Chapter 5 - In Serious Need of a Drink
An errant beam of sunlight weaseled its way through my eyelids, igniting a firestorm of agony inside my skull. What the heck did I do last night? I asked myself as I tried to cover my eyes in a miserable attempt to ease the discomfort. It would be easy to blame a hangover... if I were the type to drink enough to warrant one. The fact is that I don’t drink enough to even know what it means to be buzzed, never mind hungover. Somebody turn down the bloody sun!
As I brought up my arm, I noticed that something wasn’t quite right. For one, my entire body felt decidedly off—muscles tight in the wrong places, limbs bending the wrong way, the fact that I felt like I’m wearing some kind of skin-tight fleece bodysuit. It all just felt so very, very wrong. Besides, the tinkling of glass bottles is not usually something heard in substitution for the rustling of bed sheets. Just what in the heck? How did this even...?
“Berry?” a childish female voice called out from the next room. “C’mon, Berry! You need to get up or else I won’t be able to eat before school!” Did I leave the television on after whatever bender I went on last night? I shrugged off what surely had to be some kid’s show and tried to go back to sleep. It’s not like I was missing My Little Pony or anything like that. Sure, it’s a show intended for little girls, and I’m a twenty something male. So what? It’s genuinely charming, happy, arguably well written, and it has plenty of voice actors from my childhood. Even better, there are so many unique characters, foreground or not, to ship!
A banging, or maybe it was just knocking, at my door reignited the pain in my skull. “Huh, whozat?” I muttered lazily, noting the odd way my voice sounded. Each word only compounded the migraine—I refused to admit this was a hangover at this point—and while opening my eyes would only make things worse, I knew I had to. Being unable to remember the previous night and waking up with a head-splitting migraine was bad enough, but was there really some strange person in my hou— “What the? This isn’t my house.”
Two important details stood out through the haze of my not-hangover. Firstly, I wasn’t in my tidy room at home, with cookbooks and sci-fi on my bookshelf, and a computer set-up with a large flatscreen TV for a monitor. No, I was in a pigsty. Empty wine, whiskey, and vodka bottles absolutely littered the room, catching the light to create a dazzling carpet of agony as I sat up. There were bottles jutting out of the dresser, bottles on the windowsill, and bottles balanced atop other bottles. Heck, I’m pretty sure there’s an unopened bottle beneath this pillow, never mind what I’m hoping is a bottle pressed up against my... against my... Sweet merciful everything!
Sweeping aside the blanket and sending countless bottles tumbling to the floor, I looked down at my body. Well, for one, it was certainly not mine. I did not have hooves, light grayish mulberry fur, or a moderate cerise tail, and I most certainly didn’t have teats or a vajayjay! For that matter, I didn’t own a... oh sweet Jesus in heaven! Ew! Why am I a pony mare and why is there one of those between my legs!?
“Eugh, gross!” Without thinking, I defied the natural order of things and picked up the object with my hoof—double gross!—and tossed it across the room. It landed with satisfying—aw, triple gross, brain!—thump behind the one dresser not absolutely covered in discarded liquor bottles. “Great, now I’ve gotta wash my hand, er hoof.”
“Berry, did you wet the bed again?” that young girl’s voice called out once more, this time very clearly on the other side of the door. There was something about her tone of voice, too. It sounded both teasing and disappointed. “Sometimes I wonder whom mom wanted who to watch.”
“No, I uh, I just saw a huge spider on my bed is all. Totally freaked me out,” I lied quickly. Even if this was all some horrific nightmare doomed to become some sort of humiliation conga resultant of my own repressed sexuality, I couldn’t just say to a child, I wet my bed with something, but it certainly wasn’t pee... if you know what I mean. Gross, even just thinking like that, about a pony no less, made my skin crawl. “I’ll be out in a minute.”
Stumbling out of the bed, I tried to make my way across the room. Walking on all fours was hard enough on a carpet of glass, but at least this nightmare was generous enough to grant me enough muscle memory to walk with something close to competency. I got as far as the vanity, which was—surprise, surprise—covered in empty bottles and what looked like spilled wine, when I stopped and took a look at myself in the mirror. A mop of curly hair adorned the top of my head and spilling down the back of my neck. Two red-rimmed pools of dark pink stared back at me, but I was more concerned by a dark stain in the fur around my muzzle. Normally, I would have been anything but glad to assume that it was blood, but honestly? If I was who I thought I was, which a quick glance at my butt—yup, a bunch of grapes and a strawberry—revealed to be the case, then the stain might be indicative that, yes, the fandom was right; Berry Punch is an alcoholic.
Berry Punch... hmm... I pondered the name for a second, trying to recall what I knew about that particular background pony. Well, besides being alcoholic, I knew she had a little sister. Her name was Piña Colada, if I recalled correctly, and I was pretty sure I did. There wasn’t much in my headcanon when it came to shipping, mostly because I’d never paid Berry much attention when it came to figuring out which ponies would live happily ever after with who. The alcoholic part of her public image was kind of a detractor for my interests. I mean, alcoholics don’t live happily ever after. They died alone, either of liver failure or choking on their own vomit, just like my old man.
I mean, I suppose I could have imagined her with somepony like Time Turner or Caramel. They both seemed like nice, stable stallions, and if she were to ever kick her alcoholism, she’d definitely need a pillar to help hold her up. If she really does own a vineyard or a winery, that might make things a bit more difficult, but at least she’d be contributing to the household instead of living off of whoever she ended up with. Then again, a pony like Mac might also have been a good choice. He was definitely a mellow enough guy, but wasn’t afraid to speak his mind when it was called for. Then again, what if he was actually with Cheerilee? What if he was a wife-beater? A guy who kicked trees all day either had aggression issues, or poured his anger into his work. Oooh, this was definitely a difficult ship to work out with this body’s hangover.
The filly’s knocking came once more, much more insistently this time. “Come on! You know I can’t reach the counter, otherwise I’d make my own toast!”
Snapped out of my shipping mode, I looked back to the door. If this were a dream, interesting was definitely a possible direction for this to take. I mean, wasn’t that every brony’s dream: to go to Equestria and live the life of a pony? Yeah, I might have chosen someone with a better reputation and more stable social standing, like Rarity, but Berry wasn’t the worst option. It could’ve been worse, I could have been Snips, Snails, or—heaven forbid—Spike.
“Right. Coming!” In just three surprisingly nimble strides, I made it to the door and pulled it open. Getting my first in-person look at the adorable heliotrope filly that was to be my ‘little sister’, I kind of felt bad for holding her up. With a glance at the clock in the hallway, which read six forty three—for some reason, I expected it to be way later—in the morning, I gave the little filly an apologetic smile. “Sorry to keep you waiting, Piña, you must be starving.” Saying that, my own stomach gave a roar of approval as if to reaffirm the sentiment. “Tell you what,” I said, passing beside her and entering the hall. “I’m going to do something special for you to make up for this.”
Not wanting to be left behind, Piña quickly trotted after me before racing ahead. The entire trip to the kitchen was lead by the little one, and the whole time, she kept giving me these weird looks. I mean, you’d swear by the way she was looking at me that Berry never offered to do special things for her, or if she did offer, she certainly never meant it. Gotta fix that.
Maybe it was the brony in me, the inability to say no to a hungry child, or the desire to see how this all played out, but for the time being, finding out what’s going on dropped off my priorities entirely. Once I meandered into the kitchen, I quickly realized that there was a reason she wanted toast. The stove and most of the countertops were covered in, as if the trend wasn’t already clear by this point, empties. Honestly, is this mare a hoarder?
“Uh... oh my,” I groaned. “Did I do all that?”
Looking at me like I’m a complete drunken idiot, she nodded her head before her face took on an almost pained expression. “Yes, sis.”
I glanced around the kitchen in a panic. This was no way for anybody to live. “That empty box there,” I stammer, pointing to a large, empty box overturned in the corner. “Can you take those papers off that box and bring it over?” She gave me another confused look, but pushed off the papers and slid the box across the floor to me. “I’ve apparently really let myself go and need to clean all of this up. I’ll take all of these and everything in my room to a recycler.” I made quick work of the counters from there, overturning the box and brushing the bottles into it.
After a few moments of rattling around in the cupboards and fridge, I had a large bowl set up on the counter, along with two eggs, a set of tongs, a grapefruit, cinnamon, milk, butter, a bag of bread, and vanilla. On the stove, I’d set a large nonstick pan on the stove at a medium high heat and thanked whatever luck I had that the ponies here had electric ovens and stoves. Gas ranges were great if you didn’t mind having a huge fire hazard in your kitchen.
“What are you doing?” she asked curiously, watching me whisk the eggs, milk, and cinnamon together in the bowl. I kinda had to agree that there was something odd about all this. I mean, there was no way that hooves could at all work this way. Yet there I was, a wire whisk strangely stuck to the bottom of one hoof as I stood precariously on two legs, cradling the bowl to my chest. “You can’t cook! Do you even remember what happened to the scrambled eggs?”
Oh crap, I thought, not ceasing my whisking. Am I really in the body of a pony who can’t cook? It occurred to me how strange this would seem. After all, it wasn’t every day a lethal chef got replaced with someone with the chops to cook a three course meal and still be able to put out a magnificent desert. Putting on my best poker face, I glanced back over my shoulder to give her a reassuring smile. “Well, you know how I’m always at Pinkie’s parties?” I replied, making it up as I went. “I got to talking with her about how bad a cook I am, and she offered to give me lessons.”
Her big aquamarine eyes lit up with wonder as she watched me, and a smile near split her face in half. It’d be creepy if it weren’t so damn adorable. “You actually got Pinkie Pie to teach you to cook?” It wasn’t so much a question as it was a cheer. “Does that mean we’ll have something other than cabbage and bean sprouts for dinner tonight?”
Cabbage and bean sprouts? Jeeze, I bet she even just served them raw! Poor kid, I mused, returning the bowl to the counter and grabbing a slice of bread in the tongs. Quickly, I dunked the bread in the mixture before dropping it into the now sizzling pan before repeating the same process with another slice. “Sure thing, kiddo,” I replied, keeping a mental count of elapsed seconds as I watched the french toast. “How’s a hearty vegetable soup and biscuits sound?”
“Really?” she squealed, nearly causing me to drop the bread as I flipped the two slices. Ouch, my ears. “That sounds awesome! Can you really make it?”
I smiled, removing the pan from the heat and grabbing the toast with the tongs. “Sure! If you’re worried, I can even go to the library and write down a recipe from a cookbook,” I answered confidently. In truth, I didn’t even need a recipe for vegetable soup or biscuits; they were practically my specialty! I’d probably check in at the library anyway, if nothing else than to see if Twilight knew anything about body swap spells. There was no need to be foolish and decide right away that this was a dream to just be lived out until I woke. You needed a back-up plan, even if there wasn’t a problem. “Gotta be safe with cooking, ‘cause most cases of food poisoning occur in the home.”
Okay, maybe that wasn’t the best thing to say to her as I cut the grapefruit in half and placed it on her plate. “Okay, that sounded worse for me than it should have,” I apologized, putting her plate in front of her. “I guarantee that this is safe to eat, or there isn’t a strawberry on my behind.”
She giggled at that comment, but it looked like I at least assuaged her fears. As I repeated the process with two more slices of bread, returning the pan to the burner, I began to hum a cheerful little ditty. Maybe this dream wasn’t so bad. It wasn’t my ideal pony dream by any stretch of the mind, but there were worse things than being an alcoholic mare or introducing her sister to decent food. She looked like she was really enjoying it, even without any maple syrup or icing sugar.
That reminded me that Berry’s fridge and pantry were woefully empty. The only food to be found was bread, milk, cereal, cabbage, bean sprouts, and the odd fruit to ensure they didn’t get scurvy. That was almost cruel, and assuredly an unacceptable living condition for a girl as young as Piña. So in addition to visiting the library, I am definitely hitting the market, I thought confidently to myself, grabbing my own toast and taking the other half of the grapefruit.
Almost as if struck by something, I realized that Berry probably had a job, and I had no idea where it was. After pouring some orange juice in a glass—I made double sure that there wasn’t anything extra in it—I joined the filly at the table. “So, um, Piña?” I asked as she nibbled happily on a strip of french toast. “I think I had a bit too much of my special juice last night... and I have no idea where I work. You wouldn’t be able to refresh my memory, would you?”
That “Are you retarded?” look crossed her face once more as she pointed to a note on the fridge. I got up from my spot at the table, my meal completely untouched. Taped to the fridge was a letter with a business card attached to it. “Dear me,” I read aloud. “This is where you work.” An arrow pointed to the business card that read ‘Booze and Baubles: your one-stop ticket to getting tanked and trinkets’. “Love Berry.”
Was this a common occurrence with the mare—that she gets so plastered that she forgets where she works on a regular basis? “I’m getting sick of your crap, Berry,” I muttered darkly, noting that she even had a schedule written on the back of the letter. A glance at the calendar on the fridge thankfully revealed that today was not one of the mornings she was scheduled to work. All this nonsense leaves me in serious need of a drink.
Grumbling, I sat down and grabbed my orange juice. Maybe this headache would go away quicker if I rehydrated. Frowning, I took a pull from my glass and nearly gagged. This was not the same orange juice I sat down with. With the alcoholic bite it had, this was definitely a bloody screwdriver. What the hell!? I thought, quietly draining the juice back into the glass. I double checked before I sat down, just to make sure I didn’t accidentally take a pre-mixed cocktail from the fridge! Where had this come from? Surely Piña didn’t...
No, it didn’t matter. I got up, glass in hoof, and made a three legged shamble over to the sink. Dumping the orange juice down the drain, I turned back to the child. “Say, don’t drink the orange juice, okay?” I said, rinsing the glass out with water before letting the tap fill it. Immediately, I downed it before anything untoward could happen and got a refill from the tap. “It’s gone bad, so it’ll make you sick if you drink it.”
“Alright,” she replied, finishing off the last of her toast and moving on to the grapefruit.
I nodded, convinced that concern was out of the way, and took another mouthful of water. Not again! I whimpered as my entire mouth began to burn. Vodka!?What in the blue blazes is going on here?
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Drunk powers, activate!
THIS is the blog explaining why the previous Spike chapter has been cut out, if any of y'all are curious.
Wait, does Berry have the power to make ANYTHING she drinks taste like alcohol?
That's... I don't even...
3691563
I don't understand either, but this is quite amusing.
Into alcohol, even.
Very eloquent.
Also did Berry replaced her drinking supply with vodka?
God!, if you are going to go that far you may as well replace it with either Red bull or Mountain dew.
s3.amazonaws.com/dk-production/images/38327/large/GayMarriageGOP-Dew.jpg
~Leonzilla
So, basically, berry punch has one of the same powers as jesus. Sweet.
.............wait what happened to the spike chapter/part?
Interesting, but what about Ruby Pinch? Also, is Cheerilee going to be Berry's sister?
3691731 Read this.
3691731
Daemon I got this.
EDIT: Beat me by 44 seconds 3691776
3691776 3691779 Thanks.
....why spike's-part-author, why!?
3691779
3691863 Yea, he will be missed; but hey at least the others will be writing more tho.
PS: I really want to know what happened to Sweetie Belle!
So anything she drinks turns into alcohol?
This is the best thing ever. Explains why Berry is always drunk. Her special talent is unintentionally turning everything she drinks into alcohol.
.......
Hmmm...
...
hehehehehehehehe...
Lemme tell you a little story about a mare named Berry Punch
She was a hard drinking dame of a preacher, always at the bar
Lager from the tap or shots of Paddy from the shelf
She could open her throttle and throw backa bottl as quickas the devil himself ... Berry Punch!
Word got around that Berry Punch was no pretender,
From Clare to here they'd lock up the beer when Berry went on a bender
Down at Dickey Mack's, the Rising Sun, or at the Swan
If she was drinking at seven by ten to eleven well all the booze woulb be gone! Berry Punch!
Even if you say it yourself, you wouldn't believe,
And I wouldn't trust a person like me, if I were you
I wasn't there, I swear I have an alibi
I heard it from a man who knows a fell who says it's true!
It was nine in the morning on a cold rainy night,
Berry rolled into the Castle Bar, looking to get tight
She had money in her pocket, he had whiskey in her eye,
She said: Get up off your asses and set up the glasses, I'm drinking this place dry!
Now all the serious boozers, they were soon broken hearted
When Berry finished off six and she was only getting started
Guzzling down the pints, knockin' em back like candy,
She was lookin' alright to be drinkin' all night, then Nora brought out the Brandy! Berry Punch!
Even if you say it yourself, you wouldn't believe,
And I wouldn't trust a person like me, if I were you
I wasn't there, I swear I have an alibi
I heard it from a man who knows a fell who says it's true!
Berry drank the whole damn bottle, had another pint or two,
When it made no impression she started her session with Murphy's Millenium Brew
She was waiting for a pint when her face turned green
Jesus, Berry fell down after only fifteen!
You could have heard a pin drop, then the crowd let out a roar
It took five cork women to lift Berry off the floor!
The doctor looked her over and said you better call the hearse:
but it's not what you're thinkin' it wasn't the drinkin' this mare died of thirst
Even if you say it yourself, you wouldn't believe,
And I wouldn't trust a person like me, if I were you
I wasn't there, I swear I have an alibi
I heard it from a man who knows a fell who says it's true!
But seriously, is her Blood Alcohol Content so high that any liquid touching her lips becomes alcohol?
Can you say, Discord?
Because when Berry's in sight, we'll party all damn night, I don't turn water into wine, It's fucking vodka, that's right! I'm not the sister you know, don't drink my H2O, but I've got hydroponic shit that me and Zecora grow, I'm fuckin Berry! Fuckin' Berry! Muthafuckin Berry! Berry Punch!
Only thing runnin through my head now
That's funny that the person replacing Berry might actually have a good reason to stay : Improving Berry's sister life.
3692326 Can you say: Trollestia?
an update?! woooooo!!!
3691563
Without some kind of magical explanation, she should be long-since dead of dehydration.
And I thought Jessy's chapter sucked. This new writer needs more confidence and less cliché. Very boring and irritating. (Whining continues.)
3692877
Yea, he's with Twilight but he wants to rut her. His advances are censored, though. I wanna know how come Applebloom's able to swear like a sailor.
Sweet Celestia! How did she replace the tap water with vodka!? Why isn't Berry Punch depicted as she is in the show? Does the show pick and choose who to censsor!?
3692049 Like the Midas Touch....only better...and drunker.
3693577 What if it is actually water, but it tastes like vodka. What if vodka tastes like water?
3693954
Holy hay, you may be on to something!
The Berry Touch! its like the Midas touch, but instead of gold you get booze!
3693284 She is Pinkie's father's brother's nephew's cousin's former roommate.
3695410 Hot Damn, that'd be pretty good...if she weren't plastered 24/7.
3695522
Which makes her and Pinkie absolutely nothing!
I haven't started reading yet, but with these comments about Berry, I'm starting to think she's like Cana Alberona from Fairy Tale.
This is accurate...
Nice! A new chapter. And someone who wants to change Berry´s ways for Piniada´s sake. Looking forward for more chapters and I´m glad this didn´t go into hiatus forever.
3696164 Except perhaps customers to each other's businesses.
Should that be "in a pigsty"?
Wake up with a dildo, awwwww yeah.
Despite the early mention of shipping background ponies?
FUCKING! WORST!
"be"
How does one plate toast?
I see what you are trying to do, but I am pretty sure "plating" only really refers to covering some material in a thin coat of metal.
Shit, you're screwed.
So Derek, if you could get ReFro and Seven to fix these little things, that'd be grrrreeeaaaat.
3700309
It would seem so.
Well, this guy's screwed that's for sure.
I shall now wait for the next chapter.
api.ning.com/files/waQODqzLZqOmP36kPep7IajDz4CBlD3LznLTQLdp3WFveIZVYJdSPocKD6wkheY4/BearWaitingPatientlyForPicnic.jpg?width=500&height=328
3691563 3691621
3692049
3692273
Any drink she leaves unintended gets spiked with an appropriate alcoholic beverage to make a delicious mixed drink. When she dies, they're going to inflate her liver and use the hardened tissue as a hoof ball. Quite a special talent indeed.
Now the real question... who is spiking her drinks? Is she doing is subconsciously? What if she drinks straight from the river in Ponyville so she doesn't get dehydrated? Will the river turn into wine? Will the Ponyville dam turn into a lake of vodka?
3693577
Yes, that's part of it we haven't had time to explain yet. 'The show' wants us all to behave and act canon. For Berry, that means being too drunk fo function as a normal member of society. For me that means being overly excited and enthusiastic. Wonder which one of us will catch on to the show's sinister plans first...
3697452
'The show', evil entity that it is, wants to cure our vices. Pathos loves swearing, loves gore and violence and all things that would make a baby cry. So the show censors him and forces him to be such a cute widdle adorable filly-willy.
Apple Bloom's vice is that he's just an unbelievable asshole. He swears because he's frustrated, he doesn't enjoy swearing. Also, the show sic'd Applejack on him to teach him not to be an asshole... that's far worse than censorship.
As for me, I'm just so focused on fulfilling all my wishes as Scootaloo that I ignore when Apple Bloom acts out of character. Can't have anyfilly ruining my plans for a panty-raid on Dash.
3692827
That's the part I look forward to the most, and will undoubtedly badger Seven about. Here he is in a position to make Pina's life better... but 'The Show' wants him to be a hardcore alcoholic who ignores her sister... so who wins?
The human may not be the sister Pina wants, but he's the sister she needs...
3704284
Interesting . . . interesting. A very comical concept. keep up the good work!
It's like being cursed with the Midas touch, except with alcohol. Very hard to not be an alcoholic if everything you touch turns into booze. Also, this story is still awesome, though I wish it'd follow a character for more than one chapter.
3704284
Yeah, I could never find out who's been doing it
If these people are in the bodies of different ponies, then are the ponies in their bodies?
Is she the King Midas of alcohol? Not sure if blessing or curse......
3721235
They deployed seven fates. So it has begun.
I love you, TypeWriterPerson.
Vodka faucet? wat
Reminds me that in Germany there is a beer pipeline.
3704284
Having a legitimate concept and purpose but on its surface appears to be a normal funny fic.
*slow clap*