My Strange Ponies

by CTVulpin

The Shelter of Generosity

I don’t know if this place has a name, or what exactly it is. Small town? Theme park? Tourist trap? All I know is the streets are cobblestone, the buildings short and built of sturdy stone, and the weather hates my guts. It doesn’t seem to bother anyone else, unless it only switches targets once I’m under cover, but the sky’s constantly a dull grey overcast, the precipitation sits right on the border between drizzle and rain, and the wind tries to blow it right into my face and shove me back no matter which way I turn. It’s a never-ending fight, and I’m armed only with an umbrella that’s all too willing to fold under pressure if I don’t keep a hand on the catch to force it open.

Why do I head outside in these conditions? What is my purpose for walking through the wet and winding streets? There’s something driving me on, thoughts of a room full of soft things, one side wide open to welcome me in from the wet, but the wind never exploits the opening. A friendly face, white with big blue eyes. It’s a long way from where I am, but somehow I know it will all be worth it. So I press on, and on, and on.

Again and again the wind buffets me, and I keep my umbrella held more forward than above to try and divert it from my face and ease my forward progress against its power. I turn a corner and the wind shifts with me, never blowing from any direction except straight at where my face is. I feel myself growing weary and my grip starts to slip and the umbrella buckles slightly before I can recover. I refuse to be defeated; the goal is worth any trouble. I go down into a gully to pass beneath a skyway, and as the street slopes back up the wet wind tries to press its advantage. The umbrella closes almost completely and I get a face full of drizzling rain as I fight to open it back up without letting the wind force it into a potion where it can rip it from my hands or blow me away like a dandelion seed.

Finally I can see my destination up ahead. It’s a shop, one of those little souvenir-selling types that’s not very big and simply filled with a particular themed type of merchandise. Now things are becoming clear to me: Rarity owns this shop, selling plush dolls that look like her and her friends, and a number of popular Disney characters to boot. We’re close, she and I, in this quirky little place in the middle of everywhere, where everyone has a particular purpose and pays no mind if you’re a human, a Pony, or something else. I pause to wonder if I’ve passed anyone on my way here, but then the wind reminds me my journey isn’t over yet. As I near the threshold the wind begins to relent, but doesn’t stop entirely. I can see Rarity in the back arranging her wares in the company of others, and she smiles warmly in greeting. We don’t speak; what we have requires no words. I enter the store at last and the wind vanishes, finally letting my poor skin feel warmth. The umbrella is gone, its services no longer required, and after staggering a few feet farther inside, I collapse to the floor, intent on nothing more than sleeping to recover from my walk. Rarity remains silent, understanding perfectly and not worried about me possibly being a trip hazard or something to other guests should they show up. In fact, no sooner am I settled on the ground and starting to close my eyes then she tosses a plushie to me to be a companion. It appears to be Stitch, the same character Rarity has always given to me when I need to rest in her store.

Comments

[CTVulpin]

This only technically qualifies as a Pony dream because of Rarity being a central element, but it was such a vivid and ultimately comforting dream I can't help but try to share it in some form.

[Remember the porter]

this was a dream you had
strange but ok

[UseFistNotMouth]

Awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww.