>It's morning!
>It's also the weekend, so you're taking your time in the shower.
>Shampoo, soap and shave, then out of the tub and into a towel.
>Actually, scratch the towel.  
>A few passes with the hair dryer, feet enter flip flops and you stroll out into your hallway like a boss.
>Breeze on shaving nicks.
>Ouch.  
>Better grab some antiseptic.
>You return to your medicine cabinet, retrieve a tube and make your way out to the living room naked as a jaybird.
>It's nice to finally have your own place.
>You hit the couch and tend your wounds, wincing a little when you accidentally scratch the one near your ankle.
>Great, now it's bleeding.
>You reach to grab a tissue and discover that the box is empty.
Pff...
>Fine, cold and pressure then - but getting ice will require getting up off your lazy butt.
>You groan and shift forward, then reverse course when you notice Grandma's paperweight.
>It's a polished hunk of obsidian the size and shape of a hen's egg that she willed to you when she died.
>You remember raising an eyebrow when Dad told you that the will had been written three years before you were born.
>Did your parents name you what they did just so you'd get the rock?
>Whatever.  
>What's important is the fact that it always feels like it's ten degrees colder than the rest of the room.  
>You grab it and press it against you.
>The soothing coolness feels nice.
>Then suddenly it digs itself hard into the flesh of your leg.
 
 
>The motion is accompanied by a sensation that reminds you of spinning in circles with relaxed arms, the blood pushing its way into your fingers' capillaries.
>You grit your teeth and gasp as the feeling intensifies into searing pain.
>The stone has begun to emit a dull glow that increases in intensity as it pulls blood through your unbroken skin.
>With a bright flash it explodes and takes reality with it, tearing your living room into a kalaidescope of abstract colors.
>For several seconds you fall through swirling chaos in multiple directions at once, utterly disoriented.
>And then suddenly you're standing in an orchard.
>Apple trees.
>Ridiculously symmetric Apple trees.
>You're standing in the sun in your birthday suit and flip flops and you're surrounded by them, and someone is talking to you.
>"...Ya deaf, I asked ya what you think yer doin poachin mah apples?
I...
>"What in tarnation are ya, anyway?"
>The scene swims completely into focus and you find yourself staring down at an angry orange apparition in a stetson.
>You shift your hair out of your eyes and continue to gape.  
>It's still there, and it's still a talking orange horse.
A talking horse?
>Judging by her expression that was not the thing to say.
>"Where the hay do you get off calling me a whorse?  Ah oughtta buck ya over the moon!"
But....
>The apparently not-horse looks like she's almost as furious as you are confused.
>"Ah'm an upstandin' businesspony ya varmint.  How dare you come on mah property an' cast aspersions?  Ya don't see me goin out to tha forest tellin yer-"
STOP!
>She cuts off mid-sentence and glares at you.
 
 
 
Please, stop.  I'm sorry, OK?  Where I come from everything that looks like you is called a horse.
>"Well Ah'm a pony and don't ya forget it."
Isn't a pony just a small horse?
>"No, it's - y'know what, never mind.  Just mosey on back to tha Everfree and leave mah apples be."
The What?
>"Tha forest ya came outta.  Ain't no place 'round ponyville for a freaky Everfree critter."
>Right, now you're ticked.
>You squat down to her level with an expression that makes her step backward.
I am not a 'critter' and for the record in my world you're the one who'd be considered 'freaky,' ms. talking orange pony thing.
>"Applejack."
What?
>"Mah name is Applejack.  Ah'd appreciate ya usin' it."
And mine's Anonymous, but I prefer Anon.  Call me that instead of 'critter' and maybe I will.
>"Fair enough.  Now what are ya doin' on mah farm?"
My grandmother's paperweight exploded.
>She gives you a flat look.
Hold on, I'm not finished.  My grandmother's paperweight exploded and teleported me here somehow.  I think.
>"So yer not after mah apples?"
>You roll your eyes and sigh.
I promise that I have no interest in your apples or anything else for that matter other than going back where I came from as quickly as possible.
>Applejack's face and posture finally lose the last of their hostility.
>"Ah guess ah can't hold bein' lost against ya."
>She squints at the ground and purses her lips in thought.  
>"Tha princess' apprentice just moved into th' town library.  She's yer best bet for gettin' home.  Ah've got work ta do but mah brother can probably take you there."
>She inhales a lungful and blasts out a bellow that nearly bowls you over.
>"BIG MACINTOSH!!"
 
 
 
>A massive red stallion trots into view.
>He's not much taller than his sister but he's built like a tank.
>He walks up and gives you a casual once-over, then stands silently.
>"Mac, have ya got time ta take Anon here to tha library?"  
>"Eeyup."
>Without another word he walks off toward a dirt path a ways to your left.
>You start after him, then pause when you feel a hoof on your leg.
>"No hard feelin's ah hope.  We've had problems with apple rustlers recently and ah jumped ta conclusions."
None at all.  I imagine an alien appearing out of thin air was pretty unsettling.
>You smile, then give her a wave while jogging to catch up to the apparently oblivious Macintosh.
>You pull abreast slightly winded.
So - Mac, is it?
>"Eeyup."
Do you and Applejack live alone on the farm?
>"Nnope."
>You wait for elaboration but none arrives.
...I see.  Where I came from it was the middle of winter, but this feels more like early Spring, is that right?
>"Eeyup."
>Interesting, and also confusing because the trees around you are full of ripe apples.
>It's the least of today's mysteries so you decide to shelve it.
Is the library very far?
>"Nnope."
Is the princess' apprentice also a pony?
>"Eeyup."
Is everyone who lives here a pony?
>"Nnope."
>Again, no elaboration.  
>This guy is like the floating bit in the first Tron movie.
>Time to break the CPU.
If I said that this sentence is false, would that make it true?
>"Ee..."
>"Nn..."
>Big Mac skids to a stop with his mouth hanging open and his eyes crossed, then looks up with a frown when he notices you snickering.
>"Hmph."
 
 
>He starts off down the path again at a faster pace but relents when he sees your continued smile behind him.
I'm sorry, Mac.  I couldn't resist.
>He sighs.
>"Ah guess ah'm not much of a conversationalist."
It's all right.  I'll just enjoy the scenery.
>And what remarkable scenery it is.
>You've left the orchard and are cresting a hill that gives you a panoramic view of the area.
>Meadows, woodlands, plowed fields and a sizable lake surround a European-style village that looks like someone hired carpenters to recreate a children's book illustration at half scale.
>You can see the glint of a river farther away and in the distance a mountain range rings a third of the horizon.
>One of the mountains has what looks like but could not possibly be a city built on the side of it.
>Everything both natural and constructed is vibrantly, almost oppressively colorful.
>And then you notice something that stops you dead in your tracks.
>The sky is full of ponies.  
>Dozens of winged ponies in every color of the rainbow dart, zip, hover and flit around the clouds.
>You clutch your chest feeling short of breath and sit down heavily.
>Pegasuses..  Pegasi...  and they're REAL.
>You hold your head between your hands and try to keep from hyperventilating.
>Mac's finally noticed your absence and trots back with a concerned expression.
>"What's tha matter?"
I think it finally hit me that I'm really on another world. I'll be fine.  I just need a moment to collect myself.
>He nods and turns to watch a squirrel gather nuts a few feet off the trail.
>It's also only a few feet from you and doesn't seem to care in the slightest.
>Even semi-tame city pigeons get nervous when a human stares at them but this squirrel is utterly blasé.
>Does it not understand that you're a predator?