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

Barfly Anon 2

By: Previous on Oct 6th, 2012 | syntax: None | size: 40.57 KB | hits: 119 | expires: Never

download | raw | embed | report abuse | print

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

>The day went from you waking up miserable with a hangover, to well on your way to drunk and feelin’ fine in the course of about an hour, courtesy of pink pone.
>The more you drank, the less your hangover kept it’s grip on you.
>Once you and Pinkie polish off the first 40 of cake vodka and crack the second, your hangover is nothing but a bad dream.
>By then day is beginning to give way to evening, so you and Pinkie decide to get some pizza from the nearby restaurant.
>It’s still warm out, and you and she have an enjoyable walk there.
>Well, you walked. Pinkie bounced.
>Neither of you minded the occasional looks you two get from ponies.
>You weren’t plastered, but you were well enough that you weren’t really concerned with being a little loud, and with Pinkie, who could blame you?
>She was always the chatty one.
>And, you had to admit, her carefree, joyous nature could be infectious sometimes.
>You insist on paying, and though Pinkie seems ready to argue on this, you negotiate her down to ordering up your pizzas for you, while you will pay.
>She already brought the booze, no way you were letting her pay for the pizza too.
>You give her your money and hang back a little while Pinkie orders, cracking a grin at the uncomfortable looking waiter, who’s trying and failing to keep his poker face maintained while Pinkie speaks loudly
>And, ye gods
>Slowly
>To him, giving her order.
>She wasn’t even slurring much, but she seems to think people might be having trouble understanding her.
>“We. Want pizzas! Two, please! Extra large!” She says, leaning in invasively close to the waiter and unaware of their obvious discomfort.
>You’re sure he’s smelling vodka breath right now.
>“The works. All the toppings you have! And more if you have those too.” Impressive, this mare knew her pizza.
>Luckily pizzas from your when and where, and this one, are mostly the same when it comes to toppings.
>Meaning the works would not be including grass and daisies, thank Science.
>The only real difference was no meats.
>But vegetarian pizzas weren’t that bad, once you got over the initial shock of ‘Hey, where’s the meat?’
>Besides, this place made ‘em pretty good usually.
>Still, you almost shed a manly tear at the thought that you may never taste pepperoni again.
>Maybe one day you’d go on a little tourist’s trip to griffon territory.
>They were meat eaters, and hey?
>Maybe they’d have pepperoni.
>And.. Bacon.
>And jerky.
>Mm.
>Mmm.
>Okay, cutting off that train of thought before you end up drooling on yourself.
>The waiter scribbles down Pink’s order, nodding to her, and as they do so, Pinkie’s nature shines through her drunkeness as she smiles charmingly at the waiter.
>“Thank you!” She says, and the waiter smiles back, a little uncertainly, but looking much more at ease then they were a moment ago.
>They head off to give the cooks her order, but Pinkie’s eyes widen a moment as she remembers something important.
>“Oh-hey! But no pineapple!” She calls after him.
>Half an hour later and you and Pinkie are back at your place.
>Your glasses are refilled with liquid cake and splashes of strawberry juice, and you’re both munching on hot, fresh pizza loaded with cheese, tomatoes, mushrooms, onions, peppers, olives, even some more unusual stuff like spinach, broccoli, garlic and snow peas.
>As is typical of that restaurant, it’s quite good.
>Pink, the gluttonous mare obviously ordered extra large, and they were indeed generously big pizzas.
>By the time you get around half your pizza, Pinkie’s done hers.
>Now she’s sipping at her drink, trying to be inconspicuous about eying up yours.
>You manage to get through another half a slice before your gut gives it up as a bad job.
>You put it back in the box, wash your mouthful down with a gulp of booze, and slide the box over to Pinkie.
“Do me a favor Pinks, I can’t finish that.”
>You didn’t have to tell her twice.
>She gives you a grateful smile before she digs in enthusiastically, complete with happy nomming sounds, the occasional flying scrap of pizza and chewing with her mouth open.
>..Gross.
>But adorable nonetheless. Damn Pinkie Pie.
>You had no idea how something almost half your height could eat so much though, but hey, Pinkie was strange, even by pony standards.
>But she was the good kind of weirdo.
>As she finishes off the last of the pizza, you take the empty boxes and leave ‘em by the door.
>Then, you sit back down, eye up your drink a moment, and drain the last two thirds of it in one go.
>Being as full as you are, your buzz is gonna be a little slower coming, so you can get away with it.
>You wheeze as the liquid heat settles in your gut.
>Pinkie is smiling, impressed.
>Wiping away a bit of sauce left on the corner of her mouth, she says “Wow Anonymous, has anyp0ny ever told you you’re a super great drinker? I bet you’re almost as good as me!”
>No way she could out drink you, tiny ass pony.
>Berry Punch was an exception, it’s scary how much she could drink, but Pinkie?
>Not happening.
“Ms. Pie, is that a challenge?”
>She looks surprised a sec, then just like that, the cheerful look on her face is gone.
>It’s replaced by an alien face that you’ve only seen a few times on Pinkie.
>It was her serious face.
>But, you saw the glint of mischievous good humor in her eyes.
>She produces two shot glasses out from under your table,
>How does she do that?
>fills both of them with vodka, and slides one to you.
>The two of you raise your shot glasses, then in unison, you both tip ‘em back and drink.
>Strong.
>The cake flavoring helps, but it still packs a fair bite to it.
>Pinkie’s got a second shot filled for the both of you moments later, and the two of you use it as a chaser.
>You grimace a bit and blink back your watering eyes, as Pinkie sticks out her tongue and shakes her head a little, before pursing her lips and blowing out a breath.
>She grins at your watering eyes, unbeknownst to her that she also looks a little green around the gills.
>“You’re not giving up already, are you Annie?”
“Pour another, Pink.”
>She does, and as you raise your shot glass, you two exchange a look.
>You smile nervously at each other, and you both drink them down.
>Already you feel the shots beginning to elbow their way into your senses.
>You were fairly drunk already.
>But now, it was like being in a room rapidly filling up with warm water.
>It was coming on hard and fast, and you’d bet Pinkie was feeling the same.
>The bellyful of pizza would slow it down, but keeping up a pace like this, it wouldn’t matter much.
>This time, you fill up the shot glasses and set one in front of her.
>She looks down at it, and you see dawning wonder at what she may have gotten herself into.
>You think maybe you’ve won.
>But the look passes, and again she looks determined.
>As the room starts to gently weave and wobble, you start to wonder too.
>Maybe this wasn’t gonna be so easy.
>A couple more later and the pace slows down as the shots work their magic.
>Pinkie is sitting across from you, resting her head on her hooves with a goofy looking grin on her face.
>“Anooonymous. Hee hee!~ I feel funny! I think we drank too much.”
>She puts her head down on your table and snickers into her forelegs, the laugh building up before she raises her head again and giggles at you, face flushed with good humor and liquor.
>You chuckle back at her, smiling widely.
“Pink, you coul’ be right. We’ve prob’ly drank too much.”
>Your voice takes on a more roguish note.
“‘Nother shot?”
>Pinkie laughs as if this is funniest thing she’s ever heard.
>“Anonymous~! Hahaha you’re the craziest human I’ve ever met!”
“I’m the only human y’ve ever met.”
>She puts her head back down and laughs wildly into your table.
>But, with her face down, and still cracking up, she nods and motions at you to fill ‘em.
>Smiling at your buddy laughing like a fool, you do.
>You drink.
>And so does your pal Pink.
>The night stretches on like that, Pinkie gets giddier as she loses to the booze, but every time you or she offer another shot, neither of you are willing to back down.
>So, three quarters through the second 40, you’re approaching done.
>You’re floating in a drunken stupor somewhere in the vicinity of your chair.
>You could be underwater for all you know.
>Even making conversation is getting to be a fanciful wonder.
>Fortunately, Pinkie doesn’t seem to notice. She’s too busy laughing and slurring her words.
>But as you both take another shot, she gets real quiet all of a sudden.
>Her words taper off, and she stares ahead, right through you.
>“He’ uhh, Anown?”
>She sounds like she has a mouth half frozen from novocaine.
“…”
>Oh right. She’s addressing you.
“Ye?”
>“Iwin. You’re movin’ all over th’ place in th’t chair. You bout to p-pass.. Pass. Pass oooOouu--”
>Pinkie goes sideways, thumping to your floor.
>She’s lucky she didn’t hit her head on the little table beside your couch, but another thing about Pinkie.
>Bitch had the luck of the devil.
>So instead, she thumps more or less harmlessly to your floor, and begins to snore gently almost immediately.
>You pour yourself another shot, as a celebration for your victory, but before you drink, you rise haphazardly, and then stoop down to pick up your pink pal.
>Damn are you wasted.
>You almost stumble and fall on her, but you catch yourself, and after a moment of readjusting your balance, you kneel down and work your arms under her.
>She exclaims a single, loud, rasp of a snore when you lift her, but she stays asleep and her snores soften again.
>She’s light.
>Anticipating her to be heavier, your balance is thrown off once more.
>You teeter.
>For a split, nightmarish moment you think you’re going to end up sprawling into your table, dropping her on it face first, but through sheer willpower you reassert balance.
>Then, you take the few wobbly steps towards your couch with sleepy pink pone in your arms.
>If she’s adorable awake then damn.
>Sleeping you can feel the pure diabetes radiating off of her like a sweet fever.
>You just hope she doesn’t puke on you and ruin the moment.
>She sighs faintly in your grasp, unconsciously turning inwards to your chest and making affable and sluggish “Numnum” sounds between snores.
>She has a soft, sweet smell reminiscent of bubble gum and cotton candy.
>She’s warm, and when she cuddles up to you, you can feel her heartbeat thumping against your chest.
>It makes you want to sit on your couch and cradle the sleeping pony in your arms until you fall asleep.
>Damn.. you ARE drunk.
>That won’t be happening with Pink.
>Gently, you lay her down on your sofa and grab the crinkled blanket you left on your armchair earlier.
>You throw it over her, and she wraps her front legs around it in a hug as one corner of her mouth rises in a little smile.
>Feeling oddly wistful by this, you turn back to your unconsumed shot.
>The party pony was vanquished, and it was not as easy as you had first thought.
>She lived up to her title, you were one or three more shots away from being unable to stand, let alone walk.
>You decide to find out if it’s closer to one than three.
>You tip the shot back and drink it down.
>It is your last shot of the night, and though you’d never admit it, even to yourself, you’re glad.
>It was strong and vile, your throat almost didn‘t seem to want to take it.
>But take it, it did.
>Still... Kinda tastes like victory.
>You shut off the light in your dining and living room so that Pinkie Pie wouldn’t have to sleep under a glaring light, but you leave the kitchen light on so that she can navigate should she wake up.
>You also turn the light on to your bathroom and leave the door ajar.
>With that done, and impressed by your own presence of mind being as minced as you are, you stagger to your bedroom.
>Nearly falling again, you catch yourself on the door frame to your room.
>You don’t bother shutting your door in favor of reaching your bed sooner.
>You let yourself fall forward onto your bed.
>Fuck your clothes, fuck getting under the covers.
>Sleep nao.
>The room spins out, and you let it.
>You wake up grudgingly some time later, about in the same position you were when you first fell into bed.
>Your arm is dead, you’ve been lying on it.
>It tingles like a bastard as you free it out from under your torso.
>As you roll over, smacking your numb arm on your nightstand and hardly noticing, you are struck by a wave of nausea as birds outside sing cheerily, as if you weren‘t dying mere feet away from them.
>You groan, trying to sit up.
>Pinkie.
>But no.
>Your resolve breaks in the face of this daunting ail.
>Against your will, you fall backwards onto your pillow, grab a corner of your comforter and, pulling it sloppily over your chilled legs, you drift off again.
>You wake once more maybe an hour or two later, still feeling like crap, and thirsty as all hell, but a little better nonetheless.
>Glancing at your bedside alarm, you see it’s still morning, at least for another thirty minutes or so.
>You sit up, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes as you do, yawning blearily at your sunshiny, bright room.
>Didn’t even close the curtains, ya frickin’ drunk.
>It was late.
>You wonder if Pinkie let herself out, baker’s tend to be early risers and they weren’
>Oh. Nope.
>You still hear a hazily familiar snoring coming from outside your room.
>You get out of bed, and when you enter your little dining area, you see that Pinkie has moved.
>She’s no longer on your couch, but instead she’s back to sitting at your table, one cheek laying upon it as she snores away.
>You note with some amusement that there’s an unconsumed shot of vodka in front of her, and since the bottle doesn’t look any more depleted, you figure that it was the one and only shot she poured herself while you were sleeping.
>Also Pinkie is sleeping in a sizable puddle of her own drool.
>She still has your blanket around her though, it’s draped across her withers as she snores at your table.
>Looking at her sleeping, her peaceful expression, it’s almost a wonder that when those blue eyes were open, the mare they were stuck inside was an endless font of energy.
>You can’t bring yourself to wake her just yet, so you grab a change of clothes from your room and let yourself into your bathroom to pee and catch a shower.
>All the steam and hot water cascading onto your head does wonders for your hangover.
>Yeah you still feel crappy, but once you’re out, mostly dry and dressed, you feel refreshed, a little.
>Any bit helps.
>Good and faithful Pinkie.
>She stayed right where you left her. Sleeping at your table in a pool of drool.
>Well, you guess you oughta wake her up, it’s been quiet long enough.
>You put some coffee on, and while it percolates you reluctantly move in on sleeping pink.
>You prod the bubblegum mare’s side.
“Pink? Wake up.”
>Pinkie’s head shoots up so fast it startles you into taking a step back, and her eyes open halfway.
>They stare ahead sightlessly as she exclaims “French toast!”
>There’s a muted thud as her head thumps back down to your table.
>Eyes closed once again, she resumes snoring softly.
>You decide to take that as a sign.
>Rummaging through your kitchen, you grab eggs, cinnamon, sugar, all the fixin’s you’ll need for some french toast.
>This simple task wakes a mild headache in you, which begins to throb with a mild but cheerily insistent ache.
>Sometimes it almost seemed that drinking wasn’t worth feeling lousy the next day.
>A little aspirin would surely help that problem, but oh-friggin-wait.
>There was no aspirin.
>The only decent source of pain relief medicine was at a witchdoctor zebra’s hut in the middle of an enigmatic forest that promised death and worse to the unwary.
>Everfree Forest was a place you didn’t like to face feeling good, let alone feeling lousy like you do.
>Sometimes you felt like maybe drinking wasn’t worth feeling like this the next day.
>But.. who were you kidding?
>You loved the drink. How could you ever let it go?
>As you heat and grease a pan, mix all the ingredients, and set the sopping bread to fry, you grab yourself a small glass of water and sip it cautiously while you work.
>Soon your little kitchen is filled with the oddly comforting sounds of sizzling French toast and the hiccupping of your busy coffee machine.
>You weren’t sure if your stomach could handle sugary syrup and french toast, and so you make a couple pieces of dry toast and two sunny side up eggs.
>Long ago you discovered eggs made a decent hangover food.
>The French toast was for the mare snoring away in the drool on your kitchen table.
>You’d bet all your bits and the few worthless dollar bills you had that Pink could be dying of radiation poisoning and still manage all that sugar.
>Working at Sugarcube Corner has improved your skill at cooking over time.
>Yeah you only baked there, you didn’t make a huge variety of foods, but it’s taught you better timing, improved your attention to details and improved your multitasking, and most importantly, how to do it FAST.
>So as you make yourself a cup of steaming coffee, you set out two plates and then two perfectly made eggs and toast are on one plate, and a stack of golden, hot french toast on the other.
>Condiments are at the ready, food is standing by, hunger is go.. Sort of.
>Gentlemen, we have breakfast.
>Tch, and to think, you used to break the yolks. What a fuckin’ rookie.
>You set the plates and your coffee before the snoring Pinkie Pie.
>You’re about to try and wake her again, but then her nostrils flare as the scent of buttery French toast wafts into them.
>Her eyes open a touch, and then widen in awe.
>“FRENCH TOAST!”
>She sits up abruptly, before wincing and looking around sluggishly, confused about where she is, before she remembers.
>As you sit down across from her, she looks down at the plate of food before her.
>Her ears flatten and she looks at you with a grateful and mildly bashful smile.
>“Thank you Annie. It looks yummy.” She says.
>You give her a modest smile, nodding as she unleashes a torrent of syrup and butter upon her French toast.
>You forgive Pinkie for the feminine and loathsome nickname in favor of an agreeable breakfast.
>Pink pone digs into your breakfast and you feel a familiar sense of pride to see someone
>Uhh. Somep0ny enjoying food you’ve created.
>You expect her to scarf down the toast de francais as quickly as the pizza last night, but to your surprise she eats at a much slower pace, taking the time to cut a piece off and chew rather than just wolf it down like a starved manticore.
>You watch her holding a knife and fork in her hooves, and you think you can literally feel your sanity slipping away. It’s unpleasant to say the least.
>You tilt your head a little, gaping at the impossible.
>How.
>Does.
>That..
>You shake your head a little and tear your eyes away.
>Some mysteries are better left alone.
>As she chews she asks you “I dreamed about French toast Anon, how’d you know what I was dreaming about, huh??”
>You grin, trying not to let on but probably failing as you shrug.
“Lucky guess I guess.”
>She doesn’t seem to catch on to your innocent lie as she nods agreeably and takes another syrupy bite.
>Your own breakfast is on it’s way to cold, so you dig in as well.
>Sunny side eggs, man. Fucking nom.
>Pinkie tries to eat politely, but it seems your breakfast is far too powerful.
>It’s not a repeat of the pizza last night, but she does get a little noisy, nomming and smacking her lips while she eats.
>How does she eat with her eyes closed like that?
>You’re finishing off your second piece of yolky toast as Pinkie clears the 5 pieces of French toast.
>Then she lifts the plate, turns it sideways and licks it clean.
>Not a drop of syrup hits your table, she doesn’t miss a bit.
>When she lowers the plate again, looking satisfied, you can’t help but laugh.
>A confused head tilt is her reaction.
>“What?” She asks, oblivious.
>That only makes you laugh harder.
>“What?” She asks again, a little more insistently.
>She starts to crack a smile in spite of herself, your laughter beginning to overtake her.
>She giggles, unable to help herself and asks “Whaaat?! What’s so funny?!”
>You point, waving a couple fingers toward her face as you fight away your laughter.
>Pinkie’s got syrup on her nose, her brow, and a generous slathering on her mane as well.
>She’s looking at you innocently, in complete ignorance of this fact, and it makes you chuckle a bit more.
“You are /covered/ in syrup.”
>She carefully raises a hoof to her face, and then licks at the syrup that comes away.
>Then she giggles again, “Hee hee!~ I guess I am!”
>She starts to laugh and that gets you going again.
>Once your laughter starts to die down, you get up and head over to your bathroom.
“Guess you’re gonna need a shower.” You say as you peek into the bathroom.
>Behind you, Pinkie is squinting up at her mane hanging in her peripheral vision, trying and failing to reach her tongue up to lick the syrup stuck there.
>But it doesn’t stop her from twisting her head this way and that, trying to get a better reach.
>Hm. Bathroom looks presentable.
>Still a couple clean towels, soap, shampoo, (you hope Pinkie didn’t mind citrus) tub respectable and free of pubes, yeah looks fine.
>Either way you doubt that Pinks would really be bothered by a little messiness, she wasn‘t exactly a neat freak.
>Rarity might have found something to complain about though, she had a knack for it.
>Oh well.
>For a guy who lives all alone, your place is overall pretty presentable.
>Some of your old buddies from your er, world.. Dimension. Whatever. Had some real train wrecks for homes.
>Most of the people you had bothered to hang out with were pretty cool folk.. But couldn’t keep a place to save their lives.
>You never had that problem yourself.
>You never did like getting home from working all day just to have to look at a house that needed work itself. So you usually stayed on top of that sort of thing.
>Cleaning while you’re drunk can be an okay pastime once in a while anyway.
>You sit back down at the table.
>Pinkie’s shot was still sitting there, presumably having been poured last night before she passed out again.
>You slide over the other glass and fill it up with the mostly empty bottle.
“How’s the hangover Pink?”
>“Tawubble.” She replies, tongue still out, still trying to reach up and lick at the syrup in her mane.
>She doesn’t look ill, at all.
>Looking at her, you’d never guess that the two of you went through at least 40 shots over the course of yesterday afternoon and night.
>You are willing to bet that you don’t look quite so chipper.
“Well, here’s a little something that might help.”
>You slide her the freshly poured shot, and take hers.
“And /stop/ doing that! You’re makin’ my tongue hurt just lookin’ at ya.”
>“Hehe, sorry.”
>She raises her shot glass and you mirror her.
>She lifts it to her lips but stops.
>“Who won last night anyway? The drinking contest, I mean.”
“Don’t remember huh?”
>She shakes her head, sticky mane swaying stiffly.
“Well.. I did.”
>She looks astonished, she gulps her shot down as you follow suit.
>As she sets the empty glass back on the table, she’s still wearing that surprised face.
>“..Really?”
>You nod.
>“But I w-- You-- I didn’t--!”
>You shake your head, waving dismissively at the flabbergasted mare.
>“Aw don’t look so surprised Pinkie, I’ve got the weight advantage plus I already drink more than I should.”
>You shoot her a hotshot smile.
“Besides, no one can outdrink me.”
~~~~~~~
>Berry Punch looks up from the half empty wine bottle in her lap, one ear flicking.
>She looks around the room.
>A weird, confrontational sort of feeling had swept over her for a second.
>But she was alone, sitting on her sofa in her little home.
>Pinchy was still upstairs sleeping, taking full advantage of the weekend’s extra napping time.
>Probably should wake her up soon, it’s afternoon already.
>But still, why would she suddenly feel combative, sitting here alone at home?
>Oh well.
>The feeling’s passed anyway.
>Shrugging to no one in particular, she takes another swig from the emptying wine bottle.
~~~~~~~
>Pinkie didn’t believe you that you’d won.
>She said there was
>“No way, Anon! I can even beat Applejack, and she makes her own drinks all the time!”
>She‘s leaning forward on your table with her front legs.
>She looks rustled. ..And syrupy.
>Seems party pink is a bit proud of her drinking abilities.
“You didn’t beat me. Deal with it.”
>She opens her mouth to make a retort, but you interrupt.
“Hey,” You say, raising a hand.
“Last night before you fell asleep pouring a shot at my table, where’d you wake up?”
>She glances over at your couch and opens her mouth to respond.
“My couch, that’s where. You fell outta your chair and passed out on the floor, so I threw you on the couch with that blanket you’re sitting on and that was it. Sorry sweetheart, ya lost.”
>The incredulous look she’s giving you coupled with the syrupy visage almost sets you off again.
>But you manage a straight face for diplomacy’s sake, as reluctant belief settles itself on her expression.
>“Okay..” She says slowly. “You won.”
>You nod.
>“Pinkie promise?”
>..You nod again, a tad apprehensively this time.
“I promise.”
>“That’s not a Pinkie promise Anon, you know that! Say it.”
>You frown and decide you had suddenly and conveniently gone deaf, sipping your coffee and avoiding Pinkie‘s gaze.
>“Anon, come on! Say it if it’s true. Promise me!”
>Ugh.
>Every single time you said this, you felt sure one of your old human pals was gonna suddenly appear outta nowhere and kick your ass for saying something so ridiculous.
>You roll your eyes and sigh, exaggerating your annoyance, but only a little.
“Cross-my-heart-and-hope-to-fly-stick-a-cupcake-in-my-eye.”
>You rush though the words, halfheartedly miming the motions, knowing she’d insist on you doing it again if you didn’t.
>Pinkie grins at you, and with a giggle she says “Okay Anonymous, I believe you.”
“We can always have a rematch if you wanna try again--”
>Grin widening, she reaches for the third and as of yet unopened bottle.
“But not today! I really need to dry out a little to be honest.”
>“Anon, are you saying you can’t beat me twice in a row?”
>Loaded question.
>She’s giving you the slyest fucking smile, daring you to answer.
>You shake your head, smiling in spite of yourself.
>You nod towards the bathroom.
“Go get in the shower, I’m getting tired of lookin’ at that sticky face of yours.”
>Pinkie giggles, seeing right through your bullshit before blowing you a raspberry and trotting merrily off to your bathroom, closing the door behind her.
>After a couple minutes, you hear the shower go on, so you take to cleaning up a bit.
>You wash dishes, wipe up the table, and fix yourself another cup of coffee. Little caffeine never hurt a hangover.
>Thank Buddha they had coffee here.
>You try not think about the fact that cows were now sentient though, you needed milk for your coffee and the thought that it came from something sentient somehow made you a little squeamish. Never mind how you felt knowing that sapient or not, they were delicious.
>Oh well, you suppose you’d get used to it eventually.
>You set down your cup as you spot Pinkie’s crumpled blanket still hanging about the chair where she left it.
>You grab it up, and taking it to your armchair, you shake it by the corners to straighten it out and fold it.
>But when you shake it, you catch the tenuous scent of it.
>You remember last night, carrying the sleeping Pinkie to your couch and how she felt in your arms, how she smelled.
>Almost reluctantly you gather the blanket back up in your hands.
>For what feels like a long time, you look down at it.
>You wouldn’t.
>..Shouldn’t.
>Are you really gonna do this?
>Slowly, you lower you head and press the blanket to your face, and inhale it’s scent, deep.
>Back when you were just a little kid, back when a couple dollars was a king’s ransom, and back when the earth felt as bright and cheerful as this one looked, you remembered trips to the corner store.
>Filling a paper bag with all the candy your legendary riches could buy.
>Walking with the warm sun on you, blue skies above, long days ahead free of worry and troubles, and a bag full of your favorites.
>Gummy bears, sour watermelons, jawbreakers, gummy colas.
>And, the gum that you could swear you’re smelling now.
>Intermingled with the gentle scent of sweet, powdery gum is another, making you think of rides on the zipper, bright lights, carnival games, laughing children and useless but tempting little trinkets of all sorts.
>Subtle and saccharine.
>Cotton candy.
>The scent wasn’t overpowering at all.
>It was faint and delicate and undeniably Pinkie.
>You draw back from the blanket and exhale deliberately.
>But, looking down at the blanket, as the last of that rousing breath leaves you, your countenance darkens.
>You feel a rapidly rising sense of shame and disgust with yourself.
>What were you doing, smeliing someone’s
>No, someP0NY’s blanket when she wasn’t there.
>She wasn’t even human.
>She was somep0ny that you’re good friends with.
>She trusts you.
>What a fucking creep thing to do.
>Frowning, you shake the blanket straight again, almost angrily, and fold it up, breathing shallowly this time.
>Then you place it on your armchair where you usually keep it.
>You sit back down at the table, mood dampened, and drink your warm coffee.
>It’s good, but you feel your eye drawn back to the unopened bottle of vodka on your counter again and again.
>But that earlier shot was going to have to be enough. Wasn’t yours to open anyway.
>Although.
>There was a little left in the second bottle.
>Before you can change your mind, you uncap the bottle and swallow a mouthful, chasing it with some coffee before screwing the cap back on and replacing it upon the table.
>A couple minutes later as you’re making your third cup of coffee, you hear the shower turn off.
>Sitting down with a fresh cup, the door opens to Pinkie with a towel draped over her back.
>You note with some surprise that when her mane and tail are wet they take on a dramatic and almost disconcerting change.
>It wasn’t a poofy, curly, untamed mess anymore.
>It was perfectly straight, cascading down from atop her head and around her withers like a waterfall of pink silk.
>For some reason, it reminded you of the femme fatale archetype from the movies of your world.
>The dangerous, morally ambiguous woman, or in this case, mare, who were likely at least a tad off kilter and wizards in some form of deceptive or fatalistic art.
>Perhaps both.
>Dark, and carrying an air of deception and death.
>That almost made you smile, despite your soured mood.
>Pinkie, dangerous?
>The only thing dangerous about her was her tolerance for the drink, lightweights beware.
>And, maybe her incessant good cheer and need to befriend.
>Steam billows out in an ethereal cloud behind her. Seems she liked her showers hot.
>You can’t quite bring yourself to look at her as she trots gaily past you.
>She asks if she could have some coffee.
>Trying to keep the frown at bay that threatens to overtake your face, you nod.
>She doesn’t put anything in her brew, just pours herself a mug of black coffee.
>For such a sugar nut you’re surprised she drinks it black, but the more you consider how hyper she can be, the more your surprise diminishes.
>She sits down across from you and smiles cheerily.
>You can’t quite meet her gaze, but you try and smile.
>She begins drying off her mane with your towel. Her voice is a bit muffled as she asks
>“So Annie what do you want to do today? Rainbow Dash said she was going to be practicing her new moves for the--
>Tch. Rainbow Dash.
>You didn’t like her much, and the feeling was mutual.
>When you first arrived in Ponyville, Pinkie naturally threw you a party.
>She apparently did this for just about everyone.
>You weren’t the drinker you are now, but the drinks were free and you had been drinking a fair bit and so had Dash.
>The two of you hadn’t spoken much prior, but at one point she had approached you and started asking you questions.
>Who you were, where you came from, basically what your deal was.
>You didn’t like strangers getting up in your business, so you gave her some dismissive, noncommittal response.
>She didn’t like being brushed off.
>Her questions became pointed, almost accusing. As if she didn’t trust you.
>You didn’t like it, you barely even knew her and it was none of her business.
>You alluded to this in a smarmy comment or two.
>Some passive-aggressive comments were exchanged on both ends.
>Then the passive started to fall away.
>Eventually she sets down her drink, wipes her mouth with a hoof and flies up to meet you at eye level.
>She angrily tells you that you can’t talk to anyp0ny like that, and just because you’re bigger than her doesn’t mean she can’t put a hoof in your face.
>You’re getting pissed off.
>You invite her to find out what might happen if she made good on that threat. You weren’t really looking to fight some pastel mare dyke, especially since you were a newcomer.
>You got the idea that she was at least somewhat tough. And you didn’t want to burn any bridges before you even got across them.
>But you also got the idea that she was not nearly as tough as she was trying to act.
>You didn’t really want to hurt her either, let alone get hurt yourself.
>But she had rubbed you the all the wrong ways and you weren’t going to apologize, nor were you going to back down from a cartoon horse.
>You’d defend yourself if she made you.
>Well, Applejack had smartly intervened and lead her friend away after some work.
>You had wisely (and literally) bit your cheek while Applejack talked her down, despite wanting to say something snarky.
>After that bit of awkwardness, the party mostly carried on without any more problems.
>You drank, Rainbow drank, and while your and her eyes met a couple times, that antagonistic spark carrying between your gazes, you both had sense enough to keep your distances from each other for the rest of the night.
>Things had since cooled between the two of you, and you both tolerated each other’s presences, but you both spoke to each other only when necessity or social obligation demanded it.
>There was still that unspoken dislike hanging in the air between you two.
>--and she asked if I could go watch her this afternoon! I’m sure she’d be happy if you could come and watch her do tricks, she loves an audience, so what do you say?”
>Pink.
>She’d never said it openly, but you knew she knew you and Rainbow still weren’t fond of each other.
>She was always trying to make you spend time with her, but in the odd times you’d accepted, it was mostly Pinkie making all the noise.
>You and Rainbow would talk to Pinkie, but avoid talking to each other.
“I’m gonna have to pass on that.”
>When she takes the towel away, you see her hair is back to being a poof of pink again.
>“But Anonymous, Rainbow loves flying for a crowd, she’ll--”
>You still can’t quite look at her.
“No, I’m sorry P-Pinks. But I don’t feel up to it.”
>That wasn’t a lie really.
>You’re still hungover and you don’t really wanna go anywhere.
>Not having to see Rainbow Dash just made it more appealing to stay home.
>There was also the fact that you still can’t help but feel you’ve betrayed Pinkie Pie’s trust.
>You’re her friend, you shouldn’t have done something so creepy as inhaling her scent from a blanket when she was elsewhere.
>It’s left you feeling awkward, ashamed.
>You can’t quite meet her gaze, and despite liking the little pink pony quite a lot, you sort of wish she’d go.
>“Is something wrong Anonymous?”
>Damn it, you were trying not to let on, but something must be showing on your face.
>With some effort you meet her gaze, trying to pass your downcast smile off as a tired one.
“Yes, this hangover is killing me. I think maybe I’m gonna take a nap or something, if you don’t mind.”
>“Oh! Uh. Nope! Nopey-dopey! I should.. probably get back to Sugarcube Corner anyway, get ready to go and watch Dashie fly.”
>She drains her cup of black coffee in a few gulps.
>She gets up from her chair, and holds up her towel looking at you questioningly.
>You gesture to the laundry basket in your bedroom and she tosses it in.
>She trots past you to the door and turns, giving you a patented Pinkie Pie smile.
>“I had lots of fun Annie! We’ll have to do this again some time.”
>You nod, not sure if you were being genuine or not.
>“Are you sure you don’t want to come see Dashie with me? It’ll be fuuuun~..”
“Thanks Pinkie but I think I’m gonna just take it easy.”
>“Alrighty! If you change your mind we’ll be just out at Sweet Apple Acres. I‘ll watch for you!”
>She comes back to you and rears up on her hind hooves, wrapping you up in her front legs in a hug and resting her head on your shoulder.
>You don‘t know what to do for a sec, but then, cautiously you return the hug.
>“Feel better Annie!” She coos, before pulling back a little to look you in the eyes.
>Your face feels warm.
>She smiles softly, faded blue eyes sparkling, almost as if she’s waiting for something.
>She leans in a bit closer to you.
>You feel her breath on you, it smells like pancake syrup and coffee.
>Without thinking about what you‘re doing, you turn your head away from her closing face to the full bottle at the table.
>“Hey.. Uh, you’re gonna forget your drink.” you say lamely.
>She looks over, and drops back on all four legs.
>“Oh, right.” She says.
>You almost hear a note of disappointment in her voice, but you’re probably mistaken.
>She moves around the table but stops halfway.
>Then as she trots back to your door she says
>“You know what, you keep it.”
>She winks and gives you an impish half smile.
>“I’ve got more at home.”
>You’re touched by her charity.
“Thank you Pinkie, I owe you one.”
>“Promise we’ll do this again then?”
“Sure Pinkie, I promise.”
>She doesn’t make you Pinkie swear this time, thank Bellona.
>She opens the door, and stops in the doorway.
>“See you at work tomorrow?”
“You know it Pinkie.”
>She giggles. “See you tomorrow then!”
“Bye Pinks.”
>“Bye-bye~!”
>She lets herself out and closes the door behind her.
>Now that she’s gone and you’re alone, a familiar feeling sets in.
>That emptiness you sometimes feel after entertaining company for a day or two.
>It was nice to have privacy again, but with it there was always a void left behind by your departing company.
>A heavy sort of quiet.
>You sit in the kitchen for a while, the only sound the ticking of the clock on your wall.
>Out of sheer boredom, you unscrew the nearly empty bottle of vodka and drain the rest of it, chasing it with your coffee.
>You eye the other one up, but no.
>You wanted to try and dry out at least a little. No getting drunk today.
>..Never mind it being 12:30 in the afternoon and you think you might feel a buzz coming on.
>You decide to make good on that nap you mentioned earlier.
>You abandon the last bit of coffee in your mug, and lay back down in bed, closing the curtains this time.
>You only succeed in tossing and turning for a while, the coffee in your system unwilling to let you go.
>But, a thought comes to you.
>It’s not a good one, but it’s tempting all the same.
>You try to ignore it, but it becomes more insistent until you throw off your covers and trudge back into the living room.
>You take the folded comforter from the arm chair, and lay down on the couch, pulling the blanket over you.
>It still holds that faint and dreamy candied scent.
>You know you shouldn‘t be doing this, at all.
>But you couldn’t shake the idea until you obeyed.
>It isn’t long before you begin to feel real drowsiness wrap you up in it‘s feathery embrace.
>You drift off with the scent of gum and cotton candy chasing you down into that sweet darkness.

create a new version of this paste RAW Paste Data

>The day went from you waking up miserable with a hangover, to well on your way to drunk and feelin’ fine in the course of about an hour, courtesy of pink pone. 
>The more you drank, the less your hangover kept it’s grip on you. 
>Once you and Pinkie polish off the first 40 of cake vodka and crack the second, your hangover is nothing but a bad dream.
>By then day is beginning to give way to evening, so you and Pinkie decide to get some pizza from the nearby restaurant. 

>It’s still warm out, and you and she have an enjoyable walk there. 
>Well, you walked. Pinkie bounced. 
>Neither of you minded the occasional looks you two get from ponies. 
>You weren’t plastered, but you were well enough that you weren’t really concerned with being a little loud, and with Pinkie, who could blame you? 
>She was always the chatty one. 
>And, you had to admit, her carefree, joyous nature could be infectious sometimes.
>You insist on paying, and though Pinkie seems ready to argue on this, you negotiate her down to ordering up your pizzas for you, while you will pay. 
>She already brought the booze, no way you were letting her pay for the pizza too.
>You give her your money and hang back a little while Pinkie orders, cracking a grin at the uncomfortable looking waiter, who’s trying and failing to keep his poker face maintained while Pinkie speaks loudly
>And, ye gods
>Slowly
>To him, giving her order. 


>She wasn’t even slurring much,  but she seems to think people might be having trouble understanding her.
>“We. Want pizzas! Two, please! Extra large!” She says, leaning in invasively close to the waiter and unaware of their obvious discomfort. 
>You’re sure he’s smelling vodka breath right now. 
>“The works. All the toppings you have! And more if you have those too.” Impressive, this mare knew her pizza.
>Luckily pizzas from your when and where, and this one, are mostly the same when it comes to toppings. 
>Meaning the works would not be including grass and daisies, thank Science. 
>The only real difference was no meats. 
>But vegetarian pizzas weren’t that bad, once you got over the initial shock of ‘Hey, where’s the meat?’ 
>Besides, this place made ‘em pretty good usually.
>Still, you almost shed a manly tear at the thought that you may never taste pepperoni again. 
>Maybe one day you’d go on a little tourist’s trip to griffon territory. 
>They were meat eaters, and hey? 
>Maybe they’d have pepperoni. 
>And.. Bacon. 
>And jerky. 
>Mm.
>Mmm. 
>Okay, cutting off that train of thought before you end up drooling on  yourself.


>The waiter scribbles down Pink’s order, nodding to her, and as they do so, Pinkie’s nature shines through her drunkeness as she smiles charmingly at the waiter.
>“Thank you!” She says, and the waiter smiles back, a little uncertainly, but looking much more at ease then they were a moment ago.
>They head off to give the cooks her order, but Pinkie’s eyes widen a moment as she remembers something important.
>“Oh-hey! But no pineapple!” She calls after him.
>Half an hour later and you and Pinkie are back at your place. 
>Your glasses are refilled with liquid cake and splashes of strawberry juice, and you’re both munching on hot, fresh pizza loaded with cheese, tomatoes, mushrooms, onions, peppers, olives, even some more unusual stuff like spinach, broccoli, garlic and snow peas. 
>As is typical of that restaurant, it’s quite good.
>Pink, the gluttonous mare obviously ordered extra large, and they were indeed generously big pizzas. 
>By the time you get around half your pizza, Pinkie’s done hers. 
>Now she’s sipping at her drink, trying to be inconspicuous about eying up yours.
>You manage to get through another half a slice before your gut gives it up as a bad job. 
>You put it back in the box, wash your mouthful down with a gulp of booze, and slide the box over to Pinkie.
“Do me a favor Pinks, I can’t finish that.”
>You didn’t have to tell her twice. 


>She gives you a grateful smile before she digs in enthusiastically, complete with happy nomming sounds, the occasional flying scrap of pizza and chewing with her mouth open.
>..Gross. 
>But adorable nonetheless. Damn Pinkie Pie.
>You had no idea how something almost half your height could eat so much though, but hey, Pinkie was strange, even by pony standards. 
>But she was the good kind of weirdo.
>As she finishes off the last of the pizza, you take the empty boxes and leave ‘em by the door. 
>Then, you sit back down, eye up your drink a moment, and drain the last two thirds of it in one go. 
>Being as full as you are, your buzz is gonna be a little slower coming, so you can get away with it.
>You wheeze as the liquid heat settles in your gut. 
>Pinkie is smiling, impressed. 
>Wiping away a bit of sauce left on the corner of her mouth, she says “Wow Anonymous, has anyp0ny ever told you you’re a super great drinker? I bet you’re almost as good as me!”
>No way she could out drink you, tiny ass pony. 
>Berry Punch was an exception, it’s scary how much she could drink, but Pinkie? 
>Not happening.
“Ms. Pie, is that a challenge?”
>She looks surprised a sec, then just like that, the cheerful look on her face is gone. 
>It’s replaced by an alien face that you’ve only seen a few times on Pinkie. 
>It was her serious face. 
>But, you saw the glint of mischievous good humor in her eyes. 


>She produces two shot glasses out from under your table,
>How does she do that?
>fills both of them with vodka, and slides one to you.
>The two of you raise your shot glasses, then in unison, you both tip ‘em back and drink. 
>Strong. 
>The cake flavoring helps, but it still packs a fair bite to it.
>Pinkie’s got a second shot filled for the both of you moments later, and the two of you use it as a chaser. 
>You grimace a bit and blink back your watering eyes, as Pinkie sticks out her tongue and shakes her head a little, before pursing her lips and blowing out a breath.
>She grins at your watering eyes, unbeknownst to her that she also looks a little green around the gills.
>“You’re not giving up already, are you Annie?” 
“Pour another, Pink.”
>She does, and as you raise your shot glass, you two exchange a look.
>You smile nervously at each other, and you both drink them down. 
>Already you feel the shots beginning to elbow their way into your senses. 
>You were fairly drunk already. 
>But now, it was like being in a room rapidly filling up with warm water. 
>It was coming on hard and fast, and you’d bet Pinkie was feeling the same. 
>The bellyful of pizza would slow it down, but keeping up a pace like this, it wouldn’t matter much.
>This time, you fill up the shot glasses and set one in front of her. 
>She looks down at it, and you see dawning wonder at what she may have gotten herself into.
>You think maybe you’ve won.


>But the look passes, and again she looks determined. 
>As the room starts to gently weave and wobble, you start to wonder too. 
>Maybe this wasn’t gonna be so easy.
>A couple more later and the pace slows down as the shots work their magic. 
>Pinkie is sitting across from you, resting her head on her hooves with a goofy looking grin on her face.
>“Anooonymous. Hee hee!~ I feel funny! I think we drank too much.” 
>She puts her head down on your table and snickers into her forelegs, the laugh building up before she raises her head again and giggles at you, face flushed with good humor and liquor.
>You chuckle back at her, smiling widely.
“Pink, you coul’ be right. We’ve prob’ly drank too much.”
>Your voice takes on a more roguish note.
“‘Nother shot?”
>Pinkie laughs as if this is funniest thing she’s ever heard. 
>“Anonymous~! Hahaha you’re the craziest human I’ve ever met!”
“I’m the only human y’ve ever met.”
>She puts her head back down and laughs wildly into your table. 
>But, with her face down, and still cracking up, she nods and motions at you to fill ‘em.
>Smiling at your buddy laughing like a fool, you do. 
>You drink. 
>And so does your pal Pink. 
>The night stretches on like that, Pinkie gets giddier as she loses to the booze, but every time you or she offer another shot, neither of you are willing to back down.
>So, three quarters through the second 40, you’re approaching done. 
>You’re floating in a drunken stupor somewhere in the vicinity of your chair. 


>You could be underwater for all you know. 
>Even making conversation is getting to be a fanciful wonder. 
>Fortunately, Pinkie doesn’t seem to notice. She’s too busy laughing and slurring her words. 
>But as you both take another shot, she gets real quiet all of a sudden. 
>Her words taper off, and she stares ahead, right through you.
>“He’ uhh, Anown?”
>She sounds like she has a mouth half frozen from novocaine.
“…”
>Oh right. She’s addressing you.
“Ye?”
>“Iwin. You’re movin’ all over th’ place in th’t chair. You bout to p-pass.. Pass. Pass oooOouu--”
>Pinkie goes sideways, thumping to your floor. 
>She’s lucky she didn’t hit her head on the little table beside your couch, but another thing about Pinkie. 
>Bitch had the luck of the devil.
>So instead, she thumps more or less harmlessly to your floor, and begins to snore gently almost immediately. 
>You pour yourself another shot, as a celebration for your victory, but before you drink, you rise haphazardly, and then stoop down to pick up your pink pal. 
>Damn are you wasted. 
>You almost stumble and fall on her, but you catch yourself, and after a moment of readjusting your balance, you kneel down and work your arms under her. 


>She exclaims a single, loud, rasp of a snore when you lift her, but she stays asleep and her snores soften again.
>She’s light. 
>Anticipating her to be heavier, your balance is thrown off once more. 
>You teeter. 
>For a split, nightmarish moment you think you’re going to end up sprawling into your table, dropping her on it face first, but through sheer willpower you reassert balance. 
>Then, you take the few wobbly steps towards your couch with sleepy pink pone in your arms.
>If she’s adorable awake then damn. 
>Sleeping you can feel the pure diabetes radiating off of her like a sweet fever. 
>You just hope she doesn’t puke on you and ruin the moment. 
>She sighs faintly in your grasp, unconsciously turning inwards to your chest and making affable and sluggish “Numnum” sounds between snores.  
>She has a soft, sweet smell reminiscent of bubble gum and cotton candy. 
>She’s warm, and when she cuddles up to you, you can feel her heartbeat thumping against your chest. 
>It makes you want to sit on your couch and cradle the sleeping pony in your arms until you fall asleep.
>Damn.. you ARE drunk. 
>That won’t be happening with Pink. 
>Gently, you lay her down on your sofa and grab the crinkled blanket you left on your armchair earlier.
>You throw it over her, and she wraps her front legs around it in a hug as one corner of her mouth rises in a little smile.


>Feeling oddly wistful by this, you turn back to your unconsumed shot. 
>The party pony was vanquished, and it was not as easy as you had first thought. 
>She lived up to her title, you were one or three more shots away from being unable to stand, let alone walk. 
>You decide to find out if it’s closer to one than three.
>You tip the shot back and drink it down. 
>It is your last shot of the night, and though you’d never admit it, even to yourself, you’re glad. 
>It was strong and vile, your throat almost didn‘t seem to want to take it. 
>But take it, it did. 

>Still... Kinda tastes like victory.

>You shut off the light in your dining and living room so that Pinkie Pie wouldn’t have to sleep under a glaring light, but you leave the kitchen light on so that she can navigate should she wake up. 
>You also turn the light on to your bathroom and leave the door ajar. 
>With that done, and impressed by your own presence of mind being as minced as you are, you stagger to your bedroom. 
>Nearly falling again, you catch yourself on the door frame to your room. 
>You don’t bother shutting your door in favor of reaching your bed sooner.
>You let yourself fall forward onto your bed. 
>Fuck your clothes, fuck getting under the covers. 
>Sleep nao. 
>The room spins out, and you let it.


>You wake up grudgingly some time later, about in the same position you were when you first fell into bed. 
>Your arm is dead, you’ve been lying on it. 
>It tingles like a bastard as you free it out from under your torso. 
>As you roll over, smacking your numb arm on your nightstand and hardly noticing, you are struck by a wave of nausea as birds outside sing cheerily, as if you weren‘t dying mere feet away from them.
>You groan, trying to sit up. 
>Pinkie. 
>But no. 
>Your resolve breaks in the face of this daunting ail. 
>Against your will, you fall backwards onto your pillow, grab a corner of your comforter and, pulling it sloppily over your chilled legs, you drift off again.
 >You wake once more maybe an hour or two later, still feeling like crap, and thirsty as all hell, but a little better nonetheless. 
>Glancing at your bedside alarm, you see it’s still morning, at least for another thirty minutes or so.
>You sit up, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes as you do, yawning blearily at your sunshiny, bright room. 
>Didn’t even close the curtains, ya frickin’ drunk. 
>It was late. 
>You wonder if Pinkie let herself out, baker’s tend to be early risers and they weren’
>Oh. Nope. 
>You still hear a hazily familiar snoring coming from outside your room. 
>You get out of bed, and when you enter your little dining area, you see that Pinkie has moved. 
>She’s no longer on your couch, but instead she’s back to sitting at your table, one cheek laying upon it as she snores away.


>You note with some amusement that there’s an unconsumed shot of vodka in front of her, and since the bottle doesn’t look any more depleted, you figure that it was the one and only shot she poured herself while you were sleeping. 
>Also Pinkie is sleeping in a sizable puddle of her own drool.
>She still has your blanket around her though, it’s draped across her withers as she snores at your table. 
>Looking at her sleeping, her peaceful expression, it’s almost a wonder that when those blue eyes were open, the mare they were stuck inside was an endless font of energy.
>You can’t bring yourself to wake her just yet, so you grab a change of clothes from your room and let yourself into your bathroom to pee and catch a shower. 
>All the steam and hot water cascading onto your head does wonders for your hangover. 
>Yeah you still feel crappy, but once you’re out, mostly dry and dressed, you feel refreshed, a little. 
>Any bit helps.

>Good and faithful Pinkie. 
>She stayed right where you left her. Sleeping at your table in a pool of drool. 
>Well, you guess you oughta wake her up, it’s been quiet long enough.
>You put some coffee on, and while it percolates you reluctantly move in on sleeping pink. 
>You prod the bubblegum mare’s side.
“Pink? Wake up.”
>Pinkie’s head shoots up so fast it startles you into taking a step back, and her eyes open halfway. 
>They stare ahead sightlessly as she exclaims “French toast!” 


>There’s a muted thud as her head thumps back down to your table. 
>Eyes closed once again, she resumes snoring softly.
>You decide to take that as a sign. 
>Rummaging through your kitchen, you grab eggs, cinnamon, sugar, all the fixin’s you’ll need for some french toast. 
>This simple task wakes a mild headache in you, which begins to throb with a mild but cheerily insistent ache. 
>Sometimes it almost seemed that drinking wasn’t worth feeling lousy the next day. 
>A little aspirin would surely help that problem, but oh-friggin-wait. 
>There was no aspirin. 
>The only decent source of pain relief medicine was at a witchdoctor zebra’s hut in the middle of an enigmatic forest that promised death and worse to the unwary. 
>Everfree Forest was a place you didn’t like to face feeling good, let alone feeling lousy like you do.
>Sometimes you felt like maybe drinking wasn’t worth feeling like this the next day.
>But.. who were you kidding? 
>You loved the drink. How could you ever let it go?
>As you heat and grease a pan, mix all the ingredients, and set the sopping bread to fry, you grab yourself a small glass of water and sip it cautiously while you work. 
>Soon your little kitchen is filled with the oddly comforting sounds of sizzling French toast and the hiccupping of your busy coffee machine. 
>You weren’t sure if your stomach could handle sugary syrup and french toast, and so you make a couple pieces of dry toast and two sunny side up eggs. 


>Long ago you discovered eggs made a decent hangover food.
>The French toast was for the mare snoring away in the drool on your kitchen table. 
>You’d bet all your bits and the few worthless dollar bills you had that Pink could be dying of radiation poisoning and still manage all that sugar. 
>Working at Sugarcube Corner has improved your skill at cooking over time. 
>Yeah you only baked there, you didn’t make a huge variety of foods, but it’s taught you better timing, improved your attention to details and improved your multitasking, and most importantly, how to do it FAST. 
>So as you make yourself a cup of steaming coffee, you set out two plates and then two perfectly made eggs and toast are on one plate, and a stack of golden, hot french toast on the other. 
>Condiments are at the ready, food is standing by, hunger is go..  Sort of.
>Gentlemen, we have breakfast.
>Tch, and to think, you used to break the yolks. What a fuckin’ rookie.
>You set the plates and your coffee before the snoring Pinkie Pie. 
>You’re about to try and wake her again, but then her nostrils flare as the scent of buttery French toast wafts into them. 
>Her eyes open a touch, and then widen in awe.
>“FRENCH TOAST!”
>She sits up abruptly, before wincing and looking around sluggishly, confused about where she is, before she remembers. 
>As you sit down across from her, she looks down at the plate of food before her. 
>Her ears flatten and she looks at you with a grateful and mildly bashful smile. 


>“Thank you Annie. It looks yummy.” She says. 
>You give her a modest smile, nodding as she unleashes a torrent of syrup and butter upon her French toast.
>You forgive Pinkie for the feminine and loathsome nickname in favor of an agreeable breakfast. 
>Pink pone digs into your breakfast and you feel a familiar sense of pride to see someone 
>Uhh. Somep0ny enjoying food you’ve created. 
>You expect her to scarf down the toast de francais as quickly as the pizza last night, but to your surprise she eats at a much slower pace, taking the time to cut a piece off and chew rather than just wolf it down like a starved manticore.
>You watch her holding a knife and fork in her hooves, and you think you can literally feel your sanity slipping away. It’s unpleasant to say the least.
>You tilt your head a little, gaping at the impossible. 
>How. 
>Does. 
>That..
>You shake your head a little and tear your eyes away. 
>Some mysteries are better left alone.
>As she chews she asks you “I dreamed about French toast Anon, how’d you know what I was dreaming about, huh??”
>You grin, trying not to let on but probably failing as you shrug.
“Lucky guess I guess.”
>She doesn’t seem to catch on to your innocent lie as she nods agreeably and takes another syrupy bite. 
>Your own breakfast is on it’s way to cold, so you dig in as well. 
>Sunny side eggs, man. Fucking nom.
>Pinkie tries to eat politely, but it seems your breakfast is far too powerful. 


>It’s not a repeat of the pizza last night, but she does get a little noisy, nomming and smacking her lips while she eats. 
>How does she eat with her eyes closed like that?
>You’re finishing off your second piece of yolky toast as Pinkie clears the 5 pieces of French toast. 
>Then she lifts the plate, turns it sideways and licks it clean. 
>Not a drop of syrup hits your table, she doesn’t miss a bit. 
>When she lowers the plate again, looking satisfied, you can’t help but laugh.
>A confused head tilt is her reaction. 
>“What?” She asks, oblivious. 
>That only makes you laugh harder.
>“What?” She asks again, a little more insistently. 
>She starts to crack a smile in spite of herself, your laughter beginning to overtake her. 
>She giggles, unable to help herself and asks “Whaaat?! What’s so funny?!”
>You point, waving a couple fingers toward her face as you fight away your laughter. 
>Pinkie’s got syrup on her nose, her brow, and a generous slathering on her mane as well. 
>She’s looking at you innocently, in complete ignorance of this fact, and it makes you chuckle a bit more.
“You are /covered/ in syrup.” 
>She carefully raises a hoof to her face, and then licks at the syrup that comes away. 
>Then she giggles again, “Hee hee!~ I guess I am!” 
>She starts to laugh and that gets you going again. 


>Once your laughter starts to die down, you get up and head over to your bathroom.
“Guess you’re gonna need a shower.” You say as you peek into the bathroom. 
>Behind you, Pinkie is squinting up at her mane hanging in her peripheral vision, trying and failing to reach her tongue up to lick the syrup stuck there. 
>But it doesn’t stop her from twisting her head this way and that, trying to get a better reach.
>Hm. Bathroom looks presentable. 
>Still a couple clean towels, soap, shampoo, (you hope Pinkie didn’t mind citrus) tub respectable and free of pubes, yeah looks fine. 
>Either way you doubt that Pinks would really be bothered by a little messiness, she wasn‘t exactly a neat freak. 
 >Rarity might have found something to complain about though, she had a knack for it. 
>Oh well. 
>For a guy who lives all alone, your place is overall pretty presentable. 
>Some of your old buddies from your er, world.. Dimension. Whatever. Had some real train wrecks for homes.  
>Most of the people you had bothered to hang out with were pretty cool folk.. But couldn’t keep a place to save their lives.
>You never had that problem yourself. 
>You never did like getting home from working all day just to have to look at a house that needed work itself. So you usually stayed on top of that sort of thing. 
>Cleaning while you’re drunk can be an okay pastime once in a while anyway.
>You sit back down at the table. 


>Pinkie’s shot was still sitting there, presumably having been poured last night before she passed out again. 
>You slide over the other glass and fill it up with the mostly empty bottle.
“How’s the hangover Pink?”
>“Tawubble.” She replies, tongue still out, still trying to reach up and lick at the syrup in her mane. 
>She doesn’t look ill, at all. 
>Looking at her, you’d never guess that the two of you went through at least 40 shots over the course of yesterday afternoon and night. 
>You are willing to bet that you don’t look quite so chipper.
“Well, here’s a little something that might help.”
>You slide her the freshly poured shot, and take hers.
“And /stop/ doing that! You’re makin’ my tongue hurt just lookin’ at ya.”
>“Hehe, sorry.”
>She raises her shot glass and you mirror her.
>She lifts it to her lips but stops.
>“Who won last night anyway? The drinking contest, I mean.”
“Don’t remember huh?”
>She shakes her head, sticky mane swaying stiffly.
“Well.. I did.”
>She looks astonished, she gulps her shot down as you follow suit. 
>As she sets the empty glass back on the table, she’s still wearing that surprised face.
>“..Really?”
>You nod.
>“But I w-- You-- I didn’t--!”
>You shake your head, waving dismissively at the flabbergasted mare.
>“Aw don’t look so surprised Pinkie, I’ve got the weight advantage plus I already drink more than I should.”
>You shoot her a hotshot smile.
“Besides, no one can outdrink me.”


~~~~~~~

>Berry Punch looks up from the half empty wine bottle in her lap, one ear flicking. 
>She looks around the room. 
>A weird, confrontational sort of feeling had swept over her for a second.
>But she was alone, sitting on her sofa in her little home. 
>Pinchy was still upstairs sleeping, taking full advantage of the weekend’s extra napping time. 
>Probably should wake her up soon, it’s afternoon already. 
>But still, why would she suddenly feel combative, sitting here alone at home? 
>Oh well. 
>The feeling’s passed anyway. 
>Shrugging to no one in particular, she takes another swig from the emptying wine bottle.

~~~~~~~


>Pinkie didn’t believe you that you’d won. 
>She said there was 
>“No way, Anon! I can even beat Applejack, and she makes her own drinks all the time!”
>She‘s leaning forward on your table with her front legs. 
>She looks rustled. ..And syrupy.
>Seems party pink is a bit proud of her drinking abilities.
“You didn’t beat me. Deal with it.”
>She opens her mouth to make a retort, but you interrupt.
“Hey,” You say, raising a hand. 
“Last night before you fell asleep pouring a shot at my table, where’d you wake up?”
>She glances over at your couch and opens her mouth to respond.
“My couch, that’s where. You fell outta your chair and passed out on the floor, so I threw you on the couch with that blanket you’re sitting on and that was it. Sorry sweetheart, ya lost.”
>The incredulous look she’s giving you coupled with the syrupy visage almost sets you off again. 
>But you manage a straight face for diplomacy’s sake, as reluctant belief settles itself on her expression.
>“Okay..” She says slowly. “You won.”
>You nod.
>“Pinkie promise?”
>..You nod again, a tad apprehensively this time.
“I promise.”
>“That’s not a Pinkie promise Anon, you know that! Say it.”
>You frown and decide you had suddenly and conveniently gone deaf, sipping your coffee and avoiding Pinkie‘s gaze.
>“Anon, come on! Say it if it’s true. Promise me!”
>Ugh. 


>Every single time you said this, you felt sure one of your old human pals was gonna suddenly appear outta nowhere and kick your ass for saying something so ridiculous.
>You roll your eyes and sigh, exaggerating your annoyance, but only a little. 
“Cross-my-heart-and-hope-to-fly-stick-a-cupcake-in-my-eye.”
>You rush though the words, halfheartedly miming the motions, knowing she’d insist on you doing it again if you didn’t.
>Pinkie grins at you, and with a giggle she says “Okay Anonymous, I believe you.”
“We can always have a rematch if you wanna try again--”
>Grin widening, she reaches for the third and as of yet unopened bottle.
“But not today! I really need to dry out a little to be honest.”
>“Anon, are you saying you can’t beat me twice in a row?”
>Loaded question. 
>She’s giving you the slyest fucking smile, daring you to answer. 
>You shake your head, smiling in spite of yourself. 
>You nod towards the bathroom.
“Go get in the shower, I’m getting tired of lookin’ at that sticky face of yours.”
>Pinkie giggles, seeing right through your bullshit before blowing you a raspberry and trotting merrily off to your bathroom, closing the door behind her.
>After a couple minutes, you hear the shower go on, so you take to cleaning up a bit. 
>You wash dishes, wipe up the table, and fix yourself another cup of coffee. Little caffeine never hurt a hangover.
>Thank Buddha they had coffee here. 


>You try not think about the fact that cows were now sentient though, you needed milk for your coffee and the thought that it came from something sentient somehow made you a little squeamish. Never mind how you felt knowing that sapient or not, they were delicious.
>Oh well, you suppose you’d get used to it eventually.
>You set down your cup as you spot Pinkie’s crumpled blanket still hanging about the chair where she left it. 
>You grab it up, and taking it to your armchair, you shake it by the corners to straighten it out and fold it.
>But when you shake it, you catch the tenuous scent of it. 
>You remember last night, carrying the sleeping Pinkie to your couch and how she felt in your arms, how she smelled.
>Almost reluctantly you gather the blanket back up in your hands. 
>For what feels like a long time, you look down at it. 
>You wouldn’t. 
>..Shouldn’t. 
>Are you really gonna do this?
>Slowly, you lower you head and press the blanket to your face, and inhale it’s scent, deep. 


>Back when you were just a little kid, back when a couple dollars was a king’s ransom, and back when the earth felt as bright and cheerful as this one looked, you remembered trips to the corner store. 
>Filling a paper bag with all the candy your legendary riches could buy. 
>Walking with the warm sun on you, blue skies above, long days ahead free of worry and troubles, and a bag full of your favorites. 
>Gummy bears, sour watermelons, jawbreakers, gummy colas. 
>And, the gum that you could swear you’re smelling now. 
>Intermingled with the gentle scent of sweet, powdery gum is another, making you think of rides on the zipper, bright lights, carnival games, laughing children and useless but tempting little trinkets of all sorts. 
>Subtle and saccharine. 
>Cotton candy.
>The scent wasn’t overpowering at all. 
>It was faint and delicate and undeniably Pinkie. 
>You draw back from the blanket and exhale deliberately. 
>But, looking down at the blanket, as the last of that rousing breath leaves you, your countenance darkens. 
>You feel a rapidly rising sense of shame and disgust with yourself. 
>What were you doing, smeliing someone’s
>No, someP0NY’s blanket when she wasn’t there. 
>She wasn’t even human. 
>She was somep0ny that you’re good friends with. 
>She trusts you. 
>What a fucking creep thing to do.
>Frowning, you shake the blanket straight again, almost angrily, and fold it up, breathing shallowly this time. 
>Then you place it on your armchair where you usually keep it.


>You sit back down at the table, mood dampened, and drink your warm coffee. 
>It’s good, but you feel your eye drawn back to the unopened bottle of vodka on your counter again and again. 
>But that earlier shot was going to have to be enough. Wasn’t yours to open anyway.
>Although. 
>There was a little left in the second bottle. 
>Before you can change your mind, you uncap the bottle and swallow a mouthful, chasing it with some coffee before screwing the cap back on and replacing it upon the table. 
>A couple minutes later as you’re making your third cup of coffee, you hear the shower turn off.
>Sitting down with a fresh cup, the door opens to Pinkie with a towel draped over her back. 
>You note with some surprise that when her mane and tail are wet they take on a dramatic and almost disconcerting change. 
>It wasn’t a poofy, curly, untamed mess anymore. 
>It was perfectly straight, cascading down from atop her head and around her withers like a waterfall of pink silk.

>For some reason, it reminded you of the femme fatale archetype from the movies of your world. 
>The dangerous, morally ambiguous woman, or in this case, mare, who were likely at least a tad off kilter and wizards in some form of deceptive or fatalistic art. 
>Perhaps both. 
>Dark, and carrying an air of deception and death.


>That almost made you smile, despite your soured mood. 
>Pinkie, dangerous? 
>The only thing dangerous about her was her tolerance for the drink, lightweights beware. 
>And, maybe her incessant good cheer and need to befriend.
>Steam billows out in an ethereal cloud behind her. Seems she liked her showers hot. 
>You can’t quite bring yourself to look at her as she trots gaily past you.
>She asks if she could have some coffee. 
>Trying to keep the frown at bay that threatens to overtake your face, you nod.
>She doesn’t put anything in her brew, just pours herself a mug of black coffee. 
>For such a sugar nut you’re surprised she drinks it black, but the more you consider how hyper she can be, the more your surprise diminishes.
>She sits down across from you and smiles cheerily. 
>You can’t quite meet her gaze, but you try and smile.
>She begins drying off her mane with your towel. Her voice is a bit muffled as she asks
>“So Annie what do you want to do today? Rainbow Dash said she was going to be practicing her new moves for the--
>Tch. Rainbow Dash. 
>You didn’t like her much, and the feeling was mutual. 
>When you first arrived in Ponyville, Pinkie naturally threw you a party. 
>She apparently did this for just about everyone. 
>You weren’t the drinker you are now, but the drinks were free and you had been drinking a fair bit and so had Dash.
>The two of you hadn’t spoken much prior, but at one point she had approached you and started asking you questions. 


>Who you were, where you came from, basically what your deal was. 
>You didn’t like strangers getting up in your business, so you gave her some dismissive, noncommittal response. 
>She didn’t like being brushed off. 
>Her questions became pointed, almost accusing. As if she didn’t trust you.
>You didn’t like it, you barely even knew her and it was none of her business. 
>You alluded to this in a smarmy comment or two. 
>Some passive-aggressive comments were exchanged on both ends. 
>Then the passive started to fall away. 
>Eventually she sets down her drink, wipes her mouth with a hoof and flies up to meet you at eye level.
>She angrily tells you that you can’t talk to anyp0ny like that, and just because you’re bigger than her doesn’t mean she can’t put a hoof in your face.
>You’re getting pissed off. 
>You invite her to find out what might happen if she made good on that threat. You weren’t really looking to fight some pastel mare dyke, especially since you were a newcomer. 
>You got the idea that she was at least somewhat tough. And you didn’t want to burn any bridges before you even got across them. 
>But you also got the idea that she was not nearly as tough as she was trying to act.
>You didn’t really want to hurt her either, let alone get hurt yourself. 
>But she had rubbed you the all the wrong ways and you weren’t going to apologize, nor were you going to back down from a cartoon horse. 
>You’d defend yourself if she made you.


>Well, Applejack had smartly intervened and lead her friend away after some work. 
>You had wisely (and literally) bit your cheek while Applejack talked her down, despite wanting to say something snarky. 
>After that bit of awkwardness, the party mostly carried on without any more problems. 
>You drank, Rainbow drank, and while your and her eyes met a couple times, that antagonistic spark carrying between your gazes, you both had sense enough to keep your distances from each other for the rest of the night.
>Things had since cooled between the two of you, and you both tolerated each other’s presences, but you both spoke to each other only when necessity or social obligation demanded it. 
>There was still that unspoken dislike hanging in the air between you two.
>--and she asked if I could go watch her this afternoon! I’m sure she’d be happy if you could come and watch her do tricks, she loves an audience, so what do you say?”
>Pink. 
>She’d never said it openly, but you knew she knew you and Rainbow still weren’t fond of each other. 
>She was always trying to make you spend time with her, but in the odd times you’d accepted, it was mostly Pinkie making all the noise. 
>You and Rainbow would talk to Pinkie, but avoid talking to each other.
“I’m gonna have to pass on that.”
>When she takes the towel away, you see her hair is back to being a poof of pink again.
>“But Anonymous, Rainbow loves flying for a crowd, she’ll--”
>You still can’t quite look at her.


“No, I’m sorry P-Pinks. But I don’t feel up to it.”
>That wasn’t a lie really. 
>You’re still hungover and you don’t really wanna go anywhere. 
>Not having to see Rainbow Dash just made it more appealing to stay home.
>There was also the fact that you still can’t help but feel you’ve betrayed Pinkie Pie’s trust. 
>You’re her friend, you shouldn’t have done something so creepy as inhaling her scent from a blanket when she was elsewhere. 
>It’s left you feeling awkward, ashamed. 
>You can’t quite meet her gaze, and despite liking the little pink pony quite a lot, you sort of wish she’d go.
>“Is something wrong Anonymous?”
>Damn it, you were trying not to let on, but something must be showing on your face.
>With some effort you meet her gaze, trying to pass your downcast smile off as a tired one.
“Yes, this hangover is killing me. I think maybe I’m gonna take a nap or something, if you don’t mind.”
>“Oh! Uh. Nope! Nopey-dopey! I should.. probably get back to Sugarcube Corner anyway, get ready to go and watch Dashie fly.”
>She drains her cup of black coffee in a few gulps.
>She gets up from her chair, and holds up her towel looking at you questioningly. 
>You gesture to the laundry basket in your bedroom and she tosses it in.
>She trots past you to the door and turns, giving you a patented Pinkie Pie smile. 
>“I had lots of fun Annie! We’ll have to do this again some time.”
>You nod, not sure if you were being genuine or not.


>“Are you sure you don’t want to come see Dashie with me? It’ll be fuuuun~..”
“Thanks Pinkie but I think I’m gonna just take it easy.”
>“Alrighty! If you change your mind we’ll be just out at Sweet Apple Acres. I‘ll watch for you!”
>She comes back to you and rears up on her hind hooves, wrapping you up in her front legs in a hug and resting her head on your shoulder.
>You don‘t know what to do for a sec, but then, cautiously you return the hug.
>“Feel better Annie!” She coos, before pulling back a little to look you in the eyes. 
>Your face feels warm.
>She smiles softly, faded blue eyes sparkling, almost as if she’s waiting for something. 
>She leans in a bit closer to you. 
>You feel her breath on you, it smells like pancake syrup and coffee. 
>Without thinking about what you‘re doing, you turn your head away from her closing face to the full bottle at the table.
>“Hey.. Uh, you’re gonna forget your drink.” you say lamely.
>She looks over, and drops back on all four legs. 
>“Oh, right.” She says.
>You almost hear a note of disappointment in her voice, but you’re probably mistaken. 
>She moves around the table but stops halfway. 
>Then as she trots back to your door she says
>“You know what, you keep it.”
>She winks and gives you an impish half smile. 
>“I’ve got more at home.”
>You’re touched by her charity.
“Thank you Pinkie, I owe you one.”
>“Promise we’ll do this again then?”
“Sure Pinkie, I promise.”


>She doesn’t make you Pinkie swear this time, thank Bellona.
>She opens the door, and stops in the doorway.
>“See you at work tomorrow?”
“You know it Pinkie.”
>She giggles. “See you tomorrow then!”
“Bye Pinks.”
>“Bye-bye~!”
>She lets herself out and closes the door behind her.
>Now that she’s gone and you’re alone, a familiar feeling sets in. 
>That emptiness you sometimes feel after entertaining company for a day or two. 
>It was nice to have privacy again, but with it there was always a void left behind by your departing company. 
>A heavy sort of quiet.
>You sit in the kitchen for a while, the only sound the ticking of the clock on your wall. 
>Out of sheer boredom, you unscrew the nearly empty bottle of vodka and drain the rest of it, chasing it with your coffee. 
>You eye the other one up, but no. 
>You wanted to try and dry out at least a little. No getting drunk today. 
>..Never mind it being 12:30 in the afternoon and you think you might feel a buzz coming on.
>You decide to make good on that nap you mentioned earlier. 
>You abandon the last bit of coffee in your mug, and lay back down in bed, closing the curtains this time. 
>You only succeed in tossing and turning for a while, the coffee in your system unwilling to let you go.
>But, a thought comes to you. 
>It’s not a good one, but it’s tempting all the same. 


>You try to ignore it, but it becomes more insistent until you throw off your covers and trudge back into the living room. 
>You take the folded comforter from the arm chair, and lay down on the couch, pulling the blanket over you.
>It still holds that faint and dreamy candied scent. 
>You know you shouldn‘t be doing this, at all. 
>But you couldn’t shake the idea until you obeyed. 
>It isn’t long before you begin to feel real drowsiness wrap you up in it‘s feathery embrace. 
>You drift off with the scent of gum and cotton candy chasing you down into that sweet darkness.

Pastebin.com Tools & Applications

iPhone/iPad

Windows

Firefox

Chrome

WebOS

Android

Mac

Opera

Click.to

UNIX

WinPhone