A Farewell to the Arms, a Welcome to the Hooves

Chapter Five

And If They Don't Drink, They Are No Friends of Mine

***

You know what's a fine way to call it a day when you have just been turned into a zebra, have a headache that's pounding your brain like a thousand ballet-dancing mammoths, and are obliged to stay in bed? That's right - escaping into town. That's the way. And that's exactly what I did.

Just as Zecora fell asleep (8 pm? Really? I would've sworn she graduated from Cambridge, being such a pussy and stuff), I, reminiscing all stealth techniques I'd learned through Metal Gear Solid (thank you, Hideo Kodjima!), turned into a ninja... pony ninja... zebra ninja and, taking each step carefully and thoroughly, left the hut. I sent a mental prayer to Sir Winston Churchill (hey, I'm an atheist! I have to pray on someone!), for the surroundings were completely familiar to me. Thank you, MLP, for letting me know every corner of the EverFree Forest! Cheers to you.

So, Stealth Mode activated, I galloped towards Ponyville, not stopping much to admire the surrounding scenery and what-not. 'Cause, you know? Nicotine withdrawal and stuff? That surely doesn't set you in a bright and all-observing mood. Like... don't smoke, guys. I'm sure you will regret it.

As I ran through the streets of Ponyville, I speculated. Nicotine is illegal; therefore, it is considered a drug; therefore, I could get it at the nearest bar, if London experience could be applied to Ponyville. I very much prayed it could, for my breath had already become shallow, and I was experiencing light dizziness. Well, what did I expect? Bad addiction is bad.

...My logical skills, as you have already guessed, are one of the few things I really take pride in. I'm a genius of deduction... if deduction is the word I want. I'm like a fucking Sherlock Holmes - only a zebra at that!

Fortunately, my brainstorming skills led me to a small pub on the outskirts - exactly the one place I needed. Pubs are the most desired form of entertainment people (or ponies, in this case) have ever created. Just imagine - a drinking place, a dancing place, a boxing (and kickboxing and at-the-hair-gripping) place - all in one!

My hooves merrily trotted through the door and I felt myself disperse in the atmosphere of the old good drinking palace. The ponies around me gifted me with quick glances. Some of them returned to their time-consuming activity. Some sat futrther from me. Fucking racist Zebra haters. And no, I'm not a zebra hater, I told you. Dammit, I'm a fucking zebra myself!

As the thoughts about how exactly I ended up in Equestria, and why Zecora was/was not speaking in rhyme, and why I was  a zebra, and who was this Jenuar, and why the fuck I was a fucking zebra (among other things), I instantly occupied a stool next to a brown earth pony and ordered a whisky. That's right - drunk head doesn't think; drunk head is light, happy and tranquil. I needed to get rid of those thoughts, for now.

"Wow. We don't usually have many zebras round here," a voice came from the left. I turned my head towards the source to tell that particular brown earth pony source that he may just as well shut the fuck up, but then realised whom I was going to address.

"No way..." I whispered, eyeing the hourglass cutie mark on his flank. "You're Doctor Whooves, aren't you?!" I pointed a hoof at him, forgetting about any trances of politeness.

"The one and only." He nodded with dignity. "However... There's been, like, eleven other ones before me... Oh well." He emptied his glass and reached for his saddlebag, taking two shiny bits from it.

Bits.

Crap. Bits. Now, as you can imagine, I woke up as a zebra and, if you haven't yet realised, completely naked. One part of being naked is that you don't have pockets; ergo, you don't have money.

And even if I did, I would have had a few quid, which they would never accept. I imagined a particular crowned face looking at me disapprovingly from a fiver.

Aww, dammit.

"Hey, Doctor?" I wondered as the pony stood up to take his leave. "Do you have any idea where a human... erm... zebra like me can earn a few bits?"

The brown pony blinked. "Human?" He leaned over my ear and whispered. "You said human, did you?"

"Didn't you. You wanted to say, didn't you."

Confound my grammar communism and everything it stands for!

"Hey, I'm British, too," he said, looking at me sternly. "I can play with my language in any way I want."

"'Too'?"  I wondered wearily. Dizziness was gradually overcoming me.

"The accent," The Doctor pointed out. "Actually, it makes sense: zebras don't usually go around talking like "hAve" and "mei"," he chuckled, mimicking our mutual accent.

I felt the world around me become muddled, as if I were looking at it from the centre of a jigsaw puzzle. Yeah, that was a rather crappy metaphor, lacking colour and what-not. But you get the idea, right?

"Doctor..." I stood up shaking. "Please... For the love of the Conservative party... I... need... tobacco..." I staggered towards the earth pony, who offered me his shoulder.

"Not so loud!" he hissed. "Those humans..." He sighed and began slowly leading me towards the exit. "Listen, I may have what you need in the TARDIS. Let's go."

As we left the room, I glanced back over my shoulder. A gruff unicorn, the bartender, appeared with a glass of whisky in his magical grip.

I waved at him dreamily, on the verge of fainting.

He just shook his head and muttered, "What is always wrong with this Doctor? He always attracts the weirdest people..."