//------------------------------// // Chapter the Fourth // Story: In a Coma and Flying High // by Magical Trevor //------------------------------// You give up, you decide with a whimper as you massage your head with your talons. It just doesn’t make sense! How the heck do two ponies move the sun and moon?! It just… How?! “Magic, duh!” the little menace on your back chirps, before devouring yet another scone. Somehow, you just know that it’s going to take a long time for the migraine to abate if that’s all the explanation you’re going to get. You grope for your tea cup, taking an eager mouthful of the hot, soothing liquid. Opening your eyes again, you do your best to relax, though you’re conscious of the fact that you’re larger than everypony else, if only by a bit. Looking to the winged-unicorn, you ask, “So this… Celestia and Luna. Where do they live? Up in the sky somewhere, or-” Yet more crumbs litter your wings. “No, silly! They, they live in Canterlot! It’s on a mountain!” Canterlot… The name is familiar, but why? After a second, you dismiss its importance and focus on the important details. Namely, where they live. “A mountain? So, what, you have to climb a billion stairs till you get to the top, and then you’re only allowed to ask a single question?” “That’s stupid,” Ditzy answers, giggling. “A billion stairs? Anypony would die before they hit half a million! Nah, you just take the train. Or, y’know… fly?” “Oh.” You take another drink of your tea, draining the cup. Guess you need to learn how to fly, then. The more you think about it, though, you realise you’re overlooking something: taking the train requires currency. Currency that you don’t have, nor know what it looks like. Even if you’re going to fly to Canterlot, you’ll still require supplies, and supplies takes money. You’re going to need a job. Though, with your amnesia, you have no clue what you can do, or if anyone was even looking for temporary help. Do you go to an agency, or is there a notice board with ponies who need help? Well, no time like the present to find out, right? “So, uh, I don’t suppose you know if anyone is looking for some temporary help, do you? I don’t have anywhere to stay that I remember, and I’ll need enough food to pack for the trip there and back.” Silence reigns for a moment, before Dinky pipes up from your back. “Um, I has a muffin I’ve been saving for a snack if that’ll help. Oh! Sissy, he could sleep on our couch, right?” “I-I suppose he could.” Oh no, her face is turning red! What is she embarrassed about, you wonder. Is her house a mess? Is it really small? Is it because you were looking for something nice to say and the first thing you could think of was ‘cute’? Why couldn’t you say something more neutral, like… like Hey, I really like your mane. That would have been a much better option, right? You were just trying to cheer her up, that’s all. Right? “Actually, I could use your help,” your hostess speaks up, smiling. “I do not get many opportunities to obtain male models, and I have some styles I want to try on you. Assuming, of course,” she adds, chuckling as she looks away, bouncing her mane, “that you’re interested. I don’t want to pressure you or anything. I know that many stallions would rather not help with something that is seen as more-” “I’ll take it!” You blink, then wonder why you’re so eager. Is it because something about clothes just makes you feel more comfortable, because you want to pay back your hostess for her generosity, or because you think it’ll be an easy job? After a second, you decide it doesn’t matter. After all, you already agreed, so it’s not like you can really back out of it. Well, you can, but you don’t want to. It would just feel too much like going back on your word, and your honor is important to you! Wait… you remembered something! You might not remember why it’s important to you, but still, something is something! May as well take what you can get. “Oh wonderful!” your hostess nickers, clapping her hooves together. “Thank you so much, darling. You really have no idea how much I appreciate this!” The mare’s eagerness surprises you a little, but that just solidifies the feeling that you made the right choice. Either she’s a drama queen, or she was really desperate, and considering the refined manner she’s been carrying herself, you doubt it’s the former. “Do you want to start right away, or do you have things you wish to take care of first?” she asks, setting her tea plate on a counter next to her sink. You shrug, not really sure what to say. There wasn’t anything pressing, aside from finding more work, so if she was ready to go, may as well get it done, right? Then you’ll have some money already, and can use that to figure out how much food is worth, and use that to figure out how much you need to raise. “Not re-” “Yeah-huh!” You ears remind you of your passenger with sharp stabs of pain. “You, you was gonna take me on a real gryphon-back ride!” “He never said so, Dink,” Ditzy says, poking her sister on her muzzle. “You keep saying so, and he hasn’t said no because he’s a nice guy. Stop pressuring him to-” “No, it- it’s okay,” you stammer, doing your best to ignore the foal with the watering eyes. “I’m sure it’ll uh… be good exercise!” Sure it’ll be good exercise, considering you don’t remember how to fly. But if you don’t remember before you take her up, she could get hurt! Think of an excuse, quick! “But I uh, need to stretch my wings first!” you exclaim, grinning nervously. “Yeah, cause it would be horrible to get a wing cramp in the middle of flying, and I’m sure your sister wouldn’t want you getting hurt because I didn’t stretch.” Your grin feels forced, but you hope the foal won’t really notice. “Besides,” Ditzy continues for you, still in over-protective sister mode, “you still need to finish your diorama for school, and write all of your spelling words.” “Aww, but sissy,” the menace says from your back. You can practically hear her eyes growing larger and moist. “By the time I get all of that finished, it’ll be, like… late! What if I don’t get done before it gets dark?” “Then you’ll just have to wait until tomorrow, silly filly,” her sister replies, doing her best to remain stern, though you wonder just how Dinky is threatened, since Ditzy’s eyes aren’t exactly in sync. “Think of it as incentive to work hard and finish before it gets dark!” Silly… filly? Okay, so a female child is a filly? You can’t decide if you should facepalm for not remembering something like that, or if it’s obscure. Afterall, a baby Gryphon would be a chick, so- Hey! You remembered something! Admittedly, it’s nothing really worth celebrating, as it’s nothing personal, but hey! Take your victories where you can get them. “Um, why are you staring at me?” Ditzy asks, glaring at you slightly. You blink, before realising that, yes, you were indeed staring at her. “Oh. Um,” you stammer, trying to quickly think for an excuse. As you take a moment to think of an alabi, you notice her eyes. There was something familiar about them... “I was just wondering about your eyes!” you say with a nervous grin, trying not to fidget in place. “Have they always been go-” Smack! Did… she just hit you? You blink, then turn your head back to see her shaking in place. “Jerk! Mind your own business!” Huffing, the mare quickly grabbed her sister before running out the door, leaving you bewildered and befuddled. You turn back to see the remaining three mares frowning at you. “What? If I had known asking about eye color was rude, I wouldn’t have asked!” you say, trying to defend yourself. Figures. You’ve been here maybe an hour and everypony hates you. If it weren’t due to how friendly they were before, you’d wonder if they were being racist, but that seems improbable. “Oh really,” the pink pest presses, peering piercingly into your peepers. “That’s all you were asking? Nothing more?” You nod, scratching a group of annoying feathers on your back. “Yeah… Thought they reminded me of someone, but I couldn’t think of who, so I thought if I found out how rare a color gold eyes are, it might help me remember something.” Ugh. That’s going to drive you crazy all day now, you just know it! When the three mares look at each other, you feel the need to continue to defend yourself, wondering if they’re still doubting your words. “What, did you really think I would ask her about her lazy eye? It’s not like having a lazy eye is a big deal.” At least, you think it’s a lazy eye… Meh, do semantics really matter right now? Point is, you wouldn’t make fun of somepony for something that they can’t control, and that’s that! Only cowards bully others, and you are no coward! “Not a big deal?” Pinkie pounces on your plump plumage, plundering her poofy hair for a pilfered pastry before popping it in her puckered portal. “Everypony picks on her because of her eye! Well, not everypony everypony, but it sure feels like it sometimes!” “Pinkie, only roughly 21.3% of Ponyville makes fun of her, and a good number of them are ponies that work night shifts and don’t really know who Ditzy is,” Twilight corrects as she takes a sip of tea. “That you know of,” you can’t help but snark. The purple pony blinks, then says, “I beg your pardon?” “You heard me.” Why are you so pissed off? “How the heck can you know how many ponies make fun of her, huh?” “That’s easy,” the pony replies, her horn glowing as a scroll pops into existence before your eyes. “I was studying sociology and the effects of bullying, and that’s when Pinkie told me about Ditzy’s problem with bullies. After that, I created a spell that I cast on Ditzy without her knowing that would tell me who made fun of her, and where they were at the time. “I would have asked her, of course,” she adds, looking up from the scroll, “but it would have compromised how she normally acts had she known about the spell. She might have purposefully tried to antagonize others, or stay isolated more. “I tracked the numbers and ponies for several weeks, extrapolated the data, and included three point seven percent, as per the Digit Theorem for chance and other random possibilities, including, but not limited to, spell failure, weather, extenuating circumstances, and other possibilities that might have altered how others interacted with her. “And before you ask,” she continues, raising an eyebrow. “That includes ponies who talk about her behind her back, where she can’t hear them. And since the Uemanesu Theorem states that mocking occurs behind one’s back more often than to your face, it is fairly safe to conclude that less than ten percent actually make fun of her to her face, and not every day at that, so really, the percent is closer to three or five.” You blink, your anger completely dissipated as you’re caught off-guard from the scroll of details in front of you about the ‘experiment’, and the matter-of-fact tone the purple pony princess spoke. After rebooting your brain, you ask, “So if ‘only’ five percent of ponies make fun of her, why are you so shocked that I didn’t?” “Oh, that’s easy!” Pinkie Pie says, waving her hoof back and forth, as if she were in school. “It’s ‘cause the only other Gryphon who’s visited here was a super rude, meanie-head Mcgrumpy pants!” “Well, I wouldn’t quite word it like that, darling, but yes, that is the general idea,” your hostess says, laughing as her eyes shifted back and forth. You blink once more as realization dawns upon you. “So what you’re saying… is that you’re all racist. Yeah, I think I’m gonna ask if there’s an embassy around here or something if that’s the case, so I know what my rights are.” .o.O.o. You wince as yet another needle pokes you through the black cloth. “Sorry, darling, you’re a lot bigger than the measurements say you are,” Rarity apologises, though her eyes betray their sincerity. “So you’re racist and sizist? Good to know.” “That’s just the beginning, darling. I am also sexist, ageist, shapist, completionist, and perfectionist!” You try not to laugh, you really do. But there’s just something about how she said it that just... “And you’re do~one!” Rarity sings, twirling you around. “Now tell me that you don’t look absolutely and completely fabulous!” You blink, taken by surprise at the three Gryphons staring back at you in shock. Atop their heads is a fedora, perked rakishly, sporting several of the Gryphon’s head-feathers as accents. A black tux covered their body, both managing to slim their figure, while also showing off their size. You aren’t sure how long you just stare at yourself, totally blind-sided at the transformation, but one final needle jabbing you though your feathers jolts you back to your senses. “Well?” Rarity presses, bouncing on her hoof-tips. “Do you like it? Is it comfortable?” You look at the white mare, biting her lip, and you realise that this isn’t just about clothes. Well, okay, it is about clothes, but it’s not just… You try to clear your mind, so that you can give clear, objective criticisms. “Well… Um, it’s certainly very… Ah, that is-” “You hay-ate it!” the mare cries, a lounge couch appearing behind her as she collapses on it. “I knew it! I’m ruined! I’ll never sell another dress again! I’ve become... passé!” “N-no, no,” you quickly say, rushing over to her. “That’s not true! It’s great! I just don’t know anything about clothes so I feel extremely awkward in trying to say anything good or bad about it because I don’t really know what I’m saying, so I was just trying to take my time in figuring out what to say, so I started stammering because I tend to ramble when I get nervous, and-” You blink, take a calming breath, before continuing in a more collected, refined manner. “Miss Rarity, you did a wonderful job. Notice, in my rushing all of several steps to you, that my hat is still very securely set upon my head, and the feathers aren’t mussed. The tux did not pull, nor did it tear, as I made sharp, arguably athletic, movements. The tie is not of a choking tightness, nor is it sloppily positioned. Clearly, this tux looks amazing, feels completely natural, and is well-designed.” Ow. Your beak almost hurts after all of that. You know your brain does! Managing to think that fast is hard! A nap would be great...