Don't Panic: Chapter IV

Day 10 in Equestria

 

>It's been one standard business week since your home was casually trampled by Mayor Mare and her rather large bulldozer.

>This action, of course, left you homeless and without a roof over your head with which to calmly sleep under. Finding an appropriate place to live would have been very difficult for you, considering your unfamiliarity of this land.

>Of course, "would have been very difficult" was the key phrase in that sentence. Luckily enough for you, a certain pink colored pony had your back in this case.

>Yes, Pinkie Pie was right there for you, at your rescue when things seemed to be their bleakest. For now, you were living in the attic of Sugarcube Corner, conveniently right above the loft that Pinkie lived in.

>The owners, Mister and Missus Cake, were a bit wary of you at first of course, but Pinkie's consistent up and down swearing that you were, in her words, "as harmless as a newborn filly" both put you at ease and slightly insulted your self esteem. But only a little.

>There was no bed, no nightstand, no laptop with many an episode of “A Bit of Fry and Laurie” for you to watch, and certainly no towels in this attic, but you accepted it humbly and eagerly. Pinkie was letting you into her home, granted her home happened to be someone elses home as well, but it was the thought that counted.

 

>As of right now, you were calmly taking a well deserved shower in Pinkie’s room, while she no doubt sat outside with your change of clothes that she took the liberty of washing and drying.

>You were going to have to get yourself your own shampoo and soap. All Pinkie had in her bathroom was bottle after bottle of bubble bath liquid, bright pink conditioner that smelled like candy, and soap that, for some reason or another, had the word “face” carved into it in loopy handwriting.

>Pouring the pink liquid into your hands, you lather it up and get to work on your hair.

>In any case, you washed away the collective grime and muck that you accrued in your time here, going from an incredibly frightened, dirty newcomer, to an incredibly frightened “clean” newcomer.

>You shut off the shower, stepping out of the small stall and glancing around for a towel to dry yourself off with.

>The only one is rather pink. And fluffy.

>In for a penny, out for a pound it seems. You take the towel and dry yourself off, wrapping it around your waist when you finish.

>Brushes. Good sweet god did this pony have brushes. Big brushes, little brushes, brushes that were shaped like tiny brushes that were all glued together to make a bigger brush. Truly, Pinkie cared about her mane.

>But if that was the case, why was it so unreasonably poofy?

>Perhaps it’s better not to ask.

 

>You lightly rap your knuckles on on the bathroom door as you wrap the towel around your waist.

“Miss Pie?” you ask through the door, “I’m all done in here. I don’t suppose I could be able to use a washing machine, or something like that. Only really have that one set of clothes and-”

>”Already washed them all up nice and squeaky clean, Annie!”

>Your body jumps and you let out a noise that could be characterized as a “terrified cooing.” Pinkie Pie appears to have materialized in the wastebasket near the sink. You could have sworn she wasn’t there before, but at the moment you’re clutching your chest and hoping that your heart will cease beating at an unhealthy rate.

>”Here you go! All fresh and ready to be worn!” she says as she holds out the clothes you discarded earlier. They’re washed, dried, and folded for you. Granted, she folded them into the shape of a swan, but it’s the thought that counts.

“Thank you,” you say as you finally regain control of your legs. Taking and unfolding the clothes, you pause as you stare at Pinkie Pie, who in return stares back with a happy-go-lucky smile.

>...

>...

“Miss Pie?”

>”Yep?”

“Perhaps I could change into my clothes in... private? Kind of in the nude, at the moment.”

>She blinks a lot.

 

>”But Anonymous,” she says, leaping from the wastebasket, “we’re ALL in the nude! In the nude, all of the time! It’s like a constant state of carefree nudity here in Ponyville!” She says this last part as she does a little twirl, blowing the large strand of mane that arcs out of the top of her head out of her face.

“Yes well, where I come from it’s very unseemly to be nude all the time. Unless of course you’re a nudist, but only old, out of shape retirees are nudists.”

>Pinkie doesn’t seem to be listening, as she’s too busy bouncing around the bathroom singing what you can only assume to be a “Nudity Song.”

 

>”Nude nude nude nude”

>”It’s so great, it can’t be rude!”

>”Nude nude nude nude”

>”All except this hairless dude!”

 

>She finishes her song with a handstand, giggling madly with an occasional snort. It would be incredibly cute and entertaining, if of course you weren’t damp and naked.

“Well,” you begin, opening the door, “If you’re going to stay in here and sing about your birthday suit, then I suppose I’ll simply change out here.”

>You walk through the door, but when you look in front of you your vision is filled with bright blue eyes and a ridiculously large grin.

>”Awww don’t be all shy like that! C’mon, what could be the harm of just bouncing around with me through town nakey?”

“I could get it caught on something, for one.”

>”It?”

“Nevermind. Pinkie, can you just turn around for a quick second, so I may put my clothes on without you looking?”

 

>She cocks her head to the side..

>”Why?”

“...Pinkie, please.”

>”Okeedokee!” she exclaims as she spins on a dime and stares ahead at the wall.

>You breathe a sigh of relief, and covertly slip your underpants and slacks back onto your lower extremities. Once properly clothed, you tap Pinkie on the shoulder.

“Thank you. Now then, I think it’s about high time we go visit the mayor.”

>Pinkie bounds behind you with a back-flip, landing on a single hoof, wavering about.

>”Mayor Mare? But why?” she asks as she hops about on her forehooves.

“Pinkie, she demolished my home, remember?”

>”Oooooh,” she coos as she sits back down on her haunches, “I forgot about that. Need me to make more protest signs? I have more protest signs if we need to do any kind of protesting.”

>She then whips out a sign that reads, “Bring Back the McRib.”

>You’re confused, but you brush it off.

“No no, that’s fine. I think I actually need to speak to her. You know, face to face and all.”

>”Ooooh a face talk!” she mushes her face onto yours, giggling. “You mean like this?”

“Miss Pie you are smooshing my cheeks.”

>”But your cheeks, they are so smooshable!”

>She rubs your face with her hooves, making baby talk. It’s at this point in your life that you start to wonder where it all began running downhill. Perhaps it all started when your mother took that job out in the city so- Oh no wait, your life began spiraling out of control when you started interacting with TALKING. HORSES.

>Funny how that works.

 

>Why on earth did this waiting room have so many home decor magazines?

>You sat in a beige walled room, while what could only be called "horrible lounge music" played softly in the background. The chair you sat in was uncomfortable and old, and the magazine you were flipping through must have been even older than the chair.

>Still, the article on how to properly water seal your wooden carriage was very informative. You just had -no- idea how many different type of swelling could occur to wood.

>But now you did.

>And honestly, you kind of wanted to scream.

>You have been sitting here, in this beige walled room, waiting for the receptionist mare at the front desk to call your name and let you speak with the mayor. You have been doing this for a total of three hours. What's worse is the fact that Pinkie Pie has been sitting next to you the entire time, insisting she hum various versions of "Happy Birthday" to herself in multiple keys, tempos, and rhythms.

>The one that sounded exactly like the refrain from "Free Bird" was impressive.

>"Hey. Anonymous," Pinkie asks. "Anonymous. Hey. Hey Anonymous. Anon, hey. Anon. Hey, Anon... Anon hey."

"What. Do you want. Miss Pie," you groan through clenched teeth.

>"...*pop*..."

>You have to stare at her for a bit, just to get your level of annoyance to transmit to her directly.

>She's making bubbles with her mouth.

>And popping them at you.

>Oh sweet jesus.

 

"Miss Pie, please. We've been sitting here for three hours, I would rather not have to sit for any longer while you blow bubbles in my face."

>"But I'm so booooooooooooooooooooooooooooored," she pouts, flailing her hooves over her face in frustration.

"Here," you say as you open the magazine to her, "Just look at all the different ways you can water seal a carriage. Twenty. There are twenty different ways you can do it. How about you sit there and go through each and every one of them, hm?"

>She looks at you like you've just spat in an infant's face with chewing tobacco.

>"Anon," she begins, her voice rising in terror as she speaks, "You want me... to read an eight year old magazine article... from "Carriage Enthusiast Monthly"... and it has -nothing- to do about parties?..."

"...yyyyeeesss?"

>"ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND?! Anon, how long have you known me???"

"Ten days."

>"And in those ten periods of twenty four hours, have you NOT caught the fact that I just so happen to be in -literal- love with parties? Get togethers? Celebrations? Hooplas? Bonanzas? Festivals? A social gathering, as of invited guests at a private home, for conversation, refreshments, entertainment, etc.: a cocktail party?!"

"...was that last one from the dictionary?"

>"Focus Anon!"

>She smooshes your cheeks once more.

>"That sentence you asked me, the once with water sealing? Did that question have -ANYTHING- to do with any of the definitions I gave you?"

>Smoosh

>"Well?!"

 

"...no?..." you squeak out through smushed cheeks.

>"How about you not ask me about water sealing a carriage ever again, okay?"

"ok."

>All of a sudden she giggles like mad. "You sounded like my friend, Fluttershy, for a second. Heheehaha!" She releases your face, and you make a mental note never to read another magazine ever again for the rest of your life, lest Pinkie mold your face once more. Then, thankfully, the mare at the reception desk chimes up.

>"Mister... Anonymous? Huh. Mister Anonymous, the mayor will see you now."

>You're relieved, and as such you spring from your chair and briskly make your way across the room and through the nearest door.

>Strange.

>Mayor Mare's office was much, much smaller than you expected. That, and the the mayor seemed to be well stocked in cleaning supplies.

>...

>...

>You exit the supply closet and walk through the door to the mayor's office with Pinkie Pie in tow.

>Stepping through the office, you spot Mayor Mare scribbling away at paperwork at her desk. She spots you, and waves you over to two seats placed in front of her. "Ah, come in! Come in!" she calls out with a smile on her face.

 

>You take a seat, Pinkie landing in the other from a bounce, and stare at the mayor. She keeps doing paperwork, not glancing back up to you. You decide that now would be a very good time to clear your throat.

"Ahem," you cough out.

>She still does her paperwork.

"Er... excuse me, Mayor Mare?"

>She looks up, and smiles once more. "Ah, hello there. How can I help you today, sir?"

"Oh well you see, about five days ago you took a rather large bulldozer and destroyed my home, I'm afraid."

>"Ah yes, yes I did. As I asked, how can I help you today?"

"...you demolished my house."

>The mayor sighs, and takes off her glasses. "Yes, I did. I will ask again, sir, what exactly are you here to see me for?"

"You ran over my home with construction equipment! THAT is why I am here to see you!"

>Mayor Mare pauses for a moment, before tittering and holding back a bemused chuckle.

>"Oh dear, no no no," she says as she wipes a tear from her smiling face, "You're here about that? Whatever for? City Hall cad complete jurisdiction to relocate your house."

"Relocate? You smashed it to tiny little pieces!"

>"Exactly!" she titters. "There’s no point acting all surprised about it. All the planning charts and demolition orders have been on display in your local planning department in Town Hall."

"Yes," you say, "I went to town hall. I had to search the -basement- to find those charts."

>"Ah yes, but you found them, didn't you?"

"Yes, after my house was crushed!"

 

>"Now now, there's no need to be hasty, Mister...?"

"Anonymous," you say, frustrated.

>"Ah yes, Mister Anonymous. Well, I can safely assure you that the relocation-"

"Destruction."

>"-Of your simple dwelling-"

"Home."

>"-Was not in vain!"

>She gets up from her seat and folds out a blueprint onto her desk. "Behold!" she exclaims, "My masterpiece of city planning!"

>...

"It's..."

>"It's a crosswalk," Pinkie chimes in, staring at the paper with you. Both of you have very confused faces, and you think your left eye is twitching.

>"Yes!" says Mayor Mare, pointing at the plans. "We're going to be making a lovely cobblestone crosswalk right there, through the town square! Isn't it just wonderful?"

>You breathe. Breathing, it seems, is the only thing you can do steadily at this moment in time.

"You are telling me... that you bulldozed my home... to build a lousy crosswalk?"

>"You'll like the crosswalk, I promise. It has cobblestone!" the Mayor chime in, happily.

>Perhaps the feeling in the twitch of your eye could be called "rage." As such, you have no idea what to do with it exactly. You've never really been THIS angry before.

>Your hands shake, your head shivers, you speak Mandarin for three seconds, and then do the first thing that comes to mind.

>You eat the blueprints.

>"Wooo!" shouts Pinkie Pie, cheering, "Go social justice! Take that, establishment!"

>She whips out a sign that says "Hugs Not Drugs."