Magic Mayhem Chapter 6: In Sickness and Health

> Gravity does little for you as you soar through the air with each jump, your underpants relishing an asinine pleasure with your display of bioluminescence.

> Oh, it was beautiful, trust in that; that running really felt nice.

> That was two days ago, having spent hours overworking yourself and correcting each of the unicorn’s spells; hell, even Trixie can manage a Level Four incantation now, although she has to take breaks after each attempt, the out of shape slacker.

> Yet for whatever reason, teaching two eager students how to shoot fire out of their horns (and hands, as Twilight gleefully did for a portion of the session), you have bedridden yourself into a feverish cold.

> You’d think that as a top notch wizard, you could concoct a potion to instantly rid yourself of such malicious viruses, or perhaps a spell that will heal you.

> You learned the hard way that some things are just meant to run their course.

> In the humble home that is Twilight’s house, you’ve quarantined yourself in the sanctity of your own bed, a bag of ice nestling on your head, and fending off an enraged Trixie.

> Trixie: “That was MY bed, now you’re gonna get it all sicky! Get OFF of it!”

Fuck you, this is my bed and I ain’t doing shit, toots.

> You’re rocking a two liter glass of ice cold water next to your resting place, along with a blissful tune and a sorrowful soul of melancholy.

> Look, you’re sick, it doesn’t have to make sense. Thankfully Twilight comes to your rescue, followed by a well clad pegasus in a devilish nurse suit.

Well, HELLOOOOO NURSE! You can stick a needle in my ass anyday!

> Twi: “I don’t care if you’re sick; you try faking disorientation and hit on my friend, I’ll give you a plague not even Equestria knows about.”

And a saucy purple horse, me gusta!

> A book aimlessly smacks you in the face, breaking the bridge of your nose; oh yeah, you forgot to mention that you have difficulty using magic to defend yourself whilst under the influence of illness.

> Your nose now flowing with blood, you howl in a murderous cry of agony as the yellow mare in the nurse suit take a pulse.

Mahhh noooose! Whyuh, Twi-ight, whah?!

> Twi: “I warned you. Trixie, let’s go downstairs while Fluttershy helps Anon.”

> Trixie: “Tch, whatever. It’s not like I care about him or anything.”

-----

> Fixing your crooked nose with bandages and other medical supplies, the one who you remember as Fwutershee is baring your chest and using some sort of makeshift stethoscope.

Urgghu… what’s the status, doc, am I gonna make it?

> Fwutershee: “I’m just a nurse in training, Mr. Anon! And you’ll be alright, just get plenty of rest and drink lots of fluids.”

Thanks, Fwutershee… you’re very beautiful, y’know.

> It’s the symptoms speaking, you swear!

> Twi: “I heard that…”

> Trixie: “Trixie did too!”

> Fluttershy*: “Oh, uhm… thank you, and it’s Fluttershy, Mr. Anon.”

Just call me Anon.

> She ventures on with her “examination”, which you suddenly noticed is a bit elaborate and detailed; does forgoing the stethoscope and using her ears instead to listen to your heartbeat via your bare chest considered routine?

Uhm… Fluttershy…

> Fluttershy: “Trust me, I’m a nurse.”

> Twi: “… What’s going on up there?! Is Anon being a pervert again?”

> The yellow mare of silently poor seduction gives up her whimsical chase, continuing this oddity of a charade before returning downstairs.

> Flutter: “Oh, Mr. Anon, your fever is terrible! Please do get better.”

I’m a banana~!

> What? You don’t know what the fuck to say to the naughty night nurse of Ponyville.

> You eyeball the bin next to you ominously, the purple tint and flower design looking ever so elegant; little did it know the revulsion it will soon be filled with.

> Nausea fills your stomach, unable to contain itself; thankfully the Fluttershy character has retreated downstairs to consult Twilight for her to play witness to the one of many terrible sights you’re creating.

I’m sorry, little fella, sometimes you gotta take one for the team…. OOOOUGHHH~!

> There goes the water you just swigged, and there goes the innocence of this bucket. Godspeed as you see the world in a new light, bud!

> Wrapping up your little business here, you begin the fun notion of calling for your good ol’ pal.

Spiiiiiiiike…

> You hear a dragon groan from downstairs, not the least enthused that someone is summoning him upstairs.

Spiiiiiiiiiiiiiike~….

> Spike: “Sigh, I’m coming, geez!”

> You give a childish giggle at the sexual innuendo, chugging some more water, as he approaches you warily.

> Spike: “What’s up, Anon?”

More what went down, or out to be precise. Can you take care of this bucket and clean it out for me?

> You point nonchalantly at the container of vomit, compelling him to relocate it. The look he gives you is one meant to scar your currently feeble mind, but thankfully you’re far too out of it to realize what’s going on.

> Spike: “Guh, fine.”

> That was the third time this happened, although you weren’t that knowledgeable on the fact.

> As the wastebin descends the usual routine, it pleads for a second chance in life; it always wanted to be a street performer, yet higher powers have decided another fate for this poor inanimate figure.

> What is the three goddesses’ idea for a joke, when they gave this naïve plastic entity such a cruel destiny?

> No, not this time! This bucket will carve its own path, lead its own way; it will become its own god, and rule the realm with its almighty power!

> That’s what it was somehow imagining as Spike dumped the vomit into the toilet and rinsed it in the shower.

-----

> After passing out for what would be wagered for an hour or two, you groggily make your way out of bed, the sudden urge for to make the bathroom rounds calling you forth.

> Swaying on your venture below, Twilight and Trixie watch with mild interest as you miss a step and come crashing down.

> Twi: “Ooo… that’s gotta hurt.”

MMURUUGHPHHL!

> Your face is in the floor hence the agonized and muffled shout of rage; you beg forgiveness for those who didn’t understand a word you said, and perhaps for innocent ears it’s for the best.

> Clocking in at record speed, you scuffle your sorry hide back to your feet, bowing as if it was a daring act of bravado.

> Both amazed at what they saw, they do clap enthusiastically.

> Twi: “Anon~… you’re sick, you shouldn’t be down here.”

> Your mind was too low of the prerequisites needed to make sense anymore, the hardware that is your brain frying as the fever grows steadily worse.

> Remembering that you needed to use the restroom, you do a 360 and moonwalk your way into it, dedicating a well-deserved few minutes in there. With that aside, you moonwalk back into the area where you stumbled, strike another spin, and point at Twilight.

Whatzat? You like me, Ms. Twilight Sparkle~?

> You waddle over to the couch, Twilight being on the closer arm of it; Trixie, grinning ear to ear at you acting pathetic, is fueling her sadistic need to revel in the stupidity of others.

> Twilight, meanwhile, is turning all sorts of red, gritting her teeth in a mad mental dash to fix an appropriate response together.

> Trixie: “Trixie thinks this will be good.”

You’re telling me, kiddo.

> You’re leaning on the couch like you’re Willie Wonka from the Chocolate Factory and you own the joint; while this may not be true, you do claim sovereign over the couch itself and will be using it to embarrass the fuck out of Twilight.

> Twi: “Well, of course I like you, Anon! Just… as a respectable teacher and friend though, hehe!”

> You and Trixie share grins, and from that point forward the two of you have become destined to be wingmen for one another; you don’t understand how, or why, but you knew it.

> You understand, your third eye metaphorically erupting from your forehead as you gaze upon the utter truth.

> Welcome to the Bro-Trix.

-----

> Your mind fizzles a bit more as you continue to sweat continuously, forcing you to lodge yourself on the center cushion of the furniture of awesomeness.

> Twi: “Hey… Anon, is something wrong?”

> I need a towel, and water please. That’s what you wanted to say, anyways; your mouth seemed to have taken a life of its own as you sink further into delirium.

> Trixie: “Should we really let him near us? We could catch whatever illness he has.”

> Twi: “I read some articles, and there’s evidence supporting that his sicknesses are things ponies in particular are immune to. I don’t think you have to worry about it too much.”

Now.

> Your single word sentence, entirely a fragment in its own right, startles the two ponies as they await the rest of your conversation piece.

> Twi: “Now… what?”

> You laugh vividly as you break into tune; you swear you hear the beats playing as you steal the popular song.

Now this is the story all about how

My life got flipped, turned upside down

And I'd like to take a minute just sit on this spot

I'll tell you how I became the wizzy of a place called Canterlot

> With this, you literally launch yourself backwards over the couch, your lack of coordination making the landing miserable as a result.

> Twi: “Anon! Trixie, he’s losing it, we need to get him into bed before he hurts himself more!”

In southern of the capitol I was taught and trained

In the classroom where I hit my wall of fame

Chilling out, maxing, relaxing all cool

And all shooting some spells outside of the school

When a couple of colts, they were up to no fun

Started shooting bolts of magic, all level ones

The teacher was pissed when I began to kill

And said "You're moving with your Twilight and Trixie in Ponyville!"

> It took you a moment after you were busting loose rhymes like a mad hatter, to notice that they lifted you up and put you to bed, where your beloved towel and still cold water was waiting for your arrival.

> Twi: “Anon, get some sleep, you’re really sick! You’re making me sad that you keep getting out of bed.”

Bawwww, I’m sorry, Twiwight! I wub you!~

> Twi: “I, uh… wub you too, but you need rest. Get better, and I’ll have a friend come over with a cake.”

Cake, oh boy! Want kind?

> Twi: “I think Pinkie can make any kind, so you’ll just have to see.”

> Trixie: “I strongly recommend that you get better sooner so you can teach us more, before I give you a reason to be sick.”

But I already have a reason to be sick; I’m sick.

> Trixie: “… That’s what I meant.”

That doesn’t make sense, though-

> Trixie: “Bah! A foolish fool who foolishly fools about is of no use to me!”

> She stomps off as Twilight gleams over you.

> Twi: “You think you’re going to be alright?”

Yeah, I was holding a charade up until she left. I like to act silly now and then too, y’know.

> You were keeping your voice down low so only she could hear you, but it was enough to put her into astonishment.

> Twi: “You… you’re not sick?”

Oh, I am, most certainly, but I just needed some more water. I’m doing a bit better now, and with some rest I’ll be pristine before you know it.

> Twi: “Then everything you’ve said… you understood what you were saying?”

> You give her a devilish wink just to mess with her.

Don’t think too much into it; I’m sick, after all.

> Twi: “Ugh, I don’t know whether to kiss you or beat you with a book.”

Neither, please.

> Her ears droop at this, her offer spurned in dismay.

However, do understand this-

> You lift a hand and run it through her silken mane, the smoothness prove of hours of dedicated brushing; she blushes at the simple contact as you give a kooky grin.

I appreciate that you’re taking care of me, Twilight, and there’s no mistake that I enjoy taking care of you. Let our relationship with each other be based off of that, and to think no more of it for now, alright?

> You’re trying to smoothly stir away from the “date student and be banished to the moon” dealio, in which you may be doing with great success.

> In all honesty, you don’t even know what to think; this past week has been nothing but a whirlwind of situations, one as ridiculous as the next.

> You’ve been on the ball with most things, but you’ve been living day-by-day, taking things on one at a time; what is your goal with this?

> What will training Twilight (and now Trixie) prove to the world? What good would it do if it got you back into the academy somehow, when you know you’d be in misery there?

> It takes you a moment to realize two things; the first, of course, is that it’s not a logical idea to think such tedious things while in the middle of a raging fever, no matter how bad you talk it down.

> The second thing noted is that Twilight is standing over you in bed.

-----

Duh… sigh… Twilight, what are you doing?

> She tilts her head to the side, her mane moving her eyes in and out of view.

> Twi: “You said you can’t use magic when you’re sick, right?”

Yeah, but I don’t think that should matter- urk.

> You went to shift yourself uneasily, but you suddenly realize that Twilight is holding you down both magically and physically.

Twilight, stop. If you try something, I will yell and- …

> She just covered your mouth with some sort of barrier spell, that son of a stallion!

> You’re shouting negation incantations left and right, but all that happens is your hands lethargically sending out unnoticed fizzles.

> Twi: “Anon, you’ve been looking depressed ever since you left the Academy. You’ve done nothing but help me get over my failures, and now you’re helping Trixie. We’ve done nothing for you… I’ve done nothing for you…”

> She’s leaning closer, as your already sweaty forehead ventures into Hyper-Perspiration Mode.

> You can’t say a word, dozens of sentences wanting to escape your throat to prove her wrong; she’s given you a chance to prove your worth in this world, she never judged you for being what you were, she was always kind and eager to learn what you taught-

> And yet she is refusing your right to refute, as she’s now inches from your face.

> It is to Farore’s whim that Spike has returned with the bucket, watching blatantly at the scene.

> Spike: “Uh, Twilight…?”

> Twi: “Eeep!”

> She jumps a tad too vigorously, making touchdown to the floor as she releases her deathgrip of sorts on you.

> You heave in for air, your nose unable to take in the oxygen your hyperventilation requires; grabbing your chest, your eyes shoot out in a concoction of rage and panic.

> And that’s when you passed out.

-----

> You come to, slightly less foggy in the head, at what appears to be late evening; considering Twilight refuses to have a clock of any sort upstairs, you made this calculated this deduction via the sunset from the window.

> Sitting upright, you realize that you are, yet again, alone; however, you realize that this especially true for the entire house.

> Changing into another set of clothes (the ones you had on reeked of sweat and death), you traversed downstairs to see that no lights were on.

Where the hell could they be? Even Trixie is gone…

> Sitting down on the armchair next to the couch, you contemplate what you remember:

> You were sick, and you made a reference to the Fresh Prince.

> You puked a lot.

> You also were almost sexually assaulted by a guilt ridden Twilight who took advantage of your inability to use magic efficiently, in which Spike saved you in a sense.

> You also passed out.

> Alright, first thing is first: Level 4 Elemental Magic, Water Element: Cube Style.

> Your hands forces moisture in the air to gather into your palms, the power of your spell forcing water from even the unlikeliest of area to come to you.

> Sweat from your arms remove themselves from rustled hair to join as the potent incantation takes form into a decent sized cube of liquid; with a sigh of relief, you’re satisfied  that you can work your magic once again.

> Sending the container of fluids over to the sink and draining it, you wash your face with water, the cool sensation caressing you with reprieve.

> You relax, and start calculating plans as to how to sort this mess out.

> It’s becoming steadily obvious that Twilight is growing attached to you, and if it keeps at this rate, she’s going to commit acts of sin that will ruin the both of you.

What are your feelings for her…? I don’t know. It’s only been a week, and yet I feel as if I’ve known her for the longest of times. She’s confused, and now she’s making me confused. We can’t date, we can’t like each other any more than what is professional, and if she tries to progress our friendship further, it’s going to affect her studies, and my… whatever I have planned.

> Pulling out a spoon, you examine the content of elements within the silverware; mostly steel, it also has small traces of iron and even silver in its physical form.

> While not the best object or form of substance to enchant, you might as well try it anyhow.

> Bringing it back to the living room, you place it on the table and begin the process of turning it into the shape you desire.

> Level 2 Transfiguration Spell: Magical Container Style.

> The atoms themselves inside the spoon begin to shift, molding it into a sphere of sorts.

> Using your other hand, you begin the second spell in part of your plan.

> Level 8 Low Mystical Spell: Magic Channeling.

> You focus intensely as you pump as much magic as you can into the small, condensed object, filling it to the brim with the power of spellcasting; as soon as you’re satisfied, you wrap up the second spell and focus on the first, shaping it to the image in your head.

> The sphere condenses itself further, the magic becoming concrete in the form of an enchantment, and with a few more motions and mutters, it develops into a smooth, shiny ring.

> Making sure that it stays effective, you engrave runes of ancient languages into it, each letter a seal to keep the magic in until the muttered words activate it, and with a final sway of the fingers, it taps onto the table with a reassuring ‘ting’ noise.

> Placing it on your left ring finger, you pledge this to be the answer to the next time you are stuck in a similar situation before; to use the ring as the source of magic to cast a few spells (at most, you could get five level ones out of it, or a level five spell) in case your body cannot properly house the ability to fend off a forcibly romantic mare.

> With yet another act of security in place, you realize that casting such a high powered spell in your state has left you momentarily tired, and with that you sat back, relaxed, and waited for company to arrive.

-----

> And arrived they did, about an hour later; catching you reading one of Twilight’s many books, a company of no more than four arrive through the doorway.

> Twilight Sparkle and Trixie were the no-brainers, and a tagalong Spike was not exactly a shocker either; it was the cotton candy pink (and you mean the delicious substance in both color and hair style, holy crap) mare is transporting a monstrous and delicious looking cake.

So, the cake wasn’t a lie. Wonderful.

> Twi: “Anon! You look better already, I’m glad you’re up.”

> Trixie: “I just wished to tag along, don’t think I enjoyed this.”

> Spike is eyeballing the three tier cake almost as much as you are, the promise of frosting and sugar grasping your attention like a ten dollar stripper doing her masterpiece of a dance.

> You check your chin;

> Indeed, it with the manliest honor that you can admit that you are savagely drooling at this godly creation.

> ???: “Hi, I’m Pinkie Pie, and I made this cake just for YOU!”

Well, paint me purple and give me frosting, I fucking LOVE cake!

> Pinkie: “Haha, I knew that~! EVERYONE loves cake!”

> Trixie: “I don’t, hmph.”

> She sneers in some sort of extraneous attempt to appear cool in this group, as everyone calls her bluff; leaving the final blow to you, you give her the hidden ultimatum.

That’s a shame, Trixie, guess we’re just gonna have to eat this wonderful, scrumptious cake without you then. There’s water in the kitchen if you want it?

> Trixie shudders at the sharp words, putting her on edge as cake slices are handed around to everyone but her.

> Trixie: “I, tch… hmph, uh…!”

> Forks come forth, and you’re about to indulge yourself as she gives an unnecessarily loud shout of grievance.

> Trixie: “WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAIT! I was joking! Please, I want-“

> Your plate is already in her hooves as you cut out another generous slice.

Relax, we know you wanted some, Ms. Too Bossy For The Frosting.

> She grunts some sort of thanks before lifting her utensil with magic and digs in; it appears this Pinkie Pie character requires no tools of any kind but her face, slamming it into her piece (which is almost half of the second level, holy Nayru) and begins inhaling it in.

> Twilight and Spike, a tad bit more mannered in the art of cake devouring, are savoring each bite as they shovel it in.

You know, all these calories from cake will go straight to your thighs.

> Twi: “We’re ponies, Anon; we spend most of our time using moving on all four hooves. Besides, Pinkie eats this stuff every day and you see how she’s doing.”

> Glancing over to Pinkie, who is licking her chops at the next piece of cake to be hers, you realize your playful attempt to tease a female on their weight has fallen flat; you were honestly guessing that his bouncy little creature was more on cocaine than a permanent sugar rush, but in this world you couldn’t really see the difference.

> You could almost see her being Dr. Rockso;

> Pinkie: “I’m Pinkie Pie, the pink and bubbly mare~! I do co-cake, g-g-g-g-g-g-hehehe!”

> Close enough, but you opt to not let your imagination go to wild.

> Trixie lifts her plate up to everyone’s shock; considering that she’s usually the most cynical of the group, she broke her own code of conduct by giving a cake-themed cheers.

> Trixie: “To Anon’s good health, and the celebration of his speedy recovery!”

> Spike: “To awesome cake!”

> Pinkie: “I second the yummy cake!”

> Twi: “To great studies and spells tomorrow!”

To my successful evasion of Twilight’s attempt to rape me!”

> Everyone: “Cheers!”

> They didn’t realize what you said until after they finished the enthusiastic gesture, ogling at both you and Twilight in horror; Spike’s shifting in his spot like he was caught red-handed at something, and both Trixie and Pinkie are befuddled to the max.

> You didn’t even make eye contact to Twilight to see how she was faring.

> Meanwhile in the sea of awkwardness that you unleashed on the group, the untouched trashbin sits lonely above; having wanted to join the party, it sits in a mild depression as it accepts that it will not get the invitation.

> What is with this thing?