Misadventures of Orwell Redenbacher


                                            >"Ms. Redenbacher? Are you listening to me?"

                                            >Your mind snaps back to attention at the sound of your surname

                                            "Yes, I think so"

                                            >"You... think so?"

                                            >Fuck, what was the last thing you remember him saying?

                                            "I... need a therapist to continue receiving the Luna's Exile living assistance fund?"

                                            >"I'm glad you were paying attention, after all. You can choose between the three in the folder."

                                            >You shuffle to the edge of the folding chair and pick the folder up with a forehoof, the papers awkwardly sliding out onto the table

                                            >After weighing your options, you can see that only one of them is a licensed psychologist. The other two have expertise in social work, which you get enough of here on your weekly visits to Tidy Home's cramped office.

                                            "I'll take Ms. Axon."

                                            >He raises an eyebrow.

                                            >"Mrs. Axon. She's married. To me."

                                            >Fuck, did you tell him you liked mares? Fuckfuckfuckfuck

                                            "Of course, s-sorry."

                                            >"She has an opening for an evaluation next Monday at 3 pm. Be there or the checks are going to stop coming."

                                            >He stands up, trotting over to the door and opening it for you as you get up

                                            >"Oh, and Orwell?"

                                            "Yes?"

                                            >"Do try to go somewhere and do something this weekend. Part of the fund's maintenance requires that you /try/ to be a functioning member of society, whether or not you succeed."

                                            "Of course..."

                                            >Your voice trails off as you pack the various forms into your saddlebags and then hoist them onto your back

                                            >You exit without Tidy giving you another word and begin the trek back to your little apartment

                                            >It's actually pretty nice, a ground floor 1 bed studio. Just barely enough space for a human but plenty for a pony (you detested your old one on earth for that reason)

                                            >There's a little porch out back that overlooks a stream

                                            >When it gets late enough to where you're sure nopony can see you out, you sometimes sit out on the porch, listen to the brook babble on a bit about entropy and a lot about hydrology, and write in your magic notebook

                                            >Your most recent story is more of a sightseeing tour, it's an idea borrowed from a song that was probably borrowed from Douglas Adams.

                                            >You're not entirely sure, you never got the chance to ask the artist even if you had wanted to, and now you never will.

                                            >You plop the saddlebags down at the door, adjust the cooling crystals to be a nice chilly temperature, and throw on your hoodie

                                            >You don't even climb under the covers for your nap, you simply curl up like a happy pet and close your eyes...

                                            >

                                            >

                                            >

                                            >When you awaken, it's early afternoon by the size of the shapes on your wall that the sun is puppeting with the drapes

                                            >In your dim, waking recollections you feel a nag that you have near overdue library books, so your hoodie goes off again to contend with the heat, the papers are cleared from your saddlebags, and they are filled with the books instead

                                            >You read some of them, you're always looking for new literary material.

                                            >Sometimes it comes from an obvious place like a book, other times it comes from a more obtuse place like an interaction.

                                            >Always, your brain is overactively tumbling shit like this around like one of those gemstone grinders. Polishing and polishing until a very shiny but likely completely worthless stone emerges.

                                            >More recently, you've been letting out the rougher stones. Still no raws, but fuck you're tired of your attachment to overly ambitious concepts.

                                            >Sometimes it's just fun to muck about for a while

                                            >Oh yes, and the reason you go to the library at all isn't even research...

                                            >It's her.

                                            >You don't even know her name, nametags are much less common than you got used to when you were human.

                                            >But she's always wearing a smile when you shyly put a stack of books on the counter

                                            >You're convinced she's read every one in the four walls, she always compliments some of your choices and suggests that you skip on others

                                            >Quite frankly, you've fallen madly in love with her.

                                            >But you're so terrified of doing anything with her, she's...

                                            >Perfect, angelic. You're dirt, not even a true pony.

                                            >Former human, filthy-souled imposter.

                                            >Second-rate snowpity.

                                            >You could go on, but at a certain point all of the self-hatred gets exhausting enough to where you have to just stop lest you go from feeling sorry for yourself to becoming even more useless than you are in a given day

                                            >You drop everything into the drop box without a second thought, you love seeing the library mare but she'll know something is up if you go to her to return everything.

                                            >Best to just have her follow up on what you liked or didn't, you're enough of a regular that she more than recognizes your checkouts in the card inventory system

                                            >You begin the walk two blocks back to the apartment, you've got some writing you'd like to get done on the scenic properties of the end of eternity.

                                            >As you prepare a cheap bowl of noodles, you tumble the stone around in your head a little bit more about asking her out

                                            >You'd take her to the movies this weekend, your favorite pony director recently released a new action movie

                                            >You think she would get a kick out of it, at least from what Las Pegasus Insider says

                                            >As you sip from your noodle cup, you find your hoof rummaging around in your saddlebags for your notebook

                                            >Idly slurping as you do so, the thought occurs to you that you may have brought it with you to the caseworker and then unpacked it with the forms

                                            >You set down your food and check the pile of paper, nothing

                                            >God, then where is it?

                                            >You think you remember packing-

                                            >You let out a little cry of terror as you realize what you've done and take off in a gallop to the library

                                            >

                                            >

                                            >

                                            >You get there and see that the desk is empty, you ring the bell for service

                                            >and again

                                            >and again and again until you look like you're ding dong ditching

                                            >Heh, that's one way to describe how you ended up here you suppose

                                            >God-awful jokes aside, you climb over the desk

                                            >No more time to waste, anypony who finds your notebook and doesn't know what it is could be in serious trouble

                                            >Or truthfully, already dead.

                                            >The land of conceptuals is not to be trifled with, after all.

                                            >You rummage through the unfiled stock, finding nothing

                                            >Trotting over to the bin beneath the drop box reveals that it's been emptied recently, but then...

                                            >You turn around, and as though the universe has comedic timing, see your book turned open to its most recent pages

                                            >As you rush over you mutter a prayer for her safety softly under your breath and then...

                                            >Allow the story to suck you in in a very literal sense.

                                            >You're in the engine room of the ship, she's nowhere in sight.

                                            >When you open the door to the tiny flight deck, you can see her staring out at the dots and dashes of existence that are left

                                            >She turns back to you and smiles

                                            >"You know this area is employees only, Orwell."

                                            >Fuck, she knows your name?

                                            >Your stomach is full of butterflies, but you manage a retort

                                            "W-well, I could say the same thing about my notebook."

                                            >She laughs, good-naturedly.

                                            >"So, this is the end of the universe? You don't subscribe to the heat death theory?"

                                            "I don't subscribe to any particular theory at all. I just thought that gravitational collapse had a poetic beauty to it."

                                            >"and why is that?"

                                            "Because..."

                                            >You look down at your hooves

                                            "It brings me some comfort to think that at the end of time, everything will be one again. All crushed into a single, infinitesimally small point of infinitesimally high density."

                                            >"It's very pretty. Did you do all of the calculations yourself?"

                                            "The book can handle a lot of that stuff, I wish."

                                            >The two of you watch a galaxy zip by.

                                            >"So, the ship is technically on a second plane of existence, right?"

                                            "Mhm."

                                            >"Then the watchers get to view it all and then go back home for tea?"

                                            "Not exactly. I haven't written it yet, but their own universe is predicted for collapse just days later. It's... more of a coping mechanism. Trying to come to terms with the coming end."

                                            >"You have a lot of sadness within you."

                                            "I'm going to be starting therapy soon, I'm told."

                                            >"I want to warm you up."

                                            "I-"

                                            >"You like movies, right?"

                                            "Y-yeah"

                                            >"Let's go see one tomorrow at noon, then. My treat."

                                            >You pull the two of you out of the book, it's dangerous to stay in there too long.

                                            >You can attest to that, and so can your body double.

                                            >The book is collected and held securely, and you begin to exit after awkwardly waving to your new friend

                                            "Wait, uh... what's your name?"

                                            >She giggles warmly

                                            >"I'm Dewey. Dewey Fore."

                                            >You give her your best smile and say

                                            "Thank you"

                                            >Perhaps a little bit too loudly for the library

                                            >You spend the rest of the night staring at the creek, your mind racing until exhaustion finally trumps anxiety and you pass out seated in the cool autumn air.

                                            End of line.

                                            >You wake up, as you suspected you might, to the sun rising

                                            >You're chilly, even with your hoodie on it's a bit too cold for your liking out here

                                            >and the thin layer of dew all around you doesn't help

                                            >You shake off some of the stuff that's dripped down onto you, even though ponies remain clean for longer than humans you're in the mood for a nice warm bath

                                            >When you were human, you neglected the basin and relished the showerhead.

                                            >As a pony, you've learned that the shower is more of a headache than it's worth most of the time.

                                            >You start drawing the hot water and peel off your moist hoodie as you wait, shivering in the cold

                                            >Before long, the hot bath is about ready and you climb in

                                            >It burns a bit at first, your body warms up and reaches a comfortable equilibrium in a few minutes

                                            >You remember that this is actually a bad idea for those suffering from hypothermia, something about thermal shock?

                                            >But that's not you

                                            >You rub some shampoo into your mane and coat, might as well make sure you're as fresh as possible given...

                                            >God, did yesterday happen? You half want to think that it was a dream

                                            >Replay it in your mind, maybe write a story about it...

                                            >But no, you have to go with her. She asked you.

                                            >You can't believe it, maybe she's trying to set you up.

                                            >To humiliate you.

                                            >People tried to do that to you back when you were an ape, you were too clever for it then

                                            >You're too clever for it now

                                            >and yet...

                                            >You know the genuineness is there, something that even your horrible anxiety can't de-rationalize

                                            >If she flipped on a dime and humiliated you now, she would be...

                                            "Obsessed."

                                            >You chuckle to yourself as you emerge from the water, clean and wearing the light of clarity that kisses your coat through the window as you towel off

                                            >Today is going to be a good day, and if it isn't you can always try to end it again

                                            >You scribble a few lines in the notebook, chalking up the outline of a laundromat and grabbing your hoodie before you go in

                                            >Like any good laundromat, it exists at an apartment that doesn't charge for its use and includes the cost in rent

                                            >No dealing with finicky payment systems, no saving quarters from every transaction for the machines, just a warm little hole in the wall to dry your clothes in

                                            >Oh, there actually aren't any holes in the wall

                                            >You fix that, adding ducts and a door that leads out to open air

                                            >That's a mistake you only made once, when you thought nothing

                                            >and then you were ripped out of your cozy little cabin scenario with a furious velocity, the water on the surface of your big, expressive eyes boiling into an infinite vacuum

                                            >The dryer dings, you throw the hoodie back on, and exit the scenario

                                            >The book comes with you, you bring it inside sometimes

                                            >Does a set that contains all sets contain itself?

                                            >Yes

                                            >But it's still best not to think about such things, if they can be avoided

                                            >It seems you've become lost in daydreaming again, Celestia's sun is about 6/7ths of the way to the peak of its arc

                                            >You've got enough time to buy snacks, then

                                            >There's a place not far from here that sells specialty popcorn, you had it once

                                            >It's very good, but you can't believe it's a sustainable business model

                                            >It could be partially helped by the fact that it's rather pricy

                                            >You rummage about in your saddlebags to make sure everything is in order before you go

                                            >The book has somehow ended up in them, you don't remember setting it down in there

                                            >You pick it up gently and set it back on your unmade bed before trotting out the door

                                            >Will the stallion at the popcorn store accept your food credit?

                                            >It turns out he won't, so you put down two gold coins and he sweeps them off the edge of the counter like it's a routine scenario

                                            >Back on earth, just a few bits would make you relatively wealthy, you tested them a few times within your pages with various acids

                                            >They held up well against all but the royal reagent, and dissolved into nothing inside of it

                                            >You did not do the recovery chemistry because you're an inexperienced chemist

                                            >The movie theater is a bit of a walk, on the other side of town

                                            >Past a bad neighborhood, around a water tower, under a tunnel that trains run through if you're feeling daredevil

                                            >Over a hill that's fenced off by a toll booth if you're feeling rich

                                            >You never feel rich

                                            >No trains this time

                                            >The theater is in sight, and so is the sun almost directly overhead

                                            >You can see her out front, patiently waiting for you

                                            >Celestia, she's so pretty

                                            >As you get closer, she expresses a bit of concern upon seeing where you came from, but her mood brightens again when you get within contact distance

                                            >You're wrapped up in a warm hug without notice, a bit of air being sucked out of your lungs from surprise

                                            >Her woven wool jacket brushes up against you, her cheek nuzzling into yours in a greeting

                                            >"Orwell! It's so good to see you!"

                                            "H-hey, calm down. It hasn't even been a day yet"

                                            >She laughs and relents

                                            >"Okay yes, but I've been thinking about you for just about that entire period of time. The shy little bookworm with the magic notebook... did you bring it?"

                                            "My shyness? Yeah. The notebook? I figured it'd be best left at..."

                                            >"What is it?"

                                            "It's in my bags, I can feel the weight. I could've sworn I left it on the bed..."

                                            >"Hmm, are you sure you didn't put your saddlebags down on the bed and forget it was in there?"

                                            >You know that there's no way you did that

                                            "Y-yeah, must've been. Sorry."

                                            >"No worries, you can show me a bit more later if you're interested... but don't think I don't think you're cool without it"

                                            >She bops you on the nose and you involuntarily scrunch your muzzle

                                            >"Anyways, come on! Movie's about to start."

                                            "What is it?"

                                            >"Mystery!"

                                            "I've got popcorn for us already"

                                            >"Superb! Good way to save bits"

                                            "In any other scenario"

                                            >"You sprung for Popcourt? On our first date?"

                                            "Y-yeah, I figured it'd be fun."

                                            >She gives you a little peck on the cheek and then pulls you along into the theatre, cheeks reddening and heart pounding

                                            >Two tickets are flashed at the stallion working the counter, who gives you two a smirk and rolls his eyes

                                            >"Never thought I'd see you bring someone here"

                                            "I-"

                                            >Dewey cuts you off

                                            >"I brought her."

                                            >There are only two screens, the two of you trot over to the left side of the building

                                            >No snacks from the concession stand, the popcorn tucked snugly between your barrel and your hoodie should more than suffice

                                            "Thanks for sticking up for me back there, I don't think he likes me. Every time I come in, he's usually got some remark about the film I'm buying."

                                            >"Don't worry about it, and don't worry about him if you can avoid it. He was in a few of my classes as a filly, complete loser."

                                            >You hold open the door for her as the two of you walk in

                                            "I was kind of a loser too"

                                            >"A filly like you? Nah, you weren't a loser. There's a difference between being a social outcast nerd and a loser."

                                            "What'd the difference be?"

                                            >"One is an engrained sort of wonderful thing... and the other is mental sickness."

                                            >You giggle a bit and she looks at you quizically

                                            >"What did I say?"

                                            "Nothing, sorry. You stumbled into an inside joke from my younger years."

                                            >As the two of you top the ramp, you can see that the seats are all empty

                                            >"Well, you can explain it to me if you like. Looks like we've got some alone time before the film starts"

                                            "You'd think I were mentally ill if I went into it fully"

                                            >Something nice about pony theatres is that instead of folding chairs or electric recliners, they have rows of little loveseats

                                            >You and Dewey take one in the dead center of the theatre, and after you take out the popcorn you sort of instinctually rest your head against her

                                            >"I promise, after seeing inside your notebook I'm not sure much would surprise me."

                                            >You shiver a little bit and she apparently feels it, nuzzling up against your forehead

                                            "You read all of my stories?"

                                            >You get a lick for that

                                            >"Yes, as I said you've got a lot of sadness within you. But they're also somewhat revealing, you write about creatures that aren't equine, bipeds with grasping instruments on their pseudohooves. Ponies are generally the focus of your stories, but the bipeds show up too often to be ignored. You're from someplace where... they exist, aren't you?"

                                            >You can feel the tears welling up in your eyes a little bit

                                            "I... I am."

                                            >"Hey... don't cry. It's okay. They can't hurt you now."

                                            >You sob sharply

                                            "I used to be one of them. I... I'm horrible. I used to be a man too. I'm artificial, counterfeit even."

                                            >She rubs your mane, you're encouraged to lay down in her lap, so you do. The black screen is still visible.

                                            >"I had figured there was some element of yourself in the stories, so... that all wasn't entirely unexpected."

                                            "Oh, right. I'm an idiot."

                                            >"You're not an idiot. You're a pony."

                                            "I'm not..."

                                            >"You are. I promise."

                                            >There's an audible whirring in the background, you think it's the projector spinning up

                                            >Something you love about Equestrian films is how analog the entire experience feels

                                            >The films may be in color, but the old projectors and heavy usage of matte paintings make the whole experience feel just so...

                                            >Like home.

                                            >Dewey opens your bag of popcorn, gingerly picking some up with a forehoof

                                            >You're glad that Equestria doesn't really seem to have disease in the same way earth does, because there is no existent reality where you don't gently eat popcorn out of her hoof when she holds it out right in front of your muzzle

                                            >This earns you a happy hum and a little bit of petting

                                            >Your whole body hums in turn as the lights dim and the film starts to play

                                            >You recognize it even though it is brand new

                                            >It's... like ET, most of it

                                            >But instead of an alien, it's another pony

                                            >It literally imprints its form upon the filly who first encounters it, leading it in with...

                                            >Popcorn

                                            >You get another hoof-ful at that, which you don't even hesitate to crunch down on

                                            >The language is wrong, it doesn't quite understand what it's like to be a pony, only how to observe and imitate

                                            >But it learns a little bit more over time

                                            >Eventually it's time for it to leave the planet and return to its own planet

                                            >It's sick, dying

                                            >No magic alien powers, just pain (other than the shapeshifting)

                                            >After all, the magic is on Equus, not whatever backwater shithole it came from

                                            >As it starts to get beamed up, you can see it grab a cord on the side of the teleporter platform

                                            >It pulls hard

                                            >It's only partially beamed up, half of the body is left behind

                                            >The smile on her face shows that this was the intention. The filly cries as the half-pony closes its eyes for the last time.

                                            >You shiver.

                                            >It's... not a fully unhappy ending. You wouldn't want to be taken back either.

                                            >"I'm sorry."

                                            "What for? The practical effects were incredible! It was a great film."

                                            >"That's true."

                                            "I'm sorry, then."

                                            >"The ending... made the entire thing feel like it was meaningless, not to mention the tonal whiplash."

                                            >She looks down at you

                                            >You look up into her blue eyes, twin oceans and windows into her mind

                                            >What's she thinking about?

                                            >There's some adjustment and you're on the couch fully

                                            >She locks her muzzle to yours, her tongue exploring your mouth as the credits roll

                                            >

                                            >

                                            >

                                            >"Would you like to come back to my place? I can make us dinner."

                                            "Is it that late already?"

                                            >She giggles

                                            >"No, silly, but I've got plenty of other ways to keep us occupied; and I think that you can think of a few too, especially with that magic notebook.