Locating a Location at the Local Library
After brushing my pearly whites (although mother-of-pearly off-whites may be more accurate) and a shower at a nearby truck stop, I take the early evening Four-Eighty straight to the famous Manehattan General Library.
If you've never heard of the Four-Eighty, I envy you. Don't get me wrong, I use public transit frequently (even I get exhausted now and then), but it does leave something to be desired. The Four-Eighty is what they call a "bus", which is to say it's an enormous long coach with plenty of bench seats inside, a lot like a single train car. The bus is drawn by a wagon team of six ponies, generally stallions, and the four in the rear ain't exactly thrilled with their spot in the rotation.
(Well, sometimes they are. Depends on the pony, to be perfectly honest.)
The downside of taking a bus is that there are lots of stops you have to wait at because the ponies who ride the bus are not generally the sort willing (or less selfishly: able) to walk more than two blocks to get somewhere. This means it's like a streetcar, but slower. Then again, it's free, but then again, again, it's not nearly as hygienic. Basically, it has both pros and cons. And then there are even more cons: you have to deal with unpleasant odors and things you don't want to step in, it's often crowded, the ponies you meet can be sketchy as Tartarus, and all things considered you really don't want to look any other unfortunate souls trapped on the bus in the eye but good luck with that during rush hour when it's packed to the proverbial gills.
I'm not just being unfriendly when I call ponies 'sketchy' and recommend avoiding eye contact. "Free" means everypony can use it, especially the riff-raff. And nopony likes the riff-raff, not even the riff-raff. I know, because I am the riff-raff. I mean, I've raffed my riff more times than I can count, and I can count so many times I can't even count that high! We "riffers" are the lowest common denominator: poor ponies, elderly ponies, disabled ponies, drunk ponies, stoner ponies (although they usually take the Four-Twenty instead), homeless ponies, ex-convicts, current convicts who are for some reason not behind bars where they are supposed to be, pre-convicts, complete lunatics, partial lunatics, and Manehattan tourists who by the end of the ride have decided that Manehattan is a nice place to visit but they'd rather not move here and a big part of that decision is specifically due to their Lovely Manehattan Bus Experience™.
Okay, I might be exaggerating just a little. But without hyperbole, if you have the bits to spare and you're not currently doing research on a nonfiction book about horrible life choices, you pay for a taxi instead, or you trot for several miles on your own. I don't have bits to spare, and my hooves are in need of a burn-related hooficure that I can't afford. So here on the bus I am.
After nearly an hour of starting and stopping, the Four-Eighty reaches the famous Manehattan General Library and I exit the bus. (There's another con: you have to stay awake long enough to get out at your stop, or you might end up on the bus for several hours.) The bus windows are designed not to open more than a crack, so I have to exit via the door like everypony else. Only two other ponies leave with me. Turns out the library isn't a common destination thirty minutes before closing. There's a decent crowd here waiting to get on the bus, though.
I canter away from the stop and look over to the rectangular artificial pond in front of the Library. It has fancy fountains inside which occasionally shoot water up in a timed sequence, and I get the distinct feeling there's a reference here only the most die-hard fans will get. Anyway, it's a short trot to the front entrance.
As I approach the main steps, I look up and see something highly unusual. Hanging off of a kirin statue is something that looks vaguely like an enormous navy-blue bat. Its entire body is enveloped by its pleathery wings. It's hanging there by a long blonde tail, and as I approach, the wings spread wide and...
"Ssssssss!" hisses the bat-winged pegasus-like monster, flashing its distinctly unponylike fangs. I gasp in shock, frozen in place as it wraps those warm, pliable flaps of skin around me, covering me in a pitch black hug. I struggle in vain, hearing the sound of confused and frightened ponies nearby, and then as the beast releases me, I shriek at the top of my lungs, gripping my neck with both hooves and falling lifeless to the concrete below!
About a dozen ponies scream in terror and gallop madly in all directions.
After a few moments (which is exactly as long as I can hold the giggles in), I laugh maniacally. The "monster" chuckles too, though less maniacally.
"Oh...! Oh, sweet Celestia. That never gets old," I say, wiping tears from my eyes as I right myself. "Although it still surprises me you can frighten anypony while wearing that stupid tie-dye shirt." Apart from a small set of black saddlebags Suri got her, it's the only article of clothing she has. You can't see it when the wings are covering her barrel, but a rainbow-colored hippie garment still ruins the whole spooky ambiance if you ask me (and definitely if you ask Suri). The suicide blonde mane and tail don't help that either. You can tell by the split-ends it's an amateur dye job.
"It never gets old," says my nightwing friend. "Though they're going to kick me off Library grounds again if we don't stop that bit." She falls gracefully to the sidewalk next to me, landing on all four hooves.
Wait, wait, no, sorry. All of that was wrong. He falls. He, him, himself. Monody is a stallion, which should be obvious especially when he's upside down with those bat boy bits hanging right there in my face like I just experienced and wow, now that I think about it I'm starting to blush through my ears and cheeks. So it's definitely not a Fine Print situation, but sometimes I still forget. He's just naturally very feminine-looking and soft-spoken. Add that fillyish vibe to the whole gothic thing and the crazy-adorable ear tufts, and you'll understand why he makes all the mares in town swoon. And boy, does he hate the swooning! It's not that he doesn't like the ladies, at least I don't think, but... eh, look, it's complicated and I guess it doesn't really matter since you don't even know the guy. Besides, being told details about somepony's personality is just bad writing.
Monody waits politely as I try my hardest to refocus on the conversation. He's used to me by now, and I'm certain he tolerates my foibles because it allows him to torment me.
"Right, banned. How many times would that make?" I ask.
"By my count, nine," he says. "Seriously, though, we need to stop. If this isn't the last time, I'll never hear the end of it from Kichawi."
It takes me a moment to realize that was a joke. As you can see, Monody's style of "humor" is drier than the San Palomino Desert in the middle of July, and he rarely shows much of an expression on that pretty poker face of his.
"Ah. I get it," I say, rearing up and making the 'I got you' sign with my hooves.
"It's better for the comedy if you leave that implicit," he replies.
I roll my eyes. "Ugh. I don't understand the first thing about comedy! And how will you know I got the joke if I don't tell you?"
"Clues, Diane. You of all ponies should know that," he says. "Besides, I can read you like an open book. You can't hide anything from my watchful eye."
"Sometimes I think the monster thing isn't just an act," I accuse. He stands there stone-faced, and I wonder if I've hurt his feelings. I guess I'll never know. "Monody, you haven't been following me, have you?"
"Not in the past hour, no," he says, implying some extra creepiness. "I didn't even know you were headed here. I stopped by to pick up a book from our mutual friend, then decided to hang out. Serendipity, I suppose. And, Diane?"
"Yeah?"
"Blue. Please," he says.
I sigh. "Blue is such a boring name. Monody is a great name! I don't understand why you want me to call you the more boring thing."
"Yes, you do," he reminds me.
"Pfft. I'd have been thrilled if my parents had named me Monody," I point out. "Mostly because that would mean I had parents."
"Mine thought it was oh-so-clever. And they were going to name me Threnody if I'd turned out to be a girl," he says. "I suppose I lucked out there. Maybe some other poor soul will get stuck with that one."
"If you were a girl? So why aren't you Blue Threnody again?" I ask. I try the dry thing too, but I'm pretty sure my face betrays me with a smile.
"Ah. Two identity-related attacks in one. Interesting choice of barb, coming from a literal clone of Pinkie Pie," he says, raising a brow.
I poke him in the middle of his tacky shirt. "Stop psychoanalyzing me. You have to let me know if I hurt your feelings," I order him, and I turn to walk up the steps to the library entrance. "I'm a detective and I still can't tell."
"I do? I've never told you before," he says. "Besides which, you're not a detective. You're a private investigator. Detectives are police, who have real jobs and credentials."
I turn to face him again, my muzzle scrunched up in the universal sign of scrunchface. "How does it feel to treat me like you do, Blue Monody?" I ask him.
That takes him a moment, and he almost cracks a smile... I think? Maybe I imagined it. "My name as a Pet Shop Colts reference? Gee, I've never heard that one before." Nope, his face is expressionless again. But statistically speaking, I can infer that one as sarcasm.
I shrug. "It's new to me, at least. Blame Pacific."
"Not her kind of music, but I suppose if anypony knows how to expand somepony else's horizons, it'd be her," he says. "She hasn't been expanding... other things yet, has she?"
"Oh my Stars no. Just music," I say, sticking out my tongue in distaste.
"I admire your resolve, Diane," he says, and stretches those wacky preternatural wings of his. "You're easily the most interesting pony I know—make that person, even. Given our mutual company, that's saying quite a bit."
"Thanks, I guess. You gonna follow me in?" I ask, reaching for the door.
"Not today. I want to leave you with time to think about what you've done," he says, then beats his wings and swoops up into the night sky before I can riposte. Maybe I did hurt his feelings... or maybe he hurt mine? It's so hard to tell.
I pause for a moment in thought. "Tell me, now how do I feel?" I ask myself. Then I enter the library before things get too meta.
On the days he works, it's not hard to find Kichawi—especially not fifteen minutes before closing time. He spends basically the last half-hour herding ponies out of various sections of library to close them down, manely because the ponies he is herding tend to be confused about what he wants.
Also, he might be the only zonicorn in existence, and he's constantly making glowing lights appear overhead with his magic, so there's that. Also also, he's bigger than the average pony, and bizarrely muscular for a unicorn-sort. But at least he's quiet, which is probably the mane thing that makes him a good fit for the job.
I spot him blocking off the upstairs sections with a velvet rope (those things are better protection than a concrete wall, I tell you), and I wave to him. He looks like a zebra with dark brown stripes. Or is it white stripes on brown? I can never remember. He has a unicorn horn up there, and he knows how to use it. The tip is pierced with a silver ring, which makes some unicorns shiver uncomfortably, don't ask me why. He also has silver earrings and multiple silver rings layered above each of his hocks.
As a half-breed, Kichawi naturally doesn't have a true cutie mark, but like other zebras he has a ritualistic pattern on both flanks that looks a bit like one (which they get from birth, as far as I can tell). In his case it looks surprisingly like a book. So maybe it's half a cutie mark, or something? Eh, I don't really understand magic. That's more his thing. He loves his job here because he gets to read up on all sorts of voodoo crap that he can use, though there are lots of limitations on his magic due to his zebra heritage, and I think he thinks there might be spells he can do that unicorns can't, but I'm not entirely sure because it's really difficult to tell what he's saying most of the time.
"Hay, Kichawi! Um, I'll wait until you're done rounding ponies up, assuming we can chew the hay," I say as I canter up to him. He looks at me with a friendly smile and nods his head. This is good news, because it means I can stay after he shuts the library (and I still need to do research). Conversations with Kichawi can take a very long time, so he wouldn't agree to, um, "talk", if he weren't prepared to let me stay after closing.
(Yeah, it's "weren't", not "wasn't". Subjunctive mood. You learn things when you write freelance after the eleventeenth rejection letter, like the fact that sometimes the powers that be are picking at your grammar because they're looking for a phony reason to kick you to the curb. Also, you learn that "eleventeenth" is apparently not a legitimate number, and that means you no longer have any idea what happens when you divide twentteny-tweenth by twoish.)
With the lights dimmed in the library, most ponies have already vacated the premises. There's one straggler with her nose in a book who seems oblivious to the world around her. I watch as Kichawi walks up to her and taps her on the shoulder.
"⏰ 📤", says Kichawi. By which I mean, his brown-and-white horn glows a light rose color, and those symbols appear over his head in the same pinkish glow.
The young mare looks up, and sure as sugar there's a very confused look on her face. "What? Um, who are you?" she says.
Kichawi responds with more symbols, "📖 ↪ 📕". This time, he points toward the library exit before repeating, "⏰ 📤". He doesn't look the slightest bit perturbed by the conversational impasse. The zonicorn has the patience of a mountain, which is understandable given his unique situation.
It's always amusing to watch ponies learn for the first time that Kichawi speaks only in rebus.
Er, rebuses, I guess. Rebi? Strange, overly-clever combinations of symbols and letters that take forever to interpret. It used to drive me batty (no offense, Monody) but the challenge has definitely helped to hone my detective skills—something needed in this line of work whether or not I qualify as a true "detective".
Hmm. Okay, I guess it was my feelings that were hurt. Mystery solved.
Anyhoo, I have no idea why the biggest Library in Equestria outside of Canterlot allows Kichawi to live on premises. I'm pretty sure that violates at least twentteny-tweenth municipal codes. Then again, I have no idea how he got the job in the first place. Can you imagine that job interview? Kichawi has told me how he got the job numerous times, but if that seems like a contradiction to you well then buster you really haven't been paying much attention.
So I only have a hunch to go on. My assumption is, shall we say, less than polite. Let's just say Manehattan has a reputation of being super-ultra-cosmo, and Kichawi... well, hiring somepony with that many levels of uniqueness is in keeping with the desired image. (I mean, it's like the guy is trying way too hard to be an original character.) I wouldn't be surprised if they asked Blue Monody first and he turned them down.
The mare finally gets it, replaces the book, and heads out. Kichawi follows her, then locks the door, flips the sign to closed, and clicks a magic switch that simultaneously pulls the dozens of courtesy blinds all over the library. This is obviously for me as that isn't the usual closing procedure and he always does that when we're alone because he's no doubt embarrassed to be seen with me. Then he returns and greets me with a smile. At this point I've commandeered the table the mare was using. Er, commanponied, rather? (I hope that wasn't racist, given all the confusion over deer sapiency.)
"🎈🎈🎈 📥 ❓", he says. Though I guess at this point it's obvious when he's the one talking, huh? Oh, and he can do different aura colors too, even at the same time, which is supposed to be completely impossible or something. That's why his horn is glimmering in both cyan and yellow and rose all at the same time.
Just a random thought: if anypony ever had to read my experiences out loud like a book on tape or something, Kichawi's symbols would make for a terrible mess. I guess that's pretty unlikely, though. Anyway, I interpret the rebus to mean, 'Welcome, Diane! To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit? Also, I've been thinking about purchasing a discount banjo recently, but I need to do more research first.' That was an easy one, though, so from here on I'll just put translations when they aren't so blindingly obvious.
"Oh, neat! I've always wanted to learn to play the banjo, but that's not important right now. I'm still working that missing foal case, and more importantly, somepony gave me these." I pull the photos out of my mane and lay them out on the table. "I don't remember being in any of these places, and I doubt Mom is doing Diane cosplay even though that's definitely something she would do if she actually knew it was a thing and I'm pretty sure she doesn't. So I might be missing some memories."
He gets a very concerned look on his face that I know all too well. Kichawi has an strange and irrational tendency to worry when I show up to the library after being threatened or stabbed or when I'm merely bawling my eyes out from all the crushing existential dread. He looks carefully at the images and focuses on the one that has the date on the back.
"⏳", he says. (Oops, I guess it was a ukulele! My bad.) He trots off to the main desk while I wait for him to return with the ukulele catalog. Granted, I'm a little worried he'll just abandon me. Kichawi cares more about his work than being true to his friends, and he always has work to do. Fortunately, he returns with a map of Manehattan and a pink highlighter hovering beside him, so I guess he must have something else to tell me that isn't ukulele-related. He lays the map out on the table and unfolds it, then after a brief scan, he draws a little 'X' over one particular alleyway. Finally, he places the picture next to the 'X'.
"You want to buy a ukulele from somepony in an alleyway? I don't know if that's a good idea, Kichawi," I tell him.
He just stands there silently, which usually means he's waiting for me to change my mind. So I let my noggin crank a little, and then I get the idea.
"You know where this picture was taken," I say. He nods solemnly in response. I think about asking him how he knows about that particular alley, but I don't have literally all night long to get the answer (on occasion I need sleep unrelated to a drug binge).
"Tomorrow's date is on this one," I say, flipping it over. "The rest of them are blank. Do you know where any of the others were taken?"
Kichawi frowns and shakes his head. His beautiful mane tosses back and forth as he does, which is fun to watch. (Ugh, fun again. Stay focused, Diane.)
"Oh well. But this is still good news! Now I have a lead on where I'm supposed to wander into a trap tomorrow night," I say.
He slams his hoof down over the 'X'. "☠ ⛔ ❕"
"Don't be silly. I'm not going to dig up equupological artifacts in an alleyway!" I say. "Although, I suppose it still might be dangerous."
I go to grab the map, and I can't, because his hoof is holding it to the table firmly enough that I'll rip it if I try. Despite his size and muscular frame, he's probably not as strong as the average earth pony... but neither am I, and I don't want to wrestle him for the map anyway because that would get weird almost immediately. Also he has something of an odor. It's not bad, but... it's definitely there, and I have an acute sense of smell, and also a cute smell of scents.
"Okay, fine. What do I need to do to take the map?" I ask, backing off to contractual negotiation (something I'm actually good at).
"📖 🔘🔘🔘 ➖➖➖ 🧢🗞️ 🌀", he says.
"Take my friends? You're killing me, Kichawi," I reply. "Also, I'm not sure Fine Print's cap and rolled-up newspaper cutie mark are showing up properly in whatever font you're using."
It takes him a moment to absorb my insan—um, I mean my typical, sensible banter. Then he says, "2️⃣". His stare is firm, which is unusual for him.
"You actually think two of my friends will want to come with me to my certain doom?" I ask. "No offense, but 'friends' is pretty loose with you guys, and I remain unconvinced that friendship isn't just some kind of scam. I doubt even one of you would bother."
"📖 ⬇", appears overhead. Huh. I guess I can't argue with that.
"Private eyeing is dirty work, Kichawi. I don't think you want any part of it," I say, "but, suit yourself. Hmm. I know you do nights okay even though you always get up early. How do you manage that, anyway?"
He smiles. "🌿", is the reply.
"Oh, zebra drugs, right," I say, and he rolls his eyes (it must be all the zebra drugs). "But who else would be available at night? Print's up too early and Suri doesn't do anything that requires slight discomfort. Although that doesn't explain that gift she gave me today... but, both of them are out anyway, because they've been too nice to me recently which means they're overdue to pull the rug out from under me."
"➖➖➖ 🌀", he says.
"Right, I guess either Pacific or Monody would normally be up late. Good luck getting help from either of them, though," I complain. "Hmph. If I agree to try to get one of them to come, will that do?"
He nods, and says "🙏".
"You're welcome," I say, because I have to. Social contract and all that. Although he is pretty welcome, as far as welcomeness goes.
"🌙 🈁 ❓" he says. The middle symbol means 'here', and wow did that one take me forever to decipher after the first time he used it on me. Well, not forever, more like a month. But it felt like forever. Apparently it's an Eastern unicorn symbol, but I'm rambling to an invisible spectator in my head again while he's waiting for a response.
"Staying the night would be an imposition," I say. "You know how I feel about impositions and imposition-related situations. I might end up feeling like I have to do the same for you, and that's just a slippery slope. Also, you really don't want to sleep on the floor of my office, because it's super uncomfortable especially after my expensive comforter mysteriously disappeared from my office that one time I was late on rent."
"🌙 🈁", is the only response.
Kichawi keeps a spare cot in the basement archives where he sleeps, and I've succumbed to using it a couple of times when I was more desperate than this. It's a lot more comfortable than sleeping on the floor. Especially when you have to ride the evening bus to get back to your office/home first. Bleah.
I sigh. "Okay, fine. I honestly don't understand how ponies like you tolerate me taking advantage of them all the time like this."
"📖 🔘🔘🔘 ➖➖➖ 🧢🗞️ 🌀 ➡️ 💕 ➡️ 🎈🎈🎈", he says.
I shake my head in response. "I'm sorry. I'd be happy to teach you how to play the ukulele, but I don't know that one either. I only know how to play seven musical instruments—well, probably way more than that, but those are the only ones I've discovered so far. But I did pick up a banjo and a uke once, and nothing seemed to happen."
Now it's Kichawi's turn to sigh, which is apparent because he does. Then he smiles and pets my mane for a brief moment and we walk down to the basement together.
"You're a good pony to talk to, you know?" I say while getting ready for bed, by which I mean immediately falling backwards onto the cot. "I often figure out a lot of things detective-wise by talking to you, even when you don't say anything back. Maybe it's like you're a sounding board or something. It's not the same talking to myself, because I keep talking back and I can hardly get a word in edgewise."
I look over at him as he lies down on the woven grass mat he uses to sleep. He's not really the cot sort of pony, or even the pony sort of pony. He just listens, most of the time. He probably gets smarter as he does. Listening is a great skill but it's just so hard to do, y'know?
Huh. As it turns out, I feel exhausted. I'm way more tired than I thought! I think interacting with other ponies takes more out of me than pronking a marathon (which I did once, by accident). Yet at the same time, I think maybe I need to be around ponies to feel alive? It's all so weird.
"Gosh. I'm so tired I forgot to do my research before agreeing to a nap. I guess I can do some in the morning. Hay, do you think the thing about consciousness being unbroken applies to a pony without a soul?" I ask, popping a yawn as I look up to the basement ceiling which I can barely see in the dim lighting. I hear Kichawi yawn back, and I smile because it's funny to hear him make sounds. Then I feel guilty for smiling, because I realize I could have made my own yawn just to make him yawn back for my own amusement, even though I didn't.
I see a symbol out of the corner of my eye, and turn my head. It's "☸".
"No. I'm not a Kanthakist, Kichawi," I say. "How can I trust Kanthakism when all the supposed reincarnations of the horse are llamas? That doesn't make any bucking sense, pardon my Prench. And supposedly he had a human stallion named Buddha, and even ignoring the fact that humans don't exist, Buddha is obviously a mare's name."
I know what he's getting at, though. The great Saddle Arabian horse philosopher Kanthaka believed that ponies weren't born with souls, but that we earn our souls by the actions we take in each life. I'm tempted to believe that sort of nonsense, but I realize I'm biased toward it because I was never born in the first place. That's precisely why I can't believe it.
"I guess the unbroken thing must be true, though," I continue, "since it applies to all conscious life, not just the Kanthakist philosophy."
I look over at Kichawi, and see he's still listening to me. I didn't have to look, though. As long as he's nearby, he never stops listening, and he hasn't wandered away from me this time.
"Well, anyway, eventually I'll be something else, and the life I had, or 'it' had, without a soul won't matter at all," I say, struggling to form words as my eyelids droop. "You guys, y'know... you're lucky... since you get to do, um, stuff... that (yawn) ack-shull, uh, makes a d-diff... agbbubub—"
And just like that, I'm out like a light. Seriously, I'm totally unconscious right now. "🌙", in other words.
Weird. I guess my aura's white. Who knew?
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Free public transit in New York? This is a fantasy world.
This is some quality ponkery.
Fascinating to see Diane's issues with empathy, especially given the original. Yes, Pinkie has her off days, but she also absolutely has on ones. Diane knows of feelings, but she still has a hard time actually putting names to proverbial faces. Though her less than demonstrable friends aren't exactly helpful there.
Again, amazing Pinkie voicing, even if we're working with a nonlegendary token copy.
Kudos on making a legitimate reason to work emojis into a story about a pre-cellphone society.
I thought she wanted to avoid making things too meta.
Ouch. Hi there, casual self-loathing.
I have to wonder how much of Diane's gross misinterpretations of Kichawi's messages are uncontrolled Pinkie-isms and how much are not knowing the symbolic connections he relies on. After all, mirror clones don't get a lot of knowledge copied over when they're created.
I had to look up the proper Unicode table for the former.
Given Diane's early experiences with ponies who she thought were her friends, I can hardly blame her for her current paranoia.
Another fascinating glimpse at a most unusual life. Looking forward to more of both the mystery and the investigator.
My head hurts more now than after reading the first chapter. Somehow, that feels like it's supposed to be part of the experience.
Wow this is really well written. This style of unreliable and occasionally incomprehensible narrator is so good, and very unique. Only other stories I can think of that do something like this are maybe Stone Cold(I think, it's been a while since I read that) and Abandon All Hope Ye Who Enter here(and it's sequel).
Any chance at shipping ever happening later? I saw some maybe hints, but I don't want to unnecessarily get my hopes up.
"Anyhoo, I have no idea why the biggest Library in Equestria outside of Canterlot allows Kichawi to live on premises. I'm pretty sure that violates at least twentteny-tweenth municipal codes."
Well, some interesting history behind that sort of thing, actually.
"I guess that's pretty unlikely, though."
[looks at where the controls for the FIMFiction text-to-speech system formerly were on their screen]
Yep, how would something like that ever happen? :D
"Also, I'm not sure Fine Print's cap and rolled-up newspaper cutie mark are showing up properly in whatever font you're using."
:D
(I'm getting the newspaper, by the way, but yeah, not the cap.)
I continue to find this an interesting and enjoyable story. Thanks for writing. :)
Literally everything about this paragraph
🦓🍆🔜🎈🎈🎈❣️💱
10235525
If this story had ended up being popular, you might have seen fan art of various pairings someday. Mais non: it is sadly one of my least popular works, so far.
Still, despite the fact nopony's reading it, I will of course continue it as a labor of love.
This is a really good story, and it’s a shame it’s overlooked. I have never read a fanfic like this one, and I fell in love with its originality, charisma, and well written characters. I applaud your idea to use Pinkie’s double - that was genius! The writing for this story made me smile and laugh the whole way through, and even though Diane goes off on tangents a lot, they’re so enjoyable.
and when she talks about her “addiction” in the first chapter! I adored this story so much.)
Actually, all of the things she thinks/says are absolutely hilarious, and the humor is so clever too. If you’ve ever read a Lemony Snicket book, it reminds me a lot of that.
I liked how your oc’s played into the story so smoothly, and Suri’s character was spot on! All the writing was done so well, and, again, this was a hilarious read. I cannot recommend it enough.
(Also, that part about the “riff-raff” and the bus, was great
I didn't know what a mimeo was (although with the etymology I could guess). Now with a bit of Google-Fu I know what a mimeograph looks like. Neat.
10231651
That was a pretty beautiful article.
10293545
Oh, glad you enjoyed it. :)
I've seen a few other "Pinkie's close in Manehattan" stories, but your look inside her head is uniquely fun and interesting.
Hope you come back to it some day!
11277036
I intend to. Things are just much slower for me than they used to be, due to disability.
11277257
Of course, of course. No pressure.
I love the premise of seeing through the eyes of a fully-developed, sentient and separate Pinkie Clone with her own life. And this is a particularly well written one. I'm glad I read this.
10231651
Both the cap and newspaper work fine for me - I must have a font with broader emoji coverage.
11575831
Aye, sounds like, or at least different coverage.