Friendship is a give-and-take relationship. Fortunately for you, Pinkie doesn't ask for much, and she has plenty to give. Maybe it's time to start giving back.
Friendship is a give-and-take relationship. Fortunately for you, Pinkie doesn't ask for much, and she has plenty to give. Maybe it's time to start giving back.
You lay in your bed, the warm, fresh sheets enveloping you in an unfamiliar scent. Yesterday, Pinkie took a day off from work and spent the entire afternoon helping you clean everything in your house. Well, it was more like she did all the work while you showered. Then she made you pancakes, which was strange, because you didn't have the ingredients for pancakes. Or a stove. At least they tasted nice.
You're supposed to be meeting her at Sugarcube Corner today, probably to discuss the details of the party. The one you still don't want, but Pinkie's still throwing. You aren't afraid of meeting new people—or ponies—but you don't really feel like putting in the effort of entertaining strangers you don't care about.
You glance at the clock on your wall; the only non-furniture thing in your house. Eleven-fifteen. Pinkie goes on break at eleven-thirty. You sigh and sink deeper into your sheets. Maybe she won't notice. You could just play sick and stay in bed for the rest of the day. Again.
Your stomach doesn't like that idea. There's food at Sugarcube Corner. Besides, Pinkie would just break in and drag you over there if you were late. Or she'd cry.
Wanting to avoid that disaster as much as possible, you halfheartedly fling the covers off and slide your feet to the floor. You grab the single shirt and pair of jeans from their pile near the bed and sluggishly get dressed. You could really use some coffee right now, but you ran out a few days ago, so it seems like today's the perfect opportunity to restock. If only ponies made bigger bags. Back on Earth, you could buy a single bag that would last months. Unfortunately, ponies don't drink coffee much, so they only sell enough to make a few cups at a time. They barely last you a week, even if you ration.
By the time you drag yourself out of your room, it's already eleven-forty. You almost trip on the edge of the couch as you walk by. You guess it moved a bit while Pinkie's Maid Service was cleaning.
knock
click
"Nonny~!"
Huh. Looks like you were right. Pinkie's here to drag you away.
"Yeah, yeah. I know I'm late," you interrupt before she can say anything else. "I'm leaving right now."
Pinkie giggles behind a hoof. "You're not late, silly! I set your clock to be fifteen minutes fast."
This should probably bother you, but you can't work up the energy to care at the moment.
"Whatever, let's just go. I need some caffeine."
"Kay!" Pinkie trots around you and leaps onto your back, loosely wrapping her front legs around your neck. "Onward!"
She's light enough to not be a burden, but it's still irritating.
"Pinkie, get off," you sigh.
"Aw, why?" You're glad you can't see her face, because you can hear the puppy-dog eyes in her voice. "You're strong enough, right?"
"I don't want to carry you. Besides, you can walk fine on your own."
"..."
"Pinkie."
"I'll make you an omelet for breakfast tomorrow."
"...Deal." The back of your neck is treated to a thorough nuzzling for that.
The ponies in the street give you more than a few odd looks as you pass. For one, they aren't used to seeing you at all, but it probably has more to do with the living pink backpack you’re now sporting. Thankfully, the walk is short. You shuffle through the open door and immediately angle towards a corner booth.
"Wee!" Pinkie squeals when you pick her up by her front hooves and deposit her on the table. She quickly bounces off and onto your lap.
"Pinkie..."
She turns to look up at you with her bottom lip poking out.
Well, she is soft.
"Welcome back, Pinkie. And hello, Mister Anonymous. What can I get for you both?" The speaker is a yellow and orange stallion. He's apparently the owner of the place, but you never bothered learning his name. He seems unperturbed by Pinkie's position on your lap. He works with her, so he's probably used to it.
"I'll have a super-duper triple scoop of chocolate ice cream! With sprinkles!" The stallion writes it down without hesitation.
"I'll just have a coffee and a muffin." You don't want to spend too much money. Shortly after your arrival, you were given a supply of bits for a house and food, but it won't last much longer. You'll need to get a job soon.
"What kind of muffin would you like?"
"Uh... blueberry, I guess."
"One coffee, a blueberry muffin, and a Pinkie Special coming right up!" He walks off with a smile, leaving you wondering about Pinkie's eating habits if she has a dessert named after her.
"Are you really eating ice cream for lunch?" You nudge the mare to get her attention.
"Nope! I ate before I left."
"And you're still hungry? What did you eat?"
"A delicious apple pie!"
"...Like, an entire pie?"
"Yeppers!" She almost sounds proud of herself.
You prod her tummy with a finger, causing her to erupt into giggles. She doesn't look any bigger than a normal pony, so how the hell is she packing away food like that?
"Here you are!” the yellow stallion chirps from behind you, making you jump. “Enjoy.”
He sets the food down and trots off before you can calm your heart enough to thank him.
Pinkie wastes no time digging in. She somehow manages to fling spoonfuls of ice cream into her open mouth without spilling a drop. You calmly sip your coffee, waiting for the liquid gold to kick in. The muffin could wait, caffeine is what you need right now. You remind yourself to pick up a bag before you leave. Maybe a couple, if you can afford it.
Setting your steaming cup down, you finally reach for the muffin. Before biting into it, you notice that Pinkie has stopped making noise. You glance down and almost drop your muffin. She's already managed to finish her ice cream and is now leaning back against you, rubbing her stomach with a goofy smile.
"Please stop doing that."
"Huh?" Pinkie opens her eyes and looks up at you in confusion. "Stop what?"
"That. Stop being so damn cute." Her smile widens. "You're making me lose my appetite."
Immediately, her smile drops. She hops off your lap looking worried, almost panicky.
"Oh! I'm so sorry! I'll... I'll sit over here, okay? Just please eat."
"...What?"
"You really need to start eating more. I didn't know I was making that difficult for you." Her mane is noticeably less poofy. "Sorry."
She was... Oh. You remember she mentioned how little you eat during her tear-filled speech last night. She wants to make sure you eat more healthily. And you just made her think she was partly responsible for your poor diet.
"Pinks, I was kidding. Look." You shove the entire muffin into your mouth and slowly choke it down with the rest of your coffee. "See? I ate it," you gasp once you finally swallow the last bit.
"You were joking?" Pinkie asks hopefully. "I didn't make you not hungry anymore?"
You nod your head, still out of breath. Her poof is back, but she still isn't smiling.
"That wasn't a very funny joke," she mumbles. "I'm really worried about you."
You pick up the fretful mare and place her back on your lap.
"Will you stop worrying if I promise to eat more?" So long as you can find a job soon.
"Do you Pinkie Promise?" she asks with dead seriousness.
"Yeah, sure." You hold your pinky finger out to her before a realization hits you. Ponies don't have pinkies. So what does-
"You have to do the motions!" Pinkie interrupts your thoughts.
You're just plain confused now. "What motions?"
"Cross my heart and hope to fly, stick a cupcake in my eye!" The chant is accompanied by some motions you are apparently supposed to do. She makes a crisscross over her heart, then flaps like a bird before pulling a cupcake out of nowhere and smashing it into her eyeball. Her tongue flicks out at an impossible length and wipes her face clean, leaving no trace of the pastry. You manage to stay calm and not try to perform an impromptu exorcism. Pinkie might be using black magic, but she's your friend, so you need to accept her. No matter how freaky that was.
"...I don't need to do it with an actual cupcake, right?"
"Only if you want to!"
You repeat the childish rhyme, going through the motions as you say it. "I Pinkie Promise to eat more." Maybe.
The smile is back in full force. "Thank you, Nonny!" she says while nuzzling under your chin. "And you better not be lying. Nopony breaks a Pinkie Promise."
For some reason, the thought of doing so sends chills down your spine.
Having completed the unholy ritual of selling your soul via Pinkie Promise, you remember why you came to Sugarcube Corner in the first place. You pick up Pinkie again and place her on the table so she's at eye level. She just blinks once with a confused smile on her face.
"So... About the party-"
Pinkie's front left leg shoots out and jams itself into your mouth, cutting you off. "Shhhhhhhhh! It's a surprise," she whispers.
You reach up and pull the surprisingly squishy hoof out. You briefly wonder why the hell it tastes like cotton candy.
"Wait, I thought that's why you wanted me here; to discuss the plans or whatever."
"No, silly!" She boops your nose with her other hoof. "I just wanted to hang out with you during my break! I mean, if you want to talk about the party, we can, but we'll have to do it in secret so it can be a surprise."
You can't tell if she's being serious. "It's not really a surprise if I already know about it," you slowly explain.
"That's what they all say," she chuckles evilly, twirling the fake mustache that you know wasn't there before. "Anyway," she throws the mustache over her shoulder, "I don't work on weekends, so we should totally go shopping in Canterlot tomorrow!"
"...For what? I don't-" You stop yourself from mentioning money. "I don't really need anything except food, and I can get that myself, so why bother going shopping?"
"Welllll, you might not need anything, but maybe you'll see something you like. After all, your house is so boriiiing. There's nothing but furniture in it. You need some knickknacks to make it feel more homey!"
"It's not boring," you mumble under your breath. There's plenty of things to do in your house. You can sit on the couch, lay in the bed, or sit at the table. When you're feeling especially adventurous, you sometimes stand in a corner and contemplate the futility of existence. Hell, just last week, you spent three hours staring at yourself in the mirror.
...Maybe going shopping isn't such a bad idea.
"Fine, but I'm not going to buy anything. I'm just going to look, okay?" You could get a feel for the prices of things and go back again once you make some money. Pinkie seems like the type that would just buy things for you if she knew you were short on cash, but you don't want charity.
"Suuuuure, Nonny. And I'm a unicorn."
Even normal unicorns can't do the things Pinkie does, so it wouldn't surprise you if she were some type of hornless one. Or maybe she does have a horn, but it's hidden somewhere in all that poof.
You reach out and pat her mane in various places, Pinkie giggling as if it tickles her. She lets out a small whine when you finish your inspection.
"Did you find a horn?" she asks eagerly.
"No."
"Awww."
That gets a chuckle out of you, and Pinkie's face lights up like a Christmas tree.
"You have a nice laugh, Nonny."
"Don't make it weird, Pinkie."
"Too late!" She springs into the air and lands on the ground butt first, bouncing off her tail and landing on her back hooves in a victorious pose. You clap politely as she takes a bow.
"Welp! I gotta get back to work now. Bye, Nonny!" She then back flips over the blue mare at the counter and skips into the kitchen. None of the other ponies seem to have noticed her antics.
You get up with a sigh. Without Pinkie's distractions, you no longer have a reason to stay. Walking to the front counter, you consider asking the mare if there are any job openings at Sugarcube Corner, but you decide against it. You're already exhausted from just eating lunch with Pinkie. You can't imagine the amount of energy it would take to work alongside her for multiple hours nearly every day. Instead, you buy two bags of coffee and walk back to your house. You get much fewer stares without your backpack.
After dropping off the coffee and making sure you look halfway presentable, you head out in the direction of Town Hall. Luckily, it's only a block away. Sometimes, you really love having a house near the dead center of Ponyville.
Walking through the entrance, you see the front desk piled high with various files and stacks of paper. There's nobody behind it, so you walk up to the mayor's office and knock on the door a few times.
"Come in~!" a pleasant voice calls out.
Opening the door, you immediately notice that her desk is completely bare except for the nameplate. Mayor Mare is smiling at you with a small amount of surprise.
"Hello, Anonymous! What can I do for you?" She seems oddly cheery.
"Uh, I was wondering if there were any job openings around town. I kind of-"
"You're hired!" she interrupts, holding out a hoof to you.
"...What."
The mayor looks confused for a moment before laughing. "I said you're hired, Anonymous. You can start next Monday." She is still holding out her hoof with an expectant look on her face.
You stare back blankly. You don't even know what job she is referring to.
"Thank... you?" You shake the outstretched hoof tentatively. She immediately hops out of her chair and trots out the door. Still confused, you have no choice but to follow her.
"Wonderful! My last secretary moved away to Manehattan two weeks ago, so you've got a lot of catching up to do." She gestures to the overflowing front desk. "This is your station. Let me know if you have any questions, alright?"
The pieces snap into place, but now you're even more confused.
"Wait, you've had no secretary for two weeks and you just let all of this pile up?" you ask incredulously. She also gets another free week before you start working. What the hell is wrong with this lady?
"Well, of course! My secretary was the one who told me which papers I needed to sign. Without her, I've had way too much free time on my hooves." She doesn't sound upset about that.
"...And you didn't think to sort through this stuff yourself?"
She laughs. "How silly, Anonymous! That's not my job, I'm the mayor," she cheerfully explains.
Oh, duh. That makes much more sense. How could you not see that before?
"Well... I guess I'll see you next Monday, Miss Mayor," you say while slowly backing away from the mountain of paper.
"Goodbye, Anonymous." Mayor Mare closes her office door behind her, presumably to fool herself into believing she's a good mayor that doesn't neglect her duties.
You really want to know how much you're getting paid to deal with this shit, but you can ask that question later. Hell, maybe she'll make you handle the employment papers and you can set your own salary. You'd like that, so it'll never happen. You don't get nice things.
Now that your nonexistent to-do list is complete, you start walking home. There's an existential crisis corner with your name on it.
You are wrapped up in a cocoon of blankets on your bed. You aren't cold, you just can't be bothered to untangle yourself. It's how you woke up, and how you've remained for the last handful of hours. It's still dark outside, too dark to see the time on the clock. You went to bed immediately after getting home from Town Hall yesterday, skipping your shower and the usual heart-to-heart with Dr. Corner. You were so mentally fatigued from the day's events that you just collapsed into bed and passed out. It's safe to say your sleep schedule is more fucked up than ever before.
You've managed to avoid moving so far, but your body regretfully informs you that you are still alive. Your throat is dry, your stomach is empty, and your bladder is full. With a herculean effort, you wiggle your feet to kick at your fabric prison, but it's no use. You are forced to use your most powerful and forbidden trump card—your hands.
The battle takes many long minutes, but you eventually emerge victorious. You stand over the mangled remains of your opponent, taking a moment to catch your breath before stumbling to the bathroom. Finishing your business, you turn to face off against your second greatest adversary: the mirror. Maybe today is your day. Eye-to-eye with yourself, you let your lack of emotion melt away. There is nothing else. Only you.
One painful eternity later, your focus is broken by a sound from the front of your house. You blink. Shit, you lost again. That makes it fifty-eight to two.
"Well played," you sigh. Your reflection doesn't even look happy he won. Arrogant piece of shit.
Another noise snaps you back to reality. The first one was easy to ignore, creaky house and all that, but this new sound is not normal. It might be burglars. You creep out of the bathroom and over to your bedroom door. It almost sounds like... singing? Very quiet singing. You can't make out any words, but it's definitely a song—maybe someone is humming. Fucking ponies can't even commit a crime without making it gay.
You tiptoe backwards to your bed, glancing at the clock out of habit. To your surprise, you can actually see the time. The sun's rays have finally started to peek over the horizon, just enough to let you know that it's too damn early. But why would a burglar break into a house at six in the morning? Does magical horse land even have burglars?
You shake the intrusive logic away. Right now, you have a real intruder to deal with. You drop to the floor and start groping under the bed for your bat. Your stomach drops.
It's not there.
Panicking, you turn to your closet before freezing in place. The closet isn't there either.
You remember you don't have a closet. Or a bat.
"What are we looking for?" a happy voice inquires from on top of your head.
"Something to defend myself with," you whisper. "And keep quiet, I need the element of surprise."
"Okay," Pinkie whispers back, "but I don't think there's an Element of Surprise. Twilight is the Element of Magic, though, and that's kinda like surprise. Do you want me to go get her?"
Wait a minute.
You reach up and pluck the pink pony from her perch. Holding her at arms length, you turn her around to face you. She's grinning innocently, as always. You darken your glare. She responds by tilting her head to the side and blinking rapidly. You swear you can almost see a halo. Sighing, you tuck Pinkie under your arm and walk into the living room. Pinkie stretches her legs out to the side and makes airplane sounds as you walk.
You drop your cargo off on the couch and start prepping the coffee pot.
"Pinkie, what are you doing here so early?" You don't even have the energy to be mad. The adrenaline from earlier is gone, leaving you in your default state of emptiness, despair, and a bit of self-loathing.
"I told you yesterday I would make omelets for breakfast!" She's way too chipper at this ungodly hour.
"Yeah, I remember that. But why so early?"
She laughs with a cute little snort at the end. "Silly Nonny, it's not early; everypony wakes up when the sun rises! Except the Apples, but they're weird. Don't tell AJ I said that."
"Maybe this is normal for ponies, but I'm not a pony. Humans aren't meant to be awake at this hour," you grumble under your breath.
"Hmmmm." Pinkie is staring at you intently, rubbing her chin with a hoof. You don't know where she found it, but she's wearing a detective's hat.
"...What?"
"HHHMMMMMMMMMM!"
"What!?"
"You were awake before I got here."
How the hell did she know that.
"In fact, you were awake waaaay before that. You've been up since three o'clock, but you only got out of bed half an hour ago."
"...Pinkie, you're scaring me."
"Fear is the second best medicine, right behind laughter!" She starts laughing maniacally to demonstrate.
You really need a different friend.
You sip your precious nectar and watch Pinkie make omelets while dressed in a chef's hat and apron. Without a stove. You've become strangely jaded to her black magic. Or maybe you aren't fully awake yet.
"Here you go!" The plate clatters on the table and Pinkie rushes back to her station to make another one for herself. The omelet is large. It's not very wide, only about the size of your hands cupped together, but there has to be a full three inches of egg and cheese stacked on your plate. Cheesus Christ. You know you promised to eat more, but this...
You cut out a neat little triangle with your fork and bring it to your nose. It smells fine, so you start eating. To your mild surprise, you don't taste any sugar or cocaine or whatever it is Pinkie eats. It tastes like a normal omelet. A normal, delicious omelet.
"O sweet pony gods, thank you for this wonderful gift."
You start shoveling as much food as you can into your mouth, pausing only to breathe. You briefly register Pinkie sitting next to you with her own plate. When your fork meets the plate and finds nothing else to stab, you finally sit back and take a long drink from your mug. That was easily the best meal you've had since coming to this insane world.
"How was it?"
You can't manage anything more than a small smile and a contented grunt. Pinkie takes that as an answer and whisks both plates away with a flourish.
"Perfect! Then it's time to get ready to leave," she says over her shoulder.
"Leave? For what?" you ask once you regain your voice.
"We're going shopping today, remember?"
Oh yeah. That.
You stand up and stretch, your spine popping a few times. "M'kay," you mumble. "I'm ready."
Pinkie runs a critical eye over your disheveled appearance. You fell asleep in your clothes last night, so they're already on your body, only slightly more wrinkled than normal. Even your shoes look wrinkly.
"How about we stop by Rarity's first? She can take your measurements and make you some more clothes later." Pinkie nods decisively without waiting for you to answer.
You start to ask why anything would be open this early, but you give up with a sigh and follow the pink tail bouncing out the door.
"Back on Earth, it’s considered a sin for a business to be open on Saturday,” you grumble, following behind the prancing pink pony on the way to Rarity’s boutique. Not only is it Saturday, it’s six-fucking-thirty in the morning. Why the hell would anything be open this early?
“Wow, neat! We actually have something similar here.” Pinkie spins around mid-bounce and starts skipping backwards. “In Equestria, it’s a sin to put two different types of syrup on your pancakes.”
It’s not even remotely similar, but you don’t have the heart to tell her that.
“Aaaaaaaand,” Pinkie twirls on a back leg and stops with a flourish towards a circus tent. “Here we are! Carousel Boutique!”
Oh. It’s not a circus tent. You aren’t comforted by this fact at all. Who in their right mind could have possibly thought that design was a good idea? If this is supposed to be the workplace of the pony in charge of making your clothes, you’d prefer to go naked.
Before you can voice your completely valid concerns, Pinkie throws open the door and marches in, leaving you with no choice but to follow. Once inside, your concern only deepens. Every inch of fabric on display is covered in ribbons, lace, and gems. So many gems. Tearing your eyes away from the glittering dresses, you see Pinkie finishing up a conversation with a white unicorn with a curled purple mane and tail.
"Well, I'm glad you've had a change of heart, darling," Rarity says, turning to face you. "I'm going to make sure you look-" She chokes on her next words, her eyes widening in surprise.
For the next few minutes, she just stands there with her mouth open and eyes wide.
"Oh dear Celestia," she finally whispers.
"Um... what's wrong?" you ask, afraid of the answer.
"Your clothes are filthy!" Rarity exclaims. "How could you have let them fall into such a state?"
You just shrug. What are you supposed to say? 'I wear them every day and rarely wash them.' That would just make her mad. Or disgusted. Probably both.
Saying it to yourself really puts into perspective just how bad things have gotten. You make a silent promise to start working on your hygiene. You have to, since Pinkie is gonna drag you around to meet people.
"That's why we came to you, Rarity," Pinkie chimes in. "He can't wear those anymore, so he needs new stuffs to wear."
"Emphasis on need," Rarity mutters. "Well, come along, Anonymous. Let's get you measured so I can make you some real clothes." She trots into a side room, her mood apparently brightened by the idea of designing something new.
"Nothing too fancy, please," you call after her. The last thing you need is a closet full of clothes you can't afford. You follow the white mare into the side room, Pinkie bouncing faithfully at your side. The new room is covered wall-to-wall in rolls of variously colored fabrics. A desk with a sewing machine sits in front of a window. Rarity is currently digging through one of the drawers, humming to herself.
"I don't know what humans consider fancy, darling. You'll have to specify." She emerges with a roll of measuring tape and a ball of yarn in her hooves.
"I mean, just a few sets that look kinda like these. Maybe a few different colored shirts." You'll probably need winter clothing eventually, but you can cross that bridge when you get to it.
"What?" Rarity looks up sharply. "But that's... That's so boring!" she cries. "Are you sure I can't make you something with-"
"If the next word out of your mouth is frills or gems, I'm going to boop you."
"You wouldn't dare boop a lady!" Rarity scoffs, sounding affronted by the mere thought.
"Ooh! Boop me! Boop me!" Pinkie excitedly demands. You reach down and lightly poke Pinkie's nose, making her collapse to the floor in a fit of giggles.
Rarity watches for a moment before turning back to you. "I was going to say lace, thankyouverymuch."
"No, that's even worse."
"B-but..." Rarity sticks her lower lip out and flattens her ears. "Why not?"
Oh no. That pout. Is it some pony instinct to act cute when they don't get what they want?
"Pleeeeeeeeease?" Rarity starts batting her eyelashes, her lower lip trembling.
No, this is clearly intentional. She's an evil manipulator. You can only imagine how many others have fallen into her trap. Her adorable, marshmallow-filled trap. You have to resist.
"...Fine."
You are weak.
A loud squee stabs your ears. You wait until you can hear again to speak. "I need something for my job. Can you make me a suit or something?"
"But of course, darling! Where do you work?"
"I start working as the mayor's secretary next week."
"Oh, you poor dear..." Rarity whispers to herself.
"What was that?"
"I said hold still, dear." Rarity levitates the measuring tape in front of her. "Arms out, please."
You stretch your arms to the side. Rarity tries measuring your waist first, but Pinkie immediately starts swatting at the excess tape. The seamstress absentmindedly tosses the ball of yarn into a corner. Pinkie jumps after it and begins playing with it.
"That should earn us a few minutes," Rarity smirks.
You decide to add yarn to your short list of things to buy once you get money.
The measuring only takes a minute, and the designs Rarity draws up afterwards are simple and comfy-looking. She calls them "bland and boring," but what does she know about fashion?
Since everything is finished, you start to untangle your pink party popper. You're almost sad to say goodbye to Rarity. Sure, she talks nearly as much as Pinkie, but she has a pleasant voice that's easy to listen to. She also doesn't try to force awkward small talk, which you're grateful for. She simply prattles on about some pony gossip that you don't understand.
"Thanks, Rarity!" Pinkie says once you remove her accidental yarn muzzle. "C'mon, Nonny! The train to Canterlot leaves soon!"
"Canterlot?!" Rarity shrieks behind you. So much for having a pleasant voice. "Why didn't you tell me before? You can't go to Canterlot looking like that!" The white unicorn is in full-blown panic mode now.
"It's not that big a deal, really," you say, holding your hands out in an attempt to calm her down. "We're just going to-"
"Not that big a deal?!" Your poor ears will never be the same. "How can you say such a thing?!"
"But, Rarity-" Pinkie tries cutting in, but it's far too late.
"No! No buts! I'm going to make Anon something presentable to wear to Canterlot!"
"But-"
"I said no buts! It will be ready in two hours. Now, shoo!" She shoves both of you into the main foyer and slams the door. You hear a lock click.
Pinkie looks up at you dejectedly. "The next train doesn't leave until noon. What are we supposed to do until then?"
You think for a minute, trying to block out the insane laughter coming from the door behind you.
"Unless you like corners, I got nothing," you shrug.
"Hmmm." Pinkie pulls out a wooden bucket with flashing light bulbs on it and shoves it on her head. 'Thinking Cap' is written in crayon on the front.
You leave Pinkie to her meditation and walk over to the nearby sofa for a nap. You sit down and lean back against the soft pillow. The soft, giggling pillow.
"I have an idea, Nonny," Pinkie whispers in your ear. As you leap to your feet in surprise, your heart only skips two beats instead of the usual three. Maybe one day, you'll learn to expect these things from the reality-defying creature you call a friend. "C'mon, it'll be fun!" She then bounds off the sofa and over to the door.
"What do you have in mind?" you ask with trepidation. Pinkie's idea of fun is a little different from yours.
Before you can be dragged off to god-knows-where, you firmly plant your feet and assert yourself. You at least want to know what you're going to suffer through beforehand.
"Hold up, Pinks. What does 'everything' mean?"
Pinkie skids to a stop and turns to face you with an eager smile. "Weeeeeeell~" she says, taking a deep breath.
You close your eyes and mentally prepare yourself for the incoming torrent of words. You really should have chosen a better way to phrase that question. She's surely going to list every possible activity in Equestria, and probably a few impossible ones.
In a few moments, the avalanche will begin.
Any second now...
...
You crack open an eye to see the pink pony puffing out her cheeks with a look of serious contemplation on her face. When she sees you looking at her, she slowly lets out the breath she was holding.
"Well... maybe everything is a bit much for you," she admits with a sheepish grin.
God bless this wonderful horse. You've only called her friend for a couple of weeks, but she already knows your limits.
Suddenly, her eyes light up and she gasps. "How about we go swimming? You can swim, right? Even if you can't, I can teach you! You know, I taught one of my sisters how to swim, and she hated water before that, so I must be a great teacher! Besides, it's kinda hot out today, so even if you don't learn very quickly, we can still cool off and have fun building sandcastles and playi-"
You cut off Pinkie's rambling by gently clamping her muzzle shut with both hands. It seems the torrent of words came after all. Her lips poke out and keep wiggling before she realizes no sound is coming out. She blinks and stops trying to talk. You let go and look her square in the baby blues.
"I can swim, Pinkie," you say in your signature 'I-ain't-got-time-for-this-shit' voice.
"Oh. Ehehe..." Her ears flatten out and she lowers her head, looking more than a little embarrassed.
Unfortunately for you, upset horses are your kryptonite. And this time, it's completely your fault instead of only partly. Way to go, jackass. You made an adorable, defenseless pony feel bad. Your parents must be so proud.
You let out a small sigh and wrap your arms around Pinkie's stomach, using her natural pony squish to help you get a grip. You lift her up and over until she rests squarely on your back, her front hooves automatically latching onto your shoulders.
"Sorry," you mumble, reaching back to go for an apology boop. Seeming to forgive you, Pinkie meets you halfway, her giggles letting you know you reached your target. "Swimming sounds like a great way to kill a couple hours. Which way are we going, cap'n?"
"Depends! We can play in the stream near the Apples’ place, we can play with the river serpent in the Everfree forest, we can go to the lake (it's basically a beach), we can go to the forbidden mirror pool, we can sneak into the Spoon family's pool house. There's a whole bunch of places to go!" she exclaims, swinging a hoof through the air.
You're pretty sure at least two of those options are illegal, and there's no way in hell you're going anywhere near a river serpent.
"Uh, the stream or the lake, I guess. Whichever one has less people." You've already dealt with a dozen ponies today, so you'd like a break from all that.
It was actually just Rarity, but it felt like a dozen ponies, so it was a dozen ponies.
"Pfft! You're the only people here, silly!" Pinkie teases, playfully batting the top of your head. To your mild surprise, her comment doesn't sting like you thought it would. You must have built up an emotional resistance from all those steamy one-on-none sessions with Mr. Corner. Or maybe it doesn't hurt because you know Pinkie didn't mean it in a malicious way. You aren't sure. This whole 'friendship' thing is confusing.
"You know what I meant. Stream or lake?"
"To the stream, noble steed!" Pinkie commands with all the adorable authority she can muster. It's quite a lot, so you do as you're told.
Backpack in place, you march down the cobblestone street, leaving the Circus Tent Boutique behind. You don't ask Pinkie for directions because you don't need them; you're a man, dammit! Also, you already know where the stream is.
Ponyville being a small town, you reach your destination in no time. The sounds of voices and splashing can be heard as you get closer. When you turn the final corner, you see three fillies, no taller than your knees, laughing and playing in the water.
Swallowing your pride, you ask Pinkie, "Which way is the lake?"
You feel her slump against you. "Aww, come on, Nonny," she pleads. "Those three are super-duper-extra-scooper friendly. I promise you'll like them- No, you'll love them!"
You want to argue your case, but one of them has already spotted you. The white unicorn filly hops out of the water, beaming excitedly.
"Hi, Mister Amonamiss! What are you doing outside?" the filly squeaks with an inquisitive tilt of her head.
The voice crack. The way she mispronounced your name. The bright smile and large eyes. This is precisely what you wanted to avoid. These ponies are too damn cute and friendly. There's no way you won't upset this filly in some way. You've already fucked up once today, so you want to avoid a repeat at all costs.
"Mmm," you respond intelligently. She just blinks in response, tilting her head the other way.
Luckily, Pinkie Pie comes to your rescue. She pops over your shoulder and waves at the confused filly.
"Hiya, Sweetie Belle! Me and Nonny were just about to go swimming! Mind if we join you?"
Worst rescue ever. Two out of ten, would not recommend.
"Aww, y'all couldn't have come a few minutes earlier? We were just about to leave 'cause Ah got chores to do."
Oh god, not another one. This one even has an accent. And a goddamn bow in her hair. You were not ready for this.
"Just a few minutes, huh?" Pinkie whispers in a mischievous tone. She hops off your back and steps away from the small group, rubbing her front hooves together. "I'm sure we can fix th-"
"Pinkie Pie!" The third filly, a pegasus, finally joins her friends, her tiny wings buzzing like a bumblebee every few seconds. "You know what Twilight said about using her time travel stuff without adult supervision."
"Nonny's an adult!" Pinkie says confidently.
"Pinkie, no" you groan, finally finding your voice. "No time travel, please. I can barely deal with normal magic as it is."
"I know, I know, I was just joking," she laughs, waving a hoof dismissively.
Sure she was.
"Anyway," Pinkie says as she bounces back to your side. "I guess we'll see you girls later, then!"
The three fillies bunch together and yell, "Bye, Pinkie Pie! Bye Mister Amonamiss!"
Their combined power—the bright smiles, the tiny, buzzing wings, the squeak, the accent, and the goddamn bow. It's all too much for your cold heart to bear.
You smile.
"Bye," you say, raising your hand in a halfhearted wave.
When the heart attacks are out of sight, you turn to walk toward the stream with a little more energy in your step, a beaming Pinkie bouncing beside you.
Pinkie wastes no time jumping into the water, her cannonball making a much bigger splash than it should have. You take off your shirt, shoes, and socks, tossing them behind you one at a time. You then remove your jeans, knowing no one here cares about 'public indecency' since ponies are almost always naked. However, you keep your underwear on. You'd like to keep some sense of decency.
"Hurry up, Nonny!" Pinkie excitedly calls. "The water feels great! It's all wet and stuff!"
"Hold your... Never mind," you sigh. Knowing Pinkie, she would probably take it literally and run off to traumatize some poor, unsuspecting ponies.
Taking a deep breath, you jog a few quick steps to build up momentum before leaping as far as you can, curling into a ball at the apex of your jump and plunging straight into the Pinkie-infested water.
You stay underwater for a few moments, letting your body get acclimated to the sudden temperature change. It's not as cold as you expected, but it still has a slight chill to it. And Pinkie was right, it is indeed wet. Your lungs start to burn after a while, so you finally emerge with only slightly less elegance than an injured walrus.
Catching your breath, you scan the water around you for your partner in pink. You catch sight of her a few dozen feet upstream, now wearing a snorkel she somehow got a hold of. You must have drifted away with the slow current while you were underwater. You start to lazily doggy paddle back upstream, enjoying the combination of warm sun and cool water.
The time passes by in a blur, your mind being occupied by splash fights, a swimming race, and Pinkie nearly swallowing a frog. Twice. Soon, you find yourself exhausted. Either swimming is more difficult than you remember, or you're out of shape.
You drag yourself out of the water and onto the grassy bank. Your limbs are sore and your chest hurts, but you don't mind; you had fun. After getting dressed, you spend the next few minutes watching Pinkie play with various aquatic animals. At one point, she finds a duck and starts imitating it, the both of them quacking noisily back and forth.
Eventually, Pinkie dives underwater, popping up near the water's edge a few moments later. She hops out, now snorkel-less, and starts shaking the water off of her like a dog. Her tail swings around like a windmill, throwing water in every direction. When she finally stops shaking, she appears completely dry. Her mane fwoomps out, becoming large and poofy once more.
Satisfied, she nods once and skips over to you, smiling all the while.
"Quack!" she greets happily.
"Quack," you reply with a small smile.
Pinkie's bubbly attitude slowly morphs into one of serious contemplation. She sits down next to you and places a hoof under her chin, staring out at nothing.
"Huh. I never thought about it like that before," she mutters. "This changes everything."
You have no idea what's going on, so you just plop a hand between Pinkie's ears and start scratching. She closes her eyes and leans into your hand, humming contentedly. She sluggishly lowers herself down until she's sprawled across your lap. A conversation from earlier makes its way back into your thoughts.
"Pinks?"
She twitches an ear to let you know she's listening.
"You mentioned you had a sister earlier. What's she like?" You imagine an entire family of nuclear-powered party ponies on a constant sugar rush. Somehow, you manage to stop yourself from shuddering.
"Hm? Oh, you mean the one I taught how to swim?" Pinkie cracks open an eye to look up at you.
"Yeah, her. What's her name?"
"That's Marble. She's the baby of the bunch," she says fondly. "She's only a few minutes younger than I am, but she'll always be my baby sister to me."
A few minutes? So that means... Oh. Oh no.
"So... she's your twin?" you ask, fearing the answer. One Pinkie Pie is already more than enough. You don't think you could handle another one. Ponyville doesn't have enough yarn for that.
"Fraternal, yeah," Pinkie nods, not noticing your sigh of relief. "Aside from sharing a birthday, we actually don't have that much in common. She's veeery shy, and I'm... well, you know," she says with a sheepish grin. "Limestone is the oldest one. She's very responsible, so she's gonna take over the farm one day." Her eyes suddenly light up. "Then there's my other sister, Maud—she's the second oldest, by the way. She's crazy smart and knows a ton about rocks. She's actually getting her rocktorate in rock science pretty soon!"
Rocktorate? What?
"Me and Maud are super close; we're basically the same pony. Actually, now that I think about it, you and Maud would probably get along great, too! If you want, I could introduce you two the next time she visits Ponyville," Pinkie offers.
You freeze, one line bouncing around in your head: basically the same pony. You rack your brain trying to think of a nicer way to say 'hell fucking no.' Pinkie, noticing the scratches have stopped, sits up and pokes your nose once before flopping back down on your lap, this time on her back.
You blink in surprise. "Did you just...?"
Pinkie pointedly wiggles her hooves in response, an innocent smile on her face.
"Don't give me that look, young lady."
She pulls her ears flat and sticks her lower lip out.
"It's not gonna work this time." You are stronger than before. You can resist.
She slowly blinks her large, baby-blue eyes.
You dig your fingers into the grass, not trusting your hands. You feel a cold sweat break out on your forehead. A silent agreement forms between the two of you, beginning an impromptu staring contest.
This is it. All those hours spent in front of the mirror will finally pay off.
Pinkie sits up in your lap, not breaking eye contact. The seconds drag on, each one more intense than the last. Your heart races, your eyes burn. Nose-to-nose with your greatest adversary, you feel your strength begin to waver. She's smirking now.
In the edge of your darkening vision, you see a small, pink protrusion sticking out of Pinkie's mouth. It slowly extends out before lightly flicking the tip of your nose.
You blink.
"D-did you just lick me?" you ask incredulously. "That's cheating!"
"You didn't make any rules~" she sings, flopping back onto your lap. "I would like a tummy rub as my prize." She bats her eyes at you, gesturing to her stomach.
You take a moment to recover, still dazed by the fact that she licked you. Seriously, who does that?
Suddenly, an evil thought enters your mind. "You're right, I didn't make any rules." You cross your arms and smirk. "I also didn't say anything about a prize."
"Wha- Bu-... Huh?" Pinkie looks like you just told her Santa isn't real.
"Besides, I don't think cheaters really deserve tummy rubs."
The pink mare in your lap twitches a few times, her eyes darting back and forth as she tries to come up with a rebuttal. Eventually, she gives up and sighs. You decide to have mercy; she's suffered enough.
"You're lucky you ponies are so adorable," you chuckle quietly to yourself.
You place a hand on the center of her tum and start lightly stroking in circles. The effect is immediate. Pinkie goes limp, her legs flopping to either side. A silly grin is plastered on her face, the tip of her cheating tongue poking out between her teeth. She starts to hum again in a single, continuous note of bliss.
You've felt Pinkie before, but it still surprises you just how soft she is. You aren't sure if it's a pony thing or a Pinkie thing. Probably a little bit of both. You continue the tummy rub, occasionally switching hands just to spice things up.
At some point, you notice the humming stop. A quick check shows that Pinkie is asleep. Or is she? You poke her stomach once. Her lips curl into a small smile, but she otherwise doesn't react. No giggles, no snorts, no giggle-snorts. She's definitely out.
You huff, knowing you can't let her sleep for very long. It's been about two hours since you left Rarity's, so you'll need to head back there soon. You lean back on both arms, wondering what the best way to wake Pinkie would be.
Before you can think of anything, Pinkie mumbles something in her sleep and curls into a ball. A fluffy, pink ball of cotton candy. She starts to quietly snore.
Well, nobody said you had to wake her up. Rarity can wait a few minutes.
You spend a dozen or so minutes enjoying the sun and listening to the quiet snores coming from the pony in your lap. Your hand rests on her head, thumb lightly rubbing back and forth between her ears. You're mildly surprised that Pinkie can actually stay still for more than a few seconds, even when asleep. When she isn't forcing strangers to have nonconsensual parties, she's downright adorable. Not like normal ponies, who are "cute" in the same way puppies are cute. Pinkie looks almost... innocent? No, she's definitely not innocent. But you can't help but notice how peaceful she looks right now, like she isn't troubled by anything at all.
Your stomach apparently takes that as a challenge and lets out the loudest, deepest, gut-churning gurgle ever produced by a human organ. It's so loud that grandmas everywhere start baking without knowing exactly why—their grandma senses just tell them there's an empty tummy somewhere that needs to be filled.
You tense up, not daring to breathe. Not even a corpse could sleep through that sound, much less the living fusion reactor resting mere inches from your stomach.
The seconds crawl by...
...
...
But nothing happens. Pinkie doesn't even stir.
Huh... She must be a really heavy sleeper. It kind of fits, now that you think about it. Her cocaine/caffeine/sugar high probably wore off, leaving her unable to access the limitless energy of the Pinkosphere.
The idea of Pinkie drawing her power from a separate dimension is absurd enough to make you quietly chuckle, just a little bit. But that little bit is apparently all it takes.
"Whatcha laughin' at, Nonny? Did somepony tell a joke? Did I miss a joke?!" The once-sleeping mare goes from zero to Pinkie Pie instantly, shattering the brief silence you were enjoying.
"No, Pinkie," you sigh. It was nice while it lasted. "No one told a joke."
Pinkie crawls out of your lap and turns to give you a confused look, complete with head tilt and ear twitch. "Really?" she questions. "Then what were you laughing at?"
"I didn't laugh," you half-lie. You didn't actually laugh. Really, all you did was exhale through your nose a bit harder than normal—the traditional display of mild amusement for modern-day humans.
"Yes, you did!" Pinkie accuses.
"Nah."
"Ya-huh!"
"Nope. You must have dreamed it," you say dismissively, standing up to get some circulation back in your legs.
Pinkie raises a hoof and starts to say something, but she hesitates. She sets her hoof down and takes on a look of deep contemplation, thinking about your words. Or chocolate. You can never tell.
"Hmm... I guess I might have dreamed it. It does seem like the kind of dream I would have," she slowly says, nodding her head.
"What do you mean by that?" you ask, not sure if you want to know the answer. Why would a dream about you laughing be considered normal for her?
"It's just-" she hesitates again. "I really like the way you laugh. It's similar to a pony's laugh, but it's so different at the same time. And you don't laugh very often, so..." She shrugs, not meeting your eyes and looking uncomfortable.
What.
"Pinkie, do you remember what I said yesterday in Sugarcube Corner?"
"Don't make it weird?"
You wave a hand. "No, the other thing."
"Uh..." Pinkie scrunches her nose, trying to remember. "Stop being so darned cute?" she guesses, still being cute. The gall of this pony...
"Close enough. Now stop."
"Mmmmmm, nope!" she exclaims before launching herself at your chest and latching on.
"Pinkie."
"Carry me," she demands, wiggling around until she settles in backpack formation. Again.
You remember the good ol' days, back when the spot between your shoulder blades still belonged to you. Now, it appears Pinkie has claimed it for herself.
Screw it, she can have it. You don't want it anyway. All it does is cramp up and itch where you can't reach.
"Fine," you sigh, resigned to your fate. You suppose it's only fitting; people ride horses on Earth, so horses ride people here. "Let's just pick up my clothes and then get lunch, okay?"
"Kay!" your backpack/owner/caretaker/friend cheerfully replies.
Is this what friendship is supposed to be like? If it is, you can only imagine how difficult it must be to have more than one.
Rarity does not look happy.
"I am not happy, Anonymous," she growls.
Damn, you're good. Fifteen points.
"Well, duh!" Pinkie pipes up from her hiding place behind one of Rarity's mannequins. "You're Rarity, ya silly! You didn't forget again, did you?"
Rarity slowly turns her head to face the other pony. You swear you can hear the bones in her neck creaking.
"You aren't in the clear either, Miss Pie," she warns in a shrill whisper. "You allowed this to happen."
Pinkie squeaks and ducks back behind cover. You're still confused about this whole situation. Rarity didn't let you come inside, and now she looks like she wants to bite your head off.
"Yeah, can I get some context here?" you ask. "Why are you so angry?"
Some more creaks, and Rarity's glare is back on you.
"I'm not angry!" Rarity shrieks with absolutely no traces of anger. "You leave my sight for two hours, Anonymous. Two. Hours. And you come back looking even worse than before!"
"Wow, fuck you too," you mutter under your breath.
"What was that?!"
Shitshitshit. "I said... I like your shoes." She isn't wearing shoes.
Ten outta ten. First prize. God of improv right here.
Rarity's not-anger fades for a moment, replaced by confusion and perhaps a bit of concern for your mental health. Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, she looks back at you, appearing slightly less not-angry than before.
"Anon, you look like you just got back from playing in the mud," she scolds, gesturing to the back of your jeans and shirt. You had put your clothes back on right after getting out of the water, so they got a little wet. Then you sat down in the dirt to watch Pinkie for a while. So yeah, your backside is muddy.
"Well, you look like... stupid," you think silently. Fuckin gottem.
"Hmph, these are far beyond saving, even with skills such as my own," Rarity scoffs while circling you. "Undress so I may properly dispose of such... ugh. And leave your shoes outside; I don't want you tracking mud."
Rolling your eyes, you kick off your shoes and walk inside. Once behind the changing screen, you remove your jeans, socks, and shirt. You then realize you have nothing to change into.
"Can you pass me the new clothes?" you ask. It's such a simple request, but Rarity apparently loves making you suffer.
"You will receive them after I have the old ones. I don't want your new outfit to be contaminated by that disease of fabric." Her voice leaves no room for argument. "Toss them over."
Where did Rarity's pleasant demeanor go? What happened to the sweet mare from before? Did an evil shapeshifter kill the real Rarity and take her place?
You drape everything but your underwear over the side of the screen, hoping she doesn't notice before giving you the new pair first. A blue aura pulls them the rest of the way over. You wait for the new clothing to appear, but nothing happens.
"Rarity?"
"Yes, darling?"
"Can I have my clothes now?"
"Take off your underwear, Anonymous!" she demands loudly, stomping a hoof for emphasis.
You begrudgingly do as you're told, trying to ignore the fact that this is the first time a female actually wanted you to get naked. The blue aura claims another victim, and your reward is a stack of neatly folded clothing. You get dressed as quickly as possible, not even bothering to see what the outfit looks like.
Rarity flings the screen aside right as you finish buttoning your pants. She gives you an appraising look, clearly proud of her work. You take that same moment to finally look at what you shoved yourself into.
It looks... okay? You're not an expert, so they just look like clothes. Pale brown khaki pants, light blue socks, a white button-down shirt, and a pink silk vest. The underwear is hidden, as it should be. It all fits surprisingly well. In fact, it's downright comfy.
"You made this in two hours? From scratch?" You glance over to see Rarity practically glowing with pride.
"But of course, darling. I couldn't possibly allow you to tarnish Canterlot's veneer with the detritus you wore previously," she sniffs.
You're pretty sure she just insulted your mother in French.
"Oh, I almost forgot." She tosses you a light blue ribbon. "Put this on, if you would be so kind."
"Okay, what is it?"
Rarity gives you a cold stare. Her intense gaze makes you feel inadequate in every possible way. You are dirt. You are less than dirt. You should feel honored to even breathe the same air as the mare in front of you.
She blinks, and the spell is broken. You need an adult.
"It's a bow tie, Anonymous," she slowly explains.
"Oh." You continue to hold the bow tie, making no effort to put it on. "Do you have any clip-ons?"
Rarity inhales deeply before exhaling the most dramatic sigh you've ever heard. She shakes her head sadly and walks into her workroom.
"Stallions," she mutters.
While Rarity is shuffling through her organized mess, you notice that Pinkie has been very quiet. Too quiet. You start to search for possible hiding spots before remembering that Pinkie can hide literally anywhere. You pat the top of your head, just to be sure. Nothing.
Well, shit. She's gone forever. At least it was fun while it lasted.
FWOOOOOOOOOOSH
"Jesus tittyfucking Christ, what the fuck was that?!"
"Language!" you hear Rarity's muffled reprimand. "It's just Pinkie; I let her handle the waste disposal."
You rush to the back of the boutique, throwing the door open to reveal a scene that will forever haunt your nightmares. A pillar of blood-red flames roars in front of you, black smoke billowing into the sky. You see demons thrashing back and forth within the inferno—demons that look suspiciously like your old clothes. The chaotic spectacle is almost enough to distract you from the true terror: Pinkie Pie holding a flamethrower, cackling madly.
You slowly close the door and walk back to Rarity.
"Ah, here it is!" she exclaims shortly after you enter her workroom. She turns to you and starts fussing with your collar. "You're lucky you humans are so adorable. I would never let a pony wear a clip-on bow tie in Canterlot."
"Thank you, Rarity," you mumble, unsure if what you witnessed was real or not.
"You are quite welcome, darling." She finishes clipping on your clip-on. "Now, one last thing. I don't have the materials to make you a proper pair of shoes right now, so I made you some temporary slippers."
A pair of brown slippers floats in front of you, encompassed in blue. You grab them out of the air and take a closer look. They're a darker shade of brown than your pants, which you assume is a good thing. You still have no idea what colors match, so you have to trust the judgement of the almighty Fashion Horse.
You drop the slippers onto the ground and cram your feet into them. Oh. They're awful. It feels like you just wrapped a shirt around each foot. You can walk fine, but...
Rarity is looking up at you expectantly, her eyes sparkling.
You feel conflicted. She clearly has no idea how to make shoes for non-hooved feet, but she still tried her best. Hell, she did more than you could've possibly expected in just two hours.
"Well?" Rarity asks, bouncing in anticipation. "How are they?"
"They're... perfect, Rarity. Thank you." You want to kneel down and give her a heartfelt hug, but she'd probably just make a fuss about you getting the pants dirty or something.
Fuck it.
"Eep!" Rarity squeaks when you pick her up and wrap her marshmallow-y body in the huggiest hug you can manage. She flails around weakly for a few seconds before realizing she's being loved on. She then laughs sheepishly and returns your hug.
The awkward part comes when you try to put her down. You let go completely, but she's still hanging on.
"Hey, Rarity?"
"Hm?"
"You wanna let go now?"
"...You're warm."
"I know, right?" Pinkie exclaims, bursting into the room. "Make some room!"
Pinkie jumps onto your back, completing the most unhealthy sandwich in Equestria. You stumble a bit, attempting to pry yourself free. Unfortunately, ponies are made of pure squish and steel; their grips are unbreakable. You have no choice but to wait until they've had their fill.
You've been sitting cross-legged on the floor for the past few minutes with Pinkie on your back and Rarity on your chest. It's fairly obvious by now that neither pony is planning on letting go anytime soon.
"Rarity," you groan. "Please let me go."
"Don't give in, Rarity!" Pinkie whisper-yells. "Wear down his resistance!"
"Pinkie, no," you plead.
"Pinkie, yes!" she shoots back. You have no defense against such an argument.
Rarity finally interjects, still not budging. "Why do I have to let go and not Pinkie Pie?" she huffs, flipping her mane. "You're making it sound like you don't like me."
You don't take the bait. "Well, Pinkie's coming with me to get food, so unless you want me to haul you across town, you need to let me go."
That was the worst possible choice of words. Pinkie gasps and starts nodding vigorously over your shoulder.
"Oh, what a wonderful idea!" Rarity exclaims. "I skipped breakfast this morning, so brunch would be perfect right now."
"Yay, brunch party!" Pinkie yells directly in your ear. Ow.
Once the ringing stops, you say, "Why are you saying brunch instead of lunch? It's only-" You glance around the room until you spot a clock. "...Ten o'clock. What? Why is it still so fucking early?"
Rarity smacks your shoulder. "Language," she scolds, not even bothering to answer your perfectly reasonable question.
"See, Nonny? Waking up at sunrise gives you so much more time to do stuff!" Pinkie is still trying to convince you that early equals good, but you know better. The sun is nothing more than an evil temptress trying to coax you away from the comfort and safety of your bed.
"I don't wanna do stuff," you mumble. You know you shouldn't fight a losing battle, but you still try to bargain with the stubborn marshmallow in your lap. "I'll let you put lace on one of the shirts if you get off me," you offer. No promises about wearing it, though.
"Oh, puh-lease," Rarity scoffs. "We both know you'd never wear it."
Shit. She must be a mind reader. Damn unicorns and their overpowered magic.
"I have a better idea," she continues. "I'll pay for your meal if you carry me."
What the fuck is up with ponies wanting to be carried? Seriously, one of the first things Pinkie did after breaking befriending you was jump on your back. There doesn't seem to be any inherent reason to it, either—they just want it because they want it.
Then again, you get a free meal out of it, and it's not charity if you provide a service in return, right? The money you save here could go towards paying Rarity back for the clothes. Eventually.
"...Deal," you begrudgingly say. "But I'm not carrying you back to the boutique."
Rarity waves a hoof dismissively. "That's fine, darling. I'd prefer to walk off the calories anyway."
What.
"Then why don't you just walk there yourself?" you slowly ask. "Seems like you'd get more exercise that way."
"Are you implying I need to exercise more?" She narrows her eyes at you.
"What? No, I meant-"
"Because it sounds like you're calling me fat."
"That's not what I-"
"Nonny!" Pinkie gasps. "That was very mean. You shouldn't say things like that."
"I didn't! She just-"
"Upupup!" Rarity shoves a hoof in your face. "That doesn't sound like an apology."
These fucking horses, Jesus Christ.
You don't say anything, refusing to play their game. You simply stand up and start to walk towards the door. Unfortunately, Rarity's hooves are around your chest, not over your shoulders, so you have to wrap an arm around her lower back to keep her from sliding down.
She must have misinterpreted the movement as you hugging her, because she tightens her own hug and nuzzles into your chest.
"Apology accepted," she hums, a contented smile on her face.
You don't bother correcting her; it's not worth it. You hold back a sigh and walk out of the boutique. Rarity's horn lights up momentarily, flipping the sign in the window from 'OPEN' to 'CLOSED.'
The stares you received while carrying Pinkie the first time were nothing compared to the ones you're getting now. You can only imagine how ridiculous you must look carrying two ponies like children—one on your hip and the other on your back. At least no one is laughing at you.
Angling yourself in the direction of your house, you finally speak up.
"Where the f- ...Where are we going?"
"Hmm," Pinkie muses. "As long as we don't have to make reservations or wait in a line, I don't care. What about you, Rarity?"
"A good restaurant without a waiting list..." Rarity hums in thought. "The Greenhouse, perhaps?" she offers.
"Never heard of it. Let's go." You couldn't care less about where you're going. You just want food that isn't pure sugar or grass.
"Splendid! It's right across fr-"
"Straight ahead, Nonny!" Pinkie exclaims.
"M'kay."
"Hmph," Rarity pouts adorably. This only reaffirms your theory that ponies use their natural cuteness as a defense mechanism when they get upset.
You chew your tongue for a few moments, trying to think of a way to stop her assault. She's mad that she was cut off, but you know Pinkie didn't do it to be mean. In fact, the pink mare is resting her head on your shoulder, humming obliviously. She hasn't even noticed Rarity's expression.
"Uh... Hey, Rarity?" you venture. "Pinkie's 'straight ahead' was kinda vague. Do you think you could give me some better directions?" You've asked for directions twice today. Your pride as a man is sorely bruised.
Rarity instantly perks up. "But of course, darling! I'd be happy to assist," she smiles. She rattles off a list of buildings and streets you've never heard of. Amidst the confusing torrent of words, your brain manages to pick out "behind Town Hall." You know exactly where that is, so you tune out the rest of her needlessly detailed lecture about the geographical layout of Ponyville.
As always, Pinkie was right. The trip ends up being a straight shot with one minor curve around a fountain. The distance is thankfully short as well. Your muscles were starting burn from carrying these needy ponies, not to mention the uncomfortable slipper/shoe abominations on your feet.
The restaurant itself looks rather strange, having brown brick walls and a glass roof. Three out of ten, only vaguely resembles a greenhouse.
You step up to the little podium where a brown pegasus waiter is smiling up at you, looking confused by your unusual cargo for a brief moment. Before you can open your mouth, Rarity grabs the waiter's attention by waving a hoof.
"Table for three, please," she says in a sickeningly sweet voice.
"Preferably a corner booth," Pinkie pipes up. "Please and thank you."
"As you wish," the waiter says, bowing slightly. "Right this way, please."
To his credit, his professional demeanor never wavers while leading your odd group across the restaurant. The patrons, on the other hand, make no attempt to hide their amusement and confusion. You have no problem ignoring them.
Once at the booth, you gently place Rarity on the semicircular cushion. "Rarity." You then grab Pinkie, placing her directly on top of the table. "Pinks." And finally, you take your own seat across from Rarity. "Anon."
Pinkie predictably springs into your lap the moment you're settled. You don't even try to move her this time. You know how easily your resistance crumbles under her puppy-dog eyes. Rarity, for her part, doesn't seem perturbed in the slightest. Considering her trick with the yarn, she's probably very familiar with Pinkie being Pinkie.
"So," Rarity breaks the brief silence. "Not that I mind, Pinkie, but why a corner booth?"
"I dunno," she shrugs. "Nonny likes corners."
She's right. You like corners very much. From a corner, you can see everyone in the room without having to interact with them.
You feel a surge of affection for the mare in your lap. You grab her around the stomach and lift her up, making her giggle, then wrap her in a tight embrace. Her hooves are facing away from you, so she responds by nuzzling your neck, humming happily.
You feel a big, goofy smile on your face after you release her. You look up to see Rarity smirking at the both of you. It's not a normal smirk, either. No, it's one of those smirks. You've seen them on humans plenty of times, and they look exactly the same on a pony.
She thinks she knows something you don't.
"What?" you demand, trying not to sound irritated.
"Hm?" Rarity shakes her head, as if snapping out of a trance. Her smirk is replaced by a guilty expression. "I'm sorry, Anon, what were you saying?"
"What's with that face you were making?"
"Rarity made a face?" Pinkie gasps. "Ooh, show me! Show me!"
"It's nothing, Pinkie," she waves a hoof, smiling politely. "Don't you worry your pretty little head about it."
"My head isn't little!" Pinkie responds defensively. "Your head is little!"
"You know what I meant, darling," Rarity says, rolling her eyes.
Before you can question Rarity further, a new waiter walks up to your table looking incredibly bored. His dead eyes and emotionless expression remind you of yourself in a way. You feel a small amount of kinship with this pony, despite knowing almost nothing about him.
"Welcome to The Greenhouse," he drones in monotone. "My name is Silver Platter, and I'll be your waiter for today." He roughly tosses a few menus onto the table, then takes out a small notepad from his pocket. Pencil poised to scribble, he asks, "What would you like to drink?"
"Iced tea with a lemon wedge," Rarity answers without hesitation.
"Do you have milkshakes?" Pinkie asks, ignoring the menus in front of her.
"...No," Silver Platter says slowly, his eye twitching. "We have-"
"What about smoothies?"
The poor guy looks like he's about to pop a blood vessel. You decide to step in before Pinkie unwittingly leads to the creation of a serial killer.
"She'll have some apple juice," you quickly say.
"Orange juice," she whispers in your ear. It's loud enough for the waiter to hear, but you humor Pinkie anyway.
"Orange juice," you correct. "And I'll have some apple juice."
"No, wait!" Pinkie slams her hooves on the table. "I changed my mind. I want apple juice."
The pencil in the waiter's hoof cracks slightly, causing you and Rarity to flinch. He slowly drags it back and forth across the paper, tearing it. When he looks back up, he simply stares off into nothingness, his eyes now bloodshot. He mumbles something unintelligible, then shuffles off—presumably to get your drinks. Or a knife.
Meanwhile, Pinkie is happily stacking the bottles of condiments on the table, oblivious to the warning signs.
You glance up to see Rarity hiding behind her menu. Trying to forget the situation, you grab a menu for yourself and look for something you can actually digest. Damn ponies, always eating grass and flowers and shit. The only thing that looks decent is the fruit salad. Ugh.
"Rarity, there's almost nothing I can eat here. I'm picking the restaurant next time."
Rarity glances up with a sly smile. "Next time? Why, Anon, don't you think it's a bit soon for-"
"Wait, is there really nothing you can eat?" Pinkie suddenly interjects. "Do we need to go to another restaurant? I-I-I can cook if there's nowhere else to go!" Pinkie is starting to work herself into a panic. She's almost hyperventilating, her ears pressed flat against her skull.
You put an end to that as fast as you can. Grabbing her cheeks, you turn her to face you, calmly saying, "No, Pinkie, we don't need to leave. There's stuff for me to eat here, it's just not a wide selection."
Pinkie slowly calms down, her breathing returning to normal. "...You promise?" she asks quietly.
"Yes, I promise. I'm getting the fruit salad, see?" You point to the dish on the menu. "I already did the whole 'Pinkie Promise' thing, anyway."
Pinkie takes your menu and stares closely at the two little words. Apparently finding nothing wrong, she eventually sighs and gently folds the menu back up before smacking your shoulder with it.
Ow. "What was that for?"
"I told you those jokes weren't funny," she huffs.
"I didn't even make a joke! I just said there's almost nothing to eat, which is true."
"Well... uh," her eyes dart back and forth, searching for a reasonable excuse. Her attention turns to Rarity, who motions her over. Taking the cue, Pinkie scoots along the cushion until she's next to her. Rarity whispers something in Pinkie's ear, making them both smile. Well, Pinkie smiles. Rarity is wearing an evil grin. You suddenly feel like you're witnessing your own funeral being planned.
A few more whispers, and Pinkie crawls back into your lap, now in a much better mood.
"Rarity says I'll forgive you if you babysit Sweetie Belle tomorrow," she cheerfully says.
"And Apple Bloom and Scootaloo," Rarity adds. "I have a fashion show tomorrow in Manehattan, so the girls and I decided to turn it into a little day trip of sorts. We've been looking for someone to watch them, and luckily, Pinkie says you'd be a great choice."
"Wait, what?" Pinkie tilts her head in confusion. "You said that, not me."
"Quiet, dear," Rarity hisses.
You've had enough of this. "Okay, hold up," you say, holding a hand up. Look at you, following your own directions. "Pinkie, what do you mean you'll 'forgive' me? I didn't even do anything wrong!"
"Rarity says you emotionally traumatized me."
What.
"...Do you feel traumatized?" you ask.
"I don't know what that means, but yes," she nods confidently.
You place your head in your hands, struggling not to be crushed by the sheer amount of 'what the fuck.' A few seconds later, Pinkie pries your hands away to look you square in the face.
With those goddamned puppy-dog eyes.
"Pleeeeeeeeeeease?"
You tear your eyes away to glare at Rarity. "What the fuck did you do to her?"
"Language, Anon," she chides. "And that doesn't sound like a 'no' to me."
You try to think of the most vulgar, obscene, not-very-nice way to deny her, but your focus is broken when Pinkie pokes your nose. You make the mistake of looking back down.
"Please?" she whispers, placing her chin on your chest to give you the full force of her double-barrel baby blues.
Fucking...
"Fine," you sigh. Pinkie tries to kill you by squeezing your rib cage as hard as she can. The pain is slightly lessened when she nuzzles into your chest.
"Thank you, Nonny," she says, her voice muffled by the fabric. You place a hand on her head, trying to find a small amount of comfort in the soft mane.
Well, shit. You just sold your very busy Sunday in exchange for... nothing, actually. As far as you know, you aren't getting paid to watch whoever the fuck Sweetie Belle and her two friends are. What were they called? Scooter Boom and Apple Two? Fucking pony names. But that first name, Sweetie Belle... Why does that sound so familiar?
You open your mouth to ask Rarity about it, but before you can say anything, an unfamiliar waiter slides up to your table, sweating profusely.
"Sorry about the delay," he nervously laughs. "Here are your drinks." He uses a wing to balance a tray of glasses, which he offers to each of you in turn. "Two apple juices and one iced tea with lemon, correct?"
"That's exactly right, thank you," Rarity smiles politely. "But I must ask, what happened to the last waiter? Silver Platter, I believe his name was."
The replacement waiter looks as if he'd been called to testify against himself in court. He wipes the sweat from his forehead with a shaking hoof, forcing himself to smile. "H-he, uh... had a th-thing. To go to. He had to go to a thing," he stammers.
You cut in before Rarity says something stupid about fashion or murder or some shit like that. "I'm sure it was very important and none of our business." You throw a meaningful glance to Rarity, who looks a bit green in the face from thinking about fashion so much.
A long, awkward silence passes, the only sound being Pinkie Pie slurping your apple juice through a straw. Her own glass is already empty.
"A-anyway," the waiter eventually says, "have you decided what to order? I can give you a few minutes if not."
"Oh, that won't be necessary," Rarity says, folding up her menu. "I believe we're ready now." She orders a French-sounding dish, probably a diet soup with whole-grain water—typical fancy person food.
The waiter jots it down in his handy dandy notebook, then looks at Pinkie expectantly. "And you, ma'am?"
"Nonny wants a fruit salad."
The confused waiter hesitates, looking to you for confirmation. You give a small nod, and he scribbles away. "Okay then... What about you, Miss Pie?"
"Do you guys have smoothies?"
"Pinkie," you groan.
"I'm just making sure!"
"No, unfortunately we don't have smoothies," the waiter responds patiently.
Pinkie somehow snaps without fingers. "Aw, nuts. I'll just have a daisy club, then."
"And can we get some more apple juice?" you ask, holding up the empty glasses.
"Of course." He nods, taking them with a wing. "I will return shortly." Once he's out of earshot, you decide to ask something that's been bothering you for the past few minutes.
"Rarity." The white mare looks up. "Exactly how old are the kids I'm supposed to watch? Because I can't do stuff like diapers or-"
You're cut off by bubbling laughter coming from your lap. "Nonny, you goober!" Pinkie giggles. "They're not in diapers. They're the same fillies you saw at the stream, remember?"
The stream? Oh. Those three.
You feel the air rush out of your lungs. A chill races down your spine. Your heart picks up its pace, trying to get in as many beats as possible before its inevitable death by filly.
"Oh," you breathe, unsure if your body can handle 300 ccs of adorable injected straight into your bloodstream.
"That's not going to be a problem, is it?" Rarity raises an eyebrow.
"Nope," you say evenly, screaming on the inside. "No problem at all."
As if sensing your discomfort, Pinkie wiggles around to face you, then buries her muzzle in your chest once more. You set a hand on top of her mane, your fingers sinking through the curls to lightly scratch her head.
Rarity is giving you that smirk again, but before you can call her out on it, she says, "I don't recall either of you mentioning your reason for going to Canterlot together." The smirk widens. "I must admit, I'm very curious."
You wait for Pinkie to answer, but she seems content to stay quiet and let you carry the conversation while she enjoys her head scratches.
"We're going shopping," you finally say. "Pinkie's idea."
Rarity's expression falls slightly, as if disappointed by your answer. She purses her lips, shifting her gaze from you to Pinkie. "That's it? You two are going to Canterlot together just to do some shopping?"
"Well, yeah. What else would we do? And it's not really shopping so much as browsing, since I'm not gonna buy anything."
"Not buying anything? In Canterlot?" Rarity gives a very unladylike snort of disbelief. "Of course, Anon. And Pinkie's a unicorn."
"I'm still not convinced that isn't true. I checked once before, but maybe her horn is hidden or invisible." It makes perfect sense to you. Magic breaks physics. Pinkie breaks physics. Therefore, Pinkie must have magic.
"Believe me, darling, we've looked. Twilight ran dozens of magical scans and found nothing. We even had Rainbow Dash explore every inch of her mane. She disappeared inside it. We didn't see her for an entire week."
What. How can she talk about someone disappearing into Pinkie's mane so nonchalantly? Surely she must be exaggerating.
"A week? How did she survive, then?"
"That's the funny thing. It was a week for us, but Rainbow swears she was only in there for a few minutes. She still thinks we were trying to play an elaborate prank on her."
That's... incredibly disturbing if true. But at the same time, it also seems par for the course where Pinkie Pie is concerned. You glance down into the mass of pink poof and realize your hand is completely engulfed by her mane. You stop scratching and slowly, carefully withdraw your hand from the sweet-smelling curls. You let out a small sigh of relief when you see all your fingers still attached.
A quiet whine draws your attention back to Pinkie. She's staring up at you again, her lower lip poking out a bit in the most gut-wrenching pout you've ever seen. Your hand immediately goes back to the top of her head, this time avoiding the bulk of her mane by rubbing between her ears, massaging the small muscles around the base of each one. Pinkie signals her approval with a low 'oooh', sluggishly turning around in your lap and resting her chin on the table to give you better access.
"Amazing."
You glance up to see Rarity wearing an expression somewhere between wonder and mirth.
At your raised eyebrow, she continues, "I've never seen her willingly sit still for so long."
"Yeah, she's usually a lot more... Pinkie, but I guess she gets sleepy when I... Uh..." When you what? When you rub her? What could you possibly say that won't make it sound weird as fuck? "When I do this," you finish lamely.
Pinkie either ignores the conversation about her or simply isn't paying attention, lost in the wonders of her ear massage.
Rarity's pleasant smile twists back into that fucking smirk. "So you... "do this" with Pinkie often?" she asks, gesturing in your general direction.
You know she's fishing for something with that question. Thankfully, you're saved from answering by the arrival of your food. You wrap an arm around Pinkie's barrel and lean her back against you so the waiter has room to set the plates down. She looks around groggily for a few seconds, as if coming out of a trance. By the time she recovers her senses, the waiter has already left.
"Welcome back to the real world, Pinkie Pie," Rarity teases.
"How do we know this world is real? Maybe we're all just dreaming, and we only wake up when we die." Pinkie blinks once. "Ooh, food's here!"
You sit there pondering the meaning behind Pinkie's half-asleep rambling. Maybe this world isn't real. Maybe it's all in your head, simply the fever dream of the universe's loneliest soul. Maybe-
Your internal philosophizing is cut short when Pinkie shoves a grape into your mouth. Biting down on the juicy orb, you forget what you were thinking about in the first place. Probably something stupid.
You reach your left hand towards your fork before realizing your position. Your right arm is wrapped around Pinkie's chest, your fingers absentmindedly tracing circles in the thick patch of fluff. Her plate is directly in front of her, and she's happily chomping away at her daisy-filled sandwich. Your own plate is in arms reach to the left of Pinkie's, but you can't eat when she's in the way like this. Not unless you feel like eating one-handed, and with your left hand at that.
You briefly consider letting go of Pinkie and moving her off of you, but then immediately dismiss such a ridiculous notion. It's not even worth considering, since she'll just crawl right back into your lap.
Right. There's no point in even trying to let go. Besides, she's soft.
You grab the fork with your left hand and start clumsily stabbing at the various fruits. More than once, you catch Pinkie trying to sneak a daisy or two onto your plate, despite your attempts at explaining why you can't digest them. Maybe. You don't want to risk it. At least you get to actually drink some of your apple juice this time.
You spot another daisy on the end of your fork. You boop Pinkie's nose and drop the flower back on her plate while she's caught up in her giggle fit. A wistful sigh catches your attention, and you see Rarity smiling and staring at the both of you again.
"Seriously, what are you staring at?" you demand.
"Oh, don't mind me, darling," she says, waving a hoof in a 'go on' motion. "Just pretend I'm not here."
You really want to question her further, but then you remember that she's paying for the meal. You spend the rest of the meal trying to ignore her staring and playing keep-your-apple-juice-away-from-Pinkie-Pie. You aren't very good at it.
The waiter comes by with a check, but Rarity snatches it away with her magic before you can see the price. You don't argue; you simply follow behind her as the white mare struts up to the podium at the front. She floats the check over to the stallion behind it and tells him to put it on her tab.
Once outside, Rarity turns to you and says, "I suppose you'll be off to Canterlot now?"
"Yepperooni!" Pinkie bounces in place excitedly.
"I guess so, yeah," you shrug.
"Well, be sure to enjoy yourselves properly. Canterlot is a special place," she says cryptically. "I'll have the rest of your outfits ready by tomorrow morning, Anon."
You smile awkwardly. "Thanks. I'll be sure to pay you back for them once I get my first paycheck."
"Pssh," Rarity rolls her eyes. "Please, darling, it's no cost to you."
"I appreciate the gesture, but I will be paying you. I don't want charity."
"Of course it's not charity, it's a gift," she smiles sweetly.
You narrow your eyes at her. "Touché."
"Indeed." She starts to walk away and waves over her shoulder. "Have fun!"
"Bye, Rarity!" Pinkie shrieks at the top of her lungs, despite the other mare being only a few steps away.
When you regain your hearing, you turn to Pinkie. "Ready to go?"
"Nope!" she grins.
"Why not?"
"Carry me!"
Not this shit again. You sigh and turn around, gesturing to your back. "Fine, hop on."
"Nu-uh!" Pinkie stubbornly shakes her head.
"What? What's wrong now?"
"Carry me like Rarity."
"...Why?"
Pinkie freezes, not expecting you to question her adorable demands. "Uhh... I dunno," she shrugs halfheartedly. "I just- It looked comfy. I guess." She starts pawing at the dirt, not meeting your eyes.
You can't handle her assault, instantly caving in and swooping her up into your arms. She automatically wraps her forelegs around your neck.
"Thank you, Nonny," she says, nuzzling your cheek.
You gently pat her poofy mane to the side so you can see. "Well? Is it comfy?" you ask.
"Mhm," Pinkie purrs.
"Better than your other spot?"
"No, but this is good for now," she says, hugging you a little tighter.
Staving off yet another heart attack, you start walking towards the tall spire marking the Ponyville Train Station, ready to face the horse capital of the world: Canterlot.
The walk to the station is blissfully uneventful. Pinkie doesn't say anything on the way; she just softly hums some song you don't recognize. When you step onto the platform, she wriggles around spastically all of a sudden, forcing you to drop her. She lands completely upright, of course, and races ahead to one of the ticket booths, drops a couple bits onto the counter, then zooms around the corner. She didn't even wait to get her ticket.
Shaking your head with a small smile on your face, you walk up to the booth to collect it for her. The stallion behind the glass slides two tickets out before you can even say anything. You pick up both tickets and see they're identical. Confused, you raise an eyebrow at the the ticket horse.
"Your friend paid for both," he explains, scooping the two lone bits from the counter into a drawer.
"Tickets are only one bit apiece? Really?" you ask incredulously.
The stallion sighs and clears his throat loudly. “The Equestrian Rail System is a nonprofit public service,” he recites in monotone. “The money collected is used exclusively for train maintenance as well as rail construction and repairs. With so many of Equestria's citizens relying on our services, we only need to charge a single bit from each passenger in order to cover the expected costs.”
"Huh." That was a completely unnecessary explanation, but you shrug it off; the guy's just doing his job. "Neat."
“Yeah, it’s pretty cool. Hours suck, though.”
You don’t know how to respond to that, so you just take the tickets and look around the platform for your carry-on pony. You spot her standing on top of a random bench. She's striking a heroic pose and holding a large, tattered flag reading, “This land has been claimed in the name of the EmPier.”
You walk over to the newly conquered bench. If Pinkie notices you, she doesn't show it.
"Part of the Empire now, huh? How's that going for ya?”
"No, Empier,” she corrects, glancing back at you briefly before resuming her pose.
"That's what I said."
"Yeah, but you spelled it wrong. And I’m not just a part of it, I’m the leader—the prince,” she brags.
Verbal spelling and gendered titles aside, wouldn’t the leader be called an emperor, not a prince? Although, considering the most powerful title in this land is “Princess,” you suppose it makes sense. As much sense as anything else Pinkie does, anyway. “If you're a prince, then what does that make me?”
She twirls around to face you, tossing the flag off into god-knows-where. "You can be my steed!"
You already are. "No, that's lame. Can't I be something a bit more... I dunno, important?"
“Aww, okay. What about...” She purses her lips cutely in contemplation, her brow furrowing. “Boopsworth the Royal Butler?”
Boopsworth? The fuck kind of name is that? “Okay, I guess that's good enough. How much do I get paid?”
“You get paid with the privilege of booping the royal snoot,” she sniffs, pointing her royal snoot as high up as she can.
Seems fair enough. “Deal.”
You reach out and collect your pay, causing Pinkie to erupt into a giggle fit punctuated by those adorable little snorts. You can't help but smile a bit wider each time you hear one. While she's still recovering from your surprise attack, the train rolls up. The doors slide open, and the passengers on board begin to exit. Once they've mostly cleared out, you start to walk to the nearest car, but you pause when you hear Pinkie's voice.
"Boopsworth!" You turn around to see Pinkie still on the bench, now lying on her back with her legs folded up against her body. "Aren't you forgetting something?"
You rub your chin, pretending to think for a moment. "Mmmnope, don't think so."
"Are you suuure?" she hints, waving her hooves in the air.
"Yeah, pretty sure. I mean, it’s not like I have to carry you around anymore. I’m a butler now,” you smirk.
“I’m demoting you to steed,” she replies without hesitation.
Fuck. Rest in peace, Boopsworth. You will be remembered. "And what if I refuse?"
“Then you’ll have to live the rest of your life knowing you caused your most very bestest best friend in the whole wide world to suffer through the worst hardship imaginable.” She sticks out her lower lip and bats her eyelashes.
"The hardship of walking," you say sarcastically.
“Yes. It hurts to take a single step,” she pouts, stretching her hooves out towards you.
You realize this is a battle you can never win. Resigned to your fate as the Bearer of Pie, you walk back to Pinkie and scoop her up into your arms like a large, furry baby, ignoring the squeaky horse noise that comes out of her mouth. "I'm starting to think you're just lazy," you remark offhandedly.
"You're lazy," she counters. You can't argue with that.
You make your way into the train car, flashing the two tickets between your fingers when a mare asks to see them. Walking down the aisle looking for empty seats, you glance down to see Pinkie with her eyes closed and the goofiest grin on her face.
How dare she enjoy this? You won't stand for it. "You know, this is how we carry infants in my world. Babies. You're a baby now." There, that oughta teach her. See how she likes being treated like a baby.
"You can't baby me, silly. That's my job," she mumbles happily, nuzzling under your chin.
What.
The train suddenly lurches, moving forward along the tracks. You almost trip, making you hug Pinkie closer to your chest so you don't drop her.
Aaaaaand now it's awkward. The nearby ponies that overheard the exchange are now giving you mixed looks—a few of the usual "who/what is that thing" stares, but most of them have a simple "dude, what the fuck" vibe. You don't blame them, honestly. You doubt Pinkie meant it in a weird way, though; she's probably just half-asleep, like she usually is when you touch her.
Seriously, is there any way to phrase that without sounding weird?
As you continue walking to the back of the car, there are much fewer ponies, leaving more seats open. Thankfully, it's the type of train that has every seat facing the front like a school bus. Ponies are much less likely to keep staring at you if they have to turn around while you can see them. You slide into the very last seat on the left side, being careful not to bang your knees. Stupid ponies and their stupid pony-sized trains. Now that you're no longer standing, you consider shifting Pinkie into a different position. Maybe it'll be less awkward that way. Or maybe it'll be more awkward. Shit, should you risk it?
Nah, she looks happy where she is. Besides, she's hidden by the backrest of the next seat, so you could hold her in whatever way you want and no one would see.
...Jesus, what the fuck, brain? Did that one waiter poison your food? Or was it Rarity? You bet it was Rarity. She must have used her mind-reading unicorn powers to see that you didn't like the "shoes" she made, so she wanted to punish you for your inferior taste in fashion. It all makes sense.
A pink object enters your vision and taps you lightly on the nose, making you blink.
Pinkie withdraws her hoof and tilts her head up at you. "Whatcha thinkin' about, Nonny?"
Yeah, you are not telling her what your mind has been doing. "Um, nothing. On a completely unrelated note, has Rarity ever... you know, killed anyone?"
"I dunno, probably," she shrugs. "Why?"
"No reason, I was just, uh..." Having creepy thoughts about your best friend. "Just curious."
"Are you feeling okay, Nonny? Is something wrong?" She looks concerned, but at least she's not freaking out this time.
"Nah, I'm just..." Come on, brain! Do something useful! "...nervous? About trains?"
Fourteen outta ten, literally a genius.
"Aw, that's okay! Pinkie's here to keep you safe!" She rolls up into a sitting position and gives you a spine-crushing hug. You don't feel any safer.
When she doesn't let go on her own, you decide breathing is a little more important than soft, pink ponies. Only a little.
"Pingy. Ehr," you gasp, tapping out against the seat. There's no ref to save you, but it's worth a try.
She immediately lets go, a sheepish smile on her face. "Ehehehe... Sorry," she says, looking down with her ears pressed flat against her skull. Her face is a slightly darker shade of pink than normal.
Catching your breath, you don't respond verbally. You simply nod and place a forgiving hand on her head, running your thumb along one ear.
She gives a genuine smile this time, nuzzling your hand before sliding onto the seat, managing to fit snugly between you and the window. The seat is made for two ponies, but you're almost twice the size of an average pony. Pinkie doesn't seem to mind; she's pressing her face against the window to watch the scenery go by.
Your brain decides to start thinking normal thoughts for once. The conversation with Rarity at lunch brunch floats to the front of your mind. "Hey, Pinkie?"
"Hi, Nonny!" she turns to wave at you, then presses her face back against the glass. There's a foggy spot growing where her mouth is.
"What else is there to do in Canterlot besides shopping?"
"What?!" Pinkie exclaims. She spins around and grabs your shirt below the collar. "You can't be bored already! We haven't even started!"
"What? No, I'm not bored. I was just thinking about something Rarity said," you try to explain, peeling Pinkie's hooves off your shirt. "Well, she didn't actually say it, but she acted really disappointed when I told her we were only going there to buy stuff."
"Oh, psh!" Pinkie waved a woof dismissively. "That's just Rarity being Rarity. She loves all that fancy schmancy stuff, and Canterlot is pretty much the schmanciest place ever! She might be disappointed we're not taking the chance to rub ankles with nobles at a hoof polishing contest, or whatever it is they do."
Rich snobs competing to see who has the shiniest hooves sounds just absurd enough to be normal for this place. "I bet the prize is a nose extension or something," you chuckle. "That way, they have more of it to stick in the air."
You can tell Pinkie is trying her best not to laugh at that, but she's doing a very poor job.
"Pff! T-that's awful, Nonny," she manages to get out between clenched teeth.
"Well, you're laughing, so that makes you just as awful as me," you point out.
"No! I'm not- snrk, I'm not laughing!" she not-laughs.
"Of course not, you're Pinkie Pie, remember?" Yes, finally! It feels so damn good to say that. You've heard Pinkie throw that joke out whenever she could, and you finally found an opportunity to use it against her.
Pinkie gasps in mock horror. Or it might be real horror, you can't quite tell. "Oh no! What if Pinkie Pie is the fake name, and I don't remember my real one? What if my real name is someone super important? What if I'm actually Princess Celestia?!" she shrieks. "I'm not ready to rule a nation!" She collapses against you, pretending to faint. Her face is a bit flushed, probably from her rant.
You poke her cheek once. She twitches, trying not to smile. "Hm. Guess we have to get a new princess now."
"I'm not dead," Pinkie hisses out the side of her mouth. "I'm asleep. I was cursed." The rest of her doesn't move, just that one part of her mouth. She's committed to the act, if nothing else.
"Oh. That sucks. You wanna be buried or burned?"
"Buried, please. I need most of my body in one piece if I want to be resurrected whenever Twilight figures necromancy out."
That's mildly disturbing. You should change the subject.
"So, uh..." You point out the window at the giant wall of mountain racing by. "How 'bout them rocks?"
How about them rocks, indeed. Truly, your mastery of language is unparalleled.
Pinkie's eyes light up like someone who just heard something they enjoy talking about. "I know, right? Fun fact: the surface layer of Mount Canter is almost exclusively made of igneous rock, despite originally being about half and half with metamorphic rock. Over the centuries, the volcano—Mount Canter used to be a volcano, by the way—erupted like a bajillion times, so now all the metamorphic rock is covered! Neat, huh?"
"Neat," you nod. You got about a quarter of that.
"And don't even get me started on the whole Sandstone Incident of 236. That was cuh-razy, even for pre-moon Luna! Don't tell her I said that."
Of course, that got her started on the whole Sandstone Incident of 236. She was right, it was pretty crazy.
The remainder of the train ride consisted of a happy little rock horse nonconsensually educating her glorified boop dispenser on the historical significance of various types of minerals.
You step out of the train, stretching your cramped legs as you walk. Pinkie skips out behind you, humming a familiar tune. It's the same one she was humming when she broke into your house to make you breakfast.
You can't help but smile a bit when she takes the lead, weaving through the small crowd of ponies with her eyes closed. Once you're both out in the open, you poke Pinkie's flank to get her attention.
"Glad to see you can walk now," you smirk.
Pinkie freezes in place, balancing precariously on one leg. She looks back briefly before collapsing to the ground. "Oh no, I have fallen down," she says in monotone. "I am in so much pain. If only I had a tall, handsome goober to carry me..." She finishes her little performance with a meaningful glance at you, complete with shimmering baby blues and a pout that punches you twice in the gut.
Barely managing to not fall over, you kneel down next to the poor, crippled pony, gently resting a hand on her side. "Don't worry, Pinks," you say, rubbing her soft fur. She smiles up at you sweetly. It's almost enough to make you reconsider what you're about to do. Almost. "You wait right here. I'll come back for you later." Her face drops into a blank expression, and she blinks slowly a few times in confusion.
Struggling not to laugh at her expression, you stand up, pick a direction, and start walking. You have no idea where you're going, but hey, something something journey, something something destination, right? You're pretty sure Plato said that, or maybe Einstein. Regardless, it's a solid piece of advice to follow.
You make it about seven steps before something soft and squishy lands on your back. It was six more steps than you expected, honestly. Oh well, the freedom was nice while it lasted. At least the back of your neck is now somewhat protected from the evil rays of the sun.
"Why didn't you pick me up?" Pinkie scolds, lightly bonking you on the top of your head.
"I was going to look for a goober to help you."
"You're the goober, goober!" she grumbles, giving you an angry hug from behind. It's like a normal hug, but angry.
"Oops," you say with a small laugh. "You said handsome, so I figured-"
"What?!" Pinkie gasps. "How could you even say that? You're like the most handsomest guy ever! When's the last time you looked in a mirror?"
Every single day, and it never looks any better. "This morning, I think."
"Then you've been looking at mirrors the wrong way!"
It's kinda cute that she wants you to feel good about yourself, but there's really no need. You're literally the best-looking person in the entire world. You're also the worst-looking, but it's not like the ponies can tell either way.
"Seriously Nonny, we need to fix this!" A pink hoof pokes into your vision, pointing at a wide restaurant window. "Look at your reflection."
You give an exasperated sigh, but decide to humor her anyway. Walking over, you see a few chairs and tables behind the window, but thankfully no one inside that could look at you looking at yourself. "M'kay. What now?"
"Tell me you don't see the cutiest patootie with the most adorable widdle eyes and a widdle button nose," Pinkie coos, poking your cheeks.
What. "Are we looking at the same thing?"
"I wasn't done yet! I see the world's most huggable teddy bear who wants to cuddle but doesn't want to admit it because he's a grump. I see-" She suddenly gasps. "Ohmygosh we match!"
Thank the pony gods for Pinkie's short attention span. You were starting to feel awkward as fuck. Do ponies see you the same way you see them? That might explain why they're usually so friendly to you, even when you just glare at them because you're awful at talking.
But what did Pinkie just say? Something about a match? "Sorry, what was that?"
"Look!" Pinkie gestures emphatically to the window. "Rarity made your thingies colored like me so we match!" Her near-permanent smile grows wider as she squeezes you again, a strange squeaking noise coming from her mouth.
Your thingies? Does she mean your clothes?
Looking back at the window, you take note of the pink vest and light blue bow tie. Huh. How did you not notice that before? Maybe you really have been looking at mirrors wrong. But why would Rarity want you and Pinkie to match, anyway? That just seems like unnecessary work. You'll never understand fashion.
"Yeah, you're right. Weird."
"Of course, silly! I'm always right! Except for that one time I was left, but we don't talk about that. Ever."
"Talk about what?"
"Yes."
You have no response for that, so you start walking down your original path. You pray Pinkie doesn’t start baby talking to you again, because that was just plain embarrassing. You hope no one was around to hear her.
Actually, now that you think about it, you haven't seen that many ponies out and about since the train station. If Canterlot is such a big and important city, where is everyone?
"Pank?"
"Yyyyeeeees?"
"This place seems kind of empty."
"Well, duh! Everypony's in the shopping district right now."
Aren't you supposed to be in the shopping district, too? "...Ah, okay."
Pinkie rests her head on your shoulder with a happy sigh, her breath tickling your skin. "We're going the wrong way, you know," she eventually says.
Fuck. "I knew that," you lie. "I was seeing how long it would take you to notice."
"Mhm." You have a strange feeling she doesn't believe you. "Take a right near that piece of gum on the ground."
You take a right at the gum, but not because she told you to—you were planning on going that direction anyway. Your backpack/GPS whispers a few more directions into your ear, and you dutifully follow them until you find yourself walking along a wide cobblestone road.
This area is much more busy. The various ponies here don't even notice you, and it doesn't take long to realize why. Most of them have their noses pointed almost vertically, their eyes only open enough to see where they're going. The few ponies that aren't trying to sniff their foreheads are giving you odd looks. Not mean ones, just... odd. For the most part, they simply look at you, look at Pinkie, and then continue on their horsey way. But then one of them approaches with a small smile on his face.
It's an old unicorn stallion with a fancy top hat. He steps directly into your path, forcing you to stop. When you try to step around, his smile grows and he stands on his hind legs, reaching out to hug you around the waist.
You tense up, wondering what the hell is going on. You have no idea who this guy is or why he's hugging you. Sure, he’s fancy, but you’d prefer not to be touched by a stranger.
"Um... Hi?" you say, not returning the hug.
The stallion doesn't respond aside from chuckling to himself. He lets go after a few seconds, adjusts his top hat for optimal fanciness, and walks away as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred.
"Pinkie? What just happened?"
"You got a hug, silly!" she laughs.
"Okay... Right."
You aren’t able to make it ten feet before you're approached by another unicorn, this one a mare. The exact same thing happens: smile, awkward hug, walk away. The strange and uncomfortable event repeats another four times before your brain finally says hold the fuck up. You don't know any of them, they almost certainly don't know you, so why are they hugging you?
"Okay, seriously. What the hell is going on?"
"What do you mean, Nonny?" You can hear the innocent smile in Pinkie's voice.
"Is this some pony thing? Is it normal for strangers to hug you?"
"What's wrong with hugging strangers?"
Yeah, you're just gonna ignore that. "It's just... you know, weird. I don't like it."
"Oh. Soooo, should I put the sign away, then?"
You stop in your tracks. "Wait, what? What are you talking about? What sign?"
"This one!" Pinkie shoves a large, white square in front of your face. "I got it laminated," she says with a hint of smugness in her voice.
You take the sign and hold it away from your eyeballs so you can actually read it. It's blank, but the lamination is pretty nice. Flipping it over, you see four words emblazoned dead center in bright orange font:
FREE HUGS (extra warm!)
Goddammit, Pinkie. "Why?"
"Sharing is caring, and I care about you a whooooole lot!" As if to prove this, she plants a quick kiss on your cheek, trying and failing to stifle her giggles.
Your face heats up faster than The Flash in bed and hotter than your neighbor's mom. You did not expect that. Is it another pony thing, like rubbing faces together? Although, some people on Earth would kiss their friends on the cheek, so maybe you're overreacting. Hell, kissing is a greeting in some countries, right? Yeah, it was only a kiss. A friend kiss. On your face.
"Hellooooo? Nonny? You okay?"
"Y-yeah, I’m fine. It's just a bit hot. Outside. The air is hot. Just a little." Jesus, what the fuck, brain? Either make good words or stop pretending to be useful.
"Uhh... Do you need to sit down?" Pinkie sounds worried now.
“No, I’m fine. What store do you wanna go in?"
Pinkie doesn't say anything at first, probably wondering why she's friends with such a sperglord. "Mmm, how about that one?" she offers, pointing to a small building with a sign above the door reading, "Nick's Knacks.”
"That one it is," you say, walking over to the cozy-looking shop. You could care less what they sell, you just want to get out of the heat.
"Hi, howyadoin, welcome to Nick's Knacks!" a large, gravel-voiced stallion waves from behind the counter at the back.
"Hi!" Pinkie waves back. "I'm Pinkie Pie!"
"And I need to use the bathroom," you interject, gently lifting Pinkie off your back. She makes a small whine of protest, but doesn't fight you.
You find the bathroom, lock the door, and try to cool down by splashing some water on your face. It doesn't work. The spot on your cheek where Pinkie kissed you burns, and no amount of water changes that. Does she use acid for lipstick or something? It's not painful, but...
You glance up at the mirror and see your pathetic reflection. Your face is flushed, dripping with water and sweat. Your breathing is shaky and uneven. You shouldn't be reacting like this. What the fuck is wrong with you?
You turn off the faucet and dry your face. The you in the mirror looks just as pathetic as ever, but at least your breathing is normal and your face isn’t flushed anymore. You feel well enough to leave the bathroom, but you really don't want to. If Pinkie asks what's wrong, you have no idea how to answer.
Sighing at your reflection (smug bastard won again), you trudge back out into Nick's Knacks. The stallion behind the counter—you can only assume his name is Nick—gives you a polite smile and a wave, then goes back to staring at the front door.
Pinkie is nowhere in sight.
"Boop!" A pink hoof reaches down in front of your eyes and taps you on the nose.
Oh, of course. You couldn't see her because she was on your head. That makes absolutely perfect sense.
"Hey, Pinks," you say while reaching up for a revenge boop. Your hand passes through nothing but air until it reaches your head.
What.
"Why are touching your head, Nonny?"
For your own sanity, you decide not to respond.
"Are you sure you're okay?" Pinkie gives you a concerned look from her position on top of Nick's head. "You look sick. And not the good kind of sick Rainbow Dash likes to talk about; you look like the tummy ache and fever kind of sick."
Swallowing your nerves, you walk over to de-pinkify the confused store owner. "Yeah, I'm fine," you shakily reply.
"Reeeaally?" she says while grabbing your cheeks to prevent you from putting her down. Her bright blue eyes are shimmering with genuine concern, trying to hypnotize you so you can't look away. The effect is magnified by the fact that your faces are less than a foot apart. You can feel her breath on your skin, causing you to break out in goosebumps.
When your brain starts working again, you say, "I said I'm fine, Pinkie. I just got a little dizzy." Or at least that's what you try to say. What actually comes out sounds more like a choking giraffe mixed with baby babbling. For what seems like the hundredth time today, your brain has failed to perform at a critical moment. You really need to get that thing replaced soon.
"You don't sound fine," Pinkie hums suspiciously, her eyes narrowing. "If I find out you're actually sick, so help me Celestia, I will nurse you back to health so hard you won't know what being sick even means anymore! Got it?" She squeezes your cheeks for emphasis.
You can't tell if she's being serious or not, so you err on the side of caution and nod your head stupidly. Apparently satisfied, she releases your face and drops to the floor, trotting over to a rack of novelty magnets as if nothing had happened.
"She scares me," Nick whispers, shaking in place.
You don't say anything, unsure if the concept of distance applies to Pinkie's hearing.
When you leave the store, it’s with a coffee mug that says, "I went to Canterlot and got more than a lousy mug." You made sure to buy nothing else, because you’re not gonna let a mug tell you what to do. Pinkie bought three different hats, which makes sense considering how many costumes she seems to have at the ready. Two of them are resting on her mane with the third on her tail.
"See, Nonny? I told you I'm not a unicorn," she says proudly, trotting ahead of you.
Her tail is somehow latched onto your pants, forcing you to follow close behind as she leads you into the next store.
Five hours, nineteen stores, and way too many ponies later, you're jogging to the train station with Pinkie in your arms.
"C'mon, Nonny, hurry up! The train leaves in six minutes!"
"I could go faster,” you pant, “if you'd walk.”
Pinkie had graciously demanded to carry the bags containing your mug plus everything she bought, but her method of "carrying" involved holding the bags while you held her.
"But I'm guarding the stuff! If I'm not here to keep watch, some crook could snatch them away without you noticing."
"You can keep watch from the ground, you know."
"Yeah, but I like this way better." Her flawless logic stumps you, as always.
You make it in the nick of time, flashing your tickets from Ponyville and stumbling onto the train right before the doors close. Pinkie wiggles out of your arms, balancing the bags on her back using her black magic. You flop into the closest seat and immediately realize no one else is in the car. Pinkie hops into the seat next to you.
Your legs are terribly sore. You've walked more today than in the past few months combined. You aren't sure if you should feel proud or ashamed of this fact. One thing you are certain of is that you aren't exactly excited for the future. If this was just one day, how bad will a week be? A month?
No, you shouldn't think like that. Today wasn't so bad. It was just exhausting and a little uncomfortable. Maybe tomorrow will be less-
"Nonny?" Pinkie's voice cuts through your introspection. "Do you not like hugs?"
What? Where did that come from? You give her a confused look.
"I hug you all the time," she continues, "and I thought you were fine with it. But then when you got a lot of hugs today, you looked really nervous." She seems to shrink into herself, her shoulders almost touching her ears as she stares at the floor. "Have you just been pretending to like my hugs?"
What the fuck kind of backwards-ass pony logic is that? Does she actually think hugging strangers is the same thing as hugging a friend? Fucking ponies, man.
"Pinkie." She doesn't respond. "Pinkie, are you being serious?"
"Yes!" she exclaims, finally looking up. "I don't- I don't want to be the reason you're uncomfortable."
Well, she kinda screwed that pooch already, but not in the way she thinks. Friendly hugs are a completely different thing from touching mouth parts to face parts.
"Pinkie," you sigh. "I grew up in a very different place. People usually only hug other people they're familiar with. Hugging a stranger is... not normal for me. At all."
It's Pinkie's turn to look confused. "But it's just a hug. Hugs are never a bad thing."
"No, I guess not, but where I'm from hugs are more... intimate? I guess?" Maybe that's the wrong word, but how else are you supposed to explain why hugging a goddamn stranger is just not okay?
"Intimate?" Pinkie parrots, looking distant for a moment. "But you're okay with hugging me?"
"Yes, and maybe a couple other ponies, but that's about it. In fact, I actually like hugging you. You're soft and you smell nice."
That sounded way better in your head. Hearing it out loud makes you reflexively want to cringe until your face implodes, but you barely manage to hold it in.
Thankfully, Pinkie doesn't appear to have noticed. Her cheeks are now a dark shade of pink, almost red. She's probably embarrassed because she realized how ridiculous she was acting. What an oblivious little horse.
The ride back seems a hell of a lot shorter. Maybe it's because you aren't being forced to learn about the history of rocks. When the train pulls into the station in Ponyville, Pinkie once again takes the bags, but she doesn't demand offer to be carried this time. You’re silently grateful, as your poor legs can barely handle your own weight at the moment. The awful "shoes" Rarity made haven't helped at all, not that you would ever say it out loud.
Pinkie’s tail once again grabs hold of your pants (your pocket, you realize), but she doesn't try to pull you along. She seems content to go at whatever tired pace you want. As you plod behind her, she hums the same familiar song. It's much different from how she talks and acts. The melody is slow and gentle, almost like a lullaby. You've never actually heard her sing, but you kind of want to now.
By the time you reach your house, Pinkie is just finishing her song. Her tail finally releases your pants and she hands you your new mug. Hands? Hoofs? Whatever.
"Bye, Nonny!" She rears up to hug you, standing at the perfect height to nuzzle your neck, which she happily proceeds to do. The hug goes on way longer than necessary. You don't mind. "You smell nice, too." Aaaaand it's awkward. You can't even tell her to stop making it weird this time because you did it first. You fucking weirdo.
Pinkie lets go with a sigh, beaming a toothy smile up at you. "I'll see you in the morning, okay?"
"Yeah, see you then." You wave, feeling silly because she lives right across the street.
You tiredly walk into your bedroom, checking the clock. Seven thirty-eight. It feels so much later than that. Despite wanting nothing more than to sleep, you buckle down and drag yourself to the shower. The warm water feels fantastic after walking all day.
You get out and dry off, then grab something to eat even though you aren’t hungry. You force down an apple and a pear because you're just that badass, then return to the bathroom to brush your teeth. When you finish, you feel pretty good. Really good, actually. You did everything you were supposed to do today, plus you're now a little bit less of a disgusting slob. Good job, Anon.
Sure, there were some bumps in the road, but things are starting to look up for you. You just need to not have any more sudden bouts of social retardation, which doesn’t sound too hard. Today’s incident was probably just a one time thing.
The smell of deliciousness rouses you from your slumber. You open your eyes, squinting at the blurry outline of the clock on the wall. Just as you suspected, it's too damn early. Your brain is sorely tempted to go back to sleep, but your body knows that food is nearby. Grumbling from both your mouth and your stomach, you roll out of bed and follow the smell.
"Morning, Nonny!" Pinkie greets when you walk into the kitchen. "I'm making waffles! They should be ready soon, so just sit tight, ‘kay?"
You grunt in response, heading straight for the coffee pot. As soon as it starts to brew, you hear a light series of knocks. Still not quite alive yet, you shuffle across the room and open the door to the smiling faces of four ponies.
"I hope Pinkie wasn't lying when she said she'd have breakfast for us," Rarity says, flashing a bright smile. You stare at her, trying to make sense of what's going on.
Oh yeah. You're babysitting today. Fuck.
"Well, aren't you going to invite us in? It's not polite to keep a lady waiting, and even less polite to keep four. Or one and three-fifths, I suppose, but still."
You sluggishly step to one side, watching the line of ponies march into your house. The three fillies accompanying Rarity follow behind her one by one like ducklings. Closing the door, you ignore your new guests and shuffle back to the coffee pot. It's already brewed, the aroma of life-giving nectar making you feel more awake by the second. You blindly grab a mug and fill it, cradling it with both hands as you carry it to the table. One of the fillies whispers something, but you don't bother trying to interpret it. Right now, all you need is coffee. Just a few sips is all you need to get from corpse to zombie. It’s not much of an upgrade, but at least zombies can function somewhat.
"Er... Pinkie, darling," Rarity slowly says while you drink, "is he...?"
"Yeah, Nonny's always like this when he wakes up. He'll be more energetic in a couple minutes." You grunt a confirmation, though you don't think the word "energetic" is a very good way to describe you at any point in the day.
"I suppose I'll have to wait, then," Rarity huffs quietly.
"Wait for what?" one of the fillies asks. Judging by the lack of accent or voice crack, you assume it's the pegasus. You refuse to look in case they're bunched together, remembering how dangerous it is to come under an assault of that magnitude unprepared.
"Oh, it's nothing urgent," Rarity says. "I just wish to have a little chat with Anon and also let him know that his clothes are finished."
You are very grateful for that, so you try to thank her now that you have enough caffeine in your brain to form words.
"Thank you so much, Rarity," you mumble with as much sincerity as you can muster. It comes out sounding like you just got back from the dentist, but she gives you a warm smile in return.
"Aww, look at you," Rarity coos. She steps up to your chair and stands on her hind legs, wrapping her forelegs gently around your slouched form. "It was my pleasure, darling," she whispers, nuzzling your neck. After an uncomfortably long stretch of time, she sighs and drops back to all fours. "It should be a crime to wake up looking that adorable."
"I know, right?" Pinkie pops up next to you. "Isn’t he just the cutiest patootie ever?” she giggles, ruffling your hair before returning to her waffling.
You place your forehead on the table, not dignifying their remarks with a response. They couldn't have waited five minutes to start their pony shit? You don't have enough energy to deal with it right now.
"Uh, what's a patootie?" the accented filly asks. It sounds like she's on your couch.
"Look in the mirror and you'll find out, Patootie Bloom," Pinkie replies.
"Ah'm not really sure how to feel about that."
"I think it was a compliment," the squeaky one says. You remember her name is Sweetie Belle.
"Your face is a compliment," the pegasus says.
That gets you to snort loudly, a smile fighting its way onto your face. You pick your head back up and finish off your mug. You suddenly realize Rarity wasn't carrying anything when she walked in, and neither were the fillies.
"Rarity, did you bring my clothes with you?" you ask, already knowing the answer.
"Heavens, no. You can pick them up from the boutique whenever you feel well enough to move." She starts fussing with your hair, somehow trying to fix it with her hooves.
Something resembling logic floats to the front of your mind. "Why didn't you just bring them with you when you came over?"
Rarity laughs, giving you a wry smile. "Sweetie Belle is much too small to carry that much, as are Apple Bloom and Scootaloo."
You can't tell if she's joking. "Why would they need to carry anything?"
"Well, I'm not going to carry them myself, darling. That would just be ridiculous."
What. "...Why not? "
"A lady does not strain herself, Anonymous," she sniffs, flipping her hair unnecessarily before returning her efforts to your own. She apparently sees something you don't, because you don't think your hair is really that messy.
"Yeah, Nonny," Pinkie pipes up from the place your stove would be if you had one. "It's hard enough to look schmancy while carrying a buncha stuff, much less fancy-schmancy."
"Precisely, Pinkie. See, Anon? She gets it."
Doesn’t she have magic? "None of this makes any fucking sense," you say under your breath.
Rarity sighs. "If only you weren't so vulgar, you would make such a fine gentlecolt. Speaking of which..." She moves her hooves to your cheeks and turns your face towards her. "I want none of that language reaching Sweetie Belle's ears, understand?" she says quietly, patting your cheek.
"...'Kay," you mumble. Standing up, you slip away from the unusually touchy Rarity and retreat to the sink with your mug, quickly rinsing it out and drying it with a hand towel. Or would it be a hoof towel? Fucking ponies, making your life harder by not having hands.
Turning away from the sink, you freeze when you see a mountain of waffles where there previously were none. Pinkie already has her plate stacked high, and Rarity is still standing in the same spot, looking confused as hell.
"Come on, girls! Breakfast is ready!" Pinkie calls before opening her mouth and flinging whole waffles into it one at a time. You immediately look away from the blatant disregard for biology and physics. Keeping your eyes on the table, you position yourself strategically so the mountain blocks your view of Pinkie's unnatural feeding frenzy.
Unfortunately, this leaves you vulnerable to the fillies.
The pegasus with the tiniest wings you've ever seen hops up into the chair to your left. The yellow one with the bow takes the chair to your right. You feel a pit form in your stomach when you realize you only have four chairs.
"Now that Anon is more awake," Rarity smirks at you, "this seems like a perfect time for proper introductions." Her horn lights up, and a grinning Sweetie Belle floats in front of your face, wrapped in a light blue aura. "Sweetie, this is Anonymous."
"Hi! I'm Sweetie Belle!"
"You're so small," you whisper before you can stop yourself.
"Um..." She tilts her head, her brow furrowing above her large green eyes. "Thank you?"
The aura disappears, dropping Sweetie in your lap. She apparently sees nothing odd about this, because she shuffles around until she's on the edge of your knee, close enough to the table to grab some waffles.
"Ah'm Apple Bloom," the accented filly says, her bow bouncing when she speaks.
"And I'm Scootaloo, fastest filly on two wheels in all of Ponyville," the pegasus grins, puffing her chest out while her wings buzz behind her.
"And we are the Cutie Mark Crusaders!" they all yell at once, hurting your ears almost as much as your chest.
"And I'm Pinkie Pie!" Pinkie pokes her head around Mt. Waffle, waving at you. You wave back.
Rarity's horn lights up again, sliding Scootaloo's plate next to Sweetie Belle's. She then floats Scootaloo over to your lap, leaving you with a filly on each knee. Scootaloo seems just as unperturbed as Sweetie, immediately reaching for her plate. Taking the newly vacant chair for herself, Rarity flashes you another smirk.
You pray to the pony gods to make it through the meal without dying.
This has to be some kind of record. It's been less than an hour since you've crawled out of bed, but your day's limit of pony bullshit has already been passed.
“Why do Ah always have to be on the bottom?”
Twice.
“Because I’m the lightest, and Sweetie would literally break if she tried holding us both.”
“I would not!”
“Would too!”
As you look across the wreckage of your living room, you feel a sense of bittersweet relief that you only own a sparse amount of furniture for the three little hurricanes to break. Or try to break. They're too small to cause a whole lot of damage, but lord almighty are they trying.
Pinkie, for some insane reason, thought it would be a good idea to teach them a new game—a game that involves two pogo sticks, a map of Equestria, green construction paper, and an electric can opener.
"Anon?" Rarity places a hoof on your knee. "May I speak with you for a moment? I have some things I wish to discuss before we leave for Manehattan."
With effort, you tear your eyes away from the unnatural disaster. "Yeah, what’s up?"
Making sure Pinkie and the fillies are still preoccupied with the can opener, Rarity motions you closer and lowers her voice to a whisper. “First off, please keep them away from the Boutique after you pick up your clothes. Sweetie knows what not to touch, but when the three of them are together, they tend to get a little... rowdy.”
That’s it? Just keep the children away from the circus tent? That sounds simple enough.
“Second, if they want you to take part in any of their cutie mark shenanigans, just go with it. They're usually good at avoiding collateral damage, but try to steer them toward less dangerous activities if you can.”
You blink once. Slowly turning your head, you give a pointed look to the tower of pony on your couch. Both pogo sticks are gone, and they somehow have a second can opener now.
Rarity follows your gaze and sighs wearily. “Believe it or not, that’s one of the safer things they’ve done recently.”
You can’t imagine what else they could have done to make this look anything close to safe.
“Third and finally,” she continues, “catapults and other miscellaneous siege weaponry are strictly off-limits, no matter what Apple Bloom says about Granny Smith allowing it.”
Oh. That might be it. You don’t know who Granny Smith is, but she sounds like a very responsible parent. Her kids probably turned out great.
“No circus tent, keep danger to a minimum, no catapults,” you list back. “Seems easy enough.”
Rarity double takes. “What do you mean by ‘no circus tent?’”
Shit. “Circus tent? No, I said, uh... No stir... cement. Yeah. The cement is drying, so no one should stir it. That would be bad. No stir cement.”
Eleven outta ten, perfect save.
“Ooooh, are you two having a staring contest? Who’s winning?”
Pinkie to the rescue. God bless that pink poof horse.
Rarity blinks as if coming out of a trance. 1-0. You finally have a winning record against someone.
“I... I don’t...” Rarity stutters, clearly struggling to cope with her humiliating defeat.
“Yeah, I don’t either,” Pinkie admits. “Come on, Rares! It’s time to go!”
With that, Pinkie launches herself at your chest, almost knocking you to the ground.
“Bye, Nonny! I’ll bring you back a souvenir!”
“Please don’t.”
“Too late!” She squeezes the breath out of you one more time, taking the opportunity to whisper in your ear. “I’ll be back tonight. If anything happens, just tell Gummy, okay?”
Who the fuck is Gummy? “Okay? I guess?”
Pinkie lets go before you can return her hug. “Bye, girls,” she calls with a wave at the fillies. “Have fun! Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do without me!”
Rarity rolls her eyes with a smile as she follows Pinkie out the door, giving her own farewells in a much fancier and more fashionable manner.
The door clicks shut.
And just like that, you’re now responsible for three other lives. You can barely manage your own, and that’s with Pinkie’s help. How the hell are you supposed to handle three?
No, you can do this. Just survey the situation. Your living room is dead, but that’s nothing new; it’s just dead and messy now. The girls are alive, so that’s good. Uh... Shit, what else do babysitters do besides that?
“So, uh...” you say, awkwardly meeting their curious stares. “How ya doing?”
Man, you are on a roll this morning.
“Pretty good, Ah guess,” Apple Bloom shrugs.
“Same,” Scootaloo says.
Sweetie Belle raises her hoof silently. You point at her, feeling important despite knowing the truth.
“Mister Anomanis, why are you so tall?”
God damn, why is she so adorable? You must be building up an immunity, because that would normally have you on your knees.
“Just call me Anon. And I’m tall because I, uh... I eat my vegetables.” No you fucking don’t.
“Guess that explains Scoots,” Apple Bloom snickers.
“Hey!”
Before they can start arguing in earnest, you remember that you still need to pick up your clothes. Fucking Rarity making you leave your house. Despicable.
You wave your arms to grab the trio’s attention. “How about we grab my clothes from Rarity’s, and then we can, uh...” You can what?
“We can start on our cutie mark mission for today!” Sweetie Belle finishes.
“Yeah, that. That sounds good.“ As long as you don’t have to move too much. Or at all. Not moving at all would be fantastic.
While making the round trip, you come to understand what their goal is. They want to do as many different things as possible to try to get their special ass tattoos.
Neat.
Laying your new clothes on the couch, you grab the fanciest outfit from the top of the stack.
“What kind of weirdo superhero costume is that?” Scootaloo says, poking your new suit.
You had almost forgotten about the job thing you have next week, whatever it is. You still have no idea what you’ll be doing. Something with that mountain of paper. Ugh. You almost wish you could get a head start so-
An idea takes root in your head. An evil, terrible, scheming idea.
“Hey, girls? Have any of you tried getting a paperwork cutie mark yet?”
In the lobby of Ponyville Town Hall, you awkwardly sit in a broken rolly chair behind a creaky secretary desk—soon to be your creaky secretary desk. You're trying very hard to set a good example for the impressionable young minds that were misguidedly placed in your care. So far, you’ve lied and tricked them into doing your work, so you think you're doing a pretty good job overall.
In the middle of the room, a towering mound of paper stretches halfway to the ceiling. Smaller, more organized stacks line the walls, steadily growing in size thanks to the magic of child exploitation. To your immense surprise and relief, the vast majority of the papers so far have been complaint forms. Apparently, some folks aren’t too happy with the lack of mayoring going on recently. You’re pretty sure you can safely ignore all of that for now, so those are the ones getting shoved against the walls. The rest of the papers are a mix of tax stuff, notes about changes to the weather schedule, and a concerning number of funding requests from various public facilities, namely the school and the hospital.
It's a miracle this town is still functioning.
"I found another one!" Sweetie Belle announces, her head emerging from the large pile. You had instructed her to look for any papers without the decorative green border marking the complaint forms. After wiggling the rest of her body out, she proudly holds a single paper aloft. "What does 'charitable deduction' mean?" she asks, slowly sounding out the words.
"It's something to do with ducks," Scootaloo answers, her muffled voice coming from the opposite side of the pile.
"Oh, okay,” Sweetie Belle nods. “It’s got Fluttershy's name on it, so that makes sense.” She tilts the paper sideways, squinting her eyes. “Wow, ducks are expensive."
You don't bother correcting them, mostly because it would bring up more questions about how taxes work, and you don't have the energy or patience for that. You also have a mild case of severe retardation, so there's a very good chance you would give them the wrong answers anyway.
Shaking off that thought, you take the paper from Sweetie Belle and return your attention to the task at hand—your left hand, to be precise. Your right one is currently being held hostage by a southern accent with a big pink bow. Apple Bloom had crawled into your lap shortly after you sat down and has since refused to move. She’s been surprisingly useful, helping you sort the miscellaneous papers into something resembling an organized system. Unfortunately, you made the mistake of petting her. It seemed fine at first, until you tried to pull your hand away. She grabbed it, put it back on the spot you were rubbing, then shot you square in the face with a double-barrel of sad eyes and a “pretty please?” You haven't moved your hand away since.
You need to grow a fucking backbone, dude.
Apple Bloom snatches the paper away and eagerly shoves it into the drawer you labeled 'TAX SHI STUFF.' She and Sweetie Belle immediately check to see if they've earned their cutie marks. They both sigh in unison when they see that their flanks are still blank. It was amusing the first few times, but they've been doing it for every single paper. It's just sad at this point.
"Anything?" Scootaloo calls hopefully.
"Nothin'," Apple Bloom replies.
Scootaloo groans and crawls out of the pile with a great deal of flailing limbs and buzzing wings. You could help her, but the scene is just too damn funny. It’s like watching a cat trying to walk in tiny cat shoes.
"Ugh, I'm starting to think we're not gonna get paperwork cutie marks, girls," she finally pants, out of breath from her battle with physics.
The other two Crusaders voice their agreement, making you realize your plan had only partly succeeded. Come next Monday, you'd still have a massive load of work, but at least now it's been cut down a bit from the stupid amount it was before.
"Honestly, I'm kinda glad we didn't get our cutie marks," Sweetie Belle says. "This was getting boring."
"Yeah, I'm beat," Scootaloo nods.
"Whaddya mean?" Apple Bloom yawns, stretching in your lap before hopping down to join her friends. "Ah had a great time!"
Of course you did, you little shit. Now free of the oppressive filly's control, you take a moment to massage your cramped fingers and weigh your options while she talks to her friends about pony shit.
You could let them drag you along on their next crusade, but that would involve moving. Well, moving more than usual. Hmm. Maybe you could "accidentally" lock them in your house. It's already a mess, so there's not much more they can do damage-wise. No, that wouldn't look good if someone contacts the police after hearing a bunch of fillies trying to escape. On the other hand, there's free food in prison, and your exposure to Pinkie would go down significantly.
When the thought of not seeing the pink mare anymore enters your mind, you realize you would actually miss her. Shit, you miss her right now, and it's only been a few hours. Jesus fuck, dude, you're such a pansy. Sure, she’s the only reason you get out of bed in the morning, but you can live without her for a single fucking day.
Maybe.
"C'mon, Anon!" Apple Bloom interrupts your thoughts. "It's almost lunch time! Granny Smith is makin us a whole buncha apple turnovers!"
You have no idea what an apple turnover is. Before you can actually ask, Apple Bloom is already out the door, her friends following close behind. You briefly entertain the thought of just taking a nap while they fuck off to the other side of town, but you know Rarity would have your head on a fashionably silver platter if she found out you slept in these clothes. That would make them all wrinkly, and she can smell wrinkly clothes from a mile away. There's also the whole abandoning the fillies thing, but they technically left you, so you’d probably be safe on that front. Still, it's not worth the risk.
Grumbling to no one in particular, you drag yourself outside and head for Sweet Apple Acres.
"And one time, mah cousin came over, and we built a float for the Summer Harvest Parade, and Sweetie Belle was gold!"
"It took days to wash it out of my mane..."
You nod politely, chewing on another apple turnover while the Crusaders take turns talking at you about the their long string of failed attempts to get cutie marks. It almost makes you feel a little better about yourself. You may not have succeeded at anything in life, but at least you didn't fail as much as these three.
"Anon, dearie?" Granny Smith calls from the kitchen. "Can ya come in here real quick?"
Expecting more food, you gently untangle yourself from the fillies attached to your arms and shoulders, trying to mentally block out their whines of protest. It almost works. Walking through the doorway, you see Granny Smith near the sink, motioning you to come closer.
"Ah ain't one fer fancy talk, but Ah just wanted to say we all appreciate ya lookin after the girls today. These old bones can't move around like they used to, and Mac has to work extra, what with Applejack going with her friends to that doohickey in the city." She gives you a warm smile, her eyes seeming to brighten as she talks. "Ah know ya been cooped up in that house o’ yer’s for a long while, so it's good to see that yer out and about now. We were all gettin a mite worried."
What. You don't even know this lady. Why would she or anyone else have been worried about you? Fucking ponies, being weird and shit.
You start getting sentimental for some reason, but you power through because you’re a man, dammit. You might be a sorry excuse for one, but you're still technically a man, and men don't get emotional about stupid shit. Only about serious shit, like dog movies.
“I guess you can blame Pinkie for that," you eventually say, clearing your throat of any unmanliness. "She's very... persistent." She’s also insane, hyper, even more sickeningly adorable than normal ponies, possibly a demon, and incredibly soft. And pink.
"And she's single," Granny Smith winks.
And she's single.
Wait, what?
The older mare starts cackling at the look on your face, turning back to the stove. You take that as your cue to leave, so you slowly turn and walk back to the dining room. The moment you exit the kitchen, the fillies latch on and drag you to their clubhouse to “draw up blueprints." Aside from the occasional grunt, you aren’t able to offer much help with building the trebuchet. Your brain is working overtime putting together the pieces of the puzzle it just found.
You stare out the window of your living room, watching the sun sink below the horizon. The three fillies are gently snoring behind you on the couch, piled on top of one another like stuffed animals in a claw machine. Earlier, you had been staring at the sleeping diabetes dispensers, making super manly noises whenever one of them made a little scrunchy face at whatever they were dreaming about. You stopped when you realized how creepy it was for a grown man to be watching three young girls while they sleep. So instead, you moved to the window.
Under normal circumstances, this window is where you would ponder the futility of striving for anything beyond basic survival, occasionally drawing stares from the few ponies that bother to look in your direction.
Tonight, however, you’re thinking about something much more meaningful. Three little words of an elderly mare continually bounce around in your head. They form such a simple statement, but the implication is heavy.
”And she’s single.”
You feel a tugging sensation in your gut. Of course Pinkie is single, that’s pretty obvious. But the way Granny Smith said it made it very clear that she considered those words to be important. You had spent a considerable amount of time in the treehouse thinking hard about it before your brain finally stopped being useless. Looking back, there were plenty of signs. You really should have recognized them when you first spoke with her. But now that you know the truth, you aren’t quite sure what to think about it.
Granny Smith has dementia.
Of course. Why else would she say something so obvious as if it had some hidden meaning? She had clearly just worked it out herself and wanted to share her newfound knowledge. Plus, she’s old as fuck. Losing your mind is basically a requirement for old people. Ponies. Whatever. You figured it out, and that’s all that matters.
It’s times like these that make you appreciate how smart you can be sometimes.
Satisfied with your success at solving the puzzle, you casually shove the remainder of those thoughts to the back of your mind. That weird tugging sensation is still there, but it can go fuck itself.
A series of knocks against the door breaks your illusion of self-worth. You open it to reveal one Rarity and two unfamiliar mares. The one on the left is a blue pegasus with a rainbow mane and tail, and the one on the right is an orange earth pony with a neato cowboy hat. You figure they must be Apple Bloom’s and Scootaloo’s owners, so you step aside to let them all in. You try to ignore your disappointment at Pinkie not being with them.
“Good evening, Anonymous,” Rarity smiles, gently gripping your shoulders with magic to pull you down into nuzzle range. The pegasus starts to snicker, but you know she’s just jealous. You’re getting some face rubbing action from the marshmallow pony while she can only watch. Seriously, just look at her. If she’s not into mares, then Pinkie’s a unicorn.
“In case you’re wondering, Pinkie said she had to check on her pet alligator,” Rarity whispers. “She’ll be over soon.”
Your heart does a flip and a half when she says that. You must have a phobia of alligators.
She releases you and gestures to her companions. “I’d like you to meet Rainbow Dash and Applejack,” she says, gesturing to each in turn as they walk inside.
“Sup,” Rainbow says, looking around at your lack of stuff.
“Howdy,” Applejack tips her hat. “If ya don’t mind, Ah think we’re just gonna take the girls and get outta yer hair.”
“Yes, of course,” Rarity says in a quiet voice, walking over to the sleeping pile of fillies. “I’m sure Anon must be exhausted after today.” She lifts Sweetie Belle in a blue aura and lays her across her back. “Thank you, Anon,” Rarity blows a kiss in your general direction, missing you by a mile.
Rainbow Dash follows suit, deftly scooping up Scoopaloo in her wings. When she reaches the doorway, she flashes you a grin. “Thanks, dude. You’re okay in my book.” She then zips into the air faster than your pathetic monkey eyes can follow.
Applejack, being the genetically deficient of the pony breeds, has to use her hooves to flop Apple Bloom onto her back like a sack of flour. The sleeping filly doesn’t stir.
Before she can leave, you catch Applejack’s eye and offer your condolences with a silent nod, letting her know you understand the situation with Granny Smith. She gives you an odd look, but doesn’t say anything. She just tips her hat again like she’s some kind of hillbilly neckbeard.
When your door clicks shut, you breathe a sigh of relief at finally being alone. Once again, you ignore your disappointment at not seeing Pinkie yet. It’s a dumb feeling. You have no reason to miss her this badly. She has other responsibilities from you, like keeping a pet alligator. Even if she doesn’t show up tonight, she’ll definitely come over tomorrow. Maybe. Hopefully.
Trudging your way to your room, you notice the tugging sensation gets stronger when you think about her. Maybe you have a Pinkie-induced ulcer or something. You wouldn’t put it past the realm of possibility in magical pony land, especially where Pinkie is concerned.
Once in your room, you throw a quick glance at the only thing on the wall, seeing it’s about nine o’clock. You halfheartedly flop backwards onto your bed, almost making it to your pillow. Your legs hang halfway off the edge at the calves. It’s uncomfortable, but you really don’t have the energy to move anymore.
You haven’t noticed until now, but you’re tired as fuck. Physically, yes, but that’s what you expected. What you didn’t expect is the mental exhaustion. Is this what people mean when they say something is emotionally draining? You don’t have much emotion to drain, but-
“Are they gone?” a familiar voice whispers from under your bed.
Your heart jumps into your throat, cutting off the incredibly manly shriek you were about to release. At least you now have a shot of adrenaline to help keep you awake. Lord knows you need it.
You reach down with a not-shaking-at-all hand and feel around blindly until you make contact with something soft and giggly. Dragging Pinkie by the hind leg out from underneath your bed, you can’t keep a stupid grin off your face. She’s wearing an equally stupid grin, but hers is infinitely brighter and more energetic.
“Hi, Nonny!” she says, waving at you upside down.
“Hi, Pinkie,” you chuckle, shaking your head. You pluck her from the floor, flip her right side up, and drop her into your lap. You would have put her on the bed, but you know she’d crawl into your lap anyway. You’re just cutting out an extra step in the process. It’s more efficient this way.
Pinkie immediately spins to face you and wraps you in her patented “fuck your rib cage” hug. You try to return it with equal force, but your noodly appendages are no match for pink horsepower.
Sensing that your rib cage has been sufficiently fucked, Pinkie loosens her grip and nuzzles your chest, sighing happily. You take the moment to catch your breath, almost reflexively placing a hand on Pinkie’s head and lightly rubbing one of her ears with your thumb.
She must have really missed you, huh? Silly ponies and their silly pony emotions. You’re glad you aren’t that much of a pansy. You didn’t miss her at all. In fact, you barely even noticed she was gone.
Pinkie suddenly sneezes, sending a small layer of dust flying from her coat. You see a handful of dust bunnies caught in her mane, so you start picking those out.
“Bless you,” you say. “What were you doing under my bed, anyway?”
“I was waiting for everypony to leave.”
You remove the last of the dust bunnies before going back to rubbing her ears. “Do I even want to know why?”
Pinkie’s blissful smile curls up into a mischievous grin. “I wanted to talk to you about something.”
“What is it?”
“Something super duper important.”
She’s toying with you. “If you aren’t gonna tell me, I’ll just leave.”
Wait, this is your house. Shit.
“Well,” Pinkie hums, rolling out of your lap to stand on the bed. She moves in closer, bring her mouth to your ear. “Now that we’re alone,” she whispers.
“P-Pinkie?” You try to back up, but she follows, keeping close enough that you can feel her breath on your skin.
“You know, Nonny, I’ve been thinking about you all day.”
You feel your face heat up against your will. Your stomach lurches, bringing that stupid tugging sensation back stronger than ever.
“Th-That’s weird, Pinkie.”
“I think we’ve waited long enough, don’t you?”
What the hell is that supposed to mean?
She pulls back until you’re both nose to nose. “Are you ready for your party, Nonny?” She leans in-
Your eyes snap open and you quickly sit up, gasping for air. Beads of sweat roll down your back, causing chills across your body. Your legs are cramping from hanging off the bed at a bad angle. The clock on the wall reads nine-twelve.
What the fuck just happened? Was that a dream?
Before you can even try to gather your thoughts, you hear a single knock on your front door, followed by the click of it opening.
“Nonny~!“
Forcing yourself to breathe more evenly, you try to stand up, but a tightness in your pants stops you halfway. Pinkie’s hoofsteps are getting closer. You sit back down.
“H-Hey, Pinkie,” you wave awkwardly, trying your best to die on the spot.
Pinkie’s face goes from smiling to concerned immediately upon seeing you. “Nonny? Are you feeling okay?”
“Yeah, I uh...” Come on, brain! “I’m just tired from today. We did a lot of... stuff. Cutie mark stuff.” Goddammit, brain, how many- Wait. That’s actually not awful. And it’s not a lie. “Other than that, I’m fine.”
Pinkie gives you a skeptical look, but thankfully doesn’t press the issue. She starts shuffling her hooves. “Are you too tired for a hug?” she asks hopefully.
Your body has had enough time to... calm down, so you feel slightly less uncomfortable now. “Of course not.”
Pinkie practically flies across the room and lands in front of you. Standing on her back hooves, she wraps you in a hug that surprises you with how gentle it is. It’s much less painful than the one in your dream.
“I hope you feel better,” she says, her voice almost too quiet to hear. “G’night, Nonny. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“...Night, Pinkie.” You have to force yourself to let go. You watch her leave, hating the fact that you don’t want her to. When she’s gone, you’re left with no other choice but to confront your feelings. Your stupid, gay-ass, cotton candy pony loving feelings.
You aren't stupid. Well, not that stupid. You spent most of your teenage years sweating nine different kinds of spaghetti whenever a girl so much as talked to you. When you fell into magical horse land, you never had that problem with mares. Sure, you kept social interaction to a minimum, but you could still function enough to speak normally whenever you had to buy groceries. It wasn’t awkward because they were just ponies in your mind, not girls. For the most part, you were sure it would stay that way.
But now here you are, sweating a tenth kind of spaghetti you didn’t even know existed.
It’s not supposed to be like this. You're supposed to be dead in every sense except literal, but it’s getting pretty damn hard to stay that way. Pinkie had to do what she does best and make you... feel things. Everything. It's just not natural. And the worst part is that she's not even doing it on purpose. She's just being Pinkie, and you’re being an overemotional sperglord. And there's nothing at all you can do about it.
Do you even want to do anything about it? No, of course not. If Pinkie were any different, your life would be in a much darker place right now. She still cared about you when you stopped caring about yourself.
Wow, that’s gay. Seriously, dude. Try to at least keep some dignity.
So what are you supposed to do now? Suppress your feelings? Maybe Pinkie only likes you as a friend. Maybe you’re on track to ruin the one semi-stable relationship you have in this godforsaken world.
One thing is for sure, though. You need advice. And a cold shower.
For the first time in your new life, you’re out of bed well before sunrise. You slept like a rock last night, but the pony gods apparently didn’t like that. They woke you up somewhere around five in the morning because they knew it wouldn’t give you enough time to fall back asleep. Fucking assholes. Since then, you’ve been sitting on the couch with a cup of coffee, staring at nothing while the minutes crawl by.
The silence has given you plenty of time to try sorting through your thoughts. Yes, you have feelings for Pinkie. There’s no getting around that. The only problem is that you still have no idea what to do with that information. On the surface, it seems like there are only two options: tell her how you feel, or keep it locked away with all your other insecurities. You’re really good at the second one. You’ve been bottling that shit up since middle school, which may or may not be why you’re emotionally stunted, but that’s not the issue here. The issue is what to do going forward.
Your heart is saying to go for it and tell her, but your brain is saying the opposite. And yeah, your brain doesn’t have the best track record when it comes to decision making, but what if it turns out to be right this time? What if Pinkie thinks you’re a weirdo and doesn’t want to talk to you anymore? What if she’s already interested in someone else? What if she throws up? What if you throw up?
There are so many things that can go wrong, so many potential ways for you to fuck it all up. There’s only one pony you would consider asking for advice about this, but you can’t exactly waltz on over to her place when it’s still technically night. You don’t want people to think you’re a criminal or a pervert. But is there really any point to getting advice when you know you’re going to fail anyway? Maybe it would be better to-
A sudden flash of motion outside the window snaps you from your introspection. You congratulate yourself for using such a fancy word, then look up just in time to see the front door of Sugarcube Corner swing shut. Not a second later, you hear a single, soft knock against your own door, followed by the click of it opening.
“Nonny~,” Pinkie whispers, poking her muzzle through the crack.
You can’t think of anything cool to say, so you answer by loudly slurping your coffee. Pinkie throws the door open, her face lighting up when she sees you.
“Nonny, you’re awake!”
She zips inside, closing the door with a flick of her tail. Your spaghetti glands haven’t had time to warm up yet, but The Pink One cares not. She wiggles her hips like a cat before pouncing at you from across the room. You barely have enough time to put your mug down before awkwardly half-catching her. Your stomach and legs actually do most of the catching, but Pinkie doesn’t seem to mind.
“Hi, Nonny,” she says, poking your nose with a hoof.
You try to respond, but your brain does what it does best and shuts down at a critical moment. Unable to say anything, you’re left staring at Pinkie’s unexpectedly lithe form sprawled across your lap. Her coat is disheveled as if she just rolled out of bed, but her eyes are already bright and full of energy.
To your surprise, the panic and nervousness from yesterday is almost entirely gone. Your stomach is doing things a stomach doesn’t normally do, but it’s not an unpleasant feeling. Aside from that, you don’t feel a whole lot different. Pinkie is still Pinkie, you’re still you, water is still wet.
Okay, so you like your best friend a little more than normal. So what? You can’t control how you feel. In fact, it’s Pinkie’s fault more than anything. You keep telling her to stop being so goddamn adorable, but does she ever listen? No, of course not. She keeps on smiling and laughing and being even more adorable and pink. It’s despicable.
“Nonny?” Pinkie pokes your nose again. “Did you fall asleep with your eyes open? Gummy does that sometimes.”
You shake your head as your brain finally reboots. Pinkie is staring at you expectantly, so you return her greeting boop, setting off an explosion of giggles. She writhes around as if being tickled, snorting between breaths. She lets out a particularly loud snort, then gasps and covers her mouth, a light blush forming on her cheeks. You start to laugh at this, which makes Pinkie laugh again. This of course causes her to loudly snort again, making you laugh even harder.
As you struggle to catch your breath, you can tell you have the dopiest smile on your face, but you don’t even care. You’re happy right now.
When the giggles have mostly faded, Pinkie releases a happy sigh and snuggles more closely against you. “This is a really good morning,” she says.
You can’t disagree, but that doesn’t stop the shitty part of your personality from complaining. “I’m still not sure I like being awake at this hour.”
“I like it!” Pinkie smiles, nuzzling your stomach.
“Yeah, but you’re used to it.”
“I was talking about you, silly. If you’re up early, you can spend more time with me!”
That’s... not a bad point. However, saying that out loud would mean admitting that mornings aren’t the worst thing in the world. So instead, you try to distract Pinkie with the most effective method you can think of.
As if sensing your intent, Pinkie rolls onto her back, giving you an almost pleading look. You’re more than happy to oblige, placing a hand on her chest and gently snaking your fingers down through the soft fur. She coos softly, seeming to melt more and more with each repetition.
“I missed this,” she sighs.
“What, being pampered?”
“No! Wait, yes. But I missed you! I almost didn’t get to see you at all yesterday. You went to bed right when I got back.”
Yeah, you totally sperged out yesterday. You were caught off guard by your own emotions, but that’s no excuse for basically avoiding Pinkie, not to mention it being just plain pathetic.
“Sorry,” you say lamely.
“Don’t be sorry,“ Pinkie smiles. “I’m sure you needed your rest. I remember my first time babysitting for the Cakes and let me tell you, that was exhausting. Flour is so hard to clean out of my mane.”
You have no idea what she’s talking about, but at least she’s not upset with you.
“Speaking of flour,” she continues, stretching in all directions before rolling to her hooves. “I should get started on breakfast. I hope you like biscuits!”
Biscuits and coffee sounds great right now. You stand with the intention of refilling your mug, but then you realize the sun is finally starting to come up. This is your chance to rush downtown and get some much needed advice from the love guru while Pinkie is cooking.
“Hey, Pinks? I’m gonna go for a walk, I’ll be back in a couple minutes.”
“Kay!” Pinkie calls over her shoulder. “Don’t get kidnapped!”
“I'll stay away from suspicious vans.”
“What’s a vans?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“Okie dokie lokie!”
You close the door behind you and set off at a hurried pace. The pony gods decide to have mercy this time: you walk less than a block before spotting the distinct purple mane of your second favorite pony. You don’t question why she’s sitting on a random bench at the crack of dawn, mostly because you don’t care.
“And that’s basically what’s going on,” you finish explaining. Despite being such a simple problem, it took longer than you thought to get it all out. “I know what I can do, but not what I should do. I mean, what if she laughs at me?” You let out a short sigh, waving your own words away. “No, you’re right. Pinkie wouldn’t do that, she’s too nice. But still, I have no idea how to handle this. What am I supposed to do?”
Scootaloo shrugs with an annoyed expression on her face. “Dude, I’m twelve,” she says. “How am I supposed to know?”
Goddammit. So much for that plan. You assumed she would have some sort of experience with relationships, given all the TV shows about kids having babies and getting married and what not. Then again, those were human shows. Maybe pony land is more pure than that. You hope so.
“Anyway,” Scootaloo continues, “why didn’t you ask somepony like Rarity?”
...Shit, that’s a much better idea.
“I already tried,” you lie. You can’t let her know the truth. She might think you’re stupid or something. “I couldn’t find her anywhere, so I went with the next best thing.”
Scootaloo seems almost offended. “Wouldn’t Sweetie Belle be the next best thing? She likes all this girly emotional stuff about as much as Rarity.”
“Your mom is girly,” you mutter. Scootaloo thankfully doesn’t hear you. You’d prefer not to permanently cripple a little girl with mere words. “I couldn’t find her either,” you say out loud.
That’s almost believable, right? No Rarity, no mini-Rarity.
“Then you should’ve gone to Apple Bloom,” Scootaloo says, rolling her eyes. “She’s a lot smarter than I am.”
“Apple Bloom is...” You cringe at the thought of Grandma Something struggling to remember the name of her own grandkid. “She’s going through some stuff right now.”
“What kind of stuff? Is it bad?”
“Family stuff,” you say, patting the filly’s head. “Just don’t bring it up with her, okay? Forget I said anything.”
Scootaloo crosses her forelegs and grumbles. “Fine.”
Well, that was a big waste of time. You bid Scootaloo farewell and hurry back to your house. After discreetly checking through the window that Pinkie is still cooking (she is), you steal the better idea and go to Rarity’s.
You open the door of the ugly building, a small bell ringing above you.
“Just a minute~!“ Rarity sings from somewhere out of sight.
You sit and wait on the weird half-sofa until she walks in, a tiny pair of glasses perched on the tip of her nose. She smiles when she sees you, removing her glasses and trotting over to plop her boutique on your lap.
“Why hello there, Nonny-wonny,” she says, nuzzling your face. “This is a rather pleasant surprise.”
You submit to the face rubbing, knowing resistance will only lead to more of it. “Please don’t call me that. It sounds weird.”
“You let Pinkie Pie do it,” she frowns.
“You’re not Pinkie.”
“Neither are you, darling.”
Damn, she’s good.
“So what brings you to my humble abode today, hmm?” Rarity asks, fluttering her eyelashes.
“I, uh...” This was much easier with Scootaloo. Spilling your guts the first time must have taken a lot out of you. “I wanted to talk to you about Pinkie, actually. And me too. I mean both of us, I guess.” Your voice trails off into a mumble near the end.
“Oh?” Rarity’s expression lights up before twisting into that fucking smirk. “What a coincidence. I’ve been meaning to talk with you about her as well. You and Pinkie are rather close to one another. Much closer than normal friends, wouldn’t you say?”
“Yeah, I guess so,” you shrug. Pinkie might as well be acting as your hospice nurse, minus the imminent death part. That sounds pretty close as far as friendship goes. “But I wanted to ask you-”
Rarity cuts you off by huffing way louder and way fancier than necessary. “Pinkie Pie is your most intimate friend, is she not?”
Wow, Rarity is awful at reading people. How has she not figured that out by now? “That’s a weird way of putting it, but yeah. And can you please give me a chance to-”
Two hooves of pure generosity press against your cheeks, cutting you off yet again. “Anon, darling, doesn’t it seem like you two are a little... more than just friends?”
“I fucking wish,” you say under your breath. Rarity gasps, releasing your cheeks. “Look, that’s actually why I’m-“
Rarity lets out a high-pitched scream, flapping her hooves like a teenage girl. She jumps from your lap and starts prancing back and forth across the room, talking at a mile a minute.
You consider waiting for the mouth noises to stop, but then you remember: Rarity. As she passes in front of you, you reach out and gently grab her muzzle with both hands, forcing it closed. She gives you an affronted look, but you really don’t care. Rude or not, it got her to stop talking.
When you’re reasonably sure she won’t keep jabbering, you slide your hands to her cheeks and squeeze them (sweet, squishy revenge), then kneel down to look her in the eye.
“Rarity, I’m super cereal right now. Pinkie is the only friend I-” Rarity raises an eyebrow. “-almost the only friend I have. I don’t want to lose her if I mess something up.”
Rarity’s expression drops into a deadpan stare. Not exactly the response you were going for. You try to boop her nose to see if her brain is still working, but she swats your hands away with magic.
“Anonymous,” she says.
“Hello.”
“Did you hear a single thing I just said?”
“Not a word. Why?”
“...You’re lucky you’re cute,” she sighs. “Anon, you should just tell her how you feel. Trust me, you have nothing to worry about. In fact, I’m certain Pinkie feels the same way about you.”
Your heart tries to do a backflip, but it misses the landing and falls into your stomach.
“How can you be so sure?” you ask, refusing to get your hopes up.
“I have eyes, darling.”
You hold back a scoff. “So do I. I’m pretty sure I would have noticed something by now.”
“Mhm.”
What the hell is that supposed to mean? “Look, if it was that easy, I wouldn’t be asking you for help.”
Rarity’s eyes light up. “Oh, you want me to help? You should have said something earlier!”
This fucking horse. “I tried, but you kept-”
“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure everything goes perfectly! Ooh, it’s going to be just like my-”
“Wait,” you cut in, savoring the feeling. You also suddenly remembered the time. “I need to get back to my house soon. I told Pinkie I was going for a walk and that I’d only be gone a couple minutes.”
Rarity seems momentarily put off, but her enthusiasm bounces back. “In that case, I shall drop by your house later today. You will begin by learning a number of ways to ‘test the water,’ so to speak, and then you can judge for yourself whether or not Pinkie is interested.” She flips her hair with a smug grin. “She’s far from subtle, but you seem to be having trouble with that anyway, so I’ll teach you what signals to look for when talking to a mare.”
Huh. That sounds not entirely awful. It might even keep you from making a complete fool of yourself. However, the seed of doubt still remains.
After eating breakfast a breakfast of biscuits and even more coffee, you collapse onto the couch, your stomach feeling warm and full to bursting. You would have kept eating, but there’s only so much room in the human body.
“Boop.” Something pink pokes your nose.
You blink, your eyes refocusing on Pinkie, who is now lying on top of you. Instead of questioning how she got there without you noticing, you wrap your arms around the grinning mare. You can’t help but sigh in content as you run your fingers through her fur.
“Whatcha thinkin’ about, Nonny?”
You half-shrug. “You.”
Pinkie’s face lights up. “Really?”
Okay, she didn’t think that was too weird. That’s a good sign, right?
“What about me?” she asks, her smile never wavering.
“You’re soft.”
“Am I comfy?”
“Very.”
Pinkie lays her head on your chest, humming a happy note. You start to fiddle with her ears, but you stop when her mane suddenly beeps.
“Aw, already?” she sighs.
“What was that?”
“My work alarm. I gotta go soon.” She puts a hoof to her chin and thinks for a moment. “If only there was a way to make sure you get your well-deserved cuddles while I’m at work.”
She pauses, looking meaningfully at the door.
“If only there was somepony who could cuddle Nonny for me,” she says in a louder voice.
Another long look at the door.
You start to ask what she’s doing, but she raises a hoof to stop you.
“Give her a minute,” she whispers.
As if punctuating that statement, you hear a fashionable series of knocks on the door. You would get up to answer it, but Pinkie keeps you pinned to the couch, making no effort to get up herself.
“Come in!” she calls for you.
The door opens and in walks Rarity, way earlier than you expected. She looks surprised, then smiles smugly when she sees you trapped under all the pink.
“Perfect timing, Rarity!” Pinkie says, stretching a hoof towards the unicorn. “Tag out!”
Rarity, still standing in the doorway, seems taken aback. “I’m sorry?”
“I forgive you, now come tag out!”
What the fuck is going on.
“I’m not quite sure what you mean, Pinkie darling,” Rarity says, hesitantly walking over.
“I have to go to work, but I can’t leave Nonny uncuddled! Tag! Out!” Pinkie stretches her hoof out even further, waving it frantically.
A look of understanding dawns on Rarity’s face before she touches Pinkie’s hoof. You blink, and the two mares have switched places. Somehow.
“Thanks, Rares! I’ll see you at lunch, Nonny,” Pinkie says, waving over her shoulder as she closes the door.
The ensuing silence grows more awkward by the second as neither of you move. You clear your throat after a minute.
“Rarity?”
“Yes, Anonymous?”
“You gonna get up anytime soon?”
“Eventually, yes.” She rolls onto her side and stretches languidly
This fucking horse. “Why not now?”
“You haven’t been sufficiently cuddled. I can’t disappoint Pinkie, after all.”
“For fuck’s sake.”
“Language,” Rarity tuts, lightly slapping a hoof-shaped marshmallow against your shoulder. “Now I know I said I would help you read body language to better understand how much Pinkie likes you, but I don’t even think that’s necessary.”
“What? Why not?”
She glances up at you with a raised eyebrow. “You can’t be serious.” At your lack of response, she sits up and sighs deeply into her hooves. “Goodness gracious, Anonymous, you might need medical help. She was all over you!”
“Yeah, that’s about par for the Pinkie. She’s very touchy-feely with pretty much everyone.” Even strangers.
“But not like that!” Rarity exclaims. “Did you even look at her?”
“Ye.”
“…”
“What?”
“I suppose we’ll have to begin with the absolute basics of body language, then,” she groans.
“Come on, I’m not an idiot,” you scoff. “Eyebrows down is mad, crying is sad, smiling is happy. Not much else to it.”
Rarity stares directly into your soul for a long, uncomfortable minute. “We’re going to ignore that first sentence. Just try to pay attention, please. Notice the way Pinkie was…”
It took an eternity and a half, but you managed to meet Rarity’s “lowest standard of competence.” Kinda. You guessed your way through the part about normal blinking versus flirty blinking, but that’s useless anyway.
Right now, you are sitting in your normal booth in Sugarcube Corner, waiting for Pinkie. She’ll go on lunch break soon, giving you a short amount of time to talk with her.
According to the plan you and Rarity came up with, you need to start by steering the conversation away from parties, cooking, or plate tectonics. It sounds easy on paper, but Pinkie is a huge fan of things that can cause earthquakes.
After that, she said to wait for Pinkie to bring up the FestiFall. No, seriously. That’s what it’s called. Fucking ponies.
She said if Pinkie doesn’t bring it up, then you should. It would be the perfect “spark,” whatever that’s supposed to mean. You still don’t even know what the festival is about aside from “yay fall,” but fuck it.
You feel anxious waiting for Pinkie, but there’s no real reason to. It’s not like you’re asking her out on a date or anything. All you’re doing is having a chat and watching her reactions. If she seems interested in you (which Rarity says should be obvious), then you can start planning how to actually ask her out. If she doesn’t… Well, you’ll just have to give up and die put your nonexistent charm to work.
Easy peasy.
“Lemon squeezy?” Pinkie offers, holding out a cup of what appears to be lemonade. “It’s on the house!”
Holy hell, that’s like the third time she’s teleported today. Her black magic is growing stronger.
You take the drink with a cautious hand, reminding yourself that The Pink One has only ever used her powers for good (as far as you know). Surprisingly, instead of hopping onto your lap like she normally does, Pinkie slides into the seat across from you. The orange stallion shows up to take your order, then leaves the two of you alone.
You have to initiate the conversation. But what to talk about?
“Talk about her hobbies,” your inner voice says.
But how am I supposed to do that without getting into parties?
“Just do it, faggot.”
Fine, geez. What an ass.
“So, uh,” you rocket out the gate with the confidence of a crippled rabbit in a dog race. No parties, no cooking. What else could she like? “...music.”
Pinkie’s ears perk up. “What about it?”
“...You like jazz?” Move the fuck over, Romeo.
“Jazz Berry? She’s good, I guess. I’m not a huge fan, but I do like how her voice does that shaky thing on the long notes. It sounds nice.” If you were a little bitch boy, you would know that shaky thing is called vibrato. But you’re not a little bitch boy. You’re a medium bitch boy. “I didn’t know you liked opera, Nonny,” she says with a skeptical look.
God, no. “I actually meant jazz music.”
“Meh.”
Your brain takes a second to process that before you burst out laughing. Hearing such a blunt reply come from Pinkie of all ponies, it’s just too much to handle.
“What?” Pinkie grins ear to ear and almost starts laughing along with you. “What’s so funny? What’d I do?”
As your laughter subsides, the orange stallion returns with two plates of food. You both start snacking while she tells you about all the good pony music, which is just like human music, but with hooves.
Every now and then, you see her glance at the opposite side of the room with an odd expression. You try to follow her gaze, but you can’t pinpoint exactly what she’s looking at. You mostly see a bunch of random ponies at different tables. The only one you recognize is Scootaloo, who is sitting alone, oddly enough. You try to wave at her, but she’s very intently staring into the void. You’ve been there.
“That reminds me!” Pinkie grabs your attention. She looks nervous for some reason. “There’s uh… a thing. Coming up. A festival thing. Do you wanna go? W-with me?”
There it is. White was right again. How Rarity knew Pinkie would bring it up is beyond you, but don’t punch a gimp horse in the mouth, as they say.
“Yeah, sure,” you shrug. Woah now, contain your enthusiasm. You don’t want to look too eager.
Pinkie blinks, her smile growing. “You’ll go?”
God, she’s adorable.
Wait, was that a normal blink or a flirty blink? Fucking Rarity, why didn’t she teach you any of this?
“Nonny? What are you staring at? Is there flour on my face?”
Great, now you look like a creep. “No, I-“
“Speaking of flour, there was this one time the girls I went to-”
God dammit, there she goes. So much for controlling the conversation. At least try to force it back to the festival so you can find out what it even is.
“-and then AJ had to call the cops because-“
“Wait, wait, hold up,” you butt in like a gentleman. “What was that festival thing about?”
“Oh! Right.” Pinkie sheepishly smiles and glances across the room again. “The FestiFall is in a couple days. It’s this big festival just outside of Ponyville after the Running of the Leaves.”
“...The leaves can run?”
“No, silly! The ponies run to make the leaves fall.”
You’re not even going to ask how that works.
“Anyway,” she continues. “There’s gonna be dancing and contests and prizes and dancing and music and dancing and food and all sorts of stuff!”
Guess she likes dancing. “Sounds fun.”
“It’s super fun!” Pinkie puffs out her chest and smirks. “And I’m kind of in charge of planning the whole thing this year.”
“Really?” you ask, impressed. “The whole thing?” She nods firmly. “Well, now I know it’s gonna be fun.”
She giggles, blushing at the praise she rightly deserves. “Oh, stop it.”
“Seriously, I can't think of anything we’ve done together that you haven’t made enjoyable in some way.”
Pinkie’s blush goes from a dusting of pale red on her cheeks to a deep scarlet spreading across her entire face.
“Oh,” she whispers. “I- I- I really enjoy being with you too, Anon.” She looks like she’s about to say more, but her mane suddenly beeps. “OhlookatthetimewelpbacktoworkbyeNonny!” she practically yells as she sprints back into the kitchen.
You’re a little stunned by her sudden departure, but you feel really good about what just happened.
As you exit Sugarcube Corner, an unfamiliar mare wearing giant sunglasses and a sunhat trots out after you.
“That was splendid, Anonymous!,” she exclaims. “I couldn’t hear very much, but I could see, and what I saw was just-“ She pretends to faint. “Oh, Celestia, it’s better than my books. It’s like a drug! I need more!”
“...Do I know you?” you ask.
The mare freezes in place and turns her head to face you. You can’t read her expression behind the sunglasses, but it still makes you uncomfortable.
“Okay. I’m just gonna go now,” you say as you bravely step back from the odd pony. When you’re at a safe distance, you turn around and power walk away.
Not five seconds later, you hear hoofsteps behind you.
“Anonymous,” Rarity says as she trots beside you. She’s wearing a sunhat that you’ve never seen on her before.
You breathe a sigh of relief and slow your pace. “Oh thank god it’s you, Rarity. I thought you were someone else. There was this weird lady back there talking about drugs and stuff. It was scary.”
“Pinkie really doesn’t care much for brains, does she?” she mutters under her breath. “Well? How do you feel now?”
“About what?”
“Pinkie’s body language? She was oozing affection. How could you not have noticed?”
“Oh.”
“What do you mean ‘oh’?”
“I kinda stopped paying attention to that halfway through,” you admit.
Rarity takes a deep breath and holds it long enough for you to start getting worried before she lets it out in an explosive sigh. “Okay, that’s fine. Then what did you see in the first half?”
“Uh… she blinked.”
“Was it a normal blink or a flirty blink?”
“...I don’t know.”
“How could you not know? I taught you this very thing less than two hours ago!”
“Then you tell me which one it was!”
“I wasn’t the one supposed to be watching for these things!”
“You said you could see us!”
“I was watching the whole scene, not the pieces!”
“What does that even mean?!”
By this point, you’re both yelling in the middle of the road. Ponies are giving you odd looks, but none of them seem worried. Maybe yelling at Rarity is a normal thing in Ponyville.
Instead of taking her turn to yell, Rarity sighs and grabs your arm with magic. “We’ll finish this at your house.”
“Why mine?” you whine menacingly. “Yours is closer.”
“I don’t want my dresses to get bleached by your absurdly basic mind.”
“Yeah, well at least I’m not stupid,” you mutter.
Rarity simply groans.
“See? I knew Pinkie couldn’t resist talking about FestiFall. And you say she asked you to go with her?”
You nod for the hundredth time as Rarity continues gushing.
“That sounds like it would be perfect as a first date!”
“Woah, I’m gonna stop you right there,” you quickly say. “It’s not a date.”
“Of course not yet,” Rarity rolls her eyes and starts pacing in front of your couch. “But think about it! The colorful leaves, the music, the dancing, and at the end of it all…” She lays a hoof across her forehead and sighs dramatically. “A confession of love under the light of the sunset!”
“Aren’t you-“
“It can’t be that simple, of course. You need the next few days to butter her up, so to say. Buy her gifts and chocolates and such, maybe win her a prize at the festival if you can beat those ridiculous games. Oh! Maybe you can sing her a ballad!”
“You need help, lady.”
“I need you to woo her!” Rarity turns to you with an expression that borders on manic. “It’s love, don’t you understand?! There is a process, Anonymous! Seduction comes before the confession!”
“I couldn’t seduce a blind succubus. Why can’t I just dance around the topic for thirty minutes until she catches on and says it for me?”
“There is a process!”
knock
click
“Nonny~” Pinkie sings. “I’m back! Oh, Rarity! Were you hanging out with Nonny all day?”
Wow, is it four already? You’ve been listening to Rarity talk at you for over three hours. And you can’t remember any of it. You’re impressed with yourself.
“Er, yes,” Rarity says slowly. “We were... talking about my new seasonal lineup!”
“Oooh,” Pinkie throws you a look of sympathy. “Too bad I missed that, haha.”
Rarity, as socially oblivious as ever, flips her mane and smiles. “Yes, I was just telling him about how I’m going to experiment with the stitching in-“
“Oh shoot, Rarity, I’m sorry to cut you off, but I need to wash all this flour off of me. I guess you have to go, bye.”
Pinkie gently guides Rarity out the door. There’s no flour on her. Rarity locks eyes with you and raises her eyebrows twice with a knowing smirk. The door closes, leaving you and Pinkie alone.
Pinkie takes a deep breath, puffing her cheeks out as she releases it. She turns to you and smiles awkwardly.
“I guess I need to, uh... wash all this flour off, hehe. Can I use your shower?”
“Oh. Yeah, of course.”
“Thanks, Nonny,” she skips over to you and leans on the couch to plant a light kiss on your cheek.
Without saying anything else, she walks straight to the bathroom and turns on the shower. Over the sound of the running water, you can just hear Pinkie humming a happy song.
Pinkie stood under the warm shower, finishing up the long and tedious process of washing her mane. Her happy mood from earlier had only grown stronger to the point where she could barely keep herself from bursting into song.
You should kiss him more.
She kinda wanted to, but Nonny said kisses were super duper intimate for humans.
Come on, it’s not like you’re kissing him on the mouth.
Aaaaand now she wanted to kiss him on the mouth.
“I can’t!” Pinkie thought, shaking her head violently to clear away the lewd image.
Why not? You love him, don’t you? What better way to show it?
Despite knowing better, she let her mind wander straight back to the image of Anon holding her in his arms, kissing her gently while Gummy played a harp.
“He’s so strong,” she whispered to herself.
And handsome.
Not just handsome, Nonny was the absolute cutiest, most patootiest cutie patootie to ever cute a patoot. Pinkie couldn’t stop herself from giggling.
What do you think he looks like naked?
“Omigosh, no! Bad Pinkie!” She lightly slapped herself.
He’s like a present. He wraps himself up in clothes all the time to cover up the goods.
“Stop!”
Don’t you wanna unwrap him?
“No!”
...
“...yes.”
Then you gotta work for it! Make him yours, filly!
“But he’s so shy. I don’t wanna come off too aggressive; he’ll think I’m a weirdo...”
If you don’t, somepony else will.
“What are you talking about?”
He came home from his “walk” this morning smelling like Rarity.
Pinkie paused. It was true, she remembered smelling a hint of frills and lace on him.
“Maybe they bumped into each other and hugged.”
Or maybe he went to see Rarity and didn’t tell you.
“That’s silly! Why would he do that?”
Perhaps he wanted some alone time with her.
“That’s not funny...”
They were together all day.
“Because they’re friends.”
Not for long, at the rate things are going. Don’t you think Anon would prefer somepony more calm?
“What are you saying?”
She’s so much prettier than you, too. They look good together.
“...Why would you say that?”
Don’t feel bad, you can always join their herd somewhere down the line.
Pinkie felt a pang of hurt and jealousy at that thought. She didn’t want that.
What’s wrong? Sharing is caring, isn’t it?
“...I don’t want to share.”
That’s awfully selfish of you.
It was, but...
“I don’t care,” Pinkie said resolutely. “If that makes me a bad pony, I’m fine with it.”
There’s that confidence. Use that.
“But how? I barely know anything about dating stallions.”
That’s what friends are for. They can help you.
“...Nonny might not even like me back.”
Did you give up when Discord stole the Elements?
“No...”
Did you give up the first time Cranky Doodle Donkey said he didn’t want a friend?
“No.”
Did you give up when Gummy beat you at checkers?
“No!”
So if Nonny doesn’t like you back, are you gonna give up?
“Never!”
Then go out there and do the dating thing!
“I still don’t kn-“
Then go out there and learn how to do the dating thing!
“Yeah!”
With a silent but triumphant cry, Pinkie leapt from the shower, shook herself dry, and trotted out into the hallway, her head held high. It wasn’t until she reached the living room that she remembered she was at Nonny’s house. The Nonny in question was napping on the couch again. It was only a quarter to five, but that colt had an incredible talent for sleeping.
Instead of waking him up, Pinkie stared at him for a little while, then wrote a quick note and stuck it to his chin, planting a teensy tiny kiss on the tip of his nose while she was at it. When her butterflies eventually settled, she trotted out the door.
Pinkie had many, many friends, but there was only one she trusted enough to talk to about dating. When she reached Carousel Boutique, she found it empty save for Sweetie Belle. After questioning the filly, she set off again, this time for the post office. As she walked into the small building, she almost walked into the very pony she was looking for.
“Oh, hey!” Pinkie greeted. “Sweetie Belle said I could find you here. Listen, I know this is sudden, but I need your help.”
“Are you hiding from the cops?”
“Even better! I need to tap into your vast knowledge of romance.”
It’s finally here. The Fall Festival. FestiFall. Fucking whatever.
The Running of the Leaves is wrapping up, and you’re waiting at the finish line for Pinkie with all the rest of the non-athletes. She was adamant about showing you around the festival herself, so you’re not going anywhere until she gets here. When you finally spot her skipping at a leisurely pace down the trail, you stand up and brush away the leaves clinging to you.
Pinkie has been extra busy these past couple days with the festival preparations, leaving you without much time to “woo” her like Rarity wanted. And speaking of the drama llama, her advice so far has been… less than helpful. She can’t seem to grasp the idea that romance novels aren’t real life. Thankfully, she was put in charge of some kind of arts and crafts thingy for the younger kids today, meaning you and Pinkie get the whole day to yourselves. Hopefully.
Pinkie hops across the finish line and trots over to you. Her breathing is normal, and she isn’t flushed from exertion like all the other participants you’ve seen. She looks like she just stepped out of Sugarcube Corner.
“Hey, Nonny,” she greets warmly, hugging your midsection. “Did you see me win?”
You return the hug, allowing yourself to get lost for a moment in her soft fur and the smell of freshly baked goods that seems to follow her everywhere. Her words finally register in your mind as you let go.
“You got first?” you ask skeptically. Did you hallucinate Dash’s victory? If that’s the case, you also hallucinated her five-minute victory dance and the two dozen other ponies that crossed after that.
Pinkie motions you to follow and starts walking in the direction of the festival.
“First pony to come in twenty-third today,” she says with a cheerful smugness only she can manage. “The prize for that is way better than a medal.”
You snort quietly and fall into step beside her, your normal pace being similar to hers despite the size difference. “What kind of prize do you get for twenty-third?”
“I get you,” she bumps her flank against your leg, her tail wrapping around it playfully.
You can’t keep the smile off your face. You don’t deserve this wonderful pink horse. “And what would you get if you came in twenty-fourth?” you ask her.
“Also you!”
“Of course. What about first?”
“Still you, but I also get a medal!”
“You know, I’m starting to think this race was rigged.”
“What makes you say that?” Pinkie flutters her eyelashes up at you.
You stifle a chuckle. “Just a hunch, I guess. So, how’s it feel to be a winner, Miss Pie?”
“It feels good, Nonners,” she says, puffing out her chest. “It feels real good.”
As you enter the festival grounds, you find yourself surrounded by a wide assortment of tents, booths, stages, and more. Orange and yellow streamers crisscross above your head, fluttering gently in the breeze. Lively music is carried through the air by a combination of speakers and magic. It’s like someone put a carnival, a ren faire, and a bunch of magical horses into a blender and kicked it over mid-blend.
Some might say it’s messy and disorganized, but you know better. When Pinkie plans things, there’s always a method to the madness. You have yet to figure out what that method is, but you know it exists.
You continue to follow Pinkie past a number of pumpkin-related competitions and standard carnival games. She suddenly stops in front of a bright red booth run by a mare wearing a fake mustache and top hat. There is a wall of balloons behind her and a small pile of darts on the counter. Seeing balloons and darts in the same location, your advanced human intellect kicks into overdrive. With the information presented, you quickly come to the conclusion that this is a game of balloon darts.
As you congratulate yourself for being so smart, Pinkie steps forward and turns to lock eyes with you, her gaze burning with a sudden intensity. You’ve seen this look before. You know exactly what she’s thinking.
She thinks she can beat you.
You both nod to the mustachioed mare, who presents five darts to each of you and steps away with a flourishing bow. You roll the first dart between your fingers, feeling the weight and balance. You smirk at Pinkie. She smirks right back. You both take aim. Throw.
It’s not even close. Using your longer arms and dexterous fingers to your advantage, you sling dart after dart with laser-like precision, each one whistling through the air as it closes in on its target. You manage to pop two balloons. Pinkie gets six. With five darts.
Many of the other games go pretty much the same way. You keep thinking your opposable thumbs will help you win, but then one of two things happens. One: Pinkie wins because she can ignore probability at will. Or two: Pinkie wins because you frankly suck ass at these games. Either way, she always gives her prizes to the next colt or filly she sees. It’s heartwarming for sure, but you’re more appreciative of the fact that she isn’t carrying around the evidence of your losing streak.
When lunchtime rolls around, you follow Pinkie to a relatively open space where picnic tables have been set up in front of a semicircle of food vendors. As the both of you approach, one of the vendors smiles and waves at Pinkie, one hoof pulling a metal basket out of a deep fryer.
“Nonny,” Pinkie says, gesturing to the stallion, “this is Fryer Tuck.”
Sometimes you really hate pony land. You can’t decide if this guy makes it better or worse.
“Tuck, this is Nonny. He’s the one I was talking about yesterday.”
Tuck gives you an appraising look. You smile awkwardly at him. Seeming to find nothing objectionable, he returns his attention to Pinkie.
“So, Pinkie,” he chuckles, “I guess you want the, uhh...” He glances at you. “The special thing we talked about?”
“Yes, please!” Pinkie nods vigorously and turns to you. “Save me a seat, Nonny,” she says, nudging you off towards a table.
You sigh to yourself and find a table, resigned to the fact that you won’t know what the “special thing” is until Pinkie tells you. You didn’t get a chance to order any food, so you can only assume it’s something to eat. You hope it’s not fried ice cream.
Pinkie returns a couple minutes later carrying a tray with a single plate on it. The plate is covered by multiple paper towels, giving you no visual indication of what it might be, though it does smell somewhat familiar. She sets the covered plate on the table just out of reach and sits across from you, giggling to herself.
“Is that our food?” you ask hopefully.
“Nope!” Pinkie grins, then corrects herself. “Well, kind of. It’s food for you, but I wanna save it for last.”
Last? What are you eating first? You scan the table for any food items you somehow missed. Nothing. While you’re waving your arm across the table to check for invisible food, Pinkie reaches into her mane and pulls out a lunch box.
That somehow makes more sense.
“I made peanut butter sammiches!” she exclaims, holding one out to you. You take it and see some peanut butter and jelly leaking out. “It’s grape, but I also have different jelly if you want.”
She starts pulling out more sandwiches than the box could possibly hold, naming each one as she does. Grape, apple, strawberry, orange, peach, and a dozen other kinds of jelly you didn’t know existed.
You hold out a hand to stop her. “I’m good with this, thanks.”
“Okie dokie lokie!”
To your mild confusion, Pinkie doesn’t pack the sandwiches away, instead putting the lunchbox back into her mane and leaving the extra sandwiches in front of her. You realize with a growing sense of dread that those aren’t extra sandwiches at all. With no warning, Pinkie swiftly and efficiently devours every single one in less than a minute, leaving no trace of her crimes against nature.
“Where do you even put all that?” you say under your breath.
“My hollow leg,” Pinkie replies without hesitation.
You pretend you didn’t hear that and bite into your own sandwich. It’s pretty good, not that you’d expect any different. Pinkie could put a bowl of dirt in the oven and still have it come out tasting like cake.
You scarf it down quicker than you normally would, eager to see what the mystery food is. As you reach for the plate, your hand is slapped away by a pink hoof.
“Not yet,” Pinkie lightly chastises. “Let me explain first.” You make a show of nursing your hand with a hurt expression as she continues. “Okay, so I remember you don’t- Oh, stop it, I barely tapped it, ya goob. Anyway, you don’t like hay fries, right?”
“Nope, can’t even eat ‘em.”
“And I remember you telling me about a similar food that you really, really liked in your world, except it was made with potatoes.”
“Yes,” you say slowly. Did she…?
“Weeell,” she draws the word out, “I asked Tuck if he could try something new for me, aaand-” She yanks the covering off the plate. “Ta-da! France fries!”
She did. She really did. And she called them France fries, too. That’s so goddamn adorable.
You take a closer look. They are technically fries, you suppose, just really fat ones. There are six of them, each about the size of a stick of sidewalk chalk. The smell of clogged arteries and a diet coke fills your nose.
“Pinkie, I…”
“Shhh.” She picks up a fry and slowly pushes the entire thing into your mouth. It barely fits. “How is it?”
After you manage to chew a few times, it’s even better than you expected. It could use a little salt, but otherwise it tastes just as deliciously unhealthy as you remember.
You give Pinkie a thumbs-up, not remembering if the gesture translates to pony. She seems to get the message, though, her smile stretching even further. Your own smile grows against your will, making it harder to chew. Some of the mush in your mouth almost slips out as your lips curve upward, causing Pinkie to nearly fall out of her seat laughing.
You finish the entire plate in short order. Pinkie declines your offer to share, saying she got them just for you, so all six megafries make their way into your stomach, leaving you feeling full and satisfied.
“Thank you, Pinkie,” you say with all the sincerity you can muster. “Really. That was just like...”
All the good memories of home come rushing back.
…
…
Good memories. Rushing back. Any second now.
…
…
…
Actually, when you stop and think about it, home kinda sucked. It’s way better in magical pony land.
“It was just like what, Nonny?” Pinkie asks, her eyes shimmering with curiosity.
“Just like… my world,” you finish with a bittersweet sigh. Not home. Home is here now.
You spend a queasy moment trying not to barf. Either that thought was so gay it made you sick, or the grease in your gut isn’t settling well. Probably a little bit of both. Either way, the moment passes without issue.
As you stand up, Pinkie follows suit and once again wraps her tail around your leg. Somehow. You don’t want to think too hard about it.
“Where to next?” you ask.
Pinkie gives you a sideways glance. “Sorry, Nonny, can't tell you yet. No spoiling the surprises, not even for you.”
“Wait, there are more surprises?” She gave you France fries, what else could she possibly do?
You suddenly realize that’s a very dangerous question to ask.
“Of course there’s more!” Pinkie exclaims. “I have to make your first FestiFall super duper special!”
You cringe a little as she says it aloud. “I’ve been having a great time so far, but that name is…”
“Yeah, the name is kinda silly,” Pinkie laughs. “I like it, though.”
As you allow yourself to be led to an unknown destination, your thoughts wander in circles around your virtually nonexistent plan to achieve pink ponk gf. If Pinkie has more surprises planned for you, maybe you can use that. She’ll do a bunch of surprises for you, and at the end of it all, you can say you have your own surprise for her, and then… What? Say you love her? Give her a kiss?
“Go with your gut,” your inner voice says.
My gut is full of greasy potato right now.
“Then give her the ol’ greasy potato.”
What does that even mean?
“You know exactly what it means.”
Aren’t you supposed to be the helpful part of me?
“Bro, I’m not even real.”
“Nonny!” Pinkie halts your intellectual duel with yourself by tugging on your leg. You realize you’ve been standing in place staring at nothing. “Come on, slowpoke! We got stuffs to do!”
“Right, sorry.”
Despite your earlier nerves, you’re slowly becoming more and more comfortable with the idea of telling Pinkie you love her. It feels like the most natural step to take.
Pinkie leads you through more of the festival, occasionally checking in with other ponies to make sure everyone is having a good time. As you walk, you find yourself resting a hand on her back, absently tracing circles into her fur. She smiles and moves closer, gently leaning into you. After a few minutes of wandering in comfortable silence, she places a hoof on your leg and stops.
“Here we are,” she says proudly.
The “here” in question is a wide, open area on the far side of the festival grounds, opposite from Ponyville. What immediately catches your eye is the bright orange Ferris wheel stylized to look like a pumpkin. It’s not the tallest you’ve seen, but damn if it’s not impressive. Party horse went all out.
“You wanna go later?” Pinkie asks. “It’ll be fun~!”
She went out of her way to get a goddamn Ferris wheel, of course you’re gonna ride that shit. “Hell yeah. How tall is it?”
“A hundred feet; almost as tall as you,” she says, giggling at her own joke.
You roll your eyes. “Hardy har.”
“I really wanted a giant one,” she sighs wistfully, “but this one was easier to set up. Plus, it was cheaper, which left room for…” She prances over to the left, waving her hoof to present a pair of small tents. “These!”
“…Tents?”
“That’s what they look like! Buuuut~!” She trots backwards towards one, pushing the flap open with her flank. “Come check out the inside!”
She ducks back, disappearing into the tent before you can respond. You only hesitate for a moment before following. You’re sure it’ll be fine. As long as it’s not one of those dumb magic tents that are bigger on the-
Goddammit, it’s huge.
The light is kind of dim, but it’s more than enough to tell that you’ve just stepped into a giant dance hall. The floor is made of polished dark wood, there’s a soft melody playing from seemingly nowhere, and you can see a handful of older-looking ponies doing the horse version of the waltz under two floating chandeliers. Two. Who the hell needs two chandeliers? Just one is already pushing it.
“The chandeliers?” Her expression turns sheepish, her ears doing their best to disappear into her mane. “They came with the tent, they weren’t my idea.”
Phew. “Okay, good. You had me worried I would have to send you to rehab to get you de-schmancifed.”
Pinkie bumps you with her hip. “You’d never send me away,” she says with a soft yet confident smile.
“Oh, I wouldn’t?” She’s right, but you want to see where this goes.
“Nope! And even if you did, I know you’d come with me. I’d do the same for you, no matter how schmancy you were.”
Despite how ridiculous this conversation is, it still makes you want to hug her. “You’re a silly pony,” you say.
“You’re a silly pony!”
Goddammit, not again. How does she always have the perfect comeback? You need to think of something better for next time.
As you stand there, the dancing fancies start shooting irritated looks at the both of you, so you gesture with your head for Pinkie to follow you back outside. You’re about to ask her what the second tent is like, but she beats you to the punch.
“The next one is ever better, come see!” she says, skipping ahead to the other tent.
She slips inside before you can respond, so you kick your body into overdrive and power walk the five steps it takes to get there. Utterly exhausted, you push through the flap and look around.
The interior of this tent is also huge, but it has way more ponies inside. The lights are a rainbow of shifting colors, the music is lively and upbeat, and there’s an almost palpable energy in the air. It’s designed to be a lot less fancy and a lot more dancy, like a nightclub minus the night. Which is just a club. Man, you’re smart.
Pinkie is already grooving from the moment she stepped inside. “Let’s dance, Nonny!”
Hell to the fuck no dot jpeg. “Nah, I’m good,” you answer weakly. “I’ll just watch.”
Okay, that sounded waaaay less pathetic in your head. Pinkie stops and gives you an are-you-fucking-serious look.
“Nonny,” she deadpans.
“I know, that was…” You shake your head. “Nevermind. Listen, I’m not a good dancer.”
“Neither is Twilight, and look at her go!” She points to a purple unicorn committing a war crime on the other side of the tent. “It’s not about being good, it’s about having fun! Come on, dance with me! Please?”
She starts gently tugging your hand, not pulling you against your will, simply urging you to do the thing. There’s an eagerness in her eyes that tells you this is something that truly makes her happy, and she wants to share that happiness with you.
She got you France fries, for god’s sake, the least you could do is shake your ass for her.
“…Alright, fine.” You smile despite yourself. Pinkie’s passion is infectious.
You let her pull you onto the dance floor, thankfully stopping at the edge of the crowd of ponies. Bless her. You would actually die if you went into the middle of that.
Pinkie goes straight back into groove mode, laughing and swinging to the beat. You sort of stand there awkwardly, not sure how to proceed. You could do the arm thing where you just keep an arm in the air and bounce in place, but that seems like something a cool person would do, so that’s off-limits.
There has to be something you can do that won’t make you stand out. Well, stand out more. You’re already getting side eyes from some nearby ponies simply due to being the biggest thing in the room. Tent. Can a tent be a room?
“Come on, Nonny,” Pinkie laughs, bumping her flank into you. “Show me some human moves.”
Human moves. The only other ones you can think of are-
Wait… Ponies don’t know what human dancing looks like. That gives you an idea. Sure, it’ll draw more attention than anything else, but at least you’ll be embarrassing yourself on purpose. Your spaghetti DNA gives you an innate mastery of cringey dance moves, after all.
“Okay, Pinks,” you smile nervously. You hope this works. “This one’s called the Sprinkler.”
The only one really watching you at first is Pinkie, and that’s all you care about. Her eyes light up as soon as you start moving, which gives you just enough incentive to not die on the spot. As you transition into the Cabbage Patch, you start to notice a few more ponies looking directly at you. Some of them even try emulating your moves.
Oh thank god, you were right. They can’t tell whether your dancing is terrible, so they can only assume it’s good.
Running Man, then Shopping Cart, then Chainsaw, you present pony land with the full array of humanity’s artistic failings in dance form. Your face is burning red the entire time, but you know that hesitating for even a second would give away your fraudulence, making you look that much dumber. Confidence is the only way to sell it, so you channel Billy Mays and offer more.
Pinkie seamlessly bounces between doing her own thing and mirroring you, somehow making your stiff, jerky movements look complementary to her fluid, graceful ones. Where she really shines, though, is when she’s in her own little world, twisting and twirling like a disco ballerina. Every time your eyes meet, she gives you an encouraging smile and a playful nudge.
No matter what ridiculous move you do, it only seems to make her happier. Not just entertained, genuinely happy. Joyful. Another synonym. She moves like she was born to boogie, dancing around you with such energy and laughter that you slowly stop caring about how you look, surrendering yourself to enjoying the moment. It’s something you thought you would never willingly do, yet here you are. Fucking ponies, man.
No. It’s not ponies, it’s Pinkie. That beautiful, wonderful little horse. She can somehow bring out the tiniest piece of you and make it blossom, even if only for a moment. You wish there was a less gay-sounding way to word that.
As the most recent song comes to a close, you start to lose steam. Pinkie, apparently sensing this, grabs you by the hands and spins with you off the dance floor. She’s laughing, you’re laughing, and you still can’t believe how much you enjoyed yourself. She rears up to hug you, grinning like she just received the best present in the world. She doesn’t say anything at first, just holding onto you for a moment.
“Thank you so much, Nonny,” she eventually says, her soft voice warming your soul. “I’m so glad I got to dance with you.”
“I… actually had fun,” you admit.
“Me too.” All that energy from before seems tempered now. It’s still bubbling underneath, but no longer in danger of exploding outward. Pinkie sighs contentedly and releases you, giving you a kiss on the cheek as she does. Your face is already flushed, so your spaghettification is thankfully less noticeable.
“How about we get some drinks and just relax for a bit?” you offer.
Pinkie nods with a smile, tracing a hoof on the ground. “I’d love to,” she says.
