Magic is Hard

by Cheesypower

Rating: teen
Tags: My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Other, Original Character, Comedy, Adventure
Length: 6486

Strange Design is one of the lucky ponies who's special talent is Magic. He's also an Earth Pony. Kinda complicates things.

Uh, hi. Yeah, Magic's my special talent; got the cutie mark and everything.

My parents think I'm a prodigy or something. Don't get me wrong; They've kinda got the right idea. I mean, I can see magic, and it's freaking everywhere. I've just had a little trouble figuring out how to do anything with it.

Teachers can't seem to teach me anything (I don't think they ever really tried), so I've just kinda... decided to try and figure it out on my own.

Um... There's something I've left out. Why I'm having a hard time figuring this stuff out, why no magic teacher could ever get anything through to me...

You see... I'm an Earth Pony.

My name is Strange Design, and I have no idea what I'm doing.

Published 2013-04-16 03:40:02 UTC
Last updated 2013-09-09 20:43:59 UTC

Prologue

“OH FAUST ABOVE, WHAT CAN IT POSSIBLY BE THIS TIME!?”

Now, Doctor Manner was a very patient and understanding pony most of the time. Not only was it required by his chosen profession, but it was also his special talent. His calm and soothing care had even earned a small level of renown among the locals, making him one of the most sought-after practitioners in the area.

Therefore, we must examine the scenario that led to this outburst.

Two cases of toddlers with various items jammed up their noses, an extremely uncooperative Pegasus with a sprained wing, at least five hysterical mares and stallions with absolutely nothing wrong with them (nothing he was qualified to treat, at least), a late-night emergency courtesy of old Mrs. Maybell’s failing heart, a crotchety stallion convinced he could “tough out” his Deep Vein Thrombosis, and a young colt with food poisoning who had thrown up all over the appointment room had all graced him over the past nine hours.

Now, at three in the morning, his hellish shift finally over and sterile white coat back on its hook, ready to head home and get some real sleep for the first time in days, only for a nurse to burst in blurting something about a new case that was sure to delay his departure by another hour at least…

Suffice to say, his much-vaunted patience was running thinner than the threads in an old pair of socks.

“Fine, just tell me what it is,” he snapped before he realized what he was doing. Deep breaths, boy. Deep breaths… “Sorry, I… let’s take care of this quickly, alright? Now, what am I dealing with?”

“It’s the Way family, sir.” That set off alarm bells in his head: nurses always called him by name, deliberately avoiding any use of titles. On top of that, she was hesitant, unsure of herself.

“It’s their boy, the earth pony toddler you’ve been treating. He’s, ah…”

More alarm bells. Nurses prided themselves on always getting straight to the point without detour or pause. They’d even pause outside the door and rehearse what to say if they didn’t think it was concise enough.

“He seems to have developed some form of – well…”

“Come on and spit it out already!” He winced at his own barbed tone.

Her response was a short, five-word sentence, spoken with the tight calmness of one who suddenly sees the solution but now faces the brunt of the problem. It was a statement that every doctor encounters regularly from their patients yet dreads hearing from their own staff; the phrase that speaks of a situation both memorable and unique, holding the threat of the insurmountable and the implication of the horrifying.

“You need to see this.”

The dim realization that the coat was back on only struck as he was already halfway out the door, wordlessly following her down the long pale hallway. The nurse’s hooves clipped the bleached tile in a staccato rhythm, eyes forward as she strode ahead.

Several of the rooms they passed actually held patients, a low murmur of blended voices and sounds drifting through the usually-quiet hallway. Things had been hectic the past few days since the “Rainbow Explosion” somewhere in the Cloudsdale area. Ironically, the shockwave itself had been practically harmless aside from a few sprained wings among pegasi unfortunate enough to have been airborne when it hit. What it had done was push several ponies with various ailments to finally see their doctors about it.

It would have been a welcome change of pace from the typical reluctance to make appointments, if not for the fact that they had come in all at once.

It amazed him no end how reluctant some ponies could be about visiting their doctor. That one stallion with Carpal Tunnel had been lucky; the surgeon who’d performed the surgery said the mascular degeneration had been what he’d expect to see in an elderly patient, not a middle-aged worker! And the fool had had to be dragged in by his wife for his first doctor’s appointment in years, despite the clear discomfort and pain that had apparently been going on for months! It was a miracle that he’d come in when he had, otherwise he might’ve lost the complete use of his hooves.

His idle thoughts vanished as they arrived at a door as featureless as all the others, only the slowing of his guide indicating it as their destination. Wordlessly, the nurse slid the door open and entered. Hesitating for just a moment to put on what he knew was a warm and hoped wasn’t a tired smile, he followed her in.

A mare looked up from the bundle she held as he walked in, bags hanging heavy under her eyes. All four of her daughters sat clustered around her, the three eldest engaged in a whispered conversation that ended as every eye turned to face him.

“Good evening, Doctor Manner,” she greeted him with quiet familiarity. “I hope we aren’t being a bother.”

“We’re sorry to bother yah at this hour, doc,” her husband rumbled hurriedly as he rose from the corner where he had sat unnoticed, “but we’ve no idea what to do ‘bout our li’l boy.”

“What’s wrong?” Doctor Manner inquired. “Are his ears hurting again? If that infection’s coming back, we need to catch it early.”

“Nah, we’ve been watching that like yah said tah,” the stallion chuckled, a hint of strain echoing as he rubbed the back of his head. “It’s his hooves. He started fussing with ‘em a few days back like he’d gotten into a fire ant’s nest, then a few hours ago he started… well, ah’m not sure what tah call it…”

A bolt of light blue energy shot from the bundle towards the sink, an explosive flash revealing a torrent of water spraying from the nozzle.

“Like that,” the father commented with a sheepish smile. The bundle giggled happily, a tiny glowing hoof lifting into view before disappearing again.

“Sounds like my patient wants a little attention,” Manner quipped, trotting over to the mother and her mischievous ward. Two curious green eyes looked up from the bundle, an impish grin indenting his cheeks. “Hello there little fella. Remember me?”

The grin exploded into a wide-mouthed smile as the toddler clapped his hooves merrily, oblivious to the glow around his light blue legs.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he chuckled as he felt his own smile widen. “You said these symptoms appeared earlier today?” he asked the mother.

“Just a few hours ago,” she confirmed, nodding her head. “We don’t know why, but he just started… ‘sparking.’” Biting her lip anxiously, she glanced at her husband before turning back to him. “Do you know what’s wrong?”

“As a matter of fact, I believe this looks like a simple case of Magical Surge,” he declared, lifting a tiny hoof to examine. “He’s a bit old for it to be making its first appearance, but that just means he’s a late bloomer.” Feeling a tugging sensation, he looked down to see a pen from his chest pocket start floating towards the wide-eyed toddler. “They tend to come and go, but they should clear up by his first birthday. Any other symptoms?”

“…Well, no…” The question seemed to confuse her. “But this never happened with any of our other children. I mean, he has times where he gets a bit stronger like they did, but… nothing like this!”

“All four of your daughters are earth ponies,” he explained while trying to get the pen away from the toddler currently drooling all over it, “and that means they experience it differently.” Finally retrieving his pen, he gave it a look before tossing it over onto the desk, barely missing the nurse who was trying desperately to turn off the still-blasting faucet.

“What we have here,” he announced reassuringly, giving the colt’s head an affectionate rub, “is a perfectly healthy specimen of a…”

His hoof slowed, but continued to rub the fuzzy little head in wide, gentle strokes.

Something was off.

“…of a… perfectly… healthy…”

His tired mind finally figured it out, his eyes widening as he ran his hoof from the toddler’s snout, to his forehead, all the way back to the back of his head.

Meeting absolutely no resistance.

Bedside Manner, Ph.D., stared, blinking at the rambunctious, fidgety, and blatantly hornless young earth pony.

A tiny glowing hoof reached out and shot a stream of sparklers into his face, where they fizzled out with a strange tingling sensation.

“Uh… This is new.”

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

A field of rocks lay on the outskirts of town, as bleak and gray as fields full of rocks tend to be. While all the rest of Equestria was fresh and green in the aftermath of Winter Wrap Up, this lone field still held the dying echoes of winter's chill, lingering remains of a late-morning mist clinging low to the ground as they mixed with the vaporous breaths of the field's sole occupant.

Strange Design may not have owned the deed or any other legal claim to this patch of barren earth, but that never stopped him from considering it his field. It was his sanctuary, his place of solitude where responsibilities would for a time cease to exist.

When life's troubles became more than he could take, he would come out here, hop up on his favorite rock, and sit down. Sometimes he would practice with his magic, fiddling with the things he didn't understand, often adding to the number of scorch marks adorning the rocks. On rare occasions he would just vent, screaming the vile obscenities tearing at his heart into the emptiness until his throat went hoarse and he collapsed against the unfeeling stones. Most of the time, he would just sit back, listen to the wind and the trees and the earth, close his eyes and think.

It had been a while since the last time he'd been here, so long that he had almost forgotten this place existed. After yesterday's events, he was glad to find it the same as he'd left it; Maker knew he needed the reprieve this place granted to figure out what to do next.

Dropping out had been one of the hardest decisions of his life. He loved learning, regardless of the subject. Knowledge was a self-sustaining hunger for him, each answer bringing new questions, new cravings demanding to be filled. School was the best place for learning, created specifically for the purpose of feeding that hunger.

So why couldn't he bring himself to regret the decision?

He'd reached the point, he supposed, where it just wasn't enough to outweigh the lies.

No. Not lies. That wasn't the right word. It was... it was that burning feeling that came whenever a teacher couldn't tell him what he wanted to know. The sour sense of loathing that bubbled in his chest with every befuddled expression and sigh of exasperation cast his way by those supposed to be his mentors.

Betrayal. That was the word. Going to a place of education unable to truly teach him what he wanted to know had left him feeling betrayed. School had failed him, in more ways than one.

Not that he blamed them, he mused, his hoof glowing blue while idly stirring a slowly-filling pool of mana. After all, it wasn't their fault for not knowing how to teach spell-casting to a non-unicorn any more than it was his fault for being born with a connection to magic. They were probably as frustrated with him as he was with them.

Was he cursed, that he bore this connection, able to see and touch this world, this ripple in the pond's reflection? The question had certainly been raised before. He could see how others might find it a malady, to see it so close and know the destination but not the way. Personally, he could never see it as anything but a gift. Surely something so beautiful, so awe-inspiring, so enlightening, could not be a product of malevolence.

Lashing out, his hoof struck stone with a crack of protest. the glancing blow producing a small shower of sparks. Reaching without reaching, he caught one as it fell, watching it hover with a tiny glow. It was the seed of a flame, waiting for chance and circumstance to provide it the chance to grow. Gently, oh so gently he began to trickle mana into the dot of light.

Fire, like everything else, needed three things to survive; for fire, those three things were air, heat, and fuel. Air was free and plentiful; the friction of his hoof striking stone gave the heat. While it would soon die as the microscopic fragment of shale burned away into oblivion, for now it lived. More importantly, the magic within it lived, and that reflection lived by the same premise. And Strange Design had plenty of fuel to feed.

What rock had fed the spark was entirely gone, yet still the spark remained, glowing brightly as he slowly pulled it closer. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that his left hoof was raised, glowing royal blue as it made slow, tiny circles. It was more habit and association than any actual importance to the act, but hey, it looked cool in the foal-tales he read, so heck with it.

More on a whim than a thought, he laid a thin trail out from the spark, watching as the light grew and spread down the eddy of energy. The dot became a line of light, pulsing softly as it bent and wove in place. Soon it was as long as his hoof was wide.

Curious, he pulled the strand through the air, watching it twisting and weaving in an exotic dance of curves and loops until inspiration struck. Tugging with a purpose, he straightened it out, then slowly bent the ends inwards. Now it was morphed from a meaningless line into the simple curve of the letter "C."

A grin pulled at the corners of his mouth. Some quick adjustments, and an "L" was proudly floating in front of him. Bending it in half, he laid a path to create the bridge needed to make an "A."

With a profound 'Woomph,' the glowing lines puffed into a ball of fire.

The smile dropped into a flat look of pensive bafflement as he regarded the open flame now hovering in front of his left hoof. Tilting his head to the side, he found himself at a loss in regards to this unexpected development.

Briefly he contemplated pursuing the mysteries of using fireballs, then dismissed the notion with a huff. Sure, throwing fireballs around looked cool, and might prove useful in an encounter with one of Equestria's many predators. It also carried the risk of setting everything in a nearby radius on fire. Two house fires had taught him how dangerous uncontrolled flames could be, and he had no intention of tempting fate.

...Not without some precautions, at least, he chuckled to himself, watching the flames dancing as they followed his hoof's slow circles.

Ah well, some other day then. For now, finishing the alphabet was the priority. Heck, he thought while cutting off the fireball's flow of mana, if he did't hit any more snags, he could try making words!

The fireball continuing to crackle merrily in the shifting air, despite no longer receiving any fuel to burn.

He gave it a good magical shove. The flames flared up briefly, then returned to the exact same state. He tried smacking instead of pushing. Nothing happened. Throwing it? Same result.

He flapped his hoof at the fireball. The fireball followed his hoof. He thrust his hoof forward. The fireball moved back. He pulled his hoof in. The fireball pulled closer.

He struck all sorts of ridiculous poses while yelling a variety of meaningless exclamations, waved his hooves in the air, ran in circles, stomped around, tried to stomp on it, tried to crush it between his hooves, tried to bite it, jumped up and down, went through a few more poses, and violently flailed his hooves around. The fireball refused to be shaken off, dodging away from his attempts to touch it yet refusing to move away from him.

Sitting on his haunches while he caught his breath, he glared at the cheery tongues of flame. Fine. Removing it's fuel source didn't work, apparently it found his left hoof utterly fascinating, and it refused to leave.

Well, he thought with a slightly crazed grin, let's see you survive when you can't BREATHE!

Reaching out with all his strength, he pulled in every bit of magical energy he could, focusing it into a large sphere around the offending flame. With a triumphant yell, he sent it all crushing inwards on the fireball.

Off in a distant and not-so-empty field, two teenage earth pony colts were, for reasons only teenage males might understand, acting as living supports for the bottom of a giant home-made jump ramp when they heard a distant boom.

"DID YOU JUST BLOW SOMETHING UP WITHOUT US!?!" roared the sturdier of the two, his cheeks tinting to match the red of the massive beard sprouting from his neck and jawline. Both colts stormed out from underneath the ramp, the lack of any other supports causing it to creak ominously.

In that exact instant, a black blur came tearing down the ramp at breakneck speeds, ran full tilt into a raised board, and flipped down into the bottom of the ramp. The resounding crash of the ramp's demolishment in a shower of splinters and dust almost drowned out a sickening crack.

Gaping at the wreckage where they had stood not a moment earlier, it took them a moment to think of an appropriate response to their narrow escape from what would surely have been extreme injury, if not worse.

"That... was... AWESOME!!!" they cheered, whooping and jumping up and down. The smaller of the two, a lanky, long-haired colt with yellow fur, turned to the sky.

"Did you get that?" he yelled to a rapidly-descending pegasus mare.

"Every second of it," she chuckled, proudly tapping the side of the film camera resting on her shoulder as she hovered over them. "What happened, you chicken out or something?"

"We heard something," he said off-handedly as he turned towards the rubble. "HEY! YOU ALRIGHT, BRO?"

"That was awesome, man," the bearded one hooted as he climbed through the broken boards and plywood. "Where you at, bro?" A low groan echoed from the wreckage.

"Oh, there you are, bro," he remarked as he trotted over, the other two swiftly joining him. "Dude, that was SICK. I mean, you just plowed through that ramp like a freaking wrecking ball! Hey, you alright bro? You good?"

A black-furred colt lay groaning in the rubble, the twisted remains of a scooter meant for a pony half his size resting next to him. The remains of his attempt to create wings from plywood and bedsheets was strapped to his back, a broken-off section of one laying just under the image of a skull over crossed crutches on his flank.

"I was flying."

Sitting up with a groan, he blinked blearily at the ponies around him, the tattered remnants of his wings flopping against his back. "I was flying," he slurred again. "I was, like... twenty feet up, and..." He turned to the pegasus. "Did you get that?"

"Dude, you got a gusher!" the bearded colt exclaimed; sure enough, when he touched his snout, his hoof came back stained bright red. The black colt blinked at him.

"Did you see?.. I was flying." He began to make small flapping motions with his forelegs. "You saw me, right?"

"Yeah, we saw ya," the pegasus lied through her teeth, smiling mischievously. "Welcome to the club." His face lit up like a Hearth's Warming tree.

"Dude, you are the first ever earth pony pegasus," his compatriot snorted. "Legit, Bro." While the bearded colt was fighting back his laughter, the yellow colt grabbed hold of the camera's lens, shooting it a wide smile.

"Remember, kids, this stuff is dangerous, and we are professionals," he playfully admonished. "Do NOT try this at home."

"I'MA PEGASISTER!"

Smoke dissipated over the field, revealing a large scorch mark that coated the ground and rocks with a fresh layer of soot. Strange Design was laid out on his back, likewise stained a dark shade of grey, blending in almost perfectly with the rocks around him.

Sitting up with a groan, he cracked his eyes open, blinking the stars from his vision. Looking around, he quietly regarded the aftermath while his brain attempted to reboot.

...

...So.

...Fire.

...In hindsight.

...He really should have thought that through.

Looking around, he noticed that the strange fireball was nowhere in sight. At least that problem was solved. Unfortunately, he wasn't feeling like messing around with magic anymore today. Writing in thin air was going to have to wait.

Despite that mishap, he felt oddly relaxed. That was what he came here to do, so there was no point in staying any longer. Now he just needed to wash himself off, go home, and...

...Talk to his parents.

Shaking his head, he stood up and shook himself, raising a small cloud of soot. There was no helping it; they would hear about him dropping out sooner or later, but the backlash wouldn't be as bad if they heard it from him. If nothing else, they gave credit when somepony owned up to their decisions.

As he was shaking out his legs, he happened to notice a glint in the center of the scorch mark. Pausing, he considered whether satisfying his curiosity was worth the risk of pushing his luck. After a moment, he trotted towards the mysterious flicker that had caught his eye.

Right in the dead center of the scorch mark lay a gem unlike any he had ever seen. It was half as wide as his hoof and almost as long. At first glance it seemed almost transparent. However, a closer look revealed a much stranger quality. There was a redness to the gem, a glint of yellow and orange, twisting and turning through the long hexagon, as if a flame was trapped inside.

Distrustfully staring at the gem, he went against his better judgement and poked it. It rocked a little, then fell still. Reaching out cautiously with his left hoof, he picked it up, then dropped it. Bouncing on the ground, it rolled a little ways towards him, then did nothing. Relaxing his pose, he tilted his head, examining the gem for another moment.

"You're persistent, whatever you are," he finally told it. Nothing happened but the sound of trees creaking off in the distance. After another moment of consideration, he shrugged and picked it back up. It felt unnaturally light, as if the slightest breeze could carry it away. The flame inside danced in the changing light, growing red, then yellow, then orange and back again in a constantly-shifting dance.

It was a mystery for another day, he decided while tucking the gem into his mane behind his ear; right now, he had other things to attend to. With one last look around the clearing, he set out at a leisurely trot towards home.

...towards the nearest stream, he decided, turning to go in a different direction. Mom always freaked when he came home covered in soot.

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Walking through town while dripping wet and carrying a faint scent of ash was not a new experience for Strange Design. Few ponies gave him more than a passing glance.

Greenport seemed emptier than usual, he idly observed while trotting down the street. Then again, school was currently in session. Interesting, how different the town was when the youth weren't around. Indistinct chatter drifted lazily through the air alongside a rhythmic creaking, interspersed with occasional chimes from a bell. The familiar pandemonium of clacking skateboards, zooming pegasi, and shrieking laughter were conspicuously absent.

It was nice, having things this peaceful. What few ponies that did cross his path were easy enough to step around or politely move out of their way. A silent downward tilt of the head conveyed his greeting to them all, earning quick mumbles of acknowledgement from any who noticed.

The lack of traffic allowed him to cover far more ground than usual. His steps slowed upon noticing he was almost halfway through town. At this rate he'd be home in little more than an hour.

Still no epiphanies on what to say when he got there.

Deciding which parent to tell first would be a good place to start. And yes, it was probably better to tell them separately; both would have different ideas on what the actual issue was, and then they'd get on each other for the differences between their understandings, and the whole thing would devolve into a fight before he'd even finished explaining.

Mom was more sympathetic, but a bit scatterbrained and very fond of delegating. She'd probably fixate on what she saw as the problem and give him long, complex instructions on what he needed to do to fix it.

Dad had a more business-like mentality: he'd probably start asking questions to try and find out the nature, reason, and results of the issue, though he'd then probably try to take care of it himself.

Neither of which really made it any easier to get across that it wasn't really something that needed to be fixed.

His train of thought was derailed by the hollow, drawn-out toot of a whistle some distance ahead. A glance at a clock window confirmed what he'd already guessed. Mentally, he sighed. While the influx of ponies around the station would delay his arrival home, it also meant he'd have to wade through a small crowd. He hated crowds.

Rounding a corner dragged him from his thoughts. Immediately two ponies filled his vision. Neither of them noticed him as he stepped into their path. A split-second sidestep barely averted the collision. The cold stone pressed roughly against his fur as he squeezed to get clear. The ponies passed within inches of him. It took a second for him to catch his breath. It took another for what had just happened to register.

Whirling around, he glared after the oblivious couple, so lost in each others eyes that they never realized he was there. Now that he was looking, he could make out the the soft pink tinge around them both. Odds were they'd fail to notice anything short of the end of the world.

Inhaling deeply, he resisted the urge to throw some strong insults after them, instead resuming his walk down the street. Seriously, how hard was it to walk on the right side of the road? At least those two had a decent excuse; young love always seemed to dull the senses.

Gliding out of the way of a stallion laden with oversized luggage, he snorted to himself. Young love? Too much time around Rusty Anchor and the rest of the old-timers must be rubbing off on him. Maybe he should wear a false beard and a hawaii shirt to their next get-together to start looking like them.

Moving between a pair of ponies in waders, he looked up just in time to jerk out of the way of a mare far more intent on her mane than where she was going. Glancing ahead, he noticed a cart parked diagonally on the other side of the street, forming a bottleneck for the swelling hoof traffic.

"Seriously? Who parks like that?" he groaned, drawing quizzical glances from those close enough to hear. Realizing they weren't being addressed, they shrugged and went about their business. Considering that the cart's owner was nowhere in sight, he wasn't really expecting a response.

He also was not expecting a mare to slam into him face-first.

His surprised grunt as he tumbled backwards was easily drowned out by her startled yelp. Papers exploded from the mare's saddlebags, spraying notes and scribblings everywhere in a brilliant bloom of white.

Crap. That's what he got for daydreaming in the middle of traffic. Looking up to check on the mare, he prepared to apologize but stopped. He blinked.

The mare's prior fascination with her book was somewhat dampened how that it had decided to return the sentiment, intently scrutinizing her facial features with unwavering vigilance. Not even her frantic tugging at the bindings could sway the stalwart script from its self-appointed task. The fact it was now impaled quite firmly on her horn had certainly helped, but the true adhesive was determination, an unfailing sense of duty, a drive to catalogue every feature of this mare's - hmn, was that a mole or an inkstain. Was it smudging the pa - inkstain, definitely an inkstain.

Seeing the mare tugging at the book currently getting quite intimate with her face was enough to elicit an amused snort, followed by a wince when his head began to throb. The mare had really been booking it - his head throbbed for a different reason - when she ran into him.

"Sorry!" a muffled voice fretted from behind the tome. "Oh jeez, I'm sorry! I don't know what happened, I didn't see you! Are you alright?" Suddenly, she froze, he hoof shooting to her saddlebags. "Horseapples, my notes!"

"I'm fine," he replied as casually as he could, gently massaging his temples. "Looks like you could use some help, though."

"I'm fine! I can do this!" she responded a little too hastily. Her tugging at the book paused. "Though, uh... would you mind trying to gather up my notes while I get this thing off? I'd appreciate it."

He nodded and turned toward the notes. ...Oh, right. "Sure thing," he called over his shoulder.

Unfortunately, the notes had already begun to scatter across the street. How to grab them all quickly... Ah! Paper liked electricity, right? At least, it did in that one magic class where the teacher's hair had gotten all frizzy. Electricity, electricity... what did he need to make electricity? Carpet? No - friction! That was one! Okay, friction and... something about good and bad... Ooh! Positive and Negative energy! Two kinds of energy - that made three things total! Wait... no, the two energies were interchangeable, so... Ground! That was the third thing! Well, plenty of that around.

Scooping up some sand, he pressed it between his hooves and began to rub furiously, focusing on the magic in the grains. Or at least tried to. The tiny, slippery little balls of constantly-shifting color were moving to fast for him to latch on. Maybe if he just pulled from the general area? Okay, that worked; the familiar tingle in the hooves was confirmed it. Pulling as much as possible out, he focused on separating the colors. The diagrams in the books always marked the two energies as red or blue, so maybe...

The grit between his hooves exploded with a loud, forceful pop.

Owowow ow JEEZ that hurt... Flailing his hooves frantically failed to cool the burning; sucking on them filled his mouth with sand. Spitting in disgust, he could say with confidence that red was not the right energy.

The second time went faster now that he knew how to get the energy. Now to try the blue... There was no blue. Darn. Yellow maybe?

A small jolt zapped between his hooves.

OW OW OW OUCH oh-KAY there we go... Gritting his teeth as he dug his hooves into the sand, he pulled as much Yellow (yes, he would call it Yellow for now. Shut up.) into himself as he could. Shaking slightly, he experimentally threw some of it towards the papers.

The wall of texts bowled him over, clinging to him wherever they touched. He rustled loudly as he sat up, wiping a half-complete thesis on wind patterns from his eyes. Not a single loose sheet of paper remained on the street, much to the chagrin of the paper salesman who would return moments later to find that his wares had disappeared. "Got the notes," he called, mentally making a note to remember that trick.

"Great, great," the mare grumbled, growing ever more frantic in her struggles. "ARGH! WHY WON'T THIS STUPID BOOK COME OFF!?!"

"Uh..." he coughed loudly and cleared his throat, shooting her a disarming smile, pointless though the gesture was. "Do you need some help?"

"No, I..." she sighed in resignation, falling back on her tail with a thump. "Yes please."

Reaching to grab hold, his hooves accidentally bumped into hers. Both ponies yelped at the sudden jolt that shot through them. "Ow!" the mare pouted, rubbing her hooves tenderly.

"Sorry."

Grabbing hold of the volume with both hooves, he gave it a hard yank. The mare yelped as she was jerked forward. "Hey!"

"Sorry," he grunted again, leaning backwards for leverage. "This thing really likes your face."

"Well, be more careful!" she scolded him, another jolt making them both flinch as her hooves bumped into his while seeking a good hold. "I don't want... ugh!... to explain to the nurse... how I broke my neck... with a book!"

"Maybe we need to amputate."

She glared at hi- oh right, book-face. "What!?!"

"I mean, I know you're rather attached to this book," he continued, thoughtfully stroking his paper-beard, "but it's only going to cause problems. It might be better to just-"

"I am NOT going to damage one of my newest books just because it's not coming off fast enough for you!"

"You drilled a hole in it with your horn, and you're talking about ME damaging it?"

"Would you just - we NEED to work together on this in order to get it off!"

"Alright, you grab the corners, and I'll grab the binding."

"Okay, got it. You ready?"

"Yep. Now pull on three; one, two - actually, you're pushing, not pulling, so-"

A feral growl rustled the book's pages.

"-On three. One, two, THREE!- Keep going, keep going-! I think it's working! Almost- ow!"

"GAH! Get your hind hoof off my chest!"

"I need the leverage!"

"I don't care, I want it off me!"

"That is the general idea. Come on, keep go-"

"WHO ARE YOU?"

With a concluding 'pop,' the tome was torn from it's impromptu investigations of the mare's face. The sudden disappearance of resistance sent it and the young stallion tumbling backwards. Shaking his head to clear the cobwebs, he looked back into a pair of glaring orange eyes.

"Call me Strange," he chirped, giving her a friendly grin. "Everypony else does."

The mare blinked. Slowly, her eyes drifted up and down the papers clinging to every inch of his body, he mouth slightly ajar as she examined him. She looked him in the eyes, then back at the papers. Her mouth closed, then opened, then closed again. "...I can certainly see why," she finally ventured.

"Yeah, me too," he admitted, rustling loudly as he presented her with the book, now bearing a symmetrical bite through the center of the binding. "What's your name?"

"...Amber Glow," she replied slowly, her eyes never leaving him as she stuffed the book into her saddlebags. "...are those my notes?"

"Yep! ...At least, most of them are. Then there are all these blank pages:" he nodded towards a conspicuously empty page, "I have no idea where those came from." Frowning, he pulled at the page in question, only to have it stick to his hoof while others slid to take it's place. "And I have no idea how to get them off."

It occurred to him that the street had gotten very quiet. Looking around, he realized ponies all around the street were staring at them, most of the observers slack-jawed and wide-eyed. They showed no signs of going back to their own business anytime soon. Well, he knew how to fix that. Taking a few deep breaths, he inhaled deeply and concentrated.

"WHUT'RE YEW AULL LOUKIN' AT!?!" he bellowed in a drawl thick as pea soup.

Ponies went back to their own business so fast they filled the street with dust clouds.

Strange chuckled to himself. If only Rusty Anchor could have seen that, he would have been so proud of his pupil. He'd learned well from the old-timers, and he was proud of it, too.

An orange bolt of magic smacked into him. The world went black and white as what felt like ten lightning strikes coursed through him. It only lasted a moment, but it felt like hours. When he stopped seeing stars, he glared at Am... Mary... the mare.

"What was that for?" he yelled, rubbing the back of his head.

Morgan - Mal - the mare was looking at him like he'd announced that Celestia was a whorse. "One, why did you just make a scene like that? Two, you've scuffed up most of my notes, so I'm going to need to copy them all, and three, I needed to dispel the gargantuan levels of static electricity affixing my notes to your body." He was indeed free of the notes, which were now being levitated into her saddlebags. "How in the world did you get that strong of a static charge anyway?"

He shrugged. "Too much Yellow."

The mare - WHY couldn't he remember her name? - opened her mouth, then thought better of whatever response she was about to give. "You know what? Could you just direct me to the local library? I need reference material, and probably some supplies for repairing documents."

"The library... let's see..." Strange scrunched his nose, thoughtfully rubbing his chin. "Alright, right now we're on Station Street, so you need to go straight 'till you get to Clover Street, turn right, go 'till you reach the piers, turn left, go under the bridge, take a left, then another left, then you-"

He paused, glancing at his audience. The mare's face spoke of untold agony and torment at the prospect of getting lost in the twisting streets of a small port town. Remembering that he still had to go home and inform his parents of the fact that he had dropped out, it occurred to him that he still didn't know how to tell them. It also occurred to him that the library was in the other direction from his home.

It also occurred to him that she really was a pretty cute mare.

"You know what?" He decided. "It'd probably be better if I just showed you."

She gave him a wide-eyed look of trepidation. "You're not going to turn out to be some bad-luck charm I can never get rid of, are you?"

Strange shrugged. "No promises."