That day I'd first met her is a bit blurry in my mind- I can remember her clearly enough, and then, oddly enough, I'd let her into my house. I don't know what I was thinking, or if I'd had a bit too much to drink, and she was just a hallucination as a result of the booze. I knew it wasn't, though, because I specifically remember not being drunk, and I could feel the touch of her...somehow I just knew, I don't know the details. I'm honestly not sure why I'd let her in, or why I'd decided to show her even the slightest bit of hospitality. She looked like a monster, lying silently in the grass outside the wire fence surrounding my property. The darkness made it hard to make out any distinct features, the only remotely specific things I could make out was that it was tall, and its tired, slitted eyes shone like sapphires in the moonlight. I blush sometimes when I remember that I actually thought of them like that, even more so when I finally managed to get her inside and got a good look at what she was wearing. The dress itself was almost black, ornate and finely decorated in every way, even going so far as to accentuate her curves. I can still remember the way the dark fur covering her entire body looked in the yellow glow cast by the table lamp set next to the couch she sat on, light and dark colliding as the thing just dozed on my couch, its short, rounded muzzle wrinkling as it slept. It had a singular, white stripe running from the roots in her scalp all the way to the tip. Its voluptuous hair bounced as its head turned, facing the back of the couch as it shifted, making the furniture beneath it groan in response.
I sighed as I sat on the love-seat adjacent to the couch, watching the horned creature with interest, wondering what it was. I felt odd for staring at someone while they were asleep, but I couldn't help but stare- she was like...like...Aphrodite or something, from greek mythology. That...that was a bit of an overstatement now that I think about it...of course I've never seen Aprhodite, but this was what she probably looked like, if she ever existed. Tall, a bountiful chest, silky and voluminous hair, and just a generally captivating appearance. Minus the expansive wings, horn, and general...furriness. Point is, anyway, that she was beautiful, moreso than any other model on T.V. or in the newspaper advertisements. I realized that this thing, whatever it was, had hooves, forcing me to the conclusion that this...this...(person? Hybrid? What kind of thing is she, anyway?) was at least loosely connected with horses or something in its genetic...line? I think that's the right term.
Did that mean....ewwwww!!!!!!
The mare/woman/thing shifted in her sleep, forcing me out of my haze. I shook my head, and stood, rubbing my eyes as I began walking across the living room. Checking the locks on all the doors before heading to bed, I drew the curtains closed around the house, not wanting a nosy neighbor to find out I was housing a...a...
Anthro? Furry? The thought that she was a cosplayer or something crossed my mind, and I knew some of those people put effort into their costumes. If this was a cosplayer, she definitely went all out in her effort to appear as equine as possible. It was a possibility, though not a very likely one- if nothing else, the costume was too detailed. The dress itself was enough, but the rest of the thing was just too...too...over the top, I guess? She looked like she'd be something in a fantasy novel, a sorceress or something like that.
Rarity became remotely aware that something wet was being applied to her face. She assumed that one of her followers had actually taken initiative, and was attempting to rouse her. Water was being applied every so often by a wet rag, rubbing at her eyes and muzzle gently.
'We shall reward our servant for their actions,' a voice purred, filtering into her head 'many of them were much too cowardly.'
She knew the voice well, she shared this body with it, or rather her, after all.
'Indeed,' Rarity responded, feeling the rag brush at her forehead 'where do you suppose we are?'
'I haven't the slightest, I know nothing more than you.'
'I can feel ourselves waking.' Rarity observed.
'There was no need to alert me- I can feel it as well.'
Her eyes fluttered open, and the cloth formerly dabbing at her face withdrew itself, as if it were afraid.
"Wh- Who are you?" it asked, its roundish face full of fear "What are you?"
Rarity barely registered that the thing had spoken, much less the rag in its hand. It sounded like a mare, still young if her guess was correct. Her throat burned, rendering her unable to speak to the creature. She'd expected Nightmare to speak her piece, demanding she be respected as the queen that she was, ('queen' spelled with a capital 'Q', that is), and the like. There was no demand for respect, there was no threat on the creature's life, there wasn't even so much as an attempt to sway it to join her legion.
'Cat got your tongue?' Rarity thought, directing the question at the other.
'I find myself not capable of speech,' she stated 'if I was- this unbearable silence would not have lasted this long.'
'Ah, that would explain it.' Rarity thought, her tired expression still facing the thing.
'In case you've forgotten- I CAN hear you.' Nightmare huffed, indignant.
Rarity was about to reply, when the creature began to speak to her, nervously kneading the wet rag in her hands, droplets of water splashing against the carpet as a result. It was obvious that it'd never seen something like her before, if its wide, green eyes, and amazed expression was anything to go by.
"C-can you talk? You..you were just...um...asleep...and- and dirty...I th-thought I'd just...uh...clean you up a bit..."
Rarity nodded, answering the creature's question.
"You...you can?" the thing asked, its eyes going even wider- if such a thing were possible.
'Ignorant foal.' Nightmare stated.
Rarity ignored her, and tried to push herself up, only to have the thing rush over to her, persuading her to sit back.
'We may not have to convince this creature to join us, she seems so attentive already!' Nightmare chuckled.
"Please don't move," it said "I...I don't know how badly you're injured, if you're injured at all..."
Her arms burned as she attempted to lift them, mimicking writing with a quill on parchment. The thing thankfully understood, and scurried out of the room, rag still in hand.
'Quite an odd predicament we find ourselves in, isn't it?'
'None of this would've happened if I hadn't given in to you.' Rarity spat
'Yet you did; no sense crying over spilled milk.'
She could practically see the evil smirk on Nightmare's face, grinning deviously.
'Itcantalkitcantalkshecantalkshecantalk!!!'
That was the only thought that sped through my mind like a bullet as I desperately searched for paper and a pencil. I had no time to break the information down, no time to even check if this was actually, truly, happening.
'It is! It most certainly is!' my mind screamed back, refusing to believe anything else that logic threw in its face.
I tried to calm herself, at least enough to find the ever-important writing utensils for the creature. In the back of my mind, I also began to wonder why I was trying so hard to be nice to the thing. Of course I was being hospitable, but that only went so far! Was this thing like a siren? Somehow commanding her to do as it pleased?
'It's no wonder none of my friends come over...' I thought amusedly, finding my train of thought to be ridiculous.
But, if a possible, actual, winged unicorn was sitting in my living room...then who the hell was I to question what else might happen?
'One,' I thought to myself 'it's only one; I can handle one!'
I finally discovered a pad of notebook paper, hiding beneath some vanilla folders in a desk drawer. Tearing the protective, plastic packaging off, I immediately went to the kitchen, where a mug of miscellaneous pens and pencils sat at the ready. Picking out a #2 pencil, I discovered it to be unsharpened. Placing it back in the porcelain mug, I picked up a pen from the collection, and hurried back to the living room. The dark-coated thing looked up, a hand in its plentiful mane, still idly twirling a lock with its pointer finger.
"Um...th-this was all I c-could find..." I stammered, almost afraid to look the thing in the eye.
'What's wrong with you?' I asked myself as I got barely close enough for the woman/thing to take the pen and pad.
Her slitted eyes met mine, making me shudder. They bore into me, almost questioningly as she held up the pen, as if to say 'What in the blue hell am I supposed to do with this?'.
"I...what?" I asked, confused as to what she wanted "It's a pen."
She tilted her head, an ear flick, and then silence.
"You write with it." I stated, mimicking writing on the pad.
Still nothing.
"May I?" I asked, holding my hands out.
She hesitantly handed me both objects. Tapping the end of the pen, I began writing a short sentence out on the pad.
'Have mercy, if I have to teach this thing to write, I'll kill myself.'
Rarity watched as the creature sat on a small table, scribbling something out on a piece of lined parchment.
'Lined parchment!' Rarity thought to Nightmare 'So strange!'
'Yes, and no quills as well,' Nightmare responded 'such a pity we had to come to this backwater planet.'
'I wouldn't say it's exactly backwater- a bit more...less progressive than Equestria, perhaps.'
'I don't see how you could make that claim,' Nightmare said 'we haven't been outside yet, it could be a volcanic wasteland out there, for all we know.'
'Don't put such horrid ideas into my head,' Rarity replied 'I'd rather not have to think of what that would mean for the both of us.'
'We would be, as your rainbow friend would say, 'royally screwed'.'
Rarity winced, trying to push the thought of her friends out of her mind. She detested what she'd become, and they were forever separated because of it, because of her.
'Oh, come now,' Nightmare cooed 'a lady doesn't be ungracious to her host.'
Rarity lifted her head, it felt heavy, as if filled with lead. Managing to meet the creature's staring eyes, she found it holding the pad of parchment. On it, clearly written in black ink, were the words 'My name is Robin'.
I watched in fascination as the woman took the pad in her hands, and scrutinized it for a moment, reading what I'd written on the pad. She suddenly motioned for the pen, and I complied, handing it to her. This too, was apparently interesting to her, as she inspected the pen with a careful eye, as if inspecting it for blemishes or imperfections.
Her hand awkwardly curved around the writing utensil, and the pen pressed to the paper. It glided silently as I waited for what the woman had written (with baited breath, I'm a bit ashamed to admit).
Finally turning the pad around, I could see what she'd written below my handwriting. In elegant, loopy letters, it said:
'Mv lema as Resadv.'
Then right below that:
'Nirr neno aik Naijhdnero. Koer no.'
The longer I stared, the less sense the writing made. She must speak a different language, but...how would that work? She seemed to understand me just fine a few moments ago...maybe she was taking a wild guess? I don't know- all of this is making my brain hurt.
"Well, uh..." I stopped, unsure how to continue "there's a blanket."
I pointed to the love-seat, where a blanket hung over the back.
"You must be so tired, I know I am."
The woman only continued to stare, unblinkingly at me.
"I'm going to go to bed, my room is down the hall," I said, feeling awkward at the one-sided conversation "come and get me if you need anything."
With that, I left the room, leaving the woman to her own devices. Part of me was screaming that I should stay up until she goes to bed, and then go to sleep myself. I didn't listen. What'd happened already was enough to force myself into bed, and stay there until morning, come hell or high water.
Was I actually sure if she wasn't just some burglar? I shoved that thought out of my mind, if only how ridiculous it sounded. If she did steal something, I was okay with that, if only because I don't have anything of real value lying around the house. Face-down on the bed, I began to wonder if I'd wake up dead tomorrow, if the whole thing was actually an act to get me to fall asleep, and then she'd stab/shoot/whatever-the-hell-else in the middle of the night. Standing, I stood, and locked my bedroom door.
'There,' I thought 'and now-'
I fell onto the bed, sleep and exhaustion taking me. I was perfectly fine with sleeping in my clothes, I'd change them in the morning, anyway.