Gabby & Gilda's Great Gyaru CYOA - Discovery

Canterlot City, a beautiful city that charms everyone who sets their sights upon it. With hills and mountains, lush green spaces and charming waterways, it truly is a hidden jewel. But darkness lurks in the deep places; where mysteries remain unsolved and secrets reign! Yes, Canterlot City is-

“Gabby, enough!” a throaty voice rumbles out from underneath the chassis of a truck. You button your lip, scowling at the pair of work boots bouncing in irritation. “You’ve been repeating the same thing over and over for an hour now. Give it a rest.”

You were born Gabriela Griffon, but you’re Gabby to, well, everybody. If there was one word that could describe you, it would be ‘impossible’. As in, nothing is impossible as long as you put in the work! Which is what you were trying to do before you were so rudely interrupted.

Dropping to your hands and knees, you peek under the truck and find the golden glare of your cousin leveled in your direction. Gilda only has a few years on you, but she’s always been a little rough around the edges. If you didn’t know her as well as you did, you might think she hates you. But you know she’s a softy. Sometimes.

Still, you can’t let this slight slide. “Well, if someone wasn’t insisting on staying in her dumb auto shop after school let out, then maybe I would have some privacy to practice my lines.”


“You know you can walk home,” Gilda grumbles, her hands going back to the socket wrench and grinding away. “It isn’t that far.”

“Grandpa’s out of town, and you know he doesn’t like it when I’m home alone.”

“What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. Get out of here if you don’t want to stay.”

Pressing your back to the bumper and your butt against the ground, you decide to wait her out. The incessant purr of the socket continues. Seconds become minutes, and minutes become forevers. You’re seriously considering the eight minute walk home when the hall door crashes against the wall.

You stiffen, holding your breath, and you can see Gilda’s boots pointing toe-down, unmoving. Her wrench is silent. The stillness persists for a moment, before the door clangs and shudders again, this time accompanied by a giggle and a grunt.

“Oof, careful Goofus,” a soft voice purrs, “You’ll mess up my hair if you keep swinging me around like that.”

Peeking around the corner of the car, you see a blonde young woman holding the head of a boy against. Even over the heartbeat pounding between your ears, you can hear him grunting, a deep, almost hungry sound as he lavishes her neck with kisses. The blonde makes small noises of encouragement, her bright, glittery nails clinging to the back of his head as she mutters his name over and over.



You’ve never seen anyone so, enthused before, giggling and clutching onto him for dear life. You position yourself for a better look, only to feel a calloused hand grab your shoulder. You turn to see your cousin looking a few shades paler than usual as she locks her eyes on the pair by the door. Her own close-clipped nails begin to dig into your shoulder as her expression hardens.

“C’mon Squirt, let’s get out of here.” You don’t bother to argue with her, instead slipping out the side door leading directly onto the campus green.

The walk is quiet as you consider what you just saw and Gilda, well, broods. Not that brooding would be any different from normal, but this time she seems especially scowly. Her thumbnail taps against her lips in an uneven rhythm, eyes unfocused. She doesn’t even notice when she walks past the car until you clear your throat.

“Gilda?”

“Yeah?” the teen responds, coming back to reality as she makes a wide circle around to the driver’s side.

“What were they doing back there?”

Gilda snorts, flicking the purple fringe of her bangs with a finger. “Come on, I know you’ve seen couples making out before. It’s just like that.”

“Uh duh, of course I’ve seen people be gross! But it just, felt different.”

“Mm.”

Sometimes that’s the only reply you get out of her, but she still unlocks your door all the same. The engine to her twenty-year old beater grinds and coughs as it turns over, but it still comes to life. For Gilda, that’s enough. Over the irritated grumble of the awakened beast, you press her again.



“I’m being serious, Gilda! That didn’t feel like the usual lovey-dovey kind of stuff you see on TV or at school.”

You struggle to find the words, but a sick, slick feeling works its way up your arms, over your shoulders, then down into the pit of your stomach. Even as curious as you are, it’s hard to ask the question. Once you ask a question, and get an answer, you can’t go back to simply not knowing. Sometimes, it seems better not to ask.

“Don’t worry about it, Squirt.” Gilda reaches out and ruffles your hair with her hand, though her voice and expression remain severe. Taking your cousin at her word, you keep yourself quiet until you arrive at home. Three whole turns, that might be a record.

You spend the rest of the night at home. It’s peaceful enough that you are able to get your homework done and eat dinner without too much trouble. One of the few benefits of Grandpa being away. It’s also horribly boring. Gilda isn’t up for doing too much aside from sulking and absently flipping through the television channels.

That’s okay though, you have your lines to practice anyway. After all, the Cutie Dinner Theater is coming up next month, and you have to get into the mind of a hard-boiled, introspective P.I.! You spend a couple hours getting into character, and finally get ready for bed after ten. Gilda follows suit sometime after midnight.

>Discovery
>[-----]
>Mystery, what mystery?

>Current Impact
>[-----] (0)
>Life continues as normal…




Cracking open your eyes in the morning, you stare up at the ceiling and scowl. This is nothing new, you are Gilda Griffon, and you wake up every morning in the same way.

Brushing the sleep from your eyes, you go to the kitchen and prepare breakfast. Sausage, eggs, toast, and a splash of Grandpa Gruff’s whiskey with your morning coffee: everything a girl needs to brace herself to face the world. Gabby, when she’s up, gets the same. Minus the whiskey and the caffeine.

You watch Gabby bounce in her seat as she eats, biting back a small smile. The kid is a dork of the highest order, but she’s not all bad. Not that you would let that go to her head or anything. Feeling the pleasant start of a buzz, you tip your coffee cup towards your younger cousin. “So, what’s on your menu today, squirt?”

Breaking out into a gristle-filled smile, the girl starts to speak around a mouthful of meat, and nearly chokes. Even after coughing herself back to normal, Gabby’s blue-green eyes glitter with excitement. Or maybe tears.

“Well,”
>A. I thought I’d practice getting into character some more!
>B. I’ve been meaning to write my pen pal a letter.
>C. Greta invited me to try out her new board game!
>D. Principal Gertrude asked to see me. Huh? Why are you laughing?
>E. Write-in

You nod along, avoiding getting drawn in by the younger girl’s enthusiasm. Hearing her plans make you consider your own options. What happened yesterday, it still doesn’t sit quite right. Maybe you should do something about that.

>1. Track down Goofus. Give that lunkhead a piece of your mind.
>2. The blonde, you don’t think you’ve seen her before. Who is she?
>3. Forget it. Those two aren’t worth your time. You have a club to go to.
>4. With Grandpa away, this is actually a prime time to cut school…
>5. Write-in





“Greta, huh? Isn’t she a bit of a snob?”

Gabby makes a small, strangled sound as she gawks at you. “Gilda! Greta’s very nice, and not snobby! She’s just, aloof.”

“That’s just another way to say she’s got a stick jammed,” you pause, noting Gabby’s brow tensing with every word. Rolling your eyes, you pull back on your insult. “Jammed in her gears.”

Your cousin visibly relaxes and starts digging through her book bag while you take a sip of your coffee. It burns just enough going down to start grinding down your morning edge, so you allow yourself a smile. “Well, have fun, I guess.”

“How about you, Gilda? You’re not going to skip school just because Grandpa’s away, right?”

“Me?” Your incredulous smirk earns little more than an eye roll. For her sake, you bite your tongue and let the question sit in silence.

It would be a lie to say that you haven’t at least considered cutting out while Grandpa is away, but there’s no point in causing a stir so early. Besides if you’re going to skip school, you want to at least want to have someone or somewhere to hang out. Maybe Dash would be up to hanging out next week.



Finishing your liquor-loaded coffee you decide to at least show up. “C’mon Squirt, we’ve got school. I’ll be in the car.”

“You know we can walk,” she says, echoing your attempt to get rid of her yesterday. Cheeky brat.

“Sure, but showing up to school in a car leaves an impression that just walking up doesn’t.”

“I guess I don’t know why it’s important that you remind everyone every day that you have a car. I mean, they all know already.”

She has a point, one which you dismiss with a wave of your hand. “Car. I’m leaving in ten.”

Despite her protest, such as it was, Gabby is in the passenger seat by the time you leave. The trip would hardly even qualify as a warm-up jog, but the car is still sputtering when you pull into a parking space on campus. Your cousin excuses herself and hurries off in the direction of the library. You linger around the car for a while longer, before strolling into the cafeteria.

“Hey, Chef,” you call out, pushing through the swinging doors and grabbing an apron from the rack by the wall. “I want to use your grill.”

“Of course you do,” a man with salt and pepper hair scoffs. Gustav regards you with a slight look of irritation as he considers your request. “How is it you only come to assist me on your own schedule, Miss Gilda?”

“Because the state doesn’t pay me to work back here. Now are you going to let me help or not?”

The slight wrinkles around the man’s eyes deepen as he squints. Clicking his tongue, he motions towards the grill. “Go then. There are hungry children and a pair of competent hands would be appreciated.”


You give him a grumble of assent and move towards the industrial grill. The cooking club member manning the station doesn’t take much convincing to go ask Gustav for another post, and soon you find yourself flipping sausage patties like a genuine fry cook.

While not an ideal career choice, you’re good enough to do it without too much thought. Your sharp nose, ears and eyes can just tell when you need to flip or serve the meat. It isn’t much of a talent, but you’ll take what you can get. It also means you can think about other things while letting your boy work on autopilot.

Things like Goofus.

Honestly, you could care less about Goofus; he’s the very definition of a meathead. And not the talented type who might get out of Griffonstone on a sports scholarship, but an honest-to-goodness lump on a log kind of idiot. He asked you out in primary school. You slugged him. Ever since then, he’s had bouts where he follows you around like a lovesick puppy. It was obnoxious.

It was also the first and only time anyone ever asked you out. After that, boys wrote you off as a violent girl, and girls threatened to sic you on rejected boys who couldn’t take a hint. Up until yesterday, none of that bothered you at all. Men should be afraid of you and women using you as a threat, well that’s just funny.

But seeing that, that stupid lunk with his hands all over blondie, and then blondie loving every minute of it, well, you are still struggling to make sense of the whole scene. Like, who would make a move on Goofus in the first place? Especially a good looking girl like blondie?



Her figure stands out in your mind, a classic silhouette of a woman. Slim shoulders, broad hips, a nice handful of breasts. Even Goofus wouldn’t have been able to ignore that, right?

A shudder rolls down your spine at the lengths the girl would have had to go through to get his attention. It begins to dawn on you that you might be jealous. Not that you would ever actually want Goofus’ attention, but the shock of someone actually wanting the lump must have rattled you. After acknowledging that, you can comfortably say it’s an incredibly stupid thing to get worked up over, and feel a bit of tension roll out of your shoulders.

The sharp sizzle of fat draws your attention back to reality and you finish up the last of the sausage for the morning.

While you are cleaning up, Gustav trots up beside you. “As usual, you did an adequate job, Miss Gilda.”

“You didn’t get any complaints, did you?” As if you even need to ask. There have only been a handful of times that anyone has said something bad about your cooking. And usually it’s coming out of this man’s craw.

“No, and that’s the problem.” With a determined huff, Gustav narrows his eyes. “Gilda, I would like you, once again, to take a more active role in the Griffonstone Cooking Club.”

“Pass; I’m not much for being told what to do. You know that.”

“Such childishness.”

“Children are the ones who are supposed to listen, right?” you offer back, to which he scoffs, but adds nothing. The two of you watch as the grill burns off the last of the water, sending steam sizzling into the air. Your work done, you remove your apron and toss it into the hamper. “Thanks again, chef.”



“I do want you to know that you are welcome here, Gilda, anytime,” the man offers, to which you only shrug. His expression hardens again and he shoos you away with a hiss and flick of his wrists. “Fine, begone! Come back on your own schedule, I do not care! I have to prepare lunch for a school full of hungry students!”

You chuckle, leaving the fuming cook to his own devices. While you may not have figured anything out about what you saw yesterday, at least your own thoughts are a little clearer, and you feel less confused about your reaction. You can face the day with confidence.

After yesterday, you don’t think Gabby will be keen on staying late at school again. Rather than having her hang around the auto shop all afternoon, you decide to take her

>A. Home. Going out is overrated and she can find something to fill the time
>B. Canterlot Mall. Maybe you can get some time away from her there
>C. Gimmie More’s Emporium. A recently opened curio shop, if only to say you hate it
>D. Maybe you should ask Gabby if she wants to go somewhere?



One would think that the library is an odd place to find a board game club. But the librarian is a bit of a die-rolling junkie herself, so she’s more than happy to offer up her office a few times a week as a place to play. And not disturb other students, of course.

As you walk into the library, a pigtailed girl around your own age catches sight of you and waves you over with an enthusiastic, and very subdued, “Gabby!”

Even spectacled girl’s strained whisper is enough to earn a sharp, hissing ‘shush’ from the librarian’s aide. Gretchen offers a sheepish smile, then grabs your hand and pulls you into the office. Greta glances up as the door closes, her short hair bobbing about as she nods to you. “Gabby, you made it. Wonderful. We have about an hour, so we should get started.”

The game seems simple enough: you take a token and a character, and then travel through a city of randomized tiles, fighting monsters drawn from a deck in each new tile, collecting all manner of stuff along the way. You even get to be the seal barbarian, clubbing your way through the hordes while Gretchen handles your wounds!

Unfortunately, you have an unlucky draw three tiles in and end up in a battle of attrition with a noodle-like monster which Gretchen and Greta can’t seem to agree on if it is or isn’t a mind-flayer. Whatever that is.

All you can do is chip and heal, chip and heal. It makes for a very boring twenty minutes, but eventually you come out on top. Greta decides to call the game there, as there is no way to complete the run, and instead focuses on getting feedback from you.


“Sorry, I don’t really know the board game language,” you admit, laughing to yourself.

“That is why I wanted you to play it,” Greta admits. “I want this game to be approachable for all types of players. Just let me know what you thought.”

“Well, fighting the noodle monster really burned through a lot of time. It was just picking up dice and rolling over and over again and it got to be kind of boring…”

By the time you finish, Greta is frowning, but still nodding in agreement. “So balance, it still needs more balance.’

“Or maybe it needs at least three players?” Gretchen offers. The two begin discussing the merits of a ‘minimum player count’ with terms that goes completely over your head. Finding a break to excuse yourself, you head out into the school. As you open the door, a thick, floral scent attacks your nose.

“Buh,” you snort, giving a small cough as your eyes start to water. Glancing around, you find the source rather quickly: a girl with incredibly pale, white hair teased out to an extreme. Although her hair isn’t the only extreme thing about her.

Like her skirt! It’s short! Crazy short, short enough that you can almost see her underwear! She’s practically indecent! Even still, she walks down the hall as though she isn’t about to show the world her panties, rolling her hips from side to side. She rounds the corner and disappears by the time you snap out of your daze.

There was something wrong with that girl. You decide

>E. To leave her alone, she’s a teacher’s problem classes are starting in ten minutes!
>F. To go after her, but keep your distance. You’ve got ten minutes!
>G. Take a more direct approach and ask her what she’s doing
>H. Be really direct and insist she go to the Principal’s office



Such deviancy, you can’t let this go on! It isn’t right to set all responsibility on the shoulders of teachers, sometimes students have to act too! Hurrying after the girl, you spot her standing in the middle of the hall, looking left and right. Steeling yourself, you walk towards her.

Before you can say anything, the white-haired woman turns in your direction. She has a delicately manicured nail on her lower lip, and her fish-like eyes light with excitement when she sees you. “Ooh! Hello little girl. Can you, like, help me out?”

Somehow the fact that she’s facing you has made the situation worse. Her shirt is unbuttoned most of the way down the front, showing off the snug fit of her cleavage to the world. This woman is wholly indecent.

Clearing your throat, you start with a squeak, “Excu- excuse me, but what are you doing?”

“Well, actually I got a little lost,” the white haired woman giggles. “I’m looking for a way out?”

From the vacant look coming back into her eyes, you aren’t sure if she meant that as a statement, or if she actually has forgotten she is trying to leave. Still, you try to help make sense of her situation.

“I can help you outside, if you tell me why you’re dressed like that.”

The woman’s eyebrows rise towards her hairline as she looks herself over. After a moment of consideration, she smiles. “Well duh, because I look super cute! And hot!”

“No,” you sigh, biting your lip. “I mean, how did you get those clothes.”

“Well, I bought them,” she responds, rolling her eyes. “At least, I think I did? Some may have been gifts. I’ve had them forever.”



“That doesn’t answer anything. Nothing you’re saying makes sense!” At your insistence, the white-haired woman regards you with a frown.

“Well then maybe you should ask a different question? Gawd, I wear what I want because I like to look good; what’s so hard to understand about that? You’d have to be crazy not to be able to figure that out.”

Seeing that the woman is about to become unruly, you hurriedly show her the exit. She leaves without too much fuss, but you are left wondering who on earth let such a strange woman into the school in the first place. More than that, what if she comes back?

Those two thoughts aren’t the only ones that dominate your brain for the rest of the day. The woman’s words echo around and around in your head. Her reasoning for wearing such a gaudy outfit was undeniably shallow, but she believed it wholeheartedly. Could she have a point?

[mildly important decision for Gabby; will run overnight]

>A. No. The rules of society should supersede one’s own desires. Looking good is not the most important thing.
>B. Maybe. There’s nothing inherently wrong with looking your best, but you shouldn’t get mad at someone for asking.
>C. Probably. Beauty and style are aspirational ideals that one should endeavor to emulate as much as possible, while still making room for your own self.
>D. She was absolutely right. Looking good is one of, if not the, most important thing. You should strive to remember that.



“Nothing wrong with two cousins hanging out at the mall,” you mutter, sliding your hands into your pockets. Besides, if she happens to find something that catches her interest, maybe you can ditch her for a bit. Who knows, maybe Dash is working too. So resolved, you go through the day, refining your offer until you’re satisfied.

The school day ends and you find Gabby out by the car, as usual. You greet her with a simple, “Hey” which she returns in kind. And then, silence.

“So,” you start your pitch, “want to g to the mall?”

“Sure.” Her reply is distant, but firm. Pursing your lips, you stare at Gabby out of the corner of your eye, trying to get a read on the suddenly silent girl. You also feel somewhat cheated, but you aren’t about to make a scene.

Instead, the two of you arrive at Canterlot Mall after a jerky ride across town. Gabby leaves her funk behind before the halfway point, and tells you a little about how her board game-thing went. Apparently she really liked clubbing things. You are a little worried about the sparkle in her eyes, but that’s just a phase. Probably.


The two of you enter the food court end of the mall. As you step towards the outer walkway, you notice Gabby has frozen in place. You watch as her big blue-green eyes scan their way across the entire expanse, her tongue darting out over and over to wet her lips. Finally, she looks up at you.

“Gilda, do you notice anything weird?”

“Gabby, what-”

“Just answer the question, please?” your cousin asks, her sliding down from worry, towards fear. “I want to be sure I’m not, you know, crazy.”

Sighing, you turn and regard the scene in front of you. After a moment, something does stand out as at least a little unusual. Looking over at Gabby, you raise an eyebrow. “Skirts?”

Your cousin closes her eyes and sighs, then smiles. “Good. You see it too. I guess that means we’re both crazy.”

Well that doesn’t sound good at all

>Discovery
>[*----]
>The world is a strange place. But don’t you think this is a little too strange?

>/End1/



/Begin2/

After taking a moment to look around again, and giving pause to a rather thick pair of thighs peeking out from under the hem of a miniskirt, you regard Gabby with a suspicious frown. “What do you mean, we’re both crazy? You’re talking about the stupidly short skirts some of these girls are wearing, right?”

“Yeah, but if I’d said anything, would you have noticed?”

“Of course,” you falter, looking back out at the crowd again. Actually, on second glance, you might not have realized anything. Sure some of the girls were wrapped up in skirts that would barely be legal, but they are still few and far between. Maybe one out of every couple dozen or so, just enough that you would notice a difference I you were told to look. Despite the realization, you try to sputter out a confident line. “I mean, eventually you have to notice.”

Gabby’s eyes light up with excitement. “Oh good, then you saw them at school too? How hem lines are rising for a lot of girls?” You hadn’t noticed at the time, but considering the amount of leg you were watching today, maybe she has a point? For the moment you stay quiet and let your cousin continue.

“It just seems like a really unusual choice for girls to start wearing the same thing at the same time, but nobody seems to take notice. It’s not a coincidence, there has to be a reason.”

“A stupid social media gag?” You nearly choke on the suggestion, but it at least causes Gabby to pause. And gives you a chance to push back on this ‘short skirt’ conspiracy theory of hers. “Look, I understand that you and I think it’s weird, but that doesn’t mean anything. I mean, we’re from Griffonstone, Gabby. Canterlot High and Crystal Prep might as well be different worlds. Who knows why they do the things they do. And I’m sure they think the same about Griffonstone.”



Gabby sours at your counter, but doesn’t offer a rebuttal. Even still you can see the gears spinning about behind her eyes, so this reprieve is momentary. You press your thumb against your lip, looking around the mall food court again. There still seems to be an excessive abundance of bare thigh and now that Gabby’s said something, you can’t stop noticing it. For a moment you catch a flash of hot pink from one girl, but it vanishes faster than it appeared.

“I’ve got it,” Gabby grins, drawing your eyes back to her. “Since we both need some convincing, the thing we need right now is-”

>A. “More confirmation. Do you know anyone here we could ask?”
>B. “Fresh perspective. If a stranger agrees with us, that’s valuable information.”
>C. “More data. Let’s go through the mall and see if the situation is the same.”
>D. “To see where they’re coming from! Or at least where they’re shopping.”
>E. You cut Gabby off. This is not why you came out to the mall, just enjoy the trip



“To see where they’re coming from! Or at least where they’re shopping. Once we find the source, we can figure out if this is just a natural fashion swing, or something else.”

Your cousin puffs herself up, beaming as she starts off down the mall corridor. It probably won’t be that easy, but her enthusiasm is hard to dismiss. Jamming your hands into your pockets, you match her pace within a few strides, adding, “You know this wasn’t my intention in coming out here tonight.”

“Come on, what’s the harm?”

“Aside from looking like we’re creeping on schoolgirls?”

Gabby doesn’t have a response for that. Oh well, you think with a smirk, you can deal with that if it becomes an issue.

The two of you spend the better part of an hour walking back and forth throughout the mall. Finding a place where the girls congregate is difficult, but eventually she determines the best lead is a clothing store called ‘Modern Gals’. While you don’t come out to the mall frequently, this place still looks relatively new and from the string of people walking in and out, there’s at least some curiosity about it.

“So you’ve found your ‘source’,” you tease. “What next, Squirt? Are we going to stake out for the rest of the night? Should I go get us some burgers?”

“Let’s check it out!” Gabby insists. Before you can protest, you find yourself surrounded by some of the kitschiest clothing designs you’ve ever seen. Everything around you is loud, garish, and there doesn’t look to be a single pair of jeans in sight. You suppress a shudder of revulsion as an overwhelmingly sweet and floral perfume assaults your senses.



“Jeez Gabby, it this whole place looks and smells like Lisa Frank’s nightmare.”

But your cousin is already engaged in digging through a rack of clothes, her eyes alight with excitement. That is hardly surprising, the girl does tend to throw herself into just about anything she tries and is always up to challenging something new. But this is different from her usual intensity. She seems to be honestly enjoying inspecting the designs and comparing them to what other women in the store are wearing.

You had no idea Gabby was so

>Fashion Conscious [Novice]
>Gabby’s understanding of style is limited, but she soaks in information like a sponge. She can notice when trends are changing, but has little influence over them at this time. Bonus to clothing-related events; advanced by engaging in activities centered on fashion.

Gabby mumbles to herself as she continues down the line. This might take a while. With nothing else to do, you stroll through the rest of the store taking in a general lay of the land.

It turns out Modern Gal does have pants, and not just capris either. Granted, they don’t look comfortable and are more for show, but at least the owners are trying to reach a wider clientele. And there are some odd things as well, like leather jackets (including some without glitter), some impressive boots scattered amongst a sea of heels and flats, and other outliers. By no means do they take up much shelf space but they do stand out.



“You like Tough?” a sweet voice asks to your left. You turn and find a pair of big purple eyes, and a smirk that promises nothing but trouble. “You seem like the type.”

“Tough?” you let the world trail off as you look the girl over. She’s more or less average, although she does have a fairly prominent bust, but her selling point is her face. Her eyes, coupled with her freckled cheeks and the melon green streak in her otherwise purple hair really make her stand out in a crowd.

“Tough. T-U-F-F,” the girl spells it out for you, rolling her eyes and making a small gagging noise that practically screams ‘gawd, I swear’. She shakes her head and then returns to smiling. “Sorry, I forget that these designs are new to most people, Tuff is our clothing line for more active girls. Sour Sweet, I’m on staff here. What are you looking for?”

Oh, she’s circling you for a sale. You decide to put this to bed quickly. “My cousin,” you indicate the dark-haired girl currently picking through a selection of bras. “She wanted to check this place out. I’m just along for the ride.”

Sour Sweet hisses behind her teeth, her expression sliding towards a glare. “I should have figured. You’ve got a style that screams ‘I don’t know what I’m doing and I don’t care’.”

She isn’t wrong; you picked up your jeans off the bedroom floor this morning and found a relatively clean t-shirt from the hamper. Even still you can feel the hairs on your neck start to bristle. “Excuse me? Do you just insult anyone who comes in here?”



“Is it an insult if it’s the truth?” the melon-streaked girl asks, bringing a finger to her lips in mock thought. “I mean, I would want to know if I looked like a walking disaster. And if someone offered to help me fix that, well, I think that they would be the most kind and generous soul I had ever met.”

The inside of your palm begins to sting before you realize you’ve been clenching your fist. This girl is really getting under your skin. So what are you going to do about it?

>A. Walk out of the store and call Rainbow Dash. Gabby can find you when she’s done.
>B. Let Sour Sweet do her job, ask to see more of this ‘Tuff’ line
>C. Play along, ask Sour Sweet to see one of the girlier lines
>D. Just stick close to Gabby, you don’t trust her around these aggressive sales tactics.

Further, pick a tone:
>1. Aggressive. Nobody pushes you around, you do the pushing. She’ll learn.
>2. Mediate. With this many people around, causing a scene might be a bad idea
>3. Tease. It’s been a while since you’ve had a chance to mock someone. Relish it.



Okay, Gabby, time to be honest with yourself. You may not have been entirely straight with Gilda when you suggested going to find where all these short-skirted girls are coming from. Doing interviews or collecting data would probably have been a better approach to determining if something strange was going on, but with that white-haired woman still spinning around in your head, you haven’t been able to get any peace.

She liked to look good, but how could she like wearing that outfit? You had to understand her better. In truth, there were a couple other locations that caught your attention: a nail salon, a stand-alone photography booth, and a cosmetics shop. But this was the only clothing store that stood out. And once you walked in, you began to understand.

It isn’t just the ‘act’ of looking good, but it makes you feel good too. To be a little risky, just for the fun of it. As you pick up a too short skirt in your size, you can feel your cheeks heat up as you imagine getting caught at an inopportune moment. Or the absolute wild designs on these bras! Tiger stripes, neon polka dots, the kind of loud underwear that anyone could see through a thinner, light colored shirt.

“It’s not like you’d actually be showing anything off,” you mutter to yourself, wetting your lips with your tongue. “It’s just like normal clothes but a little less, discrete. More fun than flaunting, right?”

As you look out over the array of clothes, you give a tender sigh. Gabby Griffon, you may have just found a slice of paradise.

The brand is ‘Chicy’ and is full of whites and other light and pastel colors. Everything looks to be very breathable, and dancing along the line of too short to be decent. Even the shirts would probably show some belly if you turned the right way. It all comes across as very playful and fun, while not quite committing to anything.



You also take a quick look over the ‘Tuff’ brand, which is somewhat similar to what you already wear. Darker colors, but solid. The pants look uncomfortable, and the skirts aren’t as short or frilly, but they are a snug fit, designed to show off curves rather than breathe. There’s a certain enticing pull to them, mature, strong, and a little mysterious.

As you are bouncing back and forth between the two, you find one more that takes your breath away. For all the wrong reasons.

‘Bargain Bim’ is in a word, terrifying. Micro skirts, tube tops, all glittery everything! You can’t imagine walking around the house in any of these outfits, much less going outside! Even your underwear leaves more to the imagination than this stuff! But, it’s also the closest you can imagine getting to the white-haired woman’s outfit. Even then it goes above and beyond what she was strutting around in. Was, was it really that much fun?

Biting down on your lip, you look down at the armful of outfits you had picked out from across the two other brands. After a moment’s consideration, you grab a Bargain Bim outfit as well and hurry into a changing room.

You try them all on in turn, but the brand that seems to fit you most is

>A. Chicy
>B. Tuff
>C. Bargain Bim
>D. None of them, unfortunately. But you do have an eye for what might be nice in the future!



You watch Gabby duck into a changing room and let out a small sigh. Good, it’s probably better if she doesn’t see you throwing your weight around. Making a scene is probably a bad idea, but nobody pushes Gilda Griffon around.

“Full of yourself much?” Your snort earns a hateful look from Sour Sweet which falters as you take a step towards her. “Listen up, dweeb. I don’t care if you do think you’ve got the hottest clothing tips in the world, you still don’t talk to me that way.”

Sour Sweet’s expression darkens, seemingly more serious even as she takes a step back, and then another to mirror your own. “Now, listen here, I’m an employee-”

“One who’s been running her mouth off to a potentially paying customer,” you continue walking forward, infringing on her space. The two of you move in tandem, but each step brings your longer body closer. Within seconds, Sour Sweet backs into the counter. When she looks back, you move in for the kill.

Your palms thud onto the counter on either side of her. Sour Sweet, a full head shorter than you, looks up with a mixture of shock and fear, her purple eyes dancing between your face and the back wall. A thin sheen of perspiration across her forehead, and you know you’ve made your point. But, just to drive it home, you tower over her for a short while longer. It’s been a while since you’ve felt this good.

>The Natural Order [Novice]
>Gilda has always had a knack and delight for enforcing her will on others. She can quickly read a room but her agitation may make a situation worse before it gets better. Bonus to intimidation-related events; advanced by engaging in activities involving bullying.



Leaning forward, you brush your own breasts against hers and whisper, “Now, about ‘Tuff’, can you show it to me?”

“O-Of course,” Sour Sweet nods, finally beginning to breathe again as you step away. She holds a hand over her chest as she walks back towards the rack then begins digging through it with gusto. After a few minutes, she’s put together three outfits for you. “Now, let’s get you changed.”

That puts you on the back step. “No, I, I figured I’d just buy them and head out.”

“No, absolutely not,” the melon-striped girl says with a snap. “You have to try these on otherwise I won’t know for sure if they will be a good fit. Now, take these, and go.”

She gives a gentle shove towards the changing rooms, not enough to force you to go forward, but you feel compelled to go anyway. The room is spacious, enough to fit two or three people comfortably. You know this because this girl insisted on coming in with you, sitting on a small outcropping in the corner.

“Is it really necessary for you to be in here?” you ask, feeling unusually vulnerable for once. “I can make my own decisions you know.”

“You asked me to help you find clothes,” Sour Sweet responds. “Those three are good enough on their own, but when it comes to underwear, I need a closer look.”

“I am not buying any underwear from this store!”

The small, choking gag sound makes a resurgence as the salesgirl rolls her eyes. “Right, okay. We’ll see about that. Just get changed? I won’t even peek.”

Sour Sweet makes a show of bringing her hands in front of her face, fingers spread, and then closes them. Turning away, she takes out her phone and begins scrolling through it. Apparently that’s the best you’re going to get out of this stubborn girl.


“Take a picture and you’re dead,” you warn her, to which she responds with a double flick of her wrist. Having made your intentions clear, you untie your boots and slide your jeans down. Despite having spent hours in a gym locker room with other girls, there’s a certain intimacy of bending over that makes the knot in your stomach tighten. It must be the enclosed space.

To her credit, Sour Sweet doesn’t seem to respond at all. It must be part of the job, watching women stick out their rear ends. That’s not awkward to think about.

You right yourself quickly and your t-shirt soon joins your pants on a small hanger. Now Sour Sweet looks up, nodding in silent approval. “Okay, I think I can work with this.”

Work with what? You give yourself a once over in the mirror and almost immediately regret it. Your body is nice, of that you’re relatively certain. But years of track and field training burned away most of the fat you had as an older girl and left you with a long, lean body. Thanks to your larger than average chest, you aren’t all sharp angles and edges, but sometimes you feel pretty close. Your toes curl against the carpet and you quietly curse being convinced to come in here with this girl.

Wanting to get this over with as quickly as possible, you pull on the first offering, a black, vest-like short-sleeved shirt that goes down to the hips then rises towards the middle. The neckline is low too, giving a view of both cleavage and belly. Coupled with a pair of blue jeans that may as well be painted on, you turn in the mirror and find yourself pleasantly surprised.

Even if you were pushing towards the top-heavy side of things, your stomach was always a point of pride. Smooth, almost flawless, but it always seemed to play second fiddle to your chest. But now, seeing them work together, you have to admit that it’s a nice look.


The second is similar to the first except it’s full sleeved and has a large portion of the back cut out, from the hip up to about the shoulder blades. It’s a little harder for you yourself to appreciate, but seeing Sour Sweet smirk and the way the muscles of your back look, is enough to let you know that it’s pretty good too. The shorts are a little high for your liking, coming up to mid-thigh, but they are snug enough that you wouldn’t risk flashing your underwear at anyone.

The last outfit is the one which gives you pause.

“I’m not wearing a skirt.”

“There is nothing wrong with a woman wearing a skirt.”

“Yeah, but I don’t wear skirts,” you snap back shaking your head. “Look, I run. I work on cars. I can’t be looking, girly.”

Sour Sweet cocks a hand onto her hip. “And what’s wrong with being a little girly? Just because I’m a Chicy girl doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate a good pair of jeans, so you should be able to see that sometimes you’re going to want to wear a skirt.”

“Yeah, never going to happen.”

“Just, indulge me, would you? Skirts and jackets are a fantastic combination.”

You frown and look down at the skirt, knowing that you don’t owe this girl anything. But somehow the nearly knee-length navy skirt ends up clinging to your hips, baring your runners legs for the world to see. Well muscled but still girlish. The jacket hangs loose over a belly baring and high necked t-shirt, highlighting your feminine qualities while also obscuring them. In a word, it’s flirty.

You hate it.




But after considering yourself for a few moments more, you sigh and have to admit she has a point. You do look good.

“I’ll take all three.”

Sour Sweet gives you a smirk. “Not without underwear you aren’t.”

“Fine, but just one pair.”

“I’ll make you look great,” the girl assures you, slipping out as you change back into your t-shirt and jeans. After trying on something different, they feel a little stifling.

When you arrive at the checkout, Gabby is just taking her bag from the clerk when you walk up beside her. “Hey, Squirt.”

“Gilda!” your cousin squeaks, pulling her bag against her chest. “Oh, jeez and crackers, don’t surprise me like that!” When you cast a look down at her bag, your young cousin blushes and starts to sputter. “This, you know this isn’t what it looks like.”

“Sure it isn’t,” you tease, and then nod your head towards the changing rooms. “Don’t worry; they got their hooks into me too. I don’t know how much use I’ll get out of them, but it’s nice to have something new.”

Gabby blinks, as though your words are finally resonating with her, and lets loose a sigh of relief. “Right, yeah, new clothes.”

She’s being awfully suspicious. Responsibility rears it’s ugly head as you ask, “Anything you want to add?”

With a quick shake of her head, the still flushed Gabby smiles up at you. “Not a thing!”

You want to press her further, but a pair of striped panties suddenly appear in front of your face.

“Do you like Zebra or Tiger print?” Sour Sweet asks, grinning. Gabby starts to laugh, and it’s the only thing that keeps you from shoving the cheeky girl back against the counter again.


Needless to say you leave with both. The ride home is a little awkward, as both of you begin to realize that despite wanting to investigate the short-skirt phenomenon, all you really did was help perpetuate it.

>Current Impact
>[***--] (0)
>Have you noticed all those girls in short skirts running around? Weird, huh?

>Gilda
>[*----] (0) [Unfashionable & Unfeminine Senior]
>Huh? You want to say that again to my face? Yeah, that’s what I thought.

>Gabby
>[****-] (0) [Plucky & Scatterbrained Underclassman]
>I can’t believe I forgot again! No, no, let’s go anyway, I can’t wait!

After arriving at home, you go through the routine of preparing dinner for yourself and Gabby. While doing so, you call up your friend, Rainbow Dash.

“Hey G,” she laughs, springs creaking over the phone. “What’s up?”

“Hey Dash, good to hear your voice.” The girl on the other end chuckles and responds in kind. With that out of the way, you pop the question. “Say, have you heard anything weird over at CHS about some kind of short-skirt challenge or something?”

“No,” your friend drawls, “I don’t even think that’s an actual thing. I mean, who’s going to make something like that? It sounds like some kind of bad prank some guys would set up just to see some legs.”

Well, that’s out. Clicking your tongue, you continue. “Gabby and I noticed that a lot of girls were going around like that today, so I thought I’d ask if you heard anything.”



You expect Rainbow to laugh it off, but the line goes quiet, save for her breathing. After a moment, your friend speaks up again. “Hey G, you haven’t talked with anyone else about this, have you?”

“Just Gabby, why?”

“Because one of my friends, Fluttershy, said the same thing. You remember her, right?”

“Vaguely.” You bite your tongue, resisting the urge to add that you don’t think you got along with her. “But she saw noticed something too?”

“I guess. Maybe the two of you should get together tomorrow and talk it out. It is Saturday after all.”

You consider that for a moment. Maybe it would be good to get some outside perspective.

>A. Sure, I’ll meet up with Fluttershy. Wherever she wants.
>B. Can both of you come out? You can pick where we meet, Dash.
>C. Actually, I’d rather just hang with you. Can you swing by tomorrow morning?
>D. I’ve got plans already actually [Free Action/Accompany Gabby]

With that squared away, you say your goodbyes and hang up. Dinner should be ready soon…




Standing in front of the mirror, you twist yourself from side to side. A realization comes upon you, slow and steady, “Gabby, you are in so much trouble if Grandpa finds out.”

The skirt, no, it is not even deserving of such a title. The strip of cloth around your waist fails to even cover the swell of your thighs, instead designed to show off the string-like underwear underneath. Your face burns with shame as you turn and regard the excessive expanse of bare flesh that is your butt. While your body is still developing, the thread has already vanished into the cleft of your cheeks.

“I look like a tramp,” you mutter, a small thrill running through your body. Taking a moment to tug on the string at your hips, you wince as it pulls tight against your crotch. “Ooh, careful with that.”

The top isn’t much better, stretching from near the bottom of your armpit to the top of your ribs, with ‘Princess’ stretched out across the front in glittery script. It’s a far cry from the vest and jean-short combo you picked out from the Tuff collection. But in spite of the wrongness, you can’t deny the thrill that comes from admiring yourself. Maybe, if other people looked at you the same way-

“No, no, no,” you assure yourself, stripping down to the pastel Chicy underwear you convinced yourself you couldn’t live without. “It was a mistake; I should at least take this outfit back as soon as possible.


Putting aside the matter of decency, you change into an oversized t-shirt and flop onto the bed. Because of your eagerness, the mystery of the short-skirts is still just that, a mystery. But you aren’t about to let it get you down. You have a whole weekend ahead of you to figure things out.

In fact, you should get started right away. You decide to spend your Saturday morning

>E. With your friends, the Apple Bloom, Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo! Four heads are way better than one!
>F. Scope out downtown and see if there are other places that short-skirted girls frequent for future leads.
>G. Interviews! Lots of interviews! You’ve got to get the word on the street to understand the situation, right?
>H. Actually, Gilda might have some ideas of her own. [Free Action/Accompany Gilda]



Having so resolved to grow your team, you send out a group message to your friends, the Cutie Crusaders. You remain suitably vague about what is going on, instead just suggesting that you all meet up tomorrow at the clubhouse. They all agree readily before you are called to dinner.

Gilda is in especially good spirits, since it seems she received a package she has been waiting on for some time. Apparently it should make her junker run like a dream once she finishes installation tomorrow morning. You’ll believe it when you hear it, but you can at least be excited for her.

The night ends without too much else going on; Gilda spends most of the night under or hunched over the car, and you get started on your weekend homework. However you do find something unusual in the bag while hanging up most of your clothes: a jar of body cream, and what looks to be a small box with ‘Power!!!’ printed across the top in an explosive, comic book style script. There’s only a single pill inside to push-tray, making it look like a sample more than anything.

Grandpa taught you not to take weird things from strangers, so you just stuff them into your book bag to bring up as ‘evidence’ at the meeting.

You aren’t sure when Gilda finally gets to bed, but she’s up before you with breakfast ready, like most mornings.

“Morning, Squirt,” Gilda yawns, ruffling your hair and taking a sip of her coffee. As with yesterday, you can smell the faint sting of alcohol on her breath but remain quiet. She probably thinks you don’t know, but Gilda isn’t exactly the most discrete when she’s knocking around in Grandpa’s liquor cabinet. Sitting down at the table, she shovels down a forkful of eggs. “Still headed out to that farm?”




“Mhmm. The girls said we could talk until about lunchtime, then Scootaloo has practice and Applebloom has to start helping on the farm. How about you?”

Your cousin regards you with her bright gold eyes. “Just meeting up with Dash and a friend of hers. Catch up and stuff.”

“Are you going to ask her about, you know what?” you ask, grabbing the leg of your jean-shorts and giving them a little tug.

“Ugh, no,” Gilda responds, far too quickly. “We’re just meeting up for coffee at this place near the mall. That’s all.”

You grin at her, remaining quiet for the moment, but also considering your options. If she is meeting up near the mall, maybe she can do some investigating with her friends? She might already have some extra plans in mind, and you aren’t sure if she would be okay investigating them on her own. Not to mention she might be a little put off that you didn’t tell her yesterday. Should let Gilda know about the cosmetic shop, nail salon, and photo booth that caught your eye?

>Yes
>No



You finish your breakfast and Gilda drops you off at Sweet Apple Acres a little while after 9:00. To your shock, the car actually purrs all the way to the outskirts of town. Not a single hiccup! Will wonders ever cease?

Giving a quick goodbye and shouldering your bag, you hurry up to the front of the farmhouse, where you are greeted by the cheery redhead, Apple Bloom.

“Howdy, Gabby! It’s always a pleasure to have you come visit the Crusaders! Have you been getting your practice in for the Cutie Dinner Theater?”

“Of course!” you giggle, walking side-by-side with your friend. “In fact that’s how I stumbled upon this mystery.”

Apple Bloom’s grin widens as she opens the door. “Well let’s not waste any time! The girls are already here, so go ahead and spill!”

You nod to the Scootaloo, a skinny girl with purple, short-cropped hair, and the doe-eyed Sweetie Belle who is practically squealing in excitement as she prepares to hear you out.

“Well, it all started in the auto shop classroom at Griffonstone…”

“…and then Gilda agreed with me that there were way too many short skirted girls around and we started investigating.”


The initial excitement that filled the room seems to have fallen flat. Sweetie Belle especially is looking at you as though you’ve grown a second head. She is, of course, the first to speak.

“So you’re just now noticing that girls wear short skirts when it gets warmer?”

A very different type of shame courses through your cheeks at the obvious question. “Well, I mean, I always noticed, but it just seemed weird that so many people would start doing it at once. And it’s not even that warm out.”

“Folks do have different sensibilities, no reason for a bunch of girls to start thinking its warm enough to wear a short skirt,” Apple Bloom chimes in, hiding her disappointment well, but clearly siding with her squeaky friend.

“Well I get where you’re coming from,” Scootaloo frowns. “I don’t know what the deal is, but everyone is ditching pants and shorts for skirts, and I don’t like it!”

“Are you still sore about Rainbow wearing spats with her skirt?” Apple Bloom says with a giggle. “That was three years ago!”

“And it’s still not right!” the purple-haired girl insists, looking over at you. “You were right to come to us, Gabby. The encroaching skirt-menace should absolutely be taken seriously.”

A small sigh escapes your lips as you wonder if this was actually a good idea. “But, there was also this newish store in the mall, Modern Gal?”

Sweetie Belle, who hand been examining her hair, immediately jumps back into the conversation. “Ooh, have you been there? Rarity says a sensible woman shouldn’t be anywhere near that place, but I’ve heard nice things. What did you think?”


“Well, I got these shorts and top,” you admit, keeping the racier purchase (that you will absolutely be returning) quiet for now. “And some underwear, but they seemed nice. Still, everything in there was a little on the skimpy side. I can see why Rarity wouldn’t like it.”

“You got that from there?” Apple Bloom asks, looking you over with a curious smile. “It looks good on you Gabs. You really fill it out nicely.”

A nervous giggle escapes your lips as you brush your fingers against your hair. They don’t need to know that your chest and hips are feeling a little more snug than they were yesterday, right?

“A-Anyway, when I left I found these stuffed away in my bag.” You pull out the cream and supplement. “I didn’t buy them, so apparently they’re free samples? But, I mean, who gives away a muscle builder and a fake breast cream?”

Scootaloo snatches the cream away, spinning it around in her hands as she reads the label. “At least three sizes, huh?” Purple eyes meet your own, then dance around to the other members of the group. “…Wanna try it out?”

The other girls seem game to try, but something about this seems wrong. What do you want to do?

>A. No! You don’t know where that’s been or what it might do!
>B. Agree to let one of the girls try it out (which?)
>C. Agree to try it out yourself

Further, they at least seem interested in Modern Gal, how do you want to approach this situation?

>1. See if they’ve noticed any other unusual locations around town recently
>2. Try to steer the conversation back on track to your short-skirt idea
>3. Talk up the store a little more and see if any of them might be interested in an investigation on their own



“Damn it, Gabby,” you quietly curse as you pull into the coffee shop parking lot. “If you noticed something you should have said something! God, I can’t believe I spent an hour and a half in that trashy store yesterday.”

Despite your complaints, you are still wearing the pair of jeans you bought yesterday. They cling to your legs and look like they were painted on, but they are far more comfortable than you originally thought. Likewise with the coat and belly-baring t-shirt. Maybe you wanted to show off a little for Dash and her friend. Speaking of, Rainbow is sitting on the railing out front and flags you down when she spots your car.

“Hey! Looks like somebody’s been getting some sun,” she teases as you walk up to her. You frown, looking down at yourself and, yes, there is a slight, sun kissed sheen to your skin that wasn’t present yesterday. As you try to reason out when you’ve ever been out in the sun, Rainbow continues. “I’ve missed that look, it’s familiar. Like when we competed back in junior high.”

“That was a long time ago,” you laugh, waving your hand and then cupping the underside of your breast. “A long time and about five cup sizes.”

Dash buzzes her lips, her own gently browned skin glowing in the midmorning light. “You’re a riot, G. Fluttershy is already inside, so lets go catch up, okay?”

In the interest of avoiding getting any more mysteriously tan, you readily agree. The Rainbow Dash hops off the railing, her sprightly body still standing only about shoulder height with you, and leads you inside to a table. A pink haired girl, straight hair, not frizzy like you thought, glances up with big green eyes.



“Oh, good morning,” she whispers, flinching back a little as you scrape your chair against the floor. “It’s been a while, Gilda.”

“Fluttershy, right?” you start, having absolutely no recognition of where you have met this girl before, but can play a part at least. “Good to see you again.”

The Canterlot students share a look, but Fluttershy smiles all the same. “Likewise. I am glad to know that this meeting should be a little less, um, stressful.”

They might not say anything, but they really don’t have to; you recognize that look. Obviously you did something to this girl in the past, but she’s such a wallflower that you can’t even remember the incident. Still, she seems to know something, so maybe you can milk her for some information. You decide to cut to the quick.

“So, I spoke with Dash yesterday about a weird thing my cousin noticed. There seem to be a lot of girls walking around with short skirts lately.” Another flinch from Fluttershy, this one much more subtle. You push further. “Really short skirts; like, the kind that border on indecent. Do you know anything about that?”

She nods, but remains quiet for a few seconds longer. Despite her sweater and baggy pants, the girl looks like she’s shivering. “I noticed, at least. It’s hard not too when so many girls are, um, flaunting themselves. I didn’t think much of it because that’s what some girls do, but then I started noticing them breaking into um, packs?”

“Cliques,” Rainbow tries to correct her, but Fluttershy shakes her head.



“Oh no, this is much more than just high school social hierarchy. This is something almost animalistic. They get this look in their eyes, a hungry look and-”

“Fluttershy has a tendency to conflate everything with animals,” the chromatic-haired girl cuts in with a laugh. “She just loves critters. Hey, I’m going to get a protein shake, you want anything Gilda? Shy?”

You give Dash your order and Shy does the same, leaving the two of you alone. Despite her building enthusiasm, Shy seems a little reluctant to continue now. But it seems like she’s noticed something you haven’t. Or she’s just a nutter. How do you want to handle this?

>A. Rainbow has pretty clearly taken the wind out of her sails, just make small talk
>B. Try to get Fluttershy talking again; she might be crackers, but this could be a lead
>C. You apparently put the fear into this girl once before, maybe she’d respond better to some gentle bullying?



“Come on, Gabby,” Scootaloo teases, waving the jar in your face. “Don’t you want to know what you’d look like with honkers like your cousin?”

“Fine, fine!” you throw your hands into the air, much the purple haired teen’s delight. That smile bugs you a little, so you throw it right back in her face. “But you get to be the one to try it.”

That gets you a nice reaction. Scootaloo’s smile falters as she sputters, “What? Why me? I play sports, I can’t deal with stupid bumps on my chest!”

Sensing blood in the water, Apple Bloom slides up to her with a grin as she slings her arm over the slimmer girl’s shoulders. “C’mon Scoots, y’all were so eager to try it, so why wouldn’t you be the one to test it out?”

“Yeah,” Sweetie joins in on the verbal dog pile, “if anyone should test it, it should be you or Gabby.” There’s a heavy moment before she tacks on. “But if it works, I would be willing to try it too.”

“Three against one,” you say with a smug smile. “So, are you going to do it?”

>Rebel Without a Cue
>Gabby has picked up a couple habits from her cousin since they started living together. Sometimes she acts against conventional wisdom just for the sake of doing it. Bonus to social/peer pressure events. Prone to emulate those she idolizes, even if they are behaving badly.

“Fine!” Scootaloo shouts, eerily reminiscent of your own admission. “I’ll put on the stupid cream. It’s probably expired and won’t work anyway!”

Scootaloo moves over to a secluded corner of the club house, facing away from the three of you, and lifts up her shirt. Your eyes linger on her tanned, gently muscled back for a moment, noting that the girl has forgone a bra entirely. She really is as flat as a board.




“Okay, while we’re waiting, I have to ask you girls something.” Turning back to Apple Bloom and Sweetie Belle, you adopt a serious expression. “Maybe the short skirts idea is me overreacting, but you have to admit that Modern Gal sounds like a weird place. So what if there are other weird places like that in Canterlot City and Griffonstone? Have you girls heard anything about that?”

That line of thinking sparks some interest. Apple Bloom mentions an unusual shop that recently opened up in Griffonstone, owned by Gimmie More. Apparently she sells all kinds of odds and ends and knick knacks. Granny has been a frequent customer and always comes home with something weird.

Sweetie Belle supports your theory about the cosmetics shop at the mall. Apparently it was another place that Rarity told her to stay away from, warning her about ‘the gauche clientele and even worse service’. Sweetie’s hoity-toity mockery of her sister always brings a laugh from the group.

Having lathered her chest down and pulled her shirt back into place, Scootaloo rejoins the group with a story of her own. Apparently her morning runs take her along a not-so great part of town, and there’s a secret club down one of the alleys. She isn’t sure where exactly, but there are always groups of women walking together when she goes by.

“You should probably change your running route,” Apple Bloom warns, but Scootaloo waves her off.

“I’m fine. I can outrun just about anybody, and the police station isn’t too far away. Officer Top even says hello to me every morning, so if I didn’t come by she’d notice.”

The redhead makes a small sound of disapproval but drops the subject. The conversation shifts to how each of you are practicing for the Cutie Dinner Theater, and time ticks by with agonizing slowness as you each shoot occasional looks at Scootaloo. Ever time you glance over, her smile grows ever wider.


It’s Sweetie Belle who finally asks, “So did you notice anything yet?”

“Nope.” Threading her fingers behind her head, Scootaloo offers a cheshire grin. “Told you that stuff was stupid.”

Despite her bravado, you can see Scootaloo’s shoulders sag a little. Probably out of relief, but maybe not. Shrugging, you pack up the snake oil bust cream in your bag and turn to discussing more pleasant things.

You end up spending the rest of the morning with the girls until it’s time to leave. After Scootaloo and Sweetie Belle leave, you help Apple Bloom straighten up the clubhouse. As you are putting the chairs away, the red head turns to you and frowns.

“Gabby, you don’t really believe that there’s some kinda floozy conspiracy, do you?” When you don’t respond, she sighs and walks up beside you. “Listen, I realize sometimes things don’t make sense, but you can’t always go looking for a way to connect the dots. I mean, fashion trends change all the time. Sometimes people wear really silly stuff they regret later. Just, I don’t want you to get so wrapped up in making a mountain out of a molehill, alright?”

“I guess,” you mumble, a little put off that the only one who believes you is Scootaloo. Maybe AB and Sweetie have a point. Are you just jumping at shadows after all?

But, even if it is just your imagination, a part of you still wants to follow this lead. Or any lead. You did pick up a few more after all.

>Discovery
>[**---]
>Once you have some leads, you’ve got to investigate!

You hope Gilda comes by soon, you’ve got an itch that needs to be scratched, and the only solution is

>A. A trip back to the mall. Cosmetics, ho!
>B. Check out Gimmie More’s store for odds and ends
>C. It might be dangerous, but you want to research this ‘secret club’
>D. You’re pretty sure Gilda learned something, maybe you should compare notes? [Free Action/Accompany Gilda]



This has to be the longest, most boring wait ever. You drum your fingers against the table, watching as Rainbow Dash makes her way towards the front of the line. Every so often, she chances a look back at you, and every time she looks, you feel your stomach twist tighter. She trusts you to behave yourself, that’s clear, but only just. And here you are without a clue as to why.

“Um, sorry, Gilda,” Fluttershy begins, drawing your eyes back to her. “Rainbow knows I’m not very good with new people, so it’s hard for me to start a conversation.”

“Relax, I’m not about to jump down your throat.” You rest your hand on your cheek, regarding her with a curious frown. “But you and I apparently aren’t strangers. I can for the life of me remember where we met.”

Gripping the hem of her sweater, Fluttershy looks down towards her feet. “It was, a regional track event, in junior high. I was there, with Dash? And, she beat you. And you shouted at me to, um, ‘eff off, dweeb’ when I ran up to her afterwards and bumped into you.”

The seconds tick by as you stare at the pink-haired girl. Her gaze darts between the floor and your face, unable to look you in the eye for more than a moment at a time. You break the silence with a simple, “That’s it?”

“…It was very traumatizing.”

“I’ll bet.” You feel a small tug at the corner of your lips as you poke at the apparently helpless girl. “You know you can say the word, we’re both adults here.”

Fluttershy shakes her head again. “Oh no, that wouldn’t be polite. I would feel bad because of there being little ears around.”



She points to a young couple with their toddler a few tables down. A snort escapes from your nose even as you cough to cover it up. The break in your teasing is enough to bring a small smile to Fluttershy’s face. So you decide to close in.

“Okay, fine. But really, that’s what has you shaking like a leaf when you see me?”

“…Yes.”

“Then I bet those packs did something just as bad, huh?”

The pink-haired girl stiffens, her green eyes immediately going back to the floor. “Rainbow-”

“Rainbow isn’t here right now,” you say, your voice steady, even, and just a little tense. “It’s just you and me, Fluttershy. I know that you’ve seen something. Something I might have missed. Something you wanted to tell me earlier. I still want to know what it is.”

“It’s silly,” the slim girl whispers, tugging on her sweater. “I’m over thinking things.”

“Hey.” You reach out, pinching her cheeks between your thumb and forefinger and forcing her eyes to meet yours. “I’m telling you I want to hear what is on your mind. I don’t care that Dash thinks it’s silly. I want you to tell me.”

“A pack,” Fluttershy says, her voice even and calm, but you can feel her breathing hitch. “They go around together, teasing, bullying, all in order to find other girls who might be a good fit. And so the group grows bigger. I’m sure there’s more, but…”

Her voice trails off and you push for an answer. “They came after you?” Fluttershy nods. “Why?”

“That’s what they do. Maybe they thought I would be a good fit. Or a soft target.”

“Are you?”


Fluttershy meets your question with silence. But she glances over your shoulder in an obvious manner. You pull your hand away from her face a few seconds before Dash shows up with your drinks.

“Sorry about the wait, everything okay?”

“Great,” you respond.

“Everything’s okay,” the pink-haired girl echoes, giving you a meaningful look and a small smile that you return in kind. Maybe there’s more to Fluttershy than you originally thought.

The three of you spend most of the rest of the morning talking. Dash has taken a distinct interest in your new threads and is ribbing you for going shopping in such a girly store. Fluttershy seems a little cautious at the mention of Modern Gal, but is still engaging with you. If you really wanted, you could probably meet up with them again at the mall afterwards.

>A. Agree to meet with Rainbow and Fluttershy at Modern Gal
>B. Invite Fluttershy alone, to stop the girls from picking on her
>C. Invite Rainbow alone, she really needs something more than spats, skirts and tank tops.
>D. Spend the afternoon with Gabby [Support Gabby’s investigation]



You don’t waste any time jumping into Gilda’s car when it arrives.

“Hey Squirt,” your cousin says. “Just a heads up, I’m heading to the mall after dropping you off.”

“That’s fine, we’re headed to the same place,” you say with a smile. “I got a hot tip about the cosmetics store, ‘Bright Eyes’ from Sweetie Belle.”

“Ah, one of the places you forgot to tell me about last night?” A small bit of shame colors your cheeks, even as Gilda laughs it off. “Relax, dweeb. I’m not that mad about it. Besides, it gave me something to talk about today. And I got a tip you might be interested in too. Apparently one of Dash’s friends thinks that these girls roam around in packs, looking for other girls who might fit in.”

“That’s, a little bizarre,” you admit, looking out the window. “I mean, you and I, we saw two girls who seemed to be operating on their own. No packs.”

“Well, maybe there are different types?” your cousin shrugs. “Besides, blondie and that white-haired girl you described, they seemed to be more than just short-skirted girls.”

You nod in agreement, mulling that over. They aren’t the same, but maybe they’re related somehow? Apple Bloom’s warning to not go jumping at shadows is still ringing in your head, so you try not to make a connection where there doesn’t necessarily need to be one. Still, you have a few more points of interest to consider now.

>Current Impact
>[*****] (0>1)
>Of course girls who hang out together wear a similar style of clothing! That’s the nature of cliques. It’s just a phase.



After finding a parking spot at the mall, you split off from your cousin and head towards the cosmetics store. Sure enough, there’s a crowd of short-skirted girls milling around inside, checking different shades, trying on samples, and otherwise being well, girls. With your outfit, you blend in well enough to avoid their notice, although you do get a few looks and giggles. It isn’t embarrassing, but you feel a pleasant tingle running down from your spine between your legs every once in a while. You adjust the waist of your shorts again, feeling a slight bit chafing as the rough fabric brushes against your hips and thighs.

There really isn’t that much that stands out as far as being unusual, aside from the clientele. Aside from the make up. For some reason you can’t get enough of the darker, more metalic shades. They just seem so neat!

You’ve never been much of a makeup girl, but just being around it and listening to how excited some of the other girls are, you can almost understand why some people make as big a fuss about makeup as they do the clothes that they wear.

Wearing makeup is a way to look good; looking good means you feel good too. It’s a natural cycle. While the white-haired woman is still a mystery, you think you’ve got a better grasp of what she meant now.

>Fashion Conscious [Adept]
>Gabby’s understanding of style is growing steadily. Not only does she notice trends, but she can encourage others to try a small change to their style as well. Bonus to clothing-related events; advanced by engaging in activities centered on fashion.



You’re turning an earthy colored eye shadow kit over in your hands when a series of short chirps comes from your phone. Pulling it out, you see a string of messages from the other Crusaders. A chain that’s growing by the moment.

As you scroll up through the messages, you finally spot the source of the freak out. A picture of an enormous tan landscape. You consider the photo for a moment, cocking your head to the side. Then the realization hits.

Hurrying out of the store, you bring the phone to your ear. “Scootaloo, where are you?”

“I’m stuck right between FREAKING and OUT, Gabby! Where the hell do you think I am!?” The panicked girl’s screech is audible even as you hold the receiver away from your ear.

“Okay, just, come see me. I’m at the Canterlot City Mall. We’ll go to the store and figure this out.”

Scootaloo takes a deep breath on the other side, and then sighs. “Okay. Okay. Just, meet me towards the back side, okay? I really don’t want to be seen by anyone I know right now.”

You agree to meet her there in ten minutes. She hangs up with an all too quick goodbye. As you go to pocket your phone, you somehow miss your pocket and hear a clatter on the ground. Going to pick it up, realize it isn’t the phone that dropped.

It’s the make up kit that had been in your hand.

“Oh jeez and crackers,” you whisper to yourself, pocketing the kit and hurrying towards the back of the mall. This is not how you planned to spend your Saturday.

/End2/


>/Begin3/

Rainbow Dash gives you a wave as you approach Modern Gal. “Hey, G! Took you long enough. You’ve got me thinking that your car is showy, not speedy.”

“I haven’t had a reason to open her up yet,” you reply with a snort, glancing between Rainbow and Fluttershy. “So, why are you waiting out here?”

“I recognized one of the girls who works here,” Rainbow says, jerking her thumb towards the store. “Sour Sweet. She’s a real jerk, mean, pushy-”

Fluttershy nods her head and interrupts. “Very angry.” Turning towards you, the pink-haired girl gives you a worried frown. “Gilda, this isn’t really me ‘scene’, I don’t know if I should go in there.”

The awkward teen’s eyes dart around and you notice that several of the girls passing by do seem to be taking an interest in the CHS pair. Although you can’t quite see it as Fluttershy described, some of them do seem very focused on the girl going to great lengths to hide her body.

She’s feeling awkward, it’s understandable. So the first step is to get them through the door. You cross your arms under your chest and fix Fluttershy with a serious stare. “It’s like I said back at the coffee shop. If you want to shake those girls loose, even for a little while, a good place to start is by coming across as more confident. A change of clothes can do that.”

“And as for Sour Sweet,” your attention drifts over to Dash. “I handled her yesterday and I can handle her today. Just let me know if she tries to push either of you around.”



Rainbow doesn’t seem especially convinced, or maybe she just isn’t all that enthused about clothes shopping. Fluttershy however seems to take heart at your continued presence, and nods along with you. “Okay. W-well, here I go.”

“Hey, Shy, hold on!” Rainbow yelps, dragged along by the much more eager girl. It doesn’t take long before Fluttershy has started digging through the flirty, sometimes classless, clothing in earnest, with Rainbow trudging along beside her.

“Hey, stranger,” Sour Sweet strides up to the entrance of the store, biting her lip as she looks you up and down. “Oh yes, Tuff suits you just fine. But you’d make a great Chicy girl too, in my humble opinion.”

Giving a small snort in response, you flash her a bit of a grin. “I do look good, but just met you yesterday, and I can tell there’s nothing humble about you.”

“Humility isn’t a good fit for either of us.” Turning towards the two new girls, you can see a flash of a predatory smile on Sour Sweet’s lips. “But you came back with friends. Are you looking for anything in particular?”

“That sounds like a question you should be asking them, not me.”

“Maybe, but you’re the one who invited them to come out here rather than go anywhere else. So obviously you should have something in mind for both of them.” She pauses and raises an eyebrow. “Or am I wrong?”

The hair on the back of your neck starts to rise. Sour Sweet isn’t threatening you, she knows better than that. But something about the way she asked is rubbing you the wrong way. Did you really come out here with intentions for the two CHS students? And if so, who are you going to help?


You look at the pair and notice Dash is finally getting into the spirit of things, holding up a pair of snug looking spats. Fluttershy is giggling with a floral t-shirt in her own grip.

>Assist Fluttershy, let Sour Sweet help Rainbow
>Assist Rainbow, let Sour Sweet help Fluttershy

After deciding on who you should support, you tell Sour Sweet what you’re thinking as far as what might be fun for the girls to try.

>Dash
>A. She has her own tastes, let her decide IF she wants to buy anything
>B. Dash has similar tastes to you, maybe something Tuff would fit
>C. Try to draw out Dash’s feminine side with something Chicy
>D. While not branded there are some sporty outfits Dash might like
>E. Maybe she could try something a little more girly than usual

>Fluttershy
>F. Shy probably won’t buy anything if you let her decide, but maybe that’s okay
>G. Fluttershy wants to deal with bullies? She should try Tuff.
>H. Chicy probably suits Fluttersy’s attitude best, she just needs some confidence
>I. Blending in might help her, so just encourage her to try an outfit emphasizing a short-skirt, like her bullies

Further, neither girl would ever be caught dead in a Bargain Bim outfit, but you might be able to slip a piece or two into their changing pile. You know, just for teasing purposes.

>1. No, you wouldn’t be caught dead in those outfits either.
>2. Yes, but only Dash. She can take a joke.
>3. Yes, but only Fluttershy. Desire to bully too strong
>4. Yes, both. They can laugh about it together later.



“I’ll take care of the quiet one with the big sweater.” You indicate Fluttershy, then point to Dash. “But, for my friend over there, why don’t you just help her pick out something sporty. I don’t think she would buy anything else, but I’m sure you could still do some impressive work.”

“Of course,” Sour Sweet giggles. “Leave her to me.”

Starting to walk away, you feel a small twinge of deviousness as you look back and add, “You can have a little fun with her too. She’s a tough girl.”

The clerk’s eyes sparkle in excitement as you turn back to your new responsibility. You still feel a little awkward about this whole situation. Your chest feels tight like you’re about to do something you shouldn’t but the thrill is there all the same. Maybe you didn’t make the offer at the coffee shop intending to play dress up with Fluttershy, but right now there isn’t anything else you’d rather be doing.

As you approach her from behind, you grab a few different items off the rack from the Tuff collection. After all, she wanted to deal with bullies, and you’ve always found the direct approach to be most effective. If nothing else these clothes might cause them to give her a wider berth just from the surprise of the change.

“Hey,” you tap the petite girl on the shoulder. She turns and nearly gets a face full of boob.

“Ooh, sorry, that was close,” she giggles, then catches sight of the armful of clothes. You think you hear her breathing hitch again, and her big green eyes dance up towards you. A small, cautious smile begins to spread across her face. “Um, are you going to help me with my bully problem now?”

Your positive response makes her smile even wider. She takes your hand and pulls you into the changing room, leaving a confused Rainbow outside with a grinning Sour Sweet closing in.



Once the door latches, Fluttershy begins to pull off her clothes with a practiced smoothness. You aren’t sure where she got her experience, but it’s more methodical than sexual. Even still you avert your eyes. Mostly.

You made a few mistakes about the young woman’s figure under that frumpy sweater. She isn’t especially curvy, but she does have a very distinct figure. Her breasts, held up in a floral print bra, would be a small handful each, and her hips are only about even with her shoulders. But her waist is very impressive, small enough that your fingers might be able to touch if you held her there.

Fluttershy either doesn’t notice or doesn’t mind your staring, and is quick to start trying on the clothes you brought for her. She tends more towards skirts which probably fits her best, and her choice in tops always seems to be full length, which is a little disappointing. She has such a soft, pleasant figure and she keeps trying to cover it up.

By the time she’s trying on the coats, you finally realize something. You’re horny. Like, absurdly horny, to the point where you can feel yourself heating up and squeezing your thighs.

It’s not because of Fluttershy, although the constant bending and twisting isn’t helping. The feeling is just buzzing around in your head like a fly, perpetual, persistent, and irritating.


Fluttershy turns to you with a wide smile on her lips. “What do you think, do I still look like the kind of girl you would want to bully?”

Her coat is longer than her skirt, and she actually went with a sleeveless shirt this time around. Add in a pair of boots, and a physical training regimen, and she just might be intimidating.

“You look good. I might even give you a second look before deciding you’re a soft mark.”

“Oh, gosh, I guess I don’t really fit the part yet.” Fluttershy’s frown is quickly replaced by a small smile. She flicks her hair over her shoulder and wets her lips, giving you an intent look. “Maybe I could ask you for some more practical experience? You could teach me some ways to deal with a bully, right?”

You can feel a small flex in your hips as the quiet girl eyes you up, her smile not quite hungry, but curious. Wondering how you’ll react. Maybe this is her attempt at a defense to use against the girls at CHS. Or maybe she genuinely wants to know what you think. Or maybe, she’s noticed that your nipples are hard as rocks and you’ve been squeezing your thighs together for the better part of ten minutes.

>A. Just let Fluttershy develop her own techniques to deal with bullies
>B. Give her a crash course on the fine art of profanity.
>C. Teach her a little bit about intimidation. Presence is everything at her size
>D. Fluttershy’s issue is confidence. Teach her how to use that pretty body of hers.



“You’ve really stepped in it this time, Gabby,” you whisper as your thumb runs over the smooth surface of the pilfered makeup in your pocket, wondering why on earth you just didn’t drop it in the store. Maybe it was the heat of the moment, but you don’t feel too terrible about stealing it. After all, people accidentally walk out of stores with stuff all the time.

The thing that really twists you up is you feel okay about holding onto it.

Before you can dwell on that much longer, your primary problem arrives. You spot Scootaloo exiting a car and jogging across the parking lot. Well, trying to at least.

The photo really underplayed the whole situation: Scootaloo is now sporting breasts at least the size of your cousin’s own chest. The oversized melons wobble about in a t-shirt that should be much too large, but only manages to cover down to her navel after pulling over her twin peaks. On such a slim girl, Scootaloo’s new chest is absolutely enormous. She very nearly gets a face full of boob on no less than three occasions in the quick jaunt across the parking lot.

“Gabby,” she pants, pushing her chest out in your direction, “what is going on with that cream? You made me huge!”

“I told you I don’t know! You were the one who wanted to try it.” You do feel a little sheepish for not being adamant in your concerns, but Scootaloo did agree.

“Only because you all told me to,” Scootaloo responds with a growl.

“Oh, so you’d be okay if it was me, or Sweetie, or Apple Bloom?” A small twinge of anger flares up in you stomach, and Scootaloo takes a half-step back. “I told you I would help you fix this, so come on and stop wasting time. Or do you want to chance someone else seeing us back here?”


At the mention of being unnecessarily seen, Scootaloo is quick to agree. Once inside, you have to position yourself on the outside lane to give your friend some coverage as she walks. It isn’t much, but by hunching forward and staying to your side, Scootaloo at least has the confidence to keep walking forward.

“I was at practice when it happened,” she explains. “Just, running around when suddenly ‘fwomp!’ suddenly it’s all tits fucking everywhere.”

You wince a little at the vulgarity, but don’t reprimand her. “Did it hurt?”

“No it-” Scootaloo starts, but then shakes her head. “It was just a surprise. I mean, my shoulders ache but that’s it. That, that’s really it.”

From the way Scootaloo is biting her lip, you have to wonder about that. Maybe she’s just trying to make it seem like less of a big deal than it actually is. Or maybe that blush isn’t just embarrassment.

“Let’s just try to fix this,” you say, trying your best to be reassuring. Before long, you arrive at Modern Gal and walk up to the counter, the purple haired girl with a bright green stripe who helped your cousin is filing her nails. She looks up as you approach, and then smiles.

“Oh, it’s the little cousin. Welcome back.” She looks over to Scootaloo and raises an appreciative eyebrow. Your friend just covers her chest with her arm and looks away.

“Yeah, hey, I wanted to ask you about something I found in my bag after I left last night.” Once you find the cream, it hits the counter with a thud. “Bust Up. What do you know about it?”

“Your bag?” Sour Sweet mumbles, but then shrugs. “I don’t know why it ended up in your bag, but I’m guessing your friend here tried it out?”

“What clued you in?” Scootaloo all but spits out.



“Oversized shirt, freaking out, cannons the size of your head, take your pick.” The older teen laughs as Scootaloo scowls and giggles. “Calm down, calm down, it’s only temporary.” As you and Scootaloo heave a sigh of relief, Sour Sweet starts filing her nails again. “Probably, anyway. You haven’t cum from playing with them yet, right?”

Scootaloo’s eyes widen and your jaw drops. After touching up her nail, Sour Sweet looks back to the two of you. “Did you read the jar? Effects are temporary excepting wherein the change is fully accepted within six hours. So you really have to want them to stick around.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” you offer.

“Neither does your classmate turning into an eight foot tall hellspawn and tearing open a rift between worlds, but here we are.”

You don’t have a response for that, but Scootaloo seems to understand. Somehow. Still she pushes for an answer. “What does c- h-having an orgasm have to do with wanting to keep these stupid boobs?”

Sour Sweet sighs and drops her nail file onto the counter. Then she reaches out, pats Scootaloo twice on the head, and pinches the front of the bloated girl’s chest. An audible hiss escapes from your friend’s lips as she catches herself on the counter, a bit of spittle forming around the edges of her moth.

“That,” Sour Sweet starts with a smile, “is why I asked if you’d had an orgasm. It’s not just size that went up after all.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” you protest, glaring at the clerk. “You could have just warned her to be careful.”

“But this is just so much more fun,” the counter girl offers with a sweet smile. “Besides, she should at least have some idea what she’s passing on. Your friend is still going to have to explain why her tits suddenly grew to be the size of her head, and then disappeared a little while later.”


Still struggling to catch her breath, Scootaloo wheezes, “I look, like a walking billboard, for sex.”

“You’re exaggerating, you look like puberty decided to it you all at once. Trust me, it’s not so bad.” She pushes out her own chest for emphasis. “I was almost concave when I tried it. I might not be your size, but this is pretty respectable, don’t you think? And the best part is, nobody asks questions if you keep them.

“I don’t know how it works, so I can only explain what happened when I used it. It was a surprise, but my parents were suddenly okay with me jumping up a whole three cup sizes after freaking out a few hours before. I think my wardrobe changing helped with that too. Once it happened, the world just kind of ‘clicked’ into place. None of my friends asked when I had surgery or anything. They just accepted it, that’s all I really know.”

You swallow the lump in your throat as you watch Scootaloo squirm. A hand goes up and begins to grope at her oversized breasts, sending small shivers down the slim girl’s spine. Your own fingers twitch, as though desiring to join in the squeezing.

“So what you mean to say is that Scootaloo can walk out of here, wait a few hours, go back to normal and have to explain everything, or just have everyone believe she’s always been so, big?”

“Probably. I don’t know about what happens if you go back. Maybe it works the same way and everyone forgets? I wouldn’t know the difference if that’s the case. If you want to go home, I won’t stop you. Or, I could help you take care of your problem right now. The girl I’m supposed to be helping kicked me out of the changing room, so I can spare twenty minutes or so.”


There’s a predatory gleam as she leans forward and whispers into your ear. “We can get some privacy in the back, help your friend cum her brains out and show her what she’s been missing. Maybe we can make things a little more interesting by finishing off the rest of the jar together, you and me. I’ve been thinking about giving it another try, and I wouldn’t mind seeing you with a pair of tits to rival your cousin. Or bigger. If you’re game, I might be willing to throw in an extra jar of cream before we go back, since you’d be so generous.”

You feel a sharp ache between your legs at the idea of toying with Scootaloo, especially with such another naughty, somehow cool girl. Part of you wants to, and she can smell it, Sour Sweet’s face is flush with excitement and anticipation. You see Scootaloo whimpering out of the corner of your eye and frown.

“Well, what about what she wants?” you ask, turning to your friend. “I mean, you said you wanted to fix this. So let’s just go.”

“Yeah, we should go,” Scootaloo mumbles, still juggling her jugs. “Just, give me a minute to think about it.”

“What’s there to think about? You hate this situation. What about playing sports?”

“Well, yeah, I did,” the purple haired girl admits, averting her eyes. “But, there are some nice things too. And I might be able to find a way to make this work. That’s why I want to think about it.”

And think she does, for a full twenty seconds before turning to you and asking, “Hey, this is partially your fault anyway, Gabby. So, what do you think? I look weird like this, right?”

>A. Tell Scootaloo to go home and wait out the hours until she returns to normal
>B. Tell Scootaloo to go home, but not what to do. She can keep them if she wants.
>C. Take Sour Sweet up on her offer and lead Scootaloo to the back
>D. In for a penny… take the offer that you and Sour Sweet share in Scootaloo’s ‘suffering’



Inside the changing room, you lock eyes with Fluttershy. That coy, almost cheeky half-smile of hers; you really want to knock her down a peg. So you get to your feet. Shy falters for a moment, gawking up at you and realizing just how large you are, and how small of a space in which she’s confined with you.

“So you want to learn how to deal with bullies?” you ask, grinning. The pink haired girl nods, her tongue darting out to wet her lips. “Well, I can tell you that you’re not going to be tossing anyone around looking like that, you’re way too small.”

Fluttershy scowls a little, puffing herself up in her coat. While it might have been an attempt at intimidation, Shy’s puffed out cheeks and narrowed gaze make her look more like a baby bird ruffling her feathers than a tough girl. You can’t stop yourself from laughing, and soon her giggles join in.

“Well you aren’t going to be scaring anyone off like that either. I could teach you a few good words to put the fear into someone.”

“Like, ‘eff off, dweeb’?” The green eyed girl frowns. “Sorry I don’t think they would have the same effect if I said them.”

She has a point. You try to imagine Fluttershy bristling herself up and shouting, “Get bent, cocksucker!” and immediately decide that if Fluttershy wants to be taken seriously, she needs to work on her presence first.

“Okay, since you’re so dead set on looking intimidating, here’s a quick lesson: use what you have.”

“What I have,” Fluttershy echoes, nodding in agreement. She thinks for a moment, and then frowns. “Um, Gilda, what does that mean?”

You rub the back of your head, trying to figure out what to tell her. You only just met this girl for the second time today, what do you know about her? “How about we make this an exercise; I’ll be me and you come up to me trying to start something, okay?”



Fluttershy nods and squares herself up. After a brief consideration, she storms up to you and glares, declaring, “You know Gilda, sometimes I think that you aren’t a very nice person.”

You bring your thumb to your lips, pressing into the full surface and consider if maybe trying to turn this girl tough is a mistake. She’s just a total sweetheart. Watching her try this is almost as painful as a cavity.

When you don’t react, Fluttershy smiles and claps her hands together. “Did I do it? Are you intimidated? Oh, or did I hurt your feelings.” Her expression changes immediately. “I didn’t mean it. Well, not entirely, you are a little rough around the edges, but I think that you might be a good person deep down, Gilda.”

Having no choice but to roll with it, you take a step forward, bumping your large chest against Fluttershy’s face. “Huh? What are you talking about? You don’t know anything about me, dweeb. So back off!”

Fluttershy doesn’t react for a long moment, her face buried in between your tits. Her breathing is strained but she doesn’t seem like she’s about to burst into tears or anything, so that’s an improvement. You pull her head free of your cleavage, pushing her back a small step.

“See? It’s not all about the words you use, but presence as well. For me, it’s a little easier because I’m bigger and stronger than you.”

“And bustier,” Fluttershy adds, bringing a blush to your cheeks.

“Well, yeah, that too. I guess if a guy who was bigger and stronger than me came up and tried to start something, I could intimidate him with sex appeal. But, that’s not really my style.”



The pink haired girl nods as she follows along. “I think you should try it more often.”

“What?”

“I think you should try it more often,” she repeats. “We could practice, right now…”

You give Fluttershy a gentle shove against the wall, and then press your hands against the wall on either side of her head. “…You aren’t taking this seriously right now, are you?”

“I’m serious,” Shy nods, not breaking eye contact the whole while. “Super serious. I want you to practice on me so I can learn to be a bad girl, like you.”

This girl is a pervert. But you’re feeling hot enough to oblige her anyway. Flexing your shoulders and arms, you drop her face into your cleavage again. Only this time you don’t stop until her head is pressed back against the wall, pinned between it and two big breasts.

“Hey, this is what you wanted, isn’t it?” you laugh, pushing your chest up a little more to squish more firmly against Fluttershy’s face. “Trying to act all tough when all you really want is to suffocate. Pathetic. And you think you could even be a quarter as bad as me?”

Fluttershy’s reply is muffled, but you don’t really care what she has to say. You guide one of her hands up to your chest, helping her squeeze the soft flesh a few times before she takes over on her own. Her second hand goes to join the first, but you grab her by the wrist and guide it down to your now unbuttoned pants.

“I’m wet. Get me off, it’s only fair.”

The eager sound the girl makes as is all you need. Her technique is amateur, but she’s active enough that you can enjoy the feeling of her fingers sliding in and out of you. You pull back every so often, giving Shy a chance to breathe, but the red faced girl is eager to dive back in after a few gasps.



You even begin to get a little pleasure from feeling her squirm against your chest. Your breasts had been a point of contention since they came in just before high school. You quit track and field, and most sports, because of them. While they never caused you  pain, but they never really did anything for you either.

But that’s changing. On one pull back, you keep Fluttershy at bay long enough to pull up your shirt and unhook the tiger print bra that Sour Sweet had ‘forced’ on you. Despite the girl’s whining, she dives back in with even more enthusiasm than before, savoring the skin-to-skin contact almost as much as you do. She moans and you join in.

It’s only now that the weight is hanging freely off your shoulders that you notice something unusual. Your breasts, already large, seem to be taking up a good deal more real estate. Bringing an arm down to your side you confirm that, yes, the flesh is spilling past your bicep. A twinge of worry knots itself in your stomach, but then Fluttershy finds your nipple and your concern floats away. At least for the moment.

Despite seeming to grow larger, it actually becomes easier for you to drop your chest on the poor girl’s face. The wall pushups feel better, smoother than before. It’s invigorating. By the time Fluttershy finally collapses, you’re still only halfway to an orgasm but feeling like you’re on top of the world.


A quick glance in the mirror confirms what you assumed earlier. Your breasts are bigger, your upper body too. Shoulders, back, arms even your abs. You look, solid. Intimidating. Tough. Moreso than before.

You pose in front of the mirror, completely topless with a hand behind your head as you shake out your neck-length hair and grin. Scratch solid, you look good. After drinking in the sight, you drop into a squat in front of Fluttershy and snap your fingers twice. “Hey. You alright there? Feel like you learned something?”

“Uh huh,” the girl says with a breathless sigh. “I learned a lot…”

You doubt that’s actually true. But maybe she did figure something out. You know you did

>The Natural Order [Adept]
>Through practice, Gilda has developed her extortion skills even further to include a softer, more sensual touch. She is a little more cautious about starting things she can’t finish, but always aims to finish. Bonus to intimidation-related events; advanced by engaging in activities involving bullying.

As you redress, you find your clothes are still a perfect fit. You have questions about it, but at the same time you don’t want to press your luck on needing to buy an entirely new outfit. Taking it as a small blessing, you head out onto the floor to meet up with Dash.

>[Choices following a later Gabby post.]



“Scootaloo, you look great,” you assure the purple haired girl, earning a soft, somewhat disbelieving smile. “No really, you look so good that I think you should keep them.”

Having so decided, Scootaloo nods her head. “Okay Gabby. Then, I guess I’ll-”  You reach out and grab take a handful of your friend’s breast. She freezes, biting her lip as she whispers, “G-Gabby?”

“I told you Scootaloo, you look good,” you assure her, leaning in close, but whispering loud enough for Sour Sweet to hear you. “You look so good I want to help you learn to love them. In fact, I want to have great big boobs, just like yours.”

The busty girl hisses through her teeth and Sour Sweet snatches the cream off the counter, replacing it with a second jar. “Sounds like a deal then. I’ll let the other salesgirls know we’ll be indisposed for a little while. Just head through the swinging door in the back.”

You don’t need to be told twice, grabbing the fresh jar and hurrying to the back of the store. By the time you enter the stock room, your hands are all over Scoot’s melons and she’s a breathless mess. “Oh, fuck, G-Gabby! Calm down!”

“I don’t wanna,” you declare, playing with the funbags further. Up, down, all around, you almost feel like a cat playing with a toy, pawing away without a care in the world. A delighted, chirpy laugh escapes your lips as you purr into her ear. “I won’t stop until you beg.”

“Don’t get too eager,” Sour Sweet comes up from behind, grabbing a handful of sweater meat for herself. “I want to play around too, so don’t break her before I’ve had my fun. Speaking of, you and me little cousin, tops off.”


Any anxiety you might have had about this process is gone as you strip off your shirt. While you no longer stack up to Scootaloo, you’re still within range of Sour Sweet, if only noticeably smaller. But that’s going to change soon.

“Here,” Sour Sweet teases, offering the jar of cream to Scootaloo. “She’s probably the one who convinced you to try it, right? Consider this payback.”

Your purple haired friend looks between you and the jar, uncertain. You give Scootaloo and encouraging smile and interlock your fingers high over your head. “Come on, you didn’t think I would make you go through this alone, did you? It’s not fair if you’re the only one of the Cutie Crusaders who can’t see her toes.”

Scootaloo snorts out a laugh then eagerly does as she is told. The cream is chilly, enough to make your nipples stand on end, and Scootaloo’s steady groping doesn’t really help matters. It only takes a couple of minutes for the cream to get completely worked into your chest.

“Great girls now me,” Sour Sweet insists, handing the jar over to the two of you. With a shrug, you each take one breast each. It’s a little awkward to do this with a near stranger, but having Scootaloo beside you is encouragement enough. Before long you’ve worked Sour Sweet’s breasts up to a glossy shine, and worked her up as well.

Things escalate quickly after that. Scootaloo loses her shirt, leaving herself wide open to a round of nipple sucking from yourself and Sour Sweet. Scootaloo is orgasming within a minute. You feel your own body tighten with need at the very thought that you yourself might be about to become this sensitive.

You can’t wait.

And you don’t have to wait long.



It happens when you’re straddling Scootaloo’s lap, rubbing your chests against one another as you grind away against her firm middle in a desperate attempt to satisfy your own needs. Somewhere along the way you lost your shorts and panties. You don’t care, the feeling of your naked needy body pressed against hers, the small bumps of pleasure you get from riding the girl’s firm middle, all you want is more.

You feel so good, therefore you must look amazing.

At the feel of a surge of warmth in your chest, you instinctively pull Scootaloo into a kiss; your lips suckling hungrily against hers. The sudden explosion of growth and sensitivity sends you growling into an orgasm of your own, your lips breaking away as you whimper. But Scootaloo isn’t satisfied and goes straight in for another kiss. This time with tongue. You’re more than happy to reciprocate.

As you continue to make out, you become much more aware of yourself. It’s not just your breasts that have ballooned out, but you’re sitting higher on Scootaloo’s lap as well. Your thighs have a better angle to squeeze and pull her more firmly against you. And the way your lips feel against hers is heavenly. You could keep going forever.

But it doesn’t last. After a dizzying minute or two of making out, Sour Sweet pulls you away for her own turn. Once your head stops spinning, you look down and confirm that, yes, your hips do seem to have spread out past your shoulders. But more importantly, you can’t see your feet.

More precisely, you can’t see your feet unless you crane your neck forward or off to the side, and even this maybe only at the right angle. And the sensitivity? You hiss, pinching your nipple and feeling a rush of delight from your head to your toes.



“This is amazing!” you chirp, and then slap a hand over your mouth. After a moment, you try speaking again but… “Was that, me? Oh jeez, I sound like a peppy school girl!”

“Maybe we should put your hair up in pigtails, you could look like it too,” Sour Sweet teases, hefting one of Scootaloo’s breasts and forcing the girl to suck on her own nipple. “Although I don’t know if guys would prefer a BJ, or to take you from behind…”

“Sh-shut up,” you sputter, sounding more whiny than offended.

“Relax, it’s cute,” Sour Sweet assures you, purring as she pulls Scootaloo’s face into her chest. “Oh, it shouldn’t be long now…”

You watch the scene intently. Or you would, if your phone didn’t take that moment to go off. Pulling it out, you see a message from Gilda, ‘Ready to go, were are you? Meet me at MG’.

“MG, MG,” you mutter, then panic. “Oh shoot, Gilda’s here?”

“Oh, didn’t I tell you?” Sour Sweet looks back with a devious smile. “She came in before you two. She’s been here the whole time.” As you pull on your clothes and come up with an inventive string of new not-curse words, the clerk gives you a lazy wave. “Don’t worry about your friend, not-so-little cousin. I’ll take good care of her until she’s all wrung out.”

“You better!” The threat kind of falls flat with the way your voice hitches up at the end, but you think you get the point across. Peeking through the door, you spot your cousin with her back turned, and slip out. After ducking your way to the front of the store, you tap on Gilda’s shoulder, causing the mountain that is your cousin to turn. She spots you and grins.

“There you are, I was almost worried about you.”


Your cousin looks like a hot, sweaty mess. You aren’t sure you look much better. The pink haired girl beside Gilda seems to be in a similar state. Rainbow Dash comes up, looks at the three of you and scowls.

“Why do I get the feeling I missed out on something?”

>Current Impact
>[****-] (1)
>Look, I don’t think that roaming bands of schoolgirls are a real thing, or even something to be concerned about, but…

>Discovery
>[***--]
>One has been location exhausted, but there is clearly something odd at work in this town.

>Gilda
>[***--] (1) [Delicious Devil Wrapped in Denim]
>What'd you say about my tits? These puppies are all natural. And no, you can't cop a feel.

>Gabby
>[****-] (1) [Occasionally Naughty Schoolgirl]
>Hm? I don't feel tardy. Are you just looking to get me in detention? That sounds dangerous...

Rainbow Dash and the pink-haired girl leave soon after. Gilda slides a hand into her pocket and gives you an expectant look. “So, did you find out anything?”

“More than I bargained for,” you laugh, pushing your newly busty chest up and out. Gilda doesn’t react in the slightest. So maybe Sour Sweet was right about people just not recognizing any difference. “Anyway, I don’t think there are going to be many more leads here. So I want to take a look somewhere else.”

“Away from the mall, I hope. I’ve had enough for one day.”

There were two other locations the girls recommended that you check out, the Curio Shop and the Mystery Club. Or maybe you could find another way to spend your time.

>A. Try to investigate the Mystery Club. With Gilda around, you’ve got nothing to fear!
>B. Check out the Curio Shop. As far as weird new businesses go, this one takes the cake, right?
>C. Maybe you should spend some time interviewing the short-skirted girls. You have a better understanding of their perspective now, right?
>D. Explain about the strange cream and pills you found in your bag to Gilda. Maybe she has some ideas for them.
>E. Actually, why don't you let Gilda show you what this car can really do?



“So, tell me again how this works.” Gilda is sitting across from you on the ‘Hey Burgers!’ patio, jabbing a crinkle-cut fry in your direction. “From the top.”

You take a sip of your soda and try, once again, to explain the obvious. “I found some breast cream in my bag after shopping yesterday.” Gilda holds the container of Bust Up and you nod. “I tried it out and it turns out it makes your breasts grow. The end.”

“No, not the end,” Gilda says with a frown. “Gabby, you’ve had knockers that put most girls to shame since you moved in with me and Grandpa. There’s no such thing as a cream that grows your tits.”

Biting your lip, you slurp on your soda again. “Well, that’s part of it. In addition to making your t-t- breasts grow, it also makes everyone else think they were always bigger than they used to be.”

“Mm.” Gilda’s finger taps against the table in rapid succession. “You know the only reason that I’m not throwing this trash away to make a point is that a lot of strange stuff has been happening lately.”

You nod in agreement, looking around the patio. There are a number of people staring at the two of you. “I think we’ve managed to get caught up in the middle of all that.”

“For sure,” Gilda agrees, polishing off the last three bites of her burger. “Anyway, there’s just one thing that really bugs me about your story.”

“What’s that?”

Tapping the jar twice, she frowns at you. “This jar is full, so how did you use it?”

The question makes you squirm in your seat. You might have enjoyed the sexual romp with Scootaloo and Sour Sweet, but you aren’t quite sure how Gilda would react to the whole story. So you explain it as quickly as possible.

“I took it back to Modern Gal. Sour Sweet gave me another one.”


The sharp yellow eyes of your cousin stare at you from across the table. But she doesn’t ask for more detail and eventually nods her head. “Okay then. For the time being I’m holding onto this. And this muscle one too. You haven’t tried it yet, have you?”

“No, I, um, I wanted you to have it. You know, since maybe you could find a use for it?”

A cheeky smile spreads across your cousin’s lips. “Oh, you want to see me get even bigger?” When you bite your lip, she laughs. “Well, I don’t quite buy in, but I can think of someone who might be interested. Maybe I’ll have Gimme check them out when we visit.”

You let a small sigh of relief as Gilda gets to her feet, glad to be done with that conversation.

The storefront windows for Gimme Moore’s Emporium are blacked out, with a sign on the door saying ‘come around back’. After a quick transit through the alley, you find a second door hanging wide open at the back of the building. And two female voices coming from inside, sounding at though each is about five seconds away from tearing into the other.

“You are a two-bit fraudster, Mopre! Nothing but a fence!”

“Careful there girl, I might accidentally forget where I put my ledgers.”

“I should have you arrested, your goods seized, and this building condemned.”

“I run a legitimate business here, if you don’t like it, get out.”

You frown, sticking close to your cousin. “I guess we came at a bad time.”

“Nah, sounds like something interesting is going on,” Gilda grins, pulling you along towards the door.

“I own your ass, Moore; don’t think-”

“Hey,” Gilda’s voice rolls out as she knocks on the open door. “Everything okay here?”


An older woman looks up from behind the counter, her brunette hair streaked with bits of grey. She smirks and motions you over, “Ah, come in, come in. Welcome to Gimme Moore’s; I’m Gimme and I sell everything from  knick knacks to odds and ends, and antiques to make your place unique.”

“No matter where she has to go to get them,” the other woman cuts in. Younger by only a decade or two, gauging from the premature grey in her otherwise dark hair, she has the start of wrinkles around her purple eyes and the severe attitude that gets cultivated with age. “Stay away from this woman, girls. She’s liable to rip off.”

“Slander!” the owner hisses. “Maybe I should have you arrested for besmirching my good name.”

“Give me the statue and I’ll be gone.”

“As I said yesterday, give at least through the weekend to find it. Once I know who bought it, maybe you can go buy it back from them.”

“Useless.” Having spat out the word, the dark haired woman storms out, shooting the two of you a warning look.


Smoothing out her apron, Gimme smiles at the two of you. “Well, now that we’ve put that ugly business aside, what can I interest two pretty girls like yourselves in today?”

“Just wondering if you’ve come across any weird items lately,” Gilda asks.

Gimmie laughs, a harsh, bitter thing. “I deal in the strange and unusual. You’re going to have to be a little more specific.”

Gilda clicks her tongue then shrugs down at you, clearly out of ideas already.

“What was all that about?” you ask indicating the open door. “She sounded mad.”

“Who, Yearling? Pff, the only good deal she ever made was a book deal for the trash she peddles. Never worked a day in her life!”

“Yearling, as in, A.K.?” the lilt in your voice rises in awe.

“That is what they call her, yes.”

>A. Thank Gimme for her help and go after Yearling
>B. Inquire directly with Gimme what Yearling was asking about
>C. Have Gilda ask Gimme about the stuff from MG. Meanwhile, you can do some snooping.
>D. Gimme seems pretty astute, maybe you can ask her about the short-skirt girls



“Oh I am not letting this chance get away,” you shout, turning on your heel and heading for the door. “I’ll meet you out front in like, twenty minutes, Gilda!”

Your cousin gives a small sound of acknowledgement as you run out the back door. The way your chest bounces around, you kind of regret bolting off like that, but you can’t let the opportunity to meet THE A.K. Yearling get away! Besides, Gilda can work over Gimme easily enough on her own. Probably.

The good news is that A.K. is still in the alley when you stumble upon her. She’s muttering to herself, “Maybe if I head down to the storage unit, but she’ll be expecting that…”

She’s getting close to the corner, if she rounds that she’ll be gone. You take a deep breath, “Miss Yea-”

“Stop there,” the spectacle wearing woman says, jabbing a finger back in your direction. “I don’t like the attention.”

You drop your hand from your mouth and nod in understanding “Oh, sorry, I guess I was a little excited. I’m a big fan.”

A delicate smile dances across her lips. “Not the biggest? I don’t know if I should be hurt or not.”

“I’m sure there are bigger,” you giggle, bouncing on the balls of your feet. “But, I never expected to run into you at a place like this; what was going on between you and Miss Moore?”

“Gimme and I have a long history,” the author says with an evasive wave. “Sometimes I ask her to hold on to things for me. Most of the time its junk and I don’t care what she does with it. It just so happened that this time she apparently sold something rather important. I need to get it back.”



That sounds serious. But, “Apparently? You mean you aren’t sure?”

One of the reasons I work with Gimme is because she’s very discrete. The other is that she’s a bit scatterbrained and has to write everything down. Half of the time I’m not even sure she knows what she’s sold or not. The only way she listens is if you keep harping on her, and even then she does everything at her own pace. But, I really need to get this item back as quickly as possible. It’s very da- important. Very important.”

“Oh.”

“That’s all I can really say about it. But thanks for talking to me. Always nice to meet a ‘big fan’…”

“Gabby, Gabby Griffon.”

The tanned woman offers a smile and nods. “Gabby, got it. Well, maybe I’ll see you around town before I leave.”

You nod and give a small wave, letting the woman who enchanted your childhood round the corner and disappear. After a moment, you panic. “Oh jeez and crackers, I had my copy of ‘The Froggy Bottom Marsh’ in my backpack the entire time! Miss Yearling!”

>[no decisions yet]


“Oh I am not letting this chance get away,” Gabby shouts, turning on her heel and heading for the door. “I’ll meet you out front in like, twenty minutes, Gilda!”

“Must be nice to get so worked up over someone you recognize,” you laugh, earning a tired look from Gimme Moore. Fine you can get straight to business. Reaching into your jacket pocket, you pull out the jar of breast cream and the single-serving pill, you places them on the counter. “Apparently you know a lot about odd things, so tell me about these.”

Gimme makes a strangled sound as she glowers at the items. “Never seem them before.”

“Too quick, old bird,” you place your hand on the counter and lean over, flashing your best ‘don’t fuck with me’ grin. The smaller, older woman glares up at you with a frown, but seems content to remain quiet. “Now listen, I’m a reasonable woman. Tell me what I want to hear, and there won’t be any issues.”

The shop keeper taps her fingers on the counter a few times and then looks away. “Fine. But do not tell anyone about this.”

“Some weeks ago I am doing a job for a man who gets arrested before the job is complete. Instead of getting money, I am left with an entire crate full of these: for chest, for bottom, for smoother skin, for muscle, for height of all things!  Useless. I cannot even sell them because, if they do not work, I get complaints. Complaints are bad for business.”

“My cousin says that they work-”

“Your cousin is a nincompoop.” As you level a glare at her, Gimme raises a hand and sighs. “I apologize, I am sure she is a very nice, very smart girl. But this is the truth. I cannot sell them in my store.”



“Right, never in the store because that could be traced back to you. What about as a side business?” Your smile widens as Gimme sucks air through a grimace.

“You are asking too many smart questions, girl. Yes, there is a side business. It moves very, very slowly. It will be months before I am able to move all of them.”

“Have you ever tried them?”

Gimme crosses her arms under her chest and gives a very direct, “No.”

You have to question that. For a woman of her age, she’s in remarkable shape. Her face has only the smallest of creases and her chest is actually quite large now that you can see it as it spills over her arms. Maybe Gabby has a point. You decide to press another avenue for now.

“So how do you know that they work?”

“All that matters is that my buyer thinks they work. As long as they keep buying, I will keep selling. Everything else? Not my concern. But that is enough questions. I need to make a call. If you are ever wanting to buy anything, you let me know.”

She pushes the cream and pill towards you with a knowing wink that makes you feel more than a little uneasy. Then she turns away and begins rummaging through a datebook. “Now, where is that number, Warehouse, warehouse…”

You turn to leave when you notice a dark colored post-it note sticking to the edge of the counter. ‘Warehouse’ is written across the top, along with a phone number. Taking one last shot at the old bird, you pull the note and stuff it into your jacket pocket when you reach for the cream and pill. It might be petty, but something about Gimme rubs you the wrong way.


You meet up with a wheezing Gabby in front of your car a few minutes later.

“So, didn’t catch up to her?” you ask, to which your cousin shakes her head.

“Once. Not the second time.”

“Dash is going to flip when she hears that A.K. Yearling is in town. Did you get an autograph?” Gabby shakes her head. “Mm, well at least you spoke with her, that’s something.”

“Yeah, she seem nice. But really high strung. Apparently she and Gimme are fighting about something she sold.”

“As if that wasn’t obvious.” Gabby sticks out her tongue and you give her a light swat on the shoulder. “But Gimme seemed edgy too she wanted me out pretty quick.”

“What about the stuff you confiscated?”

“It’s legitimate, to a point at least. I’m still not convinced it works, but apparently someone’s purchasing it off of her. So somebody thinks it works.” The words feel heavy on your tongue as you’re forced to admit the old bird has a point.

>Discovery
>[****-]
>Another location exhausted, but another lead too. You’re closing in on something big, you can feel it!


“So what do we know?” you ask, after comparing your notes.

“Well Gimme is pretty clearly involved in something. A.K. Yearling thinks so too. But, I’m not really sure we have anything on her, unless we wanted to try breaking in and searching the place overnight.”

“Oh, Gimme said she doesn’t sell the stuff out of the store, it’s too much trouble. So she probably keeps it off site.”

Gabby’s eyes light up. “Like in a storage unit?”

“Or a warehouse,” you add with a smile, digging into your pocket and pulling out the crumpled note. Sure enough, a quick check confirms the number is tied to ‘Lock-It’ storage company. You even have a unit number.

At this point, Gabby is practically bouncing in place. “So we could go check out the storage unit and see if Gimme is involved in anything else?”

“Mm, without the key code to get into the lot, that sounds like breaking and entering.” You give your cousin a serious look. “I’d probably be okay, but I don’t know if I want you involved in that.”

“Oh come on! We’re a team, Gilda! Besides, you at least need a look out.”

“…Maybe. But what about this secret club you wanted to check out? Wasn’t that a lead too?”

“Yeah, the short-skirts are involved there, probably,” your cousin grumbles, looking down at the ground. “I guess we can’t do both.”

“Not in the same night.”

“Well, in that case

>A. I want to investigate the club!”
>B. This storage unit lead is juicy, let’s follow it!”



You decide to head to the storage unit a few minutes after dusk. Because Gilda doesn’t have to worry about the car falling apart, you make excellent time across town and are able to scope out the exterior with little issue.

There are a couple of routes you can take. One would be to approach from the back, cut your way in and work your way towards the front. It’s slow, but discrete. You also might not have a lot of time to investigate or get anything which catches your eye out of the yard.

The second is similar, but more risky. Gilda is confident she can lift you up and over the gate, and then climb over herself. This would be faster than cutting through and give you a time to explore and loot, but if something goes wrong, you don’t have a quick escape already made.

Another would be to split up, where you flirt with the watch and get him to open the gate. Gilda hates this idea, but you think you can pull it off. However you would probably need to stay with him the entire time. That might be dicey, but you could leverage it against him pretty easily in the future.

Fourth, you could play the part of bait and draw the watchman out. Then Gilda could either cold clock him, or intimidate him into opening the gate. Someone would have to stay with him to make sure he doesn’t call the cops, but Gilda is confident in her car if it comes to that. You probably won’t be able to come back.

Finally, you could just roll up and try the unit number in the keypad. Gimme is known to need to write everything down, so maybe she kept it simple? Or maybe she has it in an obvious place in her car. If all else fails, you can say she sent you. Failing the keycode would absolutely blow your cover, and probably put you on Gimme’s short list.

But, maybe you’ll get lucky.

There is one more option: waiting. But you don’t like it…

>A. The long road is the safe road. Cut through the fence.
>B. The high road is a pretty good road too. Go up and over the fence.
>C. When in doubt, flirt. Split up and coerce the guard to open the gate.
>D. Hit first, ask questions after. Bully the guard. He doesn’t get paid enough for this.
>E. Take a guess. If all else fails, name drop Gimme and burn that bridge.
>F. Take a guess [Burn 3 points, guarantee success, open up a new Shop Poll (Current points: 9)].
>F. Just wait for A.K. Yearling to show up. You won’t get any time in the locker alone, but surely she has a way in, right?



After considering your options, you turn to your cousin. “Through the front?”

Gilda responds with a toothy grin. “Through the fucking front.”

Gilda pulls off to the side of the road out of sight, and the two of you head towards the watch house. When you get closer, Gilda separates and moves into the shadow of the structure, while you work up some tears and stumble towards the door.

The guard, a middle aged man with a receding hairline, spots you before you step into the light in front of the door. He tries to wave you away, but by that point you’re already bawling.

“M-Mister!” you whine, putting that cutesy voice of yours to work, choking out a string of words Gilda told you to use, “I, my phone, and, boyfriend and!” Another sob and you’re within arms reach of the door. “P-please, help?”

He frowns, wrestling with something for a moment, before unlocking the door and stepping out to comfort you.

The poor man doesn’t even get close.

You thought Gilda might run in with a shout, or a roar, or some intimidating one liner like they do in the movies. Instead, she just runs up and drills the portly patroller in the face. It’s simple. Inelegant. Totally not stylish. But the sharpness of her smile is enough to send shivers down your spine. You’ve never seen Gilda like this before but it’s undoubtedly

“Cool.”

“Ain’t it though?” Reaching down, Gilda straddles the now collapsed man, grabs him by the collar and gives him a shake. “Alright listen up, dweeb! You’re gonna-”

You and your cousin stare at the man as he rag dolls about with every shake. Fear jumps up into your throat. “Omigawd, you killed him!”

“He’s not dead, dork, just unconscious.” Gilda slaps the man across the face twice. And then a third time for good measure. “Really unconscious. Grab that door.”


Doing as you’re told, you watch as Gilda grunts, rising up to a squatting position before shouldering the guard’s bulk. She moves forward with a steady but urgent pace, and then drops the man onto the floor with a grunt. Pulling out a few zip ties, she binds the guard’s hands and feet, leaving him prone on the floor.

“Well, that didn’t go like I expected at all. So, who’s going to stay with him? If he starts coming around again, I could put him back to sleep. One more good knock ought to do keep him out for as long as we need.”

“I think it might be better to get rid of as much evidence as we can,” you say, nodding to the CCTV screens. “I think I can erase most of this, as long as he stays zip tied. I might even be able to catch up with you afterwards.

“Or,” Gilda says with a smile, “we could race the clock. Do you think we could get in and out together before lord lard here wakes up?”

>A. Gilda stays, the guard won’t wake up.
>B. Gabby stays and erases the footage of the girls
>C. Both girls go and leave the guard ziptied on the floor.



“I’ll stay here,” Gabby says, jostling the downed man with the toe of her shoe. “I know you’d rather me not be involved, so this is probably the safest place for me, right?”

You smile and give your cousin a pat on the head. “I told you that you were a smart girl. I’ll be just a couple of minutes. Do your best.”

The girl is practically beaming as you hurry out of the watch house and back to your car. You hold your breath as you turn the key, preparing for a clanging, sputtering racket that never comes. Instead it purrs to life and you heave a sigh of relief. “I don’t think I’m ever going to get used to that.”

You drive up to the front gate and give your cousin a thumbs up. She does the same and opens the gate, allowing you to drive inside. The blacktop is full of divots, making your head and breasts jostle about, but you’re more focused on the lot numbers. Once you arrive at the one on Gimme’s post it, you stop.

Out come the sheer cutters, snip goes the lock, and CLANG goes the raising sheet metal door as it slams against its guides. Pulling out your flashlight, you grin as you look over the entire haul. “Looks like this is the spot after all.”

Your light flicks around to a lot of the apparent junk that is piled up everywhere. Tables, clocks, chairs, rugs and boxes. Lots and lots of boxes. One pile towards the front catches your eye and, after checking inside, you confirm that it’s an entire box full of that stupid breast cream. Even if you think it’s stupid, your heart pounds in excitement with the possibility that there might be something to this stuff.

Going through a few more boxes you find creams, lotions, pills, even hair care and lip gloss. There are a number of other items scattered throughout, but you’ve become rather single minded about going through Gimme’s secret cosmetics stash, so you ignore the rest.


It isn’t that you actually believe it works, but taking these cosmetics is going to be more difficult for Gimme to explain. A smile crosses over your lips as you imagine the busty older woman telling the cops that they need to find her ‘tanning lotion’. The case would never even get off the ground.

As you are preparing to load up the car, something catches your eye: a statuette standing on top of a table. It doesn’t look especially well made or anything, but you feel a twinge of something familiar when you stare at it. After a moment of consideration, it hits you.

“Short-skirts.”

Sure enough, the figure is of a young blonde woman in a short skirt that mimics the girls you’ve seen around town. Her top is only slightly better, with her modest chest threatening to spill out of the neck of a shirt tied off to bare her belly. She has a gentle tanned look to her, but her arms and legs are very thin, and her curves only average. Still, if she were human sized, she would fit in with any of the girls you and Gabby have been investigating.

Without as much of a second thought, you take it.

>Idol
>???
>???
>A strange statue that looks like the short-skirted girls you’ve been investigating. It feels warm to the touch and fills you with an uncertain feeling.

The statue joins the rest of your loot in the car. You wipe down everything as best you can and hook the broken lock back onto the door. The car rumbles to life and you make your way back towards the front.

Gabby is waiting for you outside the watch house. Once you are on the other side of the gate, she hops into the passenger side and the two of you head home. The rush of a successful job is invigorating, even if the haul was questionable. Thankfully you got out before anyone else showed up, and the only real observer was the guard. Gabby should have taken care of most of the footage, but you’re not going to be able to go back there any time soon.


After taking a long drive around town, you arrive back at home. Gabby is eager to help you put up the loot, and you can’t help but smile. Sure, you feel a little bad about having her help you in some petty theft, but what girl hasn’t engaged in a misdemeanor or two at her age? As long as she doesn’t make a habit of it.

“Creepy,” Gabby mutters, having taken the statue out from the backseat. She runs her fingers over the figure’s body and shivers. “Why did you even grab this thing?”

“Seemed important,” you shrug. “Doesn’t she look familiar?”

Your cousin nods, turning the statue over in her hands. “Yeah, that’s what bothers me. Maybe we should smash it or- oh crackers!”

The figurine starts to glow with a soft light in her grip. Gabby sputters, juggling it between her hands. You hurry over to take it away from her, but feel a surge of heat between your thighs when you touch it. You clench your legs together and closer your eye in an attempt to shake off the sudden feeling of vertigo.



Behind your eyes you see girls. Dozens, then hundreds, then even more. Short skirts, short sorts, denim and dresses. All shapes and sizes and colors, and attitudes but all obsessed with looking good. Feeling good. Whatever that meant. A lifetime of indulgence. It was more than a little appealing. And then, the light fades, and you are left in the garage, holding a statue of a scantily clad woman with your panting cousin.

>Gilda
>[*****] (1 > 2) [???]

>Gabby
>[*****] (1 > 2) [???]

>Discovery
>[*****]
>Well we found, something? We’re still unclear on what it is, but it’s pretty powerful…

“Did, you see that?” you ask. Gabby nods, running a finger over the statue’s bare stomach.

“Y-yeah. Oh gosh Gilda, I think we may have the solution to the short-skirt girls right here!”

Maybe. You look down at the statue and frown. “So, what, we break it?”

“Or, we could study it and try to find a way to turn all the girls back to normal.”

There’s a slight hitch in Gabby’s voice, suggesting that she’s not being entirely truthful. Sure, she could probably figure out how to use the statue. But that has a lot of different meanings.

>A. Destroy the statue and be done with it. No more short-skirts, right?
>B. Let Gabby study the statue. You want to repaint the car anyway.
>C. Encourage Gabby to study the statue. Give her some ideas on how to use it.
>D. Just leave the statue be for now. It isn’t going anywhere.



“I guess it couldn’t hurt to dig a little deeper,” you admit, watching as Gabby’s face lights up in a smile. “We could both use a project of our own anyway. Now that my baby here is purring good and proper, I want to get her looking good.”

“Painting?” Gabby asks. “But, won’t that take a couple days to finish?”

You bring your index finger to your lips and grin. “What Grandpa doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

Considering that for a moment, Gabby lets out a nervous giggle. “I guess so. I should probably get started on my end.” Hefting the statue, Gabby heads inside. “Don’t stay up too late, Gilda!”

You offer her a quick wave and a grunt before turning back to the matter at hand. You had been planning on painting your car, eventually. You’d even been filching pieces of equipment from the auto shop for the better part of the school year: your pride and joy being able to sneak out with an old compressor and spray gun that would otherwise be gathering dust in storage. Although you’ll probably have to take those back once you finish the job, it’s better than buying or renting them.

You spend the rest of the evening, and late into the night, cleaning up the garage and sanding down the car. By the time you finish the rest of the world has either gone to bed, or just decided making noise is too much trouble. You’re inclined to agree.

After stretching yourself out and heading inside for the night, you notice that your phone is flashing a furious red light at you. Sliding it open you see two voicemails.



“Hey, G!” Rainbow’s voice comes over a bit too loud over the receiver. “Great seeing you today. Glad to see you and Fluttershy getting along. She’s a pretty cool girl, right? By the way, that Sour girl? Total jerk. You should have seen what she tried to put in my clothing pile, UGH!”

“Anyway, I thought maybe you and I could hang out again tomorrow, or later on in the week? As long as you’re not chasing skirts, I mean.” The boisterous girl gives a borderline goonish chuckle before diving back in. “If you’re game, hit me up, okay?”

You don’t bother to hide your smile and move on to the next message. You hear a distant voice in the background and wonder if someone dialed you on accident. Then a second voice joins in and there’s a small chirp of surprise before the quiet voice asks, “Hello, is this Gilda’s voicemail?”

“Oh, of course it is, that’s what the message said, and, I don’t actually expect an answer you know. I know this is a machine. Oh gosh I’m rambling again aren’t I? Um, I just called to say, thank you for today. It was a lot of fun. I really did learn a lot. And the clothes are, um, nice. Maybe we could do it again sometime. …Soon?”

“Well, I should probably be going but, just let me know when you get this message. I just get so anxious calling people for the first time. Bye.”

With a small laugh, you send both girls a message that you got their call. You don’t commit to meeting up, as the late hours of the night probably isn’t the best time to do that, but that doesn’t stop you from sending the text anyway before going to clean yourself up for the night.


The water runs down the curves of your body, like it always does. But it feels different now. Better. The way the droplets trickle down between your breasts, over your arms, abs and back, it’s enough to make you shiver even in the humid steam. You take a couple of minutes to get the edge off that you’ve been enjoying since this afternoon, the scent of sex washing away before it even has the chance to set in.

Only bothering to tie a towel around your waist, you walk into your bedroom, drying your hair. Your phone is flashing again, except with a text this time. You slide it open and then make a desperate effort to recover your phone as it falls out of your hand.

Fluttershy is standing in front of a mirror wearing the coat and little else. The ‘little else’ being the bit of ‘Bargain Bim’ you slipped into her clothing selection: slingshot underwear.

It’s heavily altered of course, with two long, thin strips of purple fabric running between the larger swaths at her crotch and over her nipples. It crosses above her breasts, and then again at her waist on either side. Presumably it crosses in the back as well, but you aren’t privy to those lines.

The end result is that Fluttershy is just barely covered, wholly indecent and she knows it, judging from the fire-engine red flush to her face. Her smile is awkward, but eager, and is mirrored in the accompanying message: “I don’t think this is very convincing underwear for a girl who wants to avoid getting bullied.”

No, it isn’t. You feel a smile tugging at your lips as you appreciate the photo for a little while longer before going to sleep.

>[Gilda Discovery: Concluded]



While Gilda begins her work in the garage, you head to your bedroom to drop off the statue and clean yourself up. Your cousin had done most of the dirty work and heavy lifting, but you still feel a little filthy. And really, you only have yourself to blame. You wanted to go to inspect the storage unit, and agreed going through the front was best and let Gilda take the lead. It’s just that you had never seen that side of the girl before.

“Gilda was so cool,” you say to yourself, wrapping yourself up in a hug. “But really scary. She just floored him, like it was nothing.”

The word around Griffonstone has always been that you don’t cross Gilda. Until tonight you never understood why everyone was so afraid of her. Not that you think Gilda would ever try to hurt you. But, knowing that she’s so strong and you, well, aren’t, is a little intimidating.

What if she gets in over her head? Who’s going to bail her out? Are you a bad enough girl to save your cousin’s but if she gets into a bind?

You don’t like the answers to those questions, and spend the better part of ten minutes absently scrubbing yourself under the warm water. From now on, you resolve, you’re going to be a better cousin; the kind of girl Gilda can depend on when times get tough.

“Cousins stick together, after all,” you whisper, finally finding your confidence again. A quick rinse and towel off later, and you are back in your room, ready to take the first step on becoming dependable: cracking open the mystery of this statue.

After almost an hour of fruitless inspection, you drop your head onto the desk. Taking up poking the blonde figure, you grumble, “It would be easier if I had a starting point, or knew anything about statues.”



Pressing your index finger against the top of the statue, you rock it back and forth and try to reason out what the next move should be. After the encounter in the garage, you have a feeling that this is strongly related to the short-skirted girls. But if the statue has been inside a storage locker for who knows how long, then none of the girls could have had an experience like you and Gilda. They never would have even touched the statue. But it still may have had an impact on them.

“So, why do the short-skirted girls show up?”

A familiar question, at least in spirit, to what started you on this journey two days ago: what is the deal with all the girls in skirts? And, slowly, an answer begins to form in your head.

“You dress nice to look good. Looking good leads to feeling good. A life in pursuit of momentary pleasures, a quick rush of endorphins. Like spending money on an outfit you wouldn’t be caught dead wearing in public, or m-making out with a friend of yours until she o-orgasms.”

Or stealing from a cosmetics store, the eye shadow on the edge of your desk seems to offer up in accusation. Your body burns with frustration, shame and arousal. Despite your desire to be responsible and help Gilda, your passions eventually win out and you unbutton your pants, sliding a finger along your heated slit.

You continue to rock the idol back and forth with your free hand, as you lazily begin fingering yourself. The statue watches you with her slightly vacant and very flirty smile, a beatific expression that promises an unforgettable moment. So it is that under that watchful gaze you cum for the second time today. And the statue glows.

>Idol
>Currently set to: ???
>[**---] (0)
>A statue that is (apparently) responsible for the short-skirted girls around town. Whatever power it has seems to be almost exhausted. Maybe you can find a way to recharge it?


It isn’t much, and only for an instant, but you can’t deny what you saw. The statue is ever so slightly warmer against your finger and, for some reason, the statue’s expression seems a little glassy-eye herself.

You blink and look again. No, nothing changed. It must have been a trick of the light.

But, perhaps you have a new lead. You enjoying yourself obviously caused a response, no matter how small. If it responds to pleasure, maybe you can take it somewhere that a lot of girls are enjoying themselves, than the reaction would be larger. It can’t hurt to try at least, right?

Your mind also goes back to the conversation Scootaloo and Sour Sweet had at Modern Chic. The specifics were completely over your head, but you gathered that they both had experiences with the strange and unusual. Maybe you can use them as a lead?

As a plan begins to come together in your head, you smile to yourself and begin nodding. “Yeah, I think I can do something with this after all.”

But not tonight. The best thing you can do right now is get an early start tomorrow. That’s when you can begin to put your theories to the test, for real. Hopping up, you prepare yourself for bed and are quick to fall asleep, your only company being your hopes and dreams for tomorrow, the distant sound of a sander, and the teasing smile of the statue watching over you.

[Gabby Discovery: Concluded]