Spaghetti and Fillies: Pumpkin Pasta [Halloween Special]

>Once the four of you had finally met up it was already six in the evening.
>A crisp autumn evening, with a mellow but constant breeze that moistened the air and occasionally broke into quick runs, tossing up the leaves in the perfect spooky fashion to anoint the season.
>Though you didn’t mention it much, especially not as you got older, Nightmare Night was always your favorite holiday when you were a filly.
>You didn’t know of any other celebration in which your surroundings changed so much so quickly.
>Not only would the entire orchard break into vibrant oranges and golden reds, but every house and stoop and yard you passed were due to be packed with colorful, attention-catching decorations.
>Jack-o’-lanterns, black and orange garland, streamers, creepy wind chimes, the works.
>Some especially gruesome and courageous ponies had even hung plastic [spoiler]skeletons[/spoiler] on the lamp posts in front of their own or some other unlucky pony’s yard.
>All this, and it wasn’t even Nightmare Night yet; about a week shy.
>Ever since Princess Luna had returned to her seat in Canterlot – personally endorsing and attending the event each year – the hype and fervor for it had grown immensely, enough that ponies were starting to have pre-celebration parties to herald its coming like they did with Hearth’s Warming.
>It was a little ironic considering that before the princess’ return there had been an ACTUAL Nightmare and there was ACTUALLY something real to be afraid of on ‘her’ night.
>Then again, maybe it was the opposite, and the real fear being gone helped?
>Who knows?
>Certainly not this farm filly – ah, farm MARE, and you don’t care.
>There were bigger things to think about tonight, namely the party.
>THE party, Mr. Anon’s party, the one all the coolest ponies would be attending.
>The ADULT party with mature conversations, loud music, and mixed ciders.
>It was the reason why all of you had assembled this evening, each in your own special outfit.
>Truth be told, as much as you still secretly loved Nightmare Night, you weren’t planning on dressing up this year.
>You were pretty much a grown mare after all, and only little foals dressed up in silly costumes for the occasion.
>That changed REAL quick when you heard that Anon’s party was strictly a costume party and that anypony caught being, in his own words, ‘a stiffly stifferson’, would be kicked out.
>He probably wouldn’t ACTUALLY do that, of course.
>He’d probably just stick them in a silly hat or something.
>Still, you weren’t too keen on finding out first hoof.
>What you had on was pretty last minute, and you had to destroy one of your very few dresses to get the look just right, but all-in-all you were a PRETTY scary Pony Mary.
>You didn’t go over the top, either; that’s the real trick.
>Just enough quick-dyed, tattered black dress.
>Just enough spray-canned white mane and makeup to make you look the part.
>Add some odds and ends, clothespins, vague trinkets and beads, and it was perfect.
>If you had to wear a costume then best to stick to the basic rules of cool.
>Too much prep and you were a big dork.
>Too little and you were lazy.
>You had a perfect balance, and you’d impressed the importance of this onto your pals before the big night: No store-bought full body costumes, no crazy wigs, no silly masks, and DEFINITELY no frilly princess wings.
>Keep it simple but noticeable.
>Tonight had to be perfect if you were going to impress Anon and wipe the slate clean after the catastrophe that was the fall festival, AKA ‘The Event That Shall Hereby Go Unmentioned In The Apple House For Fear of Teenage Whingeing’.
>He’d forget all about how your big dumb cousin made you look like a big dumb foal.
>Your smashed sister discussing your – your PRIVATE MATTERS THAT DON’T–HAHA, DON’T EVEN HAPPEN, LIKE, EVER, would totally slip his mind, dust in the wind.
>You’d make sure of it.
>This time you had backup you could trust.
>To your right trotted Sweetie in a tame white dress, her mane and tail powdered an even brighter eggshell color to match and give her a pale, ethereal appearance.
>Her eyes have been highlighted with black makeup around the edges, deepening her stare and completing her ‘ghostly banshee’ look.
>”Are you sure we’re going the right way?” she asks with an ounce of anxiety, turning her head to scan your surroundings, “We’ve been walking a long time.”
>The first pony to your left was Scootaloo.
>She’d powdered herself with a light green dust, stuck thimbles to either side of her neck and head and sprayed her mane black and white.
>She’d even painted fake stitches into her fur.
>A little less subtle, but you couldn’t complain.
>”Are you sure Mr. Anon lives all the way out here? Maybe we shoulda’ just walked with your sister like she wanted…” she adds, building on Sweetie’s concern.
“An’ y’all don’t see ANYTHIN’ the matter with goin’ to Anon’s party bein’ hovered over by mah sister like we’re just outa’ the cradle?” you remark, shaking your head adamantly, “No ma’am, we can make it ourselves, thanks. ‘Sides, y’all’r worryin’ fer nothin’. Ah know where ah’m goin’. We’ll be there any minute.”
>”I hope th’o.” replies your forth companion, drawing your attention to her.
>The farthest filly to your left was Twist, a more recent friend of the group.
>She’d always been a funny, decent pony, but nowadays she tended to make friends much more easily on account of her, erm… connections.
>The kind of connections that were important to stimulate the growth of every healthy, normal young lady.
>The kind that got you those rare and completely article-based magazines hidden between your mattresses in the dead center, the ones that not even Scoots or Sweetie knew about.
>She’d become quite popular lately.
>Ever pushing boundaries, she had come tonight wrapped from hoof to snout in bandages, and she wore a dingy, store-bought crown atop her head.
>”I don’t think I’ve ever been thi’th fair away from home before...” The mummy queen continues, squinting at a nearby pumpkin-topped street sign.
>“Has Mr. Anon had you over to his house before?” asks Sweetie.
” ‘Course he has.” You answer a little too quickly, busying yourself by adjusting your tattered dress with your teeth.
>The other three fillies quiet down, scrutinizing your claim with their silence.
”… Well… sorta’... ” You continue softly, cringing at the instant chorus of groans and synchronized face-hooves behind you.
>Here it comes.
>”Awww, c’mon filly! I KNEW we shoulda’ just went with AJ! Where even are we?” Frankenloo laments as she twists her head in all directions, likely trying to recreate the scenery around you in her mind sans the decorations and the gloom of night.
>”Maybe we should have brought a map…” Sweetie says, her ears drooping, “Or maybe we should knock on somepony’s door and ask for directions…”
”We don’t NEED no directions, ah know where ah’m goin’! Ponyville ain’t barely a mile across! Ain’t even big enough for no map…”
>”Big enough to get lo’tht in…” Twist mumbles sullenly under her breath, frowning at the road beneath her hooves.
>You refrain from replying beyond a stubborn huff, electing instead to continue on in silence.
>The girls drop the subject as well, for now, at least, following behind you in a tense, uneasy, but long-lasting peace.
>Honestly, it HAD been quite a while since you’d seen anything you distinctly recognized, and in light of their doubt you were starting to get a little nervous.
>Sure you knew where the human lived approximately, and he’d given you his address, but it was so, so dark, and you could barely see the numbers on ponies doors anymore unless you walked right up onto their porch.
>Maybe you messed up somewhere farther back, and that was why.
>You weren’t really lost, were you?
>Okay, just think about this, retrace your steps.
>Little left of Mrs. Merrywheather’s house, past Ms. Cheerilee’s house, head east toward the edge of town, passed that ‘Cola Lounge’ place with the big flashing sign of the dancing pony...
>You’d done all that.
>Now it was just a trek.
>A long, dark trek where even the slightest change in direction could have lead you off course of his place by three hundred yards.
>Horseapples, you spent so long focusing on being there that you completely forgot about GETTING there.
>Oh jeez… what if you can’t find it and they stop the party to come looking for you?
>What if they’re doing it RIGHT NOW?
>You can hear your sister’s voice already:
>’We’re lookin’ fer four lost lil’ fillies dressed up in cute little Nightmare Night costumes! They’re all probably good’n scared on acounta’ the dark, wettin’ themselves with fear like little colts I imagine, so be sure to be thorough! And call the Ponice! Call the National guard! Make sure the Ponyville Express knows what’s goin’ on, too!’
>Oh Celestia, they’re going to print that really embarrassing picture of you crying on picture day in the morning paper, aren’t they!?
>Th-that was totally justified!
>You thought the flash was gonna blind you forever if you looked straight into it!
>Oh apples, you don’t wanna’ be in the papers!
>You-You weren’t, they c-couldn’t—
>You pause a moment, halting your mental breakdown long enough to focus your ears in just ahead.
>Scootaloo tilts her head questioningly at your sudden stop, stepping closer to you, “What’s wrong? What’s—“
“Shh! Shush now—” you hiss, quieting your pals long enough for everypony to get better reception on the far away sound, “hear that?”
>It’s still faint, but you’re SURE you can hear it.
>Music.
>And not just any music.
>It was a low, bassy strum that bounced around in your ears and, if you were real close, would probably be rattling you deep in the chest with its heavy rhythm.
>Dance music; party music.
“Now see!? Listen ta’ that! Ah toldja’ we wasn’t lost!” you proclaim triumphantly, puffing up your chest with pride, “We was goin’ the right way all along and y’all doubted me! C’mon now, we’re almost there girls!” you say excitedly, trotting ahead.
>Assorted ‘wait for me’s crop up behind you as you pick up your pace, the sound of your hurried hoof-steps echoing in between houses and alleys until they were slowly drowned out by the muffled but powerful beat you’d heard the blocks prior.
>You were panting and probably sweaty now, but the buzz from finally identifying your destination after all of that internal strife was giving you energy in spades.
>It’s only a short while more before you and your companions stop to stand before a small white two-story with a green roof and a moderately-sized front yard, its grassy stretch absolutely covered from road to porch with stray Nightmare Night decorations
>Even the mailbox is wrapped in a thin cocoon of fake glow in the dark spider webbing.
>it’s hard to make out the small number between the various neon-green threads, but once you can your heart soars; the number matches.
>This is definitely the place.
>Anon’s house.
>Cutting the yard in half was a simple stone path that broke up nearby the stoop and stopped at a dark brown door.
>The lights under that door flash to the tempo of the music inside, every partially-curtained window strobing the silhouettes of ponies through the fabric and onto the street.
>The light also brought attention to the slow, steady stream of fog crawling out from under his entrance and tumbling down the steps, the dense mist brightening to the hum of the party inside.
>As the four of you cross the yard and climb the tiny ascent to the porch your heart begins to flutter in anticipation.
>Now that you’re closer you can see the hooves of partygoers cutting shadows in the muddled light under the door, and you’ve become more aware of the laughter and chatter of the guests within.
>You turn to the girls on either side of you, giving each of them a slight nod which is returned immediately.
>They hadn’t said it, but you doubted that any of them had been to a real adult party before that wasn’t tinted in ‘family friendly’ like the ones on the farm, and it looked like Anon had pulled together a full house
>It wasn’t just your time to shine, it was there’s as well.
>Your awkward virgin bond of solidarity resonates, synchronizes as you raise your hoof to knock on the door to your cool, mature future.
>It was real loud inside.
>You’d have to hit it pretty hard to—
>”GRAAAAAAAAAAAH!” a pair of grizzly voices bellow just behind you, your heart pounding into overdrive from the sudden, unexpected noise.
“G-Guhh!?” you choke out feebly, wheeling around to face your unseen attackers.
>Scoots, Sweetie and Twist do the same, the lattermost’s gasp breaking into a violent coughing fit as you find yourselves staring into two pairs of eyes
>Familiar eyes.
>In the combined sound of their obnoxious cackling you can just about make out the sound of your smooth entrance going straight down the toilet.
>”Heeheehee! We got you colts GOOD!” Silver Spoon chortles, hunching up and wrapping her forelegs around her stomach in a vain attempt to contain her laughter.
>”This IS a Nightmare Night party, right!? Shouldn’t you scaredy-cats be hiding somewhere with your tails between your legs?” Diamond Tiara teases as she attempts to regain her breath.
>If all the smugness contained in her leer was bread she could use it to feed every starving Gryphonian in the east.
>You forcibly calm your breathing in an attempt at minimizing their satisfaction from getting the drop on you, but you can’t seem to steady the distressed pulse in your chest.
>Twist is now gasping for air and fiddling in her bandages for something.
“Ya’ made it… thank goodness.” you remark flatly, not bothering to hide your sour tone or sapped expression from the schoolhouse’s resident jerks-in-training.
 >”Mmhmm.” Diamond hums in approval, making a great action of eyeing you up and down superiorly.
>As she does you can’t help but notice that neither she nor her cohort are wearing a costume of any description.
>In fact, it looks like neither of them dressed for the occasion whatsoever and simply came along in their fur.
>Your stomach suddenly flips at the possibility that somewhere up the line you got poor information concerning the dress code.
>Your mind races through the pertinent conversations you’ve had up to now to make absolutely sure you weren’t about to make yourself look like a fool.
>Anon said so, didn’t he?
>He wasn’t just joking, right?
>Right?
>… Or was he?
>WHY CAN’T YOU READ SOCIAL CUES!?
>Even whilst covered up by your bleak dress you suddenly feel quite exposed.
>The sharp, judgmental eyes of the pretty fillies examining you isn’t helping the situation, either.
>”Aren’t you girls a little old for… ‘all this’?” Silver Spoon says, gesturing vaguely at you group as she pinpoints your worst fears, like you were actively making a list of insecurities for her in real time.
>”Whadaya’ mean?” Scootaloo replies, frowning.
>Twist, who was now wheezing aggressively, finally finds the small device she needs and presses it to her lips, breathing in her inhaler desperately.
>”You’ll have to explain a little slower for that one, Silver. She’s a little, erm… well, ‘you know’.” Diamond returns, staring your pegasus friend straight in the eye with her implied insult.
>”And you? What’re you even supposed to be?” Silver Spoon asks, focusing in on you and squinting her eyes through her glasses, “A tramp?”
>”Pfff– A tramp!?” Diamond chokes out, covering her mouth with a hoof as the two fillies share another rude chuckle.
>Scootaloo tightens her jaw in anger, quickly shooting you a look questioning whether or not you were down to throw a few hooves in that dress.
>As much as you hate to admit it, fighting is the last thing on your mind.
>Those two always knew exactly how to drag you down.
>They’d been doing it for years by now and their quick wit for harshness certainly hadn’t dulled when they hit puberty.
>Self-esteem spiraling.
>Confidence draining.
>Urge to run home and bury your head under your pillow rising.
>Great start to the ‘perfect’ evening!
>Haha, all that was missing now was-was…
>…
>W-wait, haha, wait a second!
>I ain’t thought of it!
>I was only — I WAS ONLY JOKIN’, I—
>”I’m going, I’m going!” a muffled, masculine voice complains light-heartedly behind you a moment before the dark porch is overwhelmed in a mixture of light, fog and loud music.
>Your combined entourage has to lift their forelegs to shield their eyes from the beaming entrance, a tall, dark figure shifting into place before you to offer some respite from the sting.
>Even if you were getting pretty good at judging when the universe was going to rear its back hooves and nail you right in the flanks, you didn’t need self-defeating omniscience to guess who it was at the door considering the size and tone of voice.
>OKAY.
>It’s okay!
>It’s show time!
>You’re ready for this!
>Just like you practiced!
>”Oop– hey ladies!” he says graciously, his shadowburnt form coming into further focus as your eyes adjusted.
>The human leans on his forearm in the arch as he peers down at you, sinking down on one hip casually.
>Anonymous is just like you remember him; shapely, aloof, utterly unattainable.
>There’s a few key differences this time around though, and they’re… they’re doozies.
>Clutched in his right claw is a thin but deep glass of dark amber liquid with two cherries submerged within.
>The human is dressed up from head to hoof like usual, but his specific choice in attire is what really catches your attention.
>It takes several moments for you to piece together what it is you’re looking at exactly, but once you finally get it through your head you’re sure it’s an image that will stay with you forever.
>The thin, form-fitting, spandex-y material of his clothing hugs his every curve, emphasizing the tone of his limbs and chest.
>You might wonder what beguiling, sinful sights his black bodysuit was hiding from your eyes if it wasn’t full of long gashes and holes, each one revealing slips of his supple skin with an almost surgical attention to what would set your hormone-ridden body off the most.
>Atop his head sits a headband, the thin wiring holding it down buried deeply in his hair, making the small black pony ears that peeked out all the more convincing.
>As his hips shift you can just about make out a few strands of long, onyx tail hair curling around his thigh, probably pinned in place just above his rear to mimic a genuine pony tail.
>”I’m glad you girls made it.” He says in a voice like silk, his emerald eyes shining within the shadow of his face, “I’ve been waiting for you.”
>The way his soft lips carry the last sentence makes you shiver right down to your core, and every small movement he makes as he steps away from the door makes you feel like he could burst out of that tight, stretchy fabric at any second.
>”Come on in.”
>…
>Hoh-HOH LORDY THIS WAS A MISTAKE
>YA’ AIN’T READY
>IT AIN’T SHOWTIME
>SHOW’S CANCELLED
>RUN!
>NO, STAND STILL!
>Your body jerks backward violently and then and freezes as your mind gives it ten different conflicting commands.
>The light brown mummy filly on your left is suddenly gasping down copious amounts of inhalant from her tiny blue puffer, her eyes pinned wide.
>Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo seem just as surprised, both of whom were staring into the mature male’s inky-black costume without shame, the latter seemingly having forgotten all of her anger from the moments prior.
>You can’t see the queens of mean but you have to assume they’re at least speechless considering that, like you, neither of them have returned his greeting.
>”Is’sat the girls!? Are they here!?” a voice you recognize to be your sister’s calls over howl of the party.
>”Yeah – yeah it’s them, they’re here!” Anon replies, turning his head and peering inside to give his reply a better chance of reaching her over the crowd.
>Twist suddenly laces a bandaged foreleg over your withers, holding onto you for support as she tries to satisfy her needy lungs.
>”Babe–” wheeze, “H’alert!” she hisses under her breath, just loud enough for you to hear.
>You wet your dry lips with your tongue, brain whirring with activity as it mentally catalogues every single slip of soft, muscular thigh on display for your wandering eyes.
>There are no words.
>Is this – Is that supposed to be a Nightmare Night costume!?
>Who MADE that!?
>It has to be some sort of-of… custom order or something!
>Tt would have to be, regardless of how it looked; before Mr Anon got here his specific shape was practically unheard of in Ponyville.
>[spoiler]This-this level of HOOF SWEAT is practically unheard of in P-Ponyville, oh gawsh.[/spoiler]
>Now, it was practically impossible for you to miss the differences between stallions and mares lately, even when it came to clothes.
>Sometimes ESPECIALLY when it came to clothes.
>You’d only just recently started catching on to how Nightmare Night costumes differed between genders beyond the obvious stuff, though, and had been mentally preparing yourself for the sights you might witness tonight and beyond.
>You were expecting a little more coy, a little more tease.
>You weren’t expecting anything like… like this…
>Nothing like this.
>”Well?” The human suddenly says, your stricken face jerking up from his body to meet his eyes in a millisecond, “You girls coming in?”
>He chuckles and steps away from the door a little further, offering the six of you a wider birth to enter.
“A-Ah’m uh, haha, ah mean, um, ah’d love you – LOVE TOO, uhh – that is, what ah MEANT was, th-that’s—“ you sputter, your horror growing and your volume dropping with every botched half-sentence.
>A saintly hoof bumps you hard in the side and you instinctively pace forward and abandon your ruined attempt to speak, crossing close to the human as you slip inside his bustling home.
>You can’t stop yourself from looking him over close up as you get within breathing distance, your proximity intensifying the burn in your cheeks when you find him looking down at you, smiling invitingly.
>M-mercy, he smells like… like chocolate and warm pumpkin…
>”I know, I know,” he begins, closing the door behind you and your companions, “I’m a bit of a mess. I was up really early getting everything ready, and my last minute order here had a few, uh… issues? In development?”
>The tall human laughs softly and pinches up a bit of fabric on his chest between his fingers, drawing attention to a large opening, “It was either this or nothing. I mean, with it all sliced up it’s probably spookier than before, at least? Eh, no biggie, right? It’s a party! Wooo!”
>Mr. Anon lifts his glass as he hoots, inspiring many other random party guests to mirror his spirited cheer.
>The raw power of his amassed work finally hits you, the murmur and babble of various ponies finally baring down on you unrestrained.
>To your immense relief you notice that it isn’t just you and your family dressed up; happy ghosts and ghouls of all description line every wall and occupy every couch and chair.
>The muffled music you heard outside now surrounds you on all sides, the unmistakable scratch of a record turntable occasionally interrupting an upbeat melody that you’re almost positive is composed entirely of ‘spooky’ sounds cut up, mixed up, and re-toned.
>There’s a large bucket near his door with a massive chunk of dry ice floating inside, casting a wide sheet of thick, chilly smog around your ankles that crawls across much of his living room floor.
>There are lit jack-o’-lanterns littering various tables, shelves, and wherever else there had likely been spare room before tonight.
>The walls are plastered with creepy fake portraits, streamers, mounted candles and even bats cut out of black construction paper.
>Every breath you take is thick with the muggy warmth of multiple ponies in snug proximity as well as the homey smell of sweets and fresh pumpkin pie.
>”Too much?” the human asks sheepishly, gesturing at the utterly transformed house with his glass.
>”It’s… it’s perfect...” Scootaloo whispers, eyes glittering with awe as she hops in place with restrained excitement.
>”You did all this?” Sweetie remarks quietly, swishing her foreleg around in the dry smoke.
>”Not alone, thankfully,” he replies, turning to you.
>”I had a lot of help from your brother with the pumpkins, we were actually finishing them up when everyone started showing. Right about now he’s probably… hrm... ” Anon hums, furrowing his brow and peering upstairs, “He said he’d be back soon. He wanted to go upstairs to put his cos-… costume on! Ohoh! What’s this!?”
>The human suddenly turns on the rich filly duo, looming over them with an ominous grin.
>The two of them – intelligently avoiding the stunning human’s attention thus far – smile anxiously and squirm in place under his gaze.
>”Somebody’s not wearing a costume! Oh Pinkiiiiiee! Pinkie, we got s’more!” he barks across the house to various ‘ooo’s and knowing snickers from various party goers.
>In an instant a flash of pink hauling a large brown box rounds the upstairs hallway and cruises down the stairs to your location, stopping before you to menacingly bear down on the un-festive offenders.
>The pink pony has her mane done up in a fluffy afro, and the wide-collared, cone-shaped dress she has on perfects the simple ensemble; she’s a scoop of cotton candy.
>Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon exchange apprehensive looks, noticeably swallowing as she continues to stare them down wordlessly.
>After a moment Pinkie lets the large cardboard box gripped in her forehooves drop to the floor with a ground-shaking thud, throwing her upper body inside and scattering clown noses, wigs and other assorted costume pieces into the air before she emerges with her prize.
>”N-Now, now you stay away…” Silver Spoon demands weakly, taking several steps back as the menacing cone of candy approaches her and her companion with grim determination, a tiny paint brush gripped in her teeth and a pallet of face paint balanced on her right hoof.
>”Stay away we said! My-my parents—!” Diamond adds, paling as her and Silver Spoon’s rumps flatten against the door at their backs, sealing their fate with the unfazed Pinkie, “My mom w-will… n-no… no, we’re too old! Stop! Stop I said! I’m-AAAIIIEEE—!”
>You cringe as the pink pony descends on them mercilessly, a duet of coltish shrieking filling the air as the deed is commenced.
>”I warned’em…” Mr. Anon sighs with false regret, smirking as he sips from his glass, “ ‘costume party’.”
>You’re happy to gain back some self-assurance and a little justice in the process, no question, but that doesn’t stop you from flinching at some particularly broad and furious brush strokes, the pink pony’s victims falling chillingly quiet as she finishes with them.
>Once she finally moves away you are gifted to the sight of the ‘new and improved’ Diamond posse.
>The scowl Diamond Tiara is sporting does absolutely nothing to hide the fact that her face is now a giant pumpkin.
>Silver Spoon, now quietly sobbing to herself, has had HER face painted black with thin white lines traced on her cheeks, as well as eye and mouth outlines to signify she was a cat.
>As the final touch Pinkie tops both of them off with big, goofy hats; Diamond’s is covered in taped-on candy and other treats, and Silver Spoon’s has a small motor attached, allowing the broom-riding witch sitting atop it so spin around in place.
>”Don’t worry, kiddo!” Pinkie exclaims cheerfully, slapping Silver Spoon across the withers as she fans her wet face, “It’s water-proof!”
>The pink mare quickly bends down and puts herself at eye level with Diamond, her harsh squint forcibly evening out the rich filly’s frown.
>“Just TRY and get it off…” she whispers, deadly serious, before hooking her foreleg into her cardboard box and morphing wordlessly back into the crowd.
>She never takes her eyes off of the rich fillies, even going to far as to turn her back and fake like she wasn’t looking only to catch Silver Spoon’s fearful, misty-eyed glance after her.
>The grey filly flinches away from Pinkie’s harrowing gaze, swiping her hoof under her glasses and sniffling deeply to clean up her embarrassing display before anypony of note saw.
>It was too late for that, of course.
>You had more than enough ammunition for later.
>”Anooon!” an unfamiliar pony hollers from out of sight, breaking the human’s attention away from the party pony’s antics.
>”Mm—“ he hums into his glass, briskly gulping the rest of his drink down before setting the empty onto a nearby coffee table.
>”Phew! Okay – gotta’ go! Your sisters are in the, uh, kitchen, I think?” he offers, speed walking across his living room towards the back patio through throngs of ponies, “Make yourself at home! Sit down wherever you want!”
>You’re given little more than a wave as he retreats out of sight.
>Gone, just like that.
>Like a three minute thunderstorm.
>Even when he’s out of sight you can still feel his powerful presence in that skimpy, strangely powerful outfit.
 >”… I’th your, uh… LAP a th’eating op’thion, big boy?” Twist remarks impishly once she’s sure the human is safely out of earshot, nudging you in the side with her elbow, “Huh? Right?”
>You can’t help but share a relieved chuckle with her and the rest of the girls as you run a hoof across the back of your neck, catching a quick glimpse of the rich fillies slipping further into the house and out of sight; a wise retreat.
>After how they treated you outside it would practically be immoral NOT to give them a little payback.
>”Yeah! What is he even WEARING? What do you even call that?!” Frankenloo comments with disbelief as you turn and wonder westward, leading your friends toward the kitchen where your sister supposedly was.
>”My new feti’th.” Twist replies huskily, adjusting her glasses with a heavy breath before turning to you.
>“And I never heard about thi’th… how?” she lisps accusingly, motioning a hoof in the general direction that Anon left in, “The ‘candy’ I’th better when you TH’ARE it with FRIEND’TH, you know? Aren’t we friend’th?”
>You can only offer the mummy queen an apologetic smile as she looks on at you with disappointment and a nice big helping of fake hurt.
>”He said he ordered it… do you think he asked sissy?” Banshee Belle asks as you all stroll into the kitchen, bringing up a good point that had flown clear over your head.
>Rarity.
>That’s… that’s it, isn’t it?
>Who else was capable of something like that?
>She HAS to be behind this catastrophe.
>This… this beautiful, heart-pounding catastrophe.
>You have lots of question, and thankfully you’ll have plenty of time to ask them.
>The pretty white mare sits at a small, on-wheels island in the center of the room with both your sister and Rainbow Dash, not ten hooves away from the kitchen entrance.
>She chats away pleasantly with her friends, paying no mind to the other ponies passing by her or you as you draw near.
>She’s dressed up as what looks like some sort of Neighponese clay doll.
>She wears a long, excessively frilly salmon-colored dress, and small red tick marks have been placed in specific locations around her mouth and eyes.
>To her left sat sis, the ‘Werepony’.
>AJ had mangled her old lion costume into a shape that was a bit more intimidating for the party.
>She’d cut out much of the light brown body suit, darkened the neck ruffle in places, added a torn flannel shirt, and wore some new, gnarly-looking claw gloves on her hooves.
>To her left sat Rainbow Dash.
>If her sickly green face paint and big, tombstone-shaped hat were anything to go by, she’d come without a costume this evening and suffered the same wrath as the rich fillies.
>She looked agitated.
>But, not like ‘I’ve got important stuff to do so outa’ the way’ agitated, like usual.
>Something was off about her.
>She was jittery, couldn’t sit still, and her head whipped around every so often when certain ponies seemed to catch her attention.
>She was also sipping from her glass of what was likely cider religiously, never pulling her lips away for too long.
>”Well heya girls!” Werejack greets, turning on her stool to face you, “We was startin’ to get right worried until Anon said’ya was here. How y’all likin’ the shindig?”
>Your friends each greet your sister with some mild small-talk, their voices drowning out as you focus in on Sweetie’s sister.
>You aren’t sure whether to glower or stare up at her with admiration, so you do a combination of the two.
>She clearly notices, and after a moment of trying not to make eye contact and mild sweating she clears her throat and peers down at you, venturing a smile.
>”Is… is something the matter, Applebloom? Is there something on my face?” she asks cautiously, crossing her eyes to examine her snout before turning to try and find her reflection in the linoleum.
>”Yeah, a whole lotta’… DUMB… and ANNOYING. It’s alllllll over your face…” Rainbow Dash remarks with a surprising amount of acrimony.
>You expect Miss Rarity to bite back with something, but she doesn’t.
>In fact, the dull shot seems to whiz right by her and your sister’s heads.
>Heck, they might’ve even brightened up.
>”Y’all, uh… alright over there, Dashie? Ya’ want I should getcha’ s’more ice?” you sister asks with a small grin, sliding her hoof around the edge of her drink.
>Her words are polite enough, but underneath them is an undercurrent of smugness, of satisfaction.
>The cyan mare laughs haughtily and turns her head, ignoring your sister’s offer.
>This noticeably tickles the werepony, enough to stretch her grin face-wide.
“What’s goin’ on? Y’all alright? Yer actin’ kinda’… funny.” you ask, shrinking slightly when Dash huffs in annoyance at your question.
>”Naw, naw nothin’s the matter, sugarcube.” AJ replies, turning back to you.
>“Miss Dash is just goin’ through a tough time is all. She has some, uh, visitors? In town? That right?” she remarks superiorly, flashing a smile at Dash before turning it to Rarity, “A, uh… cousin or somethin’?”
>”Haw! Yess’siree, cowpoke!” Dash suddenly snaps, clearly speaking in an insulting version of you and your sister’s own country drawl, “An’er name’s Wave! HEAT Wave! YUH GETTIT? HEAT!? Golly, that-there joke sure is funny the – the FIFTH TIME.” The cyan pony growls, dropping her accent on the last few words.
>”Ohh, don’t be such a sour grape you big foal! I’m sure you’ll be feeling right as rain in no time.” Rarity Doll remarks, waving her hoof dismissively.
>”No thanks to you!” Dash replies incredulously, scowling.
>”I’ve no idea what you mean, I assure you.” Rarity returns calmly, continuing to tend delicately to her drink.
“Ohoh really!? So-so Anon’s just—“ Dash begins heatedly, cutting herself off when she spots something moving in the nearby window.
>It catches your attention as well.
>It’s pretty much impossible not to look.
>It’s the vanished human.
>He’s in between the side of his house and his fence, trying to reattach a line of tissue paper ghosts that had fallen loose from the edge of his roof.
>His lean body tenses, flexing against that tight, nylon-like body suit as he stretches to reach the space above him.
>Your fur bristles noticeably as he presses his front up against the glass window, straining himself to get that last piece of twine wrapped around that last hook.
>Twist growls something unintelligible under her breath as the tall human bites down on his lower lip and grunts cutely, trying to force that last necessary inch or two out of his pointed human hooves in order to achieve his goal.
>You swallow hard as the slow torture continues for an amount of time you’re no longer cognitively capable of recognizing, another unforgettable scene crawling ahead one second at a time before you.
>C-Celestia…
>Now… now all he needs to do is…
>Sprawl himself out on your bed, in that same getup, peer up at you, and whisper your name.
>Just your name, just once.
>Then you’d be alright.
>For life.
>You could die happy.
>A soft purple light suddenly envelops the bit of string in the human’s hand, an aura of magic pulling it taught and then sliding it into place.
>A familiar lavender snout and matching horn pokes into view from the right of the pane, murmuring something to the human out of your range of hearing on account of the party noise and the shut window.
>Anon shakes his head at your sister’s friend, smiling at her all the same before catching sight of what you had to imagine was a fraction of her OTHER friends ogling him through the glass.
>He gives your group small wave which you can only return, trance-like.
>A moment later he’s gone again, leaving all of you to your thoughts.
>–of him.
>After a while of silence you turn to Dash curiously, wondering if she might ever continue her thought.
>Her face has become an inferno.
>Even under all the face paint you can see how flustered she is.
>”So… so ‘alllllll that’ is just a big accident, huh?” she finally continues, narrowing her eyes at the fashionista, “All that is just a big, silly, totally innocent mistake, huh? Silly old Rarity! Always mangling clothes! Not like stitching them together is her JOB or anything!”
>”Now Rainbow Dash,” Rarity returns softly, weathering her friend’s accusations as if they were a light breeze, “surely you can’t be implying that I took great offense at you saying that no ‘real mare’ would ever want to wear my colty, froo-froo dresses?”
>Dash pauses at this, clearly rendered as confused at the strange, unrelated segue as you are.
>Oppositely, your sister’s eyes widen, and she plants them directly on the white mare.
>“You did nawt…” she whispers in disbelief.
>Rarity simply stares ahead at nothing, swirling her wine glass absentmindedly in her baby blue aura.
>Her eyes have become cold, focused.
>”… Surely you aren’t implying that I, oh, noticed that you were going to be ‘due’ any day, lied about forgetting to finish dear Anonymous’ costume until just yesterday, fibbed about lacking most of my significant stock of fabrics after all the other Nightmare Night pre-orders, used that supposed shortage to convince Anonymous to use a more enticing choice of fabric and then cut pieces from the main body with my scissors in a – what was it, dear? A ‘big, silly, totally innocent mistake’? – so that I could pay ‘the prank master’ back in her time of greatest need for her grievous insult to my LIFE’s work?”
>The hue of Dash’s face has now swung in the opposite direction, paling to an even more unhealthy pallor than the dark green shade that had been painted onto her fur.
>The cyan pony was obviously just venting, blowing smoke.
>She had no idea of the skillful machinations that had gone into toppling her tonight.
>YOUR worries were merely collateral damage, an aftershock.
>SHE was the true target.
>You shiver as Rarity turns slowly toward the Pegasus and takes a single, solitary sip from her cherry red glass, her lips upturned just a bit
>Just enough.
>”… I would NEVER do that to you, darling… “
>”Uggghhhh, uuuuaaaaa.” Dash whines, dropping herself back down in her seat and flattening her face against the countertop, defeated.
>The demonic doll giggles, kicking her rear hooves and swishing her tail giddily from the reveal of her master plan.
>“And stop popping those dreadful lightning bolts outside my shop! You’re scaring customers away and giving me dreadful headaches.”
>”Ah don’t much appreciate all that lyin’ to sweet’ol Anon,” your sister responds, turning her snout up a little, “even s’pposin’ she had it comin’.”
>”D’ohh, you worry too much! He’s having a lovely time in his costume,” Rarity assures her, swiveling her head in search of something, “Now if only he’d come where we could SEE him, WE could be having a lovely time, too.”
>The white mare chuckles wolfishly, inspiring a frown in your sister as she addresses you and the other fillies, “Don’t y’all go takin’ after Miss Rarity, now. She’s bein’ a right scoundrel with all that drink in’er.” She advises.
>Rarity Doll simply scoffs at the implication, mumbling something about ‘party poopers’ as she swivels around on her stool to face the counter.
>”Speakin’a which; y’all ain’t tried gettin’ into the drink yer’selves, have ya’?” Werejack asks, pointing her hoof at you accusingly.
“No no, no ma’am.” You reply quickly, turning to your friends for their testimony.
>They all nod, easing the stern look on AJ’s face.
>”Good, and ya’ best not try ‘cause I’ll know! Twist’s papa would have my flank in a sling if his little lady got into it under mah watch.” She warns, turning herself back around as well.
>”Y’all go have fun now. The way ah hear it, Anon’s hid all sorts’a candy n’such around the house, and he’s got all kinds’a games out back if’n you’re interested.” She says, giving you all a small wave as you turn to depart.
>As the four of you cross through the threshold of the kitchen back into the living room your sister’s stool creaks again as she twists to talk after you.
>”You mind yer manners in Mr. Anon’s house, now! Oh, uh, and if ya’ happen to see Fluttershy? Come’n find me, alright? She’s in one’a her peculiar moods tonight and, well, uh… just tell me if ya’ see’er! Have fun!”


>For the next hour or so your small party mingles through Anon’s sitting room, breaking up and reforming your group as needed.
>Even with market duty you could go a week or two without seeing a specific face, and didn’t have much time to talk to others, so the time to catch up with everypony was a breath of fresh air.
>The first one you were you able to pick out of the crowd was Ms. Cheerilee.
>The giant eggplant-o’-lantern costume she wore went great with her coat, and you had a surprising amount of fun talking about everything she had planned for next weekend.
>Apparently she and the younger class were planning to make a haunted house out of the schoolhouse come Nightmare Night so that they could ‘face their fears’ by becoming them and scaring the fur off other ponies.
>She was going to officially announce it Monday, but by virtue of you showing up at the party you scored the information a day early.
>One pony who rarely had time to stop and chat otherwise was the mailmare, another guest who happened to be attending tonight.
>She was dressed as a super hero, decked out in a bright leotard, mask, and rubber booties that looked like rainboots.
>You joke, asking her if delivering the mail is just her day job, to which she replies with an emphatic ‘Yes!’ and a pose, giving you a speech about law and how the city needed a quick, agile paragon of justice like her to uphold it.
>She’s actually pretty convincing - until she tries to throw a kick and falls on her butt instead, starting a chain reaction that only narrowly avoids setting the house on fire.
>Another few faces of note were Snips and Snails, those janefillies that always sat at the back of the classroom.
>Ever defying convention, they’d chosen to come dressed in simple sheets with eyeholes that covered everything from their horns to the edge of their cutie marks; no form, no flirt, just ghosts.
>Shame.
>Their rough, filly-ish personalities weren’t exactly your type, but still, the dull slender one might’ve looked nice in something a little more showy.
 >You chat briefly, your conversation nice if a little stilted.
>They were in your class, sure, but they weren’t really part of your inner circle.
>You didn’t see each other much outside homeroom.
>They aren’t as unapproachable as most colts, but that doesn’t mean you’re ever totally free from the male spell around them.
>Even covered up you manage to find things to look at, and your wandering eyes make you nervous.
>The discussion wanders to pranks, a subject you knew they were quite interested in, and they ask you if you’re feeling up to joining them in one tonight.
>You decline politely, mentioning that you had something else important you needed to do.
>You felt bad refusing them, but your excuse isn’t really a lie.
>You did have an important goal tonight, and wandering around without the girls gave you some extra time to seriously ponder how you were going to accomplish it.
>The first thing would be to acknowledge a few truths, namely your greatly depleted chances.
>Your target was already tiny, and with that-that… THING he had on, the target might as well have sprouted wings and started flying around.
>You came here tonight expecting a harsh battle of will and charisma.
>You never dreamed your opponent would be an image of lust that easily stood up against the most shameless fantasies your young brain could muster.
>The filthiest corner of your clop shop had NOTHING on ‘PLAYMARE Special Edition: Nightmare Night in Playmare Mansion’ Anon.
>Every time you recut your strategy and regathered your strength he changed, shifted into something even more deadly and elusive, testing your thin courage before your skill even had a chance at bat.
>Getting him to notice you was going to be hard, maybe even impossible.
>But you were no quitter.
>An Apple never quits and you aren’t about to be the first.
>Tonight is the night you conquer him and defeat the root of all your insecurities.
>You just needed to be smart-like, think things through.
>Cousin Babs was just as experienced as the rest of you and the girls when she gave you advice that night.
>That is to say, she wasn’t.
>That was your fatal flaw!
>Your plan wasn’t bad, it just had a bad nail holding it together!
>What you needed now was better parts, more oversight and cross-checking.
>You needed to find REAL mares with REAL experience to set you on the right path if you were going to woo real colts.
>Once you leveled the playing field it would just come down to your spirit.
>Once you had a real chance you could actually take it.
>Now all you needed to do was find some real mentors, mares of status and popularity who were respected like your sister and her friends.
>Maybe not AJ herself, of course.
>Even IF you could stand to weather the soul-crushing embarrassment of asking your sister for colt advice, you can’t seem to remember a time when she was actually with somepony, so as much as you respect her, she’s out anyways.
>Miss Rarity and Rainbow Dash might have some good info, but they were hanging out with AJ right now.
>’Real mare’ gushing, another birds and the bees talk – with a live audience this time – crippling embarrassment, social suicide, out.
>Maybe if you could get them alone.
>Until then, your choices were narrowed down to three; Twilight Sparkle, Fluttershy, and Pinkie.
>You didn’t know Fluttershy very well, but she didn’t seem like the sort to know a whole lot about getting a coltfriend.
>Your sister even made frequent allusion to this, going on with great regret about her friend’s introverted personality and lack of drive for socializing.
>Pinkie Pie was the complete opposite of the shy yellow Pegasus
>She was a fun mare; confident, aggressive, an effortless show-stealer.
>You knew her much better, and she seemed like the type who wouldn’t have any troubles getting attention from the opposite sex, but you didn’t know much about her personal life beyond the parties she threw so she would be a bit of a gamble.
>Next up was Twilight Sparkle.
>Everything your folks ever told you about her hinted at how much of a big-wig mare she was.
>Born and raised in Canterlot, but wasn’t turned snooty and masculinized like a lot of the mares grown up there.
>She wasn’t afraid to get something done when it needed doing.
>Not a very fun sort, but always real nice and honest.
>Smart as a whip, good public speaker, good under pressure, always has a solution to your problems.
>Not only is she practically perfect, but she’s here at the party right now.
>Still outside, probably.
>She’d be your first stop.
>Now all you have to do is find her and hope that she and Anon have gone their separate ways.
>You trot nimbly through the crowd of ponies in the living room, jostling as few of the tipsy ponies as possible.
>The girls who see you leaving cast you looks and receive a small wave in return; you’d regroup later when the apples were ripe.
>As you pace further toward the back of the house the party music begins to grow in volume, and by the time you step into the laundry room the source of it is almost right on top of you, fighting the small, sound-spitting boxes tacked up around the house for dominance.
>Through a small window just right of the back door you can see a fraction of the turntable and its maestro, the pony arming the sound station actively jiving with the rhythm they were creating.
>It was difficult to make out their physical appearance through all of the fur paint they were wearing, but the blue mane and color-tinted sunglasses were very familiar.
>Pushing open the back door multiplies the sound of the music again, each heavy strum, whip and creepy groan feeding the full piece and vibrating the small wooden steps that lead into the grass below.
>For the second time tonight the misty autumn air touches your face, this time treated with the tart smell of cider and the faint aroma of sweets.
>To your left were rows of tables lined up against the back of Anon’s house, each stand populated with bowls of punch, cups, a few cider kegs, and a few stray pieces of candy.
>Considering how many of those candies are Coconut Creamies and how few of them are Chocolate Creamies you have the sneaking suspicion that there used to be a lot more there before the tables got raided by the first come, first served.
>Beyond that is a surprisingly spacious back yard fenced in by tall wood planks.
>On the far right side stands another row of tables filled with party favors and drinks as well as a more densely-packed gaggle of ponies cheering and hooting over something.
>You can see large barrels of water, some dart boards pinned to the fence, and a few other game-y things sprinkled about, as well as a mass of tall kegs.
>Even from this distance the gaming area seems to have the densest collection of alcohol around it by far.
>On the left side of the yard is a third a final row of tables with snacks—cookies, brownies and other treats—and the farthest left corner hosts a large walk-in storage shed with a big shutter facing toward the right, and a smaller door on its left side facing the house.
>Aside from a few more round tables and small chairs the yard would be quite sparse if not for the sea of grooving, chatting and working ponies.
>Further on passed the fence you can see a wide birth of trees that signified the start of the Everfree Forest and the end of Ponyville.
>The small gate set in the middle of the farthest wall opposite the house is open.
>There was probably a group or two of adventurous ponies who’d ventured out beyond the gate already, daring each other closer and closer to the tree line to prove how unconcerned and cool they were, impressing their male company in the process.
>As you turn left and begin your trek cross the yard you imagine yourself there with them, standing tall, chest full, lingering in no-mares-land longer than any other would dare.
>He, whoever he might be, would laugh and congratulate you, playing coy but clearly impressed by how gruff and feminine you were.
>You’d tell him the story of when you were trapped in the Flame Geyser Swamp by a deadly Manticore when you were but a little filly, forced to fight off the merciless beast with nothing but your bare hooves (and a LITTLE help from your sister) to his great amazement.
>He’d tell you that any colt would be lucky to have a brave mare like you to talk with, hold hooves with, kiss on…
>M-maybe…
>Maybe even other stuff, too.
>The forbidden stuff that existed in your life only through sordid dreaming.
>’I haven’t ever been touched there before, not by anypony… b-but… but if it’s you, Applebloom, I guess it’s okay… N-nnn… n-not so fast… Your tuft is so, so… c-can I… can I touch it?’
>Oh, yes sir.
>You can touch wherever you want.
>Anywhere.
“Heh… Hehe…”
>A smile you can only imagine is horrifying slithers slowly across your face as your mind wanders.
>You make the grotesque, dreamy expression for quite a while before you finally notice their eyes.
>You straighten up immediately and turn, spotting Featherwieght, Rumble and Taps, each dressed up as a puppy, a nurse, and a prince respectively.
>Unlike Snips and Snails they’ve chosen to dress much more ‘stalliony’, each costume implying and reinforcing their gender’s wiles in subtle ways.
>Oddly, each of them shift when you turn, looking away and dropping one of their front hooves to the dirt.
>Like they were going to wave but then stopped mid-way.
>You KNOW they were looking at you, but now they’re trying their best to pretend they didn’t notice you.
>Like…
>Like they saw you, tried to wave you down, saw how CREEPY you looked, and changed their minds at the last second!
>CRABAPPLES
>They’re whispering something now, and that mean little voice in the back of your head is quite confident it knows what the topic is.
>You need to smooth this over.
>Fast.
>You take a lung full of fresh air and step forward, putting on the most charming, reasonable, not-creepy smile you could in an attempt to win back some respect from the young males.
“H-Hey, boys—!“ you try, gaining their attention a split second before the collar of your costume suddenly wrenches you downwards, a poorly-placed step pining the hem of your dress underhoof.
>A moment you can only describe as ‘poiseless flailing’ occurs before you slam face first into the grass, a gaggle of random sound swimming around your head before your vision teeters out and your mind goes blank.


>”____, ____ okay?”
>”____?”
>”Oh jeez, sh______”
>”Isn’t th_______whats-her-face’s sister?”
>”Applesnap? Apple-something?”
>You gasp, forcing yourself up off of the ground and swinging your head around to try and regain your bearings.
>Bad idea.
>Your head throbs painfully as your topsy-turvy world unkindly drifts back into focus.
“Wus… what’s gonin’ un?” you slur, scrunching your eyes shut and lifting a hoof to your head.
>Another bad idea.
>The second your limb connects with your cranium your entire forehead begins to burn, stinging you unmercifully.
“—Ah! Dang!”
>”Yeah you, uh… went down pretty hard there. Blew your lights right out.” A female voice comments.
”Ah did…?” You turn, squinting your eyes at the mystery speaker, or rather, speakers, that roused you.
>They’re two ponies you don’t recognize.
>One has a light blue coat, dark blue mane, and a big hourglass for a cutie mark.
>The other you almost mistake for Twilight Sparkle, but her mane is off and she wears large blocky glasses.
>Her coat is a pale yellowish color, and her mane is a mish-mash of violets, reds and purples.
>”Probably. You were out for a good half a minute, I’d wager.” The blue pony replies.
>Now that you have an extra second to think beyond basic shapes and colors, you notice that both of them are unicorns.
>The phantom paper cups floating around their glowing horns were a good giveaway.
>The costume the blue one has on is a mix of confusing traits and colors; a big suit of cardboard armor painted black, sacks filled with what might be sand hanging around her barrel, and strange little blue balls extending from stiff wires and posed to warble above her head.
>The other one is just as confusing.
>Her head and legs poke out of a massive chest with teeth lining the edge to resemble a big mouth, and the way she has it on makes it look like she’s being eaten by it.
>While your mind puzzles over what they might be, the significance of the blue one’s statement suddenly becomes clear, the moments before you hit the ground rushing back into your numb head.
”Half a… ? W-Wait!” you say, eyes widening as you get to you hooves and hastily brush yourself off, scanning the cloud of ponies all around you, “What happened? Where’r Rumble’n them?”
>The two mares exchange looks, the light yellow one stepping forward, “Uhh… you mean those colts who were laughing when you fell?”
>You feel your face chill.
”They… they were laughin’? At me?” you repeat with dread, twisting your neck again in an attempt to spot them.
>”O-Oh, well, they stopped when you didn’t get back up?” The blue one reasons, turning to her companion for support.
>”Well… they weren’t laughing AS HARD, certainly,” Chest Pony corrects pityingly as she turns to you, “Though… that might’ve just been because they were laughing SO hard before that it was becoming less funny.”
>You stand still for a long time, simply peering into the shifting crowd as you try to puzzle the sequence of events out in a way that didn’t make you seem like an awkward, hay-spraying loser in front of a group of colts you’d be forced to face in class tomorrow.
>After a while of considering this a sour little chuckle starts to bubble up from your chest, at which point you fall back onto your butt and hang your head, pressing both hooves to your face as yet another failure sank in.
”Ugghhhhhh, uggghhhhh….”
>The blue pony, probably concerned over your quickly deteriorating mental health, gently taps you on the shoulder.
>”Hey, uh, maybe you should come sit down with us?” she says, “We’ve got a table over here.”
>The thought of sitting at a table and trying to hold a conversation with other living beings after what just transpired isn’t the most fun thing you can imagine, but you could use a little female companionship after the beating your pride just took.
>Maybe you’d even make some new friends…
>It takes a moment for you to come up with the energy to pick yourself up off the ground, but once you do you’re swiftly led across the yard by the two mares, cutting between party guests dressed as all manner of spooks and creatures before you finally reach your destination.
>You’re staring at your hooves so intently on the way that you don’t even notice who’s there to meet you.
>”Appleboom?” a familiar voice asks, inspiring you to lift your head.
>At your new table sits three additional ponies, only one of whom you know; the exact one you’d been looking for before you were sidetracked by all that… unpleasantness.
>The REAL Twilight.
>The solution to your problem!
>Some luck for change!
>The bookish mare is dressed in a full black cloak that buttons up her middle and flows past her rear.
>There are glowing, magical-looking runes painted on the cloth covering her chest, sleeves, and various other portions.
> The greenish-grey tentacles crawling down from off of her chin and around her snout make her look like an octopus that jammed itself into a black trench coat.
>At her sides are two others, one bright yellow with a teal mane, the other a cream color with soft pink waves.
>The bright yellow one is dressed as some sort of slime ball or goop monster, and the other has fitted a large red dome around her upper body, the front fourth breaking into a thin film or plastic with a big pupil painted into it, leaving just enough room for the pony inside to see around it.
>The multitude of peeper-topped tentacles attached to her dome and jiggling about make it clear that she’s some sort of eyeball creature.
“Am ah glad to see you!” you chirp, trotting ahead of your escorts and hopping into a free seat next to the slime pony, “Sorry if ah’m interruptin’, but ah been lookin’ for ya’! I need yer help with somethin’ real important, ya’ got a minute?”
>You channel all of your desperation into that request, silently hoping she isn’t too busy to talk.
>Her approving smile eases your mind the second it appears.
>”Of course, Applebloom. What do you need?”
>Slime pony reaches across the table in order to brush away a smudge of dirt from your face that presumably went uncleaned from your prior inspection, flashing you an understanding look.
>You were among friends here.
You sigh with relief, flattening your hooves on the table as you lean in, “Thank ya’. Ah’ll only be a minute. Ah just need some advice, is all.”
>”On what?” Twilight replies, sipping from her cup as the armored pony and the mouth-chest pony drag over an extra chair from an adjacent table to adjust for their new table guest.
“Ah don’t know how else to say it so ah’ll just say it,” you admit, grimacing at the table a moment before turning back to look at her, “Ah need your help gettin’ colts to notice me!”
>Twilight’s eyes widen marginally and she briefly peers at her friends.
“Ah always screw up, every darn time it’s the same! There has to be some sorta’ way to git’em to like me before I do somethin’ foolhardy and embarassin’!” you continue, leaning forward over the table a little more, “You’re smart n’important n’good at talkin’ ta’ folks. Ya’ had to’a been with lotsa’ colts by now! Ya’ gatta’ help me out!”
>A moment of silence takes hold of the group after you finish your plea, the buzz of unrelated conversations and the pop of the turntable invading the small table for a while.
>Twilight looks a little nervous; she’s hurriedly bouncing looks between her pals, and a few beads of sweat have settled on her brow.
>Probably because you sprung such an important question on her out of the blue and put her on the spot in front of her friends while she was trying to relax like the social ingrate you are!
>See?
>This is part of the problem!
>”A-Ah, haha… well… of course. I’ve, uh… I’ve had a few. Uh — coltfriends, that is.” she confirms, lifting her paper cup and generously wetting her lips before continuing, “But, um… well, it’s a little complicated to just… explain.”
>You were afraid of that.
>A possibility you’d been keeping locked away deep in the back of your mind was related to this.
>That being, this sort of thing might not actually BE teachable, and that attracting colts was a natural skill that you’re just SUPPOSED to have.
>Was… was there just something wrong with you, or something?
>Was there really no hope?
>”Aw, now c’mon Twilight, don’t be modest, give the girl some pointers.” The eyeball pony hums, flashing the purple unicorn a wide smirk, “Tell’er about ALLLLL those guys you’ve been with. The younger generation is looking to you for guidance, here. There’s no need to put on airs… “
>”Yes, Twilight,” chest pony adds, lacing her hooves under her chin and leaning her elbows onto the table, a toothy grin to match her toothy costume, “I’m sure we’d all benefit from a refresher from a pony so learned and experienced as you in the ways of the ‘D’. Tell us, how DO you get a coltfriend?”
>Another round of silence.
>All of her friends are now watching her expectantly, waiting, as you wait, each with a smile wider than the last.
>”U-Uhm…” Twilight coughs, lifting her cup to take yet another agonizing helping, the suspense of her slow consideration gradually eating you up.
>”A-Ah, well look at that! It looks like I’m all outa’ pun-“
>”Here,” chest pony interrupts without a second thought, sliding her cup across the table to stop at Twilight’s front hooves, “Take mine.”
>Octo-Twilight’s face twitches noticeably, her brow slowly knitting as she takes her friend’s offered drink.
>”Suddenly I’m not feeling very thirsty; wouldn’t want you to waste any time…”
>”Thanks,” Twilight replies cooly, narrowing her eyes at the pale yellow mare, “Moondancer.”
>Her friend merely continues to beam sweetly, clearly satisfied with saving her friend a trip back to the punch bowl.
>After another long, drawn out swig the purple pony lowers her new cup and sighs, turning to you weakly.
>”Ahh… okay, so…” she begins, clearing her throat, “So, I was rea-ah — rather, when I was with this one stallion, he really liked it when I, ahh… talked about all the magical dueling I did back in school? I was the top of my class and won a lot of trophies, so, yeah… he really like that?”
>She finishes the sentence like a question, as if SHE was waiting for YOU to confirm.
>Odd…
>”Sooo… yeah,” she continues, leaning up straighter in her chair, “they like it when you show off a little. You know, show them what you’ve accomplished?”
>There it is again, that soft question, but this time she’s looking to her friends instead of you.
>Were you supposed to say something?
>Was she expecting you to comment?
>Is this, like… a test?
>What are you supposed to say!?
>You scour your brain for an appropriate response, picking through anything and everything to try and come up with something, anything.
>Finally, like a miracle, a memory comes to mind.
>It’s an important one.
>The vision is of the month prior, that sunny Fall day when you sat in the grass with your friends and peered up at your cousin in admiration as she recounted story after story, each one detailing a new lesson to be learned, a new trick to frazzle the male mind or understand their thought processes.
>>>’Talk about ya’self. Alla’ your, uh, your uh… ya’ know?’ she said, motioning at her chest with a hoof as she searched for the right word.
>>>’Yer accomplishments?’ you replied, eager to hear more.
>So naive.
>>>’Yeah!’ she replied, pointing at you, ‘Your accomplishments, ESPECIALLY the physical stuff. Ya’ know, like liftin’ and brawlin’n stuff. S’obvious, right? Colts wanna’ be with big strong mares. Mare’s who done a lota’ stuff and can protect’em, ya’ know?”
>But that wasn’t right, was it?
>You told Anon about all the things you did to help set up, even lied about how strong you were.
>It didn’t work.
>That must be it!
>You know the answer!
“Y’all sure ‘bout that? Ah don’t think that’s, uh… right…” you reply cautiously.
>Twilight flinches a little at this, clearly surprised at your response.
>That must be it!
>She wasn’t expecting you to catch on so quick!
>You might not have a lot of experience winning, but you sure as shoot know how to lose!
“Ah tried talkin’ about mahself and what ah done the last time, but he wasn’t really interested. I don’t think colts like it all that much when ya’ talk about yerself all the time…”
>”Oh, ahh…“ Twilight replies, tugging at her collar a little and peering into her cup, “Is, uh… is that right?”
>You nod, determined.
>That Moondancer pony suddenly snorts, letting loose the flood gates for all the other table members, each covering their mouth with a hoof to contain their strangely out-of-place laughter.
>Or… or maybe it wasn’t out of place?
>Oh no…
>Aww, horseapples!
>Was that wrong?
>You goofed up, didn’t you?
>Twilight casts each of them a dirty look, huffing in annoyance.
>”Well!? How about YOU guys?” she says, quieting their laughter in an instant with her question.
>”Why don’t you girls offer up some advice, huh? Since all of you are clearly SO much more knowledgeable than I am? Go ahead, enlighten the ‘younger generation’ with your vast stallion wisdom!”
>More silence.
>Was that really true?
>Did they have more experience than even Twilight did?
>Well, maybe all together, but…
>It was hard to imagine such a well put together and successful mare like Twilight bowing out to ponies you’d never even met.
>Each of them look to one another nervously, their eyes silently questioning their partners.
>They’re so secretive…
>Did you accidentally stumble on some sort of secret club or something?
 “Please!” you begin, clasping your hooves together, “Ah’m desperate over here! Y’all don’t need to say everything, just give me SOMETHIN’, anythin’! Ah NEED this!”
>More silent deliberation.
>You grind your hooves against each other as they consider you, each watching one another as if waiting for the other to speak first.
>Finally, the bright yellow goop pony seems ready to speak, coughing slightly in preparation.
>”Uhh, well… when it comes to stallions, you really wanna, uh… have a good profession!” she says, looking to the others who hurriedly nod in agreement.
>”They wanna know if you’re on your way up in the world so they’re comfortable staying with you for the long-haul. Money is really important.”
>Another memory comes to mind, the calm breeze and heat rushing back to you.
>>>”Stallions don’t wanna be with no average workin’ stiff, ya know? Sure it’s good to show’em you’re a hard worker, but what really matters is the Bits! If you got the scratch they got the time! Havin’ a coltfriend can be an expensive venture, but ayy, ya’ know… it’s always nice in the end. You take care’a them, they ‘take care’a you; that’s a fact.” Babs said, folding her forehooves proudly.
>But that didn’t work either, right?
>Were they still testing you?
“Uhh… ya’ sure about that?” you question carefully, the slime monster stiffening considerably at your objection, “Ah tried talkin’ about money, too. ‘Bout how mah farm was big’n important, makin’ a whole lotta Bits every day — but he didn’t really seem to care after ah put everything out there, never even mentioned it again. Money’s important an’ all, but I dunno’ if bein’ rich is all that much of a shoe-in…”
>”Oh… uh…” the lemon-colored pony responds hesitantly, scrunching her brow in thought, “R-… Really?”
>Twilight is staring even more deeply into her small paper cup now, snout scrunched in concentration.
>“Okay, okay!” the armored pony hums, catching everypony’s attention, “Enough from the amateurs. Look, you wanna get noticed by this guy for real?”
>You nod emphatically, your heart speeding up at the prospect of getting passed all these silly trials and on to the stuff that really mattered.
>”Alright, listen. What you have to do is simple when you really think about it; just treat him like a stallion!” she says, tapping her hoof down on the table.
>”When you get right down to it, they just wanna be treated like they’re special and worth all the time in your world, but they also want you to be a mare; take charge, be blunt. Talk about’im being single and you being in the market, tell’im about how you’d love to take care of him. Make him feel like a real stallion and he’ll want you to be his real mare, mare!” she finishes spiritedly, tapping you on the shoulder.
>Your head swims with that information, silently mulling over all of the possibilities and meanings of her words.
>You gain the smallest bit of hope.
>You even start to thank her before the action brings another memory to the surface.
>It’s the one you remember very intimately.
>It was the start of everything going wrong for you during the fall celebration, the moment when you began to realize that you were making a huge mistake.
>They were your own words:
>>>”“Wellllll, ah was jus’ figurin’ that a nice, single colt like you would want a big, strong mare like me to keep’im company.” You said, even smirking as you looked him up and down.
>So sure.
>So foolish.
>His expression is still vivid to you, his face softening into pride-withering amusement as you asserted yourself.
>Like he thought…
>Like he thought you were joking, or something…
“B-But…” you begin, an emotion you can only describe as dread flickering in the armored mare’s eyes as you do, “But ah did that. Ah did… ah did alla’ that… It didn’t work. Nuthin’ worked… There HAS to be more, right?”
>You turn to each of them, looking for anything.
>“… Right?”
>The blue mare in the armor doesn’t reply, her eyes wandering to look anywhere but into yours.
>None of them can look at you now, each one instead staring off somewhere else, glum, sullen, thwarted.
>You continue to search each one, from slime to eyeball to octopus, from chest to armored ghost-thing, but none of them say anything.
>They can’t.
>It…
>It really is you, isn’t it?
>Maybe…
>Maybe your cousin wasn’t lying.
>She’d confessed to not having any experience, but maybe what she’d said wasn’t wrong…
>Maybe It was YOU that was wrong…
>All of these bright, accomplished mares sitting with you had probably won ENDLESS amounts of male attention by simply doing what they just told you, what your cousin told you.
>The only matching piece in every story of failure was you.
>Babs lied, but she wasn’t the bad nail, was she…?
>YOU were the bad nail; Applebloom was the weak link.
>The hopelessness you’d started to feel when you embarrassed yourself in front of the schoolcolts is now multiplying.
>As you slide out of your chair wordlessly, the tiny pins metal pins and doo-dads in your dress clattering slightly against the wood as you dismount, you can’t even say goodbye to Twilight and her friends.
>It’s alright, they’d probably figured it out by now if you had.
>How could they not?
>The respectful thing to do on their part was not to say anything, let you leave with what little pride you had left so as not hurt you further.
>You turn back to look upon them one last time, even if you know you shouldn’t.
>Twilight is staring ahead blankly, emotionally drained, her hope in mare-kind clearly crushed by the anomaly, the social smudge that is your entire existence.
>She absent-mindedly taps Moondancer on her heaving, jerking back as the bespectacled mare sobs bitterly into her hooves.
>It’s a little dramatic, but you suppose that somepony that hadn’t been living your life up till now might be a little more sensitive to how cripplingly little appeal you had to the opposite sex.
>That acknowledgement doesn’t make it any easier for you to watch her weep openly in front of her stone-faced friends, the barely audible ‘Why? Why!?’s slowly drowned out as your phase back into the crowd, the full force of the party sheltering you in its loud indifference.
>Should you even try anymore?
>If they couldn’t help, if NOPONY could seem to help, was finding more advice really going to change things?
>You want to believe, but the whole world seems to be fighting you at every turn.
>As you continue across the yard, aiming for nothing, random ponies bump into you as you pass, none turning to inspect you.
>Neither their spirited costumes nor the clap of the music can lift the haze you now find yourself under, your hooves thudding dully against the grass as you wonder listlessly.
>Eventually, without really meaning to, you reach the large shed in the corner of the yard.
>The shutter has only been pulled open half way, but even so you can get a get a pretty good look inside.
>A small lamp hangs from the ceiling, the orange film wrapped around it bathing the spacious storage in a warm glow.
>Not even this place can escape the human’s energy for the holiday, it seems.
>Boxes have been stacked high on the right side, completely obscuring the fence-side wall in multiple layers of cardboard and personal items.
>The back wall and door-side wall are much more sparsely packed, leaving room for ponies, or even a human, to slip between the boxes to search for things or slide through the side door.
>Things were a little quieter out here given the shed’s distance from the house itself, but the festivities far behind were still unmissable, as was the bright puffy tail slowly bobbing out from under the folded shutter.
>The frizz and flashy pink shade leave you little need to think over who it is; Pinkie Pie, the other mare on your list.
>She’s whistling a tune you can’t quite identify, swinging her rump to and fro as she pushes boxes around, occasionally throwing one open and looking inside.
>She’s right there.
>Should you ask?
>Should you even bother?
>Can she really improve a 0% chance into something playable, something reasonable?
>You sway in place, scanning the moist grass under your hooves as you shuffle them in thought.
>Only the future can tell…
>Well…
>You’ve come this far, even if you covered the ground via tripping and falling over and over again.
>You’re already at the bottom, what is there to lose?
>What’s left of your dignity?
>After a while of deliberation your stiff body shifts, stepping you closer to the party pony in a dispassionate, robotic fashion.
>Apples don’t quit.
>You can lose, but giving up is off the table.
>Your grandparents built an entire empire on that principle; the least YOU can do to honor their hard work, lift your chin and quit with the pity party.
>One more try.
>Just once more and then you can go home an Apple.
>Defeated, maybe, but an Apple.
>Your head dips under the shutter as you slip inside, drawing up to Pinkie’s right and pausing, waiting for her to finish with whatever she was doing before you started with the questions.
>When it seems like she’s well and fully absorbed you step forward, licking at your lips in preparation to speak.
”Pinkie?” you ask, flinching slightly as she does, he whistling halted by a sharp gasp.
>”Oh?! Oh… Ohohoh!” The pink pony laughs as she identifies you, whipping her foreleg around the back of your neck and pulling you close to noogie her fetlock into your white and cherry mane.
>“You little SNEAKSTER! You spooked me good!” she exclaims.
“A-Ah wasn’t tryin’ too, honest! Ah! Ahahah! Okay, okay!” you laugh, pulling away until you slipped out of her strong earth pony grip.
>You can’t help but crack a smile despite your low mood; she had that effect on ponies, it was probably why she had so many of them that called her a friend.
>”What’s goin’ on? Lookin’ for somethin’ to do? Here, look in this!” she says, wrapping her hoof around a closed box and sliding it into your chest, nearly knocking you over with the force.
“—Oof! Uhh, well… ah guess ah could help ya’ out. Not like ah’m havin’ much luck doin’ anything else ‘round here.” You reply, crinkling the edge of your mouth in disappointment as you try and pry the cardboard open.
>”Oh yeah?” The cotton candy pony remarks, darting her eyes toward you before planting them back in her own box, shifting the contents inside to get a better look, “Why’s that?”
>You finally manage to tug the folded box corners free, flipping open the lid to reveal several stacks of sheets and comforters.
“Ah been trying to figure out how ta’ talk to colts and make’em like ya’, askin’ folks all over as a matter of fact, but ah I can’t seem to make anythin’ work out like it should. Ah think there’s somethin’ wrong with me or somethin’…” you admit glumly, pushing the box of bedding away.
>”Wewie, that’s harsh, kid,” Pinkie replies, narrowing her eyes and swiveling her head about to scan the shed, swooping down on another box when she finds a suitable target, “have you tried just, you know, being yourself? I hear that’s pret-ty popular.”
“Hah!” you scoff dejectedly, yanking over a nearby container, “That’s the LAST thing ah wanna be around a colt! Have ya’ seen me? Ah can barely talk to’em on the spot, let alone with a bunch’a plannin’! Who’s linin’ up to be the ‘real’ Applebloom’s coltfriend? Nopony, that’s who...”
>The top snaps off easily; silverware, bowls, plates, other kitchenware.
>A thought comes to you just then, an important one that flew right over your head in all the activity.
“Uhh, Pinkie?” you say, turning to her, “Why are we diggin’ around in Mr. Anon’s boxes for?”
>”Apples.” Pinkie replies simply, frowning and slamming another box shut, her head twisting around again.
“Uhh, Apples?” you reply with some confusion, scratching the side of your head.
>”Apples.” She reiterates, standing on her hind legs and slapping her hooves to her hips, “You can’t bob for apples without apples. We’re almost out and there’s SUPPOSED to be more in here, but for the LIFE of me I can’t figure out WHERE that boy put’em!”
>The pink pony taps her hoof against the floor, narrowing her eyes at the various items scattered about the shed.
>“Couldn’t even find anything ‘fun’ he didn’t want me to see. I thought for SURE he was a kinky one after that little number he put on tonight,” she says, quickly shooting you a wolfish look and waggling her eyebrows, burning your face pink with her vague but obviously lewd implication.
>“Nuthin’ — not even a dirty maggo.” she continues, clearly pouting.
>“Oh well… bet he’s wild in the sack, at least!” she laughs, whipping around to check another box.
”H-Hah, haha! O-Okay, uhh, s-so, about mah, uh, mah thing?” you stutter, voice cracking as you try to ward away the imagery the big scoop of candy was projecting, your hooves shaking as you try to push your way behind a few planks of poster board, no longer caring whether or not a box of apples could actually be put back there.
>”Ohhhh, yeah yeah, sorry kid.” Pinkie replies, furrowing her brow in thought, “Well… hrm… guess there’s a few things you could do…”
>The pink pony stares into her box for a while, seemingly lost in thought, before suddenly jamming her hoof inside and pulling out a big reel of film, her expression brightening instantly.
>”Ooo! Ooo! Okay!” she chirps energetically, turning on you and holding the film up for you to see, “Okay, so way, way back me and Molasses kinda’ had this thing, right?”
“Molasses?” you reply, peering up into the ceiling and searching your memory for the name, “Ain’t that Mrs. Maple’s husband?”
>”Yeah yeah, him! We were in deep way back when! Before he got married, I mean. And he was super sweet on me, too. I mean, we used to GO AT IT like-like, okay, so there was this thing he did where, uh—” she pauses, her face falling neutral as yours likely twists into discomfort.
>“Uhh… don’t tell Maple, okay?”
>You nod emphatically, and she continues.
>”Aha, right. So, anyways, the first date we ever went on was to a scary movie!” she says, thrusting the film reel at you again, “It was a good one, too: Chestbursters.”
>Your ears perk up at the familiar name.
“That the one where the porcupine aliens and the ponies gatta’ team up to defeat those heart-eatin’ wormy ones? And there’s a laser-sword fight at the end? And then… and there… was—“ you try, swinging your hooves around to mimic the action but pausing when Pinkie actually starts to scowl at you, her snout wrinkling with distaste.
>”That… THING… was Chestbursters 6: Porcuspine vs Chestburster,” she corrects, leaning toward you a little, her giant pink afro wobbling and her face unflinchingly serious, “… we don’t TALK… about Porcuspine vs Chestburster…”
>She stares you down for an uncomfortably long time after that, to the point where you start having a hard time looking her in the eye.
>After that, though, she rebounds instantly, smiling at you and spinning the film reel on her hoof, “So, like I was saying, we went to a scary movie.”
>”We weren’t really, like, super into each other at the time, but I thought it would be fun! He didn’t really like the movie, though. Colts usually aren’t into gory flicks all that much.”
>Confused, you ask, “But… then wah bring it up if’n he didn’t like it?”
>Pinkie beams even more, turning and setting the reel back into the box she found it in.
>“Didn’t matter! What mattered was he was scared!” she proclaims, nudging the box away.
>When you don’t answer she continues, giving you an obvious look.
>”He was scared, which means he was feeling vulnerable, which means he wanted somepony to cuddle with and make him feel safe! We were playin’ tonsil hockey before we even got out of the theater.” She says, closing her eyes, “Gooood times.”
“So… so yer sayin’,” you start, staring down at your hooves as you think, “That if ah want him to like me, ah should be there for’im when he’s feelin’ scared’n lonesome?”
>The candy scoop grins, patting you on the shoulder as she passes by.
>“Couldn’t hurt, squirt!” She says, ducking her head under the shutter and slipping outside.
>”Close this thing for me, will ya’? I gatta go talk to the big guy. Good luck with your colt troubles, kid! Fight the good fight! I’m rootin’ for ya’!” she cheers, waving at you in the space under the shutter before vanishing around the corner.
>Amazed, you simply stare after her, your mind overflowing.
>Sure what she said was something you’d never really tried before, but was it really capable of succeeding?
>It was specific and logical, even if it wouldn’t be terribly easy to actually pull off.
>Even considering that you saw Anon most days on the farm, you didn’t really spend a whole lot of time with him quantitatively; you’d never once seen him scared or unsure of something.
>His level of confidence was the nemesis to your own, the anti.
>He practically radiated comfort and ease, at least, until YOU started actually talking with him.
>Still, he wasn’t a completely impony enigma, was he?
>He had to feel those things occasionally, right?
>You examine the small shed as you wonder, searching for a way to operate the shutter so that you could complete Pinkie’s task for you.
>In the top right corner of the shed you spot a pulley wheel bolted into a thin iron beam, the length of cable snugly set into its central groove running down through a second one near the ground and also through the center of the shutter door itself.
>Attached to the top wheel is a clip, presumably to free the cord and let the weight of shutter take care of the rest.
>Pressing the clip delivers the desired result, the folds of thin metal clattering to the ground.
>The world outside is instantly depleted to a whisper, the sights and sounds deafened within the cozy shed.
>After being around it all this time, it was actually nice having a second of peace and quiet.
>It also gave you more time to think.
>Maybe you didn’t need to wait for an opportunity like the one Pinkie described.
>Maybe you could create one?
>Yes...
>A controlled environment where you could creep him out, just a little, and then spring to his side, comforting him in his time of need.
>Everypony got scared, Anon couldn’t be any different.
>It could work…
>It WILL work.
>You’ll make it so!
>As you step closer to the side door, the wind lightly whistling between the shed’s creaky joints, the faint skittering and scratching of critters tapping occasionally at the walls and making just enough noise to send a cold shiver down your spine, you start to get the feeling you know EXACTLY where you can stage the event.
>This place is perfect.
>This, THIS would be the site of the moment you’d been waiting for since your knees first started knocking together in front of the fairer sex.
>It was here that you’d finally WIN for a change and turn the relationship portion of your life into a place somepony might actually want to visit.
>All you need now is a little time and some backup.
>You need to assemble your team.
>The party surges around you once more as you push through the door and race through the yard, cool wind blowing past your face and throwing up your sprayed mane as you rush.
>You get only a few looks as you power forward, your hooves carrying you around swaying, inebriated party guests and loose yardware alike.
>Finally, winded and riled from your run, you find them, all three descending the stairs from the back door and stepping into the yard for the first time.
>”Girls, girls!” you yell, catching their attention and coming to a halt at their hooves, chest heaving.
>”What’s up Applebloom? We haven’t seen you in a while. Did something happen?”
“N-Naw, Ah mean, YES!” you exclaim, lifting your head and looking upon each of their confused faces.
”Girls, ah need yer help!” You pant, flashing them a wide smile and standing tall as they trade looks.
“Ah got a plan!”


>The full moon crests the center of the star-filled sky and hangs close to the earth, its eerie light held at bay by the tall, flickering torches littering the back yard.
>The stomping of hooves and the sound of the festivities and laughing is climbing to a fever pitch, ponies of all description hanging off of each other, dancing with each other, shouting and cheering and drinking heartily from their deep paper cups.
>The babble emitting from the sound station has leapt into high gear, the tempo quickening as the current song nears its exciting climax.
>The mixer mare conducting the beat rocks her head eagerly, whipping her dark blue mane all around her neck as she rocks out.
>The body paint running along her torso and limbs create simple shapes and patterns in her white fur that outline her features, a style choice that each of her roadies and other assorted help mimic.
>Her workers are spreading out now, each positioning themselves in a specific place in the yard and awaiting something.
>The party guests seem to be none the wiser, letting the workers pass by unheeded and unacknowledged.
>When the song finally reaches its scathingly fast ending, the lights on and around the turntable flashing and strobing to the effect, the music suddenly mellows and is met with a deep, ghostly groan that fills the yard.
>As this happens the maestro’s workers each blow out their assigned torch, bathing the yard in a mix of darkness and moonlight.
>And something else.
>The mare on the small soundstage lifts her forehooves over her head and hangs them spookily as the phantom winds and wails seep from her mixer, the clear, unseen body paint in her fur suddenly glaring to life and glowing, highlighting the shape of her skeleton in a ghastly neon green.
>The workers do the same, many ‘ooo’ing and groaning at the guests, eliciting amazed sounds and laughter.
>”Do you kids like CAAAAAAANDYYYY!?” a chipper voice bellows over the crowd as the music and sound effects die out.
>All attending look around, trying to locate the source of the question.
>Eventually many begin to point up into the sky, gesturing at the pink cotton candy pony perched atop Anonymous’ roof, a large item in hoof.
>”I’m not hearing a YYYYYESSSSS!” she shouts again, earning herself a response almost immediately.
>Stallions and mares of all ages shout up at her, informing her that they very much DID like candy.
>”Welp that’s too bad! Cause we’re ALLLLLL OOOOOUT!” she replies, earning herself whines and good-natured boos from her audience.
>”Wellllll—!” she continues, turning to regard the large object in her hooves, “Maybe we have a LITTLE left!”
>Cheers, stomping and other audible pining for sweets is returned to her.
>Without further ado the party pony smirks and lifts her mysterious instrument up into the air to impose it against the moon, giving everypony a clear look; it was some sort of hoof-cannon.
>She hauls the barrel into the bend of left foreleg and cradles with rear with her right, facing the void of her tool overhead of her targets.
>A second later a loud crack splits the air, the small cannon flinging dozens of tiny specs wrapped in glowing paper up into sky and raining them down on the guests.
>”Wooo!” Pinkie hoots, twisting around and dropping her cannon to feed it more ammunition.
>As she continues to fire volleys more ponies begin to stream out into the yard to identify the commotion, leaping into the fray soon after to get their share.
>The glowing mare behind the turntable sets it to play a general tune and descends from the small stage toward the punch and cider, clearly ready for a break.
>Everypony was either looking at Pinkie, scrambling to get candy, or working; everypony was distracted by something.
>It’s time.
>You’d found the items you could actually use, rearranged some of the boxes and moved a few others out of the way.
>You put in the work, done the prep, now all you needed was the guest of honor.
>Your mind wanders to the human as you and your three companions exit the prepared shed through the side door, satisfied and anxious to continue.
>Like most times before you would be heading the operation, giving you the chance you needed to try and learn something, if anything.
>If you were feeling generous then you were a scout, a sort of ‘information gatherer’.
>If you were being honest, you were probably more like a guinea pig, a test subject to try out new theories.
>You were going to be on the front lines doing what you had to for the betterment of the Cutie Mark Crusaders, relaying your gained knowledge to them to improve their own chances.
>That, or the girls weren’t too keen on putting themselves in the crossfire and you were always eager to volunteer…
>In the end you were like a big lightning rod.
>You took the most heat, but you also saw the flashes of light closer up than anypony else did, experienced them firsthoof.
>And tonight, like many times before, your target, your spear of sky-splitting fury and sound, was Anon the Human.
>You were ready to get started.
>Which is why, when your sister and Twilight Sparkle begin to cut through the candy-crazed mob and beeline toward your location, you can’t help but feel a sense of concern for the stability of your carefully set strategy.
“U-Uhh, hey SIS.” you say deliberately, clearing your throat and nudging Twist in the side as she continued to chatter unknowingly to Scootaloo, fixing your face into an expression you hoped looked nice and innocent, “What, uhh… what’re y’all doin’ out over here?”
>Your sister and a listless lavender octo-pony stop before you, acknowledging your party.
>”Well, way ah hear it, there’s supposed to be some’a our merchandise out in this’ere shed. Pinkie’s right busy, so I reckon it falls to us to find’em if anypony’s gonna be enjoyin’ all our family’s hard work.”
>Werejack reaches up to tug her non-existent Stetson down over her brow in a sign of pride, then frowns, realizing too late that she wasn’t wearing it.
>After that she casts you and your friends a weary eye, examining each of you as she speaks, “… What exactly are Y’ALL doin’ out here near Anon’s shed? Not fixin’ to cause mischief, I hope.”
>A small chorus of worried laughter quickly erupts from you and the girls and carries on for a long time, even after it became clear about half way through that the Werepony before you wasn’t joking.
>You stall for as long as you can, until you run out of breath, even, hoping to come up with a reasonable excuse to assuage your sister’s distrust.
“Uhh, we was just, uh… well…” you stutter after taking in a lung-full of air.
>”Playing hide and seek!” Frankenloo blurts, her face twisting slightly when she realizes how childish that sounded.
>”Yes,” Banshee Belle confirms, clearly as impressed with her lie as she was, “we were hiding.”
>Werejack furrows her brow, “Hidin’? In… the same place? All together, that right?” she recounts, being sure to emphasize the flaw in your story.
>Horseshoes, the one pony you had to mislead was the LITERAL element of honesty, the mare who had more mind to sniff out a falsehood than any other.
>All the better, too, that she was you sister and by now had very intimate knowledge of both your group AND their shenanigans.
>”We’re, uh, TH’UPER good at hiding, ma’am.” Twist tries, but with the look your sister is giving all of you now doesn’t bode well.
>”Well, whatever you girls were REALLY doin’, go on ahead and do it somewhere else, now.” She says, making your heart sink, motioning sideways with her head.
>“Just in case y’all mighta’ been confused: mindin’ yer manners in Mr. Anon’s house extends to his storage room. Go on, now, y’all can do your hidin’ and seekin’ somewhere else. We go work ta’ do, right Twilight?” you sister says, turning and patting the lavender pony on the back with a rubber-clawed hoof.
>”Doesn’t matter.” She replies in a despairing voice, her dull eyes staring out at nothing, “Nothing matters.”
>The very short but very awkward pause stands out like a swollen hoof in the midst of the candy-fueled merriment in the background.
>”Uhhh huh… right.” Your sister replies, brushing off the muddled purple pony’s mood and moving on, a zombie-like Twilight trailing close behind.
>“Well, alright, y’all have fun. And don’t go expectin’ me not to find ya’ if I find y’all were rough-housin’ or rummagin’ through his personals!” she warns, whipping her tail for emphasis as she and her companion slip through the door you just left, leaving all of you out in the cold to ponder what had just happened.
“Dang, dang, dang!” you curse, stomping your hoof and huffing in frustration.
>”What’re we gonna’ do now?” Scootaloo wonders aloud glumly, falling onto her rear to think, thimbles tumbling off of her sweat-dotted temples, “We can’t do it with her around!”
>You sit, too, squeezing your head between your hooves, willing yourself to think of some last-minute, clever way out of this.
>Nothing is coming.
>”We ju’tht gatta’ get them outa’ there…” Mummy Twist mumbles, scrunching her eyes shut, “Think, think, think…”
>”This is hopeless…” Banshee Bell whines, hanging her head.
>Stopped at the starting line after all that prep!?
>Not like this…
>The only thing the four of you can do now is worry in place, hoping, praying that something might come along to give you an opportunity.
>Hard reality is your only answer; the party goers hoot and scream, ignorant to your plight, and Pinkie continues to fire her party cannon into the growing crowd without care.
>AJ and Twilight weren’t coming out, and you had no idea what sort of timetable you had to make this work before it was time to go home.
>For all you knew they were accidentally unraveling everything you’d just spent an hour setting up in their attempt to find the one thing they needed.
>You could try and talk to them?
>Maybe you could even explain your plan?
>No.
>It was all a big trick, a setup, a lie.
>Applejack wouldn’t go for that.
>Maybe you could convince them some other way, maybe tell them, tell them…
>You slump, your sprayed white mane falling over your face.
>You had to assume that all the other fillies were in similar states of defeat since none of them were saying a word.
>You were wrong.
>A bandaged forehoof lands on your shoulder, startling you into looking up.
>The other girls do as well, each examining the mummy queen.
>Twist stares off into the crowd, squinting behind her glass at something that you couldn’t see.
>She doesn’t say anything, but her face is set in determined stone.
“Twist…?” you start, eyeing her carefully.
>”The plan doe’thn’t change.” She replies cryptically, still weighing her hoof on your shoulder as she peers off into the distance.
>”You thought of something!?“ Frankenloo exclaims as she leaps to her hooves, the excitement clear in her voice.”
>”Follow the plan.” Twist reiterates, turning back and looking you straight in the eye, “I’ll get them out.”
“What-… what’s gonna happen? You gonna be alright?” you ask with some worry, her serious look withering you.
>She grins however, tapping you gently on the face and turning back to look far off into the crowd towards Anon’s house.
>“I’ll be fine, th’weetheart.” She replies, playfully mocking your concern, “Ju’tht don’t me’th thi’th up.”
>The mummy queen paces forward to delve into the mass of ponies and get to wherever she was headed, but before she makes the plunge she stops short, turning to you instead.
>”A-Ahh… ju’tht in ca’the I don’t make it…” she starts, clearly troubled, “I need you to… to go into my room, take all the th’tuff in between my mattre’theths on my bed, and burn it…”
>You instantly understand, the sudden weight of her request hitting you right in the chest.
>The three of you nod in solidarity, setting you faces in stone so as to not get emotional.
>The bespectacled mare gives you all a sad smile before turning….
>Then pausing again and returning a second time, confusing you.
>”And… and UNDER the bed…” she continues, peering away and rubbing her upper foreleg with a hoof, her face visibly warming, “… And in the clo’thet… and behind the dre’ther… and in between the page’th of my book’th…”
>The three of you shift awkwardly, the atmosphere suddenly becoming stilted and uncomfortable.
>”… and in the spa’the behind the pull-away tile above the tub in the bathroom…” she continues, now whispering, her shame clear both in her voice and on her face, “It-… It’th the eighth one up and tenth one acro’th. On the left…”
>Even though she’s now staring at the ground the three of you nod anyways, just with a bit less pride this time.
>”Okay!” Twists exclaims, slapping herself on the face a few times before whipping around and bolting, her voice just barely fighting through the sounds of Pinkie’s audience, “You’ll KNOW when it’th time! Good luck!”
>Reinvigorated, you look to Frakenloo, placing both your hooves on her shoulders and shaking her a little.
“Scooter’r not, yer still the fastest outa’ all’a us. Still think you can make it back in time after goin’ to get’im?” you ask, looking her straight in the eyes, searching for any hesitance or doubt.
>There is none.
>”Yes ma’am!”
>Now to Sweetie, who immediately straitens her back when your eyes fall on her.
“Twist might not be around’ta help ya’, so you’ll have to be able to move that big’ol rock all on yer own with your magic. Think ya’ can do it?”
>”I KNOW I can.” She replies staunchly, puffing up her chest and saluting you.
>It’s now or never.
>All you have to do now is wait for a sign.
”Alright! I’mma hang round here. You girls hunker down somewhere where y’all can keep an eye on things! If it goes well, be sure to skedaddle so nopony gets wise to us! I’ll see ya’ soon!”
>Your cohorts scatter, Sweetie rushing north toward the gate while Scoots went south toward the house.
>Now all you had to do was make sure that your timing was good enough, both inside the shed and out, and you would be a shoe-in!
>Your tattered black dress flutters as you trot toward the west-side fence wall and nose your way into some shrubs, deciding that this would be the best place to stay if you wanted to have a clear view of the shed and avoid your sister should she emerge.
>The sticks scrape your sides as you push your way in, finding out once you had that the soil under your hooves was a bit muddier than you were expecting.
>You weren’t exactly averse to getting your hooves dirty, but your viscous perch was constantly giving way and sucking your shoes into the muck.
>Sweetie would be horrified.
>All the better that it was you here instead.
>Pinkie positions her cannon between her legs, lighting and firing her ‘tool’ once more into the guests to cries of laughter and half-serious disgust for her unladylike joke, some particularly smashed mares even wavering at her and gesturing to themselves.
>You didn’t exactly plan for Pinkie – Who could? That didn’t mean she wasn’t making an excellent distraction for you.
>If you could get AJ out and Anon in then few would care what was going on behind them, even fewer would come snooping around; even the girls would leave you to yourselves to avoid suspicion.
>That said, with the way she was firing that thing she definitely wouldn’t have candy for much longer.
>It would be best to start now, but you couldn’t move until Twist did, and you hadn’t seen her for several minutes.
>You squint your eyes, trying to spy the mummy filly through the twigs and brush, but you can barely make out the ponies passing five hooves in front of you thought all the obstruction.
>As the minutes continue to tick by you begin to hope that nothing had gone wrong whilst you were split up.
>You didn’t much like lurking in the bushes like some sort of creeper, but it would be far worse if Twist had failed, or if she’d signaled you and you hadn’t seen it.
>Worse yet, what if she had and you were the only one that missed it!?
>Aww apples, here comes the self-doubt.
>You picked a bad spot to hide, didn’t you?
>Should you find a different place to wait?
>Did you have time to move?
>Growing antsy, you peek your head up from the bushes and look around, trying to spot something, the ONE THING you need to.
>Unfortunately, you can’t spot Twist.
>Even more unfortunately, somepony spots you.
>Someponies, rather.
>Judging from their cups, Rumble and his boypals had decided to escape the mania and grab something to wet their whistles while they caught their breath.
>Now, however, they were all staring at you, puzzled and even afraid.
>Featherweight is pacing backwards slowly, as if at any minute you were going to pounce out of the bushes and drag him inside.
>You’re sweating.
>Neither you nor they can break eye contact or even try to conjure something to say.
>Maybe the weird face had lost you a few points.
>Tripping on your own hooves and falling flat on your snout the moment after trying to start a conversation MIGHT’VE earned you a round or two of pointing and giggling when you passed by them in the halls.
>This?
>This was going to plant you square on the grapevine, cement you in the channels of coltish gossiping for weeks, and that was if you were lucky.
>A despairing chuckle bubbles in your chest as you attempt to mentally explore how boned you were going to be in class tomorrow, how utterly ruined your reputation would be now that they’d spotted you hiding in the bushes like some sort of pervert.
>Just when the thought of leaping from your hiding spot and rushing across the yard to escape their worried stares is becoming worringly inviting, a sound hits you.
>A eardrum-testing wail that sounded like feedback from a mic cuts through the air, forcing your ears down against your head to escape the horrid screech.
>The schoolcolts and the crowd mimic the action, cringing until the sound finally dulls to a low buzz.
>A familiar voice reaches your slowly recovering ears, massively amplified and extremely bassy, as if the speaker had their lips pressed right up against the felt of the receiver.
>”I’TH THI’TH THING ON’R WHAT!?” the booming voice slurs, drawing everpony’s attention to the sound stage.
>On the turntable, gripping a microphone between her hooves, is Twist.
>You can’t see her very well from how far away she is, but even from this distance you can tell how loopy she is, loose bandages hanging from her limbs and fluttering in the breeze.
>”DO YA’ GET IT? IT’TH REALLY LOUD!” Twist goes on, laughing at the explanation of her own joke so hard that she nearly falls from her makeshift platform.
>There’s a cup gripped in her left hoof that sloshes and drops amber liquid onto her arm and the mixer below as she sways.
>”THI’TH I’T – HIC… I THINK THI’TH I’TH MY FAVORUT TH’ONG, YOU GUY’TH...” She mumbles against the mic, mostly intelligible, before lifting the same cup to her mouth and taking several hard gulps, yanking it away a moment after and retching dangerously as if she were about to vomit.
>Thankfully, she doesn’t, and goes on as if nothing happened.
”… YOU GUY’TH ARE GON-GONNUH—“ deep breath, “OKAY, OKAY, JU’THT LI’THEN… I’M GONNA DO IT NOW. LI’THEN, I’MMA’ DO IT—”
>The tan filly takes a large breath and you ready your ears for the onslaught, your jaw tightening in preparation for the disaster, the slow cart crash that was about to take place.
>”WE’RE NO TH’TRANGER’TH TO LOOOOOOO-OOVE!” She sings, or tries to, her voice bouncing violently between flat and sharp even during this single line, and that’s not counting the loud voice crack in the middle of the last word.
>“YOU KNOW THE RULE’TH, AND TH’O-DO-AAAAIIIIII!”
>You flinch as the mic feeds back again, the brave hero standing atop the sound stage swishing her rear and tail to a melody that only she could hear.
>”A FULL COMMITMENT’TH WAT I’M THINKIN’ OOOOF, YOU WOULDN’T GET THI’TH FROM ANY OTHER GAA–HIC–AAAAL!” She takes a step sideways and nearly falls again, this time presumably slipping on one of the vinyls from the loud record-scratch sound.
>The roadies scattered about the yard appear stunned in place, perhaps not able to comprehend what was happening but definitely not lifting a hoof to stop it.
>Pinkie’s attention has also been drawn, her cannon smoking but silent as she peers curiously over the edge of the roof, an amused smile painting her face.
>A crashing sound to your left causes you to instinctively duck back into the bushes, and thank goodness.
>It’s Twilight and your sister, both of whom had come out to investigate the commotion.
>AJ’s face is mish-mash of dread and disbelief, the box she’d just been hauling on her back dropped and forgotten on the ground.
>”AIIIIIII, JUST WANNA TELL YOU HOW UM FEEEEEEL–HIC–IN’!”
>And she’s off.
>Octo-Twilight follows behind her, if much slower, the light brown werepony pulling far ahead and barreling across the yard toward the filly she was ‘supposed’ to be chaperoning tonight, groaning anxiously as she went.
>“No no no no no no no no—“ she rambles desperately.
>You leap from the shrub, heart pounding, ignoring your scummy shoes and your twig-filled dress for the stretch of grass leading back to the shed, full-on sprinting as hard as you could, harder than you had at any other time tonight.
>You skid into the storage and bump into some boxes, nearly falling backwards into the quad trails of mud you’d created on entry.
>Fast fast fast, go go GO.
>Lock the door, DON’T close it.
>The lamp…
>THE LAMP.
>You forgot about the lamp!
>Too high.
>FIND SOMETHING.
>WHERE!?
>”GATTA’ MAKE YOU – UNDER’THTAAAAND!” replies the sliver of space you left in the doorway.
>You spin in place, looking for something, anything, that you could stand on to reach the lamp, preferably not one of Anon’s boxes.
>You spot a miracle in the corner, a hoofstool, and rush to it, yanking it away from the wall and popping it open under the swinging orange light.
>You stretch as hard as you can but you can’t quite reach it, even while standing on the edge of your hooves.
>”NEVER GUNNA GIVE-YOU-UP, NEVER GUNNA LET-YOU-DOW-DUH- H-HEY! LET ME DOWN!” Twist belts, suddenly abandoning her sing-song voice at the end.
>“L-LEMME GO! PUT ME D-!” the speakers outside object before sharply cutting out.
>Your blood chills at the sudden silence outside, and you can only imagine what’s going on.
>No time.
>Focus on the mission.
>For Twist.
>You set all four hooves down on the step ladder and look up, setting the flickering orange light in your sights.
>You push up and off with all your earth pony strength, your right forehoof nudging the bottom of the lamp and, to your delight, slipping it from the hook hanging from the ceiling.
>Not as delightful, however, will be your landing.
>Your rear hooves slam hard into the stool, shaking it, your already poor balance forced to the extreme.
>You were on a one way trip to the ground.
>The only thing you can do as you fall is try to cradle the lamp against your chest to keep it from shattering on impact.
>It doesn’t, but the stone that collides with your side nearly shatters YOU.
>You gasp hard, wind knocked out of you, ribcage blazing on your right side.
“Ooo, ow-ow-ow…” you whine pathetically as you set the hot lamp safely on the ground, kicking your back hooves to try and burn out some of your pain rush.
>Eventually you find the will to get to your hooves, but it takes a moment, a moment you might not have to spare.
>A pained sigh escapes you as you limp across the shed and replace the step stool in its proper place.
>You have to waste more time rearranging some particular boxes that Twilight or AJ had presumably returned to their proper places, but after that you can’t seem to find anything else that needs adjusting.
>If you missed or forgot anything then you aren’t figuring it out anytime soon.
>Alright.
>Get ready.
>Without another thought you lean down and fling open the tiny shutter on the lamp, blowing out the small candle inside before scooping the whole thing up into your mouth.
>You curse softly around the small iron ring clutched in your teeth, realizing late that it might’ve been a little easier to put it where it needed to go if you could actually SEE.
>It takes a little while of rooting around with your hooves with no luck before your eyes begin to adjust to the low light and you spot it, that small space you and the girls had made in between the boxes before you left that you just had to remake.
>Just as you reach out a hoof to push inside and make sure that it was the correct place, the doorknob twists and the door swings open, bathing half the room in light.
>It’s good that you had the lamp in your mouth or you might have screamed.
>Panicking, you jam your face in between the boxes and then yank it back out, stuffing the small item inside.
>”Why were you out here…?” a masculine, recognizable voice mumbles to the wind as a large something steps into the shed behind you, just in time to miss you haphazardly shoving several containers around to hide the evidence.
”OH ANON, IT’S YOU,” you say much more loudly and MUCH LESS convincingly than you intended, desperately trying to settle the adrenaline spiking in your blood from the close call.
>It WAS him.
>Skimpy costume and all, just like you planned.
>He was clutching the box your sister had dropped on her way out in his claws, his eyes narrowing as he focuses them toward your shadowed form.
>”Applebloom? That you?” he asks, setting the box down on the ground and nudging it back into place with his foot.
>As he approaches you, you can’t help but notice that many of the thin rips and cuts in his costume had seemingly been aggravated while he was gone, widening and showing you just a touch more than before.
>The one curling around his left thigh is especially bad; you can see every flex of lean sinew tensing against his smooth skin as he kneels down.
>One of those claws finds the back of your ear and you take a sharp breath, your heart already strumming from the contact.
>”You, uh… havin’ fun? Standing here all alone in the dark?” he teases, chuckling as he plays you like a harp with those devilish fingers, each digit gently playing around the shell of your ear in just the right way to make your legs wobble.
”Y-… yeah…” you answer dumbly, the pain in your side melting away.
>Your eyes dip dangerously, shamefully close to his groan before jerking back up to meet his own sea-green jewels head on, your face burning with embarrassment at the thought of him catching you eyeing his nethers like a freak.
>The sweet pumpkin smell you spotted in his scent when you first saw him tonight was even richer than before.
>He must’ve just got done in the kitchen.
>Unbidden images of Anon wearing an apron and nothing else assault your mind, your head spinning.
“A-Ah mean, ah’m here to-to… look for the, uh…” you ramble helplessly, the warm fur around your cheeks bristling further as you try to remember how to speak.
>”The… apples?” he finishes, much to your relief, “That’s what the little orange and green one said you were doing. Are you still looking? I told Pinkie where they were…”
“U-Uhh—” you respond, your voice hitching slightly as the light from the open door behind him began to slowly dry up.
>He peers up in thought and furrows his brow in confusion, spying the empty chain hanging from the ceiling.
>”Wait, why is… what happened to th—?” he starts, only noticing how dark it was truly getting inside after it was too late.
>Your chest strums harshly as the door slams shut, snuffing out the party and drowning the two of you in darkness.
>A second sound follows swiftly afterward, a quick bang against the doorknob.
>Anon wouldn’t know what it was, but you did; it was a chair being wedged underneath the handle of the door outside.
>For all your… erm… ‘careful examinations’ of his getup over the time you’d been here, you’d never once seen a pocket on him; this time was no different.
>That said, you weren’t about to take the chance that he produced a key and simply left.
>You needed to keep him in, and the door opened outwards; easy enough solution.
>Now even if he could unlock it that door would still be closed to him, barricaded from the outside.
>Scoots came through!
>The human makes a sound of surprise and turns, presumably reaching out for door in the darkness.
>The light from outside had burned itself into your eyes again, so you couldn’t quite see what was going on, but the sounds of the knob wriggling to no avail is more than enough to paint you a picture.
“What happened?” you ask the darkness innocently, smoothing out your expression even if he couldn’t see it.
>Now all that was left was Sweetie Belle.
>”Oop… someone musta’…” he replies, trailing off as he releases the handle and swiftly turns around, his form a dim blur as he passes by you.
>You silently hope beyond hope, crushing your eyes shut as the human’s footsteps begin to tap towards the shutter, the next most obvious means of escape.
>He gets dangerously close, his grabber wrapping around the cord most likely, before another loud sound gives him pause, this time against the sheet-metal door he was trying to pull open.
>This one was Twist’s idea, but Sweetie was the one who had to see it through in the end.
>Now wedged against the shutter from the other side was very likely a large boulder your team had found a little ways past the fence.
>It was massive and extremely heavy.
>Sweetie could barely get it off the ground with her magic, and Twist could only help support some of the weight herself before stopping for a break and sucking on her inhaler.
>It probably took a miracle of willpower for the Banshee filly to magic it the rest of the way through the gate and set it down on the other side alone.
>The rock would keep the shutter from bending and folding like it should, stopping the bars at the base from sliding up and halting the entire process.
>You can hear the human tug once on the cord fruitlessly, the inch of grass-obstructed light peeking through at the bottom his only reward.
>The shutter wouldn’t rise, couldn’t.
>They’d done it.
>You were trapped.
>”Uhh, hello?” Anon says, raising his voice a little, “Is someone out there? We’re, uh… we’re in here!”
>…
>No response.
>In fact, if what little sound you could hear through the tiny slat at the bottom of the shutter was any indication, Pinkie had started up her cannon again, and the stock running music on the turntable had overcome Twist’s invasion and been restarted.
>Everypony was predisposed and deafened.
“Wow… ah guess we’re stuck in here, huh?” you continue, trying to contain your burgeoning excitement.
>”Hello!? Is… can anyone hear me!?” he tries again, seemingly ignoring your statement as he gently taps against the side wall with his fist.
>Nothing.
>The distress rising in his voice is actually a little surprising.
>Sure, the whole point of all of this was to creep him out a little, but you weren’t expecting him to get so anxious so soon.
>Anon doesn’t say anything for a long while, only occasionally reaching out and banging on the wall with his fist.
>The level of force he uses grows over time.
>You expect him to turn to you, say something, joke like he always does, but he doesn’t.
>After a while the thin sliver of light at the base of the shutter begins to flash rapidly, giving you still images of the human wordlessly, desperately yanking on the wire to open the shutter.
“Anon?” you whisper softly, thinning your eyes and stepping closer to where you thought he was.
>You hear and partially see him turn to face you.
>He lets out a small, nervous laugh.
>You think you can see him lifting one his claws to run it through his hair.
>”… Sorry, redhead,” he sighs out, and you can hear him attempting a smile through the words, “It’s just, uh… well… Mm.” he hums cryptically.
>The human shuffles in place anxiously, saying nothing more.
>When he gets tired of that his form noticeably shrinks in the darkness, body bending to set him on the ground in a cross-legged sitting position.
>He breathes deep and slow now, and you can see him rocking his knees up and down, antsy, uneasy.
>Was this the opportunity that you were waiting for, the one you and your friends had worked for?
>He did seem pretty frightened…
>But, something about this felt… wrong.
>Off.
>This wasn’t the coy, half-fear that you were expecting.
>He wasn’t jumping at shadows and then laughing them off, or teasing you about being afraid of the dark while snuggling close like how you imagined this.
“… Anon?” you whisper after another minute of silence, your gentle hoofsteps loud against the stone in the muted space you shared.
>”Mmm.” He hums again, distant.
You stop before him, trying to find his eyes in the darkness, “You alright, Mr. Anon?” you whisper with some concern, lowering your head to nudge his hand with your snout.
>He doesn’t react to your touch at first, but after a moment his grabber turns and gently laces its fingers through the fur on the side of your cheek.
>”I’m alright, Applebloom.” He lies, petting the side of your face attentively.
>As much as you would enjoy melting into the sensation of his touch, the vague guilt that was starting to gnaw at you was becoming too much to ignore.
”Mr. Anon,” you repeat with a little more determination, taking a step closer and sitting in front him, scrutinizing his obscured expression.
>”I… distinctly remember saying that our heart-to-hearts would only fly if you stopped calling me ‘Mister’,” he whispers, and you can see a hint of his usually bright grin in the darkness.
>You roll your eyes, partially glad that the object of all of your awkward desire couldn’t see how you reacted to his lame attempt to avoid your concern for his obvious distress.
“Anon,” you say again through a smile, shaking your head.
>”Mmm,” he hums, waiting for you to continue.
>You don’t.
>You know he knows what you want to know.
>After a moment of silence he seems to relent, growing more fidgety the longer you didn’t say anything.
>”Alright, alright…” he says, smoothing his fingers over his eyelids.
>“So… when I was younger, way, way before I knew any of you, I kinda’ had a… you know, a ‘thing’,” he says, tapping his fingers against his knees.
“A thing?” you question, thinning your lips as you mentally shooed away the first lewd, obvious thought that came to mind.
>”Yeah, you know, a… a ‘trapped’ thing, a… ‘tight spaces’ thing?” He admits, shifting his legs under him, “I never had it that bad, though, It’s been so long since I was all closed up I guess I… I kinda’… forgot, and it all came rushing back to me, haha.”
>His little laugh at the end comes out sharply, his stress evident.
>You open your mouth to speak but can’t think of anything to say.
>You’d heard of this type of thing before.
>Granny told you once about your great, great second uncle Charcoal from Pinkie’s side of the family who had a terrible fear of being outside.
>She said she’d only met him a few times, and on the first time, not understanding his condition, drug him outside to ‘get a breath of fresh air and smell the trees’ after hearing that he almost never went out into the forest, or even saw a farm before.
>Said he froze up and started looking all around, terrified, as if something was gonna hop out and get him.
>Said she tried to talk to him but he wouldn’t answer, and eventually he even started crying.
>Wouldn’t stop until his folks came out and set things right.
>She told you the same thing could happen with ponies, but the opposite, with folks who just shut down when they were all locked up in a tight spot.
>You screwed up again, but bad this time.
>Unlike all the other numerous, NUMEROUS times you dropped the ball, you weren’t the target of the punishment this time, Anon was.
>In your big rush to throw everything together you’d never even established how, if at all, you were supposed to signal the girls to let you out.
>You were too busy thinking of yourself to care about how Anon might feel about all this.
>Now you, or more importantly, he, was trapped here, forced to experience something terrible at the hooves of somepony he invited into his home to feed and entertain.
>What would your sister say if she heard what had happened in here?
>That you were lower than dirt, most likely.
>She wouldn’t just up and SAY that, but she’d think it.
>Granny too.
>This was a mistake.
“This… this is all mah fault…” you admit quietly, hanging your head low and squeezing your eyes shut, “Ah went too far this time, this never shoulda’ happened at all… Ah’m Sorry.”
>”Hmm?” he hums in response, the guilt drilling a pit into your stomach growing as his hand returns to your face, caressing you softly.
>Like you deserved to be comforted for trying a little introspection and honesty.
”Scoots lied to get ya’ in here; ah told’er too. It’s mah fault that you’re trapped in here. This was all just a stupid… stupid…” you trail off, not sure where to go or what to say.
>”Ahh…” the human replies softly after a moment, lowering his hand away from your face and setting it back on his knee, waiting a while before he continued.
>“So… so the doors?” he says, motioning across the room with his hand.
>His subtler movements are starting to get a little easier to see now that your eyes were adjusting.
“Yessir!” you answer, bitterly cheery, “Ah told’em to do that, too, but what ah DIDN’T say was when ta’ let us out’r nuthin’ because ah just GATTA’ be a big-big – Aw, dang! Ah’m so sorry! I didn’t know y’all were—“ you stop, pausing before you started making excuses.
>’They’re a dime’a dozen an’ everypony’s gottem’!’ Applejack’s voice chides in your head.
>The best you could offer him now was to wait until the party outside calmed down and yell for help, but you had no idea how long that would take.
>The frown etched on your face grows and you hang your head lower, running through all the times you might’ve stopped this before it happened in your head.
>Two grabbers reach for you, each seating themself on an opposite shoulder.
>”Alright.” The human says finally, his voice calm but neither scornful nor cold, “Thank you for apologizing. That was very big of you.”
>He praises you so easily after what you did.
>He could’ve done a lot better if he really wanted you to feel worse about what happened.
>Granted, you’d never known Anon to be particularly resentful about anything, so his gentleness now wasn’t totally out of character, even if you deserved worse.
>”Out of all the ponies and dragons and, uh… flying spaghetti monsters in Equestria, you’re the only one who knows anything about this… ‘thing’ of mine. I can’t hold not knowing against you. Still… if you’re feeling repentant, there’s something you can do.” he says.
>You lift your head, searching out the glowing orbs watching you in the darkness and peering back into them.
>”Talk to me. It’s not so bad when we’re talking. Tell me—” he starts, pausing to think,  “Tell me something about yourself. About the real Applebloom.”
>You think you can see the faint outline of his lips turning upwards and your heart leaps.
>Eager to step up and set things right you open your mouth, ready to say anything, to babble out anything that came to mind at a moment’s notice for the sake of keeping up the conversation.
“U-Uhh, okay, umm… mah… mah favorite color is, uh… it’s pink.” You begin, your face twisting in discomfort as you say it, “Ah, uh… tell everypony that mah favorite color is red, even the girls, so they don’t think ah’m some sorta’ pansy…”
>”Mm,” the human hums as he pats you gently on your left shoulder, his pleasantly warm claws still draped across your withers and holding the back of your neck, “I understand. Still, don’t be afraid to say it if you think the time is right. Your real friends would probably appreciate it, right?”
“That’s… that’s what sis says, too.” You remark, blinking at him.
>He chuckles under his breath and nudges you in the cheek with one of his thumbclaws.
>“Well, then start LISTENING to ONE of us. Preferably me.”
>You choke out a laugh, the human surprising you even now with his resilience.
>…
>The faint whisper of the outside world touches your ears again, alerting you to the fact that you’d gone quiet.
“Uh… um…” you try, scouring your brain for a topic of discussion that could hold you up longer than the previous one.
>The human slowly slides his hands from your body and sets them back on his legs, his soft breathing filling in the blank spaces in your muttering.
>You watch the faint outline of his chest swell and retract, the slats of his bare skin expanding the rips and then moving away to slack them.
Your eyes jam shut, and after a moment of shaking useless thoughts from your head:
“Why a… why a pony?” you ask.
>”Hmm?”
“A-Ah mean, your costume.” You clarify, lifting your hoof to point even though you weren’t sure the tall biped could see it.
>”Ohh,” He replies, dropping his head to inspect himself.
>“I, uh… I thought it’d get a laugh, I guess. Haven’t gotten too many tonight, though…” He says matter-of-factly, reaching up to tug the small ear-band out of his hair and examine it with his fingers.
>”Didn’t think too much about whether it might be taken the other way. I’ve been getting a lot of looks tonight… hopefully I haven’t been offending anyone. That’d be just my luck, right?” he says, clicking his tongue.
>Your mouth crinkles, a civil war raging in your brain to decide the right words to answer him with.
“Ah don’t… think that’s the reason…” you object, leaving it at that.
>”Yeah?” Anon replies, relieved.
>A moment later he furrows his brow and makes a regretful sound, a playful smirk emerging on his face.
>His breathing has slowed marginally, and he sounds calmer.
>”Ahh, I just thought of something else. What if I opened the door for interspecies Halloween costumes?”
>You offer him a confused look but little else, and your silence seems to encourage him to continue.
>”Aw, man! I bet you money that Twilight’s gonna come next year in big, like-like…” he stumbles, measuring something in the air with his claws, the pony ears hanging off one of his fingers, “HOBBIT feet, and gloves with big noodly tentacles wiggling out,” he continues, wiggling his digits in the air for effect.
>You snort loudly, holding back the sound behind a hoof.
>“Haw-Hawbit!?” you interject through your giggles, picking out the funny word that you didn’t recognize.
>”Yeah they’re-they’re—” He continues cheerfully, mood improving, repeating that measuring motion in the air again before dropping his arms in defeat, “Hah, nevermind.”
>The human lifts a hand to smooth over his face, gathering his thoughts.
>“Aw jeez – you know she’s gonna have a mask, too. A flat-faced, flesh-colored thing and it’s gonna have these, like, these beady, soulless little eyes and I might actually pee myself,” he laments with a grimace, his face softening noticeably as you cackle at his premonition.
>He joins in, lifting the ear band up and setting it back into place on the crown of his head.
>”Well, what about you, redhead?” he asks as he settles down, reaching a claw through the darkness to pinch at your black dress.
“M-Mah costume?” you reply, your voice cracking horrifically as his grabber comes dangerously close to grazing the fur on your chest.
>You clear your throat and take a breath to clear your head, only to fill your nose with his chocolate-tinged breath.
>You were…
>You were pretty close right now, weren’t you?
>Your face prickles and you lean away instinctively, your brain working diligently to answer his question as the heat on your mug began to seep into your head.
“Ah’m, uh… ah’m Pony Mary,” you answer simply, swiping some loose, sweat-damp white mane out of your face as he released you.
>”Ah thought it’d be scary, but ah don’t think anypony is too scared’a me. ‘Least, not in the way I was intendin’…” you continue, frowning as you remember the apprehensive faces of Rumble and the other colts staring at you warily from the punch table.
>”Ohhh,” The human replies knowingly, leaning back and peering at the dark ceiling before returning his gaze to you, “well… I’m not exactly a pony horror expert, but, I’m gonna take a huge shot in the dark here and say that you’d probably get realllllly spooked if I said her name three times, right?”
>You scrunch your snout at the questioning of your courage, folding your hooves across your chest.
“Nuh uh. Besides, ya’ can only summon Pony Mary by sayin’er name three times while lookin’ at yer reflection in a pool’a water.” You say, smiling smugly at your superior demonstration of horror lore.
>The human merely smirks at you, the playful sparkle in his eyes returning.
>“Pony Mary.” He whispers.
>You scoff, unfolding your forelegs and setting them back down on the ground.
”Very funny, but ah ain’t a little foal no more. Pony Mary ain’t really real.”
>”Pony Mary,” the human repeats ominously, winning a smile from you and he reaches up and begins to flex his digits.
“Now look here, ah told y’all—“
>”Pony…” he starts, pausing for dramatic effect and leaning in closer, wiggling his digits dangerously.
>You return his gaze with a determined look of your own, silently daring him to go through with it, to finish so you could prove how unafraid you were.
>”… Mary!” Anon exclaims, lunging his hands out at you catching you in your sides, your weakest points, in a surprise attack.
>You bark with laughter as he tickles you, enduring the raw torture for only a few moments before defiantly squirming out of his powerful, energy-draining grip.
“Haw!” you sneer at him in the darkness, turning up your nose, “See? I ain’t scared, not even a little bit! Y’all’r barkin’ up the wrong tree if you think you can—“
>Something moves behind you, where the large wall of boxes should be.
>Your heart skips as a chilling second of self-doubt courses through you.
>You whirl around, squinting at the wall of dark boxes, scrutinizing them with vigor.
“…Did… did you…” you start, whispering.
>You chance a glance back at Anon, his form unmoving and his face trained ahead at the same boxes your were observing.
>He doesn’t say anything.
>A moment passes, and you can just barely hear the party outside again.
>It sounded so far away, so far away.
>A moment more; nothing.
>The very second you begin to assume it’s just the age of the wood whining and all of this was all just in your head, you hear something else.
>This time it was a quick scratching noise, like something stiff was being ground against smooth metal.
>It was coming from higher above you.
>Your heart races as you jerk your gaze up toward the shed’s tin ceiling, and you SWEAR you see something move behind one of the boxes at the top of the stack.
>You swallow hard and immediately pace backward, not taking your eyes off of the wall of boxes for a second.
>”Your, uh… that your little pals tryin’ to creep me out, too?” Anon asks softly, hiding the edge in his voice behind the fake smile you could hear on his lips.
“This place’s too high up, they can’t just-just… Scoots can’t fly, how would they get up on the roof?” you question hastily, turning to him.
>You immediately regret looking away.
>A slipping sound comes from the direction of the boxes, the heavy thud that followed startling you unmercifully.
>Terror courses through your veins as you twist your head around and scan the darkness desperately, spotting the origin of the sound in an instant.
>It was the box where you thought you saw the movement.
>It had tumbled from the top of the stack and fallen to the ground, spewing its contents onto the floor.
>A sweet and sour smell suddenly invades the tiny space you and the human occupy.
>Rolling out of the box is a mass of… of somethings, slimy and wet and oozing out around the cardboard in a way that made your stomach churn.
>You couldn’t quite identify what it was.
>You didn’t want to.
“Is…” you begin, not daring to look away from the inky black void the box had created at the top of the pile with its departure, “… Is somepony… in here…?” you whisper.
>No answer.
>No sound
>Nothing.
>A line of sweat crawls down the back of your scalp.
>You back up further, whipping your tail about behind you as a tool to find Anon.
>It lands against his arm and you use it to guide yourself to him, pressing your bruised side into his own for the comfort of his warmth.
>He doesn’t stay, unfortunately, instead slowly climbing to his feet and sliding them across the ground, feeling around with them to properly transport him along the wall of the shed at your backs without bashing them against any of the boxes lying about.
>”Okay… very funny,” he whispers to nopony, presumably sliding his grabbers against the shelf-hitch on the wall at his back, for what purpose you didn’t know.
“Anon…” you whisper in reply, careful not to raise your voice too high for fear of, fear of…
>Fear.
>Something tiny clatters to the ground near your hooves causing you to jump, stirring up your already impassioned nerves further.
>The human curses softly and bends down, picking the small item off the ground before rolling and sliding it around in his claws.
>Matches.
>It was a match box for the lamp.
>The LAMP.
>Ohh, why, why, WHY did you have to hide it over THERE!?
>You stare back at the cardboard wall, almost positive you can spot the tiny space where you snuck it away.
>The thought to go over and retrieve it is immediately and decisively obliterated the second it enters your mind.
>The rate of the human’s breathing has increased, his claws scratching the small match pinned between his fingers against the patch of rough paper on the box.
>This goes on until the human makes a frustrated sound and presumably tosses the bad match away, poking his fingers back inside for another.
>Scratch, scratch, scratch, scratch.
>Every small noise is a like a beacon to you now, a lighthouse at sea advertising your location to everything malevolent in the world.
>You swallow hard, turning away from the boxes for just a moment.
“H-Here, let me t—“ you begin, wincing away as a light springs to life at his fingertips, punishing your night-sensitive eyes.
>You blink rapidly, rubbing at your eyes with your hooves in a poor attempt to ward away the spots faster.
>When your vision clears up enough to see Anon’s face, he gasps, pressing his back up against the wall.
>You turn just in time to see it leaping down at you from the boxes.
>”SKKKKKREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!”
“AHHHHHHHHH!” you bellow, leaping forward to avoid it and crashing into Anon, sending you both hurdling to the ground and snuffing the light in his claws out.
>Your eyes strain to make out its shape in the dark after the matchstick burned the night vision out of them.
>You can just barely make out a serpentine tail swishing through the air above you as it viciously claws its way up the wall you just had your backs to.
>Two red orbs covered in a thin film of grey stare back at you, a toothy maw falling open as another inpony sound rattles from its grizzly, dust-covered body.
>The moment it looks like it’s about to pounce again, fangs bared and ready to end it all, you throw your fiercely shaking limbs out, spreading them to cover as much of the stallion behind you as you can in what would likely be your very last action as a mare.
>At the same time, a long arm snakes across your chest and pulls you sideways, desperately attempting to switch your positions.
>A massive plume of grungy wingspan unfurls under the ghoulish face in the shadows and it leaps from the wall, hovering above you in all of its horrific glory.
>You clench your eyes shut tight and wait for the end, wait for Pony Mary to do her work with you.
>You’re shaking harder than you ever have in your entire life, and the heartbeat pounding in your ears is the only thing reminding you that you’re still alive.
>The sound you hear next isn’t any of the ones you were expecting.
>It isn’t the fiendish creature descending on you with a gruesome, life-ending wail.
>It isn’t the sound of your pitiful screams as she tears you limb from limb.
>It isn’t even the sound of Anon declaring his love and respect for you at the very end, lamenting bitterly that he never had the chance to be with you.
>No.
>It’s the sound of the shutter being manually thrown up into the air, staining your eyelids with bright light.
>As the fourth wall of the shed is forced open and the sounds of the party suddenly flood inside, a single voice reaches your ears, one you’re all too glad to hear given the content of her words.
>”Applebloom!” Applejack yells with authority, the rock previously blocking the shutter tossed onto its side behind her, “Y’all got some explainin’ ta’-ta’-T-TARNATION!?”
>The werepony bracing the door with her body is taken aback by the being floating menacingly above you, it’s dark yellow coat and curled pink mane tinted with a fine layer of dirt, dust and spider webs.
>The fillies at her side, all previously hanging their heads and sulking, gasp, Twist being the only one who manages to say anything.
>”Wha’ the TARTARU’TH I’th THAT?!” she slurs.
>”THERE they are!” Pinkie exclaims with frustration, pointing her hoof inside and drawing attention to the downed box, its contents, in the light, revealed to be the mushy remains of apples.
>The soggy-looking red skin sacks continue to slowly ooze out of the box with the pink pony’s observation.
>”Or… used to be.” Pinkie amends with a grimace, flinching as the phantom floating above you spins around and sends her a ghastly hiss, “NNGEEH–! What!? Is-is that—!?”
>”Fluttershy?” Werejack queries, furrowing her brow at the creature and leaning her head forward to get a better look, hastily pulling it back a second later when it moves away from you and Anon and barrels at her, “Q-QUICK, GRAB—!”
>The Flutter-Creature collides with your sister, wrenching her away from the shutter and into the yard, even getting a few feet up into the air with the hearty farm pony before losing its upward momentum and crashing them both into the ground.
>The small crowd outside trots out of the way to avoid their tussle, the shutter falling an inch and then halting in place, the cord caught by the clip on the pulley and preventing it from hitting the ground.
>Eager to escape, you and the human leap up and run out into the grass, passing the girls as you went.
>”H-Help me out he-Ahh! She’s in one’a her w-weird—” your sister exclaims, valiantly holding down the strange mare writhing about in her hooves as she tries to break free with an animal fervor.
>”S-She’s-dang! C’mon now, ah-ah can’t – OW!” your sister winces, yanking her right foreleg back, several mares in the crowd dropping their drinks and experimentally stepping forward to assist, “You BIT me!?”
>As you rush forward to help her yourself you see the surprise in her eyes shift to anger, her temper guiding her back legs in between herself and the bat pony.
>She kicks, shoving Fluttershy away hard and narrowly into YOU, forcing you to slide on the ground to avoid her as she takes flight and begins to gain altitude.
>”AW, SHOOT!“ AJ curses, only able to watch as her friend soars into the air, her altered form framing itself against the moon as the music from the turntable across the yard cuts out.
>She pauses there, presumably so she can change her positioning and swoop down on you again, but she doesn’t.
>Instead, she just hangs there, suspended and distressed in the rainbow aura surrounding her, jerking about and whipping her tail in fury.
>”W-What…” you huff, confused at the strange sight, looking around to see if anypony else was witnessing what you were.
>Among the blanching and startled faces in the audience you spot the source of the yellow pegasus’ difficulty, several multicolored horns therein glowing with magical might to telekinetically restrain her.
>The batpony screeches and flails as she’s forcefully brought down, several earth pony and pegasi mares surrounding her as she reaches the ground.
>With another round of distressed grunting and hollering, Fluttershy’s form hidden behind the mass of clumsy inebriated ponies, they all pull away to reveal her once more, bundled tightly in orange ribbons and streamers.
>“Hisss! Weeeeh!” she whines, lashing her tail about as she rolls around on the moist grass.
>”What in the gawsh-darn is goin’ on around here little lady!? Explain yerselves! Now!” Your sister demands as she approaches, Twist, Scoots and Sweetie drawing up on either side of you.
>Even Anon paces up to join you, exchanging a sheepish look that you bounce to your disheartened friends.
>You’ve gotten the attention of many ponies in the crowd as well, many silently watching and listening for your explanation.
“W-Well…” you begin, peering up into your sister’s usually vibrant but now hard green eyes and wilting under her presence, “... It’s a long story…”


>The back yard is quite clear now.
>Many of the ponies had left with the excuse of having work the next day, and many others had filed into the house to escape the chilly dusk.
>Some stragglers remain, however, most casually sipping whatever drink they could get their hooves on in the dry spell of the aging party, some even playing the games in the far right of the yard alone.
>The music has long since gone, the spooky skeleton DJ having taken your bespectacled friend’s rowdiness with her sound stage surprisingly well considering the ruckus it caused.
>At the far end of the fence you can see Anon swinging his gate shut and latching it, closing up the exit to the outside after he’d gone and rounded up any stragglers beyond.
>He’d changed out of his costume.
>His stretchy body suit was already going through some hard times when he met you in the shed, and after the close call with Fluttershy it was practically falling off of him.
>He… he might not have gotten as many laughs for it as he wanted, but he definitely got some COMPLAINTS after he changed out of it, many a mare commenting on his return to form with obvious disappointment.
>Golly, you can’t imagine why.
>As guilty as you still felt about locking the two of you up, you could still manage to shed a tear for the great loss of his pony-themed outfit, lost forever to time and cherished in your memories evermore.
>Parting is such sweet sorrow.
>Too bad you won’t be able to part with the extra chores you’ll be taking on for the next week as punishment for your, uh…
>‘Prank’.
You sigh, setting a mud-scuffed hoof on the step behind you as you peer into the blank wood of Anon’s back door.
>You couldn’t see much of anything from the back stoop, but if you had to guess your sister was still inside being tended to by Fluttershy.
>The last time you saw them the guilty pegasi was still dabbing her leg with a damp handkerchief and apologizing profusely for her poor and strange attitude.
>You hadn’t heard all of their conversation, but apparently Fluttershy had been feeling ill lately after a bite she received from a surprised fruit bat.
>She couldn’t remember much of what happened after she arrived at the party, only that she felt overwhelmed, scared and crowded.
>She said that she was compelled to hide, to get away from all of the noise and bright lights.
>Apparently she’d been hiding behind the boxes in that shed for almost two and a half hours before you and Anon finally rattled her cage enough to get an audience.
>Turning the light out probably had a big part to play, too.
>Another great idea by yours truly.
>Then again… if you hadn’t done what you did then she might still be in there, waiting, lurking.
>She could’ve even attacked Anon when he was all alone.
>That was a frightening thought, even for an excuse.
>At least everything turned out alright in the end.
>Everypony was safe, and apparently this little problem with Fluttershy had cropped up more than once before, and was common enough that all of her friends knew exactly how to deal with it when it happened to pop up again.
>Shame they didn’t have the opportunity to do it before you locked yourself and somepony else up in a tiny room with her.
>That somepony else is approaching you now, his Nightmare Night costume gone but a fragment of it living on in the tiny black ears poking out of his mane.
>His usually light steps now trudge heavily in the wake of all of his hosting fatigue catching up to him.
>”How’s everybody holdin’ up? No mental relapses since I’ve been gone, I hope?” he asks with cautious optimism, strolling up and taking a seat on the empty space of stair next to you, “Your sister isn’t going to turn into some sort of vampire horse too, is she? I’ve seen movies. The Bite is always the first omen.” He goes on, adding a cartoonishly dark edge to his voice.
“Hahaha, ah wish…” you laugh half-seriously, cracking a smile, “Maybe she’d forget about how grounded ah am.”
>”Fat chance.” The human remarks teasingly, leaning back into the door behind him to relax.
>The two of you sit a while in comfortable silence, listening for the occasional whistle in the wind or faint murmur from inside the house.
>The sloshed ponies in the yard occasionally look to the two of you and smile, waving dopily in your direction until you mirror their gesture.
>Though the event was starting to wear thin and lots of ponies had left, the ones who remain are still in good spirits.
>Even Anon, likely tested and worn from your little stunt, was smiling gently, eyes closed as he enjoys the breeze.
>You examine his serene face, mesmerized by how untroubled he looked after everything that had happened.
>You almost don’t notice when he opens his eyes and peers back at you, shooing your gaze away and warming your face.
>”… There’s pie in there.” He states simply, likely smiling at you.
“Mmm.” you hum in acknowledgment, keeping your eyes pinned to the ground.
>You might not be able to say what you want and speak clearly if you were constantly being reminded WHO it was you were talking to.
>The human nudges you gently in the side with his own, the brief contact fluttering your heart.
>”It’s really good.” He goes on, “I made it myself.”
“Ah’m sorry.” You reply simply.
>He pauses, quieting himself in preparation for you to go on.
>His eyes are focused on you even more than before, you can feel them.
>You take a deep breath and try to find the right words, not getting very far along before your lack of explanation started to become noticeable and awkward.
>”Ah’m, uh… Ah ain’t thought’a nopony but mahself the whole night, and because of that I made yer night worse.” You admit, shuffling your hooves against wooden steps beneath you, “Ah figured now that we’re out and everything’s settled, ah should apologize proper and, uh… so… yeah...”
>You press your lips together anxiously, wanting to say more but stifling yourself for fear of further ineloquence.
>After a while without a response you turn and find a large grabber right near your face, the human smothering your snout in his palm.
“Mmph?” you hum under his hand, closing your eyes as he slides it up into your mane and pats it on your head.
>”I already said I wouldn’t hold it against you, but if ‘the dark, rotting spirit of Pony Mary’ demands a more formal reply; apology accepted.” He says, combing back your stiff, hair-sprayed mane.
>Your eyes blink lazily from the attention, goosebumps rising on your scalp from his touch.
>No matter how many times you were touched by a colt – however rare that was – it never failed to affect you in a significant way.
>You couldn’t stop yourself from obsessing over even the tiniest amount of contact, even if it was brief or unintentional.
>Anon’s touches were never either of them, each one lingering a moment, each one delivered with gentleness, sympathy.
>You can’t imagine ever being tired of them, and when he pulls his hand away you can still feel it on you, warming you.
>”Don’t go gettin’ too serious on me, now. It’s a terrible habit to pick up.” He laughs, grunting softly as he pushes off of the steps and onto his feet, reaching for the doorknob above your head and popping the door open a bit, “C’mon, let's go see if they left us any whipped cream.”
>Your brain doesn’t catch up to his request until he gently bumps you in the back with the door, inspiring you to abandon what was probably an extremely doofy expression and hop to your hooves.
>The two of you step inside the laundry room and then push farther into the house, turning right to head down the hall that connected the end of the living room with the kitchen, downstairs bathroom, and closet.
>It seems as though the vast majority of the ponies inside the house have all crowded into the living room and taken seats, either squeezing onto the couch, pulling up a chair or taking a space on the ground.
>All of them are facing a nearby wall out of your line of sight, the one just before the stairs, most or all of them sitting within hoof’s reach of one of several bowls of warm, freshly made popcorn scattered among them.
>Many, too, sit or carry wide paper plates and napkins, each protecting a slice of creamy orange pie from the furniture and vice-versa.
>A few of them catch sight of the two of you passing, and Rarity waves at you from behind Twilight. “Pinkie thinks she’s close to getting it working, darling! We’ve saved you a spot.”
>Anon makes a sound of acknowledgment and continues on, idly sliding his dull claws against his wall as you navigate the back hall and slip into the kitchen.
>Once there you notice a few minor changes from before, primarily the wealth of empty paper cups left behind and the mess of pie tins scattered about, three of which were still mostly full.
>Anon grabs two plates as you wash your hooves in the sink and then pull yourself up onto the stool where your sister once sat, overlooking the slabs of pie with reserved excitement.
>They smelled delicious, and you’d tasted the human’s cooking before.
>It was a craft that, even as a pony who belonged to lineage concerned with food, never came particularly easily for you.
>Unlike you, Granny had been making pies and a mess of other things for years.
>Built up quite a reputation for doing it, too.
>The way you’d always heard it was that your Great Granpappy and Great Granny Apple were prolific farmers but never cared much for the actual cooking, so if Granny Smith wanted something tasty growing up she’d have to make it herself.
>It was how she earned her Cutie Mark.
>Now Grandpappy, may he rest in peace, was supposedly NOTORIOUS for having two left hooves in the kitchen, no matter how hard he tried, so Granny kept on cooking even as she got older, turning it into a favorite hobby.
>Apparently lots of the family gave her trouble for years for being a hoity-toity ‘Kitchen Mare’, some even keeping it up to this day.
>In jest, of course.
>Their objections never survived long after they actually tasted her food.
>Oppositely, folks didn’t seem to care much nowadays if mares did some cooking, but most of the things YOU tried to make came out as large, charcoal-colored masses with the texture of chalk and dry leaves that tasted like, well…
>Bad.
>The talent was another thing of MANY qualities you admired in the tall biped, even if you didn’t think of it much.
>”Here?” he says, aligning the knife in his claws to make out a moderately sized piece, moving it aside to make the imagined piece bigger a second later, “Here?”
>You nod before he can make it larger, but the human slides the knife again before pushing it into the sweet treat, dividing you out a great big piece.
>You can only smile at his enthusiasm, even if you weren’t sure you could finish it all.
>After taking a piece for himself and setting it on his plate he turns and flings open the ice box, pulling out a small white tub.
>The lid snaps off and the first big helping of whipped cream is served onto your piece, the second onto his.
>He catches you observing the mouth-watering display, distracted, and quickly dollops a bit onto your nose, whipping around afterward to put the tub away like nothing happened.
>You huff and cross your eyes to examine his minor act of war, counting the both of you lucky that he was putting away any additional ammo before you could return fire.
>He turns back to find you still cross-eyed and lapping at the top of your snout with your tongue.
>”Y-Your face! Haha!” he snorts, chortling gleefully as you whip a hoof up and collect the cream from the tip of your nose, fixing your face into a grumpy frown as you lick it up.
>He doesn’t buy your sour expression for a moment.
>As this exchange occurs a sound emerges and begins to rise in intensity gradually from the living room, an ominously low and slightly melodramatic tune.
>”IT’S STARTIIIIIINNNNNGGGG!” Pinkie yells from the same location, her own volume dwarfing that of the music entirely and likely reaching the outside.
>Confirming this thought, several ponies from the back yard trickle into the living room as you do, many of whom funneling off into the kitchen.
>A projector placed just to the side of the couch – fitted with a familiar reel of film – patters away as it flashes a screen of dim black and white opening credits onto Anon’s light blue wall, the one that everypony had been looking to expectantly when you entered.
>Among the guests is a face you hadn’t seen the entire night, and possibly for good reason.
>The level of gross you now feel can only be experienced by a sister with a brother.
>Big Mac is dressed in some sort of-of… thing, that nearly rivals Anon’s own costume in suggestiveness.
>He was a dressed up as a ‘farm colt’, but not in the usual sense, and his outfit looked tight-fitting.
>Snug, but not… intentionally so.
>Like the poor guy had to fight his way into something that didn’t come in his size and now all of his, er… ‘male parts’ were being emphasized even more than normal.
>Unsurprisingly, the space he’d claimed for himself on the ground was surrounded by mares, the three closest ones being a smiley Twist, a… grumpy-looking Rainbow Dash?
>AND your sister.
>Ahh.
>”Hurry, hurry!” Rarity Doll insists, pulling your attention from your kin as she slid from her spot on the couch and sat in the space below to make room, several ponies at the edge of the pile breaking off to blow out the lights.
Noticing the lack of space you begin to round the group, clarifying around the plate in your mouth, “ ‘Scuse meh. Ah’ll, uh, ah’ll jus’ sih over—“
>”Oh, c’mere!” a deep voice objects, a long arm catching you around the barrel and lifting you off of your hooves.
>You whine a little at being carried like a foal, but pause instantly when you realize just who it is that’s taken you into his arms.
>Anon passes his plate to his soon-to-be couch neighbor Fluttershy, freeing up both of his hands to settle himself down into the empty space Rarity had made for him.
>He presses himself in against the back cushion as much as he can before setting you in the space between his legs, his thighs wrapped against around your hips on either side.
>Fluttershy, who had presumably lost her costume during her mental transformation and likewise had her face painted into a scarecrow, hoofs the human back his pie as the movie begins in earnest.
>Every time Anon shifts behind you, you can’t help but shiver gently and hope that he doesn’t notice.
>You can feel him breathing against your back.
>The body heat pressing in all around you is unignorably pleasant, and not even biting into your massive helping of pie serves as a relevant distraction for his proximity.
>Your temperature rises at least a few degrees as a result of his warmth equalizing with your own, but that isn’t the only reason for the change.
>Not by a long shot.
>The spooky music coming from the projector crescendos and a title splashes onto the makeshift screen before you in dripping, runny letters: IT CAME FROM THE BOG!
>Assorted ‘ooo’s break out from the movie watchers, both out of awe and the intention to ‘scare’ the others with creepy ghost noises.
>You can feel him chuckle against you, and all you want is for this moment to go on forever.
>Your pals, the snacks, the entertainment, his every sound transferred to both the spot right near your ear and even more intimately through his front.
>The next hour and a half passes you by like a dream.
>Ponies gasp when the swamp thing appears and drags its first unsuspecting victim deep into the muck of its bog.
>They laugh when the ‘dopey everymare’ lead bumps into her boom mic and then goes on like nothing happened, frowning at something off screen.
>They boo, hiss and throw popcorn at the wall when the evil scientist mare with the taped-on unicorn horn strikes the leading colt across the face after he spits into hers.
>They cheer when that same evil scientist is ALSO dragged into the bog by her creation, lamenting all the while that her beloved ‘daughter’ had betrayed her.
>It’s pin-drop quiet as the leading mare struggles with the creature in the climax of the film, the male lead cruising toward a messy fate of his own that he only narrowly avoids through her intervention.
>More cheers, these ones a touch more quiet and groggy, when the quiet nerdy mare finally gets the colt in the end, and they both share a passionate kiss as the circular wipe draws into the center to end the movie.
>The yawn that starts the wave of sleepy sighs is your own, your comfortable spot cradled against the human’s gently rising chest nearly lulling you off to sleep more than once in the film’s final minutes.
>Pinkie wearily approaches the projector as the reel starts to run empty, interacting with it until it falls silent and the brightest light left in the room sputters out.
>You stretch the weariness out of your limbs as the human behind you does the same, taking your mostly empty plate into your mouth and dismounting the couch.
>You instantly miss his close company, but now that the movie Is over you no longer had a reasonable excuse to enjoy it.
>The next several minutes consist of you waiting in a series of lines.
>One to toss your plate in the trash, one for drinks of water from the kitchen faucet, and another to get into the bathroom.
>The final line is one you abstain from, the one that was carrying the vast majority of the ponies remaining out of Anon’s front door
>They shake his hand, hug him, and occasionally even sneak in drunken pecks on the cheek that he laughs off.
>Among them are the rose triplets, the mailmare, and even Mayor Mare, a pony you were surprised to find hadn’t left earlier with the other ‘work tomrrows’.
>You run your wrist across your eyes and peer up at the clock on the wall as your sister reignites the lights around you, spotting the time.
>9:02
>It’s getting late, and you still had to walk home.
>After the long round of goodbyes end, the only remaining ponies in the house now are you, your friends, your brother, your sister, and the full cast of her closest friends.
>”Alllllrighty, let’s get ta’ work, girls. Ah’mma grab the dustpan…” Applejack drones drowsily, heading off into the kitchen.
>She’s tailed loosely by Rarity, careful to avoid stepping on the small sprinklings of popcorn left on the ground.
>”I can’t believe they just threw it on the ground, the nerve.” She grouses, earning her a tired laugh from Anon.
>”Don’t be too hard on’em; I started it.” He says, briefly peering at the cast of ponies left in his house, “Just this and the kitchen is fine. You can leave the stuff outside. Oh, and any decorations are fine, keep those up.”
>Rarity and your sister quickly sweep up the mess on the ground while the rest of you scatter about the house looking for empties, paper plates and candy wrappers.
>Thankfully the vast majority of guests had at least kept their trash on the tables and countertops for easy collection if they couldn’t find a trash can.
>You regroup with the other fillies during this time but few words are shared between you, each of you seemingly content to work together quietly as you tried to stay awake.
>Twist, who likely came down from her buzz sometime during the movie, is the hardest one to keep lucid out of the four of you.
>When you and the girls question her on whether or not she’s okay, she simply nods her head, stating that she had vomited a while ago while your sister was scolding her, and that she felt much better now.
>She doesn’t say so, but you assume that your sister also impressed the importance her of not speaking a WORD about ANY sort of booze to Jitterbug under fear of her father de-flanking the both of them and sending Twist to military school.
>You’d met the stallion.
>He’d do both.
>Beyond her wellness nothing much else is discussed.
>The trash was clear, any non-paper kitchenware was cleaned and dried, everything that anypony could think of had been done.
>Celestia you were exhausted.
>The only thing that was left now was to say your goodbyes and set out on your way home.
>That is, until Pinkie waddles in from the back yard clutching a tripod camera in her front hooves, swaying dangerously each time her balance wavers.
>”Okay fillies, group up! We’re gonna’ end this thing right! Yes, you too Dash! Git in there, group up!” the pink pony barks, brushing off the pegasi’s complaints and motioning to the front of the couch.
>Rainbow Dash huffs and pulls the floppy gravestone hat from her head, tossing it onto said couch before making her way over to sit in front of it.
>As the others begin to congregate you dip into the hall and slip back into the bathroom to inspect yourself, not having remembered to do so on your first visit.
>Your white face makeup has bled much farther into your face from you sweating, and a big smudge of it was completely absent from the bruised part of your forehead from when you fell, replaced with the lightest traces of green from the grass staining your fur.
>Your dress was in bad shape on purpose, but it had deteriorated further since you arrived, much of it thinning and tearing where the clothespins held it together.
>Your multicolored mane felt crinkly and gross, and unless you could summon the energy to get into the bathroom at home before Sis and Mac, you were probably going to be sleeping in it.
>You’re were a mess, and you say that as a filly who didn’t shy away from getting messy.
>This probably… wasn’t going to be your best picture…
>”C’mon, squirt! Your friends are keelin’ over in here! I think we just lost the mummy!” Pinkie exclaims from the living room.
>You’ll just have to make do.
>Whatever; you weren’t planning on missing the picture regardless of how you looked.
”Comin’!” you reply, slapping yourself a few times on the cheeks before trotting back out and rejoining your companions, all of whom were lined up and waiting.
>From right to left, in no particular logical order, was a werepony, an octo-pony, a mummy, a toy doll, a Frakenloo, a banshee, a zombie, a scarecrow, a farm colt, and an Anon, all with their own costumes and face paints in various states of disrepair.
>They each look to you expectantly, waiting for you to join them.
>The cotton candy pony is poised behind the camera, ready to leap into position when the time came.
>A smile spreads across your face as you go to join them, your irreplaceable friends, ready to commemorate the crazy, perfect night you all just shared.
>Anon, kneeling, pats the spot next to him with his hand, inviting you closer.
>Funny.
>You’d spent a large chunk of the night trying to get close to him, but in the end the only thing that won you any real time with the human was royally screwing up.
>You didn’t feel like you were much closer to unraveling the secrets of the fairer sex after tonight, but right now, in the moment, you can’t seem to care.
>You draw up to the human’s right side, perching yourself there and waiting for Pinkie’s warning.
>You peer to the left quickly, noticing how many of your friends had thrown their hooves over and around each other’s withers in comradery.
>Anon’s have been left bare.
>You know just what pose you want to take, the perfect one to encapsulate all that you’d experienced tonight.
>Slowly, your reach your left foreleg up and lace it over the human’s shoulders, grinning triumphantly as you do.
>”Okaaaaaaay… I think this thing still has one good shot left in it, so lets make it count! Get ready….” Pinkie says, making a few last-second adjustments to the tripod.
>You are.
>You are ready.
>Or…
>Wait…
>Something is…
>You furrow your brow slightly, trying to isolate exactly what was rubbing you the wrong way.
>”Okay! Here we go!” Pinkie exclaims, setting the camera and then darting away from it, taking her place on your sister’s left.
>It takes a moment, but soon you realize the problem.
>You couldn’t put your hoof on it before now because putting your hoof down was the entire problem.
>It hung there, suspended above the human’s shoulder, blocked by an unseen force inside you.
>Hovering.
>HOVERING
>Your eyes widen in horror as you realize all too late that the photographic evidence of you hoverhoofing a colt is about to be inscribed to film in real time.
>You’re not going to make it.
>You focus all of your being into moving it, putting it down where it was supposed to be before it happened.
>But you can’t.
>You’re not going to make it.
>The small space between his body and your hoof is like the distance from one side of the planet to the other.
>YOU’RE NOT GOING TO MAKE IT
>No.
>NO
>STOP
>All you can do before the flash blinds you is flick your eyes toward the lens, stare directly into the unfettered camera with terrified awe as it mercilessly seals away your image, and your fate.
>Forever.

~Fin~