And you shouldn't have come

Author's Notes:

Okay, so.

Not long ago I mentioned vaguely that I wasn't sure what scary was? And that I was trying to write something unpleasant but couldn't get through it? Well I got through it.

Monsters and gribbly nastiness I don't find especially scary. Having someone you like suffering and finding yourself utterly unable to help because you don't know how or just can't (or both) I find scary.

Hence.

And I put a sad tag on this one ahead of time, as I'm pretty sure someone will think it's sad.

This is not exactly a laugh riot, I'll admit. But whatever. I have range, damnit!

Letter-based communication between ponies and humans was easy. You could send a letter backwards and forwards no problem at all, this was known, this was common. Had been for yonks now. Visiting in person, however, was hard. Which is to say entirely unknown.

It was just the way things are.

Or at least it was the way things were. For the pony penpal that Ben had been in communication with for some time now - a wonderfully lovely unicorn name of Puddlejumper whom he thought was just tops - had been, more as an exercise in intellectual curiosity than anything else, been working on something she said might be able to let her hop across and visit him.

Some device, she said. Something that’d let her hop across.

He’d humoured her, of course. Asking every after the thing’s progress every so often in his letters, reacting appropriately when she said she was really coming on leaps and bounds, not really believing it. After all, if it could be done, wouldn’t have been done already?

That’s what he thought, at least, so imagine his surprise when, one day, she wrote to say that she’d finished it and it was ready and raring to go and she could come and visit him whenever he said he was ready and, no, this wasn’t a joke.

So, still thinking that it was actually a joke, he said that he’d be ready whenever she was and he’d sit and wait for her arrival.

And it worked!

He was sat in his lounge sipping tea and waiting when, with a ripping sound that came from the very weft and warp of existence itself being sliced through there appeared - out of thin air! - a pony! A unicorn, specifically, and a unicorn that Ben recognised from the picture she had previously sent. He leapt to his feet as she blinked dazedly.

“Hello!” He said.

“Hello!” She said.

Then, after a moment of the kind of awkwardness that always occurs when meeting someone who, up until then, had only ever been words on a page, Ben dropped and gave her a hug. He couldn’t help himself!

She was just so cuddly and huggable!

“Aww! You’re just so adorable!” He said, still on one knee.

“Please don’t call me adorable,” she replied, flatly, before sneezing in his face without warning and clamping her hooves over her muzzle. “I’m so sorry!”

Ben hadn’t moved a muscle, other than those few required to close his eyes.

“Right in the face. Alright, maybe a little less adorable. Still cute, though,” he said, wiping himself on the sleeve of his t-shirt, wrinkling his nose.

“I don’t think this place agrees with me!” Puddlejumper laughed, hooves still to her face. Ben rose to standing and put his hands on his hips.

“Knew I should have dusted,” he said, then pointing to the thingy strapped around her middle. “That your fancy dimension-hopping device?” He asked and she craned her neck back to look, then nodded.

“Yep! Worked! Told you it would,” Puddlejumper said with no small amount of pride in her voice.

“Never doubted you for a second. How does it work?” Ben asked.

“Do you want me to explain it fully, or just give you the simple version?”

“Oh you know me, simple, please!”

The simple explanation was still far too complicated for Ben’s tastes but broadly involved Puddlejumper having used the accumulation of his and her correspondence as anchoring points, so that her device (which operated by flicking on a big switch, twisting a big knob and then pressing a big button once a big light had turned green, apparently) would flick her from hers to his and from his to hers.

Ben did not understand this but nodded like he did. Anything for an easy life.

“Wonderful,” he said once she’d wrapped up.

“You didn’t understand any of that, did you?” Puddlejumper asked, head cocked, smirking. She’d unstrapped the thing from about herself by this point and left it on the coffee table.

“I got the bit about big knobs,” he said and she stuck her tongue out at him.

All in good fun. Ben clapped his hands together and gave them a brisk rub.

“Alright, it’s a nice day and it’s not even lunch, what do you want to see?” He asked. Puddlejumper perked up immediately, eyes bright.

“Everything! All the places you told me about! Even the rubbish bits.”

According to him his hometown was mostly rubbish bits but she always reckoned he was just being overly negative - now was the time to prove it so!

“That might take more than a day,” he said.

“Well then we should get started!”

“Enthusiasm! I like it!”

And so off they went to see the sights, such as they were. The sunny weather really did make town look a lot better than it normally did, but even then Ben didn’t exactly feel like it was the most spectacular tour. Puddlejumper disagreed heartily - it was all so different and weird! She loved it!

Town was quiet enough too that the sight of a pony - a bonafide pony, over here! - didn’t attract undue attention. It attracted due attention instead, which meant stopping every so often to have a chat with an amazed local, something Puddlejumper also thoroughly enjoyed, even if she was starting to get the sniffles. Ben blamed the air quality and figured it perhaps best to steer her towards greener parts of town.

Hence, to the canal! And the lock! And some willows! And more besides!

“And this is the weir! I like the weir. Sometimes people in canoes come and - hey, you okay?”

The sound of sniffing had become impossible to ignore and, looking down, he found Puddlejumper staring ahead dazedly, her eyes red, her nose running. Ben frowned and took a knee the better to get a proper look at her.

“You kind of look like you’ve got hayfever or something, you feel alright there?” He asked.

She sniffed again and swayed in place.

“I think I need a lie down…”

“Okay, uh, let’s go back then,” Ben said, a trifle worried but not overly. They walked back. Once nearly there Puddlejumper’s legs gave out and so Ben carried her the rest of the way, which did at least make it easier to tuck her into bed once he got home.

He tucked her into his bed, as he did not have another and, well, because he didn’t give it a whole lot of thought at the time. She just needed a lie down, so why not.

“Thanks Ben,” she said blearily. The redness around the eyes had faded but she still didn’t look good. Ben was still frowning.

“You want some water or something?” He asked.

“Yes please.”

He moved off at speed to do that, returning shortly with a glass of water which she took in her hooves. Ben had kind of expected magic there - her having mentioned that sort of thing in her letters - but no, hooves. She raised the glass to her lips and gulped.

She couldn’t keep the water down and it was while she was spluttering and coughing that Ben noticed something else - her horn was drooping.

Like butter that had been left out of the fridge. Not melted, not yet, but soft.

“Uh, PJ, I think you need to-” he started to say only to be cut off by her putting the glass down on the beside table and promptly rolling over and away from him.

“Just need...to rest…” She mumbled.

Ben hesitated for a split-second, mostly out of utter bewilderment.

He snapped out of it though and leaned over her.

“No no no don’t go to sleep, come on, stay with me, you can’t go to sleep, I need your help, you need to tell me what to do,” he said.

“Little...rest…”

“No, not now, soon I promise, soon. Please, PJ, I need your help,” he said, putting a hand to her shoulder and giving her a little shake

She didn’t feel as soft and snuggly as she had before. She felt different. Yielding. Again, like butter. When Ben pulled back a lot of her came away with his hand, like having touched wet paint.

Ben stared at this for a moment before retching and fleeing the room as quickly as possible.

He made it about halfway down the corridor towards the bathroom before doubling over and throwing up all over the carpet. Slumping against the wall he heaved a few times before staggering the rest of the way and furiously washing his hands in the sink, shaking.

“Oh shit. Oh fuck. Oh shit oh fuck oh shit oh fuck…”

What was he supposed to do? What was he meant to do? He had to be doing something, something, anything! What? What?!

She was sick, but it wasn’t normal, wasn’t like anything he understood. What was he supposed to do? Call an ambulance? What were they going to do? They wouldn’t know what to do either. People talked to ponies through letters! No-one had ever actually met one! They wouldn’t know what to do!

So what was he supposed to do?!

Gripping the sink hard enough to turn his knuckles white he stared at his reflection in the mirror.

“Think. Think, motherfucker! Do something!”

The device! The thingy she’d used to get here! Yes! It cut both ways!

Get her home! They’d know what to do! They’d help her!

He dashed back to the lounge and found the thing on the coffee table where it had been left, snatching it up with still-shaking hands. What was it again? Flick switch, turn knob, wait for light then strap it onto her and press the button. Simple!

So he flicked the switch and turned the knob and waited for the light. And waited.

And waited.

Nothing happened.

“Why won’t you work? What do you want?!” He shouted at it with increasing panic, shaking it furiously and achieving nothing “Why won’t you do anything?!”

No answers. He stared at it blankly, terror boiling up from his guts and blanking out any useful thoughts. What was he supposed to do? It wasn’t working. Nothing was working!

Think! Think, you stupid piece of shit!

Think!

Ben swallowed, his throat dry. He didn’t know what to do. Someone else had to. Puddlejumper would, but she was out of it, she was sick. He could send a letter, ask for help. That had to be an idea, right? Someone else would know what to do. They had to know what to do.

Writing letters between here and there was surprisingly simple, at least in practise. Simply take the quill (which would have been sent ahead of time), write out your letter on any appropriate piece of parchment, paper or anything else sufficiently flat, sign your name and then clearly write the name of the person (or pony) you wished the letter to go to.

Then, with that done, flick the quill itself through the air with the correct motion. If done properly this should open up a brief slash between worlds into which you post your letter, which will then drop from a corresponding slit right at the feet (or hooves) of your recipient. Simplicity itself.

So this was what Ben did, as quickly as he could while keeping his writing legible, explaining the situation as succinctly as possible and then pausing when it came to thinking about who to address it to.

Who was that one other she always mentioned? The Princess? The one who knew about magic? The one she hung out with quite a bit? Kind of her idol?

Twilight! That was it!

He scribbled the name down, did the slash through the air and sent the letter off. And that was that. He’d done it.

But nothing had changed, really.

He looked again at the device but it was still dead, inert. He picked it up and gave it another shake, just in case. Nothing.

“Do something! Do something!”

Why wasn’t it working?

Broken? Had he done it wrong? Just in case he started over a few times but this didn’t help. Maybe it was a magic thing. Maybe the magic bits of it had worn out, or just weren’t working properly here. Or because he was the one fiddling with it. Maybe you needed magic to work it.

Maybe, maybe…

Puddlejumper had magic. Why hadn’t he thought of that before? Why hadn’t he thought of that first? Idiot, idiot! What the fuck was wrong with him? How could he have been so stupid? Idiot!

It had to be that, it had to be. Had to be.

He just had to get Puddlejumper to do it. That would work. Then it would work. That would fix it. Then she could go home. Go home and get better. That would work. That would do it.

He stumbled back to his bedroom. Puddlejumper hadn’t moved. She sounded wheezy now. Ben fell to his knees by the bed and reached over to try and shake her awake - shaking her through the covers this time, knowing better.

She didn’t stir at first but he kept at it, being gently but not letting.

“Puddlejumper? PJ? Come on, wake up now, nap time’s over. I need your help, come on,” he said softly, throat dryer than ever.

Groaning she stirred, rolling over his way. She opened her eyes. Or tried to. One had melded shut.

“Ben?” Ben, you’re here! You came…” She asked, her voice thick, wet, like it was coming up through feet of mud. She was smiling, or at least mostly smiling, what parts of her face that still allowed it lighting up on finally noticing him.

Ben swallowed and took one of her hooves in his hand, trying to ignore how soft it now was, and how his fingers were sinking in, how parts of her were starting to soak through the sheets.

“PJ, I need you to do something,” he said quickly, no time to waste. He held up the device in his free hand. “You need to just - you need to magic that thing you made. It’s dead, but you can restart it, right? And you can go back and get help. You need-”

She wasn’t listening. Or couldn’t hear him.

“You can meet my friends...they’ll like you...told them...about you…”

“What?” He asked, but then he twigged it: delirious. Thought she was already home, thought he’d come with her. Had no idea what was happening to her.

“They’ll like you…” she repeated, trailing off, the one eye starting to close again.

“No no, hey, PJ, stay awake,” he said, squeezing her hoof and immediately regretting it. She didn’t even notice that part, but her eye did flutter open again, flicking around the room before settling on him.

“Hmm? Oh, hello Ben…” she said happily. Ben moved the device so it was in her line of sight. Not that she noticed.

“You’re not well, we need to get you home. This isn’t working. It needs magic, I think. You need to - you need to do something. To make it work. So you can go home. Come on. Please? Please.”

Her face creased in confusion.

“Magic…? You’re not magic...silly…” She said, and she might have laughed at that but it didn’t sound like laughing. Then she blinked. It was slow, and took effort.

“Where are...are my friends...here…?” She asked.

“They’re - they’re not - you need to - PJ, you need to - I can’t - “ Ben said, stopping and starting, incapable of getting it out, falling to bits just look at her. Her eye was starting to run down her cheek.

He was realising something.

This wasn’t going to work.

He swallowed, stared over, about managing to keep his voice level:

“They’re - they’re outside, just outside. They’ll be here in a second. T-they’ll be here.”

“Yay…” she croaked, then reaching out to him with two trembling forelegs. “Cuddles…”

“Cuddles,” he repeated, delicately slipping in beside her on the bed and letting her crawl weakly onto his lap, there to weakly cuddle him. He cuddled her back, staring into space, his eyes stinging and blurry.

And he held her until there was nothing left of her to hold anymore.

Later - too late - he got a reply to his letter. It dropped onto the bed beside him. He stared at it for a long, long time before finally picking it up and reading it.

The letter said, in broad strokes, that Puddlejumper hadn’t told anyone else what she’d been planning to do and had only built one of the little devices she’d used to make the trip. So even if they’d known in time to do something, they wouldn’t have been able to.

It went on to say that Puddlejumper had said lots of very nice things about Ben, and that they were sure he would be able to look after her until they figured out a way of getting her back safely.

The letter finished by asking whether Puddlejumper felt any better, expressing hope that she did and looking forward to hearing about how much fun she’d had on her visit.

Ben did not know how to reply.

And so he just stayed where he was. Sat in his bed.

Soaked in his friend.

Alternate: But you're welcome all the same

Author's Notes:

Kind of a pointless waste of time but I was just glancing over my list of things I'd done and I caught this one and I remembered what had happened to Puddlejumper and I felt bad and so I've done this, because I'm the author and I can.

Probably garbage but words, whatever. You know? Yeah.

Letter-based communication between ponies and humans was easy. You could send a letter backwards and forwards no problem at all, this was known, this was common. Had been for yonks now. Visiting in person, however, was hard. Which is to say entirely unknown.

It was just the way things are.

Or at least it was the way things were. For the pony penpal that Ben had been in communication with for some time now - a wonderfully lovely unicorn name of Puddlejumper whom he thought was just tops - had been, more as an exercise in intellectual curiosity than anything else, been working on something she said might be able to let her hop across and visit him.

Some device, she said. Something that’d let her hop across.

He’d humoured her, of course. Asking every after the thing’s progress every so often in his letters, reacting appropriately when she said she was really coming on leaps and bounds, not really believing it. After all, if it could be done, wouldn’t have been done already?

That’s what he thought, at least, so imagine his surprise when, one day, she wrote to say that she’d finished it and it was ready and raring to go and she could come and visit him whenever he said he was ready and, no, this wasn’t a joke.

So, still thinking that it was actually a joke, he said that he’d be ready whenever she was and he’d sit and wait for her arrival.

And it worked!

He was sat in his lounge sipping tea and waiting when, with a ripping sound that came from the very weft and warp of existence itself being sliced through there appeared - out of thin air! - a pony! A unicorn, specifically, and a unicorn that Ben recognised from the picture she had previously sent. He leapt to his feet as she blinked dazedly.

“Hello!” He said.

“Hello!” She said.

Then, after a moment of the kind of awkwardness that always occurs when meeting someone who, up until then, had only ever been words on a page, Ben dropped and gave her a hug. He couldn’t help himself!

She was just so cuddly and huggable!

“Aww! You’re just so adorable!” He said, still on one knee.

“Please don’t call me adorable,” she replied, flatly, before sneezing in his face without warning and clamping her hooves over her muzzle. “I’m so sorry!”

Ben hadn’t moved a muscle, other than those few required to close his eyes.

“Right in the face. Alright, maybe a little less adorable. Still cute, though,” he said, wiping himself on the sleeve of his t-shirt, wrinkling his nose.

“I don’t think this place agrees with me!” Puddlejumper laughed, hooves still to her face. Ben rose to standing and put his hands on his hips.

“Knew I should have dusted,” he said, then pointing to the thingy strapped around her middle. “That your fancy dimension-hopping device?” He asked and she craned her neck back to look, then nodded.

“Yep! Worked! Told you it would,” Puddlejumper said with no small amount of pride in her voice.

“Never doubted you for a second. How does it work?” Ben asked.

“Do you want me to explain it fully, or just give you the simple version?”

“Oh you know me, simple, please!”

The simple explanation was still far too complicated for Ben’s tastes but broadly involved Puddlejumper having used the accumulation of his and her correspondence as anchoring points, so that her device (which operated by flicking on a big switch, twisting a big knob and then pressing a big button once a big light had turned green, apparently) would flick her from hers to his and from his to hers.

Ben did not understand this but nodded like he did. Anything for an easy life.

“Wonderful,” he said once she’d wrapped up.

“You didn’t understand any of that, did you?” Puddlejumper asked, head cocked, smirking.

“I got the bit about big knobs,” he said and she stuck her tongue out at him.

All in good fun. Ben clapped his hands together and gave them a brisk rub.

“Alright, it’s a nice day and it’s not even lunch, what do you want to see?” He asked. Puddlejumper perked up immediately, eyes bright.

“Everything! All the places you told me about! Even the rubbish bits.”

According to him his hometown was mostly rubbish bits but she always reckoned he was just being overly negative - now was the time to prove it so!

“That might take more than a day,” he said.

“Well then we should get started!”

“Enthusiasm! I like it!”

And so off they went to see the sights, such as they were. The sunny weather really did make town look a lot better than it normally did, but even then Ben didn’t exactly feel like it was the most spectacular tour. Puddlejumper disagreed heartily - it was all so different and weird! She loved it!

Town was quiet enough too that the sight of a pony - a bonafide pony, over here! - didn’t attract undue attention. It attracted due attention instead, which meant stopping every so often to have a chat with an amazed local, something Puddlejumper also thoroughly enjoyed, even if she was starting to get the sniffles. Ben blamed the air quality and figured it perhaps best to steer her towards greener parts of town.

Hence, to the canal! And the lock! And some willows! And more besides!

“And this is the weir! I like the weir. Sometimes people in canoes come and - hey, you okay?”

The sound of sniffing had become impossible to ignore and, looking down, he found Puddlejumper staring ahead dazedly, her eyes red, her nose running. Ben frowned and took a knee the better to get a proper look at her.

“You’re not, like, deathly allergic to my dimension or anything like that, are you?” He asked, concerned, this idea only just now having crossed his mind, putting a hand delicately onto her shoulder.

Would put a real dent in the joy of this meeting if she died horribly.

His kneeling down and his putting a hand to her got Puddlejumper back to the moment and she gave an especially loud sniff, blinking and giving him a broad smile, one with just the slightest touch of sheepishness to it.

“No, sorry, just tired - maybe kinda stayed up all night ‘cos I was excited about coming. Maybe. A little,” she said.

Again, Ben was very nearly overcome with the potent cuteness. The shy look on her little, sniffly face! He could just devour her!

“Tsch. Forgoing sleep is very naughty! Doesn’t explain any of this, either,” he said, waving a finger about her face to indicate the red eyes, running nose and so on and so forth. Puddlejumper gave another momentous sniff.

“My adorability?” She offered, fluttering her lashes in exaggerated fashion. A bit on the nose, that, but effective nonetheless.

“I thought that word was off-limits?” Ben asked, fairly certain he remembered that part.

“To you. I can use it all I like,” Puddlejumper said with a wide, wide grin plastered across her face, her look of intense smugness spoiled somewhat by her still-running nose. What a glaring double-standard. Ben shook his head sadly, overwhelmed by the injustice in the world.

“Unfair. And no, not that, I mean the sniffing, the red eyes, the runny nose, all that. Are you alright?” He asked. He was still a little concerned.

“I have hayfever,” Puddlejumper said, again sniffing.

Ben slapped his thigh suddenly and loudly enough to make the poor pony jump. That explained it! Hayfever had been the bane of his life during the Summer months for years up until the point it had inexplicably just stopped being a problem for him for no obvious reason. He knew the pain though, and remembered it well.

“Ah, why didn’t you say! Allergic and sleep-deprived! That won’t do at all. How can you enjoy the full depth and breadth of my shitty hometown if you’re not feeling your best? Come on, you, we’re going back to mine and you’re getting rested.”

“What? No, I’m fine, honestly-”

“No no, I shan’t hear of it. You’re having soup and a nap. And maybe an antihistamine. Can pony’s take those?” He asked.

“I...don’t know?”

She didn’t. Neither did he.

Best not risk it, Ben decided.

“Maybe just tissues then. Until we’re sure,” he said.

And so back to Ben’s! Puddlejumper grumbled as she followed but followed all the same, even as she protested that she was fine - though yawns were now creeping in amidst the sniffles.

About halfway back she started lagging as that all-nighter started catching up with her, so Ben picked her up and carried her the rest of the way. She protested about this, too, but in a way that was cute enough for Ben to be in severe danger of squeezing her too tight.

Nothing quite as sweet as someone nodding off even as they swear blind they’re wide awake.

By the time they arrived Puddlejumper was actively snoozing in Ben’s arms, which rather put the kibosh on the soup part of the plan, but that was fine, there’d be time for that later. For now Ben - carefully juggling a sleeping pony - settled himself down on his sofa and watched something with the volume turned right down, peering down every so often to check on the progress of Puddlejumper’s nap.

The occasional little twitch, incoherent grumble and twist-and-or-turn in his arms seemed to suggest that the nap was a good one. Ben wondered what she was dreaming about, and hoped it was pleasant.

At length, one of her eyes opened and she blinked and peered about.

“What? Ngh - where - what - “ she said in that way someone just waking up tends to effect.

“You had a little nap. Feel better?” Ben asked.

Puddlejumper shifted around more properly, waking up by inches, realising that the place she’d been napping had been Ben’s lap, blushing, slipping off his lap and instead sitting beside him instead. She then stretched and yawned.

“A bit,” she said.

“Good! Certainly stopped sniffling. Think being inside’ll do that for you. Hungry?” He asked her, moving to get up and go to the kitchen.

“I could eat,” she said.

There followed the soup, it’s time having come. They had it on the sofa together, Puddlejumper getting her first taste not only of human soup (which is to say soup made by humans, rather than soup made of humans) and also human television programming, which she found baffling but also intensely fascinating.

And while she watched the screen, Ben watched her. This she eventually noticed.

“What? Did I get soup somewhere?” She asked, looking around and about her.

“No. Well, not that I’ve seen yet. Just wondering if you’re feeling okay,” he said.

This persistent concern got Puddlejumper’s hackles up. She wasn’t made of glass!

“I’m fine!” She said firmly. Firmly enough that Ben held his hands up.

“Good, good. I just worry, is all! Big thing, getting over. Letters is one thing, but a whole you? That’s something else! Something could have gone wrong. Did you do safety checks before making the trip?”

Now that was just insulting. He meant well, yes, but come on.

“Obviously. It was one of the first things I did. After finding out a way to make it work at all, of course. Once I got it working I knew I was onto something kind of important so I went to Princess Twilight. She was very interested. Helped me sort out a few issues, made sure nothing obvious would go wrong.”

“Uh, what’s an obvious thing that could go wrong?” Ben asked. Plunging across dimensional barriers wasn’t something he had a lot of personal experience with. Letters were indeed one thing, but this was quite another as far as he was concerned.

Wouldn’t have known where to start, him personally! His admiration for Puddlejumper’s keen mind knew no bounds. Smart girl! Sharp as anything.

“Lots of things are obvious things that could go wrong! Mainly though it’s, uh, - do you want the simple version?” Puddlejumper asked again and Ben nodded emphatically.

“Definitely,” he said. Puddlejumper took a second to get her thoughts in order.

“Basically here where you live is not like there where I live. If I’d come here unprepared something pretty bad might have happened. Might not have! But also might have. So we came up with a way of making sure it definitely wouldn’t,” she said.

Ben raised an eyebrow.

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” Puddlejumper said, patting the fancy-pants device of hers still strapped about her middle. “Put an extra piece into the device, keeps everything the way it should be, gets me over here in one piece and keeps me in one piece. Long as I’m wearing this I’ll be totally fine. Probably work something more permanent out later but, well, I wanted to come see you…”

This last part was perhaps mumbled a little. Before Ben could probe her on it she cleared her throat and crashed onward, mostly just to change the subject or at least move attention away from her mumblings.

“Mean, if we hadn’t and if I’d just come across the first time I could who knows what might have happened! Could have just, I don’t know, melted or something!”

“That wouldn’t have been good,” Ben said, profoundly glad that his friend hadn’t melted and wasn’t presently melting.

“No! That would have been bad!” Puddlejumper said.

“Very bad,” Ben said, again nodding, this time in solemn agreement.

They had a little giggle at the sheer silliness of the direction their conversation had taken. Once they’d moved past the giggling, Ben said:

“So you had a princess helping you with this little hobby of yours, eh? My my, going up in the world aren’t you?”

She gave him a whap on the leg.

“It’s not a hobby, it’s serious! And, well, yeah. Wasn’t going to do all this on my own, not the whole thing. I’m good but I’m not that good,” she said, then feeling compelled to add: “I did most of it, but Princess Twilight helped with some of the more complicated bits.”

“Like not dying?” Ben asked.

“Like not dying.”

“Cunning. She sounds tops,” Ben said.

She had been mentioned once or twice in Puddlejumper’s letters, Princess Twilight, usually in fairly glowing terms.

“She’s pretty cool,” Puddlejumper said, her attention straying back to the television screen for a moment as something flashy and loud happened on it, giving Ben time to dwell on the wonderful technological development that had allowed his long-time penpal to come visit in person. What a time to be alive!

Ben, after some further, quiet thought on the subject, asked:

“Hey, since you’ve invented this thing and got a princess backing you that mean this thing is going to go into full production or what? We going to have ponies coming over in tour groups? Does that mean you can come back and see me again? Or can I go back with you?”

His excitement had risen the further along this line he had progressed. The mind reeled at the possibilities!

This had already crossed Puddlejumper’s mind, too, and though she knew she shouldn’t let her glee get the better of her sound judgement and patience this was a lot easier said than done.

“Early days and don’t say I said this and it’s not as easy as that but maybe!” She said.

“Ooh!”

What a thought! Ponies visiting humans! Humans visiting ponies! Long in communication, finally in the meeting! Oh! What long-time friends would finally get to speak face-to-face, just like they were? And Ben himself could finally get to see all the things and meet all the people - er, ponies - that Puddlejumper had told him about in her letters! Her friends! Her own hometown!

Though, that did remind him that he still had his town to finish showing her. He glanced to a window.

It was pissing down with rain. That happened sometimes.

Reining in his brimming excitement at the thoughts of the future he nodded to the window and got Puddlejumper to look and take note of the turn the weather had taken.

“Sadly I think we’re not going to be seeing much more today, unless that stops. Looks like we’re going to be stuck inside. You’ll just have to spend time on this sofa with me, watching weird alien entertainment,” Ben said, pointing to the television which continued to be loud and flashy.

“Awful,” Puddlejumper said, not even bothering to hide her delight at the prospect.

“Poor girl. Either way tomorrow I’ll finish showing you the sights! And we’ll bring tissues for the sniffles,” he said.

“Good plan, I like it.”

“Yeah!”

They executed a perfect, non-practised hoof-and-fist collision - a ‘bump’ you might call it - and felt jolly pleased with themselves.

Puddlejumper then looked back to the television and then down at the end of the sofa she’d moved to, then swallowed.

“Um,” she said, uncertainly. “I couldn’t - couldn’t get back to where I was before? The view was better on - on your lap. Could see better,” she said, fighting the mumbles with all her might. Ben patted his lap.

“By all means, hop on.”

She did, immediately.

And they watched something stupid in companionable quiet.