TF: Unexpected Red 6 (old and bad)

>Ponies, ponies everywhere.
>Cute little ponies from a recent reboot of the My Little Pony franchise. Their aesthetics seem to have greatly improved since last you remember seeing them.
>Much to your surprise and great confusion, it has a massive and mostly adult male fan base.
>Within a couple minutes, you find out that apparently adding 'pony' to the ends of words is a thing they do on the show. You even watch a few clips. Nothing really special about it, it looks like any other cartoon.
>This is good information, but it really doesn't help you very much.
>Mainly the question you're asking now is "why?"
>Why the hell would you be turning into a creature from some random cartoon for little girls?
>At least you think you are. The 'somepony' thing that you let slip last night seems to be a pretty good indication.
>So you know a little bit more about the situation you're in now. You aren't turning into a horse. You're turning into a pony.
>You really aren't sure what to think about this, but you cant help but be somewhat relieved. At least you know these things are sentient, you aren't going to be a mindless beast if you can't stop this.
>You hope. The transformation certainly isn't leaving you mind entirely intact. Now that you know whats been happening, you notice several subtle changes to your psyche and thought patterns over the past couple days. >Picking up on some of the pony's dialect certainly not being the least of the more obvious ones.
>You wonder what other changes are in store for you.
>Will you even be the same person tomorrow?
>That thought scares the hell out of you. You already had difficulty remembering your name when you got up this morning. You aren't going to forget who you are, are you?
>You need to make some way of helping you remember, in case you forget. You mustn't forget.
>Without really thinking about what you're going to do, you pick up a pen, find one of your sketchbooks, open it to a new page, and begin to write.
>"My name is Ana Anonymous. I am human. I am not a pony."
>Your hand falters, you read what you just jotted down.
>It sounds really stupid.
>You scowl and drop the book, deciding to rest your face in your hands in despair instead.
>You have absolutely no idea what to do now. You can't get medical help, your phone is gone so you can't call Lizz, you certainly can't go outside like this, and everyone else would probably think you're insane.
>Maybe that's it. Maybe you've just gone bonkers, it would explain a lot. Probably the best explanation for everything that's been happening in fact.
>You begin questioning everything that's happened so far. Is any of this even real? Could all of this really be the horrible after effects of an untreated stroke?
>Something brushes against your leg, making you jump.
>Its your tail, you've been sitting on it this whole time.
>It isn't particularly comfortable, crushed up against the chairs backrest.
>You stand up, freeing the long strands from under you before sitting back down.
>You drape your tail-hair over your lap, and begin running your fingers through it.
>The effect is quite soothing.
>This is as real as it gets.
>You definitely cant afford to start wondering if everything you see or feel is real or not. That path definitely leads to madness.
>Won't make much difference if you're already mad, but you decide not to take the chance.
>You spend a few silent minutes just stroking your damp tail, gathering yourself.
>You really need to form a plan of some sort.
>You turn back towards the computer.
>Might as well learn as much about this pony thing as you can.
>You wheel yourself up to the desk and go back to google. What should you start with? Maybe you should try just watching the show? No, that would take too much time.
>You didn't think it would be of much help before, but hell, might as well try it.
>You try typing in "My Little Pony Transformation."
>You get about the same results you were expecting. A lot of weird art and fan faction.
>Oh well, it was worth a shot. You suppose now you know this isn't a common enough problem to warrant a place on the first page of google.
>You're about to try something else, when you hear a knock at the door.
>That's probably not good.
>You jump up from your chair, nearly falling flat on your face before you regain your balance again.
>Your muscles are really starting to hurt again. Not nearly as bad as before, but its still enough to make you wince.
>You peek out the window, trying to get a glimpse of the visitor, but you cant see the front door from here. There doesn't seem to be a car though, which means its probably not police or anything. Good. You haven't really liked the police ever since a particularly traumatic event as a child that involved them.
>It's likely a solicitor or something.
>You can probably safely ignore it.
>What if it's Lizz though? She's probably still really worried about you.
>Wouldn't she just let herself in though? Especially if she suspected you might still be unconscious.
>You're about to go down and check, just to make sure, when your ear twitches.
>You think you can hear a voice from outside.
>With a grunt, you open your bedroom window, listening more intently.
>"Hello? Is everything alright in there? We heard screaming."
>The hell? You must have screamed at least twenty minutes ago. What was he doing all that time?
>You review everything you've done from the shower until now. Had it been that long?
>Maybe not twenty minutes, more like ten, or fifteen. Still, he's a little slow on the uptake.
>All the same, if you don't do something he might call the authorities.
>You need to buy yourself some time.
Just a minute! I'm not dressed!
>That was true enough, you were still naked and wet from the shower in fact. Somehow you weren't cold in the slightest from this. You remember the heat flashes that came just before each of your little episodes, and begin to worry a bit.
>You really need to find some clothes.
>You stand up and head towards the bathroom again.
>When you open the door you are blasted with a solid wall of steam. You had left the shower on. Shit.
>You slip inside and manage to turn off the water, but all the clothes in here and the interconnecting closet are definitely too wet to wear right now.
>You suppose you could just wear wet clothing, but that sounds really uncomfortable. There's got to be something else you can wear in the house.
>Leaving the dripping bathroom behind, you go back into the bedroom, and spot something on the floor next to the bed.
>Its the nightshirt you sometimes wear when you don't feel like sleeping in the nude.
>You pick it up and slip it over your head, grimacing as the soreness gets to you again.
>It gives you decent body coverage, it's supposed to be really big after all.
>It shows a little too much leg for your tastes, but it'll do.
>You make your way downstairs as fast as you can.

>You try to get a better look at the visitor through the windows to either side of the door, but they are distorted for reason, and you cant see much other than his general shape.
>Steeling yourself, you open the door, making sure to hide as much as your body behind it as possible, peeking your head around the edge.
>Good lord this person looks like he has never seen a woman in his life.
>"Uh, hello."
>Oh boy, he's going to talk like it too.
>Things make a bit more sense now. The poor guy must have heard you screaming bloody murder in the shower and spent the next ten minutes or so working up the courage to come here.
>Most people just wouldn't have cared, so either he's a genuinely good person, or he's stalking you.
Hello. Can I help you?
>He begins shifting awkwardly in place, taking way too long to respond.
>He obviously didn't think this through much at all.
>"I heard screaming, really loud screaming. It sounded like someone was hurt, but I wasn't sure enough to call the police, so." He pauses, mulling over things. "So, are you okay?"
>You sort of stare at him for a few seconds. This whole situation suddenly seems very surreal.
>You're talking to a super nerd while wearing next to nothing, trying to hide your newly grown tail from him just in case he's an undercover agent from the SCP Foundation or something.
>Eventually you remember to respond.
Yeah, I'm fine.
>He presses on, undeterred. "What was the screaming about?"
>On the spot again. Time to think!
I stubbed my toe.
>Or not. Really? A stubbed toe? You couldn't come up with something better than that? A TV turned on too loud, a really big spider, a prank, anything even slightly plausible?
>You decide to give yourself a break. Lying sucks enough with beating yourself up over its quality. It's probably a good sign about your character that you aren't good at it. Either that or another indication of your mind fuckery, considering you had no real problem with it up until a couple days ago.
>Too late now anyway, you're gonna have to roll with the stubbed toe thing.
>He gives you an incredulous look. Smart as a whip, this one. You wonder if he's a neighbor or was just passing by. You've never seen him before.
>Wait, 'neigh-bor'? That sounds like another pony word. Oh fuck it's happening again.
>Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.
>Your distress seems to show on your face, because he leans in closer before saying "Kind of an extreme reaction for a stubbed toe, wasn't it?" His eyes flicker to the spot just beside you on the door, then back to you.
>What, does he think somebody has a gun on you or something?
>You need to get rid of this guy so you can get back to freaking out over turning into a pony.
>You put on your most sincere expression, look him straight in the eye, and say:
It was a very painful stubbed toe.
>Brilliant. If that doesn't do the trick you don't know what will, because you're obviously too stupid to think of anything better. Even if you are mentally impaired due to pony transmogrification. No excuses.
>Right about now, your body decides that now is a good time to stop being quite so human.
>Your feet start cramping again.
>Your face hardens, and you try to ignore it, staring blankly into empty space.
>Your visitor starts looking concerned. "Hey, you okay?"
>You can feel sweat beading on your forehead. Holy shit this hurts so much.
I-I'm fine. Mnngh. Thank you.
>You're stuttering now, great. As if the tension in your voice wasn't enough of a giveaway.
>He's not buying it.
>You glare at him for a moment, all of this is his fault. If he hadn't decided that today of all days he was going to be the hero, you wouldn't be in this compromising situation.
>You are tearing up from the pain now.
>Oh Fuck everything.
>With a small yelp, you immediately forget about everything and yelling expletives at the top of your lungs wile you clutch one of your afflicted feet, causing you to hop around on the other in an attempt to keep balance.
>As if the effect is contagious, the awful cramp begins to spread to your hands.
>A few seconds later, you manage to regain enough conscious thought to realize that the door has swung open, and the super nerd has been observing your ridiculous dance with a dumbfounded expression.
>Your tail is in plain sight, and has been keeping the night shirt from falling over you properly.
>With a blush and a snarl, you stomp over to the door and slam it shut.
I'm FINE.
>You shout at the closed door for good measure. You don't know what he took from this little encounter, and you don't care. Your life is fucked anyway.
>You limp over to the couch and get your weight off your horribly aching feet.
>Your fingers are curling involuntarily, you think you can actually feel the bones fusing together with a sort of soft prickling sensation in the joints.
>You detect the same feeling in your feet and toes.
>Instead of being horrified by this development, you just feel hallow and exhausted.
>You watch, a mild expression of disinterest on your face as the fingers on your left hand begin to fuse together in a vivid demonstration that you suspect would qualify as body horror.
>The feeling of heat is mind numbing, and you realize you've been panting in an attempt to keep yourself cool. Your skin is already glistening with sweat.
>You just stare for a while, staring until your vision starts to blur.
>For a moment you think you might be about to pass out again. But as it turns out, you're just crying.
>A veritable tsunami of hopelessness and sadness bursts through your apathy.
>You close your eyes and try to keep from breaking down altogether.
>Why you? Why did it have to be you? Why couldn't it have been one of those guys who writes creepy fan fiction about this? Why couldn't it have been one of them? At least they could have gotten some kind of sick pleasure from it, but no, it had to be you.
>You lay down on your side and curl up into a ball, sniffling pathetically. None of this makes any sense, and trying to think of satisfying answers makes your head hurt. Nobody can help you, and even if somebody could, you cant contact them now. You're stuck here on the couch while your body contorts out of control.
>Alone.
>You really wish you had a friend. Even if they couldn't help, the comfort would be really appreciated right now.
>You let out a little gurgling laugh at the thought. You don't think you know anyone who wouldn't run away screaming at the sight of you at the moment, or at least keep their distance.
>Well, maybe Lizz, but your not even sure how she would react to this. You've been friends for years, and something more for one of them.
>You don't know how she feels about you. Heck you aren't even sure how you feel about her anymore.
>You open your eyes and look down at your hands.
>You immediately wish you hadn't, and close them immediately after.
>It almost looked like somepony had amputated your fingers. Your hands above the wrists were lumpy stumps covered by stretched pale skin.
>The tears are really flowing now.
>You really liked your hands.
>Thoughts of the things you'll never be able to do again begin to creep into your mind.
>You'll never be able to write or draw again, operating a computer is going to be next to impossible. Driving is out of the question to be sure. Goodbye video games.
This really sucks.
>You manage to choke that out, but things are starting to get a bit fuzzy now.
>You're hot, hungry, dehydrated, and your emotionally taxed to near your breaking point.
>You don't feel very good overall, and it's getting to you.
>A numb feeling in your chest starts to creep outward, and conscious thought is beginning to slip away.
>Your weary mind welcomes the solace of thoughtlessness.
>You are vaguely aware of time passing, and of yourself. You can still feel the changes progressing, mostly in your hands and feet, but there are other more subtle feelings too. The sound of your own breaths are loud in your tingling ears, but you can perceive the small pops shifting sound of your body actively changing its shape.
>Yet you seem oblivious to the traumatic effects this should be having on your mind.
>You just lay there in the fetal position, quietly waiting for the room to stop spinning.
>Eventually, you slowly begin to come out of your shock induced waking coma.
>With a little effort, you manage to pull what you think is a coherent thought from the shattered pieces of your sanity.
>Water.
>You feel more thirsty than you've ever been in your life.
>With a shuddering effort, you push yourself off the couch, and come crashing down to the floor in a tangle of misshapen limbs.
>Looking down, you try to evaluate the extent of your changes.
>Your arms and legs are wrong. Very, very wrong. Your hands and feet are entirely gone, and the limbs they were attached to have been changed drastically. You think you have the same number of joints, but they are in wildly different places. Moving around is going to be a problem.
>There is also a thin coating of what appears to be fur covering the majority of your newly changed limbs, pale red in color.
>As far as you can tell, the rest of you still appears to be human. So you're pretty much a half human half pony monstrosity now.
>Could be worse.
>Now how do these legs work?
>This monstrosity is in dire need of a drink.