//------------------------------// // Creative Chapter Title // Story: You're Getting Better // by 2Merr //------------------------------// This has to be some kind of record. It's been less than an hour since you've crawled out of bed, but your day's limit of pony bullshit has already been passed. “Why do Ah always have to be on the bottom?” Twice. “Because I’m the lightest, and Sweetie would literally break if she tried holding us both.” “I would not!” “Would too!” As you look across the wreckage of your living room, you feel a sense of bittersweet relief that you only own a sparse amount of furniture for the three little hurricanes to break. Or try to break. They're too small to cause a whole lot of damage, but lord almighty are they trying. Pinkie, for some insane reason, thought it would be a good idea to teach them a new game—a game that involves two pogo sticks, a map of Equestria, green construction paper, and an electric can opener. "Anon?" Rarity places a hoof on your knee. "May I speak with you for a moment? I have some things I wish to discuss before we leave for Manehattan." With effort, you tear your eyes away from the unnatural disaster. "Yeah, what’s up?" Making sure Pinkie and the fillies are still preoccupied with the can opener, Rarity motions you closer and lowers her voice to a whisper. “First off, please keep them away from the Boutique after you pick up your clothes. Sweetie knows what not to touch, but when the three of them are together, they tend to get a little... rowdy.” That’s it? Just keep the children away from the circus tent? That sounds simple enough. “Second, if they want you to take part in any of their cutie mark shenanigans, just go with it. They're usually good at avoiding collateral damage, but try to steer them toward less dangerous activities if you can.” You blink once. Slowly turning your head, you give a pointed look to the tower of pony on your couch. Both pogo sticks are gone, and they somehow have a second can opener now. Rarity follows your gaze and sighs wearily. “Believe it or not, that’s one of the safer things they’ve done recently.” You can’t imagine what else they could have done to make this look anything close to safe. “Third and finally,” she continues, “catapults and other miscellaneous siege weaponry are strictly off-limits, no matter what Apple Bloom says about Granny Smith allowing it.” Oh. That might be it. You don’t know who Granny Smith is, but she sounds like a very responsible parent. Her kids probably turned out great. “No circus tent, keep danger to a minimum, no catapults,” you list back. “Seems easy enough.” Rarity double takes. “What do you mean by ‘no circus tent?’” Shit. “Circus tent? No, I said, uh... No stir... cement. Yeah. The cement is drying, so no one should stir it. That would be bad. No stir cement.” Eleven outta ten, perfect save. “Ooooh, are you two having a staring contest? Who’s winning?” Pinkie to the rescue. God bless that pink poof horse. Rarity blinks as if coming out of a trance. 1-0. You finally have a winning record against someone. “I... I don’t...” Rarity stutters, clearly struggling to cope with her humiliating defeat. “Yeah, I don’t either,” Pinkie admits. “Come on, Rares! It’s time to go!” With that, Pinkie launches herself at your chest, almost knocking you to the ground. “Bye, Nonny! I’ll bring you back a souvenir!” “Please don’t.” “Too late!” She squeezes the breath out of you one more time, taking the opportunity to whisper in your ear. “I’ll be back tonight. If anything happens, just tell Gummy, okay?” Who the fuck is Gummy? “Okay? I guess?” Pinkie lets go before you can return her hug. “Bye, girls,” she calls with a wave at the fillies. “Have fun! Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do without me!” Rarity rolls her eyes with a smile as she follows Pinkie out the door, giving her own farewells in a much fancier and more fashionable manner. The door clicks shut. And just like that, you’re now responsible for three other lives. You can barely manage your own, and that’s with Pinkie’s help. How the hell are you supposed to handle three? No, you can do this. Just survey the situation. Your living room is dead, but that’s nothing new; it’s just dead and messy now. The girls are alive, so that’s good. Uh... Shit, what else do babysitters do besides that? “So, uh...” you say, awkwardly meeting their curious stares. “How ya doing?” Man, you are on a roll this morning. “Pretty good, Ah guess,” Apple Bloom shrugs. “Same,” Scootaloo says. Sweetie Belle raises her hoof silently. You point at her, feeling important despite knowing the truth. “Mister Anomanis, why are you so tall?” God damn, why is she so adorable? You must be building up an immunity, because that would normally have you on your knees. “Just call me Anon. And I’m tall because I, uh... I eat my vegetables.” No you fucking don’t. “Guess that explains Scoots,” Apple Bloom snickers. “Hey!” Before they can start arguing in earnest, you remember that you still need to pick up your clothes. Fucking Rarity making you leave your house. Despicable. You wave your arms to grab the trio’s attention. “How about we grab my clothes from Rarity’s, and then we can, uh...” You can what? “We can start on our cutie mark mission for today!” Sweetie Belle finishes. “Yeah, that. That sounds good.“ As long as you don’t have to move too much. Or at all. Not moving at all would be fantastic. While making the round trip, you come to understand what their goal is. They want to do as many different things as possible to try to get their special ass tattoos. Neat. Laying your new clothes on the couch, you grab the fanciest outfit from the top of the stack. “What kind of weirdo superhero costume is that?” Scootaloo says, poking your new suit. You had almost forgotten about the job thing you have next week, whatever it is. You still have no idea what you’ll be doing. Something with that mountain of paper. Ugh. You almost wish you could get a head start so- An idea takes root in your head. An evil, terrible, scheming idea. “Hey, girls? Have any of you tried getting a paperwork cutie mark yet?” Yeah, you’re definitely going to hell.