UNTITLED (Fluttershy) by Trente-Neuf

>You are Anon.
>And you've just force-fed a raw steak to a little technicolor pony.
>She wasn't the one you wanted to buy, but still, does that warrant what you did?
>Seriously, what did she ever do to you?
>From your side of the room, you can see the little yellow-and-pink ball that is her sprawled in the corner.
>She's been bawling for half an hour, no sign of stopping.
>Holy shit, the mare's got waterworks.
>The rush faded away 20 minutes ago.
>Her suffering is no longer making you happy.
>You're no longer happy.
>This is actually kind of sad.
>Well...
>At any rate, you can't just leave her there.
>You leave your position propped up against the wall, and stand.
>Carry your pone into the living room, all the while she's sniffling and mumbling incoherently.
>Drop her on the sofa.
>Yes, drop her. The pathetic whimper you know she'll make is too good to pass up.
>Stuff like that always makes you feel good on the inside.
>You make yourself some toast; torturing an innocent little furball sure drains you.
>You don't know what compels you to wait around until she finally begins to sleep.
>Chewing on the piece of burnt toast, you think, but would never admit, that it's some fatherly instinct you've been trying to ignore.
>She looks so peaceful curled up on the couch.
>Go away, conscience. Please kindly shut the hell up.
>A quick check of the clock shows you that it's get-the-fuck-to-bed time.
>Well into the real nigga hours.
>If there's one thing you're happy for, it is the sleep that quickly overtakes you.
>You drag yourself out of bed at 6 in the morning.
>Didn't get much sleep, but you've got enough.
>You pull on some shitty clothes, not expecting to leave the house today.
>Slightly oversized t-shirt, an alright pair of pants, and a sweatshirt, you're also going barefoot.
>As you enter the living room, you note the yellow pony's absence.
"An early bird, huh?"
>You proceed to flop on the sofa.
>TV remote is just within your reach...
>With more willpower than movement, you manage to inch it into your hand after a couple tries.
>Flipping through news channels you glimpse the pony's yellow face peeking around the doorway.
>It's gone before you finish turning your head.
>You call after her:
"Hey! Hey, wait!"
>No response at all.
>She's terrified of you.
*sigh*
>And you don't blame her, you get pretty bad when you're mad.
>Not to mention a moderate sadism issue on your part.
>Yeeeeah.
>You'd better at least apologize so she isn't permanently scared of you.
>You wouldn't exactly enjoy that.
>Alright, you stand up and poke your head outside the doorway.
>You search for a second, looking down one side of the hallway, then the other.
>Doesn't look like anything is around in the rooms to your right.
>After a brief search, you turn your head to the left to see a pink tail and a bit of a leg poking out from a pile of laundry.
>Fucking seriously.
>11/10, 2stealthy4me.
"Nice hiding spot, can't see you at all"
>A slightly-muffled, timid squeak is the response. Seriously, the sounds this pony makes.
"I'm not gonna hurt you or anything, please just come out,"
>...
>Worth a try.
"I just wanted to apologize. I went completely overboard last night and kind of took out my anger on you,"
>Nothing?
>Well, you did kind of force her to eat half a pound of raw meat.
"Fine, you win, uh... wow, I never got your name, did I?"
>So much for that, you begin to turn away.
>It takes you completely by surprise when she answers you.
>"Fluttershy. My name, it's Fluttershy"
>A while passes as you watch the news.
>It's typical stuff going on around the world:
>That revolt of pony slaves in Kansas and Nebraska was finally put down.
>The UN was bickering about stuff.
>Some of the last of the Equestrian Royal Guard was killed or captured in an allied raid on their hideout.
>And the price of gas went down from the $5 a gallon it was, barely.
>Fluttershy enters the room during a commercial break, took her long enough.
>She keeps her distance, though, she's still wary of you.
>She doesn't seem like the type to walk up and start a conversation, the pony probably has something to ask you.
>You ask her first.
"What's up? Do you need something?"
>You turn the TV off and look over at her.
>She stands nervously, eyes trained down at her hooves.
>"Well, uh, do you have any food that I could eat, i-if that's okay?"
>The mare looks up at you inquisitively.
>She must still be scared that breakfast today will be a repeat of last night.
>You smile warmly, you make sure she recognizes it as genuine.
"Yeah, actually. I was gonna make breakfast in a bit; gotta see what I have, but there'll be something,"
>It's met with a quiet "Thank you"
>Reach the kitchen, Flutter trailing behind you.
>Gesturing to a bag of bagels, you ask:
"You like bagels?"
>She can only barely see them over the counter.
>"Oh, I've never had one before, but I'm sure they're good,"
>Okay, let's see what else you have.
>You search the cupboards; they're never well-stocked, but you actually manage to find an unopened box of cereal off to the side.
>You hold it out to her.
"Looks like I've got some cereal, if you'd rather have that,"
>She examines the minimalistic store-brand box.
>"This also looks good, though,"
>You point towards a bowl over on the other side of the room as the pony puts the cereal box on the counter.
>"There's some fruit over there, if you'd rather have that,"
>"Fruit sounds good, too,"
>She keeps this up as you offer you think she could eat.
>You'll have to make her choose.
"Alright, but which one do you want?"
>She examines everything you've set aside.
>You can't like everything, now can you?
>"Um, well, uh, I kind of might actually like... Nevermind, nevermind,"
>pone_refuses_to_form_opinions_about_breakfast_and_it's_getting_slightly_irritating.jpg
>You decide to help her along.
"If you can't tell me what you want, at least tell me what you think you want,"
>She should be able to recognize the impatience in your voice.
>She contemplates this for a second.
>"O-okay, I was kind of thinking that I'd like like some cereal, but a bagel sounds interesting,"
>You grab the cereal box as she is talking and pour her a bowl.
>"U-uh I was kind of thinking I-"
"Do you like your cereal with milk?"
>"Might have possibly wanted a bagel,"
>You open the fridge and grab the milk jug.
"You couldn't make up your mind, so I decided for you. Now let me ask again, do you prefer cereal with milk?"
>Kind of harsh, but you do legally own her, as a slave, at that.
>She's lucky you gave her a choice at all.
>She considers it for a moment.
>"Oh, alright, I guess I do"
>That's fucking right. Your pony is not an "I don't eat cereal with milk" weirdo.
>You were pretty sure people like that were alien spies or some shit.
>You pour some in the bowl, and put the milk on the counter.
>Take a spoon for her, just to be safe.
>You look over to Fluttershy, she's sitting on the floor out of your way, but still watching what you're doing.
>Nope, you're not exactly sure how a pony eats something like cereal.
>You get yourself some, too.
>Mostly because the box is still open, you've always been kind of lazy.
>You bring the two bowls into the living room, she gets up and follows.
"So, Fluttershy, what'd you do before all this?"
>You place the bowls on the coffee table and take a seat.
>She hesitates to get on the couch for a second, but eventually joins you.
>"Oh, I took care of animals, it was great! There were sooooo many critters and...
>Elaborating on the subject, she ends up giving you a continuous, five-minute-long run-on sentence, describing every unnecessary, excruciating detail about her "animal friends".
>It's pretty cute.
>You have to admit *she's* cute, too.
>This is the happiest you've ever seen her, and it melts yo heart like diabeetus.
>The bowls have been sitting out for all this time, you know what that means.
"Hope you don't mind soggy cereal there,"
>She looks sadly at her breakfast, then to you:
>"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"
>You sigh and shake your head.
"It happens, Flutter. If you still feel like eating it, go ahead,"
>You're not (too) pissed, and soggy cereal is still food.
>She seems to share the sentiment, eating the stuff straight from the bowl.
>So that's how they do it.
>Huh.
>You turn the TV on, it's still on the news channel.
>"... latest reports of gunfire in Washington, D.C., at least 4 dead, Many more wounded, and this is coming to us just as-"
>You shut the TV down.
>So much for that.
>After turning off the TV you spend much of the day in conversation with Fluttershy.
>It's mostly small talk while the both of you tidy up the house.
>She tells you about life back where she came from.
>The little community she lived in, the adventures she had, the friends she loved.
>It would seem as if she had a pretty nice life.
>Your life really wasn't that great.
>But considering what you'd seen other people go through in the past few years?
>Oh, it sure as hell wasn't the worst.
>You had finished your bachelor's degree a year ago, and now ran the family store.
>You weren't drafted, either, but that was a very close call.
>They'd actually called your birthday on the service lottery back when the war was at its climax.
>It was getting brutal over there.
>The sole reason that kept you out of the meat grinder was a tibia that never healed correctly.
>You ponder what might have happened differently over a pile of unfinished tax papers, while Flutter hovers a couple feet in the air, sweeping the floor.
>It's strange how they can fly with wings that small.
>Considering the fact that it's early December, the sun has almost set, even though it's only 4:00.
>Tomorrow is the first day you put your pony to work.
>Yep, you definitely aren't rich enough to buy a slave just as a companion and light housekeeper.
>You'd gone over this with her already.
>You'll have to show her how things work, but manning the cash register and restocking shelves isn't too hard.
>Just tedious.
>Except for when someone tries to sneak out a solar panel or dynamo to get around electricity rationing.
>Or, when someone abandons stealth completely and tries to rob you.
>So many people carry weapons on them these days.
>Hence why you keep a glock under the counter.
>17 shots, no 38.
>The sad part is that it's actually come in handy before.
>Multiple times.