• Published 2nd Jul 2012
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Oh to be Old Again - Minalkra



What happens when a middle age brony wakes up in the body of a foal? And when no one believes him?

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23 - Lovesong

*knock knock*

"Co~oming!" I stood in the darkened hallway before the door leading to Pinkie's loft apartment, shifting from hoof to hoof. I could hear some type of peppy music from behind the door as well as some shifting. I was standing there through force of will - I really didn't want to bother the poor mare - but I think some things needed to be said and since I was going down my list of 'who I've wronged' and she was close, well, might as well start there. Suddenly, her brightly painted door swung open and the brightly colored pony with her brightly shining smile was framed in the bright light of her room. Did I mention it was bright?

"Hi - oh." Her brightly shining smile fell a notch and I could see some of her mane uncurling. She purposefully closed the door slightly, cutting off my clear view of her room. Not that I could see anything through the sun-like glare of her lights. And yes, ponies have electric lights but I still saw some candle and gas lamp fixtures here and there. Still in the adoption phase of things, I guess. "H-hi Bruce. Uhm, did you need something?"

"Can I come in to talk, Ms. Pie?" Let's be formal here. Less chance of me screwing something up that way.

"Well, Spring said that I wasn't supposed to be alone with you." What?

"Wha-no, no. I'm saying that way too much lately. Erugh, it'll be real quick." I looked up at her with the most serious expression I could muster. I was serious, I needed to both apologize and try to get her to at least understand that I wasn't an average colt, regardless of what else I was.

"Do the Cakes know you're up here?" She looked really worried. I can imagine why, to be honest. If Spring knew she was talking to me, she'd probably get all frowny faced and serious about 'boundaries' and 'appropriate' this and that. She struck me as one of those types, at least. I was going to lie but I didn't want there to be any question of my truthfulness.

"Well, no. They're downstairs listening to some radio thing or other. I told them I was coming upstairs but not to what extent." Pinkie shifted from hoof-to-hoof, an odd mirror of my own actions just prior. She did not want to be around me. I didn't blame her. I don't want to be around myself most days.

"Uh, maybe you should go back downstairs ..." Okay, time to pull out the big guns and drop the formal thing.

"Please Pinkie?" I whined slightly and lowered my rump slightly, as if to sit down. I set my ears back and made my eyes those large puppy dog eyes that kids can pull off so well. I probably looked like a puppy with how dang small I was. A kicked puppy that had just had his toy taken away. Pinkie bit her lip and seemed to be trying to come up with a good way of saying 'no.' I started my own lips quivering. With a sigh, Pinkie nodded.

"... just for a little bit." That did it. She turned around and trotted into the brightness as my own eyes adjusted. It was a stairway. A curving stairway up. I shrugged. Obviously, just the entrance way. At the top of the stairs, though ... was an average, everyday room.

"Huh." I pondered this a bit. True, it was a wide, circular room and had the standard 'Sugarcube Corner' decor - ice cream banisters, peppermint stick columns and the like - but it really wasn't a 'Pinkie Pie' room to me. There were no balloons, no streamers, no confetti littering the place. If the bed in the center hadn't had Pinkie's balloon cutie mark carved in the headboard, you'd be hard pressed to name exactly who it belonged to. And the bed's headboard was pretty banged up, too. Pinkie bumped a stand atop which sat an older style gramophone record player, causing the music to stop, before coming back and watching me as I settled into a comfortable position. On the floor. In the middle of her room. Because ponies can't afford chairs, evidently.

"Hmm?" Pinkie hummed at me, inquiring what I had seen.

"Mm-mm." I hummed back, telling her it didn't matter.

"Mmmm." A hum of acceptance. An entire conversation in hums. That's more Pinkie-like. "So Bruce, what did you need?" Pinkie Pie plopped her plot down and perked her ears at me. Perfect.

"Parties," I professed.

"Parties?" Pinkie pondered. And that's all the alliteration I can procure. At the mention of her favorite pastime - dang it - Pinkie's face began to split into a very wide grin. Grins on ponies are creepy. I needed to do something about that before I shat myself.

"Uh, now don't get too excited, Pin-er, Ms. Pie." I waved my hooves at her, glancing around to distract myself from the way-too-wide grin that was staring at me with ... she has canines, why does she have canines? How did I not notice this before? Pinkie, what is wrong with you? Shaking the slightly disturbing mental images of cupcakes out of my head, I soldiered on. "I want to tell you that the welcome party you threw was one of the most thoughtful and generous gestures anypony had ever done for me. It was great."

"Oh. Oh?" Her grin disappeared faster than a ten dollar bill at a strip club. In its place was the usual confusion I seemed to inspire in everypony.

"Except, er, how do I put this?" I tapped my hoof on my chin, trying to think of the best way to put it. Nothing came to mind. "I'm not big into parties. At all."

"Wait, so it was a great party but you don't like my parties?" Ok, her hair was deflating again. She still looked confused but I could see that shifting into sadness. With Celestia as my witness, I would not make Pinkie cry again!

"No, Pinkie, no! It was a great party but I don't like any parties! Even the ones my mother threw me were trials in patience and calm." I shivered slightly as memories of the few times my mother tried to get me to 'come out of my shell' came rushing back. Even my tail got into it, tucking around my hindhooves. "Peop-ponies wandering around, bumping into you, crowding in next to you ... actually, that part was surprisingly calming if you could get lost in it." And it was. I looked up as my thoughts, once again, got derailed halfway down the track. The whole 'herd safety' thing I guess. Still didn't get that entirely but it was the only thing I could think of at the time. Turns out I was right anyway.

"You got in a fight." I yanked my attention back to the now straight-haired mare in front of me as she idly hoofed the floor in front of her. While she wasn't crying, she was not a happy pony. I suck at interper ... interponial relationships but I knew she'd be sad when I told her. Still, I was sticking with the honesty (mostly) so I continued.

"Er, well, yes. Yes I did. Twice, sorta. But it was - no, no. No finger-pointing, self. Yes, Pinkie. It was an unfortunate situation that I handled really poorly. It was not meant to be an insult to your party. I'm sorry I got into a fight." And that was that. Situation fix-

"... with enthusiasm next time." -still broken. Sarcasm is usually not something you hear out of Pinkie Pie and it caught me off guard.

"Huh?" I'd say 'see' here but my track record of witty comebacks hasn't been the best of late. Pinkie, while not exactly sad, did have a bit of a frown. And her hair was still straight. She huffed her cheeks out and regarded me with a bit of a forced smile.

"Look, Bruce. It was really nice of you to come up here to apologize and I really appreciate it." Her smile evaporated back into the frown. "But an apology that you don't mean isn't really an apology."

"Wh-I mean it!" I lifted a hoof and jerked backwards. I really did mean it, what are you talking about? Or at least, I meant I was sorry a fight happened at least. Same thing, right?

"Going back, would you change anything?" Pinkie eyed me almost coolly from where she sat. Serious Pinkie Pie? Is that even possible?

"Uh, well, uh - no bu-"

"See? You don't mean it. You can't go trotting around on other ponies like they're nothing."

"I-I haven't-" Ok, what? Have I been that bad? Really? Am I that bad?

"Yes you have Bruce. You seem like a nice colt, honest. Like you want to be a nice colt. But you can't tell ponies that you're an 'adult' and have them believe you. You haven't been acting like it at all. You're kinda mean, you don't think before you say stuff and you blow up at the smallest things." I stared at her for a good minute and a half after that little speech. Her frown did not disappear though her eyes began to get a bit nervous and she scooted back a tad. I wasn't even giving her a glare or anything, just staring in shocked silence at her a bit. Maybe Spring put the fear of god into her. Of Celestia. Whatever.

"Who are you and what have you done with Pinkie?" I was honestly curious.

"What?"

"Pinkie isn't all introspective!" I began waving my hooves around as if through motion I could call back the Pinkie Pie I thought I knew. "She's bubbly, she's smart but kooky, she's not ... this!"

"Bruce, I am Pinkie. Pinkemeana Diane Pie. It says so on my renters agreement." With a flourish, she yanked a piece of paper out from somewhere and showed it to me. It was in English, thank my lucky stars, and her name was signed at the bottom. With hearts above the 'i's. And a little squiggle thing below it. Very fancy.

"But Pinkie sings silly songs like 'Gotta Share, Gotta Care' and stuff, she leads-"

"Whdj- huh? How'd you know about that?" The paper fluttered to the ground as Pinkie lost her grip on it. Her frown had turned deeper as she looked at me with a very guarded expression.

"What?" Yeah, gotta work on my whole 'brain talk work' thing.

"I mean, it was a turning point in the Mild West's Equestrian-Buffalo Accords but they only listed an attempted cultural exchange, not the song's name." And here we were. Pinkie seated across from me looking confused about my knowledge of her life while I was at a crossroads.

Being told your life - or a close approximation of it - was fodder for cartoon adventures for an alien species would freak anyone out. It would make me question my life, my reason, my whole existence. Was that problem back there caused by random chance or some higher-dimensional being trying to force drama? I'd always question my instincts, my role in life, my choices. Did I have the right to take that comfort away from her? Did I have the right to give her this knowledge? But did I have the right to deny it to her? Being forced to make that decision, especially while suffering from forced age-regression, sucked. But I made my choice. Agree with it or don't, it was mine to make.

"Pinkie, you're a cartoon."

"I am?" Ok, there she goes again. Tilting her head like a quizzical dog. Almost made the entire self-introspection thing above worth it. With straight hair, though, it looked kinda sad.

"To me, you are. I know about the Cutie Mark story you told the Crusaders, the emotional breakdown during your birthday party, how you struggled trying to be responsible with the twins ... I know these things because I watched them." I looked down and waited the inevitable 'it was all in my biography' ploy that Twilight pulled off marvelously. Seconds ticked by in silence as I assumed Pinkie tried to parse what I had said and I refused to look her in her eyes. Those big blue eyes full of hurt.

"... did Dashie tell you about that?"

"No, Pinkie." I shook my head but kept my eyes downcast. "I watched it happen. Madam Le Flour, Sir Lints-a-lot, Rocky, Mr. Turnips -"

"Turnip."

"Yeah. I watched those things, no one told me." Suddenly, her statement 'clicked' in my mind and I shot my head up with a confused look plastered all over my face. "Wait, you're not going to blame this on some autobiography or something?" Pinkie, her hair still straight, shook her head at me, confusion and sadness warring in her eyes.

"Uhm, I haven't been interviewed for that and I wouldn't tell anypony about that part anyway. Well, not in that kinda detail." She looked away as I realized my chance. My chance! This was my chance to get somepony to believe me! To get help to go home! Bruce, don't you dare screw this up!

"... Pinkie, I'm trapped." I stood and took a tentative step forward. "I'm stuck in a little colt's body when I should have hands. I've got a wife." Oh the little things we forget when trying to navigate the treacherous minefields of a burgeoning social life. At the thought of my family looking for me - not knowing where I was or if I was hurt or even alive - I kinda broke down. "Oh god, my wife." Ok, I really started to break down. I fell to the floor and curled into a fetal position. There were tears.

"Whoa, whoa. Hey, uhm, it'll be alright." I felt Pinkie wrapping her hooves around my shoulders as I tried to hold back my tears. Again. More points off the man card.

"How can you say that? No one believes me, I can't control my emotions for Christ's sake, I keep on messing up my chances to go home and now Mrs. Cake hates me and I'll never get a chance to even try to convince Twilight to ask her mentor for help!" Silence descended again. Pinkie kept her hold on me as I fought to stay in control of myself. It was more difficult than I had anticipated.

"... I believe you, Bruce," Pinkie whispered. I looked up at her, startled. She was looking away, her eyes distant.

"What?" Hope - bastard hope - lit my face slightly at her words. She looked back at me with a half-smile.

"I believe you. Uhm, kinda?" And the carpet was yanked out from underneath me. Pinkie saw the inevitable 'pity party' and evidently didn't want to have to host that soiree. "Whoa! No, listen. That, what you told me, nopony knows about my, uhm, episodes except Dashie and Spring. I don't think they would have told you. So, unless Dashie turned into a bit-er, meanie pants-"

"You can say 'bitch,' I don't mind." Even through my sniffles, I could still whip out the good one-liners. Pinkie blinked at me and her own smile turned into a disapproving grimace.

"... meanie pants or Spring went loco in her coco and blabbed when she shouldn't have, uhm, you have to have learned it from somewhere."

"I tried to convince Twilight." My voice was quiet but so was the room.

"Ah. Yeah, she's hard to get through to sometimes." I immediately thought of her 'Pinkie Sense' and wondered how much of that was valid. Could she really enter mirrors or was that just a gag the animators used? And what was with all the fourth wall breaking? "One thing though Bruce." Pinkie's hair had gained some of it's 'poof' back and that was even more confusing. How does one's hair relate to their emotional state? Is it just Pinkie or ... oh, right. Pinkie was asking me something. I shook my head to clear it and looked up at her.

"Yeah?"

"A cartoon? Really?" There's the Pinkie I know! Though she was a bit more sarcastic than usual, I'd like to think it was because I'm a bad influence.

"Heh, I didn't make it. I just watch it." I was about to start explaining 'bronies' and the show's demographic and all when a deep rumbling in my abdomen interrupted my train of thought. "Ohhhh, that's a bad sign."

"Hungry?"

"Nope. Other way." Yeah, really bad sign. Pinkie scrunched her face up in sympathy.

"... ohh. Uhm, you know where the bathroom is right?"

"Yeah but I've never done that in this body."

An awkward silence followed as I shuffled to my hooves with as much grace as I could muster while trying not to let any loud noises escape my body. A diet of salad and bread products gives a lot of fiber. Healthy enough, I guess. Pinkie bit her lip in thought before looking at me ... also nervously. Why was she so -

"Need help?"

"Ew, Pinkie!"

"What?!"


The Adventure of the Bathroom will forever remain untold. No, I did not take Pinkie up on her offer of help - though I probably should have. She assured me it was because she had no idea how to break the awkward silence. I wanted to believe her and so I did. Anything else would be to invite more madness into my life. Still, I managed with only a little bit of cursing. About halfway through the process, Mr. Cake knocked to check in on me since I had essentially disappeared from downstairs and made everypony nervous. I'm good at that. The amount of relief in his voice when I answered what I was doing was almost enough to make me feel pretty weird. Actually, scratch that; it did make me feel pretty weird. Still, it seemed that I had dawdled enough that it was now time for all good little colts and fillies to get to bed.

And I had a new room, all to myself! Oh joy.

"Uhm, it's a bit plain right now," Mr Cake mumbled, motioning towards the room. Plain yellow walls, that odd green flooring that Sugarcube Corner had all over the place, and a plain fun-sized bed with a rickety nightstand next to it. No dresser but nothing to put it in anyway. "We've been using it as storage but Cup and Pinkie cleared it out for you while we were at the park."

"I didn't need the extra guilt." Mr. Cake looked at me with a cross expression. "But thank you. Uhm, sorry." He sighed, rubbing one hoof through his mane.

"It's ok, Bruce. Let's get you to bed." We both trotted over to the bed where I spectacularly failed at getting into it. My short hop left my hindhooves scrambling for purchase until I slipped off the bed and heavily onto my rump. Ow. I was about to try jumping it when Mr. Cake planted his face in my butt and hefted me up. I hope I cleaned well back there. "There we go."

"Ugh, I don't think I can ever get used to having somepony's face in my butt for this." I hooved open the covers and tried to cover up but, well, Mr. Cake helped with that too. With his mouth. Geez, why don't ponies have hands or something? How does that even work in a tool-using species?

"There we go." Mr. Cake smiled down at me with his sad eyes. I had left the bed a wreck but at least I was under the covers. Mostly. "Need a bedtime story or something?"

"Uh, no. No Mr. Cake, I think I'm ok." I looked around, trying to figure out how to say what needed saying.

"Well, alright then. You get some rest, ok Bruce?"

"Ok Mr. Cake. And, uhm, I'm sorry." He patted my head with a chuckle. It was ... not condescending. I always thought that's what it was. It even felt like that at first. But it was a sign of affection. I didn't bat him away this time. "I may not be the easiest to deal with but I'm trying not to be a burden."

"You're not a burden, Bruce." My look showed how much I believed him. He glanced around a bit - eyes shifting uncomfortably - before deflating. "You're not a burden but it is a bit hard dealing with, well, all of this."

"Mr. Cake, what did Spring tell you about me?" Innocent question I thought. The way Mr. Cake started to sweat and look for an escape made me realize how dang crazy everything had gotten. Something was up and I'll be damned if I was going to let weirdness go unprodded.

"Wh-what do you mean?"

"Well," I tried to come up with the best way of saying 'I think she's friggin' nuts' but settled on a safer route, "I'm getting the sense that there's some assumptions going on that may not be true. I would like to put any fears to rest."

"Bruce, it's late. We can talk about this in the morning." Yeah, something was fish-I already used that line. But something was really strange in Ponytown ESA. Heh, Equestrian States of A-MARE-ica ...

"... ok, Mr. Cake. But I really want to clear the air a bit."

"Ok. Good night Bruce."

"Good night Mr. Cake." With that sad smile I've gotten semi-used to, he turned and walked out of the room - pausing only long enough to flick the light off. The darkness of the room was offset by the faint shining of moonlight from outside. No pools of it but enough ambient light to see shapes by. I was glad Sugarcube Corner had that newfangled 'e-lec-tricity' because candles are a damn fire hazard.


Sleep did not come. Tossing and turning in the dark, I found myself exhausted but unable to close my eyes without seeing something from my old life tossed in front of them. My family, my job, my wife ... my house, my car, my abortive attempt at college, the years in high school when everything seemed so full of hope and yet so dim. Portions of songs that have no genre here played in my head. Yesterday, I was worn out. It was no wonder I had fallen into an almost-comatose sleep last night with how emotionally confused and exhausted as I was. Now that I had a firmer grip on what was going on, I couldn't let it go. I couldn't let go.

I could still see her beautiful brown eyes framed by her long brown hair. They were shining with happiness as I proposed to her in the park that day. I had lost the ring - it was cheap but it was meaningful - and I asked her flustered and upset after we spent an hour looking for it. Then I bought her a real one after our wedding and asked her again. Even when my wedding band broke in half and I had to resort to wearing cheap costume crap, I could still feel that connection with her. She was my baby and nothing, nothing would break that. Not oceans, not mountains, not inter-dimensional walls.

I began to sing. My voice is ok, but I'm no Robert Plant. And I kinda started to break down in the middle of it - but I finished. Bad choice of song, though. It was my wedding song ... I buried my head into my - no, their pillow and tried to hold back the sobs. The angry, weak sobs of someone that was lost and alone and didn't know where to even start getting home.

"Bruce?"

"Huh?" At some point in time the door had cracked open, spilling light across the floor and bed. I could see a poofy maned head sticking through that was soon followed by the rest of her body. "Pinkie?"

"I was getting a drink when I heard you singing." Softly closing the door behind her, Pinkie clopped across the floor and sat at the side of the bed. I could see her faint outline in the moonlight but not her expression. I rubbed my hoof across my face, scrubbing the tear streaks out of my fur. "Are you ok?"

"Not really, no." Honesty was the best policy after all. And even if it wasn't, at least I was sticking with it. My word is my honor.

"Would you like some company?" I could hear the nervous shuffling of her hooves. I shook my head, despite knowing that she wouldn't be able to see it very well in the dark.

"You'll get in trouble, Pinkie." My voice cracked and I felt like I was choking. A lump in my throat from my emotional breakdown.

"I don't care. If you need a friend, I'm here for you Bruce."

We sat in silence as I thought about what she said. Friend. I'm not a very good person. I'm an even worse pony. I've never really had many friends before; a skill I never really picked up. I was always pretty much alone until I found her. I was happy alone - I thought. And she was all I needed when I found her. Now, though - now I could use a friend.

"... I'd like that Pinkie."


Edited by Genjen.

Well this took a dog's age. I'm nervous about messing up which causes me to write less which causes my skill to degrade which causes my inspiration to evaporate which causes me to be less interested in writing which ... yeah. But I will not let this die.

Be that as it may, this feels to me to be a bit forced in some places. I know where I want him, getting him there is another thing entirely. The only goal I had for this was right at the end: a big introspective scene about Bruce's wife. I knew I wanted a song to go with that and picked Adele's version of The Cure's Lovesong for it. It matches the mood well, I think. The Cure's version seems more hopeful, more a promise to me. Adele's is more personal to me because of her voice and the instrumentation of it. It sounds almost sad, like it's trying to reinforce a promise that had grown cold over time. Bruce might be losing hope, guys!

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