Pocket Protector and his sweetums nail the turf with their last darts. With a shrug to the vendor, they slouch off into the night, mumbling to each other in some subhumanoid language they probably memorized on an all-night World of Warcraft quest. You’re up.

“So, anybody win anything tonight?” you ask. You put your wrinkled fiver next to the lockbox on the front counter.

The vendor grunts something while he pulls the darts out of the grass. By his tone you guess that luck hadn’t been with the friendly fair-goers this evening. He gets up, takes a look at your payment, and hands you ten green-stained darts. You take in his foot-long ginger beard and his day-glo dartboard T-shirt. “Pick Your Poison”, it says. An obvious LARPer. He has that look about him.

He backs out of the way so you can make your throws, standing with his arms crossed below the prize shelf like he’s a guardian knight keeping watch over his vassals. The balloons are about ten feet away. They’re all about six inches wide and spaced a foot apart or so, in a rectangular grid painted with badass clowns throwing flaming darts. A pack of girls are in the background of the painting blowing kisses at the clowns.

There’s a cheap shot. Try to throw you off your game by taunting you with dead-eye clowns. Well whoop-de-do. Henceforth and forsooth you dub them ass-clowns. Better not miss, or you’ll look like a piss stain in front of the ass-clowns and their ho’s. You laugh and line up your first throw.

That’s when you discover there’s a problem. Luna had hit you more than once in your arm as you tried to keep her away from your ribs. You could still feel her hoof impacting against your tricep, cutting at the same nerve, making the whole thing go numb. Now it feels like it’s on fire, a pulsing pins-and-needles pain shooting all the way from your shoulder to your fingertips and back.

Fuck it. You aim and let loose with the first dart. It nicks a yellow balloon near the center, going deep enough to pop it. Not the one you were aiming at, but who gives a shit? Your arm shouts at you not to do that again.

The teddy is smiling down on you from above, giving you the old wink-wink. Nice shot, buddy it’s saying. Nine more to go. How’s that arm treatin’ ya?

The prize may as well be at the tippy-top of Mount Everest, now. Unless you start throwing like a girl—and there’s no way you’re letting King Arthur over there see that—you’re fucked internally.

You roll the sharp metal needles in your hand. There’s too much at stake here. Failure is not an option. Maybe if you go at it like ripping off a band-aid, it won’t be so bad.

You let them fly, gritting your teeth through the ever-growing agony. One by one the balloons burst. Your throws land all over the grid as if guided by an unseen hand. Luna knows what’s going on. Maybe she’s watching from afar, giving each of your darts just a little nudge to put them on the mark. God she’s a dream.

You miss your first toss on the seventh try. Four more balloons to pop, three more darts. That’s why you always hated math. You can’t bullshit numbers.

“Keep going!” King Arthur says. “You can still get a consolation prize.” He points up at a row of Wile E. Coyote bobble-heads.

The counter rattles gently as you let your fist fall in what you would have liked to have been an expression of dire rage and defiance of the ass-clowns. Your arm is pretty much dead weight at this point. Oh well, you have one good one left.

“Hey, can I go again? My waifu really wants a teddy bear.”

His Majesty taps his chin. “If ya got another five bucks, sure!”

You dig back into your wallet. Four sour-faced portraits of George Washington stare back at you.

“I’m, uh, a little short. Can I give you four and call it good?”

“Sorry man, can’t help ya. Gotta balance at the end of the night, which is pretty much now.”

Balance? What the fuck is he balancing? Whatever. Arguing with this guy is going to get you nowhere, you can already tell. Maybe you can guilt him into it.

“Please? I’m seriously going to catch a royal beat down from her if I don’t come back with a teddy bear.”

He strokes his beard for a moment, sizing you up like a highlands warrior judging the distance from the tip of his broadsword to the throat of his enemy.

By the way he smirks and clasps his arms behind his back, you know he’s come to a decision. “Riddle me this! What was Constable Odo’s original form prior to being discovered by the Bajorans?”

Sometimes, back in history class, you’d get a question that you could swear wasn’t even written in English. At such times, you spewed the first load of shit popped into your head, usually to the oddly appropriate sound of Schlong and Poop Scoop sending each other messages in fart noises. You’re a deer in the headlights of King Arthur’s nerdmobile, and he’s got venison on the menu.

And of course he sees that he’s bested you. “Be not ashamed, my friend,” he intones, rocking back on his heels. “You are not the first to have fallen into my clutches, and you will not be the last. Perhaps the fair waifu would like a sub instead? They’re a steal at three fifty over at Blobby’s Sandwich and Beverage Emporium. That tent right there, with the pinstripe awning.” He points across the road.

So OK, Luna didn’t want the cantaloupe. Fair enough. The flavor gets to be a bit much after a while, and it’s definitely not for everyone. But you had yet to meet a person who doesn’t enjoy a spicy meatball sub.

“Thanks, man,” you say, and jog over to what might be your last hope for showing Luna a good time. And for saving humanity from the bloodthirsty pony hordes. You muffle your thoughts again to keep Luna in the dark. She deserves a surprise after all this. You’re a zen monk, and zen monks don’t reveal their thoughts to the enemy.

Blobby’s already putting the lids on his steaming trays of meatballs when you get there. It’s clear from the splotches on his bulging shirt that he’s taken dinner, and lunch as well, from the deep, polished steel platters.

“Wait a sec,” you splutter as you shove your singles into his face. “Can I get one of those for my … uh … my mom? She skipped dinner ‘cause she’s recovering from a … really bad … root canal. Bad teeth. Runs in the family.”

Blobby eyes you for a good ten seconds.

“Guy at the dart tent sent me,” you smile.

He shakes his head and uncovers one of the trays. “Guess this won’t be too hard on her teeth. Cheese with that?”

“Yeah, throw some cheese on there, thanks,” you reply. When he’s done ladling a row of meatballs into a white bread bun he’d taken from a side drawer, he grabs something out of a bin behind him and sets it on your plate.

“Here,” he says, “you get a free bag of Doritos, courtesy of Grand Doritos Shopping Center. All I got left is Jacked flavor though. Your mom jacked?” he laughs.

“You don’t even know, dude,” you chuckle. Before you turn to leave, you remember the finishing touch. “Hey, where are the goldfish at? Anybody selling those?”

“Three booths that way,” he gestures with his ladle. “Quarter each unless you’re good with a water pistol.”

“Cool. Oh, one more thing,” you say as you start away. “Is your name really Blobby, or is that just your thing?”

Blobby drops his ladle into the meatball tray. “My name is Blobert Anselm Xanzibar the Third. Legally changed it because I give two shits. Now get the fuck out of here.”

He doesn’t have to tell you twice. You’re already moving, avoiding the few remaining fair-goers still hanging onto the good times in dwindling denial of tomorrow morning’s drive to work. Couldn’t really blame them for milking it. No waifu for them to make it all worthwhile.

The goldfish tent is packing up too, but hadn’t gotten too far to sell you one. You choose a lazy bastard that’s drifting on its side at the top of its plastic baggie. That’ll just melt Luna’s heart, cute little guy like that. You think about what to name his as you run back up the road toward the restrooms.

Luna’s still there at the back, sitting on the grass under the orange lamp. You hide your gifts behind you. After all you’d put her through tonight, she deserves a surprise.

Her serene face is turned upward again, a beautiful dark flower collecting the light of the stars and moon. Perfect setup. You could sit down beside her, maybe lean in against her, and show her all the treasures you’d won for her. Then she’d smile, and out would come the brush, and you’d run it real slow and gentle through her sweet mane, and then …

Her nostrils quiver. “I smell something. Do you have the teddy bear?” she asks. She swings her neck from side to side, trying to see behind you. “No games. What are you hiding there?”

“Surprise, baby! Listen, I didn’t get you the teddy bear, and I’m real sorry about that, but I didn’t come back empty-handed! Here,” you step close and bring the meatball sub up under her muzzle. “Dinner is served!”

She recoils, keeping her nose away from the sauce. “What is this? Is this animal flesh?” She gives it a quick sniff. “It is the remains of some poor cow, or her calf! You dolt! I would never eat this, and you know it!”

Fuck. Fuck. You’d forgotten about that time she’d lost it and turned all tribal on her subjects. She has a thing about meat, and not just because she’s a vegetarian.

“OK, OK, I’m sorry. But check this out! I have an in at the mall. All the Doritos I want. There’s no meat in those.”

She swats the paper plate out of your hand. “I did not ask for your meatless Doritos. I asked for a teddy bear!”

You backpedal toward the restroom wall as she advances. “I tried, baby I really tried this time. I know I screwed up, but … I got you the next best thing. Look!” You hold the goldfish up to the light. “His name’s Slowpoke. Not the swiftest fish in the aquarium, but he’s real cute. Isn’t he?”

She peers into the bag. The fish is still floating on its side, its mouth and gills fluttering every few seconds.

“This was the best you could do? This poor animal is half dead. Tell me, what do you think this would reveal about humanity, were I to show it to the nobles of Equestria?”

Your back is against the brick wall again. You’re inches away from another thrashing. Probably even worse than the last one.

“Uh, slow and steady wins the race?”

Luna stares at you. Looks like she didn’t see that one coming. The momentum’s back in your favor. Time to shine.

“That’s Slowpoke’s message to ponykind, sweetie. Humans aren’t smart, or strong, or perfect like you are, but we …” We what? You look to Slowpoke for inspiration. What are we, buddy? What do we have that would show Luna we’re worth her time?

Slowpoke’s back fin convulses once, making a bubble that skates along the water’s surface and pops when it hits the edge of the plastic.

“We’re survivors,” you finish, extracting the rest of the sentence from your ass. “We don’t quit, no matter how bad it gets. The going gets tough, the tough get going. The nobles would get it. They’d like us. Just give us a chance, like you gave me a chance becoming my waifu. I mean, you liked me enough to bond with me, right?

“Like you?” she asks. She puts a hoof on your chest, and twists it into the fabric of your hoodie. Her eyes are deep and dark as she pushes you into the wall. “I hate you. No. I don’t just hate you. I despise every last iota of your being with every fiber of mine. It took all of a minute after creating the link with you to learn that your heart and mind are repugnant, and I’ve loathed every moment of it ever since. You are unworthy of my friendship, and most definitely unworthy of whatever it is you’ve deluded yourself into believing.”

The ground seems to tremble, and you fall to your knees. Is she saying that she isn’t your waifu?

She pulls her hoof away. “Well? What do you have to say for yourself?”