And Did Those Feet, in Ancient Time

“Ah, there you are,” Charlie said as Graham walked in. He sat in the same seat as yesterday, munching on one of the cupcakes.

“Here I am,” Graham said, sitting on the chair opposite him. “I went out into the town and spoke to the mayor; that pony who lead us to this house.”

“And what did you find out?” he asked.

“Well, here’s what I can explain. We are someplace called Equestria. I don’t know if it’s a province, a region, a country, or their whole sodding world, but that’s where we are. Now then, this place, Ponyville is just some tiny village, but there’s some great genius that lives here Twilight Twinkle or something, but she’s gone up north--”

“Up north?” Charlie asked.

“Manechester. That’s not a joke, as much as I wish this whole bloody thing was.”

Charlie paused, then nodded, so Graham continued.

“Basically, we’re stuck here until she gets back, then we get to go to the capital city and meet the royal family. By that point, we should know how buggered we are in terms of getting back home.”

“So we just potter about this town until she gets back from Manechester?” Charlie asked.

“So it would seem,” he replied.

“Oh yes,” Charlie said, “That pony from yesterday, Pinkie Pie, she came by when you were out. Dropped off some more food and I asked her a bit about the town.”

“And she said?”

“Well, it couldn’t really pick up on most of it, I mean Christ, mile a minute is a pretty big understatement with how quickly she speaks, but I heard about a few local landmarks, like there’s this enormous apple farm on the outskirts of town. Apparently apples are the real popular food around here, but there’s also cakes and pastries and the like. I think the ponies are vegetarian, which is a shame. Terrible shame, really, as I could really go for a Cornish pasty right about now.”

“Thanks a heap,” said Graham, “Now I’m thinking about Cornish bloody pasties and there are none to be found!”

“Also,” Charlie continued, ignoring Graham’s complaint, “Pinkie Pie asked me a bit about you. I said you didn’t smile too much, hope that’s alright. She said you remind her of a donkey she once knew.”

“Well isn’t that just great?”

“One last thing, she still thinks your name is ‘fuck’, you might want to correct that next time you see her.”

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A few minutes later, Charlie left the home to take a walk through the town. Graham stayed in, saying he’d rather not talk to the ponies for a little while. The sun was starting to come down when Charlie store into the house holding two bowls of grass, with the occasional dandelion or daisy thrown in.

“Dinner!” he announced proudly.

“That,” Graham said “Is a lawnmower’s grass bag, deposited into two bowls.”

“It’s Equestrian cuisine!” Charlie declared, plonking a bowl down in front of Graham.

“Oh, I don’t really think I can, I mean, errr, I had my appendix removed, so no sorry, just can’t. That’s why. My appendix. Not because it looks like arse.”

Graham looked down at the bowl, and had a long internal assessment of his hunger. He reached down to pick up a fork, remembered there was no cutlery, swore under his breath, and picked up a few leaves. He cautiously tried one. It tasted, well, it tasted just like any salad. So he ate, picking his way around the flowers and blades of grass.

“Something rather odd happened while I was out today,” Charlie told him from across the table.

“I’d be more surprised if something odd didn’t happen, but go on.”

“Well, I was in the town, when this Irish pony and her friend walked up to me,”

“An Irish pony.” Graham said flatly.

“Well, she didn’t sound Irish, but she was green, and had a harp or a lyre just above her leg. I mean, Celtic bands play those, right?”

“I suppose. So what did the Irish pony do?”

“So, she comes up to me, and starts asking all these odd questions about me, which I guess is normal considering how humans aren’t really real to them, you know what I mean? But she was really, and I mean really enthusiastic about seeing a human, something about it just felt odd.”

“That’s it?” Graham asked.

“Oh, and her friend,” Charlie continued, “This cream coloured pony with blue and pink hair, there was something off about her too. Twice during the questions, she asked the green pony, to stop harassing me. Kept saying ‘Lyra, come on, we’ve got places to be, why are you so interested by this animal?’. Thing is, her accent kept changing when she spoke. I mean, she went from French to this Yiddish sort of accent, then when they said goodbye, she sounded like the sort of ‘trendy American teenager’ voice.”

“I think they’re called ‘valley-goer’ or something like that. And with that green pony,” Graham said with a smirk, “Seems like you have an obsessed fan, congratulations.”

“Don’t think she won’t be like that to you if she sees you,” Charlie countered.

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A little while later, the two were milling about the house when Graham went over to Charlie to ask him something.

“You know what I’ve noticed the pony’s cuisine is lacking?” he asked.

“Still no Cornish pasties,” Charlie replied in a sorrowful tone.

“No, you berk, I’m talking about the lack of booze. If we were back home, it’d be a Friday night, and we’ve nothing to drink.”

At this point Charlie began to explain the only alcohol he had heard of was cider being sold at the apple farm, but had to stop mid sentence upon realising that Graham had wandered off to find a place to drink. Charlie simply shook his head and followed him out the door.

________________________________________________________________________________

The evening air was still warm, with a mild breeze that calmed and relaxed Charlie, as he inhaled the lovely fresh air of a land with no pollution. Graham stood next to him, mumbling angrily about the size of the queue in front of them. Charlie gazed around, and saw near the front of the queue stood the two ponies who’d spoken to him earlier.

“She’s green, has a folk instrument, or at least a tattoo of one, and she's getting a drink. You’re right, she is Irish,” Graham said when Charlie pointed her out.

Eventually, they reached the stand, manned by a large red pony, the first male they’d seen in the town. The red pony stood there, looking at the two humans with a quizzical expression.

“Two ciders please,” Charlie said somewhat cautiously.

The red pony tilted his head to the left, highlighting a crude drawing showing one cup of cider and a gold coin.

“Ah, coins,” said Charlie, “You see, we’re not from around here, as you’ve probably guessed, and we don’t have any coins, so just this once, for us two visitors here, could we have two cups free?”

The red pony mulled it over for a good twenty seconds, much to Graham’s nervousness, before finally making his decision, and soliloquising upon it in a most eloquent and grandiose manor.

“Eeyup,” he said, and began to pour the two cups.

In a rare show of gratitude, Graham thanked the large red stallion before taking his cup. He and Charlie walked to a nearby tree and sat under it together. Graham sat there, eyeing his cup and looked about ready to salivate over it. Upon seeing this, Charlie scooted himself to be a bit further from Graham.

“Cheers,” Charlie said, raising the mug.

“Cheers,” Graham replied then said cheerily, “I like these mugs, nice and medieval looking, proper wood with metal rings; they’re like a little barrel with a handle on the end.”

He took a large gulp, wiped his mouth, and swallowed the cider. In one instant, his face went from elation, to utter frustration.

“Oh sod,” he said, “This is just apple juice! Cider’s supposed to be alcoholic!”

“When Americans say cider, don’t they mean the non-alcoholic kind?” Charlie wondered aloud.

“Oh for Christ’s sake,” Graham said, burying his face in his hands, “I’m stuck with talking ponies and they talk like bloody yanks!”

__________________________________________________________________________

After a few minutes of silence, a pony walked past. She was orange, with a blonde mane, and wore a cowboy hat. Graham stood up, and boldly walked over to her, Charlie following behind.

“Howdy,” she said when Graham approached

“Uh, howdy,” he responding, thinking great, now I have to keep up the accent or she’ll think I was mocking her.

“Something I can help y’all with?” she asked.

“Well a’spose ya could,” Graham said, doing an absolutely atrocious cowboy impersonation, “My partner and I are mighty licked after travellin’ all this way, we’re not from Equestria, y’see, and we were hopin’ y’all could tell us where the nearest saloon might be.”

“Hmm,” the pony said, scratching her mane, “Nearest saloon from here’d be up in Appleloosa, which is pretty far, but if y’all wait ‘till tomorrow, I reckon y’all might could catch a train there.”

“Also,” she said, changing the subject, “Name’s Applejack, and I heard about y’all from Pinkie Pie. Said you’re real nice folks. Which one of y’all is Charlie and which one is fuck?”

“I’m Charlie,” said Charlie

“I’m not fuck,” said Graham, “I’m Graham, but thank you kindly for the help, Applejack.”

She simply tipped the brim of her hat, and continued walking down the path in front of the trees, leaving the two standing alone in the path quietly.

“Why the hell were you talking like that?” Charlie asked eventually.