I’m gonna tell you about the greatest success in my life. I spent two weeks on the ship, with Vinyl, Octavia, Trixie, Inkie, Lyra, my beloved brother Time Turner, my not-so-beloved brand new sister-in-law Rose, and their kid, my nephew, Hannibal. Dear Princess Celestia, who names their child Hannibal? Signed, Minuette Romana Turner. Friend with Berryshine Andromeda Punch and Beatrix Cinderella Lulamoon.

Anyway, I spent two weeks with that cabinet of curiosities and I didn’t kill anypony, the ship didn’t sink and I’m still as sane as I was before.

It wasn’t easy. I’m still pissed after a conversation with my brother. Well, “conversation” is a bad word. We had a small argument.

“Why didn’t you tell me that you have a wife?” I yelled at him.

He was throwing nervous glances around. You know, he knows me since we were born so he knows that it’s sometimes better to hide. However, he decided that a counterattack would be better. “Maybe if I knew where you were, I’d tell you that!” he shouted.

Shit. I actually wanted to visit him after I came back from Manehattan, but then Vinyl called me. You know the rest of the story. “You had eleven fucking months before your kid was born! Couldn’t you find me or what?”

Bingo! He shifted his hooves nervously. “Well… I didn’t know if you’d like…”

I facehoofed. Luckily, before I said something I’d regret, the door to my room bursted open and Vinyl stood in it. Her mane was in a mess; there were traces of lipstick all over her fur and she smelled of weed and Octavia’s perfumes. “Hello, guys,” she said. “Can you be, like, a little quieter?” She backpedalled, seeing our glares. Before we could reach her, she was in her room. Time also left me. Maybe he thought that since Vinyl didn’t stay, letting herself get beaten, I’d punch him to relieve some stress. Who knows, maybe I would?

Anyway, I didn’t and as you can see, I didn’t kill anyone and I’m really proud of it. Time to get out of the ship and see what Prance has to offer.

I know Equestria and I assume that you know it too. Mareseille is kinda like Equestria. The word “kinda” is the key. Since it’s quite a big and important port, Mareseille is kinda like half of the civilised world. Ponies, griffons, zebras, minotaurs, caribou, kirins, and all those genetic mindfucks that happen when you crowd an insane amount of horny individuals of various species in one, not so big place.

While I stand on the pier and watch the crowd, stunned, Trixie walks through it like an icebreaker. She’s still slightly sick after the cruise and her heat (well, judging by some stallions in the crowd, the scent of her hormones is still detectable), but it doesn’t stop her from doing what she does best. That it, pissing everyone off.

“Get back!” she yells. “The Great and Powerful Trixie is here!”

It can be seen that we’re not in Equestria anymore. The reactions of the crowd are, to put it lightly, rather mixed.

“Was ist los?” asks a bat pony in leather trousers when Trixie spills his beer.

“A ta czego tak drze pizdę?” A grey earth pony turns to his companions, watching her carefully.

“¡Me cago en la leche de tu puta madre!” yells a large, black minotaur when Trixie stomps on his foot, causing him to drop his battle axe on some griffon.

“Merde!” the griffon exclaims, when the axe lands inches from his head.

“Sacrebleu!” another griffon adds.

“Chuj wie. Chyba mówi, że zaraz jakaś Wielka i Potężna Trixie tu przylezie i mamy stąd wszyscy wypierdalać.” says the grey pony’s companion philosophically. Or at least I think so, since the only words I understood are “Trixie” and two swearwords.

“¡La caballa loca!” the minotaur yells behind her.

“Żebym ja jej zaraz nie wypierdolił…” Okay, that sounds threatening. I run behind Trixie, prompting Inkie and Vinyl to do the same and apologising to everyone in sight. Finally, we catch up with her somewhere next to the magazines.

“Are you okay, Trixie?” I ask. The minotaur and a bunch of grey earth ponies are still observing us. Not a good sign – they don’t seem to be interested in attacking us, but the minotaur has an axe.

“Trixie spent last two weeks vomiting and masturbating. Try to guess.”

“Can we get back there and say goodbye to the others?” Vinyl asks, looking for Octavia in the crowd. Hey, I’d like to talk to Grace too and I think Inkie and Coco would also spend an hour or so not talking to each other. But on the other hoof, I’m more than glad that I lost my sister-in-law somewhere there.

“We can wait for them here,” I say, suddenly seeing that Photo Finish is also walking through the crowd just like Trixie a few minutes before. The reaction of the crowd is pretty much the same, except she now crashed into a couple of zebras.

“No matter how hard you want to stay on track, there’s always somepony who doesn’t give a fuck…”

“To pull such a stunt, one has to be a cunt…”

“Schiess doch, Unterpferde!” Photo Finish yells at them.

The zebras look at each other. “What she’s just said – does it make you mad?” one of them says to the other.

“Oh yes, my brother, let’s go and… and… Whatever.” They trot to Photo Finish. Coco hides behind Grace who gulps.

“Będzie wpierdol…” one of the grey earth ponies who meanwhile stood next to me says. “Stawiam dychę na zebry.”

I didn’t understand the words, but I understood the tone. “I give ten bits for Grace Manewitz,” I say to him.

“Who’s Grace?” he asks, looking at me. His accent is hard, yet rather clear. “I guess you’re not talking about this old witch?”

“No, it’s her assistant. The blonde with the glasses. She’s okay…” I explain.

He chuckles. “When your name is ‘Manewitz’, you just have to be okay…”

Meanwhile, somepony lands next to us, unconscious. I look at the crowd. The zebras are fighting someone, but I can’t exactly see the details due to the dust. The minotaur dropped his axe, too long to use it in a crowd and smashed a barrel of wine on somepony’s head. Ouch.

Suddenly, someone runs from the cloud of dust. Well, two someones. They run closer to us and I recognise them as Coco and Grace. Grace pants heavily; her mane is in a mess and her glasses are slightly askew. Coco, on the other hoof, is unscathed.

“How did you…?”

“I know krav maga,” Grace replies quickly. “Let’s get outta here!”

What did I expect? “How about Octavia and Photo?” I ask.

“Last time I’ve seen Octavia, she was trying to strangle a minotaur with a cello string. About Photo, I don’t give a shit,” Grace says. “I guess they’ll join us later.”

I shrug. That girl apparently wants to be fired.

“Besides, our carriage is waiting,” Coco says quietly, pointing at the most pimped-out carriage I’ve ever seen in my life.

It’s long, it’s white, and it’s pulled by six white ponies with blonde manes. I still think somepony, somewhere has a cloning facility. Shit, I’ve even met my lookalike at the bar once. I was slightly drunk and I beat the crap out of her, thinking she was a changeling.

I wonder who was generous enough to send such a pimpmobile to us? Let’s see. We stand in a formation. Grace and I in the front, Vinyl and Trixie behind us, and Inkie with Coco as our rearguard. Coco wouldn’t be any use if we really had to fight, but Inkie, just like all her sisters, is a one-mare-army when somepony threatens her.

We walk to the carriage and Grace knocks on the door.

“Who’s zere?” somepony inside asks. I expected a Prench accent, but this one sounds harder; kinda like the one some bat ponies had.

“I’m Photo Finish’s assistant,” Grace replies. “She and Octavia will come later, but she said to transport the technical crew to the mansion.”

Okay, we’re a technical crew now? Works for me. No matter if it’s a fashion show, gig, or whatever, I’m in. You know, I used to be a roadie for a band called Radioactive Foals. For some reason, they never got popular.

Also, being a roadie is not fun. I spent a few months dragging a cart full of equipment through all of Equestria.

The door opens and we enter the carriage. The interior is, well, pink and soft. The seats are made of pink silk, which also adorns the walls and the floor. Screw the psychology: I feel like inside of a giant vagina.

Giant luxurious vagina. There’s Prench champagne here, grapes from Neightaly, bananas from Zebrica, whisky from Scoltland, our host, vodka from Ponyland, peanut butter crackers…

Wait. I think I forgot something. It probably has something to do with that white earth mare with blue eyes, pale blond mane, and a heart with an eastern symbol of luck as her cutie mark. She lying on one of the couches and looks at us, utterly confused.

To my surprise, I realise that I know her. She’s, if I recall correctly, a well known, umm… model. Her photos are a very important part of my por– I mean, my collection of artistic photos of young mares.

“Are you ze technical crew?” she asks.

“Oh yeah…” Vinyl winks seducingly. “If you want, I can show you my technical skills…” Apparently, she also feels that we’re inside of an enormous cunt and interprets it in her own way.

“Maybe later,” the white mare replies, eyeing Vinyl curiously. Shit. If I remember her bio correctly (yes, I actually read those once I’m done clo– I mean, admiring the beauty of the models), Vinyl is kinda her type. I mean, Vinyl isn’t exactly a white unicorn – her coat is more or less of the same colour as watered-down piss, which is especially visible when she sits next to somepony who is actually white. Just like now. She sits next to our host and her hooves are creeping towards her. “Where’s Photo Finish?”

“She had to, umm… see a stallion about the dog,” I say. I hope she’s not fluent in Equestrian sayings. “She’ll join us later.”

“Gut. By ze way, my name’s Aryanne. Do you vant some vater? Vith or vithout gas.” She asks, looking at us unsurely. Her accent gets thicker the closer Vinyl is to her. I guess she’s not used to see so many strangers in her vagina. I mean, carriage.

“It’s ‘still’ and ‘sparkling’, sweetheart…” Vinyl says. “And I prefer whisky.”

“Still for me,” Grace deadpans. “I have bad feelings about gas.”

Aryanne looks at her and suddenly tears appear in her eyes. “It’s because of my cutie mark, isn’t it?”

“Well…” Trixie looks at her flank much longer than she should. “Trixie thinks it may be kinda… controversial…”

“I can always make you a dress that will cover it…” Coco mutters.

“And I will rip it off of you because I don’t care…” Vinyl purrs, leaning closer to our host. Suddenly, a white hoof hits her muzzle, causing her to retreat. Wow… I’ve never expected such a Blitzkrieg.

Inkie examines the cutie mark in question curiously. “What exactly is this?” she asks.

“I’ll lend you a history book once we’re in some safe place,” I reply before turning back to Aryanne. “Cutie mark means nothing. It’s all about who you really are.”

“Well, I like burning juice,” Aryanne says. At least I hope that she said “juice”. Since Grace is now piercing her with her gaze, I guess she understood something else. Luckily, Vinyl knows how to discharge a nervous atmosphere.

“Hey, what’s this?” she asks, pointing at a bottle of something white standing in the cocktail cabinet. Why I’m not surprised that it brought her attention?

“It’s kumis,” Aryanne replies. “Mein Freund from Hooviet Union gave me a few bottles. It helps for ein Katzenjammer…”

“I’m not sure what it is, but I’m sure I have it,” Vinyl says. “Can I?”

“Sure.”

Vinyl opens the bottle in a way indicating her experience with drinking various shady liquids. She takes a large swig. “It’s good,” she says. “What’s it made of?”

“Mare’s milk,” Aryanne replies.

Okay… It’s the first time I see Vinyl spitting out anything white that’d gotten into her mouth.

Our pimped-out vagina-carriage stops. A zebra servant opens the door. We walk out of it to see… umm… an even more pimped-out, hopefully not vagina-looking mansion. It’s large and absolutely hideous.

I lean to Grace. “Umm… What are we supposed to do here?”

“Prepare Octavia’s show,” she replies. “I guess Octavia will come here… sooner or later… Coco will take care of the wardrobe. Luckily it’s already here… But since they have a rather big hall here, we need to plug in all the speakers.”

“Speakers?” Vinyl asks. When nopony was looking, she stole a bottle of whisky and was now disinfecting her throat with it. “I know speakers. I can plug them with my eyes closed!”

“Okay,” I say. “I can do that too, without accidentally building an electric chair, so I’ll help you. How about you, Trixie?”

“Trixie can make a show in case Octavia perishes in the brawl we started…” Trixie replies.

“A brawl you started…” Grace deadpans.

“Trixie thinks it was Photo who started it. She shouldn’t have called them die Unterpferde…”

Aryanne stops and looks at Trixie. “I’m no longer like zat!” she shouts, again at the verge of tears.

“Yeah, sure…” Grace mutters.

“Like what?” Inkie asks.

“I said I’ll tell you later,” I say and turn to Aryanne. “Please, forgive my friends. They tend to be intolerant sometimes.”

“I’m intolerant to intolerance,” Grace says.

“I have nothing against you, it’s die Unterpferde I hate.” Aryanne sighs. “By ze way, can somepony tell me what does ‘perishes’ mean?”

Grace and Trixie look at her unsurely, the former trying to process what Aryanne just said and the latter slowly realising that her manner of speaking may be difficult to understand for a non-native speaker.

“Well, Trixie was afraid that Octavia may have di–”

“May be stuck in a traffic jam!” I yell. I don’t want to upset a pony who can unleash some kind of a Wunderwaffe on us.

“Traffic? I know strawberry jam but not traffic jam...” Aryanne says. “Also, zat sounds... how you say it? Kinky?”

“It’s not that kind of jam,” I say, trying to recall my early childhood, when I was learning Pferdisch. “I mean... Umm... Verkehrsstau...”

“Ah, ja,” Aryanne mutters. “Sprichst du Pferdisch?”

“Nein,” I reply, just in case. We walk towards the mansion. The garden is large, so it takes us some time. There are more zebras here, as well as some ponies, both mares and stallions. Very, very sexy stallions. I have to stop myself from thinking with my private bits. One look at Trixie ensures me that she has the same problem.

“Wait...” Grace says, looking at Aryanne as if she saw her for the first time in her life. “You’re ein Unterpferd yourself! You’re an earth pony!”

Aryanne stops suddenly. She slowly turns to Grace, her blue eyes watering. Shit. She may get angsty. Hope no art academy is going to reject her soon, or she’ll conquer half of the world. Starting with my sorry ass. “I know...” Aryanne says. “I always wanted to be a white unicorn... Zey’re so dignified...”

Behind us, Vinyl burps. “I’m sorry...” she says. “I shouldn’t have mixed that milky stuff with whisky. Do you think someone will mind if I puke in those fancy bushes?” She points at the row of meticulously trimmed bushes. I’m afraid they’d wither if somepony touched them, not to mention any closer interaction.

“Chill out,” I say, seeing Aryanne’s eyes going wide. “Can’t you use the toilet like normal ponies do?”

“I’m afraid it may get worse...” Vinyl mutters. “And I like to do it outdoors when the wind chills my–”

“Enough!” Trixie shouts. We actually reached the mansion and entered it, so Vinyl’s desires are a bit outdated. “Vinyl, you will defecate in a lavatory! Behave like a proper white unicorn you are and don’t prick poor Aryanne’s bubble!”

“You want to do what to my what now?” Aryanne asks, raising her eyebrows.

“I’d rather pop her cherry...” Vinyl mutters. “But first I need to... Where’s the toilet here?”

“Zat corridor, third door to ze left,” Aryanne says. When Vinyl leaves, she asks, “What she wants to do to my cherry? I’m allergic to cherries!”

“Don’t worry, it was a metaphorical cherry you probably don’t have anyway,” Trixie says. Everypony looks at her. I mean, everypony who knows what cherry Vinyl meant – which excludes Aryanne and Coco. Inkie, judging by her blush, knows what’s going on. But, after all, she hangs out with us. “What?” Trixie asks. “We are grown mares! Every single of us was with a stallion!”

“I wasn’t...” says Inkie quietly. “And you know that I prefer mares...”

“I... I prefer mares too...” says Coco even quieter, watching the ground beneath her hooves. “And I’ve never... like that...”

“We can... Umm... have a drink together...” Inkie wraps her hoof around Coco. What? She definitely hangs out with us for too long. Soon she’ll be like Vinyl.

“Wiz a stallion?” Aryanne asks, ignoring the fact that Inkie just took a first step on the path leading to being more open. “If it means what I sink it means, zen I never got past ze second base... I’m not an Equestrian slut!”

What the hay? She doesn’t know what “perish” mean and she knows what’s going on with the bases? Even I don’t know that! And remember that we’re in a country where nopony knows what baseball is about. And they think hoofball is that game which is called “soccer” in Equestria...

Well, they’re all wrong. The only true hoofball is Oatstralian hoofball, hooves down. Anyone who thinks differently will get hit with a cricket bat.

Vinyl comes back from the toilet. “Did I miss something?” she asks.

“Aryanne never got past the second base,” Grace mutters. Vinyl stares at her in disbelief. You know, when it comes to baseball, Vinyl accepts only home runs.

“You know, we can play baseball together,” Vinyl says, approaching Aryanne. I look at Grace – her smirk convinces me that she did that on purpose.

“I’ll go and plug in those speakers,” I say quickly. Before I leave, I can hear a sound of a hoof connecting with Vinyl’s face and yells in Pferdisch. As I said, I know it a little, but I’m not sure whether Aryanne wants to fuck Vinyl or to shoot her.

Finally, I can do something I know how to do. Plugging the speakers in a way they work properly and everypony will be able to hear everything is a great way to chill out, at least for me. Before Vinyl joins me (she doesn’t want to speak about how she managed to avoid Aryanne’s rage), I’ve managed to plug everything in and double-check it. After all, technical difficulties happen, especially when electronic and technomagic are involved. For example, a radio failure almost caused a war between Equestria and the griffons.

Actually, it wasn’t exactly a failure. Few years ago, Berry and I had nothing to do and we decided to join the Equestrian Army. Funny times. It was just after that new bill about religious freedom for the soldiers. You know, when you praise the Sun, you have a free day during the Summer Sun Celebration and so on. Berry told them that she was a follower of a Minotaurian god of wine, Dionysus, so she could get drunk once a week. I registered myself as a Nightmare Moon cultist, since it involved a right to an orgy once a month. Too bad, I was the only Nightmare Moon cultist in my detachment. Orgies aren’t fun when you’re alone.

Anyway, our carrier was short, but quite eventful. Soon after the Crysal Empire reappeared, we were sent there for the war games. We were taught stun spells, we also had prop guns that could stun the opponent. We were supposed to go north from the Crystal Empire and engage a platoon of crystal pegasi who were pretending to be griffons. We kinda did. Half of our platoon got stunned and we were prepared to “die” while fighting till the end, when a blizzard started. Later I was told that the pegasi evacuated those who were stunned, but two squads, including mine, got lost.

We tried to use our radio to call for help, only to find out that our signaller, Berry Punch, had a nasty habit of trading radio parts for vodka. You know, she was a really devoted follower of Dionysus and getting drunk once a week wasn’t enough for her. So, we went what we thought was south, and what turned out to be north. After a day or so, we encountered a griffonian patrol. They didn’t see us coming when our stun spells rendered all of them unconscious. We had no idea that during our trip we crossed the border and now we were in the griffonian enclave twenty miles north from the Crystal Empire. We seriously thought that we intercepted the vanguard of the griffonian invasion.

Since none of the officers was stupid enough to get lost in the blizzard, we had no real commander. Or rather, they got lost, but not in the same place as we did.

I vaguely remembered a lecture about Equestria’s plans in case of invasion – cross the border, claim the area, and wait for the main forces to arrive. Since I was a bit less dense than the rest of guys who were there, I got field-promoted to sergeant and led the group further north.

After walking two miles, we saw a small griffonian fortress. Well, very small: two watchtowers, a wall, barracks, two heavy machine guns, and twenty griffons who were so bored, that they fell asleep at night without even leaving sentries. When they woke up, they were all tied and locked in a barrack, while we were trying to contact Equestria. Too bad, the instruction to their radio was in Griffonian, and its design was jarringly non-intuitive. I broke it in two minutes.

Meanwhile, someone in the Griffon Empire realised that their fortress in the frozen north suddenly stopped replying to their calls. Their air patrol tried to bomb us when they saw the ponies, but missed. Luckily for us, the Emperor Edgar XVI decided that it was no use to start a war because of that shithouse, and instead sent a diplomatic note to Princess Celestia, asking her what the fuck was going on.

Princess Celestia then sent a note to Prince Shining Armor, asking him why the fuck he invaded the griffonian enclave in the frozen north, that according to the peace treaty from 784 after Discord was a part of the Griffon Empire and no pony was allowed to even take a shit there without a certificate of approval. Prince Shining Armor scratched his head and sent a letter to the commander of the Crystal Empire Army, Colonel Tungsten Heart, asking him who the fuck started a war with Griffon Empire. Colonel Tungsten Heart then went to Captain Flash Sentry, asking him pretty much the same question.

Captain Flash Sentry replied that he had no bloody idea, but he was worried, since two squads of soldiers got lost during the war games and those weren’t the usual squads, but rathers those compiled of the biggest idiots in the whole army, so in case of war they could send them on a suicide mission. Colonel Tungsten Hears nodded his head and sent a letter to Prince Shining Armor, saying that he has no bloody idea, but there was a bunch of morons running around, and that Captain Flash Sentry needed to be made a staff officer. Prince Shining Armor sent a letter to Princess Celestia saying that he has no bloody idea and that the Equestrian Army should make IQ tests for soldiers compulsory. Princess Celestia sighed and rolled her eyes, then sent a letter to the Emperor Edgar XVI saying “fuck me if I know, mate”.

Meanwhile, a rescue party, led by Flash Sentry was sent to find us. They barely crossed the griffonian border when they were caught by their patrol, mistaking them for invasion forces. That was probably the only battle in the history when the both sides wanted to surrender to each other. The griffons were first to realise that something was wrong and thus Flash Sentry and his ponies became the POWs.

The Emperor got pissed and sent a letter to Celestia saying that he was going to nuke the whole area. Celestia sent a long and diplomatic reply that was, more or less, saying “Bugger off, it’s your area, nuke it if you want”. A second rescue party was sent to rescue the first rescue party that had been sent to rescue us. They didn’t find Flash Sentry, but they found us. High time. We ran out of vodka, our griffonian POWs were bored, not to mention that the whole place was really cold. Seriously, once I went to take a leak at night and my piss froze before it hit the ground.

Anyway, they explained us what was going on, and we used their radio to contact the griffons. Finally, after a week of a diplomatic clusterfuck, Shining Armor and I signed a peace treaty with griffonian general called Nevermore, stating that we were going to retreat from their territory and exchange the POWs. On the next day, I was a civilian. Not sure why – after all, I was only following orders.

“Hey, maybe we’d put some turntables here?” Vinyl asks. Lost in my memories, I haven’t noticed her.

“Why would they need turntables?” I asks, looking at her as if she was an idiot. Or scratch that, I’m looking at her in the same way as always.

“You know... In case Octy doesn’t come, I may play some music...”

“What you play is not music,” I say. “Music is something one can listen to.”

“Hey!” Vinyl exclaims. “You can listen to dubstep!”

I sigh. “You can dance to dubstep. It only sounds well when you are in the club, with lots of other ponies around you. When you want to listen to it alone, it’s as funny as anal masturbation with sandpaper.”

“Never tried that,” Vinyl mutters. “Do you have any sandpaper here?”

“Vinyl?”

“Yes?”

“Sometimes I’m not sure if you’re kidding or you’re really that dumb...”

“I’m not gonna tell you. I’d lost the element of surprise,” Vinyl replies, grinning.

“So, you have some hidden depths?” I ask.

“I don’t know if they’re hidden, but I’m pretty deep,” Vinyl says, waving her tail. “I managed to shove a foot-long di–”

Geez. That mental image will haunt me. “I’m sorry, but I’m not interested in that...”

“Too bad. Have you ever checked how deep you are?”

Before I can reply, we hear some noise from the other room. Soon, I can recognise two voices, one with distinctive Pferdisch accent and a soft, more refined timbre. It sounded refined even though the owner was apparently not in the best mood.

“I just cannot understand it! I had to fight with some dirty sailors while you took some bloody technical crew with you? We don’t even have a technical crew!”

“Schiess doch! Nopony’s gonna scream at me at mein own Haus!”

“What did you say?”

Vinyl shakes her head. “Angry Octy... That makes me wet...”

“Don’t short-circuit the wires,” I say. “I didn’t put this whole stuff together only for you to blow it up with your vaginal secretions.”

“NEIN, DU FOTZE! DU KANNST MIR NICHT SAGEN WAS ICH ZU TUN HABE!!!”

Vinyl ducks automatically, shielding her head. I must say, I was expecting a burst of gunfire too.

“Seems that Aryanne is in a foul mood...” I say. “Stay here and don’t touch anything. I’ll try to negotiate a peace treaty.”

Too bad, my attempts to stop those two hurricanes called Octavia and Aryanne were more or less as successful as Oatstralian warriors during the battle of Gallipony. Though, actually, I managed to change the focus of their rage.

“Bugger off!” Octavia shouts after I finished my lecture about peaceful cooperation between nations.

“Verpiss dich!” Aryanne adds.

“With pleasure,” I mutter and walk away.

Since I’m not in the mood to talk with Vinyl, I walk upstairs to find Trixie, Inkie, Grace, Coco, or whoever’s gonna talk to me without yelling in some foreign language. I walk through those corny, marble-clad corridors, pushing various door open. Seems that not only Aryanne lives here. In one of the rooms, I see some model snorting coke, in the other a grifoness and a zebra stallion having sex, and in the third room I find Inkie and Coco.

Seems that they got inspiration from their neighbours. They sit on the bed, Coco’s tie is lying on the floor, they both blush and stare at each other intensively.

I look at them in awkward silence, then I backpedal. When I’m about to close the door, Inkie says, “Umm... can you stay with us? We have a problem...”

“If you want me to stay while you do that, I’ll have to decline the offer,” I reply. “First times are awkward even without witnesses...”

I recall my first time. Me, young and almost innocent. Sugarcube Corner. Caramel, plundering my tight, virgin pussy with his massive... Pinkie Pie! Her complete lack of shame. She actually told us what we were doing it wrong and asked if she could join. When we refused, she made us clean the kitchen. It’s not easy with cum leaking out of your tight, not-so-virgin cunt. You know, when Pinkie walked on us, Caramel blew the whole load into me.

I really think that little pink gypsy put some curse on me. Since then, my sexual life has more downs than ups.

“Yeah... About that...” Inkie says. “We...”

“We don’t know how...” Coco mutters, avoiding my gaze.

“Exactly. I’m not sure how to... umm... with other mare...” Inkie adds.

“Well, I’m not really experienced in that matter...” I say. Really, that one time with Berry Punch doesn’t count. We were drunk, she thought I was a stallion, I thought she was a stallion... Not to mention that screwing each other with beer bottles isn’t something I’d recommend to them. “I think you should do that the same way you do that, umm... alone.”

“I had that funny-shaped rock back at the farm...” Inkie says.

“Umm... Once I put a spool up my coochie...” Coco’s whisper is barely audible.

“Okay.” I nod my head and flip my mane, as if I was a teacher proud of her student’s accomplishments. “I guess you should get some toys. Maybe you should ask Aryanne...” Then I remember that Aryanne would probably send them back upstairs with some Wunderwaffe up their asses. “...or maybe you should improvise something. Just don’t use anything that may break. In case anything else fails, remember that hooves are your best friends.” With these words, I walk out of the room and close the door.

Time to find Trixie. I guess she didn’t find any stallion brave enough to plunder her Great and Powerful flank, so we can always have a drink and whine about our pitiful lives. I sigh and trot to the next room, hoping that I’ll find her.

Well, I found her. With twenty stallions. When they see me, they all aim their guns at me. And, sadly, I don’t mean any euphemism here. I mean real guns that shoot bullets that may kill you before you can recall your mother’s words when she told you that you were gonna end up in the river with concrete horseshoes. Trixie is in the middle of the crowd, tied and gagged.

“Watch out,” one of the stallions says. “If she shoots magic at somepony’s balls, change her into salami.”

“What are you doing here?” I decide that it’s my turn to ask dumb questions.

“Your friend, Photo Finish, said that Ms. Octavia’s new technical crew is suspiciously similar to the ponies my idiot cousin Bacio della Morte is looking for,” the stallion replies.

Oh, fuck me with a beer bottle... We’re in Prance; Neightaly is not far away from here. Bacio della Morte is from Neightaly, it’s sure as fuck that he has family here...

“So, what are you going to do?” I ask, trying desperately to think of some way to escape. Too bad, my only hope is Vinyl. “Kill us?”

“Of course not.” He chuckles. “You stole my cousin money and were able to run away for so long... You proved that you may be quite useful...”

“Er... What?”

“It’s simple, Ms. Turner,” he says, trying his best to look like a mafioso from an old movie. It’s hard, since he looks kinda like his cousin. “We’ll make you an offer you can’t refuse...”

Author's Notes:

Translation of more difficult phrases:

Was ist los? - What's going on? (German)
A ta czego tak drze pizdę? - Why's she yelling so much? (Polish. Literal translation is "why's she tearing her cunt so much?)
Me cago en la leche de tu puta madre! - I shit into your whore mother's milk! (Spanish. I'm still not sure what they have against milk)
Merde, Sacrebleu - French swears
Chuj wie. Chyba mówi, że zaraz jakaś Wielka i Potężna Trixie tu przylezie i mamy stąd wszyscy wypierdalać. - Who the fuck knows. I think she's saying that some Great and Powerful Trixie's gonna come here soon and we all have to get the fuck out. (Polish. Please note the lack of repetitions in original text)
La caballa loca! - Crazy mare! (Spanish)
Żebym ja jej zaraz nie wypierdolił… - I'm gonna make her get the fuck out soon... (Polish)
Schiess doch, Unterpferde! - Shut up, underhorses! (German)
Będzie wpierdol… Stawiam dychę na zebry. - It's gonna end with a fight. I give 10 bits for zebras.
Katzenjammer - hangover (German. Literally "cat's shriek")
NEIN, DU FOTZE! DU KANNST MIR NICHT SAGEN WAS ICH ZU TUN HABE!!! - No, cunt! You can't tell me what to do! (German. Google translate is surprisingly accurate with that one...)
Verpiss dich! - Would you be so kind and go away from here? I'd be very grateful (German. More or less)