Chapter 6: Nightfall
Onto the Pony Planet
Chapter 6: Nightfall
Admiral Biscuit
Once Kate had left the room, Dale moved towards the door to monitor her progress. He hoped she would go straight to the bathroom—he should have gone with her, but he just couldn’t bring himself to do it. At least he could watch and be ready if she freaked out again.
He turned back towards her bed. I can grab the pepper spray, just in case . . . no; better to let the ponies handle it.
Kate had only just made it out into the hallway before she’d become distracted by one of the guards. She was crouched down in front of him, petting his nose. Dale could see his legs were trembling slightly, but he was holding his position, although his eyes darted over towards his comrade, who appeared to be trying not to laugh.
Just a little way further down the hall, Lyra and the half-tuxedoed pony were watching with interest.
“They’re wearing little suits of armor,” Kate informed him in a dreamy voice. “Aren’t they cute?”
“They’ll still be there when you get back,” Dale said. “I think you’re making him uncomfortable.”
“He doesn’t have a bridle or a collar.” Kate stood up and looked down the hallway—fortunately towards the bathroom, and not in Lyra’s direction. “You don’t suppose he’s a stray?”
Dale scratched his chin. “I, ah, he’s probably not a stray. I don’t think so.”
“My chest feels weird.” She leaned towards the wall, supporting herself with her left hand. “So does my hand. My fingers are numb . . . it’s like they’re asleep.”
She pushed off the wall and began weaving down the hallway while Dale stayed just to her right, ready to grab her shoulder if she stumbled. Up ahead he could see the door to his former room was open, and he heard Twilight’s raised voice coming from within. Kate began angling that way.
“It’s just a little further on,” Dale encouraged. “That’s just another hospital room.”
“Why can’t I read the room numbers?” Kate paused in front of a door and traced a finger over the sign. “They’re written in . . . in sticks. Funny little sticks.”
“Just a little further.” Dale steered her around a broad-leafed plant in an urn. “See, it’s right there.” He pushed open the door for her helpfully.
Kate looked into the room dubiously. “Where are the stalls? Or the toilet?”
“That’s the sink,” Dale said, pointing to the left wall. “Over there is a . . . uh, I don’t know what those are called. It’s a butt-sink. As for the rest, it’s . . . you know, modern design. Low flow, paperless. Designed to be used without hands. You’ll figure it out.” He gave her a helpful push and pulled the door shut. “I’ll just wait out here and give you some privacy.”
Dale leaned back against the wall. He could probably hold the door shut if Kate totally flipped out, although that seemed unlikely. In his experience, people didn’t flip out while they were in the bathroom.
He looked back down the hallway. The guards seemed to have composed themselves, although they’d moved closer together and the untouched guard appeared to be talking to the one Kate had petted. Is that something that offends them? I’d be upset if one of them started treating me like I was a simple animal . . . I wonder how the guards at Buckingham Palace handle it? People are trying to get them to react all the time.
They were much like the ones he’d seen on the island, although both of these had wings. At the time, their similar appearance hadn’t seemed too strange, but now that he’d seen the rainbow of coat colors that the ponies had, they seemed like the odd ones—even their manes and eyes matched. They were also, he suddenly realized, the only ponies he’d seen who had deliberately obscured the marks on their hips. It was possible they didn’t have them; they could have been bred or cloned specifically as soldiers, which would explain their unified appearance.
The bathroom door opened while his attention was diverted, and Kate walked out, looking up and down the hallway in an unfocused manner. “I’m kind of hungry. Is there room service here?” She started shuffling back towards her room, bouncing off the wall before she recovered.
“Ah, I’m not sure what time dinner is.” Dale looked at his watch instinctively, frowning at the condensation across the crystal. I meant to put that on the windowsill to dry. “I could probably have the nurse—or someone—get you something.” Would she flip out when the nurse came back? They’d want to change her bandages, they’d probably have to do some more work on her hand . . . maybe they were still going to do some more stuff with him, too. Had they opened up his shoulder to work on it? “I’ll have to ask when we get back to the room.”
“This place is weird,” Kate muttered, running her hand loosely along the wall just above the wainscoting. “It’s not anything like House.”
“TV isn’t the same as reality,” Dale reminded her. He heard hooves on the floor behind him and turned to see Twilight coming out of the room with a thick book floating in front of her head. He breathed a sigh of relief when he realized it was the copy of Gray’s Anatomy he’d given Lyra. And you were worried that they were just guessing on treatment. Obviously, they’d had the book all along and developed treatments based on the information contained in it. They’d probably compared the X-rays to the pictures and drawings in the book.
As he turned back to Kate, he heard Twilight trot past him, and watched her head down the hallway towards the stairs. Kate watched her go by with a look of wonder on her face; for a second he thought she was going to chase after the pony, but she was distracted by the guards again.
The one she’d been petting took a single step sideways and then lowered his head, resigned to his fate. “He’s so soft,” she muttered, scratching under his chin. “What breed do you think he is?”
A chill came over Dale. He could too easily imagine the situation being reversed. The nurse had touched him all over . . . was she marveling at how soft his skin was? Did she speculate on what breed he might be? How close had he come to being auctioned off to the highest bidder? Or had he been? The government might be the highest bidder . . . could he have misinterpreted that comic he signed?
He looked up the hallway. Lyra was walking back towards him, the tuxedo-wearing stallion behind her. His coat was the same white as the soldier-ponies, and his mane nearly the same blue. And his moustache . . . a very odd thing for a pony to have. It reinforced his theory that they went for genetic manipulation on a large scale, but why?
As Lyra got closer, he saw white streaks on her cheek. Are those . . . has she been crying? Her brilliant golden eyes looked listless, and there were definite traces of tears in her coat. She absently wiped a hoof on her face.
“Lyra not happy?” He was going to get to the bottom of this as quickly as he could. Maybe while Kate was distracted with the guard, he could figure this out. “He . . . uh, him make take Dale?” Dale pointed to the unicorn stallion.
She shook her head. “Him Fancy Pants. Him—” she paused for a moment and he saw a flash of gold on her horn and throat. When she continued to speak, her voice was lower, like he’d become accustomed to. “Him is . . . is—Dale, Lyra now, um . . . family. Dale, Lyra is family. Fancy Pants is not family, is like family.”
“Friend?” Dale pointed to the fresh plaster and mimicked shaking a hoof then spreading plaster.
“Yes, friend.” She said the word carefully. “Is friend. Lyra is . . . then get not happy word, Fancy Pants help Lyra, is friend.”
Dale sighed. He wanted to believe her . . . but the history of America had largely been a story of false trust. It was hard to imagine that a spacefaring race of ponies would conquer the earth, though, and he supposed if they tried it would be a hard-fought battle.
Don’t be paranoid. They seem to know what they’re doing. With slight hesitation, he held out his left hand, balled into a fist, towards the one she’d called Fancy Pants. He looked at Dale thoughtfully and extended his own hoof, gently bumping Dale’s hand.
A squeal from Kate made him wince, and he shook his head to clear the ringing from his ears. Adrenaline flooded his body; for an instant he thought the guards had done something to her. “You can talk!”
Both guards had winced at the sound of her voice—the one she’d been petting had backed into the wall, while the other was shaking his head. Kate didn’t seem to notice; she was focused on Lyra with a disturbing look. It was like she’d just won the all-expense paid trip to the Côte d'Azur.
Lyra responded quickest and explained, “Dale make Lyra speak words. Is she-Dale . . . is Ka-th-rin Dale friend?”
She looked over at Dale. “How . . . are these your. . . .”
“No. Lyra just doesn’t speak English very well yet,” he said, as if that explained anything. “They’re . . . well, look. Remember in X-Files how Mulder had a poster saying ‘I want to believe?’ Well, believe, Kate. We are not alone.”
“Oh. Huh.” Her eyes hadn’t moved from Lyra. “You’re such a pretty unicorn. Do you have clothes too?”
Lyra looked at Kate warily. “Katherine friend,” Dale said helpfully. “See?” He extended his left hand, but Kate ignored him. Finally, he grabbed her hand and began pumping it up and down, which finally drew her attention. “Friends.”
She giggled. “You must be a horse whisperer. You don’t look like Redford.” She looked back at Lyra, a slightly wishful look in her eyes.
“Go on,” he suggested. “Make a fist and bump her hoof; that’s how they greet each other.” He demonstrated with Lyra, who absently bumped his hand while keeping a watchful eye on Kate.
“Talking ponies.” Kate stuck out her hand and bumped Lyra’s hoof with it. “I . . . this can’t be real. It’s like some eighties cartoon.” She turned towards Dale. “I think I’m hallucinating. I’m going to go lie down, and when I get up things will be nice and normal again, right?”
“I know what you’re going through.” Dale grabbed her hand and squeezed it tightly. “I felt the same way the first time I saw them.” That sight would be etched in his mind for the rest of his life. He still wondered if he should have just run the other way—would they have chased him, or would they have left him alone? “I had a month to get ready, and I just kept doubting anyway. You’re hungry, you’re hurt, and you’re in a strange place. You’re on medications that make things seem odd—odder than they are. I can help; we can get through this together. Why don’t I see about getting us some dinner? Or maybe we’ll have the doctor get a look at your hand. It’s probably time for your, uh, treatment. Then you can have a nice sleep, and things will make a lot more sense in the morning.”
“Can I keep one?” Kate pointed to the guard. “He’s . . . I like him. He’s nice.”
“They aren’t mine to give,” he told her. “Maybe if you sit down here in the doorway? You can be right next to him, and he can keep doing his job. That would probably be all right.”
She grinned at him and slid to the floor gracelessly, sprawling in a rather undignified—and immodest—position on the floor. Her unbandaged hand gently grabbed the guard by the chin and turned his head toward hers. Much to Dale and the guard’s chagrin, she rubbed her nose against his muzzle while whispering soft words to him.
He turned to Lyra. “Katherine eat?” Maybe if she gets some food in her she’ll be less loopy. “Get Katherine food?”
“Lyra get. Small food. Big food later. Ka-th-rin eat Dale food?”
“Yes.” Presumably she meant to ask if Kate ate the same food as he did, not if Kate considered Dale a potential meal. He watched her hold a brief conversation with Fancy Pants, while keeping a weather eye on Kate.
The tuxedoed pony left, returning a few minutes later with a plate of food and a glass of water floating in front of him. Lyra said something, and pointed a hoof at him. The plate and glass wavered in the air before they were deposited on the floor, about five feet away from Dale.
“Is good. Hmmmmm is good.” He wavered his hand around in the air. It wasn’t a lie; he’d gotten used to seeing things float around in their energy fields. As frightening as it had been the first times he’d seen Lyra do it, he was beginning to accept that all the horned ones—the unicorns—did it as a matter of course, and it wasn’t fair of him to disallow it near himself.
Lyra looked at him skeptically, but took him at his word and lifted the plate and glass off the floor. She floated them alongside Kate—who was running her good hand over the hapless guard’s wing.
“Heh, magic room service. This place is pretty cool.” She picked up a piece of bread and took a bite before offering some to the guard, who refused. “You could lease it to Disney and make a billion dollars. But you’ve got to share, ‘cause I had the idea.”
Dale sighed.
Once she’d finished eating, he finally disentangled her from the guard. “The doctor will be back soon to fix you up, and he’ll want you to be in bed like a good girl.”
“But I didn’t get to play with the other ponies,” she protested. “They’ll feel left out.”
I doubt that. “They’ll be there afterwards. They’re all as interested in you as you are in them.”
“That’s good.” She held out her arm and he pulled her up off the floor. “I wouldn’t . . . ow! My side hurts. Why does it hurt?” Much to Dale’s embarrassment, she started tugging at her johnny, pulling the collar further and further down to try and see her ribs.
“Why don’t you wait until you’re in the room,” he suggested.
“Yeah, good idea. Have you seen my jeans? I can’t seem to remember where I left them.”
“Let’s look for them later, okay? Come on.” He grabbed her hand again and pulled her back into the room.
Lyra watched as Dale led Kate back into the hospital room. Dale seemed concerned for her, which was causing some confusion. His earlier actions—and hers—had led her to believe that the girl was one of Dale’s enemies or rivals, but their more recent actions called that into doubt.
“Those are interesting creatures,” Fancy Pants offered. “I confess, I don’t see the appeal in them, though.”
“I didn’t want them here,” Lyra countered. “That was an accident, and I’m not sure how it happened. The spell shouldn’t have allowed it! Princess Celestia said it was safe.”
“When we have time, I’ll want to go through the whole thing, and I’d rather it be sooner than later. I want to believe you’re innocent—although I can assure you, my defense of your actions will be no less spirited even if you’re not—but the more time I have to prepare, the better a defense I can mount. By the time this is all over, there are likely to be a few clerks who are cursing my name, since the legal precedent—if there is any at all—is likely to be buried in dusty tomes in the Canterlot Archives.”
Lyra sighed. “I was just following orders.”
“Sadly, that is not an admissible defense.” He patted her shoulder gently. “Don’t worry, we’ll get through this. I’ve been assured—by a very high-placed source I cannot name—that the trial is but a formality. Once it’s over, no matter what happens, you cannot be retried for this situation.”
“Shining Armor made out the warrant,” Lyra muttered. “How can I work with Twilight when even her own brother wants to throw me in jail?”
“That’s just a legal formality. Since you’re under the auspices of the Royal Guard—and all their regulations—the complaint must be treated as issuing from his office, even if his hoof never touched the paperwork. He probably doesn’t even know yet—any ranking officer can swear out the complaint.
“I do regret their timing; it would have been better to have waited until the embassy was formally established. At that point you would have had another layer of protection. Still, it should theoretically be available before the trial. Now, does this Dale speak Equestrian at all?”
“Some. He’s a little difficult to understand, and we haven’t gotten past the most basic concepts.”
“He might make a strong witness for you,” Fancy Pants said thoughtfully. “I can count on some on the Council to side with us—Blueblood especially. I twisted a few tails for him to get you this posting.” He didn’t feel the need to add that Blueblood had been onboard with the plan due to a deep desire to not get the ambassadorship for himself.
“He’s a jerk.”
“Yes, and often an idiot. He’s also well-connected, and in this case will be a strong ally. Now, I’d like to get a deposition from you and Dale—and the mare. What did you call her?”
“Ka-th-rin.”
“Ah, yes. I suppose we’ll have to make do with a statement from her. I’m not sure it will be admissible; she’s no doubt affected by her medication. It might make her more sympathetic, though, depending on what she says.”
“What if she says it’s all my fault and she wants me banished?”
“Well, that’s hardly likely.” Fancy Pants fiddled with his monocle for a moment. “Still, I suppose in that case I would have to make certain that her testimony was struck down."
Twilight trotted quickly to the hallway, the precious book floating in front of her. As soon as Bright Star had taken it out of her saddlebags, Twilight had wanted to dance around gleefully, but that would have been an undignified display in front of her former professors—especially since it seemed likely that she’d eventually wind up teaching alongside them. There wasn’t much else a book-smart unicorn from a minor noble house could aspire to, except perhaps some minor government posting like her library job. As it was, she shifted about on her hooves impatiently while the book was slowly moved towards her aura. It was all she could do to keep from grabbing it from the dean.
The funny thing is it’s not even for you. While she wanted more than anything to hop up on the empty bed—or even just stretch out on the floor—and look through the wonders that every page promised, the doctor had a much greater need of the book than she did. When copies had been made, she was going to demand one for the library. In fact, she’d send off a request as soon as she could, to beat the rush.
She swerved around Dale and the mare, making a beeline for the staircase. The doctor was probably still in his basement suite.
Twilight trotted down the steps two at a time, finally emerging in the basement hallway. This unseen corridor was the heart of the hospital; rooms of supplies and exotic medicines from all corners of the globe surrounded the nurse’s dormitory and the doctor’s suite. A small space for Rhyme had been eked out in one of the closets; the filly was sitting at her tiny desk solving math problems out of a battered textbook. Twilight smiled—while the child barely had a grasp of simple math, she knew more about pony anatomy and diseases than most, having been raised in the hospital, and it had been no surprise when her cutie mark had been just like her mother’s.
Before she even got to the end of the hallway, the exotic smell of Zebrican cooking teased her nostrils. The door to the doctor’s room was open, and she could hear a stallion’s voice from within.
“‘You don’t worry,’ the zebra said. ‘Unicorn doctors always want to operate. Wait two weeks, it falls off on its own.’”
Raucous laughter greeted the punchline, followed by an indignant snort. “A funny joke, it is true; but I’d have told it better than you.”
“The doctor’s not so good at rhyming, are you?” Twilight stepped into the doorway, following the book. “But he can oh hello Twilight!” Nurse Redheart made a show of brushing an imaginary spot of dirt off Dr. Stable’s lab coat, while Dr. Goodall badly hid a snicker, to the embarrassment of the nurse. “We were just about to eat dinner; would you care to join us?”
“Zecora is making Chakalaka,” Dr. Goodall said.
“Dinner I could not stand, for your bread is so bland,” the zebra explained before returning her attention to the pot.
“I’d love to stay, but there’s a few more things I need to get done yet today.” Twilight set the book gently in the center of the table. “That’s the anatomy book that Dale gave Lyra on his first visit. The professors just brought it. I left them in room 232, if there’s anything you need to ask them. The dean is insisting that they stay until you give your leave. Except for Featherbrain; she came, caused a scene, and left again. She’s going to stay in town, though, if we want her help. The mare’s awake and was in the hallway with Dale when I came down.”
“We’ll have to check on her after dinner. My father said to never practice medicine on an empty stomach.” The doctor slid the book over to himself and began flipping through the pages; Dr. Goodall and Nurse Redheart leaned in close, oohing at the pictures. Twilight sighed. She really wanted to be right there with them, ogling the book . . . but she had other things to do. Regretfully, she walked back out of the room, the spring gone from her step.
• • •
The afternoon sun was pleasantly warm on her coat, and cheered her up a little bit. She walked towards Sugarcube Corner, nodding politely to friends in the street. She took a brief detour as she spotted Rarity and Sweetie Belle outside Carousel Boutique—the filly had a small pink impatiens flower wavering in her aura. As Twilight watched, it fizzled and died, and the flower dropped back to the ground. She stomped the ground with her hoof. “Oh, come on! Dumb flower.”
Rarity looked up at Twilight with a long-suffering expression before turning her attention back to her sister. “Perhaps you’re pushing too hard. Proper unicorn magic isn’t about strength, it’s about finesse. Try clearing your mind of distractions, and focus solely on the flower.”
As soon as Sweetie had her muzzle up against the flower, Rarity trotted over to Twilight. “I’m not sure how much more I can teach her. Everything I try fails. Oh, I don’t remember having had this much trouble with my horn as a filly. I don’t suppose you’d have time to help?”
“I wish I could, but I have so many things on my to-do list. I just stopped by to see how you were doing with their clothes.”
Rarity sighed. “I’ve made less progress than I wished. Their clothes are made out of fabrics I’ve never seen before, by the most cunning looms imaginable. The knitting on the socks is so unbelievably tiny. I doubt I could reproduce them. But I’ll try! I should have an outfit for each of them ready by tomorrow morning.” Her blue eyes twinkled. “I’ll work all night.” She looked over to make sure Sweetie was still concentrating on the flower. “She doesn’t know what I’m making. I thought it best that the crusaders not have a new . . . object of their attention.”
“Hey!” Sweetie looked over at the unicorns. “Twilight! How come I can’t lift this dumb flower?” She glared at it and grunted. A pale green aura enveloped the flower before spreading to cover the grass in a small circle.
“You need to focus on the flower alone and separate it from the grass it’s resting on. Rarity, she might do better if she has a smooth surface to lift off of, and an object which is very different. When I was a foal, we used glass marbles and a wooden tabletop. If you don’t have those, put the flower on a dinner plate.”
“Put my dishes on the ground? Well, I suppose if I must. . . .”
“Don’t let her work too hard, either. Foal steps. Sorry, Rarity, I’d love to stay and help but I’ve got a list a mile long.”
“Oh, darling, it’s fine. We’ll be fine. I’ll go get a plate.”
• • •
Twilight sat in a comfortable booth in Sugarcube Corner, sipping a tall cup of dark coffee. You need to focus, she thought, pulling her checklist out of her saddlebag. There’s a lot to do today. Coffee will help my focus. She’d checked in with Rarity—technically, that was much later on her list, but there was no problem with getting it done early. Next, she’d have to go to the school and see if Cheerilee might have time to help Lyra teach Dale. After that, it would be a quick trip to the new embassy to see how the construction ponies were coming along—but she’d have to stop by the library first and see if Spike had received any plans from Celestia for the building.
If there was time, she was morbidly curious about what Fluttershy had come up with for Dale. She had an unpleasant vision of the pegasus dragging the carcass of some poor animal out of the Everfree and over to the hospital. Twilight shook her head to clear the image. It was best not to think about.
Lyra had said that Dale wore glasses. She hadn’t seen them on his face, nor were they in the pile of things they’d removed at the hospital. Most likely they were at the bottom of the reservoir. Maybe one of Fluttershy’s fishy friends could find them; if not, Sea Swirl probably could. It would be much simpler than taking him to an optometrist: besides the logistical nightmare of getting him to Canterlot or Manehattan, the instruments weren’t set up for his eyes. If they recovered his glasses, they could just take measurements off the lenses and grind more, if needed. She hastily scribbled out a note; she could give it to Owlowiscious and have him deliver it to Sea Swirl.
Twilight rolled up the scroll and finished her coffee. She took the cup back up to the counter and got her twelfth-bit deposit back, then walked back into the street.
Cheerilee was sitting at her desk, writing corrections on math homework when Twilight walked in. She smiled at the welcome distraction and pushed the stack of papers aside.
The unicorn wasted no time explaining the problem to the teacher. When she was done, Cheerilee looked at her brightly.
“I’m sure Lyra is doing a fine job, but I’d be glad to help if I could. I’m not very good at foreign languages.” She waved a hoof around the classroom. “There isn’t really much need for it here. I can teach him the basics, probably. You say he’s learned some Equus?”
“A little. He and Lyra switch languages when they’re talking—sometimes in the middle of a sentence. It’s really hard to follow. Octavia transcribed all of Lyra’s notes on all of his words we learned the first time Lyra visited him, but she used musical notation instead of phonetic symbols.”
“Is she still here?”
“She’s at the library, I think. Unless she left on the afternoon train. I don’t know; I haven’t been there since this morning.”
“I’ll grade these later. I’d like to go over her notes with her—if I can figure out how she wrote the sounds, I can transcribe them into proper phonetics. Why didn’t you have me do it in the first place?”
“Lyra used musical notation in her notes, so only Octavia understood them. It wasn’t the best solution, but we didn’t have time to turn Lyra into a linguist.”
Cheerilee stuffed the essays into a folder, which she slid into a compartment in her bag. Twilight helped her close the windows in the schoolhouse, then the pair headed back to the library.
Dale brushed his hand across his head. The day had gone reasonably well—he’d survived, at least, and as far as he knew hadn’t accidentally declared interstellar war. Lyra had asked if they wanted to eat before the doctor worked on Kate again, or if he’d rather wait until after. Faced with the choice of losing his appetite or losing his dinner, he’d decided to wait.
Kate had proved surprisingly pliant, no doubt as an effect of whatever painkiller the nurse had given her. This time it had come from a brown bottle, and been administered a spoonful at a time. She had taken to the idea of being spoon-fed by a pony surprisingly well, although the process was frequently delayed by Kate’s need to pet the nurse on the muzzle. Once the actual procedure—he couldn’t really call it surgery—started, Dale had given her a summary of what he knew of the ponies so far. The far-off look in her eyes made him wonder how much of it she was actually understanding.
She fell asleep midway through his explanation.
Once they were done, the nurse had spoken with Lyra for a bit, occasionally motioning at the other bed and Dale. Finally, Lyra nodded and produced a piece of paper and her pencil and began drawing.
When she had finished, she showed the paper to Dale. “Dale make yes or no,” she instructed, sliding the pencil to him.
He picked up the paper and examined it. The first drawing was a sketch of the room as it was arranged now, with Kate in her bed and the other vacant. The next drawing showed him in one bed and Kate in the other; the third had the two beds together, making one larger bed.
Dale pointed to the last image. “No.” He couldn’t imagine why they even would have suggested such a thing.
It might not be a bad idea to share the room, though. In case she woke up during the night, or something went wrong. At least he’d be able to get a nurse, or talk her down, or whatever she needed. The only downside was if she freaked out during the night, she could hurt him. That seemed unlikely; whatever they’d given her had been pretty calming. Anyway, he didn’t think he was likely to sleep much. He pointed to the second drawing and said yes.
Lyra nodded and took back the paper. After a short bit of sketching, she handed it back to him.
Dale’s face flushed as soon as he saw what she’d drawn: it was three sketches of the ‘Dale and Kate share a room’ theme, but she’d added herself in two of them: once off to the side, and once in Dale’s bed.
Hands shaking, he looked up into Lyra’s bright golden eyes. The drawing slipped from his hands, but he didn’t notice. What does it mean? He could hear blood roaring in his ears. Is it an offer? An offer of what? A social custom? What if I refuse? What if I don’t?
Okay. Let’s assume I say yes. No. No, I can’t—but what if she’s insulted? I could say ‘later,’ but that would just string her along, so that’s no good. Maybe? Can I say maybe? Or does that imply a ‘yes’ later? And just what would I be agreeing to, potentially?
He dimly noticed that Lyra’s ears had shifted towards the door, followed a moment later by her eyes. He surreptitiously glanced down at the paper, hoping it would provide him with some sort of a further clue as to her intentions when a squeaking noise caught his attention, too.
Saved by the dinner cart. He pushed the paper aside and walked over to the chairs on the other side of the room. Lyra followed and the two of them pushed the chairs into a makeshift table. He’d have to sit on the floor to eat, but that was all right.
The nurse—the same pink one who’d fixed the room earlier—looked over at Kate with a frown, finally setting a covered plate onto her bedside table. She carefully put a glass of water beside it, lifting it into place with her hoof. Dale squinted at her, trying to figure out how she did it.
She brought two plates over to them, carrying them one at a time in her mouth. Lyra helped by floating over the glasses of water.
Dale lifted the cover off his plate and smiled. The cook had clearly paid attention to what he liked and what he didn’t: there was a bowl of fruit salad, two thick pieces of buttered bread, and a large helping of scrambled eggs and melted cheese. Instead of eggs, Lyra had a plateful of hay which she was dusting with the colored sand.
He was halfway through his dinner when the yellow winged pony he’d been petting earlier came in. She was wearing a pair of saddlebags this time, and seemed to be proud of herself for some reason.
Lyra noticed her, too, and stopped eating. She paled slightly and took a step away from her plate. Her pupils shrank and her ears locked on the yellow pony, while her nostrils flared. She snorted a couple of times, and Dale was afraid that they were about to fight—but when Lyra spoke her voice was as calm as always.
The two of them carried on a brief conversation, before the winged pony reached back and grabbed a small bag with her teeth. She set it on the floor in front of Lyra, who approached it cautiously. A golden glow twined around the bag, and the mouth of the bag opened slightly. Lyra looked inside it thoughtfully, then floated it up into the air in front of her. She looked at their makeshift dinner table, hovered the bag over it uncertainly, and then set it down in front of Dale.
“For Dale eat? Yes, no.”
Curious, he opened the bag and looked inside. There was a decent-sized chunk of bark, clinging to some very rotten wood.
Did they think he ate wood? He tore a small piece of it off and pulled it out of the bag. A couple of small grubs wormed out of reach as he pulled it loose. “Dale not eat wood.” He dropped it back into the bag.
Lyra shook her head, and spoke to the yellow one again. Finally, she gave a resigned look and her horn lit up. A pale grub hovered in a golden nimbus, right in front of his face. “Dale eat? Yes, no?”
“Uh. . . .” She looked somewhat uncomfortable by the prospect, although the yellow one was looking on eagerly.
There’s a lot of places where people do eat insects. Shrimp are pretty much like insects, and even fast food restaurants sell them. Well, Long John Silver’s, anyway. It’s digestible, probably. Still, I’d rather not. Not unless I have to. “Dale not eat grubs.”
Lyra nodded with a small satisfied smile and dropped it back into the bag, closed the drawstring, and floated it back over to the yellow pony. She shook her head, in case it wasn’t obvious that he didn’t want them.
As the two ponies began another discussion, Dale thought back to the grub. Lyra hadn’t even looked into the bag before pulling it out, which meant that she could selectively pick up objects even when she couldn’t see them. It was a frightening new dimension to the abilities that all the unicorns seemed to possess . . . he’d been amazed that she could keep something floating in the air even when she wasn’t looking at it, but this added a whole new element to the mix. For starters, it meant that they could probably find him even if he tried to hide.
Like everything else, it could probably be spoofed—but only if he knew what it was seeking. There were rumors of a military gadget that could detect heartbeats at a range, although even if such a thing existed outside of Clancy’s novels, it still wouldn’t work on a grub; they didn’t have a heartbeat.
The only thing he could think of was that it worked like some sort of selective magnet. It wasn’t a very satisfactory explanation, but it was the best he could think of. If the grub had been chosen as the ‘magnetized’ object, then it alone would be attracted to the field . . . but he’d seen that there was more than one grub in there, so why hadn’t it picked them all up? Was that selectable, too?
This was the kind of sexy alien technology that everyone drooled over. The potential applications were nearly limitless, and he’d seen so far that it could work on a wide variety of materials, organic or not, living or dead. Best yet, it was the kind of thing that might get corporations interested—which could be a useful bargaining chip in the future.
Dale looked back, where the two ponies were arguing about something. Lyra was shaking her head and looking disgusted, while the yellow one had a determined look on her face. Finally, she stuck her muzzle into the other bag and pulled out a very dead woodchuck. She proudly walked over towards Dale, the animal hanging out of her teeth. Before he could yank his plate away, she dropped it on top of his dinner and looked at him expectantly.
Lyra was no help; she had turned her head away and was coughing into a hoof. Dale fought his dinner back down and pushed the plate away, trying to avoid touching the paw splayed over the side of the plate. He shook his head, hoping that she’d understand and take that . . . thing off his plate. Not that he’d be finishing his dinner; his appetite had vanished.
She locked her big teal eyes on his and calmly pushed the plate back in his direction. He grimaced. Something about her look made him briefly consider trying it, but he remained steadfast. He pushed the plate away again and shook his head. She narrowed her eyes and popped her wings, then used them to fan the smell of decaying woodchuck in his direction, as if that would make it more appetizing. He was about to try and tell her that eating it would make him sick, when his stomach decided to resolve the matter on its own.
He heard Lyra shouting something as he launched himself out of the hospital room, hoping to make it to the bathroom before it was too late. He grabbed the door frame to help buttonhook himself into the hallway, forgetting in the heat of the moment that his right arm was mostly useless—it did the job, but sent a lance of agony directly to his brain. He ignored it; his stomach was his first order of business at the moment.
Dale sprinted down the hallway, shoulder-checking the door—with his left shoulder—nearly hard enough to knock it off its hinges. He was glad that this was one of the few swinging doors in the place; he couldn't have coped with a doorknob.
A high-pitched shriek told him that the room wasn’t empty, but he didn’t care. He’d made it, with his dignity mostly intact.
When he had finished, he looked up at the icy blue eyes of the nurse. To his surprise, instead of yelling at him, she spoke soothingly, helping him wipe his face off with a damp towel. He apologized as best he could, and let her lead him back to his room.
They met Lyra halfway; he imagined that she had come out into the hallway to look for him. She nuzzled his hip gently. “Is good?”
He nodded. “I’m okay. Uh, Dale good.”
She looked at him skeptically, but let it slide. The nurse began asking her questions—presumably wanting to know what accounted for his behavior in the bathroom. Lyra answered them simply. He didn’t try to follow along, although he did hear a few words he learned from Lyra.
Dale ran his hand over his head. He really just wanted to climb into bed, but he was afraid if he went back into the room, the yellow pony might still be there and she might continue trying to offer him dead woodchuck. If he waited until Lyra and the nurse finished talking, maybe she’d be able to tell the yellow one what had prompted his sudden exit.
But he needn’t have worried. The two ponies escorted him back to the room, which was now vacant except for Kate. He climbed into the bed and pulled the covers over himself before worming out of his makeshift toga.
The nurse stuck her forelegs up on the bed and leaned over him before patting him gently on the head with her hoof. She clicked the bedside lamp off, leaving him in relative darkness. He could make out the silhouette of Lyra near the doorway. The nurse spoke a few words to her, and then left the room.
Lyra slowly walked over to his bed, pausing a couple of times as if she were uncertain if she should continue. Finally, she seemed to work her courage up and pulled herself up alongside him. She stretched her neck out and nuzzled him on the cheek before dropping back to the floor with a clack of hooves. “Lyra go Lyra home.”
He watched her leave with a heavy heart. He suddenly felt very, very alone.
• • •
Dale finally got tired of staring around the room and at the ceiling. It was obvious that sleep wasn’t going to come easily, despite how exhausted he felt.
The room was uncomfortably quiet, much more so than a hospital or hotel on earth would have been. He could clearly hear the ticking of his watch and Kate’s shallow breaths. Occasional creaks and pops of the building settling for the night were the only other noises—there were no mechanical sounds to break the stillness.
Lyra’s drawing implied that the beds moved easily enough, so he decided to push his closer to the window. Hopefully, the nurses wouldn’t mind if he did a little redecorating.
He considered wrapping his toga around himself, but decided that Kate was fast asleep, and it would be too much bother anyway. He gave the bed a few shoves with his left hand, but it barely moved. Instead, he settled on bumping the bed with his hip, until it was against the wall with the head by the window, slid the table next to it—carefully watching the lamp—and then climbed back into bed.
If it hadn’t been for lights in many of the windows, he would have thought the town was deserted. The market had closed for the night; all the stalls were shuttered. He opened the window a crack and let the sounds and smells of the town drift to him.
The night air smelled fresher than Earth’s—he wondered if it really was, or if it was just the smells of wood smoke and flowers and fresh-cut hay were comforting.
There wasn’t much in the way of noise—certainly there were no automobiles or passing jets. He could faintly hear doors closing every now and then, and once he heard a mare giggle. At one point he thought he saw a pony which looked like Twilight, but he could have been mistaken. They all looked very similar until they were close enough to see their colors and marks.
He glanced up at the sky, where an unfamiliar moon cast its light onto the town below. He could see a few stars, which he assumed were the particularly bright ones. He could make out some more when he squinted. He had to imagine that, as dark as the town was, the nighttime starscape would be magnificent. It would be interesting to see if he could find any constellations he recognized—that might give him an idea how far from Earth he was. If he were fairly close—say, a light year or two—he’d probably be able to see some familiar ones. One of those stars up there might be his very own sun. It would be nice to know which one. He’d have to ask Lyra—it would certainly be a view that no one else had ever had.
In so many science fiction novels, the characters seemed to have a desire to find the sun, and now he thought he knew why. Here he was, practically all alone on a world unimaginably distant from his own. He hoped they would bring him back . . . but he was completely at their mercy. He couldn’t even delude himself into believing that anyone would ever come to rescue him—barring some scientific miracle, there was no way humanity could reach him even if they tried, and that was assuming that they knew where to look. He suddenly felt very small and alone.
A shadowy blur of motion caught his attention, and he watched as a winged pony landed in front of a modest house and pushed the door open. It hesitated on the doorstep, where it was ambushed by a small blur that hugged it fiercely. A kid . . . that winged pony must be a parent. The pair went inside, so Dale rolled on his back and closed his eyes.
• • •
He is standing back on the beach on North Fox Island. He’s at the top of the rise, where the land falls towards the water; in front of him the Coast Guard boat is beached. He can see a spume of water at the stern, and there are three sailors on the beach, looking at him curiously.
“Run! They’re coming!” He feels a strange pull and turns to look back. The forest is gone, replaced by an army of soldier-ponies, lined into neat ranks as far as he can see. Each one of them is carrying a woodchuck in its mouth, and the yellow one is leading them. She drops her wings and the soldiers begin marching forward.
He tries to run down the beach to safety, but the sand slows him. He feels like he’s running in molasses. The people on the beach can’t hear him, and they—
He came half-awake, blearily looked around the hospital room, and then drifted off again.
“You must help us find the names for these things,” Twilight explained. Kate was in front of him, stretched out on the floor, and the doctor was calmly reaching inside and holding up organs. “What is that? What does it do? If you can’t answer our questions, I’m afraid we’ll have to continue experimenting on you.”
He looked down, against his will.
Heart hammering in his chest, Dale’s eyes snapped open. The room was still peaceful, yet he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was looking for him. Almost without thinking he got out of bed and walked to the door and peered down the hallway. There was noone there.
His hair was standing on end—even the non-existent hair on his head—and he felt a deep chill that was more than the night air. Suddenly he believed very much in ghosts. He clicked the bedside lamp on and got back into bed, pulling the covers up to his chin.
He is running again. He splashes across a small creek, slipping on the smooth-worn rocks. He can hear the charging hoofbeats behind him, and he knows full well what they are. The Janissaries of Emilion, and everyone knows that they can kill a man while he dreams.
He trips over a root and tumbles to the ground. Before he can pick himself back up, they are on top of him, but they cannot see him—they ride past him, time and again, close enough that he could reach out and touch them if he dared . . . he knows to do so will spell his doom, yet the compulsion is irresistible. He reaches for one, grabs hold of its tail—
And they’re gone. He’s back in his bed, but he’s not alone.
He runs his hand across Lyra’s coat. There’s a strange tingling sensation traveling from his fingers to his chest, but it isn’t unpleasant. In fact, it’s kind of warm.
He can feel her chest rise and fall with each breath she takes, and he can feel the strong beating of her heart. She is asleep, snuggled under the covers with him. He gently moves his hand up her shoulder to stroke her mane, which is soft and silky under his rough skin. She is speaking softly in her sleep, and he can almost understand her words.
He tangles his hand up in her mane, gripping it tightly. He knows she won’t mind; he can see a small smile on her face. Her ears occasionally twitch as she sleeps; one of them keeps turning towards him. He wants to move his hand and touch it, but his hand is very heavy.
She shifts her position slightly, rolling into him. He’s glad that she’s careful to keep her chin down, because if she wasn’t, he’d stand a good chance of being stabbed by her horn.
Something seems off; the familiar walls of his bedroom are gone, and he sees that they are in an open field, midway up a small hill. Above his head, a thousand thousand stars shine forth. He is surprised to find that he is not cold at all, even though he seems to be wearing only khakis and a T-shirt.
He can feel her tail moving against his leg, gently brushing his knee. Below them, a still pond glows like a mirror until a mist covers it. It slowly spreads through the trees and crawls up the hill like streams of liquid moonlight.
He can see above her head; when he crosses his eyes just right he can see the delicate spiral that circumscribes her horn. There’s a very faint golden aura which surrounds it, invisible in all but darkness, and in this land of mists they’re in together.
He feels a presence in the shadows, and he wants to avoid it but he knows he cannot. It beckons to him, calling his name. He occasionally catches sight of it, brief flashes of witch-light that reveal her form before dissipating into the mists. He shouts at it, challenging it to come forth, but his words are strange, echoing and bouncing through the fog until they have no power at all.
The mist forms and coalesces into a shape he can’t quite see. He turns to ask Lyra what it is, but she bites him in the shoulder. Hard.
He reaches for her, but the mists get her first and she’s gone.
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I actually started reading this story only today, and…
NEW CHAPTER
3633462
I aims to please.
Um what? Wouldn't he try and tell them to cook the thing? And that ending... Uhhhh
3633476
>while keeping a weather eye on Kate
What is a "weather eye"?
>There was noone there
"no one" is two words, bro
3633584 lel
3633584
It's carrion. Modern America is not one of the cultures where eating decomposing meat is something people will even consider.
Awesome chapter!
Katherine must be really drugged up to accept talking ponies so quickly
3633599 I cooked bird, its not bad and I've only left America one in my life for a summer in Holland. And woodchuck its suppose to be good with cinnamon
3633613
Let me rephrase that. "..that the average citizen will normally consider."
3633585
It's a sailing term, originally meant "keeping an eye on the weather," and later evolved into a general sense of watching.
Debatable, but I'll change it. It was taught as one word back when I was in school. I used to hyphenate it as no-one, following the British English style . . . maybe it comes from spending too much time in Canada, eh?
Woo. New chapter.
And now the dream-watchers start in on him.
3633631 oh...
The humans - especially Kate - must pet more ponies....
hahahahaha poor dale, fluttershy really thought you would like that woodchuck, too bad it wasnt bar-b-qued
First... I love this story! This is one of the few that I have to read immediately when a new chapter goes up, not "when I get around to it".
At first that seemed a bit shocking, but then I caught myself and remembered that it's pretty much what I expected for her too. Although, I thought she could end up in a not-minor-at-all government posting. I never assumed the nobility retain formal power in Equestria. Outside of Celestia and Luna, it seems to be a largely egalitarian society.
In some ways the TV show has gone the opposite direction from how I imagined Twilight's fate. She got the wings and the title of Princess, but not much we can see (thus far) in the way of authority or duties. To me the former don't seem all that meaningful, while the latter have always been merely a matter of time for her.
I've got to admit that I really don't understand the charges against Lyra at all. The only thing I can figure is that the Equestrian system of justice must work on principles completely unlike anything we have in our world. We don't usually put someone out on a limb in a perilous and uncertain enterprise and then file criminal charges against them as soon as something goes wrong.
We can always rely on Fluttershy to relate to new, strange creatures and make them feel welcome.
3633894
I disagree; I can think of a couple of examples where it's happened in Iraq or Afghanistan. I suspect it's more likely when the media gets involved, such as the case with Blackwater. There are also political considerations with an event of this magnitude, and Celestia isn't stupid enough to ignore them.
In this case: "Best of all, the worst punishment a military inquest could mete out in a case like this was dishonorable discharge—although that was unlikely, since she was only an auxiliary guard. Because of the double-jeopardy clause in Equestrian law, if things subsequently went all wrong [like Dale turns out to be a pony-killing monster], Lyra couldn’t be re-tried, and if they held the inquest quickly—while the creatures were still in hospital—it was unlikely anything would go wrong enough in the interim to change the likely outcome of a trial. As an added benefit, foreign ambassadors and such couldn’t complain that Celestia was playing favorites, since the trial would be a foregone conclusion before they even found out about it." (from Celestia Sleeps In)
3633613
cooked, you say.
Cooked is not carrion, it's cooked. Even if it's a weird kind of meat/bird/animal/whatever you're eating, it's still cooked at the very least. What she was trying to make Dale eat was raw.
Carrion definition-
refers to the dead and decaying flesh of an animal.
Sea Swirl?
denver.mylittlefacewhen.com/media/f/rsz/mlfw8787_small.png
3634035
images.wikia.com/mlp/images/f/f4/FANMADE_Sea_Swirl_vector_by_kooner01-d47ln0a.png
Also sometimes called "Dolphin Dreams."
How much dude can a wood chuck make chuck, if the wood chuck is chuck wood.
Im not up on Greys Anatomy at all, so Im wondering if it goes as far as chemical compositions, protien matrices and crystaline alignment in the bones, and the strange thing that with the right chemical activation, fat, muscle and bone cells at least are interchangable.
I really need to get back to that proper linear time Universal Translator I was looking at years ago. I mean, when you have smells, sounds, gravitational fluxes and the massively parralel Brou to consider, linguistic subsets should be easier.
Dont forget Swiss yodels and Xhosa click talk.
Magic doesnt violate the laws of physics, as long as you accept we live in a ten dimentional universe, depending on the definition of dimentions, such as 8 dimentional octonions, with a dimention of time, and a mathematical dimention in the matrices that makes additions and multiplications equally possible.
Theoretically a 802.11 ac 16 beam MIMO router, in free fall and a vaccuum, could do some telekinetic tricks. After extensive fimware and software redesign. You would call it tractor beams.
3634064
huh! so, not a character who has had a scene in this story yet? because I thought I'd missed something.
3634080
It's mostly just physical structure, as I recall. I didn't read it, but I flipped through it as a reference . . . . in fact, I can honestly say I got it for the pictures, not the articles.
After all, since the ponies can't read English, the pictures are all they have to go on.
My brain just imploded.
3634095
Nope, first mention of her.
3633584
If he's reacting like that, then I'm not sure that it's fresh enough to even cook. Fresh kill doesn't smell that offensive.
What the heck was Fluttershy thinking?
Well, Grey's Anatomy should be helpful for the doctors. I feel bad for both Dale and Fluttershy with regards to the Beaver incident. Perfectly reasonable assumption for her to make regarding what he would eat, based on the general "carrion eater" impression the ponies have, just the wrong on. Hopefully Fluttershy won't be too down on herself after that, Dale won't hold it against her, and that after this they'll figure out fresher, possibly cooked meat is the way to go.
I wonder what that second drawing was about. I don't think it means what Dale thought it meant, maybe asking if he'd be more comfortable with her around? But that doesn't explain her reaction when he hesitated. Hhmm.
3634309
So far they are running on the assumption he is also a carrion-eater (the result of Lyra making some understandable but incorrect assumptions about what the meat he fed her was), so from that point of view her gesture made sense. Obviously that went about as well as you'd expect when you offer someone a stale, dead animal for consumption ... cooking the meat probably never crossed their minds, as there likely aren't any meat-eaters around (those being of the wild, carnivorous animal variety ... or even pets like Opal and Twi's owl) who would need to have their met cooked and are perfectly content eating it raw.
I am dying to see what they deduce from his reaction though - obviously, this should throw their assumptions of him being a carrion eater for a loop. I imagine if Lyra simply inquired him about his meat eating habits (Dale no eat meat?), he could provide that he likes it cooked and fresh.
That aside, I'm looking towards Katie's reactions when she is awake and lucid. Well, assuming she doesn't freak out again - it should be pretty interesting to see Dale try and explain their situation to her as best he can. Her constantly petting the guard was pretty hilarious as well - I can only imagine how uncomfortable the poor guy was
Oh, and ...
Silly Twilight, if you dream of a higher posting you simply have to hurry up and sprout those wings of yours already! Actually, that would make for some pretty amusing reactions from Dale I imagine - that a pony whom he has come to know simply shows up as a whole another 'type' the next day. Would throw him for another loop, I imagine.
3634544
Well actually I mean what was she thinking when she kept pushing it towards him. They didn't need to speak the same language to get the message across.
MOAR!
Lots of things, but probably she mis interpreted what they know of them and just thought of them as more instinct based creatures that could also eat meat that was not cooked. 3634309
Poor flutters, epic fail for all the wrong reasons.
I'm certainly glad the ponies are much more understanding of the drugged up alien, Dale might have gotten smacked if he started fondling every pony....
We don't think that Dale and Lyra 's relationship has progressed to sexual, having her sleep in the same bed was probably more of a conflict gesture, but her reaction to that rejection seemed far stronger than it should have if that was the case. Perhaps she's a little farther along than Dale? Ooh this is going to be good...
Keep going!;)
Poor Dale. Poor Fluttershy. Poor Lyra. Poor Kathrine. Poor...everyone this chapter :'(
It was a great and funny chapter, but I can't help but feel sad and amused for nearly everyone in this chapter. Strange feels bro.
After reading this chapter I want to find a story with a bunch of humans high on opiates trying to pet as many ponies as possible. Gratuitous brushing may happen as well.
Interesting.
I'm rather looking forward to the ponies meeting an actual scientist or something.
3634544
Would it? He already thinks they're some manner of prosthetic andor biotech augmentation, this would just confirm that.
Finally! A human said the words "unicorn" and "magic", since Dale has somehow spent all this time completely oblivious to the fact that he's seen all three of the most commonly seen and referenced magical creatures in all of modern western mythology (unicorns, dragons, and pegasi). Seriously, I can't think of anyone who would look at a horse with a pointy thing on it's forehead and not immediately think to themselves, "that looks like a unicorn."
And I still don't understand his complete obsession with the horns being some sort of prosthesis. They've never given any indication that they're anything other than what they are, a horn. Especially since they're unicorns. But since Dale somehow didn't know what a unicorn was until Kate called them that, I suppose that's not a very good argument. But my first point is still valid. They haven't done anything to imply, even vaguely, that the horns are anything other than a naturally occurring part of their anatomy, so I'm curious where that obsession of his came from.
Ok, so this is just Dale's dream, right?
Then how did he find twilight's real name?
Thank for reminde me that Twilight is a unicorn, I kind of lost track of it and was wondering about it!
for X-files 'I Want to believe'
And
3633602
Hospitals have the best drugs...
It should be interesting to see how she acts around the ponies once the drugs wear off and she's not high as a kite.
Dale really needs his glasses, heh. Glad it wasn't me though, I'm all but blind without mine since the last time I got an answer the 'estimate' was 1200 over 20 (things get blurry about 1 inch from my eyes).
hrm. well, the griffon chefs may have a few words to say on the matter, even if the last one we saw was on the MMMystery express. im just waiting for him to point to a cow and say 'food', then have the cow reply 'What?!?'
i.imgur.com/V0RJ0Rl.gif
dash.ponychan.net/chan/files/src/136542842438.gif
Out of all the reactions Kate might have when she woke up, a severe case of Cuteness Proximity was one that did not occur to me. Granted, she's hopped to the gills on opiates, but still. I kinda hope that when she wakes up she'll still be like "Aliens, huh? That's pretty unbelie-omigodsocutemustpet!"
3633858
taverntoys.com/zencart_138/images/road%20kill.jpg
3634544
Here's a thought: what if that guard was actually a bit... too comfortable, if you know what I mean. If I'm not mistaken, that part is actually pretty sensitive.
Capitalism had other ideas for her
Princess Celestia raises the sun,
Princess Luna raises the moon,
'Princess' Twilight raises Hasbro's profits
3634544
It actually did in previous chapter:
Why was she so insistent though, I have no idea... she could read his revulsion-confusion-hesitation mix as "Is this really for me?" Then again, he clearly shook his head in "no" gesture... Oh, wait! She treated him as she would Angel Bunny! You need to eat it, see how beautifully decomposed it is! All this squishy, rotten, fleshy goodness! Why won't you eat?
A dream, a mist and a shape?... Did Luny-pooh make a dreamvisit?
, that said Im not even sure what I told my conversational partner in italian made any sense. Point is I got the gist of what was said, and so did they. Now of course the person was just a construct of my imagination, but this actually maybe a possibility for Luna to save alot of time and effort, if it would work.
). Normally Dale would just blurt out what the dream 'prescribes' and has no direct influence on what's happening due to a low level of awareness, Luna might be able to change that and engage into actual active discussions with him. It may not be easy for her to manage, probably still unstable with a few glitches and time limited due to being strainious, but at least it would provide a better way for transferring informations.
Here goes my theory that entering his dream via dream magic, could solve the problem of the language barrier.
Sometimes it happens (at least happened to me), when you dream, that you speak a different language or that other's speak to you in a different language, and without any kind of damn logic you understand them. I once spoke in italian... I dunno italian
You see, In this 'dream realm', how Luna would probably describe it, one does not simply speak in a language, rather what is said could be a direct projection of your thoughts and via dream manipulation magic, Luna could focus his thoughts into a more compressed direction, thus making him more aware of what is happening (tells him he is in 'the Matrix'...
It also would make it easier to use Dale as a witness in a court, as Fancy Pants suggested.
I don't say Dale shouldn't learn their language, hell no make him go through all the classes, same goes for the ponies of course, but the whole "dream translates language directly via consent of thought and luna can manipulate that" thing could make the issue a bit easier and in critical situations, it should provide a more efficient and fast support to eliminate outrageous misunderstandings (especially the possible life-endangering ones).
So my request for you is to consider this idea to become part of your story... If you do, I might start dumping golden bricks from my chocolate starfish out of joy and euphoria
.
3634633
Naah I suspect she was just trying to make it comfortable for him, she is pretty much responsible for him being there and probably feels bad about what happend. So to deliver some condolence, she was trying to offer him to have her stay with him, seeing as she can't really tell if he would feel lonely or scared without her company. I do NOT say, she hasn't feelings for him, but those go currently unnoticed by Lyra herself. Likewise Dale has already started to develope a bond to lyra, deeper than he has realized yet.
Besides as far as we know touching a ponies flank doesn't seem much of a deal here and Lyra already did let him touch her mark.
Further more as Dale already pointed out, ponies seem much more accustomed to physical contact, especially when showing empathy or sympathy.
EDIT: Actually now that I think about it, how the heck did he not realize, what her intentions were, when she drew him those sketches. She was with him the whole time, she supported him when he woke up, was his right hand there in the hospital, he was hurt, alone and pretty much lost. Did it not occour to him, that she was trying to determine, if he needed her company during the night solely for soothing? Of course the first thing that just had to come to his mind in a situation like that, was the assumption that there was a sexual background to her intentions.
...Dammit Dale, you are a extraterrestrial patient in a hospital who was involved in a pretty bad accident! Don't you think that any suggestive intentions of Lyra are out of question considering the circumstances *sigh* really now?
3633679 Bro, I live in Canada. We have maple syrup money, eh
3633602
High on magic, eh?
3637192
We all have seen how overenthusiastic Fluttershy can be when confronted with the oppertunities to meet and interact with new animals.
Two situations come to mind when I think about that:
1. When Shy met Spike for the first time, she just bursted up to him, compleetly ignoring Twilight even bashing her away.
2. When she saw the bad condition of the Phoenix, she just had to bring him home, even though the calming smile of Celestia should have told her otherwise. She would force all kinds of treatments onto the 'poor' thing, even as Philomena tried to deny or avoid them.
Shy maybe reluctant most of the time, but if she thinks she knows what she is doing (even though it maybe wrong) or if she is generally interested into something, then she won't stop trying to go through with it... even if it means pain instead of healing for the patient. Poor Twi, poor Philomena and poor Dale
.
That bit with Fluttershy and the dead woodchuck makes me think of my cat. They're both just so pleased with themselves at how they brought back some dead thing for dinner.
Besides being miss spelt, don't ophthalmologist deal mostly in optical surgery.
Whilst you would go to an optometrist to have glasses made.
Anyway great story.
3637098
Unicorns yes, pagasi not so much. For them it's the back you want get at.
3634544
I smell a new story.
Twilight sprouts wings, mixed reactions all round
Twilight Sparkle is walking down the road one day when suddenly wings sprout from her {insert random body part here}.
3633679
But of course you would need to send someone to operate it as the temporal distortion would make any timed functions and transmissions unreliable.
3633599
Carpaccio.
3633679
Thinking back I remember being taught that 'noone' was one work as well. But it just seems wrong when I try to write it.
No I settle on making it two words.
3637192
I guess that is why Angel is so mean to Fluttershy.
--Sollace
3641127
You're right, of course. Correction made.