//------------------------------// // Mornin! // Story: The Ponyville Olympian (working title) // by Sam Rampart //------------------------------// "Some people call me little, Some people call me small, But given the chance I'll rise up and Stand above them all" I sang along, feeling the thrum of my rear tire on the trainer, my power stroke working away at the steel rod and flywheel assembly that resisted my leg's force. It was a simple device, an a-frame supporting my bike and the wheel on a magnetic resistor assembly, designed for exercise, not for actual training. "Some people put my down Some people kick me around, But believe me when I tell you I'll be the one that rules this town "But they all say "No", And they say "You can't go", But I won't let them decide Who I should be." One, two. One, two, my breath was even, my body hot, running strong. I reached over for the two liter bottle of water, grabbed it, and drank, never faltering in my stroke. A pony jumped up in front of me shouting through the music in my earbuds "HEY!" "WAA!" I reared back, finding out that the trainer's not as securely planted as I had hoped, the whole bike and trainer assembly falling over. "What?" I picked myself up, ripping the earbuds out. "I'm hungry." The grey earth pony raised an eyebrow, his brown eyes locking on to mine as I stand, about eye level with him, considering he's on top of the desk that had been holding my water. At first glance, he looked like a mare, and he could pull it off, but he was simply a small and delicate looking colt, much like myself, even down to the brown hair and eyes, his cutie mark matched my tattooo perfectly. "And I need to know when you plan on delivering on that bicycle you designed for me." "As for the bike, the frame's being built as a challenge to the guys at the school mechanic's shop. I'll reconstruct the bike when it gets back," my music kept playing, barely audible in the pony and my conversation. "Food, well, make yourself something. It's not like you can't cook." The andropony blushed slightly. "I can't reach the controls and Mom won't let me climb on the counter." I facepalmed, then picked up my bike and started towards the stairs, "Scrambled eggs and toasted pita?" "Please." Sam grinned, keeping pace. "You a vegetarian?" "No. Tried that once, got really sick." I responded. I felt a bit awkward talking to this pony, especially considering that he was me. Well, a ponification of me, but still me. •∞•§•∞• 6 hours earlier Sol 3, Orion Spur 37°37′36″N 104°47′2″W I blinked wearily, not wanting to uncurl from the thick, warm blankets. I could see my arm in front of me in the gloom filtering through, a tattoo on the top of my wrist depicting a stylized bicycle encompassing the Olympic rings in the frame, and my symbol, a stylized 2, between the front fork and the rest of the frame. I always saw myself as second rate, but the tattoo was designed around what defined me, I was a cyclist, I wanted to be an Olympian, and because of my nature of being second, I had to work all that much harder to achieve my dream. I would have to work that much harder to prove them wrong. I was androgynous, delicate features, slender legs, no body hair, the whole shebang, and I worked hard to maintain that. People would laugh, at me and my dreams, but that was because they didn't have any. They would laugh at the man with breasts who wanted to compete. They thought I was worthless, because I knew I was second rate. But second rate just needs a bit of tender, loving care to become a shining masterpiece, no one seemed to realize that. I shook the thoughts out of my head and turned over, finding myself with a faceful of dark brown hair, ragged, but soft, my hair. But my hair wasn't that long. Not anymore. Grunting, I pulled the blankets up and looked at the mass of soft fur curled up in a tight ball on my bed, its delicate face resting on slender legs that ended in hooves "ffhive more minutes," the creature grunted in my voice, curling tighter. "It's cold..." I can honestly say that was when I lost it. I screamed, jumping back and taking the covers with me, only to fall flat on my back with a thump, my legs thoroughly tangled in two thick quilts and a faux fur blanket. The pony also snapped awake, pressing itself into the wall before looking me dead in the eyes and sighing, his voice obviously male. "Dude, calm down! It's too early for this!" "What the Hell? I went to sleep alone! Not with a talking pony!" I was busy untangling myself from the sheets, and throwing them unceremoniously onto the bed. "I remember the same thing, so cool your jets, hotshot. I'll figure this out when I get some more shuteye. Maybe we'll wake up later and this'll be a weird dream." He curled up and pulled a blanket over himself before I finally removed myself from the last of the covers and stood, ripping the blanket off the pony now inhabiting my bed. "Not gonna happen, Sparky. You're coming with me for coffee, then you're getting..." My eyes fell on the pony's cutie mark, and I held up my wrist, sitting down on the bed and examining both marks, perfect copies of each-other. "What the..." "What?" he asked, raising his head, only to catch me in the chest and I blushed as I felt soft tissue move. Tissue that I had spent two years and countless hours of meditation, not to mention two hundred dollars in herbal remedies, growing. "Does this look familiar to you?" I held my tattoo for him to see and his eyes looked from his flank to my arm and back, each time widening a bit. "Okay, now this is just freaky."