Orson stared down at his laptop screen, trying to make sense of the blurring of his friends’ voices as they yelled over each other. This was supposed to be a dungeon map, he was pretty sure, and every now and then he thought he glimpsed a miniature. But there was a reason he wasn’t studying anything in computers, and this was part of it. This website might as well be Greek.

“It’s not supposed to be like this!” Kit insisted, her voice frustrated. There was supposed to be a video of her at the bottom too, but instead it had turned into a still frame of her crouched up on a high-backed “racing” chair, a bag of chips in her lap. “It was way better last year when it launched. Their whole team probably switched to that stupid horse game with everybody else.”

Orson kept silent, searching the screen for his own figure. He found it, dragging the model out from between several map tiles and monster pieces, none of which matched the style of the maps behind them.

“It’s not a stupid horse game!” McKenzie, coming over the same mic as the GM. “It’s Equestria Online, and it would probably be way better for your board game thing than whatever site you’re using.”

“Oh, you play?” Artie asked. As usual, he was trying to soothe the conflict before it began. “I meant to try it, but I wasn’t sure what you could do with My Little Pony. To be honest, the story kinda felt over after the third season.”

“Should we try refreshing the page or something?” Orson adjusted his laptop on his desk, finding a spot for it between a mountain of textbooks. He was almost never home, and he probably should’ve thought through how this online game was gonna go. “Or maybe Kit and I should just bite the bullet and drive down to you guys. An hour each way isn’t that bad.”

It would be—ultimately it would have to come out of his sleep. But if the group dissolved, after six years of gaming together… all he’d have left was class. He’d find a way to make it work, somehow.

“Fine with me,” Kit called, speaking over McKenzie. It was easy when she didn’t have a mic of her own. “We could carpool, Orson. Half the driving.”

I don’t think it works that way, he thought, though he didn’t argue the point.

“Everyone, calm down for a minute.” Murphy spoke confidently—the voice he always used when his players had gotten off-topic and he was trying to steer the session back to where it belonged. “Honey, I like your idea, but I’m not sure how we can run a tabletop game inside horse Second Life. We should probably just figure out how to get this website to work.”

“It can be anything!” Orson could still hear McKenzie’s voice, though muffled and distant. “I’ve got a friend in game who can make a shard do pretty much whatever we want. I could ask her to build you a… dungeon-mastering realm, or something. Like that True Dungeon thing you’re always ranting about. If you were having it in EO, I’d even join.”

“And there goes the game,” Kit whispered. “Pack it in, boys.”

Orson chuckled. “I should probably say that I do not have a clue what Equestria Online is. I can’t even roll dice on a website.”

“McKenzie already got me a… pad,” Murphy said lamely. “I’ve been putting off playing with it, but maybe she’s right. This website obviously hasn’t been looked at in months. It’s amazing the servers are up at all.”

The screen flashed, then returned them to an image of a generic group of adventures, standing before a sunset. “I’ll get back to you in a few days with how it works.” Then more quietly, “I’m not going to tell them to do it if it doesn’t work. Let’s see what your friend gives us.”

“I’ve played,” Kit called, her voice slightly embarrassed now. Mostly she still sounded angry. “It can probably make the best gaming table ever, Murphy. Except one thing: we’re going to be horses. The one who made that game had some wires crossed or some shit, and only horses allowed. I’ve been waiting for the Garry’s Mod of EO, but I haven’t seen anything. You can ask her every way you want, but it won’t let you. Game goes in there; our characters are toast.”

Orson rested one hand on the only bare patch of desk he had, as though protecting his character sheet with his life. It was as thick as a medical file at this point, with the front scarred with almost a decade of drawing and erasing. Doodles filled every inch, none very skillful. Just pointless geometric patterns to keep his hands busy at the gaming table.

“It’s not the same if we’re not playing the same characters anymore,” he said.

Artie’s voice was placating as ever. His camera was working now, though it wasn’t pointed at him. It showed a dingy basement wall, stained with splotches of black near the roof. Occasionally shadows moved on the wall, as Artie did whatever it was he did. “We could probably use the same characters, Orson. The whole game is storytelling anyway, do we really care if the miniatures are ponies?”

Orson shrugged. He had, though the more he thought about it, the sillier it seemed. They were just telling stories and rolling dice, right? One website was just as confusing to him as the last.

“I’ll give it a look,” Murphy said again. “Nobody buys anything yet. I’ll explore some other options too. There was a project on Kickstarter that seemed interesting, maybe that will pan out.”

And by the time it does, I’ll be in med school, and there won’t be enough time for any gaming. “See what you can figure out. I’d rather drive, but anything is better than just giving up the group completely. It would suck not to hang out anymore.”

He heard several mutters of agreement, even from the otherwise sour Kit.

“Fine,” she grumbled. “But don’t pretend like you’re considering anything. McKenzie said it, that means in a few hours you’ll already have made up your mind. Just admit it and tell everybody to buy their own pads. I’ve got mine somewhere, I’ll just have to drive home and pick it up. Everyone else?”

“I’ll see what I can find… used,” Artie muttered, suddenly shy. “I don’t get paid until the first…”

“If we switch, I got you,” Orson said. “Just get me an address, I’ll get it online. What am I ordering?”

Metal springs shifted as Murphy’s mic adjusted, then McKenzie’s voice was suddenly clear. “The newest ones are glasses and a set of controllers. You’ll want one too Murph, once you try mine one time.”

“Got it. Just get back to me if you think that would be better. I don’t want to miss next week too. Gotta get my gaming fix,” Murphy said.

Orson didn’t want to get into an argument about it, but he knew just as surely as Kit did that Murphy would do anything McKenzie asked. He was an excellent storyteller, but it was also the first time he’d had a serious relationship. Was it really Orson’s place to be putting it in jeopardy because she wanted to use a different website?

“See you in horse town next week, everybody,” Kit said. “And if you need any help setting it up Orson, I can do it. I’ve never done one of the new ones, but it can’t be that different than first edition.”

“Sure,” he said. “Probably won’t be here until Sunday at the earliest, even if I order tomorrow. Give it a few days, I’ll…”

He was already flipping out his phone, skimming through the schedule. It was there in intricate detail, every task he was assigned outlined and connected to class websites where appropriate. “How about Monday?” He hated skipping the gym, but maybe he could bike to campus instead of driving. A little wiggling in the schedule around there, and it would work out fine.

“I’m good Monday,” Kit said, so quickly his eyebrows went up. What was so exciting about setting up a video game? “But it won’t take that long, I promise. Horse stuff is weird, man. It’s always next day shipping. Sometimes it shows up same day. No I don’t know why and yes it is extremely creepy.”

The next day, Murphy didn’t even make it to noon before messaging them. “You guys won’t believe what we can do with this thing. I promise you’ll forget how annoying it is to buy some new hardware after the first session. It’s gonna be damn amazing.”

“Called it,” was Kit’s message, already waiting.

Orson found a few moments after his evening run to open Amazon and search for “Equestria online kit” and start skimming through results. He expected thousands of products with even more knockoffs, but there were only a few. One—consisting of a set of gloves, a pair of adjustable glasses, and a little silvery base-station, was even half off. He ordered two, and made sure to save the receipt in case things didn’t work out and he had to send them back.

Sure enough, the finalized order promised “next day delivery” on both packages.

It was waiting outside his door when he stepped out to go to class, a smooth box wrapped in a generic yellow bubble mailer. He tossed it inside, then went about his routine as usual.

The box was waiting for him when he got home from work, threw it onto the living room sofa. It didn’t seem big enough to have a computer in it, even one of those portable laptops.

It seemed a shame to leave it sitting all wrapped up until Monday. Orson took it back to his bedroom, tearing open the envelope as he went. The box inside was sleek and black, like anything Murphy might’ve bought and told him in long text rants how much he needed to buy one too.

The box did come wrapped in tight shrink-wrap, which was plenty satisfying to peel away. Soft foam cushioned the three pieces of the kit, waiting under a single sheet of paper.

It used pictures instead of instructions, conveying the basics of how to plug in the base station, then use it to charge the other items. Other than that, there was just a bunch of weird horse branding.

Of all the things to go all-in on, why would a company choose this? Marketing to grade-schoolers, maybe there would be some logic in it. But did any other demographics want to see pictures of horses on everything? Even the few subtle outlines sketched onto the instructions were enough to make him balk.

Might as well finish setting this up. Less for Kit to do when she comes over.

There were only two things to plug in, and he’d seen internet cords before. His laptop was on wireless all the time anyway, so he could probably find a cord for it.

Once he’d started, Orson wasn’t going to give up, even if he had to crawl around a bit on a floor that probably needed a good vacuum. He knew he’d finally done it right when the box made a cheerful humming sound, five notes to a simple melody. This is really an entire game system, a pair of oversized glasses and some gloves?

He pulled them out of the foam one at a time. A pair of sturdy-feeling fingerless gloves, with a little electronic bulk on the back of the hand. His movement was enough to make them glow faintly near the Velcro—apparently they’d come pre-charged.

“We couldn’t get a website to work for us, how is this supposed to be easier?”

Orson had the apartment to himself; he wasn’t expecting an answer. But he got one, a voice as neutral and inoffensive as the melody. “If you have five minutes, that would be enough for a simple demonstration. Just secure the controllers, then the headset. Don’t worry, the glasses will adjust for your prescription automatically.”

No way in hell that works.

Orson set his own glasses aside, then slipped both the gloves on. The fabric was even lighter than he expected, without feeling too constricting or too loose. Then he flipped the glasses open, and settled them on his nose.

Even he could afford five minutes.