//------------------------------// // One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Frickin' Blue Fish // Story: The Doctor is In // by Weezil_Brony //------------------------------//          Applejack was the first to wake in her house, as was the case every morning. Upon the command of the rooster outside, she slowly faded out of the realms of her unconscious mind, and her eyes opened to the dawn’s early light as it shone through the crack of her curtains and weakly illuminated her face. She released a bellowing yawn, before stretching out her legs underneath her hoof-made quilt that was a gift from Granny Smith several years ago, and after pulling the covers aside, she inspected the clock on the wall above the door.         It’s only five thirty-eight? she wondered, licking her dry chops noisily. Roosters don’t normally call fer another half-hour. Of course, since the difference in time was nothing too significant, the curiosity slipped from her mind, replaced by the day's’ planned activities; the last of the apples were to be stored in the cellar, and then she was supposed to assist Pinkie with preparing the Town Square for the upcoming welcoming event; an event for a certain space being of which Applejack did not think deserved so warm a welcome.         The nerve of that fella, she thought bitterly as she took the hat off of her nightstand and set it on her back. Tryin’ t’ corrupt mah sister like that. She pushed the door of her bedroom open and stepped into the hall; ahead of her, there was a bedroom on the end of the hall, which took a ninety-degree turn to the left and down a flight of steps. To her left, there was the bathroom; her present destination.         The bathroom door was opened to reveal a simple bathroom; a small toilet in the back-right corner, with a sink to the left of it and a bathtub-cum-shower adorned with an apple-themed shower curtain was pressed to the far-left wall, occupying the entire wallspace. She set the hat on the countertop of the sink before reaching a hoof into the shower around the edge of the curtain to turn the faucet on.         Applejack flinched -as she did every morning- when the utter silence of the morning was shattered by the heavy cascading of water against the tub floor. A single switch-flip later, and the warming water showered from the spout that protruded from the wall almost to the ceiling. She put a hoof under the water to test the temperature; it was still cold, but warming quickly.         She sighed contentedly. At least we nipped that problem in th’ bud early, she thought optimistically. Who knows what kinda sinister things he’d have her doin’ if we didn’t catch him?         Suddenly, she heard something peculiar; a series of loud thuds downstairs, followed by a familiar voice groaning in pain.         Applebloom?         Turning away from the bathtub, she exited the room -shutting the door so that the fountain of continually-pounding liquid didn’t wake the rest of the house- and trotted down the steps to see that Applebloom was sprawled on the floor in front of the doorless entryway inside, gripping her back-left hoof and seething in pain through her teeth.         “Applebloom?” she called quietly. “What happened?”         “Stubbed mah hoof on the doorframe,” she groaned. “Tripped… ow…”         Applejack was quick to assist her sister to her three uninjured hooves, allowing Applebloom to lean on her back for support. “What were ya doin’ outside in the first place?” she wondered.         “I uh…” Her sister’s reluctance to answer the question caused Applejack to become suspicious.         “You what, Applebloom?” she questioned sternly.         “I… forgot something in the clubhouse!” she suddenly explained. “That’s what I wanted t’ say! Ah just woke up, so mah words are gettin’ mixed up.” When she looked up to see Applejack’s disbelieving and unimpressed stare, she gulped audibly. “Oh, alright… Me an’ the other girls were gonna play a prank on Diamond Tiara.”         The answer caught Applejack off guard; she had expected Applebloom to say that she was just hanging out with the alien. “A prank?” she parroted, raising an eyebrow.         “Yeah!” Applebloom said, bobbing her head. “We were all just at the clubhouse planin’ what we were gonna do!”         “And just what would that be?” Applejack inquired. I didn’t take mah lil’ sister for a prankster.         “We didn’t really agree on anything,” she replied. “We were gonna go talk t’ Pinkie for ideas after school.”         Applejack inspected her little sister with scrutiny, searching for any sort of tell that she was lying. Unfortunately, she couldn’t find any trace of deceit in her sister’s body language. Huh… Guess she’s tellin’ the truth, she mentally concluded. “Ah know that filly’s been causin’ y’all all sorts of trouble, but remember what I said ‘bout gettin’ revenge?”         “You’re right!” Applebloom suddenly -and unexpectedly- ceded. “I should leave it to the adults to deal with it. I’m sorry, Applejack.” She then looked up at her with large, apologetic eyes.         Applejack didn’t buy it. “Just don’t go prankin’ yer classmates, okay?”         “Okay!” Her face suddenly contorted into one of intrigue, and her ears flicked. “...Is that runnin’ water?”         “Yes, it is,” Applejack replied. “I was just gettin’ ready t’ take a shower before y’all done banged up yer hoof.”         “Did ya remember t’ pull out the drain plug first?” Applebloom then inquired. “I think I can hear it spillin’ over.”         Applejack’s eyes shot open -completely disregarding her early-morning fatigue- and she flipped around, bolting up the stairs. Oh, horseapples! Every time!         -Insert Austin Powers Wipe Here-         She stuck to the shadows; no one could have ever hoped to have found her, as she did not want to be seen. The Songstress was a riddle, wrapped up in a mystery, inside of an enigma. She dashed along the dirt path for a while, with such speed and elegance that would render any other speechless. But alas, she soon realized that slow and steady wins the race, and she slowed herself to a graceful canter.         Sweetie Belle threw herself into a full-on gallop for approximately forty-eight seconds, before her sore limbs forced her to slow down to a fraction of her former speed. Her breath came in heavy, loud heaves, and she shook her head frantically to shake the fatigue out of her eyes.         Soon, she caught sight of her target; the small town of Ponyville. It would be easy enough for her to navigate the streets without being seen, and she did just that. With practiced discipline, the Songstress dashed between houses and alleyways as quiet as a dead mouse.         Pushing herself far past comfort, Sweetie Belle sprinted straight down the central road, panting heavily and obnoxiously. Luckily, it was early enough that no one was awake to behold the ridiculous spectacle that played out in the middle of town.         Finally, she saw her final destination in the distance; Carousel Boutique. Her mission? To enter the building undetected and assume the facade that she had never left in the first place; a feat that was far from difficult for the Songstress. Using her amazing acrobatic abilities, she scaled the building until she reached an open window, where she climbed in to find her bedroom.         Sweetie Belle flung the front door open, resulting in a loud slam! only accentuated by her horribly-fierce breathing. Ahead of her, Rarity had passed out on a desk, barely shifting in response to the noise. Sweetie Belle then proceeded to the door on the opposite side of the room -breathing as though she had a medical problem with her lungs- before slamming that door open as well. Stepping through, she found the stairs, and after -strenuously and painfully- scaling the steps, she walked through her open door and jumped into bed, groaning loudly into her pillow.         Her mission was complete; no one would ever know that the Songstress had left.         -Insert Austin Powers Wipe Here-         Scootaloo had brought her scooter to the meeting, and therefore found that she could reach Ponyville in only a matter of minutes. She had offered Sweetie Belle a ride, but was turned down on account of Sweetie Belle saying something about how the Songstress needed no such device to travel.         She’s taking this way too seriously, she thought as she sped along the dirt path, which soon became cobblestone as she neared the city limits. The ride had become somewhat monotonous -all of the buildings around her had begun to blend into a uniform beige color as she sped past them- and she almost passed out. A stray rock woke her up, however, and she soon saw her destination; a dark alley between two houses.         She pulled the scooter into the dark passageway, stopping at the far end. There lay a single cardboard box, several pieces of newspaper, and a half-eaten carrot. Sighing abysmally, she got off of her scooter, leaning it against the side of one building. She then climbed into the cardboard box, covering herself up with the newspapers. She took one particular article and began to read it; Couple Dies in Spontaneous Combustion Accident; Filly is Left Homeless         Scootaloo felt tears welling up in her eyes, and she sobbed quietly into her hooves until she fell into a fitful sleep.         A stray rock woke her up, however, and she soon saw her destination; a simple beige-painted house with an open window on the first floor on the side of the house.         She rubbed the side of her head, hanging onto the scooter with the other. Why do I keep having that weird dream? she wondered. She soon slowed her scooter down with her wings, and after climbing off, she set the scooter up against the side of the house. Spotting a nearby cardboard box, she placed that on the ground under the window, using it as a stepping stool to climb through the open window. The room she found was actually her own; she immediately recognized all of the homemade Rainbow Dash posters.         Sighing contentedly, she flopped into her bed, almost immediately falling into a comfortable sleep.         -Insert Austin Powers Wipe Here-         The doctor quickly learned a very important tidbit of information the moment the three fillies had left; Wait, how the hell am I gonna get back?         The day’s light was still dim, though slightly more prominent than when he woke up. The orchard around him, however, was like a labyrinth of which he was horribly lost inside. His chafing only increased in intensity as he walked aimlessly amongst the trees, unsure of where he was going.         Well this is just frickin’ perfect, he thought cynically to himself. They couldn’t have at least led me out of this god-forsaken place? It reminds me of the time I had spent a month trapped in a corn maze in Bruges. It was a family reunion, and I had nothing to eat but the corn of which the maze was made out of… Why am I narrating my thoughts like this? I know it was a family reunion, so why do I have to go over every goddamn detail in my own frickin’ mind?         He stopped walking then, resigning to sit down at the base of a tree and to hold his face in his hands. This place is ruining me, he thought abysmally. Not only is it curbing my lust for evil, but now it’s morphing my inner monologues! What the hell am I gonna do now?         Suddenly, something hard hit the top of his head, eliciting a frustrated groan from the criminal mastermind. He quickly flipped his head around -twisting his torso for a better view- to see what had assaulted him. However, all that he saw was more of the labyrinthian orchard.         What the hell was that? he wondered, feeling the ground around him for the offending object. Eventually, his hand fell upon a small, round object, and upon further inspection, saw that it was an apple. He looked up, and saw a couple more apples hanging from the branches; far fewer than what an apple tree should bear, meaning that it was recently harvested.         ...Ah.         He rolled his eyes, silently berating the tree for its inability to hang onto a single red apple, before standing back up with a groan of effort. Well, I’d better start walking. An automatic chair isn’t gonna just saunter down and whisk me away. Stretching out his legs, he continued walking through the maze of trees, tossing the apple behind him uncaringly.         It felt like hours to the doctor -though the sky’s slight lightening signified that only a few minutes had passed- as he walked down the lines of trees. Eventually, he did find a break in the orchard, only to find himself in another puzzling situation. Somehow, he had made the transition from being lost in an orchard, to being lost in a forest; a dark, eerie forest. The doctor mumbled incoherent nothings under his breath.         Upon his utterance of said nothings, he heard something snap behind him; a twig, most likely. His eyes shot open, but he didn’t stop walking. If something’s following me, he reasoned, then I can’t let him know that I know. I need to catch him off guard. So, he kept walking for several more minutes. After the first noise, the trailing entity seemed to use less caution when following, and several other noises could be heard; other twigs breaking, rocks being tapped, leaves and other shrubbery rustling. All the while his eyes continually scanned the forest floor for anything he could use as a weapon. ...No… No, I’m not strong enough for that… Oh! There lay a long, gnarled root almost as tall as he was that laid on the forest floor. He exaggeratedly held his back with his hands for a moment, releasing a faux groan of discomfort. I’ll make him think I’m using the root as a cane, he thought with a wry grin. The poor imbecile won’t know what hit him! He bent down to pick up the root... ...And he never got the chance, as something hard and heavy clocked him upside the head from behind, sending him sprawling to the ground. Laying on his stomach, he now gripped his head, releasing a real groan of pain and discomfort. “That frickin’ hurt!” he shouted, before pushing himself over to roll onto his back. He now got a good look of his assailant… and released a sigh of disappointment. Of course it’s a zebra. Why the hell wouldn’t it be a zebra? Before him stood a… small zebra, adorned with several ring-like pieces of jewelry and a mane stylized into a monochromatic mohawk. The zebra tossed something up and down in her hoof; he recognized it as a horseshoe. After a moment of silence, he voiced his primary concern. “Did you just bean me with a frickin’ horseshoe?” His head throbbed in great agony, and he pressed his hand harder into the back of his head. “I haven’t seen anything like you before,” she deflected, speaking in a deep, somewhat-sultry voice; a great and welcome change from everything he had been listening to during his brief stay. “Creatures like you; are there any more?” “Why the hell would I tell you that?” he questioned, rubbing his head. “Who the hell are you anyway?” “If you continue to be such a bother,” she said with a grin, “There’s a chance that I might throw another.” Eyeing the horseshoe, he rolls his eyes. “Fine, I’m alone. You know you can get someone frickin’ killed doing that, right? I mean who throws a horseshoe? Honestly.” Before the zebra could respond, he added, “Wait, are you rhyming on purpose?” The zebra flashed him a toothy grin, and he buried his face in his free hand. “I hate this place.” “Then why would you come here?” she inquired. “This is a story I would like to hear.” “You can’t rhyme hear and here,” he said snarkily. “And what are you, my therapist? That’s impossible, because I had him liquidated thirty-four years ago. What, you think I’ll just pour my life’s story out to anyone that frickin’ asks for it?” The zebra raised an eyebrow expectantly. “Very well then,” he said nonchalantly. “It was a beautiful Belgian day…” -Insert Austin Powers Wipe Here-         ELEVEN MINUTES LATER         “...and now I’m living in the storybook of a prepubescent girl,” he concluded. In the short amount of time, he had taken to sitting in a small nook between two large tree roots, with the as-of-yet unnamed zebra standing in front of him a dozen feet away. Her eyes were opened wide, and her jaw hung agape only slightly as he finished his life’s story.         He stared at her expectantly, motioning with his hand for her to say something. “Don’t look at me like I’m some frickin’ pariah; speak!”         Slowly, she closed her open mouth, and she cleared her throat loudly. “...I’m not sure how to proceed,” she admitted, “but this is my warning; I suggest that you heed.         “These forests are dangerous,” she continued, “not a safe place to be. Bringing you down? It was easy for me.”         The doctor scoffed. “No one likes a braggart.”         “It will be easier for the other animals of the Everfree,” she continued, ignoring him, “to make you a meal. I suggest that you flee.”         “Hmm? Oh, you know what? I never thought about that!” he said with heavy sarcasm. “Leave the forest? Why didn’t I just do that? ...Oh yeah, because I’m frickin’ lost, that’s why!”         “I will guide you out of this place,” she told him. “I hope that there isn’t danger to face.”         “You and me both,” he replied, standing up shakily from his spot on the ground. When he looked back up, he saw that she was staring at his wrist; specifically, the massive red stain. He followed her gaze, before shrugging it off. “Oh relax; it’s my blood.”         Instead of saying anything, the still-unnamed zebra simply turned around, and began walking away. The doctor took this as a sign that they were leaving, and he trailed behind her silently, keeping to his thoughts.         She’s fairly adept at throwing horseshoes, he noted, eyeing the -mare? Is a female zebra a mare? he pondered- his gaze drifting down to the strange swirl insignia on her flank. Does that whole communistic talent assignment apply to zebras as well? And if so, just what is that squiggly nonsense supposed to represent? Is she a frickin’ Picasso enthusiast?         Surprisingly, the trip to the edge of the forest was only a ten-minute walk; ten minutes of hell nonetheless, as the doctors’ legs continued to burn and ache both from exertion and from chafing. They stopped at the edge of the clearing, and only a few feet away, there sat Fluttershy’s cottage. Through a window on the second floor, he saw that there was a light flickering inside.         She must be awake, he deduced. Good. She can fix me up a decent breakfast. He turned towards the zebra, who in turn looked back at him. “Good job,” he said with a nod. “Tell me; what was your name again?”         “Zecora,” she replied. “...That is my name. Now I-”         “Okay, can we knock off the Doctor Seuss crap?” he questioned-slashed-pleaded. “I don’t need your help anymore. I can bridge the gap.”         Zecora merely nodded -with a sneer the likes of which the doctor found rather unsettling- before ducking back into the forest. After a moment of looking back at her exit, he took a deep breath, and turned back towards the cottage. She seems fairly competent in completing miscellaneous assignments.         Halfway to the cottage, however, he stopped in his tracks, taking to rubbing his temples with his fingers furiously.         ...God damnit.