Chapter 8: Yellow Journalism
Yellow Journalism
“This is my home?”
Jorge was surprised to say the least. When he had been told that the Princess had acquired lodgings for him, the first thing that came to mind was literally some sort of log cabin, kept at a good distance from the town. Perhaps just a regular cottage, like the kind he had seen near the apple farm the other day; maybe even a conventional home in the middle of the village. What he was not expecting, however, was the structure that stood before him.
“Do you like it?” Luna asked tentatively.
“It’s a clock-tower,” answered Jorge flatly.
The building in front of him was a tall brown tower, with a large clock on one of its sides. The tower had an adjacent structure protruding from the back, which appeared to be some sort of residence for what Jorge assumed was supposed to be the clock’s maintainer. The tower was west of Ponyville, tucked out of the way along with a nearby cattle farm. Jorge supposed that this was one of the reasons the Princess had chosen this as his new, temporary home. The architecture was very simple considering some of the more elaborate buildings in town, and despite being the tallest structure in the near area it blended in with the surrounding country side quite nicely.
“A fully furnished clock tower,” added Luna sheepishly.
“Well, how about we take a look?” suggested Pinkie, eager to get inside.
The Princess led the way as the group stepped through the front door, and into the building. As he walked inside, Jorge could see that they were standing in some sort of living room. It was a large room, but that was necessary considering the Spartan’s size. The floor was made of dark oak planks, which were polished to a shine. The walls were a clean white plaster, with numerous generic, albeit colorful and decorative paintings hung along them. On the floor, there laid a large red carpet with intricate patterns woven into it. On top of said carpet were various pieces of furniture, ranging from a brown velvet couch, to an ebony coffee table that looked very expensive. Along one of the walls, near a large green armchair, was a brick fireplace that already had a small flame burning within it. Next to it was a mahogany bookshelf lined with dozens of pieces of literature. The room had a light odor of smoked wood that helped tie the homey ambiance together.
“Oooh, this is classy,” observed Pinkie as she sat down on the armchair.
“It is quite nice,” marveled Twilight, somewhat jealous of the quality of the room’s furniture.
“So…do you like it, Jorge?” asked Luna.
“It’s…adequate,” answered the Spartan. In truth, Jorge couldn’t remember the last time he was in a room that nice. He was surprised. He had not expected the Princess to go through so much trouble for his sake.
“Oh,” muttered the Princess, somewhat disappointed at the human’s less than enthusiastic response. “Well, let me give you a tour of the rest of your home.”
The rest of the house was just as chic as the living room. Jorge’s bedroom was a simple affair, with a dresser and mirror on one side, and a small nightstand next to the bed. Speaking of which, the bed was probably the nicest aspect of the entire house. It was a massive, four poster frame made out of dark cherry wood, that was the perfect size to accommodate Jorge’s gargantuan stature. Along the wooden posts were detailed carvings of flowers, dragons, manticore, chimeras, and other creatures of myth. The curtains to the bed were a fine crimson silk, while the sheets were of a more emerald hue.
Finally, there came the kitchen, which was by far the most modern area of the house. In fact, it was the most modern thing Jorge had seen since arriving to Equestria. There was a black and white granite bench next to a metal sink, with some silver benches designed to seat the human. The fridge was white, and included a freezer and ice-dispenser. The white cupboards and pantry ran along the ceiling, making it evident that the entire room had been designed specifically with the seven foot tall human in mind. Most surprising of all, both the fridge and the cupboards were already fully stocked with various fruits, vegetables, grains, drinks, and snacks. The Princess had obviously spared no expense to ensure Jorge was comfortable.
“I hope you found the rest of your home to be as…adequate as the living room,” said Luna.
Jorge shrugged. “It’s the nicest place I’ve ever lived in, that’s for sure.”
“So what do you want to do now?” asked Twilight as she browsed through some of Jorge’s new tomes. These books are so rare! They must have come from the Royal Archives themselves. “I was hoping we could discuss those, what were they called, E.Is?”
“A.Is, and I would prefer to be alone now actually,” answered Jorge firmly.
“Oh, okay,” mumbled Twilight. Both she and the Princess were terribly disappointed, but decided not to protest. The three ponies that had accompanied the human all made their way out of his new house.
“I’ll be sure to visit you when there’s a new development in finding a way to get you back home,” assured Luna. “I hope you enjoy your stay here Jorge, try to avoid going into town for the next couple of days though. At least until the village calms down a bit, alright?”
“I have absolutely no intentions of heading into your village, believe me.”
“Alright then, goodbye.”
After giving their awkward goodbyes, both Twilight and the Princess made their way back to town. Pinkie however, didn’t follow suit.
“Here you go Jorgie; I just wanted to give you this before I left.” The pony handed Jorge a pink card with a picture of her cutie-mark on the front.
“A card?”
“Yup. I wanted to give this to you at your party last night, but you went to bed early. You must have been really tired, huh?”
“Why would you give me a card Pinkie?”
“It’s a ‘Welcome to Ponyville’ card. I give one to all my new friends.”
Jorge stared at the smiling pony quizzically. “You consider me a friend?” he asked incredulously.
“Of course silly! Why wouldn’t I?”
‘Because I almost killed both of your Princesses, and destroyed your friend’s home,’ Jorge almost muttered. Instead he stayed silent and continued to stare at the card.
“Welp, I better get back to Sugarcube Corner. Those cakes aren’t gonna bake themselves!” With her goodbyes said, Pinkie turned and began bouncing back down the road towards the town. However, before she had traveled less than five meters she paused and turned around to face the human again.
“Oh, and Jorge?”
The Spartan looked up from the card to see Pinkie Pie looking at him with a small smile that was much tamer, yet looked more heartfelt then the massive grins she normally sported.
“I don’t know if I told you this yet, but welcome to Ponyville.” And with that, the party pony resumed her bouncing, leaving Jorge to stand alone on the porch of his new home. Jorge looked down at the card one more time, before going back into his new house, and closing the door behind him. He continued gazing at the card in his hands for a few more minutes before opening it: Inside was a small message written in dark ink.
Dear Jorge,
I’m not so good at writing these kinds of things. I usually get Mrs. Cake to help me because I get distracted really easily which I don’t mean to do, but there’s always something interesting to see all the time what with new ponies coming all the time and aliens visiting. Then I start rambling to the ponies and aliens about them being new and having to throw them parties, which may seem like fun but it’s really hard to do. I mean, I have to get the right streamers and make sure they match the confetti. Then I gotta get the right party games and balloons. And don’t get me started on choosing whether to bring cupcakes or regular cake. Somepony even suggested I bring a quiche! I mean, who brings a quiche to a welcome par-?
Whoops I’m doing it again, sorry. I just wanted to say that I’m sorry for making you upset earlier. I know everypony either doesn't like you, or are scared of you because of what happened with the Princesses that night we found you, but I also know it’s not your fault. I would be pretty mad if I was all alone without my friends, and there were a bunch of ponies being angry at me for no reason. But I guess I’d be mostly sad though. I’m sure you’re feeling pretty sad right about now, missing your family and friends, not knowing whether or not you’ll ever see them again. I just wanted you to know that if you ever needed cheering up, just call old Pinkie, and I’ll have you smiling in a jiffy. Or, if you just want to talk, tell me! Cuz I love to talk.
Your new friend,
Pinkie Pie
P.S. I know how much you liked them the first time, so I left you a little surprise in the fridge.
After reading it, Jorge continued staring at the card’s message, unable to move. Under the note there was a small, felt Pinkie Pie stapled next to a little felt picture of Jorge’s helmet, with the words ‘New BFF’ under it. He gently placed the card on the coffee table of his new living room, and entered the kitchen. The human opened the fridge, and saw a pink cardboard box with a post-it note that read ‘For Jorgie’ sitting on one of the shelves. He carefully picked up the box, and opened it. Jorge couldn’t help but chuckle.
Az az őrült rózsaszin ló...
Inside the box was a baker’s dozen of strawberry cupcakes.
A loud, shrill ringing echoed throughout the room, signaling the end of the school day. As if on cue, dozens of voices exploded in the room, each one anxious to be heard above the din. A piercing snapping noise cracked the air, silencing the ruckus. Multiple pairs of eyes all turned to the front of the room, to face the source of the noise. There, standing in front of a wooden desk and blackboard, was a purple earth pony with three smiling flowers on her flank. This pony stared at the children in front of her with a stern expression and a ruler in her mouth, annoyed at the loud interruption. Just as quickly as the commotion was silenced, the mare’s strict features were replaced by a warm smile.
“Now,” began the purple pony. “As I was saying, your homework assignment this week will be to interview somepony in town.”
A white pegasus colt with a brown mane raised his hoof.
“Yes Featherweight?”
“What should we ask Miss Cheerilee?”
“Good question,” praised the teacher. She picked up a stack of papers in her mouth, and began passing them out to the class. “Here is a list of five questions that you must ask your interviewee. Then you are free to ask another five questions of your choice.”
“Um…what if we can’t think of another five questions?” asked Featherweight nervously.
“Oh Featherweight, you’re a bright young colt. I’m sure you could think of five questions to ask. Think of it as training for your new position as head of the school paper.”
The young pegasus stared at his paper dejectedly, and gulped.
“Class dismissed,” announced Cheerilee happily.
The children all packed their things, and filed out of the schoolhouse. The sun was bright, the day was young, and the air was filled with the chattering of young voices, each one eagerly asking another who they were planning to interview. Off to the side, away from the herd of excited fillies and colts, three young fillies were walking together towards the town. As they passed through the village square, the young girls discussed their plans for the weekend.
“So what are we going to do for our cutie-marks this week?” asked a white unicorn.
“Uh, Sweetie Belle, ah think we got more important thangs tah worry ‘bout than our cutie-marks.” answered a yellow earth pony.
“What!?” yelled an orange pegasus. “Apple Bloom, what could possibly be more important than our cutie-marks? Did you forget that we’re the Cutie-Mark Crusaders?”
Apple Bloom rolled her eyes. “Ah know Scootaloo. But ah just think that we should be figurin’ out what we’re gonna do for that interview Miss Cheerilee’s makin’ us do.”
“Pffft big deal,” said Scootaloo with a dismissive wave of her hoof. “I’ve got that all figured out, guess who I’m gonna interview.”
Sweetie Belle and Apple Bloom looked at each other, before staring flatly at their friend. “Rainbow Dash,” they deadpanned simultaneously.
Scootaloo looked briefly surprised, before mumbling something under her breath.
“Well ah don’t know who ah’m gonna interview,” said Apple Bloom with a hint of despair in her voice. “And ah need a good grade on this project. You should’a heard mah sister when she found out ah failed last week’s quiz.”
“So you're just gonna ditch us?” accused Scootaloo. “How are we supposed to get our cutie-marks if we can’t go crusading!?”
“We don’t have tah go crusadin’ all the time Scoots.”
“Not unless you want to get your cutie-mark you don’t.”
While both her friends continued to bicker and argue among themselves, Sweetie just watched in confusion.
“That’s not fair! Ah do wanna get it. Ah just wanna be able tah do other thangs as well,” explained Apple Bloom.
“Guys.”
“Have you even thought of us? We can’t go crusading without you. Do you want us to stay blank flanks forever?”
“Guys!”
“Of course not! How could you say that Scootaloo? Ah want mah cutie-mark just as badly as you do.”
“Well it sure doesn’t seem like it!”
“GUYS!!!”
Both Apple Bloom and Scootaloo tore their eyes away from each other, and looked towards their irritated companion. “What!?” they both asked at the same time.
“What if we use our projects to get our cutie-marks as interviewers?”
Both the earth pony and the pegasus stared curiously at their friend.
“Uh…Sweetie Belle, we already tried that when we worked for the school paper,” pointed out Scootaloo.
“Yeah, and that didn’t exactly end well,” muttered Apple Bloom.
“But we didn’t interview anyone. We just wrote stories about them.”
Both of Sweetie Belle’s companions looked at each other, and rubbed their chins ponderously, before breaking out into large grins.
“CUTIE-MARK CRUSADERS, PROFESIONAL INTERVIEWERS YAY!!!” shouted the three fillies in perfectly synchronized unison, startling, and even temporarily deafening, passersby.
“But who should we interview?” asked Scootaloo.
“Not Rainbow Dash!” replied both Sweetie Belle and Apple Bloom, leaving Scootaloo to pout angrily to herself.
The three fillies began brainstorming ideas about who they should interview. Each had their own suggestions. Sweetie Belle and Apple Bloom naturally proposed their sisters, while Scootaloo, not surprisingly, suggested Rainbow Dash despite her companions’ demands. The three fillies argued for nearly half an hour, each one adamant about interviewing their chosen pony, but none of them willing to do the project on their own. Finally, they decided to pick a completely different pony, someone they were unaffiliated with. But the question remained: Who would they interview? The three ponies continued thinking about any possible candidates, none of them really conceding on who it should be.
After another couple of minutes of thinking, Apple Bloom spotted a newspaper on a bench with a headline that caught her eye. The filly approached the paper, and read the cover; a smile immediately spreading across her face. “Girls, ah think ah found our pony.”
Scootaloo and Sweetie Belle approached their friend curiously, and looked at the paper she was pointing at.
Humans Exist!!!
A Human, said to be sentient, residing in the local town of Ponyville as a guest of The Throne. Sends Equestria and the world into an uproar!
The story went on to talk about the ramifications that the confirmation of humans’ existence was having in Equestria and its neighbors. It also briefly mentioned the little information about the human that was released at the press conference, and discussed the possibility of the existence of other mythological creatures like sea-ponies or platypuses. This however, was inconsequential to the three fillies, who were still focusing on the headline.
“Apple Bloom, you’re a genius!” shouted Scootaloo, immediately understanding where the earth pony was going with this. “We’ll just interview the pony who wrote this story!”
“That’s a great idea!” agreed Sweetie Belle.
“Yeah, imagine what Miss Cheerilee will say when we tell her we interviewed a famous reporter,” said Apple Bloom. “What’s his name?”
Sweetie Belle examined the paper. “It says here that her name is Pen Stroke, and that she…” Sweetie Belle’s face contorted into a frown, before her head drooped down. “It says she lives in Canterlot,” she murmured.
“Shoot!” cursed Scootaloo. “Now what are we going to do?”
Apple Bloom gazed back at the newspaper, trying to think of a solution to their predicament. Just as quickly as it had left, her grin reappeared. “Ah know! What if we just interview this here human feller they’re talkin’ ‘bout in the papers?”
Her friends’ reactions were almost immediate. Scootaloo paled visibly, and stared at her yellow companion like she had gone mad, while Sweetie Belle just looked at Apple Bloom with confusion.
“Um…didn’t Miss Cheerilee say that we had to interview a pony?” asked the white unicorn.
“Well, says here he’s senti…sentu…he can talk, and that he’s stayin’ near Ponyville. Ah don’t see why she wouldn’t let us interview him.”
“B-b-but wouldn’t it b-b-be dangerous,” stammered Scootaloo.
“Naw, I heard mah sister mention somethin’ ‘bout him last night. I didn’t hear her say nothin’ about him bein’ dangerous,” assured Apple Bloom. “Besides, why would he be?”
Scootaloo gazed at her friend as if she had said the dumbest thing in the world. Before she could respond, Sweetie Belle cut her off.
“Scootaloo, are you…scared?”
The effect on the little orange filly was instant. She flared her wings in anger and glared at the white unicorn. “Of course I’m not scared! I’m not scared of anything. I was just…uh…worried that you guys might be scared. Yeah, that’s it!”
Both Apple Bloom and Sweetie Belle glanced at each other uncertainly.
“If you say so,” said Apple Bloom. “So anyways, we should start thinkin’ of things to ask. An alien! This is gonna be so awesome.”
“Yeah,” concurred Sweetie. “Cutie-Mark Crusaders, alien investigators!”
Both she and the yellow filly continued on their way, both excitedly discussing their homework assignment and what each thought the mysterious human would be like. Scootaloo however, did not follow suit. She stayed behind, and chewed on her hoof nervously as she watched her two friends leave. Thoughts of monsters and beasts raged in her head while she contemplated the prospect of having to confront the foreign creature. Realizing that she was being unwittingly left behind by her friends, Scootaloo pushed these thoughts out of her mind, and ran to catch up with them.
“H-hey, wait for me!” she cried out as she scurried after the other Crusaders.
Jorge stood up. He sat back down. He stood up again, and paced around the room. After of few minutes of doing this, he sat back down on the green armchair. He sifted his weight, trying to find a comfortable position, but quickly realized that it was useless in his armor. He stood up again, and moved over to the fireplace. He lazily poked the fire, and added an extra log to make sure that it wouldn’t go off, not realizing that it was the third log he had added in the last five minutes. He sat back down, this time on the couch, and looked around the living room of his new home. It was stylish, elegant, and, above all else, cozy.
It was completely alien to him.
He stood up a fourth time and walked to the book shelf that stood next to the fireplace. Picking out a book at random, he absent-mindedly flipped through the pages, not even looking at its contents, before putting it back where he had gotten it from. He was about to sit back down, maybe try one of the wooden chairs next to the dining table, when he decided against it. Instead, he made his way to the kitchen to grab something to drink. He opened the fridge, and pulled out a bottle of some sort of soda. He popped the cap off with his thumb, and took a sip. Jorge grimaced as the intensely sweet flavor assaulted his taste buds. He drained the bottle down the sink, and threw it away. Choosing to simply make some tea instead, the Spartan filled a kettle with water, and turned on the stove.
After the ponies showed him his new house/clock-tower and left, Jorge, despite his better judgment, decided to try one of the cupcakes Pinkie had left him. He was surprised to find that it was much less sweet than the first batch he had tried, and that it was wholly pleasant to eat. More than pleasant actually. It was probably the best pastry he had ever had, so much so that he ate another three on the spot. After enjoying the snack, Jorge examined some of the appliances in the kitchen. Most he was able to recognize, despite the fact that they were hundreds of years obsolete by his standards, while with others, he had to determine their use through trial and error. By the end of the day, he had figured out how to turn on the oven, the microwave, some sort of espresso machine, and the blender. The only thing he had trouble with was the dishwasher, and after nearly an hour of tinkering with the buttons and commands, Jorge just gave up, and went to bed without bothering to take his armor off.
Now, after recently waking up the next morning, he opened the cabinet, and pulled out a tea pack. He was relieved yesterday to find that, like with the rest of his home, the Princess had cut no corners in trying to make sure he had a pleasant stay. The cabinet was stocked with dozens of different kinds of teas, including his favorite: jasmine. As he pulled out the tea-bag, the soldier heard the kettle whistle, indicating that the water had boiled and was ready to go. He opened another cabinet that was right over the sink, to reveal a large collection of fine china. He selected an expertly crafted tea cup, and poured the scalding water into it. As nice as the decorated cup was, Jorge couldn’t help but miss the aluminum mugs that he was accustomed to drinking out of.
As he dipped the bag into the water, the Spartan began to hear a rather loud commotion coming from outside. Ignoring the noises, he poured some cream into his tea, stirred gently, and walked back into the living room. He sat down on the armchair, and breathed in the enticing aroma of his warm drink. Sighing contently, Jorge brought the cup to his lips, and was about to take a sip, when a loud knocking on his door interrupted him. A growl of irritation gurgled from the back of his throat. He set his tea down and reluctantly walked towards the front door. He could hear almost a dozen voices outside but could not recognize any of them. He opened the door, and immediately regretted doing so.
As soon as the door swung open, Jorge was deafened by the shouts of what sounded like hundreds of voices screaming at him simultaneously. He tried to get a look at the source of the noise but was blinded by dozens of bright flashes, immediately making him regret not wearing his helmet. Jorge recoiled from the light and rubbed his eyes, while his ears continued to ring with screams. After a few seconds, he turned back and squinted to avoid the flashes that kept erupting around him. What he saw left him absolutely dumbstruck.
In front of him, standing right outside his new home, was a sea of ponies. Some had notebooks, some had out-of-date cameras that flashed in his eyes, and others even had what appeared to be old looking filming equipment and recording tapes, but one thing they all had in common was that they were all staring at the Spartan, trying to get his attention. Jorge also spotted a few pegasi flying over him, along with some half-lion half-eagle creatures which he assumed were griffons. Before Jorge could fully register the extent of the scene in front of him, he had at least a dozen recorders and cameras shoved in his face by some of the ‘luckier’ ponies. These overzealous Equestrians got close enough that he was forced to take a step back. He was also able to hear a few of the questions they were shouting at him:
“To what extent is your species invading!?”
“Are you affiliated with the spirit of chaos, Discord!?”
“Are you aware of the minotaur’s demands for your immediate execution!?”
“Where does your species reside!?”
“Equestria Daily requests an exclusive interview with you! We’ll pay anything!”
“Have you at any point in your life consumed pony flesh!?”
“Modern Manehattenite Magazine wishes for an interview as well! We shall double anything Equestria Daily offers you!”
“Are any of those myths about your people even remotely accurate!?”
“The Las Pegasus Times will triple anything those alliterating pricks at Modern Manehattenite Magazine are willing to pay!”
“How do you respond to the rumors that you are currently having an affair with Princess Celestia!?”
And that was just from a couple of ponies in front of him. He couldn’t even make out half of the shouts coming from the tidal wave of noise that was crashing against his ailing ears.
This was not the first time Jorge had been the center of an inquiry by the media. Whenever war journalists covered a story on the front, they always attempted to get an interview with one of the fabled Spartans. But no matter how many times Jorge had been harassed by reporters, it had never been to the degree he was currently experiencing. There must have been hundreds of ponies on his doorstep.
When did this happen!? He asked himself as he stared at the mob.
The soldier was utterly overwhelmed. He tried to shout over the chaos, but it was no use. He was tempted to fire a round in the air, but he doubted that it would have been heard; besides he had to save ammo. The thought of just shooting a few of the ponies to scare the rest briefly entered his mind, but it was immediately smothered and crushed without hesitation. That would have been completely insane, and Jorge was no madman.
Still, Jorge was rapidly growing desperate. The mass of bodies pushed against his armor, threatening to overtake him and flow into the clock tower. He held his ground but of few of the journalists were actually trying to squeeze between him and the doorway, no doubt in an attempt to get a peek at what a human’s home would look like. Through it all the flashes never ceased, and the cries never faltered. Finally, left with little choice, the human retreated back into his home, and shut the door before the ponies could get through. A few of the more diehard reporters desperately tried to force their way in before the soldier could close the entrance, but they were no match for Jorge’s herculean strength. As soon as the door clicked shut and was locked, the chaos stopped abruptly. Jorge stood in the silent room, with no sound other than his breathing. It was a complete shift in environment from just a few mere seconds ago.
Jorge said the only thing that came to mind:
“That’s one hell of a door.”
Jorge was left staring at the slab of oak in front of him, completely baffled at what had just transpired. The Spartan was snapped out of his dazed state by another flash going off. He looked over to his right, only to see a handful of photographers pressing against his window, taking as many photos as possible. Jorge rushed towards the window, and shut the curtains. No sooner did he do so however, that he started hearing a loud tapping coming from the other side of the room. He turned around and saw that a more reporters had gathered against a window on the adjacent wall, and were trying to get his attention.
Doing the only thing he could think of, Jorge quickly closed the curtains of every window in the house. He stood in the center of his living room, looking at his front door with unease. After a few minutes of silence, the weary soldier slumped onto his couch, and rubbed his eyes.
What the fuck?
“What in tarnation?”
Applejack had slept very well last night. After leaving the restaurant and going back to the farm, she spent the rest of the day bucking apple trees, and trying to explain to Big Macintosh and Granny Smith why Jorge was going to work with them for a few days. Mac was clearly upset by the news, and voiced his thoughts that it was a crazy and stupid idea. He was however overruled by his sister when she mentioned that it was Luna’s idea, and begrudgingly conceded.
The real problem was Granny Smith. The old mare was a superstitious sort, so when she had heard that a human was coming to the farm she grabbed as much garlic as she could and locked herself in her room. Applejack tried to coax her to come out. She tried explaining that Jorge wasn’t going to harm them, but that didn’t work. She tried bribing her with a homemade apple pie, but that didn’t work either. Finally, the fed up cowpony just ranted about how senile Granny Smith was being, and how garlic only worked on vampires (although she made a note to ask Jorge whether he could eat garlic, just in case).
After yelling at the old mare’s bedroom door for the better part of an hour, Applejack went to bed. She woke up the next morning full of energy and much needed vigor. She went downstairs to eat breakfast, but was disappointed to see that Granny Smith was still barricaded within her bedroom. That didn’t dampen Applejack’s mood though. She was so excited to get her barn repaired that as she walked towards the clock tower she had a slight spring in her step. As she neared the human’s new home however, her good mood began to wane as anxiety lurked into the back of her mind. She had no idea whether Jorge would still be willing to go through with the Princess’s absurd plan, and that uncertainty put her on edge.
Once she climbed a final hill before the tower, all worry and nervousness was bucked violently out of her mind to make way for another emotion: confusion.
Which brings us back to the present.
“What in tarnation?” repeated Applejack. Before her was a massive cluster of white tents, all erected around a very distinct clock tower that stood in the center of the ocean of fabric. Ponies of all shapes and sizes were wandering around the campsite, going about their business. The orange earth pony noticed that most of them were separated into groups, and that each pony had either a camera or a notepad in their hoofs. She looked up to see numerous pegasai and griffins fluttering in the sky, building makeshift cloud housing over the humbler accommodations on the ground.
Applejack decided to continue on her way and hope that she could squeeze through the crowd of ponies. But the more she pushed through the camp grounds, the thicker the multitude of bodies got. Finally, she was able to find a small clearing in the tent city to catch her breath.
Since when did all these ponies get here!?
“Uh…pardon me,” she asked to a grey colt with a brown fedora who was standing nearby. “Ah don’t mean tah bother you, but do you know wha-”
“NO! I don’t know anything about him. Go pester someone else you bottom feeding parasite!”
“EXCUSE ME!?!” cried Applejack. “Ya’ll better take that back before ah buck you inta next week, you hear!”
The stallion turned around and was about to tell Applejack to buzz off, but stopped short when he got a good look at her. “Wait, you don’t look like a reporter.”
“Reporter? What the hay are you talkin’ ‘bout!?”
“Shoot, sorry about that. I’ve been getting harassed by all these reporters all day, and I thought you were another one of them.”
Applejack’s face softened. “It’s all right. Just uh mistake is all.”
“Thanks,” replied the journalist with a smile. “So what can I help you with? Are you from the town?”
“Yup,” answered the cowpony proudly. “Ah just wanted tah ask you what the deal with all these tents is.”
“What, you haven’t heard? We’re all journalists, camping out here to try and get some info on the biggest story of the millennium. Although, I haven’t been getting much luck.” The stallion sighed. “That’s what I get for working for a crummy magazine like Podium Digest.”
“Never heard of it.”
“Nopony has,” muttered the grey pony miserably. “And we can’t afford to compete with some of these other magazines. Do you have any idea how valuable an exclusive interview with a living human would be?”
“Human…you mean Jorge?”
The reporter’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. He slowly rotated his head to meet with the apple farmer eye-to-eye. “D-do…do you know th-the human,” he stuttered anxiously, loud enough to get the attention of some of the nearby journalists. Soon their whispering attracted even more ponies, who in turn spread the word even farther.
“Uh…” Applejack slowly backed away from the approaching reporters. She recognized the look in their eyes. It was a horrifying expression that nopony should ever have to see, but Applejack happened to have witnessed it more times than she cared to admit. It was exactly the same look Twilight would get when she had one of her ‘episodes.’ It was a look of disconnection, a look of a total abandonment of inhibition, and the onset of irrational determination. The news that there was a pony in the camp who knew the mysterious human shot through the grounds like electricity, and before long every journalist, columnist, correspondent, reporter, photographer, and film-crew within a three kilometer radius was hungrily approaching the orange mare.
Not surprisingly, Applejack quickly came to the conclusion that she had bucked up.
What then occurred could be described as both hilarious and horrifying at the same time. Hilarious in the sense that it was amusing to see Applejack practically have to beat back reporters with a stick to avoid getting mobbed by the rabid crowd, and horrifying because at one point she got a hold of a two by four and literally beat them back with a stick, breaking snouts and ribs in an effort to keep the crazed ponies back (although, in retrospect, this could also be construed as humorous). Then again, had she not resorted to such a desperate measure, the cowpony would have most likely have been trampled to death. On the plus side, this event would turn Applejack into a minor celebrity. As the next morning, newspapers all over Equestria would feature a rather well shot photo of the cowpony beating the snot out of a particularly insistent stallion. The amateur photographer who took said photo would go on to become one of Equestria’s most prominent photo journalists, opening art galleries all over the country.
After Applejack spent over twenty minutes fighting back wave after wave of reporters, her weapon had snapped, and she was absolutely exhausted. Her fatigue left her somewhat disoriented, which wasn’t helped by constant flashes exploding from the cameras all around her. Despite this however, she managed to fight her way to Jorge’s home.
OH, THANK CELESTIA!
She rushed up to the front door, and knocked it as hard as she could. “JORGE, OPEN THE DANG DOOR NOW!!!”
Whether or not the Spartan responded, or even heard, Applejack couldn’t tell. Everyone around her was still yelling. The distressed apple farmer turned around to face the mob. The ponies had completely surrounded their prey, and were now closing in. Realizing that she was out of time, Applejack did the only thing she could think of: She bucked the door like she had never bucked before.
The door burst inward, and the orange mare immediately rushed into the tower as fast as she could. Her aggressors followed close behind, and when she tried to shut the entrance, she was impeded by over a dozen bodies pushing against the slab of wood in a desperate attempt to pass the threshold. Applejack pushed back with all her might and, after a few seconds of grunting, was able to close the door. Finding the first thing she could get her hoofs on, the earth pony grabbed a nearby bookcase, and pushed it against the doorway to make sure nopony got in.
Once this was done, Applejack collapsed onto the floor. She laid there for a few minutes, panting and wheezing from her recent excursion. Once she had caught her breath, she turned around to survey the new house. There, sitting on a couch and sipping a cup of tea, was Jorge. The Spartan stared at Applejack with one of his eyebrows raised, and an amused expression on his face. He raised his head, and looked up at his now barricaded front door.
“Come in,” he called out.
Applejack rubbed the back of her neck and chuckled sheepishly. “Sorry ‘bout that. Ah had some trouble with the…uh…neighbors.”
Jorge’s face contorted like he had bit into something foul. “What do you want?” he asked gruffly.
“Its yer first day of work, so ah’d though ah’d come and remind you.”
“Aw, I’m touched,” answered Jorge sarcastically. “Unfortunately, unless you can think of a way to make everyone outside magically disappear, I think we may have some trouble getting past the ‘neighbors’.”
Applejack pushed aside the curtains of one of the windows. “How long have they been out there?”
“Since this morning,” replied Jorge as he finished his tea.
“Well, judgin’ from their camp, looks like they’re gonna be there fer a while. Better get this over with.”
“That’s your plan?” asked Jorge incredulously. “‘Let’s get this over with?’ Do you really expect me to go out there?”
Applejack’s eyes narrowed. “You have tah. Princess’ orders.”
Jorge stood up and walked over to the glaring cowpony, who suddenly had all her confidence sapped out of her by the imposing human looking down at her.
“Let’s get one thing clear,” growled Jorge. “I do not take orders from any of you ponies. Especially not from that incompetent Princess of yours. Understood?”
“Uh…then why are you willing tah…you know…still come and help?”
The Spartan snorted in contempt. “Ever hear of the expression ‘tit for tat?’”
“What fer what?”
“It basically means that I shouldn’t piss off the magical horse thing that can send me back home. And if going along with her silly, random, and just plain stupid plan for compensation is what will keep me from doing that, then I suppose that’s what I’ve got to do.”
“Well…okay then,” muttered Applejack. “As long as you come, then I’ve got no interests in yer motivation.”
Applejack walked towards the front door, and cleared away the improvised barricade. Jorge grabbed his helmet and slipped it on before joining the pony at the door.
“This is going to be fun,” he sighed. Szarba... I could use some Active Camo or the Hologram right about now. Mi a fos, még az átkozott Jetpack is jól jönne most. Hogy tudna most az armor lock segiteni nekem most?
Applejack turned the doorknob, and looked back at Jorge. “You ready?”
The human shrugged. “I’ve faced worse. Besides, like is said, it might be fun.”
It wasn’t.
Releasing Jorge into the mass of reporters was the equivalent of dropping a bleeding cow into a tank of starving piranhas. There was a feeding frenzy. All it took was one moron screaming ‘there it is!’, and in less than two seconds Jorge and Applejack were swarmed by rabid journalists and photographers. It was as if hundreds of flash-bangs were going off continuously in their faces. Had Jorge not been wearing his helmet he would not have been able to see or hear a thing. Applejack meanwhile, was not as lucky. Seeing that his companion was completely overwhelmed by all the attention, and was actually in danger of being injured, Jorge picked up the orange pony, who screamed in surprise, and carried her in one of his massive arms. Using his mammoth size and strength, the Spartan began plowing through the wall of bodies in front of him. It was like walking through liquid concrete, and the human could barely move forward with so many ponies amassed around him.
The ponies tried to keep up with Jorge, and for a while it seemed like he would have to travel the rest of the way surrounded by ravenous reporters. But one thing about the journalism industry that few ponies know about is that competition is quite stiff in the media. And by stiff, it’s meant that hoof fights (and the occasional kidnapping) have broken out over the rights to a particularly juicy story; and when one gets a few hundred reporters together in front of the juiciest story since Luna’s banishment, hilarity is the last thing to ensue. The crowd soon became a storm of flying hoofs and flailing limbs as ponies tried to literally beat others off their prize. The freelancer journalists didn’t stand a chance, and were quickly overwhelmed by the violent outbreak. The news teams on the other hand, banded together into makeshift tribes, and were quick to gain the upper hand in the fight. The event, which would eventually be dubbed the ‘Great Reporter Riot of Ponyville’ (not to be confused with the slightly less great reporter riots the town had hosted), would be studied by anthropologists, sociologists, and psychologists for years to come. In fact, the riot would be the main subject of Aperture Shot’s first major gallery, who happens to be the amateur photographer that was mentioned earlier.
The infighting between the different news venues and journalists soon escalated to the point where most stopped caring about Jorge, and were more concerned with wailing on each other. This allowed the Spartan to eventually break free from the mass of bodies that surrounded him. As soon as he did so, Jorge disengaged his armor’s motion restrictors, and sprinted as fast as he could in a random direction. The few reporters that weren’t caught in the chaos of the brawl tried to chase the human, but were no match for his speed.
After a minute of continuous sprinting, Jorge gradually slowed down, and came to a stop just inside the Everfree. He looked around briefly to make sure that no one had managed to follow them, before putting a very frazzled Applejack back down on the ground.
“W-wow. Y-y-yer v-v-very f-f-fast,” the farmer stuttered as she tried to stand upright. “But d-d-did you really need t-tah pick me up?”
“You were about to get trampled,” replied Jorge.
“Well, thanks. Who knows what them lunatics coulda done.”
“Don’t mention it. So how are we going to get to your farm?”
“We’re not that deep inside the forest,” explained Applejack. “Ah think ah can get us there in no time.”
Applejack led the Spartan through the thick cluster of trees. The two quickly made it to the edge of the woods, and back onto one of the many dirt roads that lined the town. Jorge however, insisted that they stay within the cover of the canopy, to avoid any of the obsessive reporters that were no doubt on the prowl for the now famous human. Applejack waved him off as being paranoid, but no sooner did she do so that a group of pegasai flew over brandishing cameras and interrogating nearby ponies if they had seen the tall biped go by. The cowpony remained silent after that, as she and her alien companion trudged sullenly through the forest, making sure to stay within a close distance to the road. Before long, the trees gave way to meadow, and the pair was met with a white wooden fence. On the other side of said fence, lay acres upon acres of apple trees for as far as the eye could see.
“Whew, made it,” breathed Applejack in relief.
“Let’s just get this over with,” grumbled Jorge.
Both crossed through onto the Apple family plantation, and made their way through the rows of timbers until the family home came into view. Jorge could see a red pony with a yellow/orange mane, and a green apple on his flank pulling a cart to the nearby barn. As he got closer to the stallion in question, Jorge noticed that the he was a much larger pony than most of the others he had seen.
“There’s Big Macintosh. Come on, I’ll introduce you.”
The two approached the red pony, who was obliviously and happily tugging a cart full of old farming equipment into the barn. “Hey, Big Mac!” The stallion turned around to face his sister with a small smile on his face. That smile was quickly replaced with scowl as the Apple farmer clenched his teeth on the straw of hay he had been chewing.
“Hey there big brother,” called out Applejack as she galloped up to him. She nuzzled him in greeting, not noticing his taut muscles, which had tensed at the sight of the rapidly approaching behemoth. “Here, ah want tah introduce you tah someone. This here is Jorge. He’s gonna be helpin’ on the farm fer a little while. Jorge, this is mah brother Big Macintosh; strongest pony this side uh Ponyville. ‘Sides me of course,” she added with a chuckle.
Jorge extended his hand in greeting. “Pleasure.”
Big Mac looked at the hand being offered to him with narrowed eyes, before looking up and glaring at the human. “Ah’ve gotta go,” he spat, before unhitching the cart from his back, and heading back towards the house.
Applejack bit her lip anxiously as she and her human companion watched her brother storm off towards the house. Once the front door of the Apple’s home had been slammed shut by the disgruntled stallion, Jorge looked down towards the orange mare.
“I must say Applejack, your brother is quite a charmer,” he said mirthlessly.
“He’s just…tired, is all.”
“A lot of ponies are getting tired around me lately.”
“Let’s just focus on getting you tah work, okay?”
Jorge scanned the apple trees. “So what, are you going to have me pick apples or something?”
Applejack burst out in laughter. “Course not,” she said with a wave of her hoof. “Could you imagine a human buckin’ apples. That’s just plain ridiculous...”
Yes, because that’s what would be ridiculous about this situation, thought Jorge bitterly.
“…Naw, yer just gonna help build a new barn,” explained Applejack nonchalantly.
Jorge eyed the barn in front of him. “It seems fine to me.”
“’cept fer the big hole in the back that you made. So, instead of just repairin’ it, ah though we might as well tear this down and build a new one.”
“How long is this going to take?”
“As long as it has to,” answered Applejack sternly. “Now all we need to do it wait for Rainbow Dash to come and tear down the old barn like last time.” Applejack cast an angry glance towards the sky. “That girl’s always forgettin’ about this sort uh thing. Who knows how long it’ll take tah get her lazy flank down here.”
“I’m not waiting to find out,” said Jorge as he marched towards the red structure.
“Where the hay are you goin’?”
Instead of answering the farmer, Jorge positioned himself in front of the barn’s entrance, bent down slightly, and disengaged his armor’s motion restrictors for a second time that day, before breaking into sprint towards the wooden building. The Spartan widely ignored Applejack’s confused cried, and by the time he reached the barn he was running at over fifty kilometers per hour. Needless to say, he burst through the thin wooden wall like it was air. Shards of wood flew in every direction as he redirected himself to hit the load bearing portions of the architecture. Bit by bit, the interior of the barn became covered with shattered wood as the Spartan continued to tear it apart. The building groaned in protest before collapsing in on itself and on the human that was still inside.
Applejack could only stare in horror as the barn fell on her companion. She shielded her eyes from the cloud of dust that rose from the ceiling’s impact, and coughed a bit from some inhaled dirt. After rubbing her teary eyes, she gazed upon the pile of red and white timber that had once been her barn. Spear-like, shattered two by fours jutted dangerously from the pile, and the western wall, which astoundingly had still managed to stay up, finally fell on top of the pile of rubble from lack of support. Once the final portion of the barn had fallen, a silence permeated across the farm stead. The only noise that could be heard was the ruffling of nearby leaves in the wind, and the windmill, which squeaked every time it rotated.
The orange cowpony stared at the pile of wood, praying that something would move. The debris however, remained still.
“Jorge?” she called out hesitantly, still unable to believe what had happened. No one responded.
“JORGE!?” Applejack rushed towards the wreckage as fast as she could, and began desperately digging through the wood. “Jorge! Jorge, can you hear me!?”
Just as she was in the middle of pulling away a rather large beam of wood, part of the rubble began to shake. The debris gave way to a large figure rising out of the wreckage, almost giving Applejack a heart-attack. The farmer looked up at the dark figure, only to see a familiar Spartan casually wiping of a few stray splinters from his shoulders.
“Yes?” he asked insouciantly.
Applejack’s mouth opened and closed without emitting any sound, while her wide eyes pierced Jorge. “T-t-that’s…s-some armor you g-got there,” she finally stammered.
“Thank you. So now what?”
Applejack looked back towards the debris that was formerly her barn. “I honestly thought takin’ this down would take longer,” she admitted. “Ah well. I guess we kin get started on buildin’ the frames and then set up th-”
The cowpony was cut off by a bright flash of light, and a popping noise. Both she and Jorge turned towards the orchard to see a group of lenses, sticking out of one of the apple trees. Worst of all, a large swarm of reporters could be seen in the distance heading towards the farm at an alarming speed. Applejack however, was more worried with those who were already in her farm.
“What the hay!” she exclaimed furiously. ‘They can’t come here. This here’s private property!”
She was just about to go and tell the not so inconspicuous journalists that they were trespassing, when Jorge calmly stepped ahead of her, and marched towards the tree they were hiding in. The Spartan opened and closed his hand over and over again, and his muscles were all tight with rage. The journalists, oblivious to the fact that they had pissed off a seven foot tall super soldier, continued to snap pictures of the human as if their life depended on it. Somewhat ironic, considering the circumstances.
When Jorge got to the base of the tall timber, he looked up towards the branches to see at least half a dozen photographers taking dozens of pictures of him. The Spartan looked down at the trunk of the tree, raised his leg, and kicked it as hard as he could. With a sickening snap, the wood at the base of the tree splintered as a massive crack traveled around the trunk. A few of the reporters were thrown out of the branches, and hit the ground around the human. Those that stayed yelped and clung onto the branches as the massive timber leaned back before collapsing onto the ground, sending branches and apples flying in all directions. The reporters poked their heads out of the mass of leaves, and looked towards Jorge, who was glaring at them in rage.
“Leave…” he growled, before lifting his foot and stomping on the trunk of the fallen tree, causing it to burst “…now.”
The photographers all scrambled onto their hooves, and bolted from the enraged human at speeds that would impress the Wonderbolts. Jorge couldn’t help but feel a hint of satisfaction at watching the irksome journalists flee from him. Taking a deep, calming breath, the Spartan turned around to head back to the barn, but stopped when he saw Applejack walking towards him. However, instead of wearing an expression of gratitude that he would have expected, Applejack looked positively horrified. The cowpony slowly, almost numbly, stepped towards the fallen tree, and gazed upon it with sorrow.
“What did you do?” she asked with no emotion in her voice.
“I got rid of the photographers for you,” answered the Spartan.
Applejack looked at Jorge furiously. “You just destroyed mah tree!”
“So? It’s just a tree. This is a massive farm, you have plenty of them.”
Applejack could only gape at the giant in front of her. It was well known throughout the community that the farmer treated her trees almost like members of the Apple family, and to even suggest harming one of them was unprecedented. After a few seconds of mournfully staring at the fallen tree, Jorge’s words were finally registered. “Just a tree?” she mumbled in disbelief. “Just a tree!?!”
The cowpony marched up to the Spartan, all rational thoughts replaced with pure anger. “That ain’t ‘just a tree,’ that’s our livelihood! Do you know how much time, sweat and blood it took tah grow that one tree!? Do you think we got it good here? DO YOU!? We can barely afford tah buy Apple Bloom her Celestia damned school supplies! We’re swimmin’ in so much debt that it’s a wonder we’ve managed tah keep this farm, mah family’s farm, from bein’ foreclosed! And every time an idjit like you comes here with yer fancy suit, and knocks down one of our trees, somethin’ we grew with nothin’ but our hooves and hard work, we feel that!!! Ah don’t care if it takes you yer whole damn life, but you sure as spit are gonna work on this farm until you pay fer this tree and the barn, and anythang else you break. I don’t care if you never go home again! Got it!?!”
Jorge said nothing throughout Applejack’s rant. He just stared at the pony, his face growing grimmer with every word lashed at him. Once the farmer had finished chewing him out, and was staring at Jorge with a heavy breath, the Spartan began marching back across the orchard, away from the barn and the Apple family home.
“Where do you think yer goin’?”
Jorge didn’t answer, he just kept moving.
“Hey ah asked you a question!” Applejack rushed forward, and stood in front of the soldier. Jorge looked down at the apple farmer coolly, his face not betraying the ire and frustration he was feeling.
“I’m leaving,” he answered before resuming his journey.
“You can’t leave. Yer not done here.”
“Try and stop me,” challenged Jorge.
“You need tah compensate me fer mah property!” cried out Applejack furiously.
Jorge stopped dead in his tracks. His helmet was all that kept the orange pony from seeing the irritation in his eyes. “No,” he stated firmly. “I will not participate in the moronic and unjustified activity to compensate you for your losses. I don’t know why your foolish bitch of a Princess decided that it was a good idea to force…” Jorge practically sneered at the word ‘force.’ “…me to work on your farm to make up for my own kidnapping. But I refuse to be a part of this ridiculous and shoehorned plan of hers. So you can tell her to come and inform me when she has found a way back home. Until then, stay the fuck away from me.”
With that, Jorge headed back to his home, leaving Applejack to stand there and watch him go. Before he was able to exit the orchard, Jorge was swarmed by the heard of reporters. He just ignored them and continued moving, hoping that they would get the hint and go away. Sadly, Jorge was woefully ignorant on the subject of the psychology of journalists, and so for the entire journey back to his new home, he was badgered by the strange land’s inhabitants. Just when he was about to arrive home and find what he hoped would be respite from the flashes and constant inquiries, he was greeted with a familiar, yet unpleasant sight. The clock tower was still surrounded by the makeshift city of tents, and there were hundreds of ponies milling about the camp.
Jorge realized that the group that had been following him from the farm was nothing but a small part of a larger entity. Before he could react, the residents of the camp noticed his presence and rushed towards him. The amount of bodies pressing against him, the voices screaming, the constant flashes, it was all so suffocating. Not that the human was claustrophobic by any means, but to have hundreds of ponies shoving against him, shouting at him, it left Jorge disoriented. He tried telling them to stop, but his voice was lost in the noise. He tried getting to his front door, which was less than a hundred meters from him, but the density of the crowd was too much for him to push through. But the noise, the constant yelling, questioning, and overall discord of the situation were what got him the most. Finally, he had enough.
“SHUT UP!!!”
The ponies, not expecting the outburst, all jumped back and scrambled away from the upset soldier. They all stared at him nervously, not sure how an enraged human might behave. Jorge turned around and looked at the crowd of ponies in confusion. Honestly, he had not expected that to have an effect, demonstrating to him that perhaps he was more menacing to the ponies then he had given himself credit for.
His musings were cut short by a bright flash. Jorge looked down to see a fuchsia pegasus standing in front of him with a camera out, pointed directly at him. Unlike his companions, this stallion was either too stupid or too valiant to be deterred by the human (or both). Feeling another surge of anger boil in him, Jorge snapped his arm out, and quickly snatched the camera away from the pony. Before the photographer could protest, Jorge crushed it in his palms with a sickening *crunch,* turning it into a small ball of metal and plastic, and making the stallion pale.
The soldier dropped the crumpled piece of plastic in front of the pony, and looked up towards the crowd. “The next person to ask me a question or to take my damn picture will have more than just their camera broken. Understood?”
The reporters stared at Jorge, expressions ranging from nervousness to pure terror.
“UNDERSTOOD!?!”
In a similar scene to that of Sweet Apple Acres not more than twenty minutes ago, the ponies all rushed away from the Spartan as fast as they could. Once the stampede had cleared and the dust had settled, all that remained was a field full of trampled tents, and a few belongings that were left behind. Jorge knew that they would be back soon, but he pushed that thought out of his mind and savored the silence of the now empty pasture. With another satisfied huff, the soldier lumbered into his new, unwelcoming home, approached his window, and looked at Equestria for what he hoped would be the last time before closing the curtains.
“Come on girls, what’s takin’ you?”
“Slow down Apple Bloom, I’m getting tired.”
The Cutie-Mark Crusaders had spent the entire day after school thinking of how they were going to interview the town’s new resident. Apple Bloom and Sweetie Belle were so excited with the assignment and the idea of interviewing an alien that they had failed to notice that their orange companion was less enthused with the prospect. News of the human taking up residence in the clock tower had spread through the town like wildfire, and everypony in the village had pretty much decided to avoid that part of the town at all costs. The Crusaders on the other hand, had different plans.
Now, with a clear destination in mind, the Crusaders hiked up the hill towards said tower with the hopes of meeting the mysterious recluse that was Ponyville’s resident alien. Scootaloo however, lagged behind her two friends, chewing on her hooves nervously the entire way.
“Ah’m sorry Sweetie Belle,” said Apple Bloom as she slowed down for her tired friend. “Ah’m just so excited tah see this human feller. Imagine; we’ll be the first ponies ever tah interview a human! How neat is that?”
“Yeah…real n-neat,” mumbled Scootaloo absentmindedly.
“Are you okay Scootaloo? You’ve been acting funny lately,” observed Sweetie.
“I’m not scared!” blurted out the pegasus.
Apple Bloom and Sweetie Belle both stopped and stared worriedly at their friend. “Uh…I never said you were.”
“Well I’m not! Let’s just go okay.” With a huff, the orange filly marched ahead of her confused friends. The trio continued their journey without talking, with the exception of Scootaloo, who was angrily muttering to herself. The silence however, was eventually broken by Apple Bloom.
“Hey, is that…Featherweight?”
Off down the road, covered in sweat, and tugging some sort of primitive tape recorder, was a familiar looking white, brown maned pegasus. Featherweight was wearing a fedora that was two sizes too large, had a camera hanging around his neck, and was trying to pull the massive recorder up a small incline. The device was almost larger than the colt and was throwing up clouds of dust whenever the petit pony gave it a pull.
“Whatcha doin’!?”
“Gah!” The colt jumped a few feet in the air in surprise and landed on his face. He got up to find Sweetie Belle grinning at him. “Uh…nothing.”
“Why are you wearin’ that fancy hat?” asked Apple Bloom. “And why are you draggin’ this here recorder?”
“I’m…” Featherweight was cut off by the fedora falling over his eyes. With an annoyed grunt, he pushed it back on his head. “Stupid hat. I’m going to do my interview for school.”
“Who are you interviewing?” asked Scootaloo.
“Uh…you know…somepony,” laughed Featherweight nervously.
“We were gonna go interview our huma- pony too,” explained Apple Bloom. “And it’s gonna be the coolest, most awesome interview ever!”
“Really? Who are you guys going to interview?”
Before the young Apple could tell the junior reporter that was none of his beeswax, Sweetie Belle cut in. “We’re gonna interview that human everypony’s talking about!” exclaimed the unicorn smugly, causing her yellow friend to face-hoof.
“But you can’t! I’m going to interview the human!” blurted out Featherweight before he could stop himself.
Apple Bloom stared at Featherweight in surprise. She never would have thought that another pony would even think about interviewing the alien. “But we’re gonna interview him! We got here first.”
“Did not!”
“Did too!
“Did not!”
“Did too!”
“Did not times infinity!”
“Shoot!” cursed Apple Bloom in the face of such a persuasive argument. She needed a way to convince Featherweight to let them interview the withdrawn human instead of him. Fortunately, Apple Bloom came up with a plan that would do just that. It was daring, risky, and there was no guarantee that it would work; but if she pulled it off then they would be the ones talking to the alien. She prepared herself. What she had in store for Featherweight would require a high amount of precision and cunning. Apple Bloom would have to manipulate Featherweight in a way she had never thought possible, but all the same, she decided to go for it anyways. Taking a deep breath, the young Apple steeled her nerves.
“OH MAH GOSH!!! WHAT IS THAT,” she screamed, as she pointed to something behind the colt.
“What!?” The young pegasus turned around in fright.
“Run girls!” shouted Apple Bloom to her confused friends, before taking off towards the clock tower as fast as she could. Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo gave each other bewildered glances before following after their excited companion.
“Hey!” shouted Featherweight. He tried to run after the fillies but was held back by the massive recorder he was tied too. The colt chased the girls anyways; grunting, wheezing, and dragging the box behind him all the way. He realized that there was no way he could beat them to the human’s abode, but the pegasus was nothing if not persistent, and so he continued up the road regardless. When he finally got to the top of the last hill before the tower (a hill which he would come to loathe), he was surprised to see the Cutie-Mark Crusaders at the top, not moving.
“Hey, what are you…” the infuriated colt trailed off when he got a look at the tower.
“Whoa…” murmured Sweetie Belle.
Surrounding the tower, were hundreds of abandoned tents. Most were trampled and had become nothing more than pieces ripped of cloth and wood that had been left in the mud. A few however, were still erect, and were full of bags, notebooks, typewriters and other belongings, demonstrating the haste in which the residents left.
“Wow…what do you think this is?” asked Apple Bloom.
“Looks like some ponies were camping but disappeared,” murmured Featherweight, his anger at the CMC having dissipated. “What do you think Scootaloo?”
“I…I…I…” was all the trembling pegasus could utter. Her eyes had shrunk to the size of pinpricks, and her complexion had become pale.
“Do…do you think the human did this?”
The children stared nervously at the ghost town in front of them, each one glancing apprehensively at the now menacing clock tower. However, none were more nervous than Scootaloo, who was slowly backing away from her friends, hyperventilating in fear.
“Scootaloo, what are you doing?”
“W-we g-gotta get out of h-h-here,” replied the pegasus as she continued to back away. “We shouldn’t have come here.”
“Scootaloo,” said Apple Bloom, her voice laced with concern. “Are you sure yer not scared?”
Scootaloo’s eyes shifted between the other Crusaders and Featherweight. A battle was raging within her, between her pride and her fear. Eventually, pride gave in. “YES!!!” she screeched. “Okay, happy now? I’m scared. I’m a big, fat scaredy cat! But how are you guys not scared!?! There’s a human in there!”
“So?” asked Featherweight.
Scootaloo stared at him like he was a moron. “So? Don’t you know anything about humans? Their all monsters that eat foals, and you want to go talk to one!”
“What are you talkin’ about?” asked Apple Bloom, genuinely puzzled.
Her orange friend sighed in frustration. “Ever since I was little, my mom told me stories about knights going on adventures, rescuing princesses from monsters, all that junk.” Scootaloo blushed slightly, embarrassed that she had once enjoyed something so childish. “They were all sorts of monsters: Chimeras, Ursa Majors, Hydras, Dragons, and…Humans.” Her companion’s eyes widened in shock. “Haven’t your parents ever told you about humans?” asked Scootaloo.
“Well,” began Apple Bloom. “Now that you mention it, Granny Smith once told me a story about humans attackin’ a village when ah was little; and how a wizard used magic tah send them back tah Tartarus. But that’s just an old mare’s tale…right?”
“Of course not!” cried Scootaloo. “Look at all the tents! I bet that it ate all those ponies. Why do you think all their stuff’s still there?”
Apple Bloom couldn’t come up with a reason for it. Eventually it became obvious that the only rational explanation possible was that the mysterious alien had eaten hundreds of ponies without anypony finding out.
“Well!” announced the yellow filly. “Good luck with yer homework Featherweight. Ah’m gonna go interview Granny Smith. Hope ya’ll don’t get eaten!”
“Uh…” The white colt looked uncertainly at the rows of tents before him. Suddenly, the prospect of interviewing the human seamed all the more daunting to him. Still, the little aspiring journalist took a long gulp, and began to slowly descend the hill towards the empty camp grounds.
“Featherweight, where are you goin’.”
“I’m going to interview the human for Miss Cheerilee,” he replied, his voice conveying more confidence than he actually felt.
“What!? Ah was just kiddin’ Featherweight. You can’t be serious about seein’ this thang?”
“Yeah,” agreed Scootaloo, who was looking at the white colt with worry. “Don’t be stupid.”
Featherweight stopped, and stared out to the clock tower before him. He remained silent while the three girls behind him glanced questioningly at each other.
“My dad’s a reporter,” he said suddenly, while he continued gazing out in front of him. “Ever since I could remember, I’ve wanted to be just like him.” The young pegasus turned around to face the Crusaders. “He once told me that it was a reporter’s job to tell the truth. To find a story and tell it, no matter how dangerous it may be, because it’s their job…our job, to keep ignorance at bay. Ever since he told me that, I’ve wanted to be a reporter more than anything in the world. That’s why I have to do this.”
The Cutie-Mark Crusaders just stared at Featherweight, shocked that such a timid pony could conjure such a solemn and moving speech on the higher cause of something as mundane as an elementary school project. Featherweight motioned to head back down to the clock tower, when he was blindsided by something orange. He looked down to see Scootaloo giving him a bone crushing hug.
“That was so cool,” she said into his back. “You’re the bravest colt I’ve ever met.” Suddenly, Scootaloo realized what she was doing, and recoiled from Featherweight, blushing furiously. “I-I-I mean, good luck… uh…squirt.” She saw that Apple Bloom and Sweetie Belle were practically leering at her with deviously knowing smiles. “S-s-shut up!”
Featherweight, meanwhile, could not stop grinning stupidly, while a light blush tinting his cheeks. He didn’t know why, but he was suddenly feeling great. Soon his mind, which had been scrambled by Scootaloo’s hug, managed to get under control, and the result was that he was given an air of confidence. He looked at the Crusaders one last time, puffed his chest, raised his head, and resumed his march towards the alien’s home, dragging the burdensome recorder on the way. As self-assured as he appeared however, his thoughts were much less comforting:
Oh my gosh! Oh my gosh! Oh my gosh! Oh my gosh! Oh my gosh! OH MY GOSH!!! Featherweight you idiot! What the heck was that all about!? Where the hay did that whole speech come from!? Your dad’s a stinking food critic for Pete’s sakes! What does he know about risking your life for the sake of truth, or any of that nonsense!? Now you’re gonna get eaten by a monster! But you can’t turn back now. Oh no. If you do that then you’re going to look like a scaredy cat in front of Scootaloo! Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid…
While this was going on, the Cutie-Mark Crusaders were staring at Featherweight with a kind of morbid fascination, akin to the way a crowd would watch an execution. Apple Bloom couldn’t take the tension any longer. “Aw horse apples,” she swore. “What are we doin’ up here? Come on girls, we can’t just let him go down there and be eaten. We gotta go with him!”
Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo remained still however, both less then eager to join the colt. “Come on guys!” insisted the earth pony. “Scootaloo, you can’t just stand there and watch Featherweight get eaten. We gotta do somethang!”
Scootaloo’s eyes shifted between Featherweight and Apple Bloom judging gaze. “Fine,” she finally choked out. “Let’s go help him.”
“Come on Sweetie!”
“Uh…” The white unicorn was less sure than her companions, but followed anyways. Soon the Crusaders caught up with the colt, who was surprised to see them with him. He was relieved to have them there, so decided not to question it. Walking through the empty camp grounds was eerie; there was something foreboding about the abandoned settlement, so the children quickly picked up the pace. Sooner than they would have liked however, they arrived at the entrance to the beast’s home. The door seemed much larger to them than it actually was, and the group was reluctant to approach it. Featherweight unharnessed himself from the large tape recorder, and moved toward the door. With a shaky hoof, he lightly tapped on the wood; softly enough that even Fluttershy would’ve considered it timid.
“Well this was nice, guess no one’s home, darn it,” he said as he backed away from the door. “And here I was hoping to uncover the truth and whatnot, but I guess you can’t do that when no one’s home.”
He was stopped by Apple Bloom, who glared at him intensely. “What the hay was that? This is how you knock.” The earth pony marched up to the door, and gave it a couple of good smacks, causing the rest of her entourage to pale. Despite being initially frightened by Scootaloo’s rant, Apple Bloom had become less certain about her friend’s claims. She had overheard Applejack mentioning Jorge a few days ago, and he didn’t sound all that evil. Still, the filly backed away from the door cautiously.
At first nothing happened. The group just looked at each other nervously as they waited for it to open. They were about turn around and forget about the whole affair, when all of a sudden the sound of various locks being clicked open was heard from the other side. The children froze. Scootaloo’s blood drained from her face, Apple Bloom and Featherweight instinctively took a step back, and Sweetie gave a soft ‘eep.’ They stared at the door in fright, waiting for some sort of demon to walk out, eager to eat them. The wood slowly slid inward, and the hinges gave a long, sharp, menacing squeal.
What came out was unlike anything they had ever seen.
The human was tall. Too tall. Featherweight had never seen anything so tall in his life. It was easily over seven feet. Apart from tall, the other word that came to mind when looking at the human was bald. It had hair, that was for sure, but it was all patchy and disheveled on parts of his face. His mane was also oddly short. Another aspect that stood out was its clothing. Aside from its bald head, it was entirely clad in what looked like some sort of armor. But it wasn’t sleek or elegant like the pictures of Royal Guards Featherweight had seen in story books. This was bulging and cumbersome. As he gawked at the creature before him, the colt couldn’t help but wonder how it managed to move in the suit. By all rights it should have been falling over from the weight of the orange armor.
The human walked out with a mean scowl on its face, and a look that suggested he was going to punish whoever had the gall to disturb him. This did not boost the colt’s confidence one bit. However, when the human looked down at the scared children at his feet, his face softened into an irritated frown. Featherweight and the Crusaders just stared in horror at the biped, too intimidated to say anything. The young colt felt a little foolish just staring at the human, but whenever he tried to say anything, his voice got caught in his throat, and his mouth would go dry. He figured that the Crusaders were in a similar situation, since they hadn’t said anything either. So the young ponies reacted the same way most ponies had invariably reacted when confronted with the alien: They stared dumbly.
“Yes?” asked the human harshly, almost causing the children in front of him to jump out of their skin in fright.
“Um…uh…I…uh…” stuttered Featherweight.
The human sighed in mild irritation, and retreated back into his home.
“Wait!” called out the small colt before the human could close the door. The alien hesitated and looked back down at the pegasus expectantly. “Uh…excuse me m-m-mister human. My n-name is Featherweight and…uh…these are the Crusaders and…er…could we interview you?”
“Interview?” The human’s frown deepened.
Featherweight nodded furiously. The human looked at the fillies standing behind the white colt. Apple Bloom looked at him curiously, trying to examine every inch of the biped. Sweetie Belle was nervously trying to look at anything besides the extraterrestrial, but her gaze always returned to the armored human. Scootaloo meanwhile was trying not to shake too much.
Stop being such a scaredy cat! She berated herself. I’m Scootaloo! Second most awesome pony in Equestria. I’m not scared of anything. When she stole a glance at the human, and saw that it was staring right at her, she let out a frightened (and adowable) squeak.
The human looked back down at Featherweight, who was eying him hopefully, albeit a little anxiously. “I don’t do interviews,” answered the biped curtly, before slamming the door on the poor colt.
“But…b-but…Miss Cheerilee…” the pegasus trailed off lamely as he hung his head in disappointment. Yes, he was relieved that he wasn’t eaten alive by some alien/mythological monster. But despite this, a younger, more whimsical part of him was positively giddy at the chance of interviewing a being from another world. To have that opportunity literally slammed in his face was heart-breaking. He was so disappointed in fact, that he almost didn’t notice Apple Bloom stomp up to the door angrily.
“Uh…Apple Bloom. What are you doing?” asked Scootaloo nervously as her yellow friend approached the behemoth’s home.
“Ah’m gonna give this big ‘ol jerk a piece of mah mind,” answered the filly resolutely.
“Oh, okay. For a minute there I thou- wait WHAT!?!”
Before Scootaloo or the others could stop her, the yellow filly marched right up to the door, and angrily knocked on it as hard as she could.
“I don’t do interviews.” Jorge slammed the door shut, and sighed heavily. The reporters from yesterday had fortunately not bothered him since his outburst, but now it seemed his luck had run out. Now they’re sending children? Scumbags…
Jorge was about to head back into his living room to continue reading the book on Equestrian history he had started, when he heard the last thing he wanted to hear at that moment: Another knock on the door. The Spartan tensed, and grinded his teeth. He was very tempted to just ignore it. He should have ignored it; he already made his position very clear.
Looks like I wasn’t clear enough.
Opening the door for the second time that day, the soldier once again looked down at the children at his doorstep. This time the yellow one had stepped forward in front of Featherweight, and was looking at Jorge in anger. Not real anger, Jorge could tell. It was a child’s rage, utterly harmless (and, again, somewhat adowable). The human expected the pony to cower away as soon as she reminded of how large he was. Much to his surprise, instead she began to yell at him.
“Just who do you think you are!?” asked the yellow filly, punctuating each word with a prod to the Spartan’s leg. “We came here and asked you tah help us with our school project all polite like, and you go and slam the door in poor Featherweight’s face.”
“I-i-it’s really n-no big d-dea-”
“You coulda just said no nicely!” shouted the enraged filly. “You didn’t have tah be so rude. Apologize tah him right now!” The young girl glared at the human in front of her. As her anger slowly dissipated, so did her confidence. It wasn’t long before the earth pony realized that she had not only yelled at a seven foot tall alien that for all she knew ate ponies, but insulted him as well. In the wake of this rather enlightening realization, the earth pony quickly wilted away, and took a step back. “Uh…you know…if…you want to,” she finished meekly.
Jorge eyed the previously explosive pony with amusement. He looked at the rest of the group. The white unicorn was trying to look as small as possible. Featherweight kept glancing between Jorge and his hooves, looking like he was waiting for the right moment to flee. The orange pegasus was still shivering, staring at the Spartan like some sort of demon who was about to attack. She looked like she wanted to leave, however, she seemed like she was utterly incapable of doing so. And finally, the yellow filly looked at the human nervously, waiting for his reaction. It must have taken a lot for the petite pony to muster enough courage to confront him, and oddly Jorge couldn’t help but feel a hint of respect for the child.
“You got guts I’ll give you that,” snorted the human with a barely noticeable smirk. “More than those damned reporters anyways.”
“Does…does that mean you’ll let us interview you fer school?” asked the previously enraged filly with a tentative smile.
School? “Hmmm…” hummed Jorge pensively. “…No.”
“But you said-!”
“That you had guts. I didn’t say anything about letting you ask me any questions for…what’s this for again?”
“It’s homework for school,” answered Featherweight. “We’re learning about different sources of information, so we have to interview somepony.” Jorge noticed that so far, only he and yellow one had dared to address him.
“That’s sounds like a silly assignment,” he stated whilst he examined the silent fillies.
“Duh, it’s homework. All homework is stupid,” muttered the colt bitterly to himself. “Don’t aliens go to school?”
The question caught Jorge off guard. Yeah, except our education includes spec ops training…
“Well, in any case, I can’t help you. Ask someone else.” Jorge took a step back, and started closing the door.
“B-but the h–h-h-homework is due tomorrow!”
The soldier stopped when he heard an unfamiliar voice. This time it had been the white one that had spoken up. “Oh, is that so?” asked the Spartan.
Now that he thought of it, this was the most entertaining thing to happen to him all day. He hadn’t left his house since he scared off all those meddlesome journalists, and no one had bothered him since. It had been a relief to be able to get some peace and quiet from the horses, at least at first. But staying in his house quickly became dull, and he honestly found messing with these kids to be infinitely more amusing than reading any of the books the ponies had left him.
“Yeah!” said the unicorn with more confidence. “Please let us interview you Mr. Human.” The white unicorn then proceeded to pull out the most disarming puppy eyes that any living creature had ever used… ever. Small tears shimmered under her massive eyes as her pleading stare bore into the human. It was a look that would melt the heart of the most cynical, jaded, and cold-hearted person on any planet anywhere. Entire wars would be stopped for that adorable stare. Any monarch, no matter how strong willed, would bend their back to appease the almost fatal levels of cuteness that was being displayed by the unicorn. In short, one could weaponize that kind of adorableness.
And it had absolutely no effect on Jorge whatsoever. “No. Now this has been fun and all, but you should really go.”
“What about the apology you owe Featherweight?”
How many ponies have asked me for apologies since I got here?
“Tell you what, first you leave, and then I’ll apologize.”
“Alright, first let us interview you, and then we’ll leave,” replied the yellow filly with a sly grin.
The sheer tenacity of the young pony's reply caught Jorge so off guard that he couldn’t help but chuckle. Jesus! The balls on this one…
“Why is this apology so important to you?”
“Because he’s mah friend,” answered the filly resolutely. “And ah learned that you have tah stand up for yer friends when their being bullied.”
Behind the yellow filly, Jorge could see that Featherweight was staring at her in confusion, while mouthing the words ‘I am?’ He looked back down towards the tenacious earth pony in front of him, who was holding her ground confidently. But the Spartan could still see uncertainty behind that confidence. Giving the pony a small smile, the large soldier bent down on one knee to try and get to eye level with the filly (although, he was still easily twice her size).
His initial movement caused the equines to jump slightly, and the yellow one took a nervous step back. To her credit though, she was the only one of them who didn’t flinch. Once the height difference between her and Jorge had been partially rectified, the human outstretched his hand to her.
“Alright, little one. You have a deal. But you had better make it quick. And no photos.” He pointed to the camera that hung around Featherweight’s neck.
The filly looked at Jorge’s hands somewhat uncertainly, but eventually she stretched her hoof out, allowing him to shake it. Once that was concluded, Jorge went back into his home, leaving a group of very confused ponies to stand outside, and glance at each other doubtfully.
“What are you waiting for? I told you to make it quick,” called Jorge from inside the house. The ponies all passed through the front door with varying levels of trepidation. Naturally, the yellow pony passed through with only a brief second of hesitation. Featherweight followed after a few moments of internal deliberation, although he quickly became too preoccupied lugging the strange device strapped to him to worry about the human. The white unicorn looked uncertainly between the doorway and the orange pegasus, before gulping loudly, closing her eyes, and taking the proverbial ‘leap of faith.’
The orange pegasus meanwhile, was staring at the entrance of the house like it featured the words ‘Abandon All Hope, Ye Who Enter Here’
“I’m not going to bite, you know,” Jorge said to the terrified mare from inside the house. The words were less than comforting, as the filly looked more uncertain than ever. Still, the child shakily took as step forward, then another. Before long she had passed the threshold. When the door closed behind her however, she seemed to pale even more than before, which Jorge had not thought possible. Sighing and shaking his head, the Spartan led the group to his spacious living room. He couldn’t help but smirk at the look of the children’s faces as they walked through his home. In truth, his lodgings were rather mundane, yet the ponies were examining every inch of the foyer in wide eyed wonder. He supposed it was a natural reaction. Considering he was a creature of myth in this land, everything associated to him must have carried an air of whimsy for the ponies.
“Sit wherever you like,” said Jorge when they entered his living room. The ponies looked at the furniture strangely. It had all been designed for the human in mind (he still had no idea how the Princess had managed to acquire the special furniture in such little time). The Spartan watched in amusement as the yellow pony tried to climb onto the tall couch, only to fall onto her rump and mutter angrily to herself. Eventually, his guests had all managed to seat themselves somewhat comfortably. Again, with the exception of the orange, purple maned filly, who looked so terrified she could hardly move. Instead she opted to stand ramrod stiff next to the couch where her companions had settled themselves.
“Would you like something to drink?” offered Jorge.
Just to keep things varied, the ponies looked uncertainly to each other. Jorge couldn’t blame them though. The situation must be as bizarre to them as it was to him.
“Uh…sure,” said Featherweight.
“What would you like? I have tea, milk, water, soda…”
“Do you have… coffee?”
Jorge raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t you a little young?”
“Hey! I’m ten. I mean…*ahem*…I’m ten!” said Featherweight, forcing out a deeper voice.
“Do you drink coffee?”
“All the t-time,” replied the colt, his fake voice cracking a bit.
“And you three?” asked Jorge, addressing the fillies.
“No… thank you,” stammered the yellow one. The white unicorn just shook her head, while the orange one, unsurprisingly, remained silent.
“Okay.”
Jorge headed into the kitchen and began preparing the coffee. While he did so, the ponies seated in the living room could do little else but fidget uncomfortably. Eventually the orange pegasus appeared to have calmed down enough to join her companions on the couch. Finally, after what Jorge could only assume felt like an eternity for the young ones, the coffee pot let out a piercing cry, indicating that the brew had been finished. Jorge filled up two mugs and returned to the adjacent room. After handing the pegasus his drink, the Spartan sat down on the armchair in front of them.
Featherweight stared at the mug in front of him with a poorly concealed grimace. When the pegasus tried a sip of his brew, he immediately started gagging, causing Jorge to chuckle and shake his head.
Just like human children, mused the soldier. Always so eager to grow up…
“I prefer tea myself,” said Jorge to the nauseated pony as he took a sip of his coffee. “So, you said you have questions for me?”
“Oh uh, yeah. Sweetie Belle, pull out the sheet Miss Cheerilee gave us.”
The unicorn gave the yellow filly a puzzled look. “I thought you brought them.”
“What!? Ah told you tah take ‘em back when were at yer sister’s shop.”
“Um…I have a copy sheet,” offered Featherweight meekly.
Jorge looked between the fillies and the sheepish colt. “I thought you were a group.”
“Not…exactly,” explained ‘Sweetie Belle.’ “We were kind of… um…racing to see who could get to you first and…well…”
That sounds familiar, thought the human. When did I get so popular?
“Well, in any case, I don’t think it makes much of a difference. Just ask me your questions.”
“Would you mind if I recorded the interview?” asked Featherweight as he tinkered with the wooden box he had hauled into the building. It didn’t take Jorge much time to deduce that it was some sort of crude recording device. In fact, now that he thought about it, he could see that it looked eerily familiar to early, human recording technology.
“Yes, I would,” answered Jorge bluntly.
“But you said-”
“That you can’t take pictures? Well you can’t tape me either.” Jorge flashed the colt a challenging look. “Take it or leave it.”
“But I…the hill…twenty kilos…heavy…” spluttered Featherweight pleadingly. Much to his displeasure, Jorge didn’t budge. The frustrated pegasus kicked the box, and grumbled to himself before pulling out a pad of paper and a pen.
“Fine,” he sighed. “Question one: wha-” The colt was cut off when his fedora fell over his eyes again, much to Jorge’s amusement. The pegasus groaned and lifted the hat back on top of his head. “Stupid hat. Sorry. Question one, what is your name.”
I’m getting the strangest sense of déjà vu, thought Jorge. “My full name is Jorge Zero Fifty-Two, but you may call me Jorge.”
Jorge carefully observed Featherweight write down notes. So far, he had only seen Twilight write, and that was with the help of her telekinesis. He was curious as to how a pegasus or earth pony would take down notes. Much to his surprise, the colt put the pencil in his mouth, and began using that to write. More surprising still, when Jorge glanced over at the notepad he could see that the writing was not only perfectly legible, but very neat as well.
“That’s a weird name,” said the one called Sweetie Belle none too tactfully.
“Do all humans have numbers in their names?” asked the yellow filly.
“No. I’m just a very special kind of human. Most human names consist of a first name, which is generally reserved for close friends and family, and family names or surnames, which everyone in that family shares, and is generally used to address acquaintances or strangers. My first name is Jorge…”
“…and your last name is Zero Fifty-Two? Is everyone in your family called Zero Fifty-Two?” asked Sweetie Belle, who, along with Featherweight and the yellow filly, had quickly become at ease with the human’s presence.
“No. We all have numbers in our name, but they’re not all the same. I come from a very special family.”
While this conversation was going on, Featherweight was jotting down notes furiously.
“What about you? You know my name, now I think I have a right to know yours.”
“That’s Sweetie Belle,” said the yellow mare as she pointed to the white unicorn sitting next to her. Sweetie Belle smiled shyly and gave Jorge a small wave, to which he responded with an encouraging smile himself. “You already know that he’s Featherweight,” continued the filly. “She’s Scootaloo.” The earth pony indicated to the orange pegasus who, while no longer rendered paralyzed with fear, was still staring anxiously at Jorge. “And mah name is Apple Bloom.”
Wait, Applebloom? thought Jorge. And… the accent. There’s no way…
“You wouldn’t happen to be related to a Miss Applejack, would you?”
Apple Bloom beamed at the question. “Uh course ah am!” she answered proudly in her distinctive southern twang. “She’s mah sister. Ah’m an Apple, born and raised.”
Jorge nodded his head in understanding. That explains a lot.
“Do you know mah sister?”
Jorge’s expression soured. “Yeah, I know her.” Apple Bloom didn’t notice his change in demeanor however, no doubt thinking about how awesome it was that her sister was acquainted with an alien. “So, what’s the next question?”
Featherweight looked down at his notepad. “How long have you lived in Ponyville?” Jorge looked at the colt with a deadpanned expression. “Uh…I’ll put a week,” muttered the pegasus sheepishly. “Question three, how old are you?”
“Forty-one.”
“Is…is that old for a human?”
“Not particularly,” explained Jorge. “It’s somewhat younger than halfway the average human’s lifespan.”
“Question four: What is your cutie-mark, and if you want you can tell us how you got it?” At this, Jorge noticed that the fillies perked up and leaned closer with interest. Even Scootaloo appeared curious. He remembered the intoxicated mare from yesterday mention something about a ‘cutie-mark.’ As far as he could tell it had something to do with the marks these ponies had on their flanks. It was only now that Jorge noticed that the fillies in front of him lacked said mark, yet Featherweight had a distinct picture of a feather on his flank.
“I don’t think I have one,” he said. “I don’t really know what a cutie-mark is.”
It took the fillies a few seconds to process what was said. “You don’t have a cutie-mark?” asked Sweetie in disbelief. “But…but you’re so old.”
“Thank you for reminding me,” laughed Jorge.
The white unicorn flushed in embarrassment. “Sorry. I mean that…well, we thought you were supposed to get you cutie-marks when you were…you know…a kid.”
“I don’t think human’s get cutie-marks. First I think I should know what a cutie-mark is though. Is it the markings on everyone’s flanks?”
“Uh-huh. A cutie-mark is a mark that appears on yer flanks when you find yer special talent,” explained Apple Bloom.
“It just appears. Just like that? How?”
“Magic,” answered Featherweight.
Of course, sighed Jorge mentally.
“Wait, if humans don’t get cutie-marks, how do you know what your special talent is?” asked Sweetie.
Jorge’s eyebrow rose quizzically. “What do you mean by special talent?”
“You know…what you’re naturally good at.”
“You mean to say that ponies are born naturally good at something, and that they determine what this thing is when an image of it appears on their flank?”
Sweetie Belle and Apple Bloom both nodded.
“Well that certainly is convenient,” muttered Jorge. “We humans don’t get cutie-marks. Hell, we’re not all even born naturally talented at something.” The children stared at Jorge in horror, particularly the fillies.
“But…but…does that mean humans are good at…nothing?” asked Featherweight.
“Hardly,” chuckled Jorge. “Like I said, some of us are born with natural talents.”
“Then how do the rest of you… you know…find jobs?”
“We generally train in a specific field we particularly enjoy or find interesting,” explained the human. “I take it that your cutie-mark usually determines what you do for a living?” The children’s nods confirmed Jorge’s suspicion.
“Geez! You humans are weird,” said Featherweight as he scribbled on his notepad.
Says the talking pegasus who writing with a pen in his mouth, thought Jorge. “What’s the next question?”
“What’s your job?”
“I’m living off welfare,” grumbled the Spartan.
“Huh?”
“I don’t have a job here. Remember? Creature of myth and all that.”
“Well I have to write something,” complained the colt. “What did you do at…wherever you came from?”
“I’m a soldier.”
“A what?”
“A soldier.”
The white pegasus gave Jorge a blank stare. Judging from the puzzled looks the others were giving him, Jorge could pretty much see that they had no idea what he was talking about. These ponies don’t have any soldiers at all? Do they even have a standing military? What about those armored ponies that were with the Princess? Jorge took a moment to think about how he could explain the concept of a soldier to the children.
“I protect people,” he answered finally. “I fight bad guys, and keep people safe.”
“Oh, like a Royal Guard?” asked Apple Bloom.
“Something like that.”
“Cooooooool,” she cooed.
“Alright then, that was five questions. Anything else?”
“Um… it says here that now we’re supposed to ask you five questions that we came up with,” explained Featherweight. “So…did any of you guys think of any?” He looked at the fillies next to him, who all shook their heads embarrassedly.
“What if you each ask me a question, then we’ll figure out what to do about the fifth?” suggested Jorge. “Just try to come up with them quickly; I’d like to get through with this as soon as possible.”
“That sounds alright,” said Apple Bloom. “Who wants to go fir-?”
“Do you eat ponies!?” blurted out Scootaloo, who immediately shoved her hooves in her mouth, shocked that she had snapped so recklessly like that. Her friends were gawked at her in disbelief.
Jorge however, simply stared at her with concealed annoyance, and a raised eyebrow. “No,” he answered curtly. He sighed tiredly. Throughout most of his life he was treated as some sort of freak, usually not openly, but there was no escaping the fact that he was different to most humans. The way these ponies treated him like a monster so openly only helped to exacerbate that fact. “What on Earth would make you think I eat ponies?” he asked, although he already knew the answer.
Scootaloo shifted uncomfortably under the human’s scrutiny. “I just…all the stories said that humans ate ponies.”
“That’s all they are. Just stories. I promise…Scootaloo was it…?” Scootaloo nodded, “…I promise that I have never eaten a pony, and have no plans of doing so in the future.” Jorge gave the filly a comforting smile. How could he blame a child for her own ignorance?
Scootaloo returned the smile tentatively and calmed down after that.
“Oh, my turn, my turn!” exclaimed Sweetie Belle enthusiastically. “Where do you come from?”
“I come from a planet called Reach.”
“Where’s that?”
“I’m sorry; I’ve just answered your question,” said Jorge with a cheeky smirk.
“Wha-? B- that’s not fair!” cried Sweetie.
“Well, life’s not fair.”
Sweetie looked at Jorge in disbelief, before pouting at him with some of the left over adorableness from earlier. Jorge chuckled and shook his head. “All right, I’ll make an exception for you, just once though. I don’t really know where Reach is relative to Equestria. Ponies keep asking me where I come from, but I can’t really offer them more than that. Let’s just say I come from very, very far away. Alright, whose turn is it now?”
“Oh, ah know!” said Apple Bloom with a devious grin. “Do you have a special somepony for Hearts and Hooves day next week?”
“I take it that by ‘special somepony’ you mean like a romantic relationship with somebody?”
Apple Bloom nodded.
“No, I’ve never had a special somepony. What’s ‘Hearts and…Hooves day was it?”
“Hearts and Hooves day is the most romantic, most special day of the year!” explained Sweetie with slightly starry eyes. “It’s a day where you ask somepony to be your special somepony, and you spend the whole day doing stuff together, like holding hooves and nuzzling.”
Sweetie squeezed her cheeks together at the thought, while Apple Bloom stared off in deep thought, a light blush on her cheeks. Scootaloo meanwhile stuck her tongue out. and pointed her hoof towards her mouth to make a gagging motion. Most amusing of all, Jorge noticed that Featherweight kept shifting his eyes towards the orange pegasus; his cheeks flushing brightly.
“No,” repeated Jorge. “I don’t have a special somepony. Alright Featherweight, it’s your turn.”
“Hmmm…why don’t y-” The pegasus was once again interrupted when his fedora fell over his eyes. “Ah! Stupid hat! Sorry, I was just gonna ask, why don’t you go into town that much? I know you’ve only been here for like a week, but you’re still kinda a mystery to everypony. That’s sorta why we chose you for our project.”
Jorge paused to think before answering right away. “When I opened the door, what was the first thing you thought?”
“Uh…big.”
“Okay, what was the second thing? You can be honest, I won’t get mad.”
Featherweight fidgeted uncomfortably on the couch. “I thought you were going to eat me…” he whispered. Scootaloo looked down to the ground guiltily, while the other fillies rubbed their legs awkwardly.
“Exactly. Whenever I have met someone new, more often than not they usually panic and call me a monster. Because of those legends about humans, you all seem to think I eat ponies and love destroying villages. It’s damned irritating. You ponies are just too prejudice for me to go anywhere near town. That’s why I want nothing to do with your community, or its population.” Jorge blinked and realized the children had leaned back away from him nervously. That’s when he realized how bitter his voice had gotten by the end of his rant.
“But you’re still talking to us,” pointed out Featherweight meekly.
It was true. Jorge had always felt sympathy towards children, something which had won him a large amount of ire from other Spartans. After years of seeing orphans weep over the charred remains of their parents, or young boys forced to fight and die in the more rural and isolated zones of UNSC controlled territory, Jorge had developed a naturally protective nature towards children. As far as he could tell, the ponies where almost exactly alike to human kids, and where no more responsible for their parents mistakes then human children were of theirs.
Jorge shrugged. “I guess there are exceptions to every rule. It was mostly because I didn’t want you bothering me all day with your homework. That still doesn’t change the fact that I have no plans on going into town or of making friends for as long as I’m stranded in ‘Candy Land.’”
The children looked at each other sullenly before staring at the carpet somewhat sadly. Featherweight looked back up at the Spartan shyly. “Mister Jorge, I know the last question I wanna ask.”
“Go ahead.”
“Don’t you…I mean do…do you consider us…your friends?”
The question caught Jorge off guard. He had never thought that the kids would consider him more than just a helpful acquaintance at most, certainly most of the members of his race would require more before declaring friendship. The way the ponies looked at him, it was almost as if they felt hurt by his casual declaration of anti-socialism.
Jorge stared at the fillies and colt before him. He gave them a small, gentle smile. “Sure.”
“Really?” asked Sweetie Belle.
“Why not, you’ll be my first group of friends of Equestria.” Well, technically my second friends of Equestria…I guess.
The ponies beamed happily at the soldier, while he smiled back. Finally, it was Scootaloo who broke the silence.
“Wait ‘till Rainbow Dash hears we’re friends with an alien!”
“Alright, fine.”
Spike made his way down the stairs of Ponyville’s library down to the basement. Twilight was having some sort of meeting with Applejack, Rarity, and Luna, and he knew that they were talking about Jorge. He wanted to hear what was going on, but Twilight sternly reminded him that he had neglected to do his chores the past few days, so he was forced to grab a feather duster and try to clean the vortex of dirt and grime that was the basement of Golden Oaks.
It was quite a herculean task.
Still, the dragon dusted away. As he did so, he accidentally nudged a large book from its shelf, creating a dust cloud that sprang into his face suddenly. With a cacophonous sneeze, Spike was thrown back into one of the book shelves, sending over a dozen tomes to fall on his head.
Oh come on! This is the second time this week, he thought grumpily. As he dug himself out of the pile of reading material, and rubbed his sore head, he noticed something glimmer out of the corner of his eye.
In the dark he couldn't quite make out what it was, some sort of ball perhaps? He reached out, and grabbed the sphere in his claw.
Huh, must’ve fallen out of the shelf.
Bringing the ball up to his eyes, he make out that it was some sort of shade of blue and perfectly smooth. But what on Earth was i-?
*Squeak*
“Oh yeah!” Spike exclaimed happily. “I thought I lost you.” He tossed the rubber ball in the air, and caught it in his claw a few times, before squeezing it again.
*Squeak*
With a grin, and deciding that the basement was a lost cause, Spike waddled up the stairs with his new prize in his hand; completely unaware of the other, much less innocent object that had been knocked down as well, and which lay exposed on the basement floor for all to see…
_________________________________________________________________________
Thanks to Perception Filter and Tarquillaman3285 for editing. And special thanks to koroziwe for translating.
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Here it is. And look, it only took me three months to get it done! Fancy that.
Good chapter mate
Got featured?
no
By Celestia!
An update
1731764
No: (a negative used to express dissent, denial, or refusal, as in response to a question or request)
I thought you stopped writing it. Thank Goodness you didn't!
1731764
It work out better if ur avatar was nope and the same for your comment.
Moar story!
Spike with plasma grenade.
This won't end well.
Yay! Update!
Does that object happen to be a blue ball with an orange circle on the side that's cracked and is going to fuck up everyone in the library's day?
UPDATE?
DWAESRTYKUIFDSADGTUKF7UYTREW
Spartans always die, the only guys who go missing in action are Soldiers of the COG.
Jorge's something of an ass... I can sort of understand it, but still, makes him a very one dimensional character.
I was afraid for Spike's safety for a second. DAMN YOU RUBBER BALLS! DAMN YOU TO TARTARUS!
It updated! Love how Jorge handled the reporters.
I spent 41 minutes reading this....FUCKING SLOW READER FUCK
I'm just waiting for the grenade to go off.
i will sacrifice puppys for this to be a movie
I wonder who'll find the plasma grenade first...
1731943
Yup, that's why I decided to introduce the CMC in this chapter.
Hmmmm plasma grenade.... wonder who will get it to go off first... I'm betting its Twilight.
Don't care if it took three months, I LOVE IT.
The scene with the coffey, brilliant, very realistic.
Where the bloody hell have you been, boyo?
1731943
Oh shut up. We all know that the ponies are always the dicks in HiE's with their 'ADOWABULNESS AND IGNORANCY'.
Also they are racist and should be thrown into slave labour.
You know what, write that down and make it a story.
Ponies being used as slaves with no hope left.
1732184
Well that escalated quickly
*squeal*
Update!
Also.
OH COME ON! I wanted to find out if dragons were immune to plasma burns :(
1732242
Yes
It did
I know that I wasn't supposed to reply to that shut up
Nice chapter! Good work
Interviews... reporting...
I was honestly expecting Anchorman references.
And it would seem that Jorge's armour ability has been revealed to be Sprint.
Oh no, the type-1 antipersonnel grenade(plasma grenade) is gonna blow!
uh oh
1731943Yeah, he's a bit callous in this chapter. That's understandable given his circumstances, but he IS one of the most caring Spartans(especially towards Civilians). As seen here, he would grow to care for them a little.
*Squeak!*
That is the new sound of a Heart attack...
Just because of Jorge, I'm faving and giving thumbs up!
Jorge is best spartan
oh I forgot about the grenade
an update!?
1732402
Then why is you avatar Carter-A259?
1732297
You'd think so...but then you'd be wrong.
1731938 Including Tai Kaliso, Dom Santiago, Prescott, Minh, Adam Fenix and Carmine(s).
THIS MADE MY NIPPLES TURN AROUND AND SLAP MY FACE!
1732644
...uh...thank you?
1732651You're welcome
1732568
Oh, no reason...
Guess this is off the 'Hiatus' status now, right?
Earth, eh?
I like the fact that you did actually tell us what the armor ability is, but you hid that knowledge in plain view. I mean who's going to look there?
However I do agree with Jorge. That is one fucking awesome door. I want a door like that.
Jorge was there any real need to break the bleeping tree...? I mean you could of just grabbed the trunk and shook it like crazy to make the ponies fall out instead...temper bro temper...
1732928
Thanks for reminding me
Shit's about to hit the fan... Great chapter, I'm hoping the next chapter won't take as long to write?
1731664
Allow me to say, and I don't say this lightly, it was worth the wait.
One of the few gripes I had with this story was the way Applejack has been acting. She usually gets made into a xenophobe in HiE stories. There's some basis to that (her attitude toward Zecora in Bridle Gossip) but authors tend to exaggerate the tendency and turn her into a full fledged bigot. And here too, she's been acting like a complete asshat.
But her rant at Jorge after he demonstrated his... alternate method of applebucking put a new light on it. The Apple family is desperately trying to stay afloat, and any extra loss could put them over the edge. Don't get me wrong, she's in no way off the hook, her behaviour has been atrocious and I very much enjoyed her getting some well deserved karma. But it makes more sense now. (Of course, I didn't say she was smart; she could have just asked Luna to cover the cost of fixing the barn no problem.)
Next up, The CMC and Featherweight. I just love everything about them here. From Scootaloo marching into the boogieman's den, to Featherweight bravely carryong after witnessing the Desolation of Jorge
, to Applebloom showing more guts than the whole of Ponyville put together. Bravo. They'd better all be getting an A+!
Also, calling it now: They'll be able to sell the interview for a metric buttload of money, thus putting the Apples back in the black and putting Applejack in the uncomfortable position of owing Jorge.
Finally, why are people waiting for the grenade to go off? I thought it was clear it was really a rubber ball and the author was just messing with us. Last time I checked plasma grenades don't squeek when you squeeze them.
1732297
It's Armor Lock. He's complaining in Hungarian that it's not much use to him now while wading through the
undeadreporters.