//------------------------------// // Chapter 3: "What Is This Place?" // Story: The Game Theorist in Equestria (a.k.a. Mat Pat in Equestria) // by ShadowStorm7 //------------------------------// It took a while, but Mat Pat eventually managed to squeeze a word in, finally stopping Twilight’s endless rambling about his videos. “I’m so sorry to interrupt, Miss Sparkle, but will you please indulge me and tell me where in the world I am? I mean, I’ve never seen anything like this place. And pastel-colored ponies that can speak?” He shook his head. “Honestly, it’s quite preposterous,” he said. He still wasn’t certain whether the freak-out meter should be at “Okay, that’s fine” or “OH, NO, I NEED TO GET OUT OF HERE.” “I… already told you,” Twilight said. “You’re in my castle, in Ponyville.” “But where on Earth is this… Ponyville?” The name alone was absurd, never mind all the other impossibilities. This time, Twilight frowned. Regarding Mat Pat flatly, she replied, “I already told you that, too.” Heat flushed Mat Pat’s face, and he gave a sheepish grin. “Oh. I must not have been paying attention—it is quite a lot to take in, after all.” “True,” Twilight agreed. “Well, to reiterate, you’re in Equestria, which is ruled by the Four Princesses, of which I am one. You are welcome to stay in the castle while you’re here—” A pounding at the door brought Twilight up short. She flicked her ears back and scowled at the door, as if to make the knocker leave. The pounding continued. “Excuse me for just a moment,” she said, offering Mat Pat the pleasant smile of one who was trying very hard to keep hold of her patience. Then she went to the door and swung it aside without even touching it—but a magenta glow surrounded her horn and the doorknob. Mat Pat’s eyes widened at the sight. Real magic. But magic was a scientific impossibility! It couldn’t be magic; it must be something else, something that made sense. Another pony, this one sans any horns or wings, stood on the other side of the bedroom door. She was pink, and her rosy hair looked almost like cotton candy. Twilight blinked, as though surprised to see the mare. “Pinkie Pie?” “Oh, hey, Twilight,” said the pony Twilight had called Pinkie Pie. “Is that cute, hunky stallion awake yet? I sure would love to show him around Ponyville and get him to that—” She paused, rubbernecking quickly, and then lowered her voice to possibly the loudest whisper Mat Pat had ever heard. “To his Welcome to Ponyville party.” Then Pinkie returned to her normal volume, which was high-pitched enough to break glass, making Mat Pat wonder what the windows here were really made of. “You know, so he can get to know everypony and make some friends andmaybe get a special somepony,” she added with a smile and a wink. Twilight groaned, dragging a fore hoof down her face. “Look, Pinkie,” she began in a more appropriate whisper, though Mat Pat could still make out what she was saying, if only just, “I don’t want you to scare this nice stallion off like you did Flash Sentry. You do know that Flash doesn’t want to even see me again, don’t you? I like this stallion, and I think…” Her scowl darkened, and her voice dropped too far for Mat Pat to hear. “B-b-b-but—!” Pinkie abruptly stammered, crestfallen. “No buts!” Twilight intervened. “Promise you won’t scare him off. You can show him around and have a small party, but nothing big. Promise me, okay?” “B-b-b-but he’s sooooooooooooo cute!” Twilight flared her wings, making her seem larger than she really was. Magic flared and sparked around her horn. “Pinkie Promise me!” Pinkie’s lower lip quivered in a fierce pout, eyes huge and glistening. After a reluctant minute, she said in a tiny voice, “Fine… Cross my heart, hope to fly, stick a cupcake in my eye.” “Good.” Twilight nodded, relaxing her tense posture. She started to say more, but then glanced back at Mat Pat and quieted. She ushered Pinkie farther into the hall with a wing and said over her shoulder, “We’ll be right back. If you need anything, just ask Spike.” With that, her horn glowed, and she shut the door, blocking Mat Pat’s view of both her and Pinkie. Mat Pat stared at the closed door for a long while. He’d been in this upside-down world less than an hour and had two women—er, mares—ogling him like an original, mint-condition copy ofThe Legend of Zelda: Majora’s Mask. How in the world was he going to survive long enough to joke about it with his wife? How was he going to get back to his wife? “So why are you here?” Mat Pat jumped, whirling to find the small dragon watching him with flinty, emerald eyes. He’d forgotten the dragon was there. The dragon—no, Spike, his name was Spike—crossed his arms and arched an eyebrow. “Well?” he asked, tapping the claws of one foot on the tile. His tone alone could have melted icebergs. “Oh, um…” Mat Pat’s ears drooped, and he shuffled his hooves. It was an odd experience; he’d never had hooves before, after all. “Well, I’m not really sure. You see, I was…” And he began to explain what all had happened to him, doing his best to keep the freak-out meter from imploding over the fact that he was talking to an actual, possibly fire-breathing, Spyro-purple dragon.