What has my life come to?

My lodgings have changed considerably since last night. Instead of taking residence in a barn, I am now staying in a luxurious bedroom and lying in the most comfortable bed I have ever had the fortune of encountering. The colors in here are painfully bright compared to what I am used to (every imaginable shade of purple and pink, pastel and bold alike, with golden accents all over), but with the lights dimmed I might be able to get some sleep amongst the loud display. I am listening to a pony hum from somewhere else in the building while a sewing machine makes a repeating small clatter. I currently smell like spring flowers, am wearing a fluffy hot-pink bathrobe and slippers, and my hair has a wonderful volume that I did not know it was able to obtain.

I blame the Cutie Mark Crusaders for all of this. Who are they one might ask? Well, I met them after class had been let out for the day. I stayed through lunch in hopes that they would discuss something else. They did indeed change subjects!
They changed to vocabulary.

Once school was let out I asked Applebloom if she was ready to go back home (I don't know how trustful the ponies here are, but young children never walk about unsupervised back where I am from in case there are predators), and she told me that she was meeting some friends about looking for a 'cutie mark'. Excitedly, she brought me along to meet with two of her friends from the same class to whom she had been telling stories about me all day. The group consisted of Applebloom, the yellow pony with the rich, wine-colored hair; Scootaloo, a pegasus who is orange pelted with a short-cut purple mane and a tomboyish attitude; and Sweetie Bell, a unicorn who is a white foal with magnificently loose-curled lavender and pink hair. They call themselves the Cutie Mark Crusaders; I can only assume this is because they are on a crusade to find a cutie mark.

Pony Anatomy Discovery: The "Cutie Mark" that I have been referencing above is a peculiar happening for each of these creatures that occurs at a certain time during their life. The physical manifestation known as a Cutie Mark is a pattern (growth? fungus? pigment mutation? I have yet to hypothesize a biological explanation for the occurrence) that is located on the pony's hindquarter/flank and usually resembles an object or action. Culturally, the mark is said to appear when a pony discovers what he or she is special at (as in, something that defines them as an individual), and the picture will manifest itself as something relevant to the pony's skills or future profession. I notice that these three foals do not have a mark, and thus they are on a quest to discover what makes them special to receive one. It seems to be similar to human puberty, and these young ponies are simply wishing to step into their adulthood early as do all children. I must write that I find this highly impractical as a way to determine one's profession, seeing as it makes me question how certain jobs get done. If it is random, then how will there always be growers? How will there be builders? How will it be certain that all the necessary roles for a community to function will be filled if it all happens by chance? Does this mean there is a pony around here with a cutie mark in the form of the "Team Lift" symbol you see on a box when purchasing furniture, and that its special skill is moving objects?

I was roped into assisting the Crusaders today in trying to find their own special skills. Let me see if I can accurately recount what each attempt was.

First was the "Monster Hunter" cutie mark. They gave me a three-minute head start to hide somewhere, and then they had to find a way to subdue and capture me. How could this possibly end well, I asked, and was told to stop being a worry-wart. There was no way to argue out of it, and besides, I am a sucker still for little Applebloom's persuasive pleads. This ended with a lasso circling my ankle and Scootaloo looping it around my legs like a Lepoline attempting to trip up a Hemodostan. I landed face-first into a patch of brambles shortly afterward, marking the end of the attempt.

Second was a "First Aid" cutie mark in attempt to patch up the few cuts I had gained from the last adventure. Aside from them picking my skin raw with a pair of forceps trying to remove each of the thorns, I also am missing a fair portion of the hair on my arms from failed attempts to put adhesive bandages on me. I was barely able to convince them that I would be all right before the little one, Sweetie Bell, was going to try suturing a small cut with a needle and thread that I dare not ask her where she got it.

For the third try we vied for a "Diplomacy" mark. This mostly consisted of them asking me what I wanted in return for handing over my backpack. It was paralleled by a "Private Investigator" attempt as I realized that Scootaloo and Applebloom were both rummaging through my belongings while I was still refusing to give my possessions to Sweetie Bell. As much as I'd love to help them, they cannot have my survival supplies. I am afraid I had to wrestle one of my MIRRDs away from Scootaloo, and Applebloom almost got away with the shell I took from Agent Omega.

Fifth (counting the espionage attempt as the fourth) was the "Mechanical Engineer" (though they used more simplistic terms) goal, which was merely them dismantling my MIRRD while I was reorganizing my backpack. It ended disastrously with a few thousand magnetized discs being scattered over the ground. There obviously was no cutie mark for picking up mechanical disasters, they informed me, when I instructed them to help me clean up the mess.

Losing some hope for the day after these repeated failures, they asked me what my cutie mark was so maybe they could give that a try. I informed them that I did not have one. This led to the sixth suggested attempt, and that was “Xenobiologists". I am now both a "Blank Flank" and a spoil-sport because I flat out refused to disrobe for them.

"Sweetie Bell! What have you done with my needles? My favorite pincushion is missing, and I'm sure you have something to do with this." That was the inquiry that ended our "fun" for the time being as another pony came trotting over the knolls to seek us out in the field where we were conducting our search. Being a city-boy up on Terriel I have not seen many equines in my lifetime, but even from my minimal exposure it was easy to tell that this was meant to be a beauty among them. She was a unicorn of bleached white coloration with a deep royal-purple mane that was styled meticulously and (now that I am paying attention for them) had a cutie mark of three diamonds. Piercing is the best adjective I can think of to describe those light-blue eyes of hers, and she spoke very properly.

Needless to say there was a moment of panic for her when she saw me sitting in the grass shirtless among the three foals midway through attempt seven, "Acupuncture", with me resembling a giant steel-quilled porcupine. I still am not sure if she was more mortified by their actions of poking more holes in me than a kitchen strainer or if she was horrified that the girls were playing alone with a monster. Either way she padded over to remove the fillies from around me and then watch me with a questioning stare (a very common reaction of these ponies when they first witness me). As she examined me, I could feel that she did not approve of the sight. Of me? Of my current pointy accessories? Of the woodland refuse matted in my hair? It felt almost like she was disgusted by me. Perhaps I am just a bit touchy when I am filled with needles though. "Are you quite alright?" she asked me when I still had not said anything to her after she was done looking me over.

"I'm afraid to move because of all the needles," I responded through gritted teeth.

The creature gasped as the horn upon her head faintly gleamed with a similar aura to the one around Twilight's horn when she was attempting to put my tooth back in, and I could feel large groups of the needles being plucked from my skin at a time. I will not repeat my actual thoughts of the sensation of having that many improperly-applied punctures ripped out all at once seeing as this is not a script for a Forgewright movie and does not need all of the profanity, but needless to say it was rather excruciating. I believe she made up for the discomfort by shooing the girls away from me and telling them to go on their quest somewhere else for now.

Sweet children, but can be very exhausting – also dangerous to one's physical well being.

The white-furred unicorn informed me that her name was Rarity, and that she was a relative of Sweetie Bell. She is evidently a tailor in Ponyville and the needles that had invaded my hide happen to be hers. (I hope she plans to sterilize them before using them again.) I gave her the same vague information that I was able to give the other ponies who wished to know what I was. I believe she soon became comfortable with my presence after seeing that I was not a danger once the needles were taken out of me. She also commended me for my patience in dealing with the children when I recounted exactly what we had been doing all day.

There was an interesting conundrum that came up when she lifted my sleeveless shirt, which I had acquired back in the Reclamation Camp, and refused to give it back to me. I understand that it is not very fancy attire (alright, so it is subpar attire at best), but she was treating it as though I was better off walking around completely nude! I just read that last line and feel the need to correct myself. She probably did believe it would be better now that I consider the fact that most of the ponies do remain nude most of the time.

Either way, she refused to give me back my shirt stating that it was inexcusable for anyone to be caught wearing something not only in such poor condition (stains, holes, and threadbare), but something also of such poor design. "If you're not going to wear something nice, do not wear anything at all." It was then that she instructed me to follow her back to the "Carousel Boutique" so that she might take my measurements. I had thought that the Apple family had a very blunt and forceful form of hospitality, but how naive was I. I might have to get used to this form of impossible-to-refuse assistance while I’m here.

The Carousel Boutique is actually where I am right now, having been here for many hours as she took my measurements, asked me about my favorite colors, questioned if I had a preferred style in mind, interrogated me about the reason why the pants and shirt are separated where they are on a human's clothing (as she could see from my fatigues), and many other inquiries that I do not feel that I should use all of my paper listing. After all of the questions, however, she also put her hoof down with an ultimatum: I was required to bathe if I was going to remain in her establishment.

Understandably, I have not had a chance in the past week or so to bathe with part of it spent being conditioned for the military, another bit in the forest, and one night in a barn. I have not changed my clothes once since I first stepped onto the Buzzard Model APC. The amount of work I have been doing did leave a rather strong (manly, if I do say so myself) odor on my clothing, and sleeping in a barn did make my hair an absolute mess, so a bath would be nice. I was a bit concerned about disrobing though, in fear that this unicorn might commandeer my lower garments to be burned while I was indisposed.

By the way, I was right. She did steal my pants and underwear while I was bathing. She refuses to give them back to me, stating that they are horrid and disgusting, and that I will simply have to wait for her to finish. That is why I am wearing one of her bathrobes right now, and I can only hope she finishes her sewing and stitching by early tomorrow. I cannot possibly step outside in this and expect to retain any form of dignity.

I did hear that Applejack and Twilight had both come seeking me this evening, the first to see if I had run off and was checking to make sure everyone was alright, and the latter to come and see me personally. When I asked what Twilight required me for, Rarity said it was just a scholarly interest, and she wished to try gathering some information about me – I believe I heard her request for Rarity to send me to Sugar Cube Corner tomorrow at noon. Rarity had informed them both that I was busy (naked) and convinced them to leave. It was an impressive feat getting Applejack to leave honestly, seeing as I could hear Rarity practically slam the door mid-sentence just to quiet her protests at my staying here.

That was the extent of my day, and it leads me to feel that I must write a confession for both the reader and I to soak in. It is nigh impossible that my father could possibly have ended up in such a strange place. I have not had the time to contemplate exactly by what means I got here, but I have serious doubts that the same forces would be coincidental enough to have done the same with Markus Prodder. Continuing my search for my father here in Equestria would be a colossal waste of not only my time, but also my energy and ever-slipping sanity. For now my objective must instead be finding a way back to Terriel. Once I am home, I can turn over my findings from the ancient library and perhaps be able to fund a search party to accompany me on another trip to the surface below in hopes of finding Markus Prodder. Until that time, I will not be able to continue looking for my father, but I will keep my promise that I will find him. I simply must set my goals to something more immediately obtainable than "Find Dad."

Also I wish to add in that Cheerilee did not notice her error and was not entertained when I asked her if we were to know what the Variable X was equal to, or if she could supply another related expression so that we may solve for X.

I'm now a Blank Flank, a spoil-sport, and a smarty-pants.