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>The Portal’s a spark for hearts too wild to tame. Griffons, yaks, buffalo, merponies, kirin—they’ve all crossed my bar, chasing love or a shadow to slip into. The Portal, on Ponyville’s edge, was one of the first to roll out the welcome mat for humans when others slammed their doors. Now it’s a legend, where a mare might carry a human’s foal—always a filly, pure pony. Human colts are plenty; pony colts, rarer than a comet’s tail. These rumors pack my place to the brim every night.
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>I’m Crimson Brew, earth pony, dark coat, gold mane, mixing drinks with a sharp quip and sharper eye. I’m stirring a cider now, bottles floating easy thanks to this human-made collar’s telekinesis. Humans, always crafting wonders. Tonight, the bar’s buzzing, but one pony’s dim—Pinkie Pie, Ponyville’s party queen, sits quiet, her mane flat, her eyes tracing the grain of the table. Pinkie, tangled in her own heart? That’s a tale I need to hear.
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>I’m Pinkie Pie, and… wow, my heart’s all knotted up, like a balloon string in a storm. Me, quiet? Super weird, I know, but I’ve got a story bouncing in my head, about this grump—Anon, a human who’s got me all twisty. Lemme tell you how it all started, ‘cause, jee, it’s been a wild ride, and I’m still learning the rules of his game!
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>When the portals opened, El Portal became *the* spot. I bounced in with my girls—Twilight, Rarity, the whole gang—giggling over new faces. Things changed quick. The Cakes’ twins got tricksy; Pumpkin’s levitating toys now, though it tuckers her out. Every earth pony grabbed those human-made collars—telekinesis in a gem! Chores? Pfft, done in a snap—fields plowed, cakes frosted, all with a thought. I didn’t get the human-mare spark back then. Love’s love, right? But then I met Anon, and it’s like a party cannon went *boom* in my chest, begging to play.
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>Anon’s a total sourpuss—grumpy, keeps to himself, with barely a hoof-ful of friends. Loves books and lounging in pajamas. Honestly, I thought he was Twilight’s type! But somehow, I’m the one chasing his glares, dreaming of being his pony, his silly spark that makes him smile. It all started at Sugarcube Corner. He stormed in, all serious, asking Mr. Cake to use the kitchen. “I’ll pay by the hour,” he said, “but I need it now.” Mr. Cake, thinking fast, threw out a wild price—1000 bits an hour! Anon didn’t blink. Pulled a bottomless sack, dropped three bags marked ‘1000’ each, and said, “That’s three hours. Nobody comes in.” The Cakes were floored—three hours’ pay for four days’ work! They agreed, and Anon locked himself in.
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>The kitchen buzzed—clanks, whirs, like a secret party I wasn’t invited to! Mr. Cake said to respect the deal, but my curiosity was hopping like a bunny. I went full spy mode—sneaky hooves, ninja vibes. Big oops. Anon had rigged the door with sensors and some weird human lock I still don’t get. Took me forever to slip in, and when I did? He was baking muffins, dripping with raw honey, all golden and gooey. I didn’t know why it mattered so much then, but I wanted to be part of his world, to trot after him like a happy pony chasing her favorite human.
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>Earth’s got this embargo—no crops, no goods through the portal. Their leaders, pushed by that shady human ambassador, say it’s to “protect their ecosystem,” but it’s ‘cause Equestria’s stuff is too good. A Sweet Apple Acres apple? Worth a fortune. Raw honey, the kind bees make before refining, can heal what Earth’s doctors can’t. Anon, an apicultor, was crafting those muffins for his sick mom, using “gray points” to sneak them through—loopholes for family shipments. El Portal’s a hub for it, and there’s a mirror bar on Earth, run by a pony-human pair, passing packages with hope and care.
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>And me? I messed it up. I was sneaking, got too bouncy, and—CRASH—knocked over his jar of raw honey. Shattered, gone, all that work for his mom. I felt awful, like I’d kicked his heart. I tried to fix it—baking muffins, offering apologies—but I kept making it worse. Anon’s glares could’ve frosted a cake. Still, I kept chasing him, tossing smiles, hoping to be his spark, his pony who’d make him laugh. I imagined running to his call, being his silly filly who’d light up his frown. But he just grumped harder, shutting me out.
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>Last night, here at The Portal, I couldn’t take it anymore. I cornered him, hooves stomping, demanding, “Why won’t you let me make this right? Let me bake for you!” He snapped, voice low, “It’s not about you baking, Pinkie. It’s for my mom. I do this for her.” His eyes, all that hurt he carries—it set my heart ablaze. I wanted to be his pony, his playful spark, to obey his quiet strength and make him smile like only I can. My heart raced, my hooves moved, and before I knew it, I was kissing him—hard, wild, like a party cannon of feelings, like I was his and he was mine in a game we’d just started.
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>The bar went nuts—mares cheering, “Go, Pinkie! Play that game!” Humans whistling, hollering, “Loner’s got a pony who knows how to spark!” I felt alive, like I was his filly, trotting in his world, ready to learn his rules. But Anon? His face went red, his eyes wide, and he bolted, shoving through the crowd. And that, everypony, is how it all began. *phew* Crimson, hit me with another Hard Cider—make it quick! Gimme a sec, okay? When I’m ready, later, I’ll spill why my mane’s all droopy tonight.
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>Crimson Brew here. Pinkie’s spark just lit a fire, and that’s only the start of her playful game. The party pony’s chasing a human who’s got her heart in knots, and you, my fine customers, are itching to know why she’s dim tonight. Come back tomorrow—we’ll hear what’s got Pinkie’s bounce down. For now, drink up and enjoy the chaos!
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To be continued.
by AT_123
by AT_123
by AT_123
by AT_123
by AT_123