My wife threw me out back in November of 2018.

The reasons why were irrelevant - I was no longer welcome in the embrace of the woman I'd known since middle school, and my kids were now living somewhere I was not.  Something like that can sandblast the will to live out of someone with the force of a balefire bomb, and at the time, I might not have been suicidal (I've experienced it from the side of losing a dear friend; I won't do that to anyone if I can help it), but I was at the bottom of the proverbial barrel.  I felt that there was nothing left for me, and that I was doomed to spend the remainder of my existence in abject misery.

So naturally, as I do when I oft get sad, I read.  I read all the books I owned at least twice, and even borrowed a few from good friends... but there's always more to read.  Lately, I'd finished scouring FimFiction, and had enjoyed finishing last year's great find for me - Fallout: Equestria.  LittlePip and co. were wonderful additions to my mental roster of characters and stories, and I had noticed that there had been more stories.  With all that had happened to me, I was more or less just skimming the 'recommended' section... and found Project: Horizons.

What the hell... with all my pain, what more could it hurt?

The next few weeks saw me reading the damn thing at every chance I got.  It DEVOURED my attention; I even neglected some of my work here on the forums, my mind eagerly delving into the world of Blackjack and her intrepid allies.  I even began, internally, to draw parallels between BJ and some of my own tribulations.  But the most important part of this introduction is to tell you that one line, like a freaking mantra, kept repeating over and over through the length and breadth of the entire tale...

Do better.

And I took that to heart as thoroughly and tightly as I possibly could.  It made a difference.  It made a WORLD of difference, as I started to push to mentally grab my depressed self up off the floor and make steps toward doing better than I had been. 

I did better by drying my tears of self-pity.  I did better by forcing myself out of bed each and every day, accomplishing even the smallest thing just to prove I wasn't beaten yet.  I did better by fighting my mental demons, and seeking the truth instead of the seductive lies my paranoia was trying to feed me.  I did better by keeping a regular laundry routine, instead of letting it pile up into a living creature of dirt, sweat and loose threads.

I DID BETTER.

So, just like that, Project Horizons took an important place in my heart as a story I took HOPE from.  Natch, with this sort of affection for the story, I decided this year that, with the final BronyCon coming up, I was not only going to attend... but I endeavored to find myself a Blackjack plushie, so that I could have a tangible reminder of all the better I'd done because of that checkerboard-maned Security mare.  I even tried to budget out enough for a leniency of $80, just in case.

Two days into the convention, and an unforseen bill slammed its' way into my account, cleaning me out and leaving me with a negative balance.  I didn't even have enough cash to buy a can of soda, much less a plushie.  So, even though it mentally stung me worse than a bugbear sting to the armpit, I had to let go of the idea that I'd be able to afford one at this convention - hell, I was trying to figure out how I was gonna get home.

Still, walking through the dealer's hall, I could admire other works that befit my likes.  I saw a number of AWESOME Discords, cool buggos, stupid smexy Nightmare Moon dakimakuras, and adorkable chibi Twilys.  But there was one shelf that had a remarkably detailed and hand-painted vinyl Blackjack on a stand.  I smiled, as it was even complete with that self-confident smirk I could imagine her with, and as I looked it over, I was joined by someone else who admired it.  Natch, I began talking (as I can be a chatty bugger), and he inquired if I liked Fallout: Equestria's Project Horizons.  Of course I said yes.

He thumbed over his shoulder and said, "Yeah? Well THIS guy wrote it."

I turned to where he had motioned, and there was just this average, normal-looking fellow there, maybe his mid-thirties, bespectacled and friendly-like.  He lifted his hand in a slight wave and, almost as if narrating while I read it on his badge, "Hi.  I'm Somber.  Nice to meetcha."

I... *sigh* I totally fanboyed.  I will not lie.

I gasped, might have even given a squee, and instantly shook his hand before hugging him and shaking his hand again.  I couldn't believe it - the author of the story that had given me the inspiration and strength to carry on in one of my lowest points in life.  I mean, I wasn't fan-sessed, no... I did manage to relate a Cliff Notes version of the above story to let him know how much Blackjack's journey had meant to me.  I wanted to let him know how important it was to me.... aaaaaaaand hopefully not drive him off with my fan-gasming.

To his credit, he never even looked fazed, and was even pleasantly surprised when I told him what it had meant to me.  He thanked me for reading, and when I mentioned I'd been trying to find a BJ plush, he grinned and said, "I know where they've got 'em - follow me, man."  So, agog and still internally squeeing, I went along with him and his friend (whose name I forgot, please don't be upset, but I mean COME ON), and we traveled through the swarm of Bronies that were there to find their own treasures.

I was so stunned by meeting him that I didn't even realize he was taking me to buy a plushie I had no money for.

Arriving at the booth, he gestured to a small pile of Blackjacks that were adorably minky and well-made, complete with removable Security barding and little PipBuck!  They were totes dorbs, as my daughter would say, and Somber asked the guy behind the counter how much they were.  The gentleman replied, "Sixty bucks."

My heart crashed as the realization came home.

I kinda... mini-panicked.  Eyes wide, I grabbed one of the booth's business cards, swearing I'd order one online and that it wouldn't take more than a single paycheck to do so, and that I'd really not expected things to go as they had for my budget for this trip, and was very earnestly trying to convince the friend that I was going to do my utmost best to get this plushie...

Somber?  He just reached over, picked one up, pulled out his wallet and bought one.  Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a black sharpie, removed BJ from her plastic bag enough for him to pull off the back bootie (it gave her legs that cyber-look), and that's where he wrote:

To Randi

From Somber

Hang in there.

And, with a smile, he handed it to me.  "There," he said, "now you have one."

I cried.

I also thanked him about a dozen times, hugged him twice more,and shook his hand with BOTH of my own at least four more times.  Even though I was fangushing at level 11 at this point, he simply smiled and took all my thanks and praise humbly, wishing me a good rest-of-the-con as he and his friend moved off into the crowds again.  I'm pretty sure he was still smiling as he faded into the gathering of Bronies and Pegasisters, all here to celebrate this wonderful show that has spawned so much from so may people.

There are a lot of folks who'll tell you that meeting a 'hero' is never all it's cracked up to be; they're arrogant, or money-grubbing, or egotistical to the Nth degree.  But sometimes, fillies and gentlecolts... sometimes, meeting a hero is exactly everything you hoped it would be, and then some. 

To Somber himself, I say excelsior - your greatness is the massive shadow you leave behind the humble, decent man you are stretches farther than you ever imagined.  Thank you for your hard work, your insight, and your story - it's helped me to do better, and I'm sure Blackjack herself would be proud of that.