Untitled Slave Story


                                            >"It's pretty late, Anon, you should go to sleep."

                                            >That thought had been playing on loop in your mind for about 2 hours now, like a broken record.

                                            >But you just don't listen to it, afraid to feel like this day, like many others, has been a waste if you rest now.

                                            >It's not like you're going to make it productive anytime soon, but the feeling is still there, chipping away at you.

                                            >You can see yourself reflected on the old glass of whisky, staring back with a face you can only describe as lost.

                                            >The same face you studied and stared at for many minutes on a daily basis, not liking it but at the same time not hating it either.

                                            >Are you afraid to insult yourself? Maybe, after all, you always considered yourself a coward.

                                            >"Need another one, chief?"

                                            >You slightly raise your tired eyes to the Stallion bartender, who just smiles at you in an upbeat manner, waiting patiently for an answer.

                                            >Pity or not, you can't exactly figure out why he has been so sympathetic to you since you arrived.

                                            >At least he didn't bother you with small talk.

                                            "Yeah... I think I do."

                                            >Your voice tumbled out lazily through your mouth, making you realize that the alcohol was finally taking some effect on you.

                                            >"Gotcha! This one is for the house chief."

                                            >the now familiar magical chanting coming through his horn to reach your ears, but you don't actually get to see the process happen as he approaches the bottle and fills your glass with just the right amount.

                                            >You've been here so long that he knows exactly how much you like to take without even having to ask.

                                            "On the house?"

                                            >For what you remember, you didn't even talk properly to this pony ever since you started to frequent this pub, so him just giving away a free shot felt... weird, to say the least.

                                            >"You seem like you need it, boss. Slave or not, I can tell when somep-- Someone just wants the warm feeling of a good drink on their soul."

                                            >If you were sober, you would think that this pony is saying nonsense, but right now, you can see that he is completely right.

                                            "Thanks"

                                            >the glass slides away to your hand on a smooth movement, and just after catching it, you drink away some of it.

                                            >"No problem, chief."

                                            >His voice was warm, and even if you didn't see it, you could feel like he was smiling.

                                            >It's pretty hard to believe a slave worker would be happy talking to a human; it could be all just a farce, mind you, but a part of you does not believe that. He sounds legitimately like a nice dude.

                                            >"Silver Cocktail, at your service."

                                            >He introduces himself in a playful manner, trying to elicit some reaction from you.

                                            "Anon... Just call me anon."

                                            >"Anon, eh? You chaps always have weird names, if you don't mind me saying,"

                                            >for the first time since you sat down, you raise your head and adjust your posture to look a bit surprised to the stallion.

                                            >Did he just...

                                            >"What's the matter, chief? Never heard a pony talk like that before? I always catch people off guard by that, and I gotta say, it never gets old.

                                            >he says before you could even respond, laughing it off lightly as he cleans away one of the glasses with his hooves.

                                            >You all just expect the same old "Yes, sir," "No, sir," and "Right away, sir" mentality, right? All cowardly and obedient like a robot."

                                            >Even though his talk could easily be mistaken for disobedience or just flat-out rebellion, you can clearly notice that there is no malice in his tone.

                                            >If you didn't know any better, you could bet that he's just making some jokenly remark, even though it sounds extremly morbid given the circumstances these ponies find themselves in.

                                            "... Right. I... How did you know I wouldn't just, I don't know..."

                                            >You're lost for words here; you never talked much with ponies, not because you didn't like them or because you considered them to be just "things".

                                            >But because you always pity the poor things, to the point where you feel shame on yourself and your whole species, talking to them would result in you just feeling awful in general.

                                            >"Freak out and order my master to retrain me for taking like that."

                                            >His words are quick, but they cut deep into your ears even though he said them in the most calm tone.

                                            >Imagining that treatment really wasn't to your liking, so that's another reason you avoided ponies: to try to forget how fucked up this whole situation really is.

                                            "I couldn't have said it better..."

                                            >You respond, letting out a deep sign; after all, the stallion was right. The typical ass of a person would do just that, and there are a whole lot of them.

                                            >"Well... because you don't give a buck, chief, that's why. I've been your bartender for what? 3 hours now? and since then you didn't even flinch when you saw that a horse was giving you drinks."

                                            >The young stallion continues as he puts the clean levitating glass away and then hops onto 2 legs, resting his front hooves over the bar, giving his figure a more clear sight and getting you at the same height level.

                                            >His mane was short and white like snow, and his coat had a cool tint of dark blue with some gray spots over it.

                                            >"It's like I'm finally a real bartender once again, and not some freakish alien with second-class citizen status."

                                            >Even though the reality of his words was tough, he didn't sound hurt; quite the contrary, it felt like he was cheery.

                                            >That made you finally ease up a bit. If the being that's being slaved is taking it so lightly, then maybe you could talk to him without feeling like complete garbage.

                                            "Well, let's just say that as long as I get my drink, I don't care who is on the other side."

                                            >"Cheers for that, chief, cheers for that."

                                            >Quickly the stallion responded, with a pretty warm smile on his face. A smile that really made you feel better about this crazy reality you're living in.

                                            >and you're pretty sure he feels the same way.

                                            "Yeah...Cheers"

                                            >You follow his energy with a slight nod and the raising of your glass before drinking up.

                                            >Maybe you could stay up a few more minutes... At least now you don't have to feel sad alone.

                                            >Your bed feels colder than usual...

                                            >Wait, how DID you get here?

                                            >The last thing you remember is getting up from your seat in the pub and saying, or rather, trying to say goodbye to Silver Cocktail. And then....

                                            >Huh, blank.

                                            >Well, you were probably just too drunk to remember anything. Thats not new.

                                            >You figured you just staggered your way back to your apartment, walking like a new-born dear, opened your door with a kick since that shit's been stuck for ages now, and then majestically crashed on your bed like a sack of shit.

                                            >Good thing you didn't throw up on the bed; waking up on your dry vomit is not how you want to start your Saturday.

                                            >What's even the time? You hate waking up after noon, breakfast, even as scarce as it can be somedays; it's a must to you.

                                            >You lazily bring your fist near your half-opened eyes, and after having to properly focus on the green LED lights, you see it clearly.

                                            > 05:37 AM

                                            >Oh, go eat a dick!

                                            >Well, at least you can try to go back to sleep; it never works, but it's worth a shot.

                                            >You lay your head back into the pillow and let yourself sink into it; oh, the pleasures of having good and huge pillows! There's nothing like it.

                                            >You still feel cold, though, and you're pretty sure the sheets are somewhere on the floor since you don't feel them on or beneath you.

                                            >If you stand up now to get them, then there is no way in hell you could get back to sleep, so you just bring the other pillow that was on your other arm closer in a tight hug.

                                            >Ahh, way better. You often call yourself a loser for having spent more time spooning a pillow than a girl in your life.

                                            >But it's not like you've been searching for company lately. It's been ages since the last time you went out to meet chicks.

                                            >Are you suddenly super weak, or the pillow feels way heavier than what you remember?

                                            >Now that you pay attention to it, it feels different too! What the fuck is on your arm?!

                                            >You can't see shit in this pitch-black room; your door and blinds are completely closed.

                                            >You quickly reach for your cellphone in your jacket's inner pocket, grab it, turn on the flash light, and...

                                            >Oh no, OH HELL NO, you've got to be FUCKING KIDDING ME!

                                            >The cellphone light does not lie, and neither do your eyes. Silver Cocktails' back coat is as clear as it can be.

                                            >AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH---