. You have to. That grin of hers finally found its way to my face as the hat found its way atop my head. “Hey, still fits.” So, they needed my help. The only question now was how best to provide it. It seemed a waste to go straight to New York and wait for all the Elements to get there, as they wouldn’t be able to do much of anything until they had all six. I’d probably get there in an hour anyway with these wings. Then again, at the very least they might know where else I could be useful. Oh yeah... flying. Gotta work on that before I can get out of here. ...that and explain why Milo’s been ‘replaced’ by a sentient winged equine. Right. Greeeat.Thankfully, the facehoof that followed that thought failed to bruise my face any more than my rude awakening had. The last thing I needed this morning was more head trauma. I’d been a Brony for roughly a year by this point. My parents had no idea. I knew they wouldn’t understand. Even if they didn’t get mad or anything, I’d just get weird looks forever, and mom might try sending me to a shrink. Either way, they definitely wouldn’t cope well with their only son suddenly changing species... and gender. Yeeeeaahhh, let’s try not to think about that bit for now, I added, shifting uncomfortably. “Then again,” I admitted, failing to hold back another unenthusiastic smirk,” And I can’t believe I’m saying this... but it looks like waking up as the opposite sex isn’t the biggest of my worries right now... and it’s only going to drop further down the list until this whole mess gets cleaned up.” My new body chose that moment to inform me that its reconstitution had left its stomach rather empty. Finally I laughed. Daring had a beautiful laugh. Not the ‘in the face of danger’ laugh I was sure she’d elevated to an art form. An honest, happy laugh that she would seldom if ever find room for on the job. A full, hearty laugh that filled the room and your heart, melting away your worries and leaving you sure that all was right with the world. It might have been infectious had it not come from my own throat. I barely realized it had. But, I had little time to wax poetic just then, as my stomach continued to voice its displeasure. “Well,” I finally managed, trailing off into a fit of chuckles, “Strike one. Dang, I am hungry. Guess I’ll be getting a decent breakfast for once.” Despite my brief practice session, I was still a bit unsteady on four legs. I’d taken to it right away after getting untangled from my sheets, walking halfway across the room without realizing what I was doing. Thus I came to the conclusion that the less I thought about the action itself, the better. The muscle memory just wasn’t there yet, though, leaving me slightly wobbly for the moment. Minor handicap notwithstanding, soon enough I reached the door. Thankfully I had left it open just a crack the night before, so my first epic fingerless struggle with a doorknob could wait. Silently thanking whatever providence had prevented me from creating one more obstacle for myself that morning, I nudged it open and took a first step onto the bare concrete of the basement floor with a clear, resounding... Clop. ...quickly followed by the sound of rustling fabric from the alcove under the stairs, just ten feet ahead. I froze. Oh Scheiße. Vik. Viktor, my German Shepherd. My dog, not the family’s. I’d bought him as a puppy with what had been my life’s savings at the time, his papers were in my name, and from day one I’d paid all his expenses. And my dad hated him. Now, I know what you’re thinking. Don’t get me wrong, the big guy was likely the friendliest member of his breed alive... but he was still protective of his master’s house and might not take so kindly to a strange creature appearing therein. And in my current state he would almost certainly place me in that category. I’d jumped the first pitfall and waltzed right into the dart trap. Now I just had to dodge. Heck, even Daring didn’t have to brave the hallway of death before breakfast. At least I hoped she didn’t. Otherwise I might be in for a lot of unpleasant karma in the coming days. Figures Strike Two would be the doozy. Precious few moments passed before my ill-timed musings were once again interrupted, though this time by a far more sinister growling, as an all-too-familiar dark brown canine face poked around the corner, inquisitive as ever yet clearly on guard. Just as quickly, he made his move. With a single, terse bark, he leapt at me. Next thing I knew, I had already flung my forelegs up to shield my face, and he... was still barking? From... below me? Slowly, hesitantly, I allowed one eye to open and hazard a downward glance. Sure enough, I found Viktor directly beneath me, paws firmly on the floor, yapping away, now in his typical playful tone. Instantly my fear evaporated in favor of reflexive annoyance. Now my hooves were thrown over my head in disgust. “Ugh! Oh for... Viktor! Nein! Verschließen!” Yeah, I give my German Shepherd commands in German. Don’t judge me. Anyway, that one, loosely translated? ‘Shut yer trap’. My usual response when he’d suddenly start barking at seemingly nothing. Apparently I caught him off-guard; in spite of, or possibly because of, the fact that the familiar command had come from an unfamiliar creature with an unfamiliar voice, he quickly did as he was told and sat back on his haunches, staring up at me with his head tilted to one side in confusion. It was at that point that all these facts caught up with me. “Wait... why did you... how am I- buh,” I blubbered, my irises likely shrinking to their former human size as realization dawned. My head whipped around to find I’d just been given a crash course in Daring’s honed (if you’ll pardon the pun,) fight-or-flight response. I was currently doing the latter. I suppose I should be grateful that my brain shut down for a minute there. I probably would have dropped on Viktor if I were to inadvertently sabotage my temporary autopilot by giving it any conscious thought. Thankfully, I was able to keep ignoring it and let my flight muscles do their thing once I rebooted. Having calmed down, I turned back to Vik, finding him unmoved and sniffing in my direction. For a moment I just stared at him, not understanding. “Oh! Wait,” I chuckled at last, taking off my hat and holding it down from him to get a good whiff of my human scent which undoubtedly still clung to it. One quick sniff and a happy bark later, his tail was wagging and his tongue lolling out of his panting mouth as he gazed up at me once again. I sighed, at once exasperated and relieved as I hovered down just enough to reach a hoof between his ears and start scratching. “Why did I get so worked up over you, ya big softie?” I smiled. So maybe Daring had to face some crazy odds in her line of work. Maybe whatever curses were involved in all the ancient temples and artifacts she had to deal with had rubbed off on her and she had some bad juju to burn off. But none of it ever seemed to slow her down. She got through it all the same. And this adventure was bound to be especially interesting. ...Bring it on, Mr. Chaos.
