Author's Notes:

I would like to apologize in advance to Joseph Michael Straczynski and Winston Groom for certain aspects of the "Derren Meets Lyra" scene.

A moderately-sized rock hurtled gracelessly in a low parabolic arc towards its inexorable meeting with the river that was gently passing under the bridge I was standing on. I was rewarded with a modest splash of water a little more than a second later.

The satisfying sound brought a slight smile to my face as I perused my small collection for the next sacrifice to join its brethren in sleeping with the fishes. My eyes lit up, spying a suitable candidate ‒ this one half again as large as the last. Without much conscious thought in the matter, I quickly grabbed the stone and let fly.

It was something of a habit of mine that whenever I needed to think and the opportunity presented itself, I would find the nearest large body of water, gather up a decent collection of rocks from the shore, and in the parlance of a certain comic strip six-year-old, go spelunking. The river on the southern outskirts of Ponyville had seemed opportune enough, and after having had three encounters with the Music of Harmony in the span of less than an hour, I needed the cathartic release that only doing lithic violence to water below me could provide.

I had done this sort of thing often enough in the past that I could reliably gauge my mental state by the accuracy and force of my throws. And if the stone I’d just thrown was any indication, I wasn’t doing so well. It had travelled maybe a foot in the direction I’d intended to throw it, skewing wildly to my right before landing in the rocky shallows of the shoreline with a flat splat.

Five of my last seven throws had ended in such a manner.

A red haze descended over my vision. I let loose with a string of vile curses caustic enough to strip the varnish from a foot locker before savagely swiping the next rock and chucking it with all of my strength straight downward. The resulting splash was big enough to cover my glasses, face, and part of my trench coat with a light spray of frigid water.

As one might expect, the sudden blast of cold liquid to the face pulled me out of my near-berserker rage. I quickly cast my gaze all about me, but it seemed that I was the only intelligent being within earshot. Letting out a relieved sigh, I wiped my glasses and face clear of water, then turned back to my steadily dwindling supply of stony missiles.

Taking more careful aim with my next throw, I watched the stone fly straight and true before landing in the middle of the river some thirty feet away. I let out a satisfied grunt. It had landed almost exactly where I had intended it to go, give or take a few degrees.

Buoyed by my most recent success, I paused a moment to reflect on everything that had happened since I had come here. Equestria had thrown me a lot of curveballs, and I was on the verge of being overwhelmed by it all. I was amazed that I was still functioning at all.

The biggest thing that weighed on my mind, however, was whether or not I would ever be able to go home again, and what awaited me back there on the off chance that I did make it back. Eleven days was plenty of time for the authorities to find my original body and have me declared dead. And even if that weren’t the case, I’d probably have to explain why I suddenly looked like I was twenty-two all over again.

It didn’t take a rocket scientist to realize that an answer of “magical technicolor talking horses did it” practically guaranteed me a lifetime stay in a padded room with a straitjacket. The more I thought about it, though, the more I realized that it might not be the issue I feared. I’d probably be tapped for the official delegation to make contact with Earth if the portal opened again, since the princesses would probably need someone who could be considered credible in the eyes of my fellow humans.

For certain definitions of “credible,” of course.

Another rock joined its brethren at the bottom of the river as my idle musings continued. All things considered, I got pretty lucky. With the notable exception of the upper echelons of society, most of the ponies I’d met had welcomed me with open hooves. If worse comes to worst, I thought, Equestria might not be such a bad place to settle down. I just need to avoid getting dragged into any more goddamned spontaneous musical numbers.

As if in answer to my unspoken challenge to the multiverse, I could sense the Music of Harmony start to kick in again. This time, however, a slight hiccup in the music at the beginning made it feel more like my “psychic radio receiver” had changed stations and come in on the middle of a song. Shortly thereafter, an unfamiliar female voice reached my ears as I silently berated myself for tempting fate.

Whoever this person was, she had an angelic singing voice. I had to pinch myself to make sure I hadn’t died again. I couldn’t see who the voice belonged to, even after a full three-sixty turn to check.

Without a body to match the voice to, I could almost pretend that it belonged to an equally beautiful human woman. Almost. And that verisimilitude was enough to entice me to let go and join the song, taking over on a new verse.

The unknown voice interjected with some lines of her own:

At this point, I picked up the chorus, dramatically chucking a couple more rocks into the water as I did so.

After very brief dramatic instrumental buildup, I continued with the first part of the bridge. As I did so, my eyes were bombarded with more hallucinations, the most prominent of which was of me standing alongside Twilight and her friends, interposing ourselves between a menacing shadowy figure towering over us and a large city in the middle of frozen tundra that was inhabited by ponies that sparkled like gemstones.

Immediately following on my lead, my enigmatic musical partner added more to the bridge:

The next two lines came instinctively from me, as if I’d practiced them a hundred times previously.

I could just barely make out a strange glimmer coming off of me as the focus passed to my duet partner for the next two lines.

Somehow, I could sense the song coming to an end, with the two of us joining in unison for the final stanzas.

The strange glimmer disappeared during the final part, punctuating my lines with gestures so overly dramatic as to make one wonder if I was trying to milk a giant invisible cow. As the song wound down, I was confronted by four silhouettes ‒ two of which were vaguely familiar.

The odd vision faded away with the last notes of the song, revealing a unicorn mare bearing a vibrant mint green coat. Her short-cropped, wavy mane and bushy tail consisted of a slightly darker shade of green, with a substantial white stripe running through each. The forelock and crest of her mane, however, were hidden beneath a gray Gatsby cap perched on her head just behind her horn. Her amber eyes glimmered with a friendliness matched by the gentle smile she wore. My eyes slid quickly over her lithe frame so as not to give offense, and I noticed that her flank was adorned with a lyre for a cutie mark.

I wasn’t entirely sure what to make of this new arrival, but I didn’t want to be rude, either. It took a few moments before I could do better than imitate a fish, and even then, the best I could do was utter an awkward greeting.

This seemed to amuse the mare, whose silvery laughter tinkled in the air like wind chimes. Almost automatically, I assumed a standoffish posture ‒ arms folded across my chest with my weight shifted to my back leg. My suspicious gaze was accompanied by an involuntary raising of my eyebrow.

I must have made an impression on her, because she cut her mirth short and adopted an apologetic expression, waving a foreleg as if to dispel bad vibes. “Sorry,” she said with a slight smile, “Just some old memories.”

“Must have been some funny memories.”

The mare waved the same foreleg back and forth in an upside-down parabolic arc. I’d seen ponies do that on occasion, and Twilight had explained that it was analogous to a “so-so” hand gesture among humans.

“More like memories that are funnier in hindsight than when you’re in the moment,” the mare said, her smile unwavering. I would’ve sworn I saw a flash of either sadness or regret in her eyes when she said that, but I couldn’t be sure. The mare was proving hard to read, and having my basic senses screwed with by the Music of Harmony mere minutes earlier wasn’t helping matters.

“I see,” I replied, nonplussed. “So, did you come specifically to gawk at the freaky alien, or did you just happen to be in the area and wanted to say ‘hello?’”

“Mostly the latter,” she said, “though I did hear rumors that somepony new who wasn’t a pony had moved to Ponyville. I figured I’d check to see if the rumors were true, and if so, do the neighborly thing and introduce myself.” She extended a hoof at this point. “I’m Lyra Heartstrings, and I’d like to officially welcome you to Ponyville.”

“Well, thanks for the welcome, Lyra. I’m Derren Knox,” I said as I took her hoof in my hand and shook it, drawing a smile from the mare. For some reason, Lyra’s comment made me chuckle as a memory surfaced.

“You know,” I said in response to Lyra’s quizzical gaze, “it’s funny that you said something about verifying rumors. A wise man once said that the more vehemently a rumor is denied ‒ presumably by official sources ‒ the more often it tends to be true.”

Lyra’s eyes twinkled with mirth as her laughter once again played in the air. “Sounds like a wise pony, indeed.”

I barked a short laugh as a knowing smile grew on my face. “Yeah, well, to be perfectly honest, he was actually a fictional alien.”

My use of the word “alien” only served to remind me of my current situation. After a brief, but awkward silence, my expression turned troubled. Lyra must have noticed it, because she asked, “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” I mumbled, waving my hand dismissively.

Judging from her reaction, Lyra didn’t believe me for a minute. “You don’t look fine.”

My expression hardened. “I said I’m fine,” I intoned harshly, turning back to the wooden railing and chucking another stone into the river. It joined several of its predecessors in the shallows along the shore.

I heard the approaching clopping of Lyra’s hoofsteps, but resolutely chose to ignore them. A dull thunk sounded, indicating that she’d laid her forehooves on the railing and was standing on her hind legs. For a long time it seemed like she was just going to let me stew in the maelstrom of conflicting emotions surging through me.

At long last, she spoke up. “Look, I know it’s not my place to pry, since we just met. I do know, however, that if you don’t let out what you’re feeling to someone, even if it’s just the wind, it will eat away at you until you become like a hurricane, lashing out destructively at the world around you.”

I gazed at her out of the corner of my eye as I thought about what she said. She seemed content to just stand there looking out over the placid waters of the river, letting the chill winter wind sweep through her mane. A strange calm seemed to emanate from her. Somehow, I got the sense that it was a calm that wouldn’t dissipate, no matter how fierce the tempest raging around her. It was almost mesmerising in a way.

That eerie calm began to wash over me. My heart began to race as dark suspicions about mind control surfaced, only for such notions to be thoroughly quashed as a second glance revealed that her horn was not glowing. In its wake, shame took up residence in my mind as I realized just how ridiculous I was being. I took a long moment to settle my thoughts. An equally long sigh escaped me before I spoke again.

“I’m sorry,” I said at last.

“Hm?”

“I’m sorry for being short with you. You were just trying to help, and I was rude. I know it’s not an excuse, but it’s… been kind of a rough week-and-a-half for me.”

Another sigh left my lungs as I continued, “You know, I’ve been to some strange places in my day and never had a problem, and that includes the six weeks I spent in Japan on a study abroad program when I was in college. I guess I just figured that I was immune to culture shock. Coming here, however, has been a huge shock, and I haven’t had a moment’s rest to deal with it since I arrived here. And being the subject of four Harmony Songs” ‒ I punctuated the phrase with air quotes ‒ “in the space of as many hours proved to be the proverbial straw that broke the proverbial camel’s back.”

“I take it that the Music of Harmony doesn’t exist where you’re from,” Lyra replied.

“Nope.”

“Pity. I kind of enjoy it. It makes me feel somehow connected to everypony around me.”

“Well, I don’t,” I retorted. “All it does is remind me of just how alien I am to this world. And the worst part about it is that I feel like I’m surrendering my freedom every time it happens.”

Lyra raised a questioning eyebrow, but said nothing.

“I come from a society that values individual freedom ‒ some would say to the point of fetishizing it ‒ so anything that can take away that freedom, especially where it concerns free will, feels like a personal violation to me.”

“Even if it’s something innocuous like singing?”

I nodded. “All that does is make me realize that I’m vulnerable to more malicious forms of mental manipulation. And given what I’ve seen, I’d bet dollars to donuts that magic spells exist that would make even the most sophisticated brainwashing techniques developed by more repressive human governments ‒ fictional or actual ‒ look like child’s play.”

Lyra looked at me for a long moment, as if considering whether or not to mention something that would raise my hackles. “I see,” was all she said.

I let out a long, low noise that let the world know of my disgruntlement. “I suppose I don’t have much choice in the matter except to get used to it, seeing as how I’m stuck here for a while,” I said, lifting my glasses slightly as I massaged the bridge of my nose.

Turning to face Lyra, I met her hopeful expression with a defiant one of my own. “Make no mistake, though,” I said, “I may ultimately come to accept and appreciate it as much as you do, but this planet’s harmonic thaumic resonance field thingy’s going to have to drag me kicking and screaming into that acceptance.”

“It’s a start, I suppose,” Lyra replied with a cautiously optimistic note in her voice.

I rolled my eyes at her and shot her a stern look. I couldn’t hold it for long, however, and eventually we both broke out in tension-shattering laughter. When the laughter died down, we shared relieved smiles for a moment before turning back to gaze out over the river.

Silence descended once more, but this time, it was more of a comfortable silence than an awkward one. I took a moment to think back on our conversation. One aspect of it elicited a slightly amused chuckle from me that caused Lyra to incline her head towards me quizzically.

“It’s funny,” I said finally, “I never thought I’d be meeting actual aliens, much less being the actual alien. And that’s saying something, seeing as how my dad’s from Rachel, Nevada.”

“What’s so important about this Rachel Nevada?” Lyra asked, clearly not aware of the distinction between city and state.

“Not much, in all actuality. It’s a very small town in the western part of the country I came from. Only about fifty people live there, according to the last census, but it’s the closest settlement to a major military base that features prominently in UFO lore.”

“Yoo-eff-oh?” Lyra’s puzzled expression was almost comical as she sounded out the alien abbreviation.

“Short for ‘Unidentified Flying Object.’ Some people are convinced that my world has been visited by extraterrestrial civilizations, and that evidence of such visits is being covered up by the governments of the world.”

“That’s just silly,” Lyra said with a laugh.

I smirked. “Conspiracy theories sometimes are. Actually, the funniest thing about that one is that it ended up providing a bit of a tourism boost to the affected towns. There’s a little bar and restaurant in Rachel called the Little A’Le’Inn that does a decent amount of business. And just to prove how strange my dad’s side of the family is, my grandparents on that side eventually retired to a town called Roswell, New Mexico, which supposedly had it’s own little UFO incident about thirty-two years before I was born. The fiftieth anniversary of the ‘Roswell Incident’ really revitalized the town ‒ for a while, at least.”

Lyra’s silvery laughter rang in the air once more. “Wow. Humans sure are creative, huh?”

I looked at Lyra as if she’d suddenly sprouted another head. “That’s… not the first thing I would’ve thought of if I’d been in your shoes, but sure. Humans can be pretty creative. We wouldn’t have come up with all the technological marvels we did if we weren’t.”

My reaction must have been one that Lyra was used to receiving, because she merely smiled. “I’m an artist,” she said, indicating her flank with a jerk of her head as if that explained everything. “I’m kind of expected to have a little eccentricity.”

I opted to fix her with a flat stare and an unamused expression, which only caused her smile to widen. Shaking my head at her antics, I looked away with a slight smile of my own.

A barely audible tinkling of what sounded like ethereal wind chimes reached my ears, causing me to look back to my unicorn companion. Doing so revealed Lyra’s horn lit up in an amber glow as she telekinetically hefted one of my remaining rocks.

“So, what did the Zweibrucker River ever do to you to deserve having rocks thrown at it?” she asked after a short silence, setting the rock back down in the pitiful pile that remained.

“Nothing. It’s just something I do when I need to settle my thoughts and happen to have a river and rocks nearby.”

“Does it work?”

My grimace probably said it louder than words ever could, but I figured I’d say it anyway. “Sometimes. But not this time.”

“I see.”

I shrugged. “I’m a simple guy with simple pleasures. Sometimes push-pin is as good as poetry to me.”

“Push-pin?”

“An old game on my world from a time before devices such as computers and television existed. It was considered a low-brow form of entertainment in its day, and became sort of a touchstone for debate between two utilitarian philosophers at the time. One argued that apart from personal preference, low-brow entertainment can be just as valuable as higher forms of art.”

“In other words, ‘push-pin is as good as poetry,’ right?” Lyra inquired with a smile.

“Exactly,” I replied with a smile equal to her own, “though the other philosopher held that idea in contempt, arguing that art and science were of far more value than tabloid gossip and base pleasures.”

Lyra’s eyebrows furrowed in concentration. “A stroke of the brush does not guarantee art from the bristles, however.”

Though the response was hauntingly familiar, I couldn’t help but give an amused chuckle at Lyra’s Zen-like reply. “True, which is why this other philosopher ‒ a man named John Stuart Mill ‒ went on to declare that it’s ‘better to be a frustrated human than a satisfied pig.’ I think the point was that the effort exerted was what provided the value, even if the effort ended up being wasted. He was kind of big on people using their talents to better themselves.”

“Sounds like he’d fit in well here,” Lyra replied with a smile.

“Maybe. He’d have to deal with the feeling that he was living in a musical. That and the talking ponies. Unlike this world, humans are the only sapient species back home.”

Lyra looked at me with what appeared to be a mixture of sadness and compassion. “That’s too bad. Seems like you might have been better prepared for what awaited you here if that weren’t so.”

A bitter laugh flew from my lungs, my breath misting in the frigid air around me. “No kidding. There are many things here that you take for granted that would come straight out of science fiction back home.” I waved a hand at the sky around us, even though it was devoid of winged equines. “For instance, weather manipulation.”

Lyra opened her mouth to speak, but I cut her off with an outstretched hand. “And yes, I know that makes my world sound like the Everfree Forest. Lord knows I’ve heard that comparison enough out of the mouths of Twilight and her friends.”

I would’ve continued my rant further, if not for the expression I spied on Lyra’s muzzle. Her eyes had gone a bit wider, her brow taking a crookedness that suggested puzzlement, and a slight frown marring her lips. “I was going to say that it seems a bit chaotic,” she said in a slightly hurt tone that instantly made me regret my pre-emptive strike.

“Sorry,” I replied. In an attempt to atone for my error, I thought harder about her words, and I couldn’t help but chuckle a little.

“I suppose it can be a bit chaotic,” I finally said. “I mean, hell, we even developed an entire branch of mathematics called ‘chaos theory’ partially in an attempt to decipher our world’s weather patterns. It turned out to have useful applications in areas beyond meteorology, but on average only seems to have marginally improved our ability to predict the weather. Go figure.”

Lyra smiled widely in response, ears twitching occasionally. “I’d imagine that makes living there a bit exciting at times.”

“It can,” I said with an amused huff of air, my voice taking on a wistful note as I continued. “One local meteorologist was kind of known for delivering predictions of unusual or severe weather with great gusto. There was one winter when there was a possibility of ‘thundersnow.’ He’d said the word like a ring announcer introducing a professional wrestling champion.”

It took Lyra a full fifteen seconds to recover from the laughing fit that statement provoked. When she’d regained her composure, she said, “It sounds like humans have been able to make the most of such an unusual world.”

My brow furrowed thoughtfully. “I guess. I mean, it’s not like our world is completely chaotic. Even the supposed chaos has a certain order to it. You just have to‒”

“‒find the balance between chaos and harmony,” Lyra finished for me.

I thought about what she said. After a moment, I realized that she had a point. Looking over at her, I noticed her sporting a particularly goofy grin, one that probably mirrored my own.

We both quickly found particularly interesting parts of the river to study. However, before the silence could stretch any further, Lyra plucked up a rock in her telekinetic aura once more.

“So,” she said casually, her smile turning from goofy to coy, “care to show me your own take on ‘push-pin?’”

My smile remained resolutely lopsided as I huffed out an amused chuckle. “Sure, why not?” I replied. “Just one rule: no magic. That’s cheating.”

“Fine,” she said, sticking her tongue out at me playfully. She then dropped the rock into her upturned hoof. “We’ll play it your way.” With that, she gazed calmly out over the river, took aim and hurled it as hard as she could over the placid waters before us.

It flew a few feet further than my best throw, and ultimately splashed down exactly in the middle of the river.

Lyra’s chuckle at my resulting dumbstruck expression quickly snapped me back to reality, and filled me with a desire to try to match her throw for throw. Unfortunately for me, Lyra proved to be my better nine times out of ten. Strangely, I didn’t seem to mind. Perhaps it was because Lyra was a pretty good conversationalist. As we chucked rocks, she told me about singing in the Ponyville Choir and performing with her namesake lyre (though she insisted on calling it a clàrsach, for some reason). I also learned that, like Twilight, she was originally from Canterlot. For my part, I divulged some of what I knew of Earth’s great philosophers, artists, and composers, and that I myself had been known to dabble in playing the piano on occasion. The latter bit seemed to interest her greatly.

I had just launched the last stony missile when one of Lyra’s ears pricked up, then swiveled back towards Town Square. The sound of galloping hooves reached me less than a second later. Sharing a look with my unicorn companion, we turned back towards the sound just as a vaguely familiar cream-coated earth pony mare came into view. She was still wearing the flame-colored flower from earlier in her two-tone pink and blue mane, and a look of rapturous joy dawned on her face as she spotted Lyra.

“LYRA!” she cried, sweeping the unicorn up in a bone-crushing hug. Said unicorn returned the favor, though with much less force as the two ponies nuzzled one another.

“Hey, Bonnie. It’s good to see you, too,” Lyra said with a good-humored laugh.

“I thought you weren’t going to get back from Canterlot until later?” her friend said in wonder.

Lyra smiled sagely in response. “I managed to catch the early train back. I just got back into town about an hour ago. It was very odd to see Ponyville empty like a ghost town. One would’ve thought they’d somehow gone back in time to when everypony was scared of Zecora.”

“I believe I’m responsible for that,” I said, seeing an opportunity to inject myself into the conversation.

“Don’t be so down on yourself,” Lyra replied absently. Her eyes then shot open wide in realization. “Oh, I’m sorry, Bonnie. I didn’t mean to be rude. Bon Bon, this is Derren Knox.”

“Actually, we’ve met already, Lyra,” Bon Bon replied with a patient smile.

“Yeah,” I added, “Princess Celestia wanted to make sure my move to Ponyville went as smoothly as possible, so she decided to have an official town meeting to introduce me to everyone. I seem to recall Bon Bon sharing your interest in Earth, to a degree.”

“Ah,” Lyra replied blandly, “That explains it.” She then turned back to Bon Bon. “I would’ve thought you’d be back home getting ready for the party by now.”

Bon Bon balked slightly, a blush rising on her face for some reason, “Yeah, well, apparently Scary and Frightening needed some alone time.”

“Oh,” Lyra replied lamely, developing a blush of her own. “I see.”

“Scary and Frightening?” I asked.

“My pet spiders,” Bon Bon replied simply.

“You have pet spiders?”

Bon Bon nodded. “They’re a special breed that make good pets and help keep more dangerous pests away from the house. Fluttershy recommended them to me.”

“Ah. That makes sense, I suppose,” I said, rubbing the back of my head nervously.

“You don’t have a problem with spiders do you?” Bon Bon asked with a quizzical cast to her expression.

I shook my head. “Not in general. Just with the dangerous ones like brown recluses and black widows.” A thought occurred to me. “Wait, they needed alone time? As in…” I trailed off lamely, making a lewd gesture with my hands.

Amazingly, for members of a species that lacked fingers, Lyra and Bon Bon seemed to catch on to the gesture quickly. For her part, Lyra merely nodded, a slight pinkish tinge marring her minty cheeks.

“Yes,” Bon Bon said primly, though with a hint of amusement, “That.”

“And I think I just learned more than I wanted to know about spider reproduction,” I said with the fervor of one who desperately wanted to change the subject. This had the unfortunate effect of prompting the two mares to giggle at my consternation.

Bon Bon then looked in the general direction of the sun, seeming to gauge how much time had passed by its movement across the sky. “Well,” she said, “I think Scary and Frightening should be done by now. You ready to go home, Lyra?”

“Sure,” Lyra chirped eagerly. She then turned to face me. “It’s been nice meeting you, Derren. Are you going to be at the party tonight?”

I nodded eagerly. “Definitely. Even if I weren’t willing to go, I’m sure Twilight would be dragging me there regardless.”

Lyra’s laughter sang in the air once more. “Oh, come on. She’s not that bad.”

I gave a wan smile at that. “I suppose not. You probably know her better than me, so I’ll defer to your judgement for now.”

“Wise move,” Bon Bon murmured, prompting a collective eye roll from Lyra and me. Lyra’s, however, seemed a bit more playful, as if she was used to this sort of thing from her friend.

“Anyway,” Lyra said, changing the subject slightly, “Am I safe in assuming that the princesses have already arranged for a place for you to stay here in Ponyville?”

I nodded in confirmation. “I’m staying with Twilight at the Golden Oak Library, at least until I can earn enough bits to move out on my own.”

“I see,” Lyra replied. She then held out a hoof. “Best of luck to you, then. I look forward to seeing you at the party.”

I shook her hoof, then repeated the gesture with Bon Bon, who gave a weak smile in response. “See you two later,” I said.

With a final wave, they turned and started to trot off, lost in conversation about whatever it is females of any species talk about when no males are watching. Watching them head back into town, my thoughts remained focused on the minty mare I had just met. I had only known her for less than an hour, but in that amount of time, she had managed to get me to open up more than I had for Twilight, who had been practically assigned the task of getting me to make friends with the locals.

Life can be funny sometimes. I may not be able to recall being born, what I got for my first Christmas, or even when I went on my first picnic, but I had a feeling that I would always be able to remember when I first met Lyra. There was something about that mare that evoked an obscurely peculiar fascination in me, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. All I knew was that we were becoming fast friends, as if we went together like peas and carrots.

My confused state of mind was thrown for an even further loop as I watched Lyra and Bon Bon recede into the distance. The whole time, Lyra’s tail had been absently swishing like a pendulum, offering glimpses of a part of her anatomy that would normally be hidden from anyone who wasn’t either her lover or her gynecologist.

I shook my head and let out a disgruntled noise. “Fucking ponies and their fucking lack of a nudity taboo,” I muttered darkly once the duo were out of earshot.

Clearly, it was time for more aimless wandering with a blank mind.

My random walk ultimately brought me into a market area just south of the river that ran through Ponyville as the sun was starting to set. The market was mostly deserted, as the few ponies that had set up shop had long since closed down due to the welcoming ceremony earlier in the day.

Semi-permanent stalls dotted the area, suggesting that at least some of the market was only open seasonally. The businesses that were in it for the long haul were housed in more substantial structures along the edge of the open area, one of which was an odd building on the eastern end that was designed like a pastel-colored circus tent.

Even at this late hour, though, there were still ponies passing through the market square. Most seemed to be heading to the various residences nearby, and few seemed to have time to spare for the alien in their midst, whether to gawk awkwardly, or to say a word or two in greeting.

I assumed this to also be the case for one particular pegasus I happened to spot coming in for a landing a few feet away. The pony’s sullenly gold coat shimmered slightly in the waning sunlight. A teal mane and tail, slightly reminiscent of Rainbow Dash in style, rippled in the air behind the pony like a pennant snapping in a stiff breeze. As the pony grew closer, I noticed two things. One, this pony was a mare, like so many that I had met before. The second was the trio of water droplets adorning her flank.

A slight gust of wind kicked up as the mare touched down ‒ hind legs first, in the classic “rearing horse” pose. Watching her flare her wings to slow herself down as she completed the landing was perhaps the most majestic thing I had yet seen in my short time in Equestria. Even Rainbow Dash at her most graceful couldn’t compare, in my eyes.

I must have let an audibly appreciative murmur slip out of my mouth, as the mare jerked her head in my direction with eyes widened in surprise. She slowly adopted a bashful smile and waved at me with a hoof, which I returned.

Unfortunately, she had placed the the hoof she wasn’t waving with down on a loose stone, which made her take a mighty stumble before she could place the last hoof down. I rushed forward to catch her. As luck would have it, her errant movement had given her a forward momentum that was too much for me to handle when we collided a moment later. The air whooshed out of my lungs as my back struck the ground, and I was stunned for a moment.

When I recovered, the first thing I felt was a pair of warm, slightly fuzzy lips pressed softly against mine. At the same time, my nose was assaulted with the (not unpleasant) scent of fresh rainwater. My eyes snapped wide open to find the lips belonged on the muzzle of the mare that I had just crashed into. She had similarly recovered, and was looking at me with an equal amount of shock.

In the blink of an eye, we had managed to put about a foot of space between us. I was doing a passable impression of the seiza sitting position, and out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the mare sitting on her haunches. Disconcertingly, it seemed as if her wings were stiffly extended.

As I began to wonder if I’d accidentally triggered an arousal response in another pegasus, the mare slowly got to her hooves and trotted over. She was blushing madly, and her wings were still erect like a stalk of corn. Hesitantly, she extended a hoof to me. Judging from the uncertain, but hopeful expression on her face, she was offering to help me to my feet.

Placing my right hand in her proffered hoof, I graciously accepted her assistance in getting to my feet. Her hoof flexed slightly against my hand, and I clasped my fingers against the soft fur of her foreleg in response. Once she was certain she had as secure a grip on me as her fingerless appendage allowed, she hauled me into an upright position with a gentle, yet surprisingly firm tug.

It was only now that I noticed the blush that had darkened her complexion since the accidental “kiss” still remained, and that her wings were still doing a passable impression of the flag Neil Armstrong planted on the moon.

“Well,” I said in an attempt to break the ice, “I don’t think this could get any more awkward.”

“Indeed,” she replied blandly. She then turned to her side, reaching back with a forehoof in a vain attempt to get her wings under control. Amusingly ‒ or perhaps disturbingly ‒ the mare’s wings stubbornly refused to stand down.

“Ugh,” she groaned, “Damned inconvenient ‘wingies.’”

I could feel my eyebrow climbing my forehead in morbid fascination. “Wingies?”

The golden pegasus matched my quizzical eyebrow with one of her own. “Seriously?” she demanded. “You don’t know what wi‒” She trailed off suddenly, then buried her face in a hoof a moment later as if she’d just caught herself about to make an embarrassing admission.

“You know what? Never mind,” she said, her tone suggesting that she was decidedly perturbed by the whole situation. “It’s none of your business. Besides, you seem smart enough to figure it out for yourself.”

I called to mind my faux pas with Rainbow Dash nearly a week ago, and how her wings had been in a similar state for a while afterwards. It didn’t take long for my mind to reach the obvious conclusion that our “impactful meeting” had had the same effect on this pegasus that my earlier, largely-innocent groping had produced in Dash.

Glumly, my thoughts turned from the mare’s reaction to the collision to mine. The weirdest thing about it was that it was a lot less of an alien experience than I was expecting. Not that it was completely without… uncomfortable aspects.

For instance, the slightly sparser fur of her muzzle made it feel like I was kissing another guy. Even though my rational mind could point out that both mares and stallions were furry there, the baser part of my mind kept screaming, “Facial hair equals dude equals nope!”

The other problem was more logistical. Even though her shorter muzzle made the mare look a bit more human, the difference between pony facial structure and that of a human was fairly obvious with our lips pressed together. We just didn’t quite “fit” together as naturally as I might with another human.

Compared to how it could’ve gone, however, those were the only real differences. And strangely, it wasn’t nearly as off-putting as I had feared. If anything, it was strangely familiar ‒ almost as if I had kissed a citizen of Equestria before coming here. But that couldn’t be true. These were the first sapient ponies I’d met.

I decided it was best not to dwell on it for the time being. Thinking too hard on conundrums like that was bad for one’s sanity.

“Yeah, I probably can figure it out for myself,” I eventually replied, the neutrality of my voice audibly forced. “And to be honest, it makes this conversation a whole lot more awkward.”

The mare nodded ruefully, letting out a sheepish chuckle. “I suppose it does.”

“How about we make it less awkward, then?” I suggested.

“That would be a good idea,” the mare said blandly. “Let’s start with the basics.” She extended a hoof once more. “I’m Raindrops.”

I gave a hesitant smile, taking her hoof in my hand and giving it a gentle shake. “Derren. Derren Knox.”

“I know,” Raindrops replied, “I was at the assembly earlier. Should’ve known it’d be a flying-room only event.” A long-suffering expression settled on her muzzle during that last sentence.

“Guess I wasn’t the only one winging it,” I replied impishly.

The glare that Raindrops aimed at me could have leveled the mountain Canterlot resided upon. “That pun was bad, and you should feel bad.”

“Sorry,” I replied sheepishly, “it’s a bad habit of mine. I must’ve picked it up from my father. He and one of my uncles were terrible punsters. Every time they’d get together, the bad puns would fly fast and furious.”

Raindrops smirked. “It must be a terrible burden to live with such a curse.”

“You have no idea.”

We broke out into a brief bout of polite laughter at that, during which Raindrops’ wings finally returned to their normal tucked and fluffed position. Once the mirth had run its course, however, an awkward silence descended.

I coughed meaningfully. “Look, I wanted to apologize for how we met. I’m sure we’ll look back on it someday and laugh, but that day is obviously not today.”

Raindrops shook her head. “You don’t have to apologize for anything. If anything, I’m at fault for tripping on that stone.” She gave a wry smirk as she continued, “At least you didn’t molest my wings.”

I let out a brief burst of forced laughter at that. “Yeah. No, thanks. Been there. Done that. Got the hoof-shaped bruises from Dash to prove it.”

“Wait a minute. You groped the Boss’s wings, and she let you live?” Raindrops’ tone sounded a bit outraged.

“She was feeling charitable that day.”

Raindrops snorted in response. “Must’ve been.” She cocked an eyebrow quizzically at me. “You do realize that the flight muscles are sensitive, right?”

“I do now,” I replied blandly. “Not entirely clear on why, though.”

“It helps us when we fly. We can sense changes in the air around us better, and make appropriate adjustments in order to stay airborne. Touch those same muscles in the right way ‒ or the wrong way, depending on how you look at it ‒ and WHAM ‒” she flared her wings in demonstration “‒ instant wingies.”

“I see,” I said lamely.

“As long as you’re clear and promise to avoid it in the future, we’re good.”

I nodded. “Yeah, I got it. Wouldn’t want ponies believing that groping the no-no bits is a standard human greeting.” Good thing I wound up here instead of Tina Foster, was the first thought that came to my mind.

Raindrops fixed me with a cold stare. “Yeah, you wouldn’t want that.” She let out a hearty chuckle after a moment of silence, as if reminded of something funny. “Cloud Kicker probably wouldn’t mind, though.”

“Cloud Kicker?”

“She’s the assistant manager for Ponyville’s weather team,” Raindrops said by way of explanation. “She’s basically between me and Rainbow Dash in the chain of command. She’s also a real barrelwarmer.” The last sentence was practically grumbled out, with Raindrops’ voice taking on a long-suffering tone.

“Barrelwarmer?”

“It means she’ll lift her tail for just about anypony. I mean, she has her rules. She won’t force herself on anypony, for one. She’s also not a herdbreaker.”

The term was unusual, but the context suggested that it was the pony version of homewrecker. I was going to need further clarification on that point. Unfortunately, Raindrops wasn’t giving me a chance to ask, preferring instead to hammer home a particular point about her immediate supervisor’s personality.

“‒but don’t think that you’re safe from her advances just because you’re not a pony,” I heard her say. “She once had a fling with this minotaur who fancied himself some sort of self-help guru when he came to town several months ago.”

“Thanks for the warning,” I said in a deadpan tone. “I don’t know if it’ll do much good, unless I know what she looks like so that I can avoid her, if possible.”

“Good luck with that,” Raindrops replied with a roll of her eyes. “Ponyville’s a small town, so she’s gonna find out about you eventually, even if it’s just through the rumor mill.” She then gave me a peculiar look. “But if you’re dead set on trying, she has a pale purple coat and a dirty blonde mane and tail. Her cutie mark looks like a sun poking out from behind a cloud.”

“Ah,” I said simply, “good to know.”

“No problem,” Raindrops said evenly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to head home and rest up a bit before the party tonight. I had to cover for the Boss today while she was escorting you down from Canterlot.”

“Wouldn’t this ‘Cloud Kicker’ have been the next in line to assume Dash’s responsibilities while she was otherwise occupied?”

“Normally, yes,” Raindrops said with a hint of annoyance. “Unfortunately, she’s been in Cloudsdale the last week or so dealing with a family emergency, so it falls on my withers as the morning shift manager.”

“I see,” I said lamely. “In that case, I’m sorry for putting an unexpected burden on you.”

Raindrops shook her head, one eye widening slightly as an unamused expression wrote itself onto her features. “Don’t apologize for things that aren’t your fault. There was no way you could’ve known, and even if you had, there was nothing you could do about it. Besides, it may not look it, but I love my job, and there’s nothing I’d rather be doing.” Raindrops suddenly developed a sheepish grin. “Except maybe getting into the Wonderbolts, but that’s more of a stretch goal than an actual ambition.”

I chuckled politely at that. “Well, if that’s how you want to play it, then I won’t quibble.”

A yawn escaped Raindrops’ muzzle at that moment. “Good. But for now, sleepy time calls.”

“Alright, then. Don’t let me keep you. See you at the party?”

Raindrops gave a genuine smile. “Wouldn’t miss it for all the scones in Griffonstone. It’s a New Year’s party, after all. Even by Pinkie’s usually high standards, those are the best!”

With that, she flapped her wings a few times experimentally, and waved a hoof at me before departing. I was still watching the northern sky long after she disappeared from sight, mesmerized by her ability to defy gravity with her wings.

As I watched her fly away, an odd feeling gripped me. It was the same peculiar sensation I had experienced the first time I met Lyra, Twilight, Nurse Faran, and one other pony ‒ that odd upper class stallion from my week in Canterlot. For better or worse, somehow I instinctively knew that I’d be seeing more of these ponies as time went on, as if my fate was intertwined with theirs.

I was never one to give much credence to notions of destiny, fate, or anything like that. To me, that had always been unscientific hokum that theocratically-inclined preachers used to scare their flocks into unthinking credulity. And yet, this sensation felt too real to cavalierly dismiss as Bronze Age authoritarian fearmongering, especially since it seemed to be coming from the same place in my mind that now housed the “psychic radio receiver” that was the Music of Harmony.

While I wasn’t sure about the stallion, the others didn’t seem so bad. If a thing like destiny really did exist here, and these ponies were guaranteed to be walking with me on the metaphorical road of life for a while, then perhaps I could take a chance and get to know them better.

Somewhere deep inside of me, a hardened piece of the metaphorical shell I had built up around myself over the years started to crumble away.