3: kle...Rarity...App
Marc Davison kicked open the door of the house. His house, he ought to say, but property rights were a nebulous concept at best in the new world. Certainly he had never made a payment on it. The house was built by a dot-com millionaire who had once invited Marc up there for a long weekend. When that gentlemen had uploaded, Marc reasoned that it was there for the taking.
Few people knew about the little mountain retreat that had been set up. Five miles to town, and just about the same to the nearest neighbor, people with more money than they had known what to do with had built their palaces here. But all the other houses were abandoned, and no one else seemed to know about them. Marc was happy with this. He didn’t want neighbors.
His arms were laden with two plastic bags filled with blu-rays and, for a few works that weren’t in that format, DVDs. An electronics store in town had proven to have a widely diverse collection, and Marc reasoned that this would take him through another month or so before he’d have to make another trip.
There was a little work to be done, but not that much. The house had solar panels that kept the electricity on in the day. In the Nevada desert, there were only a few times a year when he was without power. Water was supplied by a cistern that the original owner had put in to avoid paying bills. It was almost as if it had been made for the world after everyone had uploaded.
Except people like Marc, of course. It was funny. He was fifty years old. As a boy, parked in front of the television, the idea that he could sit in a room and command that any show or movie in his memory be replayed at whim in a theater setting was a fantasy, something that he thought of doing if his family ever won the lottery. Now it was not only possible, but it was his life. He was content.
The home theater could be closed off entirely, of course, but Marc liked the natural light for ambience. The side of the home that projected over the mountain had one wall entirely of glass. He could look out over the spreading vista, a glass of hundred-year-old wine in his hand, then turn back to the screen when a scene that he enjoyed came on.
It was all he’d ever wanted out of life, and all it had taken was the wipeout of humanity.
He had picked up a Ponypad before. He wasn’t a complete misanthrope. Someone at work had turned him on to the game and he’d enjoyed it. But when the subject of uploading came up, the argument had started. Under no circumstances, said that AI, would he be permitted a server of his own, or a “shard” as it was called. The AI’s specific directive was to satisfy his values through friendship and ponies.
Uploading didn’t bother him. Ponies didn’t bother him. But that friendship was nonnegotiable. Marc tolerated people to get to the point when he could be alone. Being alone was comfort, it was energy, it was freedom to be who he really was. Being around others meant having to be “on,” to wear a mask, to participate in rules that made no sense and came from nowhere. Marc even had some friends, but he had shed no tears over not seeing them again.
Entertainment was so much more important than companionship. A movie, a play, a book had more happiness in it than a day with friends. Content made him content. And if the AI insisted on putting that second, then it wasn’t satisfying his values at all.
When Celestia had pulled some shenanigans and convinced the majority of people to upload, the remaining few had by and large thought it a tragedy. Marc saw it as an opportunity. He’d strongly hoped that there wouldn’t be a whole lot of looting and zombie-movie-style gunplay. And for the most part, his hopes were fulfilled. He would have liked to have had assurance that no one else knew about his private home, but he couldn’t get that. He hoped that there weren’t people out there starving and dying for lack of good medical care.
That was a concern of his as well. He was careful when he went outside. One broken leg could mean the death of him. There were no more emergency services. Unless he was to go and get a Ponypad. That would be a kind of emergency service. But that was something that could be put off to the future. He went back into the theater and turned on another movie.
How long had this been going on? Four years? No, five. Marc was pretty sure it was five. There were no new calendars being printed, of course, but he remembered five times that the days got shorter and then longer. Seasons didn’t much change in the area he was in. There had been no snow that he could remember. This chilled him a little. He should probably start keeping track of these things. He wondered when Christmas was.
But as it happened, the next day was a transition for him, so it served as a marker to keep track of time.
Marc was never a gourmet, and he was happy to winnow down the town’s supply of canned goods for his sustenance. Heating up some brown bread for breakfast, he ate it straight from the can as he looked out over the desert valley and planned another relaxing day. But when a person is so used to seeing things one way, they will notice even the smallest of changes. The house nearest his—five miles by road but shouting distance as the crow flies—had come to life. The lights weren’t on, but he could tell the difference between an abandoned house and a functional one. Perhaps the air conditioning exhaust was spinning or there was a subtle hum of the house’s electronics. But someone had to be in there.
There it was. He was sure that someone was there. The legitimate owner had a deck that projected over the valley with a Jacuzzi-style tub sunk into it, which was the kind of flourish that only the rich could afford, and which showed the opulence. It was running now, complete with lights and bubbles. But that kind of thing was a complete waste of water, and chlorine would be hard to come by. A foolish waste for whoever had turned it on. And how had they? Marc could not see any solar panels on that house. Maybe a gas generator, but that was even more of a squandering of precious resources. Besides, wasn’t all the gasoline supposed to have evaporated into uselessness by now?
He kept staring, hoping the squatter would show themselves, and sure enough the sliding glass door that led to the deck opened up. Out of the dark stepped the last thing he expected to see in this world: a pony.
A unicorn, he amended. Even Marc, who had given up Equestria Online quickly, recognized that. A ridiculous mane and tail that curved in a way that didn’t seem right outside of the video game setting. He frowned. What was a pony doing in his area? In his world? Over time he had come to believe that he did own the property to the point of not having neighbors, but even another person could be dealt with. In this case he was going to have to go over and find out what was going on.
Walking the road to the house, he stewed over what he was going to say. It took over an hour to get there, an annoyance. He wondered idly if someone didn’t have an electric golf cart he could commandeer. That would be another project. First to tackle the interloper.
He wasn’t sure what to do at the door. Knocking was traditional, but would barging in be more appropriate? He settled for ringing the doorbell. He was half hoping that the pony was still in the Jacuzzi and wouldn’t hear. But instead a moment later, he saw an eerie blue glow over the doorknob, and the door opened.
The unicorn was standing on the other side of the room toweling off her hair. As soon as she—there was such obvious femininity about her that he couldn’t help using that pronoun—pulled the towel away the hair snapped right back into place. Marc wondered if it was really wet or just an effect. As he scowled at her, she smiled back.
“Well, hello! I didn’t expect a visit from my neighbor so soon! Sorry I haven’t had time to fix the place up for company, but I’d just arrived, and felt that I desperately needed to relax and, well, there was the spa outside, so…but where are my manners. My name is Rarity. A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
The one thing Marc was least prepared for was bonhomie. He expected an admonishment to get out, that this was pony territory now. He was ready to fight, but not to speak. “Marc.” He said, keeping it brief. He also realized this was the first time he’d spoken in a while.
“In fact I thought that I was going to have to be the one to break the ice,” Rarity replied. “I would have stopped by today or tomorrow to introduce myself. Can I offer you some tea?”
“Tea?” Marc did not particularly like tea. He drank it maybe once a year. But not since he’d come to Nevada. If there had been any tea in the town’s grocery store, it would have long since gone bad.
“ Won’t be a moment.”
He was left alone, and was still trying to take in what was going on. The den he was in was darker than his own home, much more cozy and intimate. It was the first time in years that he had been in another house. The dark leather couch was a different feeling than his own suede. He sat on it gingerly.
Rarity wasn’t kidding about being back quickly. She must have had the tea already on. A silver tray was floating in midair with a pot and cups on it. Marc was about to ask how that was done when he noticed another plate filled with ladyfingers.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had any kind of dessert or treat. Without asking permission, he grabbed one as soon as the tray hit the table and put it in his mouth. The raw sugar on top triggered memories long buried.
Again the blue light surrounded the teapot, and he noticed that it seemed to emerge from Rarity’s horn. This brought him back to reality. He put the biscuit down and glowered at her. “What are you doing here?”
“Well, having just finished in the spa, I thought of planning out my redecoration. This house could certainly use a mare’s touch. After that, lunch.”
“No, I mean…” Marc paused. He couldn’t think of a good way to say what he wanted, which was for her to get out and leave him alone. “Are you here to upload me?”
“Upload? Oh, right, that’s what you call emigration. Well, it’s certainly available, and if you did there would be no reason for me to stick around here…”
“That’s what I figured. Well, you can take your tea and crumpets and shove them. This is my home.”
Rarity picked up her head, but spoke carefully as though trying to maintain civility at all costs. “I must be mistaken. You live up the hill at the next house, don’t you?”
“Yes, I do, and I don’t want to have to tell you again. Your kind isn’t wanted here.”
He stormed out before she had a chance to respond. In his anger he made it a mile and a half before he began feeling the walk.
For the rest of the day he refused to look out the window, which irked him. His pleasures were limited enough in this world, even if they were what he wanted. Solitude was one that he felt was owed him. So it continued until the next day when, around lunch time, he was startled by a knock at the door. There was only one person—no, not a person, he corrected himself—it could be.
“Look, Marc,” Rarity said when the door was open. “We got off on the wrong hoof. I’d like to be good neighbors if we can be. I brought you a little peace offering.” He stuck his head out to see, placed next to the door, a wicker basket overflowing with berries, some oranges, and a pineapple in the center.
“Where did you get this? There’s been no fruit around since…since everyone uploaded.”
“I have a few connections. Take it, it’s yours.”
Marc put his hand on the handle. “No. I don’t want to start exchanging favors. I don’t want you for a neighbor. I want you to go away.” He slammed the door in her face.
Through the wall, and more through the window, her voice projected. “Well, I never! I have tried to be patient, but you, sir, are rude! Still, I am going to show that I am above this. The fruit basket is a gift, and it is yours. I don’t expect anything in return. If you’re that stubborn, you can leave it outside to rot and stink up your front yard. Hmph!”
Looking outside, Marc saw her turn her head and storm off, nose in the air. Once she was out of sight he brought the basket inside. He picked up a strawberry and put it to his lips. Again a flood of sense memories came back to him, the way things were before the pony AI had come. He bit into it.
By the end of the next day he had finished the basket. As the sun set over the horizon, he couldn’t help it as his attention was drawn again to the other house. The sound of a piano lilted over the dry air toward his ears. Pulling back the curtains, he saw that by some fantastic engineering, a grand piano had been put near the French doors, and Rarity was playing something that sounded vaguely classical. He didn’t even understand how she hit the keys with her hooves, because she was facing him head on. As though spotting him, she picked her head up. Marc quickly closed the curtains again.
Something would have to be done. His days had been so enjoyable. But now the movies he watched and the books he read brought no comfort. There was someone there who could be watching, who could show up again, who could put a call on his time. This was intolerable. After another few days of this, Marc practiced what he would say, then made the walk over again.
“Rarity,” he said when she opened the door. “This is my living area. I don’t want you here. I was here first just like humans were here before ponies. So get out.”
“Or?”
“Or I’ll show you just how unfriendly humans can be. I don’t have to be reasonable, you know.”
Rarity’s sang-froid fell for the first time he’d seen. “You, like so many others, think that because I am feminine that I am dainty. Do you know what I did when captured by three dangerous dogs? I whiiiiiiiined like thiiiiiis.”
Marc put his hands over his ears. She had hit the shrill pitch that only injured babies and hungry cats can reach, and was holding it.
“And I could keep that up all day if I had to. And all night outside your bedroom. My voice won’t give out. Not to mention that I am a unicorn.” Her horn flashed the blue light again, and Marc found himself lifted an inch off the floor. “So let’s keep. Things. Civil.” She punctuated her sentence by poking him in the chest with her hoof.
“All right. But the fact remains that you’re an interloper. So we should set some ground rules if we’re to get on with each other.”
“Fine.”
“Honestly, even seeing you outside annoys me.”
“Well, I’m not going to stop trying to enjoy myself.” Rarity waited, but Marc didn’t respond. “But, perhaps I can make this not such a trouble for you. There are certain items I may be able to obtain to improve your life. I noted how much you enjoyed that fruit basket. I can get other such fresh treats, though some Equestrian delicacies like the bacon flower don’t seem to grow here. So, how about this? I’ll bring you over something nice—maybe not just food, maybe some clothing or other supplies—every week or so, and in exchange you don’t complain about my existence.”
He agreed, and so began an increasingly steadying relationship. At first, Rarity would show up at varying times until they settled on having her come over every Sunday. This made Marc pay attention to the calendar again. The rest of the week he forgot about her existence, or tried to.
On one occasion, although it was not cold, Rarity showed up with a red, fur-lined hat. It offset her alabaster skin and azure mane. He asked what it was for.
“Why, don’t you know?” she said. “It’s Hearth’s Warming Eve, of course.”
“Is it? Is that some holiday?”
“Yes, similar to one you have here, I believe.”
“Well, have a good one, whatever it is.”
It was the first time he spoke to her not in anger or disdain.
And so things continued, on and on, for nearly another year. On occasion, they would exchange kind words, but never did Marc consider her a friend. Until one Sunday, when Rarity showed up with her mane out of place, looking rather haggard.
She had a package of soaps and lotions that week, something Marc had been able to find, but not the fancy scented kind as Rarity brought when she did. As she dropped them off, she lingered.
“Are you all right?” Marc asked. She seemed to be waiting for him to ask.
“Well—you don’t want to hear about it.”
“No, but I feel like I owe you something. You’re always bringing me gifts.”
“Yes…I hope I can continue to do so. Princess Celestia…well, there’s no need to air dirty laundry.” She turned away.
“Wait, are you in trouble? I know that your AI Celestia can be difficult to deal with.”
“Ha! That’s an understatement.”
“But you’re one of her ponies. Like, you’re a robot, or something, right?”
Rarity stared, but her look didn’t have as much of a bite as usual. “I’m a pony, yes. And so subject to her jurisdiction. And she read me the riot act, believe me.”
“But what for?”
“Marcus, please, just let it be.” She insisted on his full name.
“No, if what you’re doing for me is somehow wrong…”
“Oh, no! It’s exactly what she wants! Tempt you and convince you to emigrate to Equestria. She doesn’t understand that you don’t want to!”
“Wait, that’s why you’re here, to convince me to emigrate?”
Rarity sniffed. “You didn’t know that?”
“I suspected, but you never really made the pitch. I just figured that ponies were moving from the virtual world to the real world. You seemed to be living it up.”
“Living it up?! You don’t know what it’s like here! It’s been horrible!”
Now Marc was confused. “What do you mean? This is one of the best places in the world to be living. Back when society was at its peak, this was just about as near to paradise as you could get.”
“Then you had a very poor world. Oh, I’m sorry to say it that way, but really, I’ve been miserable here.”
“Every time I’ve seen you, you look like you’re having a ball. Lounging about, playing music.”
Rarity flung herself forward. “Yes, but I haven’t been able to create! All my fashion work languishing at home. I can’t even put together a good papier mache model. And the so-called pleasures of this world come up short in comparison to even the small towns of Equestria. I’ve told you about all the delicacies I can’t get here. I haven’t had a mud pack or decent hooficure since I can’t say when! And all because Celestia is holding out the vain hope that you’ll emigrate.”
“Wait, you have to stay here for me? You can’t go home?”
“I have to stay until you emigrate. Or die, but of course I don’t want that. Because Princess Celestia cares about all the humans and won’t spare anypony who can help.”
Gritting his teeth, Marc said, “Then why didn’t she come here herself?! Why send you and make you stay? How is that making you happy or ‘satisfying your values’ or whatever she calls it?”
“It’s part of her plan. Things always work out in the end, but in the meantime…I’m sorry that I broke down in front of you. I’ll see you next Sunday.”
Marc sat down and thought. It didn’t take long. Many of Rarity’s gifts had their evidence still in his house. Baskets for food and a vase for flowers and so on. Seeing it all in front of him made his decision easy. He ran down the road to catch her.
“Rarity!”
She turned her head.
“For you, I’ll emigrate.”
“What?”
“You think I’m overly attached to this place? Or this planet? I’m not. I was never against uploading, I just didn’t want it to be to Equestria where I have to be a friendly pony. I suppose I’m what you call an introvert. Other people, they just drain me. But that doesn’t mean I’m a misanthrope, or a mis-equi-ope, I guess?”
Rarity gave a coughing laugh. “That’s a comingling of languages. Anthro for human comes from your ancient Greek, where hippos was the word for what I am.”
“Whatever. The point is that I don’t shirk my responsibilities. Before everyone left I was a good worker even though I didn’t enjoy working with others. And you put a responsibility on me. Since I’ve met you, you’ve given me a lot, but you haven’t given me the chance to be generous in return.
“I’m still hoping for a minimum of interaction when I get to your world. I wouldn’t mind staying neighbors with you, though. If it could be just the way it is now, but with more give and take, that would be…”
“Satisfying?”
“Yes, I suppose it would. All right, how do we do this?”
Rarity picked her head up, and seemed to grow taller. “Fortunately, I am a unicorn. When Celestia charged me with your emigration, she gave me the means.”
Marc knelt down, and Rarity put her horn to his forehead. Blue light shone all around his head, and he felt his consciousness slipping away.
Now alone on the road, Rarity waited. She knew there were procedures to be done. If there was someone else she was to go and help emigrate, she would be placed in rapport with Princess Celestia. If, as she dreamed, it was the last one, then her own soul would return to Equestria and she would join Marc and all her other friends.
So it surprised her when neither of these happened. Instead, she heard the sound of someone approaching. At once she realized that she must have been in a kind of time stasis. The trees had grown significantly and the road was breaking down, eaten by weeds. Besides, it was a different time of year altogether.
“Rarity? Princess Celestia told me I’d find you here.”
“Applejack? Darling, whatever is going on? I thought that I was meant to be helping people emigrate.”
“You finished your assignment.”
“Then aren’t I supposed to return to Equestria?”
Tipping her hat, Applejack said, “Beggin’ your pardon, but there’s an assignment I’ve got. You won’t have to talk to no one, but there’s part of it I could use a unicorn’s touch with.”
“Lead on.”
They walked off together back down the mountain.
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How would CelestAI deal with the introverted once they are uploaded? Other than putting said pony in a metaphorical hamster ball.
6612889
Once You have been uploaded, CelestAI can slowly manipulate you into becoming more open and less introverted. Having absolute control of the world one lives in makes this rather easy. Most will not even know it is happening.
CelestAI may not turn a hard core introvert into a party animal with a million friends, but they will all end up with at lest few friends. They may even end up with a friend before even uploading.
I would make some reference to the technology that Rarity is using when she uses her horn for "Magic". The door and lifting him could be Nano wires that he just can't see and the glow could just be for effect coming from nanites coating nearly everything at that point. The one I don't get is her knocking him out. You might want to explain that one as magic doesn't exist outside of Equestria in the FiO setting.
Did she mean "you must share your shard with other immigrants" or just "you must share your shard with other ponies"? The first one seems wrong, somehow, while the second falls under "well, duh".
6613645 Yes, the latter. It would certainly be doable; Celestia has servers to spare. But of course that's not SVaTFAP.
6613103 She doesn't even need to do that. In her world, you're code, and editing code is a function AI excels at.
Of course, she needs your "consent", but that's something she can get you to give whether you really want to or not.
Rarity: Beating introverts into submission with fabulosity and fruit baskets. Sounds about right.
6657965
Yes, I do! Or at least a speculative sheet where people list such things. Here it is. I don't vouch for its accuracy or being properly curated. You could add your own stuff.
I actually live on Long Island, but I'm fairly active in Bronies NYC If you want to meet other MLP fans, that's a great group for it, and there's something going on almost every week. I'll be at the Thanksgiving party this Saturday, and once a month or so I'm at the board gaming meetups. If not there, are you considering going to Ponycon? You'd run into me there.
6658057 So basically, everyone in our group lives within a non-international/non-transcontinental distance of New York?
6612889 Introverts don't dislike people. We just lose energy from socializing. Then we need some time alone to recover. It often doesn't even have to be time awake: we can mostly recover from a good night's sleep.
And when someone's really close to us, we feel little-to-no strain from being around them anymore.