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>It's a dark and stormy night
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2.
>Well, dark and cloudy at the very least
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>Quite mild actually, for an evening on the East coast
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>Especially considering it had only been two weeks since the last snow fall
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>Didn't matter to you of course, cozied up in your little apartment
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>Sure it was just a single room, but it's not like you had anyone over
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>You know...ever
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>But at least you had the internet
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>It would never leave you at least
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>Actually tonight was more interesting than usual
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>Cruising around the gayest board on the web (second gayest if Reddit counted) a thread had piqued your interest
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12.
>Adjusting the patch covering your missing eye, you begin reading with the one you had left
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13.
>OP, the faggot, was offering two options to you
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>You could go to Equestria, but you'd be friend-zoned forever despite being perfectly accepted
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>Or you could bring your favourite to Earth, scared, lonely, completely dependent on you for everything, slowly falling in love over time...
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>You hit that keyboard harder than Ray Rice as you type out your reply before anyone else can
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>'Option 2'
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>You weren't dickless wonderfag, you had needs man
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>As you hit enter and reread the OP, the rest of its catches sink in
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>Irrational, terrified, confused, and if anyone ever saw her....
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>Even as you feel the weight of your haste pressing down on you, a sharp crack of lightening makes you jump out of your seat
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>Slowly, as rain begins to patter down outside, you regain your composure and sit back down
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>Refreshing the thread, you notice you're actually the third reply
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>And that it had exploded with posts
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>They keep piling up, and inside fifteen minutes it's hit 499 replies
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>Almost immediately after number 499, a final post was made
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27.
>It was that famous picture of the fedora tipper, but for some reason the words set a chill in your core
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>It simply read 'Good luck'
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>On the next refresh, the bright red text of a furious god of cleanliness appear at the bottom of the thread
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30.
>Another peal of thunder sounds, and suddenly the lights go out
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>For a moment, everything is still besides the fans winding down in your computer and the pounding of your heart
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32.
>A quork sounds from the other room, reminding you of your OTHER responsibility
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33.
>You sigh as your pulse slows down and comfort yourself knowing that at least your pet is okay
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34.
>Fumbling around in the dark, you manage to find your way over to the fridge and take out a bit of diced beef you had been saving for stew
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>Sighing, you take a few of the smaller bits and grab the flashlight from the top of the refrigerator while you're at it
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>You flip it on and nearly leap out of your skin as Huginn, your pet raven, flaps to an awkward landing on your shoulder
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>You stroke his head and slowly feed him the bits of meat from your hand
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>He'd been yours since you were a kid
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>Your mother had brought him in after finding him in the backyard with a broken wing
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>With the help of a veterinarian that lived across the street, you'd nursed him back to health
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>After that, even though you'd tried to release him, he'd always come back
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>Eventually, when you had moved out, he simply followed along when you'd driven to the new apartment
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>Sure there might have been a “no pets” policy, but what the landlord didn't know wouldn't get you evicted
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>Your thoughts turn back to the weird occurrence that had happened with that thread
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>So many replies in such a short time
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>And then that last one, the near instant deletion, and subsequent power outage
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>But it's not like any of it could be real, you think
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>After all, despite your highest wishes to the contrary, Equestria was just pure fiction
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>You sigh in a mixture of relief and depression, happy that at least you hadn't hurt anyone with your moment of selfishness
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>Suddenly, an almighty thud echoes from the balcony and Huginn flaps off your shoulder and jumps to his perch, cawing loudly in alarm
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>The scare nearly gives you a heart attack, and your pulse skyrockets again
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>Apprehensively, you make your way over to the glass doors to the outside and peer through the darkened glass with your eye
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>There's a lump on your patio
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>It's not small either, easily the size of a Saint Bernard, but still as the grave
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>You open the sliding door and step out, immediately being lashed with heavy rain
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>Resisting the urge to cry out for Jason, you place a hand on the lump with a great deal of caution
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>You feel the texture of wet fur, but feathers as well, and your breath catches in your throat
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>Abandoning your previous fear, you pick the ragged bundle up in your arms and rush it inside
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>With a hum, the power comes back at last, and guilt nearly overwhelms you as you look down at what you're carrying
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>In your arms, shivering and looking in a great deal of pain, is Gilda
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>The seconds tick by like hours as you stare down at the gryphon in your arms
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>Shock has drained your rational mind entirely and frozen you in place
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>Despite the reintroduced electricity, the room seems quieter than a mausoleum
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>So it's a surprise to you when your first thought is “That's not a pony”
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>The absurdity of such a flicker of thought finally snaps you back to the present and sets your mind racing
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>Fortunately instead of having an existential crisis about posts on the internet and how they impact other realities, your better nature takes over
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>You set Gilda down on the one couch you have and fetch a thick towel from the bathroom
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>When you come back, you give her a more thorough examination before you even think of drying her off
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>It's only then you notice her left wing
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>At first glance, it looks okay, but when you look closer...
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>Near the end the wing turns from a graceful arc into a sharp turn downwards, clearly broken
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>What's more, most of the primary feathers are either snapped or plucked clean out
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>You swallow and scratch the back of your head, then turn your back on Gilda and sprint to your computer
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75.
>Over the next half hour you pore over every reference image of Gilda's wings you can find
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>Another half hour sees you comparing them to various other birds, finding the closest match possible to her wing shape, down to the angle of feathers
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>And finally, gathering the materials for splinting a bird wing properly
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>But more of course, she wasn't exactly normal bird sized
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>At last, you're ready
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>You move as quietly as possible back to the gryphon sprawled over your couch
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>Before anything, you do a gentle, swift examination of her vitals
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>Her breathing is steady, if shallow and rattling oddly
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>There's no obvious blood, on the surface at least
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>But as you move to touch her wing and begin to splint it, a slight noise stops your hands dead
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>A strange squeaking emanates from Gilda's limp form
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>For all the world it sounds like the whimper of a puppy, but in the same staccato of a bird chirping
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>You stay frozen, hands hovering over her
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>The guilt of exactly what you've done stills you to your core
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>It's hard for you to even breathe
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>A moment of selfishness tore someone away from everything they knew and cared for, and thrust them into the unknown and why?
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>Because it was just a dumb thread
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>Almost unconsciously, you gently start patting the feathers of her wing dry in preparation
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>Your thoughts continue along the same path though
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>How were you supposed to know that this was going to happen?
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>You'd never believed any of those retarded theories about the multiverse or whatever
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>So it was totally impossible to blame you for this
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>But despite you being blameless, you still have to deal with the consequences
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>The universe was unfair like that
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>But hey, now you'd get to hang out with Gilda!
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>Right as soon as you patch her up of course
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>And with that thought, you yank yourself back to the present and prove that the internet isn't complete trash
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>Throughout the entire operation Gilda keeps making the whimpering noise
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>You suppose crossing space and time is more than mildly traumatic
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>It was bad enough to break her wing, who knows what it could have done to her mind
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>But you're no psychologist, so you focus on the things you can fix
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>Eventually you get the wing positioned as close to all the references as possible and set it with your materials
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107.
>Having done the best job you can, you go ahead and start drying off the rest of her
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>As you do so, Huginn hops along the back of the couch, croaking curiously at the strange creature occupying it
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>You scratch his back feathers as you work the towel along Gilda's back
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“She's going to be our guest for a little while Huginn. That means no pecking her, got it?”
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>For his part, the raven looks at you and cocks its head sideways, looking as though it's asking why
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>That or making a sarcastic comment about speaking to animals
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>As you're smiling to yourself about that last thought, you notice Gilda's eyes snap open
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>And then, near instantly, you're against the opposite wall and staring at a furious gryphon stalking towards you
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>Out of nowhere, Huginn swoops down and pecks at Gilda's face, croaking furiously
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>She screeches and leaps sideways, slamming her broken wing into the wall
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>Another screech of pain and she collapses to the ground, shivering
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>Slowly, carefully you approach her prone form
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>You hear that same whimpering sound as before, punctuated with quiet sobs
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>With a gentle grip, you pick her up and bring her back over to the couch
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>Huginn perches on your shoulder when you set her down, clacking his beak in a warning to the gryphon
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>You pet the top of the raven's head and reexamine the bandaged wing
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>It doesn't look like she shifted it at all, which is good
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>But the impact alone would have been excruciating
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>Gilda's breath is coming in gasps, and her eyes are wide open and fixed on you
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>You sit at the other end of the couch from where you laid her and force yourself to relax
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>Huginn hisses and snaps his beak at Gilda, until you take a peanut from a dish on your coffee table and feed it to him
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>For her part, Gilda continues to stare at you silently and barely even blinks
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>You do your best to ignore her and turn on the television
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>You flick to a news channel, just so you can have some background noise then return your gaze to Gilda
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>Her feathers puff out and you notice her wings twitch as you do
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>It'd be adorable if she hadn't just thrown you across the room
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>So you decide to extend a bit of an olive branch to her
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“Are you hungry?”
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>Her eyes narrow and she looks you up and down before nodding her head silently
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137.
>Huginn flaps his wings to balance on your shoulder as you stand and make your way to the fridge
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>You take out a few more pieces of the beef, and Huginn nips at your ear as you close your hands around them
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139.
>Before going back to Gilda, you walk over to a cage you kept around for the rare occasion that you actually needed to get the raven to fuck off
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>In this case you reluctantly decide it's needed, if only to keep Gilda as calm as you can
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>With that done, you walk back to the couch, sit at the opposite end, and lay the bits of meat out in front of the gryphon
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>She stares at you, slowly moving her head forward towards the beef
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>Then in a blink, her head snaps forward and she gulps down a chunk of the food before cringing further back into the cushions, unbroken wing flared out
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>It startles you and you jerk backwards, but don't make any movements towards her
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>Gilda repeats the motions the same way until there's not meat left and licks her beak
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>You scoot a bit closer, and she lashes her tail and shrinks back from you
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“Easy, I'm not going to hurt you.”
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>Her wings droop slightly at your gentle tone, but she remains cowering into the cushions
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>You stop about a foot away from her, trying to keep from crowding her
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>Despite everything, Gilda seems to be much calmer than earlier
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>Granted the only measures you have of her are passed out and murderous fury
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>But now you have scared wariness to add to the scale
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>And even if she wouldn't respond, you were going to keep talking to her
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>You know she can talk after all
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“Listen, I'm going to go look something up. Please don't destroy anything, or attack Huginn, while I'm doing it, alright?”
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>She keeps silent, but curls up in the corner of the couch and folds her wing partially over her face
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>It's folded down enough for her to keep watching you as you cross the room to your computer
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>Now that you think of it, that's a bit creepy
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>But as that thought crosses your mind, a bit of guilt starts creeping back with it
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>She DID deserve to be suspicious of you
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>After all, you were the one who brought her here
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>But she didn't know, or didn't need to know, that
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>Not yet at least
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>You pull up the history on your computer and manage to find the thread fairly quickly
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>You punch the post number into the archive and pull it up
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>Before you did anything, you needed to know everything about the conditions you were subjecting yourself, and Gilda, to
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>At least then you'd have a reason to feel guilty
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2346 12.72 KB 167
by Clarissa
by Clarissa
by Clarissa
by Clarissa
by Clarissa