//------------------------------// // Spike is in Your Bed, Eating Your Doritos (Anonymoose) // Story: Fimfic Authors Are In Your Bed // by Admiral Biscuit //------------------------------// Spike is in Your Bed, Eating Your Doritos Anonymoose Your hand hovers warily over the doorknob to your modest apartment. You’ve had a long day at work, dealing with obnoxious and irate customers. Every Monday for the past few months you have been visited by creatures from another realm. It seems absurd, like something you might read in a bad sci-fi zine, or a two-dollar paperback. But your visitors are nothing like the scaled creatures from Zevron Four, or the green skinned babes from Mars. No, your visitors had to be ponies. Pressing your ear to the door, you hear the loud sound of crunching. With luck, it wouldn’t be Vinyl again, noshing on your extra-cheese Doritos. Please don’t let it be Vinyl again! You cautiously open the door to your apartment, and step through. In the corner of your apartment, sitting on your recycled bed (you still can’t believe that guy was going to just dump it on the verge, it still had years worth of life in it, and only a few unsightly, unidentifiable stains), is a small purple dragon. “Sup,” the little guy says to you. “Uhh, hi?” you reply, unsure what else to say. “Wow, Twilight was right, you are tall… name’s Spike,” he says as he shovels another claw-full of extra-cheese Doritos into his maw. You seriously hope that he brought those Doritos along with him, rather than the more likely scenario of him having raided them from your meagre supplies. “I raided these corn chips from your cupboard, that cool?” You resist the urge to bring your palm to your forehead. “Yeah, that’s cool,” you reply, not really caring if your insincerity is obvious or not. “So, what are you doing here?” Spike scratches his scaly chin with a cheese-dust covered claw, and hums. “Some big problem in Equestria you need me to solve?” you ask. The dragon looks away, and sticks a claw into his green-ear-flap-thing and gives it a good scratch. “Let me guess, love troubles that you just have to talk to someone about?” you say as you throw your hands up in the air. “Nah,” Spike replies. “Nah?” “Yeah… I mean, nah. But yeah, to the nah.” “So…?” “Eh,” the little dragon says with a shrug. “Just wanted to get out of there for a bit. Twilight said you seemed pretty interesting, and I found these magazines she brought—” “I ONLY READ THEM FOR THE ARTICLES!” you yelp. “Yeah, sure, ‘the articles’.” Spike sniggers. “Relax, dude, I’ve got a few magazines under my basket Twilight doesn’t know about as well.” Spike picks up the remote to the TV, and mashes a few buttons. After a bit of playing, he finds the ‘on’ button, and the TV comes to life. “Oh, awesome!” the little dragon cheers. “You guys have hoofball, too! Wanna watch the game?” “Just… let me get a beer first,” you say as you walk towards the kitchen. “Hey, bring me back one two!” Spike calls back over his shoulder. “Oh come on, that play was horseapples!” “Aren’t you a little young to be drinking beer?” you call back as you open your fridge. “I mean, you are a baby dragon after all.” “Uuuuuuuuuuugh, don’t you start that, too,” Spike moans. “I get that back home all the time. ‘Spike, you’re just a baby dragon, you can’t stay up past nine.’ ‘Spike, you’re just a baby dragon, you shouldn’t be saving Empires from ancient evils.’ Blah blah blah. I’ll tell you, I’ve been drinking two hundred year old brandy with Princess Celestia since I was six… I can handle a few mid-strengths.” You shake your head, and grab two beers, hoping it won’t come back and bite you on the ass. “Catch,” you say, as you toss a can across to the dragon. “Cheers,” he replies, before cracking it open and pounding it down. “Jeez, I know you drink hundred year old brandy, or whatever it was, but do you want to slow it down?” you ask the little dragon. “Meh,” he shrugs in reply. “You wouldn’t happen to have any poison joke, would you?” “Any… wait, what?” “NEVER MIND!” the dragon says as he crams another clawful of Doritos into his mouth. ~ “I mean, seriously,” the little dragon slurs at me. “Look at me, Ima dragon… why wouldn’t she want a piece of this?” You look down at the dragon, who is easily a foot and a half shorter than the other ponies that have visited you so far. Logistically speaking, how would he even— “Man, I gotta take a wicked whiz, I’ll be back.” You sit in silence, watching the last of the game, trying to ignore the sound of the drunken little dragon pissing—hopefully—in your toilet. Around you sits maybe twenty odd empty cans, most of which you can’t actually claim responsibility for. You certainly admire the little dragon’s alcohol tolerance. A flush later, and you hear him staggering out again. “Hey, you up for another round?” he calls out as he stumbles into your kitchen. “I *hic* am gunna grab another.” “Uhh, yeah, sure,” you call out. You hear the sound of your fridge door open, then a loud “woosh” sound. “No no no no no!” you hear the little dragon yelp in panic. “What’s happening in there?” you ask as you get to your feet and make your way to the kitchen. “Uhhh, don’t come in here,” the little dragon calls out as your round the corner. When you enter the kitchen, he is standing there with a fire extinguisher in claw, and the smouldering remains of twisted metal and plastic next to him, crackling with a green magical fire. “Uhh, dude, you weren’t too attached to your fridge, were you? ” the dragon asked, “I mean, it looked pretty new.”