The first pattern was always the hardest to trap. I saw a swirl of dust on the edge of my vision, and I unfocused on it. I didn't look directly at it, but I became very aware of it, drew yellow highlighter across it in my mind, so that it glowed and pulsed. It drifted and tried to slither out of view, but I opened my awareness to all the dust and light around it that wanted to get there, wanted to be a part of this bright pulsing thing. I was looking almost directly at it now—on the background of almost-unbearably bright sky, it was an even brighter patch glowing white—watching patterns come and go, waiting for one particular kind of pattern.... There—first, a body and a head. I held that pattern there and waited until something like four legs and a tail came into view, quickly pinning them down to the canvas in my mind before they could escape. The wind still whistled and the dust still stung my skin, but they receded in importance as I let these other things float to the surface of my mind.
The mouth—that was the first thing to appear on the head—opened in a surprised "O". Then two big, dark-blue eyes appeared and cast about warily. Four hooves appeared, being shaken off each in turn.
What in Celestia's name is this horrible place, and where did this awful dust come from?
Not that she spoke out loud. I knew what she was thinking. She was in my mind, after all. Now that I knew whom I was looking at, my mind pulled up the pattern and started painting her with details: a ribbon of indigo mane; a white horn; three sparkling diamonds.
She shook herself, and her eyebrows converged in an expression of physical pain at the resulting cloud of dust. Even in this distorted image, even when glaring, even shaking herself like a dog, every movement was as precise and graceful as a violin bow played largo by a master. I'm not a clopper, and I wouldn't say it was physical attraction, but I was—moved.
I hadn't planned out any questions. You can't question a vision logically, like it was a demon in a pentagram. That kind of focus would dispel it. And you can't control it. If you could, it would be worthless puppet. You mostly follow its lead. I tried to let her know that I was there.
She turned her eyes toward me, as much as she could in that state. She blinked rapidly on seeing me, and jumped back in shock.
Good gracious. You're absolutely filthy.
Well, yeah, I thought. Desert does that.
How appalling. I should leave it immediately.
I thought at her about why I'd come here, what I'd seen and done here, and why I hated it.
I see, she said, apparently taking it all in. That's a little complex for moi. But, I do believe that you can't address the problems of your mind while ignoring the problems of your body. Clear thought starts with a clean body and a full stomach. You know, our Princess starts every really difficult task with a fresh cup of herbal tea.
We have pretty much the opposite tradition here, I thought. You're supposed to go without sleep, starve yourself, and suffer to attain spiritual enlightenment.
Really? Are the people there very enlightened?
I let the question pass.
Well, when you get home, the first thing to do after you have a nice bath and a fresh change of clothes is to do something about that unruly mane of yours. Really, darling.
I rolled my eyes. Why on earth had I thought I might possibly receive any kind of useful insight from Rarity?
She stiffened. Not useful? Not useful to whom?
To me, of course.
She clicked her tongue. Ah. I see.
See what?
She looked slightly off to one side of me, as if embarrassed to speak so bluntly. Fashion and grooming isn't just something you do for yourself, dear. It's also for the sake of the people around you. Going about town with a bad haircut is like leaving trash on your front porch. It's unpleasant for everypony else.
Look, sister. No amount of ... hair gel is going to make people enjoy looking at me. Especially people like you. I smirked. Who wants that, anyway? I want people to like me for who I am.
Hmph. Yet, you seem to appreciate looking at me. So you appreciate beauty in others, but you won't take a few minutes to make yourself more presentable. Because you don't have to look at yourself. Doesn't that strike you as just a bit selfish?
Oh, right, she was supposed to be the element of generosity. I'd always wondered what she did that was supposed to be generous. Apparently it was allowing people to gaze at her beauty. You know what's selfish? The fact that if you were my species, you wouldn't even be talking to me. You'd just make another tally mark under "men I shot down," and compare it to yesterday's score.
She lifted her nose indignantly into the air and turned slightly away, as I knew she would eventually. I was talking to you. But I'm beginning to see it was a mistake.
I let the vision dissipate, and she blew apart into dust, and I was standing alone on the playa again. Screw Rarity. I never liked her anyway. I'd spent the entire day surrounded by people who were stoned out of their minds, and that stuff about being fashionable for the sake of others was still the dumbest thing I'd heard all day. Thank God I was above that shallow crap.
Why was she even on the show? What were kids supposed to learn from her? To be a slave to fashion and peer pressure. To be born beautiful.
I tried to calm down and let my eyes unfocus. I watched the dust pulsate, the way dust doesn't. Colors strobed on and off, and I waited for them to settle on one, like waiting for the reels to stop on the the one-armed bandits at Reno. It took me a few moments to realize they had stopped, but not on one. Rainbow.
Yeah, that's me! She looked around the dust-darkened playa curiously. Weird. She jumped into the air and flew over to take a closer look at me, hovering like a hummingbird. So, are you a magician? Do something cool!
I, um, write database software.
She scrunched up her eyebrows, perplexed. You what?
Why even explain this to a pony? It's ... like, people write a bunch of things down, and I make a machine that stores them so they can find them again later.
Wow. Kind of like a librarian.
Kind of.
But even more boring.
Sorry I'm not cool enough for you.
She cocked her head at me inquisitively. So why do you do it?
Look, pony. I live in the real world. Nobody here gets paid to push clouds around. I have bills to pay. This is what I do.
Don't they have fun jobs in your world?
They pay shit.
But this database thing pays a lot?
I get by.
She shrugged, looking unimpressed. As long as you're doing what you want.
Doing what I want? Were you even listening?
Rainbow scratched her nose with one hoof. What? You want bits, you get bits.
It isn't that simple, you feathered kaleidoscope. You think you're so cool because you spend your days doing flashy fun stuff. But you can't just do what you want in the real world.
She backed off a little. Didn't mean to step on your tail, mister. But I kinda think it is that simple. Everypony does what they want to do. Twilight sits and reads all day, and if you ask her she's got some big long reason why it's important, but really she just wants to. Fluttershy spends her time with chickens because that's what she wants to do. If you're not doing something you think is cool, whose fault is it?
What the hell do you mean by that? Almost nobody does what they want to do. I want to play shortstop for the Yankees, but that doesn't make it happen.
She crossed her forelegs and glared at me. Don't play dumb. Pinkie works all day, and she kinda likes it, but mostly she does it so she has the bits to throw parties for other ponies. Applejack kicks trees all day, 'coz she has a family and a farm, and she wants to take care of them. If you want to prove to me how awesome you are, don't tell me how much you hate your library thing. Tell me what you do with all the bits you're saving that's awesome! Capiche?
I thought about that for a few seconds.
Does flying across the country to walk out into the desert to talk with ponies count?
She flew from side to side, inspecting me. She frowned. Gotta tell the truth, you look a little less than completely awesome right now.
Well ... Mostly I save the money.
Yeah? What are you saving up for?
That's what you do with money.
She stared at me unbelievingly. That's it?
I didn't know what to say, so we stared at each other awkwardly for a few moments.
I'll ... let you get back to your library thing. Seeya. And she was off. Reality pressed itself back onto my awareness. The wind was still wailing; the sky was still dark. I blew dust out of one nostril, and adjusted my handkerchief where it had slipped while I was talking with Rainbow.
I'd seen two ponies, and I felt worse than when I began. I'd try one more. Third time was the charm. One more spin of the reel. Another patch of light, another figure slowly resolving into something solid. The figure bobbed its head in alarm, and some swirls and lines in the head resolved into big, frightened eyes that cast about for a way of escape.
Where am I? Why's it so dusty?
A long, tapered pink mane and wavy tail; watery blue eyes. She saw me, and drew her head back in alarm, blinking rapidly.
I don't know why everyone says Fluttershy is so cute. At the moment she mostly seemed pathetic—confused and frightened by a little dust.
Oh, I know. I am pathetic.
Oh ... sorry.
No, it's true. I can't imagine why you wanted to talk to me. I should probably just be going.
I didn't know how to stop her anyway. But she didn't disappear. She stayed there, blinking at me.
It's just that, I couldn't help but notice, you seem so angry, she eventually said. Maybe you could ... not be angry?
I laughed out loud. Like that was a thing you could just decide.
It isn't?
No.
Are you sure?
Yes.
Maybe you could pretend you weren't angry?
What the hell good did pretending ever do? Pretending is what losers who've given up do. Like my friends with their bookshelves lined with fantasy novels about great warriors and noble kings. Like bronies writing Human in Equestria stories. Pathetic.
But, you think you have a problem. So, maybe, you could try doing something different. Maybe if you acted like you weren't angry, after awhile, you wouldn't be so angry.
Yeah, and maybe I should clap my hands and say "I do believe in fairies!" Oh, wait. I did that. For twenty years, at church. Didn't work.
I'm okay with anger. I'd rather be angry than frightened.
She sighed, and looked down at the cracked clay of the playa. I'm sorry. I don't think I can help you.
Maybe because I'm not an eight-year old girl who needs friendship lessons.
So where are your friends?
I looked away. I couldn't bear to look into those big blue eyes any longer, frightened and disappointed at the same time. When I looked back, she was gone.
The ponies had been a bad idea. Coming onto the playa had been a bad idea. Shrooms had been a bad idea. Hell, leaving my house yesterday had been a bad idea.
The dust still swirled about me, so that I couldn't see more than a dozen steps in any direction. But I'd been walking towards the temple. if I turned around, and carefully walked in a straight line, I'd probably run into Esplanade eventually. I'd have to get pretty badly turned-around to miss the encampment entirely and wander off into the desert beyond.
I lifted my right foot, and stepped back behind me, planting it on a line with my left foot, but turned to point the other way, back where I came from. I lifted my left foot—and a sudden gust knocked me over. I inhaled and my goggles came off when I hit the ground, and everything was dust, in my eyes, in my mouth, in my nose. A smooth, overly-friendly, familiar voice trickled into both my ears, smothering me in sarcasm and bitterness.
Oh, I don't think so. What happened to your sense of adventure? You still have three more ponies to meet! I'd HATE for you to have gone to all this trouble, and not get their valuable opinions as well!
He didn't really sound like John de Lancie. More like James Earl Jones, on a bad day, if you piped his voice directly into your bones.
You left your mind open, so I let myself in. Now don't be a spoilsport. Everypony has to play with me, sooner or later.
I wiped the goggles with my sleeve, pushed them back onto my face, and blinked the dust away. I held the handkerchief over my mouth again and coughed sand into it until I could breathe again without pain. I crawled, slowly, looking and feeling for footprints, any indication of which direction I'd come from. There was nothing. I stood up again. The wind kept howling.
It seemed I had to do this his way. Three down, three to go. I looked into the swirling dust. I spy with my little eye, something ... purple.
More precisely, lavender.
It was a relief to see the friendly, perplexed face of Twilight Sparkle. Now here was a pony who would understand me.
She pricked up her ears. You think I ... understand you? To be honest, I don't even know what you are.
I laughed through my handkerchief. That honesty, Twilight, is why you might understand.
Really? It's merely stating an obvious relevant fact. So. Getting down to business. You seem to have cast some kind of astral projection spell that will make you appear to me for a short time. I assume you have a message for me?
What? No! I want to know why I can't get you out of my head.
That's ... a really bad pickup line.
No! I mean ... oh, heck. It probably has something to do with friendship.
Really? I should be able to help with that! She pulled a pencil and notepad out from somewhere I couldn't see. Let's see: What would you say is your greatest friendship challenge?
Friendship challenge? Sounds like a bad high-school spirit-week event.
Well, what kind of friendship problem are you having?
I sighed, and thought, It's the getting friends in the first place. Give me a task, put me in a work group, and I'm fine! But anything where people are just there to meet other people – it's weird! It isn't fun. It's creepy and competitive. You know what I'm talking about.
She nodded sympathetically. So what have you done about this problem?
Well, I came out here into the desert to mingle with people.
She looked past me to the empty desert behind. She raised one hoof to her eyes and looked again. Then she looked around at the desert, empty in all directions.
I think I see your first problem.
"I know I'm alone out here now!" I said out loud. "But I was with people. I did come out here to be with people. I just had to get away from them."
Like I said. I think I see your first problem.
"Come on, Twilight. Going off by myself sometimes isn't my problem. I already know about that."
Why would already knowing about it make it not be the problem?
"Because I'm a rational being, okay? I can analyze this rationally. I've had friends. Good friends. Lots of them. But they don't last. They move away, or I move away, or we change—It's a rate problem. The first derivative of the cardinality of my friends is less than zero. I need to optimize my friend pipeline."
She squinted at me dubiously. That sounds too nerdy even to me.
Ow. "Et tu, Twilight?"
I just think using an operations research metaphor might be the wrong approach. Friends aren't fungible goods.
I scowled at her. "Easy for you to say. You live in this fantasy world where friends are faithful forever, no matter what. It isn't like that. Friendship is quid pro quo, what have you done for me lately."
And...?
"What do you mean, and?"
Did you think I didn't know that? That's basic evolutionary psychology. Why would that be a problem? Don't you do things for your friends?
"Of course I do."
Great! So, tell me about some things you do for your friends.
"That's ... not the point! You shouldn't have to."
She blinked at me. So, they should still be your friends, even if you don't do anything for them.
"Of course."
And so you should still be their friend, even if they don't do anything for you.
"I guess so."
So, what's the difference between friends and strangers?
This conversation was going nowhere. I summoned up a mental image of some particularly choice Twilestia.
Picture by sbshouseofpancakes
What?! That's ... where did you get that picture? I ... what are those rings? She went on that way in staccato sentence fragments until she sputtered out like a snuffed candle.
There was only one pony left other than the dreaded pink one: The element of honesty. Maybe she'd give me some straight talk instead of judgemental bullshit. I reached for the colors orange and yellow.
This one was harder. I got an orange blob, but the figure jerked and thrashed, trying to evaporate back into the eddies. I didn't let it. I waited it out until it tired, then reeled it in like a recalcitrant deepwater bass, and gradually it coalesced into a long yellow mane and tail, both tied off at their ends with a bit of red; also, a brown wide-brimmed hat. Two green eyes blinked open, then darted about in alarm. She (now recognizably Applejack) stamped one rear hoof. What the hay? What's this awful dead-lookin' place?
She caught sight of me, and glowered at me. Sweet Celestia! Not another one-a you hippie idjits. Jest look at yourself. Got yourself good 'n messed-up, dintcha? An' ya been botherin' my friends.
Oh, for fuck's sake. I'm trying to get enlightened here.
The hay you are. All you been doing is wasting ponies' time. My friends gave you good advice and you ignored each an' every one a' them.
I laughed curtly. Maybe that advice works in Ponyville.
She took a step forward and leaned in angrily. What you're doing don't work anywhere! Everything anypony says to try to help makes you mad, because you don't want help. You want to keep on pretendin' everypony happier 'n you is stupid and shallow. You'd rather be miserable than lose that excuse.
We glared at each other, and I became aware again of the wind whipping around me, somehow not disturbing Applejack's Stetson. You don't understand a damn thing. You think I haven't tried everything already? I know what happens. I know what happens if I try.
Oh, you're the world-wise one, ain'tcha? It's a mighty convenient sorta wisdom, though, that always tells you to do nothing.
And now ponies were five out of five for pissing me off. I lost my temper a bit. You got anything else to add? Let's hear it. Lay some more of that homespun country wisdom on me, cowgirl. Show me what you've learned from kicking trees all day.
She glared at me and snorted. I got just one thing to contribute. But it's the one thing you need the most.
Her hindquarters flowed across my vision, lining up below her head while she kept one eye looking over her shoulder and trained on me, and I just had time to think, Maybe I shouldn't have said that, before she bucked me.
I was knocked sprawling onto my back. The sand burned me as I lay there helpless, rolling from side to side, inhaling dust as I gasped in short, shallow breaths between shocks of pain. That wasn't supposed to be possible. I rolled to one side and dry-heaved at the sand, over and over again.
Goddamn redneck bitch.
