Sweetie Belle's Lesson


                                            Context:

                                            https://ponerpics.com/images/91117


                                            EDIT:

                                            I have no idea how this happened, but apparently the link above links to a different image than it did before.  Apologies to anyone who linked to that image and was...extremely confused.  This is the image that was supposed to be linked:

                                            https://ponerpics.org/images/1766779


                                            However, I'm going to leave the original link intact because it's funny.


                                            "Anooooon, do I have to go?"

                                            >You look back at Sweetie Belle in irritation

                                            >She's walking several paces behind you, dragging her hooves

                                            "Yes, you do," you tell her for the umpteenth time

                                            >she kicks at a pebble and stares sulkily at the ground

                                            "Why, though?" she mutters, half to herself

                                            "I don't know, your sister says you need culture and refinement and stuff," you tell her

                                            >she kicks at the ground again and doesn't answer

                                            >to be honest, you do feel a little bad about making her do this

                                            >a three hour harpsichord lesson every Thursday, that's pretty brutal

                                            >you probably wouldn't have wanted to do it either, when you were a kid

                                            >and to be fair, you did kind of sign her up without telling her sister

                                            >but you couldn't help it, the foal has been driving you up the wall

                                            >and Rarity, that bitch

                                            >just dumping her little sister on you for the entire summer, while she goes off to Manehattan to do some kind of fashion shit

                                            >didn't even ask, just assumed you'd be cool with it

                                            >you used to make fun of Spike for being such a beta cuck, but damned if it's not impossible to say no to that mare when she gives you those bedroom eyes

                                            >you look over your shoulder

                                            >Sweetie Belle's fallen even further behind

                                            >you whistle at her, she reluctantly picks up the pace

                                            >will Rarity be mad when she finds out about this?

                                            >there's really no reason she should be

                                            >I mean, come on

                                            >harpsichord lessons with Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart?

                                            >that's like the opportunity of a lifetime, right?

                                            >and to be fair, she does always say that her sister needs refinement or whatever

                                            >naw, she won't be mad

                                            >Rarity loves that kind of fancy shit

                                            >when she gets home and finds out her little sister can play Concerto #12 or whatever the fuck at all her dinner parties now, she'll go ape shit for it

                                            >you'll probably be washing dried mare cum out of your pubes for a month

                                            >and anyway, if you don't get that filly out of the house for a couple hours a week there's a good chance you might actually kill her before the summer ends

                                            >she had her damn friends over the other day, they were running around your apartment doing their wacky crusader shit

                                            >a herd of elephants would have done less damage

                                            >ever seen what tiny horse hooves do to hardwood?

                                            >there's a security deposit you won't be getting back

                                            "Come on, damn it!" you shout

                                            >you immediately feel bad about raising your voice, but her dawdling is getting on your nerves

                                            "It's just a harpsichord lesson," you tell her, a little more gently. "Just do it and get it over with. How bad could it be?"

                                            >Sweetie Belle stares at the ground again

                                            >she's got that weird nervous look on her face she always gets whenever you bring up harpsichords or Mozart

                                            >something about it feels weird, but you push that feeling aside

                                            >you're already thinking about three whole hours of time to yourself

                                            >no tiny hooves scuffing up your floor, no noise, just hot pockets and vidya games

                                            >anyway, fuck it; you're already here

                                            >you stop outside the door

                                            >"Wolfgang A. Mozart" is printed on the glass in those fancy old-timey letters

                                            >you still can't believe you actually found this guy

                                            >you were under the impression that he had died in 1791 but nope, he's still around it looks like

                                            >famous long-dead Austrian composers and pastel cartoon horses walking around all over the place, what a fun century this is

                                            >anyway, whatever, you open the door

                                            "Ah, Sweetie Belle!" cries Mozart.  "Aren't we looking just scrumptious today!  Come on inside, have a seat at the harpsichord."

                                            >Sweetie Belle gives you one last pleading look, but you've already got hot pockets on the brain

                                            >reluctantly, she trots over to the harpsichord and jumps up

                                            "Mmm, that's it my little filly, have a seat right up here on Wolfy's lap..."

                                            >that Mozart really is kind of a weird guy

                                            >whatever though

                                            >you turn to leave

                                            >on your way out, you pause

                                            >some nagging, dim little alarm bell is still going off somewhere in the back of your mind

                                            >you turn around

                                            >Sweetie Belle is sitting with Mozart at the harpsichord

                                            >she's staring off at nothing, looking dejected and terrified

                                            >Mozart turns and gives you the creepiest look you've ever seen

                                            "Close the door," he says.


                                            (In a weird and creepy bit of serendipity, when I originally posted this green the text box had exactly 1791 characters remaining.  Mozart died in 1791.)