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|    Looking for the archived update with all the spelling errors,   |
|    lore discussions, shitposts, and images of cute cartoon         |
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|    https://archive.moe/mlp/thread/24158100/#24159981               |
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>"Right there," points Trixie. "Two o'clock, half-circle thing. We're looking at its terminus."
>Anon drifts his eyes towards the direction she's pointing at. He rubs his eyes.
"Here, Trix. I'll align the ship on an intercept course. Could you guide the Rainboom for the rest of the way? I'm gonna need some sleep. Or a drink. Anything, really."
>"Sure thing."
>Despite his fatigue, Anon deftly swings the ship towards the planet without fishtailing.
>The glowing pale half-circle whips into view, stopping exactly at the center. It slowly rotates as the ship matches its orbital plane.
>Trixie lets out a whistle.
"Is that an approval?"
>"Negative, Ghostrider," she grins. "Your ego is full."
"Hey, I'm allowed *some* freedom after that hellish queue at the inter-dimensional toll booth. When Twi said the market is "out of this world," I didn't realize she meant it literally."
>Anon flips some switches, unlocking the co-pilot throttle and stick.
"She's all yours, try not to wreck it."
>"Thanks, dad," Trixie huffs sarcastically.
>She watches on as the captain of the ship makes his way to the lounge.
>"Anon?"
"Yeah, Trix?"
>She gives him a pleasant smile.
>"Good night."
"Right back at ya."
 
 
>Twilight finishes her coffee as Anon enters the lounge.
"Hey, you're up early."
>"Well, I *did* kind of hit the sack pretty early," says Twi. She's flipping through the vid-screen.
>Every channel had the same aged-looking Twilight sans some hair, speaking passionately.
>Twi hits the remote repeatedly with some frustration, cycling through different chronology of her long-winded speech.
>Anon briefly wonders what it's like to be very rich.
>Maybe even hold pointed opinions on illegal Shimmigrants.
>Being such a gratuitous winner must be huge. HUGE.
 
>"There's some coffee and donuts. Extra sprinkles."
>Anon's train of thought is derailed precisely where the multi-dimensional ass-kissing begins. He dry heaves a little.
"No thanks," he mumbles, going through the fridge.
>He tries to find something more fizzy, not wanting to ruin his sleep cycle just yet.
 
>Where did all the Red Minotaur go?
>"Hey, captain-anonymoshimoshi!"
>Minuette skips out of her quarters, a particularly nasty looking pistol still strapped to her thigh.
>She chugs the last remaining can of Red Minotaur on board.
>She crushes the can against her forehead, along with Anon's hopes and dreams.
 
>Anon gives her the 'what have you done' look. A glint of wrathful despair bleeds through his eyes.
>"Oh, were you looking for these? My bad. I sort of got thirsty."
"An entire 24-pack..."
>"Don't be so cross about it, Nonny! That stuff's bad for your guts anyway."
>Minuette cheerfully slaps Anon on the back, her grin an inch too wide for comfort.
 
>Anon sighs.
"I'll take the coffee, Twi."
 
 
- - - - - -
 
 
https://youtu.be/VBlFHuCzPgY
"So uh, why did we pick this shop again?"
>Anon points his thumb at the giant billboard out by the entrance where they just walked in.
 
F-Mart: Filthy Discounts, Your Enrichment!
(F. Rich, Inc.)
 
>A particularly greasy-looking man wearing an even greasier suit is pictured next to the the slogan, sticking his thumbs up.
 
>"Well, this entire system is essentially anchored in the same spot in the four-dimensional space," Twi intones. She falls right into her pleasant singsong lecture-y voice.
>"It's also connected to the rest of our 3rd-dimensional world via a portal. We're separated in time, but not in space."
>"So no matter how many hours we spend here..." muses Trixie.
>Anon nods.
"Not a second passes in the outside world. We've basically paused the game."
 
>"Not a bad way to make tons of money, if you think about it," Minuette chimes in. "Some mercs carry a portable teleporter to this system, just in case they run out of ammo mid-fight."
>She mimes a firefight, not entirely unlike a child would.
>There are sound effects.
>"Hit the panic button, get some ammo at the checkout, and you're back in the fight! Boom!"
>An imaginary grenade is thrown, for good measure.
>Other shoppers begin staring at the party. Some with curiosity, others with disdain.
>Trixie smiles at them nervously.
"Minuette, you're killing me."
>Minuette open-palm slams an imaginary magazine into her imaginary rifle.
>"Collateral damage is unavoidable, Anon!"
 
>Anon begins to develop a healthy hatred towards terraboos.
 
 
"Flannel, flannel, flannel, flannel..."
>Anon mumbles to himself, Twi in tow.
>"I thought flannel went out of fashion?"
"I never said that," says Anon. He grabs an entire bucket full of flannel gloves and dunks it into the shopping cart.
>They look like a bucket of severed arms with nasty scratches on them.
>"But you said—"
"Do you even follow Rarity's galactic fashion blog? Flannels are fly as hell this season."
>He grabs a flannel fedora, trying it on.
>His eyes widen.
"This... This is my hat. It was made for me."
>Twi's mouth twitches.
 
>"We should've gone to Zeta's Warehouse. It's expensive, but at least their inventory is more... tasteful."
>She takes the fedora off of Anon's head.
"You can be such a buzzkill sometimes."
>"Keep that up and I'll take the Red Minotaur out of the cart, too."
 
 
>In the books section, a pale blue wizard is perusing the best literature the galaxy has to offer.
>There's a conspicuously large section devoted to a novel named after her friend, Twilight.
>One specific tome draws the wizard's attention, however. Of the nonfiction variety.
>The draw is irresistible.
>It's huge.
>Incomprehensible multiversal consciousness compels her forward. Towards *THE* book.
 
>Trixie makes her way to the far end of the aisle, where the unsold rejects are collecting dust.
>She walks up to the bargain bin.
>It's actually a bargain pile.
>The pile is comprised entirely of books written by another iteration of her friend, Twilight.
>Trixie gingerly picks up a pristine, unsold copy of [The Art of the Deal].
>Despite its bargain bin status, it's still labeled at a ridiculous price.
 
>"Oh well," she shrugs. "Might as well go big."
 
 
- - - - - -
 
 
>The party meets separately back at the Rainboom, each clutching their own prize in oversized shopping bags.
>All eyes are on Minuette's... hoard, for the lack of a better term.
 
>Minuette dunks her purchase on the lounge floor.
>It piles up in a mix of ammo, laser batteries, knives, and—
>VHS tapes. Tons of them.
>"Minuette, uhm—"
>"What?"
>There are multiple copies of [Miami Connection] for some reason.
 
>"They're called "Video Home System" — that's "motion pictures" for you non-humans — and I just got an awesome deal on the lot! Isn't it amazing?!"
"Minuette," Anon tries to stay calm. "Really?"
>Minuette pouts.
>"WHAAaaaaat."
"They're junk. I literally threw away shit like this last week. All they ever do is take up space."
>He picks up a loose strand of the magnetic tape, letting it tangle around his fingers.
>It manages to get tangled up in his head as well, without much effort.
"They're shit. SHIIIIT. Some of them are so flimsy they don't even make it through a single rewind. Why did you spend actual real-life starcoins on this garbage??"
>Minuette tilts her head at Anon, disappointed that a *human* refuses to appreciate his own superior culture.
>"I want to get used to watching them before I move to the Earth, so I can fit in easier! I shake hands with my elders and—"
 
"No! Just... No!"
>Anon storms out in a fit of annoyance.
"I'll be in my bunk getting drunk or something. I can't handle this anymore!"
>He slams the door shut.
>The occupants of the lounge fall silent.
 
>"He can be such a buzzkill sometimes," sighs Minuette.
 
 
- - - - - -
 
 
>"He really doesn't sulk this much," Trixie says, her mouth full of popcorn.
>The vid-screen is glowing with the particularly nasty scene from The Lawnmower Man.
>The girls are sprawled around in varying states of laziness in or next to the couch.
>Minuette's pajamas are a few shades too skimpy for the occasion, making everyone else incredibly uncomfortable.
 
>Twi shouts at Anon's room.
>"Anon, babe. Minuette promised not to drink your beverages anymore. We're watching Casablanca in a bit."
>"YEAH," shouts Minuette. "Besidesh, I've got me shome ashload of beers to last through the trip so YOU'RE GOOD, bro."
>She burps loudly. Her beer is shaken up and foamy.
 
>"That reminds me," says Trixie, refusing a can of Dude Light being offered to her. "How did you manage to pay for all of this? This must've put a sizable dent in your wallet."
>"Welllll, I may have chatted up the cashier a littleish," winks Minuette. "He was exactly my type, too. Had all the lard in all the right places!"
>Twi jolts up at this contradiction.
>"Wait, I thought you were a—"
>"A what?"
>Twi opens her mouth, but nothing comes out.
>"...never mind."
 
>Minuette drops her smile, giving Twi a cold, cutting look.
>"Ohh, me? How judgmental of you. I *was* engaged to a dude once, you know."
>She slowly crushes the beer can in her hand.
 
>Twi winces, not wanting to start a fight.
>"I-I didn't mean to—"
>Minuette lets out a shrill laugh.
>"I was just kidding, you silly spoon!"
 
>Anon groans loudly, not being able to shut out Minuette's voice.
 
 
- - - - - -
 
 
>An hour or so later, after a failed viewing of Casablanca, the captain and his co-pilot are going through the pre-flight checklist.
>"Anon? I need to ask you something."
>Trixie looks at a disheveled and tired Anon.
>He's on his 8th can of Red Minotaur.
"Yeah, shoot."
>"It's about Twilight."
>He stops mid-keystroke.
 
>"The... "break" you guys had. During that time, she was a wreck. You meant a lot to her, you know.
>Anon begins typing again, albeit slowly.
>"You represented how much progress she's made in terms of getting in touch with her humanity again. An end to her friendless existence. Social graces regained."
>The Element of Empathy sighs, giving Anon's shoulder a squeeze.
>"It's weird. In her odd sciencey-Twiley way, she used you as a gauge to measure her progress. A gauge punched straight to her heart. You were so much more than just a metric to her, and it just wrecked her to no end that she couldn't express herself properly to you."
 
"Trixie—"
>"What I'd like to know is, why were *you* so nice to her?"
"What?"
 
>The Element of Harmony stares straight into Anon's eyes.
 
 
"I've met Twilight before. At least someone like her."
>Trixie's ears perk up.
 
"I was a teenager. Just started middle school. I sat next to a lavender-haired girl, shared half of my classes with her. She was the one who got me interested in math to begin with. I had a massive crush on her."
>Anon clicks a switch overhead, lighting up the instruments.
"God, it's even more of a haze than before. Aging is hell. You end up forgetting all the significant bits."
 
>"You're barely old enough to drink, Anonymous," reminds Trixie.
"I know, I know. Still, it doesn't change the fact that faces are blurred and events are muddled, Trix."
>Slashing the last checkbox with the pencil, Anon tosses the clipboard aside.
"Oddly enough, *she* was the one who fought off the bullies, and I was the sulking damsel. Pretty atypical. But I was a frail kid back then."
>The Rainboom shudders and rattles as the engines light up.
 
"One day, she transferred away. Or just stopped showing up to school. "Caught the pox." Whatever. I spent the final few months of my middle school life without her. It was miserable."
>Anon pauses.
>The Element of Empathy waits, all ears on Anon.
"When I saw her in high school, I thought she was the same Twilight. The one who set my academic interest in stone. The one who became *my* knight-in-shining-armor, when the need arose. The one whom I... loved."
>Anon looks tearful.
 
"But she wasn't. She was either not the same anymore, or was never the same one to begin with. But I wanted desperately to believe. Wanted *my* Twilight back. So I stuck around, accepted her like she had accepted me all those years."
>"And... do you think she's the same Twilight? *Your* Twilight?"
>Anon falls silent.
"The more I know about the multiverse, the less I'm certain."
 
>A lonely baseball-shaped spaceship blasts off from the F-Mart parking lot, leaving behind a column of smoke, fire, and sonic boom.
>It angers the locals greatly.