Close Enough to Touch: The Lyra Account

by LysanderasD

Rating: teen
Tags: Adventure, Human, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Alternate Universe, Other, Lyra, Original Character
Length: 18509

I didn't wake up as the Lyra you're looking for, but I'm the Lyra you get. A self-analytical commentary on what it means to be a background pony.

Changing into a pony was one of those things I thought would never happen to me, like getting robbed or winning the lottery. I'm still waiting on the latter two, but the first... Well, it's not as awesome as it might have been, considering the circumstances.

Now I'm sharing a body with Lyra Heartstrings and I've got to find a way to get to New York. If something's going to go down, I'm going to be there for it. Nothing's going to stand in my way!

But it's strange, you know. The Lyra I got? Not really the Lyra I was expecting. What does it mean to be a background pony, anyway?

Submission for the Pony-Earthverse. Yes, I'm joining the bandwagon late. Please don't hate me.

"Other" tag is a stand-in for potential interaction with other stories. If necessary, tags will be revised.

Published 2013-04-03 02:10:02 UTC
Last updated 2013-09-17 14:27:49 UTC

One: This Time Will Be Different

“I am not in this world to live up to other people's expectations, nor do I feel that the world must live up to mine.”

Fritz Perls

Close Enough to Touch: The Lyra Account

A My Little Pony fanfic by LysanderasD

One: This Time Will Be Different

Saturday ~7:30 AM EST

Before I say anything else I think I should explain that I slept on a futon. That is to say, I slept on the futon in couch position rather than bed. This was, admittedly, largely a matter of practicality; the room I was occupying was not, strictly speaking, mine. It had been before I’d left for college, but in the grand tradition of empty nesters everywhere, upon leaving, my room had been transformed into the so-called guest bedroom--so-called, I say, because we never had any guests in it, except for me.

More to the point, the house was on the market; my great grandmother was going into assisted living way back up in the Midwest and my grandmother, the eldest child, of course, felt entirely too guilty and impotent being way down in South Carolina. Still, there was the matter of selling the house; and of course that meant keeping the house neat, and in the grand tradition of college-age males everywhere, I kept the futon neat by keeping it in couch form all the time, even as I slept. Well, maybe that wasn’t a tradition. I could make it one. In any case...

I distinctly remember this being highly uncomfortable. I sleep on my side, you see, and the seat of the futon was angled down toward the back. Invariably, I would wake up in the mornings with a numb or partially-numb arm and before I went anywhere I had to roll over and get circulation back. As uncomfortable as that was, it had the distinct positive side effect of making it virtually impossible for me to fall out of bed.

“Gah!”

Naturally, this would be the one morning I did fall out of bed.

I should also explain that I’m a morning person. In a family with one car, one tends to develop that way. Up at 5:45 every weekday morning because Grandma’s got to get to work now and there, Travis, we’ll drop you off at school on the way back. I was in college by this pont... well, kind of, that’s a complicated story, let’s not worry about that yet. The point was, even though I no longer had to be a morning person, my body still wanted me to be, or so it seemed. Falling on my head, then, while a very surprising way to wake up, did not leave me as disoriented as I might have been otherwise.

As such, the first thing I saw was a very long, smooth patch of mint green fur. Was fur the proper term? I had the strangest niggling down that it wasn’t. I had gone to sleep in a garish orange t-shirt--used as PJs because I would never appear in public wearing it--and long underwear that was green in the slightest, let alone mint-colored. With another “Gah!” I wrenched myself, or what I thought was myself, away from the mint green that wasn’t me, and my distinctly wrong-feeling body fell the rest of the way to the floor. The first thing I saw was my arm, or the thing that felt like my arm, which was also a refreshing minty color and ended in a very visible stump. In a last vain attempt to deny the truth that is rapidly bearing down on me, I tried to move my fingers.

It turned out I didn’t have any fingers.

I didn’t scream, actually. I probably should have. What came out was more like a protracted medium-volume whine in a voice that very much wasn’t mine. At the same time, I heard the door to my room open.

“Hey, bud, you alr--”

I didn’t stop making the... noise I was making, and Grandpa, I suppose, was standing in the doorway, staring at what he can see of me, speechless.

“--aaaaaaaah!” The only reason I stopped was that I’d run out of breath. I whimpered as soon as I’d caught it again, flailing all four of my hooves, and yes, they had to be hooves, and I wrenched my body fruitlessly and rather uncomfortably across the carpet. “No! No, no, no, no!”

Through a complicated series of tugs and flails and errant pushes of my hooves--and didn’t they feel weird? Nothing like hands at all--I managed to rotate myself approximately one hundred and eighty degrees and come to a stop, breathing hard, but still whimpering, staring across the floor of my room and up into my grandfather’s eyes.

Now, I was proud of my grandfather. I was. For seventy-four, he didn’t look a day over sixty, or maybe even fifty-five; I had that opinion ground quite solidly into my head, because he asked his visible age of every waitress at every restaurant we visited, and they all said something to that effect. He was in good shape--that is to say, he was fairly round, but that didn’t slow him down one bit more, and he approached life with a slow, steady patience and a sort of quiet but indomitable confidence that I could only aspire to. Very little surprised him. To see him, then, absolutely speechless, leaning against the doorframe of my room for support, did not help my mental state. I whimpered again.

There was a pause.

“...Travis?” he asked, very carefully, and the calm in his voice made me proud through my panic.

I bit down the snark that leapt to my mind first and foremost. Unless your grandson snuck out of the house in the night and left a pony in his place, yes. “Yeah...”

Oh, no, that was definitely not my voice. Well, it was my voice. I didn’t want it to be my voice. It was too... what?

Oh, the pony thing. Well, that had been going on for a week by now, see; one week ago on the dot I remembered getting pinged to heck and back on Skype.

dude check the link its celestia

Celestia is here! Here! I mean it’s Faust but seriously Lysander just look! Look!

OMG PONIES

So the whole people-turning-into-ponies thing? Not news to me. And I won’t deny that I wished for it, you know. I actually did wish, really hard, because--you know. Ponies, right?

Somehow waking up on the floor, mint green, with an undeniably female voice had a way of reorganizing one’s perspective.

Naturally, once the whole ponies-in-real-life thing happened, I had to get my grandparents caught up. Having no functioning TVs in the house meant a lot of scouring the internet, and I say scouring because pony content was everywhere and, well, this was a once in a lifetime opportunity, you know; I had to make sure I caught everything. To say my grandparents were unsettled by the whole thing was an understatement; but they were caught up.

Another pause filled the air as I stared up at Grandpa and he stared down at me. Eventually, a weak smile fluttered around, trying to escape from under his moustache. “Well, it did wonders for your looks.”

“Please don’t make light of this,” I whined, pounding one hoof weakly against the floor. Whatever-pony-I-was’s voice was tomboyish, which I wasn’t actually sure how to feel about, and seemed deep, for a mare, although it had a smooth clarity to it that made me guess that whoever she was she could sing soprano. If she sang. “Can you... can you come over here and pick me up?” I didn’t relish the act of getting up on my own. I certainly didn’t intend to embarrass myself trying while I had such a rapt audience.

But if you don’t try, how are you going to get anywhere?

“Please?” I added, trying to ignore the voice in my head that was probably right. Instead of doing what I asked, Grandpa scrutinized me, pushing his glasses up his nose. Unconsciously, even floorbound as I was and not wearing my own, I mirrored his actions, and the feeling of my hoof touching my snout made me flinch.

“... Are you female?”

I could feel my cheeks catch fire, and I raced to distract my mind from the terrifying thoughts that raised their heads at the idea. “Yes! Please no more questions can you just come over here and set me on my hooves so I can learn how to walk!”

I don’t snap, normally. Truly, I don’t. Please excuse me for being short on patience when my entire literal worldview has been shuffled around without so much as an if-you-please.

This time Grandpa acquiesced, although he did it at his own pace and I could see his eyes looking over me. If the blush I felt is showing up on my cheeks through the minty green, it was probably clashing pretty horribly.

For the first time, that color bored its way into my brain. Mint green. What ponies were mint green? Mentally I slapped myself; it felt like the name was on the tip of my tongue...

“Unicorn,” Grandpa said as he bent down in front of me, and he reached out and touched the tip of it. I felt it as though through fingernails, rather like I vaguely remembered my hooves feeling as they scrabbled against the carpet in my initial rush of panic. Just a light pressure up and some distance away from my forehead. The touch made me shiver; on some level I couldn’t quite name it felt... well, it feelt wrong somehow. It wasn’t something I wanted. I pulled my head away gently.

“Please just pick me up.” He did. I closed my eyes in apprehension as my feet... excuse me, my hooves touched the ground.

Now I’ll get to walking in a moment, but first please let me take a moment to try and describe standing on four legs. It’s really hard to put it in terms someone that hasn’t been a pony can understand, because, well, humans aren’t built this way; but imagine, if you will, that after long months or years of physical training you had a superb sense of balance and the ability to put all of your weight--the thought hurts, actually--all of your weight on the nails of your middle fingers and big toes. Weird, right? And it’s a painful thought, because wow, a human’s whole body weight on the nails... but that’s as close as I can get. The hooves feel like fingernails; aside from the frog in the center there is no sense of fine touch, no detail, just... pressure. What really sealed the deal, though, at least for me in that moment, was that my center of balance felt all wrong for the position, which is to say, it felt right. On hands and knees, one’s body weight is still mostly in the legs, or at least that’s how it always felt for me. Here, my center of balance... was the center, and standing this way, even though by all rights I ought to have felt precarious standing on my fingernails, so to speak, instead I felt comfortable and a great deal more stable than standing on two.

I opened my eyes. Grandpa stepped up and back so I didn’t have to crane my neck up to look at him. He was, what, five-foot-ten...

Oh by Celestia, I was tiny. I had to be half of his height, if that.

“Nice eyes,” he mused, the smile finally managing to escape from the off-white tangle above his lips. Oh man, he was making light of this situation again. Didn’t he understand how badly I was freaking out right now? Well, no, he probably didn’t, at that. Still, the blush resurfaced, and I looked away, huffing.

A thought occured.

“What color are they?”

“Hmm?” He seemed confused by the question. “Oh. Yellow. Golden, even. Very striking.”

“Gold?” I could feel my ears perk up in surprise. That was new, and more than a little unsettling. Mint green coat, golden eyes, and...

Very cautiously, as though it would upset the sense of balance that still felt too stable to be comfortable, I turned my head to look down my body. Grandpa beat me to the punch before I saw what I was looking for.

“... Is that a harp?”

“Lyre,” I corrected automatically, and then, this time, I screamed.

Okay, so maybe I’m a liar. I won’t get to walking right away. The screaming woke my grandmother, who rushed up the stairs demanding to know who was making that noise, and when she saw me, she screamed, too.

Poor thing. She doesn’t take to stress well. And Saturdays are supposed to be her day off, too.

So there’s my grandfather, stranded in the middle between two (or one and a half? One and... sort of one? Nope okay not thinking about that just yet) emotionally distraught females, and, bless him, he did what he does best.

When the very sudden and not-entirely-comfortable but very welcome hug came to an end, neither of us were screaming any more. I fell back onto my rump and my tail, with devilish autonomy, settled next to my flank. I could feel it there, and it felt... gah, it felt wrong in how right it felt.

My eyes settled off to the side, and I could feel myself shaking slightly. My grandmother dragged my grandfather out into the hallway and proceeded to have what was probably intended to be a muffled, private discussion with him. She failed to account for my equine ears, which swiveled under their own power to listen in.

“....not supposed to happen!”

“Who says?”

“I say!” she snapped quietly, although the pause beforehand rings loudly. “I just... I just...” she stammered under the weight of what she probably realized was a self-defeating argument. “I just wanted this to just pass us by! We don’t need to get involved in this, this, magic stuff. Magic isn’t even real! I’d much prefer to pretend all of this never happened, actually, and I was doing fine until that thing showed up--”

“Lynn, that ‘thing’ is your grandson...”

My ears fell flat against my skull.

“Thanks,” I said to them, weakly. “I think I’ve heard enough, too.”

I could still hear snatches of the conversation, though, and so to distract myself I focused very intently on getting back onto all four hooves. If I just, let me see, pushed like... this.... aha!

I couldn’t help but smile, maybe a little manically. Okay, now to walk. Now to...

My eyes drifted again, and settle on the dusty and unused PS2 under the end table currently being used as a TV stand for a TV that didn’t work. For a moment I eyed the controller and lifted up one of my hooves, frowning. Well, just as well I couldn’t play it any more, I guess. Still, it had been my intention to get that TV fixed so I could finish one-hundred-percenting Okami.

That thought hung in the forefront of my brain for a moment. I tried to squish it down; I had bigger problems than a game about a wolf-goddess-artist that needed to... wait.

My eyes narrowed, and I glanced at the PS2 again. Okami is about a wolf. I’d certainly played enough of it. Wolves and ponies are both quadrupeds. The theory’s the same, right? Now how did Amaterasu do it...?

My room didn’t have a lot of free space. Well, it did, but what space there was didn’t seem like quite so much when there was a lot more of you horizontally than there was vertically. The futon was along one wall, and the other was lined with all of the boxes of books and belongings that we didn’t have room for anywhere else. The broken TV sat in the middle of that, a blind sentinel for our trapped and unused miscellany. The third wall had nothing on it except the window, which was nearly always open because the house’s poor design made my room a heat trap; on the opposite wall from that was a card table that we’d repurposed into my computer desk, with my laptop sitting closed and obediently on standby on top. To the right of the desk was a very short, narrow hallway that lead to the door of my room, one wall of which was taken up by the closet. Between the table, the futon, and the boxes, I had maybe five and a half feet to move around in.

Despite these dimensional challenges, however, by the time my grandfather returned to my room I was managing a quite admirable, if overly cautious, pace back and forth from the window to the start of the hallway. Good progress, Travis. Excellent progress. When I turned around to see him standing at the far end of my route, smiling at my victory, I mirrored the expression, laughing a little breathlessly.

“Quick learner as always,” he said, giving me an enthusiastic thumbs-up. “Good work.”

My eyes settled on his hand as he made the gesture, and I wasn’t immediately aware that he said anything more. Thumbs-up...

I couldn’t help but eye my hooves again.

“Travis?”

“What?” I looked up again.

“What now?” he asked, with the sort of gentleness that meant he’d actually already asked once.

My stomach answered for me.

“Breakfast would be good,” I clarified weakly.

“Hmmm,” he agreed, nodding. “And maybe you can tell me about this lyre pony you’ve turned into, since you seem to know all about them. How does an apple sound?”

“Please,” I said, nodding, and then I looked back down at myself yet again. Explain Lyra? What was there to say? Incidental unicorn number two, that’s me...

And there are bigger problems. Like getting to New York.

“Yeah,” I answered myself aloud. I looked up and around at the room that had seemed to double in size since last night, and as I heard Grandpa beginning to descend the stairs, I added, “Bigger problems.”

Author's Note

09/17/2013: After far too much time for so little work, this and all chapters up to six have been revamped and edited into past tense.

Please forgive the delay; this process was slowed by a variety of factors, but my writing should resume now, if somewhat slowed due to academic endeavors.

Two: It's Not Different At All, Is It?

Two: It’s Not Different At All, Is It?

Saturday ~8:25 AM EST

It turned out that we had no apples, so off Grandpa went for a quick stop at the grocery store. Grandma, from all appearances, barricaded herself in the master bedroom downstairs, but as I wandered around the loft room-turned-office, mastering the sacred and esoteric art of walking on four hooves, I caught a glimpse of her passing a list to him. Ah, yes, Saturdays; probably Grandma had meant for today to be a shopping day. I can imagine how waking up to a grandson that’s now technically a granddaughter and a small toothpaste-colored unicorn to boot might put a wrinkle in the best-laid plans, though.

Humm. Imagine how it feels for the grands...the grandchild in question, I say. Grandfoal? Grandfilly? Oh, Sun and Moon, now I’m all confused, too.

As soon as Grandpa disappeared out the front door, Grandma disappeared into her room again, and I was left alone. I could have begged for just a little company--a cat would’ve been fine--but Grandpa had cat allergies and in any case the HOA contract said no pets. Not that people actually followed this rule, mind you, but as God-fearing Christians we were going to follow the rules laid down for us, so saith Lynn Franks.

Still, the intervening time gave me plenty of opportunity to learn the finer points of being a unicorn and, as a trip to the bathroom demonstrated, certain points of being a mare, too, although I pushed those thoughts right out of my head as soon as I was done. Plenty of time to worry about that later. For now, more practical things, like, say... magic.

A couple of years back I’d gotten a set of stacking cups from my seven-year-old cousin, who had at the time been going through something of a stacking craze. He lived up in Iowa, and I down in South Carolina, which gave me the perfect excuse, guilt-ridden though I ended up being, to not do anything with them, largely because I lacked the dexterity and the discipline I knew I’d require to actually learn. At the time, they seemed like perfectly valid excuses! And he never did ask after them anyway.

Just thinking of that gave me pause as I went into my room and walked toward the window. What Connor would think of me now...

No. Practical things. I shook my head. Magic first.

Over the course of the intervening years I’d managed to lose, misplace, or destroy most of the cups from that set. Somehow I still had four left, of the smallest variety, and despite the boxes lining my wall I had managed to avoid packing them. They sat, stacked docilely and markedly out of place, on the edge of my windowsill. Small, light, and--ow, guilt!--relatively valueless. The perfect guinea pigs!

I let out a breath as I stared at them, eyes narrowing as though in challenge. Okay! Magic. It couldn’’t be that hard. Okay, topmost cup, do your thing. Lift. Glowy magic preferred.

Of course, nothing. It wouldn’t be so simple as a matter of will. I gave a half-hearted growl in the cups’ general direction and closed my eyes.

A memory.

“You’re going to Moondancer’s party later, right?” Amethyst actually has the gall to look worried that I won’t.

I scoff. “You joking, Ammy? Everypony’s going. Twinkle and Colgate just left to find Twilight. Hey, I betcha five bits she’ll be there too.”

“Twilight Sparkle?” It’s Amethyst’s turn to scoff. “Be real, Ly, have you ever seen her do anything but study?”

“No, but--hey, there she is, I’ll ask her myself. Hey, Twi--”

But she’s raced past me before I even get her name out.

I opened my eyes again and mused, “I still owe her five bits.”

Before I entirely realized the implications of what I’d just said, I’d already scrambled backwards, tumbling hooves-over-tail and ending up spread-eagled on the carpet, belly-down. I stared up at the cups on the windowsill from this new prone position, as though what I’d just experienced is their fault.

Oh yes. Because the cups are totally transmitters for Lyra’s memories.

Okay. No. Travis, calm down. Travis Franks. Twenty. Born in Minnesota. Live with your grandparents. Yes, good, that was all in order.

If I was in Lyra’s body, I guessed it would make sense that I had her memories. Even so, that thought opened up a cold pit of dread deep inside me. No one said anything about sharing the body, even partially. Maybe I shouldn’t have wished quite so hard.

Still, the part of me deep down that tried to be practical even in the middle of a panic attack tried to salvage the situation. I poked at the memory as though poking a sleeping snake with a stick. There was something about it that seemed familiar, and not just because it happened to involve Miss Heartstrings here.

Since when has there been a part of me deep down that tries to be practical in the middle of a panic attack?

No. Do not look a gift h...just roll with it, Travis.

“Aha!” I declared triumphantly, pushing myself back up onto my hooves, raising my left forehoof in the air in lieu of being able to snap my fingers. Moondancer’s party, of course. The pilot episode of the show. Lyra was at Celestia’s School; Twilight ran past her on the way back to her tower. That told me... something, at least. In some way or another, Lyra qualified as a “gifted unicorn.” Maybe. There was the matter of why she ended up in Ponyville around the same time Twilight did, but... one problem at a time.

… How exactly this helped me with my current problem of not actually knowing how to use magic, I was not sure yet. But potentially it promised good things if I could get the basics down.

Confidence restored, I focused on the topmost cup again.

A thought occurred.

Don’t make it want to happen. Make it happen.

Anything was worth a try once, I always say. So I don’t want the cup to float. The cup is already floating. The cup is already...

The cup was already floating, trapped in a shimmering golden field. I couldn’t help it; I giggled and bounce in place just a little. Yes! Progress!

In my excitement, I lost my focus on the cup, and it fell with a plasticy clack against the windowsill. I focused on it, grinning triumphantly, and the glow returned. This was easy. I could probably make them all float.

Sure enough, after a few minutes all four cups were orbiting around my minty head, and I was giggling with a little more enthusiasm than was probably entirely healthy. They all float. They all float down he...actually, I decided, flicking the cups around in front of me and stacking them again, I don’t even like Steven King. Never mind.

But still. Magic! I’d been up for an hour and I already had the unicorn basics down. I rocked! Not that there was a lot of data for me to compare myself against. Just let me have my moment, okay?

…

Yeah. Okay. Moment over. Now where the heck was Grandpa with those apples? Man, I could eat a whole pie...

9:00 AM

“I’ll catch you,” Grandpa said with his usual easy confidence, standing on the first landing from the top of the stairs. There I was at the top, one hoof up in the air, highly uncertain about this plan.

“You... you’re sure you can’t just, you know, bring the apple up to me,” I said desperately, not for the first time.

This earned a chuckle. “They’ve got stairs in that pony-land, right?”

“Yes,” I answered sullenly.

“Then you can do it,” he said, gesturing at me to move toward him. “It’s only three stairs. I’ll catch you if you fall. If it makes any difference, Travis, imagine if our stairs weren’t shaped like this.”

“I’d rather not!” I assured him quickly, and Lyra’s voice cracked; even as I said it, I imagined it. Our staircase turned twice, a poor man’s spiral staircase; if I fell, it wouldn’t be all the way down. “I, it’s just, I don’t think they’re normally this steep! And, you know, distribution of weight and sense of balance and all that.”

Actually, what was running through my head was a line from Watership Down, and okay, bunnies aren’t ponies, I get that, but the principle still sort of applies--if you’ve read the book, you know the part I’m talking about, surely? When they’re first climbing the down, and the author steps back and says that it’s far easier for a rabbit to climb a steep surface than a human because it’s the difference between pushing mass up and pushing mass forward, and actually rabbits have so much power behind that going downhill they’ll often end up tumbling...

“Just try,” Grandpa said.

“Aaaaargh,” I said in reply, and then I tried.

The apple at the bottom was quite possibly the best I’ve ever tasted.

“So... Her name, uh, I mean, the name of the pony, I mean--” I stopped, grimacing. Grandpa waited patiently for me to get my tongue untied. “Lyra,” I said finally. “Her name is Lyra Heartstrings. She isn’t an important character in the show by any means, although once the animators realized the fans had noticed her I guess they started using her for gags more often.”

He nodded. I took a bite of my second apple. Celestia, this was good, you don’t even know.

“So from what little we know she’s, uh, she’s probably eccentric, but she did appear at the very beginning of the show at a school for, uh, for magically-gifted unicorns, so she’s not dumb, I know that much. She can be excitable. The, uh, the fans portray her with this rabid fascination with humanity, which is probably rooted in the fact that she’s most famous for sitting on a bench like a human.”

“Like you’re doing now,” he pointed out.

“I’m what?” But as soon as he said it I realized that yes, indeed, I was sitting at my kitchen table, leaning back against the chair in a position that was probably not meant to be comfortable. I hadn’t even thought on it, really; he’d set the apple down on top of the table and I... sat down at the table like I always did. “Oh. Well. Uh. I guess so.”

My eyes flicked to the sliding door to the back patio on the far side of the table. Thankfully, early morning on a Saturday, there was no one wandering around in the community. I say we still needed proper blinds for the doors. Anyone could’ve strolled by at that very moment and seen the unicorn at the table...

“Uh, if it’s any consolation, I don’t feel any lingering fascination with you, you know, considering you’re human and you have, well, you have hands.”

Although, hands, isn’t that strange?

I deliberately looked past him and into the kitchen, marveling anew at how much farther away everything seemed, even with magic.

“I would think what you’re doing with that apple would be better than hands,” Grandpa replied.

“It isn’t the same,” slipped forlornly out of my mouth before I could help it. “I mean! Well, it really isn’t the same. I can feel things, but it’s more like wearing really thick gloves. Like, you know the thing you’re touching is there but you can’t feel texture or anything.” I picked up the salt shaker and waved it about. “Although the golden aura is pretty nifty.”

A silence followed this. Grandpa’s easy nature was fraying at the seams; he was doing all he could to keep me calm, and, bless him, it was working, but I know it couldn’t be easy for him to see me like this. I set down the salt shaker and closed my eyes, bringing my hooves up to rub at my forehead. His good nature was fraying. I was fairly positive the only reason I was still anything close to sane is that I still hadn’t grasped the full implications of this. There was something I was missing. Not that I was going to go out of my way to look for it. My Saturday was bad enough sane, thank you.

Finally, I said the thing that’d been eating at me since Grandpa had initially departed.

“I need to get to New York.”

There was the sound of someone clearing her throat. Dreading what I’d find, I turned my head to see Grandma, having left her self-imposed exile, arms crossed over her chest, glaring at me as though I was some kind of freak. My ears fell flat again.

“Are you one of the... the element-whatevers?” she snapped.

“Elements of Harmony,” I corrected her. “No, I’m not. I’m just--”

“Then you’re not going anywhere.”

Author's Note

09/17/2013: This and all subsequent chapters have been edited into past tense.

Three: Homestuck?

3: Homestuck?

“What?” I was fairly certain my heart had just stopped for a moment.

“Don’t you what me,” Grandma snapped. “You’re not leaving.”

“What? But... but what do you mean?” I pushed myself out of the chair with some difficulty, and once on the floor I took a few steps toward her, trying to stand as tall as I could. She’s only about five foot six--the same height I’d been, really--but now I felt tiny in comparison, and I could tell from the look in her eyes that she knew it.

I saw her jaw move for a moment, although she kept her mouth shut and her lips pressed tightly together, gathering her words. “This... all of this,” and she gestured, first at me, and then out around her, as if indicating the whole equine state of affairs, “is too big for me, and it’s too big for you. I...” She grimaced. “There’s something going on, I’m willing to acknowledge that. And if those Elements of Harmony are the key to defeating this... Discord, then by all means, let them get to New York. If one of them passed this way I’d certainly help them.”

“But I--”

“You are not important.”

I flinched. She seemed to realize what she’d just said and lost some of her angry momentum. “Travis, I didn’t mean it like that. You are important. Just... not to all of this. How do you think the parents of those Elements feel, I ask you?”

“Well it probably depends on the parent,” I pointed out. Her response was an unamused glare, and I had to try not to roll my eyes. “They’re probably worried,” I said instead, supplying her with what she wants to hear.

“Exactly,” she said smugly. “And I am not going to put you in any danger by sending you on some wacky journey up along the east coast if I don’t have you. You, Travis-Lyra-Heartstrings-whatever-your-name-is-now, you’re staying right here.”

I really couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I glared at her, but she glared back, and I took an involuntary step backward, looking over my shoulder. Grandpa was very carefully avoiding my eyes.

So when it came down to it, no real help in the end, huh.

I sent one more acid look Grandma’s way, but she didn’t so much as flinch. “Fine,” I said, and worked my way back up the stairs with as much dignity as I can manage.

Someone else might have stayed to argue with her. Someone else would have, in all likelihood, failed. Grandma is intelligent, but she has succumbed to her rut much more quickly than Grandpa has. I mean to say, she is perfectly comfortable in what she knows works, and anything that’s outside of her little sphere of comfort is by its very nature wrong and nothing short of a miracle will convince her otherwise. It fuels her compulsive rejection of anything that isn’t Internet Explorer, and whenever a new version of a program she uses has an interface overhaul, she flips. It isn’t just technology, but those are the simplest examples off of the top of my head.

This whole pony affair was, ha, by its very nature, far, far outside of her comfort zone, and I should have, I think, been glad that she didn’t just throw me out to begin with. I understood her logic, then, in wanting to keep me safe. Under normal circumstances, I would probably have agreed with her--although let’s not argue about semantics, about how if these were normal circumstances I wouldn’t need to go anywhere. At its root, her argument was an emotional one, though, and I had no way to defuse that. From her perspective, there was no reason for me to go to New York. Technically speaking, there probably was no reason for me to have to go in any case.

I could have stayed right here for the whole thing--let it all pass me by, following my grandmother’s orders and being a “good boy.” That was what she expected of me. Honestly, that was what I’d come to expect from myself. After the whole affair with my stepmother, Grandma took the time to earn my respect and my trust and I came to love and obey her for it. From the time I’d moved in with my grandparents I’d done nothing but be the obedient loyal grandson. Part of me still wanted to. She’s right. This is too big for us.

But if I didn’t go...

I’d made one too many mistakes in my life. Too many opportunities for something great have slipped through my... well, my fingers, I guess. Too many chances not taken. Yes, I was scared. Oh man I was scared, just thinking about this made me shake. If I did this on my terms, where would I go? To whom would I turn? I didn’t know anyone nearby who’d have been, well, understanding about this. Unicorn or no, I didn’t find the idea of walking up to Huntersville to get to Joshua very appealing, and taking a cab or a bus would’ve just been awkward. Not that Joshua would’ve been a great deal of help. He enjoyed ponies, sure, but he was the sort that wouldn’t take this seriously and if there was one thing I needed right now it was for people to take this seriously because let me tell you having four hooves isn’t something you should joke about.

But I had to do something. Something. I couldn’t just sit here and let this pass me by. I just... couldn’t. As much as I wanted to. Whether it was by chance or some greater power--and I had a momentary chuckle envisioning Discord hovering over my sleeping form and snapping his talons--ha! as if--I was Lyra, or I had Lyra’s body at least, and I refused to see that as an invitation to sit back and do nothing.

So now all I needed to do is... wait for a chance to get away. That was simple enough. Grandma went to work on Monday morning, and I slipped out before Grandpa got back from dropping her off...

“Travis?”

Grandma knocked at my doorframe, and the tone of voice she used to call my name had more hesitance in it than I was entirely comfortable hearing. Still, what was today if not an uncomfortable day? I turned toward the door and sat on my haunches, and my face fell into a carefully-neutral expression. She wasn’t standing in the room proper; I honestly think she was afraid to come in. One of her hands gripped the doorframe so hard her hand started to go pale, and the expression on her face was full of such sickeningly sweet reassurance, it nearly made me ill. “Is everything... alright?”

She’s treating me like a time bomb with one minute left on the counter. I kept my face neutral, but on the inside I was scowling. “I’m fine.”

I could see she didn’t believe it, and the flat tone I used cut all the deeper for not being my own voice. Still, she swallowed and took one hesitant step into the room. I remained where I was seated.

The silence was almost delicious for how tense it was. I berated myself for feeling happy about my grandmother’s discomfort... but in a way it was satisfying.

“Well,” she said, finally, and cleared her throat before continuing, arms crossed defensively in front of herself. “Well, if you’re okay, then, then I need to go and, and get some shopping done. Grandpa got the groceries, but I... You don’t have to come with if you don’t want to,” she said, changing courses. Unsaid but implicit was I’d rather not have you come along like that.

... Surely it wasn’t that simple.

“No,” I said carefully. “I think I’ll stay here.”

Her smile this time was shaky with relief. “Ah! Alright! Yes, well.” She cleared her throat. “We’ll be back in a little while. If you get hungry there are still apples. We’ll try to pick up something else while we’re out, so, um.”

She had been trying to unobtrusively back out of my room the entire time. Obviously this hadn’t evaded me, but I chose not to comment on it. Honestly... I couldn’t blame her. I really couldn’t. This was too much for her. As she turned to leave, I felt a rush of sympathy for her that had been sorely missing this whole time.

“Grandma?”

She froze, halfway out of my vision, and slowly, almost cautiously, leaned her head back to look at me. “Y-yes, sweetie?”

Something inside me stirred awake at the nickname. I ignore it.

“I love you.”

And just like that the tension in the air seemed to dissipate. Not entirely; it wasn’t like three words could change the fact that I was not who I had been yesterday. But I could see her sag, just a bit, relaxing, and the smile that formed on her face next was a sincere one.

“I love you too, Travis.” And then she stepped out of view, and I could hear her descending down the stairs.

It was a new house. We were the first family to live in this unit. But even though it was not a decade old yet, several spots on the upper floor had already started to show signs of wear and tear. It might be most succinct to say that the company that built our community is now bankrupt. Not that I hadn’t done my fair share of abusing the stairs; I’d rocketed up and down those stairs more times than I care to count. It’d gotten to the point where I could tell where on the steps someone was just by the sound their feet made as they came up, if they didn’t know how or didn’t care to avoid the noisy spots. I actually listened to her descend, and as she went down, I could feel my heart following her. When the front door slammed and the van outside rumbled to tired life and they pulled away, it finally came back, and this time it was lined with iron.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered to the wind, and then I blurred into motion.

10:30 AM EST

I’d packed with the efficiency born of too many early mornings before long flights. I didn’t exactly have any saddlebags, and the dufflebag in the office’s closet would have been too awkward to keep balanced. In the end, I found myself left with the dependable old school backpack, which had served me well since tenth grade and would now rest upon the mint-colored back of Lyra Heartstrings. Probably not the best option, of course, but given the circumstances it was the only option I had. Laptop and cables. Food for... well, for at least one day. Other knickknacks and little necessities. Settled in the small pocket at the very back (or, I suppose, on the very top) was a Beanie Baby.

Now, Paws is a very special Beanie Baby, before you make any judgments. She’s.. well, it’s hard to explain, but the simple version is that she’s on loan from a friend, and I promised I’d keep her safe until I saw this friend in person again. Probably it would have been safer to leave her behind, but as I held her up in front of my face, the small, well-worn and well-loved brown cat seemed to touch something deep down and I knew without a doubt that I had to bring her with me, as a little memento of safer times, if nothing else.

You can make your judgments now.

Alright, if that’s everything....

A breeze blew in from the open window, and I could feel it breaking against my unfamiliar body shape and sending my mane and tail fluttering. It wasn’t cold, not really--I’ve lived in Minnesota, so I’ve got a pretty good idea of cold--but it carried the certain creeping kind of chill that told me that spending too much time out in the wind wouldn’t be pleasant all the same. If only I had... aha!

The closet doors slid open. They used to glide, silently and quite smoothly, but much like the staircase they aged far too rapidly and now they stuck and whined as they rolled along their tracks. It was a new house, but it feels ancient.

“Where did I leave... aha, yes!”

It was an old grey hoodie. I figured while I was being nostalgic with Paws I could afford to be nostalgic with the hoodie, too, and it was small enough that it fit, although I had to kind of bunch up the sleeves. That was okay. I could live with that.

I say nostalgic, but it wasn’t like this was some old family hoodie or anything. No, actually I’d gotten it in my sophomore year of high school from my Animal Science teacher of all people. Mr. Le Cour was an... interesting man, to say the least, and the hoodie had been left behind by another student and it fit me and rather like that it had become mine. Whoever owned it never came back for it. But it fit me, or it had fit me, just perfectly, and I’d worn it everywhere. I was looking forward to using it during the colder months. Well, now I guess I would anyway. The hood didn’t much like my head, and the arms were a little too long, but that was okay. It was nothing big. I could deal with that.

Still, by the time I was all wrapped up and packed up and standing at the front door, I hesitated, just a little.

“I don’t have to do this.”

There was a pause. I closed my eyes. I took a deep breath and let it out, slowly, carefully, and deliberately.

Too many chances lost. Not this one. Not today. Today I took the chance I’d been given. No regrets. I was going to see this through.

As I opened the door into the blinding morning sunlight, I swore I can hear a voice in the back of my head cheering for me.

Author's Note

09/17/2013: This and all subsequent chapters have been edited into past tense.

Four: Cassandra

Four: Cassandra

I managed to take precisely four steps before life decided to throw me a curveball.

I had, upon opening the door, taken a good survey of the street. On a Saturday morning, typically, the neighborhood is surprisingly quiet. Most people, like my grandmother, are out getting their shopping done. The local Wal-Mart sees, I don’t doubt, its busiest shift. There are kids, but my house is on the back side of the community, and the kids generally hang around the sides or the center streets. Knowing all of this, I still felt incredibly lucky when I saw absolutely no one in the street.

Four steps later, things changed.

Let me take another moment to step back and explain a thing about being a pony. This time it’s the ears. Ponies hear a lot better than humans do. The trouble is that most of the hearing is directional. Humans have two ears, one on each side of the head, and they (for the most part) don’t move. They’re shaped to pick up as much sound as they can because they’re immobile. Pony ears swivel. And the strangest thing about the whole affair for me is that it just sort of happens. You know how when a bang goes off nearby you just sort of leap to your feet? It’s like that. The ears just swivel toward noise, well before the brain even notices anything’s wrong.

Let me see if I can get all of this out properly, and keep in mind that this happens within the space of about, oh, five seconds. Where was I? Oh right. Four steps.

So I took that fourth step. Nothing on the street. Even most of the cars were gone. I had a huge stupid-confident grin on my face because I was out doing things and being awesome and I swore I could still hear that voice in my head cheering for me and it sounded really familiar.

It started with the sound of a door opening. On reflex, my ears swiveled toward the noise, although I wasn’t conscious of it until a moment later, when the sound of a dog barking, quite loudly and quite close, reached my ears, along with the pattering of padded paws rushing right at me.

The first thing that goes wrong is that I hear a door open. This is where the ears swivel but I don’t actually realize anything’s up. The next thing that goes wrong is that I notice what’s up, because I hear a dog barking and a girl cursing and there’s the sound of something pounding on the road and rushing right at me.

I managed to turn my head just fast enough to see the dog, who was just a little smaller than I was. Instincts ground deeply into pony biology, which is to say, a mostly pacifistic, herbivorous, herd animal, screamed at me to RUN, YOU STUPID NAG before he slammed into me. There was a long confused moment where I flailed and kicked and screamed and the only thing running through my head was I’m going to die I’m going to die I’m going to die

“Seymour, get off of--”

Except I wasn’t dead, and the fangs of the vicious monster were not tearing into me. In fact, here, curled into as much of a ball shape as body structure allowed, I could feel something damp and tickly running through my mane, occasionally bumping into my horn, and I realized the dog was sniffing because, and I was not immediately sure how I knew this, I was a new scent, a new thing, and he had to smell me, he had to learn, he had to, he had to--

“Seymour!” That was the dog’s owner, and as he got pulled away things began to fall into place. “I’m sorry, are you okay...miss?”

Several thoughts fell into place now that they weren’t being blocked by absolute terror. Seymour was the name of the dog owned by the family on the opposite end unit from ours--right down the road. I could never remember their last name, but it was a single mom and her two kids, both of them younger than me, but--quick mental math here--the older one, she’d have been be in the later years of high school by now. The younger would be... just starting? I forgot precisely.

But it was the older one, the daughter, that had Seymour on a leash when I finally opened my eyes again. The dog was straining and whining, but the girl had a good grip on him and he wasn’t going anywhere. We’d gone to the same school and I’d introduced her to the Tales of games which she’d fallen in love with, but after I’d left for college the first year that friendship, such as it was, had fallen apart. What was her name? Urgh, it was on the tip of my tongue... Wait!

“Cass?”

She blinked in surprise when I said her name. “Uh, have we met?”

I had to shrug out of the backpack straps to get myself back on my hooves again. It was good to get off of the ground; it wasn’t exactly the height of summer but it was still a little hot down there. One of the hoodie’s sleeves had extended again, and I took a moment to hike it back up with magic before I set the hoof back down, and looked back up at my would-be savior before I remembered that I’d just been knocked to the ground with a bag full of sensitive electronics.

Cassandra, or just Cass, stood just a little bit taller than I had before that morning, and her hair went down to the shoulders of the jean jacket she was wearing. Don’t see too many people in jean jackets any more; I remember having one growing up and I loved that thing to bits until I outgrew it. Anyway, jean jacket, and it went well with her jeans. The expression on her face was best categorized as “confused.” Seymour, meanwhile, was a mutt, but I think I saw a little bulldog and some retriever in there.

“We have,” I answered a little shortly, yanking my laptop out of the bag and examining it. Thankfully its sudden meeting with the ground didn’t seem to have done anything--even to the screen, although I couldn’t confirm that without waking it up, and I didn’t much feel like doing that. That was a relief; similar circumstances had been the death of my last computer. Well, sort of similar circumstances. I hadn’t been a pony at the time. And that had been in Idaho. Indoors. Okay, the situations were only vaguely similar, I guess.

“I think,” she said after a moment, and her voice was thick with sarcasm, “that I would have remembered running into a mint green pony before.”

Two thoughts occurred.

Well, good, she already knows I’m a pony. That saves a lot of explaining.

Of course I’m mint green. Everyone I’ve ever met says that. Never “green,” always “mint green.” It’s like everyone in the world knows what color mint is. Doesn’t anyone know what color seafoam is?

I froze and carefully tucked that last thought away in the back of my head where it belonged.

“It’s a long story,” I finally said, glancing around, “and I’m kind of in a hurry.”

She seemed amused by this. “A hurry? Where would you be going in a hurry?”

“New York.”

“Yeah, well,” she started, before having to pull Seymour back before he could leap on me again. I flinched, and Cass’s expression darkened. “Bad dog! No, what I was gonna say was, I wasn’t totally up to speed on this whole pony thing before it started, but I’ve done some looking since.” She paused and looked me up and down. Unconsciously, I tried to shrink into my hoodie. “From the sounds of things the only ponies that’re supposed to head up there are the Elements of Harmony or whatever. You’re not one of them, so...”

I opened my mouth to reply.

“So why would you need to go?” Cass finished, yanking on Seymour’s chain one more time.

“I...”

I had to look away and hope that the bright sunlight disguised my blush, though I had the sinking feeling that it only made it worse.

“I just have to.”

Cass was kneeling, one hand running up and down Seymour’s back as his tail slammed against the concrete with surprising strength. She quirked a single eyebrow in my direction. I managed to stomp a hoof, sending the sleeve flying and ending any pretense of the dignity I’d been aiming for.

“I know I don’t have to go, but, but...” The words seemed to build up behind my tongue like water trapped by a dam, and the expression on her face, one that said she wasn’t not taking me seriously at all, finally set them free. “I know I’m not anypony important, I’m not and I never have been, except the time I got into the School for Gifted Unicorns but lots of unicorns get in there actually, you’d be surprised--anyway, I’m not anypony important and I’m not an Element of Harmony but what will they think when they get there and they’re all on their own? What if they need help? What if the six of them can’t do whatever they need to do on their own? If nothing else I can be moral support, or, or maybe a backup singer or something!”

By the end I was shouting, and Cass was doing her best not to laugh. I turned away, and this time the blush was really bad and I was trying to prevent her from seeing it.

No one ever takes me seriously.

“Whatever,” I grunted, and pulled the backpack back up, levitating it until I could step back into the straps. “Keep laughing. I’ll get there on my own.”

“Wait!” she said before I’d taken a step. I turn my head to glower at her. She was still grinning, but it wasn’t mocking any more. Beside her, Seymour had shifted down to excited panting. “You’re serious about this?”

“Yes!”

She did chuckle, but there was no malice in it. The grin on her face changed, too, into an intrigued sort of smile--like an athlete who’s just seen the course he’s got to run. “You really mean this?”

“Yes!” Sun and Moon, did I have to spell it out for her?

Cass nodded. “How much of a hurry are you in?”

I didn’t feel super comfortable heading back inside--this time into the opposite end unit, Cass’s house. I wanted to be moving--getting where I need to go. Still, there were things she needed to take care of, like feeding Seymour and packing her clothes, and I was left sitting down in the living room while she did.

I’d been in here before, but not often, and I’d never left the living room, because that’s where they keep the TV and that’s where she had me walk her through most of Tales of Symphonia and a part of Tales of the Abyss. Well, not walk her through. She actually played most of the games herself. But I did help out for the fights. Those games are actually pretty fun with other players, but--that’s a tangent, sorry. What always struck me about Cass’s house was that it felt so much darker than mine, even though the floorplan is very similar. Her mother was a very private person that kept the blinds shut all the time, and the walls were a very deep red color; the combination makes the room feel smaller than it actually was, and a lot more ominous than it needed to be. It was a pretty color, certainly, and the decor fit--but the entire place always felt oppressive, and my ears flattened themselves against my head as I looked around, waiting for her.

But it wasn’t too much longer--it had to be around 10:45--before she came bouncing down the stairs with a duffel bag, that aggressive grin still fixed on her face. “You ready to go?”

Not for the first time, I asked her, “Are you serious?”

“Yes!” she answered with the same intensity I had a couple minutes ago.

“So you’re just going to up and leave on a cross-country trip with a unicorn who doesn’t even need to make the journey, just...because?”

“Because it’ll be fun.” She sighed, and the look on her face added Are you stupid? “Look, this is something big, right? It’s a once in a lifetime opportunity! I can say I was part of this thing! Isn’t that what you’re doing, Travis?”

She had taken to the revelation of my identity relatively well. It had stung when I’d had to remind her who I was, but of course I hadn’t had any real contact with her in a year and a half or more. The way her eyes lit up when she remembered, though, and the squeal of “You are adorable!” (not something Cass was prone to saying) had been both humiliating and a little endearing.

“Yes,” I replied sullenly, unable to deny it. “But you have school on Monday!”

She made a motion that implied rude things about what school should do. “Ponies!”

I stared at her. She sighed. “Look, I get that you’re looking out for me and trying to be responsible. I get that, okay? You were that way before, too. And it’s honestly kind of flattering to know you care about my academic future,” and this was surrounded by airquotes, “but don’t you get off telling me to be responsible when you’re running off too.” When my expression didn’t change, she added, “Look, I left a note for Mom and everything, and she has my phone number. She’s probably going to scream at me to come back, and I’ll probably get in massive trouble for this, but who cares?”

“I do,” I pointed out, but something deep inside me applauded her for her audacity.

“Aw, that’s sweet, Lyra,” she said, a little mockingly, “but I don’t.” She jingled her keys. “I’ve got money for gas and a couple of meals. Saving up for college, you know, but these are extraordinary times.”

“I’ve got money ‘for college’ too,” I added, defeated. “I guess I can cover hotel rooms.”

“You have that much?” She seems surprised.

“We aren’t staying in any five-star hotels, if that’s what you’re getting at. As nice as that would be, I mean. I’ve never been to one but I bet the beds are really comfortable.” I bit my tongue. “Whatever! The point is that they’ll probably have to be cheap rooms but I’ll pay for them!”

“Good!” she said, and hoisted her duffel bag again. “You ready to go?”

I nearly stand up and scream Yes! Instead I slowly got to my hooves and nodded. Cass swept past me--I had to duck to avoid her bag--and opened the door. Her car was an old thing from the nineties, a deep-green two-door thing that looks like it’s doing pretty well for its age. She stepped out into the light and I followed her, swinging the door shut behind me.

“I still think this is a terrible idea,” I admonished her.

She tapped the hood of her car thoughtfully. “You know, you’re probably right. But let the future be the judge, really.” She chuckled. “For now...”

“For now...?” I repeated, hesitantly.

“For now,” she said again, spinning on her heel and pointing dramatically at me, “adventure!”

Author's Note

09/17/2013: This and all subsequent chapters have been revised into past tense.

Thanks much to Joural--the Surprise writer for PEv--for helping me out editing this chapter.

Five: Air

Five: Air

Saturday 12:00 PM EST - Concord, NC

Very carefully, Cass pulled the car to a stop, shifted into park, and shut off the engine. Instantly the tension in the car vanished as she leaned back, letting out an enthusiastic cheer. “Woo!”

I grinned at her from the back seat. “Yes, because we’ve made it all of an hour north and that’s a major accomplishment.”

“Excuse me,” she shot back playfully, “but I just drove an hour north with a pony in the back seat, I’m going to call that a major accomplishment even if you don’t.”

I frowned. “It’s not like I’m heavy.”

She snickered. “Heavy on the adorable, maybe. I had to be careful every time I looked in the rearview mirror! Did you know you stick your tongue out when you’re drowsy?”

I hadn’t known that. “I do now? I didn’t before. Car trips always make me drowsy, though.”

My stomach took a moment to interrupt.

“Ah, right, lunch,” Cass said, though she said it through a giggle. “A salad for the little lady, yes?”

“I’m not--” I coughed. That wasn’t an issue I’d faced yet. It wasn’t an issue I was going to face right then, in a cramped car, with a slightly-estranged but extremely enthusiastic female friend grinning at me in the mirror. “Yes. A salad will be fine.”

“Good! Sure you don’t want to come in?” she added as she opened the door. “Stretch those legs of yours or something?”

I hesitated. I knew I should. I was already beginning to feel cramped like this. And it wasn’t like I was invisible like this. Anyone could come walking out of the McDonald’s here and see me, but if I went in--

I watched the wind shift from the way the branches of the tree in front of us suddenly started waving the other way. The scent of grease and fast food filled the air, and I wondered how green I looked right then.

“Erh,” I said, bringing a hoof to my snout. “I think I’ll wait out here.”

Her expression shifted instantly to a regretful one. “Oh! Oh. Herbivore. Yeah.” She coughed. “Didn’t think that one through all the way. I’ll be back in just a few minutes, okay?”

“Yeah,” I wheezed. The smell lingered even after she’d shut the door.

“Here,” Cass said, still sounding guilty as she pulled the car to a stop again. “I’ve been up to this park before. Air should be nice and clear, and the weather’s nice for October. Now you can get out and stretch your legs.”

“I’m fine,” I told her.

“Yeah, but I still feel bad. I was dumb to suggest... here, hang on, I’ll grab the food...” She ducked out of the car and flipped her seat forward. I magiced the seatbelt off and wriggled around until I could crawl out.

Immediately I was more at ease. I hadn’t really noticed until right then how small Cass’ car felt, even as a pony. I’d always been uncomfortable in two-door cars, anyway. I’m not claustrophobic, per se, but I’m still the kind of person that might, for instance, sit at the end of the lecture hall closest to the door. I like feeling like I have options to get out if things get to be too much. Paranoia? Maybe. In this instance it was more like having no easy access to a way out of the car made it feel a lot smaller than it actually was.

But not only was I now out in the open air, but I was surrounded by... well, it’s a park. Trees, grass, there’s a lake down the way, take your pick. It felt open and the air had the fresh, humid feeling I’ve come to associate with lakes.

My ear got that strange itchy feeling that actually means a sound you’re used to hearing isn’t there anymore, and I turned my head as soon as Cass let out the obligatory “Uh oh.”

See, the thing about a park with a playground and a lake on the middle of a nice day is that it means kids. And when I say kids I mean little toddlers and tykes. You know, not a one of them older than seven. And it just so happened that on this particular Saturday every young mom in Concord had decided to take their daughters out to play.

Stepping out of the car, the air had been filled with the gleeful sounds of a dozen little girls having a great time at the park. By the time I’d taken four steps, of course, they’d all seen me.

I had enough time to realize that four was my unlucky number before the massive squeal of “Pony!” tore through the air slightly ahead of a dozen six- or seven-year olds. Cass said something they were probably not meant to hear. I let out a half-choked hysterical laugh and braced myself--

Thankfully, the day was saved by one of those moms. You know the sort, I think. They’re the real supermoms--like, okay, let me say, it’s not like I’ve got any experience as far as having kids goes? But I’ve always been of the opinion that no one’s ever really “ready” to have kids--you don’t just sit down one night and you’re like “Yeah I’m absolutely certain I’ll be ready for kids.” It’s a learning experience. I watched my aunt go through it, at least partially. And some moms take to it better than others: they really get how to connect to their kids--and that’s the sort of mom that happens to be there.

She was the first to recover from the sudden appearance of a technicolor pony, and she shouted her daughter’s name with a sort of practiced authority, and her daughter--go figure, she was leading the charge--slid instantly to a stop and looked over her shoulder, straight into Mommy’s disapproving glare. Mimicking their apparent ringleader, all the other girls stumbled to an uncertain halt.

“Thanks,” I said dazedly, blinking. Beside me, Cass had backed up against the car, and as I looked at her she straightened her expression from one of abject terror to an admirable but unsuccessful attempt at looking friendly.

The mom bounced up to me. And not that kind of bouncing; she’s actually kind of small and I wouldn’t peg her as over 30. She was the sort of small, energetic person that does everything exuberantly, and it made her look like she was bouncing across the ground.

“Sorry about that,” she said with the sort of resigned patience and sincere smile that told me she had to do something like this a lot.

“It’s fine,” I said, chuckling nervously, and looking past her. The gaggle of little girls were rooted in place, although they were all--to a one--eyeing me with gigantic, hopeful, almost tear-filled eyes. The power of the supermom is frightening indeed if it can hold back this tide. I didn’t much like the thought of being swarmed.

The lady nodded decisively. “Alright.” She spun on her heel to face the kids. “Back to the jungle gym, girls, the pony doesn’t have time to play...”

I swear the universe shuddered under the collective disappointed “Awwwww.” My ear twitched, and I cast a glance over at Cass. She was pouting at me just as hard as the little girls. I rolled my eyes. When I looked back at the kids, the energetic mother was shooing them away, although more than one of them was crying and they were still all staring at me.

Oh, Sun and Moon. I’m going to regret this, I know it.

“Actually...” I cleared my throat and tried again. As one, the girls seemed to perk up. “Actually, it’s okay.”

The mother looked at me. “Are you sure?”

“If they’re gen--”

The kids were already rushing toward me. The mother, once again displaying her massive charisma stat, shouted “Gently!” just before they reached me. The end result was the same: I was still surrounded by little girls who all want to touch and cuddle and hug. The only difference is that I wasn’t not bowled over by the force of their enthusiasm.

And the first thing I realized is that it’s not bad. I hadn’t exactly been clamoring for people to touch me since this whole thing started, so I didn’t had any idea what to expect. And yeah, they were kids, so they tended to push and pinch and pull a little harder than they probably should have, but on the whole it was like being hugged from every direction at once. I had to tilt my head back to get enough air to breath amidst all of the wriggling toddlers. Cass was still leaning back against her car, but this time she was laughing hard enough to cry.

“So soft!”

“Pretty pony.”

“Pooonyyyy.”

All the same, the idea became less and less appealing the longer it went on. I’ve never been one for crowds; again, I’d sit at the edge of the lecture hall just to be close to the door. And it hit me, suddenly, like a delayed falling piano in a slapstick cartoon, that all of this attention is focused on me.

“Okay,” I said weakly, trying to move a foreleg to push the mass of children gently away, but the leg had been latched onto and rooted in place. Suddenly the touching and the petting and the hugging wasn’t so pleasant. “Please...”

I sent a desperate glance at the charismama, who had been hovering a short distance back, arms crossed, as her compatriots--fellow moms--formed up around her. She caught my look and opened her mouth, and that was when one of the kids got the brilliant idea to try and hug my face.

Remember how I mentioned the way my ears move on their own when there’s a sudden noise? It’s muscle memory, really--instinct that isn’t mine, because this body isn’t mine. A thing happens and this body just reacts. Instantly. With no thought on my part.

I heard my horn light up and there was a crack like a gunshot, and a terrifying moment where I was tumbling, disoriented and senseless in timespace, before things resolve. I was suddenly standing on grass rather than blacktop, although in front of me I could still see the jungle gym the kids had all been clambering over.

“She just--”

“Magic!”

“Whoa!”

They were all behind me. Apparently I’d teleported forward on instinct. I turned back to look at them and they were still all staring at me and oh god I didn’t feel so good, I probably shouldn’t have done that.

“I...”

But my vision was swimming and I’m pretty sure my legs were about to give out.

“I’m sorr...”

I think I blacked out. It can’t be for longer than a few seconds, but the fact remains that it felt like I went from standing uncertainly on all four hooves to lying on my side, a terrified Cass bent over me, in no time at all.

“Oh god, Travis, are you alright?”

My ears twitched. I could hear the sound of the kids picking themselves up. Some of them sound scared and confused and more than a couple probably ran to their mothers. Some of them took steps in my direction.

I could feel my tail spread out on the grass behind me and I couldn’t feel when my hoof bumped against Cass’s knee, and all of it feels wrong.

“I think we should go...”

She reached a hand down to touch my forehead, and I snapped “No!” She withdrew it, looking concerned. “I mean...” I sigh. “Yes, let’s go. Please. And no, don’t... don’t... touch me. I can do it on my own. Just... please keep the kids away. Let’s just go. Let’s just go,” I repeated, darkly, rolling up onto my stomach and gathering my hooves beneath me.

My eyes were closed, but I can hear Cass stand up and trying to deflect the kids. She sounded terrified. I wondered if she was already regretting her decision to do this. We were only an hour out. My grandparents were probably home by now and I’d get in a heck of a lot of trouble if we went back. Never mind what would happen to her. I had no idea.

I pushed myself shakily to my hooves again, and all I could think about was how wrong it felt. I took awkward, uncertain steps back to the car, and the kids, now all correctly corralled by mothers, watched me go. I felt exhausted and there was a headache building at the base of the horn I shouldn’t have, but as Cass opened the driver’s side door and flipped the seat forward, I did my best to give them a reassuring smile. This wasn’t their fault, really.

And I stayed awake just long enough after getting settled in the back seat again to wonder why I knew that.

((Before starting on this one, I managed to freak myself out by considering the fact that Surprise plushies probably exist, and had a panic attack about people having a plush version of me, before I managed to calm down enough to remember I am not actually Surprise. Now I know what Tome means when he talks about >>Character Empathy))
Joural0401 .:
Italics? Or something?

Author's Note

09/17/2013: This and all subsequent chapters have been edited into past tense.

Thanks much to Joural--the Surprise writer for the PEv--for helping with the editing for this chapter!

Six: The Angel Cabinet

Six: The Angel Cabinet

I shut the outer door before the screen door could close, but I could hear it thud against the doorframe anyway. It needed to be repaired. But later. For now I just needed to lean back against the door and take a breather...

What I noticed first was not, surprisingly, that I had hands, or even that I was back up to my normal five-and-a-half foot height. What I noticed first is that I was wearing a tie.

Now let me first clarify that I like bowties. Bowties are cool. It’s just long ties that I really can’t stand. I’m pretty sure I wasn’t the only one who looked in a mirror when I was putting on one and wondered why in the world something like that ever caught on. It’s like a rope that happens to be broader at one end. You tie it around your neck and waltz around with the thing plastered across the front of your shirt all day. Why? At what point in history did someone stand up and think “Yes, ties are things that should catch on!” They’re uncomfortable and I’ve never thought of them as anything but silly. Feel free to think whatever you like. I don’t like them.

So the fact that I was wearing one now bored itself quite suddenly into my brain and I pushed myself away from the door and looked down. From the look of things, I was all dressed for church--brown dress shoes, khaki dress pants, plain white dress shirt, and--this did not escape me--a mint green long tie, a color I distinctly remembered not owning.

“Hate ties,” I muttered, pulling awkwardly at the length of fabric. I tried to undo the knot, but I couldn’t seem to maintain a grip on it. Apparently it was not going anywhere. I struggled with it for another moment anyway, before giving up with a sigh and looking up. My jaw dropped.

The last time I’d been here, I’d been much smaller. The staircase in front of me wasn’t nearly as steep as I recall it being, nor was it as tall. There was a fixture on the wall next to me used to hold keys and such, and it was empty, now, of course. To my right, the old dining room, complete with the kitchen table that we never sat at, loaded with debris and paperwork that was never done. I caught a glimpse of the kitchen, which had never been perfectly clean, with one of the cupboards open and full of styrofoam cups, because they didn’t need washing.

I had to close my eyes and lean back against the door. I felt like I was shaking just as bad now as I had been just a... few... minutes... ago...

In the car. Cass’ car. Not in my mother’s house. That I hadn’t seen since I was nine. This had to be a dream.

“Hey! You’re here! Good, I was wondering how long I’d have to wait.”

I opened my eyes again. The voice was...

“I mean eventually it wouldn’t matter, if the little bits of crossover we’ve already had are any indication.”

...coming from the living room. I stepped forward and turned into the long hallway. This had always been my least favorite part of the house, because even as a kid it had seemed to me to be terribly narrow, and now, as an adult, it actually was.

“Although this is a really nice place. Your mom used to live here, huh? And so did you.”

The only light came from the massive window in the living room on the far side. The pictures lining the walls were exactly the same, though, pictures of me at one year old and at three (“Travis’ first pair of glasses!”; unconsciously I pushed mine back up my nose) and at five and at seven and...

“Before she... oh, right. Sorry. Anyway, yeah, hi!”

Like everything else in the house, the living room seemed much smaller. The entertainment center on one wall had dwarfed me as a child, but now I was nearly as tall as it. The TV, a big and massive mid-nineties thing, seemed clunky and awkward and out of date, which I suppose it was. On the wall beside me was the old angel cabinet, beautiful and clean and properly maintained as it should have been, with all of Mom’s angel figurines positioned just so. And on the wall opposite the entertainment center was the couch.

And on the couch, sitting like a perfectly normal pony, was Lyra Heartstrings.

“So!” She started talking again as soon as I made eye contact with her. I had the strangest sensation as she did so; you know how your voice always sounds different to yourself? It was like that. I knew what Lyra’s voice sounded like... when it was my voice. But now it wasn’t, and the difference was a little unsettling. “Good to finally actually meet you, Travis, you’ve been busy over the past couple of hours and I think at first I was a little intimidated so I wouldn’t have been much help anyway. I’m Lyra Heartstrings! But you know that already, hahaha.”

“You--”

“I hope you don’t mind that I’ve been cheating a little with the magic--helping you out and such. I mean it really isn’t as simple as it seems. And that teleport there just a little bit ago? Mighty dangerous. But I don’t blame you for doing that. Ahahah, all those kids around, touching and prodding and poking and eugh--” She stopped talking long enough to shudder. I opened my mouth to interject and she immediately took off again. “Anyway yeah I might have been helping you out a little bit as far as the magic goes, although you’ve got Levitation down pat, which, kudos, by the way, it’s a very simple spell but you had pretty much no instruction and you did it! So good job. Speaking of good jobs, you’ve got really good taste in friends and your friends have really good taste in salads. Just saying.”

“Lyr--”

“Also I’ve done some digging and I’m impressed, actually, you’ve got a good mind for details. I like that. I don’t have a very good mind for details. But it did help you remember that I went to Celestia’s School! It wasn’t that great, by the way, but that’s a story for another time. Anyway, what I mean to say is, I’m not entirely sure why I ended up in your mind but I think there were probably worse choices and so I’m glad I ended up with you.”

“Lyra!” I snapped.

She sat up a little straighter. “Yeah?”

“I...” But the thing she’d just said finally caught up to me. “You don’t know why you ended up in my head?”

“Nope! But I do know I’m not the only one that’s popped up, I guess. That’s good. It’d be weird if I were the only pony that showed up in a human’s head, hahaha, I mean, you’d probably think you were crazy if it weren’t for the whole body thing, right? Good job on that, too, by the way--”

Honestly, all she needed was a baseball cap and a Menger sponge and I could have mistaken her for Pokémon’s N--if less creepy and more enthusiastic. When I’d first come down to the south from the Midwest, my grandparents had cautioned me that I was a rapid speaker, and that I needed to slow down or I’d just confuse the people I spoke to. I did slow down, some, but when I did speak I was still a very rapid, precise talker. I may as well have been a metaphorical tortoise to Lyra’s hare, though: I could barely follow how quickly she speaks.

I raised a hand to tell her to pause. This time she did so, but I think it was because I caught her when she was breathing in.

I relished the silence for a moment.

“Does anyone ever...” I coughed. “I mean this in the politest possible way, but has anyone ever...”

“Told me I talk a lot?” She blushed and looked away. “Yeah. All the time. It doesn’t help. I mean I know I do it and--ulp!” She pressed a hoof to her own muzzle. “Sorry. I’ll try to keep it to a minimum.”

I moved over to the couch and took a seat. I was closer to the window, on the opposite side of the couch, and I saw Lyra slide away from me slightly as I sat and cradled my forehead in my hands, lost in thought.

“So...” Lyra said eventually. “If you haven’t guessed yet, this is a dream. But it’s a good dream because it lets you and I talk on more or less equal hoofing. Footing, I guess, for you. That reminds me, why--” She stopped herself again. “Sorry.”

“So you have no idea why this happened,” I asked once more, just for clarification.

“No idea,” she answered, sounding far too cheerful to be sincere.

An uncomfortable silence fell between us. I noticed for the first time that the blinds on the window were drawn shut, and the unmistakable light of sunset was peeking through the slats. Something about that bothered me, and I reached a hand out to draw a finger across the blinds. No dust. Meticulously clean.

Mom wasn’t a neat freak, and neither was I... Things got dusty, things got messy, especially with a parakeet and a cockatiel flying around the house...

Two things struck me at once. The first was a feeling of confusion as I finally resolved what bothered me about the blinds: I couldn’t for the life of me remember if this side of the house faced west. The second was a pressure under my leg, as though I was sitting on something. I stood up and took a look at the couch.

It happened when I was six. It isn’t my earliest memory, but it is probably the clearest from that time of my life. It was Christmas Eve, and I, enthusiastic and impatient child that I was, had demanded to sleep on the couch in the living room so that I could wake up and catch Santa in the act. Mom had admonished me that Santa was very sneaky and he’d know when it was safe to come in. Still, I stayed up as late as I could that evening, excited and certain I’d catch old Saint Nick red-handed. Mom’s pet cockatiel--I forget his name, now, and that’s a little stab of sadness--kept me company. The little guy loved me, I distinctly remember that; he’d always land on my head or my shoulder when I sat still long enough and I loved feeding him treats. I’d fallen asleep that night with him on the arm of the couch, by my head, and I’d woken with a small, stiff, hard pressure under my shoulder...

“And the one she got after that hated you,” said Lyra sympathetically.

“Yeah. It was like... karma...” I blinked and looked up at her. She started and averted her eyes. “How did you know that?” Her ears went flat. “How did you know this was my mom’s house? How did you know about the cockatiel--or anything?”

This time the silence was more than uncomfortable. It was tense. I frowned and stood up, and she shrank away. “I did some digging, okay? I did some looking. Because what was I supposed to do? You wake up in my body and I wake up in your head. You did some learning. So did I!” It was meant to sound defensive, but what really got me was that Lyra sounded scared.

I realized I’d balled my hands into fists. I took a deep breath and relaxed, and slowly sat back down down on the carpet, legs crossed, making myself small. This seemed to encourage her, and she uncurled from her cower.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t think to ask. I wasn’t sure I could ask. I mean it’s not like you were doing much better with...” She lifted a hoof and shook it in my general direction. I nodded in understanding.

It didn’t help me feel better, but it was the truth.

“I’ll stay out from now on. I promise. I mean as much as I can.” She waved a hoof around, indicating the setting. “I mean I’m already this far and I’m not sure I can go back.”

I just nodded, rubbing my forehead.

“So you’ve gotten into my memory,” I said finally, looking up at her.

She smiled back, apologetically. “Yeah. Kind of couldn’t help it.”

“And I’ve gotten into yours,” I pointed out.

“... A little, yes.” Her grin faltered just slightly.

I left the question unsaid, and the longer the silence stretched the thinner Lyra’s smile grew until it finally tumbled into a grimace; it settled somewhere between fearful and irritated.

“I have something to admit,” she said, and opens her mouth to add, “

Cass swore, and a horn blared beside her car. I jerked awake in the backseat, and suffered a strange and very uncomfortable sensation of numbness which I realized wasn’t numbness at all; it was because ponies don’t have hands and feet, they have hooves.

“Sorry,” she mumbled to me. “I was daydreaming.”

I tried to say something in return but suddenly became aware of how dry my mouth was, as well as the massive pillow that had somehow worked its way inside. How did...?

“How did you manage that?” she asked for me, breaking into laughter.

I gestured at her to tell her to keep her eyes on the road, and from the rear-view mirror I saw her eyes snap forward again, although she was still giggling. It took me a moment to get the pillow out of my mouth, and I shook my head afterward, disoriented.

“I wish I’d seen you do that. It would have been hilarious.”

“Yeah, sure.” I rolled my eyes. “Where are we?”

“You were out for a good while, I think. It’s nearly five. You ready to stop for somethin’ to eat? I am.” She paused. “That and I think we should find a place to set up camp. We just passed Greensboro and it’ll be a bit before Durham yet but there’s not a lot between there and, like, the middle of Virginia.”

Four hours? I’d been asleep for four hours and only dreamed what felt like the span of a few minutes?

Dreams are weird, said Lyra’s voice in my head. Oh hey, did you hear me?

I hadn’t said anything, but the surprise in my mind must have been enough.

Cool, that’s cool. I’ll try not to keep talking too much, like I promised. But neat, cool, we can talk now. I mean only if you want to. I won’t push. I mean you’ve got a lot on your mind and stuff and

“Sure, whatever works,” I said quickly, and probably more loudly than I needed to. I can see Cass’s eyes snapped to me in surprise.

“You okay?”

“Just fine.” I put on my best smile. She giggled again.

“Aw, I can’t question you when you’re that cute.”

I was aware of the bizarre sensation not only of my blush, but Lyra’s own flushed embarrassment.

“So I had a thought,” she added, eyes still out front. “What if we just slept in the car? I mean it’s not that cold out yet, and besides, you’re probably nice and warm. It’s just a thought, since, well, hotels can be expensive.”

My expression twisted into one of shocked surprise, while internally Lyra proceeded to burst into ashamed flame. “Uh, what?”

She didn’t seem to notice the shock in my voice. “What, bad idea?”

No! No no no. Lyra’s voice was insistent.

“No, I don’t... think that’s a good idea.”

She looked genuinely disappointed. I looked around desperately--as if there were anything in the vehicle that might provide me with an excuse. My eyes lit on my bag, however, and suddenly and quite unexpectedly an idea bloomed.

“Not tonight,” I amended, much to Lyra’s frustration. “No, there’s an idea I’ve got, but I’ll need an internet connection. I can pay for at least one night.”

“Fiiiine.” She looked at her phone. “We’ll be pulling in in a little bit. We’d already be there, but there was an accident a ways back so we held pretty still for a bit. You think there are any ponies in Durham, Trav?”

I chuckled.

“It’d be nice.”

A silence fell, although it’s not uncomfortable. I turned to stare out the window.

It’d be nice, Lyra added, and for the first time, she sounded lonely.

Author's Note

09/17/2013: This and all preceding chapters have been edited into past tense. Thanks again to Joural for helping me with some of it.

Seven: Cry Out

Seven: Cry Out

Saturday 6:00 PM EST - Durham, NC

It was a Hampton, which was not my usual first choice of hotels. My grandparents had brought me along for many of their trips--well, I say that like I regret going along. I don’t. My point is, when we stayed somewhere, we’d usually end up in a Best Western, and I’d developed a preference for it, insofar as a teenager can develop preferences for different hotels. Still, it looked like a decent-enough place, and some last-minute researching via Cass’s phone had revealed that the prices were fair.

So Cass pulled into a free parking spot, letting out a long breath of relief and stretching after putting the car in park.

“Not used to long drives?” I asked, staring out the window. It was clouding over; I was no expert at predicting weather, but my guess was a rainstorm.

Lyra had been quiet after confessing her loneliness. Gentle attempts at questions were met with... well, it would be difficult to describe; but it was the idea of a gentle rebuffing, like someone leaning away when you reach out to touch their shoulder. I took the hint and left her alone. Still, at the mention of rain, she metaphorically sat up and started paying attention.

“Nah, not really.” Cass shrugged. “Still, can’t say this is a bad way to get used to ‘em. Driving across the country, a cute pony in the backseat...”

I met her gaze via the rearview mirror. She was grinning at me. “Yeah... right.” Lyra’s focus was still on the clouds outside, and I shifted my eyes back out the window.

A memory.

The sun hasn’t risen too far yet, but it is high enough to cast the world in a dark grey pallor; today is overcast, just like the weather team said it would be, with dark, unfriendly sorts of clouds. Occasionally a flash becomes visible, either in the distance or off of the windows of the houses in front of me, followed shortly by a low growl of thunder. It isn’t raining yet, but it will be soon.

A quiet knock at the door. “Lyra... Oh, you’re already awake.”

I turn my head. The earth pony mare opens the door the rest of the way and trots in. I look back outside, but I can still hear her approaching, settling down a short distance away.

I haven’t told her anything about me, of course, aside from my name. We only met the day before. I am still in shock that somepony would up and volunteer a bedroom to an obvious stranger, and a big-city CSGU grad like me. Well… not volunteer, per se. We had come to an agreement last night. I play music, attract customers, get free room and board and a portion of the profits… But it was the spirit of the thing. Stumbling into town off of the train, clearly lost and uncertain… I doubt I’d made a good impression.

Still, toting my lyre and what possessions I’d been able or willing to bring along, I’d stumbled into a sweetshop looking for something to eat, and there she was…

“I just wanted to let you know, I’m going to be opening the store soon,” says Bon Bon gently, clearly trying not to bother me. A nod is all she gets as a reply. “Something on your mind, sweetie?”

Bon Bon calls everypony “sweetie.” It is, I figure, a side effect of working with confections her whole life.

I shake my head. “Just waiting for the rain.”

“You like the rain?” Bon Bon offers.

I shrug. “... I guess.”

“Sweetie, are you sure you’re alright?” The genuine concern in her voice makes my heart hurt, like a muscle that doesn’t get stretched enough.

“I’m fine. I’ll be downstairs to play in a bit, like we agreed.” I float my lyre up beside myself.

It’s clear from the resulting silence that she wants to pry, but doesn’t, and eventually she stands up and leaves the room, closing the door quietly behind herself.

Gradually, the rain starts.

Gradually, the rain started. I learned to keep my head down; ponies have large eyes, and large eyes are appealing targets for raindrops. Still, we’d managed to get checked in and all our stuff moved to our room before the downpour really started, and although the clerk, a twenty-something with a beard, lit up when he saw me, he didn’t say too much about me being a pony.

Come six thirty, give or take, Cass and I were both bored and hungry. This was a sensation that I was all too familiar with given my grandparents’ propensity for road trips; hotel rooms seem to contain the essence of limbo, a sensation of being both trapped and restless. Cass eventually settled the TV on Cartoon Network and I dragged out my laptop to take care of the idea I’d thought of in the car, only to find that the hotel password-protected its wifi and, with a sigh, I told Cass I’d return in a moment and slipped back down to the front desk.

The guy at the desk was still there, and I heard him talking on the phone as I approached. He sounded slightly annoyed at whoever he was talking to, and I realized with a sinking feeling as I turned the last corner and trotted up that he was talking about me.

I cleared my throat. I had to stand well back from the desk to actually be in his line of sight, and he was facing away from me to talk on his cell phone in any case; impatient, I trotted to the desk, propped myself up on my forehooves, and used magic to ring the bell. The attendant jumped, surprised, and turned to face me, looking sheepish.

“Uh, oh, gosh, Em, sorry, gotta go bye.” He hastily put the cell phone away and stood, putting on a nervous grin. “C-can I give you a hand, Lyra?”

I stared. Something told me this would not be the last time I would hear this joke.

“I need the password to your wifi network,” I said, refusing to acknowledge the reference. Inside, Lyra just seemed confused; I promised I’d explain it to her when I had a moment. I took the chance to eye the attendant’s name badge. Clark.

“Ponies know about wifi?” he asked, eyes wide.

“We know about a lot more than you think,” I said evasively, as Clark went about writing it down. “... Did you have to tell everyone I was here?” I added, only slightly cross.

“Not everyone,” Clark muttered, cheeks red under his beard. “That was my sister. She got me into the show--uh, you know about the show, right?” I nod. “And she’s kind of a huge Lyra fan. She’ll be really envious that I saw you and not her… but I felt like I had to tell her, you know?”

I sighed. “I guess I get it. Just…” My ears folded back of their own volition. “Well, this is a hotel. I stopped to get some rest, not to get flooded by… fans.”

“I totally get you,” he said easily, sliding the paper toward me. I grabbed it with magic, and his eyes lit up. “It really works! God, that’s so cool.”

That’s nothing, Lyra muttered. He’s really amused by something as simple as that?

I told her it was something humans just couldn’t do, and that was why we had hands. She seemed nonplussed.

“Thanks, uh… Clark.”

“Thanks for stopping here, Lyra!” His grin was quite possibly the largest I’d ever seen. I returned it, looking awkward, and worked my way back to my room. Cass lifted her head from her forearms and looked at me as I returned.

“What’s your plan, then, Trav?” she asked. I flopped onto the other bed--I’d insisted on two beds, despite Cass’ protests that I’d barely take up any room in one--and floated my laptop to me, opening it up again and inputting the password to connect.

“How well have you been keeping up with what’s been going on?” I asked her, waiting for Firefox to launch. My computer probably could have stood to be defragmented and cleaned in general; I was not, let’s say, the best at maintenance. “Like, with what ponies have appeared where?”

“... I’m not too good with names,” Cass admitted. “I actually… Well, I was never a big fan of My Little Pony in any of its incarnations, which shouldn’t surprise you.”

I didn’t know her history that well, but given, at the very least, the games I knew she’d played, it didn’t surprise me. I said so.

“Right, well… yeah. I just know ‘ponies.’”

I nodded. “Alright. Well, from my understanding, Fluttershy--that’s one of the main characters, a pegasus--has set up a Facebook, and from the sounds of things she’s getting a tremendous amount of support. The way I see it, I could stand to do the same thing, as much as I hate Facebook.”

“But you’re not a main character, right? At least I think that’s what you told me.”

“I’m not a main character, but I’m one of the most popular background characters in the show. People know Lyra. Didn’t you see the expression on the clerk’s face when we entered?”

Cass looked uncertain. “You are pretty cute, though… I figured he was just a sensitive kind of dude. Anyway, you said you’re a popular background character? What’s that all about?”

I sighed and explained Lyra’s popularity, her bizarre way of sitting, her apparent eccentricity, and in the meantime set up the account. As I did, the unicorn in my head (her head? that I was borrowing?) gradually grew more and more confused.

So I’m popular because I’m weird?

More or less, I told her.

Silence for a little bit. Then, I remember the day with the dragon, you called it Dragonshy or something? I was just testing something out. Why would benches have backs if we weren’t meant to sit like that? As long as you know what to do with your tail, they’re pretty comfortable, although I could never get anyone else to try it with me.

I asked her about her tendency to bounce and grin.

Those are my upswings. And besides, aren’t I allowed to be excited?

Sure she was, but her… her what?

Uh…

There was the equivalent of a nervous chuckle and the twiddling of thumbs

Never mind. I’ll tell you later.

“Hands? Really?” Cass sounds intrigued. “So she’s obsessed with humans?...”

This got the most genuine reaction out of Lyra yet. Why would I be?

I asked her what she meant.

Before today, I had no idea that you existed, for one thing, she pointed out. I mean, there were myths, sure, and legends, something about ancient, ancient history. I never paid much attention to it. And why would I want hands? That’s why unicorns have Levitation…

So, I asked her, no unhealthy fascination? Nothing untoward?

Not with humans.

Lyra immediately panicked and there was the equivalent of trying to erase something off of a whiteboard.

Nothing! Never mind! No, no obsessions!

A flash of an image--clouds and sunshine, the weather team at work. It vanished just as quickly as it came; Lyra yanked it away and held it close to her chest, shaking her head.

“...Trav? Hey, earth to pony Travis.”

I blinked and looked to Cass. “Uh, sorry. Got lost in thought.”

She stared at me. I hadn’t yet told her that I was actually sharing the headspace; I wasn’t sure how she’d react, and it wasn’t something I wanted spread around. I was interested in keeping that particular fact to myself, at least for now.

“Get over here for a sec,” I told her, beckoning with a forehoof. “Need a picture for proof, and I figure if you’re traveling with me you might as well get in on the shot.” I grinned, doing my best to emulate Lyra’s. “You could be famous, Cass.”

She just rolled her eyes and slid over to the other bed. I set the computer up to take a picture, and she slid into frame, wrapping an arm around my barrel. I had the briefest irrational urge to pull away, but quashed it, maintaining my grin and using magic to trigger the camera.

“There. Now let me type something up and we’ll be set. With any luck, we won’t have to shell out for hotels like this from now on.”

Cass didn’t move, and I pushed at her with a forehoof. “You can let go now, Cass.”

“You’re really soft,” she murmured.

“Cassandra,” I said gently, and pushed again, this time with magic. “You can let go now.”

She just blinked at me for a few seconds. “Oh, uh, right,” she said, “no touchy.” She got up and flopped back on the other bed. I nodded and got to work.

“After that, can we go out to eat? I’m starving.”

“Yes, sure,” I said absently as I typed. Magic was making this easy; I had a moment of sympathy for the non-unicorns like Fluttershy. After a moment, I deleted what I had and asked Lyra how she’d introduce herself. In bits and pieces, as I filled in the gaps of what I knew about her and about the situation, we ended up with a finished product.

Hey, world!

Another pony popping up on the radar, here, none other than yours truly, Lyra Heartstrings (and traveling companion Cass!)

We’re heading up the east coast! Maybe we’ll see you along the way! Tomorrow’s plan is to head up through Virginia.

Shout outs to the main mare Fluttershy, and sorry I’m cramping your style with the whole Facebook thing. Keep yourself safe! And all you other ponies out there! Maybe we’ll cross paths!

Just so you know, I don’t ‘need a hand’ or anything but any help you can give would be nice! You know how it is, impromptu road trips and all, flying by the seats of our metaphorical pants.

I signed it with Lyra’s name and submitted it. Here went nothing.

Cass was rolling around on the other bed, moaning about her boredom.

“I’m done,” I told her, grinning. “Sorry that took so long. Had to think about what I wanted to say. Where do you want to go?”

“What’s even nearby?” She sighed and sat up. “Isn’t there supposed to be, like, a guide of nearby stuff in hotel rooms? We don’t have one.”

I thought about this.

“We could ask Clark.” I gestured in the general direction of the front desk. Cass sighed, agreed, and stood up. I trotted after her, making sure we had the card keys to get back in.

My logic went something like this: ponies are popular, and as a general rule, places like McDonald’s are popular; as such, it was far more likely to run into a rabid pony fan at a fast food place than it was at a sit-down restaurant or, better yet (ran my logic), someplace like a sports bar.

So we found the closest Applebee’s and, despite my wallet’s increasing lightness, decided to stop in.

“You sure?” Cass asked as soon as we parked. “I mean, it’s a bar and grill.”

The thought did make a little nauseous, but, I pointed out, Applebee’s was just as big on salads as it was anything else except, perhaps, the beer. She still looked hesitant, but no heads turned as we entered the door and the smell, though it did make my stomach upset, didn’t have me feeling any more green than usual. Quickly we requested a booth near the door, and the server, looking at me with something close to suspicion, acquiesced.

We ended up both getting salads, and although she did her absolute best to hide it, I could see Cass’s distaste with the idea. As a Saturday night went, this didn’t seem that bad for an Applebee’s; although even ‘not that bad’ ended up being more than my new pony body was entirely comfortable with. Clinking glasses, the occasional rowdy call as whatever-sports-team-was-playing’s supporters complained about how shoddy their game was tonight, the smell--the stench--of alcohol made me ill just about as much as the occasional waft of grilling meat did. On a whim, to distract both myself and Lyra, I asked her how old she was.

There was silence following the question. I mentally facepalmed and apologized, telling her that yes, it really was rude to ask a mare her age.

Surprisingly, though, this got her to laugh, and even though I wasn’t entirely sure what she was laughing about, the contagiousness and enthusiasm of her laughter meant that before long I was giggling over my salad and Cass was looking at me like I’d gone nuts. I just shook my head, still giggling.

“Sorry,” I said, grinning broadly. “It’s just… I stopped to think about how silly this is.” This got a grin out of Cass, and she turned back to her meal. Finally, Lyra seemed to calm down.

I’m 23.

This surprised me, although, I told her, I wasn’t sure if it was because I expected her to be younger or to be older.

Yep, 23. Graduated from CSGU two years ago, moved to Ponyville less than a month after, been there ever since.

So, I asked, she wasn’t born in Ponyville?

Oh, gosh, no. Mother was from Manehatten, and that’s where I was born. Grew up mostly in Canterlot, though.

There was a pause as I chewed through a carrot.

Kind of wish I moved to Ponyville sooner, honestly, though.

Ah, I thought. A small-town kind of personality.

Maybe. Lyra shrugged. I think it’s not so much that as the fact that Ponyville’s just really welcoming. I didn’t really have to live up to anypony’s standards.

As the thought ended, it became tinged with something like resentment, and Lyra clamped down and refused to say anything more. The rest of the meal passed in silence for all involved.

And, I thought, that was that; now we could go back to the hotel room, spend the rest of the night vegetating, get up early tomorrow morning and get most of the rest of the way to New York. I paid the bill, and, much to the server’s relief, we got up and out of the restaurant without anyone, not even anyone at the bar, giving us a second glance.

The door shut behind us, and someone very, very close said “Oh my GOOOOOD!”

Author's Note

Oh my God, indeed.

A new chapter.

All preceding chapters have been edited into past tense. Thanks much to Joural--the Surprise writer--for his help in this endeavor.