Comic Sans MS

Comic Sans

>You are Anonymous.

>And today is another average day in the magical land of Equestria.

>You’ve been here in the strange land of talking horses for some time. Thankfully, despite not having a cutie mark to prove your worth, you were able to get a job doing something you loved.

>Making comics, each with your lovely comic sans font.

>However, all series must come to an end, and today you are putting the last touches on the last page of what would be your last book in awhile.

>A man’s got to have a vacation eventually, right?

>Humming a simple tune you heard in town during one of those singing sprees, you work, making use of your trusty quill to put the finishing touches on the page.

>It was hard to use at first, but soon enough you were a master at the art of feather writing.

>You smile as you finish up another panel. However, your smile falters when you hear your doorbell ring.

>Your doorbell only rings for certain reasons.

>And one of those reasons is Fluttershy.

>Sighing, you get up and, placing your quill down a fair distance from your work, head to the door.

>Steeling yourself, you open the door, spotting a little horse, maybe 3 and a half feet tall. Yellow, with a long, pink mane.

>How did that even work?

“Yes, Fluttershy?”

>She smiles, happy that you took the time to say her name, or something like that.

>”Oh, well, I was wondering, would you like to go out for dinner! Maybe, uh... now?”

“...It’s 10 am.”

>She blushes, “You can never be too early.”

 

“Yes you can. Anyway, I’m busy. Come back to pester me—Actually, no, don’t come back. Bye.”

>You shut the door as she mumbles out an apology. You shake your head. Some ponies...

>Returning to your work, you begin on the last panel.

>Instinctively, you dip your quill into your inkwell, expecting it to ‘refill’ so you can continue.

>However, when you bring the large brown feather to the page, your marks do nothing.

>Great. You’re out of ink. Again.

>Not wanting to walk out of your house with Fluttershy probably loitering around, you find a way to kill a few minutes.

>Later, you set out to get yourself some ink.

>Despite not being a pony like them, the ponies of Ponyville were always friendly and willing to help those in need.

>Usually.

>However, you had a good feeling that today you’d get lucky.

>Your first stop is your neighbour, Lyra. How fitting that you’d live beside the weird ones...

>Knocking on her door, it quickly rips itself open. “Anon! Hiii!”

“...Hello, Lyra. Do you have any ink?”

>She blinks. “Ink? Like, for writing?”

“Yes, Lyra. Writing. With my hands.”

>You wave one in front of her, smiling as she’s hypnotized by their... handiness.

>She giggles dumbly. “Oh. That ink.”

>You retract your limb. [spoiler][/spoiler]”Do you have any?”

>She smiles, about to nod, before her expression turns grim. “Oh... No, I don’t...”

>You shrug. Not that surprising; what would Lyra even be writing?

“Thanks anyway.”

>She waves as you depart.

 

>Not wanting to be a nuisance, you avoid pulling the door-to-door method. You didn’t exactly know everyone nearby.

>However, the ponies you did know also did not have any ink. Typical.

>You decide to instead skip the rest and cut to Twilight’s house. Surely the library, of all places, would have some ink to write with.

>However, you bumped into what seems to be a miniature orchestra on your way to Twilight’s house.

>The leader, who has a cello stored in a case on her back, glares at you, probably for almost knocking the instrument from its perch.

>You honestly can’t blame her; from the looks of it, it is probably a pain to get it to balance safely.

>Hm. Glancing to the crew, you notice there’s another fellow with a bunch of bags. Maybe you can cut down your trip?

“Oh, sorry about that. Didn’t see you there.”

>She grunts, and tries to push past.

>You intercept her, though, intent on asking the big violin player a question.

“Sorry to bother you again, but you wouldn’t happen to have a pot of ink I could borrow?”

>The guy with the bags is about to speak up, but the grey cello player cuts him off. “Excuse me? Why would /I/ have any ink?”

>You flinch back. [spoiler][/spoiler]”There’s no need to be upset, miss.”

>She begins to rant and ramble at you, wasting maybe twenty minutes as she goes into fine detail about how she apparently is not an octopus.

>Mares...

>Leaving the group behind, you continue heading to Twilight’s library.

 

>As usually, Twilight is home, reading a book about... forks? Uh... right. You wave.

“Hello, Twilight.”

>The purple pony looks up from her kitchen utensils book, smiling. “Oh! Hi, Anon! Are you here to bring back that book on quill writing?”

>You blink. Oh yes. You still haven’t brought that back, have you? How long has it been? Five weeks? Maybe six?

“Next time. I was wondering if you had any ink I could borrow.”

>She frowns, “Sorry, Anon, I don’t. Fluttershy came by earlier and took all of it.”

“What? Why?”

>”She didn’t say.”

>You cross your arms. “And you just let her take all your ink? How are you going to write to Celestia?”

>Twilight smiles, “I already sent her this week’s letter. Now I have all the time in the world to read this book.”

>She waves the book at you. ‘Of Forks and Knives, a Romance.’

>You don’t even.

“Well, thanks anyway. I guess I’ll go see Fluttershy.”

>”Bye, Anon! And make sure to bring that book, Anon, you’re racking up a massive fee.”

“Right.”

>Of course it would be Fluttershy.

>With no potential octopi to get in your way, you quickly blitz through town. Before long, the Ponyville Tower comes into the sight.

>Beyond it? Fluttershy’s cottage.

>”Hiya, Anon!”

>You pause, turning to a bush just off the path. When you do, a pink party pony sticks its head out.

>What.

“...Pinkie? What are you doing in that bush?”

>She giggles, “I’m having a bush party! Would you like to come?”

“...No. No, thanks. I have to get something from Fluttershy.”

 

>Pinkie hops out of the bush, her excitement on the rise. ”Ooh! Can I come?”

>You stop to think it over. While zany and probably more than a little less than sane, the baker’s aid could be useful.

>Hey, why not? What do you have to lose?

“Sure, I guess.”

>Pinkie in tow, you continue to Fluttershy’s cottage.

>It doesn’t take long before you cross the little bridge and enter her front yard.

“Alright, do you know the plan, Pinkie?”

>She smiles, “Nope!”

“Of course you don’t. Neither do I.”

>You move to knock on the door, but it swings open before you even raise your arm.

>Out walks a rather large bird. An ostrich, to be precise. It takes a few steps forward, looks at you, then Pinkie, and continues on its way.

“...You have ostriches in Equestria?”

>”Of course! How else would we make all our big fancy cakes?”

>You blink. Of course! It all makes sense now!

>However, you will have to bask in the glow of that revelation later; you have ink to get.

>With the door wide open, you walk on in, spotting Fluttershy standing beside a big cauldron.

“Fluttershy?”

>She blinks, before smiling, just a little creepily at you. “Oh! Anon, hi!”

“Twilight said you have some ink. I need some.”

>You pull out a very small, empty ink well that you for whatever reason had tucked away in a pocket for just such a situation. You wave it slightly.

>”Oh. I see.”

>The mare turns away, trying—and failing—to look disinterested all of a sudden. You cross your arms.

 

>Pinkie pipes up, “Come on, Flutters! We know you’ve got the ink!”

>Fluttershy shrugs. “I don’t know, Anon. What will you give me for it?”

>You groan, rolling your eyes. You could be doing so many better things right now...

>Pinkie grins. “Ooh! Ooh! We’ll throw you a party!”

>Fluttershy raises an eyebrow. “What kind of party?”

“A ‘Give me some damn ink’ party. Fluttershy, I don’t have time for this.”

>”Obviously you do, or you wouldn’t be arguing!”

>You take a few steps forward. If she won’t give you it herself, you’ll just take it.

>Realizing this, Fluttershy gasps, and gestures to the other side of the room.

>Suddenly, from out of nowhere, a rabbit wearing a military camo vest and bandana jumps out, and tosses a lit stick of dynamite.

>Right into the cauldron.

>Now, a logically, the dynamite should have gotten put out by being submerged in, you know, ink. But you were too freaked out to think about that.

>Thus, you immediately grabbed Pinkie’s mane and ducked out of the building, the door getting caught on her tail and closing after you as you rush out of the house, diving for low ground.

>A few seconds pass at the bottom of the hill. Then a few minutes.

>Eventually, you realize that, indeed, the bomb didn’t go off. You turn to Pinkie, who is glaring at you as she ‘fixes’ her mane. “That hurt, you know.”

“Sorry.”

>Standing, you sigh and turn back to the building.

 

>It is at this point that there’s a rather loud explosion...? It sounds more like a ‘glop,’ really, as though a bomb had gone off inside some sort of liquid.

>A thick liquid. Like ink.

>You glance to the cottage’s doorway, seeing the black substance slowly ooze out from inside the building. You sigh.

“...I just wanted some damn ink...”

>Pinkie blinks. “You did? I have some, if you want.”

>You turn to her. She looks at you. Your palm then collides with your face as you follow the mare to her home at Sugarcube Corner.

>Fucking Pinkie Pie.

---

>Later, you continue your work on that comic book.

>Pinkie provided just enough ink for you to finish things up. Just a few more strokes and...

>Ring, ring, your doorbell is calling.

>You contemplate possibly just ignoring the damn thing, but that wouldn’t be very nice.

>Standing up, you pause. Why are you even being nice again?

>Thinking it through for a minute, you can’t think of any reason why not to be nice. So be it.

>Opening the door, you look down to see a black pony.

>Completely black. Every inch.

>”Uh, hi, Anon!”

“...Fluttershy?”

>”The explosion painted my walls. And me. Ha...”

>Right. Let’s just get out one fuck to give.

 

“What a shame. Can I help you?”

>She smiles meekly, “Well, since you were asking for some ink, I figured /I/ could be your new inkwell. Since, you, um, don’t have any.”

>You look at her. No emotion graces your face. She probably blushes, but it’s hard to see, what with her being completely black.

>”I’m really deep, too! Lots of storage space! You’ll never have to get a refill again!”

>You shake your head ever so slightly.

>She opens her mouth to advertise herself some more, but you stop her.

“Fluttershy, go home, have a shower, and think about what you just said. Good night.”

>She blinks. “It’s only noon, Anon!”

“I know.”

>Slowly, you close your door. When the mare is finally removed from your vision, you shudder.

>Why couldn’t these ponies have normal fetishes again?