>Be old man Anon.
>Not particularly ancient, but old enough that the mastery in your hands is fading from arthritis and the shivers of age.
>You furrow your brow, peering through a large magnifying glass, tweezers in hand.
>Gently, with the precision only a lifetime of work could build, you place the minute gear in it’s place.
>Good, good now just to tap it into it’s notch…
>And as you go to stake the gear into it’s resting spot a slight tremble jars your hand.
>The pinhead of the stake drives into the fragile clockwork, breaking the mainspring in twain. 
>You don’t curse yourself, merely sigh as you turned off your desk lamp and pushed yourself away from your work.
>This wasn’t the first watch your trembling hands had ruined, and it won’t be the last.
>Though, it was happening more often than you liked these days.
>Collecting your tools, which had been your father’s, and your father’s father’s, you put them in their neat wooden box.
>Watch making was your family’s heritage, and your birthright.
>For well over a hundred years, there has always been a master watch smith in your family.
>passed down from father to son, your family’s skill was well known.
>People of all calibers came to you for your skill, rich, poor, noble, and humble.
>But now your family’s skill, and tools, belonged to you and you alone.
>For you had let life pass you by as you plied yourself to your trade.
>Never had you really found companionship, because companionship was never what you had sought.
>Perfection in your craft was what mattered to you for too long.
>And when the day came that you realized what you had forsaken, it was too late.
>Your hair had already greyed and faded away, and your skin wrinkled and sagged.
>So this was you.
>As you gingerly place the box of your most cherished possessions back into it’s proper shelf, you contemplate your latest watch.
>A simple hand wound wristwatch.
>A bit of gold trim on the hands, and numbers you had an assistant hand pant on the face.
>A standard, utilitarian affair.
>A classic watch of your style.
>It took you the better part of the past two days assembling the innards of it.
>And after today’s blunder, it will take the better part of the next two days to fix.
>Ahhh well you’re too old to be mad, just a bit disappointed in your hands.
>Tomorrow is another day.
>Taking one last look back at the watch on the table, you flip the light to your workshop off and go to bed.
>That night your dreams are odd to say the least.
>You are visited by Pegasai spirits.
>Floating along hills of deep green and air so crisp and pure you feel like a young man breathing in the sweet ether.
>They tell you not to worry.
>And they tell you not to be lonely.
>They are beautiful in a magical way.
>But most of all they are comforting to your lonely soul.
>All too quickly your dream ends, and you awake.
>Yet the feeling they left sticks with you as you rouse yourself.
>A deep sensation of companionship; fulfillment in a way.
>Something you had nearly forgotten you could even feel had found it’s way into your heart.
>You could not stop yourself from shedding a few tears from the overwhelming sensation.
>How could a dream do that much to you?
>It didn’t matter, however.
>You had a watch to build – no – fix.
>You completed your morning ritual of bathing, waxing your mustache, and eating some fruits and nuts rather hastily.
>This was going to be a long day hunched over a magnifying glass.
>Yet when you flicked the lights in your workshop on, things didn’t seem quite right.
>It was just a feeling at first, as if the air wasn’t how you left if.
>But looking at your tool kit, it was slightly ajar, and the top was off.
>You didn’t fear, you were too old to fear things.
>But you were curious.
>You knew you had locked your door three days ago when you had last left.
>And your assistant never came over unless you called him.
>Slowly you made your way to the old wooden box only to find that all your many tools had up and disappeared.
>Well now you were getting a might bit worried.
>These tools were more to you than anything in this world.
>Looking over to your desk, you spot the watch you had been working on, and the pair of finished watches that sat waiting for wristbands next to it.
>So your tools were gone, but the watches worth ten times the tools value were still here.
>Odd…
>You approached the desk, inspecting the watch.
>It had flipped itself over… and was ticking.
>But… was someone playing a trick on you.
“Hello? Is anyone here?”
>You call out in your creaking baritone. 
>”Oh hello mister!”
>A squeaky little voice calls out from your left.
>A little grey and white head is peeking out from behind your toolbox.
>Well you guess your heart gave out last night because now there’s a weird talking mouse over there.
>You give it a flat look.
“What’s your deal Jerry? Is this heaven?”
>It looks back at you in confusion, it’s wide eyes shimmering a bit.
>”Jerry? Is that my name? Ummm no, I don’t think this is heaven… this looks more like… a workshop?”
>It’s glancing around, the voice is definitely feminine, and very reminiscent of your dream last night.
>Stepping closer, you might as well inspect this little spirit.
>You also notice upon closer inspection that she’s not a mouse at all, more like a mouse sized pony with a particularly large mane, eyes, and tail.
>Kind of cute, like a field mouse.
>She’s looking up to you with awe written on her little muzzle.
>”Sooo ughhh yah, let me introduce myself! I am, umm was, your tweezers!”
>She sticks a little hoof up to you, like you’re supposed to shake it.
>You’re getting too old for this kind of stuff, but you play along.
>You extend a rickety index finger to her little hoof, and do the shaking motion.
“So you say you’re my tweezers? How’s that supposed to be, you look nothing like them?”
>Plopping down onto her rump, she inspects her forelegs and flanks.
>”Well I’m not too sure actually. I sort of have two memories when I think about it. Like I remember being the tweezers forever, your dad, grandad, great grandad, heh even you through the years! But also… I remember being alive in a magical land of ponies once. I think I liked making watches in that life. Weird huh?”
>You had to pull up your chair for this, lest you fall over in amazement.
>You take a moment, grabbing your magnifying glass to inspect the little pony.
>You observe her for few moments, and she seems to be getting a bit uncomfortable, so you sit back.
>You did notice a little pair of tweezers painted… tattooed? Onto her flank.
>Taking a deep breath you choose you’re next words.
“So you’re telling me you are my tweezers mixed with some magical pony spirit?”
>”Yep!”
“And you have no idea how you came to be here?”
>”Yep! No idea really. Just floating through pony world, then blackness, then here I am!”
“Does this ‘Pony World’ of yours have a name?”
>”I’m pretty sure we call it Equestria! And this is Earth right?”
“That it is, little pony… There aren’t more of you right? What happened to my steaking set, my depthing tool, and all the rest?”
>Now she was looking off to the side of a box, and you followed her vision.
>You were able to catch the end of a golden tail disappear behind another box.
>Sighing a bit, you swivel so you’re facing the box.
“You can come out now, it’s not like I’m going to bite… ain’t got enough real teeth left for that anyway.”
>You heard a faint chuckle from the tweezer pony on your shelf.
>Timidly three more pint-sized ponies walked out from behind a box across from you.
“Let me guess, you’re the spirits of my depthing tool, anvil, and pin hammer?”
>The bonze and gold one you assume is your depthing tool steps forward from the rest.
>Her voice is a bit deeper, and she is a bit bigger than your tweezer pony.
>”Yep, you’re right master! We’re, well… we’re your tools!”
>Glancing back down to the tweezer pony, you deadpan.
“This is certainly becoming an odd day isn’t it Tweezy?”
>She just looks up to you and nods vigorously.
>Turning back to your depthing tool pony, you just have to say this before it becomes a thing.
“Well, welcome to life here on Earth. Please don’t call me ‘master’, it just doesn’t feel right since you’re alive. Just call me Anon.”
>”O-okay! But what’s my name? You called her Tweezy just there!”
>The bronze pony pointed a tiny hoof toward Tweezy.
>Chuckling a bit to yourself, you roll your chair over to the trio.
“Well lets see, you were my depthing tool, so you’ll be Copper Gauge.”
>She immediately inspects her copper colored tail, and beams a bright smile.
>Next was a brown pony with a metallic grey mane and tail, probably your ball-peen hammer.
>She seemed a bit bashful.
“How about Bashful for you little hammer pony?”
>She just nodded with a “hmmm” of approval.
>”Then what are you going to call me Anon?”
>The silver bodied, red maned anvil pony piped up.
>You tilted your head at the assertive little pony.
“How about you be Striker eh?”
>She nodded her head, short mane swishing back and forth.
“So that takes care of names. I take it you four were the ones that finished the watch over there?”
>”Yep! Though it was mostly Tweezy! She’s the one with the fancy hoof work. I just help hit things into place.”
>Bashful just nodded and “hmmm”ed toward Striker.
>”I just helped measure stuff”
>Copper Gauge kicked a golden hoof at the ground.
“Well you ponies want to help me make another?”
>”Yep!”
>”Absolutly!”
>”Definitly!”
>”Hmmm.”
“Then lets get started, these things don’t usually make themselves!”
>And that, My Little Ponies, is how Anon, the lonely old watch smith gained companionship with the help of a little bit of magic.