Marepocalypse Now!

by Lethally Insane

Part 3: Grassy's lust for happy hour

DAY THREE

Part Three: Grassy’s lust for happy hour

(Perspective: Grasshopper)

“That can’t be right.” I muttered, rummaging through empty cider barrels.
“What?” Free Writer asked from the living room.
“We’re all out.” I said in disbelief.
“Wait a shit, what?!” he said, trotting into the kitchen with me.
“We drank it all.” I said.
“Great.” he said facehoofing. “ Grassy, your alcohol addiction is getting annoying.”
“What?” I said. “ You drank too.”
“Yeah, but not as much as you.” he replied indignantly.
“Do you have any idea what to do now?” I asked.

We had spent the down time for the last two days getting piss drunk. After all, most of the cable channels were down here since the majority of the broadcasting crew was female. I heard a banging sound and some moans from the upstairs.

“Hang on,” Writer muttered. “ I have an idea.”

We went upstairs to Writer's bedroom; the sound was emanating from there.

“They had to use my room.” he muttered, opening the door.

Pinkie was splayed out on the bed, covering herself with Marmalade, both the spread and the pony. Where did she even get that, anyway? I thought.

“Well,” Free said, a pained smile on his face. “ those sheets will never be clean again.”

He moved to the nightstand and produced a set of keys.

“Let’s see,” he said flipping through them. “ skin mags, emergency cash--ah, here it is, alcohol cabinet.”
“What?” I asked him.
“I’m breaking out the good stuff, dude--we’re gonna need it.” he answered.

We walked into the dining room, there was a large wooden cabinet. He slipped in the key and the lock clicked. He swung the doors open. Several small bottles sat on the shelves. He looked at me. We shared a devious smile and grabbed a bottle.

“Grey Pony.” I said, reading the label.
“Prench vodka.” he said, taking a swig.
“I thought they did wine?” I said, lifting the bottle to my lips. It was amazing. “ I was wrong.”

“Yep.” he replied.

“Yep.” I said back.

"‘Wanna buck?” I asked.

“Yes, back room. Now.” He replied.

“Wait, no! I didn’t mean to say that, oh Goddesses!” I yelled quickly, covering my mouth with my hooves.

“Ah! I didn’t either!” He shouted.

“God dammit, Aaron, I said not to type on my shit.” The disembodied voice had returned.

“Fuck you, bitch, it’s my life.” Another replied, one that sounded a lot like me. But that couldn’t be true, I was here. The sound of fighting was the last thing I heard before it went silent.

“I’m afraid to ask.” I said finally.

“Yeah.” Free Writer said, taking another swig.

A FEW HOURS LATER

Free Writer and I had emptied the entire cabinet, and I was still thirsty. I walked to the window and squinted at Ponyville. There were females everywhere. After all, it was high point in the mating season. I saw something on the front lawn. No, it couldn’t be, could it? In the middle of the lawn was a large barrel of cider. I looked back at Iron Ore and Free Writer, and then at the cider. I wrote a note, telling them that I went outside to get it. I slipped out the door and towards the barrel of alcohol-filled goodness.

I hovered over the barrel. It was huge, like one of the brewery’s storage barrels. I popped the lid. There was nothing in there. I realized I had been tricked.

“Shit.” I muttered to myself as a blue aura encased my body.

Before I knew it, I was shoved into the barrel and the lid was placed back on top. I felt the barrel tip and begin to roll. I resisted the urge to vomit and closed my eyes.

Eventually, the rolling stopped and the lid was removed. I practically melted out of the barrel and looked up to face my foal knapper. Vinyl Scratch stood, gazing back at me through her sunglasses. I had fallen for their alcohol-laced trap.

“Hey there.” she said smiling.

“Why,” I gurgled, “ did you have to roll it?”

“Why not?” she shot back.

“This is all I have to say.” I said, feeling a rumbling in my stomach.

I let every single drop of vomit possible out and towards her. I felt the acidic taste of days of alcohol taking its revenge against my throat. I didn’t stop until almost every inch of her face was coated in it.

“Sorry,” I muttered sarcastically. “ Drunk.”

She left the room for a short time, pacing around the room. The door was locked, so there wasn’t much I could do. She came back in with a bottle of brandy, eyeing me like a griffon would a slab of meat.

“Tell you what.” she said seductively. “ For every round we go, we each take a shot.”

“Deal.” I responded instantaneously.

(Prospective: Iron Ore)

I opened my eyes and looked around. Free Writer was passed out with a bottle of Grey Pony next to him. I found a note next on the table. It read:

Dear Douches,

I saw a barrel of cider looking pretty lonely, I’m not gonna save it for you guys.

-Grassy

I placed the note down and peered out the window. I couldn’t see a trace of Grasshopper anywhere. I shook Free Writer awake.

“No, ma, I don’t wanna do the dougie.” he slurred.

“Grassy’s gone.” I said.

“The buck?” he asked opening his eyes.

“Check the note.” I said

“Wow,” he said, reading the note. “ what an ass.”

“What do we do?” I asked.

“Nothing,” he replied. “ he wasn’t going to share. Why should we go after him?”

“But what if some mares find him?” I argued.

“We'd be bringing more dicks to the party.” he stated flatly.

“Fair point.” I conceded.

“He went out,” he continued. “ it isn’t our job to get him back. For now, let’s just get our rest, and hope he can make it back on his own.”

(Perspective: Nurse Redheart)

Nurse Redheart strutted through the corridors of the Ponyville Clinic. It was mostly empty, as most of the patients had been dismissed before the season had begun. She was dreading the post season rush. In less than 2 days, she would be treating some odd--and no less, embarrassing--wounds. She smiled to herself, I may as well have my fun while I can. She made her way into a supply closet.

“Ah, here it is,” she smiled to herself. “ the Milkamatic 2000.”

She tucked the small device into a saddle bag.

“Hey, Nurse Redheart.” a mare’s voice said from outside.

“Oh, hey.” she replied nonchalantly.

“I heard there were a bunch of stallions holed up in Free Writer’s house.” she reported.

“Oh, really?” she said licking her lips. “ Where’d you come by that juicy little rumor?”

“Vinyl caught one of them coming out of his house.” she replied.

“Oh, did she?” she sighed. “ Good for her, how many more are up there?”

“Three, at least.” the mare answered.

“Oh, that is delightful!” Redheart mused.

“Hey!” the other snapped. “ One is mine, and I don’t want you getting in my way.”

“What?” she said. “ Are you going to check every closet in town? You know Free loves those.”

“If I must,” she sighed. “ but I’m playing for keeps. You can have everyone but him.”

“Fair enough.” Redheart agreed. “ I’ll get the girls together.”

Author's Note:

Figured it was time for an update on this. The next one is soon and then the finale at part 5. I'd like to thank Lightning Sword for pre reading as well as Headsplit.