[Cabbage, Chapter 7]

[Cabbage, Chapter 7]
>Tonight, you slept on the floor- couch was being cleaned, after you leaked all that blood into the cushions. You shifted on the cold, hard wood, watching as mice skittered along the planks and rails. Night was a time to reflect, for you, and you planned to do just that;
>Today was draining. That whole incident with "Rainbow Dash" had left you full of regret and depression. You really shouldn't have acted the way you had, and you knew that- these creatures had the emotional stability of a house of cards in a gale, so you had to be careful about them. You sighed, closing your eyes and bracing yourself for the next train of thought.
>Annie. You missed her with all your heart... She'd been ecstatic about your visiting her on Christmas, calling you every night just to tell you how much she looked forward to your visits. Now, you couldn't help but wonder what she would think of you. Not showing up on Christmas, disappearing without a trace, not even having the decency to call and say you wouldn't be there. Just... abandoning her.
>You let out another long, trailing sigh, and shut your eyes, hoping for sleep.

>Another awful swig of that cheap liquor you'd bought. Tasted like piss, but you kept drinking it. You couldn't take life sober. Everything had a razor edge, and a mouthful of whiskey helped dull those blades. So, you sat in your crummy little apartment, wearing your crushed, torn party hat, drinking your sorrows to the back of your head, along with the imminent hangover. Your co-workers had always said "Happy New Year!" when this date rolled around.
"What's so fucking happy about it...?"
>Holding the bottle up as high as you could manage without it slipping from your fingers, you belched, then took another heavy drink of the swill, thinking, "Here's to another year of separation from my only living family... Whoop-dee-fucking-doo." You didn't have anything to celebrate. Your late-wife's family all blamed you for her passing, and all your family were in coffins several hundred miles away, with the exception of little Annabelle, who you were prohibited from seeing.
>"Ten! Nine! Eight!" screamed the crowds from your television set, all gathered in New York. "Seven! Six! Five! Four! Three!"
>Before it could hit one, you hurled your empty bottle at the screen, smashing both. You scowled, ripping the hat from your head, crumpling it, and tossing it into the corner- just like last time.
"Happy Fucking New Year."

>"Anonymous! Anonymous, wake up!" Lyra whispered, poking you in the nose. "C'mon, you big lummox!"
>You jolted, smashing your face into hers as you woke up. She recoiled, screeching and rubbing her forehead with her fore-hooves. You just winced, shook it off, and shed your sheets. You got up, stretched, and yawned quietly, sleepily surveying the room.
"The best part of wakin' up..."
>Lyra, seeming to have recovered, was up in your face once more, grinning wildly. "What's that?" That elicited a soft little laugh from you.
"Human thing. Speaking of, do you have coffee?"
>"No time, no time! Clothes, on!" she cried, hastily shoving you into her bathroom and chucking a fresh pair of pants and shirt after you. "Jacket's on the table, be quick!"
>You pulled the sewn together bedsheets you'd been wearing as nightclothes off, somewhat curious as to what Lyra was up to. Grand plans, you figured- she seemed the type to always have them. And, good lord, she was friendly. Half the people you knew back home would've called the police or dumped you out on the street if they'd found you like she had; Lyra just powered through it, smiling and bearing with all the problems you caused. She made one hell of a stew, too.
>Your splint caught on your sleeve, making you grit your teeth and curse silently. Your magically enhanced treatments had healed up your broken bones nicely, but they still hurt something fierce. You made a mental note to thank Lyra later for all the things she'd done for you. You pulled your arm through the hole, snugly fitting the nightmare clamped to your arm in place before working on the pants. A pair of rugged, worn jeans, just fitting around your splint as you shoved your legs through.
>"Jeez, Anon, I would've dressed you myself if I knew you'd take this long!" Lyra exclaimed from the other room, voice acting like a magnet to draw you to her.
>She sat in the living room, wearing the same saddle from yesterday and two tiny pairs of boots. Hearing the approaching sound of your footsteps, she looked up from fiddling with her front-left boot. She seemed to radiate excitement, beaming up at you with those big, gold eyes. It was terribly infectious, as well; you started to break out into a grin before you knew you were doing so.
"So. What's on the schedule for today?"
>Lyra almost got a word out. Before she could, though, a pink blur slammed into your head, driving you backwards with some sort of horrible creature on you.

>You writhed and cursed, swatting weakly at the creature clinging to your face. Its fuzz rubbed up against you, filling your eyes with an unnaturally pink blindness.
"WHY DOES THIS KEEP HAPPENING?!"
>A valid question. Yesterday, you'd been smashed into the ground by a blue blur, and today, it was pink. Perhaps tomorrow, you'd be visited by a yellow blur? Or a white one, maybe?
>"OHBOYOHBOYOHBOY!" shrieked the creature, joy evident in its voice. "LYRAWHYDIDN'TYOUTELLMEYOUHADANEWFRIEND?!"
>The sudden introduction of weight gave you little time to adjust, leaving you with two options; stay upright and snap your neck, or collapse and hope this thing didn't have claws. You chose the latter of the two, as it provided at least a chance of survival- your legs suddenly lost rigidity and buckled, letting gravity do what it did best. Before you hit the ground, however, the pink migrated to the back of your head, and your face planted itself firmly into the wood- and, boy, did it hurt.
>The pink thing hissed in sympathy, slowly removing itself from you. "Ooh, sorry. I just got a little excited." it apologized, patting the back of your head with a familiar feeling appendage.
>A hoof. So, this was a pony. Well, if this was the social norm for these creatures, you were glad Lyra and Bon-Bon were abnormal in that respect. In the background, you heard the former of the two ponies scolding the newcomer, saying something about how "You should never pounce on a potential friend." You would've laughed, if your teeth weren't embedded into the floor; it wanted to be your friend? This had to be some sort of crazy coincidence- and, if not, the god of this place had quite a sense of humor. Your first attacker had done so aggressively, and her successor had tackled you with the intentions of friendship.
>"But he's fiiiiine, right Anonymous?" the pink one asked, poking you in the side with a hoof. In response, you groaned. "Yeah, see? He's fiiiiine."

>With Lyra's assistance, you managed to get back to your feet again; upon doing so, you got a good look at your attacker.
>She was, indeed, another pony, and she was, quite plainly, an almost offensive shade of pink. Bright blue eyes like the clearest of waters, and poofy hair that resembled cotton candy. You were tempted to reach out and try to grab a bit, but shook the thought away. She had a big, goofy grin on her face, and looked up at you like a kid would the newest, coolest toy on the market. That irritated you slightly.
>Lyra sighed. "Alright, I'll leave you two to introductions. I'll go make some breakfast."
>With that, she left the two of you. The pink one just kept on staring up at you in wonder, eyes simply glittering in excitement. You both just sat there for a few minutes, waiting for the other to say something. Pink-Horse finally broke the silence.
>"You're tall!" she exclaimed, poking an almost accusatory hoof at you. You lifted one eyebrow, a bit confused by this sudden observation.
"You're pink."
>"Yup! My name's Pinkie Pie!" she cried, thrusting her other hoof forwards while replacing the first one on the ground. "What's your name?"
"But... You just said it a-"
>Her face grew deadly serious. "What's your name?" she repeated, eyes glowing with a barely suppressed rage.
"A-Anonymous."
>Cheer returning to her, she added, "But your friends call you Cabbage!" It was almost in a sing-song that she stated this, daring you to correct her.
>You turned towards the kitchen, lip trembling.
"LYRA! I'M SCARED!"