Wasn't me, he says dumbly to you. Yeah. Ok. Like you even believe that. But it doesn't matter now. You're setting off the beach, a brilliantly wobbly creature, hooves hitting sand, water splashing up on you when you occasionally step too far out and you're going to get her, you're quite certain you're going to get her. And behind you, you can hear Man Spots coming, to join the fun of harassing the alien woman no doubt. And the closer you get to the miniscule pony, the louder her voice becomes, cursing and berating you, calling you all sorts of names you'd never asked to be called. Not that she asked to have her hair tugged on. Regardless, you're bigger, and presumably older, so you get to do what you want and she has to deal with it. That's logic, right?

Still, hazy drug-fueled logic aside, you're quite certain you're going to succeed in your mission to do... something to the mare. You're not sure what yet. You have to figure it out still. To be honest, you really still want to know what she is, exactly. She never did answer your question. But before you can figure out which new, unpleasant way you're going to invade her personal space, you're tripping. No tripping is not exactly the right word. You're stumbling, fumbling, splashing, crashing, smashing into the sand, water billowing up and around you in a disastrous wave. At least somewhere, in all the chaotic shouting that happened in your mind, you had the where-with-all to fall kind of forward, ending up falling on your right side, your egg in your pouch landing towards the sky. Whatever it is in there, it's probably not too pleased with you right now.

Of course, you're instantly pissed. “What the hell!?” you bellow and, while it doesn't make any sense based on where you were all located, you instantly glare at the loud-mouth woman. Or try to. You kind of fail, since she's a little bit farther out in the ocean that you can see without really craning your neck around. At least you missed her kicking at you, since you were busy heading down to the earth instead of forward towards her. Not that you're spared the splashy aftermath of her hooves. That washes right into your face. But if she's over there that means... bingo. Your attentions turn, head swinging to Man Spots, an angry grumble rumbling in your throat. “Her, dimwit! Not me!” Shame you're probably insulting the smartest thing on this whole beach.

And then there's another zaping noise, and magically the maniac woman appears right before you, in a brialliant flash of lighting. As if on cue, a new wave of salt water crashes into the back of your head, no doubt the result of the woman's chaotic style of movement. Biting at the water as though you're going to do any damage to it. But out of the corner of your eye you see black and white spots, of varying size, falling towards one another like maybe they're going to collide. Now this, you can't miss. So you heave yourself up so you're at least not lying on your side, and rather lying on your limbs. Lights, camera, action. Serves him right. “Watch out Man Spots. Vamoose,” you offer with a chuckle. You get it right this time?