A Pony Is In Your Bed, What A Twist
Flutters Is ShyIt's probably for the best you didn't invite a friend over tonight. You'd been meaning to bring in someone else on this whole 'ponies showing up and hogging your bedsheets' thing, getting someone else that knew about all of this would have put a load off your mind.
As it stood, the pony that now stood before you was one that was simply too precious to subject to endless questions, and/or another human constantly looking at them and trying to convince themselves that what they were seeing actually existed.
"Thorry mithter, but in my defenth yer ithebox looked like it had more fire damage than yer thtove..."
The particular mush-mouthed young filly that found her way into your home this Monday happened to be a curly red haired young lass, sporting a pair of purple spectacles on a slightly extended snout. If you were to make an observation, you might just deduce that she had a rather pronounced proboscis.
"Why exactly did you feel the need to set my stove on fire, anyway?" you ask. Thank goodness you invested in a quality fire extinguisher. You were thinking about installing an immediate water dispersal system, but it turned out to be far more expensive than first imagined. God forbid Vinyl come back before you managed to take precautions.
"I didn't thet it on fire...it jutht...thorta happened." She scuffed at the floor, leaving a sooty mark on your rug. At least she has the decency to try and rub it off after the fact. Too bad all that did was make more of a mess.
"Right. And I assume you weren't doing anything that might have contributed to it?"
You wish you could do something more than vaguely chastise this tiny pony, but you aren't cruel enough to be giving out spankings or to simply yell out your frustrations at her. You have some level of self control, after all.
"I wath...making you thome peppermint?" Her slight speech impediment is just on the cusp of being annoying, right over from being adorable. Whatever she had been making smelled sweet, at least. "You're running low on thupplieth, mithter. I had to repurpothe yer marthmallowths to thubtitute for mollathith. Altho, yer out of thugar."
Well it was one thing for them to invade your personal space, but wasting your food and burning it? To top it off, she apparently destroyed your backup marshmallows! Sure, they were three years old, and they were the weird pink and white variety pack, but it had been nice knowing that if you ever wanted them you could have them.
"Well I guess it's too bad everything got burned up then," you mutter, trying to preemptively console her.
"Only the latht batch got toathted, I made three other batcheth, jutht thee!" she proclaimed, dashing back into the kitchen. You decide to follow, simply for the sake of making sure she doesn't accidentally set something else on fire..
You step into the kitchen, to see that indeed, there were three trays that had been put to the side. On them were a smattering of frankly beautifully made twisted candy. If you weren't witness to them in your own home, you would have assumed they had been made by a professional. She offered you a piece, and you popped it into your mouth. A blast of flavor explodes in your mouth, the candy melting like the sweet nectar of the gods. It's still a bit hot, even though she pulled it out of the fridge.
It's at this that you notice something. This little pony didn't have a horn, and none of them had all that good control without one. How did she twist the candy?
"How did you twist the candy?" you ask.
"Oh! I hope you don't mind mithter, I uthed my mouth for the twithting, but then I put it right back in tho anything dirty thould be cooked right off!" she declared with a beaming smile.
That was... "Wait, but that has to be burning hot, you're telling me you just stuck that in your mouth? How did you manage not to burn yourself? You are alright, right?"
"Oh, I'm fine, I have calutheth in my mouth, it hurt when I firtht thtarted, but I found I wath really pathoinate about making peppermint. Tho I kept with it, and now I can do it without it hurting. Thome ponies find they can do thingth right off the bat, but otherth have to work really hard to make it work with what they really like doing. It might take time, and thome major thacrifithithe, like a difficulty to pronounth assssssssssssssssssssssssssssssound," she giggled with her effort, so apparently it is still possible for her to make s's, it's just really hard. "But I wouldn't trade being able to talk 'normal', " she punctuated this with two outstretched hooves making air quotes, "for thith anyway. But you like it, right?"
You have to admit, it is quite delicious.
"I have to ask," you begin, popping another strand of candy in your mouth, "You seem rather calm about all this. If I was in your situation, finding myself in a strangers home, I'd no doubt be panicking..." you trail off, noticing that this filly's face has a look of amusement stamped on it.
"Mith Twilight told everypony that 'wall' thingy was thin or thomething, and that ponieth were getting thucked into your world every week. She thaid you were a nithe thtallion, and that if we found ourthelfth here we thould thow you rethpect, theeing ath we're invading your home." So the purple porn thief was telling others about you? You aren't sure whether to take that as a good thing or not...
"Tho when I found mythelf here, I thought I'd thay thanks for looking after nithe mareth like like Twilight and mith Flutterthy...thorry about yer thtove, again..."
Oh yes, the stove. You almost managed to forget. As it stood, you'll probably have to replace the entire thing. Along with your refrigerator. Maybe you could get a tax write off for someone else setting them on fire? Or maybe just blame it on the landlord. No one likes him anyway...
"So..." you try to start again, heading this conversation towards a less confrontational subject, "Wanna watch some cartoons?"
~------~
You treated the little tyke to a wide selection of cartoons. GOOD cartoons, the old Disney and Warner Brothers ones, God forbid you had tried to submit a sentient being to something like "Uncle Grandpa". All of today's cartoons were lacking, save for a scant few.
You ordered a veggie-lovers pizza to share with her, and she actually seemed to like the combination of cheese, tomato sauce, and assorted vegetables. After a few hours, it became readily apparent that the two of you were fast approaching a state of unconsciousness. You set the couch up with a smattering of blankets and a big, fluffy pillow. Anything to be hospitable. And this way, you might actually spend a Monday night without a random pony trying to sleep in your bed...It hits you like a brick. In your haste to discover the source of smoke coming from the kitchen, you have yet to check on your room.
Opening the door you find...nothing. Nothing is wrong. Everything is exactly how you left it, Your bed is just as it was when you went into work this morning, unmade with a sheet dragging on the floor. Well that's a nice surprise. You turn off the light, and tuck yourself in, only to be woken up a scant hour and a half later.
"Mithter?"
You would groan, but that would prove to be too much of an effort. Instead you settle for rolling over, and letting out a strained "What?"
" I don't mean to athk..." her question is punctuated by a loud crack that permeates the room. A flash of light bleeds in through your closed curtains, and you remember the angry looking clouds that loomed overhead as you made your way home from work. It seems you slept through the start of it. You were about to tell the little pony to suck it up and just go back to sleep, but another loud crack echoing around your room is accompanied by a sudden source of warmth, pressing against your side. The face of the filly has also disappeared from the lip of the bed. If you were a gambling sort of person, you might put 20 to 1 odds as to what had happened. But seeing as you aren't a betting individual, you decide to follow up your assumption with some fact checking, just to be sure.
Dragging the sheet to the side, you're welcomed to the sight of a certain red headed filly trembling against you. Your protests and arguments die on your tongue, and you let out a long sigh as you draw her up to your chest.
"Fine. But the first snore, and you're going back to the couch."
"Thankth mithter."
Something occurs to you then, which causes a small laugh to escape.
"So, seeing as you're probably not going to be here when I wake up, I should probably ask you now what your name is." You can't believe you forgot to ask, but something about an impossible life form invading your home leads to you forgetting certain social stuff.
"My nameth Twitht!" she declares, grabbing the sheet and covering herself with a giggle.
She makes a candy that's traditionally twisted, and her name is Twist. You're beginning to think these ponies might have some sort of conspiracy going on with the naming process.
Monday night. What do you know, there's a pony in your bed.
What a Twist.