750 word HiE story · 10:10am Sep 29th, 2013
I originally wrote this as a prologue to Elements of a Successful Tourist Industry, as I felt I needed to explain a bit more about the bizarre AU I had created (and make it clear the story was not just driving a tour bus through the fourth wall). I then decided it wasn't necessary and didn't fit the rest of the story. But it's okay as a stand-alone piece. Enjoy.
Off The Beaten Bridle Path
The traveller pulled her hat down to shield her face from the rain and ran across the street, dodging the muddy puddles. Her boots making a trail of fresh impressions on top of a pattern of hoof prints. She ran up to the train station, onto the platform and looked up and down the railway tracks. The place was deserted. A timetable showed that the last train of the day had departed half an hour ago.
She stamped her foot with frustration and silently cursed the stupid officer at the Everfree border crossing who had kept her waiting with all his stupid questions as if he’d never seen an American passport before. After three days hiking through the forest she wanted to get to Canterlot – maybe not the centre of civilization, but at least there you could be reasonably sure of finding a hotel room with a hot bath. Now it looked like she was stuck in this small town until Monday.
There was a rumble of thunder in the distance and it started to rain heavier. The weather in this country was crazy – it had been bright sunshine just an hour ago. Best find somewhere to stay as soon as possible. She walked out of the station and looked down the street. The timber framed houses, with thatched roofs and upper floors overhanging the street, probably looked charming in the sunlight, but right now they seemed grim. There was no sign of any hotels, but maybe if she could find a bar, she could ask about a room. She buttoned up her coat and walked out into the rain.
After a short walk across town, she took shelter under a tree. It seemed all the locals had disappeared into their houses and closed the shutters against the storm. She leant back against the tree and shook her hair. Then something got her attention: there was a window in the side of the tree. She turned around and inspected it more closely: more windows, and a door. Someone had built a house into a tree. Now this was interesting, in the middle of all these quaint old cottages was this radical modern ecological architecture.
With growing curiosity she peered through the window into a brightly lit hall, lined with bookshelves. Then with a yelp she noticed two large eyes staring back at her. She jumped back feeling guilty. It is impolite in any culture to look through windows into someone’s home.
The door to the side opened, and a small purple pony walked out and looked at the traveller with inquisitive eyes. She stared back, unsure what to say.
“Come inside,” said the pony, “you need to get out of the rain.”
The traveller followed the pony into the tree, noticing that she was a unicorn. The door led into what seemed to be a library. The walls were lined with books. On the floor, amid a pile of cushions, discarded books and magazines, and a few empty bottles of apple wine, sat a group of young ponies who all jumped up to greet the new arrival.
“Thank you,” said the traveller. “Could you tell me, is there anywhere in this town where I can get a room for the night? I seem to be stranded here.”
“You’re welcome to stay here,” said the unicorn.
“You must stay the night!” cried a bright pink pony. “We can have a sleepover. We don’t get many foreign visitors in Ponyville. Well actually we’ve never had any foreign visitors in Ponyville. Except for that griffin. But he wasn’t a proper foreigner, he just talked with a funny accent. But you’re a real live human foreigner! Walking on two legs! Where are you from?”
“I’m from the US.”
“Cool!” cried a blue pegasus pony with a mane dyed like a rainbow. “You know Lance Armstrong?”
“Erm. Not personally.”
“Please sit down,” said a white unicorn mare kindly. “You can tell us all about it. And what is it that brought you to Ponyville?”
The traveller took off her coat, then opened her rucksack and took out a notebook, sketchpad and camera.
“I’m a writer,” she explained, “and an artist. I make animations. I’ve got a commission to make a series set in Equestria. So I came here to meet some ponies; to learn a bit about the place, hear some stories, and get some inspiration.”
“We have lots of stories for you.”
“Yeah, would you like to hear about the greatest flyer ever to come out of Cloudsdale?”
