//------------------------------//
// The Head Games of a Foreigner 
// Story: Manehattan's Lone Guardian 
// by Curtis Wildcat 
//------------------------------//

With my primary business taken care of, we made a detour back to the Police station to drop off the bag they'd given me. The taxi driver, like so many others, didn't know what to make of me and was a bit creeped out. He was just as happy to receive a few bits for the transportation cost from us as he would from anypony else, so he didn't linger on it for long. I just wish the carriage's ceiling had been a little higher.

Afterwards, I debated with Gray for a little bit as to whether I should go back to the theater after she was done with her shopping. That journalist was probably done interviewing Drama by now, and while he was likely to find me sooner or later, I thought it best to just get it over with so I could put myself back in hibernation. I wasn't keen on just staying awake the entire time my auto-repair was active.

Gray informed me in response that this particular journalist--Buried Lede, now that I remember his introduction--was never satisfied with one or two interviews: his modus operandi was to talk to as many of those involved in a given situation as possible for the sake of completeness. This meant not just me and Drama, but also those who took up the latter's call to chase me, those two ponies who delivered me to the theater, the officers who arrested the Midnight Castle gang, and most likely Gray herself. Assuming Lede didn't find me before any of them, I would be waiting for quite a while.

...And it was at this point that Gray realized something important: she didn't have her saddlebags with her. With a sheepish and apologetic smile she disappeared in a, erm, ghostly blur. It took a second for me to realize that her leaving the smile behind her was just a trick of the light.

I've said it a few times already, so I'm not going to say it again right now.

Which leaves me where I am at the moment: sitting on a bench partway down the block from the station, waiting for the absent-minded pegasus to return and watching the morning traffic. Just 'chilling', to use a bit of slang.

I really wish the benches were bigger, but there's nothing I can do about that. Like everything else in this city, they were made with ponies in mind. I'd say that I'm sticking out like a sore thumb, but those digits are in short supply. Gray, where are you?





Down the block, a magic mint-colored unicorn visiting the city for the sake of tourism paused in mid-step. Her eyes took in Leviathan's presence, her posture as she relaxed. But where most ponies would've tread cautiously around an alien being, or ignoring her at best, only one thing was on the unicorn's mind.

Huh, she mused as she continued about her business. I wonder if I could do that. I'll have to try that on the way home.

Everything has to start somewhere.





"Mom, mom! What's that?"

I wince as I hear a foal question its mother loudly. This isn't for its volume so much as it was asking "What's that" instead of "who". Yet another difference between home and here: people at least knew better than to refer to Reploids as "whats". Ponies don't know that true inorganic life exists yet.

"I... I don't know, Butterscotch. I don't think we should be near it."

"Why?"

"Just... just listen to your momma, okay? Let's keep away from the giant whatever-it-is..."

"The 'giant whatever-it-is' can hear you," I comment before they get too far away, not turning my sight away from the road.

I paid no mind to the yelp that went off behind me, or the galloping as the pony fled. Provided that the journalist does his job appropriately, she'll find out all about me tomorrow. I won't be able to do anything about her fright, but that's all on her. It's up to her if she wants to be scared of me or not, much as I don't like it.

"Mom?" the foal's voice calls. "Where'd you go? ...Mom?"

...Oh for the love of... she ran off and accidentally left her child behind? I can't exactly ignore that. Fluctuating social skills, don't fail me now. I get up and approach the little orange foal, who--to his credit--doesn't try to run away. I kneel down and try to get as close to eye level as reasonably possible without going prone. "Excuse me, little one?"

"Yes, whatever you are?"

Ah, childhood innocence. A shame that the real world has to mess it up royally eventually. "Is that..." Hmm... well, I can't think of a better word to use, so... "...normal for your mother?"

The foal nods glumly. "Mom's not good with other ponies. Or whatever you are." He quickly continues speaking when he sees my uncertainty. "But she'll come back to get me! She will!"

Several other ponies are watching the scene, so I try to avoid making any movements towards the foal that could be remotely construed as threatening. Instead of picking him up, I stand just long enough to walk back to the bench. "We'll wait here for her to come back, then. Is that okay?"

"I dunno," the foal answers. "Mom tells me I shouldn't be talking to strangers..."

"And your mother's very smart." I turn my head towards the on-lookers. "You three? I would like for you to watch me so that I don't try anything funny with this child. His mom will be back soon to get him, and I don't want any complaints from her."

But it looks as if even though I won't get complaints from the mother, I'll be getting complaints nonetheless. "I, uh... forgot to wash my mane this morning," one of them says. "Each hair. Individually. Yeah."

"I'm a day sleeper," the second one lies. Seriously, it doesn't take superb hearing to detect your rapid heartbeat. "I was just on my way home."

"You two should be ashamed of yourselves," the third one speaks up harshly---

...Well, now.

"Not stopping to guard this young one from the dangers of the city streets, solely because a complete stranger intimidates you?" the earth pony continues. I recognize her now: she was that aged customer that Turkey Bowl was talking to at the store yesterday. "I might not know why the creature's acting the way it is, but I do know this: there's minding your own business, and there's throwing somepony to the wind through illegitimate excuses. You're both better than that. I know it."

Wow. That's what you get when you combine "well" and "now". Both of those who had tried to lie their way out of helping me look chastised by her words, ears turned down and regarding the ground awkwardly. The foal is confused by what's going on, but after a moment he decides that things will be okay after all and rushes over to the bench to join me on my right.

While the two ponies keep their distance, the third clambers up on my left. There's a strange feeling I'm getting just from looking at her: it's as if just by being present, she's affirming that she can be counted on for anything and everything. Physically, while she has the same general build as most of the ponies I've seen, her age is showing in the glasses she wears, wrinkles on her face and slightly decreased musculature.  "I saw you yesterday," she tells me with zero fear and all the politeness in the world. "Fairy Leviathan, I presume? I'm Charity Kindheart. That nice stallion Turkey Bowl was telling me about you yesterday."

I nod and smile politely. "Hopefully nothing outlandish."

"Just a bare-bones description of your history, dear. How are things faring for you? Do you have someplace to stay?..."

...

I'm experiencing a stark difference in personalities here. Gray is nice enough, I suppose, but there's always something at the edge of her voice that gives an air of unpredictability and mischievousness. Drama Heart is a similar case in that she's constantly fighting to keep her enthusiasm and drive under control.

There's no underlying struggle to Charity's words. Her concern is completely genuine, without any ulterior motivates that would color it. In a world full of nothing but shades of gray, hers would be so bright that it couldn't safely be called 'gray' anymore. I'm almost wondering what my situation would be like right now if she had been the one to talk to me in that alley instead of the sneaky cat.

Like both Gray and Drama, she has a certain fondness for the arts. Unlike them, she possesses a philanthropic streak a kilometer wide. Most notably, she channeled her enjoyment into a festival that she held for the sake of making her neighbors better ponies. I say 'held' instead of 'holds' because just three weeks ago, Charity received word that her oldest child elsewhere in Equestria was pregnant with twins. The bulk of her time since then was spent trying to find a buyer for her residence, intending to leave Manehattan and join her family.

As of now she hasn't found a buyer yet, and she's anxious to be there for her grandfoals once they're born. Would that I could help her out, but if you've been following my memories from the beginning, then you know my situation by now. I don't want to let myself get tied to this city to the point where I don't want to go home, and I don't know what I would do with an entire manor to myself anyway. When she heard this she was disappointed but understanding, and she was pleased to hear that I do at least have some shelter and sustenance.

"Shinyyyy!"

I'm still talking to Charity, so the foal's spontaneous exclamation isn't immediately triggering anything more than a subdued double-take. "Hm? Yes?"

The foal's pointing at my helmet. "It's shiny!" He scrambles up my arm to my shoulder, trying to get a closer look. "I can see my face in it!"

Okay, I don't know how much longer I can resist cooing at the sheer cuteness of his species. "Of course it is. I just had it washed yesterday," I joked.

"Can I try it on?" the foal begs. "Can I?"

My smile weakens somewhat as my earlier discussion with Gray comes back to mind. "I'm sorry, but I think it might be a little bit too big for you."

"Aww..."

"Foals will be foals, dear," Charity comments on seeing the young one's disappointment. "Why not let him have his fun?"

I sigh quietly. "I don't know if I want to talk about it, Kindheart. It's... a trifle embarrassing."

"I hope I'm not speaking out of turn," one of the two bystanders interrupts. He seems emboldened by the fact that I'm having a peaceful conversation with these ponies. Charity must really be something else, I suppose. "...But you're not having a bad mane day, are you?"

Part of me wants to stay quiet, but I turn that down. If I don't say anything, they're just going to assume that it is because my hair's an utter mess that I'm keeping my helmet on. "Ladies and stallions both large and small," I confess, directing a tiny smile at the foal as I say those last few words, "...I have absolutely no idea."

All four are showing surprise in their own ways, but it's the foal who expresses it verbally. "You don't know if you have a mane? How can you not know that?"

"It's easy," I tell him, phrasing my reply in a way he can easily understand. "Just have somepony put a helmet on your head and never take it off for your entire life." To the others, I add: "Do you get where I'm going with this? I don't even know what my hair looks like, so how could I know whether it's messed up or not? And if you want to know more about that, read tomorrow's news." I'm starting to get tired of saying that last bit.

Charity rests a hoof on my arm, and I flinch at the contact. She's not Drama Heart, I remind myself, forcing myself to settle. "I promise to you that we won't scream and run away regardless of your hair condition," she reassures me. "I'm sure you look just fine for who you are."

"I wanna see!" the foal proclaims. "I wanna see! Oh, and I wanna wear your helmet, too! Please?"

"It's not any of you that I'm worried about upsetting," I answer, my voice starting to waver. How do I even begin to explain this to them? "It's me."

"Don't feel that you have to be afraid of yourself, dear," Charity tells me... well, kindly, adjusting her glasses. "Unless there's something about yourself that you're not telling us, then there's no reason to think that you're ugly in any way, shape or form."

I never talked about my dilemma with anyone, so this is the first time that anyone's tried to talk me into it. And the more I try to come up with a good reason not to, the more I realize that she's right. Being fearful of my physical appearance is really silly. My battle damage is one thing, as at least there I have a good reason to hide it. But something as mundane as my hair? It's not like I have snakes growing out of my scalp.

...Right?

Leviathan, stop making excuses for yourself and just do it already. You're not Medusa.

I move my hands up to my helmet, pausing when they touch the edge. "I would just like to go on record," I state, "as saying that this is one of the most difficult things I've had to do in my life." Having finished speaking, I press my hands more firmly against the helmet and push upwards slowly, careful not to let the fins hit either Charity or the foal on accident.





From: Gray Ghost, a humble housewife

To: Princess Celesita

We've got an unbeliever here. Would a brief display of power be too much to ask for?

---------

From: Celestia

To: Gray Ghost

Certainly. Give me a few minutes to get away from the throne room. Also, you misspelled my name.

----------

From: G.G.

To: P.C.

I'm in a hurry, and I'm nearly out of ink. Give me a break.





The mother had gotten two blocks away when she realized that she was alone, and that had frightened her more than the whatever-it-was's ability to speak. "Butterscotch?" she called, looking around her and checking down the block to see if her foal was trying to catch up. "Butterscotch, where are you?"

No response. Whining anxiously, she whirled and galloped back down the street, not taking the time to catch her breath. Her only thought was to retrieve her child and get out of there.

When she got close enough to see where her foal was, the sight she returned to almost made her collapse in relief. Butterscotch was sitting on the weird two-legged creature's shoulder, their respective expressions showing that he was in no real danger; Charity Kindheart, of all ponies, was interacting with her calmly while several others looked on. Good, he's safe and we've got ponies watching them. I think I almost had a heart attack there...

She slowed down to a stop and got to work getting her breathing under control. As she did, she listened to Charity, Butterscotch and the creature talk about the state of the latter's mane, of all things. She wasn't a good judge of anything that wasn't another pony, but the creature seemed very expressive... and reluctant. Finally it reached up to its helmet and carefully removed it from its head.

Unknown to the mother, the vast bulk of the damage Leviathan was suffering was below her neck. Her helmet was marred but whole, and it had done a more than adequate job of protecting what lay beneath.

And what lay beneath was a soft and frizzy wave of a mane, barely any different in coloration from her helmet. The locks just grazed her shoulders when released, descending no further. With them visible, 'whatever-it-is' seemed like an entirely different entity... though the white plates where her ears should have been were unappealing.

The stranger gestured for Butterscotch to relocate to the bench, then it gently placed the helmet over him; he was bigger than it was, but not by much, and it engulfed him up to his flanks. "Look at me! I'm a turtle!" he declared, undeterred. Hunkering down and trying to fit as much of himself inside of it as he could, he began inching around on the bench. The helmet's fins made it awkward to navigate by their size, but he didn't let that stop him. "Crawl, crawl, crawl..."

The mother couldn't help laughing at his antics, which succeeded in getting everypony's attention. She froze when she realized that by 'everypony', this included the creature too. A soft "oh" escaped the mother's lips as she fought her flight instinct from having all of their focus on her.

To her relief, the creature didn't leave her seat. "That was quick," it said instead. "I wasn't sure if it would be necessary to chase after you, but you went and saved us the trouble."

"...I'm terribly sorry," the mother stated, shamefaced. "I realized that you were alive, and I panicked. Please don't be mad at me!"

...

I was hoping to only hear those words from someone I had made an enemy out of, not a worried parent. "I understand. Just please, for his sake, don't let it happen again. I'm not saying this to be mean, but I'm not a babysitter. Much as I'd like to, I can't safeguard everypony."

Shyly, she tries to look me in the eyes. She looks me in the chin instead, but at least she tried. "He, um... didn't give you any trouble, did he?"

"Actually, he was very well-behaved," I tell her kindly, smiling. "You're doing a fine job raising him. Keep up the good work, citizen."

I didn't use those words often, so I don't remember how effective they typically were. On the plus side they seemed to work with her, considering her straighter posture. "Th... thank you. I'll try. Butterscotch, could you give the nice mare her helmet back?"

It takes about half a minute for her to convince the foal to return my headwear. That's also how long it takes for me to dismiss the image of myself as a pony from my mind.





After they leave, I don't have time to continue speaking to Charity before the one I'd been waiting for says 'hello' as only she can. "So this is what happens to you without an escort."

Charity jerks, startled, but this time I'm able to keep from jumping at my guide's abrupt return. The pony's hovering close by, alighting on the pavement as I greet her. "Hello to you too, Gray. What took you so long? Fall asleep again?"

"I leave you alone for twenty minutes," Gray deadpans, ignoring my question. "Twenty. Minutes. And already you've got somepony's foal trying to steal your helmet. You're pathetic."

"Not as pathetic as the one who forgot her bags and left to get them while the shopping trip was in progress," I retort, a smirk tugging at one corner. My helmet's left off for now, but I'm keeping a hold of it in case some common thief---or another foal---gets it into their heads to try and take it.

"Touché," my guide admits, her temperament back where it belongs. "I'm kidding. So that's what you look like without that dome over your head, huh? I was half-expecting you to be a blonde."

A raised eyebrow, and this time it's visible to everypony's eyes. "And why is that?"

"Because in some circles, blondes have a reputation for ditziness," Gray explains. "You might be a veteran fighter with a serious demeanor, but you can be a complete dumb-dumb sometimes, too."

"Not sorry to disappoint you," I say, brushing one of my bangs before my eyes. Artificial or natural, the strands drift like the ocean all the same and shine with a similar hue. I don't know whose idea it was to make the tips white, but it was a nice touch. I'm glad I let those two convince me to do this. "From the looks of things, I'm a blunette."

"I'm obviously no expert on this, but those who constructed you did a thorough job," Charity commented, squinting at me for a few seconds. "An average mane has upwards of 100,000 individual hairs. If your race has the same amount..." She shrugged helplessly. "I can't begin to fathom just how much work it would take just to bring them all together. It all looks so real. Nothing like what you would see on something hoofmade."

A hoorah for advanced machinery. "It does, doesn't it?" I agree for the lack of anything better to say. "It means I save plenty---" The shadows on the ground are lengthening. I repeat: the shadows on the ground are lengthening. "---of money on shampoo, and what the blue blazes is going on here?"

“Up there!” one of the two on-lookers blurts out fearfully. “It's the sun! Why's it going crazy like that?!”

I squint up at the sky...

“EHHHH?!”

...to see the most surreal thing I have ever seen in my life. And I've seen a lot in the past 24 hours, believe me. The sun is dropping towards the Manehattan skyline at a rate I hadn't even thought possible. But it doesn't stop there, oh no: just as it vanishes behind the buildings, it returns to its prior position at double the original rate of speed. A brief pause, and then it drifts around in a pattern that I could have sworn was handwriting. It repeats the pattern in case I didn't catch it the first time, then resumes its regularly scheduled orbit as if nothing had happened.

“Was...” Another pedestrian can be heard muttering. “Was the sun saying 'hello'? That looked like a 'hello'.”

Gray blinks a few times to get what's probably a swarm of spots out of her eyes as she looks up at the sun. "Huh," she says with no concern at all. "Guess the Princess must be pranking somepony again. I wonder what poor snob got her attention this time. Maybe that nephew of hers."

"You've met the Princess?" Charity inquires wonderingly, with equal parts dissatisfaction at Gray's overly-familiar tone and surprise that she could still witness strange events at her age.

As for me, my voice seems to be stuck as a high-pitched squeak at the moment, so I can't continue expressing my own surprise appropriately. There's some recalibration in order this evening.

"Went to Canterlot on a trip once as a foal," Gray says, smiling wistfully. "If you want my personal opinion, she's more of a flake than ponies think she is."

...

Alright, that does it. Between everything my guide telling me turning out true and her good-naturedly insulting her own monarch as if she knew her personally, I can't take this anymore. I'll logic this out later. Switching to Standby.

...

...

Gray and Charity jerked in surprise as Leviathan's squeak cut off. The Reploid slumped forward, her expression dazed as her momentum almost carried her off the bench. Her eyes slid closed as she went still.

As one, everypony who had witnessed the last few minutes turned to look at Gray, their expressions ranging from light disapproval (Charity) to outright glares. The pegasus tilted her her head a few degrees to her left, her smile bewildered. "What?"