Don't like ads? PRO users don't see any ads ;-)

The Last Son of Dublin: Chapter II

By: PaleNarrator on Jul 16th, 2012 | syntax: None | size: 15.30 KB | hits: 523 | expires: Never

download | raw | embed | report abuse | print

Text below is selected. Please press Ctrl+C to copy to your clipboard. (⌘+C on Mac)

>You sat in a chair in the middle of the library, nursing a headache with the whiskey in your flask.
>Hair of the dog and all that.
>Twilight darts around the room, assembling a small machine and hooking wires into it as she does so.
“What’s all this then?”
>She spins around and smiles at you, eager to talk about her plans.
>”This is the experiment I’m going to run on you! It’s a lie detector!”
“A lie detector?”
>She nods, while feeding paper into the core of the machine.
>”Last week we went over memory retention and reflexes. In the latter you were gifted, in the former… not so much.”
>…
“Latter?”
>”You-… you don’t know what latter means?”
“Just fucking with you. So what, I’m supposed to try to lie to you now?”
>She shakes her head, darting over to a shelf on the other side of the room.
>”No, I want you to answer all my questions any way you want. I’m simply examining if you have the capacity to lie.”
“The capacity to- quit with the moonspeak and just get this thing over with will ya?”
>You take a swig of your flask, at which Twilight groans.
>”Anon I need you sober for this.”
“I am sober.”
>”You are drinking at noon, Anon.”
“…and?”
>She tugs the flask from you with magic, floating a few wires with patches on their ends onto your body, mostly around pressure points so as to measure heart rate.
>Grabbing a chair and sitting next to her machine, Twilight lifts a clipboard and quill and begins writing away.
>”Okay, let’s start with some questions to get your base heart rate monitored. Is your name Anonymous?”
“Yes.”
>”Alright, that looks normal. Do you live in my basement?”
“Aye.”
>”Good! Do you have a drinking problem that you need to fix?”
“Fuck no.”
>Twilight looks to the chart, annoyed that the chart has not changed.
>”Well that’s perfect.”
>You give a grin and lean forward.
>”Okay, let’s start the interview. I’ll have yes and no questions, and then some that will need elaboration on your part.”
“Fire away Tink. I’m finally getting comfortable in this here chair.”
>She turns a few dials in the detector, and places a pair of glasses on her eyes as she squints down at her clipboard.
>”Before coming to Equestria, you told me that you lived somewhere else. You called it Earth. Is this correct?”
”Ye-“
>”Ooh, I have an idea!”
>She scrambles out of the chair, and races upstairs to her loft, returning with a tripod and camera.
“The hell is this?”
>She’s all smiles at her sudden stroke of genius.
>”Well, I’ve been sending all my reports to Celestia and she’s been interested in you so far. I figure, if I video tape this interview, she could get a better grasp on the situation.”
>She flicks the camera on, a little red light blipping in the corner of it.
>”Just be natural, and this will work out wonderfully.”
“If you want me to be natural, then you’ll let me smoke and drink in this fucking tree.”
>”Anon can you not curse?”
“No.”
>Twilight rolls her eyes, but brushes it off.
>”Go ahead and tell me about yourself, Anon. As if I don’t know you.”
>…
“Uh… morning. I’m Anonymous. I’m a drunk and a brawler, and I don’t like royalty.”
>”Anon!”
“You want some fucking answers, I’m giving you some fucking answers.”
>She shakes her head in her hooves, and you continue.
”Been here since I was small. Maybe four or five years old if I can remember right.”
>”Where were you raised?”
>You take a cigarette out of your pants pocket and strike a match you kept tucked on top of your ear.
>Twi begins to object, but you’ve already lit it.
“There was an orphanage in Manehatten. Shit hole of a place it was. Not many of the other kids really took kindly to me. Used to pick on me, call me ‘monkey’… kids eh?”
>You breathe deep into the cigarette, the tip glowing orange as you do.
>As you exhale, you lean your head back and continue.
“The mares that ran that place… Jesus they were the biggest cunts you’d ever encounter. Most kids got a beating maybe once or twice a week. Me? Daily.”
>You flick the ashes of your cigarette onto your pants, making sure not to get any in Twi’s library.
>She notices this, and smiles, but speaks up.
>”Anon?”
“Hm?”
>”If you don’t mind me asking… what was Earth like?”
>You pause a bit.
“That’s not something I plan on telling you, lass.”
>”But-“
“Next question.”
>Sighing, Twilight scribbles onto the clipboard and nods to you.
>”What did you do while at the orphanage? Were you ever adopted?”
“Ha! Not at all.”
>Twilight raises and eyebrow.
>”Never?”
“Not a once, neigh.”
>”That’s… I’m sorry.”
“Save me your sympathy, I certainly don’t need it.”
>You take a drag, leaning forward once again.
“The kids that made fun of me I would fight. I would fight them every day of my life, I would. Once I was fourteen, I ran away. Got the fuck out of there and never looked back.”
>”Where did you go?”
“I stayed in Manehatten, but I just went a fair ways away from the orphanage. Stayed on the street for a time, then made good with a group of ponies. Ran with them for a while. Even had a griffon in there with us. That was a sight, let me tell you.”
>”I’m sorry, you ‘ran’ with them? What do you mean by, ran?”
“I ran with them. They were a gang. I was in a gang.”
>”You… you were in a gang?”
>You nod, finishing your cigarette and putting out the butt on your shoe.
>Looking up, you lock eyes with the lens of the camera.
“We broke the law, sure. That was a given. Robbed ponies, robbed stores, blackmail here and there. I only had one rule. No mares, no kids.”
>Twilight has stopped writing, instead leaning forward as well.
>She seems interested in your story.
>”What do you mean?”
“If we robbed someone, it couldn’t be a mare or a child. If I fought someone, it couldn’t be a mare or a child. I may be a right prick, but I’m a prick with convictions.”
>There’s a long pause, and Twilight presses a button on the camera, turning it off.
>”I… think we’re done.”
“Good.”
>You get up and walk over to where Twilight placed your flask, taking a deep drink from it.
>Twilight gathers up her readings, as well as her notes, and files them into a box before trotting up behind you.
>”Can I ask you something?”
“That depends. Are you going to send what I say off to the Princess to show what a good little girl you are?”
>She glares.
>”Why are you the way you are?”
>You turn around, sealing your flask and lean up on the wall.
“Elaborate for me.”
>”You’re a brute. You fight anything that moves and you don’t even care. You smoke and drink, sometimes at once, and have no general respect for authority.”
“And?”
>”On top of that, you tell me that you used to be a criminal and robbed people? I’m letting you STAY in my home. Why are you the way you are?”
>She was finally asking the good questions.
>You get to a knee, looking into her eyes.
>They were unflinching.
>Good.
>That gets her an honest answer.
”You wonder why I am the way I am? I’ll tell you.”
>You grab her chin lightly bringing her closer.
“Because I’d rather be who I really am than something someone wants me to be.”
>You hold her there, an inch from your face as the two of you look at each other.
“So be honest Tink, would you rather me be someone else?”
>”…”
>Closer now.
“Well?”
>”…I…”
>You notice how bright those eyes are.
>Those were eyes of an honest soul.
>You’re nose to nose with her now, and you see that she’s blushing slightly at how close the two of you are.
>Releasing her and rising, you walk outside and lean against the trunk of the tree.
>She shakes her head a few times, and huffs at you while trotting off to her desk.
>Dash would be getting here sometime, and the two of you would settle down and watch some movies.
>Taking out another cigarette, you strike a match.
>It’s almost as if the gods frown upon you, for right when the match lights does a raindrop fall right onto it, extinguishing the flame.
>Raising your head to the sky, you notice that the sky is a dark grey and forboding storm clouds converge around Ponyville.
>A thunderstorm.
>That’s why Dash is running late. They must have just got this thing organized.
>That means Dash would be gone for the night.
>Great…
>You place the cigarette back into your shirt pocket, buttoning it up from having the wires stuck to you, and walk back inside.
>Twilight finishes writing a letter, and calls for Spike to come down and deliver it for her.
>”Spiiiike! Can you come send this scroll to Celestia please?”
>The small purple dragon scuttles down the stairs and takes the letter and tape from the interview, breathing green flames down upon it as it dissipates to ash and floats out the window.
>Spike looks to you and waves happily.
>”Hey Anon! Weren’t you supposed to hang out with Rainbow Dash today?”
“Storm’s a comin’. Think I might just head downstairs for a bit. Spike?”
>”Mmhmm?”
“Did you get me that paint I asked for?”
>”Oh! Yeah, I did. Here’s your change from the bits you let me borrow.”
“Keep it. I assume it’s down in my room?”
>”The paint? Yeah. You asked for a lot of pur-“
>You smack the back of his head as you walk back to the basement door, shutting him up.
>”Right. Secret. Forgot.”
>Twilight’s curiosity is now peaked, and she follows you.
>”Paint? Why would you need paint?”
“I paint sometimes.”
>She gives a laugh.
>”Right. You paint. Do you also write the occasional poem or two?”
“Well, well, look at you? Getting cheeky are we?”
>”I’ll leave you to your doodles then.”
>She trots over to a large pile of books and begins maddeningly flipping through them.
>You stare at her for a while, then head downstairs to your room.
>It was dark for the most part, the only light being that of a few oil lamps.
>You had electricity down here, but no lamp just yet.
>You tell yourself everyday that you’ll get one, but you don’t.
>Apathy takes a toll on a guy, you suppose.
>You walk over to an easel you hid in the corner, turning on another small oil lamp to illuminate it as you take off the sheet covering it.
>Sitting in a stool, you take a brush into your hand and break open a new bottle of lavender paint.
>And as you meet the brush to the paper, you hum to yourself an old song.
>A song your mother would sing to you when you were just a small, small boy.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5djVrVsI7W4&name=The+Patriot+Game
“Come all you young rebels, and list while I sing,
The love of one’s country is a terrible thing.
It banishes fear with the speed of a flame,
And it makes you all part of the patriot’s game…”
>The face on the paper was finally beginning to take form, but you were far from finished.
>You don’t really know why you were painting this.
>You don’t know you were painting at all, really.
>Lucky for you, this was your source of income.
>One you kept secret, for the most part.
>”The badass drunk who paints to pay rent”
>Not the best title to have, for sure.
>Still… you hadn’t lost a step concerning your talent.
>As you paint on, you finish your song.
“And now I am dying, my body all holes.
I think of those traitors, who bargained men’s souls.
And I’m sorry my rifle has not done the same,
To the traitors who sold out the patriot’s game…”
>You look back at your work of art, still not complete, but progressing nonetheless.
>”…what was that song about?”
>You jump from your stool, throwing the sheet over the canvas to hide it.
>Twilight.
>You turn around, eying Twilight who’s standing behind you at the bottom of the stairs.
“Who told you that you could come down here?”
>”This is my house.”
“True… what do you want?”
>”…that was a nice song.”
>You exhale, moving away from your painting and laying down on your bed.
>Taking out your whiskey, you hand it to Twilight.
>”I-“
“Shut up and drink it. Take a chance for once in your life.”
>She looks worriedly at the flask, but relents and takes a tiny sip, gagging on the liquid inside.
>”Augh, how do you drink this?”
“Very quickly.”
>She pouts, then takes another sip, this time darting the flask up and back down in a flash, swallowing it as best she can.
>”This… is gross.”
“You get used to it. Now what did you want?”
>Her horn glows and a book from behind her floats over to you.
>”I wanted to bring you this. It’s a book that I read a few years ago, and I really enjoyed it.”
“It’s not on the mating habits of dragons is it? Because I don’t particularly want to see that shit.”
>”Ugh, NO it’s an adventure novel. I just thought, you know, maybe you’d like it.”
“Terrific. I’ll read it right away.”
>She beams at you and claps her hooves together.
>”Yay! Go ahead, get started.”
>She eagerly waits for you to…
>Wait, really?
“You… you were planning on watching me read a book?”
>She nods.
“Yeah. No. Not doing that. I’ll read it on my own time, thank you.”
>”But you said-“
“Do you not know what sarcasm is? Is that a thing about you? That you can’t take a joke?”
>She rolls her eyes and groans, realizing she’s been duped, but still she asks questions.
>Specifically, she brings up the first subject after taking another sip of whiskey.
>”So *gag* oh that burns… So what was that song?”
“The Patriot Game.”
>”I’ve never heard it before. What’s it about?”
“My Ma would sing it to me when I was little. Before I came to Equestria.”
>”You mean when you were on Earth? What was it li-“
“Not talking about that. Just the song.”
>”But-… fine. Okay.”
>You take a deep breathe and close your eyes.
“It’s a song about oppression. About how you’re not supposed to be pushed around by others, no matter who or what they are… it’s about banding together and fighting for a place to call home.”
>”That’sa good shong then.”
>You look up.
>Twi hiccups.
>Your whiskey is… gone, apparently.
>And Twi is drunk.
“What a fuckin’ lightweight.”
>”Ah’m just fine. You don’t know ME.”
>You pick her up and sling her over your shoulder as you take her back to her room.
>”Hey now put meh downs.”
“Crazy lass drank all my booze. You drank my WHOLE flask, Tink.”
>”That ish not mah name, Anoninin.”
“And that’s not mine, neither.”
>Making your way to her bed, you toss her down and tuck her in.
>”It’sh only two o’clock. Ah’m not tireds.”
“Yes you are.”
>”No I’m nooooot.”
“Yes. You are.”
>”No I’m-… Ah am?”
“Yup.”
>”Oh… okay then, time for some sleepies…”
>Before you can say anything else, she dozes off.
>If you were going to let her drink, you would have to monitor it. Last thing you needed was some drunken bitch running a muck in town.
>That was your job.
>A crack of lightning strikes outside the window, and Twilight wakes up.
>She looks up at you and smiles.
>”Hey, Anoninin.”
“Yeah Tink?”
>”Could you sing that shong fer me? The one from *hic* before?”
>…
>You sit down next to her, patting her head with a hand.
“…okay. Fine.”
“Come all you young rebels, and list while I sing…”
~END~

create a new version of this paste RAW Paste Data

>You sat in a chair in the middle of the library, nursing a headache with the whiskey in your flask.
>Hair of the dog and all that.
>Twilight darts around the room, assembling a small machine and hooking wires into it as she does so.
“What’s all this then?”
>She spins around and smiles at you, eager to talk about her plans.
>”This is the experiment I’m going to run on you! It’s a lie detector!”
“A lie detector?”
>She nods, while feeding paper into the core of the machine.
>”Last week we went over memory retention and reflexes. In the latter you were gifted, in the former… not so much.”
>…
“Latter?”
>”You-… you don’t know what latter means?”
“Just fucking with you. So what, I’m supposed to try to lie to you now?”
>She shakes her head, darting over to a shelf on the other side of the room.
>”No, I want you to answer all my questions any way you want. I’m simply examining if you have the capacity to lie.”
“The capacity to- quit with the moonspeak and just get this thing over with will ya?”
>You take a swig of your flask, at which Twilight groans.
>”Anon I need you sober for this.”
“I am sober.”
>”You are drinking at noon, Anon.”
“…and?”
>She tugs the flask from you with magic, floating a few wires with patches on their ends onto your body, mostly around pressure points so as to measure heart rate.
>Grabbing a chair and sitting next to her machine, Twilight lifts a clipboard and quill and begins writing away.

>”Okay, let’s start with some questions to get your base heart rate monitored. Is your name Anonymous?”
“Yes.”
>”Alright, that looks normal. Do you live in my basement?”
“Aye.”
>”Good! Do you have a drinking problem that you need to fix?”
“Fuck no.”
>Twilight looks to the chart, annoyed that the chart has not changed.
>”Well that’s perfect.”
>You give a grin and lean forward.
>”Okay, let’s start the interview. I’ll have yes and no questions, and then some that will need elaboration on your part.”
“Fire away Tink. I’m finally getting comfortable in this here chair.”
>She turns a few dials in the detector, and places a pair of glasses on her eyes as she squints down at her clipboard.
>”Before coming to Equestria, you told me that you lived somewhere else. You called it Earth. Is this correct?”
”Ye-“
>”Ooh, I have an idea!”
>She scrambles out of the chair, and races upstairs to her loft, returning with a tripod and camera.
“The hell is this?”
>She’s all smiles at her sudden stroke of genius.
>”Well, I’ve been sending all my reports to Celestia and she’s been interested in you so far. I figure, if I video tape this interview, she could get a better grasp on the situation.”
>She flicks the camera on, a little red light blipping in the corner of it.
>”Just be natural, and this will work out wonderfully.”
“If you want me to be natural, then you’ll let me smoke and drink in this fucking tree.”
>”Anon can you not curse?”
“No.”

>Twilight rolls her eyes, but brushes it off.
>”Go ahead and tell me about yourself, Anon. As if I don’t know you.”
>…
“Uh… morning. I’m Anonymous. I’m a drunk and a brawler, and I don’t like royalty.”
>”Anon!”
“You want some fucking answers, I’m giving you some fucking answers.”
>She shakes her head in her hooves, and you continue.
”Been here since I was small. Maybe four or five years old if I can remember right.”
>”Where were you raised?”
>You take a cigarette out of your pants pocket and strike a match you kept tucked on top of your ear.
>Twi begins to object, but you’ve already lit it.
“There was an orphanage in Manehatten. Shit hole of a place it was. Not many of the other kids really took kindly to me. Used to pick on me, call me ‘monkey’… kids eh?”
>You breathe deep into the cigarette, the tip glowing orange as you do.
>As you exhale, you lean your head back and continue.
“The mares that ran that place… Jesus they were the biggest cunts you’d ever encounter. Most kids got a beating maybe once or twice a week. Me? Daily.”
>You flick the ashes of your cigarette onto your pants, making sure not to get any in Twi’s library.
>She notices this, and smiles, but speaks up.
>”Anon?”
“Hm?”
>”If you don’t mind me asking… what was Earth like?”
>You pause a bit.
“That’s not something I plan on telling you, lass.”
>”But-“
“Next question.”

>Sighing, Twilight scribbles onto the clipboard and nods to you.
>”What did you do while at the orphanage? Were you ever adopted?”
“Ha! Not at all.”
>Twilight raises and eyebrow.
>”Never?”
“Not a once, neigh.”
>”That’s… I’m sorry.”
“Save me your sympathy, I certainly don’t need it.”
>You take a drag, leaning forward once again.
“The kids that made fun of me I would fight. I would fight them every day of my life, I would. Once I was fourteen, I ran away. Got the fuck out of there and never looked back.”
>”Where did you go?”
“I stayed in Manehatten, but I just went a fair ways away from the orphanage. Stayed on the street for a time, then made good with a group of ponies. Ran with them for a while. Even had a griffon in there with us. That was a sight, let me tell you.”
>”I’m sorry, you ‘ran’ with them? What do you mean by, ran?”
“I ran with them. They were a gang. I was in a gang.”
>”You… you were in a gang?”
>You nod, finishing your cigarette and putting out the butt on your shoe.
>Looking up, you lock eyes with the lens of the camera.

“We broke the law, sure. That was a given. Robbed ponies, robbed stores, blackmail here and there. I only had one rule. No mares, no kids.”
>Twilight has stopped writing, instead leaning forward as well.
>She seems interested in your story.
>”What do you mean?”
“If we robbed someone, it couldn’t be a mare or a child. If I fought someone, it couldn’t be a mare or a child. I may be a right prick, but I’m a prick with convictions.”
>There’s a long pause, and Twilight presses a button on the camera, turning it off.
>”I… think we’re done.”
“Good.”
>You get up and walk over to where Twilight placed your flask, taking a deep drink from it.
>Twilight gathers up her readings, as well as her notes, and files them into a box before trotting up behind you.
>”Can I ask you something?”
“That depends. Are you going to send what I say off to the Princess to show what a good little girl you are?”
>She glares.
>”Why are you the way you are?”
>You turn around, sealing your flask and lean up on the wall.
“Elaborate for me.”
>”You’re a brute. You fight anything that moves and you don’t even care. You smoke and drink, sometimes at once, and have no general respect for authority.”
“And?”
>”On top of that, you tell me that you used to be a criminal and robbed people? I’m letting you STAY in my home. Why are you the way you are?”
>She was finally asking the good questions.
>You get to a knee, looking into her eyes.
>They were unflinching.
>Good.
>That gets her an honest answer.
”You wonder why I am the way I am? I’ll tell you.”
>You grab her chin lightly bringing her closer.
“Because I’d rather be who I really am than something someone wants me to be.”
>You hold her there, an inch from your face as the two of you look at each other.
“So be honest Tink, would you rather me be someone else?”
>”…”
>Closer now.
“Well?”
>”…I…”
>You notice how bright those eyes are.
>Those were eyes of an honest soul.
>You’re nose to nose with her now, and you see that she’s blushing slightly at how close the two of you are.
>Releasing her and rising, you walk outside and lean against the trunk of the tree.
>She shakes her head a few times, and huffs at you while trotting off to her desk.

>Dash would be getting here sometime, and the two of you would settle down and watch some movies.
>Taking out another cigarette, you strike a match.
>It’s almost as if the gods frown upon you, for right when the match lights does a raindrop fall right onto it, extinguishing the flame.
>Raising your head to the sky, you notice that the sky is a dark grey and forboding storm clouds converge around Ponyville.
>A thunderstorm.
>That’s why Dash is running late. They must have just got this thing organized.
>That means Dash would be gone for the night.
>Great…
>You place the cigarette back into your shirt pocket, buttoning it up from having the wires stuck to you, and walk back inside.
>Twilight finishes writing a letter, and calls for Spike to come down and deliver it for her.
>”Spiiiike! Can you come send this scroll to Celestia please?”
>The small purple dragon scuttles down the stairs and takes the letter and tape from the interview, breathing green flames down upon it as it dissipates to ash and floats out the window.
>Spike looks to you and waves happily.
>”Hey Anon! Weren’t you supposed to hang out with Rainbow Dash today?”
“Storm’s a comin’. Think I might just head downstairs for a bit. Spike?”
>”Mmhmm?”
“Did you get me that paint I asked for?”
>”Oh! Yeah, I did. Here’s your change from the bits you let me borrow.”
“Keep it. I assume it’s down in my room?”
>”The paint? Yeah. You asked for a lot of pur-“

>You smack the back of his head as you walk back to the basement door, shutting him up.
>”Right. Secret. Forgot.”
>Twilight’s curiosity is now peaked, and she follows you.
>”Paint? Why would you need paint?”
“I paint sometimes.”
>She gives a laugh.
>”Right. You paint. Do you also write the occasional poem or two?”
“Well, well, look at you? Getting cheeky are we?”
>”I’ll leave you to your doodles then.”
>She trots over to a large pile of books and begins maddeningly flipping through them.
>You stare at her for a while, then head downstairs to your room.
>It was dark for the most part, the only light being that of a few oil lamps.
>You had electricity down here, but no lamp just yet.
>You tell yourself everyday that you’ll get one, but you don’t.
>Apathy takes a toll on a guy, you suppose.
>You walk over to an easel you hid in the corner, turning on another small oil lamp to illuminate it as you take off the sheet covering it.
>Sitting in a stool, you take a brush into your hand and break open a new bottle of lavender paint.
>And as you meet the brush to the paper, you hum to yourself an old song.
>A song your mother would sing to you when you were just a small, small boy.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5djVrVsI7W4&name=The+Patriot+Game

“Come all you young rebels, and list while I sing,
The love of one’s country is a terrible thing.
It banishes fear with the speed of a flame,
And it makes you all part of the patriot’s game…”

>The face on the paper was finally beginning to take form, but you were far from finished.
>You don’t really know why you were painting this.
>You don’t know you were painting at all, really.
>Lucky for you, this was your source of income.
>One you kept secret, for the most part.
>”The badass drunk who paints to pay rent”
>Not the best title to have, for sure.
>Still… you hadn’t lost a step concerning your talent.
>As you paint on, you finish your song.

“And now I am dying, my body all holes.
I think of those traitors, who bargained men’s souls.
And I’m sorry my rifle has not done the same,
To the traitors who sold out the patriot’s game…”

>You look back at your work of art, still not complete, but progressing nonetheless.
>”…what was that song about?”

>You jump from your stool, throwing the sheet over the canvas to hide it.
>Twilight.
>You turn around, eying Twilight who’s standing behind you at the bottom of the stairs.
“Who told you that you could come down here?”
>”This is my house.”
“True… what do you want?”
>”…that was a nice song.”
>You exhale, moving away from your painting and laying down on your bed.
>Taking out your whiskey, you hand it to Twilight.
>”I-“
“Shut up and drink it. Take a chance for once in your life.”
>She looks worriedly at the flask, but relents and takes a tiny sip, gagging on the liquid inside.
>”Augh, how do you drink this?”
“Very quickly.”
>She pouts, then takes another sip, this time darting the flask up and back down in a flash, swallowing it as best she can.
>”This… is gross.”
“You get used to it. Now what did you want?”
>Her horn glows and a book from behind her floats over to you.
>”I wanted to bring you this. It’s a book that I read a few years ago, and I really enjoyed it.”
“It’s not on the mating habits of dragons is it? Because I don’t particularly want to see that shit.”
>”Ugh, NO it’s an adventure novel. I just thought, you know, maybe you’d like it.”
“Terrific. I’ll read it right away.”
>She beams at you and claps her hooves together.
>”Yay! Go ahead, get started.”
>She eagerly waits for you to…
>Wait, really?
“You… you were planning on watching me read a book?”
>She nods.
“Yeah. No. Not doing that. I’ll read it on my own time, thank you.”
>”But you said-“
“Do you not know what sarcasm is? Is that a thing about you? That you can’t take a joke?”
>She rolls her eyes and groans, realizing she’s been duped, but still she asks questions.
>Specifically, she brings up the first subject after taking another sip of whiskey.
>”So *gag* oh that burns… So what was that song?”
“The Patriot Game.”
>”I’ve never heard it before. What’s it about?”
“My Ma would sing it to me when I was little. Before I came to Equestria.”
>”You mean when you were on Earth? What was it li-“
“Not talking about that. Just the song.”
>”But-… fine. Okay.”
>You take a deep breathe and close your eyes.
“It’s a song about oppression. About how you’re not supposed to be pushed around by others, no matter who or what they are… it’s about banding together and fighting for a place to call home.”

>”That’sa good shong then.”
>You look up.
>Twi hiccups.
>Your whiskey is… gone, apparently.
>And Twi is drunk.
“What a fuckin’ lightweight.”
>”Ah’m just fine. You don’t know ME.”
>You pick her up and sling her over your shoulder as you take her back to her room.
>”Hey now put meh downs.”
“Crazy lass drank all my booze. You drank my WHOLE flask, Tink.”
>”That ish not mah name, Anoninin.”
“And that’s not mine, neither.”
>Making your way to her bed, you toss her down and tuck her in.
>”It’sh only two o’clock. Ah’m not tireds.”
“Yes you are.”
>”No I’m nooooot.”
“Yes. You are.”
>”No I’m-… Ah am?”
“Yup.”
>”Oh… okay then, time for some sleepies…”
>Before you can say anything else, she dozes off.
>If you were going to let her drink, you would have to monitor it. Last thing you needed was some drunken bitch running a muck in town.
>That was your job.
>A crack of lightning strikes outside the window, and Twilight wakes up.
>She looks up at you and smiles.
>”Hey, Anoninin.”
“Yeah Tink?”
>”Could you sing that shong fer me? The one from *hic* before?”
>…
>You sit down next to her, patting her head with a hand.
“…okay. Fine.”

“Come all you young rebels, and list while I sing…”

~END~

Pastebin.com Tools & Applications

iPhone/iPad

Windows

Firefox

Chrome

WebOS

Android

Mac

Opera

Click.to

UNIX

WinPhone