Magical Medicine

by yellowbastion

Chapter 5 Part 8

You’ve been running circles in this conversation for the last ten minutes. Ideally, you would receive feedback from your conversational partner but you’ve been getting almost nothing from this one. Remember back to when you had the thought that a step in any direction was progress? Well, you’ve been going nowhere very slowly, like a truck stuck up to its wheelwells in thick, goopy mud. Until just right now. What a happy coincidence!

“What are you even talking about? I’m telling you. It’s a great idea!”

You were arguing with your cellmate and you were somehow losing. Arguing with a creature that either wasn't able to speak or just didn't want to talk. Usually that would be just fine for you but right now it's proving to be difficult to hold this one-sided conversation. It’s a good thing your stubbornness is more powerful than their calm and collected silence.

“You know how trust is a two-way street? You just gotta trust me. It’ll totally work. I got this on lockdown. It’s in the bag! And the two of us walk out of here. You just gotta do the thing like we agreed.”

They had been just sitting there, on the crystal floor of the cell, a few body lengths away from you. Starting at you like you were a fresh coat of paint drying on a wall. Them, with their weird, frosted-glass looking, teal eyes, like they were trying to bore a hole through your head. Unblinking. Goddamn they were good at staring contests. Like, top three at least. No one, pony or otherwise, could out un-blink Pinkie Pie and survive. And the other was Twilight’s pet owl who’s name escapes you at the moment. Rupert, or something.

“Look here. See? I’ve got it all ready to go. Yeah, I know they are our only bedsheets. But it’s not like we needed them. It’s plenty warm in here.”

They were mostly unmoving. They were still breathing. Living things tend to do that. You’re pretty sure they were judging you, like the color of paint they were watching dry was the wrong shade of green and maybe they would need to go back to the paint store to pick out more color swatches or paint samples.

“And if my plan doesn’t work, which it totally will, I can always put them back. Easy peasey, lemon squeezy.”

Which is somehow making this conversation more difficult. You’ve clearly becoming flustered. Who the hell says lemon squeezy? But needs want, or something. You ain’t no poet.

“But it’ll totally work, so, no worries. We good?”

They snorted. Was that a reply? You’re going to take that as a derisive ‘yes’.

“Good enough. Let’s do this!”

Now’s your chance. If you take only one shot, then the shot you take is the best shot. And if you set the bar low enough, you can just walk over all the obstacles.

“Then after we’ll celebrate with a round of drinks. On me, of course.”

It would have to be, seeing as they don’t have any bits or even pockets to keep them. Do changelings even use money? Or do they exchange affection or something? Like, how many tomatoes can I get for a hug? So many questions.

“Ya know, If you want to stick around.”

They gave a sharp nod. Finally, a reply with no ambiguity. Everyone loves free drinks, even weird bug ponies from another world.

“Hell yeah!”

They tilt their head a little bit to their left, like a dog would when hearing a strange noise. Uh oh, your uncoolness is showing. Time for a cover story. Quick, brain, come up with something smart.

“Uh, because I’m… an alcoholic?”

Not one of your best lies but it’s at least plausible. You seem to be fabricating stories a lot lately.

“I’m am! Berry Punch can vouch for me.”

And you’re sure she would vouch for you seeing as you haunt her bar on a weekly basis for those cheap drinks. You’re such a regular customer that she even keeps a dedicated seat open for you right next to the bar. Lovely girl, that Berry Punch.

“She’s the mare that owns the bar. I was there last week. It’s called The Ragamuffin. Best pony bar I’ve ever been in.”

And you’ve been in several bars during your wandering adventures since you washed up in Al’ Salbaud. While Griffins have the best sour beer, it's the ponies that have the best hard alcohol, bar none.

“That mare pours a mean whisky sour. I’ll even save you the best seat in the house.”

Which would be the seat right next to you. Any seat next to you is the best seat because you’re so personable. And you won’t even creep on them. Maybe.

“I recommend trying anything made from Apple family apples.”

Because if you didn’t, you’re sure that, somehow, Applejack would hear about it and make your life hell. Or Tartarus. Whatever. Ponies are weird, man.

Author's Note:

And guesses of how Anon is going to use bedsheets to escape from the castle dungeon?
Write your guess in the comments before going on to read the next chapter.

Fun Fact:
“If you take only one shot, then the shot you take is the best shot” and “if you set the bar low enough, you can just walk over all the obstacles” are actual mottos you can live by, they’re just bad ones.

Before The Ragamuffin, Berry Punch’s bar had a different name but I felt that renaming the pub from Skyrim “The Winking Skeever” to “The Winking Mare” was an awful idea on multiple levels.

Comments

[Sir Science]

11448007
The exact video I'm watching while reading.

[Sir Science]

11448077
That explains a lot actually.

[ItsYaBoiSatan]

Bedsheets out the window, No!, too cliche.
Innovative yet retarded, and at least a hint of irony.
He will use the bedsheets to hang himself.

[yellowbastion]

11454393
Nope, It's less obvious. You're not thinking abstract enough. Good guess, Satan.

[Prince Leviathan]

Bedsheets to escape...
Ghost time?

Sounds about stupid yet clever enough.

I promise i haven't read the next chapter.(in case I'm right)