Cross The Amazon

by Chatoyance

7. The Alphabet A - Z

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T H E C O N V E R S I O N B U R E A U :
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CROSS THE AMAZON

By Chatoyance

Chapter Seven: The Alphabet A - Z

The magnificent dinner was over. Dropspindle smiled as she licked the last of Calloway's effort at dessert, a sort of pudding like thing that tasted sweet but which she did not feel safe asking about the ingredients of. This was all his way of acknowledging the risk she had placed herself in to rescue him. He understood, now, that much was clear, and he was without question grateful.

"Calloway... you have created a moment of joy for me in this... place... and... well, um... wow!"

Kotani grinned. "That... I'm glad. I was worried that... I'm just glad it worked."

Dropspindle turned and used her horn to reach for her scavenging bag in the corner. She lifted it to her and reached inside, through the fabric. She lifted out the bottle of whiskey and placed it on the table. "I found some goodies today, out buggering human houses..."

Calloway stifled, with difficulty, a laugh. "Burgling." His eyes shone. "From 'Burglar'. The other word... it means something... else."

"Ah! Burgling, then. Oh - I hope my language enchantment isn't breaking down. Goodness, that would be a problem. Think good thoughts... Here!" The carbon-fiber case plunked itself down on the table in front of Calloway. "There is still some of your wonderful hay dish left, you made quite a lot of it. Wonderful, as you know." She smiled. She had been complimenting his efforts throughout the meal. Calloway had worked so very hard.

"I bring this fact up because I have found a way for you to properly enjoy it yourself!" Dropspindle raised the case with her hornfield and made it dance in front of Calloway's face. "Look! It's an emergency ponification kit! I found it in the house of a former Blackmesh officer, inside his webby suit! We have days here left to us - you could down this and in twenty minutes you would be safe from the Barrier! You could digest the wonderful meal that you made for me! See? E.P.K. - it has one standard dose, read the front!" Dropspindle beamed. She had saved Kotani. She had saved his very life.

Calloway waited until the package landed on the table, and the hornfield dissipated before picking it up. "EPK. Contains one standard dose. For emergency use as directed. Property of Blackmesh Security." He held the smallish, dark, rounded box and stared at it. "Yup. This is the stuff. Ponification transformation serum. Little nanobuggers in pure magic. I've heard it tastes like grape. Hoooh... boy." He turned the case over. "Warning: transformation and thaumatic hazard. Do not open without intention. Read included instructions."

Dropspindle placed her hooves on the table. "There's plenty of room right on the floor here, or we could go to one of the beds, but not the usual one because... I don't know. Maybe it's messy or something. I've never actually seen a human transformed, but I'll be there! I be right there with you, I promise, because..."

"Me as an Equestrian. Have to pick a new name, I suppose."

"Well, you could, it is my understanding most... 'Newfoals'... do. Picking a proper Equestrian name is a big first step towards fitting in and..."

"And you think, you really think, I should be a pony? You think I'll make a good pony? Do you? Do you really?"

Dropspindle stared, her mouth frozen in mid speech. Kotani had tears in his eyes. "Calloway?"

One of those tears ran down his cheek. "I knew this day would come. I knew it. No way to avoid it, end of the line, hell - end of the world." Calloway's eyes were red now, and puffy. "Time to go pony, huh? Hoooo... boy! Right here. Right here in my goddamned hand."

"Do you object to becoming Equestrian?" Dropspindle felt a touch of anger rising within her. And fear. "Are you... are you one of those... eight shell heffers? Is that the term? Heffers?"

Calloway laughed through his tears. "No. Oh... no. Not one of those. Not HLF. I don't think going pony is wrong. If anything, I think it's a blessing, to the world. To humanity. Ponies are nicer. Better. So much nicer. Jesus, just look at what you did yourself - just to save my sad little ass! My god..."

"Well, if you think that way..." Now Dropspindle was just confused. Calloway should be happy then. "...I don't understand. Open that thing and let's get you fixed up right now!"

"DO YOU THINK... do you think... I should be a... pony?"

Dropspindle had almost tumbled from her pillow at the loud outburst. "O-of course! I... you really aren't making much sense... I don't know what... " Dropspindle used her hornfield to help her scoot the low table closer to Calloway, just around the corner of the table. It took a bit of grunting, jerking her body in an ungainly way, and left marks on the floor, but she made it. "Calloway... what is it? Something must be bothering you - you've had some kind of issue with this from the first time the possibility was mentioned and... what is it? Are you worried it won't work, are you afraid of..."

"YES I'M AFRAID!" Calloway had his head down over the table, buried in the crook of his arms. "I'm so afraid. I'm afraid it won't really work! Why do I deserve to be a pony? Why do I get a pass? Why am I worth such a thing?" Calloway's head was up now, his eyes very red. "Tell me, Dropspindle - why do you think I should get to be one of you? I'm an ass. I've always been an ass. Not a pony. You should have burrofication potion for asses like me! There are people out there... people who are a lot kinder and a lot better, and what happens to them? What..."

"Calloway..."

"How am I going to fit in? Tell me that. The HLF, they say that ponfication erases you, that it changes you, but that's just bullshit - I've seen a lot of people come back as ponies and... you'd be surprised at how many of them were still jerkwads after they got hooves! The HLF is full of shit - ponification doesn't erase a goddamned thing, and that's the problem! You know what I was doing in that mine? I was in there because I was grieving for the loss of my homeland, and you know what I did to grieve? I masturbated to porn, played videogames and drank myself blind, that is how I honored the Great Island of Nippon. Hello ancestors, I spooged on a map of Japan! I'm a prize! What a pony I'm gonna make!"

Dropspindle was without words for a time. "Everypony grieves in their own way..."

Calloway burst out with a howling laugh. "Oh, fuck! Jesus fuck. You are just so nice. God you are nice. You are all so god damned nice. How the hell are you going to deal with billions of ponified humans running all over you? God, your princess must be an idiot."

"THAT'S ENOUGH!" Dropspindle had needed to keep from clocking the fragile human with her forehoof. It was fortunate she remembered in time that they were built like glass. "Listen to me, Calloway Kotani - yes, I try to be nice. I think everypony does in their own way, as best as they can. But I assure you that even born-ponies get feeling sorry for themselves, and that is what I am hearing from you right now, and I have had enough of it!"

Dropspindle put a hoof on the human's shoulder. "Nopony is perfect. There are... asses... among native Equestrians too. Ponies are ponies. And yes, at first I wondered what kind of a human you were. You seemed a little... cranky, and I was put off a bit. But... over the time we have been together, you've tried so hard - just this dinner tonight, goodness! All along the trip you've tried to be nice in little ways... it's just that things have been difficult. Things have been..."

"You don't know me! You don't. You can't, we've only been around each other for less than a week. For all you know, I kill people for fun on the weekends. It isn't even Saturday yet!"

"Do you... kill people... on weekends?"

"NO! Of course not! Jesus Christ on a cracker!" Calloway shook his head. "But you don't know that! I could be a monster, or a... a... I don't know!"

Dropspindle tilted her head and tried to look the human in the eyes. "You're right. I don't know you. Much about you. I know a little. I know you try really hard, but that sometimes you prefer to run away. I know you make jokes to hide your pain. And now I know you think that the fact you feel fear and pain somehow means you aren't a good person. I don't think that's true."

"When my friends went pony, I abandoned them." Calloway stared at his hands on the tablecloth.

"Because you were afraid you would somehow offend them. That's it, isn't it?"

Calloway nodded.

"Your world... and humans... are a little... troubling. This is a harsh universe, and I have been told that you had to be tough and harsh to survive in it. But ponies are stronger than you think. Look at me - I came to your world, I lived by myself in Peru for months... and the only company I have had is humans. Am I broken? Am I ruined? Am I not a good pony anymore?"

"No! Of course not! Hell, you've put up with me, that says a lot right there."

Dropspindle sat back on her pillow and shifted to be more comfortable. "Then either ponies are too tough for humans in their midst to hurt them, or you are good enough person to be a pony. Or both." Dropspindle leaned in once more. "Besides, if I like you as a human, you'll only be better as a pony. So use that kit, okay?"

"Do... do you actually like me? As a person?" The look on Calloway's face was quizzical, a mixture of emotions and questions without answer.

"You're alright, I guess. You throw a decent dinner party." Dropspindle gave a partial grin. "You invite the best guests, in any case."

Calloway stared, surprised, even shocked. Then he laughed out loud. "I guess I did, didn't I?" He reached for the EPK kit. "Well... then, lets see what it takes to trade in my hands for hooves." He wiped his cheeks and eyes, and turned his attention to the EPK case.

"Can I ask a question?" Dropspindle's ears half lowered.

"Yes, of course."

"Why... why do you... you humans... go on so much about having hooves instead of those claws of yours? Hands, hands for hooves, 'oh no I have to give up my hands' - you really don't need them. I mean, they seem pretty fragile, they look like naked spiders, and you can't walk on them. Why is it such a big deal?"

Calloway flipped the case around until he figured out how to open it. Inside, he found a printed slip of replipaper and a carefully protected three ounce / 88 ml flask set in form-fitting high-impact foam. "It's pretty simple, really. Hands are our primary tool. We do everything you do with all of your abilities with our hands. And we need them, because we don't have magic, and we don't always cooperate well either. So we have to make things - tools, machines, weapons, and all of these things are complicated and hard to make." He unfolded the little replipaper slip and studied it for a moment.

He looked up. "I know - think of it this way. Hands are humans unicorn horns. And all humans have to be unicorns, because we all - all of us - have to be the ones who deal with all the fiddly stuff - the gears in clocks and metalwork and tiny, detailed little things. And we have to do this all the time, because we can't control Nature. We have to fight Nature, because otherwise it just kills us. Every human is a unicorn. We aren't super strong, and we can't fly or walk on clouds. We just do all the complicated crap, because we have to, because everything is out to hurt us, and our magic is making material things. With our hands. So... it is really scary for us, because it's hard to even imagine a life where that isn't still true."

Dropspindle nodded. "That... that really makes sense. Thank you! That has been bothering me since the first day I heard one of you go on and on about how terrible having hooves would be."

"I felt pretty clever there, honestly." Calloway pried the bottle from the foam and set it on the table. "It's such a basic thing, I bet most people don't even think about it. They just feel what they feel." He studied the slip again. "Huh. Changing species is a lot simpler than I ever imagined. Just get naked or make sure your clothes don't bind in any way, toss the contents back in one go, and twenty minutes later, you're done. I've had more trouble trying to get a bandage on a cut." Calloway lifted the bottle and jiggled it in his hand, feeling the small weight of it. Taking in the profound power of such a tiny thing. The power to transform one creature into an entirely other creature, in less than half an hour.

Calloway jiggled the bottle several times. Then he shook it. "Hold on..."

Dropspindle tilted her head. "What? What is it?"

Calloway carefully opened the small flask. "Something isn't..." He carefully held the cap in one hand, while slowly and carefully tilting the flask with the other.

"Wait! Isn't that dangerous? Be careful!" Dropspindle had heard only a few things about transformation serum, but among them was how strong the thaumatic flux it contained was to humans, and another was how any contact with the fluid would begin the conversion process... and how a full dose was required to avoid horrific outcomes.

The little bottle didn't pour. Nothing came out. Calloway tilted the flask more, then still more. A thick, gray, syrupy goo slowly oozed out and blobbed at the cap. The grayish slime sparkled slightly, and had streaks of translucent purple, but was mostly opaque. It was very, very thick.

"'Serum should be a clear, purple liquid filled with small, sparkling specks. If serum appears thick or colorless discard immediately. Warning! Do not attempt conversion if serum has spoiled.'" Calloway carefully replaced the cap, then set the bottle back into the foam case. "Shit." He lifted the flask and turned it over, pointing to a translucent section set into it. "See? There's even a little window to check it. I didn't even notice..." He closed the case and hung his head. "I didn't know the stuff could go bad. Of course it can. This is earth. Entropy. Things turn to shit here. Soup goes bad. Food goes stale. I guess, outside of Equestria... magic fades. Duh, huh?"

A single tear hit the tablecloth below his head, leaving a tiny little circle.

Calloway felt forelegs around his chest. Dropspindle pressed her head to his back. "We'll find another. We'll find more. Or we'll find a way. We will, Calloway. We will."

The man patted one of her forelegs, wrapped around him. "Yeah." He sniffed. "Or a boat."

"A boat? On the desert?"

"Across the desert. Eventually, there's another ocean. The Atlantic. Then the Afrizone."

"A boat then." The forelegs hugged Calloway tight.

Comments

[Walabio]

Well now, that did not work. I wonder how far away from the barrier they can to get for communications to work. Communications would be simpler if we would still have satellites in Low EarthOrbit. All of those satellites have crashed into the barrier. We still have the geosynchronous satellites though.

[FanOfMostEverything]

I'm not surprised by this unfortunate turn of events—it wouldn't be much of a story otherwise—but it still hurt to see All of that anguish, all of that terror... and then a grey, gloppy anticlimax. Calloway must be emotionally exhausted. Still, he's mentally prepared should they find a viable potion sample... hopefully.

Also, Dropspindle finally got to understand what's so special about wrist tentacles.

[Guiding_Passion]

Realistically I saw this coming from a practical point of view this attempt at conversion would have to end like this since if Calloway had gone pony now no one would be able to drive the jitney (what is a jitney anyway? Some kind of spanish word for Jeep?)

[Metemponychosis]

Ah. Life is good. Work is nice and I'm feeling helpful. Good free food at lunch break. A little free time... Grab my iPad... Chatoyance updated her story with a really nice chapter.
Life is indeed good.

Well, I had a feeling that something would go wrong with the EPK. Even if there is still the threat of being stranded in the Exponential Lands if he had converted. I fell like the thaumatic radiation from the Barrier is going to be a problem sooner or later.

[Defoloce]

Kotani doesn't have the whole picture, it seems. Chatoverse potion doesn't leave you "exactly the same" as you were. If it did, the black-bag project which resulted in the founding of the PER would not need to have existed. The HLF wouldn't have demonstrable evidence that going pony alters your mind, your outlook, your priorities, your very self, which is the cornerstone fact around which they build their larger bodies of propaganda. People would be able to regret going pony, or hate it, or possibly feel wronged over it depending on the circumstances under which they converted. There would be true shareable human perspective, from either side of the three-ounce dream. Speaking of which, if potion left you "exactly the same," some of those conversion-dream conversations would be pretty awkward!

I'm not faulting Kotani for not having perfect metagame-tier background knowledge of conversion and potion. He hasn't read the Chatoverse TCB stories. However, if he stopped and thought about it (admittedly a luxury, in his situation), he might think better of what he's said.

[Chatoyance]

6157936

People would be able to regret going pony, or hate it, or possibly feel wronged over it depending on the circumstances under which they converted.

The Reasonably Adamant Down With Celestia Newfoal Society!

"LOOK AT ME!" The shimmery dark purple stallion suddenly dropped to all four hooves from the podium and ambled to the right, showing off his flank side, neck turned so that his eyes remained fixed on the six ponies attending. "LOOK... at what they did to me! Look, really LOOK... at the horror of what I have become!"

The golden light from the firefly lanterns rippled down his muscular body, gleaming from his dark indigo coat. He tossed his mane, to get the long, luxurious strands out of his eyes, and the locks poured like liquid gold across his withers. His strong barrel and powerful hocks seemed larger than life on the small stage. His tail was like a waterfall of riches, his hooves shining perfection. "All of us - each one of us - has suffered just the same as me. We're all VICTIMS of CELESTIA!"

[Defoloce]

6158680

You're only allowed to hold up RADwCNS as an argument here if you're also confirming that that story wasn't the least bit satirical. The attitude and tone throughout that entire narrative was that the concept of a newfoal hating conversion after the fact deserves only eye-rolls and chuckles. Such characters are clearly deluded and silly, says your story! From the very beginning, even in the passage you chose to share, the juxtaposition of what the narrator is telling us versus what the characters think is meant to throw this into relief. In fact, the character speaking is named "Royal Payne."

So was RADwCNS meant to be satire, pointing out how a pony with grievances regarding conversion wouldn't have a logical leg to stand on, or was it being played straight, underscoring how unrealistic a scenario it would be to hate going pony in the first place?

[Chatoyance]

6159431

You're only allowed to hold up RADwCNS as an argument here if you're also confirming that that story wasn't the least bit satirical.

One of the most important values of satire is to illuminate complex or controversial truth in an enjoyable or inoffensive manner.

I believe that history is on my side in my contention that I can hold the RADWICKINS up as both straight and satirical at the same time.

Their complaints seem ludicrous but many people are utterly serious about their ludicrous complaints. There would be no issue of any problem being a 'first world problem' if this were not blatantly - and embarrassingly - so. Yet, while most of the planet starves or suffers from easily curable diseases, real human beings cry and genuinely suffer because they cannot afford a shiny new Apple watch, or - in the case of people more relatable still - suffer deeply because they cannot afford a Playstation 4 and a copy of Call Of Duty or Madden. Or because they missed a television program they value above all else in life.

It is easy to make fun of such people and their issues, but pain is pain, and whatever the cause - what one person would call legitimate and another would call ridiculous - the suffering is still real.

In my RADWICKINS novel, I make fun of my disgruntled Newfoals and display they suffering in a ridiculous light for comedic purposes. But I also accept that they are suffering, even if it seems stupid, and even if they themselves cannot entirely comprehend why, or how they are supposed to deal with it. The end of the novel is strikingly different from the beginning, and does indeed take the pain of the issue seriously.

It is the purpose of satire to be funny and authentic, ridiculous and true, at the same time.

It seems harsh to insist I have no right to use such a time-honored tool in discourse, don't you think?

[Defoloce]

6160603

So which is it? Can there exist the immense psychological horror of hating being a pony yet being unable to process it even with oneself, or does conversion truly leave humans as they were, as Kotani seems to think? RADwCNS is very clear that it is the former, and the fact is played for laughs. We've discussed this before in the comments of that story, almost three years ago, and you said then, without equivocation or qualification, that it is a comedy piece.

The RADwCNS's existential malcontent, their deep remorse for having been pulled from their old lives, is trivialized--again, in the style of satire. "Why are these silly ponies lamenting their wonderful new lives in Equestria?" asks the reader between shakes of their head. "They even describe its amazingness in their rants complaining about it! They're caricatures, commentary on how utterly impossible and unreasonable it would be to hate being a pony in a magical pony world!"

After all, regardless of whether you're right that you also meant it to be serious, they were collectively pacified by ice cream, so incredibly surmountable was their originating complaint. If Kotani converts, and is lost forever with Dropspindle in the approaching-infinite lands of Greater Equestria, they won't even get one single scoop to help ease the pain.

[Chatoyance]

6161210

So which is it? Can there exist the immense psychological horror of hating being a pony yet being unable to process it even with oneself, or does conversion truly leave humans as they were, as Kotani seems to think?

It is more complicated than just one or the other.

Yes - a Newfoal can be upset to be a pony, and can feel angst about it.
No - they absolutely can't work up a fully human level of true, deep, black rage about the issue, or feel overwhelming and crippling psychological horror and despair about it.

Yes - a pony, a Newfoal, if they really, really tried, could remain perpetually disgruntled about being consigned to the circumstance of being trapped in paradise where all around them is fun and laughter and joy.
No - they are not going to be any more of a Debby Downer than lovable old Eeyore from Winnie The Pooh.

You remember Cranky Doodle Donkey from the show? That is your example of the most desperately depressed, deeply angry that any Newfoal could ever be, and only if they truly tried - as in made a deliberate career out of it.

If the goalposts of human expression are dark and violent rage, those goalposts are moved far closer in the Newfoal. The impulse is not absent, but it is massively reduced - no Newfoal will ever ruin their own life or the lives of those around them because they are pissed about being Converted. That isn't going to happen. No Newfoals are going to go into a pony school and shoot everyone because they are alienated and angry. They are not that human any more.

But, if a Newfoal is truly determined to be miserable in the middle of having a perfect body that is always healthy, in a nearly perfect world without want, disease, violence, greed, and almost without evil, they can do that - BUT, they will have been changed, mentally, so inhumanly, that they will be unable to truly, really hate anyone or anything.

I've made this all very clear, over and over again, but... once more, yet again, I will clarify.

Newfoals are unchanged in terms of overall identity, but the degrees of latitude for expression of that individuality are changed to conform with Equestrian biology and neurology. You can be a pony ass, but not an asshole, you can be a pony malcontent, but not shoot up the school. You can object to having been ponified, but you cannot work up a human hate about it, you can be angry, but you cannot rage. That has been changed. You are not human to the degree that you cannot be a monster capable of atrocity. You are still human enough to know who you are, what you like, what you don't like, and what you value - but I know humans enough to know that with sufficient pleasure and relief from pain, with enough kindness and acceptance and nurturing all around them, it is impossible to avoid going native eventually.

Is this specific enough for you?

Lastly... I thought you read my stories. I felt sure you understood all of this already. I am surprised to have to explain this to you, of all people, again. I don't even know why this is an issue. I feel confused, as a result.

OF COURSE the objections of the RADWIKINS are trivialized. If you are literally given the Elysian Fields - literally given heaven - and you are bitching about it, then frankly, as a person who has suffered greatly on the real world earth, I think your complaint is something trivial.

Because it is.

"Why are these silly ponies lamenting their wonderful new lives in Equestria?" asks the reader between shakes of their head. "They even describe its amazingness in their rants complaining about it! They're caricatures, commentary on how utterly impossible and unreasonable it would be to hate being a pony in a magical pony world!"

Well, shit, yeah! No duh! It's angels in heaven complaining that the clouds are not fluffy enough. It's former mortal humans gifted with magic and perfect bodies within a magical land of beauty bitching that they weren't begged first. The sheer ego, the lack of gratitude -

It is a person pulled from a flaming wreck and given life-saving care complaining that they were not asked whether or not they wanted to keep being alive and having their skin not entirely burned horribly off.

In my Bureau stories, Conversion is a moral imperative. The lack of Conversion is a moral evil. This is the basic underlying premise. Is this not obvious? Have I failed to make this clear?

The unconverted are doomed to suffering and oblivion, the Converted are heir to vastly extended life, an afterlife, and freedom from misery.

Epicurus - the greatest moral good is to reduce suffering.

In my Bureau stories, this is the morality used.

Thus, people who bitch about reducing suffering and increasing pain and misery are evil, or deluded, or ridiculous.

Which, by the way, is the morality of the actual cartoon itself.

[Defoloce]

6161463

I've read your stories, absolutely, but it was you who invoked RADwCNS, not me. As you've argued it, that's the metric by which a human can feel wronged at being converted, and, as intended, it comes off as utterly toothless. These emotions aren't resolved upon conversion, however; they're simply erased, and the horror of that is not diminished by the fact that the emotions in question are icky ones folks generally don't like feeling. It's magical Paxil, a thaumatic rug under which the human dirt is swept.

Is it not its own horror, Chat, to feel something wrong within you but be unable to confront it as you would? To not feel happy, yet be told from all sides that yes, you're happy? That gratitude should supersede serious reflection? Could a native pony even relate to a human's internal conflict regarding conversion? Dropspindle didn't do a great job with Kotani. She didn't understand, much as she tried to. Kotani wanted to feel like he deserved conversion, because I think, deep down, he realized that part of him would change, and he wanted to be at peace with it before it had a chance to linger outside his grasp for the rest of his life.

[ferret]

burrofication potion

SIGN ME UP I'LL CRAB AT THOSE PONIES UNTIL THEY'RE BLUE IN THE FACE
...
BLUER IN THE FACE

[PostPony]

6166379 Your comment is so great that it brings in some sort of internet hall of fame. That was great.

[Gonefromhere]

Can't say I hadn't thought what Calloway did before. In the end though, regardless of what you did (or moreso what you thought you did), you can always do better, and going down on yourself never makes things better. Neither does self-flagellation and denial of joy make it better. Friends and solo walks down to the river DO make it better though. Even on those days where you think you're a complete monster for just having a bad day (or several) and alot of bad thoughts. Good thing Calloway came to his senses here.

On hands, yes they are quite useful tools. While I'd be the type to rush after some cherry flasks, I do admit despite what I've said long before about being able to adapt to mouth manipulation, THE thing I'd miss with my hands is what skills I may have with pencil and paper drawing. Not that it'd deter me.

Semi related, but something I've wondered about conversion dreams, is how long are they perceived by the imbiber? I know the transformation time in realspace is around 20-30 min, but does time seem to "flow slower" within the dream? Could they go on for "hours", even "days" on the inside? Does the drinker have merely images and visions of the Princesses, or are they an actual presence of sorts? (Personally I think a loooooong therapy chat with Celly and Luna could do me some good; may not have as many issues nowadays and doing better, but still...) Dreams in general interest me; being stories, simulations, journeys, stress relief, and wells of ideas. Another realm awaiting, with only a pillow needed to enter...

[Chatoyance]

6818653

but does time seem to "flow slower" within the dream? Could they go on for "hours", even "days" on the inside? Does the drinker have merely images and visions of the Princesses, or are they an actual presence of sorts?

The longest that I imagine a conversion dream subjectively lasting is around an hour at the maximum. That said, there is no reason there could not be narrative compression that caused the dreamer to believe the dream had lasted much longer without actually having experienced such time, and without detailed memories of the longer time spent. No dream I have written about has lasted longer than forty minutes, most are much shorter.

The question of whether the dreams are real, or are just the product of the brain being reconstructed, or are implanted information written into memory by the nanomachines and their thaumatic couplements is deliberately never concretely answered. I would prefer that it always remains a central mystery. Mysterious things have a power to them that concrete answers destroy. No matter what answer. It is the frisson of the uncertainty that makes things feel magical.

I derived conversion dreams from NDE's - Near Death Experiences. I have known several people in my life that have experienced life-altering NDE's that they feel, or felt (while still alive) were real, factual events. They were utterly convinced that their near death experience was a view of Something More. Every one of them had strikingly different experiences, and every one of them clearly stated that they understood that what they had experienced was a representational metaphor, that it was the best interpretation their mind could make of something greater, and other, than human existence can encompass.

Such experiences are fascinating, and I am intrigued by them. They are a natural inspiration for the conversion dream.

And like conversion dreams, near death experiences cannot be proven to be real or fantasy. There are indications either way, which makes them very interesting for that, alone. And they do permanently change people, change their lives as a real experience would.

Personally I think a loooooong therapy chat with Celly and Luna

I would pay almost any amount for a real life CelestA.I. that could talk with me about anything and never be bored, or annoyed, or frustrated, or think less of me, or judge me, or get tired of my whining. Such a thing would be the most desirable thing I can imagine. The first person or group that even comes significantly close - more than a dumb Eliza clone, I mean real, intelligent, active listening - will become billionaires, I think.

[Listic]

So, they were ready to get Calloway ponified and didn't even think about the fact that they would be forever lost in the Exponential Lands? I think they were going to find some pegabus or some other trick, to reach other ponies in Equestria, eventually.

[Madrigal Baroque]

"DO YOU THINK... do you think... I should be a... pony? "

*facehoof*

...ow. That bucking hurt.

The little bottle didn't pour. Nothing came out. Calloway tilted the flask more, then still more. A thick, gray, syrupy goo slowly oozed out and blobbed at the cap. The grayish slime sparkled slightly, and had streaks of translucent purple, but was mostly opaque. It was very, very thick.

Oh, buck. It spoiled. How can it spoil? It's magical blood!

Oh. Entropy. No entropy in Equestria. Gotcha.

Sigh. These two can't catch a break with a butterfly net.