//------------------------------// // The (mis)Adventures Begin // Story: Brony vs. Fanfics // by Cog Archival //------------------------------// MLP:FIM is the intellectual property of Hasbro and the Hub; I lay no claims to it, any related characters, or related places and locales.  I also lay no claims to the fanfictions referenced here, which will be properly cited at all times. Prelude A giggle, ringing through the darkness sounds horribly familiar, but twisted, the mad chuckle of a true sadist.  Peering through the swirling mists of my sleeping conscious, I try to see who’s there, while half-formed nonsense tumbles past me: dancing robotic bears, a flying monkey, a city made of donuts.  I see a flash of white, a black and white shock of hair pulled quickly out of sight while a voice shouted in alarm and shock, and I hear that chortle of unholy amusement again, and then-“Wake up!” Chapter 1 The sunlight stabbed into my eyes in an extremely unwelcome way.  I groaned, trying to roll over or pull the sheets up to escape from the light a little longer.  It’s the weekend, I shouldn’t have to put up with this.  That was when I realized that there was no blanket and I was not in my bed. Or in my room.  As my eyes shot open, I quickly realized I wasn’t even in my house.   I blinked, looking around to try to figure out where I was.  No immediate answers came to mind.  Damn.  At least I was dressed, which raised the questions of 1) How did I get here, 2) Why didn’t I remember it, and 3) Where was here? Might as well be methodical about this, I decided.  I’m underage, so I probably didn’t get drunk, therefore this probably isn’t the tail end of some crazy party or Hangover craziness.  This is further supported by the fact that I clearly remember getting into my bed last night after finishing some homework, surfing the web a little, and then just heading upstairs to my room, ready to really sleep for the first time that week.  Scratching my head confusedly, I conclude that that’s all I know as far as the first two questions are concerned, and as to the third, I seem to be in some sort of meadow.  There are trees all around, there are only a handful of clouds in the sky, and the sun is shining down in all its sadistic, overly energetic glory.   There’s a strange look to everything, though.  Colours seem more solid and defined, without the natural shading you would expect to see.  The texture on things isn’t clear unless you look right at them, and while looking closely, I can see that everything, myself included, has a sort of faint outline, made of a band of color either darker or lighter then whatever it’s outlining.  The overall effect is of a bright, crisp world with little shading or texture.  It’s weird, like either the universe’s graphics card has expired, or I’m somehow in a cartoon. Yeah, right.  It’s just leftover head trauma, more likely.  I pinched myself, and decided that I probably wasn’t dreaming.  Seeing as how I don’t have any tops or chess pieces to check that, I’m going to assume for now that I’m just seeing things in a strange way and that I can’t do much about it for now other than resolve to mention it to the first medical person I come across. Going by video game logic, now would be a good time to check my inventory.  A quick check of myself reveals that I am wearing my usual choice of attire, and that everything’s in the places I expect them to be.  Wallet, keys, handkerchief, notebook and pencil in my jean pockets; my glasses hooked in the collar of my shirt; gloves and a pair of sunglasses in the pockets of my jacket; watch on my wrist; jade ring and lucky medallion on my finger and neck respectively; and thankfully, my favorite scarf is also around my neck.  As my first order of business, I donned the sunglasses, putting my regular glasses into the breast pocket of my jacket.  “Take that, Celestia.  Or Helios, or whoever’s in charge of that dumb explosion.”  I muttered, getting up and glancing reproachfully at the sun.  By my watch, it was about 4:20, EST, and the sun indeed looked to be in about the right place in the sky. Oh, right: where am I, again?  In front of me is a forest of some kind.  A very dark, creepy looking forest, that seems oddly familiar.  Tempting, but I doubt I want to go in there.  You know that feeling you get when you’re watching a horror movie, and you see the camp in the middle of nowhere, or the abandoned house, and you just know that place is bad news?  That tingle that goes through your sense of common sense, and right to your motive center, and makes you unconsciously lean back a little?  Yeah, it’s like that.  Behind me is what looks like an orchard: neatly trimmed trees lined up in neat, orderly rows.  That means there’s probably someone who goes out on a regular basis to look after these trees, so they probably live nearby, or will leave a clear-cut, well traveled path towards where they do live.  Between possible civilization, and a creepy forest of creepy darkness, I choose to go towards the orchard. There isn’t any sort of path, but the trees are well spaced.  They seem to be apple trees from the handful or so that have some not-quite ripe apples on them, although they are a bit taller than the memories I have of an apple orchard I once visited before.  To be fair, that was when I was in elementary school, though.  That isn’t the only real difference, though.  The trees seem to be stereotypically tree-shaped; as I remember, apple trees tend to have one trunk that branches out into a few larger branches maybe a third of the way up, and then the top third or so of their height is the actual leaves and branches portion.  These have one sturdy trunk that becomes an almost cartoon like sphere of branches and leaves about one half to two thirds of the way up the trunk.  The grass is also more uniformly green, and all about the same length, and is only grass, without any of the other plants you almost always see trying to blend in with grass.  The overall effect is almost cartoony, like an idealised drawing of what an apple orchard is.  The one odd thing that stands out is that all of the trees have some chips and dents in the trunk, just a little above waist height for me.  Most of the denting is in roughly the shape of two semi-circles set side by side, and they mostly ring around the trunk at that one height, as if someone was varying where they hit the tree to make sure that the trees weren’t too badly damaged by whatever process required beating on them regularly.  For some reason, that thought makes me feel like I should know where I am.  Noticing an apple sitting on the ground, I lean down and pick it up, giving it a quick rub on my jacket before biting into it.  What?  I didn’t get breakfast. At this point, I find myself on top of a hill, looking over the orchard.  Chewing thoughtfully on my apple, I look out over my surroundings... and promptly drop the apple.  Looking at the barn I can see just down the hill a little ways, I realise why this place all seems so familiar and why everything looks the way it does.  Accept why it all seems familiar, not necessarily, but now I at least can put a name to this orchard.  There are some corn fields, a well, and what looks like a few smaller buildings for assorted livestock, but the barn itself is bright violet.  With pink trim.  And there’s a painting of a smiling pink pony and a sun on one side of it. I’d tell you all more about what was running through my mind as I realised that somehow I was in Equestria, (Sweet Apple Acres to be exact) but to be honest, most of what I was thinking at the time was nowhere near being coherent or sensible.  I was just starting to regain control over my higher brain functions when I heard a voice. “What in the... whut in Equestria are you?” Being a staunch brony, I would recognise that southern twang anywhere.  I clear my throat, prepare myself to meet a character who has, for the past year or so, been both a fixation and inspiration in my life, turn around to face the direction where the feminine southern accent came from, and... … … … … I was not expecting this.  That, along with a faintly curious thought about where exactly my jaw has dropped to, is the last thing to run through my mind when things suddenly go dark.