Pinkie and Anon get lost at sea. With no rescue in sight, the pair takes advantage of a strange discovery to rescue themselves.
Inspired by nobby's Pinkie pic: http://nobbydraws.tumblr.com/post/102769401115/huge-horses

Day 1
>I've been tasked with escorting Ambassador Pie to the annual Interplanetary Friendship Conference being held this year on some rich dude's personal island in the Pacific.
>Said rich dude has also offered to personally ferry the ambassador and some of our delegation using his personal yacht.
>Had I known the old geezer was pushing 100 and only had his son on board as crew, I probably would've insisted on joining everyone else on the professionally-staffed cruise ship.
>Oh well. At least he seems to be capable of following the GPS.

Day 3
>Ambassador Pie declared that we were going to be the 'Partiest Party Boat That Ever Partied' minutes off shore.
>Which is good, because that apparently activates her strange ability to pull party food out of the aether.
>Certainly better than the old man's crate of liver and onions.
>"It's my favorite!" he says. Blech.

Day 4
>Would've thought we'd be there by now.
>There's a lot of dark clouds where we're headed. The old man's nearly week-old weather report says we're in for light showers.

Day 5
>That's a lot of lightning for 'showers'.

Day 5.75
>It's a fucking hurricane. The winds and waves have already stripped the boat's radar and radio antennas. The old man is tying to get the satellite phone to cooperate.
>Ambassador Pie has started singing songs about proper life vest use.

Day 6? 7?
>We are so fucked.
>We capsized sometime during the night. Despite the panicked rush to get out, it seemed that everyone had made it to the self-inflatable rafts that had been on deck.
>I say 'seemed' because that was the last we saw of the others. Once inflated, the rafts were practically torn from the ship and scattered in all directions.
>My sole raft mate is the ambassador, her boundless energy swept away like everything else in the relentless winds.
>We're holding on to each other for dear life and the ambassador's sadly singing a song I can just barely hear.
>"Ha ha ha..."

Day ?
>The hurricane finally moved on and the seas have calmed. Our tiny orange raft is lost in endless dark seas under oppressively gray skies.
>I asked the ambassador this morning if she could grab us some food.
>She mumbled something about 'plot convenience' before curling up and going back to sleep.

Day ?+5
>The sun made a brief appearance today and Pinkie - she insists I drop the formal title now that we're good friends - has cheered up to almost normal levels.
>"Making new friends always puts me in a good mood!"
>We've been passing the time by telling each other stories about our lives.
>Mine don't even come close to hers, but she never seems any less interested about them.
>I'm just getting into the story of how I won my college's unofficial keg stand championship when she goes completely stiff and starts shaking around.
>It's the 'Pinkie sense' she mentioned. Hopefully this means we're going to be rescued soon.

Day ?+6
>Not a rescue, but an island! A fairly lush one from the looks of it.
>We break out the paddles and make our way towards it. We'll probably make it by nightfall.

Night ?+6
>It might be small, but it's here and it's solid ground and there's food.
>After a feast on guava and coconuts, we turned our raft into a makeshift tent and spent the night on the beach.

Land Day 1
>After getting a fire going and having breakfast, Pinkie and I spent the rest of the day walking the beach around the outside of the island.
>It's larger than it looks - maybe about 6 miles around.
>It's mostly flat, but there's a few high hills in the middle with a valley and stream between them.
>We followed the stream up one of the hills to its source.
>It's fresh and seems clean enough.
>It's oddly quiet here, no birds, no other animals. I haven't even noticed any insects. It's kind of creepy.
>Shaking off the feeling, I help Pinkie grab a few more fruits for dinner before we head back to the raft.

Day 2
>We've moved our camp inland and uphill, leaving the raft weighted down on the beach to signal rescuers.
>It takes almost no time at all to get a decent shelter set up, so Pinkie suggests we spend the rest of the day playing hide-n-seek.
>After a few rounds it's back to being my turn to find her.
>She's really hidden well this time, I've been searching nearly an hour.
>I'm about to give up when I hear leaves rustling.
>As I get closer, I finally spot her out in the open, absolutely demolishing some kind of berry bush.
>I stealthily crawl up behind her, determined to get her back for the heart attack she nearly gave me two turns ago.
>I'm just inches from her tail when it twitches.
>I wait for her inevitable greeting but she suddenly just vanishes into thin air.
>I'm left staring at the space she used to occupy when a voice yells out behind me.
>"HI NONNY!"
>After my heart rate settles, I vow to figure out how she does that.
>Turning around, I'm greeted by her smiling face, red berry juice dripping from her muzzle.
>She raves about how good the berries are and insists I try them.
>Too bad she's already picked the bush clean.
>She makes up for it that night by preparing a huge and tasty dinner of all sorts of fruits and roasted palm hearts.
>I had thought we'd have leftovers for days, but Pinkie's still eating long after I've finished and shows no sign of stopping.
>By the time it's over she's left immobilized on her back, gently rubbing her ridiculously distended belly.
>She manages a strained 'g'night Nonny' before passing out for the night.

Night 2
>It's still dark when a massive roar jolts me awake.
>It was close and the fire's died down enough that I can't even see Pinkie.
>I hear it again, so close and so loud it sounds like it's practically over my shoulder.
>I feel around for a rock, a stick, anything to defend us from whatever's getting closer.
>My heart leaps into my throat as another massive roar sounds out louder than before.
>It came from Pinkie's direction. Oh god she's probably already gone.
>I just hope whatever it is finishes me off too. I don't think I'll be able to stand being alone here.
>The sound of snapping twigs is just inches away, a constant low growling following it.
>This is it, Pinkie's dead and I'm about to joi-
>BUUH-EEEELCCCCH
>The smell of dinner washes over me.
>Dammit Pinkie.
>I roll back over with a huff, trying desperately to calm my nerves and get back to sleep.

Day 3
>I wake up long after sunrise, the night's excitement having caused me to lose a good couple hours of sleep.
>A warm mass completely envelops my back.
>Pinkie must've rolled over here in her sleep.
>I turn to wake her, only to be met by a muzzle the size of my head.
>She's rolled over alright, resting prone on top of her still massive belly, but she's also taking up a lot more room than she used to.
>Getting over the initial shock, I take stock of the massive pink form in front of me.
>Her body's lengthened to just about my height. She's probably twice as tall standing.
>An ominous creaking from the bamboo platforms we slept on draw my attention to the fact that she's still growing.
>It's barely noticeable, but sure enough she's still expanding outwards in all directions.
>Figuring out what's going on is beyond my sleep deprived brain, so I call Pinkie's name a few times in a vain attempt to wake her.
>Shaking and poking is met with similar results.
>That's it.
>I didn't want to have to use it, but there's no other choice.
>I wind up for the most devastating move in my arsenal:
>The Turbo Mega Ultra Boop.
>Just inches away and with positive results guaranteed, I break out my cheesiest victory grin.
>Nothing can resist the ultimate power of the TMUB.
*boop*
>Nothing, that is, except a giant Pinkie in a food coma.

Day 4
>Pinkie slept through the day yesterday.
>Her growth slowed and eventually stopped as her stomach shrank back to normal, leaving her easily twice as long as I am tall.
>My roasted guava breakfast is just about done when she finally lets out a massive yawn.
>"Mmmmorning Nonny. That smells great." she says before she's fully opened her eyes.
>By the time she does, she's up in an instant, mouth running a mile a minute.
>The verbal assault is nigh indecipherable, but I manage to catch the words 'tiny', 'cute' and a handful of 'omigosh'es.
>I swear I can hear ribs cracking as I'm scooped up into a titanic hug.
>Once I'm able to breathe, we engage in a few increasingly silly rounds of "You're tiny" and "No, you're big/massive/justlookatthetreesaroundyoualready" before getting down to business.
>Pinkie grabs a stick and within a minute has the last few days charted out for each of us in the sand down to the smallest detail.
>I can't even tell her how impressive this before a massive hoof points out the difference between the two.
>'Yummy berries', says the surprisingly legible note.
>"What about the week's worth of food you ate?" I ask.
>"Welll, you ate all the same stuff and if the berries are what turned me into Twinkie then it makes sense that I'd be really, really hungry before it happened."
>"Twinkie?"
>"Pinkie times 2 equals Twinkie!" she says with an enormous and enormously cheesy smile.
>Vowing to come up with a better name later, we work out a couple facts:
>a)Pinkie is clearly not dead or sick. b)We're stuck on an island with no access to medical or magical care.
>With no point in worrying about it, we get back to what Pinkie calls her #1 survival tip: Fun!

Night 4
>Today's poor hide-n-seek performance is quickly forgotten once I climb up onto my new warm, fuzzy, and huge bed.
>And after today's meals, it's only getting bigger and cuddlier.
>For the first time since our adventure started, I'm okay with it lasting just a little bit longer.

Day 38
>I awoke atop Pinkie's back this morning and found that she'd made her way to the beach.
>I scooted up next to her head and joined her in staring out into the sea.
>"Do you think they're gonna find us, Nonny?"
>I wish I had an answer.

Day 51
>Pinkie seemed awfully determined when she left camp this morning.
>She came back hours later and scooped me up without a word.
>We cruised over the trees on a shortcut to the cliff that overlooked what she'd been calling her 'thinking beach'.
>Down below is a progression of drawings:
>Island with plants -> tiny stick figure Pinkie -> Island with no plants -> a stick Pinkie that took up half the beach -> a swimming Pinkie -> a happy Pinkie in front of a house.
>"Whaddya think?"
>"It's crazy, dangerous, and there's a good chance we'll get lost at sea... but it's probably our only hope. Let's do this."

Day 197
>Pinkie's been completely committed to her plan.
>She's cleared almost a quarter of the island of vegetation, absolutely towering over me and most of the island's features.
>She tried hiding in the valley today, but the hill between it and camp isn't tall enough.
>We both started giggling like idiots upon spotting each other.

Day 272
>We've started calling our latest game 'Tsunami'.
>Maybe someone out there will try to track down the source of those waves...

Day 385
>The last of the island's food has been loaded into a bamboo box that's joined me atop the finest sailing vessel on the sea today.
>Aye, she's a beaut. Superior stability even in the roughest of seas, with an island-sized keel and a displacement of 1,973,-
>"Arr! Ya best not be commentin' on a lasses' weight, Nonny."
>"If you drop the pirate shtick, I'll keep it in mind."
>"Aww, you're no fun."
>And just like that we left our home for the past year, unimaginably huge le-
>"A-hem!"
>...powerful legs below churning towards an uncertain future.
>But wherever our adventure takes us, I know that we'll find a way to survive. Together.
Fin.