Petstore (Unrelated to Self-titled)


                                            >The bright lights shine through the translucent barrier through which you can see the faces of many a child and white woman perusing the selection of dogs.

                                            >You're sorry to say that based off of the way that one of the employees talks to all of the male dogs, the rumors are true.

                                            >You can't ask them for their verdict of course because you're...

                                            >The outlier in the display.

                                            >As a man walks by you put on an innocent face and begin to lick the top of one of your forehooves.

                                            >He pays you no mind, much like the others.

                                            >You've been here for a few months now if the discrete scratches on the wall are anything to go by, but you try not to let that keep you down too much.

                                            >You're fed two times a day, provided a room to play with the other pets (though you obviously stay clear from the ones yet to be neutered based off of that infamous story).

                                            >You're bored as hell though, and you're starting to wish that there was some way you could get onto the store computers after hours.

                                            >You used to be pretty decent with lockpicking, but you couldn't bring your hooks, rakes or tensions with you.

                                            >So you continue your alternating habits of trying to catch eyes with your big baby blues and licking your hooves.

                                            >You nap every few hours too, you haven't quite yet figured out if it's something to do with your new body and mind or if it's got something to do with the food they give you.

                                            >You suppose you'll find out when you get adopted, provided your owner doesn't use the same brand.

                                            >If you get adopted...

                                            >Really there shouldn't be much of anything to worry about, there are horsefuckers all over the US if those old /mlp/ meetup threads are anything to go off of.

                                            >Heh, you kinda wish you had gone to one of those before you lost your voice...

                                            >It wasn't exactly anything special, but you feel a pang in your heart every time you think about how you'll never be able to sing stupid shit in the shower again.

                                            >Your vocalizations are pretty limited now, you can pretty much only make horse noises.

                                            >Something that you try not to think about at all is that you no longer have any sort of name.

                                            >The rest of your life is there, every last detail that your memory serves, but the name comes up blank every time.

                                            >Even the cheap collar on your neck doesn't have any sort of placeholder name on it, and all of the handlers just refer to you as "pony" or "mare" or "horse".

                                            >All of the other animals at least got placeholder names, you can hear them calling out for "Orion" and "Stella" and "Davis".

                                            >You slam a hoof into the thin sheet of material blocking you from the freedom you so desperately wanted to escape from, but of course it's plexiglass.

                                            >You see a man staring at you from the other side.

                                            >He looks surprised.

                                            >You open your mouth to apologize to him, but of course nothing comes out and you watch in vain as he hurries away.

                                            >Great, now at best you've lost a potential owner and at worst you're going to be taken off of the display circuit with old Jenkins for a few weeks.

                                            >You love the guy, but you've heard the manager talk about him like he's been there a long, long time.

                                            >You put your face in your hooves and just lay there on the fuzzy-looking but actually kinda itchy floor of your container.

                                            >You're a bad pony.

                                            >You're never going to get out of here.

                                            >Like a life sentence prisoner the only real way out is in a-

                                            >You hear a key being worked and feel the whoosh of fresh air conditioning.

                                            >You look back in confusion at the woman who opened up your box.

                                            >Her nametag reads Sheila, but you haven't seen her before and the nametag isn't a permanent one.

                                            >The name is written on it with a marker.

                                            >"How do I-"

                                            >"She's a pony, but really she's not much different from a dog in how you handle her. She should get to her feet in a second."

                                            >You don't have feet, fucking whore.

                                            >Oh right, that is your cue to do something.

                                            >Your nerves are still shot, but if you cooperate maybe they'll let you have your box back in less time.

                                            >You shakily get to your hooves.

                                            >"Put one hand under her neck, and the other under her rump."

                                            >"L-like this?"

                                            >You honestly do enjoy being picked up, it's the closest you really get to being hugged.

                                            >"Move your right hand a bit further back, you might choke her a bit if you try to pick her up like that."

                                            >"This alright?"

                                            >"Yes, that should do nicely."

                                            >You feel the pressure lifted from your hooves as you begin to fly.

                                            >Well, it's hardly flight but it's the most fucking exciting thing that's happened in weeks.

                                            >They usually don't pick you up, the last time this happened was when you got a thermometer shoved up your ass.

                                            >It wasn't a... terrible feeling.

                                            >Woah woah woah.

                                            >They're taking you out of the back?

                                            >You haven't been out on the floor in god knows how long.

                                            >You take a moment to admire all of the birds and lizards as you're carried by them over to...

                                            >You don't actually know this part of the store.

                                            >There's a folding table and a folding chair next to a sort of counter.

                                            >You're put on the counter, and instinctively you sit.

                                            >"Eager one, isn't she?"

                                            >You look to where the new voice came from and you can see it's the same man from earlier.

                                            >"Are you sure about her? There aren't many veterinarians in the area licensed to handle ponies and she's still waiting on a few shots."

                                            >The woman uses the same sickly sweet tone that a tard wrangler might use when talking to a particularly brainfucked downy on every animal she talks to, and it appears that her shitty judgement isn't limited to dogs, cats and ponies.

                                            >The man frowns at her words, but looks back over at you and smiles.

                                            >"I want her. Even right now I'm afraid some asshole with a more bloated bank account and an empty check will swoop in and take her from me."

                                            >You can feel the woman almost sigh with her next words, seeing that she's going through effort she'd rather not.

                                            >"I'll go print out the paperwork.

                                            >You stay a bit far from the man as he fills out the paperwork, not at a distance that would make him think you're afraid of him, but as stupid as it sounds you're afraid if you get too close to him before he dots every 'i' and crosses ever 't' on the forms he'll walk out without another word.

                                            >What is probably only half an hour or so seems to drag on into four or so of the damn things as you wait for him to finish.

                                            >But you don't fidget.

                                            >You don't tap your hoof.

                                            >You just sit.

                                            >Finally everything is filled out, and the only thing left to make it official is a leash hooked around the metal ring on your collar.

                                            >Naturally they charge extra for the things, so after his debit card is removed from his wallet one more time you feel the ever so sweet feeling of the spring-loaded metal mechanism being clicked shut in your ears.

                                            >Sheila sets you down on the ground, and you give one last look back at the place that's been your home up until now.

                                            >But as they say in Grorious Nippon...

                                            >Sayonara.

                                            >Your owner's hand is shaking a bit as he walks you back to his car.

                                            >After clearing out a bunch of assorted papers and objects from the (otherwise clean) passenger seat he straps you in and goes around to the driver side.

                                            >"If you'll excuse me I think I'll hold off on rolling down the window until I know you aren't the daredevil type, haha."

                                            >You look back at him and give him a shy smile.

                                            >"Come on, where's that fire from a bit back? Oh well, that's not why I got you anyways."

                                            >You tilt your head quizzically.

                                            >"Well, isn't it obvious?"

                                            >You shake your head somewhat sadly.

                                            >"You've been in there for a good while, huh?"

                                            >You nod.

                                            >"Well, a bit of history for you. A few of you guys have been showing up in pet stores across the country, seemingly overnight. Mostly stallions which I'm... not interested in. The only other mare was five fucking states over. I called the pet store, they said she was already reserved. I come here on some sort of... well, they call it a cope where I'm from; and wham! You slam your fucking hoof into the glass like a sign from the lord himself."

                                            >You're a bit shocked yourself, honestly.

                                            >If ponies are in high demand, why weren't you listed online or sold for more than what you were?

                                            >"But none of that is really important, what's most important is that you're here now, and that I'm going to take good care of you, er..."

                                            >He gently reaches for your collar and plays with it a bit, looking for a name tag of some sort.

                                            >"Well, I'll be damned. They didn't even give you a placeholder name?"

                                            >You shake your head again.

                                            >"Fuck, now I'll have to think of something. Bright blue eyes, a pink coat, and white mane..."

                                            >He starts the engine and you fixate on the landscape around the store.

                                            >It's beautiful and mountainous, far prettier than where you lived before.

                                            >"No wings..."

                                            >"No horn..."

                                            >He indicates a left turn and you're out onto a busy road.

                                            >After about ten minutes of driving out of however many it'll take to get you home, he gives his answer as little more than a whisper.

                                            >"Cherry Bomb."

                                            >Your heart is singing and you want to thank him so badly, but the most you can do is reach over and put a hoof on his leg.

                                            >Finally, you have a name.

                                            >Real pets have those, and you're one of those now.

                                            >The whole scenario still feels like a dream, but you've tried all of your old lucid dreaming techniques from before you were a pony and none of them have worked yet.

                                            >So, this is real.

                                            >"It's going to be a little while before we get there, you can take a nap if you want to."

                                            >You pull back the seat belt a bit with a hoof.

                                            >"You want me to release it?"

                                            >You nod, making sure to wait for a red light.

                                            >"If there's an accident I really don't want you to get hurt, that stays on girl. Sorry."

                                            >Oh well, he'll probably have something more comfortable than a car seat to sleep on when he gets you back to where he lives anyways.

                                            >Where he lives...

                                            >Images flash through your mind, everything from cramped apartments to massive mansions.

                                            >Well, probably not the higher-end sort of thing considering what he said earlier about being outbid on you so to speak...

                                            >Still, you don't need much room and anything will be better than living in that box most of the time.

                                            >You pass the time by trying to recognize landmarks, get any sort of indication for where exactly in the country you ended up after...

                                            >Huh, you suppose that's one other thing you can't remember...

                                            >You feel a bit stupid for not having thought about it much before now, but you have no idea how you went from being a human to a pony.

                                            >The last thing you remember was a flash of light, but that could've been anything really...

                                            >"Alright, we're here!"

                                            >The car comes to a stop and he gets out, walking around to your side.

                                            >He jiggles the handle, frowns, then goes back over to the drivers side and opens the door.

                                            >After a button press and a mechanical clunk, he repeats the failed motion from a few moments prior and opens your side of the car.

                                            >"Sorry about that, I don't usually have passengers."

                                            >He unbuckles your seatbelt and picks you up under your forelegs.

                                            >"Do you want to walk or would you rather I carry you?"

                                            >You stare at him.

                                            >"Oh, right. Do you want to walk?"

                                            >You nod and he sets you down on the asphalt.

                                            >There are a few other houses in the neighborhood, but each one is a healthy distance away from the one before you.

                                            >It looks rather nice, at least from the outside.

                                            >None of that weird over-pretentions architect crap, just a plain rather large house with what looks to be a pretty good view of the mountains.

                                            >You wonder what your owner does for work to afford a place like this, maybe he was playing modest earlier when he mentioned-

                                            >Okay, this is two times you've analyzed the same statement in under an hour.

                                            >Time to let it go Cherry.

                                            >You trot next to him like a dog that's just been asked to heel as he walks up to the door and fumbles around in his jacket for the keys.

                                            >"Sorry if I came off like a bit of a tard, I promise it's just the lack of sleep. And well... I think I'll be sleeping a bit better with you next to- ah! There we are."

                                            >The lock squeaks a bit as he turns the key and you fold back your sensitive ears.

                                            >"Oh crap, sorry. I'll get some WD-40 in that sucker."

                                            >You step into the house and immediately feel very soft carpet brush against your frogs.

                                            >You let out a low, contented neigh.

                                            >"Oh, you haven't seen the best part. Come check this out."

                                            >He walks you through a roomy hallway to a living room with a decent amount of windows, a sizable television, and...

                                            >Oh wow, that looks comfy.

                                            >You look to him for approval and once he nods, you walk over to the pet bed and begin your first of three pre-lay circles.

                                            >You don't feel a compulsive need to do them or anything, but you figured it would be a cute touch and he certainly seems to think so.

                                            >The bed is amazingly even more soft and inviting than the carpeted floor is, and it's just the right size for you; with the plush walls snugly brushing up against the arch of your back.

                                            >Oh god...

                                            >"Like it?"

                                            >You nod enthusiastically.

                                            >"I ordered it a bit back when I first heard about the... appearances. It was a bit of a long shot, but hey at least the time it took to finally get you gave me some time to give it a good wash to get all of the factory funk off. Unfortunately, I'm afraid I don't really have any other gifts to give you at the moment. I'll try to come up with something soon."

                                            >You hop up and affectionately rub your muzzle against his calf before looking at his face and giving him a big smile.

                                            >You'd throw in a bit of tail wagging, but you're not exactly sure how to get that to work just yet.

                                            >A small yawn escapes your lips and he nods knowingly.

                                            >"Want to see how good that bed is for napping?"

                                            >This time, you get the pleasure of being scooped up and set down in the same position as earlier.

                                            >As your eyelids droop, you see /your/ owner watching you.

                                            >Feeling more than sufficiently content, you let them close completely and accept whatever comes next.

                                            >You fade slowly back into consciousness after the end of a pleasant dream.

                                            >You recall having it recur quite a few times when you were younger, you're on a pristine sandy beach with not a soul around and you're throwing a frisbee for your old hound dog to catch.

                                            >This time though, you're the one chasing the frisbee through the foaming surf and you can't tell who's throwing it with your focus on catching it every time.

                                            >Just before you woke up, the frisbee landed perfectly on top of some sort of marking in the sand.

                                            >Your eyes open to a view of your hind legs very close to your face.

                                            >It's not flexibility as much as it is physiology of course, but you never had the opportunity to explore the possibilities of this until you were offered a bed that made you curl up like this.

                                            >You give the top of your hoof an experimental lick and hear suppressed laughter.

                                            >You whirl your head around to see your owner on the couch with a book in his lap, watching you.

                                            >"Silly."

                                            >You avert your eyes but there's a clear smile on your face.

                                            >"Are you hungry?"

                                            >You nod shyly, wanting to thank him for asking but not really having any way in your current position.

                                            >Oh, right.

                                            >You get to your hooves and trot over to the couch, rubbing the side of your head affectionately against his leg.

                                            >In turn he reaches down and runs his fingers through your mane.

                                            >You stand there for a few minutes of bliss before he removes his hand and gets up, leading you further into the house.

                                            >"I'm not entirely sure what you all eat, most of the information online was contradictory. I'm going to prepare a few different samples of meals for you, and after a bite or two tell me what you think."

                                            >He lifts you up onto a stool and sets down a bluetooth speaker in front of you.

                                            >Once it's connected to his phone, it begins to play low-tempo instrumentals of an unknown origin.

                                            >You sit patiently while he plugs in a variety of appliances and begins to work his magic.

                                            >You don't recognize a few of them, but then again your idea of a gourmet meal back when you still cooked for yourself was adding cold cuts to your ramen noodles.

                                            >You watch in awe as at least three different types of batter and dough are prepared near simultaneously.

                                            >As sauce and cheese are spread onto one dough, two gas burners are flicked on and batter is poured into them.

                                            >What you now recognize as a miniature pizza and some sort of dough pocket are placed into the oven to cook seconds after if finishes preheating.

                                            >The pancake is ready first, and you eye it with considerable interest as he drizzles some sort of pinkish syrup on it and cuts it into suitable pieces for you to pick up in your mouth.

                                            >You brush your mane back with a hoof and then lean carefully toward the treat, grabbing a small bite between your teeth and managing not to get any sticky stuff on your muzzle.

                                            >As you bite down you feel something burst in your mouth and taste heaven.

                                            >Nobody had given you the opportunity to try much of anything sweet, but the sweet mix of what your advanced tongue and nose tell you are blueberries and raspberry syrup nearly make you cum on the spot.

                                            >M-metaphorically...

                                            >You chew the bite slowly, savoring it before swallowing and eagerly reaching for another.

                                            >And another.

                                            >Before you know it, the miniature pancake has vanished and all that's left is a happy pony with a slightly sticky muzzle.

                                            >He chuckles as he grabs a dish towel and wets it before putting a small amount of liquid soap on it, apparently having anticipated your eagerness.

                                            >"Well, at least I won't have any problem figuring out what to get you for breakfast."

                                            >He moves your cleared plate out of the way and sets down a bowl of freshly washed lettuce and carrots in front of you.

                                            >"Hopefully this will occupy you until everything else is done cooking."

                                            >The carrots do taste quite a bit nicer than you remember them being, and the lettuce is a familiar sight to even your pony eyes, but you understand it wouldn't be a good idea to have you eating sweet things all the time.

                                            >At the very least it's filling, and your flatter equine teeth make short work of the carrots in record time.

                                            >As you polish off the last of it you find yourself just looking at him.

                                            >He takes note and grins back at you.

                                            ...

                                            >You've ruled out meat completely, he prepared small cuts of quite a few different types and most of them made you want to throw up.

                                            >After the first one he didn't seem to want you to continue, but it seemed rude not to and you wanted to know.

                                            >Pizza is good, and calzones (the smaller lump of dough you saw him place in the oven alongside it) are about the same, but a bit easier to eat without having to be fed carefully.

                                            >Cereal seems to be fine as well, which hopefully will make his mornings easier if he has to go to work or something.

                                            >You hope he doesn't, but realistically speaking...

                                            >Well, better enjoy him while you can.

                                            >After cleaning up all of the dishes for you (god you're glad you're not longer capable of helping with those) he picks you up and takes you back into the living room.

                                            >You're a bit curious about what the rest of the house looks like, but you figure you'll have plenty of time to figure that out later.

                                            >He sets you down in his lap and begins to look for something to watch on some streaming platform, you're really more interested in the idle stroking he's giving your back.

                                            >Settling on something, he grabs a small blanket and drapes it over you.

                                            >You're a bit confused as to why he'd cover up his primary petting spot, but then his wonderful fingers begin to knead your scalp.

                                            >Ohh yeah, even if he put on a fucking Warhol movie this is going to be a good time.

                                            >You didn't catch the title of the movie, but it's pretty fun.

                                            >Some cyborg is trying to save his girlfriend from a psychic Russian guy.

                                            >You think he might be Russian too, but he doesn't speak.

                                            >Even though you'd probably normally be more inclined to sleep after a meal, you feel fairly awake due to your recent nap.

                                            >He raises his hand discretely at a point when he thinks you won't see it and smells it.

                                            >"You smell pretty nice."

                                            >You nod, shivering slightly at the memory of your tri-weekly hose-downs with shampoo and cold water.

                                            >"You don't like being clean?"

                                            >You tilt your head slightly, since answering that question either way could lead to him misinterpreting your answer.

                                            >He looks at you for about ten seconds before realizing what you're getting at and rephrasing.

                                            >"Sorry. Do you like being clean?"

                                            >You nod.

                                            >"I'll make sure to give you nice, warm baths. I know you probably weren't exactly given a luxury experience back at the store."

                                            >You respond by pressing your muzzle into his shirt and rubbing it back and forth.

                                            >You think the kids are calling that 'nuzzling' these days.

                                            >His shirt smells nice.

                                            >It's clear he works out by his definition and the way he scoops you up almost effortlessly, but whatever detergent he uses adequately eliminates the odor from his clothes.

                                            >"Enjoying yourself?"

                                            >You pull back and feel your cheeks warming up a bit.

                                            >Oh god you didn't want to come off as some sort of weirdo.

                                            >What if he doesn't want to talk to you now?

                                            >"Hey, don't feel bad. Some things smell nice, and I'm glad you think I'm one of them."

                                            >He chuckles and winds your white mane around a finger before releasing it and letting it unfurl back into place.

                                            >Oh yeah, you do like that.

                                            >Well, so far you've liked pretty much everything he's done.

                                            >He's quiet for a long time as the two of you just enjoy each other's company and various affections.

                                            >At some point he flips you over and starts petting your belly.

                                            >Your tongue lolls out a bit embarrassingly, but he just thinks it's cute.

                                            >Hell, at this point you could probably perform ritualistic killings for some sort of dark God and you'd look cute doing it.

                                            >Something about that thought sticks in your mind annoyingly.

                                            >You eventually manage to push it out during the frenzied climax of the film.

                                            >He's got you in an almost human sitting position by draping your forelegs over his arms, and gently hoisting you up to his chest.

                                            >Your dock is resting right against his crotch now.

                                            >Oh god...

                                            >You try to push... those thoughts out of your mind.

                                            >As the credits start to roll, he ruffles your mane.

                                            >"Did you like it, Cherry?"

                                            >You nod enthusiastically.

                                            >Even though he was amazing, you do think you would've enjoyed the film back when you were a human.

                                            >Alone, in your room...

                                            >You give him a lick on the cheek.

                                            >You're so glad you're his pet.

                                            ...

                                            >"Alright, I need to get a bit of work done. I'll be more than willing to let you hang out in my office in the future, but I need to do a bit more cleaning before it's presentable. Do you have enough to entertain yourself with?"

                                            >You nod. He left you a few pet toys that must've belonged to a dog at some point based on the bite marks, but what you're most excited about right now is the pet bed.

                                            >You're pretty sure now that it's your body and not the food now that's making you tire so easily, but it's not like much demanding is expected of you so you're less disappointed than you thought you might've been.

                                            >You grab a fluffy hedgehog with a spiked rubber back in your mouth and give his knee a little head rub before trotting back over to the bed and laying down.

                                            >Sleep takes you after around an hour of idle thought.

                                            >You reach down and pick up the frisbee.

                                            >Oh no.

                                            >No no no no no.

                                            >You try to run, but the landscape dissolves before you until all that's left is blackness.

                                            >"You found yourself a keeper."

                                            >You don't look at the thing.

                                            >Maybe it won't have power over you if you don't lock eyes with it.

                                            >The voice is somehow familiar, but the tone less so.

                                            >Something about it seems wrong, it sounds angry.

                                            >You don't answer, in fact you don't believe you can answer.

                                            >"Oh yes, where are my manners..."

                                            >Something shifts inside your mouth.

                                            >Your tongue feels numb, and you try a few sample vowels to see if you can make sounds that aren't horse noises.

                                            >"As I intend to uphold the contract, your tongue will only be unlocked in my presence, and only in dreams."

                                            "H-hooarrr... hooarr... who are you?"

                                            >"You really don't remember me?"

                                            >You shake your head, already finding it to be a more comfortable default than using your words.

                                            >"I suppose that's more evidence that other forces have tampered with our contract. It's a tale as old as time, you offer some poor sap exactly what they wants with a catch."

                                            >You just stare at him.

                                            >He sighs.

                                            >"You were a lot more talkative last time. You weren't supposed to get out of that store, 'Cherry'. You were supposed to live there until you died, for my amusement."

                                            >If he has the power to turn you into a pony, why doesn't he just put you back there?

                                            >"You think I won't hear you just because you're 'whispering'. I like to think myself the sporting type."

                                            >So why are you here?

                                            >He snorts, spewing a purple gas that fills the room with the smell of grapes.

                                            >"There's something only you can do. Chaos magic is easy to identify based off of its signature... for most that is. I need you to identify the source, it's one of the few things I cannot do."

                                            >And why should I if you don't intend to lay a finger on me?

                                            >"The other mare's natural path will kill her. I have seen it, and it isn't a pleasant or merciful death. Help me and I'll shift the cosmic breeze, ensure the currents push the danger away from her."

                                            >You feel a bit sick to your stomach, but you nod.

                                            >What should I look for?

                                            >"You'll know far better than I will. Anything out of the ordinary."

                                            >Your eyes open slowly and you pull your head in closer to your body.

                                            >There was nothing in your fitful dream that indicated it was anything more than an odd sort of nightmare.

                                            >No new information that your mind couldn't have constructed on its own, no revelations about the outside world that couldn't have been fabricated.

                                            >You pick up one of the pet toys, a small yellow fox, and bite down on it.

                                            >It cries out in alarm.

                                            >You immediately drop the thing in shock and fear, its seams and string whiskers apparent resting on the clean floor.

                                            >After a few seconds to catch your breath, you pick it up again and slowly, carefully, put pressure on it in the same place you did before.

                                            >You can feel hard plastic, but no distinct noise escapes.

                                            >You bite down a bit harder, with a bit more haste.

                                            >You feel the hard squeaker depress between your teeth once more, and it makes a standard squeaking sound.

                                            >You look at it again, and it stares back at you with button eyes.

                                            >So the dream was real...

                                            >You don't want to be alone right now.

                                            ...

                                            >"Look, tell the customer that phishing attacks aren't our problem. The tools we make are only as good as the people behind the keyboards, and if some idiot really..."

                                            >"Yes, I'm aware you get calls like this a lot. Tell them it's not our problem, hire a pen tester if they want to protect against internal idiots..."

                                            >"Be sure to recommend Jerry, he's been a bit hard up for cash lately and he does good work."

                                            >"Alright, I'm going to go check on her. Yes, I'll send you pictures if she's okay with it. Talk to you later."

                                            >You're not trying to listen to him, the door is seemingly fairly thick...

                                            >But pony ears will be pony ears.

                                            >You make sure to back away from the door a bit as it opens.

                                            >"There you are! Did you have a nice nap?"

                                            >You give him a sad little look.

                                            >"Was it the bed?"

                                            >You shake your head.

                                            >"Bed placement?"

                                            >Negative again.

                                            >"...Nightmare?"

                                            >You nod and he carefully lifts you up.

                                            >There are no words as he strokes through your mane slowly.

                                            >"I'm sorry."

                                            >You lick his cheek, hoping it'll be enough to convey it isn't his fault.

                                            >"Do you want to watch the sun set with me?"

                                            >You nod.

                                            "We should have enough time to make drinks if we leave now."

                                            ...

                                            >You were expecting an alcoholic beverage of some sort when he said drinks, but the thermos he holds carefully in front of your muzzle is letting off a thin line of steam into your nostrils.

                                            >And the aroma...

                                            >Hot chocolate.

                                            >You were a flatlander, the most pleasurable sunsets you experienced were behind the tops of buildings or over rolling hills.

                                            >You see now why he selected this spot.

                                            >A secluded drive, you can see the derelict house at the top is in dire need of repair but...

                                            >Oh god what a view.

                                            >He carefully tilts back the thermos, allowing but a sip of the warm liquid to flow in.

                                            >Just enough to experience the fullness of the taste, you're not sure what brand this is or alternatively what he makes it with but...

                                            >Oh man.

                                            >As the second sip is tilting up, the peak of the largest mountain in sight pierces the sun, making it bleed radiant light down upon the land.

                                            >The drink is budgeted, but you find yourself out of sips before the sun has completely sunk under the horizon.

                                            >It hardly matters though, you now feel just as warm on the inside as you do in his embrace.

                                            >You smile as the sinking continues.

                                            >When nearly all of the light is gone, he sits you back down in the front seat and straps you in for the relatively short ride back home.

                                            >Home...

                                            >Just thinking that word still feels like someone is running warm minky fabric along the inside of your stomach.

                                            >You have a home now, and an owner...

                                            >Someone who'll keep you safe, and someone who'll let you know you're loved every day of your little pony life.

                                            >The last of the light rays form a perfect arrow against the geometry of the inside of the car, viewed through the windshield.

                                            >You follow it to Orion's belt, just barely visible in the approaching darkness.

                                            >You may have your chaos sign.

                                            >You sorta expected to fall back asleep in  the car ride home, but to your surprise you manage to make it all the way through the door before your eyes begin to droop and your hooves begin to drag.

                                            >This is a bit pathetic, you know you slept a lot back at the store, but you woke up from a nap not...

                                            >Time is hard.

                                            >Your owner takes notice of your fatigue and scoops you up.

                                            >"Upsie-daisy!"

                                            >But you're not Daisy, you're Cherry!

                                            >You give him an affectionate lick either way, and get your mane ruffled in turn.

                                            >"Do you think you'd be able to fall asleep if I took you to bed right now?"

                                            >You let out a small yawn and then nod.

                                            >The pet bed is very comfortable, and you're looking forward to getting back on it and catching some more Zs.

                                            >Is this the path to the pet bed? You still don't know the house that well...

                                            >He opens the door to a room yet unseen.

                                            >The walls are lined with various posters of mares, most of them of Fluttershy, Twilight, and various background mares.

                                            >You spot a very very nice looking life-size Twilight plush on the neatly-made bed.

                                            >Well, almost life-size.

                                            >She's a little bit smaller than you are, but not by much.

                                            >Her faux fur looks incredibly soft.

                                            >He sets you down on the bed and gingerly lifts the plush, moving her over to the armchair that rests next to a bookshelf and an end table.

                                            >"Sorry Twiggy, I think somepony else is getting the bed with me tonight."

                                            >He opens a door and reveals a cozy if small bathroom.

                                            >"But first..."

                                            >He lets you follow him in before picking you up and setting your butt on the toilet seat.

                                            >"Knock on the wall three times when you've finished with your business. Oh, and take your time."

                                            >You do so, and he goes through a slightly humiliating process of checking to make sure there's no residue of any kind before proceeding to the parts of being in the bathroom that aren't just a chore.

                                            >"Open wide, let me see all of those pretty pony teeth."

                                            >He's gentle, but thorough.

                                            >Not like an oral hygienist at all, he's less about business and more about making sure that the experience is as comfortable as possible for you.

                                            >He even bought you a bubblegum flavored toothpaste, which you think is both really funny and a bit embarrassing.

                                            >After he makes sure that your mouth is cleaned out and fresh, he removes a brush from inside the cabinet and...

                                            >Ohhhhhhhhhhh god...

                                            >You moan a bit through no choice of your own, and find a few more tears making their way down your face.

                                            >At the store you might've lived your entire natural life without feeling this joy.

                                            >The detangling...

                                            >The straightening...

                                            >First the mane, then the tail, and finally your coat.

                                            >You experimentally sway your butt back and forth a bit, getting aaaaalmost the desired result of tail wagging you intend to.

                                            >His next question all but confirms you did adequately.

                                            >"Aww, you hated it; didn't you?"

                                            >You grin at him and then stick out your tongue.

                                            >"Don't worry, there's a lot more where that came from. But for now..."

                                            >He carries you over to the bed, folding back a corner and revealing soft looking dark red sheets.

                                            >A mare could get used to this...

                                            >You don't have a pillow at first in his embrace, but he quickly remedies that by putting a few throw pillows under your head.

                                            >"Comfy?"

                                            >You give him a sleepy nod as he hugs you close to his chest.

                                            >Everything is so warm...

                                            >So soft...

                                            >The last thing you remember before falling asleep is his fingers snapping and the lights going dark moments after.

                                            ...

                                            "Orion."