The Morning After
If he’d had time to plan, Archer would probably have jumped off the indoor balcony instead. Or perhaps he would have used the ladder. Unfortunately, by the time he finished contemplating this, he was twenty feet above the ground, five feet from the window, and about half a second too late to achange his mind.
He fell.
A parachute would be nice. A repulsion plate on his groundward side would be simply smashing. Heck, he’d settle for a sailcloth to hang on to, so he could at least leave a presentable corpse.
Instead, after twenty feet down and another five feet forward, he had none of things. Instead, he had no wind in his lungs, a severe ache across his body, and a rather soft object underneath him explaining why he wasn’t dead.
The object, which coincidentally was a bypassing Equestrian, coughed, shoved him off, and stood up.
“Watch where you’re going next time, eh?”
“Next time I won’t be jumping out of a window,” Archer grumbled, muffled by the dirt he was currently face-down in. “But thanks for the tip.”
The fading sound of hooves on dirt told him he was talking to no one.
***
She was roused from her slumber by a scream and a crash of shattering glass. “The best part of waking up,” her eye.
That was probably Higgs. No, scratch that. That was definitely Higgs. It never failed. Every Wednesday morning since the 21st Infantry Brigade had quartered that blasted pikeman in her flat, she’d have a new crisis to put up with. The regularity of it was unnerving.
With a sigh, Innis reached for her glasses and prepared to start the day...
...And then her hoof knocked against the wall.
Wait.
Innis did not have hooves. Her bedroom wall was not on that side. Her bed was bigger than this.
Inconsistencies.
Panic alert!
With a sudden, violent motion, she sat up. This wasn’t her flat. She was actually pretty sure this wasn’t in Vorlan at all. So where was she? What was she?
She flopped out of bed, barely managing to keep herself standing. Whatever had changed her wasn’t very keen on letting her stay off of all fours. With a sizable collection of missteps, she somehow managed to adjust.
She made great progress, up until she reached the edge of the balcony. From there, she faced a whole new, completely ridiculous obstacle- a ladder.
“Oh, you’ve got to be joking.”
***
The bell rang as someone entered Sugarcube Corner.
“Good morning!” sang Ms. Cake from behind the counter. “And how can we help you tod-”
She froze. The new arrival was no pony. It wasn’t even a nice not-pony. It was Archer, the Bane of Baked Goods. The Destroyer of Danishes. The Mutilator of Muffins.
There’s a picture being painted here. Can you see it?
He trundled up to the counter.
“Give me an espresso.”
“Y-you’re not welcome here.”
Archer laid a hand heavily on her shoulder, fixing on Ms. Cake with a distant, haunting stare.
“Maybe you didn’t hear me. Give me an espresso, now.”
“And what if I don’t want to?” she asked, offended.
Archer leaned in, as if he was sharing some incredible secret.
“Then I will kill everyone.”
***
“Yeah. Okay. I got this. Here we- GNNNNH. No. Wait. Wait. Wait. Okay, now we- GAH.”
FLOMP.
As one could gather, Innis was not having an easy time of descending the balcony ladder. In fact, she had just fallen off, achieving her long-term goal of getting downstairs, but failing to do so without causing bodily injury to herself.
Thankfully, she was still able to stand up and continue on. She was going to make some sense out of what had happened if it killed her.
...Bad choice of words.
She was in a library of some sort. She liked libraries. Nice, quiet, always ready to welcome the curious or the knowledge-hungry...
Hungry. Breakfast. Now.
Was that a kitchen? Oh boy oh boy oh boy.
***
“It’s stuff like this, man.”
Archer looked up from the cappuccino he was nursing, unsurprised to once again find Arrowhead sitting across a table from him.
“I don’t recall asking your opinion.”
“That’s the great thing about me. You never have to ask, I just out and say it.”
“So let me guess. I’m still in the dream. And this delicious caffeinated beverage I just threatened genocide over isn’t real.”
“Oh, no. You really are wide awake, and you really did scare the pants off of Ms. Cake in the totally unjustified pursuit of a latte.”
“Then explain yourself.”
“Well, here’s the deal. I’m an enigmatic spirit-being thing, sworn to aid and serve Princess Luna in all matters dream- and mind-related. I basically follow no rules, and thus defy explanation of any sort. So your request, reasonable though it may be, is much harder to grant than it sounds.”
“Well, let’s start small, then. You’re a dream. I’m awake. Why haven’t you gone away yet?
“Did you hear the part about mind-related matters? I’m not just a nightmare, though I serve delightfully well in that role...”
“Knew that already.”
“...However,” Arrowhead continued, “I am also a wonderful inside man when I want to be. So that’s what I am right now. An inside man.”
“Inside my head, that is.”
“Ding! Got it in one.”
“And Luna saw fit to torment me like this, because...?”
Arrowhead sighed dramatically.
“I told you already. I’m here to get you to straighten up. That stunt you pulled with Ms. Cake? That’s gotta stop.”
“And how, exactly, do you plan on enacting this ‘straightening,’ as you put it? You’re a dream. You can’t really make me do anything.”
Arrowhead smiled.
It was the sort of smile that told a man he had just made the worst kind of mistake.
“Uh oh.”
***
The closet was stocked with hay and flowers.
Why?
Was salted ham too much to ask for around here? What, was she supposed to put the flowers in between the bread and eat that?
Sure, why not. It probably tasted like grass and she’d spit it out and go looking for HOLY BLOOMING BLIMEY THAT IS THE BEST SANDWICH EVER. WHERE HAVE THESE BEEN THIS WHOLE TIME.
Two full loaves of bread. The whole satchel of blue flowers. A sandwich to put the Boar’s Head Deli to shame. It was delicious. There was no reason for it to be, but there it was.
The ensuing display was, quite frankly, embarrassing. She wasn’t starving. She hadn’t stumbled onto some desert oasis. But these flower sandwiches were just so good. Why stop?
“Inkwell?”
That’s why.
The intruder was purple-furred. Also, eerily familiar.
“Why are you eating a quadruple-decker Poison Joke sandwich?”
Poison?
“I was hungry?”
No you bloody well weren’t. Now beg the nice lady for some antivenom before your eyes fall out.
Wait, hang on.
“What did you call me?”
“Inkwell. That’s your name.”
“No, it’s-”
Suddenly, a flash of recognition.
“-Wait, right. Sorry, Twilight. My brain just, you know, fizzled for a minute there.”
“....Right. Why were you eating Poison Joke, again?”
“Oh, I just thought these were... uh... Bellblooms. Right.”
“Inkwell, Bellblooms look nothing like that.”
“Don’t judge me!”
“What!?”
“Nevermind. Just...” Her stomach grumbled noisily. “Where can I find some of the antidote? I think my small intestine’s about to knit itself into a balloon animal.”
“Back hall, second drawer to the left. It’s in the puce bottle. You can’t miss it.”
Innis, that is, Inkwell, muttered a quick “Thanks” and fled the kitchen with a swift clatter of hooves on wood.
Twilight sighed.
“I really hope Luna didn’t drive you crazy, Inkwell. You’d make, I think, the third pony this year.”
“Don’t worry!” was the assurance from somewhere deeper in the library. “I’m sane! Ninety-five percent sure I am!”
“Ninety-five? And the other five percent?”
“I’ve gone absolutely snooker loopy and haven’t realized it yet.”
“...Well, that’s a lot better than we usually do.”
***
“OHHHH, I’M HEN-A-RY THE EIGHTH, I AM! HEN-A-RY THE EIGHTH, I AM, I AM~!”
“MOTHER OF MERCY, SHUT UP!”
“Not until you go back and apologize to Ms. Cake.”
“Why!?”
“I GOT MARRIED TO THE WIDOW NEXT DOOR, SHE’D BEEN MARRIED SEVEN TIMES BEFORE-”
Archer collapsed. He’d had the presence of mind to flee the store before making a scene, but thirty-eight consecutive verses of “Henry the Eighth” had taken their toll.
And now he was in the fetal position in Vomitorium Alley behind a fairy Starbucks, with an imaginary red horse singing his sanity away. Three days in Equestria will do that to a man.
“I’M HER EIGHTH OLD MAN NAMED HEN-A-RY, HEN-A-RY THE EEIIIIGHTH I-”
“Hey!”
“AAAAAM- Wait what.”
There, in the alley, stood Pinkie Pie.
She looked very cross.
“I heard singing! Bad singing! So who was it?”
Arrowhead looked at Archer. Archer hazarded a cautious glance back at him.
“She shouldn’t be able to hear me.”
“Who said that!”
Archer chuckled. “She’s Pinkie. She shouldn’t be able to do a lot of things.”
“Yeah!” Pinkie proclaimed, suddenly a great deal more chipper. “Wait, Archer? What are you doing back here?”
“Being tortured by an insane imaginary pony.”
Pinkie’s left ear twitched.
“Do you mean...” She pointed. “That insane imaginary pony?”
“Well, yes. But he’s a few degrees to the left.”
Pinkie swiveled. Arrowhead paled under her gaze. She grinned evilly.
“Well, I’ve got the perfect remedy for insane imaginary ponies!”
“You do?” asked Archer and Arrowhead, simultaneously.
“Yep! It’s my very own... Anti-Insane-Imaginary-Pony spray!”
She pulled out a small spray can, colored in bright yellow and green. Arrowhead stared at it.
“There is no way that’s a real thing.”
“Exactly,” Pinkie said, approaching Arrowhead slowly. “But neither are you!”
He paled even more, if that was even possible.
“You mean-”
“COME TO PINKIE!”
She hit a nozzle on top of the can, releasing a noxious green cloud of billowing gas at Arrowhead, quickly enveloping him and driving him into a coughing fit. He fled the alleyway, screaming something about being foiled, and how he’d be back, and something else about blasting off again.
The fog cleared, leaving Archer sitting dumbfounded in the corner and Pinkie Pie giggling to herself.
“How did you do that?”
“Do what?”
“You ran him off.”
“Oh, did I? I thought we were going to keep playing for a while.”
“Playing?”
“Yeah! You know, imaginary friends, anti-pony spray. We were just having fun!”
Archer stood up, brushing the dirt off of his trousers. “Okay, first off, Arrowhead is not my ‘friend’ by any stretch.”
“Really?” Pinkie seemed genuinely surprised. “Why’d you make him up, then?”
“I didn’t!” He paused for thought. “At least, I sincerely hope I didn’t.”
“So who did?”
“Princess Luna. That is, if he’s not been lying through his teeth this entire time.”
Pinkie’s expression shifted to that of dramatic realization. At the same time, her eyes suffered a worryingly severe increase in size.
“So that’s what happened last night!”
Oops.
***
The antidote was in the puce bottle.
What in the world kind of color was puce, though? Was it orange? Was it green or brown? Was it orange, green, and brown, like the expulsory substance it very nearly shared a name with?
Did it denote texture? Was it shiny? Did it-
Oh, that’s puce. That makes sense. It sure tasted like puce.
But at least now her horn wasn’t going to fall off, or sprout spikes, or turn into an “innie.” She’d heard of Poison Joke doing all three... thankfully not all at once.
Now that her brief, admittedly pointless crisis was over, Innis... that is, Inkwell, debated her next course of action. For reasons unknown, she was in possession of conflicting sets of memories.
Wait, hang on, they didn’t conflict at all. In fact, they made perfect sense. There was a linear progression somewhere, from Vorlan to the frontier to Grogham’s Wood to Ponyville to now. So what happened? Why had she not remembered anything until after Twilight showed up?
No, wait a minute.
Luna.
Doy. Princess of the Moon and all that. She’d have no problem screwing around with memories. So why poor, innocent Inkwell? Well, there was the matter of aiding and abetting a prisoner. The princess would probably deem it necessary to teach her a lesson for that one.
So what was she being “taught” by a jumbling of memories like this? What was the point? Was the princess being - heaven forbid! - petty? Lord knows she wasn’t above such things.
By this time, Inkwell, deep in thought, had wandered back into the library proper and sat herself down on a bench, unresponsive to any stimuli from the outside world.
She remembered things from her past like she remembered stories she’d read. Had she really run out on Higgs, whoever he was? Had she really come to Grogham’s Wood and found Equestria?
...Did she really deserve the Equestrians' hospitality, after what she’d done last night?
Oof. Lesson learned, Princess.
So, Princess Luna was trying to impress on her the hypocrisy of her actions, apparently. All these wonderful years in Ponyville, and Inkwell would throw it away for some “dashing rogue” in jungle camo? And make no mistake, Archer was certainly-
“Archer!”
She jolted herself out of her reverie with the realization that, yes, Archer had been hit with the same spell she had. Who knew what Luna had done to him! He might be wandering the streets right now, alone, thinking he was a monkey or something.
Oh no.
That’s probably exactly what he was doing oh no oh no oh no.
“Don’t worry, Archer! I’ll save you!”
With that sudden non sequitur, Inkwell bolted out of the library.
Twilight, at this point, had stopped questioning it.
***
Archer was currently prone underneath a hovercart chassis, using two golden pins to induce etherflame hot enough to weld repulsor plates to its undercarriage. He was holding a very loud conversation with his partner-in-crime over the sparks, while she worked on getting the actual cart airworthy.
And all was right with the world.
“Heeeeeey, buddy.”
Now it wasn’t.
Archer removed his welding goggles to see Arrowhead laying beside him under the cart, covered in soot and sporting goggles of his own.
“I bet you thought you got rid of me.”
“Eh, I sort of hoped.”
“You know, I never finished the thirty-ninth verse of Henry the Eighth.”
“Tough toenails,” Archer muttered, replacing his goggles and returning to the induction pins.
“Weeeeell, I’m Hen-a-ry the Eighth-”
Archer silenced him with an evil stare that welding goggles did surprisingly little to diminish.
“You know what I found out today, Arrowhead?”
“What.”
“The best way to get rid of imaginary pests...” click-hiss “...is with imaginary repellent.”
“Wait, wait, wait. Before you mace me, let me get this straight. Pinkie Pie’s anti-imaginary-pony spray is, itself, imaginary?”
“Right. And so are you. So, before anyone else manages to work the word 'imaginary' into this conversation...”
"Too late."
FWWWWWSSSSHHH
“NOT THE GAS! AAAAGH, OH, IT’S IN MY EYES! IT’S IN MY EYES! AAAUUUUGH!”
The fumes drove Arrowhead away again, his frantic hoofsteps and disturbingly sick coughs fading into the depths of Pinkie’s lab.
And all was right with the world.
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This was supposed to be the belated birthday present I gave to all of you.
Then it was supposed to be to celebrate my getting on EQD.
Now, well... Here it is, I guess.
Oh
Imaginary Spray for Imaginary Problems
Pinkies best invention yet
166687 Happy Birthaday!
This was awesome. I can't wait til the next chapter. And all was right with the world.
t0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcQb_BmIhOz7ONm5pqPHc0OZ7pOvWvVY9Bma097g2xR-EymsyHTc&t=1 Good chap !
BEST CHAPTER YET
God damn im laughing my ass of at this chapter
Simply wonderful
Oh god my rib cage. It hurts.
You know, we're all being INFORMED that Archer is a jerk.....
But it's the ponies, from Celestia on down, who are ACTING like jerks.
Look, he has been taught that "fae creatures" are mercurial, irrational, deceitful, delight in using glamorie and trickery, frequently cannibalistic, and are lethally dangerous to humans--- and every prior experience he's had has backed this up. In short he has every possible reason to believe that the ponies around him are about to drop the masquerade at any moment and do something right out of Grimm's fairy tales to him. If he's paranoid and ill-mannered, it's kind of justified.
let's review.
1)bucked in the face
2)thanks to Insane Pony Logic, sentenced to years long imprisonment in their town for something even THEY acknowledge was an accident
3)their ruling Princess has upheld his sentence, simply for a cheap laugh
4)their house pets have mauled him
5)timber wolves have been sicced on him
6)his MIND has been tampered with
7)He's discovered that they've magically brainwashed, mind-wiped and transformed at least one other person
8)The Princesses have been TOYING with him
8)and thus far every pony he's met has been out of their damn mind.
In similar conditions, pretty much any of us would be a right cranky bastard, ourselves.
....So who, precisely, are we supposed to empathize with?
166859
Best. Comment. Ever.
166859 I'd say you have a pretty good grip on things.
Who are we supposed to root for? Neither of them! Or both of them. It's the reader's choice.
The ponies, on the whole, aren't the bad guys because we know they aren't. But Archer isn't evil either. He's a product of the times, a stranger in a strange land, reacting logically to things he doesn't understand and frankly isn't liable to any time soon.
The real villain here is the barrier between races that occurs naturally when nearly every other living thing sees you as a plaything at best and lunch at worst. Can it be overcome? If so, how? And what would the consequences be?
If I've gotten you to sympathize with a "right cranky bastard" like Archer, it means I've done my job.
If I've gotten you to laugh while doing it, it means I've done it well.
It doesn't matter WHAT the rules are. Pinkie WILL break them. Hilariously.
166859 I think at its heart, this entire situation is a comedy of errors based on mis-/lack of communication. Everyone's running on assumptions, and as we all know, ASSUMING makes an ASS of U and some guy named MING. I think the reason he gets along with Pinkie Pie so well is that A) she's so far out in left field that she's basically playing in her own stadium and B) she shares a trade with Archer that both are deeply passionate about. And even that he's having trouble reconciling with.
Plus, even his own king is screwing him over for the lulz. Like I said before: Trollestia and King Jerkve.
Personally, I still think he should apologize to the Cakes when Pinkie asks him to. He has enough guilt over it now that it shouldn't take much to have him do it.
Of course, this being a comedy, the apology will somehow wind up making things worse. Fun times so far, keep up the good work.
lol
awesome chapter. now if he was to create an imaginary nuke would it get rid off all imaginary creatures/friends in the town?
This will most likely be my shortest comment.... What just happened?
This is freaking awesome!
I love the comedy in this, especially Arrowhead + Pinkie Pie. 
"The Destroyer of Danishes"
From Denmark = Danish = Me = O_O Oh no... *Runs off*
-Glassed
That is the best way to deal with a hallucination ever.
Where can I get some of that spray? I need it, and quickly!
You sir, have more than earned my 5 stars.
They say that laughter is the best medicine... I must be pretty healthy then, eh?
Landssakes, but I love this story. Read the first fourteen chapter in one sitting - don't think I've ever laughed for three hours straight before - was ecstatic when I read in the comments that you were about to throw this chapter up soon-ish, too. Of course, then the site got hacked and I had to wait until the next day to read that one, but still. Excellent mix of comedy and adventure, and probably the best take on the "Human in Equestria" angle yet (I usually really dislike HiE fics, for the record, I guess TTHS is the exception to the rule).
Anyways, that's enough praise for you for today. Don't let it go to your head.
Sweet Celestia, that was hilarious!
It makes perfect sense though: fighting an imaginary being with an imaginary weapon.
Classic.
This fic gets an automatic 5/5 for making me nearly fall out of my chair laughing my flank off. I'd picked this up not realizing it was a HiE fic (I've been avoiding them; I think I should stop) and I'm now tracking it because it's the funniest thing I've read ALL WEEK.
In short, jolly good!
when did this story become so popular? i remember when the first chapter came out...
185650 So you're saying you were a TTHS fan while it was still underground?
Still waiting for the moment Archer kicks both Celestia and his king's ass.
185658 Oh, trust me.
They will have words.
Loud ones.
Did you get the Henry the Eighth thing from Ghost?
188337 Oh snap I just got busted.
Next thing you know, Arrowhead's going to be leaning over Inkwell's shoulder in a highly referential manner, helping her write her next bestseller, which I guess would make him a ghostwriter.
Man, that sentence really went off and did its own thing, didn't it. I need to go to sleep.
Archer
“Then I will kill everyone.”
Mrs. Pie
mylittlefacewhen.com/media/f/rsz/mlfw1039_huge.jpg
Stopping my non-stop readthrough to drop another comment.
Arrowhead getting gassed, both times, is the highlight of this story so far for me. Never before have I been so satisfied by seeing a character in immense pain. You've said it's up to us who to sympathise with? I'm an Archer person. I love how much of a bastard he is to some of the ponies, and I love how little he gives a fuck about it. I was half expecting Arrowhead's appearance to herald Archer having some epithany about his prejudices, but the subversion was infinitely funnier and I think it just made me like him more.
Not that I don't support the ponies too. Well, not Luna, but the others I still like. It's like you said; miscommunication is to blame. And I like the human king strangely enough. Can't really pin down why though. He's not exactly likeable character in any sense of the term, but he is just a joy to read about.
“NOT THE GAS! AAAAGH, OH, IT’S IN MY EYES! IT’S IN MY EYES! AAAUUUUGH!”
btpftp.files.wordpress.com/2011/03/not_the_bees.jpg?w=640
166859 On point 7:
We readers know that, but Archer doesn't. Arrowhead let slip that ponyfication was a possibility, but not the brainsmashing. And Archer doesn't know about Innis at all at this point, just that Inkwell was weird after taking a nip or three of the potion. Plus, maybe Arrowhead wasn't just blowing imaginary hot air when he raised the possibility that what was done to make Inkwell was voluntary.
Do they really have Starbucks in Vorlan?