//------------------------------//
// Self-Guided Tour of an Exclusive Exotic Facility 
// Story: Vacation to a Pleasant Country Retreat 
// by Sixes_And_Sevens 
//------------------------------//

Rarity sighed, staring at the now-closed door. “It’s alright, darling,” she said, putting a hoof around Ditzy. “None of us would have expected that. Isn’t that right, Mac?”
The farmer glared balefully at the closed door for another second, but then sighed, slumping a bit. “Eeyup. Reckon that’s so.”
Ditzy forced a smile, comforted by the assurances, but still displeased with the situation at hoof. “Okay. Thanks, guys. Left or right?”
“Left,” Mac said. “Ah see a window at th’ end o’ th’ hall.”
“Hold on,” Rarity said, holding up an elegant hoof. “What if we spring another trap while looking through it? Perhaps that too is where our captors wish us to go.”
It was a decent point. “Alright,” Ditzy said slowly. “Well, the first one was triggered only after all three of us walked out of the room. So maybe, if only one of us goes to look out the window, nothing will happen.”
Mac nodded. “Seems reasonable.”
“But what if it’s some kind of motion-detecting trap? Splitting up will only worsen our situation.”
That was a good point, too. “I’ll go,” Ditzy said at length. “Maybe there’s a trap, or maybe not, but if I fly, I’ll have a better chance of avoiding a tripwire than if either of you two go in walking.”
“But darling—”
“Rarity, have you heard the expression ‘you’re so sharp, you’ll cut yourself’?” Ditzy interrupted. “Anything might be a trap here, and if we assume that everything is going to hurt us, then we won’t be able to get anywhere. We’re going to have to take some risks.”
The unicorn chewed on her lower lip. “Oh, very well. Go, but hurry back.”
Ditzy nodded, taking to the air. She flew slowly, Rarity’s obsession with booby-traps having affected her more than she cared to admit. If anything started sliding out at her, she was gonna buck it to the moon.
Then she looked out the window and saw that they were already there.
There are many responses to realizing that you are on the moon. Neil Armstrong’s was among the most famous, even more so than Luna’s epic three-hour temper tantrum. Not Nightmare Moon’s. Luna’s. There’s a reason the princesses didn’t help more with the time Discord escaped, and that reason is related to the epic sunburn Celestia had for the next two weeks after the draconequus got stoned again. Ditzy’s may not have been the most finely-tuned reaction, or the most awe-struck, or the most inspiring.
…
There’s no ‘but’. That’s it.
“Huh,” said the pegasus. On the horizon, she could see the planetrise. Or maybe planetset. Considering that the same side of the moon always faced Gaea, it was pretty much irrelevant anyway. It was quite beautiful in the same way as deep, freshly-fallen snow; pretty to look at for maybe a minute before it got boring, and nowhere near so nice when you’re directly exposed to it. “Okay then.”
She turned and flew back to her companions. “Okay, so apparently we’re on the moon,” she said. Mac’s eyebrows shot up and Rarity’s jaw dropped. “In a few seconds, it’s probably going to hit me that we’re the first ponies on the moon other than Luna and probably also the Doctor and OH CELESTIA'S SWEET ASSCHEEKS WE’RE ON THE MOON! WE’RE ON THE ACTUAL FREAKING MOON!”
Ditzy grabbed Mac around the shoulders and shook him wildly. “MOOOOOOON!”
“Hm,” Mac said.
“Oh my,” Rarity said faintly, sinking back against the wall. “I appear to lack a chaise longue. Mac, would you mind…”
“Eeyup.” The farmer laid down against the wall.
“Thank you, darling.” Hoof met forehead, and unicorn fainted dramatically away on her friend’s brother’s back.
“Hm,” Mac said again, his brow furrowing in concern. Something was very wrong here, apart from the obvious. Actually, everything was wrong. He was drawing up a list of questions and concerns in his head, and it was a long one. The fact that they had been teleported by (alien?) robot spider-crabs was about the only thing about the story that made even a little sense. But why had they been taken? Why hadn’t the crabs already done whatever they were planning? And why would they station themselves on the moon? So many questions, and no answers to speak of. None, at least, that warranted much consideration. Mac rested his head on the floor, staring at nothing in particular, the gears in his mind turning slowly but steadily.





In Canterlot, the Doctor pouted, forehooves folded across his barrel as he was lifted in a golden aura and out of the carriage. Celestia struggled not to laugh— her old friend looked like a sulky foal. Luna, meanwhile, wasn’t even trying. She took one look at the Time Lord and burst into peals of laughter. The pale unicorn cracked a faint smile as well. “Come now, Doctor,” she said lightly. “I’m sure you can take some time out of your busy schedule of repairing clocks and toasters to come for a little visit.”
The Doctor snorted. “Oh— I suppose so,” he conceded with bad grace. “Come on, then, let’s have it. But would you mind putting me down? I feel ridiculous.”
“You most certainly look it,” Luna jibed.
He glared at her. “You’re one to talk. You’ve got a cream moustache from your coffee.”
“Truly?” The princess of the night glared at her sister. “Why did you not tell us this?”
“Oh, because you looked adorable,” Celestia replied with ease. “Also, revenge for that little trick you pulled with my lovely lemon cake last night.”
The third mare looked ill at ease. New to the command, the Doctor supposed, or at least new to this level of proximity to the princesses. He remembered introducing Fleur to GUIDE, some seven regenerations ago. She’d started rather low on the totem pole. Must've climbed ranks pretty quickly. Not had quite enough time to get used to her benevolent rulers sniping at each other and having prank wars. He smirked. “Commander de Lis? Shall we?”
Fleur de Lis, model extraordinaire, famed both for her extreme beauty and apparent airheadedness, and leader of the Equestrian branch of GUIDE nodded, relieved to have an excuse to escape the sisterly bickering. “Oui. Bien sur. I zink you will be impressed with ze improvements we have made since you last worked here.”
“Well, the canteen coffee can’t have gotten any worse,” the Doctor sighed.
Fleur snorted elegantly, more of an exhalation than anything else. “Alas, ze more zings change, ze more they stay ze same. Fortunately, I prefer tea, and my husband is very good at zat.”
“Ah, yes. Where is the old fellow, anyway?”
“Here!” a voice called from the doorway of the government building where they had arrived.
The Doctor glanced up to see a cheerfully grinning stallion waving at him. He wore a monocle over his left eye, which helped to hide the scar on his cheek. He also wore a moustache, which wasn’t to hide anything, so far as the Doctor was aware. It was just part of what made Fancy Pants Fancy Pants, along with his good nature, carefully tailored clothes, and (as the Doctor was reminded as the unicorn embraced him tightly) impressive energy and strength.
“Fancy… crushing…”
“Oh!” the unicorn said, pulling back. “Sorry, old sport.” His look of contrition was quickly replaced with a wide smile, though. “It’s been far too long, Doctor. One would think you were avoiding Canterlot!”
The Time Lord smiled uncomfortably. “Well, not so much avoiding…” he hedged.
Captain Fancy Pants of GUIDE nodded, catching on immediately. “Of course, your family must come first,” he agreed readily. “I certainly don’t blame you, old chap. And, well, you’re here now!”
The Doctor’s half-smile broadened into one of true happiness. “I certainly am,” he agreed. “So, shall we get started on the grand tour?”
Fancy smirked. “Well, we may need to wait.”
“Oh? What for?”
“You’re still being levitated.”
“Oh. Yes.”
Fancy, Luna, and Fleur looked over at Celestia, but she was far too busy arguing with Luna over who had instigated the pranking this time. “Nice weather we’ve been having,” Fancy said eventually.
“Yes. Very… weather-like.” The Doctor nodded firmly. “As opposed to not having any weather at all.”
Fleur raised an elegant brow. “Is such a zing possible?”
“Depends on how much atmosphere you’ve got. Or, well, haven’t got.”
“Ah.”
An awkward silence fell.





The Bouquet family was Out on the Town, for a given value of the phrase. This value would, to most ponies, barely qualify as an acceptable usage, but in a strictly literal sense, it was accurate. They were out of doors, walking down the main boulevard of Ponyville, Carrot having decided that if she heard one more subtle crack or veiled insult about her house, she was going to flip a table. For a little while, Hyacinth had actually been quiet. But then… “Good heavens! Who runs the weather in this town? That cloud is simply dreadfully positioned.”
Oh rutting Celestia. Carrot willed herself not to ask. If she asked, she would get an answer. If she got an answer… she didn’t want to think about that. Carrot did not say a word. Unfortunately, Lily did. “Well, they do drift, Hyacinth.”
“Ridiculous,” Hyacinth sniffed. “Back in Trottingham, I’ve explained the value of non-drifting clouds to the weather patrol.” She smiled in patronizing recollection. “Yes. It did take a few visits to the local offices, but I got there in the end. Such a lovely mare, that Dragonfly. Pity about her chronic migraines, of course, but they’re not her fault, poor dear.”
“No,” Carrot said flatly. “I’m sure they aren’t.”
That was the one good thing about Hyacinth. Anything you said to her went in one ear and out the other, keeping only the pieces that supported her own views on the subject. While that wasn’t the most redeeming quality to have, it did make it easy to work in a few clever jibes. Although Daisy shot her a mildly disapproving look if her snark got really out of hoof, Hyacinth was about the only pony with whom Carrot Top could really let loose on the sarcasm.
Take this present moment, for instance. Hyacinth smiled slightly, and merely said, “I’ve often wondered if she would be interested in Mother’s cure-all tea. It is something of a panacea. Just the other week, I used it to treat my sore throat.”
“Maybe you should have left it,” Carrot muttered.
“What was that, dear?” Hyacinth asked. Rose gave Carrot a sharp nudge in the flanks.
“Nothing, Hyacinth,” Carrot replied, forcing a smile.
All that had been about fifteen minutes and twenty complaints ago. Carrot no longer wanted to flip a table. She now felt like flipping a carriage. Everything was too dirty, too disorganized, or most frequently, “very lower-middle class”. And then, with a smile— an odious, plastic smile— Hyacinth would turn to her sisters and say, “Oh, but it’s so terribly quaint. It suits you.”
Lily could see that her sister-in-law was cracking up. She coughed lightly. “Hyacinth, I don’t believe you’ve seen the boutique, have you?”
Lily liked Carousel Boutique. It was always terrifically neat, very clean, and wonderfully quiet. The dragon had taken a little bit of getting used to, but, well, it was Spike. Spike didn’t even eat his vegetables, let alone flowers, and that was a point in his favor as far as the Bouquet sisters of Ponyville were concerned. Lily was absolutely certain that Hyacinth would like the boutique as well, though perhaps not for the same reasons. Nowhere in Ponyville was as urban or metropolitan as Rarity’s store.
Hyacinth’s ears perked up. “Boutique?”
Lily smiled slightly. “Oh, yes. Carousel Boutique. There are branches in Canterlot and Manehattan.”
“Really…” One could almost hear the connections spinning into place in Hyacinth’s head. A well-connected owner… Connected to her family… owns a fashion brand… “You know, I was rather looking for a new sun hat,” she said at length.
The bait had been taken. Hyacinth scheming wasn’t a great outcome, but it was much nicer than Hyacinth griping. “I’m sure Rarity would be happy to oblige,” Lily said, a smile playing over her lips.