Parcly Taxel: Tatami (畳) is a very common flooring in Japanese restaurants and homes. Its prevalence in the latter is declining, in part because of the younger population moving into more internationally oriented apartments; these contain wooden or marble floors like those found in Canterlot Castle. Nevertheless, it remains an important cultural asset and rooms rented out to foreigners often have one or two tatami rooms.
 
Versatility is one of their advantages. They can serve as a base for futons, which we would sleep on throughout our trip, or support a short table for eating meals of the sort we enjoyed in Kinosaki.
 
For me, the most interesting thing about these mats is their combinatorics: the standard shape of one mat is a domino (with half-size squares allowed when needed to exactly cover a rectangle) and convention is to arrange those mats so that no four mats meet at a point. Counting the number of such tilings is a problem of research interest.
 
Spindle: Shaking off the shenanigans of the previous day, we cleaned up the place, unfolding every blanket and bedsheet flat. Regarding the waste we had generated, recycling is much more extensive in Japan than it is in some other places, so we sorted out the paper and cans and threw them in their respective bins. For the mare on the Clopham omnibus, the amount of waste that remains after this sorting is dwindling.
 
Airing on NHK Educational TV (Eテレ) was – to my surprise – a programming programme, explained with live characters acting out commands in video games made from a pedagogical language, Scratch. Both Parcly and I recalled happy memories of using it, me teaching a class for younger windigos and she hacking up a full reverse Polish notation calculator. My species is always aware of the need to enable other sentient beings to harness technology rather than be enslaved by it. I warmed the surrounding air, seeing that this message was being transmitted outwards.
 
Parcly: Our next destination was Osaka, the heart of the Keihanshin and the second-most populous city in Japan. The two-day pass for Kyoto having now expired, we bought single tickets for each leg of our journey: subway to Kyoto Central followed by JR to Sakuranomiya (桜ノ宮), transiting at Osaka Central. The last three stops in particular were on the Osaka Loop, a very heavily used ring railway which would be important for our future explorations.
 
Our lodging lay just under the Loop. When I arrived, the original tenant was still preparing it with his two female assistants, strewn objects lying here and there. The ceilings were a little too low for an alicorn like me, while empty areas engaged in a staring contest. Dilapidated as it was, I already knew why.
 
Remember the cooks? They work in cramped, sweaty conditions against hordes of patrons. Osaka is the food bowl of the nation.
 
Spindle: As in Kyoto, the nearest subway station of Miyakojima (都島) was an extended walk away, passing by the city’s general hospital. We hopped one stop for lunch, which was udon with raw egg (the base) paired with croquette and tempura (add-ons). Unlike our stripped-down apartment, a television sat in one corner of the shop.
 
Parcly: A stroll down the shopping street of Tenjinbashi (天神橋) revealed a lot about local demographics and lifestyles. The ponies are generally older and more sociable, relaxed in their gait and contemplative in mind. Pachinko parlours popped up at regular intervals, some without the frosted exterior glass normally included for privacy.
 
Time started to skid in my working memory, causing me to turn back. I couldn’t make head or tail of where I was, the ends crowded out by shifting shoppers. A wave of excitement pulsed through me; I could feel myself stretching with muscles and thinner bones, my hindlegs melting together and tickling with flaky scales… until I had transformed into a lamia, my hexagon-patterned snake tail exceeding four metres.
 
Considering how much distance was left till the other end, I slithered along in erratic waves, grabbing any and all food I wanted to devour. Lamias love eating things, after all! Finally, I re-entered open sky and twisted back to see my suspicions verified: Tenjinbashi is the longest shopping street in all Japan at 2.6 kilometres, cut into six segments by intersecting roads.
 
Needing to regain my bearings, I lunged towards the nearest subway station of Minami-morimachi (南森町), my panting warped into hisses. There I regrew my hindlegs and fuzzy tail so that closing train doors wouldn’t squish me paper-thin.
 
Spindle: Transferring to the next stop towards Miyakojima, Higashi-Umeda (東梅田), we got swamped. Peak hours were in full swing. Shopping centres like Daimaru drove us in the right and then the wrong direction, across resonating bridges and isolated lifts. When we could see stars again, we were in a city in a city. Osaka Station City.
 
Dwarfing Kyoto Central when neighbouring buildings (North Gate, South Gate, Yodobashi, etc.) are included, I filtered the fresh night air through myself and we worked out where to have dinner. Ending up at Ichiran (一蘭), a booth-based ramen restaurant, Parcly seemed confused at what steps to take.
 
Parcly: My “shift” started out with a vending machine where I selected my meal, receiving an order ticket alongside a pad where I could fine-tune how my meal would taste. Not being a picky pony at all, I opted for a standard ramen-and-pork bowl with extra noodles and was led to one of several one-mare cubicles by a bevy of flashing occupancy lights, where my order was processed and I slurped away.
 
The extra noodles were at first an empty tray with their description printed. To materialise it, I placed it on a sensor plate and one of the waiters took it, giving me back one extra lump of noodles as expected. I was so happy levitating those chopsticks that only after the last strand and drop was exhausted did I feel something in my hind legs.
 
Tempest Shadow: I was feeling something much more serious, so I unlocked the partition to my right. Parcly had reverted to a lamia and was coiling around me!
 
Parcly: As soon as I became aware, I relaxed all my constricting muscles and Tempest made a small smile. “Thanks for the surprise,” she commented.
 
Tempest: Still, she loves transforming into strange hybrids like this, and couldn’t bring herself to transform back because she was naturally tsundere. I guided her via the Loop to Sakuranomiya, full and voracious like she imagined Osaka ponies would be, where she pointed out the inconvenient ceilings.
 
“It’d be better with a broken horn like me, you know.”