>“A-N-O-N! What does it spell? Anon!”
>She's outside again.
>“2, 4, 6, 8, who do bats appreciate? Anonymous! Anonymous!”
>She's flinging around her limbs like it's her talent or something.
>...Oh wait, it /is/ her talent.
>As you walk away from the window tutting, Pom Pom looks upset.
>Knocking on the window, she presses her face against the glass.
>...What?
>You open the window, and she 'falls' in.
>Tapping your foot, you fold your arms and look at the silly batpony.
“You could always try the door next time.”
>She looks up to you with a small genuine smile and nervously giggles.
>Kind of cute.
>Not cute enough for you to forgive her though.
>“Didn't you like my routine? I put a lot of effort into the costume...”
>Her little skirt has frills on it matching the colour of her pompoms and her shirt has a picture of your face stamped in the middle of it.
>Your visage is a work of art, obviously.
“I'd probably like it more if you didn't perform a new one every single day.”
>For a split-second a piercing squeak fills the land.
>Her eyes seem to be filling up with liquid.
>...This wasn't your intention.
>“Why don't you like them?!”
>Sigh.
>You would tell her but she'll never stop harassing you if you tell her.
“Because. They're too... samey.”
>Her usually happy-go-lucky demeanour is reduced to a saddy-go-unfortunate.
>“S... samey?”
>Oh god.
>You're killing this bat.
“N-no, that's not what I meant.”
>She turns away from you, head drooped to the floor.
>“No, it's fine... I'll just... go practise some more.”
>The mare's voice turns soft and as delicate as a feather, unlike her usual confident self.
>...And now you feel awful.
>As she trots over to the window again, you realise why she came in through there.
>“Oof!”
>She's blind.
“You okay?”
>She nods, then walks away slowly.
>You'll have to make it up to her.
>What to do though?
>You ponder this for a moment when you notice that the poor girl hasn't even taken her pompoms back.
>As you're about to pick them up, instead you get an idea.
>Something that she's sure to like.

>You can't believe Anon said that.
>It shocked you to no end.
>Perhaps it's time to give it all up.
>Scanning the room with an infrasonic pulse, you see your cheerleading gear down on the floor.
>...Your pompoms are already gone.
>You've lost them.
>Maybe that's big ol' fate, just telling you it's time to hang up your boots.
>While you're leaning down to pick up the skirt and shirt you made for Anon, you hear a rustling noise outside.
>Opening the window, you fly to the ground quickly and sense something's there.
>Sending out another pulse you see Anon standing there, with your pompoms.
>He's got a skin-tight vest on and some shorts.
>“Who does Anon think is great? Pom Pom, pony, she's not to hate!”
>Flailing his arms around, your friend tries his best to cheerlead.
>He's hopeless at it!
>“When Anonymous is down, Pom Pom's there to cure his frown!”
>This is too good.
>Despite your best efforts not to, you fall over onto the grass in hysterics.
>“Who's our favour- Hey!”
>You can't stop yourself, not even to talk to the human.
“I- I just- Bahahaha!”
>He's standing over you now, hands on hips.
>“My dance routine is better than yours.”
>Oh, he's got no idea who he's talking to.
“You don't have wings, ground boy.”
>Zipping up, you do a miraculous display you'd been practising all year round for the jousting competitions.
>Your forelegs are graceful and streamlined compared to Anon's awkward jerks.
>
>Flying to the floor, you see him trying to mimic you.
>His arms are tied together.
>“...I don't know how this happened.”
>You try your best to stifle it...
>“I swear.”
“HAHAHAHA!”