It’s a tried and tested idea in science fiction. Humanity, since being able to hit two sticks together, has always dreamed of the stars and what lies beyond, and perhaps more so since we developed the ability to perceive the unknown. While the limits of the earth are finite, however large those limits are, the stars outstretched by the cosmos burns brightly into the infinite, and our insignificance in the universe leads to a desire to see more. Earth has been completely explored, so what else is there? A vast dark ocean of mystery and adventure and...
...look, it’s a bloody big place, alright? You get the idea.
I guess the point is, nobody knew what to expect. There were estimations on life in other galaxies, but it was like looking at the rest of the universe through the eye of a needle that’s being held at the other end of a football pitch. I always liked the idea of an infinite amount of universes stretching out across space and time, including one where I continued living a normal life, got married at twenty nine, had three kids, and died at a decent age of eighty five, maybe ninety or so if bionic organs were knocking about. Winning the lottery would be a nice bonus, enough to buy a nice house with a view over a lake, up in Scotland or something.
I guess if you’re reading this then you know that didn’t happen. Don’t condole me, I’m more likely to tell you to piss off than smile. Sorry, old habits die hard. Honestly, it’s fine. Oh, and don’t buy me a drink either, I’d end up hafting to work it off. The amount of times that’s happened lately...
Sorry, getting sidetracked. The point is I was the same. I didn’t know what to expect if and when first contact was made in my lifetime. A few people getting lost in the gap between dimensions doesn’t exactly count as first contact ‘per-se’, but making contact with an alien species counts, at least to those involved, even when everybody else back on Earth doesn’t know about it. Maybe I should be asking you ponies about that? How does it feel to meet a group of aliens from a different universe? Is it exciting?
I’m thrilled for you.
I think one of the most depressing things about having appeared in Equestria (and to save time now, no I still don’t know how it happened, don’t ask me), is how quickly things became normality, that is to say, after the initial arrival and being curled up in a ball crying for the better half of a fortnight. As you know, all of us were partnered up with some pony body, and I ended up staying with Rarity. Really nice girl and all but she was a little, how do I put it, over-enthusiastic at having a house guest she could play dress up with. I swear I only ended up with her because we sound sort of similar. It took two months after that for everybody to convince me that I wasn’t dead, and from there on it was back to the grind.
I’m not even surprised I ended up working as a bleeding bartender, the only job I could hold down for more than a month back home. I don’t mind it as such, though the selection of drinks leaves a lot to be desired. The Ale is fine, but my heart pines for a double Captain Morgan’s and coke. You’ve all got a really unhealthy obsession with cider too, but at least your stuff lacks the impurities of whatever breweries were putting in our drink. I dread to think how you’d react to a pint of Strongbow; the stuff didn’t even taste like apples!
Everything’s sort of, I dunno, ‘shinier’ here, like the very ground I walk on is made of candy and primary colours. You’ve all been very welcoming and understanding, though it makes me wonder if you’d get the same treatment back home. You’d more than likely end up tied up to a government operating table and dissected in the name of ‘furthering science’. Humans, on a whole, are generally total bastards like that.
You could call this book therapy. As much as I moan and complain, I admit that I need to make more of an effort to be a sociable guy. I honestly don’t have anything against you all, but I guess I’m just still adjusting to standing out in the crowd all the time. It’s not my scene; I prefer to blend into the background. A few of you have mentioned I probably need it, so fine; here it is, as promised. Tankard Tipper’s Tavern’s guest book has arrived. I’m going to be leaving this thing on the porter end of the bar, by the coffee machine. Anybody is welcome to write down their own experiences in the pub, share stories of good times that they've had, or anything else that’s liable to make me feel nauseated. I’ll start off with the story of my first shift here to get things rolling.
Do me a favour and check with me before you start writing, and avoid adding notes to other people’s entries (I’m looking at you, Pinkie Pie).
Cheers
- Watson
Hee hee! You’re so grumpy, Watson!! – PP