Talking Animal in Horseland v. 3, Imprisoned Abroad edition

>“You jerk!”
>Pinkie makes her displeasure known with a kick to your gut.
>You HACK and SLA—, er, COUGH!
>No really, she got you good in the bread basket.
>Ugh, maybe you’re really gonna puke.
>You’d rather not.
>Reposing on the ground in your own vomit all night sounds nasty.
“I’m sorry, Pinkie,” you wheeze, as soon as you can breathe again.

>”How do you even know my name? How do you know any of our names?”
>The irritation in her voice is accompanied by a toss of her head.
>You feel a soft brush of disturbed air.
“Ponka please.”
>You give her a look that’s utterly ignored with the gloom of an unlit shed.
“Fluttershy.”
>She rolled her eyes.
>Well, you think she did.
>”Like you really expect me to believe she that. How could you two even talk?”
“Pinkie.”
>”No really, how much can two ponies really talk if one of them is just an animal, that she didn’t know could speak until tonight.”

“One. No verbal communication from my end doesn’t preclude her from talking about her friends to me.”
“Two. She regularly has meaningful dialogue with her other non-verbal friends.”
“Three. For however long I was allowed to know her, I was another one of those friends.”
>“But—“
“No!” you interrupt.
>There was more heat in your voice than you had intended.
“I spoke to her, heart to heart, without words to come between us, to misunderstand or misconstrue what I meant.”
“Besides,” you add. “There’s plenty that can be done between two hearts without speaking.”
>You raise your eyebrows suggestively, but in the gloom of the unlit shed she doesn’t see.
>She takes your meaning, however.
>And she doesn’t like it one bit.
>You tense for the coming blow.
>And short, sharp hit to the gut again.
>Nothing near so hard as the first one, but enough to feel her displeasure.
>”That’s enough of that sort of talk.”
“Sorry…”

>Laying on your side was getting tiresome.
>Your arms were getting especially tired from being secured behind your back.
>You rolled onto your back, raising your legs up off the ground, ankles tied together.
>That didn’t quite work.
>You plant your feet flat, and then raise your hips up off the ground.
>There’s just enough give for you to slide your hands past your hips, and up behind your knees.
>You tuck your hobbled ankles (Horse-hobble?) through your arms.
>FREEDOM! A chance to rest flat on your back.
>You sit upright.
>You wave broadly to Pinkie in the dark, since any subtle “come hither” was unlikely to be seen.

“Pinkie?” you whisper
>”Hmm?”
“Should you ever become a Gaoler in the future…”
>Your words take a harsh tone as you continue, hoping to properly trigger some self-defense instinct in the gormless Pony.
“I hope you exercise more care than you have exhibited thus far.”
>Your words drift off softly at the end, Pinkie struggling to hear your last words.
>The implication finally registers.
>She’s paralyzed, cognizant of the danger, but incapable of looking away.
>Afraid that the smallest movement will break the balance.
>She breathes shallow breaths, slowly, straining to hear the tell-tale rustling of your movement.
>She can see it already.
>A careful, deliberate movement, hooking your bound wrists around her neck.
>You kneel down, leaning into her body.
>You warm, moist breath brushes across one ear.
>She closes both eyes tight, hoping to ignore you and the imminent violence.

>Your words are soft, scarcely heard over the blood pounding in her ears.
“You see? It’s hard for me too, to be a ‘good’ prisoner when both of us aren’t reading the same script.”
>You unhook your arms, and give her a gentle shove.
“You don’t even know my name.”
>She’s numbly receives your push, allowing herself to be moved.
>The tension bled away, she simply stands there facing away.
>”You never told me your name” she complained.
“And? I need some designator, to be used in conjunction with the other documentation you are preparing.”
“Really, this won’t stop me from ending up in the custody of bad ponies. From ones who’ll make me ‘say the words’ and convince them I really mean it. And then hurt me some more just to be sure. No, but knowing that there’s a record of receiving me into their custody, that may give them some pause. Make it harder for them to just ‘disappear’ me.”
>You sigh again.

>The silence between you extends uncomfortably.
>You feel her frustration with this.
>Her face scrunched up, the internal debate playing out across her facial features.
>“No! That won’t happen!”
“Oh? Tell me why it won’t happen, Pinkie.”
>”Because Twilight said she was turning you over to the Royal Guard.”
“Are there correctional facilities in Equestria?”
>”What does that have to do with anything?”

“If there aren’t any facilities prepared to deal with my long-term incarceration, then I can probably expect summary punishment or an extended stay in the dark, wet, unventilated palace dungeons.”
“A lightless hole in the ground, a place to wallow in my own cess and vomit, before succumbing to any of the diseases one inevitably acquires in such conditions.”
“Or perhaps a simple open-air cage to be gawked at before exposure to the elements and opportunistic infection kills me."
>”I’ve never heard of anypony being made a spectacle like that.”
>She's a bit downcast at that.
“Palace dungeon it is then,” you conclude, sounding a just a bit glib even to your own ears.
>You’re a little disappointed at that.
“Cess and vomit, and any number of indignities at the hands of those who are put in charge of such a place. Small, petty, cruel, and without any oversight. Probably a member of your ‘Royal Guard’ all the same.”
>Bitter and despondent, you spit out these words.

>”I, uh, I could…”
>She mumbles her words, eyes downcast.
>”I could let you—“ she whispers.
“That’s sweet, Pinkie Pie,” you warmly reply.
>You extend your hands towards her.
>You can’t quite see her in the dark, so you just hold both arms out.
>You feel her fumble in the dark, tentatively.
>Her face touches your hands lightly, before abandoning restraint.
>She nuzzles you strongly.
>Perhaps to remember you? Feels more like you’re comforting her.
“Your friends are watching the shed. They suspect you already.”
>You feel her tense under your arm.
“I don’t think the Princesses would be too happy if you were to set me free, either.”
>Pinkie collapses to the ground, like a puppet with its strings cut.
>You quickly reach over to support her, to hold her against you.
“…especially when they recall our prior discussions…”