>Your name, is Anonymous
>Most call you by your pet name, Anon
>You are a human, crudely pulled from your plane of existence by a group of surprisingly intelligent equines
>Originally they were attempting to see if they could harvest food from other dimensions in an attempt to solve hunger for all
>They were aiming for a cake, when they grabbed you instead
>You’ll never understand how they messed that one up
>Fortunately for you, their leader Celestia, was quite kind to you
>She gave you food, and a temporal place to stay
>After a day or so, Celestia lamentably explained that though they knew how to take things from other forms of existence, they were clueless as to how they put them back
>You were grateful to Celestia for being hospitable, but that wasn't exactly easy for you to hear
>After sometime of grief, you finally came to terms with reality
>Everything you knew, everything you were, was gone
>That was the beginning of your life, in the blissful land of Equestria
>You’ve been in Equestria for little over a year now, and life has been fairly smooth
>Except for the last month or so, that’s when things started to get odd for you
>This little thought pulls you from your daydream, as you ponder where you left off
>There's whistling in your ears, rushing past you like a harsh summer storm
>The sensation of gravity is absent, you feel as though you're floating
>You hear faint voices screaming out your name, but you can't quite make them out
>You attempt to focus, but a pain hits your left shoulder
>You veer your eyes to see a torn strap, accompanied by an open wound on your forearm
 
>Oh yes, you were falling to your death
---
 
>It’s officially been one year since you’ve come to Equestria
>To celebrate, you've been given a month vacation
>Best part is, it’s with pay
>Your plans for this gift are perfect, get sleep, get money for sleep, enjoy yourself
>Flawless, beautiful, absolutely nothing can mess this up
>Or so you hoped
 
>”Wake up.”
>Five minutes, five minutes she’s stood there, and repeated the same command
>”Wake up.”
>You’re starting to feel the comfort of your bed isn't worth the harassment
>”Wake up.”
>You snuggle into your covers, ensuring not a single crack is in your fortress of warmth
>”Wake up.”
>Okay, that’s really starting to get-
>”Wake up.”
>There it goes, that last quiver of enjoyment
>You jump out of bed with a shriek, causing your source of bother to jump
>Before she can react further, you grab her by the horn, kneeling down to face her
“Listen here, Grapefart, I only have one vacation, and I’m going to fucking enjoy it.”
>Twilight stares you down, attempting to dislodge your assertive attitude
 
>However, you're not unfamiliar with this game
 
>You return her stone, unblinking stare
>Your hand is still tightly clasped around her horn
>She doesn’t seem to notice your little advantage though
>Slowly, you start moving your hand up and down in a jerking motion, caressing her horn
>She’s trying hard to ignore it, but you know horns are like the funny bones of unicorns
>And you’re hitting it with a hammer
>She starts making grunting noises, trying hard to maintain eye contact
>You’re at full speed now, and she’s showing quirks more often now
>Finally, after what felt like an hour, she blinks, swatting away your hand in the process
>”Okay, fine, you win.” She admits, scratching at the floor
“I always do.” You cheerfully reply, sticking your tongue out to mock her further
>She frowns hard at that remark, looking down at the ground, a red anger developing on her face
>You may have bit that nerve a bit too hard
>You may not necessarily like her bothering you every morning, especially off time
>But she does house you for free, and her company isn’t terrible
>She can even be quite enjoyable, oddly enough
>She has helped you in quite a few poor situations, too
>Like the time you found a Cockatrice, and carried it around thinking it was a mutant chicken, then brought it to the school to show all the fillies…
 
>You've put yourself so deep into that entertaining thought, you hadn't even realized you've been staring at her for a good two minutes straight
“Uh...”
>”…”
>You glance back to her a few times, trying hard to find some way to break the developing tension
>Scanning the room, you see a scroll with the list of chores she has prepared for you
>Perfect, Spike can fulfill that solid he owes you by doing your chores, and you can sleep the day away
>You look back to Twilight with a sly grin, your master plan about to be set in motion
>However, something catches your eye
>Her face is red, but that’s not the look of ‘I want to strangle you with your insides’
>No, this is something softer
>She’s staring at you now, seeming to be lost in her own thoughts
>Then, like the brick Spike threw at you last week, it hit you
 
>You’re naked
 
 
>You quickly dive back into your bed after realizing your exposure
>Why? Why were you bare ass naked?
>Normally you wear some boxers, maybe even jeans
>You don’t go birthday suit because of the company you keep
>So what happened to your garments then?
>You peak your head out from the covers, to be met with Twilight’s stare once more
“Twilight?”
>She continues to stare, seeming quite mindless
“TWILIGHT!”
>”Wha?! I was just, uh; Yeah?”
“Where are my clothes? I had them on when I went to bed.”
>She puts a hoof to her chin, delving deep into her thoughts
>“Did you take them off?”
“Now why the hell would I do that?”
>You try feeling around under the blanket for them
>Twilight continues listing possible places you could have left them
>You’re nearing the end of the bed, when your pointer finger hits something
>’Paper..?’
 
>You grab hold of the item, and pull it into the light
>It’s an envelope, with a pink seal on it
>You study the frontal writing on it, trying to match it to anyone you know
>”-I also think you may have been drunk last night, so you may have… What’s that?”
>You stare at the envelope; you don’t even open it before tossing it at Twilight
>She catches it in a web of magic, before bringing it to her eyes
“It’s a message, from Pinkie.”
>Twilight looks up, confused
>”…Why is there a message from Pinkie in your bed?”
“Don’t know, but I do know where my jeans went.”
>You get up before Twilight can press any further, the blanket wrapped around your waist like a towel
>You head to your closet, pulling it open
>Just to find it empty
 
“You gotta be fucking me.”
>You let out low growl, almost tearing the handles off your closet
>”Uh, Anon..?”
>You turn to Twilight, trying hard to keep calm
>She levitates the envelop over to you
>”Maybe you should read it? Pinkie might have a good-”
>You throw one hand out, signaling her to stop her speech
>You rip the envelop open, a small key falls to the floor, along with a message
>You lean down, scooping them up
>The key is somewhat small, and pink
>Go figure
>You turn your attention to the message instead, hoping for it to give you some insight
>”A party needs more than one, a family is more than two. Don’t look for me, she’ll come to you.”
“…The fuck does that even mean?”
>Twilight looks quizzical
>However, you need to get going
>You throw the message to Twilight, who ducks out of the way before grabbing hold of it
>You make your way to your bed, reach into your pillow case, and pull out your wallet
>You flip over the mattress, and a spare set of clothing lays there
>Your original clothes from when you first came here
>You dawn your black suit, straightening your tie with a flick
>”What does this message mean?”
“I dunno, but I sure as hell am going to find out.”
>With that, you storm out of the library, into the glorious morning sun
 
>There’s a skip in your step, and you can’t help but smile at the morning ponies
>Even if the pink one stole your clothes, that won’t ruin your day
>You can’t help but get an old tune into your head, which you become possessed to sing along with
>Smiles paint the faces of all the ponies you pass, resistance to returning those smiles are futile
>A ball hits you, leaning down you snatch it, looking to the direction it came from
>A couple small fillies sheepishly smile at you, their eyes pleading for the return of their ball
>If you were some old fart, you’d probably have kept it to try and teach some lesson of being cautious
>Good thing you’re not
>You toss the ball back, a clear shot for the fillies
>A small blue one is making a run for it
>It’s clear he’s gonna-
>SMACK
>He's down
>He lies there, not moving
>You and the other fillies just stare
>Did he seriously get knocked out by a ball?
>One of the fillies call out his name, and a couple start moving towards him
>if you were an old fart, you would have stayed and made sure he’s alright
>Alas, you’re still not an old fart
 
>You inch your way down your original path, before taking off
>Can’t deal with this shit in the morning
>Before you know it, you’re at the pink ones lair
>This is going to be headache inducing
>You walk up to knock on the door
>You brace yourself for the possible tackle the pink one greets you with
>But, as you knock, nothing happens
>You knock a bit harder, thinking she may have heard you
>You bag on it once, and the door slowly swings open on its own
>You stand there, looking around to see if the pink one’s playing a prank on you
“Hello?”
>No reply
>This is getting uncomfortable, more so than the incident with Twilight
>Slowly, you make your way around the door
>You were not prepared for what was on the other side
 
>Before you, placed on the countertop stood the largest cake you’ve ever seen
>Its iced layers gleaming in the window light
>The smell in the room is that of a heavenly vanilla, mixed with something with spice to it
>Your mouth begins to water just from the sight of such magnificence
>You haven’t even noticed you’re moving closer to it
>You look around the room to see if you’re being watched
>All clear
>Looking back to the cake, you take a small dab of icing off
>Without haste, you shove your sweetened finger into your mouth
>Time seems to stop, all outside sound now a faint muffle
>You cease to breath, a floating feeling making its way through your body
>This moment of bliss seems to last forever
>Your lungs scream for air, breaking you from the trance
>You stand there, legs weak and breath quick
>You feel like you just ran a mile
>Slowly, your gaze meets the cake again
>That was only the icing
>You couldn't even begin to fathom what the full cake tastes like
>You go over the possibilities as to how something so perfect came to be
>Magic?
>Magical ingredients?
>An ancient recipe conceived by horse gods?
>Is that even a thing?
>You shove the ideas out of your head, focusing on only the cake
>Every sense in your body is ordering you to eat it
>You’re finding it increasingly difficult to deny these commands
>You hover over the first layer, readying your hands
>You’re about to go full blown caveman
 
>Before you can desecrate the cake, you hear something
>Voices, closing in
>ohshit
>You jump behind cover, attempting to conceal yourself from sight
>Shortly after, you hear the faint voice of Pinkie
>She won't notice you took a bit of icing, right?
>Your reassure yourself, but that feeling slowly starts to fade the more you think of it
>You recall how she noticed one of your shoe laces were tied differently two days ago
>If she has recognition of that level, she will easily see what you've done
>You start to panic, looking around for a way out
>The window
>Yes, you'll smash through the window
>Flawless plan there, Anon
>Right as you're about to execute your scheme, you hear another voice
>You halt, listening intently
>Unable to make it out, you Solid Snake your way to the kitchen door, pressing your ear against it
>A feminine voice is heard, with a quirk in it
>A heavy southern accent makes its way through
>'Applejack?'
 
>You pull away from the door, cleaning your ear to make sure you’re hearing right
>Applejack said she would be working at the farm all of yesterday, and today
>What’s she doing here now?
>You press against the door again, listening intently for any clues
>”Ah told ya Pinkie, she said the cake had to be perfect.”
>She sounds irritated, hint of fatigue in there too
>A few moments pass, you’re expecting some cheerful retort
>Strangely enough, Pinkie doesn’t reply
>Another minute or so passes, the most you hear is a heavy sigh from Applejack
>”Look, Pinkie. Ah know ya’ll got orders comin’ an all, but we gotta get this right.”
>Again, nothing from Pinkie
>Something happen?
>You wouldn't be surprised, Pinkie has gotten herself into plenty trouble before
>You hear a bit of ruffling, like something is being dragged
>”Ah’ll see ya later, Pinkie. But ah beg you, please get it done.”
>With that, you hear Applejack make a hasteful exit
>What was that about?
 
>You expect an answer any moment from Pinkie, as she tends to make some kind of song related to her tasks
>A few minutes pass, the only sound you hear is your own breathing
>You’re starting to get a bit uncomfortable leaning in such an awkward position
>You could just leave, sounds like now’s not a good time to bug Pinkie
>You consider it, even stand up, striding for the door
>Just as you're about to exit, you recall your reason for being there in the first place
>You need your clothes
>Slowly, you open the door just enough to reveal Pinkie
>She’s sitting in the middle of the room, eyes at the floor
>Just, sitting there
>Any pent up anger you still held is quickly turned to concern
>Pinkie has been a pain at times for you, but she also has given you some of your most fond memories of Equestria
>You silently open the door, expecting Pinkie to jump up
>She doesn’t seem to notice
>You slowly make your way to her
>Still no response
>You lean down next to her, placing your hand on her wither
“Pinkie?”
 
>Nothing
>She doesn’t turn to you
>Hell, she doesn't even acknowledge you
>No smile
>No smirk
>Not even a blink
“Pinkie?”
>Again, nothing
>You keep a lock on her eyes, looking for a hint of expression
>Slowly, you orbit your way around to face her
>It's at this point you notice her mane is somewhat limp
>You also take notice that she has a frown stamped across her face
>Not once have you seen Pinkie frown in the entire year you've been there
>Thick and thin, she always had a smile
>What could possibly make her frown now?
>You reach out, poking her in the muzzle
>Not even a flinch
>Damn, she’s really good at keeping a straight face
>You start lightly patting her face in an attempt to bring her out of this trance
“Yo, Anon to Pinx.”
>You start patting a bit harder now, keeping it short of a slap
“Ponka!”
>You're really wasting time here
>Time you could be using on more important things
>You can feel an agitation creeping into you
>She steals your clothes, and now she won't respond to you
>Hasn't she ever heard of taking a joke too far?
>Hasn't she considered you might be beaten from the work you have been doing?
>That all you want to do is rest?
>You can feel your teeth grinding
>Your mind starts to sting from frustration
>That you just want to enjoy your day?
>A heated anger seeps into every inch of your body, causing you to ball your fists
>She has done all of this to you, all of these problems
>For no better reason than to annoy you
>On top of all that, you're here, wasting your time
>Of your vacation
 
>With that, you fling your arms around her
 
>You snatch her up
>Shaking her viciously, you yell her name again
“PINKIE!”
>Not a damn thing
>You're only a few clicks away from a full blown rage
>It takes all your will not to throw her through the window
>Oh, how you want to
>But breaking that window would cost you more than you're willing to put out
>Feeling a bit foiled, you take a moment to just stare at her angrily
>Her mane hangs in her eyes, limp as before
>The frown is still very abundant
>She really hasn't done anything besides that
>Sit there, saddened by whatever makes Pinkie sad
>Holding her up close, she seems somewhat hollow in her eyes
>You almost feel bad for shaking her
>Reason starts to kick its way back into your mind the longer you stare at her
>Anytime you've ever hurt a pony, accidently or on purpose, it always came back to bite you in the ass
>As much as you hate to admit it, violence won't solve this
>Even if you really want it to right now
>As gently as you can, you try setting her down
>Though not quite as gently as you had thought
>Pinkie lands with a loud thud, causing you to recoil
>That sounded like it hurt
>A lot
>You slowly put your gaze upon her again, expecting to see her eyes watering
>Maybe even a few tears
>But instead, you get what you've gotten this entire scene
>Nothing
>You let out a heavy sigh, feeling defeated
>Even a bit foolish
>No answers, no clothes
>Which means you’re going to have to ask Rarity to make another custom set
>That’s going to cost you
>Possibly your entire vacation pay
>You let out a long groan, turning to the door
>Stupid pink horse, with her stupid attitude and her stupid sweets-
>Sweets
>If there's one thing Pinkie loves, it's sweets
>A devious smile makes its way across your face that could rival that of the Grinch
>On your heels, you slowly turn back to Pinkie
 
“So, Pinkie...”
>You slither your way over to her, placing a hand on her withers again
“I couldn't help but notice that magnificent cake you have out front, I can only imagine how much effort and time you must've put into it.”
>You glide your hand across her face, causing her to quiver slightly
>Perfect
>You firmly place your hand under her chin
“A cake so prudently cared for …”
>You lean in closer
>So close, you can feel her gentle, shallow breath against your face
>Smells like ginger, oddly enough
“A cake so masterfully crafted…”
>You put more emphasis into each word as you go on
“Would be such a shame if something so… Perfect, were to suddenly hit the floor.”
>Suddenly, her eyes flash wide open, and she emits a small squeaking noise
>”But…”
>Yes, she’s breaking
>Just a little more Anon, then you’ll have what’s yours
“In fact, I think-”
>“But it’s not.”
>Huh?
“Uh, come again?”
>Pinkie pushes your hand away in a slow, tired motion
>She looks back to the floor, grief returning to her complexion
>“It’s not perfect…”
>Her voice trails off, staring at the door that leads out front
>Wait, is she talking about the cake?
>You'd normally be pretty peeved that she’s acted this way over a cake
>Instead, you're dumbfounded
“Pinkie.”
>”Hmm?”
“The cake’s fine.”
>”But I was-”
“It’s fine.”
>“How do you know-”
“I tasted it.”
>”…You really think it’s good?”
>There had been times you’d be asked stupid questions
>But this, this is the king of those questions
“Good? I hallucinated from how good it was, and that was just the icing.”
>You do your best to mimic the face you had during the experience, getting a small giggle from Pinkie
>She still looks grief stricken, but less than before
>"Thanks, Anon."
>You wave it away; you have other, more important things to discuss
>Like certain attire of yours
"Pinkie, I need to ask you something."
>She doesn't say anything, but she does look up at you
"Where are my clothes?"
>A stupid look shoots across her face
>She looks as though you ripped out her horse brain
>"What?"
 
“My clothes. This morning, you came into the library, stripped me, and took all the clothes in my possession.”
>You take a step forward, bending low to meet her face
>She almost looks…
>Scared?
>Probably because she knows that you’re onto her
>You lift your head back, crossing your arms in a daunting manner
“I want them back.”
>You state your desire with a cold, emotionless tone
>Looking to the floor, Pinkie scratches her head
>She tries looking everywhere but at you
>She definitely knows where your clothes are, you can feel it
>Her eyes bolt up to meet your figure, scanning you closely
>”…If I took them, what’re you wearing?”
>You look yourself over, noting the reason for her bewilderment
“Hah, got’cha there. I had another pair of clothes ready in case anything ever happened to the wardrobe.”
>You can’t help but think back to when Twilight, testing some new and revolutionary spell, turned one of your chairs into a demonic creature
>A demonic chair that had a taste for small dragons, apparently
>Oh, how you loved that chair
>Shame you had to burn it to the ground
>You break from the bitter-sweet thought, due to an annoying poking to your ribs
>Pinkie now stands ‘afore you, the perplexity never leaving her face
>She pokes you one more time, for good measure, getting a grunt out of you
>You swat her hoof away, anger making its way across your visage
“I demand you return my clothes at once, else I will have to turn to drastic measures.”
>You gesture to the door leading to the front, wherein stands the cake
>Pinkie starts frowning, hopping on her hooves in a panicked manner
>”B-but I didn’t take them!”
>Her voice almost cracks through her protest
>She sounds, abit too sincere
>She looks stricken, a pleading look in her eyes
>Normally Pinkie would be jumping around, accusing you of being silly
>Or she would be reasonable, saying she’ll just make another cake
>But this…
>This is strange, even for Pinkie
>You brush the slight concern away, grabbing her by her bouncy and, oddly soft mane
“Not buying it. Had your writing, your scent, hell; even had your little pink seal on it.”