First Pony View

by Suomibrony

Touch And Go

First Pony View
A My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic fan fic
By Suomibrony

Chapter 15
Touch And Go

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I sighed resignedly, peering lazily at the orange cushion—it was to the left of the lime green one—before my sights climbed up to Embee. “No, this voice isn't like mine,” I admitted, although I would've rather not. I could've said nothing more, but taking tentative steps toward the truth was wiser than avoidance. I was that awesome. Sort of. “In fact, it's kind of unsettling not to sound like myself.” Ouch. That stung more than it should have, but I held myself together. Might've been that my choice of words was a bit too poignant. “I can tell myself that I'm okay, but it's futile if I'm unable to take it to heart. I suspect that I occasionally and unwittingly conform to this voice.” That would be a lot less disturbing if this was a case of a female with a different female voice. Maybe. Pinkie Pie with Applejack's voice and vice versa?

“What do you mean by conforming to your voice?” Embee asked.

“I mean, my voice is . . . the voice I had was a quintessential permanency, just like many other things I'm sorely without. As I said earlier, I don't recognize myself as I speak. It's a little like having a rasp due to a cold, except not quite, because I sound . . . kind of, uh . . . It's like a filter of sorts.” I couldn't say it was a feminizing filter; I wasn't ready to take a drastic leap to the reveal. “It's . . . Uh. I'm not putting any extra effort into sounding soft, peppy, somber, or distraught.” Those were neither directly attributable nor typical to femininity, I reminded myself. “My tone just happens to come out that way because of the structure of my voice box.” Embee's amethyst-encircled black pupils conveyed curiosity, but perhaps also puzzlement. They were also nice to look at. The eyes were the mirror of the soul, or something. Now, however, was not the time to distract myself with trivial deliberations. “Don't get me wrong. I can talk fine, and I do have to talk, and occasionally I feel that this voice is, uhm, nice and . . . well, cute. It's not really a bad voice, per se.” A smile sojourned on my dispirited visage. “That's the danger, actually. I don't want to think of my present voice like it's perfectly normal. I'm afraid that if I do, then I . . . then how can I safely say I'm still me and not more like . . .” I trailed off; my emotions, in particular my unresolved fears, fell like a portcullis right when I was on the brink of actually telling her. “More like her,” I managed to push a few words past the lump in my throat, gesturing at myself.

“Oh, but you're still you, Vivienne. A voice won't change that,” Embee reassured, although I had a hard time feeling her effort. I had also sensed something as I spoke, but only in hindsight did I posit what: was my voice creating a feedback loop that caused me to become fragile because I sounded fragile? “It really can't be so bad to sound a little different, can it?”

I felt slighted. “A little different?” I couldn't even summon the ferocity to shout. “Please don't downplay this, Embee. This isn't little. This is serious!” I jabbed my hoof to her chest—hopefully without injury!

“Sorry, sorry, sorry!” I said, cringing as I retracted my appendage to keep it safe from retribution. “I didn't mean to, I just . . . I was close and you were there and I didn't consider—” Resting my limb, I saw nothing alluding to offense in her surprised expression. “Uhm, so, uh . . .” Amidst my discomposure, a sudden inspiration alighted. “Embee . . . Please, think of your own voice. Think of how you talk and sound. How you stress your vocal cords. Think of talking as usual, but with this voice. Or maybe imagine yourself with Aidin's voice. Or no, forget that.” I laughed flusteredly. “That might be just too freaky to imagine. In any case, you'd notice that it doesn't sound the same, I mean, you don't sound as you used to. You sound like a stranger. Well, not literally. Or maybe literally. It-it doesn't matter.” I shut my eyes briefly, reorganizing my errant thoughts.

“Hey, I hear you, but please, stay calm,” Embee inserted, but I kept going.

“What I'm getting at is that the new voice impedes you from being who and what you are. You accept this, I'm guessing with some pain and longing, and adapt over time, perhaps convincing yourself that you'll do just fine and you're just as you were. However, sooner or later, you might suspect that something hasn't made it through the transition. The tonal discrepancy accumulates—Has accumul . . . Darn. Gotta think how to present this . . .” I glanced at the ceiling tiles as I parsed together something sensible. “A latent presumption of whom the voice befits influences or has influenced your personality.” For a moment, I envisioned myself, for whatever reason, tapping the tips of my hoofsies together and announcing in a particularly perky voice, ‘And I'll be so happy if my lovely voice makes me act like this out of habit!’ Obviously, I lacked the will for that, and I probably would've broken into tears halfway through it anyhow. One thought lead to another: Rainbow Dash, the tomboy that she was, had her untomboyish moments, and the few things Embee had said had created an allusion that my numero uno pony was her sister. “If you had your sister's voice—she doesn't sound like you, does she?” I gestured at Embee.

“Ah, she doesn't,” she clarified. “But I urge you to calm—”

“Okay then. If you had your sister's voice, wouldn't you start behaving like her? Not overtly, but exhibit mannerisms and a variety of subtle cues that principally aren't yours. With that in mind, wouldn't you be at least a little upset?” To think, I had delusively assured myself that a different pitch wasn't a big deal . . .

Embee seemed confused. “Humh . . . A dissonance between indoor and outdoor voice, hmm . . . I suppose I would be upset, and if I started acting like her . . .” With brows wrinkled, she glanced down, either in consideration or concern. “I hadn't thought about voices in the way you do, to be honest.”

“Thank you!” I exclaimed shakily, not willing to show envy at Embee's comparatively unfaltering demeanor or let my own voice daunt me to silence. “I'm glad I opened your eyes. Or ears. Or both!” Would I have felt any better if I could've thrown my hands in the air? Maybe. I didn't have them, and it would've been a lethargic move regardless.

“My ears and eyes are open, hon,” she said reassuringly before frowning imploringly. “Just try to relax. Please.”

“And they were never closed?” I guessed, to which she nodded with a kind hum. “And yeah, I'm trying to be calm. Well, I'm trying to be calm now. I wanted to get things off my mind. That's—that's it.”

“Alright. That's good. Just relax, okay? You'll be fine.” At her suggestion, I took initiative on controlling my stress. As much as it could be controlled anyhow. First, I had to convince myself that I wouldn't die a little every time I opened my mouth. Or at the least that there'd be a limit to how much I could die. “. . . What did you sound like?”

“What did I sound like? I sounded . . . I was, uh . . . I'm not good at describing voices, so, hmm . . . Let's just say that I didn't sound like an emotionally fluctuating cheerleader.” Assigning that occupation's typical image to myself almost had me gagging in disgust. “You understand more than a fraction of my anxiety, and that's . . . that's great. More than great, actually. Compassion, and a desire to understand others, they're so . . . ” I was feeling winded. ‘Sometimes I feel like empathy isn't valued, like some can't feel for others, or refuse to see things from another perspective,’ I lamented, staring at the floor. ‘Or at worst, use empathy as a specious tool to shamelessly manipulate the emotions and distresses of others to further self-serving agendas! Isn't pretending to care what psychopaths do? I don't even know. What I do know is that exploitation is horrible. I also know for certain that I know nothing. Socrates said that. I'm not thinking well.’

“Vivienne,” Embee said, obliging me to raise my head. “I feel your anxiety, but still . . .” Her hesitation made me guess that she wasn't withholding good news. “Please don't take offense, but I think you're blowing things out of proportion.”

“No offense taken,” I said, ears slumped. “A female fretting over having another female's voice is no big deal, right?” There I went again, vocally referring to myself as a female. It felt as pleasing as starting a manual drive car in first gear but without the clutch depressed. I was unable to conquer my fear and tell her. Not that I was in the right state of mind to properly comprehend my fears, anyway.

“You're stressing yourself out, and that worries me considerably.” So, she had taken the tonality of my last statement and my general behavior as a sign of an imminent breakdown? I couldn't say she was entirely wrong about that; letting my bad feels burst into tears would've granted me some alleviation. “Relaxation is high on your priority list.” Her tender voice sent a small, attentive jolt through my ear muscles—their precise name escaped me. “You said that yourself, didn't you?”

“I did,” I acknowledged pensively. Her recalling my own words was rather thwarting. Out of principle, and a desire to achieve longer lasting tranquility, I couldn't take those words back. “I did say so, and I would say so again,” I cemented my adherence with a trace of resolution. I saw a hopeful smile on Embee. “To be consciously and fully ignorant, insensate, and oblivious is impossible, and to be on the level, I'd prefer not to be, as I'm sure it would do me a huge disservice.” On that note, I had become mostly desensitized to standing due to continuous exposure. That didn't mean it didn't feel a bit weird. “An awareness of my situation and the related challenges and problems should allow me to face them, therefore I'll comprehend and accept them or defend myself against them.”

“And to get that, you must strive for peace of mind?” Embee asked, but it might as well have been a recommendation. Gazing into her eyes, I deduced that my ordeal—especially the thing about ponies being cartoons—was skirting the boundaries of her comprehension. I couldn't blame her. I'd be skeptical too if our situations were reversed. I'd still commit myself to providing comfort, because simply put, that was the right thing to do. Embee's heart was aboard, thankfully, but her expertise was probably on treating injuries and soothing the injured. My wounds were in the psyche. One couldn't train for all possible emergencies, and even an emergency that one was trained for was still going to be traumatic. It wasn't unusual for maritime accident survivors to never board a ship again. Same deal for planes, trains, and automobiles. That was a movie with Steve Martin and John Candy. Anyhow . . .

“Peace of mind, yeah. Achieving it sounds easy in theory, but . . . I guess time will tell,” I said, taking her offer with some seriousness. “Speaking of theories though, my piloting prowess is unproven.” A fleeting smile graced me. “Being a pilot is my aspiration, Embee. Hence, the . . . plane made out of water.” I couldn't maintain eye contact. “I'm sorry about the mess. I was already at the end of my wits, and then one of her memories subsum . . .” My voice gave out, but I wasn't about to submit. “It was an awfully unpleasant exp . . . I was terrif—”

“No, hon, you shouldn't dwell on that,” Embee cut in, clearly concerned for my well-being. “You're enduring an awful lot already. You don't need to make yourself feel any worse.” After a few seconds that felt like a whole minute, she approached gently and gave me a light nuzzle. That felt nice. Too nice, because I had to consciously stop myself from reciprocating with a hug. “You should try not to look back on the moments that hurt you.” Everything had become a blur. I blinked twice to rid the excess fluid, but it wasn't effective. A careful application of my limb was, however.

“Ah . . . Agreed, and th-thanks for being my safety net. It means a lot,” I expressed gratitude, unimpeded by my enervated tone. I felt like if I even thought about crying, I was going to break down.

Embee had a compassionate smile. “If you fall, I'll do everything I can to catch you. Like I just did.” She sounded so obliged that I felt sorry for dragging her into this mess, and I had to distract myself before I started thinking my vulnerability was influencing her decisions.

“So, I, falling reminds me . . . I'm pretty sure I could perform a deadstick landing . . . I mean.” She might not have known what that meant. My thoughts felt like they were zipping about again. “That's controlled landing of an unpowered airplane. Anyhow, that and what I've learned of aviation, airplanes, how they function and how to fly them . . .” I closed my eyes briefly. “None of that compares nor could prepare for this.” I glanced back at my tail as I tossed it. As I did so, the zigzagging thoughts in my head froze, then fell straight down like a dozen pebbles. A surviving thought informed me that the visual and tactile feeds were too much for my selfdom center, which had now crashed. “Beeesides.” My brain thingy rebooted all sorts of quicklike and I now had a visual of Embee. “While I can't say I'm perfectly right, the senior pilot monitors the gauges and keeps the ATC, and by proxy, the emergency services appraised while the junior pilot controls the plane to a suitable landing area.” With my thoughts returning to their patterns, I recalled the water plane's fate and what had lead to it. I shooed the unrequested and disheartening recollection out of my mind. “Flying is teamwork where communication is vital, the crew share mutual respect and trust, and they focus diligently on their agreed-upon duties. The safety of the plane and occupants is the be-all and end-all, so neglecting that or outright putting lives in jeopardy is simply unacceptable.” A moderately uplifting epiphany came to me. “That's applicable to several things, really, like driving, and even society itself.”

“Um?” Embee cocked a belated brow, looking perplexed. “It is?”

“Yeah,” I said, though my voice still had that almost-about-to-cry rasp. Some kind of thought attempted to apply the brakes. But not now! I had to talk. I really wanted to talk. “A work environment, just like society, has its rules and laws, and they must make sense. If I question the rules or laws, and their justifications are questionable, then respecting and following them will be next to impossible. In all fairness, I don't like being told how to think or live my life, and conversely, I don't tell others how to live theirs. 'Live and let live,' and 'respect is earned, not given.'” A ghost of a smile came to me with an equally weak chuckle. “I like those phrases, so it stands to reason that I try to live up to them. I wish to achieve my dreams, but that doesn't mean I can or want to be selfish and uncharitable. On the contrary, the freedom of expression and information and the right to self-determination are just as indispensably important to me as empathy and thoughtfulness. Individual pursuits shouldn't compromise the collective goal, and neither should ever be used as a cudgel of subjugation.”

“So . . .” Embee started, placing a hoof under her bemused countenance. Meanwhile, I was feeling off. Fatigue, I presumed. I gently ran my pastern over my right eye under the belief it would ward off tiredness. I wasn't sure if it did. “The bottom line is that you are for fundamental rights and a balanced, equal society?”

“Undoubtedly,” I verified, briefly noting that I had talked for length without being bothered by my light intonation. Was that what I was supposed to note? Oh, never mind. “You see, nopony's perfect, and everypony's different. We have unique personalities, beliefs, aspirations, and so on. Therefore, disagreements, while unfortunate, are inevitable. That doesn't cause undue conflicts if everypony is conscientious. When an open mind is encouraged, prejudice is refrained from, discrimination isn't condoned, and the various lifestyles, opinions, and worldviews are respected, accepted, or tolerated, then everypony should get along just nicely. I hope.” While I momentarily second-guessed myself, Embee hummed thoughtfully, then rested her hoof. “After all, everything we do, say, or think affects everything around us. I try to consider what I say and do, like 'If I say this, do I offend somepony?' and 'If I do this, will I hurt somepony?' Do what you like, but don't go hurting others. Everypony would benefit for taking responsibility of their actions and showing consideration for others. It's simple, really. But sadly, even I falter at it.”

“Even so, it sounds like you've given these things a lot of thought,” Embee inserted, her calmness telling me she was either unimpressed or thoughtful. “Do you talk about these things with friends and family, too?” Her tone hinted at curiosity. Maybe.

“Actually, no, I haven't.” I never had. I couldn't say for sure about my parents, but I doubted my friends would care. They'd probably just tell me to "chillax" and stop behaving like an idealistic, wigged-out political activist wannabe—which I wasn't and didn't want to be! “So, I was saying about responsibility . . .” My enthusiasm had dropped significantly, but I couldn't drop the topic so abruptly. “Um, which means that nothing and nopony regardless of status is exempt from indictment and critique.” I relocated my views on justice systems and government into the back of my mind, leaving only a few words to speak. “Checks and balances, you heard of that?” Nopony should have absolute power, since absolute power corrupts absolutely. I should've thought out loud, but thanks to Embee, it had become depressingly apparent I had gotten on a soapbox. I hadn't ever expressed these things, not even on a message board, because I had no doubt my views would be mercilessly picked apart by scoffers just for the sake of trampling my self-esteem and to bolster their own superiority.

“Yes, I have.” Embee was apparently receptive and hadn't urged me to put a sock in it. Yet. “To be straight as a die, I agree with you on many points. I'm pretty sure countless ponies share the sentiments that we should treat each other as we treat ourselves, and harmony is an essential and cherished staple of Equestria. To that end, checks and balances are pivotal, as that's one of the many insurances of equality and fairness in an egalitarian society. I presume you feel strongly about the values you mentioned.”

“You don't have to presume, Embee, because I do.” I replicated her smile, happy that she was trustworthy, convivial, and most importantly, hadn't said anything degrading or disrespectful. Or worse, told me that my opinions are equal to garbage. “Unfortunately, I've accidentally gone on a tirade, and societal topics are a bit irrelevant to the here and now.” I really was going to end this abruptly. I had recognized her effort to salvage the conversation, but my shame had other ideas. I then said with feigned (but restrained) annoyance: “I'm an inhibited pilot-to-be, not an idealistic sociology student.” Or an insufferably obnoxious haranguer, for that matter.

“Oh? You don't want to talk more?” Embee seemed oblivious to the origin of the allusion.

My ears were as upright as flags on a windless day. “Mmm yeah. I mean, no.” I smiled warily. “I kinda let my mouth run there . . . or how did it go?” I mumbled, briefly resting my chin on my pastern. I didn't consider myself sufficiently experienced on social topics, redundantly reminding myself that I could make a moron out of myself by speaking with more ardor than acuity. Besides, I may've given Embee the impression that things here were worse than they really were. This wasn't a place rife with corruption, poverty, inequity, and social progress as short as the total length of the average Andorran child's navy fleet placed end to end. I was in a country that measured high on many charts, such as the World Happiness Report. Relatedly, I was primarily content with my life. I shouldn't have much to complain about.

“Hey.” Embee roused my attention, smiling reassuringly. “You did talk a bit, sure, but your opinions are fair. From sports to soy foods and banking to books, we all have opinions on things, and believe me, you don't need to feel bad about yourself. I think we can learn a lot when our opinions are challenged, and that can only happen when they're exposed to something or somepony who can challenge them. You see, that's when we have to review our opinions so that we may better understand them. We can then see where we're wrong and right. It's not a one-way affair, either. The challenger must be prepared to humbly check if their opinions and perspectives are well-founded just as much as the challenged has to. Trust me, this is extremely beneficial to everypony involved.”

I had to refute her intelligent argument somehow. “Yeah, but, uh . . . Okay.” I couldn't. It wouldn't be right. “Just to be clear, I'm not thinking badly of myself.” If only I could've smiled to back up that claim. “Well, not so much that you need to worry about it. I'm just sorry for my excessive talk. This wasn't the time or place to open up about all those things, if there ever is such a time and place.” I felt like I had disgraced myself. It was so potent, as if it was coating my heart in lead.

“Maybe so, but don't beat yourself about it, okay? The good news is that I understand you a little better now, and it's always important to understand each other.” After Embee said that, I let my eyes slump to the right, certain I was radiating a submissive aura. Had she been a foe, she would have used the acquired understanding to strike at my weak points. When she didn't speak another word immediately after, I started looking for probable causes for my yapping and for some means to chin up a bit. Of course, as she said, everypony had their opinions. Moreover, I felt safe expressing mine due to the trust we had forged. However, others could fly off the handle if somepony presented an opinion they didn't like hearing. Furthermore, it was extremely likely that somepony had more developed and refined insights and opinions than I did, and could present them in a more cordial and much less agitating manner than I could ever hope to, or was better than me at something I felt confidently proficient at. Whoever they were, I hoped they wouldn't rub it in others' faces, because that would be really unkind and jerkish, and I was pretty sure I wasn't the only one who didn't think highly of unkind jerks. A kindhearted person would warmly encourage and help motivate others to ascend to their level. “Are you feeling tired?” Embee inquired.

“A little,” I answered, confused as to why she had asked. “It's not unusual, all things considered.”

“Yeah, you do look a little tired,” she said, a touch of tender teasing in her tone.

“Tiredness,” I realized. “That explains why I was yammering all of a sudden. Reduced control and inhibitions. That kind of stuff, you know?” I received a nod and a hum for my succinct explanation. Although resting was tempting me with respite, I had to stay awake somehow. Lightly driving my hooftip into the carpet felt weird enough to repel my sleep-feels.

“Hey, I'm sorry if I dampened your spirits there, hon. I didn't mean to.” Embee must've read my overall demeanor, notably the hoof action, as a sign of dejection. “I was a bit unsure what to make of the sudden change of topic, and it took me a moment to get into it. Tired or not, I was certain you'd want to talk more. I thought it was keeping your mind off stressors. You certainly had a smile going on there.” I couldn't deny that. A calm mind would've kept my stressors away, until I said something dumb. Unless I already had, in which case Embee was exercising formidable restraint and politeness by not calling me on the carpet. She could tell me where I was wrong in a supporting and gentle way. If she would. “Perhaps a discussion could keep you awake and relaxed?” I vacillated on taking her clue to continue spewing my mind in spite of my doubts. I could say something appallingly wrong, and then she'd view me with disrespect. Or maybe not. She didn't seem to be the type. “Well, I guess there's no harm if I talk for a spell.” She made her decision during my silence. “Just speak up if you think I shouldn't, or want me to stop.” For fairness' sake, I was obliged to let her speak; I hadn't given her many chances during my blabbering. “I was reminded of a book that Lucek, a friend and colleague here, gifted me last week: Animal Farm. I've read a fair share of books, but he said this is a dark tale that made him understand the times of his parents and grandparents much better, and also appreciate what he has. What we all have.” Her smile's return coincided with my ears pricking. “He said that we should always be vigilant.”

"Against forces who wish to undermine our liberties and quality of life?" I hazarded with curiosity. Immediately afterwards, I believed I had jumped to a rash and regrettable conclusion, which I had voiced as a guess.

"He didn't say it like that, but . . .” She cast a glance upwards as she tapped her chin with her hoof. “He did say something about how evil wins if good does nothing."

“Yeah, I get that. Complacency can be delusive, after all.” I refrained from commenting further. In fact, I felt I had said too much already; I had to be careful. If I was free of worry, I could be unaware of threats to my identity. But if I was expressing myself freely? “Well, um . . . Give me a second.” I trusted she wouldn't intimidate me from expressing myself, although I was already doing a good job of that. Or wait . . . Had I expressed myself to keep my identity alive? My worldviews couldn't be so easily wiped out, degraded, or replaced if I created an imprint of them. I repeated things about myself to myself so I'd "upload" them to my current "hard drive", therefore not forgetting myself and becoming who I wasn't? That wasn't such a crazy theory. Anyhow, I was interacting with a literal alien, so maybe I should grant my curiosity an audience? “So, hum, odd and sudden question: how have things been for you here?”

“Hm?” Embee appeared surprised. “Oh! Pretty well, thanks for asking!” she said happily. “The first weeks were the most bewildering time of my life, but ever since I acclimated, I've grown curious about the way of life and the culture here. I've borrowed books, seen movies, and visited local attractions and museums. Aside from one place, an arcade, the hustle and bustle of this city hasn't drawn me in. This serene and quiet island Aidin showed me did. It might sound unbelievable, but that was a definite turning point for us.” A dreamy look shimmered in her distracted eyes.

“Must've been like out of a dream, right?” I had to feign joy for her. Learning how she was fitting in was exciting; hearing about her romantic pursuits wasn't. My feelings were closer to Scootaloo's when she had witnessed the hexad hug in The Cutie Mark Chronicles, but that was an honesty Embee wouldn't appreciate.

“It was more than that.” Her mellifluous tone made me think that she'd soon speak about her going all Juliet for her Romeo. When she gazed starry-eyed out the window, I suspected something worse: I'd be in a sticky situation if she asked about my romantic endeavors. I hastily decided that sincerity was the best policy. What would she think of my borderline asexuality? She wouldn't expect me to "get over it" and "fall in line", would she? Nah. She didn't seem like the type. “You know, the island's not like the others near the city, because it's pretty much unpopulated, and there's just one main road there. Or was it two? They all look like grey lines from above. Aidin also lead me to a quaint log cottage, which turned out to be a café! They had these wonderful sugar-coated jelly donuts with strawberry jam filling!”

“Oh yeah! I know that place!” I chirped. I was not going to be perturned by that. At least I was back in safer waters. “It's a pretty fine island.” As I recalled, it was a conservation area with a golf course and a small beach. And a spa. I was sure Embee knew. The tasty baked goods weren't exclusive to the exquisite café, but I didn't want to spoil Embee's elation. “I've been there a few times with my dad. I was too young to remember why, but I'm guessing he wanted me to enjoy myself. Like good dads do!” I had to keep up my happy smile though plain determination. Strange how I would only miss things when I had doubts in ever experiencing them again. Maybe once this was over, I'd head to my parents and give them a hug. If they'd appreciate it. If I could possibly overcome my petrifying inhibitions. My emotions weren't as inhibited as I wanted them to be. ‘Embee, please distract me before my smile breaks and I start sniveling.’

“My dad also took me out on some escapades when I was just a filly, and suffice to say, many happy memories were made!” Embee exulted, granting my wish and saving me from embarrassment. “Same story when Aidin invited me to the lush island. Hard to believe I used to avoid the forests around here because I thought uncontrolled nature was dangerous at worst and demanding supervision at best. He proved me wrong, and let me tell you, I'm very thankful he did! What I experienced was dramatically gorgeous and peaceful in its . . . its wild and otherworldly way! I won't ever forget it! The weather has taken time to get used to as well, and I heard the seasons are because of axial tilt—Oh?” Her exuberant smile reduced. “I'm sorry, hon, I must sound like I'm stating the obvious.”

“Yeah,” I drawled, smiling out of politeness, but also feeling a sense of pride. “It is, and it's okay. Do go on. I'm happy and proud that the magnificent and untamed wilderness delights you. My attention is rapt.” I thrust my right limb transversely to accent my gusto. Increasing eagerness to hear Embee's thoughts on this little corner of Earth was pushing my sorrows and weariness away. Also, it was her turn to talk my ear off.

“I had heard that this place was unspeakably exotic and diverse, and I did attend the introductory seminars, but to see the things with my own eyes was . . .” She shook her head. “I wasn't sure what I was getting into coming here. I wanted to experience something new and exciting, but I also wanted to be of help. How did it go . . . ?” Her hoof relocated to her lips, and her eyes rolled upwards for the duration of her short pause. “Ah! Cooperation, assistance, and education!” she said eagerly. Sounded like some kind of inspiring motto. I could get behind that. The possibility that trade and travel had been established a few years ago meant that basing my image of Equestria and its populace on the cartoon was no longer applicable, though it might still work as a base reference. “Oh, I'm sorry again. My daydreaming about the magnificent thicket nearly made me forget my question,” she said laughingly, but true to her words, there was a longing in her tone. Also, it was sort of nice to know I wasn't the only one who had derailed. It made me feel less like an oddball. “So, Animal Farm? You've read it? I understand it's a notably popular book.”

Her departure from the safe topic of nature and local attractions hit me with some dismay. “Ah, yes, it's well-known, but no, I haven't read it. I did see the animated adaptation about four or five years back. From what I know, it's an illustrative satire on how self-indulgence and the lust for power can ruin good intentions and corrupt liberators into oppressors. I think it's a thought-provoking cautionary tale.” I hemmed; I didn't want potential paradigms to come out my mouth. I would've preferred to talk about something less polarizing. I did talk about planes!

“Lucek said it's an allego—”

“But as I was say—” We struck an impasse, our expressions presumably identical. “Uhw . . . Saying something about flying before we both div . . . I unwittingly diverged from the flight path with my haphazard idealistic nonsense.” I felt a pang of injustice, as if criticising myself was wrong. How could it be wrong? If I put on the kid gloves, I could act like I was full of myself. Nonetheless, I felt contrite; the look on Embee's face—which I took as disappointment—amplified my feelings.

“Haphazard idealistic nonsense? Oh no, it wasn't anything like that,” Embee said pityingly.

“Okay.” I sensed her underlying frustration at my lack of self-respect, but also her near-desperate wish that I think better of myself. I was immediately beset by a conflict: I wanted to thank her for the tender vote of confidence, and simultaneously insist that my unacademic opinions were worthless. Ultimately, I didn't want to disappoint her. “Well, uh . . . Thanks, I guess. It's not easy to move away from a self-critical mindset, but I gotta try until I succeed.” I was truly struggling to meet her expectations. At least I could show her a smile for a moment. “So,” I continued once she brightened up, “while flying's typically a task for two, I want to go solo someday, and without passengers or cargo, so it's only me who pays the price if I mess up.” I really liked the idea of flying, but as much as I wanted to feel spirited, it eluded me at the moment. “Well, the plane would pay the price, too. Darn. That's uncool.” Feeling sorry for the innocent but imagined aircraft, a corner of my lip puckered and my eyes fell. Amidst my lack of enthusiasm and weird but familiar sense of empathy, memories of flying virtual planes on my parent's computer flittered in my mind. I had a personal Gimli Glider moment—with a Cessna Caravan. When the distance was a hair above 100 km, loading the fuel tanks to maximum capacity was superfluous. In hindsight, it should've come as no surprise that I didn't have enough. I had set flaps to 30 degrees, which meant I had to keep the plane from pitching up, but I did carefully pull the nose up as I came in for the landing. The rate of descent escaped my mind. An airspeed of 80 knots was a bit fast, but the Caravan braved it gallantly.

“Don't doubt yourself, please. You'll be an excellent flier, I'm sure of it.” Embee was again trying to save my self-esteem. Apparently my misery was breaking her heart, and I really couldn't let myself do that to her.

“Yeah. I will be.” I smiled leanly, reminiscing on my successful, albeit imperfect, virtual landings. But wait . . . If I was good at something, should I not feel proud of it? I couldn't be an expert from the get-go, but I'd never be good at anything if one failure equaled unsuitability. I was awful at parallel parking. Did that mean I was unfit to drive a car? I never got the gold licenses in Gran Turismo 4. Did that mean I was terrible at the game? My opinions were far from perfect. Did that mean I shouldn't have any at all? No, no, and no. Life was full of trials and unending learning. I had a long way to go before I was skilled enough to express myself with commendable finesse and ignore the obvious hecklers. Likewise, performing an error or errors in the safety of a simulation was a superb method of learning and improvement. “Airplanes are wonderful, and imagining how enlivening and excellent it'll be to fly one makes me feel a little better.” I still felt bummed out despite my moderately upbeat tone; emotions were easy to rouse, hard to tame.

“That makes you feel better? Hey, that's outstanding!” Embee said optimistically, a twitch in my ears almost erecting them. “Do you want to talk about planes some more? I don't know much about them, but don't let that hinder you. Chat away!”

“Maybe,” I replied. My impromptu idealism-spewing was fresh in my mind, and if I "got into gear," I could ramble about planes for who knew how long. Then she'd feel like an outsider—and we wouldn't be even one step closer to undoing my predicament. I had to stabilize myself before we could do anything. “Or maybe not. Sorry for going off on an accidental tangent. I was making an analogue somewhere back there before I began speaking what the spittle brought to the mouth.” With my awakeness on a slow decline, the internal safeguards preventing me from spilling my mind were slackening. Super . . .

“The spittle brought to the mouth?” Embee echoed curiously. “That's a new expression.”

“To you, but not to me, hmh.” An awkward smile got its momentary limelight. “I've been here ever since my wails desecrated the midwife's ears.” I laughed lackadaisically. “Er, I mean, not here in this hospital, but . . . the world that I'm no longer in, that really looks much like this one, aside from ponies and . . . Anyhow, my cries, and that . . . That must've been in this same, uh, my universe's version of this hospital . . . twenty . . .” A wave of cold dread chilled my spine. “Um, twenty-two! Twenty-two years ago.” I shouldn't have said that, and I couldn't say to Embee that I wasn't sure. Perhaps it was an intuitive feeling that I was twenty-two. Or maybe Rosy was twenty-two? Was that twenty-two in human years? Oh profanities! “So, uh, one speaks before thinking. To speak whatever one pleases, impulsively and without forethought or consideration for the consequences. That's what the spittle thing means,” I explained spontaneously. “I heard it from my aunt. Too long ago to know when.”

“Ahh. Okay. Never heard of that one before.” Embee nodded. “I learn new things every day.” I was so nervous, if she asked for my age, I'd promptly confess my uncertainty—and then I'd cry. I was that awesome.

“So do I. Many things, actually.” My honesty knocked at me, daring to spill a load of things I had learned just from being of a different species and opposite sex. I ushered them back to whence they came from. “Anyhow, here's a new analogue to replace the plane analogue: I'm traipsing through a tunnel of seemingly infinite darkness, firmly hoping to see a shimmer of the enthusing daylight. Hope is what keeps me going.” My steadfast disposition was transient; I sighed despondently. “But the darkness frightens me, and the slightest misstep makes my heart skip a beat. I want to unwind and feel genuinely at ease, but I'm afraid that if I drop my guard and become carefree, I'll start losing myself. What can I do?”

“Well . . .” Embee held her tongue; I presumed she was thinking something reassuring, wise, and positive. Or maybe I had asked for the impossible? My apparent lack of self-sufficiency crept in as a form of critique, but I knew that I couldn't always rely on myself alone. I was humble enough to ask for help when I was convinced I needed it. “I understand that having a body you don't identify with concerns you greatly, but perhaps you can focus less on that and more on being yourself regardless?” Embee's suggestion lifted my ears.

“Uhm?” However, my eyes didn't stay up for long. I had asked for her advice, but I couldn't realistically expect her to provide the perfect answer. She wasn't an oracle, but simply hum . . . equine. Aside from the intricate and innumerable physiological and cultural aspects, humans and ponies weren't so different. There were many nice ponies, and some mean ponies. Like Trixie and Blueblood. Although, Trixie's arrogance could be due to a deeply ingrained and unresolved inferiority complex, and Blueblood might've had his whims carried out by amenable ponies since an early age, fostering an assumption that everypony was unquestionably servile to him. At any rate, those two could be fictional. Anypony from the cartoon could be. Even Rainbow Dash? Something in me hinted at having encountered ponies who hadn't treated me fairly. Definitely not Rainbow Dash. She wouldn't. Hopefully. Maybe flouters had? The recollection was too vague, and I preferred it that way. It wasn't my recollection! Anyhow, be myself regardless? I wasn't sure what to think of that. Was it what I had expected to hear? Could I truly be myself despite the obvious physical disparity? I supposed that I could be myself—in pony shape—through an admittedly flimsy form of self-deception if I didn't have a female's voice. Wait, was I missing Embee's point entirely?

“The light at the end of the tunnel,” her repetition of my words took me out from my deliberations. With my breath on a brief hold, I stared deep into her eyes. “Place your trust in reaching that. I can't predict how long the journey will be, but do bear in mind that you don't have to walk alone. To continue the dark tunnel analogy, I hope to be the torch that keeps the darkness away, and don't forget: I'm the safety net that catches you if you fall.” There was more than encouragement in her tender tone. Subtle confidence? Or was it subdued desperation? I was too late to analyze her outlook; sobriety had replaced whatever was there. “Now, I'm going to say this as gently as I can, because I know this will sound difficult and even unpleasant.” She sighed, probably to brace herself. “You have to strike a happy medium.”

“Happy medium?” I repeated, unimpressed, yet secretly in agreement with her. “If I weren't aware of what that meant, I'd suspect you're asking me to be ignorantly carefree . . . Er, which I'm sure you aren't.” I was afraid I had offended her with a wholly unsubstantiated allegation and an implicit spurning of her help.

“I'm not,” she said, unoffended. Neither was she lighthearted. Quite serious, but calm. “I'm not telling. Nor am I ordering. I'm advising.” If not for her tone, I would've surmised she was talking down to me.

“Oh, okay,” I said humbly, almost slouching in submission. “I must apologize for my poor reaction. I'm a bit touchy, and I shouldn't be touchy.”

“That's alright, hon. It's been a very rough day for you, and you're weary. I would be moody too if my life was flipped upside down.” In reading her expression for further clues on her mood, I came to a conclusion: I didn't want her to worry herself sick, or worse, become discontent if I didn't appear calm—and less moody. Typically, it was females who were said to be moody, but what were males who were more strung up than a piano wire suspended between skyscrapers? Anyhow, everypony had their limits, and I shouldn't cross hers. “I do recommend that you take it easy and do what you can to be yourself, but please, don't put on the airs for my sake.” She shook her head. “A forced peace won't hold.”

Well, darn it. She was savvy. Maybe that was a boon in disguise? “You're right. Things will fall into place by themselves, and trying to expedite that might have a counterproductive effect. So, yes, I have to find a balance where I neither wreck myself with worry nor attempt to frivolously dismiss my grievances as inconsequential nuisances,” I affirmed my concession. Now, if I could actually stick to that. I didn't trust myself too much.

“That's the voice of rationality, Vivienne.” A hopeful smile creased her lips. “Find a balance, don't force it. Then you'll do fine.”

“I hope so. About voices, however . . .” I was reminded of a much more poignant and real voice, one that I had tried to use it as a means to lever me to the revelation, but . . . I didn't have the courage. “Rationally speaking, I have this voice, I can't do anything about it, and that's just how it is. The same applies to my current form, so, I guess . . . there are a few temporary losses that I must have the serenity to accept.” I sighed deeply, feeling somber and resigned as I gazed at my raised foreleg. Unlike my voice, this part wasn't explicitly feminine. Was I trying to asexualize this body? If I was, it wasn't going to work. Being female would only be half scary if I didn't have to fear another identity trying to usurp mine. Trying to. I was sure my survival instinct was putting up a formidable fight despite the setbacks. Still, perceived as a female, voice of a female, physically a female. Exhibiting feminine tendencies was an inevitability, because everything I said or did was going to be feminized one way or another. To know that was . . . a bitter pill to swallow, to say the least. I didn't know for sure, but maybe there were two types of transgenders: those who corrected their body to match their gender, and those who didn't or couldn't, opting to adapt instead. Would I change this body if I had the chance, though? Would it be right? This wasn't my body. Did I even fit the typical definitions of transgenderism?

“Hey? This might be a stupid question, but are you feeling alright?” Embee worried. I sent a stare toward the ceiling instead of speaking my mind. Asking if I felt alright had an inverse effect. “Bad time to ask, huh?” My demeanor had done the talking, it seemed.

“Sorry.” I gently closed my eyes, sighing. “Accepting what I am physically and the pertinent ramifications . . . It hurts just to say this, but I think I'm going through a bit of an identity crisis.” Opening my eyes, I briefly placed a hoof to my temple. “I mean, there's not a grain of doubt that I do everything in my power to retain my identity. I don't identify as a mare, but when my entire physical being is . . .” Another look at my hoof, another moment of disparity between self-image and body. “Disproportionated. The emotional and psychological effects . . . They challenge my comprehension. You can probably guess how I feel.” In all likelihood, my crackly tone told the answer. Relatedly, I was getting so close to telling the truth, but it was such an imposing obstacle I wasn't sure I'd get over it on my own.

“Being a pony burdens you that much?” Embee asked quietly, but not in condescension. I inferred she had a desire to know more.

Her saying "pony" instead of "mare" meant that the snare I laid for her had failed. Secretly disappointed, I nodded a slack yes. “Less than a day is not enough time to come to terms with it, especially when I've suffered a number of breakdowns. Can you imagine that I don't know how to feel about being this?” Exercising dexterity, I poked my hoof to the base of my right ear. It promptly spasmed, sending shivers all over me. “Uhghg . . .” I cringed. “Darn it, I should not have done that,” I groaned. I regained my senses with a grunt. “Other times, I think too deeply on what I am and what I can't be, and I start feeling miserable. Diminutive and vulnerable, too. All those feelings, even those I can't describe, they can diminish and recede, but they won't go away.” My throat closed up before I could say more. Maybe that was for the best.

Embee opened her mouth as if about to say something, but then closed it. She sighed, looking somewhere between powerless and sympathetic whilst I let my anguish subside. “I think I understand.” I doubted she fully understood, but I trusted she was doing her best.

“I wouldn't ask for anything more than understanding. And maybe some support,” I said earnestly in an undulating voice. With moisture buildup in my eyes and tiny quivers arcing all across my body, I placed my pastern to my lips. I had to take a few breaths to calm myself. The relaxant given to me while I was in the house had definitely worn off by now. I had only my fortitude left—and Embee.

“Vivienne. Maybe you don't realize it yourself, but you're still in shock. However, you're repeating yourself, which makes it harder for you to let things fall into place as you said they would. You must work toward breaking free from the negative cycle that so easily grips you. I can lend support, help you to pick yourself up, but you must do something toward that yourself. Thinking your way out from your negative cycle might seem impossible, but I feel in my heart that you have plenty of intelligence, courage, and determination to make that happen, and I'm here to help you.” She had a carefully encouraging tone again, but I wasn't particularly confident in my intelligence or courage, and determination was just a nicer way of saying I was obstinate. An unwillingness to change my stance could just as well keep me in the cycle as it could push me out, and I couldn't say for sure if I held much control over my determination. I withdrew my limb, and as I held it a little beneath my head, Embee approached. “Now, just take it gently.” She raised her hoof, its tip lightly meeting my limb's counterpart.

She had my attention. “You'll do okay if you don't upset yourself like you did, getting up on your hooves so swiftly you cried, and we both know you're sensitive to your ears. So, again, take it easy and slowly.” She let her hoof sink; I held mine where it was, a bit bemused that I hadn't physically felt her touch. Not that I hadn't felt it in another manner. “The anguish you feel won't go away by trying, but it won't go away either if you keep summoning it.” She backed a little, her left legs trampling the orange cushion without loss of balance; I surmised my motor skills weren't on par with hers. “At the risk of sounding obvious, you should never stop being yourself. I believe you have a strong spirit in you that can fight against all odds.” Her smile faded. “Although, if I have upset that spirit and made it less eager to fight, I apologize.”

I rested my limb with care. “No, you didn't upset me, and I'm too persistent to simply forgo being myself. Surmounting the physical inconveniences and limitations is a tall hurdle, but I'm sure I can do it with your help. It also asks for time, I think. Like waves evening out, or something. Anyhow, you're quite right. I must be gentle with myself, and if I can attain it, a positive attitude or a happy medium could be an advantage. Maybe I have the smarts for it.” I was reluctant to say I was smart; I had done several stupid things today. “Speaking of upsetting . . .” Wait, that sentence wouldn't do. No time to rethink, though. “Uh, I'm sorry about tricking you, asking for a back rub. It was very thoughtless of me.”

“Don't sweat it, hon. I reacted poorly there, too,” she said compunctiously, but just like my penitent tone had implied, I felt timid. I almost disagreed with her as well. Why was I trying to make myself of less worth than her? “Mistakes are normal. It happens to the best of us, and I don't claim to be the best. I'm just a big-hearted mare from a boring town known for its soapstone, if even that.” Her lips creased to a smile that hinted at the memories behind her amethyst eyes. “Sincerely apologizing and humbly taking responsibility do wonders for a broken trust.”

“You're forgiven,” I said without hesitation; I thought the reproach I had received was fair. Furthermore, I'd never forgive myself if I got on her bad side now that I had secured her as my ally. My only ally. “For better or worse, you are what you are, fostered and taught by your parents, cultivated by your environment and fellow kin. Nopony's perfect, and everypony can make mistakes, but like you said, accepting responsibility and being genuinely sorry can undo or reduce the harms done by a mistake. For example, while not a mistake per se, you had preconceptions about the laws of nature here based on what's it like where you lived.” I paused briefly, as a question came out of the blue. “Say, how much of Equestria's environment is under supervision?”

“Hum . . .” Embee's eyes rolled in thought, soon followed by a frown and another hum as she laid her head on her hoof. A few seconds passed before looked at me again. “A third? Or was it a fourth?” Her frown eased. “I actually don't know. I completely flunked at natural history.” She laughed embarrassedly. “I should've asked my neighbor back home, but I didn't get to know him well, and asking him never crossed my mind for that matter. He was, hah, he fancied himself as a meadow specialist, so he might've known.”

“Okay. Thanks for fulfilling my curious whim. Hmh. Meadow specialist,” I said the last two words under my breath, amused as well. “So, as I said, the nature here wasn't as, um . . .” I couldn't say bad. Because it wasn't. Hurricanes, typhoons, and cyclones notwithstanding. “. . . unnerving as you thought it was, and it's normal to be cautious of the unknown. Similarly, not everypony understands why they're afraid of something, but nonetheless, they let their instincts decide for them.” That was pretty much what I was doing by being Vivienne. “Same might apply to mistakes: some may not understand the mistakes they make, or why they made a mistake in the first place.” I felt like that was a critique directed at myself, although in hindsight, I may've subliminally thought of my friends. I didn't need to think more on that; it was something to take up with them, assuming I had the bravery. “Maybe I've become a little too tired to understand things?”

“Tired as you are, you have profound views and insights, and continue to be an amazing thinker. I admire that, and I'm impressed.” If Embee gave me any more validation for my intellect, I would blush. Better to be abashed than become prideful, as I wasn't particular to arrogance. Yet I admired Rainbow Dash, who was more often than not reckless, boastful, and egotistical. Anyhow, Embee said I was smart, then . . . maybe I really was smart? Perhaps not smart enough to be a certified researcher or a scientist, but smart enough to do okay. I wouldn't always be right, but I wouldn't always be wrong, either. That was pretty meaningless. “I won't lie, hon,” Embee said softly, “I'm starting to feel tapped out, too.”

“You know . . .” Her compliment was motivating me to open up a bit, although I had to break through a wall of inhibition. “I try to understand. I want to understand how things work: physics, astronomy, whales, the behavior of others, you name it. Ever since I was mature enough to think for myself, I've tried to understand a lot of things. I even try to understand myself, and sometimes, I think that my cognitive processes are the greatest mystery I know of. Now more than ever, I have to understand myself if I'm to be less erratic and strike the balance you spoke of.” I took note of my snout, then the messy bangs, and lastly, the things I stood with. I looked at Embee right as I realized I had knees in my arms, which actually were legs. I felt a smidgen woozy. Letting out a long sigh, I glanced to my right at the abstract art piece with the red and orange ribbons crisscrossing over a starry background. Maybe that was some kind of an allegory to the complexity of the universe? Or maybe it was made on drugs? Whatever the inspiration was, it was lost to me. Just like I didn't think deeply on the art piece, I rarely needed to think what I was to myself. I was me, and always had been me, but separation from my physical self had a profound effect that was more baffling than edifying. “But I dunno,” I murmured, my weariness and participation in the discussion preventing deeper self-analysis. Heeding a want to rest, I prodded my insensate hoof into the cushion's edge, whereupon I was reminded of what I didn't want to feel. “I've got a few unresolved issues . . .” I thought. Out loud. In a low, groaning voice. I felt indifferent that I did. Purposeful slipup?

“I'd be happy to hear what those issues are. Maybe I can solve them, or at the least help you understand how to solve them,” Embee offered, repositioning herself by the table's corner to my left, as if ready to sit down and talk with me. I gazed at her welcoming expression, unsure about the opportunity. “Do you think you'll then find much needed comfort and peace of mind?” Humming, I looked down at the comic book. “What's on your mind?” she inquired after a brief moment. What was on my mind was an issue I'd have to present with exceptional tact. “Let's talk it through, okay?” Was tiredness lurking in her eyes? Possibly. I gave the cushion another prod, half-wishing the unspeakables were as insensitive as a hoof. After a few seconds, the silence was broken by a soft click of her tongue. “Have you wondered why I stay with you instead of seeking assistance?”

I was reminded that she was off duty; she didn't need to be here with me. “Can't say I have, but now that you mention it, I do wonder. Funny.” A corner of my lip upturned in transient joviality. “Seeing as my situation is somewhere between unusual and unprecedented, why haven't you rushed out the door to find help?”

Embee presented one of those sad smiles that nonetheless bore hope. “Before I can go asking for assistance, leaving you here by yourself—or in the care of somepony else if you can't join me—I must be assured and confident in your ability to be fine and awake for longer than a couple of minutes. You're getting better, but I still worry for you.” Assured and confident? Right, I could assure her, but she'd trust her own judgement if I didn't make a solid case.

“I thought I was so enigmatically special that you can't in your good mind squander a single second of my specially enigmatic speciality of enigmatical specialness of enigmaticalness,” I droned, aided by my weariness that was further compounded by my lingering recollection of the cushion-administered fondling. However, Embee's giggling signified that my playfulness hadn't gone to waste.

“Specially enigmatic specilsticical . . . ? Bleh!” She stuck out her tongue, a giggle following without delay. “Ah,” she sighed, “how do you do that?”

I was powerless against smiling myself. “I just um . . . I just do.” I was sure my cheeks were lighting up. “Well, anyhow, you don't need to worry so much that you feel tied up. I'm as fine as I can be, and I'm sure I can stay awake for more than a couple of minutes, maybe up to an hour. I'm not as think as you tired.” Embee suddenly broke out into a guffaw. I was smitten with her laughter, exhibiting a confused titter. “Oh, um, what's so fun . . . ny now? Buh!” I facehoofed, disbelieving my gaffe—and I couldn't believe I just facehoofed! Although I had substantial evidence for both. After disconnecting my limb from my face, I gave the former a glance. Embee was occupied by mirth. “That was embarrassing,” I muttered, gathering my poise. “But I can take a joke. I'm humble, and I'm fine.” The gentleness of my tranquil vocalization chafed with me, but my chagrin wasn't for long. She was still having fun with herself. It was no skin off my back. She was laughing with me, not at me. “Okay, it wasn't that funny,” I objected quietly in spite of the tiny smile tugging at my lips. I took another look at the fundamentally alien features of my limb: in addition to coping with the whole equine locomotion gist, how many times could I apply pressure on these four extremities before my tolerance was at its limit? I didn't want to suffer an anxiety attack in the middle of a hallway. Or in other words, start shedding a few conspicuous tears.

“Whew. You tickled my funny bone there. Thank you.” My ears told Embee had made a timely recovery, which I confirmed with my eyeballs.

“It was nice to be of service,” I voiced my lightheartedly sarcastic comeback, rolling aforementioned eyeballs. “Anyhow, what you were saying earlier makes sense. While you were having fun times, I ascertained whether I have the endurance to accompany you wherever you went. I said I must work with this body, and I understand that I absolutely have to, but I can't guarantee I won't suffer a moment of anxiety somewhere down the line.” The contrast of having claimed to be fine and now admitting my frailness downed my ears. I didn't note when they went up. “So, perhaps it's best I don't go anywhere until we're both sure I'll be fine.” I rested my extremity.

Embee stared at me for a full second without a conclusive expression. “That's more or less what I said, hon.” I detected neither teasing nor condescension in her tone.

“Yeah, more or less.” I found myself a bit nonplussed. “So we're in agreement,” I said kindly, but minorly humiliated. “By the way, thanks for, well . . .” This was going to be an awkward transition. Better just do it. “For being here when you could be asleep at home.” I would be sleeping now. In my bed. A memory flash! Furniture designed for ponies? Had I . . . Rosy been to an IKEA recently? My inkling said yes, and also said this was before the acquisition of the car. There was something about the car. Affordable and—

“Think nothing of it,” Embee said modestly, driving off the inkling. Driving . . . ? Whatever. “I just follow my heart.”

“Hmmh. Following the heart.” I was reminded of a small bit of trivia: conscience was "heart feeling" in Estonian. “That's sweet and kind.” Following my appreciative smile to her, I pressed the cushion again, considering kneeling down onto it so I could rest and perhaps think things over. Send Embee away, or not? Or something else? “So, um, I feel . . .” I felt daunted just looking at the cushion. “I feel that um . . .” No, I couldn't ask her to familiarize me with disagreeable anatomy, especially when said anatomy was ineffably intimate. I could just follow her, but . . . I had felt empty walking. Then again, I never liked walking naked. It was so . . . sway-happy without the confining garments. Was my current form's nakedness better? Maybe it was. “Ugh!” What was I thinking!?

“Is it a bad feeling, hon?” Embee asked soon after I had closed my eyes and placed my hoof to my bridge—again! I held it there, as if I could block out my curiosities on what advantages being physically female bestowed. I discovered one discouraging aspect pretty quickly: most human females had dairy-dos, and I couldn't imagine those being comfortable. I had never asked if they were. Even if I exercised courtesy and tact, expressed sincere curiosity, and assured that my inquiries were free from debauchery, I was afraid it'd take only a few seconds to be accused of, condemned as, and then vilified for being a depraved pervert. Fortunately, the overwhelming majority of informative and educative web sites weren't excluding perusers due to extremely negative gender stereotypes that weren't propagating equality. “You can tell me, can't you?” Embee queried, indirectly instigating me to take my extremity off my face. “Is it something about hooves? Don't be frightened to tell me, Vivienne.” I was gazing at my upended hoof, like I had done so many times. I didn't think much, and I let the limb reunite with the floor. Out of nowhere, the fact that the mammalian prominences on ponies were comparatively insignificant elicited a strange thought: if being pony had been my choice, would I have chosen to be a mare just for the convenience of . . . internal equipment as opposed to external? I was afraid to answer that question, yet I was pretty sure I already knew it. I had speculated on it several hours ago. Granted, the specific anatomy itself and the inherent functions repulsed me—especially periods! As far as I knew, they were unspeakably awful. “Not to pry, but is your coat itching?” Embee queried carefully, prompting me to review if my itches demanded immediate attention.

“For the time being, no, it's not, and if it were, I'd use a tool of some kind,” I replied, albeit a little annoyed. Should I have said that I wasn't opposed to her help?

“There should be a clean brush in the bathroom. I could have it brought to you if you want,” Embee offered. “Or actually, it's not far from where we are now. If you feel up to it, we could go there. Maybe the walk will be refreshing?”

“I'm not sure I want to do either. Having my body brushed would wake me up like nothing else, but being extremely uncomfortable in my skin instead of adequately tolerant is more trouble than it's worth. Also, removing grime off me isn't much of a concern at the moment. Thanks for asking, though. I'm content with just being able to stand and walk with these things. I do pretty fine at that, as long as I don't start fretting about it.” I held my limb a little beneath my head, feeling a pinch of agitation when I looked down along the grimy hair. As if having four legs was an affront to my persona. It kind of was, and my agitation was a habitual defense for my sorrow. Aggression was seemingly a strength, whilst sorrow wasn't. Maybe showing sorrow was a true strength, and covering up sadness with indignation was a weakness? As I kept staring at my elevated leg, I wondered how would this entire day have been if . . . this was flipped over. A female-me in a stallion's body? What would I miss? What would I appreciate? Not being the target of predatorily sexual males was perhaps one advantage. Not to say that predatorily sexual females were unheard of. But this was an irrelevant subject. I should have been thinking of something more immediate, private, and personal—aside from that, geez! I was fairly sure some females wouldn't hesitate to "get a feel". I was above such primal and shallow pursuits. I wasn't sure what a female would find appealing in being temporarily male. Perhaps merely exploring existence as a male would be an exquisitely eye-opening and educational experience? Of course, it would have to be temporary, just like my present predicament was. Hopefully.

“You have that look again, hon,” Embee said in a lighthearted tone, which earned her a plain look as I gingerly brought my hoof down. “The kind of look that says you were deep in your thoughts. Whether it's something bothersome, embarrassing, shameful, fascinating . . . agonizing? I don't know, Vivienne. Is it something you can't tell me, or something you really want to tell me but are afraid to? I don't know, but I do know that every second of your silence increases my curiosity and worry. So, hmh.” Having become serious, she renewed her smile. “A bit for your thoughts?” I immediately realized she couldn't carry money on her. Unless she had it hidden under her mane, which was possible, but unlikely. I also had a hunch that bits weren't the primary currency here. Force of habit on her part?

“I'm sorry, Embee,” I said in my (presently) naturally soft manner. “I'm just wondering if . . .” No, I couldn't bring myself to ask what she'd do as a male. Not yet, and not so suddenly, anyhow. “. . . wondering if we should go asking about how to fix this entire situation, or see how well I can relax first with some coffee and casual chat. I'm still recovering. You know, slowly pulling out of the negative cycle? It's not going to happen smoothly or quickly. Think of it as exhaustion after a long run. Or long flight, if you will. Recovery will happen, but it takes time, and I can't unfeel the ache. So, again, I wonder if going or staying makes my troubles less cumbersome.”

“Well, I gave you my opinions and suggestions, and you've made your own assessments,” Embee recounted, serious and calm. “I think it's fair to say that you have the capacity to make the decision.”

That should be easy. “Okay, I'd like to . . .” Maybe deciding was anything but easy? “Hmm?” Grooves and ridges sprawled from where I laid my hoof on the cushion. “Some rest would do me well.” My inhale brought in the scent of coffee that had been in the air ever since its brewing. “The coffee wouldn't be bad, either.” I locked eyes with Embee. I had only the faintest idea on how it was possible that a species I considered purely fictional not only existed but had come to Earth. I had something warmer to say. “Speaking of bad, whatever I've done and said, I feel fortunate, privileged, and grateful to have met you, and talking with you some more would be a delight.” With her lips creasing to a smile of appreciation, I realized a casual chat and coffee time would delay finding the help I required. “However, we haven't done much to solve my predicament, and it's most likely past midnight . . .” Doubting we'd find help during the night, I let my gaze migrate from Embee to the cushion, where it remained for a few seconds before going back to her. “Why do simple things become so complex?” Right as I said that, a barely-formed idea touched my mind. “Well . . . Perhaps I should go on a limb and heed my instincts?” That's what I did, and shortly, I was staring down my snout at the lime green fabric. “It can't hurt to sleep for a few hours,” I said to Embee, having resigned to my base desire. “You'll take this issue up to, um . . . I don't know the procedures, but I trust that you will relay my situation to whoever knows best while I'm snoozing.”

“I'll do my best, trust me. I'm absolutely sure somepony knows how to make everything okay for you and Rosy.” Her confidence and relief was overtaken by a slight frown. “Are you really sure you want to sleep?”

“Please, don't make me doubt myself,” I warned, a little scared I would. “I do that too much and too often already. It's a quagmire I don't need to get stuck in. So, listen carefully. It's been a strange day. A long, trying, tiring day, and that means I do not want to rest.” Her expression forebore a question on why I had changed my mind; I continued with an earnest emphasis before she got a word in. “That I've had a long and stressful day means I am in need of rest.”

Her eyes rolling diagonally down strongly implied she was contemplating. “Alright, I understand. Let's go find a bed, okay?” She walked towards the door, holding me in her kind but appraising sights until she passed in front of me.

“Yes, lead the way, please.” I rotated around and walked beside her, leaving unsaid that I had wasted a lot of time on being aversive, bemoaning my flaws, and . . . yadda yadda. As a silver lining, I felt I had gotten a lot of things out of my system, and I was considerably more relaxed compared to ten or twenty minutes ago. Realistically, I could not cancel my shock and its symptoms. That would be akin to switching off clinical depression or paraplegia.

Embee hesitated by the door, looking over at me. “Hey, I just want to say that once you have settled in, I or somepony else could bring you the cof—” Suddenly the door clicked, swinging inwards as if by its own; we both backed out of its path, although I nearly tripped over myself as my forelegs and hind legs simultaneously pushed and pulled me.

A blue—or could be teal—pony stood before us, her mane and tail in two hues of yellow. “Embee?” the pony said, her brown eyes evidencing puzzlement.

“Oh, Night Light? It's nice to see you!” Embee's tone was full of joyful surprise.

“Likewise!” came the cheerful response. “But, ehm . . . What're ya doin' here, at this hour?” She wore satchels—or saddle bags—and was wingless and hornless. An earth pony! “Didn't your day end an hour ago? Or are ya workin' overtime?”

“Well, yes,” came the reply. As I was standing half of a body length farther back than Embee, I had a good view of one half of her face as she gave me a brief glance. Would she tell this mare what had happened? A reassuring smile appeared on Embee before her face turned out of my view. “I got tangled up in something I could've never foreseen.”

“So did I,” my lips barely moved with my whisper. I was glad Embee hadn't spilled the beans right off the bat, but I also reflected a little on how immeasurably improbable and reality-shattering it was to unexpectedly wake up in a pony's body in an alternate universe where ponies exist. One little variable different, and I could've awoken as a stallion. Or as myself. Or as a female myself. Or much worse, as a real pony in some farmstead! Or as a 1964 Ford Mustang—the first pony car. Supposedly in that state, I wouldn't count as a living, sapient being. Nightmare or not?

Comments

[Ocean Breeze]

At school. Will definitely read later.

[SuzukiDragon]

Ohmygod new chapter. IT LIVES!!!

[LightningDashes]

w00t! new chapter
commence reading!

[andmos]

I feel as if nothing new is happening right now. A lot of character development and not enough action. I like character development but when it's nearly 3 chapters of it, it kind of lower your acceptation to the next chapter. Hope you will understand it and try to improve the flow of the next chapter

[lilmagi]

It looks like things will pick up soon, hopefully.

[Bast]

He is never going to say the truth with this endless cycle of excuses or how it is never the right time x3

[SafariJohn]

I found my eyes tending to glaze over whenever Vivienne spouts his/her ridiculously over-worded run-on monologues. It's not pleasant to read, although only those parts are unpleasant: the rest of the story is quite nice.
So basically what 4384486 said, but without such overly extreme language.

I probably would have long since smacked Vivienne/Rosy over the head and told him/her to quit pussyfooting around his/her issues and tell me about them. In my experience, the sooner you come clean about something that is bothering you, the sooner you feel better.

[The_Machinist]

4384179 Shhhh...

[cheerilee-party-hard]

My brain hurts...

I wish he/she'd just fess up already so the plot can move forward. Great writing is hard to read if the content isn't there.

[Feurisson]

4384462 I've been feeling like that for the past five-six chapters, to be honest. It's a shame, really - the earlier chapter were almost perfect as in they had both, character development and some action happening. Even the first chapter has more of it than the past few combined...
4384486 I wouldn't say I hate it, but I definitely don't like it either. It's sometimes like Rose grew up with the thesaurus as one of her/his best friends when s/he was a filly/child/whatever s/he was.

[Lab]

Granted, the specific anatomy itself and the inherent functions repulsed me—especially periods!

Good thing there's a decent chance you'll have to deal with an estrous cycle instead of a menstrual one, but then again, I don't know the pony biology in your headcanon.

A story doesn't need to be gunfights and explosions. Action is conflict, and in this fic it's mostly internal. Man against self—don't split hairs about the protagonist being a mare—is one of the widely recognized classifications of conflict. The highly introspective style is vital, and focusing too much on anything else would undermine the rest of the story. If you don't like it, find something else to read, but there is nothing inherently wrong with how First Pony View is written.

That said, I'm ecstatic a new chapter finally popped up. Life happens, but that doesn't mean I have to be less excited.

[Pop chatters]

Aside from HOLY BATMAN WORDS, I almost feel childish for liking the pictures.

I mean, I appreciate the art and all, but I am sleepy as is and the gears in my brain do not feel like spinning around their axis. Do I appreciate the art work, or do I like that my brain gets a pause from all the words much like a toddler does?

[Feurisson]

4385079 I understand, and that conflict is actually what I liked most in this story, but it just seems like it's going nowhere at this point. I've been reading this story since before Chapter 6 was out, and the conflict was much more interesting to read about, since there seemed to be some progress, new challenges the protagonist had to solve, and so on. Right now it seems to be nothing much but talking, whether mentally or in a dialogue.

[Alaborn]

conscience was "heart feeling" in Estonian

Since the languages are similar, is that the case in Finnish as well?

[Feurisson]

4385363 Just a note from a fluent speaker: A closer literal translation would probably be "heart attestation" or actually "attestation of the heart", but I guess that wouldn't fit the story so well.
And in Finnish it's apparently "omatunto" - I'm not so good with Finnish, but wouldn't that translate to "self feeling" or something like that?

[Johnny Walker]

I really don't want to be that guy... Suomibrony, here's a little bit of something to mill over in your mind: There are a couple long fics on here that I liked, including this one at first. I actually like long form fics because it's not just shorts that don't affect the world outside of being a snapshot. Here's a couple I liked:

*Five Score Divided By Four was an adventure about Equestria's residents being defeated by Discord, trapped on Earth without memories as humans, and rediscovering who they were. That concluded at 280,000 words in over a year.
*Asylum, is a psychological mind fuck of a story at 160,000+ words. Haven't read it the whole way through, but it reminds me of One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest and Clockwork Orange.
*I'm not a Brony, Get me out of Equestria: 3 full volumes and several spinoffs of a snarky human trapped in Equestria. Great comedy, plenty of adventure, and a bit of drama.
*Book of Friendship mixes comedy, slice of life, and dark themes well in an Equestrian 3rd world country. 176,000 words over 2 years.
*Daily Show presents Equestrian Interviews has 360,000 words with a real human figure looking as better than their on screen persona and speaking with ponies as if it were a real interview.

*First Pony View: At 130,000 words in 2+ years with no end in sight. Premise starts off well at diving into a mind that is breaking at the seams between two fundamentally different identities. Our hero was a human, woke up as a pony, assaulted a neighbor, got drunk on pineapples, got taken to a hospital, and is constantly on the razors edge of an emotional breakdown. Most of the fic is just describing, in great detail, the various objects and goings on in a room that the viewer is trapped in or becoming very introspective to the point we're in a psychoanalysis book. We've been in the hospital staff room for 3 chapters and almost a year now.

I could withstand a slow pace. I could like Kubrick's 2001: A Space Odyssey or Andrei Tarkovsky's film STALKER. I liked Stalker a lot better because it helped build the atmosphere and the world a bit. I couldn't stand 2001 because of it's overly long landscape porn and scenes of nothing, the confusing plot notwithstanding. The book 2001 is much better since it explains much of what happens that the film doesn't, and even has sequels to extend the narrative. 2001 could have 1/3 of its film cut and there wouldn't be anything missing. (There's actually a fan cut of it out there and it's good.)

This is 2001 all over again, except there's even less going on. You can have your purple prose, but even Twilight would tell you to cut that shit down, move the plot forward already, and stop wasting our damn time.

[steampvnc1880]

This story has become rambling and my eyes glaze over when I try to parse what, if anything, is going on. It's far, far from where I thought it was going and I think I'm just going to give up and skim until something interesting happens. I sure wish there was an abridged version or a TV tropes page so I could figure out why I used to enjoy reading this story. In other words, you lost me.

[Doctor Elite]

Saw this and waited. Now, it`s nighttime and I have the time to read this. Let`s go!

[DuqFedora]

That moment when seeing a new chapter is almost as epic as reading it.

[ConsciousHaze196]

I've read a fair share of books, but he said this is a dark tale that made him understand the times of his parents and grandparents much better, and also appreciate what he has.

Mysterious

Had I . . . Rosy been to an IKEA recently?

Likely - where else would she go? But - had she been at home recently?..

[ferret]

This story is thick enough I have to re-read it like every time, not that I mind just my mind can't process the dense information packed into connotations and metaphors like punching a pea soup fog. While re-reading I can't help but mention some of the thoughts that come to my mind...

* even I can tell when someone's face falls into horror at what just came out of their mouth, and I have prosopagnocia!
* can't remember the last time I found pears that weren't crunchy
* Jet Engine... ohhhh I get it. Victor is Donny Darko.
* what could possibly be worse than a traumatic internal injury...
* GODDAMIT— HER PEARS!
* “I have some splendid news for you, dear miss. You're pregnant and it's a boy!”
* I'm very glad that fortune has brought you together, and I wish you three the best in your shared future.
*

the white ware before me

* pococurante is a noun... I am a huge nerd...
* it's fascinating how badass is actually gender insensitive!
* "I'm not crying it's liquid courage."
* take a shower already you dirty horse goddamn
* ugh, absolute power does not corrupt absolutely
* when you feel like you're running your mouth off, ask who you're talking to about themselves. works every time.
* go to sleep silly filly!

[ryttyr]

New chapter. Yay! Got to read it asap.
Edit: Or at least as soon I feel like I have time for it.

[Danger Noodle]

I'm going to have to agree with 4385357 and 4385551. This story started off promising, but has devolved into plot-less dribble. Honestly, I'm having trouble remembering what the plot even was, and my memory of how hard it was to push myself through the last three chapters is preventing me from going back to skim over them. How relevant is half of the dialog to the plot? If it's almost all relevant, why can't we see it happening with some action? It doesn't have to be action packed, but just sitting there listening to an individual have multiple mental breakdowns while caught in a self destructive loop for what feels like hours upon hours is something psychologists charge for, and for good reason.

That said, I know there's a good story in here. It's just being buried alive by too much dialog.

[Whitespace Only]

I just read 13,000 words comprising just one part of a single conversation. Dang, this is so drawn out, and at this point the story is actually becoming a slog to read. Which is a shame, because it started out so well. Please for the love of all that is good make something actually happen next chapter. Unfortunately I can't rescind my thumbs-up without giving this a thumbs-down, which I don't want to do.

[Red Bomber]

You know, slowly pulling out of the negative cycle? It's not going to happen smoothly or quickly

YOU, HAVE, NO, IDEA, HOW, YOU, PROVE, THAT, TO, BE, TRUE.
At least they're about to get out, but I'm not sure whether I should be glad that that new pony is the new surprise twist or be disappointed that he didn't reveal that his true gender to Embee. But that will have to be put on hold, as this pony is apparently stopping our heroes from simply walking out of that room to go to sleep. Just when they were about to go somewhere else. But then this raises new problems, like how is he and Embee going to get out of the hospital now that he's staying here and won't Embee have work to do the next day. Not to mention will this new pony be sharing any of the saint-like qualities of her friend, that she could take Embee's place in escorting V back to his home to investigate for clues. Also, I hope he'll be able to get inside the hotel when he finally does get in.

Another thing: Do ponies have pockets in this world? Because I feel like that's the only way they can carry money.

4385067
I don't know why, but I read all of that in AJ's voice.

[The Puzzler]

Really? 13'000 words which do not advance the plot what so ever?
What was the point of that? I only read the first half of the chapter and them skimmed over the rest because the chapter it's nothing more than some squabble that have absolutley nothing to do with the story.

[dargondarkfire]

Sumo. I love this story but... How long did this chapter take to write? I don't mean your editing. I meant in itself. And how long does your editor take? I noticed the first segment of chapters came out fairly quickly. And then it became a snails pace. And the reason why? Your editor changed. I have spoken with your old editor, and I don't remember why you separated, but for everyone's sanity I would beg for them to come back. You got chapters out so quickly with them.

Also as a few others have pointed out, this is starting to feel like a text book from a phycologists. I love this story but it is getting dry, the internal monologued are... Well dry, taking up most of the story, they feel like she's repeating everything in her head, and the use of the long complexed words in her internal monologu is... Well its turning people away.

This chapter felt like it didn't even cover a 10 minute span of time. And she still has not left the break room, this new character points to even more time in the break room

Sorry if I'm sounding negative, but I stayed up to read this and I work today which is depressing... I'm not trying to be mean or cruel, I'm just trying to point out you could shorten this chapter. I don't know if you noticed, but I remember in the earlier chapters there wasn't as much use of constant complicated words and things... Well.... Moved along at a decent pace. She internally monologued there but she was by herself mostly.

Also the hole asextual thing? I've seen to many hotdog people claim to be this way. Truthfully it would make more sense for her to say she does not know where her sexual tendencies reside right now.

*sighs* I feel like I'm just being mean and rude the more I try to explain. I actually asked a few friends who do editing to look at your story and offer to help you. But all of them got turn away once they found the break room was taking forever and became a...

I'm just going to stop. I feel like I'm just putting you down and making you angry. Sorry.

4385551 I agree with some of this.

[Suomibrony]

4388738
I'm still in the middle of writing replies to all the comments I've received so far, and I will return to yours eventually, but I got an inquiry I have to make right now.

Who is this editor I worked with? As far as I know, I have one pre-reader and one editor, both of whom have been with me for over two years, with another friend lending their expertise whenever they can. I never had another editor, if I do not count the few who madea handful edits and then never returned. I think the snail's pace in editing is due to my editor being often busy with their occupation. It leaves maybe an hour per day for editing, but I greatly appreciate the provided proficient editing. Nonetheless, I'm hurting for editors, and I would be grateful to have a few more skilled editors helping me out.

By the way, currently I have chapter 16 waiting for editing, and I'm in the stages of wrapping up chapter 17 and might start chapter 18 in the coming days.

[SASsoldat]

After reading the comment section I felt like peoples are not happy about the whole chapter, so I made a profile just to state it that I absolutely enjoyed it and had no problems about not leaving the room or being the chapter "stale" or something. You see i more like to read something like this, and mostly this is what i want to read when i come here, how he/she try to understand and accept the situation and help it, and not what happen around him/her (allright im not sure if i made my point here cause as you can see, english not my native language and therefore I cant write in a way like you write (which is simply amazing might I add)). Soooooooo long story short, keep up the good work mate, I liked this and its really worth the months of waiting (for me at least):

[Oh the humanity]

IT'S ALIIIIIIIVE!

Well, of course it is. Not that I had ever doubted that. Please bear with me for the duration of this overly dramatic interlude.

So......I might have missed a spot or two thanks to general exhaustion, but what I've seen is by all means an outstanding chapter. I think you've brought out Rosy's issues much more clearer this time than in the previous chapters...probably because s/he finally talks about the core problems and starts to climb out of that Valles Marineris-sized hole s/he dug him/herself into earlier. Well, almost. And with Ms. Blue Surprise Guest Horse around things might finally get more "mobile" again. Also, yay for the small hints of what kind of world lurks behind these hospital walls!

That being said, I very much understand your intentions behind Rosy's 'off-topic' ramblings about general social issues and the dream of being a pilot. Getting lost in commonplace issues is fairly natural in a stressful environment and it once more highlights the inner workings of the character. I guess I mentioned before that it can be very much the same with me at times, overly complicated language for the sake of itself included. However I think it might be a little too distracting from the overall identity crisis plotline, and that's probably what irks most commenters here. Slightly less might have been beneficial.

But now that the great break room drama is through (it is, right?) I'm really looking forward to what might come next.

[dargondarkfire]

4388810 I don't know their fimfic account name, but their skype name was night star. I met them in the mad writing workshop chat.

[Tinker Tie]

While I enjoy the varied verbosity of our ponified protagonist, the tidal waves of text is at times daunting and difficult to finish, so thick at times that Time itself is trampled under its weight.

Also, as to his attempted confession of being a guy? I keep mentally shouting, "Get on with it!"

But consider that a complement, as my caring indicates my level of commitment to the completion of this story~ :D

[tsaukpaetra]

Wait a minute, back up, it's only been an hour or so since they entered the room? If we recall correctly Embee was just getting off when they got there. If I'm interpreting this right, that means she's been looping back and forth at super speedy thoughts......
Still, with the addition of a new distraction maybe she can start making good on her (five times repeated) plan to recovery?
Not sure if we mentioned it before but I'm surprised she hasn't just passed out. Never got the coffee, been hours of non-stop stress loops, how is she still holding (mostly) competent conversation?
Either way, let's see what the newcomer brings to the table....
Keep going! ;)

[Cantankerous]

I'm afraid like so many others my patience is being stretched to the breaking point. If the next chapter doesn't have something to rekindle my interest in this story I think that will be it for me.

[Gordon_Freemane]

FINALLY! SHIT HAPPENS!

[Muhanoid]

4386377
But the whole point is rambling.
Have you ever had emotional breakdown? Maybe you did.
But maybe you did not.
Anyway, this story covers not only a breakdown, but a repair after said breakdown.
A slow, steady repair. It is quite good at explaining and showing What a broken person would do, where would look, why and how.
It's like http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Crime_and_Punishment book, but about breakdown, not murder.
It's Like Neon Genesis Evangelion, but without suicides.

As in, we look INTO character's mind. One character. One mind. The world around is just a crutch to look inside the mind. Maybe I worded it wrong, but I'm trying to be understandable.

The world we are traveling is th MIND of the hero, not the world Around the hero.
In Indiana Jones we are interested in the world around more so than the Jones himself, no?
The adventure.

For me this story is very fun to read. Lots of nitpicking can be done not in a way "hey, grammar error" but in "Huh? That is an interesting thought / way of thinking" and "I should watch at people when they do...".
Side note: go read Darring Do books. They are here on Fimfiction. With covers and everything.

Edit. Even though I'm introvert, I could never write such a good show and tell of the character's emotions crash. Or trainwreck.

[Alondro]

You know, there's a little thing that applies to flying that she might want to consider.

If you've lost control of your plane and freak out, when you're done freaking out the plane is still out of control... but you're a lot closer to the ground.

[Alondro]

4394285 >>>It's Like Neon Genesis Evangelion, but without suicides.>>>

And without the Angel Battles to keep everyone from being bored to death with the angst.

[waffle911]

Been away from FimFiction for nearly a year, come back a few days ago, and then I see this in my favorites. ALL OF MY SQUEE. Just got done reading this after re-reading the previous 5-ish chapters to refresh myself on everything that happened upon arriving at the hospital.

I'd greatly love to provide my services as an editor, but I fear my ability to commit to it as much as the story deserves. I also don't know if I'd be willing to give up the thrill of reading each finished chapter for the first time without prior knowledge of its contents, depending on just how much real editing and re-writing work really goes into each chapter. I wonder which is actually the more prominent draw for me, though; the story itself, or the way it's being told? If it really is the former, then acting as an editor might not take too much away from enjoyment of the story after all.

Your command of written English is impeccable as always, though I'm beginning to wonder if the verbosity couldn't be taken down a smidge. The reading competency required to read the piece without frustration at unfamiliar vernacular is a tad high, but since I suffer a similar affliction for expounding excessively with a lexicon lacking in laconicism, I have reason to doubt my suitability to supply a viable solution. Then again, perhaps my familiarity with the curse of chronic circumlocution would contribute towards the case for my candidacy as an assisting editor.

Reading through some of the other comments now, I'm beginning to notice something. It seems the most common problem is that the story is almost entirely unabridged and unfiltered, at times almost painfully so. It is a problem I often wrestle with in my own writing, and upon further consideration, there is a lot in common between my writing and your writing (post-editing, at least).

At some point, it may be pertinent to re-visit previous chapters and put a lot of consideration towards pruning the excess, revisiting the vocabulary and phrasing used, reinforcing the paragraph structure, and overall making it a little bit less of a heavy read. I say this only because these were the exact things I had to do over and over and over again for everything I wrote for my English composition class in school, and everything turned out to be much stronger after being put through this crucible of a revision process. While difficult to execute (and scarcely getting easier on subsequent attempts), I eventually found I could say quite a bit more within the 500 word target we were granted with each assignment than I had previously considered possible within 1000 words. I have to wonder to what extent such a process would actually help or hinder this story, however, given the particular reasons the story is written the way it is, and in so doing, what it accomplishes as a narrative—honest, raw, uncut, unfiltered, and unapologetic; experiencing the story exactly how the protagonist experiences it.

4396186 Careful with your pronouns, there! Despite physical reality and outwardly assumed behavioral traits, (protagonist)'s true gender identity is still male, and since we as readers are aware of this, we should still refer to him as such, as odd as it may seem to apply masculine pronouns to a character assuming a feminine name and attributes. It was actually something brought up and decided upon…quite a long time ago now. That conversation in the comments may have actually been over a year ago, wow. Time keeps marching on.

[Balthasar999]

Awright! It's back! Really hoping the rest of this picks up soon, as well—Like Vivienne, I've been wondering for a long time just what the deal is.

But I do think the writing and pacing could use some streamlining. I'd be hard pressed if someone asked me to summarize the events of this chapter, for example.

[Thibi]

I must admit that what has been said thus far is very much along my opinion as well. To be honest, a dictionary has become easier to read for me at this point. This scene has simply become a non-stop verbal barrage that has taken me multiple attempts over a few days, as I have the time, to only simply paraphrase the events after about the halfway point of part 3.

In hopes to make it more welcoming in addition to what 4396577 has brought forth, perhaps toning down the lexicon to a college level reading would make it easier to digest. While a raw experience is quite interesting to follow to a point, there must be a balance of detail and maintaining the reader's interest. Breaking apart the talking head syndrome with little things like the radio (Is it still playing? I forget...), the flickering of the lights, the AC hum, perhaps (de)escalating the storm as "Rosy's" mental state ebbs and flows, have a bird hit the window, just something to break apart the monotony that has been observed so far.

I haven't given up, but please do remember to add spice to the tale as well. Few of us do well without or with too much.

[ryttyr]

New chapter, awesome! It's really nice to read this story again and to get to know Viv and MB a little better. Either you have stopped using as meny big words as before or my vocabulary and understanding of the English language has inproved because I only had to use google translate once.
One question (probably wont be my last one tough). They are on Earth right?or at least one version of Earth and I know that this has been discussed or at least mentioned earlier in the story but I can't remember what was said so, how did the ponies get to Earth?
(Sorry if comment is strange in any way but its like 00:35 here right now and I got to sleep just as Viv does.)
Also I got an really cool "what if" today and that was what if Embee would turn into an human when (or if)they get (back) to Viv's version of Earth? Wouldn't that be cool?

[waffle911]

4400797 It's Earth, yes, albeit an alternative universe Earth where MLP:FiM does not exist, and instead contact had been made with Equestria about 4 years prior to current events. Incidentally, given the time at which Suomibrony started this story, that would place the time of contact roughly around the time Lauren Faust approached Hasbro about her Milky Way and the Galaxy Girls property, and Hasbro instead countered with a proposal to reboot their MLP franchise.

[ryttyr]

4401222
okay. I know that they are on an alternate universe Earth. I just wanted to know how the ponies got to that world but that timeline is verry interesting as well.

[dargondarkfire]

4401222 wrong. I have re read most of these chapters 3 times and listened to the you tube readings 2 times. Rossy she. viv she? Human he. Talks about rainbow dash, which no one has told her/him about. Although she thinks embee is her sister. He told embee there is a show about them in her own world. In the early chapters he mentally mentioned that he always wanted to experience what it would be like to be a pony. So yes mlp:fim does exist in his/her home universe.

Also, data points that he may not have been a he in her universe. It seems she was is might have gender issues. Perhaps the transfer messed with Viv's mind and made her think her human self is male.

I'm staying up to late again, brain has kicked into puzzle mode......

Its possibly pony self switched places with human self on purpose.

Also
4403170 unknown. Sumi might clear that up in the future. But embee won't transform because its not a bodily transfer but a mind transfer. Its unlikely that embee will switch places with her human self....

I should sleep. Its hard to type using my tablets digital keyboard.... Sleep....

[ryttyr]

4403898
Im pretty sure Viv was a he before the transformation.

[Zennistrad]

“Hey.” Embee roused my attention, smiling reassuringly. “You did talk a bit, sure, but your opinions are fair. From sports to soy foods and banking to books, we all have opinions on things, and believe me, you don't need to feel bad about yourself. I think we can learn a lot when our opinions are challenged, and that can only happen when they're exposed to something or somepony who can challenge them. You see, that's when we have to review our opinions so that we may better understand them. We can then see where we're wrong and right. It's not a one-way affair, either. The challenger must be prepared to humbly check if their opinions and perspectives are well-founded just as much as the challenged has to. Trust me, this is extremely beneficial to everypony involved.”

I'm getting a nagging feeling that this fic is starting to turn into the author's personal soapbox.

[dargondarkfire]

4403936 one can never know till the story unfolds.

[ryttyr]

4405210
True.