It had been bad enough to wake up as a pony. Now Topher was realizing that his hooves made it impossible to play video games. Video games. IT WAS KILLING HIM. He stomped around on the controllers, trying to figure out a system, but his tiny character just kept getting blasted with fire that he could have avoided if he had had opposable thumbs,
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Yup, that was Kate's voice. She'd stopped in the doorway to the common room, bare-armed and bare-legged in her morning attire of a... mostly buttoned-up flannel shirt that hung low over her thighs. (She was actually wearing somewhat respectable shorts underneath, but still, sorry, Topher, she had no consideration for other people's possible delicate sensibilities. Not on a Sunday morning.) And she looked distinctly unimpressed.
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"Tell me about it," he grumbled. "Stupid controllers."
Yes, because that was what Kate was talking about.
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It was hard to figure out voices without the right face. Or species.
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"Yeah," he confirmed. "I could tell you you're Kate, but you know that."
UGH. Why couldn't Fandom just zap everyone at once? That way at least it would be fair.
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"OH MY GOD!" he yelled. "YOU ARE? Are you sure?"
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"Who're you?" he grumbled.
No, the crazy hair didn't tip him off.
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"Why do you have a star on your butt?!"
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"You'd better invent a hoof-to-keyboard thing now," he said. "How am I going to work now?!"
Or maybe 'pissed' was the wrong word. 'Desperate'? 'In the pit of despair'?
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Then -- wait.
"Peter?"
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YES, TOPHER. HE JUST DIDN'T CARE.
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Then he got a glimpse of who he was talking to and snorted in a very pony-ish manner. "Except maybe you most of all, dude," he added. "You're purple."
And he was sensitive. Not.
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He looked at the crushed video game controller.
"Oops."
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