The Anthropologist

by Weavers of Dreams

-4- Monday Part: Four

“So, after I fought off the Hellhound, I journeyed to the Tower of Deplorable Desolation and burnt it to the ground. The citizens of the land cheered my holy name, and their chieftain presented me with the Battleax of Righteousness. However, the rulers of the nation were not so pleased that I had taken the glory without their namesake. Therefore, they sought to purge me from the world, turning me to stone, until I awoke millennia later from that unjust prison and fled into the wilderness to gather strength and show the world how cowardly and detestable the two rulers of the land are(1).”

“All within two hours, huh?” Lyra said as she finished writing down all the costumed teenager in front of her had said. With an old aluminum baseball bat hovering readily beside her, she regarded her new patient.

He was lanky, had bad acne, was covered in dirt and mud, and wore a suit of foam armor that used to resemble a Chaos Space Marine. The most striking feature, however, was the large bruise on the left side of his face.

“Let’s try and straighten this out,” Lyra said as she licked the tip of her hoof and turned the page around. An earth pony habit she had picked up. “You were sold an item by a mysterious old man…”

“My Boot of Holy Earthquakes,” he said, gesturing proudly to the intricately decorated metal shoe.

“Where’d the other one go?” Lyra asked, using the tip of the bat the push the human back as he leaned forward to try and see what she was reading.

“There was no other one.”

“So, there’s only one shoe?” Lyra asked, coking her eyes.

“Indeed.”

“Why would you buy one shoe?” she asked, not entirely sure she wanted to know the answer.

The teenager held out his arms, one had a power fist and the other was just a glove, which grasped a snow shovel. “Because the servants of Chaos need not match.”

“That thing has to weigh fifty pounds,” Lyra spoke up, an edge of disbelief in her voice. “No wonder you tripped and fell.”

“Ah, yes,” he went on, “the Merchant sought to test me, and I passed his challenge.”

Lyra held up an article of crushed foam that had once been a decent helmet. “You’re just lucky this thing had enough density that you didn’t break your skull when you hit that rock.”

“The Merchant had the foresight and power to transform my childish creation into its true form, befitting one such as I. With this, I shall begin my crusade to vanquish evil from this world.”

Lyra tossed the piece of foam aside and sighed. “You’re also lucky it’s just foam, you could have hurt Winona when you threw it at her.”

“The Hellhound was just fortunate I let it live.”

“You chased her for about ten feet before that stupid shoe exhausted you.”

“Yes,” he agreed with her. “I have yet to truly master its mighty earthquake power. It drains my armor’s energy cells something fierce.”

Lyra rolled her eyes and continued. “The Cutie Mark Crusaders are rather upset with what you did to their treehouse.”

“The treasures inside the horrid tower must have been vast,” lamented the teenager. “But it was the only way I could free them from its horrid oppression.”

“They were just trying to calm you down after seeing try to hurt the Apple family pet.”

“The master of the tower had sent them to me, rather than risk his own neck. Hoping they would appease me as a sacrifice. But I showed my great virtue, and instead had them take me to his hiding place.”

“They thought you were just scared and were taking you to get some refreshments to calm you down.”

“It was indeed refreshing to hear the cries of joy.”

“They were crying alright,” Lyra hissed between her teeth.

Without warning, the teenager began to swing the shovel about with the skill of a drunk beaver. Lyra instinctively held the bat up defensively.

“They awarded me with…”

“With the snow shovel that Applejack just so happened to be using when she heard her sister and her friends crying. She was trying to dowse the flames with the snow, until you decided it was yours.”

“I was a hero.”

“You were a pyromaniac jerk who wouldn’t stop crying ‘Blood for the Blood God’ as you interfered with all efforts to save the playhouse.”

“But the rulers above them did not see me as such. They tried to bring me down with a great blizzard.”

“The Weather Patrol saw the smoke and tried to help.”

“When that failed they turned me to stone, I could not move.”

“They were unable to get you under control, so they dropped a tarp over you and tied to end together so they could drag into town to have your injuries looked at.”

“I then escaped and fled into the wilderness.”

“The tarp struck a sharp rock on the muddy road, ripped open, and you then proceeded to dive into Old Lady Daffodil’s rose bush.”

“There I began plans to…”

WHAP!

Lyra struck him the chest with the bat. The foam took most of the impact; it was just to get his attention. “Okay, I’ve heard this story enough times now, young man. We’ve been here for an hour and you keep on repeating yourself, over-and-over again. I’m sick of it.”

When it appeared he had no plans of speaking again, she lowered the bat and continued. “You’re what we in the Anthropological community call a Displaced. A human, typically really young, like yourself, gets sucked into a portal while wearing an outlandish costume, gets so disoriented that they trip over said costume and wind up getting a concussion that, combined with the sudden influx of magic on their person, makes them believe they’re in some high fantasy world.

“The only known cure is to send you back over to your world where magic doesn’t exist, and no longer plays with your brain. So, until there is an opening in the list of people returning to earth, you’re going to spend your remaining time here in Equestria at the Ponyville Mental Institute… this would have a greater impact to you if were even aware of what was going on.”

The two creatures stared at each other for the longest moment. Then the teenagers bowed deeply before Lyra.

“Teach me your ways, oh great one. You have managed to strike me, and your wisdom is spoken at great length. Show me the way to defeat my enemies.”

Lyra sighed sadly, ears drooping in a melancholy fashion. Reaching out a hoof, she gently stroked the top of his head. “You’re going to get help, kid, don’t worry. We won’t let you leave before we’re certain no lasting damage has been done.”

The teenager stood back and smiled triumphantly. “If ever I return home, this shall be a grand tale to tell.”

Lyra nodded as she moved to the door. “All the others thought so as well.”

Outside the room were several orderlies in white uniforms. Lyra gave them a nod.

The teenager watched as the ponies filed into the room. Lyra walked up to him and gave him an uneasy smile.

“Okay, kid…”

“I have chosen the name Thrandor.”

Lyra forced her lips to smile even broader. “Thrandor… that’s a, um, a nice name. Yeah. Well listen, Thrandor. These ponies are my… um… servants.” He gave a nod of understanding. So long as she kept playing along with his fantasies he would be easy to handle. “They are going to take you a place to study meditation in the ways of the…uuuuh… the Force, yeah, that’s it, the Force.”

“Like Star Wars, awesome,” he replied, striking a pose. The other ponies laughed, until Lyra fixed them with a withering glare.

“Yeah, just like that, Thrandor,” Lyra chuckled insincerely. “But, to train in the Force, you cannot take any weapons.”

“Of course.” The snow shovel clattered onto the ground. “Shall I shed my armor too?”

Lyra shook her head. “Why don’t you wait until you’re there? That way it can be put into a nice, secure location for after your training.”

He nodded and smiled. “Very well then, proceed,” he said, gesturing for the ponies to lead the way.

Lyra watched as they filed out, the uniformed ponies close in at his sides to keep him from wandering off. Then she noticed Applejack and the CMC, along with members of the weather patrol clinging to the walls as the teenager passed them by.

Gathering up the shovel and she left her office and presented it to the slightly singed Applejack, who still smelled like smoke. “You can have this back now, Applejack.”

Applejack took it, grinning sheepishly. “Ah, yeah, sorry about accidentally chasing him in here, Lyra. He kept givin’ us the slip.”

Lyra chuckled and rolled her eyes. “Oh, don’t worry about it. A little spice in the day is a good thing. I just hope that whoever was my next appointment isn’t too put out by the rather abrupt delay.”

“I am a little put out.”

Lyra cringed and looked towards where the voice had come from. It was a bright red mare with a lavender mane and a cutie mark of a turnip-shaped clock. “Sorry, about that. Couldn’t be helped.”

The mare looked down at a trail of evenly spaced dents in the floor. “So I see. I will still be getting my appointment, right?”

“Of course,” Lyra nodded. Then she added under her breath, “I’ll just skip lunch.” She turned towards her office door. “Just give me a couple minutes to tidy things up a bit.”

“As you wish,” the mare agreed, sitting down to read a magazine.

Inside the office, Lyra just sat down in her chair, levitated the foam helmet in front of her face, and stared at it with sad look in her eyes. Then she crushed it and dropped in the wastebasket before calling her next appointment.

Sometimes humans made her sad.

(1) Pretty much sums up 90% of all Displaced fics out there.

Comments

[Spirit Shift]

That's it have a like. You've earned it good sir. May more await you in the future SO SAYS SPIRITUS!!

[Kyle the Scrublord]

Displaced, unless done right (and there are very few that are done right) are cancer to fimfiction.

[AvexedAuthor]

Pretty much sums up 90% of all Displaced fics out there.

...b-but I think mine is pretty good...
Lol but yeah I can agree with 80%.

[JohnIsOffline]

I hate Displaced... God bless my souls.

[Lancerlot]

It's good to see that the mantle and crown of "Lampooner of Bad Fanfic" have not been forgotten.

[Yasahiro]

Displaced CAN be done in interesting way, but it's hard and relies on the fic having actually good quality. The issue with displaced is that it's amount of bad fics is as high as actually the amount of bad fics in general here compared to good. But seeing the same theme over and over, even if some reach Featured, exhausts you.

Even I think that Displaced usually is a cop out in many ways and overused, but when it's good? It's good. I do, however, hate the idea of The Merchant, always have. Death Vulcan isn't nevessirely a Displaced, or rather IS proto-Displaced that people started trying to copy, and it's good