Author's Notes:

Stuff your ears with wax and lash me to the mast.

I am having tea with the Headmistress.

She and I are discussing a frightfully important mission. I am to descend into the catacombs beneath the school and locate the chef, who has gone missing. There’s something a little sinister about the Headmistress and her gaggle of attendant ladies. Maybe it’s the inexplicably Edwardian clothing? Who can say. But still, employment is employment.

“Most dreams have at least some passing relevance to the life of the dreamer. Yours, however, are something quite distinct. I am unsure what to make of them, honestly.”

Now there was a horse in the room. A dark horse, no less.

“Luna? You were invited, too? Are you going to be help me?” I asked, turning in my seat to find her standing where she had really not been standing before.

“Help?” She asked, stepping in closer.

“I’m having tea with the Headmistresses. We’re discussing the disappearance of her chef,” I said, though this surely should have been obvious.

“Are you now?”

“Well, what else would I be doing here?”

Then I remembered something. I’d just been talking to the Headmistress! A human! There had to be another human here! A dream human, agreeably, but another one all the same.

“Luna, Luna! Quick, look, humans! Other ones!” I said, excitedly. What an opportunity. Luna turned towards me and blinked, looking past and around me.

“Where?”

“Right here! In these chairs in this room! These chairs right here, opposite me! Surprised you didn’t notice them already! I mean-”

The chairs were all empty. They had been empty from the start. This I knew, this I’d known all along, but only now did it click what it actually meant.

“Urgh, again. Fucking hell. And I knew what they were wearing, too? How does that even make sense? At least I have tea,” I said, raising my cup for a sip.

I paused.

“This is soil,” I said.

Sighing, I put the cup and saucer down, straightened out the suit I was inexplicably wearing and ran a hand over my face as I sank deeper into the chair.

“Well that’s not great. Ah well.”

Then another thought struck me. Trying to think straight in a dream wasn’t easy, or maybe it was and I was just rubbish at it. Either way.

“Hey, wait a minute. How come you’re here at all? How come I’m here? Aren’t I supposed to be on a train?”

I was, actually. I remembered this distinctly.

I had gone to sleep the night before, woken up, had a very brief breakfast before hurrying to the station to catch the first train to Canterlot it was possible to catch. Twilight had been there to see me off, lovely girl that she was, and I’d paid for a ticket with what few Bits - Bits! Honestly… - I’d amassed over my time in Ponyville.

Rarity had insisted on paying me on at least two occasions. She was a very difficult lady to say no to. So was Applejack, actually, but she was slightly easier to slip away from so had yet to remunerate me.

I’m kind of an odd guy, now I come to think about it...

From what dim memories I had of home, train fares were far more reasonable here in Equestria. Another tick in the column of me coming here being a not-terrible thing, I suppose.

The point being, why was I dreaming at all?

“You are on a train, I believe. You fell asleep on the train. This is not uncommon,” Luna said. By now she’d walked around so I wasn’t having to crane my neck to talk to her, and she’d sat in the chair that the Headmistress would have been sitting in had she ever been there to start with.

Ah. Falling asleep on trains. Well that made sense. But did raise something further:

“But it’s the middle of the day. You can do daydreams, too?”

“I can. It is uncommon, but I can.”

I wasn’t sure why this was such a surprise to me. I’d just sort of expected her to be asleep. Maybe she was? I had no idea how dreamwalking fanciness was meant to work.

“Well how about that. I find it a lot easier talking to you in dreams than I do in person - is that weird?” I asked.

“In dreams you are more relaxed. Or, rather, you are less tense. You are almost always relaxed, John, perhaps sometimes more than is good. As I have said.”

“And you’re not the only one, either. But that’s neither here there. How’s you? Good? To what do I owe the pleasure of you clip-clopping into my head again? During the day, no less!”

I should have been angrier about that, really. My head might have been a jumbled, semi-occluded mess but it was still my head and the only place in the whole world that was well and truly only mine.

Except for when magical horses felt like coming in.

But I don’t know. Dreams didn’t seem to phase me much, with a guest. It felt more like they were a receiving room, somewhere that wasn’t part of the greater structure. These were visits and not invasions. Or so it seemed to me. But I was asleep, so could I be trusted?

“You are returning to Canterlot, I believe? You are liable to arrive while I am still asleep. I felt it wise to speak to you beforehand.”

Kind of creepy, but roll with it.

“Uh, why?”

“Because I know why it is you are coming back.”

“You do? How on earth could you? I barely do!”

“There is the possibility that I am more perceptive than you,” she said, adding under her breath: “There is the possibility that a brick wall is more perceptive than you.”

That second part was a little hard to make out, though.

“What was that?”

“Dream incantation. I am somewhat out of practise with daydreams, as I say.”

“Oh, oh right. Of course. Incantations.”

Sure, I’ll believe it.

“So, uh, why am I coming back, then? And why is it something you felt the need to talk to me about?”

“As it will concern my sister - this is not an especially wild guess on my part - and may impact her wellbeing. Her behaviour has been erratic since your arrival though rather more consistent since you stopped residing in the palace. If I had to describe it I might say that she was pining for you,” she said.

“Oh. That’s not very good,” I said, feeling the tiniest of stabs. I think being in a dream muted it, for which I was grateful. Things were always looser and fluffier in dreams.

“No, it is not. But it is what it is, and at this point there is very little I can do about it and less I can do to change her mind on the matter. She is a grown mare and she can do what she likes and I trust her to act responsibly, more or less. You I am less familiar with, and given that your actions and decisions will directly affect her I felt it best to - as I said - speak to you first,” she said.

Should probably tread carefully here. Would be helpful if I was awake, but I was hardly the sharpest when conscious so it hardly mattered. Just had to do my best.

“Right. To...warn me? Or gauge my intentions? Or what?” I asked.

“Gauging your intentions would be the closest, thought there may be also be a warning. You are somewhat difficult to predict, though I do have an idea of what is going to happen.”

“Which is?”

“I would imagine that you and her are going to engage in further shenanigans and canoodling, given your previous behaviour together and being as how you seem to be about as infatuated with her as she is with you, for whatever reason.”

Hey, whoa now.

“Infatuation is a real strong word there, Luna. Not the one I’d use,” I said, giving her my best ‘hey now’ frown. It didn’t seem to faze her much. Not that it was easy to tell with Luna. Probably could have shit on the floor and she wouldn’t so much as blink.

“What word would you use?”

“Feelings. I have, uh, feelings for her, you could say. Ones that are, ah, complicated?”

The word ‘feelings’ was loaded and unwieldy but it was the first one that come to mind for me. Still, it was a word that begged qualification. Like having a ‘relationship’ with someone.

You can have a relationship with the man down the road who you despise - your relationship is that you hate one another. That’s a relationship, and your feelings for him would be one of resentment.

But start bandying the words around and people always start assuming.

“I was aware of this,” Luna said.

“I think I was, too. Just was, uh, ignoring them, for the most part. Guess that’s bad, huh?”

“It may well be.”

An awkward silence in a dream feels a lot worse than one in real life, though it’s difficult to pin down why. I checked my teacup. Still full of soil.

“Feels a little odd talking to you about this,” I said, looking up to Luna. How she was managing to sit in the chair was a mystery. Anytime I tried to properly look at it my eyes seemed to slide off.

“You are under no obligation to do so,” she said.

“Well, you did come here specifically because of this, didn’t you? I thought it was kind of the point?”

“Yes, but you are still under no obligation to do so, I cannot compel you. We could talk about something else, if you prefer?”

Was she fucking with me? Why did Luna have to be so bloody confusing?

Well I was calling her bluff:

“...I’m learning to sew?”

“So I heard. I heard that you were making yourself comparatively useful around Ponyville. This is good. It is good that you are keeping yourself busy.”

Were I the confrontational sort I might have been of a to mind to take ‘comparatively useful’ as an insult. But I am a seething mass of self-loathing and low self-esteem in the shape of a man, so I took it in the low-key positive sense I assume it was intended to be in.

“I thought so too. Thanks,” I said.

Another pause.

“I do not wish to come across as unduly harsh on you, John, I just do not understand fully how my sister is feeling, especially as regards you. But I am not her, so it hardly matters. Certainly, I can at least say that this is different than the birds.”

“That’s something. Glad to hear that,” I said.

“I should point out, of course, that if you hurt her in any way you will regret it.”

That she gave no further, lurid detail as to the hows and whys of this regret just made it that much worse. It set my imagination to work immediately. Surely, pissing off a magical horse princess who could waltz into your dreams at will could only end badly.

“That’s terrifying,” I said.

“Thank you.”

I had not meant it as a compliment. Time for a shift change.

“Hey, I’ll be dead before you guys even know it and then you can put this whole episode behind you,” I said, trying to look self-effacing. This came easy to me, because I always look self-effacing.

That actually got a reaction from her, to my surprise. A muted, tiny one, but from Luna that definitely counted.

“Please do not speak like that, John. I do not wish you dead, nor do I wish to be reminded of how many I have known are no longer here.”

“Ah, shit. Sorry.”

“It is alright. Though, as some advice, I would recommend not mentioning your mortality to Celestia either,” she said.

“Probably a good idea. Thanks, again. Uh, anything else you want to press me on?”

I was unsure if what had happened constituted a grilling or not. It hadn’t felt like one.

“No, I feel I have the measure of you from this.”

“And?”

“And I am content. Or as content as I may be. I am confident the situation will resolve itself without catastrophe,” she said.

Charming.

“That’s my favourite way for situations to resolve themselves.”

A smile! She smiled! Only barely but it was there! That was the second one? Maybe? I lose track.

“I am sure I shall see you awake soon enough, John.”

“I’m kind of hard to miss.”

“That you are.”

And then she wasn’t there anymore. It wasn’t like she left, that would have implied a certain level of movement. She just wasn’t there. And I knew that. Dreams, man, fry your brain. And my brain’s had quite enough of that.

I stared at the soil in my teacup and willed it to be actual tea, but nothing happened. Guess I didn’t quite have the knack yet.

Then, quite unexpectedly, every single surface splintered into countless pieces and I plunged straight down like a stone, waking up abruptly spread across two seats in a train carriage with a pony in a guard uniform shaking me gently.

“Is this your stop, sir?” He asked. He had the most magnificent moustache and for a moment I was dazed by it. Then I parsed what he’d said.

Ugh, being called sir. More to the point:

“How do you know that?”

Was he a wizard?

“You put a note up before falling asleep,” the guard said, pointing to my lap where I’d indeed propped a little note that I’d made earlier and had Twilight write out for this exact reason and brought along in my bag of things (a repurposed sack with a crude strap I’d managed to sew on, but don’t tell anyone that).

“Oh yeah, I did do that. Thanks,” I said, taking my stick and heaving myself upright. Or as upright as was possible in the teeny-tiny pony carriage.

Onwards and upwards.