AiD 4 - Barking up the wrong tree

http://youtu.be/1N1VFIYZzpM
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>Playing your lute for the diamond dogs these last few weeks has really boosted your self confidence.
>You could swear your singing is getting better too.
>Back home, you never really sang out loud. Every time you heard your neighbors yelling at one another you were reminded of how easily sound travelled through the walls, and that always made you self-conscious about your singing.
>Here you could sing as loud as you wanted, and even when you made mistakes your audience still loved it.
>You finish your song and sit down to cheering and the occasional whistle.
>Fido is off scouting above with Rover and Spot today, so you’ve been helping one of the guard dogs improve his speech.
>Turns out he likes the seamstress who was interested in you.
>You ended up talking with her a bit at one point and were pleasantly surprised.
>You made it clear that you weren’t interested in a romantic relationship, and she took it rather well.
>What was intended to be a quick rejection had turned into a really civil conversation after that, she had grammar to rival your own, much to your surprise.
>It wasn’t until having such a decent conversation that you realized how much you had missed speaking with someone at length.
>She felt similarly, it seemed, and she had become quite taken with your manner of speech at one point when you were getting boxers made during one of your earlier weeks in the mines.

>So now you were helping Bruiser to improve his vernacular.
>”Thanks for helpin’ me out so much with this.”
>His voice was low and gruff, but he certainly knew his personal pronouns now.
“Hey, no problem. You were good to me when I was new here, this is the least I could do. If anything, we’re even now.”
>”But now I got another problem.”
>He looks surprisingly meek for a burly dog-man in half-inch thick steel armor, giving a quick look of embarrassment before continuing.
>”I... have no idea how to strike up a conversation with her.”
>A flash of inspiration hits. You know exactly how hard this sort of thing can be, but you’re planning on turning the tables.
“Don’t worry Bruiser, I’ll take care of this. Just make sure you’re here after guard duty tomorrow.”

>It’s a simple solution really, Seamstress Dog (oh god you just realized you never even asked her name) really likes having someone who she can speak with at length.
>Tell her about Bruiser and his incredible linguistic prowess and she’ll go to him. I mean, she ended up going after you, and that was when she still thought you were a giant shaved minotaur.
“Alright, well, I’m out. Looks like Fido’s here, I need to check up on him.”
>He’s looking rather pleased, that’s good.
>You were happy that nothing ever came out of that botched p0ny catching event.
>Honestly, the day afterwards Fido was too hungover to even speak to you. Then when you asked him about it later he was really confused, you doubt he remembered half of what happened that night.
“So what’s the good news?”
>“Found THREE p0nies today!”
>Fido’s ecstatic, you’re immediately apprehensive.
“No brands on the backsides of these ones I hope?”
>”Yes! Uh... wait, no. No brand.”
>You lighten up quickly, you’ve never had to doubt Fido before.
>It seems like ever since you got here, things have done a good job working themselves out.

>The next few hours are spent hanging out with Fido. You excuse yourself a little early though, you have to go see a certain diamond dog seamstress on the lower levels and place an order for some new undergarments.
>You find your way to the deeper tunnels and find the seamstress dog.
>The two of you talk about going-ons, you learn that Rover has been chasing after women.
>Apparently someone slapped him pretty hard after he came on a little strongly, you got a laugh out of that.
>Rover could be pretty annoying at times, and he clearly revelled in his position as a boss dog.
>You tried not to spend too much time around him, unless you had Fido around to talk to.
>Halfway through placing your order for clothes you mention Bruiser in passing, and how surprised you were to find such an eloquent, well-spoken dog among the guard dogs of the upper levels.
>The seamstress’ eyes light up as she presses you for more information, you make sure to let slip how he likes to relax in the mid-level caverns where you often play music.
>Your business concluded (and your bait set) you excuse yourself.
>”Look forward to seeing your clothes when I’m finished, I’ve been practicing patterns for your... unique shape.”
“Thanks a ton, I know they’ll come out great.”
>As you make your way up to your cell/room, you mentally kick yourself.
>Once again, you forgot to ask her name. Honestly it’s not a huge deal you think, diamond dogs don’t really put too much emphasis on names.
>Now that you think about it, you’re not certain that any of the dogs have even asked for your name, ever.
>Certainly gives you something to think about tonight.

>The next day rolls by uneventfully, Fido is with Rover and Spot overseeing the p0nies as they work apparently.
>You do catch a glimpse of Bruiser speaking with the seamstress dog on your break, you flash him an encouraging thumbs-up.
>Work is more of the same, and room is as bare as ever.
>You sleep contented, entirely ignorant of the adversity that the future holds.
>The following morning is just like any other. Emptying the pockets of any jewels, you take your vest, shirt and pants off and go to get them washed.
>Life in the mines has seen you dirtier than you’ve ever been in your life, even compared to your first year in college, but compared to the dogs you’re practically a mascot for soap.
>You wash your clothes around three times a week, change your underwear everyday, and bathe at least twice as often as the next cleanest diamond dog.
>Using tallow-based soap you scrub your skin free of any grime and dirt.
>A short assignment of scout duty above ground gives you the time to air out and dry your now clean clothes.
>Afterwards you throw everything back on, still slightly damp, and go to grab your lute and things before heading down to the leisure cavern.

>Before you get there, however you run into Bruiser, dressed in a muted tan vest instead of his usual armor.
>”Hey Anon, thanks again for the help with Lassie.”
>Lassie is her name, of course. Saves you the trouble of having to ask now, that’s good. You were afraid it could have turned awkward.
“Hey, no problem. I told you, this makes us even.”
>”Heh, in that case would you mind helpin’ me out with one more thing?”
“That depends, what did you have in mind?”
>”Well, I kinda got a date later today, but the boss dogs just came up and told me I’m supposed to watch over the p0nies tonight.”
>You find it a bit odd that p0nies would need such vigilant guarding, but whatever.
>Work animals could be a precious commodity, and you could honestly imagine some of the diamond dogs acting kinda dumb around the things.
>Wouldn’t want to risk anything like that.
“That’s not right, you two should go enjoy yourselves. I’m not doing anything important right now, I’ll cover your shift.”
>”I appreciate it. Oh, and here.”
>The dog hands you a bag, looking inside you find some relatively nice underwear, boxers and undershirts.
>”Lassie said this was for you.”
>You’re surprised, you hadn’t expected this order to be done anywhere near this quickly.
“Nice, tell her I said thanks. And enjoy your night off you two.”

>Lute slung over one shoulder, bag of clothes hanging off of the other, you make your way to the prison caves.
>You tell the guard dog on duty that you’re taking Bruiser’s shift, and he happily sees himself out.
>Picking up a stone tipped spear and a hefty helmet you walk to the cells.
>No need to grab armor, it was heavy and you didn’t want to get your newly washed vest dirty
>Peering into each cell in turn, you catch your first glimpse of the...
>...what the holy fuck are those?
>Three very small and entirely alien figures are huddled in the torchlight of the fourth cell from the right.
>Sudden realization hits and you recognize that these must be the p0nies that you are charged with guarding.
>Everything is wrong, these creatures are positively miniscule, not even reaching up to your knee.
>The p0ny you caught the other night had been a bit oddly proportioned, but otherwise similar to a p0ny foal from ‘your’ Earth. It’s features were a bit soft, but THESE ‘p0nies’ were like stuffed dolls in comparison.
>Musculature was non-existent, as far as you could tell the animals were crafted from pillows.
>The softened features extended to their heads, with relatively rounded snouts and expressive eyes that were huge on the p0nies’ faces.
>Not to mention the COLORS. One pony is a sort of off-white, not quite yellow, another with a coat of pure white. The third is colored unnaturally with a distinctly orange hue, but the MANES are a true oddity.
>The off-white one sports a vibrant red with a comically large pink bow in its hair, the orange p0ny with shortly cropped magenta in its tail and mane, and the white p0ny takes the cake with a two-toned pink and lavender top.

>You begin to think that the reason the p0nies are kept under watch may be that the dogs have been trying to play dress-up with them, but looking at that white p0ny makes you notice even more strange qualities.
>The hair is expertly curled, and partially obscures a small horn. Further inspection finds that the orange one has wings.
>In a world of manticores and minotaurs, it makes sense that pegasi and unicorns would exist. You just never would have expected them to be so bright, or small.
>The p0nies shrink away from you, shivering. They must be terrified of your huge stature.
>You kneel down to their level, dropping your helmet and spear by the wall.
“Hey there little guys, I’m not gonna hurt you.”
>You try to keep your voice soft and comforting.
>The p0ny with the bow seems to steel itself at your words, focusing intently at you, its face almost human in its look of concentration and curiosity.
>That p0ny from the other night must have been far more fully grown than you had thought if these were so small.
>Its face adopting a determined look the hornless, wingless p0ny opens its mouth.
>”What ARE you?”

>You recoil sharply, striking your head hard against the wall behind you.
>All three p0nies jump abruptly.
>That thing, did it just talk?
>Blinking hard, you shake your head vigorously.
>For the first time in months, you wonder whether you had just gone crazy and were imagining all of this.
“Did...”
>You sit back up and compose yourself, focusing on the p0ny in front of you.
“Did you just... talk?”
>Silence.
>I guess that’s-
>”Y- yes.”
>It most certainly did talk. In fact it seems to have a familiar accent.
>This is amazing! Out of all the animals that could be sentient in this world, you never would have expected something like a miniature, mythological, candy horse.
>A thought comes to mind.
>Oh dear lord.
>If these itty bitty p0nies could speak, then that means...
>You ate a sentient being.
>You ATE an intelligent creature.
>Nausea sweeps over you like a tidal wave.
“You’re... a p0ny... right?
>”Well of course ah am!” The p0ny sounds indignant.
“And, um... are all p0nies here sentient?”
>”Are all p0nies what now?”
>Clearly a country accent, you’re reminded of vacationing in Texas.
“Intelligent, you know, smart. Able to talk like you.”
>”Well of course!”
>You feel a pit forming in your stomach.

>Did the dogs ever tell you about this? You try to think back to your first days here, asking about the other animals that inhabit this world.
>Probably safe to assume that minotaurs and griffins were sentient, you recall talking about that, but p0nies?
>Diamond dogs always referred to them as stupid, maybe they didn’t know?
>Your head is swirling, you don’t know what to think.
>The p0ny in the pink bow seems to pick up on your confusion, it must be written all over your face.
>“Haven’t you ever seen a p0ny before?”
“Well yeah, but not like you. The p0nies I’ve seen are supposed to be much bigger. Less colorful.”
>”Where exactly’re you from, anyways? I ain’t never seen a... fella like you before.”
>”Shush, Applebloom! Why are you talking to this thing so much, we don’t even know what it is” The little unicorn speaking this time, it’s voice high and girly.
>AB: ”Well it ain’t no diamond dog, and it don’t seem like it wants ta hurt us, maybe it can help git us out of here!”
>”Yeah well it looks to me like a big shaved minotaur with a funny face, and I don’t like it!” The orange one this time, its voice still feminine like the others, but tomboyish.
>AB: “ Now that ain't nice Scootaloo, if we want ‘im ta help us out of here, we oughta be polite!”
>You can’t work anything out in your head, and the chatter from the prison cell isn’t helping. All you know is that these three p0nies are captive to the beings that have taken you in, but are clearly as intelligent.
>This can’t be right, but can the dogs be reasoned with?
>You need to get away, you can’t stay here. This is all too confusing.
>But these little guys shouldn’t be here either.

>You make a decision, and grab keys off the wall. The three p0nies freeze at your movement and stare at you.
“Listen, you three shouldn’t be here. I’m going to get you out. Where did you all come from?”
>AB: “P0nyville.”
“And where’s P0nyville?”
>SL: “How can you not know where P0nyville is?”
“I’m not from around here. Now where is it? North? South?”
>AB: “Um, Sweetiebelle, did we walk North or South from P0nyville?”
>SB: “I don’t know!”
>This is starting to give you a headache.
“Did you come through the woods or over the desert?
>”The woods” All three p0nies speak at the same time, if you weren’t so busy panicking and trying to sort out your thoughts you probably would have overdosed on cute.
“Alright then, follow me.”
>You unlock and open the barred door, two of the p0nies hurrying out. The white one, Sweetiebelle doesn’t.
>She limps a few steps and winces, clearly hurt.
>You have no time for this.
>Stooping over you scoop her up with one arm.
>She gives a little yelp of surprise, but you don’t think you hurt her.
“Right then, follow me.”
>Turning quickly you begin to jog down the halls of the diamond dog mines.
>You had a very bad feeling about all of this.

End chapter 4: Barking up the wrong tree