Adventures in the TARDIS

by Scroll

Part 3: A Strange Stranger

I am gasping for breath by the time I arrive in the train station. A lot of other ponies are giving me dirty looks as I bump into some of them because of how unsteady I am due to my exhaustion. I don't think I blame them either. I'd at least give another pony a weird look if I saw somepony else doing the same thing as I am doing right now. As of this moment, I have to fight to not think about it or I'd just die of embarrassment!

There is a brief moment of relief for me when I see the smoke stacks rise from the various trains up ahead, but I grow alarmed again when I notice the one I need is just about to take off. I inwardly scream in frustration when I notice that! There is no way I've come this far only to fail now! Can't a mare finally catch a break?

I catch up to the train just as the last train attendant steps into the train himself in order to shut the door.

“Noah! Stah . . . Don't!” I cry out desperately as I scramble to leap into the train while it is already starting to move. The train attendant looks about and glowers down at me. I try to speak, but I'm so out of breath right now that I soon realize that this is impossible. As an alternative, I fish into my forward shirt pocket and hoof him my ticket for this ride. His expression softens to curiosity as he takes the ticket and examines it more closely. Not only does it have my name on it, but it also has the time and date for this very train.

After examining it, he looks down at me and raises a curious but otherwise condescending raised eyebrow expression at me that seems to non-verbally ask, “Yours, I presume?” The only answer I can give to that is a nod followed by a begging expression. The train attendant sighs and rolls his eyes in disgust. Then he gives me a narrow-eyed expression which seems to tell me, “I could get fired for letting you on the train this late, you know? I hope you appreciate this.” Almost reluctantly, he lowers a hoof to help me onto mine. When I finally stand on my three legs unsteadily, I give him a grateful nod. He gives me a “whatever” expression then steps aside and gestures into the train, inviting me to pass him up and continue my way inside. When I do pass him by with a final sheepish grin to him, he, in turn, finally shuts the door leading out of the accelerating train.

---

It's a miracle how I finally make it to the door of my mostly private room in the train. I'm so dizzy and exhausted by then that I really can't figure out how I made it, but I finally slide open the door which leads to a pair of wooden benches facing each other and a single window in between them. If we have carry on luggage, we can store them in a compartment above the seats.

This is actually first class in this train. The only thing that could get better than this is private sleeper cars or renting out the entire caboose.

When I step in, or rather collapse inside, I'm surprised to notice one other pony in here. I thought I'd get this room to myself. That's what I was told earlier.

“My goodness,” says the only other occupant in the room, which is a brown stallion in this case who is wearing a brown coat over a white dress shirt which has a red necktie. He is also wearing a black bowler hat. There is a silver chain leading somewhere inside of his brown overcoat to a pocket on the right side of him. He kneels down and reaches a single hoof down to me to help pull me up. Feeling like beggars can't be choosers, I accept his hospitality even though part of me is dying of embarrassment. I was really looking forward to a moment with myself alone so I can finally recover from all this mess this morning and afternoon.

“You look like you crawled through a minefield,” notes the stallion as he helps me to my seat. Along my way to my seat across from him, I happen to catch his pretty sapphire eyes. It is at this moment it clicked in my head that this stallion is actually pretty handsome.

“Just . . . late,” I wheeze out.

“Take your time,” the stallion invites me kindly while standing before me. “You're here now. That's what is important.” He tips his bowler hat and winks at me as he asks, “Right?”

In reply, I simply nod then wince tightly as pain shoots through my right wing. I hiss a bit which is all I can do to keep from screaming. I pull my right wing in front of me and attempt to massage it lamely and unskillfully.

Seeing what I am doing, the stallion before me asks, “May I?”

I look at him in surprise. I didn't expect him to ask let alone possibly be skilled at this. Since I am now curious and feeling a little desperate, I silently nod at him in acceptance.

Wordlessly, he slides himself next to me to my right, scoops up my right wing, and for the next unknown number of minutes later, my mind swims between agony and bliss. The longer this goes on, the more my experience leans on the latter. Whoever this is, he really is good. Lucky me!

Huh. Finally some good luck! Thank Celestia!

“There you go. How's that?” he asks when he's done. After he asks, I pull my wing close to me. In doing so, only a small amount of pain registers in my mind when I bend it or straighten it.

“Much better,” I reply which is also when I notice I finally caught my breath enough to speak fairly straight again. “Thank you. Still hurts a little as I bend and straighten it, but otherwise it feels fine.”

“Try going easy on it for a few days,” the stranger recommends as he moves to sit across from me and, from there, turns to face me again. “I did what I could to reduce strain on the muscle and wing ligaments. It should take the edge off for now, but you still need a few days to fully heal. After that, you'll be soaring the skies again soon. I promise.”

I nod at him in appreciation as I say, “Thank you again.” My gaze lingers on this handsome stallion. Part of me feels tempted to ask why he is here. I could have sworn I was supposed to be alone in this room. Did I come to the wrong room? Or did he?

I take a moment to check my train ticket again then look at the number above the entrance to this room. In doing so, I verify that I am in the correct room. That's good. I don't need yet another reason to feel so embarrassed today.

Then the days events hit me again. My eyes widen with horror at what I have done. That cop most likely was whistling for me. What have I done? Am I a fugitive now? This is nowhere even close to the lifestyle I normally live! What has gotten into me today?

“If you don't mind me saying, you look like you've had an interesting day,” the stranger across from me observes in what seems to be amusement.

“Tell me about it,” I agree with a roll of my eyes. “You have no idea!”

“Probably not,” the stranger partially agrees. “But I'm sure all of us has had, 'One of those days' kind of deal.”

I widen my eyes a him as I ask, “One of those days? One of those days?!” I nearly screech the last word. “Again, I insist that you have no idea because you don't know me and what I'm normally like. What's transpired today isn't even close to how I normally act or do.”

“You have done something more daring than you normally do?” the stranger asks with a shadow of a grin.

“In a word . . . yes,” I agree. “But that's because I'm driven to desperation today. Something is about to happen to me that made me too nervous and excited to sleep last night. Boy, did that ever cost me this morning.”

“Important events can often do that,” the stranger replies. “Believe me, I know that feeling. My life has carried me quite far as well, but the interesting thing about it is it never really gets boring.” He applies a hoof to his chest as he admits, “I confess, there is some attempts to keep spice in my life, but I am pleased to report I've had some success with that.”

I grin slightly as I say, “Well, whatever you've gone through, I doubt it compares to what happened to me today.”

“You're likely right,” the stranger agrees. “Every journey is different.”

I shrug a bit which causes me to wince as pain shoots through me because of my right wing again, but the pain fades in seconds. I then nod at him as I say, “I'm sure you're right, but the scale of what I'm about to face is very likely beyond what you could imagine.”

“Oh?” the stranger asks as he raises an eyebrow and grows a ghost of a coy grin.

“I'm about to venture into an entirely new and formerly lost continent!” I exclaim in astonishment.

“Really?” the stranger reflects while wearing the same expression. “If this is so, that'll be quite an accomplishment.”

“No kidding!” I agree. “You know, I've read a lot of adventure stories before. In college, I actually majored in literature.”

“Well good for you!” the stranger cheers at me in such a way that it feels really authentic. “Stories are important. We need them to light the fires of our imagination as well as keeping a record of our lives.”

“Oh! Totally!” I enthusiastically agree. “You know, I hope to be a published author one day. Until then, I try to read what others have written and use it to help inspire me.”

“You seem to be a very smart young lady,” the stranger observes cunningly. “Sheltered and very educated, but brimming with passion. I suspect you'd like to do more than you've done before. To boldly go where no mah . . . Um. Excuse me. Where no pony has gone before.”

I sink into my seat a bit as I release a deep sigh before I finally admit, “Maybe that's true, but I'm not sure how well I'd hoofle it if I had to. What's more, it wouldn't meet with my parents approval. Especially my mother.”

“Why is that?” the stranger asks across from me.

“My mom had an adventuring father before,” I answer. “Thus she grew up with a mostly absentee father. One she had to worry about and wonder if, every time he left, he'd ever come back home again.”

“Oh. I see,” the stranger says in realization. “Well . . . that makes sense then. I'm sure an experience like that would leave a deep impact on the psyche of a growing young woman.”

I nod as I say, “I can understand that too somewhat, but because of that, I think I grew up somewhat smothered. Part of me longs for more freedom, yet another part of me feels nervous to venture too far from the nest. You know what I mean?”

The stranger nods as he pulls out an object from his side coat pocket using the silver chain. It turns out to be a silver pocket watch. I lift an eyebrow at the sight of that. Such a tiny and highly technological device isn't common in these lands. Those who do have it are either very rich or an avid collector. I wonder which of these categories the stallion falls within. Judging from his attitude, it is hard to tell. He doesn't strike me as stuck up at all in a way the wealthy sometimes can be, but they are not all like that. I met a few who can be more like this guy. Someone who is charming and seems a bit of an intellectual himself. I could easily imagine this guy to be a wealthy college professor at some prestigious academy.

“Indeed I do,” he eventually agrees after examining the time on his pocket watch then returns it back to his brown coat pocket. “Leaving the old homestead can be quite a challenge, especially in the beginning. The young boy I used to be couldn't possibly imagine the wild adventures he'd go through when he grew up. If I had a chance to tell him and if he believed me, I suspect it would spook him. There's a time in each of our lives when we fear monsters hiding under our beds. A young and innocent time when we looked upon the world with wonder but also with a deep sense of vulnerability. That seems pretty normal to me.”

“I never thought this would happen to me,” I confess to him then privately wonder to myself why I'm being so unusually open and honest with this guy. In fact, telling him about soon exploring a previously unexplored continent was already crossing the line. That was supposed to be a secret. That's why I'm on this train and taking to a more hidden port away from Manehatten.

Still, since I have come this far, a strong part of me wants to continue for some reason. I don't know why, but I feel like I can trust this guy. Aside from that, telling him about my recent stresses is making me feel better.

“There might be a part of me that wanted this,” I go on. “I've read a lot of books about other adventurers. Most of them are fiction, but some of them were real. More like biographies or autobiographers of adventurers or retired adventurers. As I read them, whether they were fiction or not, excitement grew inside me. It's also been a pity to me that so many of the protagonists I read are all male. That made me long to finally find one that features a female protagonist, even if I have to write such a story myself.”

“We all write about what we know,” the stranger points out. “Field research can be very helpful in such a profession. Going out there and sampling the kinds of things your character would go through helps establish authenticity to your potential work. It is not strictly necessary, I think, but I find myself with a healthy respect for those authors who do go through with that extra mile.”

I smile at this stranger as I tell him, “I wholeheartedly agree! I love the kind of authors who can make their work feel real. Like I am actually there on the journey with the characters I read. I want to know what the temperature in the air feels like. I want to know what the itchiness of the sting of insects feels like as they explore wild jungles and hidden forbidden temples. Make me feel the adrenaline rush as they slide under a collapsing door. Make me hear the whistle of poisonous darts as they wiz by centimeters from my face. Put me in the action, authors.”

“Well you are about to go on a great journey, are you not?” the stranger reminds me. “It's one thing to read about other adventures. It's quite another to actually be there.”

“You sound like you speak from experience,” I observe.

“Aye,” the stranger agrees. “Lots and lots of experience and I mean that both ways. Being in adventures myself but also writing about them or reading about them. I, too, grew up enchanted about such stories. I, too, didn't think anything like it would ever happen to me. Instead, I grew up going after intellectual pursuits such as being a student and then a college professor.”

“I knew it!” I declare triumphantly. “I knew you had that vibe to you. A pony with a sophisticated and highly educated past.”

He nods again then goes on to say, “I found I quite enjoyed it. To expose young minds to new knowledge and watch as their horizons expand. To watch as their potential grows. I have fond memories of just slinking back into the background as I watched my former students move on into greatness that I've always known they had inside of them. By knowing that I had some part in helping to unlock that potential just fills me up with such endless satisfaction. That I made my mark upon the world through my students. That's such a wonderful way to make a contribution to the universe.”

“Universe?” I reflect questioningly. “Don't you mean university?”

“I know what I said,” the stranger replies as he narrows his eyes at me very slightly. “And I meant what I said.”

Who talks like that? Most ponies I know talk about their influence in, at most, all of Equestria.

Then it hits me. I'm about to venture beyond Equestria entirely. Whatever else I do or accomplish out there, I can't give direct credit to this land while I am there. We ponies are in such strong habit in talking about Equestria that I soon realize this will be quite a change for me. Terms like, “How in Equestria . . .?” such and such wouldn't really fit in this case.

Once again, I privately marvel how easy it is to talk to this guy. I doubt he realizes how valuable it is too. This helps put my mind at ease.

“Well,” I say as I look down, “you do have a point about this adventure possibly helping to establish some authenticity to any of my future novel characters. That is a part I am looking forward to.” I look back at him. “To help me do that, I plan to write a log often about what I encounter. My official job is to be a cartographer in these new lands, but I plan to go one step further and write about my personal experience as well. Someday that journal alone might be worth a fortune.”

The stranger smiles softly at me as he says, “I can see the advantages of being a pegasus when it comes to a profession like that. Just park a cloud high above whatever terrain you plan to draw.”

“Exactly!” I agree with an enthusiastic swing of a foreleg. “I doubt I'll be the only pegasus on the journey, but being a pegasus can certainly help me get a 'bird's-eye-view' of the situation wherever we go as long as it is not too stormy up there.”

“And even if it is, your kind is among the best to handle it,” the stranger agrees.

I give him a strange look.

“Hoofle it,” the stranger corrects himself with a dazed blink as if he can't believe he just said the other thing a moment ago.

I continue to wince one eye at him for a second then widen both eyes back to normal as I say, “Be that as it may, I'm glad actual professional adventurers are also being hired for this journey. Not only because I look up to them, not only because I can use them as potential models for my future stories, but to help keep me safe during this journey. In no way do I plan to become a professional adventurer myself after this, but while I am on this journey, I plan to learn everything I can to help keep me alive and to know what my fictional adventuring characters would know. The kinds of tips that they might give somepony else that they'd encounter. I'll also pay attention to the attitude they present while giving those lessons because some character I might write could be the same way.”

“You may do whatever you wish with your life,” the stranger expresses. “It's your story, but remember; just as you were surprised about taking this journey now, be aware that such things could happen again. You didn't expect this, so why should the rest of your life be predictable with this one and only exception?”

“I can't predict the future,” I express with a shrug. “I can only make plans for it while remaining aware that they can change. Even if I have to venture in new and uncharted territory, I'd at least like to make a new chart as I continue. I may not be able to see into the future, but I can see into the present and the past. With that in mind, I'd like to create something that helps make the path I trot more clear later on. That way I can at least backtrack with some clarity.”

“In that case, believe it or not, you're already thinking like a professional adventurer,” the stranger expresses. “Lots of ponies can be an adventurer, but a professional one knows there is a difference between being brave and being reckless. The good ones pave the way for all those who follow in their footsteps. If you are the first to venture into new territory, be mindful of where you step and how you choose to proceed. There is nothing wrong with fulfilling an inward need for a thrill, but a professional adventurer realizes there is something they can accomplish beyond just that. That they can venture out there with a driven purpose. Learn from your failures and the failures of others too. I guarantee you'll encounter some of that as you continue on this path. One important distinction about this profession verses another standard one on dry land is sometimes you get only one chance to make a mistake while out in an adventure.”

“I know,” I agree with a solemn nod to him. “If I start seeing pony skeletons, or that of other animals, in the area that I am exploring, stop and pay especially close attention to the environment. Something there killed these others, and if I'm not careful, I could become the next warning sign for others.”

The stranger gives a blank stare at me for a couple of seconds before looking down, leaning forward, then looking back up at me as he says, “This is why I'm telling you that you are a very bright pony.” He shakes his head. “Sometimes we don't know what we're capable of until we go through an experience like this. In a way I envy you. It's been a long time when an adventure felt totally new to me. There's nothing quite like that first experience.”

“I plan to survive this in order to write about it later,” I promise him. “Come what may.”

“Only fools are fearless,” he expresses at me with a very serious expression. “It could be ignorance or arrogance that keeps them brave. Whatever the case may be, the end result typically is their death. Personally, I say fear is your friend that is attempting to warn you of the danger around you. Don't let it blind or paralyze you, but pay attention to it nonetheless. Fear is your friend if you let it be. There is wisdom in handling that carefully.”

I wince one eye even as I grin at him then tell him, “You're one strange pony. You know that?”

The stranger leans back into his seat, looks out the window to his right side, and says, “Yeah. I get that a lot.”