Well, after my profoundly unfortunate discovery this morning, I have done little more than stand around uselessly in what Prince Imaginos insists is my apartment. I certainly can't blame him though; the little trio of rooms is definitely to my liking. The first of them is a living room - albeit one with a rather full collection of bookshelves replacing much of the walls. It seems that this alternate version of me, I think that I that will call him Mirage Nocturne: The Pony Edition, shares my voracious appetite for "trashy romance novels", as Indigo Zap so kindly put it. I really wonder sometimes: Why am I friends with that girl? The ersatz library also contained a pair of navy blue couches and an wooden table with a map of some sort delicately carved in to it. I had a look at the cartography further but to no avail - I apparently cannot read Pony. I only figured out what the genres of the novels were by looking at the covers.
The next of the rooms was to be my bedroom, it seemed. I deduced this fact by discovering that the room contained a bed. A rather nice one in fact, complete with fluffed pillows and a luxuriously soft duvet. Alas, there was an absence of mints under said pillows despite their plump and cozy nature. I also happened upon a wardrobe in the room and shortly afterwards, an avalanche of Chevallia's classics happened upon me. Annoyingly enough, some habits of mine persist throughout the universe. That is, if I still am even in the same universe. I hope so, I forgot to delete my search history in my native one.
As I was clawing - hoofing maybe - my way out of the literary landslide, one of its constituents caught my eye. It was my diary and I knew this because I could actually read the title. I am not sure how The Pony Edition managed to write it, my guesses would be either by mouth or possibly magic, but he did. To make a pleasant find even more pleasant, he wrote it in my secret code alphabet. This shall certainly prove useful in orientating myself about this place. Especially if my counterpart shares my interest in maps. Perhaps he did that table himself? I would not put it past me.
Just then, a swift knock on the door shattered the little pedestal I was building for myself. The knocking did not stop after a sensible time either; nor did it stop after I asked it to. Picking the diary up in my mouth, I walked back to the door and prepared myself for the next unwelcome occurrence. To my relief, the bathroom would have to wait for another time.
I pushed open the door to reveal a pale blue pony with a trio of silver pigtails framing an extremely bored expression. A set of orange spectacles were perched above her nose and If I didn't know better, I would say that I had met her before.
"Good evening, Mirage Nocturne. I would suggest that you buy an alarm clock; that way you would know that you are twenty minutes late for dinner; then again, knowing you, you would conveniently forget you owned it every time it was supposed to go off."
Sugarcoat. This pony was definitely Sugarcoat. It could not be more obvious if she herself told me. Well, knowing her - the master of bluntness - it probably could be. Still, it was hear a familiar voice, even if that voice belonged to an individual who seems to delight in her own tactlessness.
"Yes, sorry about that. I sort of woke up to discover that I am stuck in the body of a unicorn who acts exactly like I do. That and the Prince dropped me on my face. I think I might eat in tonight." I hurriedly explained, hoping for her to be replaced instantly with a more amicable acquaintance.
"You really need to stop smoking mare-juana, Mirage. And no, you cannot eat in your room tonight. Prince Imaginos arranged a banquet to celebrate the latest victory of the Protection Squadron and he would not be pleased if you refused to attend. You should also comb your mane; you have split ends everywhere." Sugarcoat responded in an ennui tone, as she tended to do when responding. Or when chatting. Or when singing. Or whenever.
"Alright, Sugarcoat. I get it. Can you cut me some slack though? I literally woke up in another dimension."
"No."
"Fine. Can you at least help me with my mane then? I can't figure out how to comb it, let alone style it into something presentable."
Well, the bathroom was surprisingly normal. A bit more horizontal than I am used to but I suppose that can be excused. Sugarcoat's maliciousness with a brush however cannot be. Unfortunately, it seems that her affinity for verbal brute force also translated to an affinity for physical brute force. By the time she was done, I was surprised to see that I still had hair left at all. I was positively awestruck to note that it actually looked nice.
After inspecting myself in the mirror, I discovered that much like my white-haired hairdresser, I too looked much like how I was supposed to. Pony Edition had a mane and tail of cyan that faded into a pale pink, much like my own hair. The style - or intended style, anyway - was also quite similar: A comb over to the left with the sides of the head shaved. My coat was still a golden blond and my eyes remained hazel. I would say that I looked rather presentable but Sugarcoat popped that little bubble of ego rather quickly.
We arrived at the hall rather quickly after that; it was a pleasantly short distance from my apartment, an especially pleasant one when considering that I was still rather new to this quadruped business. A pair of stern-looking unicorns dressed in white leather coats opened the large wooden doors to reveal a number of large tables set up in front of a stage. Milling about the room were ponies of all shapes and sizes, though all were rather formally dressed. Well, I thought so anyway - most were wearing clothes and most of those clothes resembled formal attire. I began to feel rather under-dressed.
As Sugarcoat led me to what she assured was our table, a few of the other guests greeted me. I responded uneasily; unlike my tactless guide, none of them resembled anybody I knew from my world. Were they friends, acquaintances or was everyone just really friendly here? We arrived at a table with a few other ponies already seated. I was instructed to sit at the chair with some illegible placard in front of it. The place was set with cutlery; and again I had no idea how I was intended to use any of it. Sugarcoat had picked up the comb with her mouth but I couldn't exactly do that and also eat could I?
"Wow, Mirage, you really went all out for tonight. You pull off that 'I just lost a fight and didn't bother to clean up afterwards' look really well." Sniped a voice to my left in a tone that quickly morphed from sickeningly saccharine to scarily sadistic.
I turned to face the grinning pony sitting next to me. She had a peach colored coat and some spots that I also most mistook for freckles on the sides of her muzzle. Of course Sugarcoat would choose to put me next to my other least favorite person: Sour Sweet.
"Oh great, you again. Did we not agree not to talk to each other?" I asked the still smiling pony, who was now somehow balancing a wineglass on her hoof. And then drinking from said glass. The irritating feeling that I was dreaming came back again. Too bad that such a feeling was not true.
"Why of course not, silly. Prince Imaginos commanded you to show me and my friends around and he would have your ears cut off if you disobeyed him! You are supposed to make us feel welcome, after all." Sour Sweet responded all too happily.
"Wait, what? Why am I supposed to do that? I can't even remember where my own rooms are from here, let alone where anything that you would care about is."
Then a thought struck me. Pony Edition was assigned to be nice to Sugarcoat and her insufferable friends. Alright, Sunny Flare was actually an agreeable person and Indigo and I did share one a few interests but I could not care less for the rest of them. I hope he did a decent job thought; I have suddenly grown quite attached to my ears.
"Oh no, has poor little Mirage forgotten where he lives again? Serves the idiot right for not being accommodating enough." Sour Sweet chided.
At least the drinks seem to be free. I will need more than a few if I am to get through this mess of an evening.