The smell of deliciousness rouses you from your slumber. You open your eyes, squinting at the blurry outline of the clock on the wall. Just as you suspected, it's too damn early. Your brain is sorely tempted to go back to sleep, but your body knows that food is nearby. Grumbling from both your mouth and your stomach, you roll out of bed and follow the smell.
"Morning, Nonny!" Pinkie greets when you walk into the kitchen. "I'm making waffles! They should be ready soon, so just sit tight, ‘kay?"
You grunt in response, heading straight for the coffee pot. As soon as it starts to brew, you hear a light series of knocks. Still not quite alive yet, you shuffle across the room and open the door to the smiling faces of four ponies.
"I hope Pinkie wasn't lying when she said she'd have breakfast for us," Rarity says, flashing a bright smile. You stare at her, trying to make sense of what's going on.
Oh yeah. You're babysitting today. Fuck.
"Well, aren't you going to invite us in? It's not polite to keep a lady waiting, and even less polite to keep four. Or one and three-fifths, I suppose, but still."
You sluggishly step to one side, watching the line of ponies march into your house. The three fillies accompanying Rarity follow behind her one by one like ducklings. Closing the door, you ignore your new guests and shuffle back to the coffee pot. It's already brewed, the aroma of life-giving nectar making you feel more awake by the second. You blindly grab a mug and fill it, cradling it with both hands as you carry it to the table. One of the fillies whispers something, but you don't bother trying to interpret it. Right now, all you need is coffee. Just a few sips is all you need to get from corpse to zombie. It’s not much of an upgrade, but at least zombies can function somewhat.
"Er... Pinkie, darling," Rarity slowly says while you drink, "is he...?"
"Yeah, Nonny's always like this when he wakes up. He'll be more energetic in a couple minutes." You grunt a confirmation, though you don't think the word "energetic" is a very good way to describe you at any point in the day.
"I suppose I'll have to wait, then," Rarity huffs quietly.
"Wait for what?" one of the fillies asks. Judging by the lack of accent or voice crack, you assume it's the pegasus. You refuse to look in case they're bunched together, remembering how dangerous it is to come under an assault of that magnitude unprepared.
"Oh, it's nothing urgent," Rarity says. "I just wish to have a little chat with Anon and also let him know that his clothes are finished."
You are very grateful for that, so you try to thank her now that you have enough caffeine in your brain to form words.
"Thank you so much, Rarity," you mumble with as much sincerity as you can muster. It comes out sounding like you just got back from the dentist, but she gives you a warm smile in return.
"Aww, look at you," Rarity coos. She steps up to your chair and stands on her hind legs, wrapping her forelegs gently around your slouched form. "It was my pleasure, darling," she whispers, nuzzling your neck. After an uncomfortably long stretch of time, she sighs and drops back to all fours. "It should be a crime to wake up looking that adorable."
"I know, right?" Pinkie pops up next to you. "Isn’t he just the cutiest patootie ever?” she giggles, ruffling your hair before returning to her waffling.
You place your forehead on the table, not dignifying their remarks with a response. They couldn't have waited five minutes to start their pony shit? You don't have enough energy to deal with it right now.
"Uh, what's a patootie?" the accented filly asks. It sounds like she's on your couch.
"Look in the mirror and you'll find out, Patootie Bloom," Pinkie replies.
"Ah'm not really sure how to feel about that."
"I think it was a compliment," the squeaky one says. You remember her name is Sweetie Belle.
"Your face is a compliment," the pegasus says.
That gets you to snort loudly, a smile fighting its way onto your face. You pick your head back up and finish off your mug. You suddenly realize Rarity wasn't carrying anything when she walked in, and neither were the fillies.
"Rarity, did you bring my clothes with you?" you ask, already knowing the answer.
"Heavens, no. You can pick them up from the boutique whenever you feel well enough to move." She starts fussing with your hair, somehow trying to fix it with her hooves.
Something resembling logic floats to the front of your mind. "Why didn't you just bring them with you when you came over?"
Rarity laughs, giving you a wry smile. "Sweetie Belle is much too small to carry that much, as are Apple Bloom and Scootaloo."
You can't tell if she's joking. "Why would they need to carry anything?"
"Well, I'm not going to carry them myself, darling. That would just be ridiculous."
What. "...Why not? "
"A lady does not strain herself, Anonymous," she sniffs, flipping her hair unnecessarily before returning her efforts to your own. She apparently sees something you don't, because you don't think your hair is really that messy.
"Yeah, Nonny," Pinkie pipes up from the place your stove would be if you had one. "It's hard enough to look schmancy while carrying a buncha stuff, much less fancy-schmancy."
"Precisely, Pinkie. See, Anon? She gets it."
Doesn’t she have magic? "None of this makes any fucking sense," you say under your breath.
Rarity sighs. "If only you weren't so vulgar, you would make such a fine gentlecolt. Speaking of which..." She moves her hooves to your cheeks and turns your face towards her. "I want none of that language reaching Sweetie Belle's ears, understand?" she says quietly, patting your cheek.
"...'Kay," you mumble. Standing up, you slip away from the unusually touchy Rarity and retreat to the sink with your mug, quickly rinsing it out and drying it with a hand towel. Or would it be a hoof towel? Fucking ponies, making your life harder by not having hands.
Turning away from the sink, you freeze when you see a mountain of waffles where there previously were none. Pinkie already has her plate stacked high, and Rarity is still standing in the same spot, looking confused as hell.
"Come on, girls! Breakfast is ready!" Pinkie calls before opening her mouth and flinging whole waffles into it one at a time. You immediately look away from the blatant disregard for biology and physics. Keeping your eyes on the table, you position yourself strategically so the mountain blocks your view of Pinkie's unnatural feeding frenzy.
Unfortunately, this leaves you vulnerable to the fillies.
The pegasus with the tiniest wings you've ever seen hops up into the chair to your left. The yellow one with the bow takes the chair to your right. You feel a pit form in your stomach when you realize you only have four chairs.
"Now that Anon is more awake," Rarity smirks at you, "this seems like a perfect time for proper introductions." Her horn lights up, and a grinning Sweetie Belle floats in front of your face, wrapped in a light blue aura. "Sweetie, this is Anonymous."
"Hi! I'm Sweetie Belle!"
"You're so small," you whisper before you can stop yourself.
"Um..." She tilts her head, her brow furrowing above her large green eyes. "Thank you?"
The aura disappears, dropping Sweetie in your lap. She apparently sees nothing odd about this, because she shuffles around until she's on the edge of your knee, close enough to the table to grab some waffles.
"Ah'm Apple Bloom," the accented filly says, her bow bouncing when she speaks.
"And I'm Scootaloo, fastest filly on two wheels in all of Ponyville," the pegasus grins, puffing her chest out while her wings buzz behind her.
"And we are the Cutie Mark Crusaders!" they all yell at once, hurting your ears almost as much as your chest.
"And I'm Pinkie Pie!" Pinkie pokes her head around Mt. Waffle, waving at you. You wave back.
Rarity's horn lights up again, sliding Scootaloo's plate next to Sweetie Belle's. She then floats Scootaloo over to your lap, leaving you with a filly on each knee. Scootaloo seems just as unperturbed as Sweetie, immediately reaching for her plate. Taking the newly vacant chair for herself, Rarity flashes you another smirk.
You pray to the pony gods to make it through the meal without dying.