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- >It's 1 AM in the morning
- >Browsing /mlp/ for something interesting
- >Two choices thread
- >Hey, these are usually pretty entertaining.
- >They sometimes have pretty good writers too.
- >What harm is there in leaving a reply?
- "If I had to choose; Option 2. I'm not about to get sucked into pastel land."
- >Post
- >You wonder when the parts you ordered for your corvette are going to arrive.
- >It's already been a week.
- >You're a total car enthusiast, and after grinding 2 jobs for a few years you'd finally been able to buy a new C7 Corvette.
- >Feelsgoodman
- >Your Corvette was your only motivation to get out of bed sometimes.
- "Might as well deal with those wheel wells."
- >After only 3 weeks of owning the C7, you'd starting modding it.
- >First, an intake.
- >Then an exhaust.
- >Then some weight reduction.
- >Then an ECU reflash.
- >Every time you gained some power, you got used to it after a day or two, which led to more mods.
- >And more power.
- >This time, it was stripping the rear wheel wells of plastic to make room for bigger tires.
- >30 minutes pass
- >Your doorbell rings through the house.
- >This is unusual, as you live in the middle of a pine forest in a cabin, about 15 minutes away from the nearest civilization.
- >You look out the garage door window to see a UPS truck pulling away.
- >At last!
- >Maybe your new harness has finally arrived.
- >You rush out to the front door, and retrieve a medium size cardboard box from the doorstep.
- >It has the SIMPSON Racing Equipment logo on it, so it's definitely it.
- >You open the box, and sure enough.
- >The 5-point harness you ordered 2 weeks ago.
- >Thunder rumbles outside, and you notice it getting darker.
- "Let's throw this in real quick."
- >You head back to your garage, and open the C7's driver side door to get to work.
- >As you bolt the two waist straps to the floor, the thunder grows louder outside, and the wind starts to pick up outside the cabin.
- >Then, mid-installation, you hear another sound.
- -----
- >A car door slamming, (presumable the same vehicle) starting and driving off.
- >Out here?
- >Literally in the middle of the woods?
- >You poke your head out of the Corvette just in time to see through the garage window, a white van pulling away.
- >What did they do?
- >Curious, yet cautious, you step towards the garage door and peer out the window in the direction of the front door.
- >An oddly shapen burlap sack, tied shut with twine, lies on your porch.
- "What in God's name could that be?"
- >You stop for a moment, and think.
- >Did you order anything that would come in a burlap sack?
- >Not that you can remember.
- >You walk through the house, to the front door.
- >You peer around the area, just to be sure there isn't someone waiting to jump you the moment you step outside.
- >Nothing out of the ordinary.
- >Damn.
- >Living out in the woods can be nerve-racking sometimes.
- >You open the door, and study the sack carefully.
- >It's sitting in such a way that would suggest that its contents are quite oddly shapen.
- >You nudge it with your foot.
- >Its contents have some resistance, so it's not like a bag of grain, or apples or anything.
- >Rain starts falling on the pavement of your driveway outside the porch.
- >You look back down to the sack, contemplating your next move.
- "Well, there's no use just letting it sit on the porch."
- >You decide to bring it in, and investigate its contents.
- >You grab it by the neck, and hoist it up.
- >It's surprisingly heavy, maybe 40 pounds at least.
- >You bring it in, and set it on your living room floor.
- >Upon closer inspection, the sack looks rather old, and dirty.
- >All beat up and stuff.
- >And the twine is knotted and frayed in such a way that would take you HOURS to untie.
- >Knife to the rescue.
- >You cut the old twine, and it falls away.
- >The neck of the sack slackens and opens up.
- >You lean over to peer inside
- >IMMEDIATELY JUMP BACK
- "...WHAT?!"
- >This has got to be some kind of joke.
- "How is this even possible?"
- >For in that sack, lied Octavia, the pony.
- -----
- >Step 1
- >Don't freak out
- >Step 2
- >Don't freak out
- >Step 3
- >Don'T FREAK OUt
- >freak out
- >You trip over the sack, and move your legs out from underneath yourself to aviod squashing pone
- >Your face smashes into the floor
- >You get up, eyes watering from the pain
- "What am I going to do now..."
- >The clock read 2:23 AM
- >Octavia is still out cold, inside the sack.
- >Might as well take her out.
- >You reach into the bag, and lift out the limp Octavia.
- >You set her on the couch, in what appears to be the most comfortable position achievable.
- >What now?
- >Food.
- >Eh, what do ponies eat?
- >Dasies and shit?
- >There's some salad in the fridge.
- >Perfect.
- >You don't really know why there's any of this rabbit food in here, but you're glad you have it now, anyway.
- >You dump some of the salad onto a plate, and grab yourself a loaf of bread from atop the fridge to snack on.
- >You return to the livingroom, salad in hand, and view Octavia's sleeping figure on the couch.
- "Maybe not the couch."
- >You decide to move her to your bed instead, inter-universal travel warrants more rest than a shitty couch can provide.
- >You set the plate aside, and lift her in your arms.
- >She's breathing steadily, and doesn't appear to be in pain.
- >You enter your bedroom, and set her down on the bed.
- >You pull a blanket over her, and turn to exit the room.
- >You'd been pushing it to the back of your mind for all this time, but it was becoming harder and harder to ignore.
- >Sure, to you it was but a silly theoretical question of morals regarding fictional characters.
- >How were you to know?
- >Some shitty general, meaning nothing.
- >This was probably some kind of cruel trick.
- >Whatever, you have classical music pone now.
- >Win.
- >The living room around you is a bit messy, and cluttered.
- "First impressions are everything, may as well tidy up..."
- >You go about cleaning the living room, all the while thinking about the situation you're in.
- >A literal shitshow.
- -----
- >Your mind travels back to the Corvette, and the unfinished work on it.
- >You glance over to the microwave clock
- >3:12 AM
- >Jesus, it's late
- >You'd go to sleep, but it would be difficult with everything on your mind.
- >You decide to contiue your work on the Vette.
- >You resumed tearing the useless plastic filler out of the rear wheel wells,
- >All the while thinking aobut what you were going to do.
- >You finished up the passenger side and test fitted your new drag wheels and radials.
- >Like a glove.
- >Those shortened axels were a handful, but it was worth it.
- >You stood up, ready to take on the other side.
- "Well, perhaps I should check on her."
- >You turn around, and walk into the house.
- >On the way through the kitchen, you note the microwave clock: 3:56 AM.
- >You poke your head into the bedroom, and shine your phone light at the bed.
- >Octavia is sleeping peacefully, in a different position that you set her in.
- 'Good.' You thought.
- 'She isn't dead.'
- >You head back to the garage.
- >The driver's side wheel well was a bit different, there was a mounting point for the plastic bits behind the fuel filler neck.
- >It took a while to work around, but eventually you got it unbolted and removed.
- >After fitting the other rear tire, and letting the car down off of the jack, you were very tempted to take the Vette out for a spin.
- >Pone.
- "Dammit."
- >Why would you not take this pone off of your mind?
- >You had this feeling that something terrible was going to happen, and having a literal supernatural turn of events happen was not aidng in how you felt.
- >You dont know why, but you feel like something is happeing NOW.
- >Like, right now.
- >Your ratchet clatters to the concrete floor as you dash towards the door, and through the kitchen.
- >A massive thunderclap rattles the house as the bedroom door comes into sight.
- >It's cracked open.
- >You left it completely closed.
- >Your heard begins to do gymnastics in your throat, and you halt dead in your tracks, merely steps away from the door.
- -----
- >You close your eyes, and hold your breath
- >Listening as hard as you can through the torrential downpour.
- >Not a sound.
- >Breath still held.
- >You inch closer and closer to the door, your eyes struggling to adjust to the low light.
- >In a split second descision, you throw the door open and flip the lightswitch.
- >There.
- >In your room.
- >The infamous neckbeard himself.
- >OP.
- >He was in a comical sneaking position, hands above him, tip-toeing all the while.
- >His head whips around to peer at you over his trenchcoat collar.
- >No.
- >THIS was the last straw.
- >Your sanity had already taken enough damage.
- >You swing the door shut behind you, and press your back to the door.
- "No, this isn't happening."
- "I choose to not accept this."
- >You simply cease all brain activity and die momentarily.
- >Returning to function, you open the door, prepared for the worst.
- >Same picture.
- >OP, in his comic sneaking pose, a few paces closer to the sleeping pone.
- "huh?"
- >There were no words to describe the confusion you are feeling.
- >"Look pal."
- >"You picked option 2, I delivered a pony."
- "Ok?"
- >"And it was the wrong pony."
- "Oh."
- >"So I'm here, to take this pony back, and give you a brand new one!"
- "..."
- >"Please don't hurt me."
- "..."
- >"Look, the forces that be are gonna have my head on a silver platter if I don't do this."
- "I understand, dude."
- >"Y-you're cool with it?"
- "Yeah. Actually, can you just not give me a pony?"
- >OP resumes his shitty act of professionalism, and adjusts his fedora.
- >"No-can-do pal. You selected option two, you're gonna see the results. You do know the rules don't you?"
- "Uh, I think I remember the important bits, yeah."
- >"You THINK you know or you actually know?"
- "Whatever. I can just check the thread."
- >"If you're sure."
- >You both just stand there for a moment, looking at the snoozing pony.
- -----
- >Suddenly, OP springs into action, much faster than a man of his size could ever have moved.
- >He snached up Octavia around the middle, and stuffed her in a new burlap sack that he conjured from his massive trenchcoat.
- >The sack dissapeared into said trenchcoat, and OP threw down a small glass vial, filling the room with white smoke.
- >It caused your eyes to water, and you were coughing profusely.
- "Was that really necessary?"
- >You step out of the fucking gas chamber into the hallway, and down that, towards the living room.
- >Out of the front living room window, you see the white van pulling away, down the road through the forest.
- >You sit down on your couch, a grin spread across your face.
- "Stupid faggot. He forgot to give me a replacement."
- >It was interesting really.
- >Hadn't he said he'd be in deep shit if he didn't fix the issue and give you another pony?
- >Not like it matters.
- >YOU wouldn'e be the one getting in trouble.
- >You didn't really care for taking on the responsability of a pony anyway.
- >Through the rain, you hear the sound of rubber screeching on wet pavement.
- >You peer out the front window in curiosity.
- >You see a pair of reverse lights on a van fast approaching your driveway.
- "...Goddamnit."
- >OP backs clean up to your house, and hops out, rummaging in his trenchcoat.
- >He walks onto the porch, and conjures yet another sack, placing it on your doorstep.
- >He attaches a small note to it, and waddles back to his van.
- >It starts up, and the old van pulls away once again into the dense forest.
- >Hopefully for the last time.
- >You get up from your couch, and make your way to the front door.
- >Opening it, you get hit in the face with 2 things:
- >A torrent of wet wind, and a truckload of déjà vu.
- >Not hours before, you had been staring at the same picture.
- >Doorstep.
- >Burlap sack.
- >Except, this time, it had a note attached.
- >'Here's the correct one. Read the rules.'
- "...Here we go again."
- >You pick up the sack, and close the door.
- -----
- >You return to your couch, and set the sack at your feet.
- "So. What'll it be this time, OP?"
- >You stare blankly at the sack, as if expecting an answer.
- >There's no difference in this sack and the last one.
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