Bad Trip Diaries

by The Boorywooch

Chapter 2, or All Is for Science!, I guess?

April, 16th.

From my own estimations, I've slept for two full days – seems like the exhaustion, complete with toxic shock to my system, had depleted the energy reserves pretty much. I was hungry, thirsty and felt depleted of energy – the feeling of dry eyes and tongue feeling like a woolen mitten told me unmistakably that the level of glucose in my blood ran low, so I've had to have something to eat soon, lest I wished to lay limp and weak, as a rug. Reaching for my trusty bag, I've produced some tablets of glucose and began chewing thoroughly, trying to get my salivary glands to produce something. It helped, and soon I've felt a surge of energy sipping into my limbs, so I actually could do something better than just lay around, weakly swaying hands and feet.

Still, I was thirsty, so I've began to inspect the surroundings. Though the cellar was dark, the adapted night vision helped me indicate a battery of bottles, all corked up and with some indicator papers stuck to the necks. Producing a lighter, I've tried to make out 'who is who' – with little success, though. The writing was nothing alien to me, but the language itself...

Okay, I thought, popping the first cork and starting my little experiment. Tearing off a small piece of bandage, I've rolled it open on the floor and dropped a blob of the liquid. Stage first: acid would burn it or corrode it. Nothing. Not a smell, not a hiss. Stage two. Olfactory test. No smell. Water? Stage three. Feeling. Nothing special: wet, nay, humid fibers. Stage four. Tasting.

A careful gulp ran down me throat, wetting the dry esophagus, bringing the blissful coolness all through my chest and down to the stomach. Even though I was tempted to drink down more and more, I've exerted my willpower to put away the bottle and estimate whatever contribution it may have to my system.

Nothing, except the sweet, familiar taste.

Well, I guess, I'd better drink some more – just take some adsorbent in just in case, can't hurt much.

When the bottle gurgled the last drop of its contents, I've exhaled, feeling all better, and thought that better I'd take care of an ankle. The joint looked swollen, was hot to the touch and, if the foot itself moved, the displacement of the bones was evident. Applying some painkillers blockade and waiting a couple of minutes the medication to take effect, I've took the cork, sighed and bit the cork steadily. Tug and twist – and a blast of pain, making me bulge me eyes out and moo mutely, biting the cork down with such force that the teeth buried halfway into it – but my leg was now fixed, and, after some rest and regenerating medication injected, I was ready to move on.

When I've stuck my head out of the cellar, it was already dusk – the best time for a survey. Leaving some of my stuff back in the cellar, hidden well behind some barrels and crates, I've crawled out of my shelter and slithered behind the bushes, following the paved paths to whatever is meant the center of this town.

My worst suspicions proved to be true – the micro-equine aberrations proved to be the denizens of the place, in their everyday routine mocking the humankind – they visited somewhat mocking cafés, strode around in couples, chitchatting easily, some even nudged each other's snouts in whatever sign of possible affection to each other – but that was not the weirdest thing I've seen. The diversity of species was the thing that made shivers run down my spine. From the more or less familiar equine creatures, that I could identify with a pony – more or less – I've also spotted the species with functional wings, that actually propelled them into and through the air. Also some of the denizens sported a spiral, narwhal-like horn in the middle of the forehead, for some unknown reason and purpose. My primary guess that the class diversification in their society placed them somewhere like warrior or protector class had ruined immediately – and I only had to wait and inspect. In this diary I've also placed some of my guesses, but those are of no scientific value.

Anyway, from what I've seen, I've managed out two things: those were equines, and those were sentient. They've actually had a language – not the combination of neighs and snorts and wheezes, that you may hear from a typical horse – no, their lips were moving in a complex, continent motions, actually pronouncing words, with a specific intonation for each matter! I was astounded.

The second thing that amused me was some kind of a brand that I've seen on a flanks of each specie – the only difference was that the brands are usually only a silhouette images, made either by a hot iron, either by chemical bleaching of a hide – but those looked like a colorful tattoos, every single one was individual, and there were no two alike.

And, of course, the coloring of those... how do I call them?.. ponies? - they were Technicolor in the most literal meaning of this word. All hues and colors of the rainbow – wait, not even rainbow, of the RGB color scheme – were dancing in front of my eyes. Such kaleidoscopic flamboyancy before me made my head dizzy, so I've dove back down and crawled further.

Crawling back into me hideout, trying to arrange the wild hive of thoughts, buzzing in my head, but one thing was absolutely, dreadfully clear to me: I was no longer where I belong.

April, 20th

I am undercover for already four days. Though I feel somewhat dubious, if it is me so stealthy or the locals just pretend not to spot me, as, by my estimations, my hearing is much inferior to theirs – herbivorous animals have naturally developed the sensory organs to prevent being ambushed, attacked and chased by carnivorous ones. Besides, my smell should be much different from their habitual olfactory environment. Though, taking that the first hours here I've been subject to many physical actions, my clothes should have absorbed the natural smells of the environment... Though not having a bath for so long is rather... discouraging.

I'm still hiding in the cellar, sleeping through the light time of the day and surveying in the dark. My areal of action spreads with each day, and more and more information comes to me. For example, eavesdropping in the bushes made me know, that my current location is called Ponyville, Equestria, that the winged species are called Pegasi (reminiscence to the Greek mythology), are responsible for weather (meteorology here seems to be an interesting occupation, if you ask me), but which way do they do it – I haven't figured out yet. Also the Unicorns (obvious, that those are the ones with horns, is it not?) seem to be the class of scientists, teachers and, after all, 'white collars' of this... reality?

The 'normal' ponies – the 'Earth' ones – are busy in every kind of manual labor, mostly agriculture, and seem to be most skilled at it. The society in all of its complexity seems balanced: the Earth species seem to be the basis of the economic system, producing goods; Pegasi are both the stabilizing element (meteorologists) and the couriers, providing the steady exchange; while Unicorns are seemed to be the 'brains' of the society. The only thing I still cannot understand is the application of a horn. Is it a phenotypic feature that provides the 'head' position in the society?

One more curious thing is the 'Alicorn' phenomenon – the ruler of the 'ponyfolk' – Princess Celestia, the mare that is sporting both the horn and wings. Such is meant to be, as I see, the feature of the royalty, that is even intertwining somewhat with theocracy, as the Princess is presumed divine creature with somewhat god- or demigod-like power.

This is curious – subject for more research.

Comments

[Boop-Happy Lass]

Hmm, needs more paragraphs, and when you're changing scenes try putting a horizontal rule.