Love Letters Written on the Back of a Star Chart

by Dawn Stripes

At Twilight

18 Months after First Contact

Three ponies walked into a bar.

No, this isn’t the one about the donkey and the unicorn, and no, none of the ponies said ‘ouch’. In fact the doorframe was elevated far above our heads. If there was a joke to this, it was that we were stepping into a building of elongated scale, on a vast and strangely-colored world known as Earth.

That doesn’t seem like much of a joke in retrospect. We thought it funnier at the time, I suppose; we were all reasonably flushed before we even arrived at the bar. Alcohol was probably an unwise excess to add to the fun we’d already had that day. Earth may have the combined landmass of thirty-six-point-seven Equestrias, but three mares can subject a surprisingly large portion of it to their boisterous presence given a full day. Even worse, given the two humans we were dragging around with us. Er, not that I mean we were carting them around like servants. If anything, they were the ones showing us around. But ‘dragging around’ was how Lyra put it. She tap-danced some of the peeling blue paint off the porch and cried, “Hurry up, boys! What am I going to do with you? Do the girls have to drag your slowpoke butts everywhere?”

I probably should have said something. It’s trivial to say that after the fact, I know. I should have spoken up the past dozen times that day. Lyra kept making little jabs, and it became annoying when it added up.

Don’t misunderstand me, I have a deep affection for the mare. Lyra is one of my closest unicorn friends, and the only pony who ever truly appreciated the genius of my trans-planar windowing hypothesis—everypony else seems to assume it’s just a simple application of the Pythagorean theorem. But I can’t help suspecting that she views these trips to Earth as a chance to engage in a little old-fashioned sexism. She knows she can get away with it because most of the men don’t notice, let alone mind. I dare postulate that Tom even seems to enjoy it. But I wasn’t raised to think that it was acceptable beyond the age when colts still had cooties.

But I was in too exuberant a mood to let it ruin my day. A trip out to Earth was a treat for me. Although I’m ostensibly the official liaison to this planet, the position leaves me surprisingly little time to spend on its surface. Things were especially hectic back then, what with the peace accord having been signed only weeks ago, and I was spending most of my days fending off barbed letters from nobles at the Court of Dusk and Dawn. Most of them only wanted to know how many tax dollars I was planning to ‘waste’ on our newest allies—as if I somehow had I number I could conjure out of thin air! I hope I never have to take over Celestia’s job. Dealing with Canterlotian elite day in and day out—if she can survive a thousand years of that, she must really be immortal.

Today was something of an anomaly for me, then. Through clever multitasking, I’d managed to scrape up enough time for a day off. Both old friends and new were more than eager to take this opportunity and show me a day on the town, homos sapiens style.

Columbus held plenty of things for a pony to see and do. We had already stolen the show from the exhibits at the Columbus Zoo, been mistaken for Susan Rothenberg sculptures at the exhibits of the Wexner Center, and played the largest game of Frisbee I’ve ever seen in a park by the Olentangy River. I admit, I’d worried somewhat about how Fluttershy would handle the attention, but she showed a downright unusual amount of energy during the game, leaping with wings outstretched to catch high passes. I was so proud of her. Lyra, on the other hand, was expelled for cheating with telekinesis, but got back in when popular demand invited her back.

Even the Dimension Gate facility was one of the sights. It was shaping up nicely, with two new fifty-foot arches being welded in according to my exact specifications. Tom loved to complain about how the powers-that-be were trying to outdo us with a bigger Gate terminal in New York, right next to the United Nations. To hear him talk, it actively sucked the soul out of anyone traveling through it. He claimed it took all the fun out of hopping between dimensions by reducing it to the sterile discomfort of an airport. I usually couldn’t resist pointing out that he shouldn’t have been surprised; his was the species that had somehow managed to take the joy and freedom out of flight.

But the Columbus Gate had been the first real doorway to go up. And it was a ramshackle affair as far as design went, with the hyper-plane surfaces open to the air. On a sunny day, one could stand out on the platform, buy a hot dog or a daisy hayburger, and watch the travelers come and go from Canterlot. When the two new portals were completed, it would be possible to look out at three different cities of Equestria at once. Gate Two, Manehatten. Gate Three, Baltimare. So close you could literally reach out and touch them.

I admit to being rather proud of it all. Normally the wonder of it all, not to mention the proximity of my world, would have been too much for our human friends to resist. But today, they were determined to show off their own planet. I recall making an off-hoofed comment about being able to enjoy myself much more now that I could walk around in broad daylight. In fact, our excursion likely had as much to do with flaunting our freedom as anything else. It seemed like only yesterday we hadn’t been able to do more than peer out at each other’s worlds through darkened bedroom windows. Well—we’d occasionally done a little more than that. But only in the middle of the night, and only by involving, as Tom put it, ‘every kind of glorious indignity’. He may refer to it as glorious. I try to avoid bringing up the topic of ski masks in conversation.

To be clear, it wasn’t my idea to go out drinking at the end of the day. Now that I mention it, I can’t think whose idea it was. It probably just seemed like a sensible idea at the time. After all, Tom still technically owned the bar we were patronizing, though it ran itself entirely. And the building held a lot of memories for us.

The Little Pony was located far away from most of the bars in town. It didn’t even sport a sign. In fact, you might say it bore a suspicious resemblance to a small fraternity house that someone had bought out and repurposed for activities very similar to those which had gone on before.

When the five of us finally burst through the pale green door, the whole establishment came to its hooves—and feet, respectively. It was mortifying. Poor Fluttershy hid behind Lyra. Lyra lit up her horn and started signing autographs three at a time. I demurred the praise and general cheering that was being hurled my way, and tried to hide my blush behind a violet leg. “This is why I don’t like going out,” I mumbled.

But like it or not, we were celebrities here even more than everywhere else. They awarded us a round table in the center of the age-wrinkled floorboards; with a couple quick seat swaps it was set with two chairs and three short benches. It was a relief to see some pony-appropriate seating, after having to choose between finagling human chairs or standing all day.

“I see you didn’t have to change the decorations,” I said to Tom, counting the anime posters on the wall. “The crowd is new, though.”

“I thought turning it into a bar would keep it from becoming a pilgrimage site,” he replied. “More dignified that way.”

Lyra smirked. “Clever.”

I adjusted my seat with a quick burst of magic and plopped myself down. But I couldn’t help but notice Tom standing very close to Fluttershy, whispering as he pulled her bench out for her. “You want me to get you something to drink? Anything you want is one the house here, you know that.”

Fluttershy dipped her head. “Oh, thank you. But I really shouldn’t drink much. I’m a lightweight, even for a pegasus. I’ll just have a glass of milk.”

Tom must have known that all the ponies at the table could hear his little tete-a-tete. Lyra certainly didn’t fail to notice. She was looking towards the ceiling and humming suggestively when, all of a sudden, something else caught her attention. Whatever comment she had in store was immediately forgotten as her mouth fell open. “Tom,” she snorted. “You framed my poster?”

Tom followed her gaze. Above the clock on the far back wall was a sign made from black marker and construction paper. It wasn’t entirely legible, since it bore Tom’s handwriting, but it had been framed and laminated since the last time I saw it.

‘Please do not feed the ponies human food. Too much salt is bad for them.’

He had pinned that up one morning while everyone else was still asleep. Underneath, in Lyra’s more elegant script, was the notice we’d awoken to find beside it the following day.

‘Please do not kiss the humans. It messes with their hormones.’

The waitress came and spun a few glasses of rum and coke across the table with Fluttershy’s milk. Everyone smelled fairly happy. We also smelled like peanuts, which I must admit I wasn’t fond of. Dave was trying to make everyone laugh by bouncing them off his beer belly, and they were accumulating all over the table.

I should have known better than to think we would be left alone. The respectful personal space we were being given only lasted for minutes. But perhaps I shouldn’t deprive them of the benefit of the doubt—what did Tom call them?—Bronies? I think the stranger who finally pulled a chair up to our table was someone else. I hadn’t noticed him come inside, but his cream-colored hair was still flat with water from the misting rain. Since he was sitting next to me, I also happened to observe the camera poking out of his backpack. It looked expensive. And the way he was looking at Tom somehow reminded me of Featherweight.

The fact that he recognized Tom didn’t necessarily mean we were dealing with one of the initiated; Tom might not have been world-famous, but it wasn’t hard to pick him out of a crowd. He was so pale. He was perpetually telling everyone how he wanted to give up the internet for a life of working outdoors and get a real tan, but none of us believed he would ever do it.

Seizing Tom’s hand, the newcomer introduced himself as Porter and muttered the name of a small online magazine that none of us had heard of. “And can I just say,” he added, “that I’ve always wanted to meet you, Mr. Silverstone? As soon as I heard you were in town I rushed right over. I hope this isn’t an intrusion.”

“You know, it’s amazing how interesting people find you once you make a headline,” Tom chuckled. “But don’t sweat it; you don’t exactly need a press pass to get in here.”

“I’ll try not to get underfoot. Or underhoof, right, Purples?” He looked to me, which left me shying to one side. “If I can just sit in on this merry party, we can all chat. In fact, I’ll buy you guys a round. What do you say?”

Lyra snapped the table with her hoof. “Deal! Oh, waiter!”

Tom sighed. “The first story you should probably have is that the pony you’re sitting next to is the Bearer of the Element of Magic. It would be more polite to address her as Twilight Sparkle.”

Porter glanced my way again. “Sparkle? That’s cute.”

The humans at the table couldn’t hear Tom’s tiny sigh. I wanted to speak up and tell him that I didn’t mind, but regrettably, I was still hiding behind the ruffled shoulders of my dress—it was hard to resist when they made such effective blinders. There’s never a day when I wouldn’t trade magic in a heartbeat for Rarity’s social skills.

A phone rang in Porter’s pocket; he looked at it for a second, rolled his eyes, and put it back. His head came up just as the waitress was returning with his drink, so he smiled and tipped the glass. “Nice ass.”

The lady came to a halt, letting out a tight sigh before she turned around to glare—at Tom. “Who let this guy in?”

“No one let him in,” said Tom, staring at the drink which he was stirring with a coffee straw. “Our doors are open to everyone.”

“Uh-huh, that’s great.”

She moved on. Dave was downing Fluttershy’s free drink for her, and Lyra was pickpocketing the newcomer’s camera. Porter either didn’t notice or let it slide when she started levitating it upstairs, pressing the shutter, and giggling with Dave every time they reeled the camera back to look at the LCD screen.
Porter was talking to Tom. “So to hold onto our readers with all that’s going on, we’ve got to find something new—something really special. Something with a little zing to it. And of course, something about ponies. This might sound a bit unrealistic—but I was hoping there was something you could share with me that you haven’t already told Oprah, as it were.”

Tom leaned forward onto his elbow. “Oh, don’t worry about that. There are so many things to tell I can’t make enough podcasts. Information needs to get out; there are too many rumors going around. What’s really sad is that I’m impressed you’re out trying to gather real facts at all. By all means, I can give you something. For instance, how about—it shocks me that no one’s asked me much about the economic implications of the new accord.”

“Woah.” Porter pushed up his glasses. “There are economic implications?”

Tom facepalmed. “See? No one’s thinking big enough! We’re talking about another planet here! We’re talking about another Columbian Exchange. Businessmen are totally going to want to do business with these ponies once they realize what they have to offer.”

“Like what?”

“Well—let’s take natural resources. That’s one of the more obvious places to start. Equestria is blessed with an extreme abundance here—they have enough precious stones to permanently crash the market on Earth. But—but!—I’m a little worried people are going to think they can just rush in and start making deals. You have to remember, alien culture, Equestria doesn’t run on the same ideas about economics, and it’s going to take just a little work to get the two economies to mesh.”

“Yeah,” said Lyra, leaning in helpfully. “Ponies need to learn more efficient practices if they want to compete in American markets.”

“That’s just it,” said Tom, gesturing wildly as he turned to her. “They shouldn’t have to compete. If anything, humans should have to learn to hold themselves to the same standards as ponies!”

Porter, Dave and Fluttershy were discreetly looking past Tom’s head at a young man who was sashaying his way to the karaoke stage. The individual had a green pegasus feather stuck in the band of his hat—and yes, he knew what he was doing. Every few seconds he would reach up to adjust the feather, perfect evidence of how conscious he was to its appearance. I’m shocked she let him put it there, whoever she was.

Tom paused only to wet his throat before launching back in to his talk. “Here—let me try and explain some of these differences. So back before this all went public, a bunch of us who knew about Equestria get together and tried to suss out how much an Equestrian bit was worth—to come up with a theoretical exchange rate, if you will. But it was a complete failure. Start with produce. A Jubilee Cherry—costs one bit. I’ve never seen it sold for any other price. A Golden Delicious apple, that’ll be two bits. You look at these, a bit seems to settle somewhere around thirty cents. But then try and look at something manufactured. You can get a pretty sturdy wagon for only thirty bits. Hell, you can get a beautiful house for a little over five thousand. A bit could be anywhere from a buck to two thousand bucks.

“You could try and chalk this up to differences in the market—Equestria has very strong agriculture, after all—but it’s too wild. It just doesn’t add up. We didn’t figure out what was going on until we realized that every price we’d ever seen was an even number of bits. You know why a Jubilee Cherry costs one bit? Because it’s the smallest price bigger than zero! Ponies didn’t bother using fractions. And what we figured out was that these prices weren’t being set based on a market valuation. Most were based on custom. It was how much the seller thought something was worth. And you have to tie this back to cutie mark culture, really. Business in Equestria isn’t usually about making a profit so much as it is about adding something to your community. So price isn’t about how much somepony is willing to pay for it. It’s about getting a fair reward for your efforts. You look at it that way, the economies might look similar on the surface but they’re almost incompatible. Don’t panic, though, don’t panic! I’m more than sure we’ll find a way to make it work.”

As the karaoke began, filling the room with the sultry sound of smoke, Porter glanced back at Tom. “Er, yeah. That’s great. But…” He trailed off a moment. “I’m looking for something a little more human-interest. A little more…personal, maybe. You’ve always been very enthusiastic about bringing ponies to Earth. Why is that?”

“Well, ponies are a fantastic species for us to have come into contact with. A great way to get used to interacting with other sentient life. I often call them a great first stepping stone. Because think about it—how could they have possibly been better for us? Their culture is
very comprehensible to us, they’re fantastically kind, and there’s so much we can learn from them. You know, there’s no guarantee we would have made First Contact with any sort of beings we could communicate meaningfully with. We could have run into the face-huggers from Alien. But with ponies…”

He lifted his hands. “Ponies have already given us so much. Don’t—err—I’d appreciate if you leave this off the record. But as far as I’m concerned, Equestria is as close to heaven as poor old homos sapiens is ever going to get.”

“Could you elaborate on that?”

“Just think of it! We are not alone, after all this time. And not only are we not alone, but if we can just accept the friendship they’re offering us, we need never be alone again. I think even ponies don’t usually realize how much that means to us. They have a hard time imagining how cold outer space felt when we had only ourselves to talk to.”

When Tom dropped, there was a moment of quiet.

“Maybe that’s the reason,” Lyra murmured enigmatically.

When asked, she pointed with her head to a corner of the room. Behind the last ratty sofa, a grape-colored earth mare was necking furiously with a thirty-year old man in a torrential mullet. The surprising bit, at least to everyone but Porter, was that the human had on a faded ‘My Little Pony’ T-shirt—rarely worn these days, as now more of a collector’s item than anything.

Dave clapped once. “Hey! You two! Frisky! Not in here!”

He shook his head as he watched the pair slink out, only the least bit abashed. “Crazy time to be alive.”

“Let them enjoy it,” Tom shrugged. “Everything’s new and exciting. By the time they don’t have to hide here to make out, it won’t be new anymore.”

Porter was staring after them as they left. “So, Tom. Just came up with a question for you.”

Tom smiled into his drink. “I bet.”

“Sorry, should I…”

“We used to not talk about it with outsiders,” Dave piped up.

But Tom waved him down. “There are ponies on Main Street, Dave, I think that ship has sailed.” He turned to Porter. “Some things aren’t appropriate for national television. That’s all. Now what did you want to know?”

I almost reached out to touch Tom’s arm. Tom didn’t seem to mind these questions—but I was getting vaguely unsettled.

“According to your podcasts, a few months after First Contact you arranged to have a large number of Bronies transported to Equestria for several weeks. You booked out a building called the Baltimare Convention Center, am I right?”

“Ah.” Lyra took a knowing sip. “He wants to know about that.”

Tom sighed.

“Now you stated that it was so a number of ‘ponies involved in the decision-making process, and any ponies who were interested’ could get to meet some humans. But I was wondering if perhaps you’d like to respond to some of the rumors—”

“Look,” said Tom. “Think of it this way. The people who came to that convention center were a bunch of college kids. And even most of the ponies who showed up were basically the equivalent of that age. So if a bunch of college kids get together in a building that big for a whole week, wouldn’t you be more surprised if nothing happened?”

Porter spun a pencil which was suddenly in one hand. “Is that—on the record?”

“Oh, come on.” Lyra rolled her eyes. “Is that the best you got? Don’t act so tough. You want to get tough, ask the real questions! Like why do human girls claim to love stallions so much, but always balk when they ask her out on a date?”

Tom made a stunned sour face. “What? No—Lyra!” He leaned across the table to her. “That’s not a mystery at all. It’s simple, really. Lots of women have love horses. But also puppies and baby turtles. See…”

The two of them wound up engaged in a lively debate over the relationships between the males of our species and the females of his. The conversation became rather graphic at one point, and they injected any discretion only once they noticed they effect they were having on Fluttershy, who by that time had sunk so far in her seat that nothing below her nose was visible. I seemed to be the only one who was watching Porter take copious notes.

“You seem…very knowledgeable,” Flutteshy squeaked.

Dave flicked a peanut. “Hah! He thinks about it all the time.”

“Shut up, Dave,” said Tom.

Dave, who was trying to take the focus away from poor Fluttershy, made a face at our guest. “Oh, but it’s true. So imagine this. Tom’s sitting in the upper room right here in this building one night, just working on a paper, right? And all of a sudden a swirly green blob opens up in the fabric of the universe and—zwoop!”

He made an intricate an unintelligible gesture with both arms which ended in pointing at me. “Just like that, Twilight Sparkle out of nowhere. What do you think the first thing he said was?”

Porter shrugged. “I don’t know, something along the lines of ‘What the hell, a talking pony?’”

Dave made a loud buzzer. “Not even close! It was—and I quote—‘Oh, no. How will I keep you safe from the fans?’”

Lyra had a good laugh at that. I managed to enjoy a quiet smile while Tom was busy blushing.

But Tom shot back, “Was I wrong, Dave? Was I wrong?” He brushed my cheek to get my attention. “Twilight, how many proposals a week do you get in the mail? Hmm?”

And it was my turn to sit up and blush. Everyone was looking at me. “Oh! I, um…don’t count anymore. Spike…screens my mail.”

Porter broke a pencil. “So would you say you looking forward to a future where actual relationships with these—aliens—are common?”

Tom turned even redder. “Hey, there. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. We’ve got a lot of hurdles to clear before our species even have a future together.”

“Nah,” Dave cut in. He waved dismissively at Porter. “It won’t happen. Long term, we’re really not pony material. You have a shot if you’re really gorgeous. Or if they’re major otaku. It’s just that right now things are kind of crazy, so you get some wild stuff.”

He ran a finger around the rim of his half-empty glass. “Oh, I could tell you stories about the last party I hosted.”

“Oh please.” Lyra’s eyebrow arched salaciously. “Your parties? I’ve been around the rodeo, Dave, and that’s nothing. Bet you haven’t heard anything I couldn’t top.”

Tom was grinning, even while he rubbed his hands over his face to work the blood out. “You two. Trust me, I know what goes on. I’ve been in the thick of all this.”

A tiny cough cut him off. The group looked around for a second or two before sighting Fluttershy, who was lifting one hoof just over the edge of her glass.

“I…I think I have the best story,” she whispered.

Tom blinked.

“Hey, I know!” Porter jumped in. “A story. That sounds great. Why don’t you share, Buttercup?”

“Why don’t we all chip in?” added Dave.

Tom was rather wincing at this point. “I don’t know if that’s a good…”

“Hey, man.” Dave crossed his arms. “You scared I’ll show yours up?”

“Oh, alright.” Tom leaned forward, shaking the table. “You want to play that way? Let’s play.”
His rumble tipped Fluttershy’s seat back on its uneven legs. As it reached the tipping point she spread her wings, pedaling hooves in the air until she tumbled backwards off her seat.

“Boys.” Lyra lifted her snout. “I thought we didn’t bring Rainbow Dash along so we wouldn’t have to engage in all this posturing.”

“Twenty bits my story is saucier than yours,” said Dave.

“Done, pretty boy.”

“Dave,” I cut in. “You don’t even own bits…”

“Twilight, you can be the judge.” Dave swept his arm grandiosely across the tabletop, knocking over several red solo cups. “Heartstrings? Ladies first.”