//------------------------------// // 2.2 - Walking and Talking // Story: Ponies, Portals, and Physics: A Practical Study on Unscheduled Interplanetary Excursion // by superpurple //------------------------------// With Cinnamon in the lead and myself close behind, the two of us ducked out of Riverstone as discreetly as we could manage—which we were more-or-less successful at accomplishing. There really wasn’t much we could do, beyond sticking to the less-active streets. But that could only do so much to prevent ponies from inevitably taking notice of the only griffon walking through the streets during the height of noontime activity. I did at least pull the bedsheet back overtop myself like a cloak. There might not be anything I could do about being a griffon, but at least I didn’t have to be bright red as well. Although, given the vibrantly colored coats of the ponies around me, that might not have drawn as much extra attention as I originally worried. Fortunately, whatever attention we did draw wasn't enough to cause us any issues. As far as I could tell, none of those who saw us depart were Graywall’s minions or otherwise cared enough to do anything about it. Without too much work, we made it to a road adjacent to the river that led out of town. And so began our journey. And what a journey it was to be. Apparently, our destination wasn’t exactly close by. And not just the ‘annoyingly long walk’ kind of not close by. No, this was the ‘several hours away by train’1 variety. And as fate would also have it, Riverstone didn’t have a train station of its own. A port full of riverboats, yes, but not a single set of rails. The nearest train station was in the next town north, some ways upriver. So, before we could have the joy of sitting on a train for several hours, we first had to spend a couple hours walking upriver along the old towpath. ---------- 1The fact that locomotives were apparently a thing here was both intriguing and irritating at the same time—a feeling that was quickly becoming somewhat annoyingly repetitive so I was trying quite hard to not think about it and instead just take it in stride. ---------- When I asked why we were walking and not, say, hitching a ride upstream on one of the steamboats making the same exact trip, Cinnamon informed me that each of those boats was operated by Gray Trade—the company Graywall owned—so it was best for us to avoid them. I begrudgingly admitted this was probably sufficient justification for walking. Probably. I was marooned on a fucking alien planet and so far the highlights of my trip had been imprisonment in a small box and long walks along hardly-paved roads. And despite all the practice I was getting with the novel experience of walking on all fours, my opinion of the activity was not improving in the slightest. I still despised it as much as ever. Just like last night, I was still sore, my tail hurt, and my gait hadn’t gotten any more efficient. The latter point was quite annoyingly illustrated by the fact that I was actually having difficulty keeping pace with Cinnamon despite my stride being near twice the length of hers. Stupid tiny horses and their stupid highly efficient locomotion. But unlike last night, however, I now had the afternoon sun bearing down on me. Me, my excessively fluffy coat, and my multiple layers of improvised clothes. Frequently during the walk, I found myself falling into an even slower three-legged walk so I could use one hand to fuss with my bags and clothes as they slipped out of place or started to chafe. Cinnamon seemed to notice because she slowed her pace slightly so as to fall back alongside me. “I don’t see why you’re still wearing all that. You don’t need to try to disguise yourself anymore, there’s nopony around to see,” she said, waving a hoof to the empty water to our right and the forest to our left. “Well, except me.” “I am aware.” “Then why keep it on? It’s clearly not that comfortable and I’d have a hard time believing you need all that to stay warm,” she said, glancing at the exposed feathers from my unzipped jacket. I stared back at her, specifically her hat and scarf. Why? Just, why even the fuck was she wearing them? It wasn’t even that cold. “I’m wearing it”—I grunted and hiked up my sagging not-a-skirt—“because the portal stole my pants.” Her brow furrowed and she repeated slowly, “...The portal… stole your pants…” “Yes,” I said, paying her bewilderment no mind. “Or the universe. Or whatever it was that landed me here, like this. I was wearing clothes when I left, and then I wasn’t. Apparently, the portal gods have no sense of decency and deemed pants unnecessary, I politely—yet firmly—disagree.” Cinnamon’s pace slowed as she stared at me with a quizzical look. Then she shook her head a few times and trotted back up to my side. “You think you need to keep yourself covered up because it's indecent?” “Correct.” “Birdy, everypony around you is completely unclothed with nothing but their fur and a tail to cover themselves. There’s nothing indecent about it.” “Incorrect,” I replied and continued adjusting the fabric around my waist. Cinnamon watched me do this and then sighed, “…But if you’re really concerned about keeping yourself covered, you might want to focus more on your ‘rear-view.’ Your tail isn’t doing you any favors, especially if you keep lifting it like that.” I looked back over my shoulder and, sure enough, all my hard work was being undone by my traitorous tail bobbing along through the air, lifting up my not-a-skirt for all the world to see beneath. I hastily drew the sheet down tight around my rear, tucking the excess fabric under the straps of my bags to hold it in place. The action had the unanticipated effect of drawing my tail closer to the ground, resulting in the still-bandaged end once again striking the paving stones with each step I took. I hissed and reluctantly loosened things a bit until my tail's trajectory was clear of the ground. “It’s not my fault. The damned thing has a mind of its own.” Cinnamon giggled and said, “Don’t worry. Your tail might be working against you, but your fluff has got you covered, literally. I can assure you there is nothing indecent to be seen.” She shook her head. “I haven’t seen a coat of fur that poofy since my sister’s cat Fuzz Butt.” I cocked my head and asked, “She really named her cat Fuzz Butt?” “Well, no,” she admitted. “I think his actual name was Frumpkin or something boring like that. But I only ever called him Fuzz Butt. He looked more like a pile of cotton balls than an animal.” I ceased fussing with my clothes and continued walking. Then the implication of what Cinnamon had said a few moments earlier struck me and I stopped, narrowing my eyes at her. “'I can assure you there's nothing to see'? You've been critically observing my 'rear-view', have you?” “Have you been observing mine?” she replied nonchalantly. She gave her rump and tail a little shake as she pulled ahead. “Is that why you keep falling behind? Taking your time. Enjoying the view?” she teased. I quickly averted my gaze—which prompted a giggle from her—and fumbled for words. “What? No! I mean—you walk ahead like that and it's just… there!” “Well there’s your answer,” Cinnamon said with a shrug and kept on trotting. Oh. Yeah. I guess that made sense. It's not like it took more than a passing glance to confirm 'yep, that's very poofy’. I probably shouldn't be immediately assuming the worst intent. Especially if it might alienate my only ally. I was about to apologize when Cinnamon continued, “Except, you haven't been getting ahead of me too often. So yeah, I’ve had to make those few chances count.” I no longer felt bad about any assumptions I made. I glared at the mare. “What? You’ve got a nice butt. So poofy. Could just… snuggle it,” she said, pausing briefly to hug herself. I yanked my not-a-skirt back down and pulled away to a safe distance on the other side of the walkway. I wasn’t quite sure if the fact that the butt being complimented wasn’t really my own made the whole scenario more weird or less. Regardless, I made sure to stay in a position where I could keep track of the mare from the corner of my eye. We walked in silence for several minutes before Cinnamon spoke, “So, I’ve been thinking…” “About my butt?” I asked, watching carefully for any sudden and rear-ward movements. “No. Not all my thoughts are about your flank,” she scoffed. “Just some of them,” I grumbled. She rolled her eyes. “I’ve been thinking, about this whole thing with you and Graywall.” “Oh?” Wouldn’t have been my first choice of discussion topics. Frankly, I’d’ve preferred to just forget it all ever happened. But it was better than talking about the fuzziness of my rear-end, so I asked, “What’s your thought?” “I don’t think we can take this to the guard after all.” Well then. That was certainly something. Not even an hour ago, Cinnamon had seemed quite adamant about the need to report Graywall to the authorities. And even though I personally would have preferred to just drop the whole thing, I could see the reasoning and wasn’t about to argue with her about the matter. But if she no longer wanted to… “Why the sudden change of mind?” I asked. Cinnamon took a few moments to think before answering. “Graywall has got to know I helped you escape. Or he at least suspects it. And if he believes that, then he’s also gotta be assuming I talked with you about what happened. He knows I know he locked you up and held you captive, and he’s gotta at least suspect I know what he said he was going to do to you afterward.” Her eyes crossed and she bit the tip of her tongue. “Wait, I think I mess that up. Lemme start over.” I waved my hand to cut her off. “No no, I follow you. You know things that he’d prefer you didn’t.” She nodded. “Yeah, that. Any of those things would be enough to get him in serious trouble with the law… and yet he just fired me and is letting me walk away without a second thought!” She threw a foreleg up in frustration. Then she shook her head and continued. “Only reason to do that is if he’s completely confident that anything I could say or do won’t be enough to even inconvenience him. Else he’d have kept me on, where he could have somepony keep an eye on me. Make sure I don’t become a problem for him.” She snorted. “And yeah, he’s probably right not to be concerned. What could I even say? ‘Yeah, so, my former boss—mister Graywall. Yes. The owner of Gray Trade, the company that runs half the trade and shipping industry this half of Equestria. That’s the one—he just fired me after I released this griffon he was holding captive and vaguely threatened without actually saying anything specific.’” She took a deep breath and kept going, hardly even slowing down. “And then they’ll ask if the griffon is around to answer some questions. And I get to say no, and the whole thing falls apart because there’s no evidence, no victim, just the alleged, second-hoof word of a disgruntled former employee of a very powerful and very connected business owner. An employee who would appear to have little to lose and much to gain by making such accusations. Or, you do go in and talk…” she trailed off. Seeing where she was going with this, I picked up where she left off. “...and they inevitably ask something like ‘how’d you end up in the Graywall manor in the first place?’ and I get to reply with ‘I have no clue, officer’ which makes me look like a criminal playing dumb so as to not incriminate himself. Or—and I don’t know if this is better or worse—I can reply with ‘no clue, but I’m also not a griffon either. I’m really an alien from another world who needs your help getting home.’ But I really can’t imagine that improving the case in any way beyond ensuring that when it all comes crashing down, the cell I get locked in is a padded one.” My head drooped. “No one in their right mind would believe a word of it.” Cinnamon winced. “It’s not that it’s completely unbelievable,” she said, “but that there are far more likely explanations. Especially considering it wouldn’t have been the first time that something like this happened with Graywall.” “Wait. What?” I asked incredulously. This had happened before? I had to have misheard that. Or I was grossly misinterpreting things. Apparently, the reason for my surprise was clear. “Oh, no. Not like you. Not exactly.” Cinnamon corrected. “Just… there’s been more than a few incidents of disgruntled griffons coming at him or the company trying to make a mess of things.” Oh, that certainly made a lot more sense. And it also prompted another thought. “Is that why he was so pissed off at me? He assumed I was… doing whatever those others did?” “Probably, yeah.” “That explains soo much. ‘Cus he was, like, really angry at me considering how little I actually did. I mean, I can understand being pissed at someone you believe broke into your home, and maybe even feeling the need to lock them up. I could kinda see that. But to then go up and talk with that person and—well it wasn’t even a conversation so much as it was just him threatening me while I couldn’t do anything about it and then leaving before I responded.” I frowned. “That is not the sort of thing you do unless you’re an actual psychopath, or at the very least an asshole with a few pre-existing unfriendly predispositions.” Cinnamon let out a brief laugh. “Well, ‘unfriendly predispositions’ definitely describes Graywall and griffons. Apparently, it runs in the family, at least a few generations back. It goes back and forth.”—she swung her head side-to-side while she spoke—“He or the company does something that angers some griffons, intentionally or otherwise. And then they try to retaliate, either through some legitimate business-ey things or… less legitimate methods. Sometimes they get caught. I don’t really know why it all started. I don’t even know if they do either. Just that it’s been going on long enough that neither really cares, I don’t think.” I scowled. “And so just because he’s part of this dumb feud, he feels the need to personally ‘take care of’ any suspect griffon who crosses his path?” Cinnamon just shrugged. “Apparently.” “Wow. Okay. I thought he was an asshole before. But now?” I snorted derisively. “Now I’m almost tempted to say we should go to the guard, just for the off-chance to fuck with him. Cinnamon nodded in agreement. “It’d be pretty great… but then I’d also be more than a little worried about what would happen if we did manage to get someone to listen.” “What do you mean?” I asked. “I mean Graywall is a very powerful pony with lots of connections,” she said. When my confused expression remained unchanged, she elaborated further. “If the guard didn’t just dismiss everything you or I said as nonsense or blatant lies and actually took it seriously enough to get a report with Graywall’s name into the system, there’s a better chance than not that word of it will make it back to him.” She sighed, shaking her head. “As it stands, Graywall seems content to let me be because I’m not a problem, and he wouldn’t even suspect you’d put yourself in at risk by becoming one.” “But by going to the cops, you think we’d be painting targets on our backs and sending up a flare at the same time,” I concluded. “Kinda, yeah,” she said, her gaze falling to the roadway. It wasn’t hard to see that she was kicking herself over this thing. She didn’t want to just give up but also felt like she couldn’t do anything about it. And it wasn’t like she was wrong in that assessment, but that didn’t make it any easier. I sighed. “Look, for what it’s worth, I was never too hyped to talk to the cops anyways. If you ask me, I think you’re right and we should just drop the whole thing. Just… walk away and call this a win while it still is.” Cinnamon was silent for a while. “…I don’t like the idea of a scumbag like him walking free just because the only witnesses didn’t say anything. I really don’t like it…” She let out a long, low breath. “…But I like the idea of taking huge risks with almost no chance of paying off even less.” She swung kicked her hoof at a loose stone in the road, knocking it into the water. “This sucks.” “Yep. It sure does.” I wasn’t quite sure how I felt about the matter. On the one hand, I was kinda relieved to have one less thing to worry about potentially fucking up on me in the short term. But on the other, I could only imagine that my end-game goal would have benefitted from being able to get assistance from those in power… Goddamnit I hate this shit. I hate the idea that I even have to think in the long-term about this fucking place. Total bullshit is what it is. After a reasonable amount of internal seething, I turned back to Cinnamon and asked, “So if that objective has been officially abandoned, what’s the game plan now?” “Not too different, really. Same thing, just minus the guard part.” “Right… What was that plan again? You probably explained it earlier, but events as of late have been…” I paused to think of a suitable descriptor. “…distracting. To say the least.” That earned a small chuckle from Cinnamon. “The plan—if it can even be called a plan—is that I’m going to Canterlot to crash at my aunt’s for a while. And you’re accompanying me there because…” ”Because I’m lost and clueless?” I offered. “I was going to say because you managed to get on the bad side of one of the more powerful ponies this side of the Canterhorn… but yeah. That also works.” “Right.” Guess it wouldn’t be that easy to just forget the subject. “So… Canterlot, that’s the capital, yeah?” I tried not to be surprised by the name of the city. They apparently have a Griffonstone. Of course they have a Canterlot. Why not? Just don’t think about it. “Yep. Big city up there on the other side of the mountain.” She paused and pointed with her hoof through a gap in the trees to where a distant mountain range was visible. “And you think that there’s anyone there who might be able to help me? Or is going there just a means of going somewhere that isn’t there.” I pointed a thumb back over my shoulder towards Riverstone. “That’s the big one, yeah, but I do think that whatever your problem is, your best bet at getting it fixed is in Canterlot. Lots of specialists in all areas who could help you out,” Cinnamon said. I did notice how intentionally vague she was about what exactly she believed my problem was. “It also wouldn’t hurt for you to see a doctor about your head, and Canterlot has the best doctors around.” “Now,” I said casually. “When you say doctor for my head, are you talking about a physician or a psychologist?” Cinnamon visibly stiffened at the question, her gait faltering somewhat. “Come on. I know you think I’m crazy, or lying, or something. I just claimed to be from another world and that this isn’t really my body. If that doesn’t scream ‘cognitive disorder,’ then I don’t know what does.” She didn’t respond for a few moments, and when she did she seemed to be speaking carefully. “I’ll admit your story is a little out there, but like I said before, it’s not completely impossible, and it definitely doesn’t mean I think you’re insane or anything.” “Mhmm, and that’s just what you’d say to someone you thought was crazy but wanted to keep from running off and hurting themselves or someone else.” She frowned slightly. “It’s also exactly what somepony would say if they meant it at face value.” “Yeah,” I conceded. “But you wouldn’t say it like that.” “Like what?” “Like the way you said it. Way too careful. Too…” I stopped briefly to find the right word. “… Non-provocative. Considerate.” “I was too considerate,” she said flatly. “Errr, yes. No. Maybe.” I waved a hand dismissively. “Look, it’s pretty clear you don’t totally believe me and probably think I’m nuts.” “I don’t think that I do,” she said. Then a mischievous smile crept onto her muzzle. “But if you’re really trying to convince me you aren’t crazy… believing that those around you—especially those helping you—are trying to deceive you is a rather strong indicator of paranoia, which doesn’t really help your case.” “I—buh—wha—guhh. But…” I fumbled for words, one eye twitching slightly. The hell do I even say to that? Keep arguing myself into a corner or give up and let what will happen, happen? I was beginning to think I understood what it was like to live in the life of a madman, and there was no way that was good for my sanity. I’d trapped myself in a corner, where anything I could say would just make the situation worse. “Fuck,” I said. “I see,” Cinnamon replied, nodding her head in mock thoughtfulness. “Gaaahh-scraAWWw!” I gah-scraw’d in frustration and flopped defeatedly onto my belly. Cinnamon simply stopped walking and patiently waited while I laid there. Eventually, I climbed back onto my feet and resumed walking. Cinnamon fell into step beside and slightly behind me. I sighed heavily and said, “Y’know, I don’t blame you. I am well aware of how ridiculous I sound. I wouldn’t believe me if I were in your place.” Then mumbling, I added, “I’m not even fully sure I believe me anymore.” My head slumped low. “Hey.” Cinnamon quickly trotted up close to me. “Chin up.” She ducked her head down under my chin and then stood up to her full height, gently forcing my own head most of the way back up. She pulled away to my side and said, “If you were really losing your mind, I don’t think you’d be so self-aware about it, now would you?” She shrugged. “Equestria is a crazy place. You magically appearing in a basement wouldn’t be the weirdest thing to happen, by far.” “Yeah, okay,” I said with a somewhat forced laugh. Sure, make fun of the totally-not-crazy griffon. Whatever. I didn’t really mind. Anything that lightened the mood was a plus. I could live with being thought of as a little bit nuts. If Cinnamon was just being helpful and letting me tag along without actually believing a word of it, I could deal with it. So long as I was still making forward progress. After all, even pity-points are points that count towards your overall score. Now, that wasn’t to say I wouldn’t keep trying to convince her I didn’t belong in an asylum. I would prefer to avoid being locked in any kind of cell, even ones that are padded for comfort. It just meant that I wouldn’t be too deeply saddened when I inevitably fucked it up. And I was under no delusions that I wouldn’t fuck it up, at least a few times.