//------------------------------// // Chapter 5, or It Ain't Easy Talking Ponish! // Story: Bad Trip Diaries // by The Boorywooch //------------------------------// Oi. Seems like Twilight is concerned about how do we make contact. As for me, I am perfectly content with the gesturizing, but she seems to think otherwise. She collected a grand stack of different volumes from all round the library and presented it to me, planting her foreleg onto the cover of the first book, smirking triumphantly. What in gog's name is this? ABC's?! Oh. Now I get it. Nice one, puny equine... Oi, you won this round... I still cannot get the basic flow of their language. It seems awfully familiar, though whenever I try to actually speak it, Twilight plants a hoof to her face in utter terror and disappointment. Bluhbluhbluh, huge bitch she is. I sure hope there'd be some way to cope with it. I hate feeling like a total idiot – an idiot won't read fluently in Ponish, or whatever this blubber they talk there is called. The challenge is accepted, dubious blubber; you don't know who you're messing with! Month?, Day? Seems like Twilight eventually got tired of my struggle with the Ponish language perks; she called me up to her living quarters, and I sure did, nose buried in the book. She told me that there is an actual way for me to get over the language problem we're experiencing: through magic. Oi, right, as if 'majyyyyks' were real, uh-huh. I, nevertheless, nodded my approval of the idea, pretty sure that this won't help a bit. In fact, I myself was kind of tired of comprehending the best half of what I was told to – this was like a broken radio, you know. I was commanded to sit down on the floor and close me eyes; so I did, pretty certain that some sort of hypnotherapy was inbound, and, given that I never submitted to any hypnotic influence, I've had a venomous remark at the ready. Alas, the remark went to waste – because when I opened me eyes, Twilight was already minding her own business, combing her mane. I felt no difference from what I was a minute before, and opened my mouth to spit out what I had in stock – and, much to my shock, Twilight turned to me and smiled, remarking in PERFECTLY comprehendable English, that it worked! Oi, me noggin hurts. ??? I am still trying to get used to the newfound ability to actually understand what I am told. Seems pretty weird, as for me, but, well, this at least allows me to discuss the most pressing matter at hand: how do I get the hell out of here. However, Twilight shakes off any of my inquiries, just raining hers at me instead. What means “human”? Am I male or female? Why am I bipedal? What are humans' rations? What are the digits protruding from my upper limbs? Why don't I have much fur or tail?, and so on and so for. Well, at least I could've presented the humankind to her, like some ambassador. Oi, this is going to be long... Chalkboard, conjured by Twilight, seems tired to me – so much schematics and sketches were done, and Twilight, with a nerd rage in her eyes, wrote down every single word I said. It feels good to be smart. ??? ??? After a whole marathon of lectures in human anatomy, behaviour, ethics and so on, I've finally managed to ask the question troubling me: how do I get back home? Twilight, just beaming with joy of the massive flood of new information, pumped into her, just shrugged. Oi, that was a burn. After a very nasty ragequit I had, when Morgan cautiously poked his head from the tallest bookshelf and Spike – the reptilian litlle fella – grouchingly went away to get a broom, Twilight approached me cautiously, ears drooped, compassion on her face, and asked 'Why leave?'. Oi, she'd better didn't. hurrdurrhurr I've been imprisoned in a cellar for some time. Nothing interesting happened back there – I was fiddling with the cork I've found on the floor. Also a very nice spider kept me company. I called him Sir Roderic and beknighted him, so the lil' bugger should be proud over his bloody arse. Well, honestly, I actually feel bad about the outrage I've had back there. It was childish, unprofessional and unbefitting of a man in my position. Guess I owe an excuse to the library folk. The day of me excusing myself The excuse went well – I was spared in the mercy of purple-ish mare, a sarcastic owl and a small reptile, whose name was more befitting for a dog. Oh joy. I repeated my inquiry to Twilight, indicating that I have an asston of responsbilities back in the place, and, well, that I pretty much don't belong here. I put all I've had to make the speech as sappy as possible, aiming to hit some soft spots in the female organism, and I succeeded. Twilight promised me to see what she can do – and I cackled ominously, hunching my back and folding fingertips together as some kind of evil genius from the movies. Oi, me such a prick.