Everything I can do I had to learn. I've had plenty of time and no excuses to learn a lot.
2.1
I was floating. As I laid on the water's surface, I stared at the darkening sky above. The stars came out early here, but that was to be expected when the sky contained four times as many of them and none of the light pollution like back home.
Home...
It fluttered through my mind for a moment, but faded away nearly as quickly. I could remember home perfectly, but I remember everything perfectly, so it didn't count for much. I hardly ever think about it, though. I really have no reason to think about it, or any want to, sad as that may seem. Home was now just one of those thoughts that intruded on me for a moment then had the decency to leave me alone for a while. Home was where I happened to be at the time... where we happened to be at the time.
A rocky barrier kept the waves at bay from this little alcove that I was beginning to grow quite fond of. The water was warm, barely moved, and crystal clear. Birds, or this island's equivalent, sang and chirped in the woods near the shore, and the distant sounds of waves could be heard. The smell of sea salt and the still lingering odor of a barbecue filled the air. Paradise for most people, but not quite close enough for me. I felt a hand lace its fingers around mine. I gripped the hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.
Now it's paradise.
A tear slid down the side of my face and into the water.
"Why are you crying?" asked a voice so sweet it weakened me to hear it.
"Because I have to wake up."
I turned my head to the other person and saw the empty side of a bed. I didn't move. I stared at the empty place beside me. A part of me wondered if I stared long enough that I might actually see something. A strand of silver hair, a smile, the deepness of her blue eyes, anything. As usual, I saw nothing.
I sighed and sat up in my too small bed, rubbing my forehead to get rid of the pounding I was feeling.
Serves me right for trying to get an actual night's sleep.
As I tried to relieve my headache, I felt buried memories pick at the back of my mind. I screwed my eyes shut, and at some point I began to whisper.
"Yesterday, upon the stair,
I met a man who wasn’t there
He wasn’t there again today
I wish, I wish he’d go away…”
I repeated the mantra three times. Each time my headache and memories would fade away more and more, and a cold emptiness began to take their place. After a few more minutes of rubbing, I dropped my hands and stared at the wall.
My eyes had adjusted to the light, so I looked around the room. It was small, like every place I had seen today, and if I were to take too high a step my head would become part of the ceiling. Sometimes being my height can be a pain, but I've learned to live with it.
I turned to the balcony door and saw that it was still dark outside. The moon shone through, bathing the street outside and floor inside in a pale light, while a few dim streetlamps glowed in the distance. A glance to the alarm clock, which was the only thing that adorned the desk, showed that it was barely past three. I fell back onto the bed and looked at the ceiling. Sleep didn't come to me as I expected it wouldn't.
I lay there for a while. In that time, my headache had left me completely. However, I was beginning to feel another sensation take its place. I felt it travel up my arm like a snake. It was a sharp, burning sensation the felt like scalding water was being poured against my arm. I tried to ignore it, foolishly thinking it would subside. I knew what was causing it and how to fix it, but I still thought I could salvage this night's rest. Unfortunately, the pain overcame my laziness, so with a groan, I got out of bed, knowing I wasn't getting anymore sleep that night.
"Fine. Fine," I said, "I'll dump you." In all honesty, it was my fault. My data drive was twenty kilos overburdened, and I had fallen asleep when I knew it should have been dumped. With a mental command, a blue light flashed in my right hand, and a rod materialized in its grip. The burning sensation flared for a second, and I grimaced.
I took the rod in my hand and twisted its middle. The base of the rod split into three pieces forming a tripod. I set it down on the desk and pressed a button on its side.
"Lamp, twenty percent illumination."
An aperture at the top of the device opened, and fifty bead-like devices floated out of it. They clustered themselves into a sphere over the device's opening and began to glow. The light was focused toward the center of the sphere which made what light it emitted gentle on the eyes. It was just bright enough to illuminate the corner of the room and soft enough not to cause my headache to resurface.
I looked at my arm and frowned at it. From my palm to just below my shoulder my arm was inflamed and tender. I rolled my wrist and felt it pop. As it did, a spider web of blue lines flashed beneath the skin of my palm down to the center of my forearm. It illuminated two faint scars that normally couldn't be seen. They ran parallel to each other on the underside of my forearm. They were the only evidence of the device that had been grafted to my bones.
"It's a useful gadget. You'll be thankful you've got it."
I smirked, "Yeah, Artus, but I really wish you had told me not to fiddle with it." I leaned over my bed and placed my hand flat on the ground. There was a flash and bundle of equipment appeared on the floor of the room. The pain in my arm broke, and it felt like I had jumped into a pool on a hot day. I sighed in relief.
I looked at my arm and saw that it was already starting to return to its normal shade. I glanced at the pile of equipment on the floor. It was one hundred and fifty-four pounds of gear I could carry without having it weighing me down. Unfortunately, that was forty-four pounds more than the drive was originally built to store. I blame myself. I broke a few safeties on the device and increased its capacity. However, now it has a tendency to overheat unless it was periodically purged, and manifesting gear out of thin air in front a bunch of ponies would have led to some annoying questions.
I could reactivate the safeties, but that would mean dropping gear that I might need. In the end, I was too sentimental, too lazy, and too masochistic to do it. It wasn't that bothersome, anyway. It just meant I had to keep an eye on my stuff when it was out in the open.
I rubbed the last of my soreness from my arm and shifted in the bed when I felt something catch.
I fell asleep with everything strapped on again.
The scabbard's straps were digging into my shoulders, and my gun holster was making my leg fall asleep. Not wanting a blood clot to ruin my day, I unbuckled my holster's clasps and pulled it from my leg. I set it in my lap and pulled out the gun. The silver metal glimmered in the moonlight as I turned it in my hand.
The gun wasn't all that special, but at the same time, a thing of beauty. I was never much of a gun nut, but there was always something about revolvers that I liked. They were elegant, simplistic, and reliable, and an S&W 686 plus was a beautiful example of all three.
I thumbed the release and the cylinder fell from the frame. I pressed the ejector just enough for me to pull out one of the bullets. The caliber was .357, but the bullet itself was obviously not made of copper or lead. The bullet's cartridge was normal, but the projectile itself was made of a blue crystal. These crystal bullets were what made my revolver special.
Any combat specialist would tell you that a revolver is reliable, but in a firefight an automatic would be better because of capacity. They're right. When an automatic fires, it ejects the casing of the bullet, but a revolver keeps its cases in the cylinder. The neat thing about these crystals was that they grow back after twenty seconds. The revolver's basic functionality meant that I never had to reload.
In a firefight, twenty seconds can feel like an eternity, but it's a good compromise to make for near unlimited firepower.
I slid the bullet back into the cylinder and laid the gun on the desk. I unbuckled my scabbard and flinched when I felt a hitch in my shoulder.
I've been tackled, hogtied, squished by a door, and climbed on, and you pick now to act up? Unbelievable.
I groaned as I slid the scabbard off my back and tried to roll out my shoulder. I tapped a security case, one of the things from my drive, with my foot opening its lid. Inside was a laptop and a couple of compartments. I placed the case on my lap and powered on the computer. My shoulder continued to ache the entire time, and I opened one of the side panels in the case. It was small and contained only one item; an orange bottle which held three capsules. I eyed the bottle with the kind of look that reminded me it was option, but that I wasn't really considering using it.
I don't want to feel sluggish tomorrow.
I closed the panel after a moment and looked back to the computer screen. It had already tried and failed to find any kind of communications signal. I wasn't surprised. If it had, I would have sent out a virus that would have built me a profile and a history. I had learned that a man who didn't exist drew a surprising amount of attention, so the virus was built to fix that. Of course, it only worked when there was a digital presence, and I wasn't too different from the inhabitants to blend in. It appeared that neither were happening this time.
I had figured as much this morning, so I hadn't bothered trying to blend in. I looked at a rolled up traveler's cloak on the floor which had made me a ghost in public many times before and chuckled at how useless it was here.
"A good cloak and a determined walk can make you more invisible than any spell or device."
"Did you happen to account for three and a half foot tall ponies, Arty?" I whispered. I sighed, closing the case and putting it on the ground. I pushed the throbbing of my shoulder to the back of my mind. Standing from the bed, I walked out of the balcony door into the night outside.
I took in a deep breath, and the cool, late night air made me feel ten times lighter. I reached out, gripping the railing of the balcony like I would actually float away if I didn't. It was a childish thought, but I enjoyed the feeling of it regardless.
I closed my eyes and listened. I was pleased to find that this night had a perfect silence. There was noise, don't get me wrong, but it's the right amount and the perfect kind of noises. The hoot of an owl, the sound of rippling leaves in the breeze, the rhythmic sound of a million cicadas calling out, the white noise that is the sound of a living world.
I hate absolute silence. The sound of nothing drives me mad, mostly from my mind trying to fill in the blankness. Why it tries to do so with a piercing ring, I have no idea. Out in the open, be it a field, a forest, or a sleeping village, I never get that sound of silence. I could be in the middle of a desert and be the only living thing for miles, and I still wouldn't hear the ringing. Put me in a small room with nothing but the blood rushing through my ears to make noise, and I might go insane. It’s an odd paradox that I always found comfort in – for silence to be perfect, it needed to be flawed.
I breathed in once more and opened my eyes to the village in front of me. It looked normal from the balcony, like any village you'd find nestled in any European country. However, my perspective illusion was broken if I faced the house that was nearest the library. When I did the obvious size difference became apparent, and I was reminded of my intrusive existence.
As if that were the only thing.
A world of talking, magical ponies (and other species if some of the information I had gathered at the party was true) was a new one for me. It's still leagues away from the strangest places I've been, but it was new.
I like new. I really don't get enough new in this business.
However if I was completely honest, it wasn't that different from home, but it did have a few things going for it. It was colorful and vibrant, and any halfwit could feel the life radiating from it. The world had a spark to it that I found comforting, like the atmosphere was trying to embrace you. It was like home, but clearer and fresher.
A world so peaceful that they'd welcome a stranger like a long lost friend? I was beginning to think they didn't exist.
I felt the corner of my mouth tighten into a small smile as I looked up. Gazing at the sky, I noted familiar constellations. A similarity that only further proved how far I was from home. It was earth, just not mine. It's a funny thing really. I can go to so many places, yet most of them had the same sky.
My eyes wandered across the expanse until they settled on a bright, red speck. I watched it twinkle the sky fooling everyone into thinking it was still there when it had likely died centuries ago. This illusion of a star had always been my favorite since I was kid, likely because it was my favorite color. Although, I always thought it deserved a better name than Betelgeuse.
"Who's going to blink first tonight, old friend, you or me?" I said, staring up at the star. It continued to twinkle indifferently. "Eh, you're never any fun." I looked away from the star and back to the sleeping village. It was a beautiful place.
As far as first impressions go this place gets an A. I haven't felt this good about a world since...
I frowned as sensations drifted across my mind: the smell of the sea, the rumble of waves, and the sound of laughter, mine and another’s. "Has it really been that long?" I asked myself. I couldn't remember the last time I was in a position where I could just stop and take in everything, or do that and feel like I had a right to.
I stepped away from the balcony and headed back inside my room. I looked over the pile of equipment I had summoned on the floor. It was a collection of survival gear, a bundle of daggers, and few useful devices I had picked up here and there. Usually, I have to resort to one of those long before I get to use anything else. This world, however, had been different.
My old guitar leaned against the pile, the moonlight highlighting the wear on its surface. I sat on the bed and pulled the guitar onto my lap and turned it over. The back showed just as many signs of use, if not more, than the front. The only difference was a small embroidered plate that was no bigger than business card fastened to its center. The initials M.O.K. were inscribed on the plate in a graceful script, my dad's initials. I ran a finger along the plate, feeling the rumples on its decorated surface.
It had been good to play for a crowd, again. The look of wonder and awe upon the audience faces was more intoxicating than any kind of drug imaginable. When I played, I felt so blissfully lost and relaxed. It was a sense of freedom I would never get tired of.
Of course, what kind of person shuns freedom of any kind?
I took the guitar in my hand and with a thought saw it disappear in a flash. Leaning over I set my hand on the floor and returned the rest of my gear to the drive. Except for a slight tingle it didn't protest. I stretched on the foot of the bed, feeling my spine pop in a few places.
It does that way too often.
Something slid down the top of the bed and poked my back. I turned and saw the black scabbard of the sword resting against the side of my hip. I frowned at it and picked it up with much less reverence than I gave my guitar.
Most swordsmiths would give the scabbard the same look I did, but for completely different reasons. It was metallic, and no idiot put a sword in a metal scabbard unless they wanted a very blunt sword. The particular sword inside this scabbard, however, wouldn't care if it could, and it was the sword that was the subject of my disdain.
"I can still remember the ringing," I said. I felt a memory pick at my mind. I recognized it as a fairly benign one and let it seep through.
"Explain to me why I need to carry a sword in the first place?" I said as I brought the hammer down on the red hot brick of metal. A metallic ring filled the air. "You and I both know that a firearm in the hands of an amateur is better than any master swordsman." I banged on the metal one more time and wiped the some sweat from my brow. "Didn't I show you that scene from Indiana Jones?"
There was a low rumble of baritone laughter and a sagely voice spoke. "You and I aren't master swordsmen,” He said wryly, “and there are situations where a blade is more helpful than a bullet. Besides, in your hands, a sword is a better instrument to disarm someone with."
I grabbed a bottle of water and took a few deep gulps from it. "What? You saying I can't disarm someone with a gun? You've seen me shoot, Artus."
I could practically hear him shake his head. "Yes, and I find you have a proficiency for plucking holes in people. A sword doesn't have to break the skin to disarm someone, you know."
"Then why don't I just carry a club?"
There was a deep, drawn out sigh. "Because sometimes you do have to cut someone down. Now wait a moment before sticking it back in the forge." I felt a massive hand grip my arm and pull the glove from my hand. There was a moment of pain, and I pulled my hand back in surprise.
"Dammit, Arty!" There was a cut along my palm. It wasn't deep, but it was bleeding freely.
"Sprinkle it on the metal before firing it again."
"What, my blood? Seriously, Artus, are you going to call in a couple of monks and have them start chanting while beating planks against their heads? I thought I was forging a sword, not performing a satanic ritual."
"Nothing so melodramatic," Artus said. "It's your sword. Therefore it must require a part of you."
I stared at the blood welling in my palm. "That's not supposed to be melodramatic?"
The sagely tone dropped from his voice. "Quit complaining and do it."
"Not complaining," I sighed, dribbling my blood on the metal. It sizzled and popped, filling the air with the smell of burning rust. "I just want to know the importance of it all."
"You and everyone else since the beginning of time," he laughed.
"Ha ha, O'Great Mystic Comedian," I said. "You know what I meant."
"Trust me, it'll make sense later."
"It better," I said, sticking the metal into the forge. "It's going to be hell working with my hand like this."
"So what are you going to name it?" he asked.
"I dunno," I shrugged. "Do I have to?"
"No, but a sword without a name is not a complete sword," he said.
I thought, turning the metal over. A few names came to mind, some original, some not so much. It wasn't like Artus was going to recognize any of them.
Let's see. A tool meant to bring about an abrupt end.
I smiled and pulled the metal from the forge. "Caesura," I said, striking it with the hammer. A metallic ring filled the air.
I let out a labored breath as the memory faded away. I clutched the sword tightly as my eyes wandered down it to the engraving near the pommel.
Wreaver, it read.
"You're not mine," I said. I made to toss the sword away, but thought better of it and propped it against the foot of the bed. I placed my elbows on my knees and let my face fall into my hands.
I wanted to feel tired. I wanted to be able to crawl back into the bed and go to sleep, but I knew once I was up that wasn't going to happen. It wasn't fair. For once I had a nice quiet place to stay, and I was going to end up wasting it.
I had gotten accustomed to sleeping my first few nights in a world on the streets, or at least in worlds where I couldn’t fake a bank account. Sometimes when I was just as alien as I was now I'd been hunted, hated and, worst of all, feared. I wasn't lying when I told Twilight most people aren't so welcoming.
"I wish I had been just as truthful the rest of the day," I mumbled.
How many lies had I told today?
I thought for a moment. "Four," I finally said. "Two blatant, one by omission, and the usual." That was three too many, but these ponies were in the awkward position of not deserving to be lied to and also not being capable of handling the truth. Most people qualified for the latter, but few did for the first.
They opened up for me. They were wary but decided to give me the benefit of the doubt. The cynic in me wanted to think that was naive, but the tired part of me felt relieved. No hiding, no awkward introductions. It was refreshing, calming... peaceful. My mind crept back to the salty, warm air of that island, and of the feelings I had felt at the time.
It has been a long time.
A thought began to take root in my mind. A crazy idea that became more and more attractive and less crazy as it grew.
What's the point of being on the job here. I can't put feelers out on any form of cyberspace, and a nonintegrated world's underground is notoriously unreliable. I'd be chasing rumors. Maybe I should just sit tight for a while?
Part of me couldn't believe I was contemplating a vacation, but the more I thought about it the more fruitless I realized doing anything else would be. In the last few worlds I went to did looking for trouble actually help me find it? Maybe twice, and it really didn't make any kind of difference anyway.
I shuffled on the bed and stood up. I needed to know more. I needed something that would tell me staying put wouldn’t be a bad idea. I needed information... I needed a library.
A smile crept across my face, and I picked up my lamp from the desk.
I pressed the button on its side. "Search lights. Stealth variant."
The floating bead-lights flared to life like a swarm of bees. Half of them returned to the rod and the other half collected themselves above my right shoulder. They formed a small concave surface and projected a soft beam of light like a flashlight. I cast my vision around and the beam of light stayed fixed in my center of view.
I clipped the rod to my belt loop and made my way to the door. I opened it and quietly stepped outside. As I shut the door, I heard a muffled snort from across the room. I swung around facing Twilight's room. My lights dimmed and spread out in order to not disturb the sleeping dragon I saw at the foot of her bed.
Spike lay nestled in his basket in much the same way as he did when Twilight and I got here. Only now his forked tongue was flopped out of his mouth as he snored. I relaxed slightly as I glanced toward Twilight.
She was resting peacefully on her side facing towards me. She had a dreamy smile on her face and one of her forelegs, which she had pulled up against her chest, gave a barely perceptible kick followed by the twitch of one of her ears. I bit my tongue to keep myself from vocalizing how adorable it was.
Seriously these ponies are so cute it hurts, but I swear it's a good kind of pain.
I turned away from the two of them and made my way to the main room down below. My light wandered upon the many spines of the books placed in their cramped shelves. The foyer had that smell that many loved about libraries: the dry, earthy smell of old paper and ink. This library also had the smell of an old log cabin - not surprising, given it was made out of a still living oak tree. This combination of old wood and books made the foyer really smell like a library.
I wandered across the bookshelves trailing a hand across the titles. I figured there had to be something that would enlighten me to the state of this world. You might think that the history section would be my first choice to peruse, and while it was definitely on my list I didn't think it would be ideal. History might give a broad sense of the world, but if I wanted a more to-date idea than what I really needed were the periodicals.
Yellow journalism, muckraking, and tabloids may abound, but they are modern. They show modern worries, trends, and ideals. They point me in a good direction, especially if I could find Equestria's version of National Geographic. That would be like hitting gold. Titles went by my finger one by one. I paused at one and pulled it from the shelf.
"Does My Cutie Mark Define Me: An Exploration of Magical Determinism by Over Thought. Yuck, philosophy. Okay that's going back." I slid the book into its spot, walked down the shelf, and pulled out another. I repeated this process several times and even took the time to leaf through a few before putting it back into place. I was looking through a legitimately interesting book on magical inscribing when a rogue thought passed through my mind.
Is this even English I'm reading?
It was one of those thoughts that came without warning and was gone again in a flash. This one caused me to pause for a moment and consider it.
In all honesty, I had no idea. Scootaloo had obviously not understood me the first time I had spoke that morning, but that could mean I was still adjusted to another language. In a world of talking ponies, the likelihood of the main language being anywhere close to English was astronomical, but stranger things had happened.
I hadn’t the slightest clue as to how my Awareness translated for me, except that it did. The odd part about it was that even my music seemed to fit. Words, meaning, all of it seemed to translate. I knew of nothing that could make that work, but somehow I managed. I put the book back onto the shelf and shook my head with an exasperated sigh.
Why do I make no sense?
Sometimes I wished that wasn't one of the more common thoughts on my mind.
As I rifled through the books, I sensed movement behind me. I turned and glanced around but saw nothing. I shrugged and faced the books.
"Who?" asked a voice above me.
I jolted and nearly fell backwards from the bookcase. I managed to steady myself and looked up to the top of the bookcase. An owl sat on top of it and eyed me curiously. Its eyes glowed in the dark room, reflecting my light back at me.
"Who?" he said again.
"Jeez, give me a heart attack, why don't ya?" I whispered. "What are you doing in here, bright eyes?
The owl took off and flew over my head, landing on a perch across the room. He tapped at it with his beak. Looking down at it, I saw that it was a ceramic branch with a plaque fastened to its base.
I tilted my head and read the plaque. "Owlowiscious?" I read, glancing up to the owl. He fluffed his feathers in pride.
Oh puntastic.
"Twilight didn't tell me she had a pet owl," I said. He gave me a look. It's hard to read an owl so I can't really say for certain what kind of look. "Although, I never really asked."
Owlowiscious tilted his head, "Who?"
I chuckled, "You're a bird of few words, aren't you?"
"Who?"
"Right," I said, "You wouldn't happen know where the more up-to-date information is kept would you?" Owlowiscious gave the bookcases a quick once over before flying over to a shelf a little farther down from where I had been last searching. I was only slightly surprised when he pulled a book from the shelf and flew back to me. I held out my hand as the bird casually handed the book to me.
I blinked at the book once, twice, and then three times. "Smart bird," I said.
"Who!" Owlowiscious hooted with pride.
"Let's see... The Equestrian Guide by Smooth Sailing.” I flipped the book over and saw a review that seemed very promising. "'Guaranteed to inform even those who have been living under a rock for a thousand years.' Yeah, I think that'll work." I looked back at the owl. "Got anymore?" He took off to the same shelf as before and tapped it with his beak. "Thanks."
I began to skim over the titles, and started pulling a few from the shelves. Most were traveler's guides, socio-geographical information, and the like, all immensely informative. However, when I reached the bottom of the shelf I found a book that seemed out of place. It was thicker, and the title had been handwritten (hoofwritten?) on its spine.
My Friends.
Curiosity driving me, I pulled the book from the shelf. Pulling it open, the first page contained a picture of Twilight and her friends.
It's a photo album.
I immediately knew that looking through this book would be an invasion of privacy, and that I had no business flipping through the rest of its pages. It would be best to just put it back on the shelf and leave it. Those thoughts in mind, I decided I would just give it a quick peek.
It was sitting there for all to see, so she wasn't really hiding it.
I sat down, my back against the bookcase and legs crossed beneath me. Being careful not to crease the picture I slid it out of the book's binding and held it out. The image was crisp and clear, and all of the colors were as vibrant and bright as the real thing. It was of better quality than I expected these ponies were capable of, but all societies develop at different rates. They might not have computers yet (or at least none that I had seen), but photography is just simple mechanics and chemistry.
I felt some indentations on the back of the photograph, so I turned it over. There in flowing, elegant penmanship was written, "My New Friends: (From left to right) Rarity, Pinkie Pie, Fluttershy, Me, Rainbow Dash, and Applejack." I looked over the writing curiously. Each name was penned with delicate care and precision, like the writer was committing each stroke to memory, while keeping the final product as beautiful as possible.
I turned back to the smiling group photo of Twilight and her friends. I was going to have to come up with some way to thank these girls. Sure, there had been a few bumps along the way, but a few trivial, and kind of hilarious, misunderstandings weren't worth troubling myself about. I'd had much worse before.
I looked at Twilight in the center of the picture. Her smile was one of unbound joy, wide and bright. Her eyes seemed to dance along with it like two partners in a waltz. It was the best kind of smile, one that made everyone who saw it smile in return. I hoped I would see the real thing soon.
She had done well hiding her trepidation for me, but she let it slip a few times. She acted like someone placed in a cage with a lion that she wasn't sure had been trained. Her actions had been measured, and her words tempered, except for when her curiosity got the better of her. It wasn't until she bid me goodnight that she finally seemed to relax.
And yet she offered me a place to stay before she got over her fear of me?
I had to admit that was incredibly brave of her. Her gut instinct must have been amazing, or she was incredibly foolish. However, all of the girls had been rather trusting of me. Product of a quiet setting, I supposed. I looked each girl over. Rarity had offered to clothe me, Fluttershy tried to help, Pinkie Pie threw me a party after only glimpsing me, Applejack had indirectly fed me, and Rainbow Dash had...
My brow furrowed. Dash had made me pause. It had happened when she spoke. Nothing is familiar to my mind, it doesn't work that way. Not anymore. Everything is either recognizable or unknown, never simply familiar. Yet, I knew I had heard Dash's voice from somewhere which was impossible. The sensation was so unexpected that I had fumbled over my words for a second. It felt like being given a test that I hadn’t studied for the night before.
Of course, she wasn't the only one I sensed something from. I felt it when Pinkie Pie brushed my leg yesterday morning. Except for Scootaloo, I didn't have a single viewing from anyone else I had touched in Ponyville, and I only had one from Scoots because she was the first one I touched. The only time I felt something similar was when Pinkie touched me, but that feeling was something I recognized. I had canceled out my interference.
After what I've seen her do, it's not surprising she's a tuner. I hope I didn't off balance her too bad before I fixed it.
That still left a problem with Dash though, but I decided that after meeting as many people as I had it wasn't too surprising that voices would eventually start blending together. Still it was strange that such a unique voice would be the first that it would happen to. Strange, but not improbable I supposed.
Besides that, she had been the first to trust me or, at least, give me a chance. The crusaders might have trusted me first, but kids hand out trust easily to gentle people. Dash didn't strike me as the type to do that often. Truthfully, she may still not trust me, but she didn't run me off. Understandable dive bombing aside, that is. Truly, I had been lucky yesterday. Pleasantly lucky.
I placed the picture back into its setting and turned the page. I was surprised to find that the album's front page contained more than just a few more photos. The very first thing inside the book was a newspaper clipping. I felt an eyebrow rise up my brow, and as I read...
"Princess Saved, Nightmare Moon Defeated."
It's odd how one sentence can offer a whole new perspective to a situation, but it's even more amazing what another can do to your impressions of a person, because the next line was as amazingly unexpected as the last.
"Twilight Sparkle, personal pupil of Princess Celestia, and her friends are the mares that Equestria and the rest of Equus have to thank for ending Nightmare Moon's brief return to power."
The rest of the article read like something from a fantasy story. Apparently, Twilight and her friends were international heroes. They had stopped a power hungry tyrant from plunging the planet into an eternal night (something I was going to have figure out later because the globe in the corner showed this world was obviously round) and rescued the Princess and her sister in the process. I finished the article in a state somewhere between intrigued and surprised.
I turned my attention to the next page, half expecting something else just as fantastic, only to find pictures of Fluttershy's birthday party. The shift in tone was so abrupt it almost sent my mind spinning. Here we had a page that basically said that these girls saved the world from Lord Voldemort, and directly opposite that there's a picture of Fluttershy feeding a little white rabbit a piece of carrot cake.
I blinked a few times before turning the page. Again, I found a few more mundane photographs and the occasional note or drawing. Birthday parties, outings, school performances, all of these perfectly normal, but then I found more newspaper clippings. There was everything from dealing with a pest problem (two if I counted the dragon), to time travel, and even defeating then reforming the living embodiment of chaos.
Although, his idea of chaos seems to be, "What can I turn into candy?" Cotton candy clouds and chocolate rain? I glanced at a picture of Pinkie Pie with a chocolate mustache and pink fluff that wasn't hers stuck to her cheeks. Yeah, I figure that's something she would like.
I closed the book and let out a sigh so heavy that I would have been shocked to learn that it didn't tilt the planet onto its side. I set my face in my hands and rubbed my eyes. My headache hadn't returned, I was just surprised I didn't see this coming.
"Of course, they're important... they're always important," I said. A normal person wouldn't have let an alien walk around their home, but a group of heroes that had earned that title a few times over were a little bit more believable. It also made more sense as to why Twilight had offered her home to an unknown creature. Surely, a unicorn that had defeated a giant bear monster, a chaos spirit, an evil emperor, and a semi-possessed rival mage could handle a spindly, alien goofball with no magic.
Surely...
It would have been understandable if the book had disappointed me. This world was far more active than I had thought. I hadn't figured it was a utopia, and the book had proven that in countless ways. In all likelihood, it wasn't going to be the quiet stay I had expected. In that case, it would also be understandable to think the smile spreading across my face was out of place.
"This world is perfect," I said. It was a living world, and while the book had proven that it had its flaws it also proved that what flaws it had didn't hold these ponies back. For it was the rest of the book that showed its perfection. Despite the evils these six girls had faced, they still lived like everyone else. They had normal day-to-day routines, jobs, hobbies, and lives, and they had them regardless of what the world threw at them.
No, this world wasn't absolutely pure, but just as pure silence isn't perfect silence, neither is a perfect world a pure one. Some flaws are necessary for perfection - there would be no concept of purity without a little grime for contrast.
Also, it doesn't hurt that trouble seems to follow these girls like a magnet. It wouldn't make any sense to go anywhere else.
So that was it. I was going to lay low for awhile. It wasn't going to be the calm vacation like the one before. I felt my smile fade at the memory.
It’s probably better that way.
I placed Twilight's photo album back on the bookshelf and gathered up the small pile of books I had collected. Sitting them on the table across the room I set my lights back to a dim lamp setting and began to read.
I was midway through skimming the eighth book when I tried to brush something off the page only for it jump to the top of my hand. I paused and looked at my hand. An orange shard of sunlight rested atop it with little care that it had interrupted my reading. Turning to the window, I saw the early morning light peeking over the top of the mountains far to the east. Drawn to it like a moth to flame, I walked to the window and opened it.
The air that wafted in held the sweet scent of cut grass and morning dew and perhaps the tang of what I thought was baking bread that some early rising baker had started preparing. Despite it obviously being early summer, I could see light gleaming from the stubborn snow that capped the mountains towards the dawn. It made the jagged horizon look like a smoldering crack in the sky.
What light that made it to the village reflected off the dew soaked grass like it would crystal figurines. The little droplets of water created thousands of rainbow colored points that twinkled quietly amongst themselves. In the sky, I noticed a few specks approach a group straggling clouds. They twirled around it, and the cloud vanished into nothing.
The morning was set to wake the sleeping village to a new day. Most would have called it paradise, however it wasn't quite close enough for me. My hand hung limply at my side, but I felt no fingers lace around mine. I had nothing to give a tender squeeze. There was no voice to ask me why I was crying.