Anon and the battered stallion


                                            Transferred from https://pastebin.com/h8aEPbQX

                                            Originally published JAN 7TH, 2016


                                            >You are Anon the fix-it colt, and you're on your very deserved lunch break.

                                            >And since you're not made of money, you're doing it at the Ponyville's (only) Cafeteria

                                            >Funny thing, despite being called a cafeteria, it still had service.

                                            >As the owner and chef, Grill, explained to you, she had to somehow differentiate from the swankier Ponyville Cafe.

                                            >"Laddie, when the honest working folk want to eat, they look no further than the nearest cafeteria. See, I call it a diner or cafe - they won't come!"

                                            >Her tone and gestures reminded you of someone talking sweetly to a small child.

                                            >The first time she talked to you like that, you chalked this up to mares being mares.

                                            >But she actually talked like that to everypony, like a kind grandam would talk to her grandfoals.

                                            >Except she was middle-aged.

                                            >Perhaps, like Prince Charles being born forever middle-aged, Grill was born already a granny?

                                            >"'Sides, working mares come here to eat not to fuss and run my staff ragged, so I don't need many."

                                            >And come here to eat they did. During the day, several waves of hungry, smelly chomping horse filled the cafeteria.

                                            >Blue collar, cyan collar, any collar.

                                            >You came on break with the construction workers and the movers.

                                            >And so did your best gay pony [spoiler]friendo[/spoiler] - Caramel, mover and cargo-colt for the Sweet Apple Acres.

                                            >You're sitting at your favorite table, you two would be shooting the shit right now, but all the shit has been shot weeks ago.

                                            >So, you wait for your order.


                                            ---


                                            >And here comes your food, brought by none other than Grill herself.

                                            >She drops your extra-large serving of egg pie and Caramel's beet and lettuce salad

                                            >"I would send ya one of my girls, but I couldn't not serve my favorite lovebirds. Eat up, laddies! Gotta go mind the ovens."

                                            >The look on Caramel's face was of a swimmer that touched a weed underwater. Pure cringe.

                                            "What, you secretly want to jump my bones and the fact that you can't is bugging you?"

                                            >"No! I'd never... don't take it like that, I mean no."

                                            "Seriously, Mel, what the fuck was that? Hell, even I know mares would play matchmaker to rocks if they could fuck. Can't fight it"

                                            >"Except since we're such 'good friends' some actually mean it. And some of us -ahem- are looking for a herd."

                                            "I don't understand how that would hurt your chances. I've even got an idea! See: you tell them that they can get two for the price of one, and then I get myself kicked out and BAM - you're in with a herd all to yourself. The perfect crime!"

                                            >"Hahah... Like any sane mare would want two stallions in a herd. They complain and moan that one is hard to support, and we're two. Especially since you're so high-maintenance"

                                            "Me? High maintenance? Are you joking? I'm actually saving up nice bits right now, you know."

                                            >"Yes. And it doesn't matter, the herd will expect you to cut your hours and be at home more. And what then?"

                                            >He points an accusatory hoof at you:


                                            ---


                                            >"Your clothes. You burn through them like a whole worker brigade! You always laugh at my wardrobe, but I know for sure who's spending more bits at clothing shop!"

                                            "I can't wear the same burlap your workers do, and you don't have the cloth we use to make work duds. Not like you furry bastards would need it"

                                            >"So what? And your diet. You don't eat hay, don't eat alfalfa, don't eat the leafy greens.. Milk, eggs, beans, you eat like Bulk Bicep and have no muscle to show for it! And then you buy your groceries from the apothecary. That's not cheap!"


                                            >It turns out, ponies, like their Terran counterparts, consider most of the staple foods of man a poison, and the rest they just didn't consume in such amounts.

                                            >Since you had no potatoes and onions for the poor man's balanced diet, you had to improvise a bit.

                                            >Thankfully, some plants - garlic, for instance - have uses in pony medicine.

                                            >Not in the quantities you used though, and always under supervision.

                                            >This almost ended bad when a client - Shoeshine, she called you for an emergency - recognized your garlic breath and dragged you to the hospital by force.

                                            >While her basement was still getting flooded.

                                            >You almost got your stomach pumped, but weaseled out of it somehow.

                                            >Turns out the mare had a sister commit suicide by overdosing on garlic.

                                            >She ate a whole bulb, and several days later she died as her blood broke down.

                                            >Coincidentally, you put a whole bulb of garlic into your bean stew.

                                            >You didn't tell her that.


                                            "Alright, alright, you win. I'm high-maintenance. But I consider myself absolutely worth it."

                                            >"Oh Anon, for somepony who despises the whinier stallions so much, you sure do sound like them at times"

                                            "We differ in one key area: I actually am worth it."

                                            >"Anon, why did you stop here to eat if you're so full of yourself?"

                                            "Laugh it up, Mel. Come on, let's move out."


                                            ---


                                            >After lunch, you and caramel usually parted ways at the central square.

                                            >He went on to his Howdy overlady, and you collected your tools and went to your next appointment.

                                            >Usually, it was an eventless walk.


                                            >>>"...bring my friend in to drag your sorry flank along, and what do you do, you ungrateful ass?"

                                            >>>"......I'm sorry, I just couldn't..."

                                            >>>"We could actually live good if there were three of us but nooo. What's wrong, did her flank wiggle the wrong way? Couldn't just suck it up and drill her?"


                                            >Someone has grabbed you by the pants and pulled you backwards.

                                            >"Anon, no. I know what you're thinking. Don't interfere. Not in a herd matter. You get into enough trouble as is."

                                            "I won't interfere."

                                            >"Ok, so let's just move on--"

                                            "But I need to listen."

                                            >You lean your on to a wall of some shop. Caramel, disheartened, follows you and sits near.

                                            >"Oh I don't care anymore. Just don't do anything stupid..."

                                            "We're not doing anything. Just two bros chillin'"


                                            >>>"So? What was wrong? Was it her teats? Or maybe she sucked your dick wrong, you shit?"

                                            >>>"... I just don't... don't feel it.."

                                            >>>"Oh, what else don't you feel, you lazy bastard? Don't feel like helping a mare out? Why do I have to keep the home AND bring in the food?"

                                            >>>"...there is..."

                                            >>>"Because there is no work for your 'speshul talent?' around these parts? THEN TAKE WORK THAT ISN'T FOR YOUR TALENT!"

                                            *THUMP*

                                            >>>"Oh, I forgot, you're so useless that you can't even be trusted to PULL CARTS. I'm not going to sell my house and move because you want to dig holes in the ground!"


                                            >The mare storms away. She throws a glance in your direction, realizing that she had an audience. You don't meet her gaze. She walks on.

                                            >You don't make a move.


                                            >Around the corner, you hear a quiet, choked sobbing.


                                            ---


                                            >As you round the corner, you see the stallion lying on the ground in a heap, like a puppet with its strings cut.

                                            >You quickly get to his side.


                                            "Hey. Hey, man. You OK? Did she hurt you?"

                                            >He lifts his head at you. On the side of his face is a visible hoofmark.

                                            >"...it's nothing I don't deserve. I had worse. You know, they say.. if she beats you - means she loves you?"

                                            >You look back at Caramel. He gives you a shrug. Bet he thinks "that's how things are supposed to be"

                                            "I heard what she said. Is anything of that true?"

                                            >"...everything."

                                            "Why are you with her?"

                                            >...

                                            "Why didn't you move to another town?"

                                            >"Anon, don't press it--"

                                            >"What do you want? What? Did you come here to mock me? Because I don't need your help to know what a mess I am..."

                                            "I didn't. I want to help you, and problems don't get solved by feeling sorry for yourself."

                                            >He studies you and Caramel. Perhaps he doesn't believe?

                                            >...

                                            >"...I have nothing. And my sister won't let me move alone. Why I got into a herd, too, to get away from her."

                                            >He sinks to the ground

                                            >"..Roma took me in, and I failed her. I can't hold a job, I can't cook. All I am good for is cleaning. I can't even r-rut her friends...."

                                            "What is your talent?"

                                            >"..I can dig wells? I know where to make them... Nobody needs one here. They've got weather service."

                                            "What, you feel groundwater or something?"

                                            >"..I guess?"


                                            >A living excavator and groundwater flow sensor. Maybe you could actually move from repairs onto construction?


                                            ---


                                            "I think I can get some use out of it"

                                            >His eyes glimmer with hope

                                            >"You have a job for me?"

                                            "I need groundwater flows when doing work on basements. Digging helps too. You know I work repairs around here? I can take you as an apprentice, teach you some more."

                                            "Hell, I'll even teach you how to cook. Can't help you with rutting though."


                                            >He stares at you in disbelief


                                            "Come on. You're a stallion, not a bitch. That ought to sound proud!"

                                            >"Don't sell me that s-stallionist nonsense! I'm not a c-cripple!"

                                            >WOW he blew up. Now that was a strange reaction.

                                            "Good. I'm not going to make you empowered. I'm going to make you powerful. You're not. You want to be?"

                                            >For several seconds, he looks off into the distance. Then comes a strained, quiet:

                                            >"yes, sir..."

                                            "I live on Stirrup street, house 7. Come tomorrow - I will figure out our schedule. Then we will figure out how to make you less of a failure. Got that?"

                                            >"Yes, thank you s-sir."

                                            "Last thing. Your name. I'm Anon, you are...?"


                                            [spoiler]>"A-auger, sir.[/spoiler]