I could have sworn that over the last two months, I’d explained a bit about my past to at least some of my friends, but I guess the only one I actually told was Ice Blossom. I know Chill Beat learned through either eavesdropping or Blossom trusting her. Personally, I’m still not completely sure of anypony with a horn attached to their head—barring the princesses, Twilight, Shining Armor, and my therapist—but aside from being a protective big sister, she hasn’t done anything to earn my distrust. Pointy ponies are dangerous ponies, after all; I should know! I was one!

“... Silver, do you seriously expect me to believe that you used to be an alien from another universe—an alien that used to be male, no less?” Gale asks me, incredulous from upon her bed. I can tell she doesn’t believe me because she’s doing that whole beak frowning business with a furrowed brow. “I should be taking you to the hospital and getting your head checked. No, nuts to that! I should go hunt down your therapist, because you clearly need him. Did nearly dying fry your brain?”

Instead of being bothered by her doubts, I smile, remembering the object I placed on my desk this morning. “What if I could prove it?” Trotting from her bedside to my desk, I grab the digital camera’s strap between my teeth before returning to her. “Here.”

Frowning, the griffon takes the camera in her claws. “What is this thing?” she asks. “This almost looks like a camera, but where do the polaroids even come out? It’s too small!”

Smiling, I motion to her to rotate it, until the shutter control is upright and the screen i pointed toward her. “It is a camera, but instead of a reaction of light on the chemicals of a polaroid, the image is converted into electrical impulses and stored for use with another piece of tech from my world. There is, however, a way to review photographs you’ve already taken,” I explain. “There’s a small button just beside the shutter button there, that will turn it on.”

Following my instructions, she depresses the button, evoking a beeping and a mechanical groan from the small device. It nearly startles her enough to drop it, but I prop my head between her claws just in time to prevent the memento from crashing to the floor. Once she has it firmly back in her grasp, I climb up onto the bed beside her and watch over her shoulder. The on screen display looks so familiar yet so foreign. I barely even recognize the simplistic numerals.

“That circular button with the triangle inside the square on it—press it. That’ll bring up the review mode,” I instruct her, pointing towards a small button beside the eyepiece. All at once, the digital display changes, filled with an image other than the floor.

“What in the fuck!?” I shout, staring at the display. Like always, the camera defaults to the last photograph taken when entering review mode. On the screen before me is a familiar mint-green unicorn, mounted by cream-colored stallion and her face buried between two silvery-peach legs, caught in the throes of coital bliss. “When did she even get the opportunity to grab my camera? Why did I never notice through that whole party?”

Gale stares at me, before darting back to the screen. Instead of making a comment along the lines of ‘That’s hot,’ or ‘Who would take pictures of that?’ she just blushes—how the fuck do feathers blush, damn it? “Well, that certainly looks like the body you were describing. You said this holds more than one photo, right?”

My cheeks scarlet, I look away. “The small button with the left-pointing triangle goes back one, the one pointing right, opposite of the lever, goes forward.” God, I’m so embarrassed that I could just die. Yet in spite of my embarrassment, I can’t help but feel a little turned on at the sight of my encounter with Lyra and Bon-Bon captured on film. Or is it because of my embarrassment that I find myself aroused? Eek, there’s a scary thought.

Instead of pressing the forward button—I’m guessing she assumed that it only goes backwards from the last one in memory—she presses the back button, bringing up a photo of the same minty unicorn astride a stallion’s chest, the entirety of the mottled pink length protruding from his loins crammed down her throat, a copious amount of white fluids spewing from her nostrils. “Oh dear Celestia, smite me now.”

Getting the hint, the blushing griffon presses the back button once more. Thankfully, it isn’t another sex photo that pops up on the screen. Instead, there’s a photo of Lyra—of me—nibbling cutely on a massive cookie, while a pink blur devours half of a cake behind me. In the background, the familiar sight of Bon-Bon facehoofing draws my attention. “Well, that mare definitely looks like the stallion from the last two shots,” Gale admits. “Maybe there is some truth to your story.”

Likewise, the ‘next’ photograph is of a blindfolded Lyra, walking toward the camera—away from a poster—with a false tail clutched in her teeth. On the floor, the familiar forms of Pinkie Pie and Rainbow Dash are laughing. “So far, I’m not seeing any of these humans you speak of,” she snickers. “Just a frisky unicorn who isn’t that great at Pin the Tail on the Pony.”

Blushing, I shake my head, “Back in that first photo... You saw part of a human,” I mumble. “That should be the last of the ones Lyra took.”

To be honest, my heart is pounding in my chest. Ignoring my former arousal, the only thing I feel right now is intense expectation. One of the last photographs I ever took with that camera was a self-shot taken with a tripod and timer on my back deck. That image should have had a good image of my face. “Come on, press the button,” I add, nervously licking my bottom lip.

When Gale finally presses the button, it’s almost anticlimactic. Sure enough, just as expected, there’s the photograph I imagined, but when I look at the tall heavyset man leaning against the deck railing like a punk, theres no feeling of revelation or even recognition. Instead of a feeling of ‘So that’s what I looked like,’ while looking at my former face and the accompanying head in all its scruffy-haired, blue-eyed glory, all I can do is look at the stranger in the photo and mentally criticise the black dress shirt and striped tie that he thought would go nicely with a blue denim vest and black jeans.

“Huh... so that’s a human...” It’s all she manages to say, turning to me. Catching my blank look, she adds, “Okay... I guess I believe you. Is that you in the photo? Somebody you knew?”

That’s what I was? Really? I wasn’t even handsome. Beneath that unshaven facial hair there’s an almost androgynous face, but it isn’t good-looking or ugly. It just is; I just was. “That’s not my face...” I say despondently, tipping the camera out of her claws, allowing it to fall screen-down onto the bed. “Not any more.”

“Do you want to talk about it, Silver?” she asks, pushing the camera aside.

Looking away, I slide off of her bed and stand at the very center of the room, staring up at one of the light crystals. “My name wasn’t always Silver Script. That was a suggestion implanted by Her Majesty Princess Luna in a dream I had during my psychotic break, hoping to calm me. It just sorta stuck,” I reply. “The person I used to be was called Soren Friedrich. That photograph was of him, only he’s not me any more.

“I’ve gotta be honest with you,” I continue in an even tone. “When I found this in my chest of belongings, I had almost forgotten it’d even made the trip to Equestria. How excited I was to bring it with me, only to completely forget the thing. After a mini-crisis a few nights ago when I realized I couldn’t remember my own face, I thought to myself this morning how nice it would be if I could take advantage of your claws and remember the face I was born with... Only I felt nothing upon seeing my face. No attachment or anything like that.”

I wander over to my own bed, staring at the ground. “You wondered why I was so... jovial after nearly dying today. It’s because of this: who I am doesn’t correspond with who I was, and there’s just been a disconnect between my body and mind.” Scrambling up onto the mattress, I curl up on my pillow and lay there. “I lost a lot to this world, and I don’t feel a connection to the body I have. Things keep happening, making it hard to do so! If I’m not the person I was, and I have no more connection to that body, maybe I should at least be more respectful to the one I’ve been given. It’s one thing to be casual about dying because I’ve lost so much...”

“It’s another to be an idiot about it,” Gale finishes. “Get some rest you big goof.”

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry I just dumped all my crazy on you.”

“Don’t be,” she replied, smiling. “What good is a friend if she doesn’t help her friends through their rough patches?”

“I guess Princess Luna is my friend too, then,” I answer, tugging a blanket onto me. “She visited me in my dream a few nights ago... Before Professor Calcification passed into eternity. She helped me deal with another crisis of self that night and...”

“And?” Gale prompts, removing herself from her own bed.

“The way somepony is always there for me when I’m confronting one of these issues. It just makes me question whether any of this is real.” I sigh, watching the griffoness saunter across the room. “What if none of this is real? If I’m trapped within my mind wouldn’t that mean that I’m just in some asylum somewhere, and every time something happens, my damaged psyche is either piecing itself together or tearing itself down?”

“Silver, my father once told me something that, at the time, I simply didn’t understand. ‘That is the truest sign of insanity—insane people are always sure that they are fine. It is only the sane people who are willing to admit that they are crazy.’” Gale grabs the edges of my blanket and smooths them taut around me. “If you were nuts, would you really be thinking you’re crazy?”

“If this were some elaborate illusion concocted by my subconscious?” The tone of my question is pretty sour, in spite of myself. “Probably.”

The backhand that strikes my face is completely unexpected. “Did you imagine that?” she says, her voice inching in on a growl. “Get a hold of yourself. I’m as real as the feathers on your wings.”

Staring back at her in shock, I swallow hard. “You’re right... I needed that,” I admit. “If I start to think I’m insane, I’m just going to fall back into the same trappings that lead to that event in Ponyville. Thank you, Gale.”

“You’re welcome,” she replies. “Now go to sleep before I smack you again.”

The two days to follow thankfully go on without incident. Despite Aqua Regia saving my life, nothing has changed between us. If anything, my reasons to dislike her have only been validated. After all, she did basically accuse me of attempting to sabotage her by dying. Seriously? What kind of psychopath says that sort of thing to someone who is basically dying.

You’d never know that I’d received the proper purgative treatment for the poisoning, given how lethargic I still am days after. The instructor was kind enough to tell me that I’ll probably be feeling effects from it for the some time—that it’s not uncommon for survivors of lethal alchemy poisoning to be weak for weeks or even months on end. Not exactly the sort of thing you want to hear, but it beats hearing something along the lines of ‘You can never drink another potion again, or you could die.’

Still, being lethargic sucks when you are going on a not-date with somepony you fancy. It’s a small wonder that Ice Blossom agreed to continue on with the not-date after hearing about what happened. It wouldn’t be inaccurate to say that she was ready to postpone it the following breakfast. Hell, Beat, Gearalt, and Gaius—Luna bless the big mute, he knows how to get a point across—still think that I’m being reckless by going out anyway.

Walking quietly alongside Blossom through the university commons is enough for me to feign being energetic. Our destination is in the little park not far from the university—the very same one over which I flew during that hellfire night—where a little traveling caravan has stopped in. Carnival might be a more accurate word if there were more ponies in the group, but caravan works just as well. There’s a miniature zoo—not the petting kind!—where, if the rumors circulating around campus are to be believed, there are plenty of dangerous critters from around Equestria. It certainly sounds like the sort of thing to bring in customers for the merchants in the group.

Sure enough, the first thing visible upon arrival is a number of large iron cages set out in a horseshoe pattern beside a flatbed of sorts and vaguely familiar looking cross between an automobile and a locomotive. The banner above the entrance to the miniature zoo says it all: Flim and Flam’s Traveling Bestiary of Horror. If the sign wasn’t enough to clue me in, the sight of two yellow unicorns with their white-striped red manes certainly is.

“Looks like those two got out of the cider business,” I observe drily, drawing Ice Blossom’s attention to the zoo-keepers. “I guess they couldn’t handle the demand.”

She looks at the straw-hatted stallions, before turning back to me. “Do you know those stallions, Silver?” she asks me, her eyebrow raised in curiosity.

I reply quickly, “Not personally.” Looking back at the pair, it’s hard not to be curious of what kind of scheme or scam they’re running here. “The two don’t have the... greatest reputation in the world.” Directing her away from the zoo for now, I continue by adding, “Last I heard of them, they tried to con the Ponyville branch of the Apple family out of their farm.”

“How terrible!” she exclaims, turning her gaze away from the cages. “We shall not be visiting their little display then.” Instead, she begins to make her way over to an artisan’s stall. I want to comment that we shouldn’t be so eager to shirk what could be an interesting display simply because of what may or may not be true. My memory isn’t infallible, after all!

The violet bespectacled earth-pony manning the stall is certainly interesting. It isn’t the crocheted pony plushies surrounding her, or the sign saying her starting price for commissions is thirty bits. It’s the way the dolls remind me of the works of an internet friend back on Earth, right down to the large button eyes.

“Look at these, Silver!” Blossom exclaims, looking at a rack of plush dolls. “Are they not adorable?”

Recognizing a potential buyer, the mare smiles. “You have good eyes, miss!” she greets us. “Would you like to buy one for your—” She casts an appraising look between Ice Blossom and myself. “—daughter? I’m sure she’d love it.”

A blush creeps through Blossom’s ice-white coat. “Oh, you misunderstand. Silver is not my daughter,” she replies. “She is a fellow student at the university and my friend.”

I grin as the mare clams up. Just when she looks ready to apologize, however, I hold up a hoof. “It’s alright. You wouldn’t be the first to make that mistake.” Looking up at the sign again, I notice she has a bargain deal for the adorable little dolls. Giving Blossom a smile, I ask, “You interested in getting one? She has a discount on double commissions, and I’ll admit that I’ve always wanted an adorable stuffed pony to cuddle.” I make a point of rattling my saddlebags, and the still full coin purse from the other night.

Clapping her hooves together, the artisan beams. “Oh yes! I’ve been trying to drum up business, but you’re the first to take notice!” she exclaims. “Ponies usually just buy the ones I’ve already made. I do custom ones, as well!”

Ice Blossom looks curiously at me, before looking at the mare. “I would not know what to specify for mine.” She sighs, looking down at her hooves. “There are so many ponies that I know whom I could ask for.”

“You’re both friends, right?” the mare inquires. “I could make you both into darling little dolls. For you two? Forty five bits!”

It’s my turn to blush this time. Having a doll made of the pony you want to date would normally seem a bit creepy, but if it’s part of a set and the other doll is a gift, it’s not weird, right? Just a gift from one friend to another as a sign of friendship. Admittedly, it’d be an excuse to cuddle her. “I’m up for it if you are.”

Looking pensive for just a moment, Blossom quickly nods. “That would be agreeable.”

“Perfect!” the artisan pony exclaims. From her stall, she takes a polaroid camera, and quickly snaps photos of us from the front, and then from the side. “Just fill out this receipt, and then I’ll take your payment. You can come back this evening to pick them up, or if you would rather, I can have it delivered to your home first thing in the morning for just five more bits. If so, just mark that on the slip too.” Looking as if she’s worried we suspect her of running a scam, she adds quickly, “Don’t worry, it’s carbon copy paper, so I’ll have the original copy for my records too.”

“That fast, huh?”

“That’s what my cutie mark says,” she turns to show off a mark of crossed needles and blue lines. “Don’t worry.”

After filling out the order and, after much thought, opting for the delivery, Blossom leads me toward a few of the vendors loaded out with foods. Much to her delight—and my curiosity—one vendor’s stall is decked out with asian inspired decorations, cuisine and confectioneries. Even if I’d not been attracted by the smell of jerky over in another booth run by a swarthy griffon, I would never deny a friend a taste of home.

Bright-eyed, and excited, she trots up to the stall, and begins a lively conversation in Neighponese with the unicorn stallion running the stall. Now, to be honest, I wouldn’t have assumed that he was Neighponese just by looking at his wares and stall and jumped into a conversation with him in a language he may or may not know, but then I notice that his ears are angled and pointy just like hers.

Throughout the entire conversation, I’m lost. There are only a few words that I pick up—anman, dango, daifuku and meronpan, ocha, some numerals, affirmatives and negatives, and the word for friend—through it all, but I think I understood the general consistency of the conversation. Blossom asks a question about one confection, to which the stallion would rattle off a price, or confirm whether or not he had any in stock.

In the end, the stallion turns from her, and begins packing various things into two lacquer boxes. Once that’s done, he stacks them and wraps them tightly in a cloth. Turning to me, Blossom asks, “Silver, I am a few bits short of what he asks. Do you think you could lend me the missing five bits?” She looks back to the stallion with a smile before looking pleadingly at me. “I asked for enough for both of us. You’ve simply got to try some of what my culture has to offer.”

With a chuckle, I pull out my coin purse and toss it to her. “Take as much as you need,” I reply with a smile as I watch her catch the strings of the purse in her teeth. “Don’t worry about paying me back. I know I’ve received such treatment from friends back home. Paying it forward, as the idea goes.”

She looks ready to jump me with a great big hug, and if not for the fact that she’d probably bludgeon me with the satchel of bits, she most likely would hug me. The taste of home—or something damn close—does wonders to make you feel at ease and improve one’s mood when so far away. I should know. That is why when I watch her pay the stallion, I can’t help but be happy for her.

“Arigatou gozaimasu, tenshu-san,” Blossom says, exchanging the bits for the wrapped lacquer boxes full of confectionery.

Much to my surprise, the owner of the stall just smiled before saying in perfect Equestrian, “Enjoy it, you two.”

From there, we wander out a bit into the park to sit down and hoe into the sweets. For all the things I recognize in the box, I’ve never eaten half the things she’s ordered me. First and foremost, there’s what looks like a ginormous cookie—its inside is actually bread!—sitting in one slot of the box. In the next, some sort of steamed bun. Beneath that, there is a bamboo skewer on which three small balls of white are impaled and covered in what looks like maple syrup. Another slot is occupied by a larger ball of the white stuff. There’s even a canister made from bamboo tucked into one side of the box, the smell of tea wafting enticingly from it.

Not knowing where to begin, I look at Blossom for direction. She removes the bamboo canister, and sets it on the ground, notched side up, and presses in on one side of the lid. Lifting it to her lips with both hooves, she takes a sip and smiles before plucking up the skewer with the little syrup-laden balls.

Following in her stead, I sip my own tea before eating the little skewered sweets. The syrup is definitely not maple, but is no less good. I’m actually a little surprised how sweet and gummy they are. “Mmm, these are good,” I comment, once more taking a sip of tea. “Can’t believe I never had the opportunity to try these back home.”

Blossom only smiles before moving onto the large mochi ball in the next slot. “I think you’ll like this one,” she replies in a hearty laugh. “Many ponies hear about anko, red bean paste, and assume that it is not a good confection filling.”

Looking at my own treat, sitting patiently in a cupcake liner, I furrow my brow. “I can kind of understand that feeling. I don’t think sweet when I think beans,” I admit, leaning down to pluck up the curious sweet. Biting into it, I ignore the flavor of the mochi and focus on the red bean paste. “It’s definitely not what I expected. Really sweet, a little chewy, and the texture of the filling reminds me of... cooked dates. It kind of reminds me of something I used to bake with my grandmother during the winter holidays.”

“I am sorry if reminding you of your family has caused you distress,” she says suddenly and apologetically. “I know matters of family upset you, but it was not my intention to remind.”

Shaking my head, I allow a laugh to escape my lips. “Think nothing of it.” I wave a hoof dismissively before digging into the next thing in the box: the steamed bun—another treat filled with the surprisingly delicious red bean paste. “She’s gone now, anyway, so it’s not like she rejected me like my parents did.”

In spite of my explanation, Ice Blossom looks away in shame. As I look at her with soft eyes, I notice the way her ears, lowered to reflect her mood, point almost directly at the mare’s cutie mark, as if to say, ‘Check this out.’ Looking at the water lily blooming on an icy pond, I can’t help but wonder what her special talent is. Yeah, she’s a botany major, but what’s her story? It’s one of those things I’ve just never actually asked. You can’t rightly ask someone what their tramp stamp means without confessing to have been staring at their arse. I wouldn’t ask it on Earth, so it is pretty hard to push myself to ask it here in Equestria.

Eager to lighten the atmosphere, I change the subject. “So, what’s your cutie mark story?” I ask, smiling.

Another blush creeps across those desirable cheeks as she scrunches up her nose. “You do not want to hear that story,” Blossom denies. “It is a silly tale.”

“Girl, you’re talking to one of the silliest ponies in existence,” I lie. There are plenty of ponies sillier than me. Foolish? Insane? Ludicrous? Dangerously stupid? Those all sound more accurate than silly to describe me. “I’ve got all the time in the world for silliness.”

Ice Blossom heaves a sigh before looking me in the eye with an expression that says ‘Don’t laugh.’ “When I was just a little filly, I loved flowers more than anything other than my family. They were tasty snacks to a filly my age, but more than that, they were always so pretty,” she says in a nostalgic tone. “When it was time for winter’s arrival, I would always cry. All the pretty flowers would die, and all I could do was cry.

“One year, onee-chan became tired of my solemn behavior during the fall. She told me that instead of crying, I should do something.” She smiles, as if remembering something funny. “Being still so young, I accepted her challenge without thinking of the work required. Okaasan and otousan, mother and father told me that they would help me construct a small greenhouse, but that the flowers in the greenhouse would be my responsibility alone.

“When I think back to it, I realize now that they were attempting to teach me a lesson that all things must come to an end,” she answers dreamily. “Neither of them could possibly have expected me to be so adamant in taking care of the flowers in the greenhouse that winter. Still, every day I went out to the greenhouse, watering and fertilizing the plants and keeping the glass clear of snow.”

A tear wells in her eye, and her smile vanishes momentarily. “One day, I must have left the door open a crack, because the next time I entered, all of the flowers were dead,” she says sadly, pausing to wipe away a tear. “Snow had flowed in and frost covered most of the room. For a long time I cried over my lost garden, but just when I was ready to tell my parents that I had failed, I noticed a single water lily still alive.

“I brought in many candles to warm the room, and doubled my vigilance for the rest of the winter. My lily survived the winter, and even flourished, and though my parents were disappointed that I was unable to keep the whole greenhouse alive, their pride swelled knowing that I had nurtured a single flower and getting it to flourish in spite of all odds.” The happiness in her voice returns, and she stares at a nearby flower. “Upon hearing their praise, a feeling of accomplishment swelled in my chest, and at that moment, I knew that I was supposed to help flowers prosper in places that should be inhospitable. There was a flash of magic, and when I turned to look, my cutie mark had appeared.”

I smile at the melodious joy in her voice. “That’s not a silly story Ice Blossom. That’s a wonderful story!” I cheer, finishing off my last treat and washing it down with now-cooler tea. Wistfully and without thinking, I add, “I wish I had somepony like that whose flower I could be.”

Sputtering, Ice Blossom scrambles to her hooves. “I... um... I think I hear my homework calling,” she stammers, her face crimson. “I-if you could be so kind, please return the bento boxes to the stall. I’m so sorry...”

Smooth, Silver—real fucking smooth. That totally didn’t sound like you were hitting on her, or anything.

Walking through the rest of the miniature fair, I feel exhausted without Ice Blossom by my side. I know without a thought that her sudden departure is my fault—this was only supposed to be two friends hanging out on a not-date—but it still hurts. I didn’t even mean that in a flirtatious sense. It’s just that I want somepony who’ll always be there for me.

I suppose it’s only natural that I’d find myself at Flim and Flam’s display of fearsome beasts. After all, what better way to feel better is there than to risk being scared to death by some overgrown critters of doom? Surprisingly though, there aren’t any other ponies around at the stall, aside from the twins.

“Slow day, boys?” I casually ask, dropping four bits into a payment tin set out on a desk beneath their banner. With some conflicting feelings, I note the sound of my coins hitting the very bottom of the tin, signifying its emptiness. If either of them notices that I picked up on it, they don’t show it.

“It’s too close to feeding time,” the mustachioed one says. “Nopony wants to watch our ferocious menagerie of terror eating.”

“Not that I blame them,” the other mutters morosely.

Looking to cover for his brother’s comment, Flim—or was that Flam?—quickly clears his throat and says, “... but for such a pretty little mare, you don’t look to be of the squeamish sort. Go ahead, look around!”

If it weren’t for the fact that these two are supposed to be smooth-talking scoundrels, I might be concerned that he was hitting on me, but even if he is, he’s barking up the wrong stump. Instead, I simply move past him and enter the ring of cages. To some satisfaction, I hear the mustachioed one chastise his brother in a raised whisper. “Flim you dolt, we’re barely scraping by! Our reputation is shot, and here you are discouraging customers!” The chastisement is followed quickly by a loud static zap and a yelp. Did he just...?

Ignoring that last part, I turn my attention to the first cage. Inside is what looks from the front to be a simple mare, but as my gaze moves further back, her hind quarters give way to a serpentine body. The creature eyes me playfully before giving me a hungry, fanged smile. The placard on the side of the cage reads sheds some light as to what she is.

Lamia: devourer of wayward foals and seductress of unfaithful stallions. From treelines, the lamia attracts lost foals with a friendly smile and a beautiful voice, only to swallow them whole. Using the pheromones of a mare in heat, only the most virtuous of stallions go undrained of their blood.

“Wow, that is kind of morbid,” I comment, looking away from the creature. “It’s like an anaconda crossed with a vampire, crossed with a succubus, crossed with a mare.”

“Are you lost, little filly?” a voice calls out from inside the cage, followed by cruel laughter that sends shivers up my spine.

Ignoring it the best I can, I move on to the next cage. This one, I don’t even really need an explanation for. Probably the closest thing to a human in appearance, the shrieking harpy in the cage simply tears into a hunk of meat, glaring at me. “How lovely.”

The cage following is occupied by a manticore, and the one after that a chimaera. To me, it’s all simple fantasy fare, and nothing very frightening or impressive—even the gigantic wolf in one of the next cages. Okay, so if I ran into one of these out in the wilderness, I’d probably shit myself and play dead, but here in a cage?

On and on I go, until I reach a glass-lined cage with two occupants—two very serpentine looking chickens. “Cockatrices!” I growl, feeling every single hair on my body bristling.

“Don’t you fret, miss,” the mustachioed Flam says, trotting up behind me. “We take the safety of our customers very seriously. That’s magically reinforced one-way glass.” I look up at him, surprised at how easily he stares at the creatures in the cage. Held in his magical grip is a large, squirming sea rat. “Even if the glass wasn’t reinforced, you could safely look them in the eyes because their petrification works on mutual, uninterrupted eye-contact. You could even approach one in the wild with just polarized sunglasses if you are feeling bold. I know I was at the time.”

I watch the rat as it levitates over the roof of the cage. There is an audible click, and then the rat drops through the top and onto the hay-strewn bottom of the cage. Sitting transfixed in horrified fascination, I cringe as the rat takes stock of his surroundings, only to make eye-contact with one of the cockatrices—the female, if the lack of wattles and comb are any indicator. Slowly, a stony glaze creeps over the rat, paralyzing it in its statuesque prison.

Before the creature makes its move, however, the male swoops in, snatching the rat and pulling it into the corner of the cage. Placing one claw on the back of the rat, he lowers his beak to the rat statue’s—ratue?—neck. Just as quickly as the rat was petrified, its stony shell shatters and the rat is animate once more. An audible, although quickly silenced squeal of pain erupts from the cage as the cockatrice tears into the rat’s throat.

As I back away from the cage, my head is spinning with questions and ideas. That cockatrice just unpetrified a rat frozen by another cockatrice? Can any cockatrice eat a petrified creature? Why haven’t the ponies in Ponyville tried catching another cockatrice and forcing it to free that foal? Shouldn’t this be common knowledge?

From there, my thoughts steer away from the cockatrice logistics. Why here? Why now? Why is it that when I start to think I’m making progress, something like this comes up. Is my life just being directed by some sadistic author? I’m over that issue, so why the fuck are you taunting me with this?

Sitting in a tree, I stare up at the rising moon through the glass ceiling of the university atrium. There’s no real way to judge how long I’ve been up here other than the fact that it was mid afternoon when I got here, and the moon is maybe a third of the way through its arc in the sky now. There’s no real reason for me to be up here, either. It’s almost as if I came here to escape my thoughts—a ludicrous idea, seeing as I’d literally have to abandon my head to do so.

Mostly, my thoughts are of my relations with others. How many times have I managed to push ponies away? I recall the first time being when I drove away most of Ponyville in dueling Twilight. Not one of my proudest moments. Rarity and Fluttershy are still somewhat scared of me, and Rainbow... Well, I’ll leave it at her not liking me very much. Twilight, Applejack, Pinkie, Lyra, and Bon-Bon are probably the only Ponyvillians I’m on good terms with.

The next instance I can remember is getting myself thrown out of that hospital in Canterlot. I still think that was complete bullshit. He comes into my bed in the middle of the night, scares the fuck out of me, and they throw me out for biting? Okay, so biting is a rather anti-social way of dealing with it, and screaming would have worked. I prefer putting up a fight, thank you very much.

It’s kind of weird that I consider leaving for university as pushing away Doctor Forceps and Candy, but I suppose when I haven’t written at all, I’m hardly a good friend. They give food and shelter, and how do I repay them? I cook, clean, and then bugger off without another word. I really should write them at some point.

Fast forward to the first day of university. I have a chance to get in good with a prominent noble house, and instead I chew out a self-styled princess, essentially nuking any prospective relations with any other nobility. The Blueblood family is too well-known for them to be crossed. Heap onto that the shit stemming from my meat-eating, and you have yourself a pony without a lot of options.

Why in the fuck did I have to go and speak without thinking? I honestly don’t think I could be any more forward with Ice Blossom unless I tell her how attractive I find her and maybe suggest we go bump uglies. She’s probably never going to speak to me again, and that hurts more than anything. Not to mention that it’s just going to make everything fifty shades of awkward with the group now.

I sing a sorrowful song from my memory as I mournfully eye the moon. It is a song of loneliness and the desire to not be alone. More than that though, it expresses some hope that they’ll find that someone just for them. Somehow, a song from a video game nearly as old as me is just the right way to make me feel better.

As I draw further into the song’s lyrics, my ears twitch in the direction of hoof-steps on nearby grass. It could be anypony—even Aqua Regia—but I make no effort to remain unheard as the sound of hoofsteps draw closer. Trailing off, I look down between the branches at the pony below.

“Good evening, Silver,”

“Hello, Blossom,” I say, unable to contain my surprise at her presence. “What brings you here?”

In the dim light of this part of the atrium, I can’t make out her face very well beyond the fact that it’s her. Her ears are slightly lowered, and there’s something odd about her stance. Not wanting to make it seem that I’m above her after what happened this afternoon, I drop out of the tree, landing beside my saddlebags.

“I wish to apologize for my early behavior,” she apologizes, shifting on her forehooves. “This afternoon I may have misinterpreted the meaning of your comment and overreacted in turn. In my haste and discomfort, I made an inexcusable faux pas in making a terrible excuse to remove myself. What is more, I should not have assumed you were making a romantic advance.”

Regardless of whether or not she can see it, there is definitely an uncomfortable blush tingeing my face. “Well... It kinda hurt that you ran off like that,” I answer honestly. “But I kinda do have those kinds of feelings for you, and while I didn’t mean to say what I said the way I did, I understand why you might have thought that.”

She looks a bit uncomfortable. “Yes, oneechan suspected you might have done so in error,” she says apologetically. “I am simply unaccustomed to the sexually liberal ways of Equestria. In Neighpon, fillyfooling is considered immoral. That is why I panicked.”

I frown at hearing that. There is the distinct impression that I’m about to get some sort of apologetic response. I like you but not in that way. “So what you’re saying is that your barn door doesn’t swing my way...” I say glumly. “Aw shit... Now I’ve gone and made everything all awkward between—”

“That isn’t it at all! I mean... I-I do find you attractive, in a strange, foalish sort of way,” she quickly interjects. “I just... I’ve never been with another mare. Please give me some time to warm up to the idea.”

Smiling, I latch onto her in a tight hug. It’s all I can do to not squeal in delight that it’s a maybe. “That’s all I can ask of you,” I whisper, nuzzling her shoulder. “We can just take it slow and continue with the not-dates then. Does that sound good to you?”

“That sounds just perfect.”

Author's Notes:

Welp... Longest chapter yet, with a lot of developments, some of them very important. I really had a blast writing this chapter, and all-in-all, I'm glad I got this one down. It finally feels like we're going somewhere.

As always, a big thanks go out to E3gner and NightmareKnight for their assistance in working out the awkward phrasing that I sometimes provide, and editing in general.

Edit 27/09/2013: Altered/shortened a bit for site rules reasons. Copyrighted songs es no bueno.