UNTITLED (Ditzy Doo) by PhysicsAnon [OBSOLETE]

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>You walk quickly through the dark streets, the cold winter air biting you through your jacket.
>It had rained recently, and mud spilled over onto the sidewalk from adjacent lawns and empty lots.
>You shift your bag full of goodies from one arm to other, gripping it by the bottom.
>Getting booze and snacks at night meant a walk through poorly-lit alleys in your neighborhood, but the reward was always worth the paranoid fears of skinwalkers lurking in the shadows.
>…Mostly worth it.
>You glance about warily as you enter the alley leading to your apartment complex.
>Passing the dumpster, you hear movement, and you give it a wide berth.
>Fuckin’ homeless dudes.
>You fumble in your pocket for your keys, but as you mount the stairs, something slams into your back.
>FUCKIN’ HOMELESS DUDES!
>Your bag of supplies falls to the floor as something scrambles over you, and your hands dart out to seize it before you can even think.
>You're instead met with a small, furry body before you feel the bite.
>You curse and reel, jerking your hand back and your tiny assailant with it, flinging the small body out into the street.
>In the dim light at the bottom of the stairs, you get your first real look, and your stomach falls.
>It’s a pony.
>You knew what they were, and knew they were popular as servants or sex slaves or whatever, but you didn’t own one yourself.
>College students can’t afford that shit, and you like to think you’re not a scumbag.
>Pale green eyes leer back at you, glinting with grim determination.
>”Gimme the bag.”
>Pretty ballsy demand coming from something that looks like hammered shit.
>And now that it doesn’t have the element of surprise…
“Don’t think I will, no."
>The little horse snarls, darting back towards you, but you’re ready this time.
>You lash out with a leg, catching it in the chest.
>There’s a grunt of pain, but it just retreats a short distance, pacing.
>Keeping your eyes on it, you slowly gather up your goodies, hoping to whatever gods may be that your snacks survived the fall.
>The equine follows you all the way up the stairs, looking for an opening that never presents itself.
>Your key finds the lock, and you warily place yourself between the door and your assailant in case they get any funny ideas.
>You try to slip in and shut the door behind you, but an orange hoof blocks the door, and a single green eye glares bloody murder at you as you try to force it back out.
>”Celestia curse e’ry last one of ya’ll! Heartless apes! Whaddya want, huh?! I’ll do anything! You wanna fuck, is that it?! Just gimme some food! For the stars’ sake, my sister’s gonna starve!!”
>Her impassioned outburst gives you pause.
>Maybe she’s lying and maybe she isn’t, but seeing how ragged she is in the light, you feel a twinge of sympathy.
>You never go out of your way to be cruel, and leaving her out there with nothing would be fucked up even to your numbed sensibilities.
>You set the bag on the floor and root through it.
>The beer is out of the question, that shit’s yours.
>You look back at the frenzied viridian eye, questioning.
“What do you guys eat?”
>The question dumbfounds her for a moment. She likely didn’t expect you to cave.
>She responds warily.
>”Anything that ain’t meat… Whatcha want for it?”
>You silently weigh your options for donation, before settling on giving her one of the big bags of chips.
>Delicious and kinda-sorta-maybe nutritious.
“Get back to your sister and never attack me again.”
>There’s that dumbfounded look again.
>”…Jus' like that?”
“Did I stutter? Get the fuck outta here. Cops patrol this area pretty frequently, and god knows those dudes would love a free piece of ass.”
>You open the door just enough, and the orange hoof snatches the bag from your grip.
>You hear her bolt down the stairs and you sigh with relief.
>You likely won’t see her again, but you did your good deed for the day, and that’s enough.
>You carry what remains of your loot to your computer desk, firing up your PC.
>Casually, you peer through the blinds into the alley to see if the pony’s gone.
>She’s still down there.
>She’s not looking at your window though…
>Oh god, is she memorizing the name of your complex?
>Dammiiiiiiit!
>Dad was right! Never give homeless people money or else every hobo within 2 miles will know and come ask for some!
>Before you can think to stop her, she dashes off into the night, bag o’ chips held in her teeth.
>You groan in resignation, cracking open a beer to wash away the worries.
>The rest of the night passes like it normally does; a blur of electronic entertainment and reckless consumption.
>You eventually pass out on your bed, dreaming of green-eyed skinwalkers trying to steal your beer.

>The next morning seems to come suddenly, and you rise groggily from your bed.
>The downstairs neighbor’s yelling.
>You have a good idea of who it’s directed at.
>The muffled sounds of shouting and crying come up through the floor and you briefly consider knocking on his door and politely asking him to shut the fuck up.
>But that’d be more trouble than it’s worth, so you just do what you always do.
>You jump up and down in the middle of your bedroom floor until the whole building rattles.
>The shouting stops, and the crying subsides.
>Good enough for now.
>You’ll probably find a rude note on your door later, but Keith’s just a little faggot who thinks he’s tough.
>Dude doesn’t even lift.
>One morning trinity later, and you’re ready for breakfast.
>Opening the fridge, you grimace.
>Looks like it’s going to be just eggs again.
>You should have bought some breakfast food while you were out last night…
>Aw well.
>The image of a green, bloodshot eye flashes through your mind, and you grimace even harder.
>There’s another problem.
>She’s probably going to be back, with more strays.
>You briefly consider calling animal control, but discard the thought.
>You know what happens to recaptured slaves.
>And the orange one from last night is almost certainly an escapee.
>As you finish your eggs, you decide to deal with it when it happens.
>Throwing your dishes in the sink to soak, you pack up your books and don your sweatshirt.
>If you weren’t entirely awake before, the crisp morning air makes certain of it as you lock the door behind you.
>Time to go learn.

>After a long, hard day of listening to other people talk you’re ready for a beer.
>Sadly, being the borderline alcoholic you are, you drank all the drinks you had last night.
>You stop at a convenience store to pick up a six pack then begin making your way home.
>It’s not dark enough to worry about skinwalkers yet, but it’s always dark enough to worry about orange ponies.
>You peek around the corner into your alley, half-expecting her to be there staring up at your building just like she was last night, but the coast is clear.
>Stepping quickly, you reach the door to your apartment unmolested by small furry creatures.
>Your ears, however, are assaulted with further shouting from the unit below yours.
>Keith again.
>As your key slips into the deadbolt, you hear the door below you being wrenched open, and you hear his voice screaming.
>”You’re not coming back in until you figure out how to be useful, you dumb cunt! What a waste of money!”
>You close your eyes, exhaling deeply.
>The door slams shut, leaving only sniffles and squeaks of pain.
>You’re already halfway down the stairs when she shakily begins climbing them.
>You’ve met a few ponies since they became popular.
>Generally, the ones with shitty owners fall into two categories.
>The ones strong enough to escape, and…
>Ones like this.
>A pair of crooked, golden eyes look up at you tearfully.
>One of them’s been blackened pretty badly.
>She mumbles her gratitude, following you back up the stairs.
>Opening the door, Ditzy trots in, visibly brightening at the sight of your apartment.
>You found her curled up on the landing to your floor for shelter one night.
>Something about the way she didn’t straight up attack you the first time you met left a much better impression, and you were happy to help her when you finally coaxed her into explaining her situation.
>She crashes at your place when Keith’s small penis syndrome gets too much to bear.
>You take your shoes off as Ditzy climbs into your plush armchair in the corner.
>Setting your six pack on the counter, you go to the freezer for some ice cubes.
>You stuff them into a plastic bag and bring it over to her.
“Here. For that eye.”
>”T-Thank you sir.”
“Don’t call me sir.”
>”Oh… I’m sorry, Mr. Anonymous.”
>You sigh as you give her ear a quick scratch.
>You’ve been through this rigmarole a few times, and you gave up trying to get her to stop calling you that.
“Don’t sweat it.”
>She coos at your touch.
>She likely doesn’t get much of that.
>You drop off your backpack in your bedroom, thinking about things.
>You’re not much good at conversation and Ditzy’s pretty quiet.
>She likely doesn’t trust you completely, which you understand.
>If your roles were reversed you wouldn’t trust her either.
>Typically, you just let her nap in that chair until she wants to leave.
>But this time you want to make an effort.
>Picking up your beers, you bring them over to your computer desk a short distance away from Ditzy’s nest in your chair.
>You crack one open with the trusty bottle opener on your Swiss army knife, then pause.
“Want a drink, Ditzy?”
>She looks mildly startled, taking a moment to answer.
>”I…I don’t know. I’ve never gotten to try human drinks…”
>You offer her the bottle.
>Slowly, a grey wing unfurls, reaching across to grasp it.
>You note all her feathers are intact.
>A rare thing for slave pegasi.
“You, uh, don’t get in much trouble, huh?”
>”…Er, no…?”
>Goddammit, why can’t you talk good, Anon?
“Your wings. They haven’t been clipped. Troublemakers usually… you know.”
>Her gaze fall to the floor as she pulls the beer close.
>“…Yes. I do my best to obey.”
>Wow, Anon, and you wonder why you don’t have any friends.
“Shit, I meant… I just… Why? You could fly away. To anywhere. There’s any number of places you could run to with a pair of wings. So why don’t you?”
>Her gaze slowly rises, and she studies your face with her non-iced eye as her wing raises the dark glass to her lips.
>She takes a little sip and sputters, scrunching her cheeks and lips.
>”Blech…”
>You chuckle, but she starts panicking when she realizes she just spat a bit of drink on your floor.
>”Oh! Oh no, oh ponyfeathers, I’m-“
“Hush. It’s neither the first nor the last beer stain on this carpet.”
>You gently take the bottle from her, and she fidgets in the chair, still pressing the bag of ice to her eye.
“Will you answer my question?”
>She nods slowly.
>”Um… I’m just scared, Mr. Anonymous. I-I know that as an Equestrian, it’s my duty to resist, but… I don’t like getting hurt. I’m not brave like the Royal Guard or police ponies… I-If I don’t run away they won’t punish me or clip my wings, so I’ll still be able to fly… I guess I’m kind of cowardly...”
>Tears appear in the corner of her eye.
>”E-Even if I’m bad at it… Even if I’m a klutz… I love being able to fly. I love being able to nap on top of clouds and bask in the sunlight up there...”
“It sure sounds nice. Does Keith let you? Fly, I mean?”
>”No, but…”
>She just trails off, sinking into herself.
>Too late, you realize you’re prodding at some mental baggage best left alone.
>You take a swig of booze to steady your spaghetti before speaking again.
“Sorry.”
>She wipes her free eye hastily before responding.
>”No… No. I… It was good to talk about it.”
>She sniffles, and you give her another scratch behind the ear.
“Well… Cool. You like pizza?”
>She sighs as your fingers massage her scalp
>”Ooooooooo… Yes, but I haven’t had it since I…”
>You can guess how that sentence ends.
>You switch targets to the underside of her chin, and you’re pretty sure she forgets her own name for a moment.
“Good. ‘Cause it’s what’s for dinner. ”
>With your free hand, you sort through the random crap on your desk until you find what you’re looking for.
>A flyer for a local pizza joint with a menu on the reverse.
>You already know what you want, so you hold it up for Ditzy to see.
“What looks good?”
>She awakens from her chin-scratch coma to take a look, removing the ice from her eye for a moment.
>”Ah…Hmm…Er, that one.”
“Mediterranean? Good taste.”
>You pull out your phone, dialing in the number while moving your fingers to stroke Ditzy’s golden mane.
>…It’s hella greasy.
>For fuck’s sake, Keith, wash your pony!
>The little grey horse, for her part, pays no heed to the state of her locks, just humming contentedly at the feel of your hand.
>This is the first time you’ve touched her this much.
>That notion is shoved to the back of your mind as a voice speaks from the other side of the line.
>”Thank you for calling Moot Point Pizza, may I take your order?”
>You rattle off the details of your order, a half-n-half medium, before hanging up.
“Alright, it’ll be here in like an hour. Go take a bath.”
>She looks up at you, startled.
>”Er… Right now?”
“Yup.”
>”But… Your water bill?”
“Ditzy, I’m not THAT poor. Go get clean. You’re greasing up my chair and you stink.”
>The pony squeaks in embarrassment, and quickly leaps from the chair, gliding out of the room.
>Shortly, the sounds of running water fills your apartment.
>Guess they have bathtubs in Equestria.
>…How do ponies make bathtubs?
>You ponder this and other deep mysteries of the universe as you finish off Ditzy’s beer.
>Your guest calls from the bathroom.
>"Mr. Anonymous?”
“Yeah?”
>”Can I use your soap?”
“You'd better. Use the shampoo and other stuff too. You’ll smell like me, but you’ll be clean.”
>“Oh… Thank you.”
“Sure.”
>You deftly toss the empty bottle across the room, landing in your bin with a clatter.
>You reclaim your armchair, leaning your head back.
>Eventually, the water shuts off, and you hear her climb in.
>…Did she leave the door open?
>You guess she’s technically naked all the time so it doesn’t really matter.
>You won’t complain.
>You pop another bottle and take a drink.
>Studying can wait until after dinner.
>The sound of Ditzy humming reaches your ears, and you smile faintly.
>It’s a pleasant tune, and she sounds happy.
>You take another swig as the buzz starts to kick in.
>You aren’t sure why you waited so long to try and reach out.
>Maybe you were worried about getting too attached.
>You’ve always had a soft spot for cute things, and Ditzy most certainly fits that category.
>Eventually, she emerges from the bathroom, damp mane wrapped in a towel as she shakes out her wings.
>”Thank you again, Mr. Anonymous.”
“Don’t worry about it. Also, just call me Anon.”
>”N-No.”
>Still? Even after all this?
“What? Why?”
>”I-It’s disrespectful. And I don’t want to disrespect you.”
“…Keith teach you that?”
>”No. The… The processing center staff did.”
>You have a talent for poking sore spots, Anon.
>You should run a talk show.
>There’s a knock at the door before before you can say anything else.
>Suppertime.
>Ditzy hurriedly dries her mane as you go to answer.
>You get the delivery boy his dough and a little tip, receiving in exchange your cardboard box full of happiness.
>You set it on the counter, pulling out two plates.
>You claim a couple slices for yourself before placing a slice of the Mediterranean on Ditzy’s plate.
“Here, Ditzy. Lemme know when you want more.”
>She hurriedly glides back out of the bathroom.
>…Did she hang her towel back up?
>Shit, even you don’t do that half the time.
>What’s Keith got to bitch about?
>She stands next to you, looking up expectantly.
>You look right back at her, staring awkwardly for a moment before remembering she has no hands with which to take the plate.
“Uhhh… Are you gonna carry this with your wings or…?”
>”Oh, uh, no. Put it on my back.”
“Ah. Alright.”
>Cheeks slightly flushed, you place the plate on her freshly-washed back.
>She smiles and trots over to the corner of the room, unloading the plate in one smooth movement.
>Neat trick, that.
>You carry your own dinner to your desk, opening your third beer of the night to go with it.
>You eat in silence.
>Well, more like you’re too busy stuffing your face to talk.
>And you’re not alone in your love of circular bread with cheese and things on top.
>Ditzy fucking demolished her piece and sits licking her lips, looking at you as if awaiting a command.
“You can go get more if you want. Half the pizza’s yours.”
>She squeals happily, and for the first time you see her truly fly.
>And as you watch, you suddenly understand what she meant when she called herself a klutz.
>After a triple loop, colliding with two cupboards, and nearly breaking a lighting fixture, she manages to land neatly on the counter.
>Plate still in mouth.
>You’re not sure whether you should be impressed or not.
“Uh… You okay?”
>”Huh? Oh! Yeah, that’s just how I fly. It’s fine!”
>You shake your head in wonder, taking another big swig before walking over to grab some more pieces for yourself.
>One depraved show of gluttony later, and both you and your new pony friend are sprawled out on the floor, stuffed to the brim.
>You’re on the last bottle of the six-pack, and feeling just dandy.
>The world is ever-so-slightly out of focus, and your balance has been weakened a bit, but who cares?
>You clumsily climb into your computer chair before remembering that you've got work to do tonight.
>You groan.
>Ditzy lifts her head up off the floor to look at you, asking sweetly.
>”What’s the matter?”
>After recovering from your heart skipping a beat, you respond as best you can through your drunken haze.
“Fuckin’ classwork. Gotta finish it.”
>Ditzy slowly gets to her hooves, concern obvious on her face.
>”I-I don’t think you should do your work after drinking so much, Mr. Anonymous.”
>You pause.
“Heeeeeeyyyy…”
>She recoils as you approach, but you sweep her off her hooves, squeezing her.
“Ya got a point there, Ditzy. Good girl. Let’s game instead. Fuck that class anyhow.”
>She struggles weakly in your grasp, cheeks rose-hued and face showing confusion.
>”E-Er, sir, p-please put me down. G-Game?”
“Shhhhh, don’t worry about it. I’m gonna blow your mind with this shit. Just watch.
>You plop back down into your computer chair, setting Ditzy in your lap as you power up your battle station.

>You’re Ditzy Doo.
>You sit perched in your host’s lap, watching the image on the screen as he plays his “games.”
>You were a little frightened when he suddenly grabbed you and started talking about playing games, but...
>This is nice.
>The swaying man laughs and curses in equal measure as he plays, his drunkenness hampering his abilities, and he scratches your ear in between.
>You nod along with whatever he says, sneaking glances up at him.
>His mood changed for the better once he’d had his drinks.
>When you first met him, you were afraid he’d kick you off his porch.
>He’s kind of imposing, and you’ve learned to expect indifference at best from your two-legged overlords.
>But despite his stony expression, he gave you a warm place to sleep, and kept taking you in whenever Keith kicked you out.
>You want to stay here, with this kindly drunkard of a human.
>Even with his habit, he’s still better than your owner.
“Mr. Anonymous?”
>”Wot? Wuzzup?”
“C-Can I stay the night?”
>A smile splits his face from ear to ear.
>”Fuuuuuuuck yeah you can! Wuz gonna make you, anyway. Fuck Keith. Little bastard. Don’t ever go back.”
>O-Oh.
>Well then.
>His hand finds your scalp before you can speak more, and his fingers put you in bliss.
“But… Ooooohh… I mean… You’d be stealing me… Technically…”
>”Ditzy. Ditzy. Ditzy. Look in my eyes and ask me if I give a shit.”
>You struggle to turn around, managing to focus one of your eyes onto his much smaller ones.
>You’ve always wondered how they see anything with such tiny eyes.
“W-What if Keith reports me as a runaway?”
>He falls silent at that.
>”Uhhh… Fuck. Got me there. You want to take the risk?”
>You do.
>You do so badly it hurts.
>But images of clipping shears on feathers flash through your mind, and your resolve falls away.
>You wilt in his lap, eyes falling to the floor.
>You’re pathetic.
>He seems to know, too.
>He presses a few buttons on his machine, then he picks you up and carries you back to his chair.
>”Well… No pressure. Jus' think about it, okay?”
“…Okay.”
>You manage to squeak out an answer as you curl up, trying to mask your shame.
>You hear him walk away and think he’s left you alone for a moment, but he returns to drape a blanket over you.
>”G’night, Ditzy.”
>You sit up, pulling the blanket tight around you as you watch him stumble back to his bedroom.
“G-Goodnight, Mr. Anonymous. Thank you so much.”
>An idle wave of his hand is your only response before he turns the light off, and you hear him flop onto his bed.
>You stay sitting there for a long time, listening to his breathing.
>After a time he starts snoring, and you know he’s asleep.
>You burrow into the chair and close your eyes.
>Waves of disgust crash over you.
>You still doubted him, even after he fed you and scratched you.
>If he was going to try something, he would have by now.
>Tears well up.
>You liked to think your servitude hadn’t changed you.
>But the Ditzy Doo who lived in Ponyville would never be so suspicious of another’s kindness.
>You bury your face in the armrest and weep.