"Some people call me little,
Some people call me small,
But given the chance I'll rise up and
Stand above them all"
I sang along, feeling the thrum of my rear tire on the trainer, my power stroke working away at the steel rod and flywheel assembly that resisted my leg's force. It was a simple device, an a-frame supporting my bike and the wheel on a magnetic resistor assembly, designed for exercise, not for actual training.
"Some people put my down
Some people kick me around,
But believe me when I tell you
I'll be the one that rules this town
"But they all say "No",
And they say "You can't go",
But I won't let them decide
Who I should be."
One, two. One, two, my breath was even, my body hot, running strong. I reached over for the two liter bottle of water, grabbed it, and drank, never faltering in my stroke.
A pony jumped up in front of me shouting through the music in my earbuds "HEY!"
"WAA!" I reared back, finding out that the trainer's not as securely planted as I had hoped, the whole bike and trainer assembly falling over. "What?" I picked myself up, ripping the earbuds out.
"I'm hungry." The grey earth pony raised an eyebrow, his brown eyes locking on to mine as I stand, about eye level with him, considering he's on top of the desk that had been holding my water. At first glance, he looked like a mare, and he could pull it off, but he was simply a small and delicate looking colt, much like myself, even down to the brown hair and eyes, his cutie mark matched my tattooo perfectly. "And I need to know when you plan on delivering on that bicycle you designed for me."
"As for the bike, the frame's being built as a challenge to the guys at the school mechanic's shop. I'll reconstruct the bike when it gets back," my music kept playing, barely audible in the pony and my conversation. "Food, well, make yourself something. It's not like you can't cook."
The andropony blushed slightly. "I can't reach the controls and Mom won't let me climb on the counter."
I facepalmed, then picked up my bike and started towards the stairs, "Scrambled eggs and toasted pita?"
"Please." Sam grinned, keeping pace. "You a vegetarian?"
"No. Tried that once, got really sick." I responded. I felt a bit awkward talking to this pony, especially considering that he was me. Well, a ponification of me, but still me.
•∞•§•∞•
6 hours earlier
Sol 3, Orion Spur
37°37′36″N 104°47′2″W
I blinked wearily, not wanting to uncurl from the thick, warm blankets. I could see my arm in front of me in the gloom filtering through, a tattoo on the top of my wrist depicting a stylized bicycle encompassing the Olympic rings in the frame, and my symbol, a stylized 2, between the front fork and the rest of the frame. I always saw myself as second rate, but the tattoo was designed around what defined me, I was a cyclist, I wanted to be an Olympian, and because of my nature of being second, I had to work all that much harder to achieve my dream. I would have to work that much harder to prove them wrong.
I was androgynous, delicate features, slender legs, no body hair, the whole shebang, and I worked hard to maintain that. People would laugh, at me and my dreams, but that was because they didn't have any. They would laugh at the man with breasts who wanted to compete. They thought I was worthless, because I knew I was second rate. But second rate just needs a bit of tender, loving care to become a shining masterpiece, no one seemed to realize that.
I shook the thoughts out of my head and turned over, finding myself with a faceful of dark brown hair, ragged, but soft, my hair. But my hair wasn't that long. Not anymore. Grunting, I pulled the blankets up and looked at the mass of soft fur curled up in a tight ball on my bed, its delicate face resting on slender legs that ended in hooves "ffhive more minutes," the creature grunted in my voice, curling tighter. "It's cold..."
I can honestly say that was when I lost it. I screamed, jumping back and taking the covers with me, only to fall flat on my back with a thump, my legs thoroughly tangled in two thick quilts and a faux fur blanket. The pony also snapped awake, pressing itself into the wall before looking me dead in the eyes and sighing, his voice obviously male. "Dude, calm down! It's too early for this!"
"What the Hell? I went to sleep alone! Not with a talking pony!" I was busy untangling myself from the sheets, and throwing them unceremoniously onto the bed.
"I remember the same thing, so cool your jets, hotshot. I'll figure this out when I get some more shuteye. Maybe we'll wake up later and this'll be a weird dream." He curled up and pulled a blanket over himself before I finally removed myself from the last of the covers and stood, ripping the blanket off the pony now inhabiting my bed.
"Not gonna happen, Sparky. You're coming with me for coffee, then you're getting..." My eyes fell on the pony's cutie mark, and I held up my wrist, sitting down on the bed and examining both marks, perfect copies of each-other. "What the..."
"What?" he asked, raising his head, only to catch me in the chest and I blushed as I felt soft tissue move. Tissue that I had spent two years and countless hours of meditation, not to mention two hundred dollars in herbal remedies, growing.
"Does this look familiar to you?" I held my tattoo for him to see and his eyes looked from his flank to my arm and back, each time widening a bit.
"Okay, now this is just freaky."
"Wait, lemme get this straight, you just scanned the design into a computer and sent it off to your friend at school using a network? How the Hell does that work?" Sam was thoroughly confused, and I was in no mood to explain the intricate details of a network.
"It just does, Sam. Kind of like how your world's magic works. Socially, you guys over in Equestria are more advanced than us by a long shot. Technologically, you're barely industrial revolution level. You'll get computers eventually." I flipped the eggs over in the pan before adding more cheese, then hear the toaster click. "You mind checking the pita?"
"Dude, that thing's designed for your hands, not my hooves. I don't want to get burned." The pony shot me a smug look, his head still adorned with one of the helms from the steamer trunk in the dining room.
"You do know you look ridiculous in armor, right?" The eggs were fully cooked and I placed half on one plate and half on another, being very careful about the plating.
"Better than being unprotected from your projectile cooking."
"You still want food? I can eat this all on my lonesome, you know." My hands deftly picked out the flatbread halves now toasty and golden brown from the infernal device that cooked them.
"You still want to know why I'm here? I can't tell you if I die of hunger." The pony started to reach for a plate, but I smacked the offending hoof away with one hand.
"You know it isn't done. Mug or bowl?"
"What?"
"For your coffee. Is what you normally drink from a mug or closer to a bowl?"
"Mug." he scoffed. "Do I look like a dog?"
"Maybe some kind of german shepherd/great Pyrenees mix." I pulled two mugs from the cabinet and set them on the counter, reaching for the coffee pot.
"You look like an ugly ass chimpanzee, and yes, we have those where I come from." he retorted, and I stifled a laugh.
"Touche!" I poured the coffee, placing two spoons of raw sugar in each, then mixing and adding half-and-half.
"Hey, Mom," the pony and I said in unison as my mother came into the kitchen from work, considering the time, it was lunch break.
•∞•§•∞•
4 hours earlier
Sol 3, Orion Spur
37°37′36″N 104°47′2″W
"So, you want something to eat?" I asked, having finally calmed down enough to think clearly.
"What, you drag me out of bed and then take me for breakfast? I'd've brought breakfast in bed." The pony joked mildly, standing next to a piece of scrap metal that had once been a bicycle frame.
"No you wouldn't," I deadpanned. "You may want to get away from that, the handlebars aren't firmly attached anymore."
"Bad wreck?"
"Eeyup."
The first thing Sam did upon going upstairs that morning was head to the dining room and put on some armor. My questions were met with "It's going to be an interesting morning." I couldn't really blame the brown eyed pony, I probably would have done the same thing. But the chain mail hung off of him ridiculously, and the helm was not designed with ponies in mind. Although I did think it may keep frying pans at bay, and his more humanoid face kept him from having to scrunch up too much to get it on. Add in four or five gorgets and there was a half armored pony standing in my dining room.
Fortunately, the armor was unneeded, Mom came into the kitchen just as Sam and I started making cinnamon oat meal, and she grumbled something about needing coffee before starting the pot and staggering back to her room.
Or, that is, starting to. As soon as she crossed the threshold and Sam took off the helm, chuckling slightly, she turned and locked her widened eyes with the pony. "Hey, Mom!" He greeted her, and I promptly facepalmed.
Author's Note
Me:It's terrible, I know.
Sam: Oh, I dunno, mildly funny, and OH, SWEET CELESTIA! I love TOASTED PITA!
Me: *Bored expression* People, this is what I have to live with! *Gesturing to a certain grey pony*
