When you wake up to another day in Equestria, you hear a rather new sound from your alarm. Ringing.

Your eyes shoot open and you sit up in a jolt. Sure enough, when your eyes move to the clock, you find a wind up classic alarm clock sitting on your bedside table. You push down on the hammer that swings back between two metal bells, and the alarm is silenced. Your gaze moves to the window, but to your shock, the sun is down. You're in pitch black, save for a lit lamp in the corner of the room. You pull off the covers, and you notice something else strange. You're in a suit. And sitting by your bedside table is a matching fedora.

"Oh fuck, what the shit did Fluttershy do?"

You grab the hat, toss it on your head, and resign yourself to the idea that you're going to have to put up with all of this. If you're lucky, you can keep this sweet suit.

When you step out of your room, you find a thin layer of smoke wafting up the stairs from the lower level. Yet, to your luck, you don't smell burning. No, instead, a sticky, smokey scent sticks at the back of your throat and gives you a gentle rush. You place a hand to your forehead and groan. As you descend the stairs, you find her sitting at your kitchen table. You'll never forget the way she looks. Like a mare who was running from trouble. Trouble she was bringing with her. Her eyes were crying out for help, and her smile spoke of innocence. Yet you knew, deep down, she was trouble. She wears a black, lacy dress that shows off a tuft of fur from her chest. Calling it odd would be an understatement. On a human dress, this would be to show off cleavage. Ponies don't have that.

She takes a long drag off of her cigarette, and blows a long cloud of smoke into the air, then sets her sights on you. She puts out her cigarette into a tray on your table with three firm taps.

"What's a handsome cat like you doing in a gin mill like this?" she says, motioning to the seat beside you.

"What the actual fuck are you doing in my house, Fluttershy?"

"Not even thankful for the glam rags?" she continues. "And here I thought you'd care to tip a few with dame like me."

"Glam rags? What the actual fuck?"

"You've got quite a mouth on you, Anon. What's the matter? We use to drink out of the same bottle when we first met."

"Yeah, to make sure you didn't roofie me," you groan, moving into the kitchen.

"I would never give you a Mickey Finn, Anon."

"And you lost me. Also, what the fuck did you do with my coffee?"

Fluttershy rises from her seat and moves toward you. She crosses her front hooves in front of you, puffing out the chest tuft she prominently shows.

"I've always been lousy with words, Anon. So I'll just say it. You nicked my heart the moment we've met, and I've been out on the roof every night I don't have you. What would it take for a lug like you to make me your moll? Or are ya some sort of queer nance?"

You turn around and just glare at her.

"Fluttershy, just say the stupid fucking line so we can get this over with."

"Does a dish like me turn you on, Anon?" she asks, biting her bottom lip, and batting her delicate eyelashes at you.

You sigh, realizing there's only one way out. Playing along.

"Not a chance, darlin'. So take a powder."

Fluttershy puts out her pouty lip and stomps away.

"I don't even LIKE cigarettes!" she grumbles as she stomps out your door and slams it behind her.