First Pony View

by Suomibrony

Street Scene

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

Chapter 22
Street Scene

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I had to get to the other side of the road; Embee surely needed my help. The four-laned obstacle between us bustled with cars. An intersection stood directly ahead of me. I tried to gallop, but my limbs tangled themselves beneath me. I tripped and stumbled, but caught myself before I could topple to the ground. I stood still for a moment, eyes wide. It seemed my mind was racing faster than my body—I had to keep it together! With renewed determination, I took a deep breath, and moved at a brisk trot towards the intersection.

Ponies walked down the streets, oblivious of the crisis that was happening on the other side of the street. I trotted past them, keeping my eyes locked on the intersection. I was 10 meters away . . . 5 . . . 1 . . . And then I was there!

But there was no time to celebrate. I lifted a hoof to press the button . . . and stopped, scrunching up my face. Hoof? Shoe on hoof? Leg. Not use a leg, but use, er . . . what I saw . . . My nose? Muzzle? No, yes, face, foot? Ah! No time for this! I'd just have to use my hoof, and hope I hadn't stepped on something icky that would then be transferred to whoever next used the button!

I waited nervously for the lights to change, and caught quick glimpses of Embee across the road through the speeding cars. They seemed so much larger and intimidating from my height.

Finally, the cars began to slow down, and the lights changed. As quickly as I could, I trotted my way across the intersection. I passed by the idling cars, their presence large and frightening. A cold sweat settled underneath Embee's saddle bags.

Normally, I'd be cataloging each car, labeling make and model. The nervousness, however, ushered my automotive enthusiasm to the background of my thoughts. Weird. With a little hop of nervousness, I finally reached the other side.

I looked around and spotted Embee. She was standing beside the two ponies a little ways past a fast food restaurant. I started to trot towards her. She was maybe ten meters away from me, but . . . why . . . why wasn't she doing anything? What were . . . The blue pony with a purple mane was looking kind of . . . male. Actually, he was, and he seemed to be clearing his throat with a pained expression across his muzzle. The second pony was also male, and was standing beside his friend looking mildly concerned. So . . . I hadn't assumed their genders correctly from across the street, and it seemed the situation wasn’t quite what I thought it was either. My pace was reduced to a standstill by the onset of cold feet. I shouldn't be afraid, and I wasn't. I was just . . . hesitant.

“Eagh, that was bad, really, really bad,” the blue pony I had presumed to be seriously ill complained, clearing his throat again. He was an earth pony with grey saddlebags and . . . had some sort of weather meter device for a cutie mark.

The second pony was also blue and carrying saddlebags, but he was instead a unicorn and had a mauve mane marked by very thin, yellow streaks. “I told you so,” he said. “I tried one before you! The candy's got fire to it.”

“So you ate something hot?” I whispered to myself quietly, in a slight daze from having believed a calamity was unfolding. What were they eating? Potato chips with sour cream and chili? That would be delicious, not disgusting.

“Well, I thought you were in some serious trouble,” Embee commented, in post-relief unconcern. “I'm truly glad you weren't.”

“And aren't we glad we're right next to the hospital?” the unicorn with the yellow-streaked mane joked. “In case it actually was serious.”

“It is actually serious. Do you have something I could drink?” meter-pony asked, grimacing. “Anything will work.”

“Something to drink? Yeah, here.” A transparent bottle floated from the mauve-maned unicorn's saddlebag. His eyes were purple, like his magic; the meter-pony's eyes were lime green. And neither of them were wearing shoes. Or boots. No hoofwear at all. So they were shoeless. Barefooted? Barehooved? Bare . . . ly controlling my nervous impulses. I blinked, and focused my attention back to the conversation at hand . . . hoof? Eh.

“Thanks.” The bottle had a peculiar loop, which he slipped his limb through before unscrewing the cap with his teeth. Interestingly, the cap didn't detach. Perhaps a design similar to the shampoo bottle? The liquid inside was faintly colored red. Strawberry?

“Well, that doused the . . .” the unicorn said as the bottle was hoofed back to him, but was distracted when he glanced in Embee's direction. “Oh, hey, who are you?”

Her ears pricked in surprise. “What? Who am I? You forgot my name?”

“Hahaha, no no no. Behind you.” The unicorn pointed past Embee and toward . . . me? Uh-oh.

“Oohh. Yes, that’s my friend,” Embee told the two, and gestured at me to come closer.
Uncertain of what would unfold next, I only showed a small, nervous smile as I reluctantly trotted over to stand by Embee.

“Ah, alright. Your friend, then.” Meter-pony’s expression brightened. Was that a good sign? Certainly nothing awful would ensue. Hopefully. “I'm Weather Gauge. Gauge for short.”

“And I'm Skyward Beam,” said the unicorn in a similarly welcoming and happy tone. “We're cousins.” We stood in silence. Were they waiting for something? Why were they staring at me? “. . . and you are?”

I was . . . to introduce myself? What a fiendish proposition! Okay, okay, reality and courtesy dictated that I had to . . . think of something to say . . . something or anything. “Ahm, well-eh-uhm . . .” The traffic drowned out my mumbling.

Gauge tilted his head. “Uh, did you say something?” I responded with a tiny yes. “Really sorry, but I can't hear you. Talk louder, perhaps?” I couldn't do that, so I timidly looked down and began rolling a loose grain of gravel beneath my shoe. Until that grain landed between the seams of the sidewalk's tiles from where I couldn't recover it.

“Please excuse her,” Embee said to the two stallions. “She'd love to introduce herself, but, ah . . . she's been trying really hard to work up her confidence. You see, she's very shy and speaks softly. It's really noisy here, too. You understand? Not easy to hear. Oh and no, don't ask me to do the introductions. She's asserted that I can't do it in her stead, and trust me, she can be very assertive.” When she glanced at me, I looked slightly aside, attempting a smirk of contentment to support her story.

“I see. Hmh. Okay, introductions aren't needed when we've got places to go,” Skyward seemed to conclude after the shortest of ruminations.

“I suppose you got a point there,” Gauge relented, his voice unsure. “But hey, before we go, can you throw the candy into the trash over there before they spontaneously combust?” He gestured at a steel box by the fast food place.

“But a fire in a trash . . .” I was talking too quietly to hear it even myself.

“How about we give them away instead?” Skyward Beam suggested.

“Give them away?” Gauge said with skepticism. “Who'd want them?”

Skyward looked at us. Gauge's gaze followed a second later. Surprise made a fleeting impression before a doubtful scowl emerged. “Skyward. Why would you want these gentle mares to suffer?”

“Suffer?” Embee questioned, laughing incredulously. “What kind of sweets are we talking about?”

“These.” Skyward produced a blue bag from his pocket. “We wanted something unique and exotic. A flavor special to this world. Gauge here wanted a bag of––these aren't them––but they were named . . . err.” Why was he being so hesitant?

“Dog farts,” Gauge said bluntly. “Danish candy, I've heard.”

“That's . . . some candy.” Embee raised a brow as she looked at me, possibly presuming I had info to share. I wasn't particularly informed on the subject; she seemed a little dejected when I shook my head.

“I assume it's better than what we just had. Honestly, I'd rather eat rubber,” Gauge remarked dryly.

“Nice . . .” I said, but immediately realized I was still inaudible. “Marketing speech,” I continued in any case.

“I can't agree with you unless I chance it. May I have one?” Embee was approaching the sweets with an open mind when she had been presented with a negative impression? She had sounded confident, though . . .

“Sure.” Skyward turned the open bag sideways, then gently shook it to deposit the contents closer to the aperture. “A word of warning, they're . . . surprising.” His smile almost belied his repulsion as Embee plucked one of the notorious sweets into her mouth. That was when I got a good look at the artwork on the side of the bag. A-ha! I knew these candies!

“Hum, it's sweet. Hard, but fruity. Some kind of berry?” Embee analyzed. She had wisely not bitten—oh no! I must warn her immediately!

“Don't—” I was too late; a crunch signaled that the candy had met its demise. “Bite it,” I finished dejectedly, putting down my . . . shoe-adorned not-hand that I had impulsively raised, and then retracted as I had flinched. Judiciously steering my mind away from contemplating my feet, I discovered I did not have a clear view of her face from where I was standing, but it was nonetheless clear that she had become frozen. That lull was over in a blink of an eye. Invigorated, she dashed a few meters to the base of a tree on the lawn beside the sidewalk, spitting out her mouth's contents.

“Ew yuck! Gross! Awful! Eagh!” she cried in disgust, drawing bewildered stares from the few people in the parking lot across the narrow and grassy divider, but their curiosity was brief and they turned away shortly after.

“Gross and awful? They are, they are . . .” Gauge lamented sympathetically as Embee continued to cough and gag.

“Can—ech, can I please have some of that drink, too?” she asked as politely as she could. Gauge passed the bottle to her. “Much appreciated.” She took a swig, and then another, and began pitching her head upwards.

“You're welcome, uh, but heh-hey, stop, please? That's my Snapple.” Gauge determinedly took the bottle back when it seemed like she was overestimating his generosity. As he reached towards Embee, I noticed something: like Embee, he too was wearing a bracelet. It was dark blue, matching his coat color.

Embee had put her hoof to her lips, shocked. “Oh! I'm sorry for getting carried away . . .” She looked at me. “Err . . . do you want to try them, too?” Skyward tilted the bag by a few degrees towards me.

Facial expressions, ear positions, and . . . I guess my tail also counted. Communicating a reserved agreement with body language alone was beyond my abilities. “Wouldn't want to be the odd one out, right?” I braved to speak.

Gauge shook his head. “Still being too quiet there, sorry.”

Skyward agreed with a hum. He then approached me, smiling welcomingly. Probably. Alright, I had to stay cool. He was completely innocuous, and suppositions of him harboring amorous desires in immediate need of satiation was simply alarmist nonsense. He turned the magic-enclosed bag almost ninety degrees and rattled it lightly to help a bunch of oblate spheroids roll to the aperture. I was amazed none fell out. I couldn't pick one up due to being digitally denied, so . . . I put my face close and—jumping jehosafar! What an intense aroma!

“Pungent, aren't they?” Skyward remarked soon after I had drawn my head back. I offered a meager, abashed smile before retrying my approach. Collecting one with my lips seemed beyond my abilities . . . No I got one . . . Wow! Highly potent flavor! The candies had never tasted this strong before, but . . . it made enjoying the fruity freebie even better!

Gauge stared at me expectantly, and so did Embee, while I allowed my saliva to slowly break down the candy. Eventually, the hard shell would become brittle enough for the strong powder inside to escape and mix with my saliva. Biting the candy would unleash the powder at once, and to the unaccustomed, that could be a truly nasty experience.

“She's not gagging and spitting.” Skyward looked exceptionally perplexed.

“Yeah . . .” Gauge wore the same expression as he walked back to his cousin. “I can see that. Oh! what if she hates the candy as much as we do, but is being too courteous to spit it out?”

“Or maybe she's not a stranger to the candy?” Embee speculated. This wasn't a contest per se, but it was admittedly a cool little thing that I was "winning" it.

“Oh-hoo,” Skyward said with a tone of realization, having become aware of my expression. “That smile. You must be really pleased with yourself.” I averted my eyes.

“Yeah, you're so coy now, having played us. Good on you,” Gauge congratulated halfheartedly.

“Don't get too excited. Just wait 'til she bites it,” Skyward whispered. “I'm sure she'll—” Crunch went the candy, releasing the encapsulated ammonium chloride. This would've scorched my acute taste buds, if not for my past non-pony experiences granting them decent tolerance.

“She'll what?” Gauge asked flatly, while his cousin gawked in disbelief.

“Ah, yeh, hum . . .” he responded with immaculate intellect.

“So, what does this mean?” Embee inserted herself.

“It means she gets to keep the candy,” Gauge replied, snatching the bag out of its magic bubble with stunning dexterity and boldness.

“She . . . does?” Skyward's eyes locked on the bag Gauge held in astonishment, then darted around in search for what I presumed to be the expired cloud of magic that once held the bag. “Heeeyyy . . .” Skyward drawled admonishingly, then telekinetically repossessed the bag. “I'm sorry, but since I paid for these, they're actually mine.”

“And since I don't want them, you'll eat them all by yourself? I didn't know you were a glutton for punishment.” Gauge needled, to his cousin's chagrin.

“Well, I, er, I get to choose what I do with them . . .” Skyward turned to me and exchanged his scowl for a somewhat polite expression. “So, yes, dear, uh, oh gosh . . . what's-your-name, you can have these, if you wish.”

Embee opened her mouth, but then closed it. I had no idea why she did that. In any case, I glanced at my starboard portable container as I used a brief flash of magic to open it. As the goodie bag was deposited, I remembered that these yellow saddlebags belonged to Embee, and . . . it was doubtful that Skyward would inquire about the items within, which obviously weren't mine, and obviously were meant for ponies, and most likely meant for female ponies. Then again, conversations were unlikely when I was playing the shy type, and Skyward wouldn't inquire anyway. Reminded of their presence, I could feel the belt for the saddlebags fastened around my . . . . barrel.

“Right-o,” Gauge said, sporting that deep voice again. “How's we bi'em luvlay lai'ies ayr fon'est fa'wells an' gee'n goin?” Why the sudden and very poor mockery of English accent?

“How's . . . what?” Skyward stared at his cousin. “Who do you think you are? Jolly Goodshow?”

“Eh . . . I did a good impression, didn't I?” Gauge asked, using his normal voice again.

Skyward creased his lips. “Mmh, mmh,” he hummed, tilting his head from one side to the other as if nursing a stiff neck. “Three out of ten.”

“Harsh, but fair.” Gauge took the criticism calmly. His choice of words was coincidentally funny, though I was sure he had no idea who Zavomir Serdar was, or know of Battlefield: Bad Company for that matter. “Was that a laugh?” Gauge asked me.

“No, you're only hearing things,” Skyward said in a scantily audible voice as he put himself closer to Gauge. “It's all in your miiiiind.”

“You two really aren't giving her a break?” Embee said, probably worried my self-esteem was taking a pummeling from their jesting.

“Well, maybe. But I'm sorry, we have to break for it. Make a for it, I meant. Er . . .” Gauge's wordplay had apparently fallen flat on its face on the start line.

“Make for—what the hay are you trying to say? Did you sleep well last night?”

“Get going?” Gauge indicated toward a bridge further up the road. A constant stream of cars were cresting it . . . and . . . oh my! What was I seeing? Could it be? It couldn't . . . No no no, this couldn't be happening! It was! It was approaching, and I was so amazed I drew a breath in awe.

“Oh my gosh!” I couldn't believe it! “Look at that, look at that, look at that! It's a Morgan! Could it be a Plus Four? It's green. Glossy . . .” This was unbelievable! I had never seen a Morgan for real. The odds of that, and now, to see it so close . . . No way! It was slowing down. Oh, it was stopping! “Oh yes! It's a Morgan Plus Four! Isn't it wonderful?” It was so close I could smell it! Exhaust, sure whatever, carbon monoxide, whatever I didn't care. “ A Morgan Plus Four! This is the most awesome thing ever!” Those lines, those curves, those wire wheels, the canvas roof, the . . . the . . . the everything! “I can't believe this is real!” I was tempted to get close and touch it. But I shouldn't, and didn't. I didn't have the permission. But really! “A Morgan Plus Four!” I was smiling so . . . so smilingly! “This is so cool!”

And then it had to move on with the traffic, but I was simply too happy to care! My happiness scale was off the charts! “You saw that? It was a Morgan Plus Four!” I had to look back at the green wonder once again, marvelling at the piece of art on wheels. “Oh my gosh, a Morgan Plus Four! That was so super awesome!” Suddenly, I realized I was alone at being excited. “Umm . . . Why are you all staring at me?”

“I'm amazed you can talk,” Gauge explained pithily, earning a disapproving glance from his cousin.

Skyward said, “What my cousin meant to say is that he's happy you've overcome your shyness and thinks you're a pleasant and happy young mare with the voice to go with it.”

“Yeah, certainly . . . and you're um, a great . . . colt . . . I mean—” I was at the precipice of falling back to the shy persona despite the air of affability. Or, more likely, due to it. Inexperience at being on this side of the male-female dynamic wasn't beneficial to my confidence.

“So, hey, uh, what's a Morgen?” Gauge queried.

“Morgen? No, that's Morgan,” I corrected pointedly. “Also, for your benefit: Jag-uar, not jag-wire, the "e" in Porsche isn't silent, and, hmm . . . I'm confident soubaru is closer to the intended pronunciation than suburu.”

“Like I said, she can be very assertive,” Embee reminded the stunned Gauge. “And knowledgeable,” she added.

“Er . . . Without a doubt,” he agreed, producing a mollifying smile once his attention returned to me. “Excuse my ignorance, I'm but a humble weather coordinator. Can you tell me what's so fantastic about the Morgan?”

“It's one of the most awesome cars ever,” I replied promptly—in a perky tone that a flared a wave of disconcertion.

“How so?” he followed, curious.

“It's a work of art on wheels.” My brevity was unintended; the lightness of my voice was conflicting with my internal image at an inopportune moment. “There's a reason I say that . . . The styling harkens back to an era when it was common. Modern cars are technologically sophisticated, though I find their aesthetics insipid and unimaginative. I mean, people fawn over them and their tech and style, but I'm like 'yeah, whatever', and then I see a Volkswagen Transporter T3 and I'm like 'whoa awesome, that's so super cool'. Could it be some form of unreplicable mystique? Charisma and character? Maybe cars age like wine? I'm not fond of alcoholic beverages, but I think the analogy fits. I have heard of a British car. A Morris? It was produced in the hundreds of thousands in the seventies and eighties and got a bad reputation for being shoddy. If I'm not mistaken, a mere few hundred remain today. Goes without saying that value is inversely proportional with quantity. Pristine examples must go for a hefty penny. Anyhow, I digress. As was quite evident, the attractive design of the Morgan stands out among its contemporaries. They aren't mass produced, which makes them rare and expensive. The frames are crafted out of wood, to which the meticulously sculpted body panels are fitted to.”

“Excuse me for interrupting,” Skyward interrupted. “I'm sure what you're saying is great and all, but I'm having a hard time hearing—” A large delivery truck coasted to a stop by him. “Over all this—” The diesel engine growled, as if annoyed by his defiance and wishing to intimidate him into submission. He smiled sheepishly at me as the truck moved on.

“Oh . . . sorry,” I apologized, forcing myself to speak louder, if only momentarily. “I know that my speaking voice is soft, but I . . .” Their frowns and forward-pricked ears were dispiriting clues, I reluctantly raised my voice further. “I also now know that it's too soft to be heard.” Both ponies offered consolation and encouragement soon after. Though, being reminded of my voice almost nullified the positive effect.

“I don't know if I can share your passion for those things. I don't understand them, but it's cool, you understand and like them, and that's great. For you. I don't have a real opinion, even if you tried to assert one out of me, hehe.” Gauge gave a wink after his bemusement-mixed attempt at admiration. Skyward, in contrast, had held a placid look throughout.

“I should be surprised, but few things do anymore. Yesterday, I met a pony who was looking for buddies for his team of paint . . . paintball something. Throwing?” He raised a hoof, creasing his lips quizzically. “Whatever it was, we talked for a moment, and he said that paint thing was off the hook. Whatever that means.”

“Ponies who've been here a while tend to pick on some, er, lingo, and become amazed by earthian stuff,” Skyward explained to Gauge.

“Earthian . . . ?” I echoed in my mousy voice, confused and intrigued by the unknown word.

“Who knows, next you meet a pony who likes . . .” Skyward furrowed his brows, and soon drew a breath through pursed lips. “Those dance games!” he exclaimed, striking a hoof.

“Dance games?” Gauge laughed dismissively. “You couldn't have said anything crazier. I utterly failed at them. You failed at them. Our friends failed at them. We all got cross-legged and fell. You said it wasn't, but it was humiliating and embarrassing! So, no, not gonna meet a single pony who likes, or is even good at dance games.”

Unbeknownst to both stallions, Embee smiled knowingly and rolled her eyes. “I believe we've already met.” What an odd thing to say . . . Oh! She was sly!

“Yes, we have. Obviously. But I'm confused. Why do you—” Gauge paused mid-sentence, then looked around diffidently. “I . . . I stand corrected.”

Skyward chuckled with an air of intrigue. “Well, well, well. Perhaps she can help you feel humiliated and embarrassed? Er, less humiliated and embarrassed.”

“Oh, but we've got places to go, cousin!” Gauge exclaimed, then quickly appraised Embee and me. “Goodbye, and so long!” He took off with briskness. “Off we go. Trot trot!”

Skyward was befuddled. “Well . . . You two have a great day.”

“Likewise!” Embee responded. However, Skyward didn't follow Gauge, who was heading toward the bridge in the distance. Instead he approached me with a smile, putting me at minor alert.

“Enjoy the, um, well, I don't think they're sweet. I had expected them to be sour and sweet, but . . . they're candy. I guess.” The gesture was genuine and disarming. Then it hit me.

“Yeah, um . . .” I had received a nearly full bag of candy for nothing. Or very little. Maybe this feeling would subside shortly? “I know something stronger than sour and sweet.” However, he would not like that type of candy. In any case, I still felt indebted. Alas, I had nothing to give aside from a thanks. Or . . . did I? Could I really . . . ? I hadn't ever . . . But it wouldn't take more than a second, anyhow. “Anyhow, thanks for the candy,” I said kindly (and quickly) right after I had touched his neck. That was kind of a daring move. Normally, touching was done with a limb. Conversely, giving a hug would've been overmuch. Moreover, had Skyward used maple syrup as bodywash? He . . . also had bafflement written all over himself? Was that a blush forming?

“Sure. Thanks, uh, er-haha, I don't know you, lady, but introductions come before invitations for that.” What was he insin . . . Uh-oh. I had portrayed myself as a bit of crumpet. Best to talk him—and myself—out of this embarrassing mistake.

“Well, yeah, I . . .” Having a female's voice suddenly seemed to be the greatest obstacle to my plan. “I'll tell that, tell you that . . . You're great, don't get that wrong . . . I'm just . . . just.”

Skyward grinned and let out a small laugh. “Straightforward?” I ducked my head, tacitly confirming his guess. If only I was less inhibited. “Perhaps you try to be more assertive than you are and are more shy than coy—or doing a superlative job at giving that impression, ha ha. Kind of cute, either way. I appreciate the gesture, but I'm sorry to say that I don't have the time to take you up on the offer.” Did that mean he was politely rejecting me? Awesome! “Although, if you wish to find me and make a proper introduction at a better time . . .” He produced a tiny piece of paper and a pen and scribbled something on it. I was too discombobulated by the turnaround of my luck to react when he held the paper within my reach. When I started recovering, I . . . I could just say no. Just had to be assertive!

“Oh . . . kay,” left my mouth; the planned refusal was just too blunt to be voiced. This pony wasn't an abhorrent jerk, so I couldn't convince myself to be dismissive. How should I proceed? Pawing the ground wasn't producing any ideas.

“Hey, aren't those Marefect shoes?” Skyward noted. “Gotta say, they look fantastic on you.” A compliment for my . . . mare's shoes? They hadn't exuded a feminine aura. Until now. Well, technically, I wasn't cross-dressing. Anyhow, a look of gratefulness should prevent the alighting of his suspicions. “So, right, this . . . ?” he resumed after the silence had become prolonged, slowly advancing the pivotal paper closer to me, until it was right above my closed saddlebags.

“I will, I mean, uh, you will . . .” This situation had advanced so far beyond anything I could've ever prepared for. All I managed to produce was a smile out of pure confusion.

“And I will . . . put it in your bag for you? Ah, got it.” He then did that, looking a little nervous all the while. Was he frightful of instantaneous and excruciating retribution? “Alright. Um . . . My cousin's getting impatient. It was nice to meet you.” He bowed courteously. “Goodbye, and perhaps we'll meet again.” His tail aloft as if suspended by a wire, he joined the waiting Gauge, glancing over himself—at me—every few steps. “Shyness is a veil that conceals something wonderful, don't you think?” he supposed as he came close to his impatient cousin.

Gauge glanced at me, a wry smile adorning his face as they both started toward the bridge. “You expect to get more than a glimpse?” Where the conversation then lead to remained unheard due to distance, noise level, and my drooped ears.

“Wow.” Embee's astonishment brought me out of my dismay. “A nuzzle. You gave him a nuzzle?” she inquired, confused and curious. “I'm not sure what to say. Never crossed my mind you'd do that.”

“I, I, I was thinking he'd, um, um . . .” I was all nerves, but I was going to explain myself regardless. “A thanks wouldn't be enough for the candy, so I had to think of something better and, and, it was just a saying-thanks-is-not-enough-so-here-is-a-thanks-nuzzle, not a I-like-you-a-lot-let's-go-for-a-date-nuzzle. I wouldn't do that. Never. He's, he's ah, ah, you know? I mean, I mean, um, I'm, I'm—”

“Hon. Take it easy. Relax. It's not as bad as it may seem,” she said calmly. Or maybe she had instructed? Be that as it may, I should listen to her, I should not worry too much, because she would fix things. Somehow. “Now, let's keep going.” From standing to face-to-face, to being parallel. “Follow me?” She slowly headed towards the intersection behind us, away from the faraway bridge.

“I will.” I hesitantly followed, anxious for her help.

“So, to start off,” she began once we were waiting at the nearby crossing lights. “There are many kinds of nuzzles. Prods and sweeps. Upwards, sideways, diagonally, straight, curved, fast, slow, where it starts, where it ends. There's a lot more to than I can ever explain, I'm afraid. From what I could tell, he didn't expect an affectionate nuzzle.” She chuckled, amused. I supposed it was a tad funny. “Not everypony expects a nuzzle of any kind out of strangers, though don't take that as nopony expecting it. Customs vary between regions.”

“The bottomline is that I shouldn't have nuzzled,” I lamented, having admittedly become impatient of Embee's explanation. “It's so stupid. I did the equivalent of gazing at him seductively while doing an indicative caress of his abdomen and saying, 'Would you be so kind to introduce yourself to me?'” I shuddered, creeped out by the sultry female intonation unbefitting of me.

“I know you're regretting it, but please don't worry about it anymore,” she consoled.

“But I do,” I insisted woefully. “I gave him a false impression and . . .” The lights changed. As I cursorily glanced to the right, up an inclined dead-end street, I had a small epiphany. “Heh. I am a false impression.”

Embee came to a stop once we had crossed over, whereupon she studied me and my sad smile. “Because you put on the impression of being what you aren't?” The subtext was obvious.

My smile faded. “Pretending is the only thing I can do right now, and I'm failing at it.” Expressing myself without reservations while also acting like a convincing female pony couldn't be anything else but an impossible task.

“Oh, chin up.” Embee's optimism contrasted with my fears of committing embarrassing or conspicuously out-of-pony acts out of ignorance. “We met not one, but two ponies, and neither thought you were any less than the real thing. You were gushing about that unusual car, and they accepted it. You even got some candy, too! That's like a reward for a job well done!” Apparently, she was happy for me. It was almost uplifting, though treating the candy as a reward for deliberate deception felt morally questionable. “I can imagine that accidentally misleading Skyward to give you a date proposal weighs on you, but . . . you tried to clear up the misunderstanding, didn't you?”

“I did think about it, yeah, but I . . . couldn't.” My defeated response educed a drawn-out gaze of concern from her. She had called me assertive, and now I was proving her wrong. I was proving myself wrong.

“Well, all things considered, what happened isn't a major problem if you put it into perspective.” That she was sure it wasn't a major problem made me scowl. However, a shred of rationality slinked in, preventing my refutal of her assessment. I glanced back toward the bridge, just catching sight of the two ponies before they disappeared behind the bridge's crest.

“It's . . . true.” I struggled to relinquish my fretfulness. “It's not a major problem. It's only a tiny kink. Nothing more. He, uh . . . They think I'm a pony, and that's what I set out to do, so . . . Woohoo, reserved cheering,” I admitted meekly.

“That's the perspective. You're getting there. A pebble is a boulder under the magnifying glass. Keep that in mind, and work on instilling confidence in yourself.” Embee resumed walking down the sidewalk. I trailed her while pondering her apothegm in slight bemusement. “So, that Skyward? It's good his proposal was in written form. If he had asked you out there and then, you would've had to say no.” She was absolutely certain of that. I had to be, too. Now if I could also verbally affirm that.

“. . .You would've said no, right?”

“Is that even a question? Of course I would have,” I replied almost forcibly. “I'm not that, er, I'm not submissive. He was friendly, though.” On the account of knowing I could contradict my statement on submissiveness, I chose not to speak more.

“Yeah, he seemed nice. Awkward, but nice. Anyhow, I probably don't need to tell you to forget his proposal.” Her solution to my dilemma was simple, but I guess . . . it felt too callous for consideration. But racing back to Skyward and then rejecting his offer didn't seem any less uncharitable.

“He doesn't know my name, but if he did, I'd have a lot of explaining to do. Unless I don't go as myself.” Or rather, even less as myself than I already was. “It's not my place to make new friends for somepony else, not to mention a friend who mistakenly thinks that somepony is pursuing the whole romantic shebang.” Shebang. A wave of revulsion traversed through my person when my mind took upon itself to extrapolate that last word into the approximation of the tangible sensations. “Uh, had I . . . well, it's unlikely, but had I not been assertive enough, would you have done something?”

“I had thought of that myself, and it had me in a tight bind. I was afraid I'd create a stir if I were to step in.” Her apparent decision to stay on the sidelines was disheartening. “To be on the level, I was perfectly ready to take that risk,” she continued, restoring some of my morale. “Torch my tail if I were to embarrass you by making you look inept, though. Romantic flairs or not, talking to a stallion isn't that different from talking to a guy. Certainly you gotta have experience there.”

“I've talked to guys countless times, so, um, stallions, guys, same thing. No problem.” Talking to guys as an unwilling female made it so much more complicated, though. Social norms and unconscious expectations . . . I couldn't even begin to wrap my head around it.

“A little more confidence, hon.” She gave me a glance, which returned a second time as a stare when I remained quiet. “I'm sorry, hon. Do you want me to mediate in the future?”

“Well, maybe,” I said aversively, then retrieved my normal speaking voice. “You intervened a few times at, uh . . . other times, and did what you saw best to keep suspicions low. I'm, um—” Unexpectedly, I realized the large shop windows to our right were reflective. My eyes flicked to the side and caught a small glimpse of something white and decidedly in my control. The mere prospect of seeing a clear, full-body view of myself brought me to a halt, and I averted my eyes in a flash. However . . . “I think I got an idea.”

Embee had advanced past me by a few body lengths; she observed me with anticipation as she returned. “An idea? On what?”

I surveyed our immediate location; the sparse traffic on the sidewalk equaled adequate privacy. Although, I had talked about carelessly unusual matters without attracting difficult inquiries from outsiders, but . . . I still preferred caution right now. “What if I said I was unlucky enough to be temporarily transformed into a pony? By a spell? That's almost the truth.”

“Transformation spells?” Embee reacted with intrigue, followed by a thoughtful hum. “I've heard of them, but as far as I know, none can change a human to a pony. I can't say your explanation would be credible.” I sighed forlornly. “I'm truly sorry, hon.”

“It was worth considering.” I dragged myself onwards, as if my shoes had become lead. My optimism was defiant, however. “Hypothetically, if such a spell were real, could Peachy cast it?”

“Could she, hmm?” Embee's brows bushed in thought. “I don't know, to be honest. A transformation spell must require a lot more than looking for and then fixing up fractures and hernias. She's really good at that, but I'm afraid she'd be only half as good at magic outside her field.”

I couldn't avoid thinking of the results of that. “I'd rather not end up a faun.” That was less preferable than being a pony? I had to give this some thought.

“Fawn?” Embee wondered.

“Faun,” I corrected, feeling a shimmer of dejection settling in. I suppose I was more . . . accustomed to being assumed for a pony than mistaken for some kind of goat.

“I'm not familiar with whatever that is, hon. Well, in any case, I'd know more than almost nothing if I read Spellbound Paperbound, but it wouldn't surprise me if the magic you long for has a dedicated team researching it,” Embee's attempt to cheer me up didn't hit the mark. Or maybe I misinterpreted her comment? Better to have little hope than none at all?

“Yeah, who wouldn't want to be . . .” The current topic and my voice served as catalysts to heighten my discomfort. “Well, if this is their idea of a viable product, I'd file a complaint, demand compensation for the mental distress, and most importantly, ask about the return policy.”

“You certainly would!” Evidently, my wry humor amused her. Granted, that was the intention. “Some humor helps to lessen the burden, doesn't it?”

“My thoughts exactly.” I reduced my pace. “Er, on that note . . . Hold up for a moment?”

She gazed at me inquisitively as she came to a stop. “Something weighing on your mind?”

“Weighing on my mind? Hah, ehm, close, but not quite. The belt rubbing against my belly has begun to make me feel queasy, and carrying a load that I feel on my back and my sides isn't a joy.” In fear of offending her, I left unsaid that I didn't like being a beast of burden.

“Send the bags back to me?” She wouldn't have requested that if she wasn't confident in my magic.

“Gladly.” Glancing at my back, I became temporarily puzzled that I had traversed quite the distance from the hospital without being specifically aware of my cargo. In any case, I manipulated my magic to unbuckle the belt and gently delivered the items onto her. However, I left the belt open, as it most likely had been when she was carrying the saddlebags last.

“Thank you, hon. I was starting to miss these,” she said with a twinkle in her eye.

“Sure you were,” I responded with lighthearted doubt. “Well, I feel better now.” Unburdened, too.

“A pleasure to hear.” As she said that, I noticed we were next to an establishment that, despite its name, had very little to do with subterranean public transit. A customer left the premises with a wrapped item in hand, and I detected the scent of spices and cooked meat wafting from it. Embee was continuing onwards. Needless to say, I found my place next to her. We didn't have to walk far before we came to another intersection where we had to wait.

On the other side was a brown pegasus with a long, violet mane, looking up at a red pony moving in circles high above her. “Get down already,” the mare commanded, sounding and looking ornery. “I'm getting tired of talking up to you.”

The red pony stopped in mid-air, his light blue eyes almost entirely shrouded by his orange hair as he gazed down. “Waste many long and boring days grounded while your internal magic slooooowly gets into harmony with the external magic, and you too would be spending a whole day flying and floating all cheerful,” he said with a half-mocking, half-pleased tone, then began circling in random patterns again.

“Yeah yeah, I was there once, but I had some restraint.” The mare's glower had relaxed to an unimpressed stare. Meanwhile, the lights had changed, so Embee and I plodded on.

“Big talk.” The flying pony stopped again right as we passed them. What was it he said? Harmony with internal and external. It almost seemed familiar. I should ask Embee if she—

“Hey hey hey!” It was the red pony again, his flying upright appearance being so abrupt that I stopped in my tracks. What was that thing on his lower—

“Oh, Norwegian curse word,” I said in mild aghast. Barely had I gathered my thoughts when his mouth opened again.

“Onowrigi-what? Er, whatever. Sorry sorry sorry.” He waved his forelegs side to side, wearing a cheeky grin. “Alright, I was about to, well, I'm gonna ask you: why don't you got a cutie mark?”
“Buuh . . .” What should I say when I had a direct line of sight of his implement in plain view . . . Though him being (presumably) anatomically correct should've not come as a surprise. How else would he empty his bladder? By perspiration? That would arguably produce the worst kind of BO ever.

Embee seemed to take an initiative, stepping forward while wearing a face of disapproval. Then, my mind put itself into conversation mode. “I . . . What? I don't? Have I forgotten to apply it again?” I looked at my bare hindquarters. “Aw, shucks. This seems to happen every morning,” I pretended to gripe, then regarded the insolent stallion with a sidelong stare. Embee let out an unfettered laugh.

“Funny.” Red pony, however, wasn't amused. “Seriously, why don't you got one? Well, not one, two. But you know, same thing.”

“Because I don't got 'em,” I responded, brusquely walking past him. “It'll come when it comes.” I expected that to seal this undesirable conversation.

“I was only asking a question.” He sounded like he had dissatisfaction written on him, which I confirmed with a glance. Also, he was about to trail me; the brown mare bit his tail and yanked him back.

“Come on,” she said a second after releasing him. “Don't you see you're annoying her? Leave her be. Please.” Her exhaustion betrayed her exasperation.

“Well alright,” he groused, apparently in surrender. As we distanced ourselves, I wondered if they were a mother and a son. Or siblings. Be as it may, I was happy and relieved that enduring his peskiness was over.

“Good going, sticking up for yourself finely there,” Embee complimented once we were out of earshot. “But I'm sorry you had to. Some ponies just don't know their manners.”

“People and ponies alike. Thankfully though, people don't fly pantless,” I remarked. The look in Embee's eye hinted of an incoming inquiry, which I decided to pre-empt. “Public nudity isn't really well-received. I can understand why, but some people, uh, take it too far, as if nudity is the highest of evils. I don't get that kind of mentality. I'm not squeamish. Sure, I can be initially discomposed, I mean, it's not a sight I wish to see, but if it's not exposed for nefarious purposes, then it's, uh, how should I put this . . . as harmless as pictures in an encyclopedia. Context is what matters. Some like to see nudity and, and uh, that's okay, I suppose. They just can’t help themselves from being perverse; it must be instinct. Instincts are like a river's current, and sapience is a boat. Some boats are more powerful and maneuverable than others . . . I guess some struggle in a stronger current, or have a small rudder, or weak engines.” And I was a decent performer who'd do a lot better being a seaplane. “Alas, some boats deliberately toss out their outboard engine and revel in being driftwood. They think of only themselves and are convinced the world is their oyster, making life harder for so many people. And I'm not saying that it’s just guys being lecherous rectal orifices. I mean, it's more common with guys . . . but degenerates are contemptible regardless of gender . . .” Those types of people are inconsiderate wretches. They deserve to be locked away from society and shamed for all of eternity.” Due to a few rotten apples, males had to collectively carry an unfair stigma of being guilty until proven innocent. However, even I had thought the worst of males recently . . .

“Viv. That last point. It's very scathing. Vindictive. You may want to instead consider the benefits of rehabilitation instead of punishment.” Embee's leniency brought a scowl out of me, even if I understood her rationale. “But I'm not a newcomer any longer, so I understand what you're trying to say and it's a grand pity you've been disrespected just for being a woman. I wish I could offer more than my sympathies and a promise to help. Try to keep your head up and don't let the adversities get to you, alright?”

“It's ah, well . . .” The conversation's change of course had flustered me, although I should've seen this coming. “I feel like my day's ruined when I receive unsavory remarks.” I had never received any, but . . . “The mere thought of it sickens me.” Because it would take my apparent femaleness, soak it with putrid filth, and rub it in my face with unrepentant malice. “I would never do such a thing myself. Doesn't matter what they're wearing, even a furtive leer is beyond me. I hope I'm not getting a lot of them right now.” I glanced about in momentary paranoia. “I'm practically unclothed.”

“You were anxious about being naked, I remember, but ponies go about their daily lives without harassment and disapproval. As for stares of lust, human and pony alike can have an eye for each other, but that's more of an exception than the norm. Human instincts tend to disqualif—” Her hoof broke the tranquility of a tiny puddle and I stopped as she did; she produced a quiet but dejected moan upon raising her soaked shoe. However, she seemed somewhat bemused when our gazes met, then ostensibly decreed her misfortune insignificant with a nonchalant chuckle before moving on. “Well, don't worry about guys staring at you like dragons ready to pounce loose gems. Some guy—or girl coming up to you all of a sudden with an invitation to intimacy is also very remote.”

The provocative art on the internet seemed like an ideal counterargument, but even I was aware that it was only a droplet in the sea of unprovocative art, reflecting the fantasies of a limited subset and not the barely controlled urges of the masses. “I . . . I suppose I can breathe more easily.” My being a pony granted me an almost guaranteed freedom from scorn and ravenous looks despite my undress . . . though mixed feelings regarding the whole "being pony" facet curbed my relief. Delving deeper into my psyche so as to separate rationality from intuition might—A pony passed us in a rush, and the pitapat of his hooves as they receded behind me brought attention to my own and their similar but subdued sounds. So where and what was I . . . I was unable to focus now. Darn!

“A small hypothesis, if I may,” Embee liberated me from the sound trap. “If you saw a guy naked, would you find that alluring?” Presenting a faked female insight was nothing short of extremely daunting.

“I uh . . . No, I don't. Never have, to be honest.” No pretensions, I decided after all. As I didn't have an eye and mind for guys, they were about as exciting as a slab of concrete. A woman could tell me that a crew cut and a defined jawline with a stubble equaled impetus to impregnation, and I'd think it was a wholly undecipherable abstract wrapped in an enigma sealed within a riddle. “Maybe women, uh, other women are different? I simply don't feel anything. Well, one thing I do. The p-uh, erm . . .” I wasn't comfortable saying that word in her presence. “The obvious features are unappealing. This applies to both sexes, just to put that out there.” My opinion on male genitalia was neutral only when applied to my own, though I easily equated female genitalia with a surgical wound—a particularly revolting thought to have under these extraordinary circumstances. “I find clothed more appealing. Not sure how that came to be.” Indeed, a naked woman looked "wrong," but was "better" with some clothing. “Maybe I'm just different? Anyhow, since they're out in plain sight by default, I assume you aren't fazed.”

“Fazed by what? Can you explain . . . Oh, that's right,” she affirmed, comprehending what I meant. “It's there and can be easily seen if looked for. Don't know why anypony would suddenly start hollering about hiding them, though. Seems absurd, like hocks, the nape, or tongues being declared obscene. It's only another part of a pony.” I had expected her to finish with a casually toned "so get over it" as a response to the quibbling of the ridiculously straight-laced.

“You make it sound so mundane, like they're not special,” I noted, astonished by her relaxed attitude.

“Hmmh, I've never thought of saying it like that, but in essence, you're right,” she said in an untroubled tone; I had to remind myself that she was from a society where au naturel was the everyday attire. “That reminds me. Right about the time I came here, some place in the world was pushing hard for ponies to be clothed in public at all times under the duress of legal consequences. Something about ending up on a list, and even prison. Thankfully, it drew so much controversy and opposition that it failed to pass. Going there should be all okay now. What was this place, though? It had a strange name . . .”

What place in the world had such an extremely and preposterously negative stance on nudity that even ponies weren't exempt? “Might it, uh, have been . . . Iran?”

“No, it started with another letter, or did it . . . Ind, imh, sing, sim . . . ? Ah!” She brightened suddenly. “Mississippi!”

“Missis—Wha?” Advanced society . . . backwardness still in abundance? I was having . . . clouds clouding the brain. If I were bumped into . . . might barely notice if it were a Stormtrooper riding an ostrich.

“Gotta tell you, I attended mandatory seminars about customs, culture and the like when I arrived here. Before I was here, in here, I mean, I was in Saguenay for a good while. A nice place, neither small or too big. I was in over my head, though, struggling to speak with some of the locals. Or most, on some days. Thank goodness for Ampoule acting as a translator! The two of us must've accounted for five percent of that city's pony population, too. But oh, it's a story for another time.” She . . . was talking? I had to get a grip of my wits. “Bar a few exceptions, people are clothed at all times, though in hindsight, it wasn't explained why nudity is frowned upon. It's kind of a mystery to me still.”

Again, I was in a position of pre-empting a question she had. “Don't ask me. I don't understand it either. Parents teach their kids a thing which they never question, and when they become parents themselves, they teach their kids the same thing and they never question it. Some kind of a self-perpetuating cycle?” I had suspicions that religion was involved, but my parents were as secular as they come. In fact, my mom was almost nontheist, which she attributed to her highly pious parents whom she openly defied in her teens. “A young mind takes the words of their elders for granted until something about it seems suspect, I suppose.”

Embee produced a sigh that seemed to combine mirth and pity. “Ah, that reminds me of an old man I met while I was there in Quebec. We had some small talk about different matters to pass the time with. To get to the point, though, he related a funny story from his school years. They were to be taught sexual education one day, but the books they got had their pages glued together by the teachers.”

I couldn't help but groan. “Prudish scruples should never obstruct educating a nascent generation.” Then, a peculiar thought crossed my mind. “Hey, but . . . were you taught . . . ?” Cute-faced sapient pony-beings existing in reality—as opposed to a kid's cartoon—being given lessons on sexuality, the details of pertinent anatomy, and intercourse . . . Allusions to it seemed almost unthinkable.

“Why yes, hon,” she replied unreservedly. “Everypony needs to know what maturity brings them, and no, our books weren't tampered with.” She chuckled, her frankness being both admirable and surprising. “I hope it was the same with you.”

“Well . . . yeah.” I was careful not to talk as we passed a small crowd. “Our teacher was quite upfront, being informative and serious on the functions and features of both sexes. Certainly a different kind of curriculum from math, literacy, physics and such. I'm sure many had figured out things on their own, while others had their misconceptions corrected. I was somewhere in the middle: indifferent, but not ignorant. It's a little funny now, but I hadn't anticipated . . . I was more than bemused when we were given condoms.” I had to pause briefly in order to halt the developing giggle in my tone. “It was a tangible symbol of maturity, if you will. The time to use it never came, and I don't think I threw it in the trash. It's probably somewhere among my stuff, waiting for its er, finest hour.” It would wait forever.

“Really?” Embee seemed humored, in a pleasant and affable manner. “In all seriousness, if you do find it, be sure to check its expiration date. I know you don't wish to have children. A compromised condom might ruin that plan entirely.”

Her wording allowed me to do a mental gender flip that nullified the disturbing implications. “Ooh, I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Wonderful,” she said while I began to consider telling her that I wasn't pursuing intercourse. “Before I forget to ask, have you ever heard of an IUD?”

The acronym genuinely confused me. “No, I haven't. Have you?”

“I have. It's an intrauterine device, a form of contraceptive,” she explained promptly.

“I see. Where does it—Oh! Oh . . .” The picture assembled itself, and it was a highly unsettling image. “W-w-well, uh, just to let you know, I'm, I'm not accepting of foreign objects into, ah . . .” I said wanly.

“My sincere apologies, hon. I really didn't mean to upset you.” She certainly looked sorry. “You are very sensitive about your vagina?”

“Don't call it that,” I almost shouted despite my feebleness. I was in disbelief that word could come out of her mouth, so unabashedly and publicly, and worst of all, attribute it to me.

“Call what what? The vagina?” That made me cringe. “You don't like it? Why?”

“Merely a personal distaste,” I explained, unwilling to tell her the complete truth. “You're free to call it by that name in any other company. All I ask is that you make an exception for me.”

“Fair enough. You call it something else?” She was genuinely curious.

“Yeah, I do,” I answered and . . . a string of repeated nasty words in my mind reflected my consternation. “I, err . . . it's embarrassing, sort of, but I, uh, I call it . . .” Every term and euphemism I thought of felt either childish or vulgar, not to mention that the anatomical feature itself seemed nefandous in more ways than one. My opposition to possessing said feature compounded matters even further. I had drawn a line at begrudgingly acknowledging it, but now I was in a bind where I absolutely had to coin a term within a reasonable time frame. A mental catalog of unrelated references and images browsed in a blink of an eye yielded a sufficiently passable definition. “Edsel grille.”

“Edsel grill?” she parroted, either bemused or skeptical. “As in grilling food?”

“N-no, this is a different grille. It's . . . uh, a very defining feature of ah, proverbial vehicle . . . But it's just a silly moniker that I've adopted. Kind of an internal moniker.” I laughed sheepishly. “Long story. Awkward story.”

“So,” Embee began, apparently still puzzled by my esoteric response, “before I continue, it'd be good if I knew your relationship with your, ah, Edsel grill.”

“Oh, well, it's there, it works, for better or worse, and, er, I . . .” I chose not to say I kept my interactions with it to a minimum. That was just too honest at this point. “I don't talk about it much.” Or rather, not at all. “Never found a good reason to bring it up in a conversation, and it's not easily brought up anyhow with . . . somepony. Yeah, some pony. How about that?” Like talking to an alien. In a manner of speaking, she was an extraterrestrial. I moved in closer to increase the confidentiality of our conversation. “To clarify, I almost want to think I'm talking to another human. Interesting dichotomy of my subconscious side seemingly ignoring what's blatantly evident.”

“A kind of a selective predisposition?” she theorized.

“You could say that,” I agreed cursorily. “More importantly, though, I'm new to being naked in public, and I know it's okay for us, and I'm okay with it myself. Sort of. Our, this talk, it's uh . . . I'm feeling very self-conscious.” Certainly I was now jinxed, and I would accidentally rub my nubs against my inner thigh right as Embee would inquire about bras or female hygiene.

“And you want to talk about something completely different? Alright, I understand. Oh, and you can think of me as a human, if you like. We're just two women on a stroll to a café, aren't we?” Her jovial supposition didn't resonate with me.

“That's, ah, yeah, we are,” I said with a plastic smile, feeling a little rotten inside. Hearing a rumbling from behind, I spotted a blue bus coasting in the traffic.

An advertisement was plastered on its livery, the white lettering on the black-to-dark purple gradient promoting something "equi-cite". Whatever it was, the pony depicted ahead the phrase had her front leg raised, as if poised to saunter coquettishly out into the third dimension, and a flirtatious expression enticing to the stallions, but I had a fair guess men would also fall for it. enticing to more than just the stallions. Personally, I was reminded of Rouge the Bat—and Rarity. They were similar. White, eyeshadow, distinct eyelashes . . . Strange that which wasn't human was attractive in a manner that a human was. Or in some cases, more attractive. Not erotically. I knew myself. If I was presented with the option of good sex or a dozen fresh pears, I'd choose the fruits without a second thought. Pears were beneficial, nutritious, and tasty. Sex was . . . gross. Granted, I had never experienced it, but neither had I ever swam in fish guts.

“You got a topic for me, or are you lost in your thoughts again?” A voice floated in from the outside world, followed by a kindly laugh. That voice belonged to Embee. An anthro . . . She couldn't be because . . . No, a presumption that anthros were solely bipedal was incorrect. Something could be anthropomorphized by simply giving it a name. I could name a candy wrapper Leopold. In any case, a sapient pony was . . . still a pony. But sufficiently and intriguingly human. Maybe it was the eyes, or the mouth? The eyelashes seemed important, though I was clueless as to how they made the difference. There had to be more to this. The overall shape of the face? A more expressive face than that of a . . . spider? An arbitrary sum of features I wasn't able to consciously discern? That . . . presented a sudden, and disappointing end to my musings. Henceforth, I had to temporarily conclude that female ponies were kinda cute—for being quadrupeds. That I had comparable physical attributes meant I was cute as well. Tempted as I was to visually confirm that, a successful attempt would in all likelihood propel my consternation into the upper atmosphere of the nearest Jovian planet. Regardless, a few more questions had brewed in my mind for awhile that I had never sought an answer to: several female anthros had male admirers, but did male anthros have female admirers? What was the science behind the appeal of anthros? And . . . whoa, what was that bright red boxy beauty cruising by? Definitely early 80's design! I could just about spy its embossed name. A Dodge . . . Mirada? Never heard of it, but it looked really really cool! But why did I think it looked cool? There must be some kind of science behind that as well! “You are in your thoughts, aren't you, hon?”

“Uhh . . . In my thoughts, you said? Er, I was. Sorry. A small thing spiraled into the potentially profound. An almost metacognitive moment of pontification. I could tell you about it, but I don't know . . .” A sudden influx of potent scents broke my line of thought and slowed me to a halt. Discovering a florist's shop and the dozens of potted flowers placed on both sides of its door and on select spots under the green awning, I continued, “I can't focus on it right now.” Flowers outside in the fall? They'd freeze, if the day wasn't warm. On a whim, I looked back, and realized we had already traversed three blocks. Another bus rolled by, coming to a halt by the bus stop just ahead. I vacantly watched as a guy in a green-lime striped polo sprinted to it past us, and a pair of burgundy earth ponies walked out.

One of them had a dull expression. “So, let me get this straight? You actually went through it all and became an owner of a little shop out in the islands?”

“I can't believe it either! I'm so stoked!” the other said in a voice audible with giddiness as they ventured to the right, past a row of stone bollards to a cobblestone street. “I also get to learn and, get this, keep a secret recipe that had been passed down for generations. I feel so honored and humbled, oh my gosh, you can't even imagine . . .”

Embee blocked my view. She tilted her head. “Are you feeling well, or are you thinking deeply again?” I looked past her briefly; the two ponies were out of sight.

“Yeah, no. Er, I mean, yes to feeling well, and no to thinking deeply.” My branial functions returned. “I'm sorry. See those flowers there?” My attempt to gesture ran into a quadrupedal-pertinent conflict that I failed to resolve in a timely manner.

“Yes, I do see them.” If not for her kindly tone, I would've suspected her of being sarcastic. “They look nice. What about them?”

“I'm astounded that I can sense more than a trace of the fragrant scent at this distance. Feels more like I have a blossoming bouquet in my face. Makes my head spin.” Starting to discern the reflection in the window, I averted my gaze. Just to be safe, I took myself to the farthest bollard. A good ten meters or so.

Embee followed me there. “Ah, the scent's milder over here. Smart move, hon.” That wasn't the reason I relocated; I offered her a clever look regardless. Embee continued, “Question. What if you had a bouquet in your face?”

I remained hesitant, afraid my mind would replicate an unsolicited visualization of myself the instant I'd speak. “Ehh . . . I'd pass out?” I predicted. There was some visualization, but it didn't develop beyond fleeting colors superimposed over Embee's facial features. Said facial features developed a careful smile, though.

“Out of delight?” she hypothesized.

“I don't . . .” I had intended to say that I didn't think that was possible, but the lack of concrete evidence meant I couldn't be certain. “. . . I don't want to try.” How embarrassing would it be to get a faceful of flowers and crumble into an elated pile of fluff.

“You don't want to? That's fine.” She cast a lingering gaze at the flower shop.

“You want a go at it?” A funny mental image coaxed a little laugh out of me. “If you are knocked off your hooves, don't stay out for long. Keeping a watch over you can't be anything but tedious.”

“Don't wait. Give me a gentle prod and I'll get right up.” Her response to my jest was realistic in tone, and possibly in practice as well. “Oh! That reminds me.” The way her eyes rolled to an oblique angle suggested she had a pleasant memory to share. “I'll tell you as we go,” she said, heading past the bollards to the sidewalk next to the cobblestone street.

“Huh, uhm, oh-okay.” As stupid as it was, I was caught off guard by her continuing the journey. I was so quick in following her lead that my realization of stepping onto a slightly uneven surface was delayed. Just as surprising was the fact that I didn't lose my balance. This relatively new method of locomotion had become second nature by now, which was both good and bad. That I wasn't fumbling over myself was good—adaptation to my form fostering fears of identity loss was bad. I reminded myself that my stay in this body was, short of a verifiable guarantee, assured to be reversible.

“So, this summer, I visited a slumber yard,” Embee said casually.

“Ah, a slumber yard?” I said, putting on the airs of being awed, though I followed that with faked carelessness. “It's a yard where you go to slumber?” Of course, that was the closest approximation I had.

Embee giggled. “That's a fair approximation.” To that, I replied with . . . silence. I hadn't thought I was anywhere close to being correct. “A slumber yard can be indoors, but they're less common and popular. Think of an enclosure, with a grass, earth, or sand floor, but sometimes it's mats or towels. Or mattresses, with servings of food and drink. Those places are high class, and expensive.” We were on the left side of the street; it led to an empty clearing. To the left was another short street, also ending with bollards separating a busy road. We weren't going that way. Embee headed diagonally to the right, across to the sidewalk. As I followed her, she kept talking, “So, right, yes, you pay a fee, walk in, and lay down. In a moment, a caregiver will approach to give you a massage.” I glanced at the bright orange stone building to our immediate right. The shape of the large doors lining its façade indicated that it might once have been a place for carriages. In any case, I was supposed to be focusing on Embee's tale. “Nothing rough or hard. It's not that kind of massage. Gentle rubbing and stroking, a little scratching here and there, maybe some soothing music playing in the background if it's one of those places that has 'em. I can't tell you how relaxing it is; you'd have to experience it yourself.”

I was mildly taken aback by her suggestion. “Well, it genuinely sounds unique, but I've never been massaged. To have a pony massage me, that's um . . .”

“Pony?” Embee's tone pitched in surprise, then she laughed. “Oh no, not a pony. It's done by a human. Nimble and soft hands can be some kind of wonderful, I tell you.”

“Oh?” No hooves kneading my skin? “That is . . . a situation I've never been in either.” Yesterday, I had imagined caressing to be a pleasing experience. Now, the likelihood of this form imbuing me with exclusive delights conflicted with my apprehensions. “I don't know . . .” I glanced to my right, and realized I was slowing down in the middle of a street. Fortunately, aside from parked cars—and a lone dump truck trundling at a mild pace from over a block away—the street was empty.

Embee was waiting on the sidewalk, possibly aware I had fallen a little behind. “I'm not saying you have to,” she said in a mollifying tone as I caught up. “I was only saying it's not easy to put into words.”

The dump truck made a right turn, and disappeared behind the predominantly old buildings of this area. “Hard to put into words? Like driving?”

“Hmm, could that be a good comparison?” She took to the left at the Y-fork we were at. “What's driving a car like?”

“Oh, it's only the greatest joy I know!” My exclamation brought out my inner . . . elation. The sun's warmth didn't cool down my unanticipated blush. “Well, a joy that's tied with flying. I think my interest in airplanes began when I was maybe six or seven, but I can't recall when I became interested in driving. It feels more like an instinct. Even the oldest dreams I can think of had something to do with cars. A black Pontiac Firebird, a red Jaguar XJ6. Gosh, I was always . . . always disappointed when I woke up.” I had almost said heartbroken. “I didn't do anything wacky. Stunts or chases. Nah, the pleasure of being at the helm of such wonders was all I needed. The first time I got to drive, a real car, I was really nervous, but also extremely excited. I had finally reached a marvelous milestone in my life. Driving. It's just so . . . It's an amazing feeling that knows no equal. It's magical, and I wish you knew how magical.” I had gone from unbridled excitement to bashful enthusiasm. My eyes panned over the cars lining the short street. “You see these cars parked here? I have preferences, and am less enthused about the modern ones, but I'd be satisfied to some degree to drive any of them.” A glossy black pearl of Jan Wilsgaard's later artistry tucked between two minivans caught my eye. “I'd learn how it works and how it feels, and then I'd have a lot of fun. Not going fast, or such. Just plain, relaxed driving, delighted by extraordinary euphoria that defies description.”

“I adore your passion. It really sounds like it's, well, allow me to use this phrase. Like it comes from your heart,” Embee chipper tone bore a touch of dejection as we turned to the right to a quiet street next to the placid river bisecting the city. “I don't know how I could ever feel what you feel or have felt.”

“Unless you try driving a quad,” I teased carefully.

“I don't know about that either,” she said laughing lightly. “I saw that thing, and to be fair, I wouldn't feel safe on it. But I'm really happy for you,” she continued before I could suggest other vehicles she theoretically wasn't physically incapable of operating. “I suppose it'd be fair to say that you wouldn't be happy as a pony, even if it were your body and not somepony else's.”

“Exactly.” Then I saw the deeper meaning. “That's . . . that's so true. I'm not suited for driving when I'm . . . physically restricted.” Having one of my favorite delights denied dimmed my mood like a thick cloud blocking the sun. “And that sucks majorly.”

“I'm sorry, hon.” My dreariness wasn't lost on her. “Should I've been more careful with my words?”

“No, it's . . .” I couldn't say it was alright. I was perfectly willing to forgive her, but not give her an implicit consent to hurt my feelings. “It's just how it is.” A spark of defiance ignited. “But I'll find a way to make it work.” I saw something behind my closed eyes during a single blink. “And I uh . . .” What had I seen? Absolute darkness where a pair of trapezoid-like shapes stared at me, gradually brightening up until they had become blinding highbeams of a car. My car. “I almost had it.” I suddenly felt like I was enveloped in a thick fog of confusion, but just as determined to talk. “I had it . . . I had everything planned out and certain it'd work flawlessly, but I must've overlooked something or messed up somehow, and now I'm stuck in her body. I mean, I'm not her . . . not supposed to be here.” Again I saw the headlights in my mind, then a flashcut of the windshield wipers from so many angles I couldn't even begin to count them. There was something I was to understand here, but . . . “I don't . . . I don't get it.”

I nearly jumped when a bicyclist zoomed past us without warning. This was a pedestrians-only sidewalk! “Overlapping identities, memories, something,” I presented a cursory analysis, startled. I wanted to rub my head, but . . . doing that with a leg wouldn't feel right.

“Overlapping identities? Memories?” Embee noted with a small hint of vibrancy. “I meant to speak to you about that as soon as you woke up, but the opportunity slipped by and I regrettably didn't get a chance after. So, excuse me for being abrupt. I was skeptical of your story at first, but what Peachy discovered during that night convinced me you had told me the truth. She did a scan of you while you were asleep, not for injuries, but rather, she did the unusual task of inspecting your magic signature.”

“My magic signature?” I was both curious and sensing familiarity. Odd, but in light of the very recent event, not entirely surprising.

“Yes, every being, pony or otherwise, has magic within themselves. It circulates within the body and interacts with the magic around us on a constant basis. When it's in harmony, it helps pegasi fly and enables spellcasting for unicorns. When it's not, well, you can guess.” Her sober tone conceded momentarily for a tiny chuckle. “Anyhow, various factors inherent to bodily magic produce distinct and unique patterns, a magic signature. Peachy said that she discovered your magic signature exhibits, and I quote, an active interlaced supernumerary layer.”

“And that means what? That I'm just a . . . a wave of magic?” That my experiences, memories, existence—my entire self—could be reduced to the evanescence and diminution of a circulatory radio signal was unsettling.

“No, not at all.” Embee halted, and so did I. She came near, consoling empathy written on her face. “You're more than that, Viv. A person, a living being sadly in a body it's not meant to be in. Those times when you feel like Rosy instead of you, instead of Vivienne,” my nascent thoughts on the matter were paused as I consciously separated the names from myself, “that's when your displaced magic essence overlaps and interferes with hers.”

Embee had given merit to a most nightmarish possibility. “She's still here?” I asked in terror. If she was, then there was nothing in me back home and, and . . . and . . .

“No, don't be afraid, she's not there with you,” Embee assured right as my eyes begin to well up with tears. “If she were, we wouldn't be here. Two essences, two minds, cannot share the same body without debilitating cognitive and motor control conflicts. She's not doing that, as you know. She could be dormant, but Peachy said that's highly unlikely when her essence exists only as a passive.”

“Her, Ros . . . a pasv . . .iv, oh . . . okay. T-that's, that's . . . better, I think. Yeah, uh . . . yeah.” My future didn't look much brighter, but my trembling was arrested by sadness. “She's . . . she's dead?”

“No, she's not,” Embee said gently. “A dead essence is petrified. An active essence fluctuates with your mood as well as your constitution and health. A passive essence, however, circulates without a cognitive link. Your active essence, in a manner of speaking, flies above it. Being an active essence, it's more reactive and has a broader frequency than that of a passive magic.”

“Explains the intersecting.” Still so shaken up that speaking three words without interruption was a small miracle, I nonetheless comprehended Embee's exposition with the help of some minor visualizations. “You seem to know . . . Do these . . . mind swaps . . . Are they frequent?”

“I was relaying what Peachy told me, and gave you a brief overview on magic essence. Beyond that, I honestly don't know.” The corner's of Embee's mouth upturned slightly with optimism. “I'm sure she'll answer any questions you have when we get back. She'll have to do another examination so as to better understand—”

“When will I go back? To me? Myself.” Seemed my words of anxious imploration had to squeeze through a ball of concentrated fluff in my throat.

“I know that means a lot to you, more than I can emphasize, and I feel sorry letting you know that Peachy can't send you back.” That could've devastated me to the point of uncontrollable sobbing, but in the back of my highly disquieted mind, a nugget of rationality had anticipated the news. Defeated, I held my head down, blinking out remaining water from my eyes. “But she can help diagnose what's happened and how, and then contact an expert who can send you back.”

That was a bright fire in the abruptly fallen darkness. A warm fire I could stay by and not feel cold and isolated. But a fire needed fuel; I needed a time frame. “Will it take long?”

“A few days perhaps,” Embee answered softly. A few days of veggie diet, a few days of no-hands-all-feet, a few days of a voice as light and dainty as a feather, a few days of estrogen-influenced behavior and thinking . . . It couldn't be as intimidating and stressful as projected, but somehow, a few days seemed like it might last for weeks. “We should definitely hope you don't have to wait any longer than that.”

“Yeah, we should,” I agreed. In my emotional state, I felt gratitude for her that had to be expressed sincerely. “Not good with words right now, so excuse me for . . .” I could . . . not feel right about using my forelegs. I . . . was averse to nuzzling. But then I recalled that Embee had given a hug of sorts yesterday that I could perhaps try to emulate. “Doing this is my thanks,” I said faintly as I crossed my head over her nape and let hide meet hide.

“It's perfectly fine, hon,” she said while I fought tears behind my closed eyes. I was so not used to my emotionality. Nonetheless, I was comforted, and I granted my retinas access to light. A bicycling pair rolled by, their curious gazes and momentary deceleration spooking me just a little bit. It reminded me of one of my solo bicycling city ventures years back, where I had glimpsed (undetected) two women in a loving embrace in a grove off a quiet footpath. I untangled myself from Embee.

“That was good, wasn't it?” She was happy for me, whereas I had some surplus ocular moisture and felt self-conscious and embarrassed.

“Yes. I'm feeling better now,” I said in a squeaking tone. I cleared my throat, then cast a cursory look around. “Where's the cafe? I'm still willing to get there.”

“It's right there, Viv,” Embee gestured at a yellowish-orange, single-floor wooden building a mere twenty meters—so close after all this?

Briefly astonished into unresponsiveness, delight and relief powered me back up. “Alright, it's about time we had coffee, and something sweet and . . .” Recalling a recent acquisition, I put my magic to use and procured a single unit of candy from her saddlebag. “Comforting.” This fruity-flavored hard candy was sooooo perfect for this occasion. “Mmmhhhh.” Then I saw the half-smile on Embee's face. The other half hinted at doubt and disgust.

“I'm honestly glad it's good for you, but I've never had candy like that. It burned my tongue . . .” Apparently, her turning around and heading toward our destination meant she had left her questions unspoken. We rounded the white post marking the cafe's corner and into a gravel-floored yard. Low, concrete stairs lead up to the open door. Predicting we'd get our coffee and sugary goodness in a minute, I hastened the returning of my palate to its neutral state. Embee heard the candy being minced between my teeth. “How can you eat that?” she marveled.

“With my mouth.” My exact answer coaxed an unfettered laugh out of her—and I'd blush myself to the ground if I couldn't hold in my giggle. She then quickly ascended the stairs and . . . I should've been astute enough to take mental notes on how! When she vanished beyond the doorway, I raised a limb and took stock of it and the shoe. “With her legs,” I stated under my breath.

Comments

[lilTurtle]

Wah? Are my eyes working correctly? Did this story just get updated?cjsr.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/06/itsalive.jpg

[LightningDashes]

just when i am about to go to bed, this updates.
i don't know if to cheer and giggle because it updated, or groan and go sleep because DAT midnight is almost neigh and need to get up early.
I look forward to reading anyway, just not sure when.

[PinkFluffyAlex]

Chapter 22 Street Scene

And the heavens wept as the Great Being Above brought another Saint back to life.

[Starlight Nova]

If the main OCs in this story were voiced, what would they sound like?

[More Dakka]

Oh crap I forgot everything again. See you guys at chapter 1.

[Conflicting views]

It's that time of the year again huh?
Dig the new art style, it's nice!

[Suomibrony]

8842821
I regret it took this long to get chapter done, but I'm also glad that it's done. Now I can start the process all over again with the next chapter .

8842855
Quite the coincidence. I was overwhelmed with doubts and concerns regarding the chapter's quality. Unfortunate misspellings, poorly articulated dialog, amateurish script etc. slipping in without my awareness. So, I held off on pressing that frightening "publish" button until a minute before going to bed, which was about 20 minutes past midnight. That puts us in the same time zone. Or maybe the same time zone. I'm assuming too much. Could be that you looked at your notifications hours afterwards. Anyhow, I hope the chapter's to your liking!

8842968
Oh, I'm not that special.

Am I...?

8843203
Rosy/Viv has a light and high voice, somewhere between Twilight's and Pinkie's. Embee is... hmm, I haven't really considered this that much. I'm guessing mellow, like Cheerilee's, but an octave higher?

8843407
Oh man, that's gonna be a huge read . Good luck then, and may your acumen and determination bestow you with boundless retention!

8843662
Yeah, I need to do something about that release schedule . Perhaps if the chapters were shorter, I'd get them out more often ?
Anyhow, the fantastic art is by Tree .
https://thefloatingtree.deviantart.com/

[Conflicting views]

8843817
Well, Schaza updated To Love a Pony, after two year without a new chapter, you just updated after a year, what is next, Admiral Biscuit updating Onto the Pony Planet? It's been 6 month already...
You are not the only one with a slow update schedule.

[Suomibrony]

8844200
I admire your patience.

[Conflicting views]

8844254
It is not patience, it is forgiveness.

[Suomibrony]

8844257
I've been forgiven? Then I guess I must apologize for having been bad.

[Conflicting views]

8844263
Well, I am the canadian here, so should I not appologize for both of us?

I was in Saguenay for a good while. A nice place, neither small or too big. I was in over my head, though, struggling to speak with some of the locals.

Yah, the people there talk funny. Even for other Québécois, it sound different.

So, while that slow crawl pace of yours can be annoying at time, it does allow for some interesting discussions. I loved that bit about self image, nudity and sex, especially since both the MC and Embee had view on those that aren't to common in my parts of the world.

[Alondro]

I had to get to the other side of the road;

...the road which was composed of a bituminous compound of varying luster, embedded as it was with various gravels and grit, along with glassified material from sources such as metal smelting and glass refining. Also, I think they used recycled plastics as part off the mix now. Anyway, there it was... the road which I can to cross. The road which had borne ten thousands times ten thousand payloads of humans and their cargo in their mechanical chariots. Did anyone ever consider how the road felt about this, I pondered, while considering which forehoof to lift first in step one of 'crossing the road'. It was an important choice after all... left, or right... which one could take me to the positive outcome of my successful transposition of location to the opposing margin of the roadway, which could possibly doom me to eternal darkness and oblivion after a semi struck me and smeared my various organs and vital fluids into an elongated streak of gore... which would certainly attract vultures and magpies? The scavenging birds would benefit from this choice that was, to me, a grave negative. They could, from my remains, nurse their young to adulthood, from which one of their offspring might harbor a fortuitous mutation granting it sapience from which could spring an entire avian civilization. So, in the grand scheme of the universe, was either choice truly negative, or could there be always a positive to even what at first glance was disastrous beyond my comprehension in the scale of time and the cosmos? Such a weighty choice was mine, to step across this road and begin the march into eternity. Choices, choices; that was life, an endless sequence of choices for which we could never possibly tabulate the sheer magnitude of potential outcomes. I was frozen at the existential horror at it all. I might doom an entire race of intelligent beings from coming to be if I did not get run over! Dare I risk such a consequence? And yet... what if one of the birds choked on my eyeball and it's nigh-genius offspring wasted away? In that case there was by no means I could risk becoming road kill and dooming them all!

(6 hours later, she was hit by an asteroid, ending the philosophical crisis... we never did find out which hoof she decided to lift first.)

[Alondro]

It was the red pony again, his flying upright appearance being so abrupt that I stopped in my tracks. What was that thing on his lower—

Ha haaaaaa! Dangly parts!

i1.ytimg.com/vi/JuQ9fk2UeT4/hqdefault.jpg

I guess some struggle in a stronger current, or have a small rudder,

They call me the Captain, girl, cuz I've got the HUGEST rudder! Let me show you how it steers, baby! (worst pick up line ever...)

[Alondro]

I couldn't help but groan. “Prudish scruples should never obstruct educating a nascent generation.”

Yes, thank goodness all the children in the USA know how to bang now by the age of 6. I'm sure this has resulted in a generation far more intellectually honest and enlightened in all manner of subject matter than at any other time in history. And they are not being at all brainwashed in any other areas and deliberately misled by 'elders' upon whose every word they hang as to the faults with certain 20th century government systems which may have contributed a tad to the murders of 100 million or more people.

(In case you couldn't tell, I was being REALLY sarcastic there.)

[Alondro]

That was a bright fire in the abruptly fallen darkness. A warm fire I could stay by and not feel cold and isolated. But a fire needed fuel; I needed a time frame. “Will it take long?”

"At least another 6 years."

"Is THAT how long we've been here?!"

(Story, stop giving me all these wonderful toys to play with.)

[Suomibrony]

8844375
Oh yeah, I've heard the half-joke/truth that Canadians are overly polite. I don't know what's the origin story of that. I learn most of my Canadian inside jokes from Brandon Tenold, anyhow.

But on the topic of Saguenay, I thought of exploring a bit more of Embee's backstory, and I figured she had been in some French-like place that isn't in France. Or Belgium. Or Africa. So Quebec it was. Then I picked almost at random a city and perused its wikipedia page so I could ensure I wouldn't write a total falsehood. Like, Saguenay could've been an enclave of Canaidan Germans or something. I also thought that someone would reply in the chapter comments and unload an encyclopedia's worth of information about the city and its inhabitants that'd make the brief mention in the story look abhorrently inaccurate. I could've written about a remote town in, uh... Romania, and still would've felt the same. But that there are different dialects of Quebecois French didn't cross my mind, but I shouln't be surprised there are. Even small countries have numerous dialects. I know, because I live in a small country.

As for the section about nudity, I think it's a topic long time coming. Afterall, Viv has occasionally shown concerns about his unclothed state leaving him exposed to undesirable appraising, but also realized that a birthday suit is the most common outfit among ponies. So, we know his perspective, so I had to think of how the average pony felt about nudity itself as a counterpoint. It's not so easy, since we're inundated in our own cultures and norms they foster. Nevertheless, I figured a pony would nonchalantly wonder why them being unclothed in public would be an issue if confronted about it. It's a stark, cultural difference that might seem impossible to reconcile with, let alone comprehend, as public nudity is often discouraged and regarded with disdain, and in some places, is illegal. That said, it looks like (at least where Viv is) the populace isn't bothered by their hooved similars being buff in public.

Also, writing this comment over the course of a few days instead of a single one-hour power session might make it look rambling and disjointed. Sorry.

8844633
I've heard that someone wrote a fifty-page book on how to draw a straight line. Maybe it was Viv's dad?

8844710
I'm not sure how to respnd to either of those? Laughter that tries to portray a sense of understanding despite my confusion?

8844736
Impressive. Have you thought of becoming a satirist?

8844750
And that worries me. That this story will end suddenly and without a proper resolution when I die of old age...

[Conflicting views]

8850789

Also, writing this comment over the course of a few days instead of a single one-hour power session might make it look rambling and disjointed. Sorry.

No, it's fine.

The various region of Québec have all accent because until very recently in our history, the mean of communication and transport were limited, so remote place like Saguenay (so remote they had inbreeding-related problem), they have a distinct accent and a few regionalism. I guess it's similar everywhere in the world.

The pony culture aside, Viv himself is also very interesting to read: kinda asexual, have interesting view on religion and belief, education etc.
So giving your characters the time to talk, interact and be developped is interesting, even if a bit tedious. They talked a lot in a relatively short period of time.

[Alondro]

8850789 I had thought of being a satirist, in fact. But then I realized I have to interact with Hollywood sorts. And I hate most of them.

You could always wrap up the story quickly by having Discord show up suddenly and fix everything with finger-snaps. Either that or the planet suddenly explodes (guest chapter by Michael Bay?).

[tsaukpaetra]

Embee isn't the only one confused about the nudity taboo...
They passed up a Subway?
She's getting more comfortable in her body, for better or worse.
Was that candy Lucas?
The nuzzle was highly amusing.
Keep going! ;)

[Suomibrony]

8850966
Inbreeding. That's um, a rather disturbing insight. I assume you know of this tidbit about Saguenay due to living in Quebec. I haven't heard about any inbreeding issues here, though. Not even as historical anecdotes or cheeky jokes. Maybe areas here were more connected? I can't say.

---

As Viv and Embee interact together and with others, more of Viv's (and Embee's) attitudes are explored. Delivering poorly articulated and easily misconstrued opinions is a frequent concern, however, as I obviously don't want Viv to accidentally depict Viv as a scoundrel espousing contemptible and indefensible viewpoints, muh less want readers to believe those viewpoints mirror mine. Therefore, it's a relief that the further expounding of Viv's perspectives, even those that are potentially controversial and objectionable, have been received well. So far.

8851363
You don't have to interacct with Hollywood—but you can satirize them as much as you desire!

As for the end of FPV, I don't want to drop a sudden ending out of nowhere, because that is the biggest cop out ever. Like, bigger of a cop out than all of the US police force combined shouting “cop out” in unison. No, I rather think of an ending that is satisfying and conclusive, with a fair resolution that doesn't feel like it's the pitiful and unpalatable fruit of exhaustion and indifference.

8852654
Ah, who else is confused? Everypony?
Yeah, they passed up a Subway. I've passed up many Subways myself...
He's starting to acclimate to his form, and he too isn't sure if that's good or bad.
I'm not familiar with Lucas candy. A spicy hot candy from Mexico? Seems awfully stereotypical for Mexicans to add hot spices to their consumables....
Oh sigh, now I regret that didn't think of asking of the nuzzle to be drawn...
Yes, I will keep going.

[tsaukpaetra]

8853195
Yeah, even the "cultured" ponyfolk would have to admit it odd that clothing must be worn at all times. Even in bed!
We were seriously considering you might do an April Fool's joke and bring us all the way back to the mirror...

[Alondro]

8853195 It would make "Cop Dog" feel like "Cop Out"! I don't even know what that means!

i36.servimg.com/u/f36/15/16/61/05/mr_pli10.jpg

(Email me on this webzone if you want a pizza roll.)

[Conflicting views]

8853195
Yeah, I live in Quebec. I'm not sure what factor contribued the most to that inbreeding problem; isolation? Too small population?

[Suomibrony]

8853210
Wearing clothes in bed is not as heavily encouraged as wearing clothes in public. I'm pretty sure many people go to bed naked—even when alone.

I completely forgot about an April fools, to be honest. I must plan ahead for it by a month or two, because it's likely I'll overthink the prank and make it more elaborate and convoluted than it needs to be. So, it's possible, but unlikely I'll do an April fools.

8853232
Thanks for the offer, but I lost my appetite for pizza after seeing that image.

8853896
Maybe it was both? That was back in the 18^th century, when Saguenay was surrounded by snow for 8 months and had a population of five families and twenty cows, right?

[Conflicting views]

8857956
Close, 19th century.
And they had mooses instead of cows...

[Suomibrony]

8857986
Hmm, no cows for milk, but... moose for milk?

[tsaukpaetra]

8857956
As elaborate and convoluted as a cloned Mew who thought he was the original plan and attempt a sequential murder of his friends while also attempting to single-handedly take down Team Rocket and dealing with insanity? Poor Buwaro, he tried too hard and got burnt out...

[Suomibrony]

8859519
It's rather telling that I know those few names there refer to Pokemon, despite myself never having consumed any Pokemon media.

8860936
Phew. I was a little worried you had expected a delicious salmon of action, but now were casting a minnow of annoyance and annoyance at my face for a perceived bait and switch. I'm relieved I didn't get some fish smell in my face this time.
But you're right, this story is less about action and more about the psychological effects of a human-to-pony change. I had read a few TF stories, and often felt disappointed by the affected's nonchalant reaction and quick adjustment to the new form. FPV's first chapter was an experiment to present a realistic look into the first few minutes of someone's TF. I didn't really have any plan to continue it, but that was not to be, as the inchoate story was left on a rather titillating cliffhanger. Ever since, I've had to explore the unlucky person's mental state meticulously at almost every turn. It's both taxing and fascinating to write. However, I've received some criticism for the story progressing far too slowly, so I've taken it to myself to pick up the pace just a bit in the recent chapters, though I'm mindful of not diluting the protagonist's experiences and troubles.

[tsaukpaetra]

8862342
Haha yeah, we kinda dated ourself there, the fic in mention (Tales of Flame) is... Quite old. The arc in question was something like thirty chapters of "WTF is going on?!?!" before he kinda gave up after nobody could really appreciate the plot. A shame too, the character's random shenanigans were immensely fun, just in this case sticking to a hard "this is what's going to happen" mentality instead of letting the story flow as it happened just didn't work and he was upset that people seemed to like random more than constructed. This of course despite that plot feeling much more random and disjointed than ever...

[Suomibrony]

8862497
Oh, I'm not saying Pokemon is dated. I mean, that Pokemon is such a prevalent phenomenon, that even a total ignoramus like me know some characters and some of its core principles. I've even toyed with adding a small reference to i in the story myself. Anyhow, I do not know the fic you mention, but from what you're telling tell, I surmise that the author had lined predetermined events for the story. However, due to expected and natural deviations being corrected with a heavy hand so as to guarantee the predetermined events occurring at a time and location dictated by the author, these events and how the characters conducted themselves were seen as contrived and hard to believe at face value.

[tsaukpaetra]

8862574
Yeah, something like that. Basically, it went from "random but fun" to "WTF nothing makes sense what is everyone doing?!" without any real explanation.

[Sky Breeze]

he said that paint thing was off the hook

I think I get the reference!
It's the woomys!

[Suomibrony]

8893906
What are you talkinng about?
*googles woomys*
Huh? Hmm, okay. I never thought of Splatoon when writing this chapter. Neither did I know I made an accidental reference.

[Sky Breeze]

8895762
Hah, well, Off the Hook is the Splatoon 2 band, and they were playing paintball so I figured that it might have been a subtle reference to Splatoon

[Suomibrony]

8897907
Wow, that's an incredible coincidence! I was only thinking of how the colloquial phrase "off the hook" may sound strange to ponies. I had no idea I made a subtle (but in hindsight, clever) reference to Splatoon 2 .

[ZanarNaryon]

“Oh, Norwegian curse word,” I said in mild aghast. Barely had I gathered my thoughts when his mouth opened again.

Faen, fitte, jævla, satan, dritt to name a few

[Suomibrony]

8898603
Considering what was sighted, I wager Viv thought of "hestkuk".

[Vortex Clipper]

Guess Embee had given up figuring out how to eat that kind of candy.

[Suomibrony]

8964097
Maybe it's her first time eating such candy?

[Vinyl_ScratchPlays]

Soooo after sooo long again~
Are we to see a new update in the coming months? or years? ;P

[Suomibrony]

9415817
Oh, definitely! I had begun working on the new chapter before the latest one was even ready for publishing. Alas, I then began to hit several writers blocks and I didn't get the chapter done until autumn. And then one of my trusted friends read it and felt it was a stinker. Complicating matters was that I had to leave it up to that friend to point out what stunk the worst, but friend's busy schedule caused several delays. This wasn't resolved until recently, which meant I had to wait quite a while before I could decisively head back to the drawing—er, writing board. I had to more or less scrap about 50% of the chapter, but I'm now in the process of writing a revised second half to the chapter at great pace. I hope to get it done this week. Then, I'll have it added to the chapter draft and see how it fares. Hopefully, I'll get the chapter out before March.

[computerneek]

9416272
Sooo, that would be why a story with no unread chapters is showing up in my unread feed...

(Consarn FimFiction's imperfect filters!)

That being said, I'm looking forward to seeing it when it's ready.