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Prologue: in which the Protagonist introduces Himself.1,376 words
Chapter One: in which the Protagonist's strange medical problem is finally explained to Him2,115 words
Chapter Two: in which the Protagonist wakes with the previously hinted-at hangover and makes His way to the town of Ponyville3,079 words
Chapter Three: in which the Protagonist tries to salvage His bad first impression2,064 words

Prologue: in which the Protagonist introduces Himself.

Prologue: in which the Protagonist introduces Himself.

Lilac Dreams. Huh. I have to admit, Mum has quite the way with names. And it’s a beautiful one, too, probably one of the most beautiful names I’ve ever heard. Furthermore, I can think of a whole bunch of beautiful mares in our town alone who it would suit very well, stunners the lot of them. But instead of them, I got it. Brilliant. Wonderful. I couldn’t be happier.

In case you couldn’t tell, that was sarcasm. I’m a stallion. I’m a bloody stallion, and I get called “Lilac”. Brilliant. Considering that my coat, fantastic as it is, is only about a step away from bright pink, I don’t need ponies’ attention drawn even more by the girly name. Not that it needs to be, tall as I am. Whatever’s in my Mum and Dad’s genes clearly decided it was going to have some fun with me, making me as noticeable as possible by making me absolutely huge and then colouring me practically-pink, all the while maintaining my obviously stallionly bodily proportions just so that there could be no mistaking my predicament.

Still, I suppose I can’t complain too much. Obviously stallionly as I am, I’m apparently also quite the looker. Whilst I’m obliged through modesty to disagree, I guess I’m not as bad as others that I’ve seen. I’m pretty fit, my daily exercises keeping me toned and lean whilst my job keeps me strong (I pull heavy delivery carts for a courier company. It’s called Swifthoof Parcels, maybe you’ve heard of it? Hey boss, free marketing for the win!). Anyhoo, where was I? Oh yeah.

I don’t have a particular direction with this introduction, so I guess I’ll go back to my name for the moment. “Lilac Dreams”. Celestia and Luna, why? I mean come on Mum, I know you already had a few names picked out as options, but might it not have been possible to pick something more on the spur of the moment? Like, something to do with my mane, for example? My rainbow-coloured mane, as in? Yup, I’m one of the few (apparently lucky) Pegasi (did I mention I’m a Pegasus yet? No? Sorry…) to have been born with a mane and tail of rainbow colours. A “Rainbow Pegasus”, as it were.

I can’t help leaving the house without worrying that I look a total clown. Lilac body, rainbow hair. Nice. Ok, I do actually quite like my mane and tail, they’re pretty cool, especially because of the rainbow contrail they leave behind me if I move fast enough. It’s not an actual rainbow of course (I’ve only heard of one other Rainbow Pegasus who managed to do that) and it peters out after a few seconds like any other contrail, but still.

Doesn’t help me with the mares, though. Well, it might, as might other aspects of my appearance (including my coat, oddly enough), but I completely lack the confidence.

I know, I know, you’re thinking “What the hay is wrong with you, stallion? Despite your name and coat colour you’ve got more chance than most of us of sweeping any mare you want off her hooves! How could you possibly not have the confidence?!” Well, it’s simple. Everypony expects me to be all awesome and stuff, “Hey, look at me, I’m a Rainbow Pegasus, wanna come back to my place later?”, but I… I just don’t feel like that. It’s like, I can talk to mares, I have several friends who are mares, but beyond that… I feel like I should be able to act like a total stud, I have all the physical advantages and stuff, but I don’t want to and I worry that, if I tried, I’d just screw it up anyway, losing all scraps of “street cred” I have left, along with whatever self-respect I have for myself.

“Wow, listen to this guy whine, huh?” I know, I know, it sounds pathetic but that’s what goes through my head.

Oh yeah, fairly major point I’ve forgotten to mention so far: I can’t fly all that well. In practice there is nothing wrong with my technique or my wings, and I can fly pretty quickly and pull off the odd stunt or two. Nothing special about that, standard Pegasus stuff. But for whatever reason if I exert myself a lot, either flying normally for a long time (well, only about two hours actually) or doing something pretty badass like lifting a packing crate bigger and heavier than myself from ground level to the top of a Manehattan skyscraper (yeah, I can, so “Gary Stu” me all you want, I flanking dare you) then I get the most awful headaches.

Define awful, you say. Well, imagine your cranium being repeatedly rent in two by a rusty iron road sign. Cringing yet? It gets better. Take that mental image and then add being struck by lightning whilst it’s happening. Not finished yet. Take that new mental image and think about how it must feel to have your eyes impaled through by ten inch bucking drill bits. Ten inch bucking drill bits that are bucking well on fire. Add that to the mix, and you’ve got a pretty good representation of how the headaches feel.

You think I’m joking? I’m deadly serious.

Cue several examinations through the years by the best doctors Dad’s money could buy (yes, we’re quite rich. Come at me bro, I’ve heard them all) and still nothing. It kind of sucks for a Pegasus to not be able to fly as much as they would like. Whatever their walk of life, a normal Pegasus can take to the skies whenever they want to let off some steam, but not me. I have to effectively “save up” the amount of time I can fly each day, and even with mostly gliding I get a maximum of around two hours flight time before I plummet through the sky in unconsciousness. Did I mention the headaches knock me out? Woops…

So what with my lack of flight ability I’ve had to find gainful employment outwith the ordinary for Pegasi, hence my lugging delivery carts around down on the ground. Involves a lot of walking and lifting. It’s awesome. Sometimes I pretend I’m on a secret mission to deliver spy reports and I act shifty around ponies just to see what they do. Such is my life. It’s awesome. But why am I pulling courier carts around when my family’s as rich as it is? The job, whilst not itself exciting, is a great way to keep fit and see Equestria. I’ve been all over the place and met all sorts of ponies, plus the occasional other sapient being here and there (mostly Griffons, and by “mostly” I mean two of the three non-ponies I’ve met; the other was a grumpy donkey).

As far as I can tell that’s everything particularly important about me, so now I can get down to setting the scene for my story. “There’s a point to all this? Eegads!” You better believe there is, because even I’m not sure…

I kid, I kid! The start of my interesting little escapade was in Cloudsdale, with yet another examination by a doctor, only this one actually yielded results! Of a sort. They didn’t actually help fix me, but they did point me in the right direction to recovery. Recovery in the shape of two mares, in a little town I had yet to visit.

A little town called…(pause for dramatic effect)…Ponyville.

Seriously, so much happens here, I have no idea how I’d never heard of it before. The place is crazy, but awesome! Go there. Now, if possible. Anyway, onwards.

Will the two be able to help me? Will I ever get over my name? Will I ever stop asking myself pissy questions? Who knows, because I certainly don’t…

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