Strangers to the Plain


                                            >Tired, alert.

                                            >Awake, asleep.

                                            >Empty, unlimited.

                                            >The meds...

                                            >You look down at your... not hands really

                                            >It's something like a fist, kinda reminds you of that kid you knew with the club foot at swim lessons

                                            >Your phone inches from your face

                                            >Your anxiety is tempered, like eggs in custard. Your mind is a few ticks away from scrambling.

                                            >Your face is covered in little hairs.

                                            >You're soft, vulnerable.

                                            >You've got powerful legs. You can kick.

                                            >You're a poet. You're a moron.

                                            "Are the two supposed to be mutually exclusive?"

                                            >You took one, it's nice. Even alone the feeling of being a pony is comfortable. The place is a bit of a mess, but you'll clean tomorrow.

                                            >Just like you always say

                                            >Nobody really knows where the drug comes from

                                            >It operates tangent to a physical...

                                            >It's...

                                            >People agree on strands, so named for the way the internals of the pills spool outward when researchers cut the magical mystery cures open

                                            >To try to understand them

                                            >You always get the cheapest with a guarantee...

                                            >A lot of people take Clarified

                                            >That's how you probably should do it

                                            >Clarified is for functional ponies, even in a bad mental state it reaches deep into your brain and retrieves a form it knows you'll love

                                            >Faggots get stallions, trannies get cute mares, straight dudes...

                                            >Who are you kidding, straight people don't take this kind of drug

                                            >Regardless, Clarified is more expensive

                                            >You've been two-hundred-thirty-three different ponies at this point, that's the beauty of Flatrock

                                            >You don't have to pin down a form, and at this point you immediately blow any money you earn on just enough food to live as a human and as many pills as the remainder will get you from your contact by the docks

                                            >It's more than enough, the frequency at which you get low means you're not really living as a human

                                            >You try to go in with a good mindset, but most of the time it just sort of happens

                                            >You kick off your shoes, put a beer in the squeeze bottle, leave yourself a PB&J, and pop a pill

                                            >Someday, you'll find the right form for you

                                            >Maybe a nerdy mare with glaucoma

                                            >Or a stallion only distinguishable from a mare by your eyebrows

                                            >Or a silky lady of the night, the sort of mare that you might find sleeping in a cage under a strip club floor until it's time for her show

                                            >Why would full-time ponies have rights anyways? It's much hotter when they don't

                                            >You look yourself over in the full-length mirror as you finish shifting into place

                                            >No dick, but your color scheme gives vibes of what annoying people would call hsts

                                            >You won't pop the second pill tonight, but you will be using the dildo on your tailhole

                                            End of line?

                                            >

                                            >

                                            >

                                            >You groan in frustration as you pull yourself out of a pleasant dream

                                            >Need to prepare for work. If you hurry, you can just make it

                                            >You brush aside the silicone toy, letting it fall to the ground where you'll deal with it when you're back

                                            >You do something you've done many times before.

                                            >Pick up a nearby pack of dry ramen noodles and fill your mouth with it, chewing as you put your pants on

                                            >This'll give you just enough calories to get to lunch, as you chew you catch the crumbs that break off in the sheets, scooping them up as you finish and eating them too.

                                            >You got most of them, good enough

                                            >You swallow and grumble to yourself as you pull on your beat up polo and grab your car keys and wallet on your way out the door.

                                            >Your phone is dead, and it's not as if you have anyone to call regardless

                                            >You're not sure that you would've even woken up if it weren't for the couple arguing nextdoor, heard through the thin walls.

                                            >You don't have the luxury of online games anymore because of them, or at least not those that require voice chat

                                            >Apparently it's more societally acceptable to beat your wife than to call someone a faggot over the internet, you were written up for that shit

                                            >Got a nasty letter placed in your mailbox from the landlord (technically illegal since she didn't stamp it, but you're way too tired to care)

                                            >You comb your short, patchy brown hair into somewhat of an agreeable form as you take the stairs down to the street three at a time

                                            >You almost considered ODing on the mare you rolled last night just because her mane and tail were good

                                            >Not silky, but almost minky. Like a nice plush with that faux mane

                                            >So strange to think that that shit is actually a plastic product... you never would've thought

                                            >You practically slam into your car door, fumbling with the keys (your crappy, early 2000s era fob broke half a decade ago) and narrowly avoiding keying your own vehicle in your haste to jam it in

                                            >As you crank the engine, you tune into your favorite morning radio station

                                            >You like hard rock in the evening normally, but this is very suitable for morning drives

                                            >After a few minutes of ads, an Oasis song you know by heart comes on the radio

                                            "I'm free to be whatever I... whatever I choose and I'll sing the blues if I want!"

                                            >You bob your head along with the music as you turn into an arterial

                                            "I'm free to say whatever I... whatever I like If it's wrong or right, it's alright."

                                            >You drive past a head-on collision, a woman is hanging through the windshield, there's a lot of blood.

                                            >There are already paramedics nearby, so you continue driving, but the sight has killed your enthusiasm for singing along.

                                            >You look down at the light to make sure your seatbelt is properly secured, can never be too safe.

                                            >You bet she'll wish she'd done the same, if she gets through this.

                                            >You speed off, traveling 8 miles above the speed limit, over speedbumps and potholes

                                            >'Here in my mind, you know you might find, something that you'

                                            >'You thought you once knew but now it's all gone.'

                                            >It's commercials again on after Whatever, the drawbacks of a station that doesn't use radio edits of tracks

                                            >You flick off the radio, it's less than a block

                                            >Find an unoccupied parking spot outside (always a challenge even at this hour)

                                            >Pull in and straighten up the parking job as best you can without scratching anyone's else's car, without a rear cam, with shit piled up in the back of your station wagon...

                                            >You get the idea

                                            >You run inside and manage to clock in only three minutes late

                                            >Which is actually fine, since the system follows a 7-8 rounding scheme

                                            >You pull on your apron from the rack, put on the logo cap, and stride out to your till.

                                            >About five minutes into your shift, you get a bagger. The bagger comes with baggage.

                                            >"Anon, this is... Jennifer. He- er, she will be training on the till and bagging for you today."

                                            >You look into the dead eyes of the unsightly tranny before you

                                            >Hold out a hand, shake.

                                            >It's what a boomer would consider a good handshake. Firm, and long.

                                            >You detail the logon procedure for the till, show her the different submenus for pay by weight, coupons and what to do if someone comes in with a paycheck

                                            >Before you can show her how to reprint receipts or how to refresh the printer thermal head you have customers

                                            >She struggles with some of the bagging fundamentals, you watch

                                            >It's nothing really stupid like putting a watermelon or a jug of milk on top of eggs, but she nearly stacks a big box of crackers on top of a loaf of bread.

                                            >Everywhere there are tells about what sort of person anyone is, that's absolutely one of them.

                                            >She's a bit of a slob.

                                            >You don't blame her, but she won't last long if she doesn't correct that sort of behavior. As depressing as it is, this is actually a position that's in high demand.

                                            >You gently correct the error before it happens. You don't blame her, you used to be somewhat the same.

                                            >You've become a pro at it, zoning out just enough to get a read on everything but not so much to torque your brain gears fully.

                                            >You can jerk right back to attention at a moment's notice if need be, but this job is not mentally demanding

                                            >Before you know it, it's noon. One of the managers takes the first break at noon, and the two of you are relieved half an hour later

                                            >Normally the rule is one employee break at a time, but you've seen this happen many times before.

                                            >They can't legally have you work on your break, but you are /expected/ to continue running Jenny through the ropes while you two eat.

                                            >"What's good here? I didn't pack a box lunch."

                                            >Her voice training is okay, at least. Come to think of it, her stubble might also be the result of a worn razor.

                                            "I didn't either. Everything, really; but that's with the caveat that it's all expensive. Were you keeping an eye on the prices of groceries?"

                                            >She nods.

                                            "The deli items are twice as expensive. At least."

                                            >"Fuck."

                                            "Yeah. I know a decently priced place, it's just a block down the road. You can ride shotgun if you want."

                                            >"You think we can be back in thirty?"

                                            "No, but I think we can be back in thirty-seven."

                                            >You say that as you two exit the building, you're not really supposed to tell the new hires about the rounding.

                                            >"Then please, part of the reason I left my job at bestbuy is that this place pays better and my car is on the mend. Took the bus here."

                                            "No prob then."

                                            >You clear your CDs out of the passenger seat and unlock it for her, getting on the road towards your favorite lunch joint

                                            >You never really see anyone new there.

                                            >Obviously a mob joint, but with prices and food this good? None of the 5-6 regulars are going to complain.

                                            >You stride in, Jenny awkwardly following you.

                                            >"Anon, good to see you. I thought you'd finally left us behind. Got another customer today?"

                                            "Ha, no. And yeah. Training her at the grocer."

                                            >Carmelo tells her how the place works, it's essentially a small buffet of Italian food.

                                            >You can get pizza or the day's fresh pasta, both with as many variations as you can dream of.

                                            >Freshly cooked, never any line, never any fuss.

                                            >It's worth noting that the place is literally situated inside of a neighborhood, way the hell out of the way. Has like 1-3 online reviews, all of them complaining up a storm

                                            >Likely all paid off so the place stays pleasant for the few who do show up, and under the radar for whatever shady activity the place launders money for.

                                            >You get the tortellini alfredo and Jenny gets the meatlover's pizza, the two of you seat at an empty booth

                                            "Swear this is one of the only good things left in the area."

                                            >"I know what you mean. It's all so expensive, feels like everything exists purely to cater to the tech workers, the trust fund babies, and the all of the above."

                                            "And then there's us."

                                            >"Ha... don't lump me in with you so quickly... I'd have been a trust fund baby if not for..."

                                            >She gestures at herself and you nod. It's fairly clear what happened.

                                            >"Got a nice car at least, for what it's worth. Not much, the taxes are steep and the repairs are too. Anyways, I got the sense they wanted you to train me more over lunch?"

                                            "Yeah... it sucks, but you guessed correctly. There are a few things they'll have you do in addition to the till operations, and you'll be expected to bag..."

                                            >You check your phone clock, still good on time

                                            >You go into the trash bags, the compactor in the employee area, the box crusher

                                            >As you're just starting to get into the nuances of bathroom assignments (especially when you're doing it alone and have to do both of them) when she brushes her left bang away and you freeze.

                                            >"Yeah, I know. I'm fucking unsightly. Thanks."

                                            "No... um. Lift your bang again."

                                            >She groans as she does so, good mood clearly spoiled. You lean in and whisper the following:


                                            "You've been a pony recently."

                                            >Before she can say something stupid, you discretely pull up your hat a bit and show her the same telltale scar that she has on her forehead.

                                            >Where her horn retracted one too many times back into her skull and the skin didn't quite heal for god knows what reason. Everything else could be perfect, but go pony too often? You'll get scars on your back if you're a pegasus, and a single point on your forehead if you're a unicorn.

                                            >You have all three scars, of course. A fool's alicorn, if you will, spread across a bicentennial and a quarter different bodies.

                                            "Do you have them on your back...?"

                                            >"I- yes."

                                            >You take a moment to compose yourself, think about how to carry this. Don't want to freak her out, don't want to come off as weird.

                                            "I haven't found anybody else who really likes Flatrock. Would you like to come over tonight? Pony down, maybe watch a movie together?"

                                            >The speed at which she replies is somewhat surprising, the offer has hardly left your mouth before she nods vigorously

                                            >As by some form of unspoken agreement, the two of you shift directly back into the discussion of grocery store work.

                                            >When you both return from lunch and clock back in, she's called to learn about cart retrieval from one of the staff members who's mostly janitorial

                                            >But you'll get off at the same time, you checked her schedule

                                            >You're finally going to get low with someone else tonight.

                                            >

                                            >

                                            >

                                            >"Which do you prefer?"

                                            >You and Jenny are on the beat-up couch next to each other in your apartment, the both of you holding on to drinks and avoiding eye contact.

                                            "Hm?"

                                            >You're fine with screwdrivers, but your new friend is more of a sweet tooth. You stopped by a cheaper grocery store on the way and she picked up a pack of seltzer

                                            >"Stallions or mares?"

                                            "To be, or not to be?"

                                            >"Ha. To be, obviously."

                                            "Mares. You're not going to shill hormones to me, are you?"

                                            >She looks down

                                            >"I don't think you'd detest it, but you seem to have your shit more together than I do. No comment, generally speaking"

                                            "If I do, it's a facade."

                                            >You take in a large sip from the glass, watch the screwdriver curtains flow back down

                                            >"I think everyone feels that way, it's the illusory outer shell... are you sure you're okay with me taking your meds?"

                                            "Yeah, of course. Anyone who likes hooftripping can't be that bad."

                                            >"Not so sure about that, but I promise I'll try to be good. Between making ends meet and the car repairs I've had to cut back a lot, just want you to know this is really cool of you to do."

                                            >Rambling. Maybe you're being an asshole, but you can tell she's nervous. Used to be something you'd do when stressed.

                                            >You throw back the screwdriver, make another one real quick, and start sipping at it

                                            >Then you wash out last night's squeeze bottle, and fill it with two seltzers

                                            >You sit back down and hand it to her

                                            "Don't take this the wrong way, but you're nervous. Any good ways you have to sort that out?"

                                            >The importance of mindset is understood, she nods.

                                            >"Generally, I drink a bit, put on some comfortable clothes, and try to pretend that I'm somewhere else."

                                            "Hmm. Well, I don't have many comfortable clothes, but I do have a throw blanket and some old stuffed animals. Any of that sound good?"

                                            >"Blanket sounds great, stuffed animals only if they're sort of huggable"

                                            >You drape it over her and she starts to take her clothes off

                                            >You pretend not to notice/care

                                            "Want to watch the evening news for a few minutes while we unwind a bit?"

                                            >"Sure, but I'm not positive that'll help us unwind"

                                            >You do it regardless, catching snippets of the news

                                            >'Two more found dead with connections to Picnic Collective...'

                                            >'Paralympics to be delayed after athlete found to have self-mutilated spine fifteen years prior...'

                                            >After 5 minutes there's an ad break and you flip the channel to adult swim, which is showing a new episode of rick and morty

                                            >You turn the television off immediately

                                            >Jenny looks more chilled out now, at least.

                                            >You take two pills from the old fluoxetine bottle you keep hidden in the cushions

                                            >It's funny to think about, this is only the second time you've withdrawn two Flatrock at once

                                            >You will not be thinking about the last time, and so it's bottoms up for your share

                                            >As it travels down your esophagus you hand the other one to Jenny, which she takes and swallows without liquid

                                            >"So, now we wait."

                                            >You snort

                                            "I can't believe you just said that. We're both practically pros"

                                            >"Yeah, we earned our horns and everything"

                                            >She rolls her eyes at you

                                            "It's impressive in a pathetic sort of way. We're the two most fucked-up people in the room."

                                            >You flip on the TV, tune in to one of those late-night channels that shows PG edits of good movies.

                                            >Right now, it's Robocop. You're distinctly a little ticked off, they keep panning away from all the gore and all the cussing is replaced in a badly cheesy way that doesn't match the intentional tone of the film.

                                            >"It's fucked-up in a fucked-up sort of way. Anyways, do you normally get mares?"

                                            "Yeah. I haven't settled on an exact formula for it, but most of the time I end up a mare or a rather mare-like stallion. You?"

                                            >"I barely remember the only time I didn't get a mare, I think I had a panic attack and then dropped acid"

                                            >She laughs, you chuckle a little hesitantly

                                            >"It's okay to laugh, it's funny. Stupid. Shouldn't have bothered me so much..."

                                            "It's understandable. You... it's starting."

                                            >"I'll probably be along in a minute. You took yours first"

                                            >You watch as your fingers start to congeal into what superficially appears to be a putty-esque mass.

                                            >This illusion is perpetrated by your bad habit of moving your fingers about while they merge

                                            >Doing so almost always guarantees that an ordeal of mild discomfort and mild pain that your familiarity with the process would usually mitigate takes place

                                            >You wince as your fingers feel as if they are being /crushed/ into each other, it's sort of like a horrible cramp

                                            >and as soon as it has begun, it's over. Your left hand is now a diminuitive hoof in tan, your coat not yet having grown in yet

                                            >You're a little bit awkward about watching a naked person go pony, but you do glance over at Jenny every 30 seconds or so to ensure that she's handling it well

                                            >She looks relaxed enough as a pair of wings sprout from the side of the blanket

                                            >You make out a sigh

                                            >Her eyes are closed, so you feel less weird about observing further

                                            >Beneath the blanket, you can see her gradually shrinking, turning into a little pegasus

                                            >Merlot red, hm. She sprouts the coat much earlier than you do.

                                            >Her mane comes in around the time yours does, your vision becoming obscured by a mess of greens and blacks and hers coming out almost white... grey?

                                            >It almost looks translucent, but it's illusory. You can't see her scalp.

                                            >Is it like a morpho wing? You remember reading something about them getting their color from microscopic structures that reflect light in a weird way.

                                            >"Oh my god. Your coat..."

                                            "Yeah. Jesus, it's ugly."

                                            >"Your body is nice at least."

                                            "The coat makes me think of ben 10"

                                            >She snorts

                                            >"It started when an alien device-"

                                            "Don't you fucking start"

                                            >You smile at her, you two teasing each other...

                                            >It reminds you of when you used to have friends

                                            >God, how long has it been? College before you dropped out?

                                            >High school?

                                            >Her voice is pleasant, all the strain and edge that generally come with the territory are gone.

                                            >Complete conversion

                                            >She walks across the couch cushions towards you with ease, dodging the random springs that are poking out from the ancient thing

                                            >There are a bunch of videos online of normies trying Flatrock and then making complete asses of themselves, tripping all over the pavement and having an awful time

                                            >The drug has gotten a weird reputation because of that, people don't realize it's not a party drug. Not really

                                            >It's meant for small social gatherings, among close friends...

                                            >And whatever this is, fucking... taking someone you barely know into your house and doing a controlled substance together

                                            >You know you've made the right choice when she touches you

                                            >It's a small thing, just a brush of her hoof against the side of your muzzle, but it kicks neurotransmitters you didn't even know you still had the capabilities to produce into immediate overdrive

                                            >The two of you speak in unison, it's almost creepy, but feels anything but

                                            >"Soo ssofft..."

                                            >She collapses on top of you and you wrap your forehooves around her

                                            >The two of you sigh as your coats make contact, all tension and anxiety immediately evaporating

                                            >She landed a little bit awkwardly and something hard is pressed into your left foreleg, but she adjusts a second later and that too is gone

                                            >"You're kinda pretty up close, your facial structure is nice"

                                            "Y-you too"

                                            >She dropped your bottle on the couch when she collapsed on you, she picks it up now and swings her head back, fluid audibly flowing into her muzzle

                                            >"Wanna sip?"

                                            "Sure, in a minute. Right now I'm just..."

                                            >"Yeah."

                                            >She rests her head next to yours and you wrap your forehooves around her to a happy sound that almost comes out like a purr

                                            >"This is nice."

                                            "Mmm..."