Two Tired, Too Tired
First Pony View
A My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic fan fic
By Suomibrony
Chapter 17
Two Tired, Too Tired
I looked to my left, expecting Embee to arrive speedily and then promptly escort me to Peachy's office, but the couple of seconds that I waited didn't yield the return of the closest thing I had to a friend here. Hoping I wouldn't regret this decision, and wary of intruding upon somepony's privacy, I ventured into the ward. None of the beds were occupied; I chose the first one to the right. It was set so low that I would have to do little more than collapse into it. I placed one limb on the bed. Oh, this was so soft and alluring that I couldn't help but grin. Even a minute or two of rest would do me wonders.
“. . . has been more fundamental,” a distinctly British-English male voice came from behind the curtain. I could tell it wasn't a live person. A radio, perhaps? One more limb on the bed! I almost giggled.
“I was always happy. I didn't care. Get on with it. Better laugh.” It was another voice, but it sounded . . . Scottish? “Now I find . . . Life's too short now. I find I've got awful serious. You know, I don't . . . I can't be bothered with insignificant things anymore. I just crack on with the important things now. That annoys me, because I liked the way I was before Piper. I don't like, ah, particularly like how I'm now.” That was haltingly poignant. What Piper was didn't weigh on my mind. Would I return back to my normal life just as I was, with valuable insights and wisdoms, or would my current biology remain with me in spirit even when—
“Pardon me, but is somepony there?” a voice asked with an accent I couldn't identify. I was so caught off guard that I compulsively tried to say yes; a sharp breath was what came. As my wits returned, I frantically assessed whether a hasty exit from this potentially sticky situation was prudent. Whoever was behind the curtain sounded very living . . . and might have a contagious disease that could kill me! Or not. A room with five, likely six, beds, no staff present, and a door left wide open was anything but a quarantine. “If my ears weren't tricking me, then I sure heard somepony come in,” he speculated as I stealthily removed my hoof from the bed. Once I had all four on the floor, I took a few steps back. Sadly, that served as a very audible reminder on how impractical hooves were for sneaking.
Once I determined that bolting would be highly suspect, I let out a resigned sigh. “Ah, yes. Somepony's definitely here,” I affirmed, nervousness injecting a constrained laugh into my tone. At least I wasn't feeling so tired anymore. Making my physically female presence known to another variable was inevitable, but hadn't crossed my mind until now. If I showed myself, his eyes would appraise me like I were a vein of gold to a destitute miner! Not all males were like that, but how could I know for sure? Could I just give in to fear? Wouldn't Embee be here soon anyhow? I amassed my courage, took a breath, and . . . forward I went! Reaching the curtain, I stuck my head out past its precipice and looked to my right, reluctantly appreciating my long neck. A brown pony was supine in a bed, his mane and eyes were deep purple, and any shred of hope I had of him not being male disappeared.
“Uh . . . Hi.” A forced smile covered my apprehension of being measured as mating material. I quickly diverted my mind away from such irrationality as he reciprocated my greeting. The bedstead was separated from the floor by about forty to fifty centimeters, and the bed (which was a little large compared to his stature) was bent so that he was in a slight sitting posture. Beside his bed was a wheeled wooden table with a lacquered finish and a flatscreen TV on it; that device was the source of the two voices I had heard prior. Now it was playing some kind of tune His forelimbs rested on the white blanket that reached up to his armpits (or whatever the pony equivalent was), his left limb was in a cast, and he . . . was garbed in a white shirt?
“Well . . .” He touched his jaw, then turned his hoof toward me. “It's nice to meetcha. What brings ya here?” he said, confused.
Judging by the fragrance displacing the faint odors of disinfectants typical to the clinical environment of a hospital, he must've bathed in a tub of birch leaf extract. It was pleasant, as much as I wouldn't have liked to admit that. To have my clothes would've been pleasant, but they were on my chair back home and were . . . were for a pony? That couldn't be right. Anyhow, he was wearing a shirt! Was his lower half covered up as well? I wanted clothes. My modesty demanded them! How could I get them? I couldn't just walk up to him and say, ‘Your clothes. Give them to me. Now.’
“You're sure a quiet one, huh? Don't look like one of the nurses, either.” That finally garnered my attention. My envy for his garment and discomfort at my nakedness was troublesome; however, the fragrance in the air and his phlegmatic but amiable demeanor contributed to maintaining my unassuming outlook.
“Oh, uh . . . Apologies. I'm bad at introducing myself, and no, I'm definitely not a nurse.” Nurses were often depicted as female, so the allusion of myself as a nurse didn't mesh all too well with me. I quickly reminded myself that male nurses weren't unheard of. But that was utterly trivial! I had to introduce myself and state my business. “I'm . . .” Would I need to tell him my name? Not unless he specifically asked, and then I might have another Night Light case to deal with. Or worse. “Well, I'm just, ah . . .” My eyes dipped for a second, and I caught myself pawing the floor. “I'm just a tired pony going wherever curiosity takes me,” I said with a slight stammer, a muscle spasm going down my right hind leg. I could've said 'mare', but as relatively neutral as that word was becoming, I had to cut myself some slack this time. “I won't be here for long, so introductions aren't necessary. You see, somepony's supposed to be with me, but she . . .” I saw the empty doorway and a snippet of my tail from the corner of my eye. “She's busy taking care of a very important matter and will be here soon. If not, then I'll go looking for her.” I wished she would arrive this instant to ask where the hay had gone! I doubted she would give me a scolding for my little misadventure. Then again, it was she who ran off, so she might owe me an apology. Regardless, she had earned my trust, and I was certain she wouldn't dare to break it.
“Hmmh, alright.” The stallion drew his lips to a casual smile that my skittish side suspected to hint at libidinous thoughts. “Well, thanks to my bum leg, good sleep just ain't happening. This doohickey's fancy and all, but I'm starting to think it's just keeping me up with all the stuff it's got to show. Now, since you said you ain't gonna be here for long, would ya want to shoot the breeze while you're staying? I know it's a mite strange to ask, but some company would be lovely, and who knows, a small chat might just give me a bit of what it takes for me to nod off. Whaddya say?” He was polite enough, and I was smarter than to believe that males were unapologetic devotees to the whims of their primal wants. I definitely wasn't, so there was that.
I joined my appendage with my chin. “Mmmh, let me think about that.” On one hoof, I could bid him a courteous farewell and go looking for Embee, but on the other hoof, staying put meant neither of us wandered around in search of a serendipitous rendezvous. Additionally, if I could civilly converse with a male pony without acting like a ball of nerves, I would prove myself capable.
“Strange seeing just your head if we're gonna chat for a while, so would ya mind stepping forward?” he suggested.
I burst out laughing, unnerved at the prospect of displaying myself. Simultaneously, my tail nestled itself protectively over the characteristic female feature. “Ahh, yeah, that's true, I don't gotta, uh, need to . . .” My limb was still aloft; I gingerly lowered it. If I was going to show myself, I'd have to be ready and relaxed. “I could, but I won't. I have my reasons,” I said, trying to sound calm. It occurred to me that I easily equated my present form to that of a human's. Unlike humans, being unclothed was common for ponies, so I didn't need to worry (inordinately) about being admired in the wrong way. I strongly suspected that being admired in the right way would feel wrong as well. However, I didn't have the foggiest on what made a mare's figure attractive to a stallion (and vice versa). The thought of taking a gander of that by appraising what I was aft from the neck turned my eyes, but I disallowed my head from following suit on the account of inadequate resilience to the high influx of body image dissonance. The mildly expectant look in his eye caught my attention. “I might know what you're thinking: for what reason do I stay here, out of sight?” I posited. Cursorily, I spotted the TV's remote on the nightstand and a blank paper slip tied to the top of the bed's steel frame.
“That's what's on my mind all right,” he attested casually. “I trust it's for a good reason, ain't it?” That made me realize I hadn't thought of a reason. I glanced to my left, spotting a radio on the nightstand over yonder.
“How should I say this?” As I dithered, I internally named the sufficiently unassuming stallion Plum Kissel due to the color of his eyes, mane, and coat. Coat? Idea! “Well, I've gone through a tumble, which means I don't look presentable. Don't ask. It's a long story that I really don't feel like recounting.” I spared a thought on how to make myself sound unworried. A small pitch-up, perhaps? “All things considered, though, I'm doing fine.” If I discounted the gap between my inner and outer self, that is. “My coat's so dirty and matted that you wouldn't believe. To give you a clue, it's more gray than white. I did wash my face a little, as you can see, but I think a few smudges remain.” I rubbed my cheek in an attempt to feel whether I was right. Alas, my hoof was insensate. The pastern was a different deal, thankfully. “Quite the embarrassment, if I may say so.” If not for my undeniably dissimilar intonation, that phrase would've suited Rarity. Wait? Could I be pretending to be vain as a justification to hiding myself? Although, to do that on purpose didn't appeal to me at all.
“I get that,” Plum Kissel's simple reply and gentle chuckle was a promising sign of him believing me. I decided to forget the Rarity allusion. “But ya don't need to be shy.”
“Shy? Oh, but I'm not shy,” I spoke in mild protest. Now I had to provide a counterpoint. “I'm soft-spoken, rarely make noise about myself, and frequently think on what I should say or not say. It might seem like I'm shy, but I'm not. Well, I'm probably not shy.” Maybe I actually was shy and just didn't like acknowledging it? I would have to think about that . . . later.
The look in Plum's eye evidenced scrutiny. “Is that so?” he mused, rubbing his chin, although he soon put on a friendly smile. “Well, it's beside the point. I was talking about how you carry yourself.” An unvoiced oops pulled down my expressive ears. “I'm telling ya, don't get all bothered for not looking your best. Ya seem to be a mighty fine young lady all the same.”
A young lady? “Right.” I looked away to hide my scowl. ‘You told me I shouldn't feel bad, so I better oblige, because telling me what to feel is more important than what I actually feel,’ my recalcitrant side thought sardonically, feeding off my negative emotion. ‘Potentially aggravating others by being assertive is too risky, so I must do what I can to meet their expectations, whatever those expectations are,’ I continued with arising dejection. ‘Furthermore, tiredness weakens my self-control, increasing the propensity of poorly-conjured thoughts and actions. Thus, it's imperative I stay keen and don't do anything stupid, taking every female pronoun and everything else that goes against my identity and self-esteem in stride. I just hate it, and I'm scared. I'm scared of this body, and I'm scared it'll leave lasting marks on my psyche. I feel so powerless, and angry at being powerless, but no amount of bitterness and anguish will make things right.’
“Listen. I'm guessing you're mild-mannered and thoughtful, and that's just fine. That look you got going on there, though? Makes me guess ya got upset about something. Do ya want to talk about it? Was it something I said? Did I misplace my words?” His peaceable tone encouraged me to relax. But why should I? He had hurt me!
“Yes, it was something you—” Wait, what was I doing? I couldn't take out my anxieties on him. This was just what I had to prevent from happening again! “No, forget what I said. You're getting the wrong idea. I'm not upset. Well, I don't mean to be. Definitely not at you. Uhm . . .” I bit my lip, trying to spur my mind into producing something perfect instead of slathering myself with criticism. “I'm sorry. I really am. I . . . I can be mild-mannered and thoughtful, like you said. I like being mild-mannered and thoughtful. It's just that . . .” My words stuck to my throat, and I had to calm myself. Strange how indignation acts as a façade for sorrow. “I don't know what came over me. It's been a very stressful day, and I'm weary. Both affect my mood, most likely for the worse.” My mind wandered back to how I had reacted as if being shy was undesirable. “Um, about being shy. I might be shy. It's probably true.” My eyes drifted over to the space between the bed and curtain. “Maybe it's nothing I should be ashamed of . . .”
“Ya think it's wrong being a shy?” he queried bemusedly, apparently having caught my mumbling.
“Shy?” I whispered to myself, feeling like I should agree that being shy was wrong. Females could be shy to their heart's content and . . . because I was male, I couldn't? As of the time being, I wasn't male on the outside, and had I not griped about inequality? Maybe I had been too reactionary? Maybe I was afraid of being honest with myself? I was cautious of potential repercussions if I were to align myself with reputedly feminine traits. What if I had those traits from the start? “I suppose it's not wrong,” I acquiesced, not wanting to pay mind to this dilemma any further. “But you did say something earlier . . . Um . . .” I was going to use my soft intonation to hopefully create a mollifying atmosphere. “Yeah, I can be talkative and carry a conversation, but I must feel safe and comfortable first, and really, I'm . . .” Wearing a frown of apology mixed with wariness, I dipped my head and glanced at the few specks of light the buildings outside produced. “Normally, I wouldn't hide myself like this, but I'm prone to being self-conscious. If you were to see me as I am now, I wouldn't feel comfortable being like how I like to be, and when I'm uncomfortable . . . I mean, I would feel like I can't be myself if you, um . . . you were to see how grimy I am.” Grimy looks or not, I would feel uncomfortable seeing myself. On that thought, I was certain a full-sized mirror would show so much pony that a humanized visage would be too incongruous to manifest. My reflection would overwhelm me, but being flustered was better than being terrified.
“Ya get fidgety when ya ain't feeling comfortable? ” Plum Kissel surmised after a moment.
“It's quite obvious, isn't it?” I replied, feeling like I was admitting a shameful crime. “Thanks for trying to understand, though.”
“It's nothing.” He waved his hoof. “Just take it easy. I ain't gonna chew you out, if that worries you.” The curtain was making my neck itch. Surreptitiously, I rubbed the itchy spot against the curtain. I then chose to wait and see if had something to say; a few relatively silent seconds passed. “So, if ya still got time to chat, what topic would strike yer interest?”
“Uh . . . I dunno?” So many topics I could choose from. I glanced at the nocturnal view behind the windows, recalling the common occurrence of helicopters passing over my apartment. I wasn't sure he'd care about aircraft as much as I did. What would be close to his heart? Masonry? Cooking? Gardening? I had no idea. I could ask! Well, he had asked what I would like to talk about, but that lead back to how my interests might not resonate with his. Conversely, his interests might not interest me. I could pretend to care. No, I shouldn't; that was insincere. Would he react poorly to my honesty if I said I was uninterested?
His protracted, leisurely gaze started evoking some concerns. He might believe I was in low spirits, starting a topic by continuing on how my unclean appearance didn't make me any less pretty. Or any less sexy! Maybe he wouldn't do that, though? He seemed too courteous to be brazen. Regardless, now I had a reason to prepare to absorb or deflect whatever disagreeable comments I'd receive with dignity instead of mortification or want of retribution. As an aside, the TV was advertising a documentary about an adventurous unicorn, who . . .
“. . . after years of studying and practicing a fog dispersion spell, I enhanced this camera to literally turn millions of cubic tons of water invisible! See these distinctive formations strewn about in this photo? Of course you do. That's the wreck of the bulk carrier Derbyshire and its debris field, five kilometers below where we're standing now! Unbelievable, innit!?” He sounded very enthusiastic, and whatever ship that was, I too was becoming thrilled as . . . I could catch the premiere of Under The Surface next Wednesday! Friday had just become Saturday, so—
“I'm assuming you're the kind of lady who takes pride in her appearance.” Plum Kissel's voice filtered into my mind. The critical amount of attention to what I didn't think of myself washed my small but eager smile away.
“Oh I . . .” Fortunately, I had set up some timely mental buffers just for this possibility. “Yes, I do value my appearance,” I concurred, combating my chagrin with a tone of equanimity. “Now don't get me wrong, I'm not a stickler for looking glamorous. I don't even flaunt my looks. That's just not me. A simple but tidy look does me well enough. But, uhm . . .” A long exhale gave me time to think of what to say. Or rather, have the fortitude to say it. “Taking care of my mane, tail, and coat, the combing and brushing, the conditioners . . .” I cast a sidelong glance, gritting my teeth. “And the makeup if I absolutely must.” My muttering was drowned out by the TV this time. Ointments and whatnot meant for females were acceptable; learning how to properly use them couldn't be an impossible hurdle, and couldn't be that different from their male counterparts. Makeup was a whole new ball game, however. I couldn't, for the life of me, differentiate mascara from eyeliner. Judging by the nomenclature alone, eyeliner was lighter and less showy than mascara—and eyeliner was applied to line the eyes. I hoped I wouldn't need to learn through practical experience. Anyhow, I wasn't done yet. “Rarely do I feel like I'm not forcing myself through a chore, but I think we can both agree that being neat and clean is a necessity I can't and shouldn't eschew. Well, unless I've gone loopy and enjoy the attention a completely disheveled look draws.” I smiled to make my joke more apparent. I surmised that the chore would take an hour to complete— I hated it already. “When I don't need to go anywhere, and I know nopony's coming to pay a visit, then I can forget the hassle. It's a special kind of liberty and an indescribable kind of delight when I don't need to go anywhere and I can be at home by myself, shaggy mane and so on.” I let out a short but soft sigh, convinced that my act had served its purpose. “Sorry. My drowsiness is getting the better of me, and I'm talking your ear off.”
“I got sleep teeming about in my noggin, too, but not enough to put my lights out,” Plum Kissel said in a lethargic but amiable manner. “Anyhow, getting a small load off your back eases the mind, and I say that's what everypony needs to do now and then. Talk away, if ya can.”
“Thanks for the offer, but I'm . . .” I was interrupted by a yawn that I did my best to hide by biting my teeth together behind my closed mouth. By the time I was done, I had some thoughts swirling about. To truly understand the plights of females would require thorough familiarization. My situation had partly incited my attempt to relate. There was also curiosity. Maybe empathy, too. Hard to say when my declining awareness made my overall behavior intuitive rather than contemplative. I then recalled that my bane as a male was facial hair. Stupid, annoying, prickly, itching, and absolutely good-for-nothing facial hair. At least I was spared from having hair on my neck. Except now I was hairy all over, but this was a smoother kind of hair. I was like a warm plush toy . . .That was a needlessly cute way to put it.
“So.” Plum Kissel's expression was so tranquil I couldn't help but think if he had secretly injected himself with a sedative. “Hearing a little rant like that from somepony other than my lovable sweetheart came as a surprise.”
I too was surprised. “Well well, how about that?” I murmured sneakily before chuckling, alluding to (the total falsehood of) knowing more than I was letting on. That my pretense had been so convincing it resonated with the presumable complaints expressed by his consort bothered and puzzled me, but I believed the good outcome was what mattered.
“That look and tone tells a story I don't know about,” he pointed out, smirking as if he knew that I knew more than he knew.
I hummed conspiratorially. “It was nothing but a glimpse.” A small glimpse to the mare's world. A world I knew almost nothing about, though I now knew he was in a (presumably) happy and loving relationship. That should help to quell my misgivings about him coveting me. Come to think of it, I hadn't felt comparable anxiety in the presence of Night Light, who might've seen something alluring in me on the account of her bisexuality. Her advance, while made in jest, had nonetheless thrown me for a loop. In retrospect, she seemed to spare little foresight to the consequences of her behavior, but that was a mental tangent I decided not to pursue aside from hoping she wouldn't be sacked for wrongful conduct or malfeasance. Anyhow, attention and affection from the opposite sex was normal and expected, although before today, I hadn't receiv—Wait, I had!
When I came home one late evening, a young (and admittedly good looking) blonde was outside my apartment's main entrance. She said she locked herself out, and when I opened the door to admit myself inside, she gave me a hug. That confused me just as much as getting a hug from an intoxicated friend along with a confession of (hopefully) platonic love. As I had been too perplexed to say anything else but a thanks, the blonde and I parted on good terms when she headed up the stairs while I took the elevator. Now that this was at the forefront of my mind, maybe Embee awoke feelings I unknowingly held for the stranger? Or maybe not? I wasn't sure. Be that as it may, if by some impossible circumstances I befriended the blonde—or any female for that matter—it would never develop into anything serious. I had doubts of a non-sexual relationship lasting once she made a request for coitus. Out of fear of committing social suicide, I'd never say that just the mere thought of engaging in that activity repulsed me. Being presented with the obligation to fulfill that duty would put me in a tight spot, but the conundrum was that I wouldn't want to hurt her feelings. If I declined, and she didn't take that as a reason to walk out, she could resort to guilt-tripping, extortion, and other forms of unscrupulous methods to get her way. It wouldn't be consensual and honest love, and being treated as an asset wasn't right. In fact, that kind of abuse would be extremely appalling—if it were male on female. For some reason, males were thought of to be always raring for action, and if not, then they had something wrong in them and deserved to be made fun of. What a deplorable injustice. But why was I even thinking of this cynical, hyperbolic, and depressing garbage? I had to think of something else. Something nicer, and optimistic, and soothing. Something . . . that was warbled about?
Soy beef so unbelievably excellent, it tasted just like the real thing? More warbling . . . ? Well, birds warbled. What was that one bird, though? It reminded me of a misty dawn over a lake so tranquil it was like a mirror, with the bird's call resonating from somewhere unspecified. It was . . . a diver? Gaviana Arctica? Well, whatever. I would never take up diving. I knew how to swim, but I wasn't fond of swimming in anything but a pool. Bodies of water were inexplicably scary. Ships were okay, so I could be on one as long as it didn't sink. Then it would be scary. Submarines were definitely out of the question. They were giant seafaring coffins that literally folded into themselves if they exceeded crush depth. That was even scarier. The submarines I liked were Yellow Submarine and Golden Submarine. The latter was a vintage race car, not a submarine.
“Hey.”
Who said that?
“Are ya listening to me? You aren't nodding off there, are ya?”
I raised my head that had somehow dropped. “Uh . . . No?” I blinked my eyes as, and nodding off upright was fish I called . . . Darn. Physically unsustainable! I saw his amused but inquiring face, and I had this body with the bad combination of nakedness and femaleness. I had to say why I wasn't showing it. “So, it's needless to say that how I look right now is so far from what I'm used to that, uhh . . . that I'm a little embarrassed,” I droned. To say that I was a "little" embarrassed looking and sounding like a female was an understatement. If not for my odor, I would probably smell like a female as well. Or like a horse. A female horse. What was I thinking about?
“That's been made quite clear already,” Plum Kissel said leisurely. What was clear was that his accent was close to Night Light's. I wasn't too good at identifying regional accents, unless they were very definable. Like Australian. That wasn't a regional accent. Accent was a Hyundai, and that was inconsequential.
“Oh, right.” It dawned on me that I had repeated myself, but also that he had denoted the redundant nature of a specific phrase. “It was a needless thing to say, and can you ever guess what I did when I said that?” I remarked with an exaggerated tone of fascination. “If something is needless to say, why say it then?” Wait, was I suppose to explain it?
“Ain't that one of life's strange mysteries?” He chuckled, apparently privy to the joke.
“It's one of nature's mysteries,” I recited a line from the third Ratchet & Clank game with pep in my voice. Then I got the giggles, and I realized I was a bit out of it. Trying to rub the sleep out of my eyes, I lightly jabbed myself in the muzzle. Amusingly, the discomfort was more effective than the rubbing would've been.
“Well, before ya nod off for good,” Plum Kissel joked. I presumed he had joked. I was tired for sure, but I wasn't nodding off. “Let me tell ya 'nother needless thing: I respect ya.” He respected me? That was unexpected, and welcome, I supposed. Consideration and affability was ordinary, but to specifically express respect? What instigated him? Had he said something I missed? “I'm gonna say that I ain't the kind to dole out undue pressure. I know that no mare can look fine and dandy all the time, and I wouldn't expect them to. So, trust me. I ain't judging you. Sure got a fair bit of muck on ya, but we're in a hospital. This ain't a place where looking your best matters, and I gather I ain't the first one to see ya in your condition. I was in much worse shape, and it bothered me none. Ya got a messed-up mane and some spots on yer coat, but that ain't such a mighty bother as ya make it out to be, ya hear?”
To that I hummed in comprehension, although I was plain bemused. “Yeah, I'm not too much bothered. Just the right amount.”
“Just the right amount?” he said, laughing. What was funny? I would hide from everything that reminded me of my sex, including even the kind-mannered non-verbal appreciation of my figure. He was seeing my face and hearing my voice. That should be enough, and he shouldn't ask for anything more. “Well, I ain't thinking any less of ya for not looking yer best and keeping yourself back there. But listen to me, rambling on about things that ain't relevant no more. I'm gonna say again that I don't wish no pressure on ya, but what ya might should oughta do is get going to find whoever you were with. Ya look to be on your last legs.”
How could I be on my last legs? I had four of them, which was more than two, so . . . Oh, wait. The phrase meant something else. “I'm beat, but not that badly. If I wanted to sleep, I'd go to a bed. If I wanted to find who was with me, I'd leave. I'm not in a rush to leave yet, so can you please continue? I'll try to pay more attention and not nod off.” Seriously, falling asleep upright? Not a chance! I'd topple over in seconds.
“Okay.” He seemed to hesitate briefly. I didn't feel like moving which seemed to be my primary reason for staying. “Well, jab my wrapped-up leg if I'm wrong, but ya don't seem to be the kind of mare who pays much mind to being ladylike. You just want to be the kind of mare you want to be. Right?” That was . . . almost correct; I still didn't like those pronouns.
“Hmm . . .” How should I approach the quandary? “Yeah, you didn't say that I absolutely have to show myself, and it's also true that I'm . . .” Being so evasive that I was talking about an irrelevancy. “Yes, you're right. I just want to be the type of . . .” I trailed off again, feeling like I'd have to do some self-analysis. I could try to do that, out loud, but gender-flip it? “Well, some, um . . . some mares are very feminine, others less so, some like to pursue interests outside the conventional, and the kind of . . . I'm kind of in the middle. Well, sort of. It's hard to summarize. I could talk about this and myself for minutes, but I'm gonna cut it short by saying that I'm somewhat unconventional and there's more to me than meets the eye. Uhm . . .” Like a shelf toppling and spreading its contents all over the floor, a plethora of disjointed thoughts and ideas spilled into my mind, the most pertinent one being how it was totally fine for a female to like male stuff or be masculine, because that was cool and awesome and empowering, but males were ridiculed and disparaged if they weren't the epitome of manliness. One of my secrets was that I had curved manicure scissors at home. They offered finesse a nail clipper couldn't. Nail clippers were just brutal. Like cutting hair with a hedge trimmer. Anyhow, one thought that seemed topical pertained to how I was starting to feel that males were pressured to hide their emotions and constricted into narrow roles, but females had more liberties in both. Except in countries where females had barely any liberties at all. That was truly horrible. Fortunately, genuine rights activists worked tirelessly to improve the rights and lives of those who deserved them the most.
“Ain't ya gonna talk some more?” Plum Kissel asked. As I stared at him, I imagined he would be something like thirty or so if he were human. He didn't sound old. “Eh. It's fine if ya don't want to talk more. We’re both tired ponies, and ya might wanna get going to who ya were with.”
“I'll go when I want to go,” I said, a little dismissive of his concern. Then I thought my decorum was harsh. “But okay, you have a fair point. A few more minutes and that's that. Speaking of thinking, I was thinking of something, and I do feel like talking, but on account of being tired, conveying a coherent and intelligent thought might require more concentration than I'm capable of. That doesn't stop me from trying. I can be quite persistent, you see.”
“I see it plain as day.” Plum Kissel chuckled. He seemed to do that a lot. “You might have me beat in sleepiness, but that don't seem to stop them big words from coming outta yer mouth.” I smiled a bit at that. I had received validation.
“Big words, huh?” I hadn't thought on what constituted a big word. “Mmm, I know many big words, such as . . .” I glanced at the floor, “Sophisticated, induction, countenance, alacrity, fortitude, etymology, entomology. Hahaha, I almost mispronounced those. They're almost homophones.” Something splendid came to my mind. “For your information, etymology is studying the meaning and origin of words, but entomology is studying insects, including arachnids. Arachnids are eight-legged, but insects are six-legged. Oh? But does entomology include caterpillars and worms? Hmm, I don't know. But if I see a word I don't know the meaning of, you can bet that I'll look it up, and I might even remember it in the future if it's a really memorable word. Like overmorrow! That's such a rare word that could be used more often. I need to remember that. Although, I'm not sure when I would need to use the more esoteric words. Would I ever need to say neoprene or protuberance, for example? How does protuberance differ from protrusion? Protuberance might have something to do with anatomy, I think. What's neoprene then? Was it some kind of rubber? Or used in rubber production?”
“Whoa there, ease up there for a second,” Plum Kissel faced the sole of his healthy hoof at me, laughing affably, yet a little nervously. “Don't ask me any of that. I don't got a clue what you're talking about, and ya don't gotta say every word ya know for that matter.”
“Oopsie. I got carried away.” I sounded like a ditz. Then I saw the sleep in his eyes, and my embarrassment changed to ear-drooping remorse. “Um, but if you think I'm bothering you and want some quiet and peace, you can kindly tell me to leave. No hard feelings.”
“Nah, nah. Don't feel bad.” His friendly rebuke raised my ears. “Unless ya truly go out of your way to get on my nerves, I ain't shooin' ya off. Ya ain't been a nuisance, and ya don't seem to be of that nature. I was thinking of saying again that ya oughta go looking for your pal, but I think they's coming for ya in a spell anyhow. I did have something else on my mind, but it's gone now . . . Gonna think and see if I can get it back.” He laid his head to the pillow with a yawn. Perhaps he'd fall asleep now? Then I'd have to leave. Sadly.
So many beds here, where I could slip underneath the comfort of a blanket, a pillow so soft, snuggle so happily that I'd let out cute little giggles, and I wouldn't be sure whether to like or fear that. I would laugh and cry at the same time, and I wouldn't know why. My eyes were starting to hurt. Tiredness . . .
“I promise not to doze off and leave ya hanging. Would be a mite peculiar turnaround, right?” Plum Kissel said humorously, lifting his head a smidgen. “But hey, got any clues when they's coming?”
“None,” I said simply. “Well . . . Soon, I guess.” He hadn't paid much mind to the TV ever since he saw my face.
“Okay.” With a yawn, his head descended to the pillow. Now that he was staring at the ceiling, I decided to ward off my sleepiness with an extraordinary action.
I dropped my head and turned it a bit to the left. With my head out of his scan range, I'd use my left hind leg to very carefully touch my ear. Just once, and lightly. While this was my idea through and through, reaching at myself in this manner was almost incomprehensibly weird. In addition, my posture starkly reminded me of my equin—
‘Oh gosh! Bad bad bad! Ow, ow, ow, ow . . .’ I wasn't in pain, but my left ear was tingling from tip to base so severely I couldn't breathe. Instinct was telling me the nuisance would stop if I gave it a touch; however, to do that would be undeniably counterproductive. I had to tough this out.
I heard a chuckle. “If ya actually gonna sleep, can ya please not do it there?” Plum Kissel advised.
“No, I won't,” I squeaked. ‘Okay, gotta stop being strained. Slow breaths, steady breaths, normalizing . . .’ I took a deep breath, then popped my head back into view, plastering a mellow look on my face. “I truly can't sleep. My friend hasn't—” Darn! I let that slip. “She's not here yet, and I've not gone looking for her. If she had come, she would be here, and if I had left, I wouldn't be here,” I explained. Then, I froze momentarily, a mild blush most likely tinting my cheeks. “That's quite obvious, haha.”
“Sure is obvious.” He scrutinized me. Thus, I believed my joke had fallen flat. Had I at least saved face? Maybe I hadn't. Oh well. As an aside, the TV was broadcasting a jazzy tune: saxophone, piano, and string instruments. The theme to Poirot? “I got a question for ya.”
“A question?” I was puzzled, but didn't anticipate foul play. “What is it?”
His expression went blank, as if something absolutely remarkable had come to his mind. Soon, his lips drew to a pleased, smugly foreboding smile. “It's a sentence or phrase that inquires for information, but that's not important right now,” he said nonchalantly.
“What?” I was utterly dumbfounded. That I wasn't in trouble was a relief, but the scope of his vocab . . . Wait!? “You kidding me?” I said chipperly. “That's so like from the movie Airplane!, hahahaha! That movie's so amazing and funny! You've seen it, haven't you?”
“That I have, and recently, too,” he affirmed with confidence. “Both of 'em.”
“That's so awesome! I saw the second movie last week. That scene where a door reads 'Danger Vacuum', and when Striker opens it, a vacuum cleaner attacks him! I was laughing myself silly!” Curtailing my amusement was ineffective, as I could not stop seeing the scene play in my mind's eye. I think I heard him affirm my rhetorical question. “Hahahah, but, yeah, you hadhaha a question?” I mustered. “A vacuum cleaner,” I whispered, jamming my pastern to my lips. “Pmfhthmhmhmpfff.” It was so bad at blocking off the passage of air. So hairy, too. Hair in my mouth? Gross. I surreptitiously spat out hairs; whether any were on my lips was irrelevant. But why was I laughing so easily? Silly, capricious emotions.
“They sure were amusing movies,” Plum Kissel commented. “Strange, but amusing. I gotta say, some things flew right over my head. Pun intended, of course.”
“Of course,” I said jovially, glad he enjoyed the wacky comedy classics.
“But, right, the question.” He took on a more sober outlook, which I tried to mimic. “So, if it looks like your friend's not coming, when are ya gonna get going?”
“Oh, ahahamahhum?” I reacted with a half-laugh, still a little too cheerful for myself. Get going? Away from all these alluring beds? I was doing quite well not being anxious-wrecked talking to a male pony, which was a fantastic accomplishment! Besides, I wasn't sure I needed to intervene if Embee was busy telling my predicament to Peachy. I would only damage my credibility by saying something irrevocably stupid and contradictory. “A few more minutes, and then I'll be going.” He raised one of his brows in doubt; I had sounded reluctant and apologetic.
“Fair enough,” he agreed after a moment's deliberation. “So, whatcha wanna talk about these few short minutes?”
“Mmmmh . . .” My brain produced specks that amounted to nothing coherent. Thankfully, all I needed was to give the blatantly obvious device a glance. “You've been watching that thing?” I gestured at the TV. “Anything fascinating come on it lately?”
“Without question,” he said, glancing at the ceiling in thought. “There's been so much I can hardly sum it all.” I believed he was trying to dissuade me, but I didn't want to call him out on it.
“Oh . . . Mmh . . .” I quelled a yawn. I recalled a spell that converted internal magic into a stimulant meant to postpone sleep, but it was a bit too intricate for my skills. That recollection didn't belong to me anyhow. “What's been going around in this world?” This world? That wasn't a slip of the tongue, was it?
“Sorry, I missed most of the news,” he said, frowning.
“Okay.” I was a little disappointed. But wait! He missed most of the news. “Well, what didn't you miss?”
“Ahh,” he hemmed, seeming a little thwarted. “Lemme think back now . . .” His brows furrowed, and he hummed thoughtfully. “Some country has been recognized by lots of other countries. Summeland? No, that ain't it . . . Somaliland? I don't know what's the issue, though. A country's a country, and it's on the map, ain't it? How can it not be recognized?” I had heard that name before. One of my neighbors was Somalian. He was friendly, but his thick accent made him hard to understand. “Anyhow, what more? Hmmm . . . How did that newslady say it? Continuing a recent trend across the world, ponies have formed a party in . . .” Was he trying to recite things verbatim? That was mildly funny, for some reason. “Slow . . . Slovenia? Slovakia? One of those. Political party. Not party party.”
“Cool. A party for ponies. Party time,” I said with a weary cheer in my voice, aware that I was becoming delirious again. “I know what party is, so no worries there.” A party for ponies meant the pony population had the right to vote, had a chance to be represented in a parliamentary democracy, could affect a lot of things, and something more that I couldn't think of right now. I was unsure if I got all those right. I favored transparency, direct democracy, and disliked that whole "first past the post" thing. “What's it named? Party ponies?” I presented a little joke. I wasn't a big fan of party parties. They were noisy and rowdy.
“Maybe, but translated to the language they speak over yonder,” Plum Kissel speculated. “I ain't sure. Slovenians or Slovakians . . . Uh, they speak Slovenish? Slovakish?”
“Slovenian and Slovakian, respectively,” I corrected lethargically. “I think.” I was always so unsure. Except when I wasn't. How obvious.
“Thanks. You seem to know a bit more than I do, eh?” Plum Kissel smiled courteously, which I reciprocated. “Thailand, after some debate, has finally agreed to grant . . . Ohh? Way-sass?” He was clearly puzzled. Why was he trying to sound sophisticated? I could tell him he didn't need to, but nah. Not worth it. He could think I was being condescending. “Whatever-the-things to pegasus ponies,” he finished woodenly. “They weren't let in the country because feet are dirty to the Thailandish. Sounds mighty iffy to me. Wiping them feet and hooves clean oughta do the trick if it's such a bother, shouldn't it?”
“Thailandish?” I uttered, thinking that was a misnomer. “Never mind. Sorry, I dunno a thing about how things work there.” Didn't Thailand go through a military coup every five years? And people vacation there? Crazy.
“Neither do I,” Plum Kissel said. “Well, today's storm front's passing, so it's sunshine tomorrow. That's it for the news.” He must've taken my inquiry about world events literally. “Gotta tell ya though, after that came this funny play about a human couple and their pony neighbors. My Next Door Neighbors. Stunna Shades, of all ponies, was a guest star. Ya ever heard of her?”
His question elicited a blank stare. “Uhh . . . maybe?” I shouldn't lie.
“The ‘I'm too cool for your absurd hijinks’ partner of Jolly Goodshow?” More blankness from me. “In the movie Ponyventurers?” I slowly shook my head. “Ya don't?” He seemed incredulous. “Well, I recommend ya see it! Got a sequel in the makings, I heard.”
“Okay.” Movies with ponies, TV shows with ponies? That was so nifty. Oh, sudden random recollection! “What were you watching when I came in?”
“It was . . . something about a factory on stilts out in the sea? A rerun? No . . .” Again, he was creasing his brows like he was compiling a convoluted . . . thingy. Concept! Compiling convoluted concepts. Reticulating splines? “Alpha, alpha . . . Piper Alpha? Whatever it was called, it went up in a fiery blaze long ago. I reckon it was a terrible thing.”
“That does sound terrible,” I said in a moment of somber soberness. I had a hunch lives were lost, and the best solace I had was hoping that those who were unlucky didn't suffer. “But hmm . . .” A factory in the sea, named Piper Alpha. A derrick?
“You know something?” Plum Kissel asked. “I get the feeling you've been here for a while.”
“A while, yeah . . .” I had been here since November. She had. Rosy had. “Piper Alpha doesn't ring a bell, sorry.” Maybe I would look that up once I could? Plum Kissel didn't regard the TV as an unparallelled miracle machine, which meant he had ample time to get acquainted with them, I guess? “Why did it burn up?” I queried.
“I'm sorry, I don't know,” he replied. “I passed out for a spell when it was on this thing.” He waved lazily at the TV. “I would been glad had I slept all night.”
“That's okay. Night's young.” I didn't want to discuss the grim tragedy anyhow. However, him dozing off reminded me of my dad—and I had to check that I wasn't thinking of a pony dad. It wasn't unusual for my dad to come home exhausted after work, often settling to watch TV for a few hours before he fell asleep. Keeping him awake when watching something together was an amusingly futile competition. On weekends, he spared time and energy for me. When and if he did. I was often busy in my room playing games, while he did something else like yard work. In hindsight, I should've appreciated the moments we had, but it hardly ever registered back then . . . No, I shouldn't think of this. My tiredness in addition to the endured ordeals coupled with the burden of my present status plus female hormones equaled heightened emotionality. Also, there was the convoluted psychological effect of being ostensibly female that provided liberties and opportunities I (sub)consciously took advantage of despite the risk of skewing my self-image further from its masculine origin. Whoa . . . That was a surprising spark of smartness. So, anyhow . . . What was this blank paper slip attached to the bed? A name tag, perhaps? Respecting Plum Kissel's intimacy, I chose not to approach and then flip the tag around without his explicit consent. I might have to tell my name if I did.
“Ngh.” He gave his leg a strict look, shifting in bed. “Darn busted leg of mine bothers me the most. It's the only thing that's kept me from getting good and lasting sleep.” His expression eased soon after. “I'm sure the next time's the charm, though.”
“I like your optimistic outlook.” A broken leg was no joke. Fortunately, I had never broken a bone. Knock on wood. “I hope your leg heals quickly.” I received a kind smile and a thanks for that. “Although, may I know how that happened?” More ways to stay awake and not go anywhere.
“Ain't no harm in knowing, I say,” he said in a laidback manner. “Know what makes a poor combination? It's inexperience, confidence, and a bicycle. Misjudged a corner on the trail, rolled down a hill, hit a rock on the way, and came to the gentlest stop when I smashed into a tree.” I shouldn't have chuckled at that. He didn't seem to take offense. “Long story short, lots of pain and a few prescriptions. It ain't so bad, though. A nurse kindly helped clean me up, I got this TV for myself, and the spinach crêpes were so tasty I couldn't believe I was eatin' hospital food. Come tomorrow, I'll be in the good care of my brother. Of course, I gotta give up some of my meager wealth to ride in one of them "iron wagons", as my brother calls them. Says they smell funny, too. It ain't a big secret he doesn't think highly of them. I just call them cars, and sure, they are a mite strange, but I'm fine with them. Things are how they are here, and I ain't one to make a fuss about it. Anyhow, being all banged up, I can't help out on his mustard turnip farm, but I can't have it all, now can I?”
“No, I suppose not.” I stared at nothing; my brain funneled the last of my reserve thinking energy into my thinking thingy. I pictured a pony in a taxi. Then I pictured the taxi. Then I pictured an iconic London cab. What was their real name? Routemaster? No, that was the iconic double decker. The point of fact was . . . “I like iworn . . . wern . . . wiron wan . . . gons,” I said out loud. Thought out loud. Why did I didn't I say sense? I meant . . . I really liked cars. Maybe all of them. I wanted to hug a car. That was weird to think of. I was thinking in not straight, in a curved manner. Vanner? Van. Minivan. Voyager, Chrysler. Caravan, Dodge. One and the same?
“Hello?” He waved. To rouse my attention? “You okay there?” Ow, my horizontal ears became vertical. Was he talking to me?
“You mean, me?” My cognition was like porridge. I would like some porridge. Rice porridge was the best.
“Yes, you.” He laughed. Was I supposed to laugh, too? I chose not to. “Ya got that "I'm sleeping with my eyes open" look about ya.”
I heard him, so . . . I had to acknowledge that I did hear him. “Mhm, okay.” Did he say something meaningful?
“Will ya do something about that now?” I think he asked for me to do something about sleeping? Not sleeping. I had to do something to stop sleeping. What was this "that" he mentioned? “A few minutes ago, ya said to go in a few minutes. Just to be clear, it's been a few minutes.”
“Yeah . . .” I started smiling, but the smile felt funny on my face. Maybe it was a cute smile? I was tired.
He didn't look as tired. “So, time for ya to be a smart filly and get going before you'll be missed.”
“But Imnota fwhl . . .” I wanted to sleep, and I wasn't a filly! I was going to say what I was! “Iwhm a mawnr.”
“Alright, I'm sorry. You're a mare.” No, he got it wrong, and then he laughed like not angry but friendly happy. “Just go already.”
“Gngh . . .” I looked over at the doorway that lead to the hallway that might lead out to where where where . . . where Embee was. Where there were no beds. Where I would say stupid stuff that makes nopony believe me. Unless I wouldn't say anything. Gold was silent and golden. “Ooh . . . Wasdat?” White shape with a brown hairy thingy that had pink? That whole thing that was part of me and shouldn't be. It would freak me out, if that whole freak out part in my head would freak out. I was feeling like laughing was the right reaction, but I didn't feel like actually laughing. Would it be weird if I held my tail in my quasi-arms? Would it feel soft to my face? Oh, I had something to do! “I gotta who find waiting I was . . . for me?” Okay, voice control was being broken. “I mean, I mean . . .” I was wiggling my weird limb in the air, because that helped me form words in my mind that then would go to my mouth. “That thing . . . something.” I hoped Plum Plum knew what I was meaning. If I knew, then . . . No, he wouldn't know. I hoped he knew enough. Connects the pictures to get the puzzle. Maybe if I closed my eyes and thought harder, but not so hard I would shut my eyes for hours. That could happen? No, I'd fall over. Wait, the TV was muted? It was not muted just moments ago. Did he turn it off? With his hooves? Or with his face? Either way, that was the opposite of clumsy. How marvellous! Maybe I could be opposite clumsy, too?
“So, listen. Since I know you're leaving and all, how about ya kindly turn off the lights and close the door on the way out? I would do that myself if weren't confined to my bed. I'd be mighty thankful for your help.” That . . . thinking . . . His idea was reasonable and nothing hard to do. Lights close and door off. My head felt heavy, just like my eyelids.
“Yeah!” Up with the head, and not to be so sleepy. “You was am . . . nice pony . . .” I was sounding so squeaky with this tired voice. It was almost laughably funny. Then I'd hear squeaky laugh. Then I heard it. I sounded weird. “We had happen . . . good talk and . . . thanks for . . . nights to you.” I backed a little, and the curtain went over my skin. That felt a little ticklish, but okay. I could rub myself against something solid . . . Maybe later? I turned toward the door where the light switch was. Next to the door. Not in the door. I got there, walking unsteadily like in a sludge, which wasn't quite right. No sludge here at all. Only flat floor that I couldn't feel too well. Once where I had gone to, I stared at the switch . . . How would I make it do its thing? I had to touch it with hands, because that was how it worked, but I had pony body that had no hands and four things that definitely weren't hands. Stalemate. That switch was right in my face, too. Oh! The opposite clumsy thing!
I was so clever! I used my face to do the switching thing, and I had to keep my giggles inside myself. Why was that what I did that funny? I didn't get it. Anyhow, next was the door that was next to me. I had to go around it and push it shut. That I did. With my muzzle, because of no hands. Again, I was holding back giggles, because everything was so funny! I backed clear of the door, and bumped my behind into a bed. My body was full with embarrassment. Klim Pussel asked if I was here. He knew I was here, so why did he need to know what he already knew? He laughed a little, then said I should get to a bed if I wasn't going to leave after all. He could sleep now, not me. I was going to be silent until he was sleeping. Then I would go out so he didn't know I had left. That was an ingenious plan!
Darkness was very dark. I liked it. Soothing darkness, and twangy talk pony was not making the talking. My eyes were closed, so it was even darker now. I wouldn't like to leave. If I forced myself to leave, I would cry, because forcing myself would be uncool. Embee would come, and then we'd do what needed to be done, and I wouldn't cry because she lended support and was nice and kind and stuff. I wouldn't sleep now. I was standing, and sleep couldn't happen if I was standing. I didn't mean to be sleepy. I had been so valiant. Plymouth.
I raised my leg a little. The one on the left and back, because I had four. Kinda kept the tip of the hoof resting to the floor. This was a little weird. I was standing like my legs were locked and keeping me up. That was weird. I wasn't even wobbly. Being pony felt weird all the time, but no freaking out feelings. That was good and I was feeling nice and . . . ice cream . . . cookie dough . . . cold on a summer day . . . glistening things . . . wash and swish . . . the sound? Jimmy's sounds! Like . . . Twish twish twish twish twish. Not heartbeats, but something . . . Valves and rotation . . . Over head cam . . . Cute face car . . . Kisses . . .
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Yay!
Only you could make a conversation last 10k words. Seriously, did you swallow a dictionary?
(Not that I'm complaining. I love this fic to death.)
You're the only author, fanfiction or otherwise, that makes me use a dictionary more than twice a chapter (even though I can guess word meaning from context sometimes, I like to double check). Most don't make me use it more than twice every 100k words or more.
No comment. I will neither confirm nor deny any details specifying the relationship between that statement and myself.
Just out of curiosity, do you have an idea of when the next chapter will be up since you now have people for the sexy images?
UPDATE!!!!!!!!!!!! whooohooo!
read it first thing tomorrow, bed first x.x
A few possible errors in this chapter. Hard to tell which are intentional, due to the protagonist's confused and sleep-deprived state.
"and he . . . was donned in a white shirt?"
I think you want a different phrase: "was garbed in", "was wearing", "was clothed in"
Checking an online dictionary to make sure, garb: to clothe or cover; don: to put on (clothing)
"Alas, a my hoof was insensate." -- the a should be cut.
“Ya think it's wrong being a shy?” -- the a should be cut. (Shy as a noun: "a sudden movement, as from fear")
"I then recalled that my bane as a male bane was facial hair." -- there's an extra bane.
“That look and tone tells a story I don't know about I'm not in the know of,” -- Did you mean to cut one of those phrases beginning with I?
"that special something Out of fear of committing social suicide," Extra words?
"I'd never say that just the mere thought of engaging in that activity repulsed me." -- Put a semicolon after that.
“Hey.”, -- Extra comma.
a“Are ya listening to me? You aren't nodding off there, are ya?” -- Extra letter.
“So, if it looks like your ya friend's not coming, when do are ya gonna get going?” -- A couple of extra words, unless that's intentional in his speech.
“I would been glad had I slept all night.” -- would have been?
"and I wouldn't cry because she lended support" -- Is lended (lent) an intentional error?
He accidently mentioned that he was a man to Plum. He'll remember that as a witness to his weirdness, hopefully who ever talks to him about Vi is a nice person. In other news, I'm glad that we got more news about the pony in the human world and it sound like they've been here for a while. So maybe he can use "I was raised on Earth or this particular town" to find out more about what happened in Equestria.
So, I was seriously beginning to worry if sir protagonist was having a stroke as the conversation went on. I was starting to think he was actually having a mental breakdown and losing his faculties. Then I realized he was exhausted. It's just not something I was expecting, as it takes m four or five days without sleep to get anywhere near that loopy.
This was a strange chapter, but I liked it. I did think there was a bit of a reveal in that he's apparently uncomfortable or downright disgusted by the idea of physical intimacy. If he's that against it in his usual body, I guess it's more understandable that he's so hyper-aware and freaked out about it in a different body. Still strange that he assumes immediately that any male he encounters is automatically sizing him up for a roll in the hay, as he's stated several times he doesn't think that way himself. I guess the attitude might be a bleed-through from his pony counterpart's psyche, but if that's true I feel worried for her. That's not a healthy mind set, and isn't often seen outside trauma victims.
Well, further down the rabbit hole, I suppose. Allons-y!
Good to see it still updating. I almost think the protagonist is regressing to a child-like state mentally and possibly physically. I don't even know which pronoun should be used as an audience member to this unfolding. Rose is more comfortable with the female pronoun in this state, but she's being confabulous if she thinks that something is going to happen to "fix things" unless she takes the first step and tells others what she thinks is wrong without being so vague about it.
Broke pone is broken? or just ZZZzzz?
This was a good chapter. In part, because it felt easier to read and understand compared to the last couple of chapters. Plus, it felt like things actually happened in this chapter.
Rosey is being way too adorable.
Eeeeeeeeeee! Newchapteryay!
Did he(she) imagine kissing a car at the end there?
I think you've accidentally the second image there.
5836331
I do peruse online dictionaries frequently, as I can not always find a suitable word from within my own vocabulary. Also, since my primary language is not English, I often feel I'm at a disadvantage to a native speaker, and that I must work hard to reach and maintain a similar level of eloquence. This then might lead to going beyond the normal. However, the story's protagonist is ostensibly a native speaker of the language, which means that the cause of their broad vocabulary is different.
As for how long until the next chapter, I have no idea yet. It's basically complete, as the editors have done their part and what remains is the inclusion of art. Hopefully, paper pony can lend his unparallelled skills. But if not, I'll once again seek for a substitute artist.
>> 5836484
An update that's long overdue, I might add. Anyhow, happy reading!
5836751
Oh no! I had completely forgotten to clean this chapter up! This kind of a royal mess up is unbelievable!
I'll get to fixing this embarrassment ASAP! Good thing I decided not to send this to EqD yet, specifically for the reason that a few attentive readers here may spot the few errors that slipped through the cracks. Looks like the crack was this time rivals the Grand Canyon. Oh sigh...
Everything should be right now, knock on wood.
5836962
Viv did verbally admit to being a man, but in a manner so muddled that it was probably lost to Plum. So, yes, Plum will most likely remember Viv as a tired but peculiar mare who stuck around to chat. But Viv's getting there, growing gradually tired of pretending to be what he's not.
We gradually get to know more of the universe Viv for the time being inhabits. It's very tantalizing to know that it's present all the time, like a huge feast of information and wonder, but what we get amount to mere morsels. Oh, those tiny morsels that only make us want more...
5836990
Suddenly waking as a female pony and then having an extraordinary, albeit stressful, day, not to mention being constantly aware of the radically altered physical self, must encumber the mind. So, when Viv's circadian rhythm dialed deeper into the nocturnal range, his offbeat behavior was brought on—or was accentuated—by the culmination of the factors accumulated over the day. In a way, he's behaving as if intoxicated. Rather ironic, as he's a fervent teetotaler.
I don't think it's Rosy who is afraid of intimacy. It's Viv who now thinks that him being physically female makes him little more than target of lust for males. He's new to being female, meaning that he doesn't have years of experience under his belt how to live as one and handle the usual grievances. Viv mainly relies on assumptions and preconceptions, and they're not much go on by, leading to overreactions, misgivings, and false conclusions. Also, despite the fact that he's chosen to go by the alias of Vivienne, I think he's afraid of being referred to as a female. Part of this is due to an ingrained dislike of being emasculated. After all, calling a man feminine or girly often has a negative ring to it. But he also fears that accepting himself as a female will erode his identity further. In the same vein, were he okay knowing that some stallions may appreciate his beauty, lustfully or not, then he believes he has widened the gap separating his current and old self.
5837061
His childlike behavior is most likely caused by his exhaustion in conjunction with his unfamiliarity to being female; he may inadvertently and unwittingly act girly. Physical age regression, however, seems impossible. As for fixing his predicament, it's possible he may have to take a more active role sooner or later. Currently, it seems he prefers that Embee take the lead, and Viv's fears and doubts dissuade him from expressing his true identity.
5837123
Person be little broke when become girl pone. ZZZzzz now make pone more broke. When ZZZzzz over, maybe less broke pone?
5837150
That it's easier to read is a good thing, I suppose. That the protagonist left the room he was in for way too many chapters is definitely a good thing, and counts as "things actually happened"
5837206
In appearance or behavior?
5837366
Oh, the squeeity.
5838047
It's not unthinkable.
5838580
Duly noted. Should be fixed by the time you read this.
5838997
Since you are using the male pronoun, I will as well.
He's taking his sweet time and it's only going to make him cement his current situation and make it take more effort to revert the longer he's afraid of forcing their subjectivity to thinking he's just an exhausted mare. He may be the protagonist, but the longer he plays the games of others, the harder it will be to assert his own subjectivity into the equation. Unless... he starts finding out that he'd count this as a complete "reset" and a type of redemption to go in a completely new and different direction in life.
His assumption to "act" as female as possible around others is helping his case towards a conclusion he isn't consciously expecting and the longer it takes for him to admit something to others about a problem he believes he has. He may be confabulous, but others may think he's delusional.
5838997 Cute in behavior. Soooo cute!
That's five stories I like giving a long awaited updated in the same week. What God did I please?
Seriously, I'd like to know so I can ask it about quantum castaways, and or, over the hedge and through the woods.
5839063
He put on the pretense of being "Vivienne" relatively recently. If he were to discard it the next morning, either due to a conscious choice or a cover-blowing incident, it would mean he was "Vivienne" for less than a day. That's hardly enough time for the assumed alias to become a genuine part of his identity. Whether he ultimately reveals his true self to Embee or not is irrelevant in the context of interacting with strangers. Ergo, he would not announce his true identity to everyone he meets, as claiming to be a guy named _____ when his appearance (and possibly demeanor as well) is the direct opposite may arouse confusion, disbelief, dismissal, and maybe even disrespect from those who don't know him. That Embee is sufficiently trustworthy, open-minded, and knows Viv a little better that the average stranger is key to Viv confiding to her.
However, for Viv to think that name will be the prologue of a new life, a reset, if you will, would entail he'd discard his old self entirely. It's extremely unlikely he'd do that, as it's evident he neither wants to become Rosy nor live as a "girl" Freaky Friday'd into a mare's body. Unsound logic conceived his alias, and he may come to second guess his deceit as his repose returns to allow him to think things through.
5839254
Oh, now you piqued my curiosity further. Would you like to go into details?
5839284
Maybe the, uh... the God of Storyrelease... ium? I don't know. Maybe you shouldn't ask me, but the quantum castaways beyond the hedge, where you can hear it through the grapevine. Oh! Let me listen closer and tell you what it's saying.
Don't you know that I heard it through the grapevine. Not much longer would you be mine. Oh, I heard it through the grapevine.
Sorry! I think I was listening to the wrong grape vine.
5839953
Well, time is relative. I keep forgetting only a little bit of time has passed in the actual story. Still, the amount of time he has been around Ember, he should have said something else was wrong and admit it was personal and not up for full disclosure(instead of being vague that there may or may not have been something else wrong) or just spat it out. The path he took just isn't one I could see myself taking. He has already had a few moments where he involuntarily reacted unlike himself and that would terrify to me to a point to open up to someone, even if it was only one individual. I would just make sure it was someone that had invested something more than they'd usually invest in a random individual.
The anxiety attacks and spacing out are something I do deal with without the transformative gender-bending.
5839953 Mostly the ending where she was slurring her words and struggling to put sentences together. My favorite line was
and
I have to ask, for that first one, was she trying to say "I'm a man" or "I'm a mare" and it just got slurred, or was it just that she was trying to say both and they got mixed together?
I feel like there's a horse thing here I'm not getting. This may be a stupid question, but is this a reflex comparable to a cat's (or other mammals') ear twitching when ruffled by a stimulus such as wind (or someone poking it)?
It may just be me, but these words seem much less big word-sy than most of the other more obscure vocabulary used in the fic. Really, I had to look up at least three-four words in the rest of this chapter, but I knew the definition of ever word on this list except for the one for the study of insects and arachnids.
Also, unrelated but it took this to make me realize that I was pronouncing "etymology" completely wrong. For some reason I had gotten it in my head as et-my-olo-gee. Still, however even after learning the actual pronunciation of the word, I find it and "entomology" fairly distinct. Although that may just be because my United States accent likes to do the t in "etymology" as a tap while keeping it as a plosive in "entomology" because of its preceding nasal.
Yay linguistics~ (if you don't just find all that completely irrelevant heh
)
I actually read this the night (or whatever the time of day it was where you live) you posted it, and it was pretty surreal since I was actually rather tired while following mc's own decent towards unconsciousness. I loved how the word choice and style reflected mc's mental state.
I have to say that this story and this chapter especially has some of the more realistic dialogue I've seen, which I see as something rather cool and unique, though because of the nature of how irl conversations go, and how the mc is and their struggle in the story, it can get a little grating for mc to go around and around and back to a subject, and be particularly verbose at times, though I understand that this is mainly for characterization sakes and to bring the story to wherever it's going.
It may even feel like you're trying purposefully to defy a certain trope (although probably not), but truly it's the sort of experience I've come to expect and enjoy from this fic.
I saw where a particular phrase from the end of one paragraph repeated verbatim in the beginning of the next on my first read through, though you've probably noticed and fixed it as part of 5838997, and skimming back through I don't seem to notice it still being there.
I'm glad to get updates on this story! =D
I (for whatever reason) am greatly attracted to stories with such anguish emotional rending. I also love how detailed and rich all of the characters are, which really makes for a compelling story!
The only thing that's getting to me is the stream of consciousness stuff... While I like it in principle, it's frustrating to me when, for example, a single sentence is punctuated by a paragraph of internal monologue; and tangential monologue, at that! Perhaps it's just me. [edit: I read the last 4 chapters in a row, if that's relevant XD ]
>5840632
He'd come forth right quick, if he wasn't so full of self-doubt and prone to read into things. He may trust Embee, but he nay suspect she holds a bias she's oblivious to. I think that deep down he does not fear her not believing him to be male as much as he fears her to believe him to be male and then regard his "unmanly" behavior with puzzlement or disdain, effectively denying him from expressing femininity. However, this kind of disposition seems unlikely, as Embee hasn't exhibited close-mindedness. Also, were I to further hypothesize, it's possible Viv would argue that he has the liberty of acting feminine, partly due to how he can't fully control how much his appearance and voice affects his self-perception, but also because Embee's attestation of supporting equality lends to the credence that gender roles are detrimental and obsolete.
As of the time being, Vivienne has hid himself behind that alias, which while arguably doesn't mesh all too well with his self-image, grants him the benefit of exploring and expressing his femininity with relative impunity. When—or if—he decides to come out with the truth is up in the air. I say again, he must sort out his insecurities and doubts before he has a good chance to eloquently confide to and convince Embee of his true gender. Perhaps a few more identity blends would give him some motivation?
5841330
Yes, the former. It's no secret he objects to being female, and in his drowsy stupor, he spoke his mind. But his slurring rendered the reveal into borderline gibberish, easily interpreted as "I'm a mare."
5842654
Viv is not entirely adjusted to having pony ears, thus touching them conflicted with his sense of self. Although, it's possible his ear was tingling not only by the touch, but also due to his human subconscious coming into conflict with partly assumed pony instincts, leading to two nerve signals ("twitch the ear" and "there's no ear to twitch") clashing.
Those big words might've not been big words per se. However, Viv being exhausted and tired, rambled out words he cursorily decreed as "big" due to their sophisticated appearance and relative infrequency in an average conversation.
Yeah, pronunciation can be funny. There was a time when I used to pronounce "character" as "tsaracter". This mistake is easy to understand, since "ch" is almost without exception a "ts" sound (chip, choice, chafe, chimney etc.) My accent can be occasionally rather... interesting. I sometimes soften letters to almost nothing, leading to "right" sounding the same as "rye". Hence, "alright" can sound like "o'rai". I'm not a native speaker of English, but my teacher was genuinely English. I think my English is an amalgamation the English I learned from media and school, influenced by my speaking mannerisms and local dialect. Anyhow, enough about me.
Fascinating that you could sync with the protagonist's increasing drowsiness. I actually performed a small experiment myself by paying mind to what I was like when drowsy. I then emulated that state of mind into the protagonist. While I can't say that it's an exact interpretation, it comes sufficiently close.
Interesting that you bring up dialogue. When I started this fic, one of my fears was to introduce the protagonist to another character, as that would obviously initiate dialogue. I was extremely anxious about writing dialogue, feeling I would do a horrible job at it. After chapter 4, I again felt that I should not introduce the protagonist to any characters. However, this was an impossible objective, and by the time of chapter 8, I was truly forcing myself to conceive better dialogue. Trial by fire, if you will. I think by chapter 10, I was finally getting a good grasp on dialogue, although I admit there's always room for improvement. But around the same time, my editors presented me with the very trope you mentioned. I've made concessions here and there, though I feel strongly about fidelity. This disposition might contribute to the dialogue feeling more real, as I'm not able to adhere to that single trope even if I tried.
This chapter was edited in Google Docs, and words and phrases—and sometimes, entire paragraphs—were colored white when marked for deletion. Before transferring a completed chapter to Fimfic, I give it one last read-through, making any last-minute edits and deleting the marked words and phrases. Alas, the white words were "invisible" to my eye and I unwittingly forgot to delete them as I read along. I still am kicking myself about my embarrassing failure.
5843298
It's been a long wait since the last chapter, so it's most a pleasant news to see that this story is not dead!
Ah, the stream of consciousness is one of the appeals of this story. It has its goods and bads, I know. A few chapters before the 16th were a bit on the slow side when it came to plot advancement, but now things are on the move again, figuratively speaking.
Not sure what to say about the emotional anguish drawing you in. Maybe that and the conflicted feelings the protagonist has about his "mareness" stands as a counterpoint to the stories where the protagonist is overjoyed of being a pony or overcomes the problems inherent of a different body/sex in a matter of minutes?
5843511
This. I want this to happen.
Also the fact that you, the author, brought this up in the way it was brought up...
Spoilers.
5843529
Well, yes, I'm the author. I may talk prognostically. Or then I'm obfuscating the truth with red herrings...
5843551
You have great ideas regardless. I look forward to future updates whether or not red herrings are in abundance.
How do you come up with stuff like this? Vivienne going of on sleep deprivation driven tangents and the like. How do you do to think up and write stuff like that? His/her thoughts and dialouge i mean. Do you just sit down, get into the head of Vivienne and write? Or do you sit down and think up roughly what you want to happen and write down like a draft from wich you work of? Or do you, I don't know, how does someone write a story like this?
Sorry for any errors. It's hard to write longer comments on a phone not custom to english.
5843956
The sleep deprived behavior of Vivienne was derived from personal experiences. Of course, it's not a direct analogue to how I behave when drowsy. But it's true that I often get into Viv's head, so to speak. I often imagine what things look and feel from his perspective, and since I have a very powerful imagination, the experience can be very vivid. So, yeah, I think the key factor is the imagination. That's the source of creativity.
5843511 Oh no, don't get me wrong, the stream of consciousness IS interesting, and really gives a lot of depth to "Viv". It's just that personally, I get frustrated with the amount of internal monologuing, especially with the ratio of stream of consciousness stuff to, well, everything else
Forgot I had mentioned that XD Well, I do think that's a definite appeal of the story: I haven't seen others which explore the psychological difficulties to such an extent, or at all! Mostly, people are pretty much okay with it, and while I'd like to think that's more reasonable, your story has made me consider otherwise... Good work! =)
Though, I must admit that I was speaking more broadly concerning myself. I'm fairly empathetic, so I always feel the emotions of characters in stories, and for whatever reason, I enjoy stories which put characters through great anguish (though not generally sadness; I don't like those XD ). Dunno. Not the place to get psychoanalysed XD
5844331
I see.
It's back! Huzzah!
Now to wait for the next chapter.
*squats down into old hovel thing that has been there since the story was first found*
Yay my favorite meta fic updated!
Finally passed out, how let's wait for the night nurse to find an unregistered patient...
Keep going! ;)
How long does he was in the room? Because its makes a difference how you look Plum. If its a few minutes (say 10) then he clearly doesnt wanted to talk and his dialoges sounds like he want to get rid of Viv and sleep alone... on the other hand if he was there for a long time, it would sound like he worries about him/her and the fact noone comes back for him/her.
They are a bit more realistic than Paper pony's. If i want to be really nitpicky, i would say the eyes are a bit small, but i cant say that as wrong either, because we are seeing tired ponies.... so yeah, you are a good artist in my eyes Boss Hoss 
I like the new artist's drawings.
Did you get someone else to make the pictures this time? They seem kind of different in style...
5848012
pinkie.mylittlefacewhen.com/media/f/rsz/mlfw1306_small.jpg
Thanks, it helps I had plenty of time this winter when I was too sick to write on my own stories but still "there" enough to do art for Suomibrony
I'm a live-in volenteer on a rescue ranch for IRL little ponies so I have plenty of models to draw on.
5848140 (yeah, he got me this time)
5844664
Well, you're not the only one who said there's not much happening. The chapters between the 12th and 15th were arguably dialogue with introspection, and a smidgen of action. Chapter 16 introduced a new character, and the 17th did that and also changed scenery. So, the story moves away from the slough of excessive introspection. Perhaps the reassessed balance between stuff happening and stuff being mulled over will be better received?
Anyhow, you certainly appreciate the ruminations, even if they occasionally frustrate you. So, the good outweigh the bad. Although, this story would not be much if we only got cursory looks into the character's thoughts. Personally, I think that two very unique features are that the story doesn't break the fourth wall and the character's mental state directly reflects into the narration. In a way, we're behind a transparent barrier, preventing us from reaching out to him and him from reaching out to us. But his feelings reach us. Maybe we sometimes bang the figurative glass, screaming for him to do the right thing. But maybe we also feel despondent when we can't help him when he feels bad?
5846832
It's highly likely the wait won't be as long as it was this time.
5847491
A nurse who has no idea who Viv is and what's his deal, then regarded as an unregistered patient? What kind of commotion would that arouse?
5848012
Your guess of 10 minutes is about right, and I think Plum was primarily being polite. Also, Viv stated that he was waiting for someone, so it's possible Plum figured some small talk would help pass the time. When he finally began to suggest Viv get going, he did so in a gentle and jovial manner. He really seemed to be extremely pleasant and unworried, even when it became apparent Viv hadn't left the room.
5848644
That's a quite the adorable picture!
Not sure why, but you mentioning working with real ponies reminded me of a video where a horse is lead to water. At first, it's wary, even frightened of stepping into the shallow pond. After a minute, it gathered its courage and slowly eased itself to the pond. Following a few turns and short walks, it stopped and began to vigorously "dig" the water with with its foreleg. I thought that was cute, like it had discovered water was fun to play with.
5848759 some commotion I bet, since he'd probably get registered as a new patient until he wakes up, but merging records after that would make lots of red tape and a panicked Embee.
And so a new chapter of this fic finally presents itself.
One thing that this and some previous chapter has me wondering is just how old Rosy actually is. (I actually mean Rose not Viv.) On the one hoof Rosy was presumably old enough to own a car but Viv's Regressions to more foal like levels(The pinapple incident for example.) sort of tell otherwise. Now this could just be the constant assault of his inside and outside as it had been in this chapter but perhaps the physical brain Viv is now inhabiting isn't as 'mature' for a lack of a better word, complicating the matter.
To the next one.
5848759
Don't get me wrong, it's worth the wait, but that is great news.
I'm probably the 30th person to say this in this chapter's comments alone, but yay an update!
Personally, this is one of my fav fanfics (And I normally hate fanfics). Sure, reading a chapter is a battle and a half, I lose focus within about 15 words, especially with the extended exchange of dialogue while simultaneously going through the damaged headspace of protagonist.
I would very much like to see this plot line advance past the hospital stage. Any spoilers for how much longer protagonist is going to continue their shenanigans around the hospital?
I dont want to seem like the guy with a stick up his ass, but i'm getting tired of reading a dictionary. I've said it before and i'll say it again. You're vocabulary in this story is WAY far beyond what any normal person would use, and by that, you've started to alienate your readers (not making the characters more like your readers)
Your original story was brilliant and carried a lot of potential, potential you did not let totally go to waste mind you. My problem here is that she hasn't left the god damn hospital yet! When i read this story i was hoping for more inner conflict, more discovery, more secret behind the scenes evil machinations and plans, not 3 days in a hospital with a clean bill of health, and nothing to read but the thesaurus. Your character is interesting, but the story is progressing too slowly. I know you know this, but as a writer you need to be able to take a minute, and stretch it into an hour, which you have done brilliantly, the problem is is that you do not know WHEN to. The people who showed up at the beginning are dying off because this story has gone from speeding car, to a crawl. Speed things up a little. I'm not saying kick her to the curb, but introduce SOMETHING to get the blood pumping.
If you wish to hear my point, the ENTIRETY OF THIS CHAPTER was a conversation between 2 ponies, argueably about 30 minutes, max. You used 10000 words to describe ONE conversation. Most people write a short fic in 10000 words.
I'll end it as thus. I'm not insulting you, your writing, your style, this is NOT AN INSULT POST! Technically speaking any downvotes are undeserved since this is MY FUCKING OPINION! This guy is a brilliant writer, the fact that he can spin a 20-30 minute conversation into 10000 words is a testament to that. The characters are well developed, hell you could probably draw, give a life and a story behind the guy in the bed (not you, the reader) because you've put SO MUCH thought into him.
What i'm saying is that i'm giving this one more chapter... you added the adventure tag to this... would it hurt to add some?
For some reason i feel like i need to say more, that some people will feel offended by this post (yes fanboy, talking to you), but i do not care about them, i'm talking to the writer and i NEVER want the writer to feel offended by my posts, maybe rebuked (not the same), but never offended. This post details my thoughts and expectations of the story and where I think it should go based on the plotline and build up to the hospital (arc). The fact that i'm saying i'm giving this one more chapter in no way says that i hate this story or will downvote it or will in any way place any thing but praises on this piece of art. It is merely my statement that i will stop reading this particular story because it does not appeal to my taste in writing and has not lived up to my expectations.
So, Suomibrony, please take this post as it is meant to be taken, as a comment. I'm not a critic, i'm not a judge or editor, i'm simply a reader, and this is simply, my comment on the subject, not me giving the ultimate thumbs up thumbs down on the story.
Being prone to them myself, I can confidently say that sleepy ramblings are the best.
5849003
Yeah, hmm... I guess the nature of the commotion would also depend on whether Embee or Viv has let the nurse know of his condition.
5849256
I think Rosy's around the same age as Vi himself, who said he's 22 years. Of course, he's not entirely sure that's his age, but we can assume it's not off by many years.18 to 25years , I think, is a fair guess. The pineapple incident temporarily altered his behavior, whereupon he acted childlike for an unknown amount of time. Second, when the day turned to night, his endurance already depleted, his sleep cycle started kicking in, causing ditzy and scatterbrained behavior. Also, an auxiliary factor is his comparatively high-pitched voice. Sound like a girl, behave like a girl? It's a possibility worth considering.
5850769
Update is great news.
I also am happy that you enjoy the story in spite (or because of) its emphasis on the protagonist's reaction to and thought about everything. I am trying to dial it down a bit and introduce more "adventure". We'll see if I'm any good at that though, but trying is better than not. Trust me, I'm tired of the hospital environment; I'm working on introducing new vistas. Perhaps as soon as the next chapter?
5851275
I know this story's been unbearably slow lately, and I'm trying to change that. Not spoiling much, I hope, but the next chapter is very different. While I too am tired of the hospital setting, I cannot force the change of scenery. So I must let it happen in a believable and natural fashion. Although, to say that the protagonist been there for 3 days must be a hyperbole. Perhaps, once he gets out, he will lampshade the (to us) protracted stay? Something like "I'm glad to get out. I feel like I was cooped up there for years." Still, there are a few details he must endure before that can happen. I don't think that's a spoiler. Or is it? Maybe not quite. More like an inevitability, I guess. But make no mistake, I'm eager to have him learn more about the universe he's in.
Anyhow, I hope the next chapter renews your interest, but I will hold no ill toward you if it doesn't. Not everyone will enjoy the comparatively ponderous pace of this story. I thank you for being civil, though. It's a virtue I often feel is in short supply.
5852170
They can be rather intriguing, yes.
5852552 I must say that i was overly anxious when i clicked the notification, likewise i find that civility is in short supply with both writers and readers alike.
I am heartened to hear that this story might catch my interest again, as i stated before i really would love to see where it is going and can't wait to go the adventure with you.
3 days in a hyperbole, after i thought about it a little i realized it was more of a day and a few hours or so, but i was lazy so i left it be.
No you haven't given anything away, so rest assured i will be thoroughly surprised, and if i'm not i'm pretend i am. :P
5848759 I think you are correct, sir! It's most certainly frustrating when he does certain things; I'm just like "DAMMIT MAN, COME ON! DO IT! ARRGH!" XD
Or in the case of going into a random room, and basically hiding from his only friend and ally I'm like "DON'T DO THAT! WHAT ARE YOU THINKING?! ARRGH!!!" XD
5853867
Fake it until you make it?
5854660
Maybe Rosy's pineapple-intolerant?
5854850
In his defense, he was exhausted as heck after what must've been the most stressful day imaginable. Also, he was so delirious toward the latter end of the chapter it's easy to surmise he was half-sleeping wth his eyes open.
Well, that ending was quite… unexpected. Although I suppose it makes sense. If I remember correctly, his last moment of unconsciousness was after the pineapple fiasco. Since then he's jumped off a cliff, nearly been run over, had an emotional breakdown, been airlifted to hospital and had another breakdown. A break is much needed. You sure like to torment, don't you?
Also, nice talk on gender roles here. After the many overly analytical insights we've been presented with, and the frequent struggles of adapting to a body of he opposite sex, I suppose it was natural that this would work its way in.
If it's actually morning at the time of the next chapter, perhaps we'll finally see the light of day as opposed to incandescent hospital lighting? I look forward to it.
5864894 I know, I know... It wasn't his fault... The situation is still frustrating, though!
Regardless, I can't wait for more chapters! I just hope Viv might perhaps be a bit more lucid, and perhaps purposeful, after a good night's sleep.
I also hope Embee finds him without too much of a problem, as opposed to them being separated for an extended amount of time, basically leaving Viv alone and without aid D=
5864894 :O i am surprised by your comment
Convincing enough?