“Crimson?”

“Huh?” he suddenly sits up from his laying position, eyes breaking open to stare into the void. He focuses on Dahlia, realizing he's sitting on the floor.

“… Dude, you look horrible.” Dahlia tilts her head, looking him up and down. "Did you sleep on the floor?"

“Yeah, nah, I, uh..." he stops briefly, fixing his thoughts. He looks around, finding great disappointment in still being far from home. He sighs, getting himself composed before continuing. "Probably fell off the couch while I was sleeping. I'm fine.” Dahlia tilts her head back slightly, cringing her face to overtly display her complete disbelief. "Serious."

She doesn't believe him for a second, concluding that he failed to get even a wink of sleep last night, but she doesn't bother with the subject much further. “... Weeell, aaalright then, if you say so. ... C’mon, breakfast and then go. No time to lose,” Dahlia turns around, trots to the kitchen, and opens a cupboard containing pans. She takes one and places it on the stove, turning the stove on with a match.

Crimson rises and already knows the first thing he must attend to. He walks to the hallway, examining each door. They’re all closed except for one on the far right. He moves to it, peering inside. There's a toilet and sink, so he reckons it's the right room. He opens the door completely and walks into the restroom, tending to his business. He can already hear the kitchen sounding off the music of food being prepared.

"Hey... sorry about your father. He was a good man. ... He loved you and your sister very much."

Crimson closes his eyes for a moment, feeling himself getting stressed as his mind races backwards. It tends to do that from time to time, but he's gotten much better at fighting off the negative emotions of the past.

He never really could be a child for long. For his sister's sake, he needed to grow up quickly, as it was only him and her through hell and high-water, thick and thin. ... But something is missing. Something inside of his mind echoes nothingness every time he tries to tap into certain pieces of his memory.

He doesn't let it bother him for now. He's got plenty of time to figure everything out once he's accustomed to his current situation, whatever that happens to be. After he's done emptying his bladder, he redoes his makeshift loincloth and heads back out to the living area. He looks to Dahlia, who is dancing around the kitchen, pouring this, moving that, cutting there, sprinkling here. It’s rather graceful, he thinks. Fast, efficient, but accurate. It hardly makes any sense since her body moves in ways that normal horses don’t, and shouldn't, but it’s right there. He’s seeing it. It’s happening right there in front of him.

He moves towards the stools that are perched next to the kitchen’s counter, giving him a front row seat to this pony chef in action. “Where’d you learn to cook like that?” Crimson asks, gazing at Dahlia as she drops diced potatoes onto the pan.

“Self-taught. One of the few daily tasks that isn’t exactly a chore to me,” she says without distraction.

“Cookin’… hmn,” his eyes focus on the wall.

Dahlia shoots a quick glance at him, seeing him furrowing his brows in thought. “You sure you're feeling alright?"

"I guess. As alright as someone could be after bein' taken from his home."

Dahlia purses her lips, finding nothing else to add. The man leans forward, putting his chin on his palm. His focused stare drops for exhaustion. A few minutes pass in silence as Dahlia finishes preparing breakfast. She takes the two plates onto her wings, walking over like a waitress would, or… like a pony waitress would. It's seriously an odd sight, but there's no use in questioning it. She places one plate in front of Crimson and the other aside his plate. Dahlia hops onto the stool next to him, taking her seat.

“Eat up. And make sure you eat all of it. Food gets expensive.”

Crimson nods, sitting up straight and taking a weird, fork-esque utensil in his right hand. He looks over to— “… What in the world?” his mouth opens slightly in disbelief.

“What?” Dahlia asks with a mouthful of food.

“How'n the hell are you doing that?”

She swallows quickly, “Doing what?”

“The fork. How're you holding that thing?”

“What’s with that word you keep using? ‘Hell.’ What does that even mean?” Dahlia tracks Crimson's stare, down to the fork she’s holding with her hoof. “The fork? Well, duuh, I’m able to hold it like you’re able to hold it.”

“Th-- … No?” Crimson squints his eyes, witnessing this feat of witchcraft. It is as if she doesn't understand that fingers are the entire reason he is able to hold his own utensil. Hers simply gravitate towards the shoe of her hoof or something. Her nonchalant attitude towards it signals to him that whatever it is she's doing, it's normal here. “… Nevermind.”

Dahlia shrugs and continues eating. Crimson focuses onto his plate, consisting of eggs with diced potatoes and cooked broccoli. After some prods with his fork and nothing else, the mare glances over to him again, speaking with a full mouth, "The point of the fork is to stab the food, then put it in your mouth."

"Ah, had no idea. Thanks for the tip."

Dahlia swallows her food and sets down her fork, finished with her plate. "Listen. Crimson. I get there's a lot you might be going through right now. Are you actually up for heading out with me today? If you need another day of rest, then get it."

"Nah, I'm good. Really. Like I said, just thinkin' is all... trying to piece stuff together. Even if my head feels fogged, no sense in wastin' time."

“Don’t think of stuff that will distract you, Crim. If we’re gonna do our thing today, I need your A-game."

“Aye, aye, cap'n Deedee."

"Deedee?" Dahlia lifts her left brow at the nickname.

"Yeah, Deedee. Y'know, 'Dahlia Do?' Both start with 'D'. Deedee. You don't like it?"

"... It doesn't bother me, I guess. Never heard that nick before, and I've definitely had a few. ... But back to what you said. Are you having, like... memory problems? Fogged head and stuff?"

"Hm, it's not memory issues, I suppose, it's more like... like..." he drifts off, failing to come up with a comparative conclusion. "I can't really put it into words. It's just like certain memories are missing, but I don't remember what they could be."

“You can't remember what you don't remember, genius. For now, don't worry about it. I need you focused,” she says, looking at Crimson’s half-finished plate.

“Yeah,” he muses, eating some more before stopping once again. His eyes shift to Dahlia’s empty plate, then back to his. “Think I can ask you some stuff, Deedee?”

“Sure, but eat faster. The more daylight we have, the better.”

“… So, that mine or whatever, that place where you found me knocked over. Was that a place you were expectin' to be yesterday?” he asks, stabbing a potato slice and sticking it into his mouth.

“Yeah, I was gonna raid that temple until I saw you stretched out in front of it like a dead dog. Wasn’t able to get back to it after I dragged your fat ass all the way back to my lodge. That took literally all day.”

“Mm. Guess I got lucky, you bein’ there at that time and place,” he says after swallowing, taking more food into his mouth after.

“Not sure what the 'hell' you were thinking going to that place all by yourself with zero knowledge. You would have probably died. I mean, you should be dead right now, but you’re not, so be happy about that,” she gives him a condescending gaze.

“I couldn’t tell you what I was thinkin’ yesterday. Probably because I wasn’t. When I first woke up here, it’s like my body was doin' its own thing. I didn’t think, I just… moved. Almost felt like somethin’ was movin’ for me,” he sets his fork down, finally finished with his plate. "Somethin' about me doesn't feel right."

“So you don’t typically go around touching ancient golden-encrusted doors for the fun of it?”

Crimson shakes his head, still staring down at his fork, "Least I don't try to."

“Good, cuz otherwise you'll die, and I certainly won't be dragging your body around. It was pretty stupid to go and do that, even if your body allegedly moved on its own,” Dahlia rests her foreleg on the counter-top, holding her head with her hoof.

“Yeah, yeah, get on my back about it if I do it again. Gimme room, here," he gives her a displeased stare, to which she shrugs off as unimportant. "Anyways, another thing I was curious about. Why did you drag me all the way to your home and sink your time in gettin’ me safe? Bet it had somethin’ to do about sellin’ me for two-thousand 'pieces' or whatever.”

Dahlia straightens up instantly. “… Eehehe. Y-Yeah, so, about that. I was… em…” Crimson shifts his eyes from his plate of food to her, giving her a dead-pan stare. She breaks easily at his glare, especially since he's rather close. “… Okay. Fine. Yeah. I was gonna sell you. You can't blame me! I mean, look at you! You're rare!” she points with both her hooves like if she was presenting some sort of prize. "You would have fetched a serious bag of bits!"

“What’s so different about me? Humans where I come from aren’t very different from myself.”

“Well, lots of things when you really get down to it,” Dahlia looks at him, scanning up and down. “For one, you’re freaky tall. You’ve got the tallest human found in Equestria beat by like an entire foot. Another thing is your body. It’s like someone took a knife and carved you those muscles. Hardly any fat. It’s… well, uh…”

“Appealing?”

“Pfft, keep dreaming, chump. It might be to some other ponies out there, but I’m not as primitive as them,” Dahlia rubs her ears backwards as she presents her position. "I'd say it's more along the lines of 'gross' and 'weird.'"

“If that's what'll let you sleep at night, sure" he says, visibly entertained. "So why aren’t you tryin’ to sell me now?"

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe it’s because you can TALK. You'd probably rat me out or something. A pony in my line of work has plenty of enemies and zero friends.”

“Rat you out? Nah. I reckon the talkin' human part would add to the value of the sale though.”

“It would probably add to the Royal Guard and the Horseshoes coming down here along with every powerful sorcerer to find out what the deal with the talking human is,” she remarks seriously. "Crazy magic stuff has been happening recently, so I think your existence would cause some negative waves. Let's keep it on down-low for now, alright?"

It’s obvious to Dahlia that Crimson doesn’t exactly know what she’s talking about, but he seems to get the general idea. “Mm... so what do humans do in this world? You said sellin’, so I reckon they’re property. Figure they’re dumb as a bag of hammers. What purpose would they even serve?”

“Depends on who you ask. Farmers like using them a whole lot. They’re like omni-tools. They can help measure, they can fetch stuff, hold stuff, and some super well-trained ones can even use machinery at a basic level. Pretty cool stuff when you watch them go at it,” she says with an amused smile. “Then, ponies with too many bits love to buy them and play dress-up. There’s human beauty competitions that are held pretty frequently in major cities. Kind of a waste of bits since humans can get pretty expensive, but everyone's got a kink, I guess.”

“… This Equestria world is basically my world... but with horses and humans… flipped?”

“Well you should know. You’ve kinda been there, and I haven't.”

Crimson looks towards the window, seeing the morning sun rising. “Well, I think we should get movin’ then. Food was good by the way. Thanks,” he says as he stands up from the stool.

“Yeah it was good, I made it. I’m amazing,” Dahlia says proudly as she takes the plates with her wings, walking them to the sink and giving them a quick rinse. She proceeds over to her saddlebags and gets them on in one swift toss with her mouth. She directs her gaze over to Crimson, who is still watching the beauty of the morning from the window. “Plan time,” Dahlia speaks, attracting his attention once again. “So this is gonna be a weird situation. You’re gonna have to go undercover with me if you want to attract the least amount of attention as possible. Things will go much more smoothly if nothing seems out of the ordinary.” Crimson raises an eyebrow, allowing her to elaborate. Dahlia squints in thought and continues, “The only thing I can think of that would work is you pretending to be my pet. That way I can—”

“’Scuse me?” Crimson interrupts.

“Mrr, yeah, yeah. I’m not a big fan of the idea either, but that's all I've got. You give me some suggestions then,” she gawks at him in annoyance.

Crimson ponders silently. His blank, dumb look remains plastered on his face. The thought of being perceived as property is too insulting to let rest. "You sure it's gonna be a scandal if I can talk?"

"Trust me, it will be. Let's not risk that, for both of our sakes."

"Unless it'll end in both of our deaths, I'd say give it a try."

"Crimson, no," she glowers at him. "We're not doing that. Who knows Equestria better, you or me? I wasn't joking when I said we'd get every major power jumping down our throats if anypony found out you can talk. I don't care how tough you think you are, you are NOT taking down the Consortium OR the Horseshoes by yourself."

He purses his lips and shifts his hazel eyes away distastefully.

“Exactly. Now quiet and let me explain. You’re going undercover as my pet. When ponies believe you’re my property, I can get them to piss off if they’re getting too close to you. I… don’t exactly have your proof or anything, so I’ll probably have to think of an excuse for that if we get stopped. Hopefully the sheriff’s still asleep or something.”

“Assumin' this crazy fuckin' plan of yers works, what do I do to NOT attract any attention? What constitutes as normal fer the humans here? Should I be makin’ some sorta noise or somethin’? Like a monkey?”

“Nope, none of that. From what I know, humans don’t make any noises unless they’re angry at something, then they growl. But… stop with the face thing,” her muzzle scrunches as she points at his front.

Crimson replies with the furrowing of his brows, illustrating his confusion.

“Your face. Facial expressions? You know, these things?” Dahlia proceeds to make a silly happy face, a frowny face, and a pouty face. The man finds humor in her expressions, smiling slightly at how adorable they came off.

“You're doing it again. Smiling. Humans don’t make faces, unless they’re pissed off. So don’t make any faces. At all."

"Why's anger the only face they make? That don't seem right."

"You're asking the wrong pony, Crim, but that's how it is. So wipe that smile off your face," Dahlia says as she pseudo-combs her mane.

Crimson slowly opens his mouth for a wide, fake smile that shows his front teeth.

“... Seriously?” Dahlia cringes, taking a step back in disgust.

Crimson shifts his eyes away and shakes his head, finding her sense of humor lacking.

“For real, get your game-face on. Literally. We’re heading out,” Dahlia trots over to the couch and picks up the forgotten collar that was knocked onto the floor. She brings it back, using her wings to fly up and place the collar around his neck. Crimson notices that she’s decided to hover and place the collar, rather than couple up to him and stand on her hindlegs like she first did when she thought he was dumb. “Stay close and don’t say a word. Or make any faces. Or do anything at all unless I tell you to,” she demands as she takes the leash hoop into her hoof.

“Whatever you say, master,” he replies irately.

“Master, ey? I can get used to that.”

“The day you do is the day we have problems, you and I.”

Dahlia sticks her tongue out at him, walking with Crimson behind her out of the lodge and into the forest. She tugs at him lightly and walks around the lodge, heading to a rather specific patch of shrubs.

The collar tugging creates a mix of humiliation and discomfort in Crimson, but he does well to ignore it. For now. He's certain it'll become worse when sentient beings can acknowledge the position he's in.

They enter the patch, heading past it, revealing a rather discreet path cut into the forest. Probably Dahlia’s own little route.

Crimson takes this time to look around at the forest. Now that he’s seeing it, the colors, the trees, the… everything. It all doesn’t make any sense. Trees are shaped very oddly, the clouds in the sky look nothing like they did back at earth. The sun seems larger, the green of this forest seems too lively. The dirt is soft and rich, no thorns at all. Walking barefoot on this forest ground is very pleasant.

As he looks up at the barely-visible sky, past the tree branches, he feels very unsettled. The idea of him wanting to return home, he knows he wants to, but at the same time, he feels like there's something missing. He remembers a voice, but can't recall what it had said. He certainly knows he doesn't want to be stuck in this foreign land forever, but something inside his very core tells him there's a piece of the puzzle lacking.

As they continue along the path, Dahlia seems uninterested in everything around and remains quiet. Since she’s a denizen of this land, of course everything is usual and boring for her. It doesn't stop Crimson from constantly looking around like a kid in a candy store.

Some minutes of walking pass by, and the forest seems to be receding. Indeed, the forest comes to an end when the lovely soil turns into coarse, dry, and warm dirt. Out in the distance, Crimson spots a town of some sort. It reminds him of… “… Dodge?”

“Yup. Dodge Junction. Home of the best cider you’ll ever dr—” Dahlia’s eyes grow wide and she stops. “… How did you know that was Dodge?”

“It reminds me of Dodge, a place back on earth. Looks almost… exactly like it. It was a nearby town to where my stead was,” his eyes are squinting, trying to get a better view of it from where he stands. "Used to go there and drink all the time with some assholes."

“You're distracted again, Crim. No more talking, mmkay?”

Crimson nods. The two make way to the town, crossing over some unfinished railroad tracks. Upon entering Dodge, Crimson sees a town full of colorful equines roaming about the early morning. He stares at the scenes happening before him. Technicolor ponies drawing carts full of produce, walking in and out of wooden buildings, some even levitating items with some sort of ethereal energy that glows from the bone-spike protruding from their forehea--

“Nrh,” Crimson grunts.

Dahlia looks at him with an annoyed expression, tugging the collar. Crimson returns a spiteful gaze, but quickly reassumes his façade. Dahlia continues walking with her pet human. Once inside the town, Crimson is too busy looking at the structural layout of the town itself to notice anything else. He directs his sight to the far end, finding the sheriffs office at the top of the T. The semblance of this place to what he knows is uncanny. “Mrh!” he grunts again as he is slightly staggered by Dahlia forcefully pulling the collar again. He gives her a look of angst, not understanding what he did wrong this time. He has half a mind to yank the fucking leash his way...

... in fact, he does. He discreetly slows his pace and jerks his head back, causing Dahlia to nearly trip. She regains her balance before looking back at him with a furious glower. He gives her a look back of innocence, as if he doesn't know why she's so angry. She slows down and walks beside him. She looks around prudently before whispering-yelling to him, “Stop fucking around!"

Crimson blinks back at her passively, still feinting ignorance. He dismisses her and begins to look around. Large, curious, colorful pony eyes, all staring at him, mares and stallions alike. Half the town has halted their routine to just stare at him, perhaps pensive due to Dahlia staggering just now. He looks forward, keeping his face blank and stupid, slouching the most he can to drop a few inches off his height.

Dahlia leads herself and the unruly man to a store on the right side of town, a store that has a sign which displays a silhouette of a pony wearing boots and a hat.

Upon entering the door, a bell jingles out their entrance. A mare sits on a counter at the far end of this establishment. Crimson looks around, smelling the smell of… cloth, and shoe polish. A clothing store to be sure. All of it looks so small and oddly designed, and he comes to realize that it’s pony clothes, and commences fighting the urge to snicker at how silly it all appears to him. Why would a pony even need boots?

“Morning to you, missy! How can I--? … Oh? Ooh~” the light brown and orange mare tending the store is immediately drawn to the man. “Miss Wisp, when did YOU buy a human? I remember you saying that you weren’t interested in that sort of thing!”

“Hey, Winty. Well, I had a… well, look at him! I couldn’t have possibly have passed this one up!” Dahlia smiles as she points her left wing at Crimson.

“Oh, I agree completely! What. A. Stud! He’s nothing I’ve ever seen before! What breed is he?” the mare questions as she moves herself around the counter to approach Crimson.

“Hm, don't know. It wasn’t ever specified to me, but he sure does look great, right?"

“Definitely!” the mare looks up to Crimson’s eyes. Her large, orange irises reach into his soul.

He gazes back into her large, beautiful orbs. He feels mesmerized looking at them from such a close distance. They shimmer beautifully, and they're reflecting the world almost perfectly. ... He sees himself in them, how utterly fucking belittling this entire situation looks, right through the eyes of this equine.

“Mmm, you don’t suppose your lovely human here is good for breeding is he?~ I would just love to—"

“Castrated,” Dahlia spouts. “Sorry, Winty…”

“Aww, shoot. That's a real bummer. But that explains why he’s such a good boooy~ You wouldn't mind if I gave him a quick lil' pet, would you?”

Dahlia looks up to the man, seeing him stare forward into oblivion. She takes it upon her own volition to look back down to Winty and say, "Sure, but just a quick one."

"Ohoo!~ Yes, ma'am!" The mare leaps up onto her hindlegs, balancing herself the same way Dahlia first did. With Dahlia giving a quick tug of the collar, Crimson leans down enough for her to run her hoof through his messy red hair. He resists the urge to scream vehemently, though luckily she keeps to her word and only pets him briefly. He stands back up to his full height, searching for his pride in the void. "Oh! Just so precious, he is!"

Fortunately, despite this complete embarrassment, Winty doesn't suspect a thing. What he notes, however, is the smallness of these ponies which is that much more apparent when they're this close to him. Nothing compared to the larger, majestic beasts that are the horses back home.

After this, he thinks he will never be able to look at them the same ever again.

“Yeah, so," Dahlia continues, "I was just stopping by to get some clothes for him. Don’t suppose you got any human clothes in stock?” she asks, staring at Crimson’s expression again. He’s still managing to hold that bored, tired, stupid face. She feels a sense of relief, giving some admiration to the man's fortitude. She almost senses that he's a little too good at that face.

“Ah, of course!” the store mare falls onto all fours, turning and trotting with haste towards the back of the counter. She rummages under it, out of sight. Dahlia gives her human a confident glance, who in turn returns nothing but a bored gaze. The store mare takes out a box and places it onto the counter. “Here we are! I’m… sorry that we don’t have anything very gracious to fit your lovely human with, but it’s something!” she chuckles.

“No problem. Thanks, Winty,” Dahlia says as she approaches the box, looking inside of it.

Drab cloth shirts, shoddily hemmed pants, flip flops. The man looks at the contents of the box with pure delight. His critically squinting eyes simply shout with glee.

“I think I’ll take this one. This, and this one,” Dahlia takes out the largest shirt that’s in there, some hard-wearing fabric shorts that have many pockets, and the only pair of footwear.

“Sure thing, miss Wisp! That’ll be…” the mare looks over at the clothes, then to Crimson. Dahlia reaches into her saddlebag and takes out her coin purse, waiting for a price to be called. “… Mm, you know what? Help yourself! I couldn’t charge that adorable human of yours a single bit for these drabs~” the mare flutters her enticing eyes at him.

“Uh…" Dahlia looks between Crimson and the love-struck mare. "Thanks? ... You sure I can just take this stuff?”

“Well, you could... if... I could give that handsome stud a… peck on the cheek?” the mare smiles wryly, with a small blush forming on her face.

The idea of free-ninety-nine brightens Dahlia instantly. “Oh, that's it? Really? Hah, go right ahead! Free clothes!” Dahlia smiles, looking at Crimson. His brows twitch slightly, actively preventing themselves from furrowing.

Winty trots around the counter again, moving to the human with anticipation. She jumps up again, resting her forelegs on his abdomen. She gazes into his eyes for a silent moment. The blush on her face is hard to ignore, and her glistening eyes are entrancing.

Crimson's left eye twitches before he leans down again, letting Winty reach her muzzle in. She presses her lips against his cheek. Her soft, fuzzy nose tickles his skin. Both the mare and the human share an ecstatic shiver of such a distinctly surreal sensation.

She retracts and giggles, “Oohohoho! What an amazing experience!” she falls back to her four legs, and Crimson stands straight again. “You know, my cousin last time wanted to kiss a human. It didn’t turn out so well!” she says, trying to make it sound as lighthearted as possible.

“Really? What happened?” Dahlia looks at her curiously as she takes the clothes that now belong to her.

“The, um… the human… bit her a little. On the cheek. Really bad scars now,” her ears flop to her head.

“Sorry to hear, Winty. That sucks,” Dahlia says as empathetically as she can.

“No, its fine. She’s put it past her now. I think. I hope. Anyway, you keep that lovely human of yours safe, and bring him back when you're in town! He’s a charmer!” Winty says, returning to her post behind the counter.

“Sure will. Appreciate you, Winty,” Dahlia says as she starts to fit Crimson into the drab clothes.

“Anytime! Come back soon! Preferably with your human!” Winty snickers.

The two step out of the clothing store and walk under the morning sun.

After being fitted into his new attire, Crimson feels even more aggravated now than ever. The shirt fits too small at the shoulders and arms, but fits very baggy at the waist. The length of the shirt is also lacking for his height. The shorts fit rather well, but are kind of uncomfortable from how terribly stitched they are. And the flip flops, after spending his entire life wearing boots, are definitely something to get used to.

“Good job, Crim. That went off without a hitch. Just need to pick up some food stuffs, and we’ll be out of here soon. How’re you holding up?” Dahlia looks at the man. He does nothing but walk along side her, keeping his face stagnant. Dahlia snickers at him, obviously getting a rise out of his humiliating situation.

The two make their path to one of the larger buildings in this town. A building that has an eggplant and a banana painted onto the sign that hangs out front.

Crimson keeps his posture as discrete as possible, yet still attracts the eyes of surrounding ponies. The concept 'staring is rude' seems to elude these colorful equines.

They enter the food-housing establishment, the smell of herbs and greens tickle Crimson’s nose. Fresh produce, just as he had back at home. Dahlia notices the towering human's brows are furrowed in the same manner that he does when thinking too hard. She squints at him, tugging the collar twice. The man blinks rapidly, restoring the blank expression.

The ponies that are buying food in this establishment gawk at the man.

“Ey, lady. NO hum’ns allowed in the sto’!” says a rather fat stallion sitting at the cash register near the front entrance.

“Oh, uh... right, yeah, my bad,” Dahlia rubs the back of her head. The stallion looks angry and impatient, and he's probably the owner. No need to piss off the only pony with food to sell within several miles. Dahlia walks with Crimson outside, finding a wooden pillar to tie the leash to. “Sorry, Crim. Just wait for me here, mmkay?” she murmurs, tying the leash firmly. She gives him one final glance before entering the store and disappearing from sight.

Crimson stands there, blank-face and slouched over. This posture is really starting to bother his back.

Everything seems to be fine. Other than stares, Crimson is mostly left to his own device. His eyes lazily shift around, trying to find something interesting to pass the time, though mostly musing about what he could have possibly done to deserve being put in this position. He thought he did the world a service ending the tyranny of the Spurs, but... here he is... and for fucking what.

There they are, he supposes. Ponies. Roaming around, doing… pony things. Some pulling wooden carriages with produce, others carrying bags around. One other pony is flopping out of, what he assumes is, a saloon. Pretty early in the morning to be drunk already. The stumbling idiot attracts his attention for a bit. He watches him stagger around, until he finally eats the dirt and falls asleep at the front of the saloon. He has half a mind to join him in his inelegance.

“Mamma, look! Human, human!” Crimson darts his eyes to the source of the young squeaky voice. A tiny white and grey filly with huge emerald eyes is flapping her tiny wings as she points at him. There's a pegasus mare and an earth stallion just behind her. The mare walking with the filly by the hoof looks at her daughter with confusion and concern. “Can I pet the human, mamma? Please, please?”

“No, Furi. They can be dangerous,” the mare states in disgust. "Remember what happened to Misty's friend?"

“Pleeeeaaaaaaase!” the filly looks at her mom, her eyes shimmer as if they were about to cry.

“C’mon, sweetheart," says the husband. "Look at him. He looks like a nice guy. M’Sure the owner won’t mind some attention if they just left him right there."

“Misty's. Friend. Harker." the wife snaps critically.

"Misty also said that Pom was botherin' that human by throwin' sticks at it to get it to play fetch. Humans don't play fetch. Furi'll be fine, won't ya' sweetie?" he asks, smiling down at his daughter.

"… If something happens to our little Furi, Harker, this will be the LAST straw,” the mare scowls at her husband.

“Sure, sure, Misty and her friend are already over what happened. You should get over it too. C’mon, Furi, let’s go pet the human.”

“Yaay! Papa!” the filly flaps her wings quickly as she hops alongside her father. The two approach Crimson a little cautiously. The dad puts on a stern face for the daughter, but the mom lags behind, her faced worried with a big, teethy frown.

“Hey there, big guy. You look like a nice fella. Don’t bite us, y’hear? We’re friends. Friendly ponies,” the father says soothingly. Crimson stares at him blankly, apparently doing well in deceiving this family of equines. Maybe just for amusement's sake he'll snap at them, but in the long run, it may not be worth a brief three seconds of entertainment.

The dad lets out a tense sigh as he picks up his daughter with one hoof. She’s so small, she practically fits on it perfectly. Crimson resists the urge to vocalize her adorableness... he's also really glad he got some clothes on before this. It would be tragic if all he had on was his loin cloth for this encounter.

The dad moves his arm, leaning his daughter in closer and closer. He almost retracts his daughter from pure anxiousness, but once she's close enough, the little filly, with a huge, happy smile, reaches over and pats Crimson’s head.

“Aww, who’s a good wittle human!” the filly says, running her tiny hoof back and forward, scraggling his hair more than it already is. The dad lets out a sigh of relief.

Crimson sniffs discretely, the little filly smells something like... maple syrup? Like a conditioner or something upon her coat wafts that pleasant, easy scent. Not too sweet but not too faint. Weird choice for a smell, he thinks.

“Okaay! Okaay! That’s enough! Get her away, Harker! Please!?” the wife says in a panic.

“Sheesh, learn to live a little Shumi,” the husband rolls his eyes, retracting his daughter away. He sets her down next to him, but the little filly suddenly runs over and hugs Crimson’s right shin. “Wowowoh, that’s enough Furi, don’t wanna push his buttons now,” the dad pulls his daughter off and away, holding her to his chest. He then stares at Crimson, looking up into his eyes, “… Heh, you’re a stellar guy. Give my regards to your owner,” he chuckles, walking past the man, off and away with his family. The daughter is heard giggling and cheering as they leave from sight.

Crimson silently glares at nothing as the family walks away. That could have been worse, perhaps even pleasant, but nothing he'd want to make normative. As horrid as this day has gone so far, this interaction he feels was at least somewhat enjoyable. Having a toddler fawn over oneself is much better than a fully grown adult doing it. At least, that is what he opines.

The doors to the store suddenly bust open and Dahlia looks towards the man with wide eyes, while he throws her an bitter squint. A squint she doesn't seem to notice. “Ah, good, you’re still here. Alright, time to head home. Hold these for me,” she trots to Crimson, giving him four brown bags that contain all sorts of produce. Crimson takes them into his arms, giving the tan pony a disinterested glance. She moves and unties the leash from the wooden pole, taking it into her hoof.

They commence the trek back to the forest, and as they leave the junction, the man notices that he’s still getting some looks, but not the same way as before. After that little interaction, they appear to look at him in a… less critical fashion. Not by a large margin, but still, less so. The two recede into the forest, making their way back to the lodge.

Dahlia ends up dropping his leash once they enter the forest. She suspects nothing, she continues walking with a passive, cheeky simper. Though, as soon as shrubbery shades them and the forest encompasses their surroundings, Crimson slows down and sets down the groceries quietly and very carefully...

"Hey, Dahlia..."

"Huh?" She stops and turns to him.

"Mrh!" "Wah!?"

Dahlia finds herself turned and picked up by the man, a sudden action that holds her in the air in front of him. He fits his hands under her armpits, holding her out like one would a house cat.

"WaHa! Crimson! What the fuck!?" she flaps her wings, unable to escape his firm grasp.

"That's what I'm askin'! The hell's the matter with you? You too broke to pay for my clothes? You should have plenny of money after what you've done!"

Once she realizes that he's angry, Dahlia holds her hooves in front of her face, quivering frightfully. "Don't hurt me, don't hurt me!"

The man scowls at her and shakes his head slowly, his eyes slits of animosity. He takes in a deep breath through his nostrils, "I ain't gonna fuckin' hurt ya'. But you listen, and you listen close... I ain't yer pet. So don't treat me like it. I let you get away with it this time. Next time someone wants to put a feel up on me, you tell 'em to fuck off. Like you said you would. All we're doin' is puttin' up a show... 'n that's it. You get it?"

"Yeah! I get it! Now put me down, this isn't funny!"

"Do you, though?"

"I get it!"

"... Good." The man sets her back down and steps back. The mare does as well, taking a leap backwards to get some distance between him.

"You're a fucking asshole!" she growls at him

"You ain't seen nothin'."

"You're insane! That's the last time I turn my back on you!"

"Shiver at ghosts, then. You ain't got nothin' to worry about as long as you keep in mind what I just told you."

"But you didn't need to jump me, jerk! You could have just told me!"

"See, I could've... but reckon after today, you'll be damn sure to remember."

She squints at him, feeling a terrible sourness in her mouth. "Screw you, dude."

"You certainly weren't this indignant when you let some stranger put their lips on me." Though Dahlia glares at him spitefully, she acknowledges his words. "Now settle yerself down. We got shit to do."

Dahlia grits her teeth. "Yeah, and I can't wait until it's over."

Crimson doesn't offer a retort. He turns and picks the groceries back up, holding them to his chest. He turns to her again and tilts his head, signaling her to proceed.

The mare hesitantly starts walking, reluctant to give him her back. He starts following behind her like usual, but the air is thicker and cumbersome between them.

"What’s the plan now?” Crimson asks sternly.

She thinks not to reply just to malice him, but she brings herself to respond. She huffs in agitation, “We’ll get this stuff put away and I’ll do a quick run of logistics. After that, I'm gonna take on that temple you kept me from. We need money, and that's where I'm getting it from.”

“Mm. I'll come with.”

“Oh yeah? You sure you won't just push me into a fucking trap? Not only do I perform better alone, I don't wanna get blindsided by--”

"Quit yer bellyachin'. Whether you like it or not, we're a team in this mess. Less you speak yer peace and walk away. You're free to do it at any moment."

"Yeah? Well you're just as free as I am, you ass."

"I ain't walkin' away, and we ain't gotta like each other to work together. Let's get focused on that temple of yers."

"Ch," she huffs, glaring forward angrily. "Whatever."

They trek on together towards the cabin, setting sights to the enigmatic temple yonder the Everfree...

Next Chapter: Field Day Estimated time remaining: 29 Hours, 21 Minutes