The Little Curiosities

by Comma Typer

First published 4th of March, 2020

Everyone's turned into Equestrian creatures and reality's turned magical. The former humans of Canterlot City and beyond try to restart their lives. These are their stories.

Life on a transformed Earth isn't easy. Weird magic and new bodies to get used to, an alternate fantasy world filled with mirror versions of themselves, and the sheer challenge of getting back to a normal life when nothing normal remains.

Yet, there is no path but forward. As former humans help themselves up and Equestrians lend a hoof or some other appendage, there will be many stories of their slow return to a stable life.

Here's a glimpse into those stories.

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Updates spontaneously.

Hold Your Fire

Another shot down Spitfire’s throat. Hard vodka: it scrapes her throat falling down.

Rainbow takes a swig of former human beer, wiping the too-bitter taste off her mouth. “I get that you’re not exactly calm in drill sergeant mode, Spits, but… you know they’re not exactly born for your brand of flight training.”

“Yeah, yeah... rub it in, why don’t you?” A yellow foreleg rests on the counter. She then smacks her muzzle on said counter. “Their first real flight lesson is botched all thanks to me… at least, according to you.”

A roll of the eyes, a concerned sigh come out of the commander’s friend. “I know this is going to sound rich coming from me, but have you considered that you were... too much of a hothead?”

The veteran huffs a snort fit for a gruff mare. “And what makes you think that?”

“How you constantly shouted at your other self for every little mistake?”

Spitfire freezes. Vodka splashes onto the counter in drops.

“Look… you want to see them succeed. Yeah, participation trophies ain’t your thing. Still, a little mercy won’t hurt, ‘specially since they’ve had wings for only… what, two weeks?”

“So?” Calmly wipes the counter clean from vodka-smelling evidence of weakness. “It’s a chaotic dragon-eat-dragon world out here. They gotta learn how to roll with the punches and take control of their new abilities.”

“Yeah… but they’re barely ponies. Not the same way we are for the last… well, lifetimes.”

The rainbow horse resorts to another sigh. A swig of more beer. Hard day of her own earlier on: the pegasi were clueless but remained eager to learn evasive maneuvers—self-defense in mid-flight. Something these ponies really need.

She puts down the mug with a deep thunk!

“Think of them as foals, Spits. Foals in adult bodies, but still foals. You got the discipline part down and that’s good... but they need somepony who understands that two extra limbs and being able to fly… that’s all new to them. Trust me: I helped Twilight cope with her wings when she became a princess, and at least she’s best friends with me and Fluttershy. These guys… they used to think pegasi were just myths!”

That’s enough to get Spitfire’s head rolling—would have blurted out, That’s ridiculous, but courtesy gets to her. “Alright, fine. I’m a hothead, I made somepony cry, and I’ll learn from it, yeah?”

Rainbow merely cocks her head to the side. This isn’t over yet. Spitfire should know: having a poster child for friendship and harmony in the team, she has realized, stirs up the conscience once in a while.

“Okay… I guess you expect me to go to her house and ask for forgiveness, huh?””

“Yup.” With crossed forelegs and all. No irony, shame; not even a drop of sarcasm.

Spitfire takes it as a cue to order another shot.

When it slides her way, she mutters, "Remind me to do it in the morning, Crash. I’ll be too plastered to apologize tonight.”

She drinks up, much to the dismay of Rainbow with her shaking head. But she drinks up with her anyway. It’s been a long day.

On the Subject of Cute Ponies

The question does not fully dawn on Sunset yet. “You’re asking me what?”

In the work-in-progress-again sushi bar, Fluttershy happily explains: “I was just checking myself in the mirror, brushing my mane and all… and then it sank in: I’m actually a horse.”

Sunset takes a bite of some hay-filled sushi: tastes good. “Yeah, and where are you going with this?”

“Well, after looking at myself for a very long while—and maybe it’s obvious to you—I think I’m... that I’m cuter as a pony.”

“Heh… should’ve known you’d be the first to come to the light.”

“… what?”

“Yeah.”

Sunset’s muzzle plays a smug smile. “Honestly? Humans may look cool, handsome, or beautiful, and wearing clothes all the time’s awesome too… but you know what I thought when I first came here?”

“That we looked weird?”

“That humans were just a bunch of overgrown lanky apes.”

Fluttershy chokes on her glass of water. “Oh… wow, that’s….”

“I wasn’t exactly a good pony out there, and I got used to being a human over the years. Now that I’m back to being a pony full-time, though, I’m not afraid to say it: human looks suck, pony looks rock!”

Blushes and giggles from Fluttershy come out cute, somewhat embarrassed. “I guess I should’ve saved you for last. Should’ve known being born a pony made you biased.”

“That’s okay, though I’d like to hear how the rest of the girls think about their new cuteness.”

Rarity levitates a new batch of dresses from her Equestrian self, restocking inventory with clothes that can fit her clients’ new bodies.

“Asking me whether I’m cuter as a pony? Why, the matter must’ve escaped me: I was all too busy re-learning the art of the dress. But, since you’ve asked… why, of course, I’m cuter as a divine mare and I like it!”

“Really? I… didn’t know what to expect.”

“Well, Sweetie Belle and I used to dress up as unicorn princesses. Besides that, unicorns always seemed just majestic to me ever since I was a little girl.” She lights up her horn in excitement: the fabrics glitter. “You could say I’ve turned into my spirit animal! After getting over the post-human blues, it really feels like a dream come true….”

“It’s good to know that you’re taking it well. Poor Zephyr’s still distraught about it.”

“Oh. I do hope he’ll get over it with your help; maybe show him the wonders of flying since he’s a pegasus, hm?

“Anyway… I believe you should ask Pinkie next. She’s never shied away from being the cute one, after all.”

“… If I were a plushie, I’d squish and hug myself all day long! I’ve even had this Manehattan stallion call me Cutie Pie… could you believe it?! The pun’s been there all this time, but someone gets it after I turn into a pony? Hah!”

Waiters on roller skates sail past tables. It’s Pinkie’s break time at Sweet Snacks Café. Hasn’t bothered to take off her dress to get comfy.

“But… well, what do you think about your human self?”

“Oh, let me tell you: I was cute too! Always have, always will be! Although I don’t know why a pony’s cuter anyway. Maybe it’s the size or we’re now all magic or what… but, uh, is that all you wanted to ask?”

“Um, yes.”

“Alrighty, then! Who’s next on your list?”

There’s a tap and another on her chin. “I mean to ask Twilight about it.”

“Technically, I am prettier and more beautiful as a mare than as a woman. However, that doesn’t automatically mean I prefer being a pony.”

Twilight has her intrepid questioner following her on the way home from Canterlot High. Time to get back to the lab after a couple hours of teaching nascent unicorns.

“Do you?”

“On the whole, yes. My old self would be baffled at me because she’d never believe me yammering about the possibilities of magic and what not. Still, I don’t really care much about being a cute pony. It’s the pony part—the pony magic, actually—that matters more.”

“I see....”

Twilight notices the pegasus’ hesitation. “Well, it’s never wrong to ask a question like that. It’s just that I’m focused on something other than how cute I am.

“Heh… speaking of cute, I’d like you to tell me how Applejack answers that. Maybe she’d appreciate a pony’s beauty more than I do.”

Applejack stops bucking an apple tree. “Wait, you’re sayin’ I’m cute ‘cause I’m a pony?”

“Ponies in general seem cuter than humans,” answers Flutershy. “I think we’re all cuter as ponies… but what do you think?”

“Hmm... Fluttershy, I don’t know. This pony thing is still new and all. Can’t really care much about comparin’ my new self to my old self… not to mention my own horses being there too. Argh. Maybe I’m cuter or maybe not: what I really need now is to just get this pony thing nailed down.”

The pegasus backs off a bit. “I see. Sorry if I interrupted you.”

“That’s okay; it’s always good to have you up and about.” Another buck at the tree and a few apples fall into the baskets. “Say, you said I’m the second-to-last pony you’ve asked. Who’s the last?”

“Um, Rainbow, I know that this is a big deal for you, but—“

“I’m cute?!” Rainbow yells, lying on her bedroom floor, wings flapping tense. “H-how did I not see that?”

“I think it was easy, especially since we were in Equestria for a while. Also, I believe we’re cuter because, we’re smaller, we’re ponies with unusual colorations—“

“That only makes it worse!”

“… but, I thought you were okay with ponying up. Weren’t you?”

“That’s because I looked cool and awesome with pony ears and two wings, back when I still looked cool and awesome! Being a cute, adorable, cuddly pony—“ shivers down her spine “—I’ll be ruined!”

“You could still fly like no pony here has ever flown before.“

“That won’t matter! Why? They’ll look at me fly and think I’m cute for trying so hard!”

Then, her wings stop. Stares at her friend with narrowed eyes. Fierce fires burn under their lids.

“You know what? I’ll prove them wrong! They’ll call me cute? Well, I’ll challenge them to a race—any kind of challenge! That’ll show them they just got beat by a ‘cute’ pony!”

Fluttershy’s head falls to the side in confusion. “But every pony else is also a cute pony.”

“Don’t ruin the moment! It’s the only plan I’ve got to save myself!”

Minutes later, Rainbow is found daring Principal Celestia to a race.

The United Phrases

In the headquarters of the Convocation of Countries, at one of the lower floors, a griffon looks out the window: a vista of Manehattan under reconstruction splayed out; dots represented creatures speeding away to get the city back up again.

In his suit, Gestal—President of the Republic of Griffonstone—lets out a sigh. Sunlight rains on his glasses.

He hears little, nigh undetectable flaps. Whirls his head around and sees the suit-wearing breezie hovering his way. A tiny angel, he rests on the window.

“Seabreeze?” inquires the griffon. “I thought you’re still duking it out with the others.”

A loud click of the tongue is the response of Gaothlub’s head of state. “That shouting match is going to kill me at this size. In fact… I thought you stayed; I know how immovable you are with your stances. Took me a while to notice you disappeared.”

The griffon feels a weight put on his shoulders. “Cooler heads must prevail. When it comes to something as simple yet as important as our slogan, I am astonished that only you’ve followed my example.”

To take the weight off for a moment, he looks outside.

Pegasi and hippogriffs scout the city out from above, the former controlling the weather while they’re at it. Earthbound creatures on the streets: buying and selling, helping each other out, teaching each other how to pony or how to griffon or how to hippogriff. How to whatever else they became.

“To think the Convocation was making much progress: no wars for almost a century; proxy battles dropping off cliffs; our arbiters doing everything to keep the world from falling apart and, somehow, the world didn’t. We were on the way to world peace, and it’d take a worldwide tragedy to undo everything.”

His claw falls toward the window. A shrug with a beaked groan.

“Then this happens. Just to think we might finally unite humanity, finally have everyone getting along just for once, this happens. Can’t even unite under the same species anymore. As if bringing different nationalities together is hard enough….”

A claw on the head. Feathery forehead: rub it with those scraggy talons to nurse the headache away.

Realizes he’s almost hit Seabreeze.

“Sorry about that.”

“Agh… it’s okay. I’ve gotten used to it.”

The breezie sits on the window.

He too lets the weight off his shoulders: Horse-drawn carriages pass by on these calculated roads; they’re most likely from that other world. By their side, somepony trying to start up his car: definitely from this world.

The pony drops his tools: no horn, apparently. Keeps digging his head under the hood, biting the tools once more.

“At least I won’t take this lying down.”

Makes Gestal look. “What do you mean?”

“You and I know we don’t want to fight… well, not a lot, but, still, fighting’s bad.” Rubs his eyes: tired from beholding his opponents on the other end of the table back there. “What I’m saying is… you’re not alone, and it’s not just me being with you.

“I know this because deep down, we’re all just trying to survive this without going mad. Trust me: I now know what it feels like to be on the other end of my showboating.”

Gestal taps his chin. A light bulb plugged to the socket but no one’s turned on the light yet. “Right. Weight of the world or at least the nation on our shoulders. Well, that and then the additional sapients too.”

“Ah, yes, them too….”

The light bulb turns on, but above Seabreeze: eyes widening to the size of thimbles.

“Ah! We’re stupid all along! Why haven’t we included them in this? Argh… I’ll tell that Celestia or the other one about this and—“

An imaginary crack! The bulb shatters as a smile breaks out on his tiny face.

“I guess that’s a new slogan choice to add to the poll, Gestal. Can’t believe we’re all overthinking this... how blind we nincompoops could be!”

The idea still escapes the griffon, but it draws him in. “What could that slogan be, then?”

Painters and engineers come over to the headquarters on the next day. The old slogan must go: this is their job.

A globe on a pedestal is the Convocation's logo. The slogan lay underneath. Truth, Freedom, Justice: To and For All Humanity.

As tasked, they remove the last word.

They pack up and leave, much to the surprise of the watching crowd and the press.

Born in the Right Generation

“Wow! What’s this book?!”

The fascination of the twin birthday foals (seven years old now) warms their father’s heart, especially with Pumpkin Cake—big reader she is. “It’s not just any book! It’s a little scrapbook we made for the both of you!”

By his side, Cup Cake brings the book closer, opens it before them. “This book is full of memories we’ve all had together since the day you were born!”

The two growing foals blurt out their Woah!’s together: near the book’s end the background and its decorations are cut-outs and drawings of school bells, notebooks, pencils, and crayons. The taped-on pictures speak for themselves: There’s Pound taking his first proper flight lesson, laughing joyously as he did his first loop-de-loop in front of family and friends. Here’s Pumpkin just after her first proper magic course, her horn glowing at recess with the other unicorn foals glowing their horns too and levitating their food trays to some music from the phone—a juvenile competition on who could glow the brightest without getting out of sync.

“I wanna see Pound’s birthday face last year!” shouts Pumpkin, glaring at her brother.

Despite Pound’s reasonable protests and sensible arguments against the action, his parents give in with a teasing snicker of their own, and they turn a few pages forward. On birthday number six: Pound’s finest hour as he blew the candles, excitement getting to his wings, and said wings pushing him forward to make his face meet chocolate cake. His face, literally caked with frosting.

“At least I lived up to my name,” brags Pound, pointing at his devious sister. “I don’t see you smacking your face into cakes or pumpkins!”

“At least I could help grow pumpkins and make cakes!”

A yellow hoof shields the two from each other. “Hey, hey... let’s not get into fighting here. Let’s… uh, anything else you want?” A nervous sweat bead forms on his forehead, but his big-chinned smile distracts them.

“I’m older!,” Pound Cake insists. “That means I’m first in the baby scrapbook! You gotta show Pumpkin that!”

Pumpkin’s horn glows in irritation. “We’re twins, which means we’re equal!”

“But I’m five minutes older than you!”

“Who cares? Doesn’t mean you can act all bossy like a real big brother!”

Ignored in the childish debate, the parents exchange troubled looks.

Cup then puts a hoof on Carrot’s withers.

“Remember, Sweetie: that’s why we pushed ourselves to make this in the first place. Gotta show what it was like back before.”

“Right… to not delay it longer,” he replies with an uneasy voice. Reassurance comes a second later.

He flips the scrapbook loud—pages slamming against one another—all the way to the beginning.

The noise silences them, but the photos keep their attention: two babies swaddled in white cloths, resting on the same cradle.

“Uh… what are those?” Pound asks.

“They’re… you,” he says, pointing at the two figures. Standing outside the cradle and smiling for the camera are some bipedal creatures. The babies themselves look much like them, it turns out. “And, yes, that’s me and your mother.”

A gulp could be heard riding down Pumpkin’s throat.“But, you look so… weird.”

Some discomforting cold breeze goes down Cup Cake’s back, but she puts on a smile just as big as her husband’s. “It was a very different time back then. In fact, you were barely weeks old when the world became the way it is now….“

The two would sometimes sleep in each other’s beds.

This time, it’s Pumpkin’s, complete with a few stuffed dolls and a big school tome about magic for grade-schoolers. Tucked into their blankets minutes ago, the twins stare up at the stars painted on her ceiling. The fake celestial bodies glimmer under the moonlight zooming in through the window.

“You know what, Pumps?” Pound doesn’t take his eyes away from the stars.

“What is it?” Neither does she.

Silence punctuates the smile on his face. “I’m glad I’m not some weird magicless ape.”

It is met with a light punch to his head, courtesy of the filly. “Dad’s gonna pull your tail if he hears that!”

“Come on, Pumpkie! I can’t imagine life without my wings and—face it—you wouldn’t like having your unicorn magic taken away from you, huh?”

A frown falls over her. A yes in her mind, but a no in her heart. “Argh, you got me there. Still, Mom and Dad and all the grown-ups lived like ninety-nine percent of their lives like that.”

Pound turns over in his bed, turning his back to her as he closes his eyes. “Means we’re lucky.”

Pumpkin is left staring up at the ceiling, being lucky or not coming to mind again and again.

The stars and his snoring will not be enough to put her to sleep.

Sta Astéria

The moon and its stately accompaniment of stars: they hold the gazes of two nightly alicorns, identical in all but clothes.

The one clad in regalia looks to her counterpart, the latter’s horn glowing blue. “It seems that raising the moon is noticeably more difficult than manipulating the stars for you. It is a much more delicate work, after all. Say… have you ever sewn or crocheted?”

A nod comes from the local Luna, adorned with nothing but a spare collar from her vice principal wardrobe. “Yes, I have. My sister was more adept at it, to say the least.”

A star slowly rises, but like a rock too heavy to bounce on the lake, it falls.

“Though, of course, I was adequate at it because I had fingers.”

More stars reach up, ascending but without the glory for they wobble.

The glow on her horn stops; the vice principal, exhausted. The princess could clock her other self’s stressed-out breathing.

“You are overthinking this, Lulu. It is true that they are stars and no mere objects, but you are not supposed to do this on your own.” She taps her own horn: a quiet thunk! thanks to her royal horseshoe. “You are not supposed to hold full sway magic. Remember: let the magic guide you. Direct your magic to the stars and let it take you there: let it help you make what you desire to make.”

A question pops into her head. “Although, what did you intend to make back there?”

The vice principal gives only a knowing grin. “I will let you judge for yourself. For one, it is one of my favorite things since childhood… and yours too, I believe.”

“Oh?” A blink and she is back to her professional teaching self. “Perhaps a good way to aid you is if you close your eyes and only remember the patch of stars over there… perhaps only then will you let go enough of yourself to let the magic flow through you.”

So the vice principal does. With a serene breath and a shutting of her eyes—chilly is the night, and the peace of the dark blue evening: right in her element—her horn glows, the tinkling of magic tickling her ears.

To the princess’s surprise and tears, the stars form a crescent constellation.

The Ballad of Lyra Heartstrings

Lyra Heartstrings and city parks have been a peaceful pair: ten years and counting. Her lyre’s gentle melodies jibed with the park’s tranquil winds and greenery. She would become the center of a paradisaical retreat from downtown’s bustling deafening clamor, dizzying motions, and the nose-crinkling stink of smoke and smoke. Never the type to busk for profit. Then again, she has never been the type to conform to Big Music’s dictates: she was the weird gal who grew up with some ancient instrument from Attacka.

Today, ponies find her relaxing with the lyre: their sturdy strings thrumming under the shining glow of her magic—all as she rests from an informal open-air “class” of how to be a unicorn. Lucky her, unicorn being her new lot in life: couldn’t imagine how hooves would strum it well, though she’s heard of Pinkie playing the drums—with drumsticks, somehow.

Grass flows under her. She’s sat like this for the past week: sitting on her fours—or, worse, reclining on her four hooves, too much like a real horse. The inhumanity! Strangely comforting to rest anywhere now, but the nagging at the back of her mind persists: this is wrong.

Over there, a bench. It’s occupied by Shoeshine polishing her horseshoes—not sure if it’s her classmate or the farrier from the other side. Doesn’t matter: she’s sitting all comfy on fours, taking up two human spaces when she could take up only one.

The glow disappears from the strings; the humming dies. If she won’t have her humanity back, she’ll make some of her own.

So the walk begins, each step a thunderous declaration. Lyre levitates above her head like a mystical plumb bob telling everyone that, yes, this is Lyra, and she will take back her dignity.

Shoeshine scrunches her nose at the approaching Lyra. “Um… sorry, ma’am. I don’t have any bits to give to you…?”

A huff comes from Lyra, lyre looming over her as a specter. “I don’t need bits today. What I need is redemption.”

The blue stranger’s eyes follow Lyra’s: the empty spot on the bench. “Um, okay… suit yourself, I… guess? Just don’t do anything illegal….”

With a curt nod, Lyra raises herself to her hind leg. Just like the human she was, she sits down on the bench.

She also sits on her tail’s dock.

“Aaaahhh—!”

“I know this will sound crazy, officer, but—“

“I live a train’s trip away from Ponyville, Miss Shoeshine. I’ve seen more than my fair share of crazy.”

“Doesn’t matter: things still get crazy there… oh, you want me to get on with it? Right. See, it started when Lyra—that Lyra from Earth, I think… it started when she wanted to redeem herself by sitting on her tail….”

Big Sticks

Moss and vines draped on the Hive’s irregular rock walls do not possess any strategic or tactical advantage in warfare: to Pharynx, that is, and even then, for changeling warfare only. Non-changeling allies could equip themselves with the funny plants as camouflage in jungle environments.

The buzz of wings lifts his ears. The visitor of the hour arrives: his other self, fast to an empty seat, lays down a suitcase of shining metal—raise his love for bright lights. The smell of synthetic rises: something from the two or three times he’s infiltrated an Equestrian city before the changeling reformation.

Past the window which is really a big hole in the wall, the visitor flies over to him and offers a hoofshake. “Pharynx, Head of Changeling Kingdom Patrol, I presume.”

“Yes, that’s me.” He returns the offer. “And—correct me if I’m wrong—you must be your nation’s Secretary of the Defense Department.”

The secretary nods. His looks turn to the suitcase, leading his Equestrian self that way.

“So, tell me what are these high-tech weapons you ‘humans’ have, Mister Secretary? I do hope they’re compatible with magic.”

“We’ve tested it out with both normal changeling magic and unicorn magic. Those with feathery wings don’t have much difficulty. Those without any of that will have a hard time, but I don’t see that being a problem with you.”

“Alright, I know enough. Show me what you got.”

A grin flashes across the secretary’s face. Two loud clicks with his magic: the suitcase opens.

An assortment of firearms, all in monochrome fashion, couched in multiple levels of rich fabric as he puts the compartments away for the patrol head to behold the whole array: a modern-day pistol sitting across a revolver; a submachine gun along with an assault rifle for company; sniper rifles becoming strange bedfellow with shotguns. On the last compartment are spread out hundreds of bullets, dozens of loaded magazines, and a hooffull of grenades.

A feast for the eyes, venerating the display without full understanding. “Amazing! If I see this right, these must be some sort of miniaturized cannons.”

For the newcomer, having the locals thrilled with human weaponry pleases him beyond joy. “You could say that. As for documentation, it’s inside: a bit outdated since it’s pre-Change, but I trust you can translate it into terms your forces can understand.”

Hooves tap the table in excitement. “Color me impressed. However, as ‘advanced’ as you are with this technology of yours, I would like to have these demonstrated under magical pressure. Eqeustria’s background magical field may not agree with your—“

“Maulwurf!” screams a high-pitched voice.

Look out the window hole. A couple of changelings tending to plants: they flee from the shaking and crumbling ground.

Up comes a bear-mole monster, rotten teeth big enough to be rocks. It swipes a changeling in its claws, but the guard buzzes into the scene, faux chitin armor glittering under the sun.

A couple clicks turn the patrol head round to their source. Floating right before his other self’s eyes is an assault rifle coated in his magic: he squints through the iron sights.

“Wait, Mister Secretary, what are you—?!”

Ears flatten: cover the bangs but they ring muffled in his hurting brain. Flinches: instant gusts blasting against his chest. The bright explosions coming out of the muzzle do not stop: not powerful enough to tune out the screams from outside.

It is over. Brings his ears out and hears metal jingling. The last few bullet cases just dropped to the floor.

He grabs the secretary by the shoulders. “Are you crazy?! You could’ve killed a changeling!”

“Don’t worry! I’ve made sure that none of your people died.” A scratch on the back of his withers. “I must apologize for being rash, but... let’s say I took care of your monster problem.”

The two Pharynxes look out the window hole again. There is the monster, but it is lying down. Changelings inspect the unmoving body. A guard shouts something about blood. Another checks its pulse, hears for a heartbeat, and shakes his head to the cheering of the patrol.

The assault rifle still floats in his field of magic, smoking hot. “There, problem solved and a demonstration of what these bad boys can do. Certainly makes you menacing. A panacea if you believe in deterrence.”

The patrol head looks back at the compartments of weapons and ammunition. “Thorax isn’t going to like how we permanently solved our Maulwurf dilemma when he comes back.”

“It’s not the only Maulwurf in existence, I hope, right?” For the first time in the meeting, anxiety comes through his voice.

“It isn’t. We’ve encountered at least three of his siblings. But, when it comes to defending ourselves….”

He catches the glimmer of the guns thanks to the sun.

A smirk creeps up the changeling’s face. “What are your terms, Mister Secretary?”

Part Two: The Squeal

A woman stands at the edge of the river under the pitch black midnight sky. A man—her lover—walks up to her in slow, calculated steps.

“Mustard?” she asks, only looking at her own reflection. “Please, don’t….”

“I’m not here to tell you about that.”

Only then does she look at him. That almond mullet: oh! how she looked upon him and that out-of-style hairdo back in the coffee shop all those years ago.

“Then what is it?”

His feet shuffle, his hands squirm in his suit’s pocket. “If this is the last night this wretched city will have us, in case they ever pull us apart for good—”

“Spit it out, Mustard, what is it?!”

He gulps. That is almost never a good sign.

Mustard kneels down, those dreamy eyes beholding her all the same.

Out of his suit’s pocket comes a little leather box. The opening reveals a ring studded with diamonds: the inheritance his dying mother told him to save for that special someone.

“Turmie, my dear... will you… w-will… will you—“

Squeal!

Rarity and Sunset busy themselves cleaning the sofa and the carpet from the mess of popcorn and ice cream. The romance movie on TV is paused.

“Always expect the unexpected, huh?” Sunset chirps, glad to bamboozle Rarity with a curve ball of a film.

The other unicorn gives off a lady-like giggle. “Touché! However, I wonder how Mustard would deal with the unavoidable divorce papers….”

Blush appears on her white cheeks. “Not to mention my little outburst there… I’m so sorry for that, Sunset.”

“Don’t get hung up over it! It’s fine.”

As Sunset turns on her vacuum cleaner with her magic, she glances at Rarity scrubbing the carpet with a wet rag. “I think I know where you’re going with this.”

“Yes, that whinny I made—“

“That’s a squeal.”

“Alright, a squeal… I must admit, I am not yet entirely used to… horse sounds.”

Sunset bumps her brows in acknowledgment. “Ah, you mean the whinny, the nicker, the snort… funny you mention it. When I came here, I was expecting to hear monkey sounds. That never happened when I realized: humans just… talked.”

“I take it that conversations in Equestria are spiced with creature noises, aren’t they?”

“Not every single sentence, not even every day at times, but it’s common enough. It’s not just the ponies too: griffons screech and caw, donkeys bray… don’t know what seaponies would sound like, but I’m sure they do something.”

“Yes… we don’t have any human noises, as you might’ve figured out already.”

Sunset nods. “You okay though?”

Rarity’s cute smile comes across, her horn’s magic tinting it in blue. “It’s a thing I’ll get used to eventually, although the unicorns in my fairy tale cartoons never squealed so coarsely….” A shudder slithers down her bones. “Don’t you know how humiliating that is, climbing the social ladder and then you squeal like a little filly?”

“If it helps—“ Sunset turns the vacuum off, the carpet free from popcorn “—the nobles in Canterlot squeal a lot because it’s dramatic. Maybe you should add that to your arsenal of hysterics….”

“What do you mean, ‘You’re being kicked out of the theater?’ Do you know who you are talking to, you…?”

“Name’s Sight See, and I know who you are. Doesn’t mean you get to make stupid sounds in the theater.”

Rarity squeals at the accusation, her horse noise echoing across the hall. “Don’t people gasp at some big reveal or laugh at a universally funny joke? Why, I’d say that you do not like ponies trying to be ponies!”

A horsey snort is what Sight See gives. “Not like I have a choice on being a pony, ma’am.”

Burden and the Beast

It’s the end of the work day. Applejack pours the last bushel of apples into the cart. She hitches herself to the cart’s harness and begins the short trek back home.

Wheels meet the grass, producing a rural rhythm under the heavy wagon. The weight of the cart and its cargo rest on her newfound Earth pony power—not that it was much of a surprise to the girl with the geode-powered strength, but still. To know that she is pulling the cart and not a horse—of course, she is a horse now, hooves and tail and all.

“Big Mac?” she asks her brother who is also pulling a cart of apples beside her.

He chews on his straw of wheat; that hasn’t changed with him turning into a hunk of a stallion.

“Eeyup?"

Silence passes as the sun approaches setting time. The two ponies themselves pass by apple trees, the sun’s rays peeking through the leaves and filtering into heavenly rays.

“Don’t you find this ironic?”

Big Mac looks down at her. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean: we’re now beasts of burden, pull big weights around like it’s no big deal. Not that I’m complainin’, but I can’t say I expected the full horse experience way back when.”

Big Mac looks serenely forward to the sky, chewing more on his straw. “I don’t mind it much. We’re still doin’ the same thing in the end. ‘Sides, don’t our other selves buck apples and carry ‘em home too?”

She lets out a thoughtful sigh. “Yeah, they do... guess it’s not that different. I’ve known that, but it still don’t feel like it though when things get switched around so big.”

A while later, they close in on the edge of the apple orchards, home in sight. Granny Smith and Apple Bloom are at home. From the looks of them trotting in the kitchen, apple pie must be for dinner.

Big Mac takes the straw out of his mouth. “Speakin’ of switcheroos, I’m glad our horsies are enjoying themselves.”

Applejack could not help but smile. “Yeah. Them becoming more human, huh? Huh… we become more like them, they become more like us. Just hope they’re not gettin’ into any trouble.”

“They’ll be fine. I was the one who got them here in the first place, remember? If anything, they’ll find their way through on their own. They’ve always been smarter than they look anyway.”

“Yeah. I just hope they’re havin’ a great time minglin’ with the ponies there. The portals bein’ public’s got them jittery since they opened.”

“Eeyup.” Big Mac looks up to the sky. “A world where horses are the ones who rule the land. I’m sure they will learn much from the ways of Equestria.”

In Equestria’s Canterlot, three uplifted horses found a bar. Now, they swing drinks around in their hooves and magic.

“I didn’t know beer would taste this good, Oaks!”

“Uh, Cookie, would you please calm down? That’s your eighth beer mug!”

“Like you’re not drunk yourself—hiccup!” Cinnamon wobbles a glass of wine in her magic. “Though, I shall say, this complicated grape juice is delicious!”

The two bartenders standing behind the counter watch the three newcomers with wild eyes. Cinnamon’s magic grip slips, spilling wine into Cookie’s mug while the mostly middle-class clientele look on.

“You think we should bring the manager?”

His friend nods very, very slowly.

“We’re going to be so dead.”

Age of Enlightenment

“So, to put it simply, you know some former cult leader, now student of the Princess of Friendship, because you grew up with her, and you’re indirectly the reason why she started her cult in the first place?”

“That’s right, Sunburst.”

“Uh… could you tone it down? Having myself calling myself by my own name freaks me out.”

Two Sunbusts sit at the table in the house of the local analogue, a chemist and part-time historian in Everton City. Stacks of papers and books lay sorted in his wall-lining bookcases. The only mess here is the rejected thesis drafts scattered few and far between.

“It doesn’t seem like you’re taking it well,” the foreign mage says, creasing his brow.

“Oh, it’s not that; not like I’m trying to reject reality here, especially when that reality is plainly undeniable.” He looks over his white lab coat which magically adapted to his equine body when the Change came over. “It’s just… just that, as a scientist, it's been both a humbling and a wondrous experience.”

The wizard nudges his glasses up with magic. “As a fellow scientist, I think I’d be able to relate.”

Nervously, the white-coat researcher scratches his mane. “See, what you just said illustrates my point.”

He slumps down on his chair: not an easy thing to do when ponies usually place all their hooves on the seat.

“In this world, we grew up believing magic was just a myth. Might’ve been a shocker to you, but to us, that’s what’s real. Although The Accounts of Neighnia was my favorite book series and I GM’d much of the O&O club back in college, we always did it knowing that magic didn’t exist. It was just a fake thing we took part in some of the time.”

“What about when the Geodes of Harmony came over?” asks the wizard. “Surely, that must’ve been unheard of in this world.”

“That’s true: it was unheard of. I even got excited at first, thinking it was a real game changer. However, it was mostly isolated in one city, and the ones who dove in first and tried to study it told us, 'Don't bother.' Our models and machines couldn’t work on something that never operated by our rules, so we left magic alone. We just trusted that whoever was using the magic knew what they were doing.”

“But then the Change happened,” the visitor chimes in.

The researcher curls his lips. “Yes, that… this Change... it’s the most extreme paradigm shift known to humanity. We now live in a world where someone who’s studying magic can seriously be called a scientist, two high school principals raise the sun and moon and the stars, and once-mythological abominations can be defeated by the laser power of friendship! The world’s turned into a mockery of itself!” His forelegs splay out on the table.

But, the wizard notes the slight happiness in those last words. “So, what are you saying?”

The researcher’s horn lights up, levitating a cup of coffee from the coffee machine which just dinged to complete the brew. “For one, reality as we knew it got broken. Everything we thought was the closest to the truth? It’s all mixed up now.”

The researcher nudges his own glasses up with a hoof. “But, tell me this, wizard me: did you ever get bored studying magic, even for just a second?”

The wizard's stocking hoof strokes his goatee, something the other Sunburst lacks. “Hmm… yes, I confess that I have been bored in my mystical endeavors. Why do you ask?”

“See, that was part of why I wasn’t as bummed out as I thought I’d be when I turned into a unicorn. We’ve just completed the standard Periodical Element Chart, and we’ve been slowing down with breakthroughs with regard to the elements, especially the later ones on which we have little data on. To be honest, I was beginning to run out of time; it’s a publish or perish world out there, after all. I was pretty much begging the elements to please do something interesting.”

Like his namesake, a smile slowly bursts onto his face. “Then, the Change happened. The day after that, they fired me anyway. They said it's downsizing to cope with the worldwide transformations.”

The revelation catches the wizard off his guard. “Wait, you’re fired? But they said you work for Futurities and Tailor!“

“People still say that? Huh. Guess the Change really hit the old grapevine hard.

“But, yes, I’ve since gone independent for the most part. I banded up with some firees with one simple goal: figure out what kind of brave new world we live in today. Magic plants, exotic creatures, locations and artifacts charged with thaumaturgic energy, completely different demographics with wildly different physiologies, and so much more. There are so many things to explore, so many things to uncover, that even with collaboration from your side, we’d still have a gargantuan task to map out as much as we can!

“So, I guess it took becoming a unicorn and getting booted out of Futurities to get that spark back. Back then, I felt like I was fruitlessly slaving away at a white-collar dead end. Now? I gotta say: it’s been pretty good.” To top it off, he slurps down his coffee.

Wizard Sunburst's horn glows with excitement. “I’m sure Starlight and the other mages helping out would love to hear your story! But, I must let you know—“ he casts a glance upon the high-tech coffee machine “—I am also quite interested in the many inventions humans have made, and I'm sure the others are too. Perhaps we could, if you want….”

Research Sunburst extends an open hoof. “I’ll see what my co-workers have to say about that, but teaming up for a project doesn’t sound like a bad idea at all, Sunburst.”

The two Sunbursts thus shake hooves.

A Necessary Post-Mortem

“Will you excuse us for just a moment?”

And Starlight poofs herself and Trixie away from the portal and into one of Canterlot High’s empty classrooms-turned-supply-storages. Outside ponies and other creatures could be heard hauling boxes of relief goods meant to help the former human populace back onto their non-human feet.

Trixie snorts with her signature eye rolls. “Look at it this way, Starlight: If there is anyone to blame, it’s him. He asked about how my life was like since I was born a unicorn into a family of unicorns who live in a world filled with magic... and unicorns.”

“That doesn’t mean you should rub your equinity over his no-longer-human face!” Starlight shoots back. “That’s just plain speciesist!”

“Are we not superior?” Trixie says. “I mean, you yourself told me what they used to be: they have no magic, they do everything they can by their magicless selves, they leave the rest to fate, and they eat innocent creatures for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.”

“Fluttershy takes care of carnivores, we’re literally allied with the griffons and the hippogriffs, and we’re best friends with a bugpony who’s okay with eating bugs.”

“A-ha! You haven’t refuted my first two points!”

Starlight sighs. “Okay, Trixie, let me put this in another way: In a world without magic, is there anything wrong with having no magic?”

“Yes.”

“… why?”

Trixie harrumphs self-assuredly. “Because there’s no magic!”

Starlight resists the urge to slap her own face and risk accidentally stabbing her hoof with her horn. “Alright, Trixie, I want you to put on your empathy goggles for just a moment.”

Trixie holds her head high and puts on the imaginary empathy goggles. "I'm listening."

Starlight takes a big breath. “So, you say they do everything by themselves without magic, right?”

“That’s true! Could you imagine ponies surviving without magic? Not even our ancestors before Hearth’s Warming would have liked this outrageous idea of no magic!”

“By that logic, then, you’re saying that humans accomplished what we would consider impossible.”

“That would be surviving without magic, wouldn’t it?”

“Well, for starters, they couldn’t control the weather at all.”

“Pfft! Easy! They just build shelters for themselves just like the non-pegasi did! They probably couldn’t match up to Earth ponies’ sturdy architecture.”

Starlight blinks a little tighter than usual. “Comparing apples to oranges aside, what else did you think they had to do without magic?”

Trixie performs a long hum of thoughtfulness, a rare sight and sound for her friend. “Crops. Crops without Earth ponies would be lame. Ah!—I bet missing out the whole magic thing, not just the unicorns, would make for a dreadful world too.”

“But it wasn’t dreadful and you knew it,” Starlight answers. “I went here and what I saw wasn’t a dreadful world, nor was it conquered by evil magic forces that feed on hate.”

“You’re saying they’re just painfully average?”

“Maybe yes, maybe no, but I told you all about humans and their world those few times I came over here: how humans have all of this technology, all of these cool inventions we’ve either just prototyped or don’t even have at all! Drones, cellphones, cars, artificial satellites, invisibility spells but without the spells—those are things you read about in science fiction, Trixie!”

“So they’re a sci-fi species.” She shrugs. “Good for them.”

“That's not just good, Trixie. They made all of this without magic. No magic powers to aid them or stop them; it's only the environment and themselves. They make their own magicless magic, tinker things around, and, before you know it: modern civilization without magic!”

Trixie remains unblinking in the face of fact. “So?”

“I don’t see Twilight clobbering other creatures for not being a pony. I’m sure you don’t see me clobbering others for not being a pony too. Other good-hearted creatures don’t clobber us for not being yaks, dragons, or changelings.”

The stage magician twirls her hoof around. “And…?”

Starlight lowers her head a little. “No matter what creature one may be or used to be—even if it’s across universes—they’re all unique and special in their own way, in their own environments, and in their own cultures. As long as they aren’t evil and oppressing others like what Chrysalis did, we should let them be or, better yet, join them and be part of each other’s lives.”

A deep, solemn groan fills Starlight’s being. “That only makes losing humanity much more tragic.”

Trixie then stares off into the distance, looking out the window. “When you put it that way, Starlight… point taken! Now, let’s get back to work and maybe we can buy some ice cream—”

“That doesn’t mean you’re off the hook.”

Trixie rolls her eyes again. “You’re seriously going to make me make it up to him, aren’t you?”

“Uh, who are you and why are you at my house?”

For the twentieth time in the span of half an hour, Trixie sighs, the unicorn standing at his doorstep. Unbeknownst to the householder, Starlight lays watching in a nearby bush.

In a dramatic voice, Trixie declares, “I sincerely apologize for being speciesist toward you. I shouldn’t have brushed off your humanity like that. It was very wrong of me to say that you should’ve been born a pony.”

“Oh, is that all?”

“Yes. That’s all. What else would you want, Mister Flash Sentry? Invite me in for some biscuits which you seem to have in your human vending machines?”

“Not really.” He glances at his flapping wings. “I just don’t mind. I’ve always dreamed of flying. When I got the hang of it, I was golden!”

Trixie stomps the ground in delight and victory. “Hah! See, Starlight! I told you he wouldn’t care!”

“Why are you talking to a bush?” He looks over Trixie’s withers and sees it trembling. “Uh, why is the bush smacking itself on the head?”

Keep Talking and Nobody Gets on Fire

Rays of the setting sun shoot past the hills. Finally, the sun crosses the horizon, plunging the sky into a starry and beautiful moon-graced darkness.

“Behold!” yells the Earth pony tour guide. “The Applelachian Mountains at night!”

The wow!’s come from her travelers who follow her outstretched hoof to see: mountains, an endless range of mountains gilded in moon-given outlines of silver.

“Now would be a good time to set up camp… and good place too!” she says. “We’ve got a nice view which will be great to wake up to in the morning, enough trees to give us shade from the sun if you want to hole up here, bushes with natural berries galore… oh, it’s beautiful! I can’t wait for campfire time!”

“Uh, but what about the firewood for the campfire?” quips the only griffon in a group mostly composed of ponies. “I thought we were going to have flashlights.”

“Well, Gilda, that’s why I brought my assistant over here for a woodless campfire!”

The tour guide turns to a pony-like creature in the group. “Hey, Autumn Blaze! Now’s the time!”

Days later, at a lodge where staff for Applelachian tours and camping trips reside, Autumn Blaze could be found chatting with her co-workers by the water cooler.

“So how was your first time being a live campfire?” asks her stallion co-worker.

Autumn Blaze’s eyes light up at that. “Oh, it was great! I get to hear everyone’s ghost stories, I smell like sugar and spice thanks to all the marshmallows my body heat’s roasted, and… did you know that sleeping while you’re on fire feels like a cozy nap in a warm blanket with the most snug pajamas in the whole wide world?”

“Uh, I’m a pony so I don’t think I’d like a blanket of fire on my bed, thank you very much. Anyway... which one do you call yourself again?”

“It’s all modal, so it depends, though updating my tour guide license got a little confusing since they asked for both of my species—okay, so, right now, since I’m not on fire, I’m currently a kirin. Anyway, the only downside to the whole campfire thing was staying in place the whole time, which is boring after an hour! You saw me come out of the boss’s office, right? That’s because I requested her to have me in as a dynamic campfire! As in… you know! Why do campfires always have to sit there and do nothing all day anyway?”

“Uh, because they’re logs?”

But the kirin goes on. “I was already telling my own tales to the others and they were laughing at my jokes! You don’t hear of a comedian campfire out in the woods, right? Maybe if the comedian’s speaking through fireproof speakers in the fire, but that’s beside the point, because if we can have comedian campfires….”

As for Gilda, she takes the train ride home. No flying today; she is more used to trains. Trains may be slower than flying, but sitting down with dozens of wheels carrying her across the land sounds better than flapping her wings for hours on end.

“So how was it?” asks Gabby beside her. “Was it fun?”

Gilda rolls her eyes. “It was fun until our campfire couldn’t shut up.”

“But you could refund, right?”

Gilda glares at her. “That’s not how refunds work. ‘Sides, I booked this no-refunds tour a year in advance.”

“But, you know… the both of us turning into griffons… didn’t that make you stop and think that maybe your plans have changed a lot and that you might not have wanted to go camping?“

“I don’t care if I turned into a stupid breezie and got burned alive by some loudmouth campfire. I paid for it and I was way past the refund period. I was not going to let my money go to waste."

Forever Blowing Bubbles

Derpy takes a long sip of her own milkshake. It’s very sweet, even by her standards. Then again, in a magic world where a bakery called Sugarcube Corner is helped up by none other than this world’s Pinkie Pie, that is to be expected.

She puts the diabetes-inducing drink on the table, looking as best as she can at the pony across the table. “Oh, I just don’t know what to do after high school.”

Mailpony Derpy blinks at her high school self. “That sounds a lot like a cutie mark problem! I know the Cutie Mark Crusaders! They can help you with that.”

“I thought of going to them,” says the student. “But, when Sunset told me that I had a pony version of myself here, adult with a job and all… why go to some cutie mark specialists when I can go to my older self? She has a job, she has her own house, and her life’s all stable. If you’re like that, then maybe doing the mail is my destiny.”

The mailpony takes a sip of her own milkshake and puts it aside. “Oh, I don’t know about that….”

“But we have the same cutie marks!” the student retorts. “We have the same names, we have the same voice, same personality….”

“I don’t think so,” Derpy answers with a shake of the head. “I know we’re very similar, but I grew up with ponies in a village with magic all over, you grew up with humans in a city with, um, not magic all over. Those are two very different places to grow up in.”

“Uh-huh… but we’re both ponies, you look like me, and we have the same cutie marks. So if you’re a mailpony, does this mean we have the same destiny?”

Derpy shakes her head again, her hat bobbing here and there. “I guess that means you didn’t blow bubbles when you were a foal, did you?”

“Um… yeah, I did! But not as a foal, of course… just as a kid.”

“Wow! I didn’t know you call your young by goat children!”

The student just blinks at that. “Okay… but what about bubbles? That’s what our cutie marks are, right?”

“But have you ever wondered how I got my bubble cutie mark?” Without waiting for an answer, the mailpony jumps in: “Once upon a time, when I was a foal, I blew bubbles. One day, I made a bubble so big, I got inside and I flew everywhere in my bubble! When it popped, they told me that I got my cutie mark! It was bubbles! Story finished!”

The student blinks again in amazement. “But that doesn’t make sense. You’re a mailpony now, not some professional bubble blower. I don’t even know how bubbles relate to mail.”

Derpy the mailpony lets out an airy giggle. “I hear lots of used-to-be humans like you make that mistake, but that’s okay—all this magic stuff can be very confusing.

“’Cause, actually, cutie marks don’t predict what your job is. The job thing’s just a bonus. What they really tell you is what makes you unique and special.”

A look of confusion is the only look the student could make. “So if it’s not literal bubble-blowing, then what does your cutie mark mean?”

The smile on the mailpony’s face, coupled with her askew eyes, make her tremendously cute. “Glad you asked!”

She scours for something from her bag, and takes out a soda-flavored bubble blower with her mouth. Her wings unscrew it, and she dips the blower into the bottle—now it’s wet with bubble solution.

A breath later and bubbles fly, hovering over the table and their heads. They capture the attention of both Derpys, wowing them and keeping their jaws dropped in child-like wonder.

Then they pop, sending the student back to reality. She looks to her natural-pony counterpart. “Um… why? Why did you do that?”

The mailpony raises a hoof to the air, pointing at where the bubbles had been. “When I got my cutie mark, I never thought about becoming a mailpony. Actually, being a mailpony’s new for me. I used to do heavy-duty delivery for Crafty Crate, helped out with the Ponyville team for the Equestria Games, even bottled some homemade cola for a pony who attacked Canterlot!… yeah, life’s weird like that sometimes.

“And that’s the beauty, Derpy. Coming here, I thought you wouldn’t worry a lot… ‘cause I don’t.”

The student’s hind legs squirm at that. “Yeah, I don’t worry too much… usually. But, you know, now we’re going back to school, and it won’t be too long before I graduate. I’m not sure where to go to college, or even if I should go to college or just get a job already… and I don’t know what kind of job I’d get! And it’s not like many of my classmates are so sure of their lives too….”

Then, her ears perk up. Something on her shoulders. A pat on her shoulders?

Yes, a pat on her shoulders, from none other than her adult mailpony self who flew to her side of the seat.

“High school me… are bubbles beautiful?”

The student cheers up at the question. “Oh, they’re so beautiful!”

“And how long do they last?”

“… well, not for long.”

And the mailpony nods. “Bubbles don’t last long, but they’re beautiful and so fun to look at!

“Each day’s like that.”

She blows another bubble. This time, it settles down gently on her upraised hoof.

“I live each day like it’s a pretty bubble, and each day is a surprise. Isn’t always a wonderful surprise, but they’re here one day, gone the next.”

The peering-in head of the student approaches the tiny bubble. “So… what are you telling me?”

The mailpony claps her hooves and the bubble pops with it.

“Live life!” the older Derpy declares. “Worrying too much about my past or my future never helped me grow taller or live longer or be cool with the friends I do have. I make plans, but even my plans can change the next day!” She looks out the window and flies to it, enjoying the sunshine. “So, here’s today’s bubble. I’ll enjoy it and see where it takes me.”

The student forms a little smile of her own. “So… it’s okay if I’m not a mailpony?”

“I’m more than okay with that! You’ll never know where the bubbles will take you… but it will be exciting, isn’t it? And there’ll always be something beautiful and pretty in it, right?”

The student blushes as she scratches the back of her head. “Yeah. I guess it is comforting when you put it that way.”

The mailpony ganders at the menu. “Hey, after one more milkshake, I’d like to come over to your world! You’ve got anything to do?”

“Um… me and my band will practice tonight—”

“Wait, you have a band?”

The student—and musician—could not contain her glee. “Yeah! It’s the Pony Pickers! I play the saw.”

“Cool! I play the triangle!”

The glee explodes in the student’s heart. “You play the triangle?! We already have one triangulist… but two in the same band? We can rule the world if we team up! Down for a duet?!”

“I’m down for a duet!”

The Rainbooms and a few other Canterlot High pupils sit down in the school auditorium, watching the Pony Pickers play with their musical saw, their cowbell, and their two triangles. Most notably, two Derpys are front and center instead of one, sawing and triangulating to their hearts’ content.

Rainbow Dash’s ears twitch at the avant-garde music blessing her ears. “Sunset, tell me again why we’re doing this.”

“’Cause why not?” Sunset says with a shrug, rocking her head to the beat. “Not a lot of ponies can say they’ve attended a Pony Pickers concert, right? And support and all that.

“And, come on, they’re having lots of fun too! Not even PostCrush smile like that when they play.”

The Continued Struggle of Tin Foil

“And now we’re back to Data Battle with yours truly, Tin Foil! For today’s point of contention, we’ll be tackling what they’re calling cutie marks.”

The video feed switches to footage of pony citizens trotting around in an Equestrian town. With the lack of clothes on display, their cutie marks casually show.

“Believe it or not, yes, cutie marks is what the natives of this alien dimension call the magical and unique identifiers on their flanks. However, benign as the term may be, remember that they are only on ponies. You do not see any of them at all on other creatures.”

The feed cuts to a candid recording of Princesses Celestia and Luna meeting and conversing with Earth’s leaders at a fancy hall. “I don’t need to tell you where this is going, but, for those just tuning in, the relationship between cutie marks and many of us Amareicans turning into ponies with said cutie marks: It only goes to show that the Equus Marenerva Order is further colluding with The Global Conspiracy. How? Exactly: our cutie marks are magical trackers.”

The feed cuts to Data Battle’s live studio. Tin Foil, a purple mare with a stuffy beret, looks straight in the camera’s eye. “I must give credit to the Order for throwing all of us off their scent, even with all of our seasoned researchers and our ever-skeptical philosophers. That this planet’s very leaders did not show any resistance at all to the pony princesses but instead acquiesced instantly showed from the start that there is a secret agreement between them—and if this reeks of the Molly Tough-Ribbon Trot Treaty from a hundred years ago, that’s because it’s exactly like this! The Panamare Papers uncovered untold amounts of golden coins from a still mysterious source a full day before the Change—who knows what else our so-called leaders received for the magical subjugation and conversion of our world into the inhabitants of the alien overlords’ planet?

“Of course, it is a shame to them that the world did not all turn into ponies; otherwise, the infrastructure for a global totalitarian surveillance state would be laid down. However, let’s not celebrate too early. Amareica is a great testing ground and I am not surprised that we, the most free nation on Earth, have been turned into creatures who have natural magic trackers that you can’t remove! This is worse than being tracked by your quote-unquote ‘social’ media without your explicit consent. You don’t even need to lug your phones around to be watched now. And, and... let me tell you that both our trusted scientists and the ‘scientist’ mouthpieces of the mainstream tyranny testify to a single magic field permeating the whole universe. As much as you hear that Dumb Door wannabe Star Swirl the Bearded tell us otherwise, unicorn warlocks and witches from the other side can and will track your every move, especially if they’re from the government and extra especially if they’re ambassadors or otherwise coming over to help us integrate into their subjugation—all just by sensing your cutie mark magic from far away! If we can transfer and track information via Wi-Fi, then it will not be long before they start using this magic field to track us via a magic version of wireless Internet!”

Then, Tin Foil moves out of the way and gets out of the table she has been sitting at, allowing the camera to see her the rest of her body which was covered in a black dress.

“This dress is made from recovered material from an anti-magic throne, purportedly from a known dictator-on-the-run, Queen Chrysalis. It will take us a few days to synthesize and replicate the material so that we can make this available to all who can tune into this transmission despite past the numerous forces that be trying to stamp us out from the public who needs to hear the truth! With this dress, I am magically invisible and undetectable from unicorns trying to spy on me!

“Next up, we’ll have Chive Parsley and how Equestrian weather volunteers plan to instill addicting dependence on outside help, taking away our trust in real government and to force us to become slaves to corporate cronies.”

All the while, Sunset watches Tin Foil and Chive Parsley ramble on about the evils of weather patrol, chuckling to herself that such a group charged through the Change unscathed. Recharged, even.

When today’s episode is done, Sunset stares out at the laptop. Onto her TackTube channel she goes, setting up her camera and microphone. Right before recording, she types the title of her video for tonight’s vlog:

Sunset Shimmer’s Critical Analysis of Today’s Data Battle Episode.

Hillbuddy Music

… and I will never stray far from home,

With you I roam.

The palomino Earth pony opens her eye, having finished a famous Dirk Thistleweed song on a high note, sitting in the ranch’s golden wheat field. “So… what do ya’ think?”

Dirk Thistleweed is speechless, mouth opening and closing in a way that would make a goldfish proud. His horse, singing his songs like she’d been singing all her life. To think, too, that to call her his horse does not sit well with him too.…

The country singer finally finds words to say: “Wha… h-how? Sadie, how’d you do… that?”

Sadie’s smile glimmers in the sunrise. “Well, bein’ a free-willin’ freewheeler travelin’ to the other side got my noodle bakin’. I saw one of them artists just like you: bluegrass and all, but they’re a pony! Asked one of them ponies to teach me how to play the guitar an’ banjo. Next thing I knew, I’m right there playin’ yer’ greatest hits in the magic horse world!”

Dirk could only blink. His ears fall flat at it as his lips tremble. “Ah, Sadie! And to think, all this time seein’ you grow and bein’ a mighty close friend on the ranch through my whole career… why, Ma’s was right to gift me you.

“You’ve truly grown up now. She would’ve been proud if she were here, and we’d—“

“Dirk? Are you crying?”

The violet stallion looks up. The nascent sunlight tints his appearance with gold: that slick purple hair turned into a slicker mane. His wide eyes glitter with water in the sun’s rays.

“To do it… on my birthday of all days, Sadie… I’d never thought about you having such a beautiful singin’ voice! To hear my own horse sing like an angel! And to learn guitar on top of that!”

Sadie chuckles. “Know what? I’ve been meanin’ to tell you….”

He chuckles back, seeing Sadie’s head rock to the side with blushes. “Tell me what?”

She makes a snort. “That I always thought you were just making noises that sounded beautiful. I didn’t… no, I couldn’t comprehend it was singing. Though, now that I can and do know what it is... I’d say I can get used to this singin’ an’ guitarin’ thing.”

A lump comes up Dirk’s throat. “Yup, there it is. And… well, it did all start out with makin’ all the melodies come together nicely and jus’ seein’ others smile. The fame and concerts was a blessing, but... I’ve never had anyone sing back to me like that, back in the old days when it was just me, Ma’, Pa’… and you.”

He is not surprised at his own snort as he wipes a tear away. “’Till now, that is.”

She snorts: he could hear her voice. Ever since the Change, she surprised him and herself with discoveries in her newly sapient life. Teaching her what thinking and truly deciding for herself meant, all while she taught him all the horsey stuff. Each day, he just couldn’t shake off how sweet of a person she is; an innocent soul, like a yearling seeing the world anew.

“Hey, I’ve got a great idea!”

Sadie looks away from the rising sun. “Going to a concert with you?”

“Who cares about concerts now?” Dirk says with a shrug of his hooves. “I’ve got my kin’s next o’ kin comin’ for Sunday dinner as usual. I’m sure we’d be better off serenadin’ before familiar faces.”

“As in a duet? Like, just the two of us?!” Her hoofnails get bitten in anticipation. “I… I don’t know what to say!’”

“Well, you were Ma’s birthday gift to me. Guess it’s ‘bout time I turn the favor your way.”

By sunset, a wagon of ponies comes along, carrying cousins and other relatives from across the state.

The scent of fresh corn fills the little ranch. The sun sets golden across the blond wheat fields. Open lays the door as it always is for family.

“Heya’, Thistles!” shouts an uncle as he steps down from the wagon. “Smells just like Ma’s like every time! Whatcha’ got whipped up?”

He enters and turns to the dining room, his familial entourage accompanying him. Those eyes ignore the long table of food. They skip ahead to Dirk Thistleweed and his former horse Sadie holding guitar and banjo, both ponies sitting down on a pair of wooden stools.

“Some good food and some good music, like every time,” Dirk replies. He then gestures to Sadie: no patting like she is “just” his horse. The gesture means great respect: an acknowledgment of her as his equal, just like him and all the other former humans. “This time, it’ll be with my trusty ol’ Sadie. It’s her first time singin’ in public, so it’ll be quite the treat.”

Sadie blushes at those familiar faces. Names and experiences run across her brain, all ending in joy over being at their level now.

She clears her throat and waves at them. “Howdy, y’all. Thanks for coming along, and I hope you’ll love our music… and the food too which we both made together.

“What I’m sayin’ is: enjoy!”

With that, the visitors get to the table and pile their plates with plentiful food. All the while, hooves strum guitar and banjo strings, soothing all ears with familiar melodies and nostalgic songs from decades and even a century ago.

As cousins gorge on their many corn dishes, they do not notice Dirk and Sadie’s silent tears of joy at their voices blending in perfect harmony.

On that day, a friendship is born anew.

Erysimum Fields

Wallflower Blush follows the hiking trail, gazing upon the green beauties that weren’t there in her last visit: the swaying bushes, the rocking trees, the flowers bobbing back and forth as they react to her every move in slow grace.

She couldn’t help but double down to one of the flowers, fragrant as ever.

The flower smiles. Or, it smiles as much as its petals could form some kind of happy expression. Petals curve upward, and Wallflower gets the message.

“They say the plants here have fallen under her happy rule,” she mutters to herself, remembering the words of those who have visited the camp recently. “Timber said if a flower treats a visitor kindly, it’s a sign of her acceptance—even friendship.”

She shakes her head and chuckles to herself. “Still can’t wrap my head around all this magic stuff.”

Despite that, Wallflower’s heart gladdens upon encountering a lighthearted Gloriosa Daisy.

By the dirt path, the camp director and local druid busies herself with beautifying the trail by growing exotic flowers from above the ground, nurturing them with her nature magic-filled hoof: flowers striped with different shades of green, their stems and leaves scraggly just like the visitor’s mane.

“They told me you were coming, Wallflower,” says Gloriosa before turning around to see her. Around the druid, flowers and tree branches turn toward Wallflower too, gathering around Gloriosa to form a halo of plants around her, not to mention her older “halo” of daisies that has adorned her head for years.

With a kindly look at the unfazed green mare, she asks, “What brings you here? Is there some new plant I can bring for your medicines?”

Wallflower paws the ground nervously. “Well, that’s the problem. I think medicines alone won’t cut it for me and Rose these days.”

Gloriosa’s brow arched in confusion. “Is that so? That’s interesting! Let’s talk about it over some tea, shall we? Oh, I’ve always liked the tea that grows around here….”

The two Earth ponies sit at a table made solely of plant stems, branches, and vines. No chairs: they sit on the grass.

Wallflower is already half done with her herbal tea, the aromas enhanced by the magic spices mixed with it: a healthy and delicious scent. After all this time, it came as a surprise to her that Gloriosa makes good tea; it stretches back to the director’s childhood when she found out that she could make tea out of flowers, and if she could make tea out of flowers, she could make it out of daisies.

Gloriosa lets down another helping of tea down her throat before setting her cup on the table. “So, in short, you’re telling me that since everyone’s getting healthy, your shop of cure-’em-all’s isn’t going well.”

Wallflower nods. “Yeah. I figured that Zecora and others like her could survive because Equestria hasn’t much modern medicine like we do. They’ve got hospitals like ours, sure, but when there’s so many magic healing plants and potions out there, why bother?”

That prompts Gloriosa to lift a flower up to her hoof and pat it like a pet dog. “That is how it is with a magic world. Why mix chemicals and turn them into pills when a drink from an enchantress would do?”

The recently-graduated mare slumps on the table. “But, that doesn’t solve anything. That just proves my point: we do have hospitals and all this modern medical stuff, and even they are catching up with the times. I still have to think of something beyond cures for our venture. I’ve tried cooking, but I’m not a good cook nor is Rose, and I doubt her florist friends are good cooks too, and that’s without any of the magic stuff which makes cooking even more complicated.”

“Uh… don’t you do well with plants?”

“I’m a gardener, not a farmer,” replies Wallflower. “I’ve tried growing cabbages. Let’s say I once made my Home Economics teacher cry. Don’t wanna think about that….”

While the green pony mulls over the thought anyway, a light bulb pops over Gloriosa’s head. “You know, considering what you’ve done in your school, I’m surprised you don’t see the obvious answer.”

Wallflower shoots a curious glance. “Uh, what do you mean? And please don’t go all cryptic druid on me like the last time with those love pine trees.”

Gloriosa chuckles again. “That was just a prank, remember? Still….”

Her magenta hoof hovers over the table, causing a couple flowers to burst and bloom into life on the surface: lilacs, daisies, roses, lilies, even a few bonsai trees.

Another flower ripens right before Wallflower’s teacup, slowly shining under the sun. Its petals are striped with green.

Gloriosa looks upon the flower and her guest with a motherly smile. “I think it’s time you got back to what you’re really good at. Time to return to pure gardening, you know?... you still take care of gardens, right?”

Wallflower props her head back up to face her host. “Yes, I still oversee Canterlot High’s Gardening Club. Though I’ve moved on from high school, they’ve been happy to keep me as supervisor and I help out in the garden once in a while.”

“Then maybe you should scrap the cures as your primary thing… oh! I got it!” A big flower grows behind her and blooms over her head, literally turning on like a green light bulb. “I could help you with your store’s renovation! I’ll send you all the flowers you need so you can work on them. Then, it will be a true flower shop!”

Vines and flowers jump in joy as she stood on the table, proclaiming, “It shall be called, The Flowers of a Wall!… or something like that.”

Wallflower fulfills her namesake by blushing. “Becoming a professional magic florist, you say? That is going to be a big move… but do you think I could do it? Like, actual magic flower gardening?”

Some packets of assorted flower seeds slither their way on vines to Wallflower, courtesy of Gloriosa’s magic. “You’ll never know if you don’t try, Wallie! If you can make magic cures like an Equestrian enchantress, then I know you’ve got this!”

At those words, Wallflower smiles and takes the seed packets.

“It’s been the fifth set you’ve tried!” shouts a galloping Rose. “You have to admit that—“

“My name is literally Wallflower Blush! You can’t tell me I’ve lost the floral touch!”

It has been weeks after the trip. With the store temporarily closed for renovations, there has not been as much backlash as the two owners expected. However, with almost forgetting her experimental flowers in the dark, Wallflower has zoomed through the city blocks for painstakingly long minutes and has not slowed down a bit.

With key in her mouth, she unlocks the door to her house. An explosion-like door slam later, she turns on the lights just in time for the magic flowers to not roast in the darkness too long. A minute too late and the spell would go wrong and the flowers would wilt.

Wallflower stands frozen.

“Alright, what’s the hold up?!” Rose yells agitated, pushing Wallflower to the side. “First, not every pony is as fast as you! Second, now you’re being too slow with—oh, wow!”

What catches Wallflower and Rose stuck in their places are some potted flowers with names on them.

The flower labeled Rose is a brimming rose with red and pale yellow petals, more thorns and stems rising from the soil. For the one named Lily Valley grows a couple lilies but not in the white she would wear on her head; instead, the star-like petals shine yellow and raspberry, the colors of her mane and coat, with stemless flowers covering the soil. The same soil decorations go for the plant called Daisy, another old classmate to remember, with her namesake flowers the color of green and purple just like her, garnished with a miniature rainbow streaming above. For Derpy, a bonsai tree sits over there in its pot, a hoofful of magical bubbles staying still on the soil.

Then, there is the one with the florist’s name on it, joining the names of her Gardening Club best friends: a lone stem of wallflowers for Wallflower Blush, its stem a striped brown like her signature sweater and its petals a glowing and pulsating magiluminescent array of green.

The surprised Rose regains enough composure to check on Wallflower.

It does not take Rose long to hug her friend as she sits down on the floor.

Wallflower cries tears of joy. Rose joins in her tears too as she hears her friend mutter, “This garden… these flowers… b-back to where I truly belong….”

That is Hay

In a sleepy suburb one hour away from Manehattan, First Straw gets off the bus home, driven by a griffon whose claws could still handle steering wheels. After several minutes of trotting, she makes it to her house.

Inside, she finds her husband, Horizon Grate, with an untied necktie hung around his withers, having just arrived home from a meeting with Equestrian businessponies and some agreed-on projects to help out Earth. The stallion now shoves veggie burritos into a microwave.

“How’s your first day back at Out on Bale?” asks Horizon in a hoarse voice.

Straw puts the saddle bags down on the sofa. “Hectic. The haypacking industry exploded because almost everyone we know’s turned into hay-eating animals. Our foreign investors aren’t too hot about it, but the demographics don’t lie: everyone’s going crazy for our hay.”

Horizon nods while setting up the dining table. “Guess that would happen.” Then, he looks at her: busy taking off her own tie, an Earth pony without pegasus wings or unicorn levitation to shortcut things. “So what’s the plan?”

A comb goes over her mane, looking at herself from afar through the bathroom mirror. “We’ve all but left agriculture as we know it. Bale won’t just be a farmers’ brand anymore since we decided to be more direct: we pack hay from small to economy sizes, and we deliver it to the groceries where the average pony can buy our hay. The farmer part of it is already a boon since we can get discounts on hay from our leverage and our deals with them. We’ll just have to wait and see how the consumer end of things goes.”

His ears perk up in delight. “So you’re like a bread factory now, huh?”

“No doubt about it.” She throws the comb away in her saddle bag and settles down at the table. “It’s a radical change, and there’s some pushback especially from the non-herbivores on the board… but, hey, if hay’s part of our diet, might as well hop on the opportunity as best we can.”

“True.” The microwave dings and Horizon goes there to get the burritos.

Having brought the saddle bags to her chair, she puts them on the table. “Say, how’s it going on your end?”

“It’s going alright, I think,” he says, holding the hot burritos on a plate balancing on his back. “I’d have to say, Equestrian business can be backwards sometimes. Some of the big cheeses don’t even know concepts like vertical integration—“

While Horizon sets the plate on the table, Straw brings out a couple chock-full bags of hay on the table, emanating a sweet fragrance which makes Horizon close his eyes and sigh in delight.

Then, he shakes his head back into his senses. “Oh, no… don’t tell me that that will be our dinner too.”

She opened it and out pours hay on her plate. Fresh, not too dry, and with leaves to boot just like good hay ought to have.

“Hay subsidy!” she declares with a beaming smile. “Gotta love that about them, no? As we say, ‘With us, you can never run out of bale!’”

She bends down to have a bite of hay, chewing on it cutely.

The stallion cannot help himself but eat hay with her too. The burritos can be their dessert.

Abby's Road

The pride of North Humcolt County is its redwood forests. Even before Equestrian magic graced its landscapes with unheard-of species of enchanted animals and plants, the tall timberlands turned over many myths and legends of mysterious disappearances and mythical sightings. Disregarding that, the forests were and still are undeniably astounding to behold: even the tallest of former humans prove ants compared to the trees of great stature.

National parks reserve most of the woodlands, although, over the decades, the county’s commission allowed more than just roads to be built in the forests’ unreserved brothers. Bustling cities never appeared, but small towns flourished among the trees along with the occasional lonely cabin on a lonely road.

Such is the cabin Sunny Flare finds herself at the front door of, knocking on it with her hoof. There, the unicorn waits, her ears on the lookout for any hoofstep ringing the inside. The dim reflections on the windows remind her of the pinkening sky above: the sun will rise soon.

Magic tinkles in the air and into her ears. Those ears prop up, and her eyes lock in on the fuchsia magic turning the door knob.

The unicorn who opened the door looks down on Sunny. She is taller than the visiting student but not by much. The cabin dweller bears the same coat color as her, though the mane is darker and curled. Her cutie mark is an image of the big jewel she’s worn on her sweater for many years in her profession before retiring due to extraordinary circumstances.

It takes a few seconds for Sunny to reel from the resident’s steely look before reverting to something more serious.

“Auntie Cinch? May I… talk to you?”

Fireplace, bookshelves, fridge, and—as stereotypically expected from a woman packing on the years (though Sunny is sure that older mares do it too)—knitted sweaters of her own making. She could see all these through the windows.

They completely pass by the cabin and venture farther into the forest. The unicorn pair of aunt and niece trot on the dirt path, meeting the many glorious redwood trees in their majestic forms. Sunny has never seen these in the flesh, this up close, so she cranes her head upward. No need to check the magic plants like the rare bit of poison joke or the magic animals like the casual jackalope. Their sheer skyscraping height, the monstrous shadows they cast, the lofty creases and grooves in the barks….

But a twig snap later—it is her fault—and her mind is yanked back to an unflinching, forward-facing Cinch trotting by her side.

“Only our bloodline would give you reason to come here, and I do not believe you would come this far just to greet an aunt,” says Abacus Cinch. That dark and rich voice has never lost an ounce of its principal authority. “Why go through the trouble of finding me?”

Eyebrows cross on Sunny’s face. “I wanted to check in on you, see how you are.”

The ex-principal shakes her head and fires off a sarcastic smile. “My apologies for not being so exciting to see. I still read, I still knit. I sometimes still do either by a campfire outside. The locations have merely changed. And, before you worry about my funds becoming insufficient, the school board’s hefty severance pay is not yet half-used.”

“You’re missing the point, Aunt Abby.” The niece does not notice her own hoofsteps becoming louder, becoming harder on the dirt. “This is the first time I’ve seen you since turning into magic horses. That’s not even the half of it: I’ve spent months of on-and-off searching, researching, asking random ponies on the street… if it went long enough, I would’ve put up an online missing poster. You know that.”

Cinch grunts as they keep walking, the forest opening up with the end of the road closing in. “And why would you bother? You can tell that I am not in any serious need thanks to the board’s lucrative offer retirement deal. Besides, I do recognize that I was getting old, maybe even senile, during the latest Friendship Games. Those Games were a sign that my time was up and that new blood must fill the ranks.”

“You’re an old hermit making sweaters no one wears, reading decades-old books about outdated Amareican school policies. That’s not the Aunt Abby I know and love.”

Her aunt snorts at that, the horse sound blending with that accent of smug authority. “Rarely does a person love who they call a pragmatic, cutthroat opportunist.”

Sunny rolls her eyes. “That’s not what I want to talk about… even if you were, okay, a pragmatic, cutthroat—“

“So you admit it?”

“Let me finish.”

The two do not stop. They keep trotting, their path’s end almost here.

“You weren’t exactly the best principal in Crystal Prep, Abby, but at least you had determination and drive. Maybe you trained us to beat Canterlot just so you can feel good about it, but you ended up teaching us discipline and high aspirations—”

“Which, as my detractors would say, is not an excuse for my behavior,” Cinch answers pointedly. “Tell me, Sunny, and tell it straight: what exactly do you seek to gain from me at this point? I hold no position of great benefit to anyone. My reputation has fallen off the face of this planet so that schools even outside the state would reject me on sight. Also, let us not forget that it was I who enabled Twilight Sparkle to almost tear apart this world.

“Tell me, my dear niece: what is it that you want to gain from someone who is so ready to admit her fall from grace?”

Sunny lets a few seconds pass in thought. “Having my aunt back in the land of the living would be great… but I want you to gain something too.”

It is the end of the path. The two unicorns stop.

A cliff stands at the end of the path.

An explosion of color accompanies the rising of the sun, pink turning to star-banishing gold. The valley, its rivers, and the little villages below shine and reflect the morning rays of light.

Cinch does not notice the caring hoof on her withers. In the months she has been here, this view has never graced her. Never, until now.

“We’re still trying to figure out what to do in this new world. Indigo Zap told me she’ll apply for some elite pegasus stunt team in Equestria after graduation. Sugarcoat is looking into sculpting as a career thanks to seeing a couple native ponies do it on the other side. Sour Sweet’s been at her cousin’s cranberry farm for the past few weeks to self-reflect. As for Lemon Zest… she’s always been a wild card, but I could tell even she is reconsidering things.”

“That the Change has changed much is obvious,” Cinch says in reply. “But you know there will be those like me who will merely continue on as best they can.”

“For them, maybe that’s for the best… but that’s them, not you.”

A couple crickets chirp unseen in the bushes and the grass. They are the last few chirps before the crickets sleep in for the day.

“This Change can be a clean new slate for you, Abby. Magic’s everywhere, everyone’s trying out something new. I’m sure you’ll find your place in this world again.”

“As if a big change like this would suddenly absolve me of my sins.”

She has a point, Sunny admits, the hopeful student keeps on a sympathetic face. “Yes, it will not be easy, but we can start out with baby steps. You could even start with us Shadowbolts… or, at least, start with me.”

That is enough to make Cinch whirl her head toward her niece in shock. “You… forgive me?”

The answer begins with a little hug on her withers. “I already have, but saying it again won’t hurt.”

For a minute, they stand there in that little hug. The sun slowly dawns on them.

For a minute, Cinch’s heart is warm and a smile emerges.

“At least you stopped being mean and manipulative, which is a start, Abby… but I do not think you should stop there. And I don’t think you should do this alone.”

With the hug over, she takes a step back and stretches a hoof out to her aunt. “Come back home to Canterlot City with me. If anyone asks, I’ll stand up for you, and I’m sure the rest of the Shadowbolts would too.

“Besides, I’m sure the new principal’s taught them that grudges are too heavy to carry.”

With that, Cinch is led away from the cliff, trotting back with her niece.

She does not say it, but, to her, a restart in life now sounds better than withering away in some lonely cabin by some lonely road.

Dance for the Moon

In Equestria’s Canterlot, Minutte knocks on the door of her bookworm friend, Moon Dancer. She lets the knocking unicorn in with a magic grab and turn of the door knob.

“Did you hear the royal proclamation?” Minuette asks right as she goes through the front door.

Moon Dancer rises from the study desk to see her visiting neighbor. “Apologies for not catching up these days. I’ve been devouring this rare copy of Marechia Whinny’s political treatise, The Princess!”

“Uh, no offense, but this is much bigger than some dead mare’s out-of-school essay.”

Moon Dancer frowns half-seriously as she closes the old tome. “What is it?”

Minuette then levitates a short scroll from her saddle bag for her friend to read. As it unfurls, Moon Dancer could espy a royal seal on it as well as the hoofprint of Princess Twilight herself.

“In short, Twilight and her Ponyville friends know about an alternate world without magic,” says Minuette as Moon Dancer checks out the announcement with a push of her glasses. “Something went wrong that made our magic leak into their world. Now, they’ve turned into Equestrians like us, they can’t turn back, and they don’t have a clue about how magic works.”

Moon Dancer does a double-taking blink. “Oh, boy. That’s a lot to take in.” She squints at the final paragraph. “And… we can volunteer, right?”

“Yup.” Her bright teeth carry a little light in the darkness. “We can help any way we can to keep their society from falling apart. Lemon Hearts is already organizing the Canterlot effort of giving them resources on magic.”

The bespectacled unicorn shakes her head in wonder. “Wow… this is big. Really big. Like… since Twilight’s the Princess of Friendship, does this mean we’ll be friends with a whole new world?”

“Seems like it. The scroll did say she has friends there.”

A pensive expression washes over Moon Dancer’s face. “Okay, but how am I supposed to help? I still have no good idea what a ‘human’ is. I don’t even know what it’s like there.” She looks out the window as if she could see the portal to the other world from here. “Do I need a special uniform or something?”

“It’s all in the attached note,” Minuette says, levitating a piece of paper on the scroll which Moon Dancer has not noticed yet. “No special uniform or anything though: For starters, they need unicorns like us to train the humans who turned into more unicorns. If you’re not up for that, we could go in and help make things Equestrian-friendly—things like their weird technology and simple things like chairs and tables. Even something as easy as sending over a couple bits and spell books would do.”

But Minuette is taken aback at the giggle Moon Dancer makes when she finishes the note. “Of course,” Moon Dancer says, pleased with herself, “the most important bit is to ‘befriend them and be there for them through this unusual time.’” Her smile then falls over. “What did it say?—magicless bipedal ape-like creatures? This is going to be such a tough time for them….”

Minuette could not help but give a moment of silence for the former humans. “I’ve already arranged my schedule over the weekend for a trip to one of their far-off cities. What about you?”

Deep brainwork fills Moon Dancer at first, especially with such a bombshell of an announcement dumped on her.

But her eyes glance over her old rare book, and she could not hide her giddy grin.

“Alright, every pony!” Moon Dancer announces in a high school at the edge of Amareica’s West Coast. “Today, we’re going to be learning more about the Fundamental Theory of Magic according to Newtrot in his famous spell-books! This time, we’ve got textbook copies for every student courtesy of Princess Twilight’s book-copying spell. So, let us now turn to page 255 where we’ll learn about the construction of magic amulets!”

The class of former human unicorns groan at the exciting lesson, unaware that Moon Dancer is finally sharing her decades of knowledge with dozens of ponies, and no one is going to stop her.

And, who knows? She might just strike a life-long friendship with a student enthusiastic over the arcane magic arts. Somehow.

Adaptation Anticipation

Canterlot Mall’s Flixiplex Cinemas are full houses tonight as creatures from all over the planet and across the inter-dimensional divide pack every movie house seat for tonight’s last showing of the first Equestria-Earth film collaboration in history: a movie adaptation of the traditional storybook A Hearth’s Warming Tale, fitting for both worlds’ onset of winter.

However, despite this significant cinema moment and despite the more significant change over the world, Canter Zoom has been taking longer than expected to let his niece back in the film industry proper, not to mention how the Change took the whole industry by storm, by the throat, and pinned it against the wall for a while.

In the meantime, Juniper Montage ushers in the movie-goers, popping up popcorn and taking in tickets along with Sight See, her partner in crime whose blank face looks more bored than corporate or official. At least Juniper puts on the effort to wear her heart on her sleeve, hyping the would-be audience with a smile threatening to break her jaw. This continues well into the night’s final showing with the late attendees met with a tired but still present grin. As for Sight See, his face droops to new levels of boredom, meeting customers’ needs but only barely.

By the movie’s end, one last crowd leaves the theater all abuzz. As they pass by (with a few of them thanking the theater ushers themselves out of the kindness of their hearts), Juniper overhears another batch of praise for the movie.

“Wow, Ma!” shouts an enthusiastic filly from Equestria. “That… that’s what they call an Earth movie?! It’s so real! They’re so much cooler than the films back home!”

Over there, an Earth pony—appropriately, from Earth—chats with a fellow cinema geek. “It’s amazing how Equestrians are tackling our technologies and our techniques in their own way. Who knew they would latch on to the dolly zooms so many times?”

Juniper could only hear more: applause for Equestria’s finest film directors somehow translating well into a new global market, innocent Equestrian joy from seeing advanced Earth technology at work, and shared appreciation for an old tale told in a new fashion.

But the night’s sugar high crashes for Juniper when she sees the last of them leave the place, replaced by an incoming janitor levitating broom and mop in his dual magic grip.

Juniper sighs and puts her head down on the counter, using her hoof to adjust her glasses.

“Wanted to watch, eh?” Sight See asks with a jaded smirk.

A groan is the yes her co-worker is looking for. “But… of course, Sights, I have to wait until at least three weeks from now.“

“Sucks to work on Friday nights.” His voice comes off with worn-out familiarity as he shuts off the popcorn machine. “And to think turning into a pony would at least make things easier. ‘Course, silly me didn’t know any better.”

Juniper watches the janitor’s magic-fueled sweeping for any source of entertainment. “Well, I’ve gotten used to it.“

“Stockhock Syndrome?”

“I don’t think so. Like, I’ve been fine waiting for every last Saturday of the month to watch everything I want, but I’m missing out on something historical with this holiday film!”

“Turning into a horse isn’t historical enough for you?”

The answer he gets is a pointed glare served up Juniper-style.

“Okay, okay!” as he holds up his forehooves in surrender. Sight See quickly turns back to the counter. While the both of them wipe the counter clean to distract themselves from each other, he mutters, “High school kids these days. Can’t handle going over to night shifts after just one week—“

“You just graduated from college.”

“That’s why I said ‘high school—‘“

The argument drops dead when they hear their boss coming in: the flaps of his wings as the pegasus glides onto the floor with a hoof around his mop, sporting a slightly fancier uniform which distinguishes him as their supervisor. Unlike the usual stern expression, however, he sports an apologetic face especially as he points the janitor towards one of the cinema houses.

“Sorry for the short notice,” he then says to the two ushers, “but I’m having everyone on overtime.”

“Again?!” The two ushers do not realize they have cried it out together.

A slow nod gets to him. “Urgent work in Cinema 1. A technician there will tell you what to—“

“How long?” Juniper asks

“An hour and a half. Shouldn’t be much longer than that… oh, and I’ve already informed your uncle on this. He’s okay with it. Now, hurry up. Everyone else is waiting for you.”

Juniper rolls her eyes as she trots her way to the cinema, the boss and Sight See in tow.

They amble through the double doors into the cinema’s dark freezing halls: the prologue to a good movie.

Her ears perk up. The rousing notes of something which her industry experience tells her is not typical end credits music.

Instead, it’s the public service announcements with their over-dramatic background melodies: do not be noisy, please be considerate of others watching the movie with you, no littering….

“Uh, what are we doing exactly?” asks a puzzled Juniper.

To her surprise, she only gets a calm serene smile on her boss.

They trot to the cinema proper and see the big screen with the same announcements over and over again. At the front, a few lines of chairs are filled with ponies and other creatures with the same uniform as hers, chatting excitedly with each other in quavering anticipation. On each chair is provided a big popcorn bag and an extra large bottle of soda.

Juniper gives her boss a strange look. “Sir, a-are you…?“

“Hey, it’s been a rough time for all of us.” A nonchalant shrug accompanies his words. “Pony world and all that jazz... and I’m sure it’s been hard for you too. So, here’s something way overdue: a late night screening of A Hearth’s Warming Tale with every pony in staff.”

As he finishes his words, a phone rumbles. It is Juniper’s, and she quickly opens her saddle bag to get it.

It’s a text from her uncle. Hope you enjoy the surprise “overtime,” Junie! ;)

Her resultant scream is so high-pitched, dogs might have been tortured over it. Luckily, the Diamond Dogs working in Flixiplex Cinemas work the day shifts she used to operate in.

The announcements are over and the screen fades to black. Juniper hastily thanks her boss, strings Sight See over to the final empty chairs, and grins like a morally dubious baby with stolen candy.

Then, holiday bells jingle, signaling the start of A Hearth’s Warming Tale.

The New Bearers of Bitter Fruit

1:00 A.M.

The dark hallway’s clock tells her that much. Her hedonistic party-party brother usually comes much, much later. Stupid drunkard, stupid posh university party lifestyle. Empty-nest parents live on the far-off coast to chase adventure on sailboats with some seapony friends. All of her own friends are uniform day larks. If it isn’t any of them….

Teeth bite her lips. Blood runs faster than a storm of buffalo. It hits her.

Burglary.

The not-so-lonely Earth pony zooms down the hall in tip-toe. Tip-hoof quietly. Tries to listen for unknown hoofsteps.

Time to be brave with spoken questions: “Hello? Is there somepony there?” Hopefully, that would alert the burglar and scare him off.

Stupid in hindsight. A regular burglar would not reveal his presence and location so easily.

Clink!

But they can make mistakes. Here’s hoping her enemy is an edgy teenage novice in the art of theft.

The mare’s ears swivel toward the living room, the source of the offending sound. Yes, the living room, the room of valuables bar none save for the occasional bedroom: television, sofa’s spare change or secret money, outdated stereo players, mid-rate paintings, expensive pottery, and precious jewelry.

Have to think, act, like a burglar: trot quietly, don’t let the other pony notice the approach. She creeps up closely to the living room’s door.

Clink! Another blunder by the bumbling burglar. All of doubt’s shadows are banished from the mare’s mind: there is an intruder.

Her head pokes through the door ajar.

That’s the one! Unicorn mare, inspecting the TV remote. Not much else to describe thanks to her baggy black clothes topped with a balaclava. Couldn’t see her cutie mark; would have been a surefire way to get the cops clamping her down.

The unicorn cocks her head. She turns to the door.

The hopeless inhabitant pulls her head back in.

A flash later, the robber is gone. The remote, too.

A few seconds of waiting, just in case the robber might give her the jump. Don’t close the door. Don’t touch the door. Don’t approach the door. Stay as still as possible until the coast is clear.

“Don’t move.”

The mare would have screamed at the robber’s voice, but hooves silence her muzzle. Her legs kick in muffled desperation, but they kick nothing.

The robber’s breath drags dread up her spine.

“Didn’t expect perfection my first time through.” The robber does not speak; she mumbles with clarity. “Still, I’m getting sloppy. Should be easy robbing the homes of new ponies like you.”

Another scream is what the mare tries. It is futile: her mouth is now gagged.

“No matter. Your new-fangled technologies will fetch a high price back in Equestria. My boss has bidders in Griffonstone, Klugetown, and even the Dragon Lands. They are dying for those devices which can hold a hundred museums’ worth of paintings!”

It has to be her phone. Good thing she placed it under the mattress when the suspicious noises cropped up.

“Anyway, I shall take these other valuables plain and simple. Try someone else on some other day, you see? Ah, and if you contact the police…well, you’ve seen me teleport, haven’t you? So, you better watch out.”

The victim is served a big smack in the head. Then, pushed against the wall, kicked multiple times on the back for good measure: a world of pain throbbing everywhere in her body.

A poof and a flash bring the robber back to the living room. The mugged mare could barely stand up, fatigued and damaged, so she could only stare in her own helplessness as the Equestrian criminal levitates all the jewelry and the pottery in sight.

And vanishes in a teleport into the night.

The resident passes out seconds later.

1:02 A.M., reads the dark hallway’s clock.

Here Comes Trouble, Make It Half

Before the Change, Tirek was a middle-aged bodybuilder whose arrogance was backed up by his strength. Hailing from the Deltoro Republic, he quickly rose in popularity during the turn of the century due to his great feats of strength despite pushing past thirty at the time: carrying a ton-heavy anvil on his back, ripping apart two phone books to celebrate getting his first cellular phone, daring a pick-up truck to run over his ab-riddled belly to end up surviving without a scratch, and funding not just one but two video games made with his likeness... or close to it, since he was depicted as a villainous centaur there.

At first, he welcomed the Change. Like many of his fellow Deltorans, he became a centaur with a form that matched his athletic physique. Getting used to six limbs proved to be a minor inconvenience, but at least he did not lose his hands like the ponies over in Amareica. Thus, life went on almost normally, with the minotaurs and centaurs of the country working together to rework everything to fit their new bodies.

What Tirek did not expect was being summoned by Princess Twilight Sparkle herself.

Hence Tirek is now incarcerated in a royal carriage big enough for his size and then some, locked in with a variety of magic spells that would zap any unauthorized intruders and Tirek himself if he went out without Twilight’s permission.

“Look, I assume you’ve read all the articles about me,” he says grumpily, “but, with all due respect, Princess, I have no plans to dominate the world… neither world, in fact. I’m not even sure where to start if I wanted to do that.”

The little princess—for he overshadows her even while sitting down—scribbles something on her clipboard. “By chance, do you have any criminal record?”

The centaur could only sigh after almost ten minutes of interrogation by a colorful pony. “Drunk driving, yes, but that was thirty years ago! Ask the police, if you have to; they’ll vouch for me. Really, I think if you would like to see how bad I am, you should check my posts online and how I stir the ire of those who are too lazy to get their bodies in shape….”

Twilight rolls her eyes to spare herself from the bicep-flexing of her guest. “If that is the case, then I must apologize for making a mountain out of a molehill.”

The adorable smile she gives softens Tirek’s heart a little, but he scratches his graying goatee in thought.

“Let me ask: why are you doing this anyway? I don’t see you randomly summoning others like this. Say… is it because I’m a celebrity who just looks like a bad guy?”

“Not really,” Twilight says, “although being a celebrity of some kind has been a common factor.”

“Common factor?” That gets his brain jogging.

A couple pictures levitate in her magic. “Ever since we realized this alternate world exists, it was fascinating to know that me, my friends, and many others have their own counterparts on Earth. However, I soon realized that the villains of our world may have their own versions here too.”

He soon realizes where Twilight is getting at. “So you’re saying that I am a villain in your world, then?” The frown morphs into a glower, though, as he asks, “Was it because of that Rise of Tirek game, wasn’t it?”

Being the unfazed diplomat and negotiator she is, Twilight hides her shuddering well. “Well, that was the start of my investigation regarding you. I was then told by the game shop owner that you were not some evil dictator from the underworld.”

Tirek could only let out a groan. “Okay… that embarrassment aside, let me guess: he is on the loose in your world and you want me to stop him somehow.”

“He was on the loose. Our Tirek currently trapped in Tartarus—“

“Wait. You have a literal underworld in your kingdom?”

Twilight nods matter-of-factly, knowing that she thought underworlds were also a thing on Earth until proven otherwise.

“What else is there? No, no… don’t tell me that. Just tell me who else you flagged down for this.”

“Hmm… to begin with, there was Sombra who I discovered was a dictator of Caneighda until he was imprisoned in a revolution. There was Chrysalis who was the last of her royal bloodline in Cambling before Thorax got elected and turned it into a republic. There was also this beggar on the street named Disc—“

“I am surprised to be in such company. Truly, I am.” Tirek then glances at his watch, deliberate in his movement. “But, again, with all due respect, Princess, I do have an appointment at the gym.”

Twilight may as well be bouncing with the amount of enthusiasm and embarrassment in her smile and gait. “Oh, yes! I do apologize for keeping you up longer than necessary, Sir Tirek! I’ll let you out, then. Thanks for your time!”

And as Tirek steps out of the carriage he then looks behind as the princess leads the carriage on. It soars across the sky like a pumpkin turned into a vehicle fit for a sleeping royal beauty.

He shrugs and groans at his lost time as he walks to the gym. “Stupid pony princess.”

Dare to Archaeologize

Far over in the continent of Zebrica, in the southern arid deserts of Anugypt, a group of field archaeologists of different stripes, colors, and species are coming over to excavate a never-before-explored site. The credit is due to some random colt throwing a rock at some obscure cave in the mountains, hearing the sound of pottery breaking down, and then discovering that the cave was more than met the eye.

Donkeys, mules, ponies, horses, zebras, and the local Anugyptians who have turned into jackals make up the team as they enter the cave, carefully going over the jars and picking up the scrolls to ascertain their contents and meanings. It is not just the scrolls that catch their attention: the designs on the jars themselves, the precious metal found in the ancient coins, handling the tools held by humans thousands of years ago….

“So this is the kind of work you really do, huh?”

Earth’s A.K. looks at Equestria’s Yearling with a nod. “Yup. When I said I was an archaeologist first and a writer second, this is what I meant. Given how the world’s changed so much, I’m just glad we can still do this like we used to. Besides, everyone’s paying more attention to it these days since we’re now stepping into a bygone era in more ways than one.”

Yearling takes her counterpart’s words into heart. Her keen eye scans the caverns of jars and carved-in shelves where more of the scrolls have lived away from human contact. “Hmm… no magic artifacts?”

“Here’s hoping there isn’t.”

Yearling reveals a little smile for her flustered friend. “Come on! There’s magic on Earth now. Back in Equestria, finding magic artifacts is like finding your house keys in the morning. It’s an everyday archaeologist thing.”

A.K. returns the smile but pays the words not much heed as she picks up a coin and dusts it gently. She puts it down on some cloth to take careful pictures of later.

“That may be an everyday thing for your kind… but I guess that’s why archaeology in Equestria isn’t much of a big deal like you said back on the way here. I say, from what I’ve read of your world, there’s already ancient relics of dark power alongside evil monsters just around the corner… and then you told me about how archaeologists need to go through boot camp just to be on the safe side.”

“And it’s just smooth sailing here,” Yearling replies. “Not that I’m saying there’s no danger to it. It’s just….”

“Normal,” says A.K. in between picking up coins, tools, and other things that have fallen on the ground and stayed there for centuries. “Mundane, even. Maybe for your pony archaeologist friends, it’s boring, but it is what it is. Plus, it was good ol’ humans who made these things in the first place… there are traps, sure, but that’s super rare. No parkour, no riddles, no mystic rings to rule kingdoms with, no self-destructing hidden Shangri-Lamb, no descendants of some Marenaissance explorer….”

Yearling follows the rambling A.K. closely, doing her bit to help by taking down the pots gently, dusting off more artifacts, and taking discreet pictures of each item uncovered while writing an exhaustive description for it. She even chips in her own ideas on what the scrolls could mean since they have turned out to be written in a rather localized ancient language that not many truly understand.

Lunch break comes and the crew come over to the mouth of the cave to eat their packed meals away from the precious but fragile scrolls.

Over hay sandwiches, A.K. looks at Yearling with a smirk as they eat at easy-to-assemble tables. “So, what do you think of how we do archaeology here? Oh, and that’s just the field work, by the way… I may not look like it, but I’m more of the office type.”

“I see.” She takes a bite of her own hay sandwich: an essential to pack in long journeys to the temples of treasure. “Well, I wouldn’t want to just say, ‘Whatever floats your boat—’”

“Oh, sure you can! Our worlds are different… in many ways, still.”

Yearling shares a chuckle with her counterpart, and with her mouth full, too, before swallowing. “To be honest with you, Daring Do’s pretty much a reflection of how we ponies do archaeology anyway.“

“As in your world is threatened by ancient evil forces every day?”

“Not exactly. If that’s the case, then Princess Twilight Sparkle and her best friends are also archaeologists just because they use the ancient Elements of Harmony.”

“… good point. Seriously, though: you’re saying that you archaeologists are a lot like action heroes, then?—saving the world and all that jazz?”

“Not to the level of Daring Do. Around ninety-five percent is an exaggeration. Still, if I told someone the tale of Daring Do without saying it’s just a story, it wouldn’t be that far-fetched.”

A.K. takes the last bite of her hay sandwich. “And you still do things like consulting archaeologists just to be sure your story is not too far-fetched?”

“Yes. I make sure to get consultations for each and every book from archaeologists, paleontologists, and even the occasional anthropologist or two.” Yearling, the adventuring archaeo-paleo-anthropologist Daring Do herself, has broken no sweat in telling this lie.

“Hmm… wait. Rainbow Dash was there in that one book and she’s no scientist in any field—“

“She taught me a lesson on not working alone,” Yearling cuts in, acting a bit too confidently for what is technically the truth. “I’ve extremely dramatized it so it fits with the story, of course, but still… she brought me through more slumps than one. I wouldn’t say she’s a close friend, but she’s the closest she can get these days.”

That raises A.K.’s suspicion. “You’ve got no best friends? In a world where friendship is literally magic?”

“Rainbow’s a loyal and dependable pony. She’s one of the few rabid fans I let into my secluded abode.”

“Heh, I can relate. And to think the Rainbow Dash here is just some student… who, okay, saved the world once or twice, but still….”

The two share a laugh over their respective Rainbow Dashes out in the middle of the desert mountains.