Fourth wall be damnedby ScriberChaptersOneTwoThreeFourFivePrologue 4.5OneYou nearly choke on your soda, the bubbly froth suddenly declaring war on your nostrils. Your eyes water and you cough furiously, flailing your arms about in a generally disheveled fashion as you backpedal away from the intruder. Known to be one for profound statements when the situation arises, you do not disappoint. “H-holy knobgobbling shit!” You sputter, heart hammering rapidly against your ribcage. The pony appears to be unfazed, giggling heartily at your no doubt humourous display of shock. Incredulously, you lift your still-lit cigarette to your face, inspecting it for hidden hallucinogens. “Whatchya doin'?” the pony asks, turning her head quizzically. “Not now, Pinkie Pie. Still recovering from the coronary here,” you reply. Wait. Wait a second. Pinkie...Pie. That's Pinkie Pie. Pinkie Pie, the party pony from Ponyville, is now standing not two meters away from you. On impulse, you give yourself a firm slap to the face, eliciting a few new giggles from the pink pony as the strike connects. The sharp, stinging pain in your face confirms your suspicions; either this is one of the more elaborate dreams you've had, or you've completely lost your bloody marbles. Eyes widened, you silently – cautiously – approach the earth pony. With a trembling hand, you reach out and poke the Pinkie Pie. The tactile sensation beneath your fingertips is not entirely unlike a warm, breathing, furry marshmallow. You instantly draw your hand back, half-expecting the universe to implode right then and there. “You're pretty funny, mister!” the pink pony chuckles, reaching out and poking your stomach with a hoof. You recoil instinctively, letting out a rather girly yelp. You run a hand through your bedraggled hair, fingers digging into your scalp. “It's not every day that a cartoon character materializes in front of me for no explicable reason, so I do hope you'll pardon the surprise,” you say in response. “What's a cartoon character?” Pinkie asks, again cocking her head to the side. You suppress a chuckle. “Erm...” You decide not to let on your admittedly extensive knowledge of My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic for the time being, for fear of irreparable damage to space-time. “Let's not dwell on that for the moment,” you finally manage. “More importantly, though – how did you get here? Don't you...you know...notice anything strange about this place?” “Brrr!” Pinkie Pie says, shivering. “Yeah! I mean, like, what's with all the wind, huh? It's ffffff-reezing out here! Is the weather team bringing in a storm or something? Can we go inside? Can we? Can we! OOH! Do you have an electric mixer?!” You blink, trying to process all of that. “Storm's coming in, no weather team, maybe, and yes-” “-come on, then! Let's go!” the pony interrupts, bouncing merrily toward your opened garage door. You swear that you can hear the trademark “sproing” of a Pinkie Pie bounce every time her hooves leave the asphalt. You butt out your cigarette, mashing the cylinder of death to a pulp beneath your trainers. “Hold on a tic, Pinkie – I'm not sure that's such a good-” The sound of a door slamming open interrupts your half-hearted warning. “-...idea.” TwoUttering a deviously clever (if not obscenely profane) string of curses under your breath, you bound up the basement stairs, being certain to shut the door behind you. The first thing you notice is that the television is on. The second thing you notice is that your two cats look absolutely puzzled, blankly staring at your unexpected visitor. Oh yeah – Pinkie Pie's playing Halo: Reach on your Xbox. “Ooooh, triple kill! I'm really good at this, huh?” She giggles, somehow manipulating the white controller with her hooves. You let out a mad bark of laughter. “Uh, Pinkie? Why are you playing-” “-bored now! Whatchya got in the kitchen?” Pinkie says from behind you. Shuddering instinctively as the laws of physics are trampled upon with pink hooves, you turn around. “Pinkie, I-” The pink pony happily bounces up the small set of stairs leading to the kitchen, absentmindedly humming a tune. She opens your refrigerator, her poofy pink tail bobbing to and fro as she begins to root around. “Hey, who's Captain Morgan?” she asks, and you instantly feel your balls shrivel (or tits twinge, lolidk) in terror. “Gah! God, no! That's, uh – it's a human drink. Not for ponies. Yeah. Going with that.” “Oh well! I'm gonna make us something to eat, ok?” You sigh in exasperation, resigning to the admittedly absurd cards life has dealt you at the moment. You walk dejectedly into the kitchen, sitting down at the table. You run a hand through your hair, chuckling silently to yourself. I've got to be dead. That's the only explanation there is. I'm dead, and there must be a God and he must be a kind one, because he had the twisted sense of humour to fill it with ponies. “Well, pony. Singular. As in, one.” ...let's not tempt fate. Quickly becoming used to the pink earth pony's time-manipulating antics, you hardly bat an eye when she sets down a tray full of somehow already-cooked cupcakes on the kitchen table. Ok, to be frank: your eyes bug out of your head a little and your brain feels like it's bleeding a little bit, but that's to be expected. Still, you somehow find the wherewithal to ask - “Okay, Pinkie. Those look delicious, really. But there's something I gotta ask-” “-how I got here? It's easy! The author created a fictional universe sharing great similarities to his or her own, yet kept major descriptions vague enough for his audience to subconsciously fill in their own gaps to create a suspension of disbelief! Therefore – BAM! Pinkie Pie time!” Oh no. Oh dear God, no. “...you're telling me that I broke the fourth goddamned wall?” “Yuppy duppy!” The pink pony chirped. You facepalm in disbelief, an expression which your guest finds curious. Sighing in resignation, you reach out and snatch up a cupcake, eating it in an attempt to drown your regret. All right. “Might as well make the most of it, I suppose.” Your cats saunter casually into the kitchen, trying their hardest not to look interested in the pink pony inexplicably standing in your house. Then, it hits you. “Say, Pinkie...ever heard of dubstep?” “Y'mean dubtrot?” ThreeMay the laws of science be damned, you think to yourself. Your laptop speakers blare out the aggressive sounds of “dubtrot,” filling the room with a dull ringing sound. Pinkie Pie bobs her head in time, her poofy mane shaking like a cell phone on vibrate during an earthquake. “Woo! This is my-” “-I swear to God, Pinkie-” “-jam!” “Should've seen it coming.” Perhaps the universe is not ready for this. You might be on to something, there. Roughly a half hour passes, the two of you lost in the music for a time. You start to feel somewhat fatigued; now that the shock of having a pony in your dimension has more or less worn off- “Whatchya doin'?” Pinkie asks, inexplicably sitting on the chair behind you. “Jesus tapdancing christ!” You yelp, nearly taking an unexpected tumble from the chair. Somehow – miraculously – you manage to not spill your drink. Once your heart ceases its palpitations and your lungs remember how to be lungs, you slowly turn around, staring blankly at the sheepishly grinning pink pony. “Mean.” You state flatly, sticking out your tongue. Then Pinkie's mane deflates a little bit, and you feel your heart leap into your chest, your subconscious shamefully connecting cupcakes with the Pinkamina- “Ok! What say we...uh, crap...watch a movie?” You quickly suggest, thus averting even the remote possibility of a brony's worst nightmare. “Oooh! D'you have any popcorn?” Pinkie asks. You nod your head, motioning toward the kitchen. “In the cupboard, third shelf u-” “Hey, this popcorn's pretty good!” Pinkie says, offering you a pass at the large bowl of popcorn. You blink, mentally ducking as an aneurysm comes barreling towards you at supersonic speeds. Shakily, you reach out with your hand and scoop up a handful. “...s-so, Pinkie...uh, w-w-what do you want t-to-” “This movie is kinda weird,” Pinkie states, scrunching her nose in a way that you find somewhat adorable. Deciding that now is the best time to get your mental calisthenics in for the day, you mentally dodge a fanboy squee the size of Big Macintosh. On your television screen is a rather old, somewhat campy horror movie from the 70s, in all its grainy splendor. You find it simultaneously cute and bowel-droppingly horrifying how Pinkie giggles every time the film's antagonist – a hocket-mask wearing, machete-toting psychopath – is on the screen. You are not entirely certain how much time passes before it happens – the first flicker of the lights. For the first time, you notice just how much the wind has picked up in the past hour or so. The tall, spindly trees, devoid of their leaves, rattle and shake in the gusts and gales of the approaching storm. Curious, you grab the television's remote and switch to the news feed. Your eyes are instantly drawn to a bright red banner at the bottom of the screen, adorned with scrolling text: [-NTER WEATHER ADVISORY. STRONG GUSTS OF WIND UP TO 75 MPH ALONG WITH SEVERE BLIZZARD CONDITIONS. HIGHER ELEVATIONS SHOULD EXPECT UP TO 8 INCHES PER HOUR AT APPROX. 23:45-] The lights flicker again, and the television shorts out with a pop and a fizzle. The two of you jump a little, at least one of you yelping like a little girl. Then, there is a noise – subtle at first, almost like a low frequency hum, growing quickly into a vibrating thrumming noise, thick and almost like a physical presence. Across the room, you spy a faint glow of pink-white light at the foot of the doorway that leads to the upstairs staircase. Suddenly, you hear a thud – then a crash. Then, a....groan? “Oh sweet jesus, no.” Your mind on holiday and your body on autopilot, you hardly react when the lights flicker for a third and final time, finally falling dark. You feel your way up the stairs, following the faint, lingering afterglow of that all-too-familiar light coming from your bedroom. You silently push open the door. You sigh. “...hi, Twilight...” FourThis can not be good. No, this is probably nothing but trouble. The purple unicorn mare stirs on your bedroom floor, moaning and absentmindedly rubbing her head. Your room is in more of a state of chaos than its usual status quo; dirty laundry hangs from nearly every visible surface, including – much to your chagrin – your ceiling fan. Your bedsheets are inexplicably missing, and there is a rather nasty-looking scorch mark on the hardwood flooring. “W-...where am I?” Twilight breathes, looking around in consternation. Or perturbation. You can't really tell which. Your lungs sort of feel like they've collapsed. “Uh...well, it's not Equestria, for one...” You sheepishly offer, silently cursing yourself for the remarkably absurd situation the elder gods have seen fit to bestow upon you. “What do you mean, 'not Equestria'?” She asks, suddenly coming to her hooves. Her wide, purple eyes bore into your own, demanding answers. God, this is like a bad fanfiction, isn't it? Proper naughty, that! “Ok. Ok, maybe I should start over. Hi, Twilight! My name's [INSERT NAME HERE.] Mind if I ask you how you managed to teleport yourself not only into my dimension, but somehow specifically into my bedroom as well?” “H-how did you know m-m-” “-know your name? I'll get to that. Eventually. Maybe. Look, I don't know. Point is: you're here, so there must have been something that caused you to be here. Think for a moment, Twilight. Research into paranormal or supernatural spellwork? A mishap with an experimental sp-...oh, don't even fuc-” “I was experimenting with a new spell, but it went haywire! I think I may have transcribed the ancient runes incorrectly...hmm...” You facepalm, again much to Pinkie's chagrin. Oh, wait. “Hi, Twilight!” Pinkie says happily, sproinging (is that even a verb?) over to join her friend in the centre of the room. “Pinkie? But – wha-? How-” “-how did I get here? It's simple! I have no idea!” Pinkie cheerfully interjects. “But...but how can you have no i-” “I have no idea!” Pinkie giddily reaffirms. You bring a hand to your ears, checking to see if they are in fact bleeding. This mare is somewhat LOUD. Twilight gulps. “And...what was your name, again? [INSERT NAME HERE], was it?” You nod. “That's right. So! Twilight, you're Celestia's prized pupil, yes? Surely, you have some useful knowledge bouncing around in the ol' noggin about how to get yourself and your friend out of this admittedly strange scenario, do you not?” Twilight is silent for a moment, then slowly nods. “You know what, [INSERT NAME HERE]? You're right. I think you're right! I know just the thing that'll-” “-fix all of this?” You interject, already feeling another facepalm coming on. “Wha-...how'd you know?” “Just try it, all right? I'm no theoretical physicist, but theoretically, the two of you being here in this dimension could theoretically be a gigantic fucking disaster waiting to happen. Theoretically, of course.” Twilight gulps again, this time stiffening at your sudden use of such foul language. Manners, you! “Ok. I'll give it a go,” Twilight says. ~lol ten seconds later~ You look dejectedly down at your hooves, a lone, lonely row boat amidst a sea of fanboy giddiness and just plain incredulity. You feel your tail twitch spasmodically. “...I don't...think it worked...” You finally manage to say. FiveOh, of course! You're a colt! ...wait a tic... Some internal part of you shivers, but you decide to shrug it off. So. You're a dude, bro. Bro. Heh. Bro. Pony. Ok, get it together. “Twilight,” You begin in a surprisingly calm, saccharine tone, “...what exactly just happened?” “...uh...well, you seeeeeee~...-” Twilight responds, sheepishly rubbing the back of her head. “I maaayyyy have accidentally miscalculated in my channeling of your dimension's archaic energies, thus causing a bit of a blowback...” “...a bit.” You numbly affirm, still firmly in the grasp of the shock of the situation. “But don't worry!” Twilight suddenly says, holding her hooves out in defence. “I have a solution for this! Really, this time! I promise I won't turn you into a-” “-Twilight, darling, I'm not entirely certain I want my brain to be processing what could have lurked at the end of that sentence at present,” You cheerily interject. You sigh, mentally taking yourself down a peg. “Look, let's just relax for a moment, okay? I'm not sure I want you attempting obscenely complex spells on me in the immediate future, and besides...hell, I've always kinda wanted to do this, to be frank.” “Do what?” Twilight asks, her curiosity once more kicking in. “Well...be a pony, that's what! Besides, I'm sure a fellow equine such as myself is slightly less upsetting than a strange, otherworldly hairless talking ape with fingers, am I right?” Silently, Twilight nods. You see her visibly relax. Slowly, you fumble around with your new limbs for a bit and figure out how to at least stand on your own four hooves. Hooves. Heh. You trot over to the mirror you know that lay buried beneath your dirty laundry, reaching out with your forelegs to clear the proverbial rubble. You feel your brain melt a little bit. Your left eyelid twitches. “...Twilight, why am I...pink?” You ask in a flat tone as you feel your higher thought processes go on holiday at the same time. “...oh...t-that...well, y'see...you're still 'cooking', as it were.” “...cooking.” “Right! Since your body is newly formed, you have a brief window in time in which to choose what specific sort of pony you want to be! It's a...well, a side-effect of the spell I accidentally cast on you.” As if on queue, your eyes drift over your body to see the faint, arcane glow of raw magical energies encompassing your torso and head. “...what.” Are you a: A: Unicorn B. Pegasus C. Earth Pony Prologue Prologue Night has fallen. The snow, recently melted, has made the cold ground damp. A fierce wind blows in from the West, rattling the skeletal trees, devoid of their leaves. You stand, alone, at the corner of your driveway. The moon, occasionally obfuscated by the passing cloud or two, shines pale, radiant light down on the neighbourhood. The crackle of your lit cigarette mixes in with the gusts of wind ripping across the yard, sending various detritus tumbling. You shudder, the thick warmth of the heavy leather jacket across your torso just barely managing to keep most of the chill out. Out of the corner of your eye, you see movement. Your head snaps to the right, focused on a particular spot across the street. You think you see it again – just a brief glimpse, a flash, a hush of something colourful. “What the hell...?” you muse aloud, scratching your head. You lean back against the wooden retaining wall on the opposite side of the driveway, keeping your eyes trained on the general area. You narrow your eyes, really concentrating - ...nothing. Nothing but the rustle of the trees and the howl of the wind. You shrug. You take another puff of your cigarette, the dull burn filling your lungs for the umpteenth time that day. You think to yourself that you should really quit; it's quite a nasty habit, not to mention expensive to boot. Something jars you out of your self-imposed mental guilt-trip. You can't quite put your thumb on it at first; it's almost like a nagging sensation at the base of your spine, a sort of twitch that instinctively alerts a person when they're being watched. Slowly, you turn your head - -nothing. Again, nothing. Sighing in relief, you turn your head back towards the driveway. You lift your hand to your mouth, about to take a sip of your favourite soda. “Hi!” The pink pony chirps happily, somehow floating in mid-air above your head. 4.5A/N: The format of this whimsical, nonsensical, [arguably poorly written] tale is about to change! Many readers may be familiar to the 'choose-your-own-adventure' format of storytelling, wherein a scenario is presented to the reader, and depending on the reader's responses at situationally appropriate choice events, the story can progress in one of a great number of ways. I'm going to give this a shot, because I have a fetish for these stories. Let's give this a shot, shall we? I'll calculate votes for a specific choice, and progress the story based on the option with the highest number of votes. If, however, you all happen to hate this style of storytelling and/or don't want to be bothered with it, I'd be happy to revert to the classic second-person narrative format - just let me know in the comments! ================================================= “Oh...oh, dear...” Twilight says, her voice trailing off similarly to that of Fluttershy's. You comically fail to roll over and get to your hooves, cursing like a sailor pony. “-ing asshat!” You finish, back to square one. Pinkie Pie apologetically giggles. “That's not how you stand up, you silly filly!” She says, offering her sage advice. “Oh dear Christ no-” You suddenly panic, checking your newly equine body for the first time. Then, you frown. Are you a colt...or a filly? A. Colt B. Filly C. LOLIDK, LEAVE IT ANDROGYNOUS OR SOME SHIT
OneYou nearly choke on your soda, the bubbly froth suddenly declaring war on your nostrils. Your eyes water and you cough furiously, flailing your arms about in a generally disheveled fashion as you backpedal away from the intruder. Known to be one for profound statements when the situation arises, you do not disappoint. “H-holy knobgobbling shit!” You sputter, heart hammering rapidly against your ribcage. The pony appears to be unfazed, giggling heartily at your no doubt humourous display of shock. Incredulously, you lift your still-lit cigarette to your face, inspecting it for hidden hallucinogens. “Whatchya doin'?” the pony asks, turning her head quizzically. “Not now, Pinkie Pie. Still recovering from the coronary here,” you reply. Wait. Wait a second. Pinkie...Pie. That's Pinkie Pie. Pinkie Pie, the party pony from Ponyville, is now standing not two meters away from you. On impulse, you give yourself a firm slap to the face, eliciting a few new giggles from the pink pony as the strike connects. The sharp, stinging pain in your face confirms your suspicions; either this is one of the more elaborate dreams you've had, or you've completely lost your bloody marbles. Eyes widened, you silently – cautiously – approach the earth pony. With a trembling hand, you reach out and poke the Pinkie Pie. The tactile sensation beneath your fingertips is not entirely unlike a warm, breathing, furry marshmallow. You instantly draw your hand back, half-expecting the universe to implode right then and there. “You're pretty funny, mister!” the pink pony chuckles, reaching out and poking your stomach with a hoof. You recoil instinctively, letting out a rather girly yelp. You run a hand through your bedraggled hair, fingers digging into your scalp. “It's not every day that a cartoon character materializes in front of me for no explicable reason, so I do hope you'll pardon the surprise,” you say in response. “What's a cartoon character?” Pinkie asks, again cocking her head to the side. You suppress a chuckle. “Erm...” You decide not to let on your admittedly extensive knowledge of My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic for the time being, for fear of irreparable damage to space-time. “Let's not dwell on that for the moment,” you finally manage. “More importantly, though – how did you get here? Don't you...you know...notice anything strange about this place?” “Brrr!” Pinkie Pie says, shivering. “Yeah! I mean, like, what's with all the wind, huh? It's ffffff-reezing out here! Is the weather team bringing in a storm or something? Can we go inside? Can we? Can we! OOH! Do you have an electric mixer?!” You blink, trying to process all of that. “Storm's coming in, no weather team, maybe, and yes-” “-come on, then! Let's go!” the pony interrupts, bouncing merrily toward your opened garage door. You swear that you can hear the trademark “sproing” of a Pinkie Pie bounce every time her hooves leave the asphalt. You butt out your cigarette, mashing the cylinder of death to a pulp beneath your trainers. “Hold on a tic, Pinkie – I'm not sure that's such a good-” The sound of a door slamming open interrupts your half-hearted warning. “-...idea.”
TwoUttering a deviously clever (if not obscenely profane) string of curses under your breath, you bound up the basement stairs, being certain to shut the door behind you. The first thing you notice is that the television is on. The second thing you notice is that your two cats look absolutely puzzled, blankly staring at your unexpected visitor. Oh yeah – Pinkie Pie's playing Halo: Reach on your Xbox. “Ooooh, triple kill! I'm really good at this, huh?” She giggles, somehow manipulating the white controller with her hooves. You let out a mad bark of laughter. “Uh, Pinkie? Why are you playing-” “-bored now! Whatchya got in the kitchen?” Pinkie says from behind you. Shuddering instinctively as the laws of physics are trampled upon with pink hooves, you turn around. “Pinkie, I-” The pink pony happily bounces up the small set of stairs leading to the kitchen, absentmindedly humming a tune. She opens your refrigerator, her poofy pink tail bobbing to and fro as she begins to root around. “Hey, who's Captain Morgan?” she asks, and you instantly feel your balls shrivel (or tits twinge, lolidk) in terror. “Gah! God, no! That's, uh – it's a human drink. Not for ponies. Yeah. Going with that.” “Oh well! I'm gonna make us something to eat, ok?” You sigh in exasperation, resigning to the admittedly absurd cards life has dealt you at the moment. You walk dejectedly into the kitchen, sitting down at the table. You run a hand through your hair, chuckling silently to yourself. I've got to be dead. That's the only explanation there is. I'm dead, and there must be a God and he must be a kind one, because he had the twisted sense of humour to fill it with ponies. “Well, pony. Singular. As in, one.” ...let's not tempt fate. Quickly becoming used to the pink earth pony's time-manipulating antics, you hardly bat an eye when she sets down a tray full of somehow already-cooked cupcakes on the kitchen table. Ok, to be frank: your eyes bug out of your head a little and your brain feels like it's bleeding a little bit, but that's to be expected. Still, you somehow find the wherewithal to ask - “Okay, Pinkie. Those look delicious, really. But there's something I gotta ask-” “-how I got here? It's easy! The author created a fictional universe sharing great similarities to his or her own, yet kept major descriptions vague enough for his audience to subconsciously fill in their own gaps to create a suspension of disbelief! Therefore – BAM! Pinkie Pie time!” Oh no. Oh dear God, no. “...you're telling me that I broke the fourth goddamned wall?” “Yuppy duppy!” The pink pony chirped. You facepalm in disbelief, an expression which your guest finds curious. Sighing in resignation, you reach out and snatch up a cupcake, eating it in an attempt to drown your regret. All right. “Might as well make the most of it, I suppose.” Your cats saunter casually into the kitchen, trying their hardest not to look interested in the pink pony inexplicably standing in your house. Then, it hits you. “Say, Pinkie...ever heard of dubstep?” “Y'mean dubtrot?”
ThreeMay the laws of science be damned, you think to yourself. Your laptop speakers blare out the aggressive sounds of “dubtrot,” filling the room with a dull ringing sound. Pinkie Pie bobs her head in time, her poofy mane shaking like a cell phone on vibrate during an earthquake. “Woo! This is my-” “-I swear to God, Pinkie-” “-jam!” “Should've seen it coming.” Perhaps the universe is not ready for this. You might be on to something, there. Roughly a half hour passes, the two of you lost in the music for a time. You start to feel somewhat fatigued; now that the shock of having a pony in your dimension has more or less worn off- “Whatchya doin'?” Pinkie asks, inexplicably sitting on the chair behind you. “Jesus tapdancing christ!” You yelp, nearly taking an unexpected tumble from the chair. Somehow – miraculously – you manage to not spill your drink. Once your heart ceases its palpitations and your lungs remember how to be lungs, you slowly turn around, staring blankly at the sheepishly grinning pink pony. “Mean.” You state flatly, sticking out your tongue. Then Pinkie's mane deflates a little bit, and you feel your heart leap into your chest, your subconscious shamefully connecting cupcakes with the Pinkamina- “Ok! What say we...uh, crap...watch a movie?” You quickly suggest, thus averting even the remote possibility of a brony's worst nightmare. “Oooh! D'you have any popcorn?” Pinkie asks. You nod your head, motioning toward the kitchen. “In the cupboard, third shelf u-” “Hey, this popcorn's pretty good!” Pinkie says, offering you a pass at the large bowl of popcorn. You blink, mentally ducking as an aneurysm comes barreling towards you at supersonic speeds. Shakily, you reach out with your hand and scoop up a handful. “...s-so, Pinkie...uh, w-w-what do you want t-to-” “This movie is kinda weird,” Pinkie states, scrunching her nose in a way that you find somewhat adorable. Deciding that now is the best time to get your mental calisthenics in for the day, you mentally dodge a fanboy squee the size of Big Macintosh. On your television screen is a rather old, somewhat campy horror movie from the 70s, in all its grainy splendor. You find it simultaneously cute and bowel-droppingly horrifying how Pinkie giggles every time the film's antagonist – a hocket-mask wearing, machete-toting psychopath – is on the screen. You are not entirely certain how much time passes before it happens – the first flicker of the lights. For the first time, you notice just how much the wind has picked up in the past hour or so. The tall, spindly trees, devoid of their leaves, rattle and shake in the gusts and gales of the approaching storm. Curious, you grab the television's remote and switch to the news feed. Your eyes are instantly drawn to a bright red banner at the bottom of the screen, adorned with scrolling text: [-NTER WEATHER ADVISORY. STRONG GUSTS OF WIND UP TO 75 MPH ALONG WITH SEVERE BLIZZARD CONDITIONS. HIGHER ELEVATIONS SHOULD EXPECT UP TO 8 INCHES PER HOUR AT APPROX. 23:45-] The lights flicker again, and the television shorts out with a pop and a fizzle. The two of you jump a little, at least one of you yelping like a little girl. Then, there is a noise – subtle at first, almost like a low frequency hum, growing quickly into a vibrating thrumming noise, thick and almost like a physical presence. Across the room, you spy a faint glow of pink-white light at the foot of the doorway that leads to the upstairs staircase. Suddenly, you hear a thud – then a crash. Then, a....groan? “Oh sweet jesus, no.” Your mind on holiday and your body on autopilot, you hardly react when the lights flicker for a third and final time, finally falling dark. You feel your way up the stairs, following the faint, lingering afterglow of that all-too-familiar light coming from your bedroom. You silently push open the door. You sigh. “...hi, Twilight...”
FourThis can not be good. No, this is probably nothing but trouble. The purple unicorn mare stirs on your bedroom floor, moaning and absentmindedly rubbing her head. Your room is in more of a state of chaos than its usual status quo; dirty laundry hangs from nearly every visible surface, including – much to your chagrin – your ceiling fan. Your bedsheets are inexplicably missing, and there is a rather nasty-looking scorch mark on the hardwood flooring. “W-...where am I?” Twilight breathes, looking around in consternation. Or perturbation. You can't really tell which. Your lungs sort of feel like they've collapsed. “Uh...well, it's not Equestria, for one...” You sheepishly offer, silently cursing yourself for the remarkably absurd situation the elder gods have seen fit to bestow upon you. “What do you mean, 'not Equestria'?” She asks, suddenly coming to her hooves. Her wide, purple eyes bore into your own, demanding answers. God, this is like a bad fanfiction, isn't it? Proper naughty, that! “Ok. Ok, maybe I should start over. Hi, Twilight! My name's [INSERT NAME HERE.] Mind if I ask you how you managed to teleport yourself not only into my dimension, but somehow specifically into my bedroom as well?” “H-how did you know m-m-” “-know your name? I'll get to that. Eventually. Maybe. Look, I don't know. Point is: you're here, so there must have been something that caused you to be here. Think for a moment, Twilight. Research into paranormal or supernatural spellwork? A mishap with an experimental sp-...oh, don't even fuc-” “I was experimenting with a new spell, but it went haywire! I think I may have transcribed the ancient runes incorrectly...hmm...” You facepalm, again much to Pinkie's chagrin. Oh, wait. “Hi, Twilight!” Pinkie says happily, sproinging (is that even a verb?) over to join her friend in the centre of the room. “Pinkie? But – wha-? How-” “-how did I get here? It's simple! I have no idea!” Pinkie cheerfully interjects. “But...but how can you have no i-” “I have no idea!” Pinkie giddily reaffirms. You bring a hand to your ears, checking to see if they are in fact bleeding. This mare is somewhat LOUD. Twilight gulps. “And...what was your name, again? [INSERT NAME HERE], was it?” You nod. “That's right. So! Twilight, you're Celestia's prized pupil, yes? Surely, you have some useful knowledge bouncing around in the ol' noggin about how to get yourself and your friend out of this admittedly strange scenario, do you not?” Twilight is silent for a moment, then slowly nods. “You know what, [INSERT NAME HERE]? You're right. I think you're right! I know just the thing that'll-” “-fix all of this?” You interject, already feeling another facepalm coming on. “Wha-...how'd you know?” “Just try it, all right? I'm no theoretical physicist, but theoretically, the two of you being here in this dimension could theoretically be a gigantic fucking disaster waiting to happen. Theoretically, of course.” Twilight gulps again, this time stiffening at your sudden use of such foul language. Manners, you! “Ok. I'll give it a go,” Twilight says. ~lol ten seconds later~ You look dejectedly down at your hooves, a lone, lonely row boat amidst a sea of fanboy giddiness and just plain incredulity. You feel your tail twitch spasmodically. “...I don't...think it worked...” You finally manage to say.
FiveOh, of course! You're a colt! ...wait a tic... Some internal part of you shivers, but you decide to shrug it off. So. You're a dude, bro. Bro. Heh. Bro. Pony. Ok, get it together. “Twilight,” You begin in a surprisingly calm, saccharine tone, “...what exactly just happened?” “...uh...well, you seeeeeee~...-” Twilight responds, sheepishly rubbing the back of her head. “I maaayyyy have accidentally miscalculated in my channeling of your dimension's archaic energies, thus causing a bit of a blowback...” “...a bit.” You numbly affirm, still firmly in the grasp of the shock of the situation. “But don't worry!” Twilight suddenly says, holding her hooves out in defence. “I have a solution for this! Really, this time! I promise I won't turn you into a-” “-Twilight, darling, I'm not entirely certain I want my brain to be processing what could have lurked at the end of that sentence at present,” You cheerily interject. You sigh, mentally taking yourself down a peg. “Look, let's just relax for a moment, okay? I'm not sure I want you attempting obscenely complex spells on me in the immediate future, and besides...hell, I've always kinda wanted to do this, to be frank.” “Do what?” Twilight asks, her curiosity once more kicking in. “Well...be a pony, that's what! Besides, I'm sure a fellow equine such as myself is slightly less upsetting than a strange, otherworldly hairless talking ape with fingers, am I right?” Silently, Twilight nods. You see her visibly relax. Slowly, you fumble around with your new limbs for a bit and figure out how to at least stand on your own four hooves. Hooves. Heh. You trot over to the mirror you know that lay buried beneath your dirty laundry, reaching out with your forelegs to clear the proverbial rubble. You feel your brain melt a little bit. Your left eyelid twitches. “...Twilight, why am I...pink?” You ask in a flat tone as you feel your higher thought processes go on holiday at the same time. “...oh...t-that...well, y'see...you're still 'cooking', as it were.” “...cooking.” “Right! Since your body is newly formed, you have a brief window in time in which to choose what specific sort of pony you want to be! It's a...well, a side-effect of the spell I accidentally cast on you.” As if on queue, your eyes drift over your body to see the faint, arcane glow of raw magical energies encompassing your torso and head. “...what.” Are you a: A: Unicorn B. Pegasus C. Earth Pony
Prologue Prologue Night has fallen. The snow, recently melted, has made the cold ground damp. A fierce wind blows in from the West, rattling the skeletal trees, devoid of their leaves. You stand, alone, at the corner of your driveway. The moon, occasionally obfuscated by the passing cloud or two, shines pale, radiant light down on the neighbourhood. The crackle of your lit cigarette mixes in with the gusts of wind ripping across the yard, sending various detritus tumbling. You shudder, the thick warmth of the heavy leather jacket across your torso just barely managing to keep most of the chill out. Out of the corner of your eye, you see movement. Your head snaps to the right, focused on a particular spot across the street. You think you see it again – just a brief glimpse, a flash, a hush of something colourful. “What the hell...?” you muse aloud, scratching your head. You lean back against the wooden retaining wall on the opposite side of the driveway, keeping your eyes trained on the general area. You narrow your eyes, really concentrating - ...nothing. Nothing but the rustle of the trees and the howl of the wind. You shrug. You take another puff of your cigarette, the dull burn filling your lungs for the umpteenth time that day. You think to yourself that you should really quit; it's quite a nasty habit, not to mention expensive to boot. Something jars you out of your self-imposed mental guilt-trip. You can't quite put your thumb on it at first; it's almost like a nagging sensation at the base of your spine, a sort of twitch that instinctively alerts a person when they're being watched. Slowly, you turn your head - -nothing. Again, nothing. Sighing in relief, you turn your head back towards the driveway. You lift your hand to your mouth, about to take a sip of your favourite soda. “Hi!” The pink pony chirps happily, somehow floating in mid-air above your head.
4.5A/N: The format of this whimsical, nonsensical, [arguably poorly written] tale is about to change! Many readers may be familiar to the 'choose-your-own-adventure' format of storytelling, wherein a scenario is presented to the reader, and depending on the reader's responses at situationally appropriate choice events, the story can progress in one of a great number of ways. I'm going to give this a shot, because I have a fetish for these stories. Let's give this a shot, shall we? I'll calculate votes for a specific choice, and progress the story based on the option with the highest number of votes. If, however, you all happen to hate this style of storytelling and/or don't want to be bothered with it, I'd be happy to revert to the classic second-person narrative format - just let me know in the comments! ================================================= “Oh...oh, dear...” Twilight says, her voice trailing off similarly to that of Fluttershy's. You comically fail to roll over and get to your hooves, cursing like a sailor pony. “-ing asshat!” You finish, back to square one. Pinkie Pie apologetically giggles. “That's not how you stand up, you silly filly!” She says, offering her sage advice. “Oh dear Christ no-” You suddenly panic, checking your newly equine body for the first time. Then, you frown. Are you a colt...or a filly? A. Colt B. Filly C. LOLIDK, LEAVE IT ANDROGYNOUS OR SOME SHIT
