//------------------------------// // Two chapters, ah ah ah! // Story: The Day I Sneezed Pinkie Pie // by Dancing Dead //------------------------------// *Like, a month after the author said he would put up this chapter…* *** “… and that’s how I got here! Or at least, how I think I got here!” Pinkie Pie burst into yet another fit of bubbly laughter. It was one of the many fits she would have while in the human’s company. She began to calm down a bit when she realized that Mike was about to ask her another question. “So let me get this straight…” Mike raised an eyebrow as he reached for his leather jacket hanging on the coat rack, “You and whoever-the-fuck Rainbow Dash is,” he slid his arms through the sleeves, “put some kind of sneezing powder in a bouquet of flowers, and then whoever the fuck Rarity is,” Mike crouched down to tie his boot laces, “snorted it up her nose,” the pony giggled again, “and then whoever-the-fuck Rainbow Dash is ran off and dropped the can and it got up in your face or something,” he took a breath “and then you sneezed and flew into another dimension…” “Yep-a-roonie!” “… I think I need to sit down,” he plopped down on the futon couch-bed-thing in the living room of his apartment. “Hey!” Pinkie seemed cross with him as she hopped into his lap for what seemed like the umpteenth time in the past seventy-two hours, “I thought we were gonna go get more bubble wrap!” She gave Mike her famous puppy-dog eyes has he began to make feeble attempts at wrapping his mind around the parameters of her existence. Tell me what’s going on, Brain. “asfhldg;dasdhgadf, man. Trust me.” Well, shit. Mike let out another sigh, “We are, don’t you worry,” he smiled and pet the fluffy-ass mane atop her head a few times. He stood up and stretched for no reason, “Maybe a dumb question, but how much do you want?” Why the fuck did I stretch? Pinkie leapt into his arms and hooked her forelegs around the back of his neck. She whispered into his ear in a most menacing tone, “All of it,” and as if that wasn’t enough to make the human silently shit a brick, she laid her head down on his shoulder and closed her eyes, much like a small child would do. What in the name of fuck. “Well then, we’re gonna need a little bit more firepower than ‘Mister Doctor Professor Nine Millimeter the third, esquire’ here,” Mike softly patted the left part of his jacket, feeling the weapon sitting comfortably in its pocket on the inside. Pinkie laughed at the prospect of a gun having such a silly name as she followed the human back into his room. He led her to the closet and opened it up. “Oooh, let’s see whatcha got here,” she browsed the small catalogue of weapons. Much to the shock and awe of Mike, she named each to the letter, and he was suddenly overcome with affection for the colorful equine. He reached for his stockless AK-47 hanging by the strap from a shirt hanger and made sure to grab a few extra magazines, while Pinkie picked up the Mossberg 500 ‘Super-Shorty’ that stood up against the back corner. “Uh… you sure you can handle that?” Mike warily asked the now shotgun-toting pwny. Yeah, you read that right. Shut up. “Puh-lease, I keep an Uzi under the bed at my place,” She cocked the shotgun, *chk-chk*, “for home defense,” then beamed warmly up at him. Suddenly, Brain interrupted the human’s thought process, “Misfit 1-1, this is Misfit Actual requesting a sitrep, how copy?” Misfit Actual, this is Misfit 1-1, good copy. Unknown entity shows exceptional knowledge of weaponry and is fucking adorable, requesting permission to hug. “Misfit 1-1, this Misfit Actual, I’m authorizing use of the Orbital Hug Cannon, fire at will, how copy?” Good copy, Misfit Actual. Firing Orbital Hug Cannon… Damn, we play too much Battlefield 3, don't we? Pinkie was then scooped up in a massive bear-hug faster than you could say ‘more drama for your momma’. In return for almost squeezing the life out of her, Pinkie almost squeezed the life out of Mike. It was so adorable that I almost had a stroke whilst writing this shit. But then, fuckin’ Katt Williams comes outta nowhere… nevermind. Now, where was I? Ah, yes. The two eventually released their death grip on each other and continued their shenanigans. Mike spoke up finally, “Well, if you say you can handle the shotty, then you can use it, but where are you gonna keep your extra ammo?” he observed her figure with a scrutinizing eye, noting that she had no way of carrying any spare shells. Pinkie dismissed him, “Hehe, don’t you worry about that, Rosie,” she winked at him with a devilish grin. “I bet she keeps them in her ass like a drug mule. Hehe, mule…” Mike twitched at Brain’s remark. Misfit Actual, this is Misfit 1-1. Shut the fuck up, how copy? “Good copy, Misfit 1-1, shutting the fuck up, over.” Damn right you are. Mike blinked, and before his eyes, his four-legged friend pulled a cell phone out of nowhere and began tapping on the keys. Shortly thereafter, a message in a darkened gray box appeared in the air, accompanied by some sort of chirping noise. “Cheat codes,” she quipped, putting her phone away. She continued, “I gave us unlimited reloads, so now we’ll never run out of ammo!” “Oh my god, Pinkie, I think I love you,” Mike’s unflinching monotone only made his remark more convincing. Damn shape-shifting aliens… “Well, you better!” Pinkie materialized behind him with her hooves draped over his shoulders. In all honesty, the human was not even a little bit surprised that she would go and do such a thing, after the few days she was there. Pinkie placed her free hoof on his cheek, turning his head towards hers before locking lips with him. She held contact for several moments before tearing herself away and returning to her gun-fun or whatever. Mike then produces a .44 Magnum from his belt and uses his thumb to pull back the hammer. He places the barrel directly in front of your forehead and you can practically feel the high-caliber round on your skin as he looks you dead in the eye, piercing your very soul. “Gotcha,” he pulls the trigger and sends the brass projectile ripping through your cranium, spraying a fresh coat of blood, brains and pieces of your skull onto the wall behind you. Capped yo’ ass. He twirled the gun around on his finger and jammed it back into place between his belt and his jeans. “Wah waah waaahh,” his poor impression of Clint Eastwood’s timeless little tune was not lost to Pinkie, who admired the mess he made on the wall and floor surrounding your corpse. “You sounded like Princess Celestia when she tricked Mister and Misses Cake into running her teacup over at a party once!” Giggle laugh giggle something something, you get the point. “I know, right?” Haha, no that totally didn’t happen. ***Fatality!*** “… So now we’ll never run out of ammo!” “I guess that could uh… come in handy,” Mike suspiciously eyed the cell phone and his guns as Pinkie reached back into the closet and pulled out the Thompson submachine gun. As If on que, the resident of the apartment above the human began blasting some o’ that shitty dubstep from his absurdly powerful sound system. “Watch, I’ll show ya,” Pwny Pie’s cheerful outburst seemed out of place in this situation, and as if she wanted to prove it to you, the reader, she lifted the firearm up and aimed it at the ceiling. The gun released a torrent of hot lead through the ceiling, obliterating the obnoxious toilet sounds and likely the possessor of those sounds as well, as hinted at by the dull moaning which followed the shots. “Now all you gotta do is pull the thingy back,” she pulled the bolt back, then released it, “and there ya go, you have a full mag again!” “Um…” Mike desperately searched for the right words, “Cool?” “Yeah, it’s cool! Now come on, let’s go get that bubble wrap!” Pinkie gleefully bounced out of the room, with the human following closely behind, only to make sure she didn’t kill anyone else without his consent. He thought about trying to conceal their weapons, but discarded the idea after he tried and failed miserably to decide whether or not there would be a point. The dynamic duo arrived at the elevators after a short walk down the sparsely decorated hall. Upon arrival at the large metal doors, Mike pressed the little button on the wall. It lit up, and a dull humming noise could be heard from the elevator shaft. “So, where do you plan on getting the entire world’s supply of bubble wrap from?” He looked down at Pinkie, who appeared to be deep in thought about her answer. “Well duh, the Headquarters of the United Bubble Wrap Emirates, of course. It’s across town,” “How do you even- you know what, I don’t even care anymore,” Mike sighed and placed his hands over his face in a ‘double-facepalm’ style. The pony had beaten him, even though it was merely a simple question that required a simple answer. For each of her antics and shenanigans, he tried desperately not to be surprised at their nature, but his efforts collapsed like the Twin Towers every time. No, the 9/11 reference was not too soon. It happened eleven years ago. Get over it, already. *Ding* the doors slid to the side, revealing the interior of the elevator, which seemed to have missed spring cleaning, or the Mexican janitor completely forgot that the building even had an elevator. The duo stepped in and rode slowly down to the lobby. “This is like that scene from The Matrix when Neo and Trinity went into that lobby place and shot everyone except we’re not gonna shoot anyone here, we’re gonna shoot people at the bubble wrap place!” “Yeah, let’s go with that,” Mike said as the large, metallic doors opened, revealing a very high-class lobby. Sleek leather furniture, mood lighting, dark oak counters, and a fancy-ass chandelier could all be found working harmoniously together to make anyone in the room feel like a corporate executive. “Hold the fuck up a second, this isn’t the lobby,” “Yeah it is! I knew you didn’t like the old, cruddy one so I did a bit of renovating!” Pinkie bounced forth through the lobby, ignoring the few people there that were staring at her. Mike took notice of their prying eyes and decided to defuse the situation as best he could,”Don’t look at the bouncy thing,” One of the patrons was about to speak up, but Mike swiftly cut the man off, “Just don’t,” he spoke demandingly. Oh, he shut up alright, mostly because he saw the guns that he and Pinkie were carrying. He raised his hands in the air, as if he were surrendering to someone and quickly sat his big ass down. “Hurry up! We’re not gonna get any bubble wrap at this rate!” The pony stood holding the door open, waiting for the human to catch up. Mike shot a frightening look at the asshole that stared at Pinkie, which reinforced his demands. He noticed the man squirm a bit in his seat, telling him that he did what he intended to do, and then some. He made his way across the lobby and caught up to Pinkie. The pair took a few steps out into the parking lot and stopped Pinkie broke the silence between them, “Where’s your car?” Before she knew it, Mike had already hopped onto his sexy-ass Harley-Davidson and slid the key into the ignition. “I don’t have a car,” he called over to her. The machine roared to life and scared away a few birds perched on the light pole above him. Pinkie gasped at the spectacle, “Nice bike,” she cooed, inspecting the bright green lightning paintjob which contrasted with the pearlescent black base. “I know, right?” Mike scooted forward a bit to make room for the equine. The pony in question leapt onto the space behind him without so much as a second thought and gripped the back of the human’s jacket in her hooves. He revved the engine a few times and put the kickstand up, balancing the half-ton machine with just his legs. “Hi-ho Rosie! Away!” Pinkie thrust the tommy gun into the air as she called out into the cool dusk air. Mike smiled and shook his head as he pulled his mask up over the lower half of his face, making it look like a skeleton. He thought to himself, I can’t believe I’m actually doing this, and with that, the dynamic duo took off, thundering down the street in the dead of night.