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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Flap, flap, flap -- and Marshall was about a foot off the ground before he fell back down. "... Ow."
No ceiling fan for you, Topher!
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"Aw," he said disappointedly. An idealistic person might assume that he was disappointed because Marshall had gotten hurt, but that person would be wrong. He had just really wanted to see the ceiling fan craziness.
"Guess there's no point in me trying now, is there?"
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It was for science, Topher! For SCIENCE!
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"Okay, okay," he grumbled. Feeling utterly ridiculous, and harboring the sneaking suspicion that Peter might be lurking somewhere with a camera, he flapped his wings just enough to lift off the ground. Then he sneezed, and collapsed back down.
"Ow."
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Really, Topher? Really?
[And I fleeee for my cousin's birthday dinner!]
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"Ceiling fan's on," he pointed out.
[[Have fun!]]
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"Where would you wanna go?"
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Without putting on clothes. That was new.
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