Blerp.
Permafrost groaned as his horn glowed with a blue aura and his alarm clock froze into a solid block of ice. Climbing out of bed, the colt trotted out of his organized, pristine room, his wooden desk as neat as a lab bench and nothing strewn on the cold stone floor. Heading into his bathroom he took one glance at himself in the mirror and began to brush his teeth, the toothbrush magically levitated with his magic. After getting washed up and good to go he trotted down the steps of his house and down onto a street, filled with hundreds of buildings and swarming with ponies.
Trotting on the hard cobblestone surface Permafrost headed to his favorite restaurant, the Cobbler, before seeing a colt bolting down the street. What the hay? he thought to himself, before hurrying to block the colt's path.
"'ey there, lad," he said in a well-practiced Scottish accent. "What'er ye runnin' eround fer?"