[Copied from https://pastebin.com/raw/PWZdPNsc] >You are Anon. >And you've just force-fed a raw steak to a little technicolor pony. >She wasn't the one you wanted to buy, but still, does that warrant what you did? >Seriously, what did she ever do to you? >From your side of the room, you can see the little yellow-and-pink ball that is her sprawled in the corner. >She's been bawling for half an hour, no sign of stopping. >Holy shit, the mare's got waterworks. >The rush faded away 20 minutes ago. >Her suffering is no longer making you happy. >You're no longer happy. >This is actually kind of sad. >Well... >At any rate, you can't just leave her there. >You leave your position propped up against the wall, and stand. >Carry your pone into the living room, all the while she's sniffling and mumbling incoherently. >Drop her on the sofa. >Yes, drop her. The pathetic whimper you know she'll make is too good to pass up. >Stuff like that always makes you feel good on the inside. >You make yourself some toast; torturing an innocent little furball sure drains you. >You don't know what compels you to wait around until she finally begins to sleep. >Chewing on the piece of burnt toast, you think, but would never admit, that it's some fatherly instinct you've been trying to ignore. >She looks so peaceful curled up on the couch. >Go away, conscience. Please kindly shut the hell up. >A quick check of the clock shows you that it's get-the-fuck-to-bed time. >Well into the real nigga hours. >If there's one thing you're happy for, it is the sleep that quickly overtakes you. >You drag yourself out of bed at 6 in the morning. >Didn't get much sleep, but you've got enough. >You pull on some shitty clothes, not expecting to leave the house today. >Slightly oversized t-shirt, an alright pair of pants, and a sweatshirt, you're also going barefoot. >As you enter the living room, you note the yellow pony's absence. "An early bird, huh?" >You proceed to flop on the sofa. >TV remote is just within your reach... >With more willpower than movement, you manage to inch it into your hand after a couple tries. >Flipping through news channels you glimpse the pony's yellow face peeking around the doorway. >It's gone before you finish turning your head. >You call after her: "Hey! Hey, wait!" >No response at all. >She's terrified of you. *sigh* >And you don't blame her, you get pretty bad when you're mad. >Not to mention a moderate sadism issue on your part. >Yeeeeah. >You'd better at least apologize so she isn't permanently scared of you. >You wouldn't exactly enjoy that. >Alright, you stand up and poke your head outside the doorway. >You search for a second, looking down one side of the hallway, then the other. >Doesn't look like anything is around in the rooms to your right. >After a brief search, you turn your head to the left to see a pink tail and a bit of a leg poking out from a pile of laundry. >Fucking seriously. >11/10, 2stealthy4me. "Nice hiding spot, can't see you at all" >A slightly-muffled, timid squeak is the response. Seriously, the sounds this pony makes. "I'm not gonna hurt you or anything, please just come out," >... >Worth a try. "I just wanted to apologize. I went completely overboard last night and kind of took out my anger on you," >Nothing? >Well, you did kind of force her to eat half a pound of raw meat. "Fine, you win, uh... wow, I never got your name, did I?" >So much for that, you begin to turn away. >It takes you completely by surprise when she answers you. >"Fluttershy. My name, it's Fluttershy" >A while passes as you watch the news. >It's typical stuff going on around the world: >That revolt of pony slaves in Kansas and Nebraska was finally put down. >The UN was bickering about stuff. >Some of the last of the Equestrian Royal Guard was killed or captured in an allied raid on their hideout. >And the price of gas went down from the $5 a gallon it was, barely. >Fluttershy enters the room during a commercial break, took her long enough. >She keeps her distance, though, she's still wary of you. >She doesn't seem like the type to walk up and start a conversation, the pony probably has something to ask you. >You ask her first. "What's up? Do you need something?" >You turn the TV off and look over at her. >She stands nervously, eyes trained down at her hooves. >"Well, uh, do you have any food that I could eat, i-if that's okay?" >The mare looks up at you inquisitively. >She must still be scared that breakfast today will be a repeat of last night. >You smile warmly, you make sure she recognizes it as genuine. "Yeah, actually. I was gonna make breakfast in a bit; gotta see what I have, but there'll be something," >It's met with a quiet "Thank you" >Reach the kitchen, Flutter trailing behind you. >Gesturing to a bag of bagels, you ask: "You like bagels?" >She can only barely see them over the counter. >"Oh, I've never had one before, but I'm sure they're good," >Okay, let's see what else you have. >You search the cupboards; they're never well-stocked, but you actually manage to find an unopened box of cereal off to the side. >You hold it out to her. "Looks like I've got some cereal, if you'd rather have that," >She examines the minimalistic store-brand box. >"This also looks good, though," >You point towards a bowl over on the other side of the room as the pony puts the cereal box on the counter. >"There's some fruit over there, if you'd rather have that," >"Fruit sounds good, too," >She keeps this up as you offer you think she could eat. >You'll have to make her choose. "Alright, but which one do you want?" >She examines everything you've set aside. >You can't like everything, now can you? >"Um, well, uh, I kind of might actually like... Nevermind, nevermind," >pone_refuses_to_form_opinions_about_breakfast_and_it's_getting_slightly_irritating.jpg >You decide to help her along. "If you can't tell me what you want, at least tell me what you think you want," >She should be able to recognize the impatience in your voice. >She contemplates this for a second. >"O-okay, I was kind of thinking that I'd like like some cereal, but a bagel sounds interesting," >You grab the cereal box as she is talking and pour her a bowl. >"U-uh I was kind of thinking I-" "Do you like your cereal with milk?" >"Might have possibly wanted a bagel," >You open the fridge and grab the milk jug. "You couldn't make up your mind, so I decided for you. Now let me ask again, do you prefer cereal with milk?" >Kind of harsh, but you do legally own her, as a slave, at that. >She's lucky you gave her a choice at all. >She considers it for a moment. >"Oh, alright, I guess I do" >That's fucking right. Your pony is not an "I don't eat cereal with milk" weirdo. >You were pretty sure people like that were alien spies or some shit. >You pour some in the bowl, and put the milk on the counter. >Take a spoon for her, just to be safe. >You look over to Fluttershy, she's sitting on the floor out of your way, but still watching what you're doing. >Nope, you're not exactly sure how a pony eats something like cereal. >You get yourself some, too. >Mostly because the box is still open, you've always been kind of lazy. >You bring the two bowls into the living room, she gets up and follows. "So, Fluttershy, what'd you do before all this?" >You place the bowls on the coffee table and take a seat. >She hesitates to get on the couch for a second, but eventually joins you. >"Oh, I took care of animals, it was great! There were sooooo many critters and... >Elaborating on the subject, she ends up giving you a continuous, five-minute-long run-on sentence, describing every unnecessary, excruciating detail about her "animal friends". >It's pretty cute. >You have to admit *she's* cute, too. >This is the happiest you've ever seen her, and it melts yo heart like diabeetus. >The bowls have been sitting out for all this time, you know what that means. "Hope you don't mind soggy cereal there," >She looks sadly at her breakfast, then to you: >"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-" >You sigh and shake your head. "It happens, Flutter. If you still feel like eating it, go ahead," >You're not (too) pissed, and soggy cereal is still food. >She seems to share the sentiment, eating the stuff straight from the bowl. >So that's how they do it. >Huh. >You turn the TV on, it's still on the news channel. >"... latest reports of gunfire in Washington, D.C., at least 4 dead, Many more wounded, and this is coming to us just as-" >You shut the TV down. >So much for that. >After turning off the TV you spend much of the day in conversation with Fluttershy. >It's mostly small talk while the both of you tidy up the house. >She tells you about life back where she came from. >The little community she lived in, the adventures she had, the friends she loved. >It would seem as if she had a pretty nice life. >Your life really wasn't that great. >But considering what you'd seen other people go through in the past few years? >Oh, it sure as hell wasn't the worst. >You had finished your bachelor's degree a year ago, and now ran the family store. >You weren't drafted, either, but that was a very close call. >They'd actually called your birthday on the service lottery back when the war was at its climax. >It was getting brutal over there. >The sole reason that kept you out of the meat grinder was a tibia that never healed correctly. >You ponder what might have happened differently over a pile of unfinished tax papers, while Flutter hovers a couple feet in the air, sweeping the floor. >It's strange how they can fly with wings that small. >Considering the fact that it's early December, the sun has almost set, even though it's only 4:00. >Tomorrow is the first day you put your pony to work. >Yep, you definitely aren't rich enough to buy a slave just as a companion and light housekeeper. >You'd gone over this with her already. >You'll have to show her how things work, but manning the cash register and restocking shelves isn't too hard. >Just tedious. >Except for when someone tries to sneak out a solar panel or dynamo to get around electricity rationing. >Or, when someone abandons stealth completely and tries to rob you. >So many people carry weapons on them these days. >Hence why you keep a glock under the counter. >17 shots, no 38. >The sad part is that it's actually come in handy before. >Multiple times.