TF: Unexpected Red 9 (old and bad)

You whittle away a few hours just watching some episodes. It's interesting at least to see the pony creatures in action, how they live, how they move. You think you can understand where some of your wayward thoughts are coming from now. The ponies are generally emotional and active. Well, most of them are. You like the purple one, she has a good head on her shoulders. Pinkie Pie kind of freaks you out, not that you dislike the character itself, but more the representation of what you don't want to become. You make a mental note to commit suicide if your brain becomes warped beyond recognition.
You'll admit the show is entertaining, even fun to watch. Whoever made it definitely put some work into making sure it wasn't shit. Even with all its cutesy charm though, it's just a a well done cartoon. How it could be so massively popular, especially among such an unusual demographic baffles you.

You puff some hair out of your face and press your hooves against the ground, causing you to spin around in your desk chair. You're starting to feel really restless. The show was a decent distraction, but its just got you thinking about your looming fate now. The stress is going to drive you nuts if you don't do something.
You stop spinning and stand up, which is a complicated task with your new anatomy even when you aren't dizzy.
Still, you get to the window without too much trouble. You pull back the curtains and peer out at the horizon. The sun is only just starting to set, which means its probably nearly eight o' clock. You lean over on the windowsill and gaze up at the sky. Desert sunsets are usually pretty spectacular, but tonight's was something special. Brilliant oranges and reds spread across the thin cloud cover like licks of flame.
It really was pretty, you wish you had somep0ny to share it with.
You frown with disapproval at how sappy that sounded in your head.

You back away from the window and wander back over to your computer, deciding to check your email one last time before looking for something else to keep your mind off things.
You've got mail.
Well, you certainly weren't expected that. You sit back down, nearly sending the mouse flying as you attempt to grab it in your excitement. You mutter under your breath as you get it back in place and click to open the email.

"That sounds serious. Well, whatever is going on, I want to help! But I don't have a car. That's what had me leaving so early this morning, my mother is really sick and my brothers car broke down. He wanted to go see her in Colorado, so I figured I could lend him mine since I have all I need here at the university. Are you sure you're okay? You seemed totally out of it when I brought you home last night, I was really really worried I wasn't doing the right thing when I didn't bring you to the hospital."

She doesn't have a car. That isn't good. How long would her brother be in Colorado with it? If it was only a few days you could weather it out here until she got it back. You decide to ask, tongue-typing out a quick reply.

"How long will your brother be out of town?"

And then you send it. A few minutes go by with you impatiently staring at your inbox, tail twitching with anticipation. You really hope Lizz is waiting for your reply.
She was, and her next letter arrives in less than ten minutes.

"At least a week, and your car is still at the restaurant isn't it? I assume whatever problem you have is too urgent to wait that long? I suppose I could take a cab."

You're shaking your head before you even finish reading that last sentence. Cabs are expensive, especially around here when nop0ny really uses them. You cant ask Lizz to spend all that money just getting here, especially with what you're going to ask her to do. Lizz doesn't exactly have a lot of money either, being a student and all. You know her brother helps her out financially sometimes, plumbers make absurd amounts of money. Still, you really need her help, and you want to see her. So you formulate a plan.

"No, don't do that. I'll take a cab to get my truck, then I'll come pick you up. I'll lend it to you so you can go back to the university whenever you need to. Can you be ready to be picked up in an hour or two? Pack to stay the night."

It wasn't a great idea. You really don't have a lot of faith in your ability to steer with no hands, and the idea of going out in public like this is chilling. If you don't go now though, you might wake up tomorrow morning too anatomically or mentally different to even have a hope of operating a vehicle, and in that case you'll have to wait at least a week for Lizz to get her car back. You also get the feeling it might be a good idea to introduce the whole turning-into-pony idea to her while you're still recognizable.
So it was now or never. You don't have to wait long for Lizz this time.

"Okay, I'll be ready when you get here. Looking forward to hearing what this is all about. See you soon!"

And with that, it's decided. You really hope you live to regret this.
At least you have something to do now.

Wait, how can you call a cab if you have no phone? Shit, that is definitely a problem. You sit and panic for a bit, which is something you're starting to get used to. You grit your teeth and try to calm yourself. You like to think that you're pretty smart for a high school dropout, and you've come up with a solution for every problem you've had so far. Not the best solutions to be sure, but hey, you can't have screwed up too bad. You live in a three bedroom home and have no outstanding debt, must have done something right. Though having super rich parents may be a handicap. You're getting sidetracked, the point is that you just have to think things through, and an answer will come to you.

The local cab company must have a website or something, maybe you can order one online. You google cab companies in your area, making a mental note to clean your keyboard more often. The first result seems like a good bet. The browser goes blank for a second, then your eyes are assaulted by gaudy display of various shades of yellow. Their webpage design isn't very impressive, but it does its job. Not like a lot of people really spend much time here anyway. You start to critique their color choices, but then you remember how completely pointless that would be. You need to figure out if you can order a cab from here somehow. Maybe if you click the 'Book Online' button.

Wow, you can plot your starting point and destination from here and everything. It even gives you an estimate on the fare. This is so convenient, you hope your luck holds out on you. You plot the course, scowl at the price for a moment, then click the 'Book Now' button. You lean back in the chair and try putting your hooves behind your head, but that turns out to not be very comfortable. It's just a waiting game now. You wonder if you still have blood on your face.

You should also probably put some clothes on. That would be a good idea. You sit bolt upright as you realize you probably have about ten minutes to come up with a disguise that will allow you to walk around in public. Thinking things through, that's you.

You wash your face free of any leftover coagulated blood, which turns out to be more difficult than you expected. Cant really cup water or scrub your face with the blunt instruments that used to be your hands. You end up putting your face right next to the faucet and turning it on full blast. It gets rid of the caked blood, but gets water everywhere. That might have bothered you if you were wearing clothes. You really need to remedy that problem now. Your closet is still a bit damp from leaving the shower on earlier, but the clothing is wearable. Mostly wearable, you wouldn't wear them if you didn't have to, but this is an emergency.

You doubt you have the finesse to get underwear or a bra on anymore, you just need something to cover yourself with. A nice long sleeved hoodie and some baggy sweatpants should do the trick. The hoodie is easy enough to get on, but the zipper is another matter. Time to put your dexterous mouth skills to the test. You immediately determine that the problem is going to be getting the two sides properly aligned. It takes a few minutes of having your head bent down near you belly, using the bottoms of your hooves as a working surface, but finally with a grunt of satisfaction, you zip up the hoodie with your teeth. Mission accomplished. Next are the pants, which you thought might be a problem, but turn out to be simple. You step into them, hook your hooves under the hems, and pull them up. Done. You free your hooves and let the stretchy material cling to your hips. You are really going to miss your hips. Unless that trait somehow sticks with you through the transformation. What would that even look like?

You shake your head, got to focus now. You step back into the bathroom and take a look in the mirror. If you were trying to look as shady as possible, you've succeeded. Nobody in their right mind would ever wear a jacket and sweatpants in ninety degree weather like this. But the clothes serve their purpose, as long as you keep your hooves covered, nobody should be able to tell that there's anything different about you aside from having somewhat misshapen legs. Well, that and you looked like a walking case of heatstroke. You hope you wont be outside long enough for that to be an issue. Just as you are about to leave the bathroom, you remember your tail. Cant let that just stick out for all to see. You spend a few seconds stuffing it down one of your pants legs. The hair quickly gets tangled around what used to be your calves, you have no idea what to call them now. You can already tell that's going to itch.

A honk from out front startles you, sounds like the cab is already here. You swear under your breath and dart back into the bedroom to grab your keys and wallet, dropping the latter several times before you get in into your pocket. That done, you dash downstairs and to the front door, nearly falling on your face several times when you tripped over yourself or lost your footing. Once outside, you attempt to assume a more casual pace, gotta keep your cool. God forbid the cab driver picks up on your unease and suspects that you might be a half human monster thing. You reach the taxi and hook your hoof under the lip of the door handle, pulling it open without much trouble. Once inside, pulling it close is a bit more difficult, and you end up just jabbing your elbow into the handles gap and pulling it closed that way. The taxi driver doesn't even look at you, he just confirms the destination and revs up the engine.
Well, here you go. No turning back now.

The ride is a silent one, which you are both thankful for and unnerved by. For some reason you expected the cabbie to be chatty. While you're glad he wasn't putting you on the spot by asking questions, it leaves your mind free to worry about other things. So you end up spending nearly the entire ride thinking about how horrible it would be if your body decided to start changing right there in this guys back seat. By the time you actually arrive at the restaurant, your stress levels are about as high as they can be without you flipping out. Luckily, your truck is still here, and hasn't been towed. He pulls you into the parking space next to your car at your direction, and you start fiddling with your pockets, hooves not cooperating. The driver sort of stares you you silently for a while, then tells you how much you owe him. You finally manage to get your wallet out of your pocket, and pull a few bills out of it with your teeth. You try to think of a way of properly giving them to him, but your hooves are still holding the wallet and you decide to just spit them out at him instead. Probably rude, but you gave him a nice tip.

"Keep the change" You say, stepping out of the cab. You catch him giving you a dirty look right before you close the door.

The heat is immediately staggering, and you immediately start sweating under your warm clothes. You cast one look at your car and the heat distortions coming off it, and grimace. It's still achingly hot out here, even with the sun down. And inside the car is probably worse, its been sitting out here in the sun all day.

Its worse than worse in fact, its an oven in there. Absolutely horrifyingly hot. It feels like your skin is scalding just by being in contact with the air, and breathing in is almost painful. You need to get the air on. Squirming uncomfortably, you turn your left pants pocket inside out, dumping the keys onto seat. With a great amount of maneuvering and by slipping down into the leg area, you are able to pick the keys up with your mouth. You feel out the correct key with your tongue, doing your best to ignore the tangy taste of metal, and push it into position in your mouth; holding the base between your teeth. You slide back up into the seat, bend your head over by the steering wheel, and push the key into the ignition. Success! One quick turn later and the engine roars to life, and with it the AC vents begin blasting blazing hot air onto your face. You let out a strangled noise and attempt to angle the vents away from you, but you end up just closing them with your blunt hooves. Better than nothing you suppose. You reacquaint yourself with the controls, and how you are going to use them now. Everything seems pretty straightforward, the only real problem you think you'll have is pressing the smaller buttons. You set the truck in reverse, and you get going, with perhaps more confidence than you expected.

The AC does its work pretty quickly, and already the vents are gushing freezing air. It's almost enough to make you cold, if you weren't already dressed warmly. You silently thank whoever invented this wonderful device, briefly wonder how anyone could have possibly lived here with no air conditioning. The early settlers must have been some serious hard-asses to wear leather in the summer. Though you suspect that may have just been Hollywood doing their romanticizing thing. You could relate more to the natives who would wear next to nothing. Though the sunburns must have been agonizing, were Native Americans immune to sunburns? They should teach this stuff in history class.

Lizz lived near the university, so the fastest way to get there would be south on the freeway, so you make a quick turn along a side street that should help you get on without running into traffic on the main road. From around six to eight traffic gets really nasty with people coming home from work. Controlling the car hasn't proven to be very difficult so far. Your hooves reach the gas and breaks pretty easily, and you can use the steering wheel by sticking your arms through the gaps and twisting as needed. Not having hands for this really seems to be more of an inconvenience than anything serious.

Seems your luck has finally died though, the freeway is packed. You expected this, but it's still disappointing. Your progress slows to a crawl as everybody stops and speeds up in erratic jerks, inching along at an agonizing pace. This might take a while. You switch on the audio book you keep stored in here, and idly try to scratch at your itching legs, succeeding more in just rubbing at them. No fingernails anymore. You frown and try harder, rubbing your thighs together in hopes that the friction will quell the feeling. But you cringe as your efforts succeed only in making it worse. At first this is only annoying, and you sit there stuck in traffic with disgruntled silence, writhing in vain occasionally. Probably not much different from the others stuck in the same situation. But soon a strange heat joins the party, and a familiar prickling sensation joins the burning itch. Not only that, but it appears to be spreading.

"Oh fuck no." You swear and lift up your sweater to reveal pale red fur slowly creeping from your waist up your bare midriff. Fears confirmed. "Not now, why now?"

This is exactly what you didn't want to happen. This is the wrong time for this, your body can change all it wants when your not driving. But right now you ARE driving, and if you change now, you wont be able to do that anymore. So obviously, now is the wrong time to start changing. You run this through your head as if you can reason with your body. Needless to say, it doesn't work, and the prickling itch continues to rise up your body. The heat continues to build in your lower body, and a tingling feeling begins to spring up through your groin. The unexpected sensation actually makes you jump and your hair stand on edge. All your twitching causes you to release the brake pedal, and you nearly crash into the car in front of you before remembering to press down again. You decide to put the car in park, just in case.

Unsure of what exactly to do with your forehooves, you slip them between your legs and begin pressing against your inner thighs as hard as possible, as if you might be able to physically contain your changes and keep them from spreading. Instead, the tingling blooms into something else entirely, the indescribable feeling you remember from the shower this morning. You let out a loud groan and curl up on yourself, biting your lower lip and concentrating with all your might, willing the changes to stop.

And they do, after a few minutes. The sounds of cars honking angrily behind you get you to finally straighten back up. Traffic seems to have moved on, and now you're blocking the road. You do a quick check of yourself. The red fur seems to have traveled up your your stomach, and stopped just below your breasts. Nothing else seems to have changed though, not outwardly anyway. You certainly feel different. The itching and prickling have gone, but the tingling in your lower body has stayed, albeit in a very mild form. Something else is there too, it's subtle, but it's there. As you focus on it, a rush of heat flows through you, eliciting a small gasp from your mouth. You try to keep yourself from blushing and shake your head. You can figure out the details later, for now you need to get going. The sound of a car door slamming causes you to turn round. Some guy has gotten out of his truck and is walking towards you. He doesn't look particularly friendly, and you decide against saying hello.
With a quick motion, you set your car back into gear, and slam down on the gas, sending you rocketing down the freeway as loudly as possible. You settle into your chair and focus on driving again. Looks like most of the traffic has died down. Lucky you. As you drive, another wave of warmth spreads from the pit of your lower belly. You try to shake off what you assume to be the after effects of the episode, but it does nothing. Instead the problem gets worse, spawning butterflies in your stomach. You frown in worry as something starts gnawing at your thoughts, eating them away and growing to take their place. Something has got its hooks into you and is apparently here to stay, and the more you try to ignore it, the more it comes to the forefront of your mind. You start rubbing your thighs together again as you drive, but there's no itch this time.