• Published 25th Jan 2013
  • 6,441 Views, 229 Comments

Someone Came With Her - chromewasp

You keep sayin' somethin' about bein' male and "human" before you showed up in Appleloosa...

  • ...

The Melancholy Cowpony

This isn't supposed to happen, you think. I'm supposed to like girls. I'm supposed to get easy access to steamy locker room scenes. I'm supposed to find a sexy lesbian girlfriend. I'm supposed to be swept off my hooves by a handsome stallion with a--

Argh, no! Damn your imagination! Damn it! But the more you try to suppress the image, the stronger it becomes. Your mind is caught in a loop of carnal fantasies that are simultaneously terrifying and tantalizing. You feel an almost unbearable heat wash over you, and you tremble even harder.

You lie there sprawled out on the floor for more than a few agonizing minutes, cringing every time a new image is shoved into your mind's eye. But the dirty thoughts aren't the most painful ones.

No, the most painful thoughts involve you in a wedding dress, prancing up a white aisle alongside an unseen groom. They involve bridal showers and honeymoons. But the absolute worst thought to cross your mind...

...involves a tiny foal cuddled up by your side, gently nursing from your teats.

Trask's words seem to echo in your head. You should settle down and find yourself a nice stallion, he had jeered. I'm sure your foals will be precious.

Your blood goes cold. Are these urges all some sort of mind control? Have you really been making your own choices, or has Trask been making them for you?

One thing's certain: you'll kill him for this. This thought serves as a small reassurance. Unless Trask is some sort of desperate masochist, the idea that he would allow you to consider murdering him doesn't seem likely. And if that's all some sort of elaborate plot to make you think you're still in control, then...well, fuck his shit.

It takes a few more minutes before you regain your composure enough for yet another unpleasant revelation to sink in: you're a blank flank. Now you know all too well why all those ponies were staring at you on the street. It must have been like seeing a woman march around in public wearing a preschooler's outfit.

Abruptly you get the depressing mental picture of yourself sitting in the Cutie Mark Crusaders' clubhouse, your head slumped in shame while Sweetie Belle tries to cheer up her fellow unicorn. Okay, so it's also a somewhat adorable image, but it still makes you want to groan.

Looking downcast enough to make Eeyore cringe, you finally get up and trudge out of the bathroom.

You don't have the energy to even try to get some more saltwater. All you want is just a good place to slump over and sigh.

You collapse onto a suitably dingy booth seat, taking a deep breath and blowing it through your teeth. It's a surprisingly satisfying sound. You stare blankly out the scratched window, watching the ponies go about their easy, Trask-free mornings.

You know that you're starting to slide into self-pity, but you don't care. As far as you're concerned you're the unluckiest creature in this town, and maybe even in Equestria.

You wonder how the citizens would react if they knew the truth. How common are superpowered villains around here, anyway? Do the townsponies have some sort of official policy for dealing with them?

You wonder if Fairweather and his gang could even do anything against Trask. Maybe it might be worthwhile to tag along with them to see what they're capable of.

Or maybe it might turn out to be a colossal waste of energy; a label that you're starting to apply to pretty much any action that doesn't involve staying at the bar. You don't even want to waste energy weighing your options. Right now, you just need some time to sit around and feel pissed off.

Out of the corner of your eye you see the bartender staring at you, looking like he's about to say something. He shakes his head and goes back to polishing the bar top. Smart stallion. He knows when a mare is Not in the Mood.

Eventually, you slip into an emotionally deadened haze. Your eyes lose focus, and you scarcely blink. Soon you've almost completely lost awareness of your surroundings, and mercifully few thoughts cross your mind.

The haze is finally broken when your eyes drift to a strange spot on the far wall. There, in the grain of the timber planks, is an odd pattern that looks vaguely familiar. Almost serpentine, but not. Almost equine, but not. Almost like...

A tiny outline of a certain draconequus. You're about to pass it off as just a freak coincidence, but suddenly it opens its little wood grain eyes and catches you with a devious grin.

That's when the goddam thing speaks to you. “Welcome back to dreamland! That was a nasty little turn of events, wasn't it? I'll have you know that you have my deepest condolences."

“Let me have my hangover dream in peace,” you snort.

The little outline marches up to a knothole and vanishes before the sound of rubber being stretched assaults your ears. Then, like an elephant somehow shoving itself through a doggie door, a full-sized and three-dimensional Discord squeezes out of the knothole. As soon as he's loose he topples from the wall, landing with a wince-worthy crash.

“What the hell are you doing?” you demand.

He calmly stands up and dusts himself off. “What, you thought I'd never come out of the woodwork?”

You simply glare at him.

He hangs his head and sighs. “I see this hasn't been good for your sense of humor.”

With oily grace, he slips into the booth next to you. “If it's any consolation, the whole thing about you getting turned into a mare wasn't...entirely unexpected.”

You blink a few times before answering. “What?”

“Ah, yes,” Discord sighs. “You still don't remember the dream, do you?”

“No...” you say uncertainly. You had a dream about Discord, right? But what was it about?

Discord seems to read your mind. “Allow me to refresh your memory,” he sighs before poking you on the top of your head.

All in one horrible moment, the memories of the dream you had before visiting Sawgrass rush back to you. Images flash through your mind like a a freakish slide show, hastily merging with fragments of Discord's words.

--“one more day as a human, and then...”--

--“why did you keep calling me a mare”--

--A look of horror on Discord's face. “There's a very high chance that he'll cast a...”--

Just when it seems like your train of thought is about to go permanently off the rails, Discord lifts his finger off your head. The memories suddenly feel like Tetris blocks falling into place—satisfying, on some strange primal level.

Yet this is quickly swept away by a rush of raw red anger. “You bastard!” you yell. “You fucking bastard! You knew exactly what Trask would do!”

He shrugs sheepishly, twiddling his claws. “Well...not exactly. It was more of a 98.32% probability he'd use the mare-o-morph spell on the first person who tried to stop him. Given your--” he pauses to noisily clear his throat, “--activities online, I figured you wouldn't mind.”

“'Wouldn't mind?'” you rage. “In case you didn't fucking notice, Trask did this to humiliate me!”

You glare up at him, subtly enjoying the hurt look on his face. “And why the hell were you watching what I did online?” you spit.

He bites his lip, looking faux-innocently up at the ceiling. “Oh, just gathering information. Anyway, this would have all gone a lot better if you just had the courtesy to remember your dreams. You could've met with the other helpers, and then we could've proceeded with the plan.”

“And what plan was that?” you growl.

“You were supposed to be a distraction. Granted, you ended up providing one anyway, but the key was all in the timing. Your friends Aaron and Daniel were supposed to sneak up on Trask while he was casting the transformation spell on you. Those spells take a lot of concentration, so he would have been a sitting duck.”

Discord draws a heavy sigh before continuing. “But instead, you came into town late and with no idea what to expect. All our delicately laid plans went down the drain.”

“What makes you think I wanted to be involved, anyway?” you shoot back. “What, was I supposed to let Trask turn me into a mare and then just walk away?”

“My, my. You're quite the cynical one, aren't you? If you wanted your humanity back, all you needed to do was make Trask undo the spell.”

“Yeah, because an evil fucking wizard would just go, 'okay, I'll turn you back,' just because I asked him. Fuck you,” you spit.

Discord rolls his eyes. “Oh, don't be such a sourpuss. If there's one thing Luna and I have figured out about Trask, it's that he's a coward. Get him in a corner, and he'll do anything to keep his freedom.”

“Wait—you and Luna?” you ask, raising an eyebrow. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“I'll get to that later,” says Discord, with a casual wave of his claw. “Now listen, here. There's a chance for you to become human again. Don't you want to know how?”

“Why the hell can't you turn me back?” you say, staring scornfully at him. “Ah...let me guess: I need to do something for you first.”

He indignantly puts a claw on his chest. “How terribly presumptuous! Believe me, if it was that easy to break the curse, you would've been human before you could say...you could say..."

He shakes his head. “Oh, never mind. You see, our friend Trask is more than a simple thug who happens to have magic. He happens to own a little trinket called the Paradox Amulet.”

He snaps his claws, summoning to life the midair image of a necklace studded with sharp shards of black jewels. “It makes him and his curses quite invulnerable against masters of magic. As you might guess, these include the princesses and myself.”

“So we're all screwed,” you sigh. “Yeah, I kinda guessed that earlier.”

“Let me finish! You see, Trask made a very big mistake by turning you into a common unicorn. If you can learn to use your powers, you might just have a chance at beating him.”

“If you need a 'common' unicorn to stop Trask, why can't you just ask Fairweather?” you mumble.

“Oh, I don't know,” Discord shoots back. “I just supposed you might like to actually do something, rather than just mope around. Besides, Fairweather needs your help. Go out there and fight, kiddo! Get Trask on the ropes, and you can make him turn you back.”

“And I'm just supposed to assume you don't have an agenda behind all this?” you scoff.

“Oh, drat,” he puffs, turning to face the far wall. “Luna, she's still not believing me!” he calls. A strange hum fills the air, and the wall's wooden planks begin to ripple like water.

You almost soil yourself when Princess Luna literally walks through the wall. The alicorn of the night carries a weight to her presence that can't be explained: she's simply here, surrounded by an aura of majesty that makes you feel weak and young. For a second you're a child again, caught dozing off in the middle of class by a respected teacher.

She evaluates you with dispassionate dark blue eyes, her star-spangled mane rippling in a nonexistent breeze. You try to say something, but your mouth is too busy gaping.

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