By the time ‘Miss’ Spitfire finally gave me a towel, the novelty of the whole situation had pretty much worn off completely.

And totally not because she just made fun of the size of my junk.

… Shut up.

The towel she gave me was kind of fluffy, but a little small for my waist. And, like I said, I’m not even all that big. She led me down a hallway toward what I guess was her living room, the tiled floor evening out into hardwood flooring. What really threw me off, though, was that the ceiling was composed entirely of clouds.

Meaning that it kind of hit me right then that I really was on a cloud.

And it should have been totally obvious, because she even threatened to throw me off of a cloud.

Also meaning that I started thinking really, really hard about being on a cloud.

Guess who’s deathly afraid of heights?

Don’t think about it don’t think about it don’t think about it don’t think about it!

“Stop twitching, will you?” Spitfire kept her eye on me, guiding me into the wider area of her living room. “That’s really starting to creep me out.”

Apparently, I was kind of hyperventilating a little, and Spitfire was nice enough to lead me to a small couch before my legs stopped working completely.

She began to leave for the front door, and I started up after her before she jabbed a hoof at me.

“No,” she said sternly like I was an unruly puppy. “You stay put. Don’t touch anything, don’t move from that spot.”

“What?” I asked, a little wounded. “What did I do?”

“I’m going to go get a professional,” Spitfire explained. “And maybe get some answers as to what’s going on, what you are, and how you got into my house. Unless you’d like to save me a trip?” she proffered, obviously expecting some kind of answer from me. Unfortunately, all I could offer was a weak shrug.

“Good,” she nodded, tugging open the front door before lifting off. “Don’t fly away while I’m gone.”

Oh, ha, ha, ha.

Hilarious.

I’ll admit, it was kind of cool watching Spitfire take off. The brush of her mane from her face as she prepped herself, the coiling muscles as she prepared to pounce like the world’s most aerodynamic cat, her slowly falling and rising Cutie Mark. The bob of her tail as it sashayed between her legs as she elegantly rose, the fiery –

“ –k.”

“What?” I asked, blinking suddenly as the towel mysteriously became uncomfortably smaller.

“I said, why are you staring at my flank?” Spitfire frowned, glaring daggers at me. I think that I opened and closed my mouth a few times, but I couldn’t really get anything intelligible to come out other than a few panicky chuckles as I utterly failed to defend myself.

She stared hard at me for a minute before flaring her nostrils, taking off and kicking the door closed behind her.

Like I was going to chase after her, or something.

Or maybe it was just a matter of principle, I dunno.

“Hey, Soarin! Come take a look at this thing!”

“Hmmm,” the light blue-grey stallion peered through a magnifying glass at me that he held in one hoof. “Yep. It’s definitely freaky.”

“He,” I corrected him, backing away slightly so as not to be poked in the eye by the pointy-looking mane. “And my name is Phil.”

“You have a name?” Spitfire seemed a little surprised, and cocked an eyebrow. Soarin, as it would seem he was called, tucked away his magnifying glass into a bright blue jumpsuit he wore, giving me an unsatisfied frown.

“Well, I don’t have a clue,” Soarin shrugged. “He’s obviously some kinda monkey, though.”

“What?” I yelped, a little offended. And weirded out that I was still nearly naked with another dude this close to me, too. Seriously, there’s more than one reason I’m not too into sports. I’m just not… good in locker rooms. Too many other guys in close proximity to my junk.

… It has nothing to do with size!

“Whoa, easy there, fella,” Soarin backed away sharply, apparently afraid that I was going to bite him. “Take it easy, take it easy. Don’t have to get all riled up there, boy…”

It took me a minute to realize that the tone he was talking to me in was like that of a person talking to a spooked dog, and considering the fact that it was a pony talking to me, that freaked me out all over again.

“So, basically, you’re telling me that you’re just as useless as he is,” Spitfire nodded toward me.

“Ouch,” I cringed, touching my bare chest. “My ego.”

Soarin snorted, grinning a little.

“Okay, okay,” he nodded. “So, uh… Phil,” he let the word roll off of his tongue. “… Crap, Spit, I don’t even know where to start, to be honest.” He rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably, prompting Spitfire to pinch the bridge of her nose in agitation.

Which I don’t even know how she did that, with hooves.

Weird.

She sighed heavily, and muttered “I don’t know what I was expecting.”

After a few moments, she cleared her throat, serious look returning. I was beginning to think that was her default face.

“Right,” Spitfire said, suddenly no-nonsense. “Phil. Let’s start at the beginning. First of all, what are you?”

“I come from –”

“I don’t care.” She cut me off promptly, stamping a hoof against the floor. “Try to keep it one word or short answers, as clear and concise as possible. Lie to me and you’re taking a quick drop and a sudden stop. Understood?” Spitfire tilted her head toward the door.

Yikes.

I think my eyes nearly bugged out of my head, and I shook it so hard that my head felt fuzzy for a few seconds.

“What are you?”

“Human,” I answered truthfully. Spitfire turned slightly toward the blue-grey pegasus, who only shrugged again.

“Next question,” she seemed to be satisfied enough with that one. “How did you get into my house?”

“No clue,” I shook my head honestly again.

“Next question,” Spitfire nodded. “How in the blue blazes did you know my name?”

Ohhhhh, crap.

I froze, thinking fast. It was obvious that the panic was on my face, though, because she suddenly gave me this really hard look, eyeing toward the door again.

“Um… uh…!” I stuttered, suddenly feeling very exposed in my towel. “Well, uh, heh heh, funny story-”

“Tick tock,” she pointed toward the door slowly.

“I’m psychic!” I lied quickly, throwing up my hands.

The silence in the room was almost deafening.

Soarin seemed to be a little surprised, but the look of doubt on Spitfire’s face was so heavy I’m surprised it didn’t hurt her chin.

“Psychic,” she repeated dubiously with an unbelieving stare.

“Uh, yeah,” I chuckled weakly. “I have ESPN.”

They both just gaped at me for a couple of seconds, like I’d grown a second head.

“… How do we know you’re not lying?” Spitfire asked suspiciously. And, to be honest, that was a really good point. However, I had one of my better moments, and came up with a brilliant plan. See, I’m not the most attentive Brony out there, but I do pick up some things from time to time.

“Well,” I rolled up imaginary sleeves casually. “I can even read minds,” I bragged, plan unfolding in my head. Spitfire didn’t seem to believe me at all, but she wasn’t who I was trying to impress. I beckoned Soarin forward with one finger, and said “And to prove it, I want you to think of your favorite dessert.”

I don’t perform well under pressure.

I’ll admit, I probably sounded pretty corny.

But after a few seconds, Soarin screwed up his eyes in concentration, his face going blank. I waved my hands in what I hoped looked like a mystical fashion over his head, humming and ‘ohm’ing like the world’s biggest jackass. Or kind of like my uncle, he used to be a magician. He was actually pretty good, what with the sleight of hand tricks. Soarin definitely seemed to be a little creeped out, and his ears laid back flat.

“Your favorite food,” I said slowly, deliberately rolling my eyes back for effect. “That you are thinking of, right now, at this very point in time is…”

I drew it out for a few more seconds, making my hands shake.

“… PIE!” I shouted suddenly, and I had to fight to keep from laughing at the awestruck look on Soarin’s face when he gasped.

“Whoa, no way!” he breathed, mystified.

“Oh, come on,” Spitfire groaned, evidently skeptical. “That had to have been a lucky guess!”

“Behold the powers of the mighty Phil-nifico!” I waved my arms over my head, totally basking in having just blown Soarin’s mind. To be honest, it really wasn’t a smart thing to do, but I still figured my little lie was a lot better than telling them the truth about everything I know of their world coming from a cartoon.

Seriously, I figured that they had a bigger likelihood of believing that I was psychic.

“Right,” Spitfire said eventually, nudging the awestruck Soarin backwards away from me. “Okay. Mister ‘Psychic’,” she said disdainfully.

“You’re not still going to kill me, are you?” I asked in panic, nervously checking toward the door.

Spitfire rolled her eyes. “Wouldn’t you be able to tell if I were?”

“Oh, uh, um…” I tapped my fingers together uncomfortably. “It, uh… it doesn’t always, you know, work like that, and, uh…”

Yeah, I know. It sounded weak.

“Fine, great,” she cut me off, obviously not buying into my ‘psychic’ shtick. “Nopony is throwing you to the ground.”

I almost managed to breathe a sigh of relief before she continued.

“However, we are taking you to get you tested to find out where you came from.”

“Will there be needles?”

Surprisingly enough, the remark came from Soarin. Spitfire just stared at him for a second, running a hoof down her face in exasperation.

“No, Soarin. There aren’t – I mean, you aren’t the-” she let out a burst of agitated air, and ground her teeth. “Just get Phil and get him to ground level.”

“I get to fly with you guys?” I asked, suddenly very, very not-enthusiastic. The thought of hurling through the sky at high speeds, with no safety precautions whatsoever almost made me wish for a diaper instead of a towel.

“Aw, relax!” Soarin chortled. “It’ll be awesome.”

I barely managed to grip Soarin’s hooves as we plummeted toward the ground the towel long gone as it whipped into the air nearly the moment we took off. The ground rushed up to meet us, and I swear that I heard him laughing at my terrified screaming.

“NOT AWESOME! NOT AWESOME!”