Blocky the Slavepone 6, by BlockyAnon


                                            [Copied from https://pastebin.com/rL3QGyCj]


                                            >The door to your house swung open, a mild creak accompanying the welcome sight of your home's interior.

                                            >You breathed a sigh of relief, work having taken a lot out of you today.

                                            >At least the weekend was starting!

                                            >The thought of kicking back, eating junk food, and rubbing some Blocky belly had you crack a smile as you took your shoes off and walked to your usual chair.

                                            >You turned around and let yourself fall, flooded with relief.

                                            >Now for the icing on the cake.

                                            >You peered to the hallway, awaiting the sight of the yellow pony that greeted you daily.

                                            >...

                                            >...

                                            >...

                                            >... she didn't usually take this long.

                                            >Even the little clinking of her chain was missing...

                                            >Did she not hear the door this time?

                                            >Was she outside?

                                            >Despite your legs' protests, you got up from the chair to look for the pony.

                                            >Backyard?

                                            >Empty.

                                            >Laundry room?

                                            >Nah, you'd have heard her humming before you saw her.

                                            >Kitchen?

                                            >You couldn't smell anything cooking, so that was a negative.

                                            >The bathroom was next on the list. Surely if nowhere else, she'd be cleaning-

                                            >*hic!*

                                            >... the hell?

                                            >That sounded like it came from...

                                            >Your bedroom?

                                            >*sniff!*

                                            >Quietly, you push the bedroom door open to peek inside.

                                            >A quick scan of the room showed nothing out of the ordinary, save for a small, yellow figure curled up on the ground.

                                            >The sound of sobs escaped the form, her back trembling with each one.

                                            "Blocky?" you quietly called out.

                                            >The mare's ears perked up at your voice.

                                            >She turned her head towards you, and her red, puffy eyes made it clear she'd been crying for quite a while.

                                            >"Oh, I-I'm sorry, Master! I'll-" she scrambled to her hooves, wiping her eyes, "I'll get back to work!"

                                            "No, no, Blocky," you said, using a gentle tone to try soothing her, "It's okay. What's wrong? Why are you crying?"

                                            >She bashfully brought her hoof to the other, averting your gaze.

                                            >Blocky glanced behind herself, and when you followed her eyes for that brief moment, you saw what she was looking at.

                                            >It was a picture of you with your parents during Christmas a couple years ago.

                                            >"I..."

                                            >Her lips trembled before she sobbed again, tears forming anew in her eyes.

                                            >"Master," she choked out between sobs, "I don't have any parents!"

                                            >She sniffled and wiped her eyes, albeit the effort was in vain as more tears ran down her face.

                                            "You don't have any parents? Are you an orphan?"

                                            >"I don't know! I d-don't remember who my family was! The orphans I worked with and my boss were the closest I had!"

                                            >She brought a hoof to her eyes, wiping them again, but more had already begun to form.

                                            >"W-when I came in to clean your bedroom, I noticed the picture with your parents was dusty! And the more I cleaned it and looked at it, the more I just... I-!"

                                            >Blocky crumpled down to the floor, muffling her cries by burying her face in her hooves.

                                            >Thinking back to it, the papers that came with Blocky never listed any family on them.

                                            >You'd thought maybe they'd just never gotten that info out of her.

                                            >And she never mentioned anything about her family or her past life, either.

                                            >Truth be told, you weren't really sure how to handle this... but you knew firstly that she needed some comfort.

                                            "Blocky."

                                            >Hearing her name, the pony's face poked out from under her hooves, her cheeks still moist with tears.

                                            "Come here."

                                            >There was a brief pause as she registered the command, then got up on her hooves, doing as she was told.

                                            >When her sad face got close to yours, you wrapped your arms around her in an embrace she didn't expect, at least judging by the small gasp she let out as you did.

                                            >Blocky didn't hesitate to return the favor.

                                            >Her hooves found themselves locked around your back, her face buried in your shoulder.

                                            >You let her emotions and tears run down your shoulder, rubbing her back as you did.

                                            >"Master, why don't I have any parents!?"

                                            "You do, Blocky. They're out there somewhere."

                                            >"But why don't I remember them!? Everypony remembers their parents!"

                                            "Well..."

                                            >It was tough to come up with an answer, but you had to say something to at least try and make her feel better.

                                            "Some people don't, Blocky. Like the orphans you said you worked with, right?'

                                            >"... uh-huh..."

                                            >She didn't seem entirely convinced, but it was a good point.

                                            >Still stroking her back as her sobs quieted, you let Blocky hold onto you for as long as she needed.

                                            >Soon enough, the two of you merely sat together in a silent embrace, the tears no longer flowing from her eyes.

                                            >Blocky took a deep, steadying breath.

                                            >She turned her head towards your ear, asking in a hesitant voice, "Master... can you help me find them?"

                                            >That... was one tall order.

                                            >But could you say no to her?

                                            >She may have been your slave, but this was something that you felt you had to do for her.

                                            >Not as her master, but as a...

                                            >Friend?

                                            "I'll try, Blocky."

                                            >Avoiding the absolute "yes" or "no", huh?

                                            >Blocky's hooves tightened around you, her face digging into your shoulder.

                                            >"Thank you" she said, voice muffled.

                                            >Slowly but surely, her grip around you loosened until she found herself back on her hooves.

                                            >"I-I wasn't able to get all the chores done, so I'll make us some dinner to-"

                                            "Nah, it's fine. We can order a pizza."

                                            >"O-oh... with peppers and mushrooms?"

                                            "Your favorites."

                                            >For the first time since you got home, Blocky smiled.

                                            >"I'd love that, Master."


                                            >Once more you'd found yourself at the water cooler with your two colleagues, Bill and Justin.

                                            >Before Bill could open his mouth and suggest another wacky outing, you decided to start the conversation.

                                            "So... either of you guys know when the slave market will be back in town?"

                                            >Bill snapped his fingers before pointing at you.

                                            >"I knew you'd start loving the slave biz, Anon!"

                                            >"Who knows," Justin joined, "maybe he'll own as many as I do. Going on four now."

                                            >Must be one busy house.

                                            "Not really. I just need to talk to the guy who sold me Blocky is all."

                                            >"Oh, is that all? I'm a pretty frequent customer of that guy," Bill proclaimed with a proud smile.

                                            "But I've never actually heard you talk about owning any slaves."

                                            >Your co-worker's eyes got a little shifty at that. Justin stifled a chuckle.

                                            >"Uhhhh-hey Anon, you wanted to talk to him, right?"

                                            >Sounds like he may really have been into some weird stuff, given that merchant also sold accessories.

                                            "Yeah. How do I get in contact with him?"

                                            >Bill grabbed a pen and some paper lying nearby and jotted down something.

                                            >"Here you are" he proclaimed, handing you the sheet after he finished scribbling.

                                            >Roger Fowler. You weren't sure how you didn't catch his name before, but that and his phone number were exactly what you needed.

                                            >Funny that Bill had his contact information.

                                            >Must be one loyal customer...

                                            "Thanks, Bill."


                                            >It'd been a couple hours since you'd gotten home and having just finished dinner, you figured now would be the best time to give this Roger a ring.

                                            >Blocky had been filled in during the meal and was waiting for this moment with bated breath.

                                            >You'd found yourself venturing out into the living room as you pulled out your phone, but Blocky's eyes were still occasionally peering back at you as she washed the dishes.

                                            >Dialing the number you'd been given, all that was left to do was wait for Roger to pick up.

                                            >Frankly, it was a bit tense.

                                            >Beeeeep...

                                            >Beeeeep...

                                            >Beeeeep...

                                            >Beeeeep...

                                            >"Hello?"

                                            "Uh... hi, is this Roger?"

                                            >"Yes, sir. And who might this be?"

                                            >You cleared your throat, cursing yourself for not really rehearsing what you'd say to him.

                                            "I'm uh-I was a customer of yours some months back. I got your number from another one of your buyers, uh, Bill."

                                            >Roger laughed.

                                            >"Ah, Bill! Good to know he's been spreading my name and getting me business! I take it he referred you to me the first time?"

                                            "Well, actually, I don't think so, but he did tell me to go to that slave market that day."

                                            >"I see." There was a slight pause before he continued. "So, what'd you need from me? Pony disobeying you? Need a bit of advice to get 'em to shape up?"

                                            "Not exactly, no. I had a couple questions about the slave in particular that you sold me."

                                            >"I go through plenty of slaves on the daily. What's the pony's name? It'd help me remember a little better just who I sold to you."

                                            "Blocky Bits."

                                            >"Ah, yes! That wonderfully unique coat of hers!"

                                            >As you paced back and forth, the sound of shuffling papers and a shelf opening came from the phone.

                                            >The sound of the dishes being cleaned had almost stopped, and you could feel Blocky's eyes boring into you expectantly.

                                            >"Blocky... Blocky... here we are! Okay sport, I've got all the info we need on her in these files. What were your questions?"

                                            "Okay, so I'm not sure you guys were able to figure this out, but do you know who her parents are?"

                                            >Roger sucked in air through his teeth.

                                            >"Oooo... I hate to break it to you, but that was actually one of the few things we couldn't find out about her."

                                            >Your heart sunk as the sounds of a folder and papers flipping could be heard.

                                            >There had to be something, right?

                                            >There was no way you'd be able to break this to Blocky.

                                            >Not while she looked so hopeful.

                                            >"In fact, yes, right here. We'd tried tracing some kind of family line, but we never got any results. Your pony there is a bonafide mystery."

                                            >Shit.

                                            "Is there anything we can do?"

                                            >"This happen to be important? Because there's a few more tests that could be run, but... it's gonna cost you."

                                            >A mere glance over at Blocky showed she had long stopped washing the dishes, her face still and her eyes bright and full of anticipation.

                                            >There was no way you could refuse.

                                            "Yeah, yeah this is important."

                                            >"Alright then. The process is a bit lengthy, and I've gotta bolt here real soon, so I'll call you back tomorrow with the details. For now, you're just gonna need to get a bit of a DNA sample and keep it in something you can send. A little spit on a q-tip would do. Sound good?"

                                            "Yep, that'll work just fine for me."

                                            >"Good, good! I'll talk to you tomorrow, then, Mister-uh, I never got a name."

                                            "Anon."

                                            >"Anon! I'll ring you again soon Mister Anon!"

                                            "And I look forward to speaking to you again, Roger."

                                            >"Take care now!"

                                            >*beep!*

                                            >You lowered the phone from your ear, your mind in a whirl.

                                            >On one hand, you didn't get a definitive answer... but on the other, there was still a chance that you could.

                                            >Looking back at Blocky, she met your gaze before quickly composing herself and getting back to the dishes.

                                            >You hoped she would take this well.

                                            >Taking a deep breath, you entered the kitchen.

                                            "Okay Blocky, so I've got bad news and good news."

                                            >Once more, she turned back to you.

                                            >"Uh-huh!?"

                                            "Bad news: The guy didn't have an answer for me, and they couldn't trace any family lines back to you."

                                            >"O-oh..."

                                            "Good news: There's still a chance that we can find out who your family is. I guess they can run some additional tests to be sure."

                                            >"Really!?"

                                            "Yep. I'm just gonna need to swab a q-tip inside your cheek."

                                            >"Okay!"

                                            >One cotton swabbing later, a little sample of Blocky sat snugly inside a plastic baggie.

                                            >After the dishes were finished, Blocky had spent the rest of the evening bouncing around the house, excited at the prospect of finding out just who her family was.

                                            >To some degree, you were too.

                                            >Though whether that was because her excitement was infectious or because you wanted to know too was beyond you.

                                            >You just really hoped these tests would find something.


                                            >"So we'll be magically and technologically analyzing that spit of hers, doing some real hardcore DNA tests and the like, and we'll be going through a database to see if there're any matches."

                                            >You furrowed your brow, the quiet work of the office around you proving ineffective at disrupting your thoughts.

                                            "Wouldn't you have done that already?"

                                            >"Well Mister Anon, I pay for what's affordable. These kinds of tests are a bit beyond my budget."

                                            "Right... so how much is this gonna cost me?"

                                            >You heard Roger hum, along with what sounded like the flipping of some papers.

                                            >"Baseline, we're looking at maybe $2,000."

                                            >J-Jesus.

                                            "Uh... any chance you take credit?"

                                            >A chuckle over the phone was the first response you got.

                                            >"I can offer you a deal, sport. I'll cover the initial cost, and you can pay me back at a rate of your choosing. Just not too little or hardly often, mind you."

                                            >Taking your salary into mind, you grabbed a piece of paper and pen and wrote up a little math.

                                            "Is $200 monthly good enough for you?"

                                            >"How's about $300?"

                                            >Fuuuuuuck.

                                            >Do it for Blocky, Anon.

                                            "I guess that'll work," you said, a sigh escaping your lips.

                                            >"Good, good! You know where to send it. I'll take cash or a check. Got any other questions for me?"

                                            "Yeah, I do."

                                            >"Shoot."

                                            "How long is this gonna take to get done?"

                                            >"Hmm... I'd wager probably a month or so at least."

                                            >That would mean it was gonna be one long month for Blocky.

                                            "Alright, uh, thanks."

                                            >"And thank you for your continued interest, Mister Anon! Pleasure doing business with you!"

                                            "You too, Roger."

                                            >*beep!*

                                            >You really hoped this would get you some results.

                                            >For Blocky's sake.

                                            >... and also your wallet's.