Saturday (Edited)
My conscious returned to me slowly as my brain started to receive light from my eyes again, with the traces of sunlight tearing away the last warm fibers of sleep from my head. Though I wasn’t a morning person, the sunrise proved more than enough in reminding me that the day has already started, and that there’s going to be tasks just waiting to be completed right at the doorstep. It was tempting to sleep in for a few extra minutes, though my body kept on giving me the wake up command to get up and out of the bed.
Turning myself over leftwards brought up the familiar sight of my overly beloved phone and glasses, something that I grew as close as to putting them beside my pillow instead of my work table. I’d reach over and fumble with the phone, turn the screen on and realize that it was a Saturday.
Saturdays would generally hold a special place in my heart, because it was one of the few days where I could care a bit less from the nonsense life would throw at me. I could sleep in a bit more, browse some more webpages, or just simply enjoy some time together with my family as we recuperate from the weekdays; the mindless ramblings of work could be put behind, at least during the evening time, considering how Mom would still have a dayshift today.
Throwing a t-shirt and some pajama pants over my underwear as I got out of the covers, I’d think aback to last night again, mostly towards the dream. I rarely got dreams that vivid, much less with ponies in them. Such occurrences would probably just be a lucky dice roll with the mind, managing to throw everything together in the correct order. Likewise, I thought nothing of it, but still felt some happiness through the interactions as I tried to play back the conceivable portions of it in my head. Mostly at the blue one, Minuette, in how happy she consistently acted through the exchange. It would be nice if the world had a bit more of people like her, I'd give you that.
‘Just another Saturday morning,’ I thought to myself with some more optimism than usual, putting on my glasses left at the side of the bed as I went for the morning’s bathroom break.
Quietly opening my room’s door, the bathroom would be right in front of me across the short hallway. My parents’ room was directly to my left, where my sister would be asleep for most of the mornings. Mom would be getting ready for work at around this time, being in the living room to prepare the new batch of rice and to finish off the leftovers. My dad was a different story, still being asleep from the late evening shifts to catch up on some rest.
Slowly walking into the bathroom, I flipped the lights on and gently locked the door behind me. As I settled down to do my business, I couldn’t help but to notice the hourglass neatly stitched onto my thighs, sending me to attention.
What the hell?
Blinking twice and rubbing my eyes, it didn’t change the input to my eyes. I grunted upwards from the toilet seat, half ticked off and worried at the new, and rather unwelcome discovery to the start of a Saturday morning. I would’ve said it was a tattoo, but the quality and sharpness of it would even place high resolution graphical images to shame.
‘Goddamnit, looks like that dream is giving me some weird hallucinations,’ I thought, pulling my pants up and flushing the toilet, ‘Well, nothing some cold water can’t fix.’
Wetting my hands with some cold water from the tap and throwing it on my face, I tried again as I slipped my pants down a crack to observe- it was still there.
‘Yeah, real funny brain… I didn’t give you drugs or the green light to tell you that you should just go crazy like that. Or did my little sister troll me again?’
Dabbing some water on my hands again, I tried to directly tackle the source with a round of vigorous rubbing instead, only managing to achieve some red skin around the mark. It definitely didn’t appear to be some water based temporary tattoo, yet it didn’t seem to be those permanent ones either, lacking the distinct redness and texture from the inking procedure, assuming that I was sober enough to do it, and if I even drank in the first place. The colours were like pigment, just as if it was supposed to be there in the first place, which alone was pretty disturbing. Since when did humans randomly create natural looking tattoos? The thought alone was just absurd. It definitely didn't help in the increased sensitivity of the area, with the disturbing lack of texture to suggest that it was a tattoo.
My little sister could have been responsible, but I really doubt that she could've produced something that sharp on my thighs without waking me up; she probably had those washable ones, or oil based ones at the very best. I left the bathroom for my own room, finding the rubbing alcohol and some dusty napkins. I chuckled at the thought when I caught sight of the lighter not that far away, reminding me of those cheeky Internet memes that seemed to be permanently cohesive within my mind after the sessions.
'Killing it with fire... the best way if you want to get rid of something you don't want... hehe...'
Well, I wasn't going to Howtobasic my house down, so no need to do that anytime soon. Despite the dust present on the napkins, they were still clean- I dabbed them with the isopropyl alcohol for a second round of rubbing, instead causing me to wince from the sensitivity as I ran it across the mark. It didn't hurt, but was strange enough to prompt me to think twice before applying random things to liberal use there. Either that was some pretty black magic she used on me, or I was just going nuts.
'But then, why would she want to do that?' I thought, tossing the napkin aside as I got dressed. I wrote off the possibility of my sister being involved, as even by chance she did hire someone or was actually that talented, there was no profitable reason for her to waste her time or allowance by trying to troll me like that, and she sure as hell knows that. I thought back towards the dream again, and how the mark was just like the unicorn’s, but I quickly wrote it off. Such the incidence that the dream was real just didn't seem possible in any logical way. It was already 6:27 however, meaning that I had little time to conceive of anymore random ideas before having to take another crash course on driving. I'll save that for later, if never...
Bacon and Eggs were the typical breakfast when the staple of rice was made unavailable, but still welcomed as a useful calorie filler asset within the household. It was common practice to scarf a few of them down with a cucumber, as per all weekend mornings when such food was available. I’d already be dressed appropriately beforehand, knowing the pace of mornings all too well since the past year.
Taking the back fire exit to the garages nearby, the car keys would be turned over to me, in the gesture that I take the wheel. Being a G1 driver still, my dad still had to be in the front passenger seat in the typical morning’s practice run. I'd ignore his whatever assertions on the need to drive for a university program co-op, as I just believe that fate is unpredictable like that. He wasn't happy at the thinking, but even he admitted that it was probably true.
Buckling up and starting the ignition, I shifted into gear and let go of the brake slowly as my parents fastened up. Once the car was out halfway through the garage, I’d give the wheel a sharp turn to the right, with the sight of the main road just ahead in a straight clearing between two separate apartment buildings.
Checking both ways before right turning into an almost immediate green light, I gave the SUV some gas, modestly accelerating from ten kilometers an hour to around sixty as I passed the intersection some one hundred meters, easing out on the accelerator as to just maintaining the speed limit. The speed limit was something that I controlled well, given that I didn’t get too intimate with the curb to cause a rollover. It something to work on, even after the months of driving on the weekends. My friends would always joke about that, stating how I was always the worst driver and how we will all die if I drove. I can't blame them, as capitalizing on Chinese driving jokes were always funny, even at the cost of insulting myself.
Being in the driver’s seat was definitely less pleasant than the passenger’s, with constant attention required to keep both the vehicle and speed limit in tie. I took vague note of the industrial zone further up ahead just across the valley, following into a right turn at the usual intersection, wary of any oncoming traffic or pedestrians. Geometry was the key in avoiding the curb and running into oncoming traffic at all times, while the general state of readiness was almost mandatory to prevent any accidents with disobedient pedestrians through the following neighbourhood, even at such an early hour on a Saturday.
We arrived at the nursing home five minutes before the shift without incident, dropping my mom off before heading back. Nothing too special on the return route, other than the usual practice of executing the left turn. Not much to fuss over in the morning time, given the distinct lack of traffic at the earlier hours of the morning. Uniform acceleration and proper handling of the wheel would be all that matters in trying to stay on your own lane.
Once back in the parking lot, my dad would take over the dirtier task of parking the car back into the garage, given that the corridor was only a few inches wider than the car on both sides. I still had to focus on the unfinished work from yesterday, given that finishing earlier meant the reduced hassle of having to think about the darned concept in the first place. The clock was ticking, starting distinctively as I fetched the work from my table again.
Apart from the leftover traces of math from yesterday, chemistry was left in the dust, with the worksheets still untouched from yesterday. They might as well call it math at this level, given the amount of calculations with the overall symbol of chemistry hastily slapped over it. It was that far apart from everyone’s expectations of being able to cook crystal meth that a good third of the class dropped out within the first month of classes out of sheer boredom.
Well, not like that biology class fared much better.
Practice questions aside, it was time for the digital segment once more, namely a PowerPoint and Microsoft word. That was the group presentation we had to do on some sealant company that I found way back in early April with a few friends. For the most part, we were done, but familiarisation can still be a problem when one person does all the work. Not that I really cared that they didn’t do their part as expected, there was just concern that we would get busted and they would be rewarded with the zero as common treatment.
Booting up the laptop stashed at the corner of the table returned the sight of the generic windows desktop background, with the assorted clutter of unorganized documents all over the desktop. The latest modification should be on the desktop somewhere, yet it was so difficult to locate even out in the open.
Bringing up the presentation PowerPoint, I quickly skimmed over some thirty slides of point information, along with the ten page report we were supposed to hand in with the presentation on next Wednesday. It felt pretty good to know that you’ve accomplished something meaningful with your time, above all the other ramblings your life can just manage to hurl at you without a cease in streak.
My hair seemed to agree with the statement, deciding to tickle me behind the ears. Though not really noticing it at first, running a hand through it to push it back made me realise that my hair was definitely longer than before. I knew I was overdue for a haircut for about a week or so, but holy crap, it definitely wasn’t this long just this morning!
Eyeing the reflection of myself through the blank screen of my smartphone nearby confirmed that my hair just grew longer, but more disturbingly, it was changing colour, taking on a tone of blue and periwinkle from the usual shade of black it had been for all my life.
I squinted at the reflection again. Surely my brain wasn’t incorrectly registering stuff? Speaking of which, does that mean the mark on my thigh was still there from this morning?
My thesis turned correct upon slipping my pants down to check- the hourglass was still there, no changes from this morning. Panic set before me as I ran a hand across the mark, still as sensitive as this morning. I rummaged my mind for an answer before I thought of the blue pony again.
Wait, what?
I shook my head. Really brain? I know that I enjoyed the show in watching bits and pieces with my little sister, but even then, the thought of turning into a pony was completely outrageous and impossible in its own league. Cartoon ponies aren’t real, aren’t they? Even if the changes were suspiciously coincidental?
Well, no harm done in a quick day of google searching. A query of the term ‘minuette’ brought up a wall of images of the similar look of the blue pony, in an assorted variety of official or fan work. Some of them I’ve seen once or twice, others looking like an episode of some sort that I didn’t watch yet. Then came the porn…
I sighed in frustration. No, not at the porn, mind you. It’s that bottle of feelings brewing up again- its confirmed that I’ve began to gain some features of a cartoon character, but the thing is, what am I supposed to do about that? I do recall something about a social experiment and turning into a pony, but that still left an odd spot. Magic wasn’t supposed to be real, was it? But nonetheless, seeing how two changes happened without me doing anything, I thought back at last night again. So that was real, was it?
I shook my head, glancing at the clock- it was just a tad past 10. Seeing the breakthrough in work completion for the weekend and the overall indetermination and frustration with an unexpected turn in events, I decided that a break should be underway. I shouldn't be thinking like that; I should be doing something else, even if it isn't productive. At the very least it won't cause any mental illnesses relating to processing stuff that was completely meaningless, given that I can’t change the past.
Facebook was probably the first stop, in order to check up on the group chat with my friends. Indeed, it had quite a bit of activity on, being subsequently re-named to ‘Nazi Human Experimentation Chamber #666’, probably relating to the toxic cesspool of memes Tom posted again as I scrolled up the feed. I had muted it a while back, given how much it causes my phone to go off during evening times.
More importantly, it was the ultimate showcase of how misleading looks are. Tom was my best friend and probably the nicest person around in public, but that completely changes when he gets online; nothing and no one was safe from him, not even his bigger brother Greg. But that was all fine and dandy, because we knew that it was all satire and there were no hard feelings leftover. I did find it quite strange how I was the only one on today, given how everyone else spams this thread at this time usually, but that wasn’t really my business.
Eventually I came across the first new picture posted and I had to supress a laugh. It wasn’t technically even funny, but the sheer shock value and absurdity is enough to make most people laugh like an idiot. Seeing that there were still some four hundred messages left to go through, I knew that it was going to be a good browse to keep me occupied.
-
The abrupt sound of my phone going off reminded me that I almost forgot about my surroundings.
How long ago since I got onto the computer? Probably too long, but that probably wasn’t all that important. Another glance at the display in the smartphone determined that it was only around 11, still not too horribly late for the events concerning Saturdays. More importantly however, it was a text message from my friend, Bilal:
>Art thou tither with thee kevin?
Aw great, now he’s trying to sound Shakespearean with whatever language translator he just got his hands on. Can’t blame him, given how common the procedure was for such random outbursts to happen over SMS or the Facebook group chat, as no harm’s done with a little dicking around after or before a day of work. We don’t even bother to shut each other up over it anymore, as the drama value was more valuable than the few kilobytes of bandwidth being expended.
>Parlez en engrish tu putain
Normally I wasn’t a fan of anything in French given the mandatory French courses that we all managed to hate (mostly because of the teachers), speaking in its broken pieces worked well for the comedic effect in random arguments like these. But really, native French speakers would still laugh at the average French student’s level of comprehension in the language- not even the ones that aced the class would be able to utilize French that well.
>Kevin qu'est-ce que c'est tu parlez en francis demain aujourd'hui
>不知道
>傻逼
>lol
>but really do u want to go out or something
I grinned. Nothing a little native tongue can’t achieve in the act of inflammatory behavior. The French teachers would probably roll over in their graves upon seeing how poorly we utilize the language straight out of 9th grade and beyond.
>with who
>elias and Sam
>meet me at the shops mkay
>fine
>where do you propose
Several minutes passed, still no reply from the last message.
‘Son of bitch,’ I cussed mentally, packing away the schoolbooks and pencil case into my backpack that was left lying unceremoniously on the floor from last night. I eyed the laptop and folded it into the bag as well, knowing that Bilal was probably going to ask me some questions over the group project before the others arrive.
I glanced at my hair again, the malignant strands of blue and periwinkle seeming to advance a bit further down my hair. I shouldn’t let the family see me like this; my sister would think that I was going insane, and my parents would question why I would do this to myself. Besides, I could just go to a barber shop to eliminate the evidence; no need to bust my back over something of insignificance that could really just be covered up. I’ll just have to reduce my head’s cross section with that cap of mine again…
Bag slung over shoulder, I departed quickly and discretely, arriving in the hallways not a minute later. My dad was still asleep, and my sister too preoccupied with her own tasks in the living room nearby the door, not that she would really care or notice if I left the house. Relationships with her were complicated at the very best, and strained at the very worst. It wasn’t the best result, but we were still siblings to each other, both of us acknowledging the fact.
The elevator down to the first floor lobby immediately faced the glass plane front door, with my school right across from the street. I took vague notice of it as I pushed open the front door, headed down towards the intersection immediately visible to my left. Traffic wasn’t horribly busy given a Saturday, with the occasional few groups of cars passing through the main road every few minutes. Likewise, most of the apartments in the block was predominantly occupied by the elderly or the students, leading to a lack of activity during the early half of a day during offtimes. While the roach infestation was definitely an off putter, it was the typical Canadian neighbourhood found within the suburbs, with a sensation that I would gladly call a home.
Turning westwards at the intersection, I headed off on my way. I wasn't just going to let some hair stop me from my daily actions. That is, if I don’t gain anymore pony features. Ugh, there we go again brain, now would you quit thinking like that?!
-
I found Bilal at Pizza Pizza.
The Lawrence area used to have a large shopping mall in place of its shops right now, which in all honesty, was much more successful than the renovation product that happened a few years ago. By turning the mall into small clusters of shops saw an increase in the material costs and a sharp drop in sales. We joked with friends in calling the whole thing ‘The Soviet Effect’, where upon dividing an entity into smaller, individual ones, there was sure to be some form of economic catastrophe at hand.
While there were actually many restaurants in the ‘shops’, Pizza Pizza was arguably the most hangout friendly and familiar one to the native student population. Food wise, pizza and chicken wings were upon the most popular, even over the supposed ravish for burgers in the stereotyped North American population. Despite the alleged ravaging of the place by some students a few years back, the place was still your typical hangout place by the native populace.
Oh, and the free Wi-Fi services. It was one of the few restaurants in the area that had an open network, to which it succeeded in drawing in quite the attention amongst the customers. Likewise, it wasn't hard to determine where my friend would choose to set up shop, even when he didn't tell me where he was going specifically.
Bilal had already occupied a table, being equipped with some fries, a pizza and some wings. I pulled up a seat from the table and sat in front of him.
We were quick friends, to say the least. We only met a few months ago in February, but were quick to get together after finding common ground as work partners. It wasn't long before he entered into our small circle of friends, working collaboratively to infuriate the teachers with varying degrees of success through our dumbass behavior in the classroom, but still managing to pull our weights off when it came to assessments. The perfect combination to get teachers to think, ‘Are they mental?'
“Hey Kevin buddy,” he greeted, extending a shaking hand to which I accepted, “You’re here pretty early today.”
“First once, first always,” I replied, “Also, why didn’t you tell me that you were coming here?”
“I was gonna text you, but decided that you would know where we usually went anyways,” he explained.
“Fair enough, fair enough,” I agreed, owing to the previous hangouts. Trailing my eyes towards the pizza, I couldn’t help to notice the toppings, “Vegetarian again?”
“Not allowed to eat pork, man,” he reminded, “I got wings this time, too.”
“Chicken wings?” I asked, placing the bag to the chair next to me, as if chicken was the newest thing in the world to me.
“Yeah. Wanna bite?”
“Sure thing,” I replied, taking a wing for myself, “Sorry about forgetting the religious protocol.”
“Don’t worry about it dude,” he reassured, “We’re all dumb like that sometimes.”
“Especially me,” I proclaimed, “No one can be dumber than this guy here.”
“Yeah, trying to light a matchstick with a beaker, we have an Einstein right here!” Bilal teased sarcastically.
“Exactly,” I agreed, wiping off my hands with a napkin as I reached into my bag for the portable computer, “I brought the giant bag of no life as well this time, seeing that we’re going to present on Wednesday.”
“Cool,” he replied, moving the boxes around to make room for the computer, “So we’re done?”
“Yep,” I stated, booting up the computer, “Just making sure you know what’s going on so far, cause I don’t want you guys to fail.”
“Yeah, by doing almost everything for us,” he said with disappointment and remorse.
“That’s just me, I like a challenge,” I replied, picking out the documents needed, “It’s actually not that hard, so no hard feelings on my side.”
I gave him another quick overview on the PowerPoint layout and his slides of responsibility, along some quick pointer facts on the more scientific terms, such as the repeating monomers or the catalyst reactions. I actually didn’t know too much about it myself, but sometimes you just need to pretend to know what you’re talking about for the teacher to give you a good mark.
“Yeah, so you get it now? Hope I’m not going too fast for ya.”
“No, I think I got it,” he reassured, “We’re going to nail that presentation.”
“Exactly,” I gave him a smile, “Because we didn’t go this far just to fail.”
“Like that other group, where the guys can’t even pronounce ‘polyurethane’ properly,” Bilal forced back a snicker.
“This is a polyur,” I mimicked the quote to the best my voice can go.
“And this is that, and that is that,” he added on.
“Man, and I thought they were good at academics,” I chuckled, “But they did even worse than the self-proclaimed dumbass,” forcing back a cough, “Well, looks like I can’t get too cocky like that.”
“True true…” he agreed, “Say, can I ask you a question, Kevin?”
“Go ahead.”
“What’s that sticking out of your hat?”
I knew that it was probably some strand of hair that caught his attention, though I did my best to lie about it, “It’s probably just the washing and materials tag,” I reinforced with a smile.
“Seriously man, since when were those tags all in fine strands and coloured blue?”
“The ones made in China?” I said, giving the best shit eating grin I could muster up to counter his uninterested face.
“Welp, no use in hiding here,” I gave in, peeling the cap off my head to reveal the content underneath, “There you have it.”
Bilal blinked a few times at the sight, “Uhh, what?”
“Go on.”
“Yeah, uh,” he started, “Why would you dye your hair like that?”
“Lack of proper hair dye?” I joked off, “But seriously speaking, it happened sometime this morning as I was working, and went from there.”
“So you’re turning into some anime character?” he asked.
“No clue, but if I were to guess, I could be turning into brony bait instead,” I corrected at his insight. I should avoid talking about the dream, lest I want to make him think that I’m going full insane…
“You watch the show too?”
“At times with my sister,” I said, omitting the part of me watching it myself for god forbid, “Because someone has to keep her company when everyone else is busy.”
“And I thought you hated her for all the shit she did to you before,” my friend pointed out rather bluntly.
“Hey, I do despise her at times, but I’m her big bro,” I defended, “It’s my responsibility.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he dismissed, trying to move on with his original question, “So what about turning into this pony character you were going to tell me about?”
“How about this one?” I replied, pulling up a picture of ‘Minuette’ on my computer, “I know, its like I’m on weed right now…”
“Yeah man, what type of weed are you smoking, and where can I get some?” he laughed out loud, ignoring the awkward looks being directed towards our table, “Sorry man, that was just unintentionally hilarious for some reason.”
“I know, right?” I jerked a thumb at the computer as I turned it back to face me, “I never knew that magic was that powerful, to be honest-“
“Heeey, who’s this babe you got over here?” said a voice with a horribly faked Indian accent, “Bilal, did you get a new girlfriend?”
By that line alone, I could tell that it was Samir, frequently going by the nickname Sam, the biggest pervert in the whole group with his obsession in girls, to the point of randomly groping them within the school hallways. OK, maybe not actual groping, but groping gestures, which was close enough. Not to say that he didn’t get into trouble over it, but he got off the hook much lighter than expected on more than a few occasions, given the very real possibility on being charged sexual assault on the hook.
Likewise, he was finally able to make out who I was once he settled his coke down and I turned to face him, delivering a look of disapproval.
“Kevin?” he laughed, upon confirming my face, “I knew that you always wanted the booty, but I didn’t know that you were a fan of crossdressing, at least not in public!”
“Fuck off man,” I asserted, “I know you’re into strippers and that I look weird as fuck right now, but I’m not the one that’s trying to fuel your boner over here!”
“Then why the girlish hair tone in public?” he questioned, “Are you trying to date a man by pretending to look like a woman?”
“Are you really that fucking stupid?” I quipped, “I know that I'm far from normal, but how would it be crossdressing if only part of my hair was dyed?"
"Sorry, I meant that you looked like a cheap stripper."
"Yeah, Hasbro would make for great strippers when Kevin's hairstylist..." Bilal added in. I gave him a look of disapproval.
"Hasbro?" Sam slammed his hands down on the table abruptly, facing me like a father catching his son in a guilt act, "Kevin man! Why didn't you just tell us?"
"What?" though deep inside, I think I already knew how the next segment will play out.
"We weren't going to hurt you for being gay!"
Called it.
"So which pony are you trying to cosplay as?" he continued, somehow managing to see through all the shrubbery without hindsight, "I can even buy you the rest of the hair dye you need to finish the colour for your hair!"
"Great, looks like your porn collection wasn't just limited to Frozen characters in latex strap ons..." Bilal facepalmed.
"Yeah, including your mom," he provoked, inciting a glare from Bilal.
"Hey Sam," I leaned in closer, giving him the whispering gesture.
"Yeah?"
"What if I told you that this all happened in the span of me completing my homework this morning?"
He scratched his chin, the gears within his brain audibly turning, “Are you suggesting that you’re turning into a pony?”
“I won’t rule out that possibility," I said with my hands up, and feeling myself blush profusely, “I’ll see what happens. It still feels like its impractical on a biological basis...”
He seemed to notice the blushing, “Alright, what are you hiding?”
I showed him my computer. He returned with a priceless look.
“Man, you’re turning into a girl, too?” he laughed, “Man, what more can I ask for, when I realise that my best friend is trans?”
“Has it ever occurred to you that you’re getting your ass trolled?” Bilal interjected at Sam’s statement.
“Since when do I ever get trolled?” he retorted.
“How about that time when you got caught watching a reassignment surgery video with Jason in Tech class?” I asked with an annoyed expression.
“Yeah, well Jason’s an asshole for leaving his phone with me,” Sam returned quickly.
“In other words, you got trolled.”
There was a moment of awkward silence before Sam started at it again, “You’re still a pervert.”
“Oh so I’m the pervert now?” I interjected at the statement, “Then why were you watching the video in the first place?”
“It was an educational video and I planned to be a doctor-“
“That is so fake,” Bilal said to no one in particular.
“-even though you said you were going to be a brain surgeon,” I said, cutting Sam off, “Alright, how about we settle this in a bet, then?”
“Alright then,” Sam smirked, “You want to propose to concrete your position then?”
“Sure,” I started, "If I get myself off first, then I forgive all the debt you owe me," I offered, instantly causing his face to brighten up.
"It's a deal!" he said, taking the offer instantly regardless of the odds I have yet to offer.
"But if you get yourself off to some weird fetish video of yours before me, you're going to crossdress for the next two weeks," I smirked, watching with much enjoyment as his grin straightened out to a thinking stature.
Scratching his chin, Sam replied, "I'll still take it. It's still going to be worth less than all the money I owe you. Plus, its easy."
"But where are you going to get shirts like that?" Bilal asked, “And wishful thinking on your part, Sam.”
"I'll just ask Elias to find some random Barbie shirt from his little sister's," I chuckled.
Hey, what could I say? His polarity from Sam was an easy way to acquire whatever nonsense we may or may not need for our quest against our... unpredictable opponent. Which once again, is sometimes impossible to distinguish from super best friend to Joseph Stalin’s gulags, I don’t know. The other plus side was that his little sister still liked whatever girly stuff that was being churned out of our entertainment sectors, and was only one year younger than us, so ‘Crime and Punishment’ was always feasible.
"Speaking of Elias, where is he?" Bilal asked, checking his phone, "It's already 12 and he's still not here!"
“Yeah, he’s almost never late more than a few minutes in our group gatherings,” I added.
"Maybe he finally grexited on us instead of paying back his debt," Sam made a fist, in clear reference to his heritage.
"Economics and finance much?" I rolled my eyes.
"Yeah, because when he pays back the two dollars he owes you demand for five," Bilal rolled my eyes.
"Hey shut up!" he replied with a playful punch towards him, "How else am I supposed to capitalize on the opportunity?"
"Go stripping then," I said, "I heard they pay like 150 an hour."
"Yeah, let's go do that in Saudi Arabia once we find Elias," Sam looked over to Bilal, "So what's he doing?"
"I dunno," he replied, placing his phone down on the table, "He's not on Facebook, nor is he replying to my texts."
"That son of bitch," Sam cursed, "Kevin, you go text him."
"Why do you think that if I text him, it would be all shits and rainbows?" I rolled my eyes.
“Because he keeps telling me to go eat curry and suck a dick almost every time I try to do that,” he replied in a realistic manner for once, “And you’re the only other guy with a serviceable phone.”
“Ugh, fine,” I sighed in defeat, retrieving my phone. To be honest though, at least he wasn’t going to pull the wool over my eyes by using my number to text him some random inflammatory shit.
>hey bro, we got food here at the pizza place
>we didn’t eat too much without you
>it’s all paid for this time, no one will steal your money
>and plz don't grexit on us over what Sam said
I decided at that point to not get too malicious with the text bombardments and to give it a minute or so. Eventually this came back:
>KEVIN
>what
>I have a question
I felt that something was off at this.
>what?
>ok I know this sounds retarded but
>what color is your hair
I was rather surprised at this. So does that mean I wasn’t the only one? No point hiding it then.
>blue and white
>holy shit
>so that wasn’t some bullshit
>I’m coming over then
“Did he reply?” Sam asked in unison with Bilal.
“Yes,” I nodded, “Said he’s experiencing something like me.”
They both looked at me in surprise, “What…”
I ignored the statement, packing up the portable computer, stashing it in its own section of the bag away from the textbooks. I closed the box of the almost untouched pizza and the half box of wings, receiving looks from both partners in crime as I stacked them.
“What are you doing?”
“I told him that we’re coming over,” I replied, slinging the bag over my shoulder, “Come on, we have a delivery to make.”
“Don’t you think doing that is a bit intrusive?” Bilal questioned.
“We’ll just leave after dropping it off if he shoos us away,” Sam reasoned, “We’re all friends, it’s not like we’re going to kill each other for showing up like that.”
“Finally, something we can both agree on,” I smiled, giving the props to Samir.
“Yeah, don’t leave any stuff behind this time, alright?” Bilal gestured towards my hat, lying out on the previously occupied table.
“Of course not,” I said, trying to force the hat back onto my head, but failing to do so because of my hair, which had gotten longer much to my disapproval, “Ugh, this stupid hair. How can people even stand having hair this long?”
“I don’t know,” Sam smirked, picking up the fooditems with him, “But what I do know is that if it continues and you get turned, I’ll be debt free.”
“You know you sound like a gullible little girl when you say that, right?” Bilal stated.
“…Touche.”
Stats
Page generated in 0.033 seconds
Total duration
900 users online
1,305,420 hits today, 2,561,572 yesterday
FIMFiction
My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic Fanfiction
Designed and coded by knighty & Xaquseg - © 2011-2024
Follow & Support Us
Support us
SubStar
Chat!
Discord
Follow us
Twitter
MLP: Friendship is Magic® - © 2024 Hasbro Inc.®
Fimfiction is in no way affiliated with or endorsed by Hasbro Inc.®
Tracking; looking forward to more.
Interesting fic and looking forward to reading more.
Yep, I was right. I like this. Gonna follow this story. Keep up the great work!
6818962
Haha, maybe I'll write about that Kevin in another fic.
6820377
Haha, thanks
Hopefully I can update it once I get some more time.
cant wait for more :D
6851438
Hopefully by the end of January after exams, or early February.
6852031 Because of my love for this fic I wish to aid you in it's creation!
I also noticed how you say you cant hire an editor, hmm? I can fill in that spot as editor for ya! For freeeeeeeeee :D
6852483
I wouldn't mind that :) I hope I wouldn't burden your schedule too much.
(We should probably take this to the PM as its sidetracking from the original story
)
I do not know how it was before the re-writting, but rigth now it is awesome. You are pleasantly mixing up a bit with the genres, slowly building your character and his universe and you support it with solid writting. It all point out to a great story in the making.
The only two little down sides I found:
-Twilligth's explanation about the plan were a bit too succint. Why are they pairing a human with being from "Equestria's world"? Why not just random transformation? If it is body exchange like mentioned at some point, does that mean Minuette is going to take over his body? If things turns sour for whoever is on earth, is there any failsafe or rescue plan?
All this point to my second complaint:
-Why is it so un-organised? With Miss Checklist leading the operation, shouldn't it be more methodical? Selecting radom humans at random time and transforming them one by one seem ineficient.
6897397
Hey, glad you approve of it right now. It was the product of several rounds of nit picking in the flow part (Yet some parts still feel a bit wonky to me
)
Personally, I thought that giving in the important, immediate details first would reduce the amount of 'info-dumping' everything in one part. The parts you listed was to be explained in a later chapter. (Hopefully there won't be too many plot issues in the meantime).
Also, I thought it was already implied in the first part that Twilight had made arrangements for who's being selected
Maybe I should have been more specific on that part. 
You can message me for any additional questions, as I don't want to keep this comment too long
6899401
Well, from what I understood, she just made a basic filtering.
If the ponies are really planning on doing a first contact, choosing human at key location and transforming the volunteers with a planned timetable would be better. Now she have a list, contact them one by one and hope...
Picking at least a few of them across the world and have them all change at the same time would've made more sense.
And well, info dump can be annoying, but your character is really making a choice based on so few information. Maybe just imply that it was brougth up at some point in the conversation?
Anyway, no further question, I understand well enough and you just promised me answer to the few question I had...
6899411
Aight. Thanks for the suggestions on the part. I'll try to intergrade them in sooner or later.
6960423
No, it was simply implying that he made choices which ended horribly.
Iz we'z donz withz chapterz threez?
Luna?
Fun Fact: roaches hate the smell of catnip. Put some of that around the house.
No offense, but didn't they also do the "G.I. Joe" movie?