Red Rum Cake #2

>you rinse your hands in the bathroom sink before you go downstairs

>the wall slides up, locks and bolts do their thing as the door eventually opens

>walking back down, you see a few problems

>the first one is that Pinkie Pie is awake

>the second note is that she is no longer bound in the seat

>finally it should be distinguished that not only is your weaponry cleaned and set in a neat order, they’ve been washed, along with the room well swept

>plus there is a cake, with a knife wielding Pinkie Pie near it

>you give a sigh, praying that your attitude will convince her not to try perforating you again

Can you put that down? As the host it is my obligations to be cutting and serving cakes that randomly appear.

>she ponders over this, a cold smile still pointing over her face

>you approach her, both of you near the table of weaponry

>you have the hands of Clint Eastwood, you wouldn’t lose to a game of quick draw

>Pinkie: “You know, we should celebrate that you’re my lucky number today!”

If that’s the case, you should celebrate your own festivity; you’re MY lucky name today.

>you pick up the little scrap with “Pinkie Pie” scrawled over it, and reach it towards her

Take it, and put that knife down, I’m not in the mood to be showering again.

>you can’t remark how odd it is how her hair went from wild puffs into straight locks within seconds

>Pinkie: “You don’t want to have a party with me?”

>you blink

Who said that? I wouldn’t mind some cake, provided it’s not tampered like my cider. Now, drop my knife, or I’ll drop it for you.

>you’re serious too; you will liberate that bad boy with a feint and a broken hoof if you must

>thankfully, she puts the knife down and closes the distance silently

>Pinkie: “I’m glad you’re still talking to me. Most people yell or run.”

>she takes the strip of paper as you respond

Yeah, well, considering I’ve killed far more ponies here than you likely ever have, I show at least a little respect- that is, unless you try to stab me again, in which I will be gouging your eyes out and turning you over to Celestia.

>the way she’s talking now… it’s like she dropped all pretense of easygoing and light spirited

>Pinkie: “Yeah, well, it is just as easily possible for me to show all of… this. I don’t think you killed more than me, anyways.”

>you snort at this

Perhaps you’re right. I like to keep things to a monthly basis; makes my woodwork designs a lot easier.

>she’s still looking at the name, trying to figure out what this ultimately means

>you walk past her to your “trophies” bench, where four wooden carvings lay well crafted

>down to the last detail, you have two pegasi, a unicorn, and finally an earth pony to your collection of sorts

>that unicorn… was dreadful to keep put, the effort of dealing with one is horrendous

>Pinkie joins you at your bench to see your art

Perhaps it’s not to your taste, but… I enjoy remembering the last of their impressions before I murdered theme

>she looks at each expression of horror and defeat, and you can’t help but have a sense of pride

>Pinkie: “I’m actually jealous, sadly my lack of magic and fingers makes it difficult to do… precise things. I prefer it blunt and crude.”

>you’re actually impressed to this, as if we’re discussing tactics to a card game

Nothing wrong with that, sometimes it’s better to hack away until you find it to your liking, am I wrong?

>she smiles at this, as if her recent renditions bring nostalgia at the mention of such verb usage

>Pinkie: “You’re alright. I really wish I didn’t have to kill you.”

>you look down at her with skepticism

You don’t have to kill me NOW, do you?

>this thought shocks her into befuddlement, as if she never considered the loophole to her own game

>perhaps you didn’t either, it never really mattered

>their screams to stop only made you want to watch them suffer more

>Pinkie: “I guess not, no, but where’s the fun in that?”

>she’s grinning again, as if daring you to refute her

There’s plenty of much more entertaining fun, if you want to make three little agreements with me.

>Pinkie: “Hehe, and what’s THAT?”

>you kneel down and stare dead in her eyes

>she has a cold look, her smirk almost tempting you

>but your look would chill the testicles off of Satan himself

Number One: You don’t kill me, and I don’t kill you.

>Pinkie: “Can I at least try?”

Yes, once; and you already did it. Number Two: we agree to not reveal or attempt to reveal any sort of thing that involves our work to anyone but each other; the only one exception is the victim, in which I’m sure you know when it’s fine to do that.

>Pinkie: “Okie dokie loki.”

Finally, Number Three: You do each and every fucking thing I say, or I will kill you. No exceptions.

-----

>she did not like that last stipulation one bit

>you didn’t give a flying fuck, you called the shots to removing the scum from this world

>when you said you had the names of everyone with crimes of “existing”, they were for very good reasons

>you knew Pinkie Pie was suspected of killing, in which is encroaching your sacred work

>last month involved spending weeks studying and following Mr. Cake after adding his name to the jar

>you watched his every move, and with sound proof you managed to deduct a few things from his nighttime strolls to confirm what added him to the lucky list in the first place

>Mr. Cake was a gambler and a substance abuser, when he learned of his children being neither of his direct race

>he suspected cheating of his dear wife, and perhaps he was rightfully so

>you found unobjectionable proof that told otherwise of her unwavering loyalty to him

>you left it discreetly in his possession one day to observe the results

>you watched him read the evidence and tear it up

>he still continued to sneak out at night

>it wasn’t until he began sleeping with other mares that you decided such filth needed termination

>three months later, you drew his name, and you made sure he remembered

>every

>word

>you said as you killed him

-----

>perhaps this made you shallow in the end, but you did not care

>you’ve killed before you came here for far worse and far silly reasons

>the only reason you don’t slaughter every single pony you see is because…

This world is but a game, why not enjoy it while it lasts, Pinkie? Join me, and I’ll show you what it takes to roll the dice right, how to savor the fun you crave for. Let me be your guide, and with me, I’ll show you how a real party goes.

>your steel eyes pierce hers, and you penetrate her fractured soul with your offer

>you can see it in her, a mare who has lost her friends in spirit, her joyous nature corrupted by the ignorance of others

>she turned to the ultimate thing she could do to get a pony’s attention

>and you could not blame her a bit

>Pinkie: “Anon… Anon. I can’t control it. I just… like it, y’know? Their screams are points, their begging is a bonus. It’s like a game where you can always win, but you constantly lose.”

You’re merely playing it wrong, then, sweetheart. Promise me you’ll join me, and I’ll make sure you’re never lonely again.

>you extend your hand forward in an offer of salvation

I saved and spared you for one reason only; I see potential in you. You’re a prodigy in your work, dwarfed only by my own. I see your work, your lair… it’s grisly, unfinished; work with me, and I’ll show you the right tools to carve, to hack, to sow; you’ll be a professional in no time.

>you can see her tears building, as the roots of your proposal building in her, snaring her

>she is unprincipled, and you offer guidelines at the exchange of receiving happiness

>Pinkie: “…Pinkie Promise?”

Pinkie Promise, what?

>Pinkie: “I don’t want you promising me ‘what’, silly. I want you to Pinkie Promise that you’ll take care of me.”

>you see her feebly smiling, the first time you see her showing her true feelings

>this is an entirely new offer, a reverse Stockholm syndrome of sorts

>will you go so far as to take her under your wing?

>can you train her to be your expendable pawn?

>you can fulfill her desires easily enough, if but a little blood can quench her

>walking over to the other table, you grab a small scalpel, sharp enough to cut flesh merely by laying it in the skin

>you knick your left thumb, letting the blood flow freely

>Pinkie is shocked at you hurting yourself

>Pinkie: “Why would you cut yourself? That’s what the ponies are for!”

You call it a Pinkie Promise; I call it an unbreakable Blood Oath.

>you lay the scalpel on the ground before her

You need to seal the vow with your own essence.

>she looks at you with such sorrowful eyes, and you realize she doesn’t want to hurt herself

>an amateur

>you take your unsoiled hand and begin unwrapping the gauze to the knife wound you gave her

>she winces at this, having finally shown that it hurts her

You’re surprisingly resilient to pain if you can walk on this without complaint.

>finally taking it off, you see that the bleeding only stopped somewhat

>Pinkie: “I’ve… had worse things happen to me. I’m fine.”

>you ponder on this, and shake your head

You’re not fine, you need treatment. It’s likely evening now, and I’m getting tired. Here, put your hoof on this.

>you point at the small puncture, and she makes a gagging sound

>Pinkie: “But that’s soooo gross! But ok!<3”

>she dips her hoof lightly on it, and looks at the sight of her own blood

>you wipe your thumb on your other palm, making an X on it

Give me your hoof.

>she extends her clean hoof gladly

>you give her a smirk at the funny gesture

Your other one, goofball.

>she surrenders her dirtied hoof to you, and you grasp it with your own hand

By blood be linked, forever brethren; who sins we share, and bonds unbroken.

>Pinkie: “Cross my heart and hope to fly, stick a cupcake in my eye!”

>you sigh; this is going to be harder than you thought

>you grab a cloth to wipe your hands on, and toss it in the bin

You’re pretty odd, and considering I just made a contract of eternal faith with you, I’m starting to regret not getting to know you better first.

>she giggles at this, and before you can begin saying the plan next, she digs right into the cake

>after a few seconds, the entire pastry is gone, and with the sudden input of sugar, her hair gains her puffed stature once more

>you don’t even know what to say to that

-----

>a few minutes later, you take her upstairs in the bag she came in

>you did this because she has an open wound, this is the only cloth you’d sacrifice, and you don’t need her leaving a mess for you to clean up

>firing up the bathtub with perfectly hot water, you touch the unopened bubble bath solution that you were given as a gift months ago

>you lift the hyper mare into the water, and let her go fucking wild

>if it’s a good reason to get rid of the bubble soap, and it makes Pinkie happy, then it’s two birds with one bullet

>you take the filthy burlap bag and toss it down the stairs before you seal the room once again, and you head to the bathroom to wash your hands

>you find a shirt, put it on, and once again you’re in the bathroom, sitting on the toilet seat while you watch her go at it

>neither of you having the least bit of shame, you nonchalantly watch as she goes to town on her mane

>you open a drawer, and inside is an ashtray and a box of makeshift cigarettes

>you’ve searched the Everfree forest for some sort of tobacco equivalent, and while this herb you’ve been growing is not exactly the perfect replica, it helps calm the nerves that you occasionally have

>yes, believe it or not you’ve been flipping your shit ever since Twilight was outside your door earlier, and you still need to come up with a plan

Looks like this will be a blast to get out of.

>lighting your cigarette with a flint and tinder using toilet paper as a wick (yes, you’re just that primeval), you inhale the foul smoke and slowly release it to the air above you

>the effects are almost instantaneous, the soothing sensation taking you from your anxiety

>looking back down at the tub, you find Pinkie probing through the bubbles like a submarine emerging from a lake that was hit with a dishsoap nuke

>Pinkie: “Anon~!”

What? Did you want me to leave?

>Pinkie: “No, silly… but for someone who wants to kill people, you awfully want to kill yourself first…”

>she points at the lit cigarette of sorts in your hand, slowly whittling away to ashes

>you shrug, knowing your addiction is half the battle they say

Some people… and ponies, have a higher tolerance to stress afflictions to complement their genius and passion for slaughter. I lack that tolerance. This gives me it.

>Pinkie: “Ohhh~! Like cake? I LOVE cake! Any sweets, too~! You should have some with me next time! <3”

Perhaps your sugar is to my nicotine, or at least this equivalent. Sadly, if I were to eat a fifth of the amount of sugar you do, I would be diabetic within the week. On a similar note…

>it’s been bugging you ever since you had the taste in your mouth

How did you get such drugs to put in my drink? You had roofies, and some sort of pharmaceutical sedatives in it.

>she giggles, dives below, and reemerges with a bubble-themed goatee and mustache

>with the water, her hair is once again mopped down

>you place a hand on your chin at the amusing yet distracting sight, waiting for her to respond

>she pouts at your lack of laughter

>Pinkie: “Oh come on, Anon! You need to laugh more!”

I’ll laugh when I’m dead or I hear a good joke, whatever comes first; and before you start laying down one liners, answer my question.

>Pinkie: “B’aww~! I get my ‘medications’ from a doctor who lives in Canterlot; I usually just get normal things like sleeping pills or stuff, but if I’m extra *extra* nice to him, he might give me more stuff!<3”

Pinkie.

>Pinkie: “Ok! So I might have robbed his cache a year ago. The stuff he gave me couldn’t put a sack of potatoes to sleep, can you believe it?!”

>another inhale of cancer

>on second thought, you don’t know if this stuff is actually cancerous

>maybe it’ll eventually give you a disease that will turn you into a pony slowly

>or perhaps reincarnate you into a Draconequus

>maybe it’ll create a portal through your forehead that will release humans into the world

>the things you think of when you have this cigarette in your hand

>you rub it out, and grab another towel

>you place the shower rug back on the floor for her to hop out on

Come on out, and I swear to Nayru if you-

>she motherfucking does it

>she launches out like the USSR unleashing the nuclear wrath of Mother Russia

>water, water everywhere

>into your arms, sopping wet, you’re now hosed down from the front of your head to your socks in soap water

>you glare at her, reconsidering your offer fruitfully and snapping her little neck now

>she looks back with such adorable eyes

>you’ve killed cuter things for lesser crimes

>yet you can’t bring yourself to deliberately harm this “innocent” looking mare

Motherfucker. Get on the floor, and let me towel dry you.

>Pinkie smirks at you for your tolerance and hops down to the mat

>Pinkie: “Hehe, it works every time! <3”

Try it three more times, and we’ll see who has the horse’s head in their bed.

>you take the now damp towel onto her, and ruffle her up a bit

>she doesn’t seem to mind being roughed around

>when you’re done drying her, it takes a moment for her mane and tail to return to their fluffy state

>how it does that will never cease to amaze you

-----

>as she trots off to the living room, you take off your clothes and hang it over the curtain rod to the shower

>strolling out naked to your bedroom, you reach your dresser when you realize there’s someone behind you

>realizing how weak you are without weaponry or even clothing for that matter, you quickly turn in a defensive pose

>unsurprisingly, it’s Pinkie, whose mouth is agape and eyes wide

>you look like Bruce Lee

>with the lack of any sort of cover to your nudity

>Pinkie: “:O”

Never seen a human undressed before?

>Pinkie: “Nope~!”

>you pull out fresh underwear and silken purple pajamas

>you like to sleep in silk, and when you met Rarity, purple was all she was willing to garb you in

>not that you complain, purple is a color of royalty

>you don’t mind feeling like a king going to bed

>you walk past her with a hint of annoyance, as she blatantly stared at you the entire time

>heading into the living, you pull out a book you’ve borrowed from a witch doctor in the Everfree Forest

>”Potions, Poisons, and Other Magical Herbs”

>it’s a respectable tome, and as long as you pressed on your interest in herblore with the zebra that lent it to you, she wouldn’t argue a word about you wanting to read it

>Pinkie soon takes the couch next to your armchair, continuing to watch you silently

>this literally went for two hours, as you absorbed yourself in the book

>she finally called you out on boredom

>Pinkie: “Anon~! I wanna go out!”

Not going to happen; it’s getting late, and we need to prepare a believable story for the authorities, so you can actually go outside in public.

>she groans at this

>Pinkie: “You’re such a party pooper!”

I’m lame, and my hobbies are boring. I was supposed to spend the evening working on a wood carving tonight of you, but obviously that went out the window. I’m going to bed.

>you close the novel and set it back on the nightstand, and make your way to your bed, only to have it blocked by yours truly

>Pinkie: “B-b-but! Where am I going to sleep~?”

>you point at the couch, only to be met with a look of dejection

>Pinkie: “Awww~! But Anon, I need a blanky!”

I don’t have any spare blankets in here. I can offer you a towel, or that sack you kept pegasi’s wings in to sleep with.

>Pinkie: “Ewww, are you crazy?”

Yes.

>she smiles at this, and for whatever reason you couldn’t help but grin at your comment as well

>this doubles her smile

>Pinkie: “See~! You can smile too!”

>your lips soon returns to a straight line as you scratch behind the ears consciously

>thank the goddesses you washed that cologne off with that shower

I don’t know what I can do, then. If I must, I can give you my bed’s blanket and suffer for the night.

>she tries to work those gorgeous eyes on you, and it appears you are now able to resist them

>you grab your comforter and toss it to the couch

Good night, Pinkie Pie. Expect to wake up early, I have a plan.

>you ignore her pouting face as you walk into your bedroom once more, flicking out the light to the living room

>Pinkie: “Night…”

>killing your own lights here, you plop on your bed, doing your best to get comfy without the aid of a blanket, and you silently curse when you realize you can’t

>you do it anyways, and after setting your alarm clock (magically powered, of course) before sunrise, and soon you fall asleep

-----

>after a shitty hour of sleep, you’re awoken by a low moan

>the first thing that came to your mind is your stomach craving the fourth meal

>this is a respectable preposition considering you blew off your third one

>you hear the noise again, a muffled wail from your living room

>what is she, a fucking dog pining for cake now?       

>slipping out of your bed in the dark, you flick light after light on as you reach your living, to find a sleeping Pinkie Pie

>she’s crying in her sleep

>even the harshest murderers are mortal in their own dreams

>you kneel next to her, and give her a light shake

Oi, wake up. You’re going to wake up the neighbors if you keep it up.

>she slowly stirs, and you’re met with teary eyes

>you can’t help but sigh at the pitiful sight

>Pinkie: “Anon~… the dreams… they hurt... I don’t have the medication with me so I can sleep well.”

Guilty conscience getting the better of you, eh? I suppose it’s only normal that frost pastries get you so far.

>she begins quietly sobbing, and you trying to hatch a disposition that will benefit the both of you

>it’s not the most pleasing of thoughts, but…

Follow me.

>you don’t even turn around as you steal the blanket it off of her

>without the comfort, you knew she was forced to follow you

>it appears she is quite willing to listen nonetheless

>back in your room, you toss the blanket and point at the bed

Get in.

>her eyes widen like it’s fucking Pony Christmas

>Pinkie: “REALLY?!”

Lower your voice, or I’ll tear out your vocal cords the next chance I get, and get in the bed.

>she hops on the large mattress without the need to be told a third time, and she swirls in circles about it in glee

>Pinkie: “HEHE- I mean, hehe, this is gonna be the best slumber party ever.”

>you walk around to the other side of the bed, and pull out a drawer to grab a pill bottle

>you pop one out, cuff it in your hand, and make your way through the dark into the kitchen down the hallway

>you grab a glass from the cupboard, fill it with water, and make your slugged hide back to the bedroom

>she’s taken over the bed like it’s now Fort Pinkie, hiding under the covers

Get over here, motherfucker.

>she giggles and slips to your side, only to be met by both your hands’ objects

>Pinkie: “What’s this?”

A sleeping aid and Ponyville’s finest water. Take it. I usually take two when I have to, so I can only hope one will be strong enough to help.

>she opens her mouth and gives you a serious look of plea

>she actually wants you to toss it in

>you do so with a side order of no-fucks-given, and you press the glass of water to her lips so she can down the aftertaste

>after a few gulps, you take the glass and finish off the water, and you leave it on the dresser for morning

Move over, before you pass out and take over the bed.

>she complies cheerfully, and you possess your half, which is plenty enough of room for you to snuggle under the covers

>you get ready to turn off the lamp when you realize that she relocated herself into the vicinity of your arms

This is not going to work.

>Pinkie: “But why notttt~!”

I’m used to sleeping alone, and you might as well be a heated, overlarge teddy bear. I’m NOT going to cuddle with a heated, overlarge TEDDY BEAR.

>she turns around you and pouts in a full blown manner

>roll a D20 for mental check

>get 1

>critical failure, fuck

>your tongue hangs out at the sight, wildly drooling

>damnit Otacon, pull yourself together!

I swear on your grave this is the only night this will happen. I will be getting a second blanket, and you will be sleeping on the couch, no matter how many sleeping drugs I have to stuff in you.

>Pinkie: “Okie~<3”

>you kill the lights and assume some sort of awkward spooning position

>it was the best night’s sleep you had since you’ve been here

>end