"Also, because you're not there to use your magic, all that sudden drain on the winds of magic would likely blow up half the town. So you know, it'd be bad," Arcane Mist continued on, completely oblivious to his friend's discomfort as she stared down at the sock in mild, foal-like annoyance, as if objecting to its existence on the basis it was interrupting story time. "If you tried to transport the idea of the pony, wouldn't that just mean you'd make a dead pony on the opposite end? I mean, the body and the clothes will be there, the lights are probably on, but nopony's home upstairs. Just because it teleports your body's copy doesn't mean it necessarily teleports a copy of you."