It’s six in the evening when the four of you finally meet up on Sugarcane Ave. A crisp autumn evening, with a mellow but constant breeze that moistened the air and occasionally broke into quick, whistling gusts. The leaves toss and turn across the road and through the grass, hissing with the wind in the perfect spooky fashion to anoint the season you now found yourself entrenched in.
Though you didn’t mention it much, especially as you got older, Nightmare Night was always your favorite holiday. You didn’t know of any other time of the year that your surroundings changed so much so quickly. Not only would the entire orchard break into vibrant oranges and golden reds, but every house and stoop and yard you passed was due to be packed with colorful, attention-catching decorations. Jack-o’-lanterns, black and orange garland, streamers, creepy wind chimes, the works.
Some especially gruesome or courageous ponies had even hung plastic skeletons on the lamp posts in front of their own or some other unlucky pony’s yard.
All this, and it wasn’t even Nightmare Night yet; about a week shy.
Ever since Princess Luna had returned to her seat in Canterlot – personally endorsing and attending the event each year – the hype and fervor for it had grown immensely. Enough so that ponies were starting to have pre-celebration parties to herald its coming like they did with Hearth’s Warming and other holidays. It was a little ironic considering that before the princess’ return there had been an ACTUAL Nightmare and there was ACTUALLY something real to be afraid of on ‘her’ night. Then again, maybe it was the opposite, and the real fear being gone helped?
Who knows?
Certainly not this farm filly – ah, farm MARE, and you don’t care. There are bigger things to think about tonight, namely the party. THE party, Mr. Anon’s party – the one all the coolest ponies would be attending. The ADULT party. With adult conversations, adult music, and adult drinks for all of the mature adults who were attending. It was the reason why all of you had assembled this evening.
Truth be told, as much as you still secretly loved Nightmare Night, you weren’t planning on dressing up this year. You were pretty much a grown mare after all, and only little foals dressed up in silly costumes for the occasion. Your opinion on the act changed real quick when you heard that Anon’s party was strictly a costume party, and that anypony caught being – in his own words – ‘a stiffly stifferson’, would be kicked out.
You doubted Mr. Anon would actually kick ponies out, of course. He’d probably just… stick them in a silly hat or something. Still, you weren’t too keen on finding out the hard way.
What you had on was pretty last minute, and you had to destroy one of your very few dresses to get the look just right, but all-in-all you were a PRETTY scary Pony Mary. You didn’t go over the top, either; that’s the real trick. Just enough quick-dyed, tattered black dress. Just enough spray-canned white mane and makeup to make you look the part. Add some odds and ends, clothespins, vague trinkets and beads, and it was perfect.
If you had to wear a costume then it was best to stick to the basic rules of cool.
Too much prep and you were a big dork. Too little and you were a party-pooper. You had a perfect balance, and you’d impressed the importance of this onto your pals before the big night: No store-bought full body costumes, no crazy wigs, no silly masks, and DEFINITELY no frilly princess wings. Keep it simple but noticeable. Tonight had to be perfect if you were going to impress Anon and wipe the slate clean after the catastrophe that was the fall festival.
AKA, ‘the event that shall hereby go unmentioned in the Apple House under penalty of precision teenage whinging’.
Tonight he’d forget all about how your big dumb cousin made you look like a big dumb foal. Tonight, your smashed sister discussing your – your PRIVATE MATTERS THAT DON’T, HAHA, DON’T EVEN ACTUALLY HAPPEN, LIKE, EVER, would totally slip his mind. Dust in the wind. You’d make sure of it.
After all, this time you had backup you could trust.
To your right trotted Sweetie in a tame white dress, her mane and tail powdered an even brighter eggshell color to match and give her a pale, ethereal appearance. Her eyes have been highlighted with black makeup around the edges, deepening her stare and completing her ‘ghostly banshee’ look.
”Are you sure we’re going the right way?” she asks, turning her head to scan your surroundings. “We’ve been walking a really long time.”
The first pony to your left is Scootaloo. She’d powdered herself with a light green dust, stuck thimbles to either side of her neck and head, and sprayed her mane black and white. She’d even painted fake stitches into her fur. A little less subtle, but you couldn’t complain.
”Are you sure Mr. Anon lives all the way out here?” she adds with an anxious look. “Maybe we shoulda’ just walked with your sister like she wanted…”
“An’ y’all don’t see ANYTHIN’ the matter with goin’ to Anon’s party bein’ hovered over by mah sister like we’re just outa’ the cradle?” you say with an adamant shake of the head. “No ma’am. We can make it ourselves, thanks. ‘Sides, y’all’r worryin’ fer nothin’. Ah know where ah’m goin’. We’ll be there any minute.”
”I hope th’o.” replies your forth companion.
The farthest filly to your left is Twist, a more recent addition to the group. She’d always been a funny, decent pony, but nowadays she tended to make friends much more easily on account of her, erm… connections. The kind of connections that were important to stimulate the growth of every healthy, normal young lady. The kind that got you those rare and completely article-based magazines hidden between your mattresses in the dead center – the ones that not even Scoots or Sweetie knew about.
She’d become quite popular lately.
Ever pushing boundaries, she had come tonight wrapped from hoof to snout in bandages, and she wore a dingy, store-bought crown atop her head.
”I don’t think I’ve ever been thi’th far away from home before...” Twist says, squinting at a nearby pumpkin-topped street sign.
“Has Mr. Anon had you over to his house before?” asks Sweetie.
”W-Well, yeah… yeah, ’course he has,” you mutter.
The other three fillies quiet down, scrutinizing your claim with their silence as you try and fail to seem busy adjusting a clothespin in your dress.
”… well… sorta’... ” You cringe at the instant chorus of groans and synchronized face-hooves that follow.
”Awww, c’mon filly!” Frankenloo laments. “I KNEW we shoulda’ just went with AJ! Where even are we?” She twists her head in all directions, likely trying to recreate the scenery around you in her mind sans the decorations and the gloom of night.
”Maybe we should have brought a map…” Sweetie says, her ears drooping. “Maybe we should knock on somepony’s door and ask for directions…”
”We don’t NEED no directions,” you retort, “ah know where ah’m goin’! Ponyville ain’t barely a mile across! Ain’t even big enough for no map…”
”Big enough to get lo’tht in…” Twist mumbles sullenly under her breath.
You refrain from replying beyond a stubborn huff, electing instead to continue on in focused silence. Despite their dissent your guests manage do the same – for now, at least – and continue to follow you down the street in an uneasy but long-lasting peace.
Honestly, it HAD been quite a while since you’d seen anything you distinctly recognized, and in light of their doubt you were starting to get a little nervous. Sure you knew where the human lived… er, approximately, and he’d given you his address, but it was so, so dark, and you could barely see the numbers on ponies doors anymore unless you walked right up onto their porch. Maybe you messed up somewhere farther back, and that was why?
C’mon, you’re not really lost, are you?
Okay, just think about this, retrace your steps. Little left of Mrs. Merrywheather’s house, past Ms. Cheerilee’s house, head east toward the edge of town, passed that ‘Cola Lounge’ place with the big flashing sign of the dancing pony...
You’d done all that. Now it was just a trek. A long… dark trek, where even the slightest change in direction could lead you off course of his place by three billion miles. Horseapples, you spent so long focusing on being there that you completely forgot about GETTING there. Oh jeez… what if you actually can’t find it and they stop the party to come looking for you? What if…
…what if they’re doing it right now?
’We’re lookin’ fer four lost lil’ fillies dressed up in cute little Nightmare Night costumes!’ the voice of your sister cries in your head. ‘They’re all probably good’n scared on acounta’ the dark. Wettin’ themselves with fear like little colts I imagine, so be sure to be thorough! And call the Ponice! Call the National Guard! Make sure the Ponyville Gazete knows what’s goin’ on, too!’
Oh Celestia, they’re going to print that really embarrassing picture of you crying on picture day in the morning paper, aren’t they? Th-That was totally justified! Diamond Tiara said the flash was gonna blind you forever if you looked straight into it! Oh apples, they’re gonna put you on the front page aren’t they?! Oh apples!
They-they can’t, they couldn’t, y-you aren’t—
You pause a moment, halting your mental breakdown long enough to focus your ears in just ahead. Scootaloo tilts her head questioningly at your sudden stop, stepping closer to you.
“What’s wrong? Why’re you—“
“Shh! Shush now,” you hiss, quieting your pals long enough for everypony to get better reception on the far away sound. “Hear that?”
It’s faint, but you’re SURE you can hear it. Music; and not just any music. It was a low, bassy strum that bounced around in your ears and, if you were real close, would probably rattling you deep in the chest. It was the distant sound of dance music.
More specifically, party music.
“Now see!? Listen ta’ that! Ah told ya’ we wasn’t lost!” you proclaim, puffing up your chest with pride. “We was goin’ the right way all along and y’all doubted me! C’mon now, we’re almost there girls!”
You let out an excited laugh and trot forward. Assorted ‘wait for me’s crop up behind you as you pick up your pace, the sound of your hurried hoof-steps echoing in between houses and alleys until they were slowly drowned out by the muffled but powerful beat you’d heard the blocks prior. You were panting and probably sweaty now, but the buzz from finally identifying your destination after all of that internal strife was giving you energy in spades.
It’s only a short while more before you and your companions stop to stand before a small white two-story with a green roof and a moderately-sized front yard. Its grassy stretch is absolutely covered from road to porch with stray Nightmare Night decorations. Even the mailbox is wrapped in a thin cocoon of fake glow in the dark spider webbing. It’s difficult to make out the small number between the various neon-green threads, but once you can your heart soars. The number matches.
This is definitely the place, Anon’s house.
Cutting the yard in half is a simple stone path that broke up nearby the stoop and stopped at a dark brown door. The lights under that door flash to the tempo of the music inside. Every partially-curtained window strobes colorful silhouettes of ponies through the fabric and far into the street. The light also brings attention to the slow, steady stream of fog crawling out from under his entrance and tumbling down the steps, the dense mist brightening to the hum of the party inside.
As the four of you cross the yard and climb the tiny ascent to the porch your heart begins to flutter in anticipation. Now that you’re closer you can see the hooves of partygoers cutting shadows in the muddled light under the door, and you’ve become more aware of the laughter and chatter of the guests within. You turn to the girls, giving each of them a slight nod which is returned immediately.
They hadn’t said it, but you doubted that any of them had been to a real adult party before that wasn’t tinted in ‘family friendly’ like the ones on the farm, and it looked like Anon had pulled together a full house. It wasn’t just your time to shine, it was theirs as well.
Your awkward virgin bond of solidarity resonates, synchronizes as you raise your hoof to knock on the door to your cool, mature future.
Despite how relatively quiet it was outside, the inside was undoubtedly bustling. You’d probably have to knock pretty hard to—
”GRAAAAAAAAAAAH!”
“G-Guhh!?” you choke out feebly, your heart pounding as you wheel around to face your unseen attackers. Scoots, Sweetie and Twist do the same, the lattermost’s gasp breaking into a violent coughing fit as you find yourselves staring into two pairs of eyes.
Familiar eyes.
Somewhere in the combined sound of their obnoxious cackling, you can just about make out the sound of your smooth entrance going straight down the toilet.
”Heeheehee! We got you wienies GOOD!” Silver Spoon chortles, hunching up and wrapping her forelegs around her stomach in an attempt to contain her laughter.
”This IS a Nightmare Night party, right?” Diamond Tiara adds. “Shouldn’t you scaredy-cats be hiding somewhere with your tails between your legs?” Despite struggling to get back her breath from laughter, you could almost see the smug radiating out of her smirk.
You forcibly calm your breathing in an attempt at minimizing their satisfaction from getting the drop on you, but you can’t seem to steady the distressed pulse in your chest. Twist is now gasping for air and fiddling in her bandages for something.
“Ya’ made it… thank goodness,” you say flatly, not bothering to hide your sour tone or sapped expression from the schoolhouse’s resident jerks-in-training.
”Mmhmm,” Diamond humsl, making a great action of eyeing you up and down superiorly. As she does you can’t help but do the same, noticing that neither she nor her cohort are wearing a costume of any description. In fact, it looks like neither of them dressed for the occasion whatsoever and simply came along in their fur.
Your stomach suddenly flips at the possibility that somewhere down the line you got poor information concerning the dress code. Even as your mind races through the pertinent conversations you’ve had up to now to make absolutely sure, the two of them stand confidently before you, bare as they day they were born. Totally assured despite your growing fear.
Anon said so, didn’t he? He wasn’t just joking, right? Right?
… Or was he?
WHY CAN’T YOU READ SOCIAL CUES!?
Even covered up by your bleak dress you suddenly feel quite exposed. The sharp, judgmental eyes of the pretty fillies examining you isn’t helping the situation, either.
”Aren’t you girls a little old for… all this?” Silver Spoon says, gesturing vaguely at your group as she pinpoints your worst fears, like you were actively making a list of insecurities for her in real time.
”Whadaya’ mean?” Scootaloo replies, frowning.
Twist, who was now wheezing aggressively, finally finds the small device she needs and presses it to her lips, breathing in her inhaler desperately.
”You’ll have to explain a little slower for that one, Silver. She’s a little, erm… well, you know.” Diamond Tiara stares your pegasus friend straight in the eye with her implied insult.
”And you? What’re you even supposed to be?” Silver Spoon asks, focusing in on you and squinting her eyes through her glasses. “A tramp?”
”Pfff– A tramp!?” Diamond chokes out, covering her mouth with a hoof as the two fillies share another rude chuckle.
Scootaloo tightens her jaw in and shoots you a look questioning whether or not you were down to throw a few hooves in that dress. As much as you hate to admit it, fighting is the last thing on your mind. Those two always knew exactly how to drag you down. They’d been doing it for years by now, and their quick wit for harshness certainly hadn’t dulled when they hit puberty.
Self-esteem spiraling. Confidence draining. Urge to run home and bury your head under your pillow rising. Great start to the ‘perfect’ evening! Hah, nothing ‘perfect’ ever came paired with ‘Applebloom’. Heck, all that was missing now was for Anon to come and-and…
W-Wait…
No, no please! Wait a second! I ain’t thought of it! I was only — I WAS ONLY JOKIN’, I—
”I’m going, I’m going!”
A muffled, masculine voice chuckles behind you a moment before the dark porch is overwhelmed in a mixture of light, fog and uninhubited music. Your combined entourage has to lift their forelegs to shield their eyes from the beaming entrance, a tall dark figure shifting into place before you to offer some respite from the sting. Even if you were getting pretty good at judging when the universe was going to rear its back hooves and nail you right in the flanks, you didn’t need self-defeating omniscience to guess who it was at the door considering the size and tone of voice.
O-OKAY. It’s okay! It’s show time! You’re ready for this! Just like you practiced!
”Oop– hey ladies!” he says, his shadowburnt form coming into further focus as your eyes adjust. The human leans on his forearm in the arch as he peers down at you, sinking down on one hip casually. Anonymous is just like you remember him; shapely, aloof, utterly unattainable. There’s a few key differences this time around though, and they’re… they’re doozies.
Clutched in his right claw is a slim but deep glass of dark amber liquid with two cherries submerged within. He’s dressed up from head to hoof like usual, but his specific choice in attire is what really catches your attention. It takes several moments for you to piece together what it is you’re looking at exactly, but once you finally get it through your head you’re sure it’s an image that will stay with you forever.
The thin, form-fitting, spandex-y material of his clothing hugs his every curve, emphasizing the tone of his limbs and chest. You might wonder what beguiling, sinful sights his black bodysuit was hiding from your eyes if it wasn’t full of long gashes and holes, each one revealing slips of his supple skin with an almost surgical attention to what would set your hormone-ridden body off the most. Atop his head sits a headband, the thin wiring holding it down buried deeply in his hair, making the small black pony ears that peeked out all the more convincing. As his hips shift you can just about make out a few strands of long, onyx tail hair curling around his thigh, probably pinned in place just above his rear to mimic a genuine pony tail.
”I’m glad you girls made it,” he says in a voice like silk, his eyes shining within the shadow of his face. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
Something in the last sentence makes you shiver, and every small movement he makes as he steps away from the door makes you feel like he could burst out of that tight, stretchy fabric at any second. Any second…
His soft lips curl into a smile. “Please,” he whispers, “come in…”
You hear a snapping sound. For a few harrowing moments you mistake it for Anon breaking free of his costume like you suddenly couldn’t stop imagining. Silly of you. See, what it actually was, was your confidence BREAKING IN TWO. HOH LORDY THIS WAS A MISTAKE. YA’ AIN’T READY. IT AIN’T SHOWTIME, SHOW’S CANCELLED! RUN! NO, STAND STILL!
Your body jerks backward violently and then and freezes as your mind gives it ten different conflicting commands. The light brown mummy filly on your left is suddenly gasping down copious amounts of inhalant from her tiny blue puffer, her eyes pinned wide. Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo seem just as surprised, both of whom stare into the mature male’s inky-black costume without shame, the latter seemingly having forgotten all of her anger from the moments prior.
You can’t see the queens of mean but you have to assume they’re at least speechless considering that, like you, neither of them have returned his greeting.
”Is that the girls!? Are they here!?” a voice you faintly recognize to be your sister’s calls over howl of the party.
”Yeah – yeah it’s them, they’re here!” Anon replies, turning his head and peering inside to give his reply a better chance of reaching her over the crowd.
Twist suddenly laces a bandaged foreleg over your withers, holding onto you for support as she tries to satisfy her needy lungs.
”Babe–” wheeze, “h’alert!” she hisses under her breath just loud enough for you to hear.
You wet your dry lips with your tongue, brain whirring with activity as it mentally catalogues every single slip of soft, muscular thigh on display for your wandering eyes.
There are no words.
Is this – Is that supposed to be a Nightmare Night costume!? Who MADE that!? It has to be some sort of-of… custom order or something! It would have to be, regardless of how it looked. Before Mr Anon got here his specific shape was practically unheard of in Ponyville.
This-this level of HOOF SWEAT is practically unheard of in P-Ponyville, oh gawsh.
Now, it was practically impossible to miss the differences between stallions and mares lately, even when it came to clothes. Sometimes ESPECIALLY when it came to clothes. You’d only just recently started catching on to how Nightmare Night costumes differed between genders beyond the obvious stuff though, and had been mentally preparing yourself for the sights you might witness tonight and beyond. A little more coy, a little more tease. That’s what you were expecting.
You weren’t expecting anything like… like this. Nothing like this.
”Well?” The human suddenly says, your stricken face jerking up from his body to meet his eyes in a millisecond. “You girls coming in?”
He chuckles and steps away from the door a little further, offering the six of you a wider birth to enter.
You clear your throat and try to smile. “A-Ah’m uh, haha, ah mean, um, ah’d love you – L-LOVE TOO, uhh – that is, what ah MEANT was, th-that’s, u-uhh—“ you sputter, your horror growing and your volume dropping with every botched half-sentence.
A saintly hoof bumps you hard in the side and you instinctively pace forward and abandon your ruined attempt to speak, crossing close to the human as you slip inside his bustling home. You can’t stop yourself from looking him over close up as you get within breathing distance, your proximity intensifying the burn in your cheeks when you find him looking down at you, smiling invitingly.
M-mercy, he smells like… like chocolate and warm pumpkin…
”I know, I know,” he says, closing the door behind you and your companions, “I’m a bit of a mess. I was up really early getting everything ready and my last minute order here had a few, uh… issues? In development?” Anon laughs softly and pinches up a bit of fabric on his chest between his fingers, drawing attention to a large opening.
“It was either this or nothing. I mean, with it all sliced up it’s probably spookier than before, at least? Eh, no biggie, right? It’s a party! Wooo!” Mr. Anon lifts his glass as he hoots, inspiring many other random party guests to mirror his cheer.
The raw power of his amassed work hits you, the murmur and cry of various ponies finally baring down on you unrestrained. To your immense relief you notice that it isn’t just you and your family dressed up; happy ghosts and ghouls of all description line every wall and occupy every couch and chair. The muffled music you heard outside now surrounds you on all sides, the unmistakable scratch of a record turntable occasionally interrupting an upbeat melody that you’re almost positive is composed entirely of ‘spooky’ sounds cut up, mixed up, and re-toned.
There’s a large bucket near his door with a massive chunk of dry ice floating inside. It casts a wide sheet of thick, chilly smog around your ankles that crawls across much of his living room floor. There are lit jack-o’-lanterns littering various tables, shelves, and wherever else there had likely been spare room before tonight. The walls are plastered with creepy fake portraits, streamers, mounted candles, and even bats cut out of black construction paper. Every single breath you take is thick with the muggy warmth of multiple ponies in snug proximity, as well as the homey smell of sweets and fresh pumpkin pie.
”Too much?” the human asks sheepishly, gesturing at the utterly transformed house with his glass.
”It’s… it’s perfect...” Scootaloo whispers, eyes glittering with awe as she hops in place with restrained excitement.
”You did all this?” Sweetie remarks quietly, swishing her foreleg around in the dry smoke.
”Not alone, thankfully,” he replies, turning to you. ”I had a lot of help from your brother with the pumpkins. We were actually finishing them up when everyone started showing. Right about now he’s probably… hrm... ” Anon hums and furrows his brow as he peers upstairs. “He said he’d be back soon. He wanted to go upstairs to put his cos-… costume on! Ohoh! What’s this!?”
The human suddenly turns on the rich filly duo, looming over them with an ominous grin. The two of them – intelligently avoiding the stunning human’s attention thus far – smile anxiously and squirm in place under his gaze.
”Somebody’s not wearing a costume! Oh Pinkiiiiiee! Pinkie, we got s’more!” he barks across the house to various ‘ooo’s and knowing snickers from various party goers.
A flash of pink hauling a large brown box rounds the upstairs hallway almost instantly and flies down the stairs to your location. She stops before you to menacingly bear down on the un-festive offenders.
The pink pony has her mane done up in a fluffy afro, and the wide-collared, cone-shaped dress she has on perfects the simple ensemble; she’s a big scoop of cotton candy.
Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon exchange apprehensive looks, noticeably swallowing as she continues to stare them down wordlessly. After a moment Pinkie lets the large cardboard box gripped in her forehooves drop to the floor with a ground-shaking thud. She throws her upper body inside and scatters clown noses, wigs and other assorted costume pieces into the air before she emerges with her prize. Her ghoulish, terrible prize.
”N-Now, now you stay away…” Silver Spoon demands in a quiet voice, taking several steps back as the menacing cone of candy approaches her and her companion with grim determination; and a weapon. A tiny paint brush gripped in her teeth and a pallet of face paint balanced on her right hoof.
”Stay away, we said! My-my parents—!” Diamond adds weakly, paling as her and Silver Spoon’s rumps flatten against the door at their backs, sealing their fate with the unfazed Pinkie.
“My mom w-will… n-no… no, we’re too old! Stop! Stop, I said! I’m-AAAIIIEEE—!”
You cringe as the pink pony descends on them mercilessly, a duet of coltish shrieking filling the air as the deed is done.
”I warned’em…” Mr. Anon sighs with false regret, smirking as he sips from his glass. “Costume party.”
You’re happy to gain back some self-assurance and a little justice in the process, no question. That doesn’t stop you from flinching at some particularly broad and furious brush strokes, the pink pony’s victims falling chillingly quiet as she finishes with them. Once she finally moves away you are gifted to the sight of the ‘new and improved’ Diamond posse.
The scowl Diamond Tiara is sporting does absolutely nothing to hide the fact that her face is now a giant pumpkin. Silver Spoon, now quietly sobbing to herself, has had her face painted black with thin white lines traced on her cheeks, as well as eye and mouth outlines; she is now a cat. As the final touch, Pinkie tops both of them off with big, goofy hats; Diamond’s is covered in taped-on candy and other treats, and Silver Spoon’s has a small motor attached, allowing the broom-riding witch sitting atop it so spin around in place.
”Don’t worry, kid!” Pinkie exclaims cheerfully, slapping Silver Spoon across the withers as she fans her wet face, “It’s water-proof!” The pink mare quickly bends down and puts herself at eye level with Diamond, her harsh squint forcibly evening out the rich filly’s frown. “Just TRY and get it off…” she whispers, deadly serious.
Pinkie, quite finished, hooks her foreleg under her cardboard box and morphs wordlessly back into the crowd. She never takes her eyes off of the rich fillies. She even turns her head back to fake like she wasn’t looking, only to catch Silver Spoon’s fearful, misty-eyed glance. The grey filly flinches away from Pinkie’s harrowing gaze, swiping her hoof under her glasses and sniffling deeply to clean up her embarrassing display before anypony of note saw.
It was too late for that, of course. You had more than enough ammunition for later.
”Anooon!” an unfamiliar pony hollers from out of sight, breaking the human’s attention away from the party pony’s antics.
”Mm—“ he hums into his glass, briskly gulping the rest of his drink down before setting the empty onto a nearby coffee table. ”Phew! Okay – gotta’ go. Your sisters are in the, uh, kitchen, I think?” he offers, speed walking across his living room towards the back patio through throngs of ponies. “Make yourself at home! Sit down wherever you want!”
You’re given little more than a wave as he retreats out of sight. Gone, just like that. Like a five minute thunderstorm. You can still feel the powerful presence of that skimpy outfit even after he goes.
Twist, clearly noting the exact moment the human is safely out of earshot, smirks. ”… I’th your, uh… LAP a th’eating op’thion, big boy?” she remarks impishly, nudging you in the side with her knee. “Huh? Right?”
You can’t help but share a relieved chuckle with her and the rest of the girls as you run a hoof across the back of your neck.
You catch a quick glimpse of the rich fillies slipping further into the house and out of sight; a wise retreat. After how they treated you outside it would practically be immoral NOT to give them a little payback.
”Yeah! What is he even WEARING? What do you even call that?!” Frankenloo comments with disbelief as you turn and wonder westward, leading your friends toward the kitchen where your sister supposedly was.
”My new feti’th.” Twist replies huskily, adjusting her glasses with a heavy breath before turning to you. “And I never heard about thi’th… how?” she lisps accusingly, motioning a hoof in the general direction that Anon left in. “The candy I’th better when you TH’ARE it with FRIEND’TH, you know. Aren’t we friend’th?”
You can only offer the mummy queen an apologetic smile as she looks on at you with a nice big helping of fake hurt.
”He said he ordered it… do you think he asked sissy?” Banshee Belle asks as you all stroll into the kitchen, bringing up a good point that had flown clear over your head.
Rarity; that’s… that’s it, isn’t it? Who else was capable of something like that? She HAS to be behind this catastrophe. This… this beautiful, heart-pounding catastrophe. You have lots of question, and thankfully, you’ll have plenty opportunity to ask them.
The pretty white mare sits at a small, on-wheels island in the center of the kitchen with both your sister and Rainbow Dash, not ten hooves away from the entrance. She chats away with her friends, paying no mind to the other ponies passing her by, nor you as you draw near. She’s dressed up as what looks like some sort of Neighponese clay doll. A long, excessively frilly salmon-colored dress wraps around her midsection, and small red tick marks have been placed in specific locations around her mouth and eyes.
To her left sat your sister, the ‘Werepony’. Applejack had mangled her old lion costume into a shape that was a bit more intimidating for the party. She’d cut out much of the light brown body suit, darkened the neck ruffle in places, added a torn flannel shirt, and wore some new, gnarly-looking claw gloves on her hooves.
To her left sat Rainbow Dash. If her sickly green face paint and big, tombstone-shaped hat were anything to go by, she’d come without a costume this evening and suffered the same wrath as the rich fillies.
She looked agitated.
But, not like ‘I’ve got important stuff to do so outa’ the way’ agitated, like usual. Something was off about her. She looked jittery, couldn’t sit still, and her head whipped around to look after male partygoers as you approached, heedless of her company. She sips from a glass of what was probably cider religiously; her lips are practically pinned to the cup.
”Well heya girls!” Werejack greets, turning on her stool to face you. “We was startin’ to get right worried until Anon said ’ya was here. How y’all likin’ the shindig?”
You friends each greet Applejack with some mild small-talk, their voices drowning out as you focus in on Sweetie’s sister. You aren’t sure whether to glower or stare up at her with admiration, so you do a combination of the two. She clearly notices, and after a moment of mild sweating and trying not to make eye contact, she clears her throat and peers down at you, venturing a smile.
”Is… is something the matter, darling? Is there something on my face?” she asks, turning to try and find her reflection in the linoleum.
”Yeah, a whole lotta’… DUMB… and ANNOYING. It’s alllllll over your face…” Rainbow Dash remarks with a surprising amount of acrimony.
You expect Miss Rarity to bite back with something, but she doesn’t. In fact, the dull shot seems to whiz right by her and your sister’s heads. Heck, they might’ve even brightened up.
”Y’all, uh… alright over there, Dashie? Ya’ want I should getcha’ s’more ice?” your sister asks with a small grin. Her words are polite enough, but underneath them is an undercurrent of satisfaction.
The cyan mare laughs haughtily and turns her head, ignoring your sister’s offer. This noticeably tickles the werepony, enough to stretch her grin face-wide.
“What’s goin’ on?’ you ask, frowning. “Y’all alright? Yer actin’ kinda’… funny.” You can’t help but shrink back slightly when Dash huffs in annoyance at your question.
”Naw, naw nothin’s the matter, sugarcube,” AJ replies, turning back to you. “Miss Dash is just goin’ through a tough time, is all. She has some, uh… visitors? In town? That right?” she remarks superiorly, flashing a smile at Dash before turning it to Rarity. “A, uh… cousin or somethin’?”
”Haw! Yess’siree, cowpoke!” Dash suddenly snaps, clearly speaking in an insulting imitation of you and your sister’s drawl. “An’er name’s Wave! HEAT Wave! YUH GETTIT? HEAT!? Golly, that-there joke sure is funny the – the FIFTH TIME,” the cyan pony growls, dropping her accent on the last few words.
”Ohh, don’t be such a sour grape you big foal!” Rarity Doll remarks, waving her hoof dismissively. “I’m sure you’ll be feeling right as rain in no time.”
”No thanks to you!” Dash replies incredulously, scowling.
”I’ve no idea what you mean, I assure you.” Rarity returns calmly, continuing to tend delicately to her drink.
“Ohoh really!? So-so Anon’s just—“ Dash begins heatedly, cutting herself off when she spots something moving in the window overlooking the kitchen sink.
It catches your attention as well. It’s pretty much impossible not to look.
It’s the vanished human, returned.
He’s in between the side of his house and his fence, trying to reattach a line of tissue paper ghosts that had fallen loose from the edge of his roof. His lean body tenses, flexing against that tight, nylon-like body suit as he stretches to reach the space above him. You feel your fur bristle as he presses his front up against the glass window, straining himself to get that last piece of twine wrapped around that last hook.
Twist growls something unintelligible under her breath as the tall human bites down on his lower lip and grunts cutely, trying to force that last necessary inch or two out of his pointed human hooves in order to achieve his goal.
You swallow hard as the slow torture continues for an amount of time you’re no longer cognitively capable of recognizing, another unforgettable scene crawling ahead one second at a time before you.
C-Celestia. Now… now all he needs to do is… sprawl himself out on your bed, in that same getup, look up at you, and whisper your name. Just your name, just once. Then you’d be alright.
For life.
You could die happy.
A soft purple light suddenly envelops the bit of string in the human’s hand, an aura of magic pulling it taught and then sliding it into place. A familiar lavender snout and matching horn pokes into view from the right of the pane, murmuring something to the human out of your range of hearing on account of the party noise and the shut window.
Anon shakes his head, smiling at her all the same before catching sight of what you had to imagine was a fraction of her friends ogling him through the glass. He gives your group small wave – which you can only return, trance-like. He parts just as soon as he arrived, leaving all of you to your thoughts.
After that moment of reflection you turn to Dash curiously, wondering if she might ever continue her thought.
Her face has become an inferno. Even under all the face paint you can see how puffy her face has become.
”So… so alllllll that is just a big accident, huh?” she finally continues, narrowing her eyes at fashionista doll. “All that is just a big, silly, totally innocent mistake, huh? Silly old Rarity! Always mangling clothes! Not like stitching them together is her JOB or anything!”
”Now Rainbow Dash,” Rarity returns softly, weathering her friend’s accusations as if they were a light breeze, “surely you can’t be implying that I, oh… took great offense at you saying that no real mare would ever want to wear my colty, froo-froo dresses.”
Dash pauses at this, clearly rendered as confused at the strange segue as you are. Oppositely, your sister’s eyes widen, and she plants them directly on the white mare.
“You did not…” she whispers.
Rarity simply stares ahead at nothing, swirling her wine glass absentmindedly in her baby blue aura. Her eyes have become cold, focused.
”… Surely you aren’t implying that I, oh, noticed that you were going to be ‘due’ any day, lied about forgetting to finish dear Anonymous’ costume until just yesterday, fibbed about lacking most of my significant stock of fabrics after all the other Nightmare Night pre-orders, used that supposed shortage to convince Anonymous to use a more enticing choice of fabric and then cut pieces from main body with my scissors in a – what was it, Dashie? A big, silly, totally innocent mistake? – so that I could pay ‘the prank master’ back in her time of greatest need for her grievous and personal insult to my life’s work?”
The hue of Dash’s face has now swung in the opposite direction, paling to an even more unhealthy pallor than the dark green shade that had been painted onto her fur. The cyan pony was obviously just venting, blowing smoke. She had no idea of the sinister machinations that had gone into toppling her tonight. YOUR worries were merely collateral damage, an aftershock. SHE was the true target.
You shiver as Rarity turns slowly toward the Pegasus and takes a single, solitary sip from her cherry red glass, her lips upturned just a bit. Just enough.
”… I would never do that to you, darling… “
”Uggghhhh, uuuuaaaaa.” Dash whines, dropping herself back down in her seat and flattening her face against the countertop, defeated.
The demonic doll giggles, kicking her rear hooves and swishing her tail giddily from the reveal of her master plan.
“And stop popping those dreadful lightning bolts outside my shop!” she continues. “You’re scaring customers away and giving me dreadful headaches.”
”Ah don’t much appreciate all that lyin’ to sweet’ol Anon,” your sister responds, turning her snout up a little, “even supposin’ she had it comin’.”
”D’ohh, you worry too much! He’s having a lovely time in his little outfit,” Rarity assures her, swiveling her head in search of something. “Mmm, now, if only he’d come where we could see him, we could be having a lovely time, too.”
The white mare chuckles wolfishly, inspiring a frown in your sister as she addresses you and the other fillies. “Don’t y’all go takin’ after Miss Rarity, now. She’s bein’ a right scoundrel with all that drink in’er.”
Rarity Doll simply scoffs at the implication, mumbling something about ‘party poopers’ as she swivels around on her stool to face the counter.
”Speakin’a which; y’all ain’t tried gettin’ into the drink yer’selves, have ya’?” Werejack asks, pointing her hoof at you accusingly.
“No no, no ma’am,” you reply quickly, turning to your friends for their testimony. They all nod, easing the stern look on AJ’s face.
”Good, and ya’ best not try, ‘cause I’ll know! Twist’s papa would have my flank in a sling if his fine young lady got into it under mah watch, so ya’ll best not get any funny ideas about peer pressure,” she warns, turning herself back around as well.
”Y’all go have fun now. The way ah hear it, Anon’s hid all sorts’a candy n’ such around the house, and he’s got all kinds’a games out back if’n you’re interested,” she says, giving you all a small wave as you turn to depart.
As the four of you cross through the threshold of the kitchen back into the living room your sister’s stool creaks again as she twists to talk after you.
”You mind yer manners in Mr. Anon’s house, now! Oh, uh, and if ya’ happen to see Fluttershy? Come’n find me, alright? She’s in one’a her peculiar moods tonight and, uh… well, just tell me if ya’ see’er! Have fun!”
-*-*-*-*-
For the next hour or so your small party mingles through Anon’s sitting room, breaking up and reforming your group as needed. Even with market duty you could go a week or two without seeing a specific face, and didn’t have much time to talk to others, so the time to catch up with everypony was a much-appreciated event. The first one you were you able to pick out of the crowd was Ms. Cheerilee.
The giant eggplant-o’-lantern costume she wore went great with her coat, and you had a surprising amount of fun talking about everything she had planned for next weekend. Apparently she and the younger class were planning to make a haunted house out of the schoolhouse come Nightmare Night, so that they could ‘face their fears’ by becoming them – and scaring the fur off other ponies. She was going to officially announce it Monday, but by virtue of you showing up at the party, you scored the information a day early.
One pony who rarely had time to stop and chat otherwise was the mailmare, another guest who happened to be attending tonight.
She was dressed as a super hero, decked out in a bright leotard, mask, and rubber booties that looked like rainboots. You joke, asking her if delivering the mail is just her day job, to which she replies with an emphatic ‘Yes!’ and a pose, giving you a speech about law and how the city needed a quick, agile paragon of justice like her to uphold it. She’s actually pretty convincing – until she tries to throw a kick and falls on her butt instead, starting a chain reaction that only narrowly avoids setting the house on fire.
Another few faces of note were Snips and Snails, those janefillies that always sat at the back of the classroom.
Ever defying convention, they’d chosen to come dressed in simple sheets with eyeholes that covered everything from their horns to the edge of their cutie marks; no form, no flirt, just ghosts. Shame; their rough, filly-ish personalities weren’t exactly your type, but still. The dull slender one might’ve looked nice in something a little more showy.
You chat briefly, and your conversation is nice, if a little stilted. They were in your class, sure, but they weren’t really part of your inner circle. You didn’t see each other much outside homeroom. They aren’t as unapproachable as most colts, but that doesn’t mean you’re ever totally free from the male spell around them. Even covered up you manage to find things to look at, and your wandering eyes make you nervous.
The discussion wanders to pranks, a subject you knew they were quite interested in. They ask you if you’re feeling up to joining them in one some time, maybe even tonight. You declined politely, mentioning that you had something else important you needed to do. You felt bad refusing them, but your excuse wasn’t really a lie. You did have an important goal tonight, and wandering around without the girls gave you some extra time to seriously ponder how you were going to accomplish it.
The first thing would be to acknowledge a few truths, namely your greatly depleted chances.
Your target was already tiny, and with that-that… THING he had on, the target might as well have sprouted wings and started flying around. You came here tonight expecting a harsh battle of will and charisma. You never dreamed your opponent would be an image of lust that easily stood up against the most shameless fantasies your young brain could muster.
The filthiest corner of your clop shop had NOTHING on ‘PLAYMARE Special Edition: Nightmare Night in Playmare Mansion’ Anon.
Every time you recut your strategy and regathered your strength he changed, shifted into something even more deadly and elusive, testing your thin courage before your skill even had a chance at bat. Getting him to acknowledge you was going to be hard, maybe even impossible.
But you were no quitter.
An Apple never quits, and you aren’t about to be the first. Tonight was the night you’d conquer him and defeat the root of all your insecurities. You just needed to be smart-like, think things through. Cousin Babs was just as experienced as the rest of you and the girls when she gave you advice that night.
That is to say, she wasn’t.
That was your fatal flaw! Your plan wasn’t bad, it just had a rusty nail holding it together! What you needed now was better parts, more oversight and cross-checking. You needed to find REAL mares with REAL experience to set you on the right path if you were going to woo real colts. Once you leveled the playing field it would just come down to your spirit.
Once you had a real chance you could take it. You needed to find some real mentors. Mares of status and popularity who were respected like your sister and her friends.
Maybe not… AJ herself, of course.
Even IF you could stand to weather the soul-crushing embarrassment of asking your sister for colt advice, you can’t seem to remember a time when she was actually with somepony, so as much as you respect her, she’s out anyways. Miss Rarity and Rainbow Dash might have some good info, but they were hanging out with your sister right now. ’Real mare’ gushing, another birds and the bees talk from your sister – with a live audience this time – crippling embarrassment, social suicide – out. Maybe if you could get them alone…
Until then, your choices were narrowed down to three; Twilight Sparkle, Fluttershy, and Pinkie.
You didn’t know Fluttershy very well, but she didn’t seem like the sort to know a whole lot about getting a coltfriend. Your sister even made frequent reference to this, going on with great regret about her friend’s introverted personality and lack of drive for socializing.
Pinkie Pie was the complete opposite of the shy yellow Pegasus. She was a fun mare; confident, aggressive, an effortless show stealer. You knew her much better, and she seemed like the type who wouldn’t have any troubles getting attention from the opposite sex. Still, you didn’t know much about her personal life beyond the parties she threw, so she was a bit of a gamble.
Next up was Twilight Sparkle.
Everything your folks ever told you about her hinted at how much of a big-wig mare she was. Born and raised in Canterlot, but wasn’t turned snooty and masculinized like a lot of the mares grown up there. She wasn’t afraid to get something done when it needed doing. Not a very fun sort, but always real nice and usually pretty honest. Smart as a whip, good public speaker, good under pressure, always has a solution to your problems. Not only is she practically perfect, but she’s here at the party right now. Still outside, probably.
She’d be your first stop.
You trot nimbly through the crowd of ponies in the living room, jostling as few of the tipsier individuals as possible. The girls who see you leaving cast you looks and receive a small wave in return; you’d regroup later when the apples were ripe. As you pace further toward the back of the house the party music begins to grow in volume. By the time you step into the laundry room the source of it is almost right on top of you, fighting the small, sound-spitting boxes tacked up around the house for dominance.
Through a small window just right of the back door, you can see a fraction of the turntable and its maestro, the mare arming the sound station actively jiving with the rhythm they were creating. It was difficult to make out their physical appearance through all of the fur paint they were wearing, but the blue mane and violet-tinted sunglasses were very familiar. Pushing open the back door multiplies the sound of the music again, each heavy strum, whip and creepy groan feeding the full piece and vibrating the small wooden steps that lead into the grass below.
For the second time tonight the misty autumn air touches your face, this time treated with the tart smell of cider and the faint aroma of sweets. To your left were rows of tables lined up against the back of Anon’s house, each one populated with bowls of punch, cups, a few cider kegs, and a few stray pieces of candy. Considering how many of those candies are Coconut Creamies and how few of them are Chocolate Creamies, you have the sneaking suspicion that there used to be a lot more before the tables got raided by the first come-first served.
Beyond that is a surprisingly spacious back yard fenced in by tall wood planks.
On the far right side stands another row of tables filled with party favors and drinks as well as a more densely-packed gaggle of ponies cheering and hooting over something. You can see large barrels of water, some dart boards pinned to the fence, and a few other game-y things sprinkled about, as well as a mass of tall kegs always in close proximity. Even from this distance the gaming area seems to have the densest collection of alcohol around it by far.
On the left side of the yard is a third a final row of tables with snacks—cookies, brownies and other treats—and the farthest left corner hosts a large walk-in storage shed with a big shutter, and a smaller door on its left side facing the house. Aside from a few more tables and small chairs, the yard would be quite sparse if not for the sea of grooving, chatting and working ponies.
Further on passed the fence you can see a wide birth of trees that signifies the start of the Everfree Forest and the end of Ponyville. The small gate set in the middle of the farthest wall opposite the house is open, and several younger ponies cross through it as you watch. They were probably venturing out beyond, daring each other closer and closer to the tree line to prove how unconcerned and cool they were in an attempt to impress their male company.
As you turn left and begin your trek cross the yard you imagine yourself there with them. Standing tall, chest full, lingering in no-mares-land longer than any other would dare. He, whoever he might be, would laugh and congratulate you, playing coy but clearly intrigued by how gruff and feminine you were. You’d tell him the story of when you were trapped in the Flame Geyser Swamp by a deadly Manticore when you were but a little filly, forced to fight off the merciless beast with nothing but your bare hooves (and a LITTLE help from your sister) to his great amazement. He’d tell you that any colt would be lucky to have a brave mare like you to talk with, hold hooves with, kiss on, maybe. Maybe… other stuff, too.
The forbidden stuff that existed in your life only through sordid dreaming.
’I haven’t ever been touched there before,’ he’d say, ‘not by anypony. B-But… but if it’s you, Applebloom, I guess it’s okay… N-nnn… n-not so fast… Your tuft is so, so… c-can I… can I touch it?’
Oh, yes sir. You can touch wherever you want. Don’t be shy. That’s right…
“Heh… Heheh…” A smile you can only imagine is horrifying slithers slowly across your face as your mind wanders. The grotesque and dreamy expression lingers for quite a while before you finally notice their eyes. You straighten up immediately and turn, spotting Featherwieght, Rumble and Taps, each dressed up as a puppy, a nurse, and a prince respectively.
Unlike Snips and Snails they’ve chosen to dress much more ‘stalliony’, each costume implying and reinforcing their gender’s wiles in subtle ways. Oddly, each of them shift when you turn, looking away and dropping one of their front hooves to the dirt. Like they were going to wave but then stopped mid-way. You KNOW they were looking at you, but now they’re trying their best to pretend they didn’t notice you. Like…
Like they saw you, tried to wave you down, saw how CREEPY you looked, and changed their minds at the last second!
CRABAPPLES.
They’re whispering something now, and that mean little voice in the back of your head is quite confident it knows what the topic is. You need to smooth this over, fast.
You take a lung full of fresh air and step forward, putting on the most charming, reasonable, not-creepy smile you could in an attempt to win back some respect. Any respect. What little you had left to take.
“H-Hey, boys—!“ you try, gaining their attention a split second before the collar of your costume suddenly wrenches you downwards; a poorly-placed step had pinned the hem of your dress underhoof. A moment you can only describe as ‘poiseless flailing’ occurs before you swiftly slam face first into the grass. A gaggle of random sound and pain swims around your head, numbing your brain as your vision teeters out and your mind goes completely blank.
-*-*-*-*-
”____, ____ okay?”
”____?”
”Oh jeez, sh______”
”Isn’t th_______whats-her-face’s sister?”
”Applesnap? Apple-something?”
You gasp, forcing yourself up off of the ground and swinging your head around to try and regain your bearings. Bad idea. Your head throbs painfully as your topsy-turvy world unkindly drifts back into focus.
“Wus… what’s gonin’ un?” you slur, scrunching your eyes shut and lifting a hoof to your head. Another bad idea. The second your limb connects with your cranium your entire forehead begins to burn, stinging you unmercifully. “—Ah! Dang!”
”Yeah you, uh… went down pretty hard there. Blew your lights right out,” a female voice comments.
”Ah did…?” You turn, squinting your eyes at the mystery speaker, or rather, speakers, that roused you. They’re two ponies you don’t recognize. One has a light blue coat, dark blue mane, and a big hourglass for a cutie mark. The other you almost mistake for Twilight Sparkle, but her mane is off and she wears large blocky glasses. Her coat is a pale yellowish color, and her mane is a mish-mash of violets, reds and purples.
”Probably. You were out for a good half a minute, I’d wager,” the blue pony replies.
Now that you have an extra second to think beyond basic shapes and colors, you notice that both of them are unicorns. The phantom paper cups floating around their glowing horns were a good giveaway. The costume the blue one has on is a mix of confusing traits and colors; a big suit of cardboard armor painted black, sacks filled with what might be sand hanging around her barrel, and strange little blue balls extending from stiff wires and posed to warble above her head.
The other one is just as confusing.
Her head and legs poke out of a massive chest with teeth lining the edge to resemble a big mouth, and the way she has it on makes it look like she’s being eaten by it. While your mind puzzles over what they might be, the significance of the blue one’s statement suddenly becomes clear. The moments before you hit the ground come rushing back into your numb head.
”Half a… ? W-Wait!” you say, eyes widening as you get to you hooves and hastily brush yourself off, scanning the cloud of ponies all around you. “What happened? Where’r Rumble’n them?”
The two mares exchange looks, the light yellow one stepping forward. “Uhh… you mean those colts who were laughing when you fell?”
You feel your face chill.
”They… they were laughin’…? At me?” you repeat with dread, twisting your neck again in an attempt to spot them.
”O-Oh, well… they stopped when you didn’t get back up?” the blue one reasons, turning to her companion.
”Well… they weren’t laughing AS HARD, certainly,” chest pony corrects as she turns to you, “Though… that might’ve just been because they were laughing SO hard before that it was becoming less funny…”
You stand still for a long time, simply peering into the shifting crowd as you try to puzzle the sequence of events out in a way that didn’t make you seem like an awkward, hay-spraying loser in front of a group of boys you’d be forced to face in class tomorrow. After a while of considering this a sour little chuckle starts to bubble up from your chest, at which point you fall back onto your butt and hang your head, pressing both hooves to your face as yet another failure sank in.
”Ugghhhhhh, uggghhhhh….”
The blue pony, probably concerned over your quickly deteriorating mental health, gently taps you on the shoulder.
”Hey, uh, maybe you should come sit down with us?” she says. “We’ve got a table over here.”
The thought of sitting at a table and trying to hold a conversation with other living beings after what just transpired isn’t the most fun thing you can imagine. But hey, maybe you could use a little female companionship after the beating your pride just took. Maybe you’d even make some new friends…
It takes a moment for you to come up with the energy to pick yourself up off the ground, but once you do you’re led swiftly across the yard by the two mares. You cut between party guests dressed as all manner of spooks and creatures before you finally reach your destination. You’re staring at your hooves so intently on the way that you don’t even notice who’s there to meet you.
”Appleboom?” a familiar voice says, inspiring you to lift your head.
At your new table sits three additional ponies, only one of whom you know; the exact one you’d been looking for before you were sidetracked by all that… unpleasantness. The REAL Twilight. The solution to all your problems! Some luck for change!
The bookish mare is dressed in a full black cloak that buttons up her middle and flows past her rear. There are glowing, magical-looking runes painted on the cloth covering her chest, sleeves, and various other portions. The greenish-grey tentacles crawling down from off of her chin and around her snout make her look like an octopus that jammed itself into a black trench coat.
At her sides are two others, one bright yellow with a teal mane, the other a cream color with soft pink waves. The bright yellow one is dressed as some sort of slime ball or goop monster, and the other has fitted a large red dome around her upper body, the front fourth breaking into a thin film or plastic with a big pupil painted into it, leaving just enough room for the pony inside to see around it. The multitude of peeper-topped tentacles attached to her dome and jiggling about make it clear that she’s some sort of eyeball creature.
“Am ah glad to see you!” you cry, trotting ahead of your escorts and hopping into a free seat next to the slime pony. “Sorry if ah’m interruptin’, but ah been lookin’ for ya’! I need your help with somethin’ real important, ya’ got a minute?” You channel all of your desperation into that request, silently hoping she isn’t too busy to talk.
Her approving smile eases your mind the second it appears. ”Of course, Applebloom. What do you need?”
Slime pony reaches across the table in order to brush away a smudge of dirt from your face that presumably went uncleaned from your prior inspection, flashing you an understanding look.
You were among friends here.
You sigh with relief, flattening your hooves on the table as you lean in. “Thanks. Ah’ll only be a minute, ah swear. Ah just need some advice, is all.”
”On what?” Twilight replies, sipping from her cup as the armored pony and the mouth-chest pony drag over an extra chair from an adjacent table to adjust for their new table guest.
“Ah don’t know how else to say it, so ah’ll just say it,” you reply, grimacing at the table a moment before turning back to look at her. “Ah need your help gettin’ colts to notice me!”
Twilight’s eyes widen marginally.
“Ah always screw up! Every darn time it’s the same! There has to be some sorta’ way to git’em to like me before I do somethin’ foolhardy and embarassin’!” you continue, leaning forward over the table a little more. “You’re smart n’important n’good at talkin’ ta’ folks. Ya’ had to’ve been with lotsa’ colts by now! Ya’ gatta’ help me out!”
A moment of silence takes hold of the group after you finish your plea, the buzz of unrelated conversations and the pop of the turntable invading the small table for a while. Twilight’s first reaction isn’t quite what you’re expecting. She hurriedly bounces looks between her pals, and a few beads of sweat have settled on her brow. Probably because you sprung such an important question on her out of the blue and put her on the spot in front of her friends while she was trying to relax like the social ingrate you are!
See?
This is part of the problem!
”A-Ah, haha… well… of course. I’ve, uh… I’ve had a few of them. Uh — coltfriends, that is,” Twilight confirms. She lifts her paper cup and generously wets her lips before continuing. “But, um… well, it’s a little complicated to just… explain.”
You were afraid of that.
A possibility you’d been keeping locked away deep in the back of your mind was related to this. That being, this sort of thing might not actually BE teachable, and that attracting colts was a natural skill that you’re just SUPPOSED to have. Was… was there just something wrong with you, or something? Was there really no hope?
”Aw, now c’mon Twilight, don’t be modest. Give the girl some pointers,” The eyeball pony says, flashing the purple unicorn a wide smirk. “Go ahead and tell’er about ALLLLL those guys you’ve been with. The younger generation is looking to you for guidance here, grand wizard. There’s no need to put on airs… “
”Yes, Twilight,” chest pony adds, lacing her hooves under her chin and leaning her elbows onto the table. Her toothy grin is a match to her toothy costume. “I’m sure we’d all benefit from a refresher from a pony so learned and experienced as you in the ways of the D. Tell us, how DO you get a coltfriend?”
Another round of silence.
All of her friends are now watching her expectantly, waiting, as you wait, each with a smile wider than the last.
”U-Uhm…” Twilight coughs. She lifts her cup to take yet another agonizing helping, the suspense of her slow consideration gradually eating you up. ”A-Ah, well look at that! It looks like I’m all outa’ pun—!“
”Here,” chest pony interrupts without a second thought, sliding her cup across the table to stop at Twilight’s front hooves, “take mine.”
Octo-Twilight’s face twitches noticeably, her brow slowly knitting as she takes her friend’s offered drink.
”Suddenly I’m not feeling very thirsty. Wouldn’t want you to waste any time.”
”Thanks,” Twilight replies cooly, narrowing her eyes at the pale yellow mare, “Moondancer.”
Her friend merely continues to beam sweetly, clearly satisfied with saving her friend a trip back to the punch bowl. After another long, drawn out swig the purple pony lowers her new cup and sighs, turning to you weakly.
”Ahh… okay, so…” She clears her throat. “So, I was rea-ah — rather, when I was with this one stallion, he really liked it when I, ahh… talked about all the magical dueling I did back in school? I was the top of my class and won a lot of trophies, so, yeah… he really liked that?”
She finishes the sentence like a question, as if SHE was waiting for YOU to confirm.
Odd…
”Sooo… yeah,” she continues, leaning up straighter in her chair, “they like it when you show off a little. You know, show them what you’ve accomplished?”
There it is again. That soft question, but this time she’s looking to her friends instead of you. Were you supposed to say something? Was she expecting you to comment? Is this, like… a test? What are you supposed to say!? You scour your brain for an appropriate response, picking through anything and everything to try and come up with something, anything. Finally, like a miracle, a memory comes to mind.
It’s an important one.
The vision is of the month prior, that sunny fall day when you sat in the grass with your friends and peered up at your cousin in admiration as she recounted story after story, each one detailing a new lesson to be learned, a new trick to frazzle the male mind or understand their thought processes.
’Talk about ya’self. Alla’ your, uh, your uh… ya’ know?’ she said, motioning vaguely with her hoof as she searched for the right word.
’Yer accomplishments?’ you replied, eager to hear more. So naive.
’Yeah!’ she replied, pointing at you. ‘Your accomplishments; ESPECIALLY the physical stuff. Ya’ know, like liftin’ and brawlin’n stuff. S’obvious, right? Colts wanna’ be with big strong mares. Mare’s who done a lota’ stuff and can protect’em, ya’ know?”
But that wasn’t right… was it? You told Anon about all the things you did to help put the festival together. You even lied about how strong you were. It didn’t work. That must be it!
You know the answer!
“Y’all sure ‘bout that? Ah don’t think that’s, uh… right…” you reply cautiously.
Twilight flinches a little at this, clearly surprised at your response.
That must be it! She wasn’t expecting you to catch on so quick! You might not have a lot of experience winning, but you sure as shoot know how to lose!
“Ah tried talkin’ about myself and what ah done the last time, but he wasn’t really interested. I don’t think colts like it all that much when ya’ talk about yerself all the time…”
”Oh, ahh…“ Twilight replies, tugging at her collar a little and peering into her cup. “Is, uh… is that right?”
You nod.
That Moondancer pony suddenly snorts, letting loose the flood gates for all the other table members, each covering their mouth with a hoof to contain their strangely out-of-place laughter.
Or… or maybe it wasn’t out of place? Oh no… aww, horseapples! Was that wrong? You goofed up, didn’t you?
Twilight casts each of them a dirty look and huffs in annoyance. ”Well!? How about YOU guys?” she says, quieting their laughter in an instant with her question. ”Why don’t you girls offer up some advice, huh? Since all of you are clearly SO much more knowledgeable than I am? Go ahead, enlighten the ‘younger generation’ with your vast stallion wisdom!”
More silence.
Was that really true? Did they have more experience than even Twilight did? Well, maybe all together, but… It was hard to imagine such a well put together and successful mare like Twilight bowing out to ponies you’d never even met.
Each of them look to one another nervously, their eyes silently questioning their partners.
They’re so secretive… Did you accidentally stumble on some sort of secret club or something?
“Please!” you say, clasping your hooves together. “Ah’m desperate over here! Y’all don’t need to say everything, just give me SOMETHIN’, anythin’! Ah NEED this!”
More silent deliberation.
You grind your hooves against each other as they consider you, each watching one another as if waiting for the other to speak first. To step forward on your behalf. Finally, the bright yellow goop pony seems ready to speak, coughing slightly in preparation.
”Uhh, well… when it comes to stallions, you really wanna, uh… have a good profession!” she says, looking to the others who hurriedly nod in agreement. ”They wanna know if you’re on your way up in the world so they’re comfortable staying with you for the long-haul. Money is really important.”
A memory comes to mind, the breeze and heat rushing back to you.
‘Stallions don’t wanna be with no average workin’ stiff, ya know?’ Babs said, folding her forehooves proudly. ‘Sure it’s good to show’em you’re a hard worker, but what really matters is the Bits! If you got the scratch they got the time! Havin’ a coltfriend can be an expensive venture, but ayy, ya’ know… it’s always nice in the end. You take care’a them, they take care’a you; that’s a fact.’ But that didn’t work either, right?
Were they still testing you?
“Uhh… ya’ sure about that?” you say carefully.
The slime monster stiffens.
“Ah tried talkin’ about money, too. ‘Bout how mah farm was big’n important, makin’ a whole lotta Bits every day — but he didn’t really seem to care after ah put everything out there, never even mentioned it again. Money’s important an’ all, but I dunno’ if bein’ rich is all that much of a shoe-in…”
”Oh… uh…” the lemon-colored pony responds hesitantly, scrunching her brow in thought. “R-… Really?”
Twilight is staring even more deeply into her small paper cup now, snout scrunched in concentration.
“Okay, okay!” the armored pony says, catching everypony’s attention. “Enough from the amateurs. Look, you wanna get noticed by this guy for real?”
You nod emphatically, your heart speeding up at the prospect of getting passed all these silly trials and on to the stuff that really mattered.
”Alright, listen. What you have to do is simple when you really think about it; just treat him like a stallion!” she says, tapping her hoof down on the table. ”When you get right down to it, they just wanna be treated like they’re special and worth all the time in your world. BUT, they also want you to be a mare; take charge, be blunt. Talk about’im being single and you being in the market. Tell’im about how you’d love to take care of him. Make him feel like a real stallion and he’ll want you to be his real mare, mare!” she finishes spiritedly, tapping you on the shoulder.
Your head swims with that information, silently mulling over all of the possibilities and meanings of her words. You gain the smallest bit of hope. You even start to thank her before the action brings another memory to the surface.
It’s one you remember very intimately.
It was the start of everything going wrong for you during the fall celebration. The moment when you began to realize that you were making a huge mistake. They were your own words:
‘Wellllll, ah was jus’ figurin’ that a nice, single colt like you would want a big, strong mare like me to keep’im company,’ you said. You even smirked as you looked him up and down. So sure. So stupid.
The way his face softened into pride-withering amusement as you asserted yourself was still a vivid nightmare in your mind. Like he thought… like he thought you were joking, or something…
“B-But…” you begin, an emotion you can only describe as dread flickering in the armored mare’s eyes as you do. “But I did that. I did… I did alla’ that… It didn’t work. Nothin’ worked… There HAS to be more, right?” You turn to each of them, looking for anything, “… Right?”
The blue mare in the armor doesn’t reply, her eyes wandering to look anywhere but into yours. In fact, none of them can look at you now, each one instead staring off somewhere else. Glum, sullen, thwarted. You continue to search each one, from slime to eyeball to octopus, from chest to armored ghost-thing, but none of them say anything. They can’t.
It…
It really is you, isn’t it? Maybe… maybe your cousin wasn’t lying. She’d confessed to not having any experience, but was what she said wrong? She wouldn’t know, after all. Maybe it wasn’t her. Maybe…
Maybe It was YOU that was wrong…
All of these bright, accomplished mares sitting with you had probably won ENDLESS amounts of male attention by simply doing what they just told you; what your cousin told you. The only matching piece in every story of failure was you. Babs lied, but she wasn’t the bad nail, was she…? YOU were the bad nail; Applebloom was the weak link...
The hopelessness you’d started to feel when you embarrassed yourself in front of the schoolcolts is now multiplying. As you slide out of your chair wordlessly, the tiny pins metal pins and doo-dads in your dress clattering slightly against the wood as you dismount, you can’t even say goodbye to Twilight and her friends.
It’s alright, they’d probably figured it out by now if you had. How could they not? The respectful thing to do on their part was not to say anything, let you leave with what little pride you had left so as not hurt you further. You turn back to look upon them one last time, even if you know you shouldn’t.
Twilight is staring ahead blankly, emotionally drained, her hope in mare-kind clearly crushed by the anomaly – the social smudge – that is your entire existence. She absent-mindedly taps Moondancer on her heaving, jerking back as the bespectacled mare sobs bitterly into her hooves. It’s a little dramatic, but you suppose that somepony that hadn’t been living your life up till now might be a little more sensitive to how cripplingly little appeal you had to the opposite sex. That acknowledgement doesn’t make it any easier for you to watch her weep openly in front of her stone-faced friends. Her barely audible ‘Why? Why!?’s slowly drown out as your phase back into the crowd, the full force of the party sheltering you in its loud indifference.
Should you even try anymore?
If they couldn’t help, if NOPONY could seem to help, was finding more advice really going to change things? You wanted to believe, but the whole world was fighting you at every turn.
As you continue across the yard, aiming for nothing, random ponies bump into you as you pass, none turning to inspect you. Neither their spirited costumes nor the clap of the music can lift the haze you now find yourself under, your hooves thudding dully against the grass as you wonder listlessly. Eventually, without really meaning to, you reach the large shed in the corner of the yard.
The shutter has only been pulled open half way, but even so you can get a get a pretty good look inside. A small lamp hangs from the ceiling, the orange film wrapped around it bathing the spacious storage in a warm glow.
Not even this place can escape Anon’s energy for the holiday, it seems.
Boxes have been stacked high on the right side, completely obscuring the fence-side wall in multiple layers of cardboard and personal items. The back wall and door-side wall are much more sparsely packed, leaving room for ponies, or even a human, to slip between the boxes to search for things or slide through the side door. Things were a little quieter out here given the shed’s distance from the house itself, but the festivities far behind were still unmissable, as was the bright puffy tail slowly bobbing out from under the folded shutter.
The frizz and flashy pink shade leave you little need to think over who it is; Pinkie Pie, the other mare on your list. She’s whistling a tune you can’t quite identify, swinging her rump to and fro as she pushes boxes around, occasionally throwing one open and looking inside.
She’s right there. Should you ask? Should you even bother? Can she really improve a 0% chance into something playable, something reasonable?
You sway in place, scanning the moist grass under your hooves as you shuffle them in thought.
Only the future can tell…
Well… you’ve come this far, even if you covered the ground via tripping and falling over and over again. You’re already at the bottom, what is there to lose? What’s left of your dignity? Hah, right.
After a while of deliberation your stiff body shifts, stepping you closer to the party pony in a dispassionate, robotic fashion.
Apples don’t quit. You can lose, but giving up is off the table. Your grandparents built an entire empire on that principle. The least YOU can do to honor their hard work is lift your chin and quit with the pity party. One more try. Just once more and then you can go home an Apple. Defeated maybe, but an Apple.
Your head dips under the shutter as you slip inside, drawing up to Pinkie’s right and pausing, waiting for her to finish with whatever she was doing before you started with the questions. When it seems like she’s well and fully absorbed you step forward, licking at you lips in preparation to speak.
”Pinkie?” you say.
You can’t help but flinch as she flinches, her whistling halted by a sharp gasp. ”Oh?! Oh… Ohohoh!” The pink pony laughs as she identifies you, whipping her foreleg around the back of your neck and pulling you close to noogie her fetlock into your white and cherry mane. “You little SNEAKSTER! You spooked me good!”
“A-Ah wasn’t tryin’ too, honest! Ah! Ahahah! Okay, okay—!” you laugh, pulling away until you slipped out of her strong earth pony grip. You can’t help but crack a smile despite your low mood. She has that effect on ponies.
”What’s goin’ on? Lookin’ for somethin’ to do? Here, look in this!” she says, wrapping her hoof around a closed box and sliding it into your chest, nearly knocking you over with the force.
“—Oof! Uhh, well… ah guess ah could help ya’ out. Not like ah’m havin’ much luck doin’ anything else ‘round here,” you reply, crinkling the edge of your mouth in disappointment as you try and pry the cardboard open.
”Oh yeah?” she remarks, darting her eyes toward you before planting them back in her own box, shifting the contents inside to get a better look. “Why’s that?”
You finally manage to tug the folded box corners free, flipping open the lid to reveal several stacks of sheets and comforters.
“Ah been tryin’ to figure out how ta’ talk to colts and make’em like ya’, askin’ folks all over as a matter of fact, but ah I can’t seem to make anythin’ work out like it should. Ah think there’s somethin’ wrong with me,” you admit glumly, pushing the box of bedding away.
”Wewie… that’s harsh, kid,” Pinkie replies, narrowing her eyes and swiveling her head about to scan the shed. She swoops down on another box when she finds a suitable target. “Have you tried just, you know, being yourself? I hear that’s pret-ty popular.”
“Hah!” You scoff dejectedly, yanking over a nearby container. “That’s the LAST thing ah wanna be around a colt! Have ya’ seen me? I can barely talk to’em on the spot, let alone with a bunch’a plannin’! Who’s linin’ up to be the ‘real’ Applebloom’s coltfriend? Nopony, that’s who.” The top snaps off easily; silverware, bowls, plates, other kitchenware. A thought comes to you just then, an important one that flew right over your head in all the activity.
“Uhh, Pinkie?” you say, turning to her. “Why are we diggin’ around in Mr. Anon’s boxes for?”
”Apples,” Pinkie replies, frowning and slamming another box shut, her head twisting around again.
“Uhh, Apples?” you say with some confusion, scratching the side of your head.
”Apples,” She reiterates. The mare stands on her hind legs and slaps her hooves to her hips. “You can’t bob for apples without apples! We’re almost out and there’s SUPPOSED to be more in here, but for the LIFE of me I can’t figure out WHERE that boy put’em!” The pink pony taps her hoof against the floor, narrowing her eyes at the various items scattered about the shed.
“… couldn’t even find anything fun he didn’t want me to see. I thought for SURE he was kinky after that little number he put on tonight.” She shoots you a wolfish look and waggles her eyebrows, burning your face.
“Nuthin’ — not even a dirty maggo,” she continues, clearly pouting. “Oh well… bet he’s wild in the sack, at least!” She laughs and whips around to check another box.
”H-Hah, haha! O-Okay, uhh, s-so, a-about mah, uh, mah thing?” you stutter, voice cracking as you try to push your way behind a few planks of poster board, no longer caring whether or not a box of apples could actually be put back there.
”Ohhhh, yeah yeah, sorry kiddo,” Pinkie replies, furrowing her brow in thought. “Welllll… hmm… guess there’s a few things you could do…” The pink pony stares into her box for a while, seemingly lost in thought, before suddenly jamming her hoof inside and pulling out a big reel of film, her expression brightening instantly.
”Ooo! Ooo! Okay!” she chirps energetically, turning on you and holding the film up for you to see. “Okay, so way, way back, me and Molasses kinda’ had this thing, right?”
“Molasses?” you reply, peering up into the ceiling and searching your memory for the name. “Ain’t that Mrs. Maple’s husband?”
”Yeah yeah, him! We were in deep way back when! Before he got married, I mean. And he was super sweet on me, too. I mean, we used to GO AT IT like-like, okay, so there was this thing he did where-where…” she pauses, her face falling neutral as yours likely twists into discomfort.
“Uhh… don’t tell Maple, okay?”
You hastily nod, and she continues.
”Aha, right. So, anyways, the first date we ever went on was to a scary movie!” she says, thrusting the film reel at you again. “It was a good one, too: Chestbursters.”
Your ears perk up at the familiar name. “That the one where the porcupine aliens and the ponies gatta’ team up to defeat those heart-eatin’ wormy ones? And there’s a laser-sword fight at the end? And then… and there… was—“
You’re swinging your hooves around to mimic the action, but pause when Pinkie actually starts to scowl at you, her snout wrinkling with distaste.
”That… THING… was Chestbursters 6: Porcuspine vs Chestburster,” she corrects. The pony leans toward you a little, her giant pink afro wobbling and her face unflinchingly serious. “… we don’t TALK… about Porcuspine vs Chestburster…”
She stares you down for an uncomfortably long time after that, to the point where you start having a hard time looking her in the eye. After that, though, she rebounds instantly, smiling at you and spinning the film reel on her hoof.
“So! Like I was saying, we went to a scary movie. We weren’t really, like, super into each other at the time, but I thought it would be fun! He didn’t really like the movie, though. Colts usually aren’t into gory flicks all that much.”
Confused, you raise a hoof. “But… then why bring it up if’n he didn’t like it?”
Pinkie beams even more, turning and setting the reel back into the box she found it in. “Didn’t matter! What mattered was he was scared!” she proclaims, nudging the box away.
When you don’t answer she continues, giving you an obvious look. ”He was scared, which means he was feeling vulnerable, which means he wanted somepony to cuddle with and make him feel safe! We were playin’ tonsil hockey before we even got out of the theater!” she says, closing her eyes. “Gooood times.”
“So… so yer sayin’,” you start, staring down at your hooves as you think, “that if ah want him to like me, ah should be there for’im when he’s feelin’ scared n’ lonesome?”
The candy scoop grins, patting you on the shoulder as she passes by. “Couldn’t hurt, squirt!” she says, ducking her head under the shutter and slipping outside.
”Close this thing for me, will ya’? I gatta go talk to the big guy. Good luck with your colt troubles, kid! Fight the good fight! I’m rootin’ for ya’!” she cheers, waving at you in the space under the shutter before vanishing around the corner.
Amazed, you simply stare after her, your mind overflowing.
Sure what she said was something you’d never really tried before, but was it really capable of succeeding? It was specific and logical, even if it wouldn’t be terribly easy to actually pull off. Even considering that you saw Anon most days on the farm, you didn’t really spend a whole lot of time with him quantitatively; you’d never once seen him scared or unsure of something.
His level of confidence was the nemesis to your own, the anti. He practically radiated comfort and ease. At least, until YOU started actually talking with him. Still, he wasn’t a completely inpony enigma, was he? He had to feel those things occasionally, right?
You examine the small shed as you wonder, searching for a way to operate the shutter so that you could complete Pinkie’s task for you.
In the top right corner of the shed you spot a pulley wheel bolted into a thin iron beam, the length of cable snugly set into its central groove running down through a second one near the ground and also through the center of the shutter door itself. Attached to the top wheel is a clip, presumably to free the cord and let the weight of shutter take care of the rest. Pressing the clip delivers the desired result, the folds of thin metal clattering to the ground.
The world outside is instantly depleted to a whisper. All sights and sounds are deafened within the cozy shed. After being around it all this time, it was actually nice having a second of peace and quiet.
It also gave you more time to think.
Maybe you didn’t need to wait for an opportunity like the one Pinkie described. Maybe you could create one? Yes... a controlled environment where you could creep him out, just a little, and then spring to his side, comforting him in his time of need. Everypony got scared, Anon couldn’t be any different. It could work…
It WILL work.
You’ll make it so!
As you step closer to the side door, the wind lightly whistles between the shed’s creaky joints. The faint skittering and scratching of critters tapping occasionally at the walls make just enough noise to send a cold shiver down your spine, and you start to get the feeling you know EXACTLY where you can stage the event. This place is perfect.
This, THIS would be the site of the moment you’d been waiting for since your knees first started knocking together in front of the fairer sex. It was here that you’d finally WIN for a change and turn the relationship portion of your life into a place somepony might actually want to visit. All you need now is a little time and some backup.
You need to assemble your team.
The party surges around you once more as you push through the door and race through the yard, cool wind blowing past your face and throwing up your sprayed mane as you rush. You get only a few looks as you power forward, your hooves carrying you around swaying, inebriated party guests and loose yardware alike. Finally, winded and riled from your run, you find them, all three descending the stairs from the back door and stepping into the yard for the first time.
”Girls, girls!” you yell, catching their attention and coming to a halt at their hooves, chest heaving.
”What’s up Applebloom? We haven’t seen you in a while. Did something happen?” says Sweetie.
“N-Naw, ah mean, YES!” you exclaim, lifting your head and looking upon each of their confused faces. ”Girls, ah need yer help!” You flash them a wide smile and stand tall as they trade looks.
“Ah got a plan!”